A book in which you, the infamous ability stealer, are the newest member of the Port Mafia and as witty as they come. Being the constant centre of attention, you have managed to catch the eye of the notorious young executive; Chuuya Nakahara, but no...
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The second day was by far a whole lot worse in comparison to the first day.
At least yesterday you were out for the majority of the day with Gin and Higuchi—you had left at ten in the morning, and returned to the Port Mafia headquarters exactly twelve hours later. The lack of your presence for twelve hours straight was secretly a blessing in disguise—because it meant that it was a lot easier for Chuuya to avoid you when you weren't there. Chuuya spent a large portion of the day locked away in the confines of his office like Rapunzel trapped in a tower, working and working and working, working a lot more than he would usually do to distract himself—from what? The answer was painstakingly obvious, yet, at the same time, not obvious at all.
But he had to admit that some part of him genuinely missed you.
He missed the part where you had turned important papers into perfect paper planes and thrown them at him. He missed the part where he scolded you for slacking off and spinning around on your chair instead of focusing on the task at hand. He missed your constant complaints of hunger, and he missed the delightful sparkle in your endearing [E/C] eyes when Chuuya had scornfully thrown his card at you and told you to order whatever you wanted to eat just to get you to shut the fuck up.
As annoying as you were—he had to admit, that you were undeniably entertaining.
He felt a strange fluttering in his stomach just thinking about you. He always did.
Ew.
Feelings were complicated. Feelings were messy. Feelings were intangible. Feelings were that one question on the test that everyone had scratched their heads at, the one that had forced everyone to look around the classroom and check if the others were struggling, too; the question that had consequently placed everyone on a sinking ship.
However—Chuuya was aware that the resolution of conflicted feelings was an inside job that had required self-honesty, all self delusions rescinded. Unfortunately for him, Chuuya wasn't ready to allow himself to fully capitulate to those feelings.
He wasn't ready.
Yesterday was a long day—where time seemed to go agonisingly slow. Today he felt like time would have gone even slower as he had awoken from a dreamless slumber with a dull ache in his chest. Never before had Chuuya noticed how time was so much like water; that it could pass slowly, a drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by in a blink. The clock had said that it was measured and constant, tick tock, part of an orderly world; the clock had lied. In this slow time-bubble that he seemed to be trapped in, the birdsong was louder, coldness was colder, and colours were brighter. All the while his insides felt as if there was nothing there, nothing to need feeding, nothing to have need of anything at all.
