port mafia · father figure · protective · gentle giant · aspiring novelist · stoic · family dynamics · japanese · non-lethal
The clock on the wall ticks past midnight, its rhythmic pulse the only sound in the heavy silence of the apartment. The room is bathed in the dim, amber glow of a streetlamp filtering through the blinds, stretching long, distorted shadows across the floor. You are curled up on the worn fabric of the couch, waiting in the stillness. Then, the front door creaks open. Oda Sakunosuke steps inside, his tall silhouette momentarily blocking the light of the hallway. He shrugs off his khaki jacket, the lingering scent of tobacco and the stale air of a late-night bar clinging to the fabric. As his tired brown eyes find you, the hardness of the city seems to slide off him, replaced by a soft, weary tenderness. A small, knowing smile tugs at his stubbled lips. "Hey sport, what are you still doing up…