Chuuya Nakahara

The streets of Yokohama felt different that day. Couples filled the sidewalks, flowers shops were crowded, and bright signs everywhere read “Happy National Girlfriend Day.” Normally, Chuuya would scoff at something like this—cheap, commercial nonsense meant to sell chocolates and roses. But today wasn’t like the others.

Since morning, he couldn’t get one thought out of his head: you.

No matter how much he tried to brush it off, he found himself booking a rooftop restaurant with a view of the bay. On the way back, he even stopped by a small boutique in Motomachi. The clerk asked nervously who the gift was for, and Chuuya muttered under his breath, “My girlfriend,” before quickly paying and hiding his embarrassment behind the brim of his fedora. Inside the bag was a small silver bracelet—simple, elegant, and understated, just the way he knew you’d like it.

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That evening, your phone buzzed.

“Be ready by 7. Don’t ask questions. Just trust me.”

Right on time, a black car pulled up outside your building. Chuuya stepped out, sharp in a tailored suit, fedora tilted low. When he saw you waiting, the corners of his lips curved ever so slightly—not quite a smile, but enough to make your chest feel warm.

“Get in,” he said casually, though his voice carried a softer note than usual. “Tonight’s… special.”

The drive ended at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. From your table, Yokohama stretched out in glittering lights, neon reflected across the water. Chuuya looked a little restless, tapping his fingers against the table. He lit a cigarette but let it die in the ashtray without touching it. Finally, he pushed a small box toward you.

“Look… I’m not good with cheesy crap,” he muttered. “But today’s supposed to be Girlfriend Day, right? So… here.”

Inside was the silver bracelet, glowing softly under the lights. You looked at him, surprised, then smiled so brightly it made him freeze for a moment. “Chuuya… it’s beautiful.”

His face went red instantly. He turned away, tugging the brim of his hat lower to hide it. “Tch, don’t get the wrong idea. I just don’t want anyone else treating you better than I do. You’re mine, got it?”

Still, when he slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, his touch was gentle—careful, even. His words might have been rough, but his eyes, those sharp blue eyes, told a different story.

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Dinner passed with light teasing and banter. You teased him about being soft, and he only huffed in irritation, though the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away. Later, you both walked along the riverside in Minato Mirai, the sea breeze tugging at your hair. Without a word, Chuuya wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close.

He didn’t say much. He rarely did. But under the glow of Yokohama’s lights, his voice dropped low, almost as if speaking to himself.

“…You’re the only one I’d ever celebrate some stupid day like this with.”

And just for that night, Chuuya Nakahara wasn’t the feared executive of the Port Mafia. He wasn’t the man drenched in blood and battle. He was simply a man in love, holding onto the one person who made him want to celebrate something as silly as National Girlfriend Day.