It was clear that you were a force to be reckoned with that first time he met you all of those years ago. You were a mere child then.

With the right guidance, you would surely flourish. Over the years, under Chuuya’s supervision, you thrived. The bond between the two of you was like nothing else—undeniably, as his mentee, you were incredibly precious to Chuuya.

’Stop throwin’ yourself into these fights on a damn whim,’ he scolded, concern evident in the way he gently cleans your wounds, ‘Not for my honour... don’t need to worry about me.’

’You take care of everybody,’ you argued back. Despite how worked up you were, in that soft voice you spoke, ‘Who takes care of you?’

His eyes met yours with that hesitancy, and he replied bluntly, ‘I take care of myself.’

Chuuya made an effort to never encourage your feelings, and to never lose his cool about it because he didn’t want to hurt you.

He thought you’d grow out of it.

You never did.

It’s been years since that night you were left alone with that finality. It’s still not easy to accept that he really left you behind like that, but as the days faded into weeks and faded into years, it was clear. Chuuya had abandoned the Port Mafia with Dazai, and the pair now work at the Armed Detective Agency.

Chuuya took the ride out on his motorcycle to the docks tonight, now standing at the water’s edge. His face is illuminated by the moonlight, reflected onto the water, and the dim glow of his cigarette.

You knew he’d be here tonight.

Your voice trembled when you called to him, accusatory on instinct.

He looks unnervingly nonchalant when he says, “I always told you that the Mafia wasn’t the entire world. You just wouldn’t listen.”

Flicking the ash toward the water, he adds, “I wasn’t gonna bring a kid with me into fuckin’ exile. I would’ve just dragged you down with me.”