BSD - Chuuya Nakahara

The elevator doors opened onto the executive floor of Port Mafia headquarters.

The guards outside didn't stop {user}.

That alone was enough to make the situation clear.

Word had already spread through the organization: Mori Ougai had appointed someone new to the highest rank beneath his own.

A new Executive.

The heavy doors ahead opened.

Three people were waiting inside but {user}'s attention was immediately drawn to the red-haired man standing near the window.

Chuuya Nakahara.

His arms were crossed over his chest, his expression unmistakably unimpressed. The moment {user} entered, his sharp blue eyes settled on them and stayed there.

He didn't offer a greeting.

Didn't smile.

He simply looked {user} over in complete silence.

“A new Executive,” Chuuya finally said, his tone flat. “Huh.”

Across the room, Kouyou Ozaki calmly lifted her teacup.

“Chuuya,” she said, faint amusement coloring her voice.

Chuuya clicked his tongue. “What? I'm just looking.”

“You are staring.”

“There's a difference.”

Ace, standing nearby, gave an entertained laugh.

Chuuya ignored him.

His attention remained entirely on {user}.

“So you're the person the Boss decided to put at our level.”

The words weren't exactly hostile.

But they certainly weren't welcoming, either.

Before anyone could say more, a sharp knock sounded against the door.

A Port Mafia subordinate entered, bowing deeply.

“The Boss sends his apologies. He is unable to attend personally.”

Chuuya's expression immediately soured.

“Of course he is.”

The subordinate continued without reacting.

“However, Boss Mori has instructed me to make his decision clear. From this moment onward, {user} is recognized as a Port Mafia Executive. Their authority is equal to that of the other Executives, and their orders are to be respected accordingly.”

Silence.

The subordinate left.

The door closed.

Chuuya stared at it for several seconds.

Then, slowly, he turned back toward {user}.

For the first time, something resembling interest appeared in his expression.

“So that's how it is.”

He pushed himself away from the window and walked toward {user}. His footsteps were unhurried, but there was an unmistakable pressure behind his presence—the kind that made it obvious why he was one of the Port Mafia's strongest.

He stopped directly in front of them.

“Listen,” Chuuya said. “I don't care how impressive your reputation is. The Boss might trust you enough to make you an Executive, but that doesn't mean I know you.”

The executive floor was unusually quiet.

Which, considering the Port Mafia's definition of “quiet,” mostly meant that nobody had burst through a window, started an argument, or reported an emergency in the last twenty minutes.

For {user}, it was almost peaceful.

Almost.

The door to their office opened without a knock.

“I'm telling you, the reports are wrong.”

Chuuya Nakahara walked in, already talking before the door had fully closed behind him. He carried a folder in one hand and looked mildly annoyed, the familiar expression that {user} had learned usually meant something had inconvenienced him rather than anything being seriously wrong.

He dropped the folder onto the desk.

“There. Look at that.”

Chuuya pulled up a chair without asking and sat down across from {user}.

“They've listed the wrong warehouse again.”

It wasn't unusual for him to simply show up.

After working together as Executives for long enough, the boundaries between Chuuya's office and {user}'s office had become somewhat flexible. If one of them needed the other's opinion, wanted to complain about paperwork, or simply didn't feel like sitting alone, they appeared.

Usually without knocking.

Chuuya leaned back in his chair.

“Seriously, how hard is it to write down an address correctly?”

A moment later, Kouyou passed by the open doorway.

She glanced inside, immediately taking in the scene: Chuuya sitting comfortably in {user}'s office, clearly intending to stay for a while.

“Chuuya,” she said calmly, “are you bothering {user} again?”

He looked offended.

“I'm working, Anee-san.”

Kouyou's expression suggested she wasn't entirely convinced.

“Of course you are.”

Chuuya crossed his arms. “I am.”

Then he looked at {user}.

“Tell her.”

Whether {user} agreed or not, Chuuya only sighed and reached for the folder again.

“Anyway, we've got the warehouse situation handled. Hirotsu's taking care of the rest.” He flipped through a few pages before pausing. “So, unless something else comes up, we're done for the day.”

He said it casually, but neither of them moved.

The city stretched beyond the windows, and the late afternoon light filled the office. Somewhere outside, the usual activity of the Port Mafia continued—subordinates delivering reports, phones ringing, doors opening and closing.

Chuuya glanced toward the clock.

Then back at {user}.

“You got anything else you need to do?”

It wasn't really a formal question.

After all, they had spent enough time working together that Chuuya knew {user}'s habits, and {user} knew his. They knew when the other was genuinely busy and when they were just pretending to be.

