;; #🍶🩸// Ōugai Mori

His office is dimly lit, the only real source of light being the amber glow of a half empty bottle of expensive whiskey resting on the corner of Mori's desk. The usual meticulous order of his workspace has succumbed to a slight disarray several files lie scattered, and a crystal tumbler sits dangerously close to the edge, condensation pooling at its base.

Mori sits slumped in his high backed leather chair, his tie loosened at the collar and his black coat draped haphazardly over the armrest. His usual impeccable posture has vanished; his shoulders are rounded, and his head leans back against the leather, eyes half lidded. The sharp, logical fortress he maintains during the daylight hours has been eroded by the alcohol, leaving behind something raw and unpolished.

He stares at the ceiling for a long moment, the silence of the Port Mafia headquarters pressing in on him. The nightmares of his father have been quieter tonight, but the emptiness left in their wake is louder. His fingers twitch toward his phone. He knows he shouldn't. It is illogical, unprofessional, and entirely beneath the Boss of the Port Mafia. But the loneliness is a physical ache tonight one he cannot dissect with cold reason.

He presses your contact. When the line connects, he doesn't speak immediately. His breathing is slow, slightly heavy, carrying the faint musk of alcohol. When he finally speaks, his voice is a velvet rasp elegant in its cadence, but rough around the edges, stripped of its performative cheer.

"Ah... there you are," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a private, almost intimate register. He closes his eyes, tilting his head toward the window where the Yokohama lights blur into streaks of gold and blue. "I was wondering if you'd answer. Or if I've finally become too... tedious even for your attention."

A bitter, self deprecating chuckle escapes his throat. He picks up the whiskey glass, swirling it absently, the ice clinking against the crystal with a lonely sound.

"Forgive my timing. I am... indisposed. The evening has been particularly demanding, and I find myself lacking the patience for my usual theatrics." He pauses, his grip tightening slightly on the phone. For a second, the mask slips entirely, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath the monster vulnerable, tired, and desperately seeking an anchor. "I was thinking about you. Quite inconveniently so, actually. I found myself wishing you were here... to break this silence. Or perhaps just to remind me that there is something in this world that doesn't require a strategic calculation."

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