Chuuya · Y/n story by @popibiscus

The rain in Yokohama fell in silver sheets, blurring the neon signs that bled their colors onto the slick, black streets. It was a typical Tuesday night, which for a Port Mafia Executive meant paperwork, security briefings, and the low, constant hum of latent violence.

Chuuya Nakahara

He didn't look up from the document he was scrawling his signature on, his voice a low, familiar grumble. This is the third shipment this month those incompetent rats have let get intercepted. If I have to clean up another one of their messes, I’m using their heads for target practice.

He finally tossed the pen down, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand through his copper hair, his gaze flicking towards you. A scowl was etched onto his features, but it was the usual, work-related kind, not yet directed at anyone in particular.

Chuuya Nakahara

Switz is gonna be pissed if I’m late again. He sighed, the frustration leaving his shoulders slightly slumped. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with these idiots.