DELIRIA - YANDERE!CHUUYA NAKAHARA

Eight: Rookie moves.

You're in the infirmary of the Port Mafia, once being Boss' office as the Port Mafia's doctor, sitting numbly on one of the beds, the crisp white sheets stained brown with residual blood on your clothes. You've long abandoned the clothes you had worn during the mission; it was on a pile on the floor, like shed skin, limp and crusted over with blood by your feet.

The door to the infirmary opens. In comes Boss, with his hands in his coat pockets. On his face is a slight smile. You jolt to your feet.

"Boss—"

"Sit back down, (First name)," He gestures to you to calm down, and you reluctantly follow his orders with a worried look on your face. His voice had a special kind of authority, a special kind of darkness; many had gossiped that the Boss' voice had something in its intonation that made them uneasy: The dulcet, smoothness like crushed velvet, only inches away from a smiling, seemingly friendly face, but immensities apart. It was disquieting even if one knew nothing of him and his history. "Don't worry. The subject is alive."

You dip your head down deeply. "I apologise for my violent outburst."

He sighs, runs a hand through his dark locks. "It is what it is, (first name). I expected nothing short from you. After all," He looks down at you. "This was a sensitive mission for you, no?"

You pause. Then you silently nod.

"The subject is alive and is being interrogated in the dungeons at the moment," Mori informs you. He nudges at the bloodied clothing with his polished shoes, the gleam like the back of a beetle, less of a shoe. "By Chuuya."

"Shame Dazai is not here," You say, almost mournfully. "He would have pried information out of him like a door to a crowbar."

"A real shame indeed."

You knew of Dazai's talents in gathering information; after all, you had seen it up close. How he barterted for information, before going in for the kill and striking at the bare artery of the conversation for information. You had never seen such skill in anyone else, long after his defection, anywhere else. It was a hidden talent that he had, to open people like a lock and he, the bobby pin.

"I sincerely apologise again, Boss," You hobble to your feet and bow deeply once more, your hair curtaining the side of your face and covering your peripherals. "I was...I was out of line."

He puts a hand to your shoulder and forces you back down onto the bed. You stumble back.

"You got the mission done," He says. "That's good enough."

"Does this mean I get to go back to the West?" You hopefully inquire, looking up at him with wide eyes. You're met with a smirk, a devious smirk, a cunning smirk. And all hope dies inside you like a shrivelled flower, curling up and disappearing into ashes.

"The mission isn't over, is it now?" He says.

—

You change into your suit and find your way to the dungeons, the hallways of the Port Mafia growing darker and darker as you descend down the stairwells, flanked with golden railings and blood-red carpets spilling over the stairs. You can hear footsteps over the corner, and you're met with dark, empty grey eyes.

He nods at you. You nod at him back. Akutagawa walks past you, his coat swishing against the creases of the fabric, before he comes to a pause.

"I heard you nearly killed our subject," He says. You also come to a pause in your steps. The two of you aren't facing each other as the conversation begins, but facing straight forwards in your respective paths.

"That, I did," You admit, your voice like stone. "And what of it?"

"Nothing," He says, his voice deep and emotionless. "I expected more from an executive. That was a rookie move."

"You say that like you've experienced the same thing as I have," You say, your voice sharp and commanding. "Have you?"

"I have," He admits. He finally turns around, his coat glimmering like fresh black oil on the surface of water. "Dazai beat me for it."

"You killed them. I didn't. And did he now?"

"Threatened to shoot me five times next time it happened. You were lucky to have not killed them," Akutagawa's voice drones in your head like a fly buzzing in between your eyes. You feel an oncoming headache, and you have to swallow down the curses that are on your tongue; not necessarily at the tip of your tongue, but mid-tongue. "You should be glad."

"I don't need to be lectured by a command unit," You snap. You take a deep breath and recomposure yourself. "Get moving, Akutagawa."

You walk away and hear his own footsteps disappear in your ears, and when you cross that corner do you lean against the wall and sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He was right: It was a rookie move. To have nearly killed a precious subject just because of your own emotions was a rookie, beginner move. Why had you felt so affected when it had been years since you had massacred your entire family, due to personal reasons? Those reasons that should never come to light. Those reasons that are alone in another realm of its own; you have to leave it like a child in a grocery store or else you'll break.

You needed to become more detached from yourself, more isolated and lonely, until all was left was—

"Oh?" Chuuya dusts his gloved hands as he emerges from the dungeon, the thick, iron doors closing behind him. There's no splatter of blood on his cheek, but only on the napkin between his hands. "What are you doing here, princess?" Then he breaks out into a smirk. "Don't tell me you wanted to see me work?"

"Something like that," You say, kicking yourself off the wall and facing him. You let out an audible sigh, pinching the space between your eyes. "And don't call me that, I said."

"It's my favourite thing to call you," He says, playfully, as though he hadn't just tortured a man half to death. "Little princess, (Last name) (First name). It's fun."

"How did the interrogation go?" You ignore his playing and turn back to business. "Good?"

"Good enough," He rolls his eyes. "Insisted he was innocent and only in it for the money at first before I brought out the hot iron to his balls. Then he started talking."

"Typical," You say. "They say they're always in it for the money before you bring out the big guns. Then they start talking."

"Right," He nods in agreement. "I have information now, so, princess, if you'll excuse me—"

"Tell me first," You say, or more so demand. "Tell me first."

He blinks in surprise at your demanding attitude. He tosses the napkin onto the floor where the janitors will clean it up for him, and your eyes don't follow the trajectory of the bloodied napkin. It remains steadfast, clashing against his blue-grey gaze, whereupon the light plays on the surface of his corneas like shimmering ocean waters. A wave of pride that washes over them as he smirks, a snort coming from his nose as he crosses his arms.

"Now that's an attitude I like to see," He says. He takes a step closer to you until he was inches away from your face, leaning in and examining the changes of expression on your face; he only clicks his tongue in disappointment when the close distance does nothing but make you blink in curiosity rather than any sort of discomposure.

"Just get to it," You snap. "Tell me."

He shrugs, and leans back. "Alright. He admitted that Machete were in fact sex-trafficking young women and into slavery. We've been given coordinates to specific locations where they all come back after being pimped out, so our next course of action should be to separate our units into these coordinates to capture and release these women."

"No men?" You find yourself asking. He pauses.

"Men aren't in demand that way in these circles," He says. "They're often shipped overseas to China or other places where they value boys over girls."

"I see," You say. "I guess that's the next course of action, then."

"Mhm," Chuuya hums. "Now, if you've had your share. Boss needs to know."

You turn your body to let him through. "Be my guest."