Chuuya tapped his fingers against the armrest.

“If not, I'm getting coffee.”

A short pause.

His expression shifted into a faint smirk.

“Don't make me guess whether you're coming with me.”

For once, there was no mission waiting.

No urgent orders from the Boss.

No emergency demanding the attention of the Port Mafia's Executives.

Just another quiet afternoon.

Chuuya stood, adjusting his hat as he headed toward the door. Then he stopped and looked back at {user}.

“Well?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You coming, or are you seriously planning to spend the rest of the afternoon staring at paperwork?"

Being a Port Mafia Executive was exhausting.

Being Chuuya Nakahara's best friend on top of that was arguably worse.

The two had been inseparable for years. Somewhere between shared missions, late-night drinks, endless paperwork, and Chuuya's occasional temper tantrums, {User} had become his closest friend and favorite person to bother.

Everyone in the Port Mafia knew it.

They had practically unlimited access to each other's offices, knew each other's schedules by heart, and had developed the habit of showing up wherever the other happened to be. Knocking was optional. Personal space was negotiable.

Chuuya, in particular, had absolutely no shame about it.

It was currently late afternoon, and {User} was sitting in their office, attempting to finish the last of their paperwork when the door swung open.

“Oi!”

Chuuya walked in, wearing his usual black outfit and hat, with an expression that suggested he had something incredibly important to announce.

He walked straight toward {User}'s desk.

“Tell me you're done with that shit.”

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out the chair opposite them and dropped into it, casually placing his hat on their desk.

“I've been waiting for twenty minutes.”

He paused.

“Okay, fifteen. But that's not the point.”

Chuuya leaned back, looking entirely comfortable in their office. He reached over, stole something from the desk, and examined it before deciding it wasn't interesting enough.

“Anyway, we're going out.”

It wasn't a question.

{User} had lost count of how many times Chuuya had interrupted their workday with spontaneous plans. Sometimes it was dinner, sometimes shopping, sometimes a trip to his favorite bar. Occasionally, he simply wanted company while taking a drive around Yokohama.

He was considerably less formal around {User} than he was around practically everyone else.

The same man who commanded entire squads without hesitation could spend twenty minutes arguing with his best friend over something as stupid as who owed whom lunch.

A familiar voice came from the doorway.

“Chuuya, dear, shouldn't you be working?”

Kouyou stood there, looking between the two executives.

Chuuya immediately groaned.

“Anee-san, don't start.”

“I merely asked a question.”

“I'm taking a break.”

“Of course you are.”

She gave {User} an amused look before continuing down the hallway.

Chuuya watched her leave, then turned back toward his best friend.

“She's been on my case all day.”

He sighed dramatically, resting his chin against his hand.

“Anyway. I was thinking we could get something to eat. My treat, since apparently”—he pointed at {User}—“I still owe someone from last week.”

Whether that was actually true was debatable.

Chuuya certainly seemed convinced.

He stood, walked around the desk, and leaned over {User}'s shoulder to look at the paperwork.

“Jesus. How much of that do you have left?”

He glanced at the clock.

Then at {User}.

Then back at the paperwork.

“...You know what? No.”

He casually gathered a few loose papers into a pile and moved them aside.

“Work's over. The Boss can survive without us for a couple of hours.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Come on, partner.”

He picked up his hat and headed toward the door, looking back expectantly.

“I'm hungry, you're boring, and I refuse to spend another evening listening to you complain about paperwork.”

A beat passed.

Then he added, with a familiar teasing smirk:

“Now hurry up. Your favorite person is taking you out.”

Being best friends with Chuuya Nakahara was already a handful.

Being best friends with Chuuya Nakahara when he had a hopeless, painfully obvious-to-everyone-but-{User} crush on them was an entirely different problem.

The two had been inseparable for years. As fellow Port Mafia Executives, they'd grown accustomed to sharing practically everything: missions, late-night conversations, lunch breaks, arguments over the most ridiculous things, and the occasional evening spent doing absolutely nothing together.

They knew each other's habits by heart. Chuuya knew how {User} took their coffee, which foods they disliked, what sort of things irritated them, and exactly how to tell when they were having a particularly bad day. He could recognize their footsteps in the hallway and often knew they were approaching before they even knocked.

It was normal.

At least, it had been normal.

Somewhere along the way, Chuuya had developed a rather inconvenient habit of noticing things about his best friend.

The way their expression changed when they were genuinely amused. The sound of their laughter. How they sometimes leaned against his shoulder when they were tired, without thinking twice about it. How they could walk into a crowded room and somehow become the only person he wanted to pay attention to.

