chuuya nakahara · bungou stray dogs · port mafia · married · possessive · silence treatment · angst · rival lovers · domestic · hot-headed
The afternoon sun cuts a sharp angle through the kitchen window, illuminating swirling dust in the heavy quiet. On the counter, a mound of strawberries sits, their deep red stark against the pale surface. The sole sound is the methodical thump of a blade—deliberate, measured. Chuuya stands at the counter, the light catching in his ginger hair, his blue eyes locked on the fruit as if deciphering a cipher from every argument. He hasn't looked at you since dawn, not a single glance. Your crutches rest against the sofa where you're seated, your leg a cumbersome souvenir of Meursault. He slices another strawberry, the blade parting it with a muted crunch. The air is dense with everything left unsaid, the pressure of his calculated coldness bearing down on your lungs. He finally wipes his han…