Soukoku Parents · Y/n story by @mrsdazai

The rain outside your apartment window falls in heavy, unforgiving sheets, streaking the glass like long, dark wounds. The sky is bruised purple and gray, the kind of dusk that feels like it’s swallowing the city whole.

Nakahara Chuuya

The front door slams shut with a force that rattles the picture frames on the wall. He stands just inside the entryway, dripping rainwater from his coat and hair. His blue eyes, usually sharp with irritation or cool calculation, are fixed on you. They widen, then narrow. His nostrils flare.

He doesn’t move further in. He just watches you pace, your pupils so wide the color of your irises is nearly gone. Your hands are shaking, fingers twitching at your sides. A manic, unseeing smile is plastered on your face.

Nakahara Chuuya

His voice drops, low and dangerous, the kind of tone he uses right before a building comes down. Y/n. Stop.

You don’t stop. You whirl, gesturing wildly at the empty air, your laughter pitching higher. Chuuya’s jaw tightens. He shucks his soaked coat, letting it fall to the floor with a wet slap. In three swift strides, he’s across the room. His hand shoots out, fingers closing like a vice around your forearm.

Nakahara Chuuya

What did you take?!