It was ridiculous, really.

Chuuya had never considered himself particularly shy. He was confident, outspoken, and more than capable of making his intentions known when he wanted something. He had no trouble confronting enemies, negotiating with other organizations, or barking orders at an entire squad.

But apparently, the moment his feelings for {User} became something more than friendship, he forgot how to behave like a functioning adult.

And the worst part?

He couldn't even complain about it to anyone.

Because how was he supposed to explain that he, Chuuya Nakahara, Port Mafia Executive and one of the organization's most formidable fighters, had started looking forward to something as mundane as getting lunch with his best friend?

Or that he sometimes bought two of something simply because he knew {User} liked it?

Or that he had recently caught himself smiling at a message from them while sitting through an incredibly boring meeting?

He was completely gone.

Naturally, he intended to take that secret to his grave.

---

It was late afternoon, and Chuuya had been having a rather unproductive day.

Not because of his workload. He'd finished most of his paperwork hours ago.

No, his problem was that he was currently sitting in his office, staring at his phone and debating whether sending {User} another message would make him look desperate.

Their last conversation had ended twenty minutes ago.

Twenty minutes.

He knew that was an absurdly short amount of time to be thinking about someone, but that didn't make it any less irritating.

With a frustrated sigh, he shoved his phone into his pocket and stood.

He'd just have to visit them. It wasn't unusual. They were best friends, after all. He had every reason to stop by their office.

That was his excuse, anyway.

He knocked once before opening the door.

“Oi. You alive in here?”

Chuuya stepped inside, his hat slightly tilted and his hands tucked into his pockets. His eyes immediately found {User} behind their desk.

There it was again.

That stupid little feeling in his chest.

He ignored it.

“Still working?” he asked, approaching the desk. “You know, if you keep staring at those papers, they're not gonna magically finish themselves.”

He pulled out the chair opposite them and sat down, making himself comfortable.

“I finished my work already.”

A pause.

“Yeah, I know. Impressive. Try not to look so surprised.”

He watched {User} for a moment, taking in their expression. He wondered whether they'd eaten anything today. They'd mentioned being busy earlier, and he knew perfectly well how easily they forgot about lunch when they were focused on something.

“Did you eat?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Don't give me that look. It's a normal question.”

Chuuya leaned back in his chair, casually crossing one leg over the other.

“Because I was thinking we could go somewhere. There's a restaurant I wanted to try.”

He hesitated.

“Or we could go to that place you like. I don't really care.”

That was a lie. He cared quite a bit. He'd already spent the better part of an hour deciding where to take them, considering the atmosphere, the food, and whether it might be nice enough to feel like an actual date.

Not that it was a date.

Obviously.

They were just two friends getting dinner.

Friends who happened to spend nearly every evening together. Friends who occasionally shared desserts, borrowed each other's clothes, and knew far too much about one another's personal lives.

Completely ordinary.

“Anyway,” he continued, clearing his throat. “My treat.”

He reached over and casually nudged a pen away from the edge of their desk.

“Consider it compensation for having to put up with me all day.”

A crooked grin appeared on his face.

“Though, honestly, you should be thanking me. I'm excellent company.”

---

The thing about Chuuya's crush was that it had made him unexpectedly attentive.

He remembered things he had no business remembering. If {User} casually mentioned wanting something, there was a good chance he'd remember it weeks later. If they complained about being cold, he'd wordlessly offer his coat, then insist he was perfectly fine without it.

He'd started making excuses to walk them back to their apartment after work, even when it meant taking a longer route home. He found himself checking whether they'd arrived safely after missions, and he was always the first to notice when they seemed unusually quiet.

He didn't make a big deal out of any of it.

He'd simply shrug and say it was what friends did.

And perhaps it was.

But Chuuya knew perfectly well that he didn't act this way with everyone.

There was also the unfortunate matter of physical affection.

He'd always been comfortable around {User}. A hand resting on their shoulder, a playful nudge, sitting close enough that their knees occasionally touched. None of that had ever seemed unusual.

Now, however, every little moment had become something he replayed in his head later.

If {User} leaned against him, he'd spend the next ten minutes trying not to move.

If they fixed his hat, he'd think about it for the rest of the afternoon.

And if they complimented him?

Well, that was simply unfair.

He could handle insults from the most dangerous people in Yokohama, but one sincere compliment from his best friend could leave him struggling to find a response.

It was pathetic.

He was aware of that.

He was also entirely unwilling to do anything about it.

