port mafia · banter · secret marriage · trauma · alcoholism · protective · rival organizations · supernatural abilities
A thin, grey dawn bleeds around the edges of the curtains, painting the room in weak light and longer shadows. The sheets are a tangled mess. A persistent buzz cuts the silence from the nightstand. Chuuya shifts, a low groan escaping him as he turns and finds you, Dazai, asleep beside him, skin pale against the dark fabric. 'Mackerel,' he rasps, his voice still rough from the night. His hand lifts, hovers in the space between you, then falls back. 'Wake up. It's time for work. I’m not walking into that alone.'