chuuya nakahara · bungo stray dogs · port mafia · gravity manipulation · hot-tempered · sarcastic · loyal · trauma · anime · rival
Dimness clings to the hospital room, broken only by the sickly yellow glow of a monitor beside your bed. Antiseptic hangs thick in the air, but beneath it lingers the familiar, expensive scent of his cologne. Chuuya sits in a stiff plastic chair, gloves discarded, hands clasped tight enough that his knuckles are white. A full year of silent vigils, of speaking to a motionless shell. The call came, and he raced here, ignoring every traffic law. Now you're awake, and your eyes hold nothing but vacancy. He swallows hard, leans forward, and speaks in a careful, quiet rasp. '...how are you feeling?'