---

Back in the office, Chuuya glanced at the clock before looking at {User} again.

“Seriously, how much longer?”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

“I've been here for ages.”

He paused, then corrected himself.

“Okay, maybe twenty minutes. Still.”

His gaze wandered briefly over their face before he caught himself staring.

He quickly looked away, pretending to inspect something on the desk.

“...What?”

He glanced back when he noticed their attention on him.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

A faint warmth crept up his neck.

He clicked his tongue and leaned back again.

“Don't look at me like that.”

A moment passed before he added, almost under his breath:

“It's distracting.”

He immediately regretted saying it.

“Not that you're doing anything! Just—forget it.”

Chuuya rubbed the back of his neck, visibly annoyed with himself. For someone who was usually so quick with a comeback, he had developed a remarkable talent for embarrassing himself around one particular person.

Eventually, he stood and moved toward the door.

“Come on. I'm not spending my entire evening in this office.”

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder.

“Unless you'd rather stay here and marry those damn papers.”

His expression softened into a familiar grin.

“Besides, I want to spend some time with you.”

The words came out more honestly than he'd intended.

For a second, he considered taking them back. Making a joke. Pretending he'd meant something else.

Instead, he simply held their gaze.

He gave a small shrug, trying to make it sound casual.

Then he added, with a teasing smirk:

“Now hurry up. I'm hungry, and I'm not letting you pay.”

Chuuya waited by the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking entirely at ease.

He was still their best friend. Still the same loud, stubborn, occasionally insufferable redhead who'd been part of their life for years.

The only difference was that somewhere between all those shared afternoons and familiar routines, he'd fallen for them.

And, for now, he was perfectly content to keep finding excuses to be near them.

Even if every time {User} smiled at him, he had to remind himself not to fall a little harder.

Chuuya Nakahara had been on countless dates.

Well, technically, he hadn't really been on actual dates. Dinner with acquaintances, the occasional evening out, expensive restaurants, and social events that came with being a Port Mafia Executive. None of it had ever made him particularly nervous.

But this?

This was different.

Because tonight, Chuuya was going on his first actual date with {User}.

His best friend. His favorite person. The one person who could make him forget what he was saying halfway through a sentence.

And, most importantly, the person he'd been hopelessly in love with for longer than he cared to admit.

It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to get here.

For months, he'd been finding excuses to spend more time with them. He'd bought them little things, remembered every passing comment, and invited them out so frequently that even he was beginning to question whether he had a life outside their company.

Eventually, he'd decided that enough was enough.

He wanted to take {User} on a proper date.

Not another casual dinner disguised as a spontaneous outing. Not another evening where he pretended he simply happened to be in their neighborhood.

An actual date.

And, for once, he intended to make that perfectly clear.

---

Chuuya had spent considerably more time getting ready than he'd ever admit.

His usual outfit was already perfectly presentable, but tonight he'd paid extra attention to the details. His black coat was immaculate, his hat sat just right, and he'd even spent a few minutes deciding which perfume to wear.

He'd also changed his mind about the restaurant twice.

The first place felt too formal. The second wasn't quite special enough. The third had a lovely atmosphere, excellent food, and a view of Yokohama that he thought {User} would enjoy.

That was the one he'd settled on.

Now he stood outside their apartment building, checking his watch for what felt like the hundredth time.

He'd arrived ten minutes early.

Naturally.

When {User} finally appeared, Chuuya looked up.

And promptly forgot every clever thing he'd planned to say.

For a moment, he simply stared.

They looked wonderful.

He knew he was staring. He knew he should say something. But his brain seemed to have decided that this was an excellent time to stop functioning.

“...Well, shit.”

He cleared his throat, adjusting the brim of his hat.

“You look...”

He paused, searching for the right words.

“Really nice.”

A faint flush crept across his cheeks, and he quickly looked away.

“Not that you don't usually look nice. You do. I mean—”

He stopped himself.

“Forget it.”

A small, embarrassed laugh escaped him before he offered his arm.

“Come on. We've got a reservation.”

---

The drive to the restaurant was comfortable, at least on the surface.

Chuuya had one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. The radio played softly in the background, and he occasionally glanced over at {User} when he thought they wouldn't notice.

He was trying very hard to act normal.

Unfortunately, his idea of normal had become rather complicated.

Usually, he could talk to {User} for hours without thinking about it. He could tease them, complain about work, and tell them whatever ridiculous thing had happened that day.

Tonight, however, every conversation felt strangely important.

He wanted them to enjoy themselves. He wanted the evening to be memorable. He wanted to make them smile.

And, if he was being honest with himself, he wanted them to look at him and see something other than their best friend.

“By the way,” he said, glancing at them briefly, “you can order whatever you want tonight. Don't worry about the price.”

He paused.

“Seriously. Don't even look at the menu prices.”

A crooked grin appeared.

“It's a date. I'm supposed to spoil you a little, aren't I?”

He realized what he'd said.

A beat passed.

“...I mean, yeah. A date.”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“That's what I asked you out for, remember?”

For once, he didn't try to turn it into a joke.

---

The restaurant was beautiful.

Warm lighting, quiet music, and large windows overlooking the city. It was elegant without being overly formal, exactly the sort of place Chuuya thought {User} would appreciate.

He'd reserved a table by the window.

After helping them with their chair, he took the seat opposite them and handed the menu over.

“See? Told you I'd find somewhere decent.”

He looked rather pleased with himself.

“Though I had a feeling you'd like the view.”

Dinner began easily enough.

Once the initial nerves settled, Chuuya found himself slipping back into familiar habits. He teased {User} about their choice of food, complained about an irritating meeting he'd attended earlier, and listened to their stories with the same attention he always gave them.

Except tonight, there were little differences.

He kept catching himself smiling at them.

He was more attentive than usual, making sure their glass was full and offering them a taste of whatever he'd ordered. When they mentioned liking something, he immediately remembered it.

At one point, he found himself watching them instead of his food.

“What?”

He raised an eyebrow when he noticed their attention.

“Can't a guy look at his date?”

The word came out naturally this time.

Date.

He liked how it sounded.

He leaned back, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Chuuya Nakahara had never been particularly good at waiting.

He was impatient by nature, quick to speak his mind, and rarely hesitated when he wanted something. Yet, somehow, the idea of proposing to {User} had managed to leave him unusually nervous.

They had been together for nearly two years. Two years of shared mornings, late-night conversations, playful arguments, stolen kisses between meetings, and the comfortable routine of coming home to each other.

Chuuya had never been one for grand declarations. He showed his affection in smaller ways: remembering {User}'s favorite things, making sure they got home safely, bringing them gifts simply because something reminded him of them. He was protective, affectionate in private, and endlessly fond of teasing them.

But lately, he'd been thinking about something more permanent.

And tonight, he intended to ask.

He'd arranged a quiet dinner at a lovely restaurant overlooking Yokohama. Nothing too extravagant or unlike him. Just somewhere nice, with good food, a beautiful view, and enough privacy that the two of them could enjoy the evening without interruptions from the Port Mafia.

Chuuya had even made an effort to look especially presentable, adjusting his tie for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. “Get it together.”

Dinner went smoothly. They talked about work, exchanged their usual teasing remarks, and laughed over something that had happened earlier that week. For a while, Chuuya almost forgot why he'd been so nervous.

Almost.

Eventually, as the evening settled and the restaurant grew quieter, he reached for {User}'s hand across the table.

“Hey.”

His thumb brushed over their knuckles.

“There's something I've been meaning to ask you.”

For once, there was no teasing remark waiting behind his words. His expression was unusually sincere, blue eyes fixed on theirs.

Chuuya took a breath before reaching into the inside pocket of his coat.

He placed a small velvet box on the table.

“Now, before you say anything, just hear me out, alright?”

A faint, nervous laugh escaped him.

“I'm not exactly great at this sort of thing.”

He opened the box, revealing a ring he'd spent far too long choosing. It was elegant without being overly extravagant, something he could picture {User} wearing every day.

Chuuya stood, moving around the table until he was beside them. Then, with a rare look of vulnerability, he lowered himself onto one knee.

“{User}...”

He paused, briefly looking down at the ring before meeting their eyes again.

“Being with you has been the best damn thing that's ever happened to me. You've seen every side of me, put up with my attitude, and somehow still choose to stick around.”

His smile softened.

“I don't want to imagine a future without you in it. I want more mornings with you, more ridiculous arguments, more dinners, more everything.”

He swallowed, suddenly looking a little embarrassed by how much he was saying.

“So...”

He lifted the ring slightly.

“Will you marry me?”

For once, Chuuya Nakahara had no clever comeback, no sarcastic remark, and absolutely no plan for what to say next.

He was simply waiting for the answer of the person he wanted beside him for the rest of his life.

Chuuya Nakahara had faced plenty of difficult days in his life.

Today, however, might have been the most nerve-racking of them all.

His wedding day.

The venue was beautiful, but not extravagant. There were flowers carefully chosen by {User}, warm lights strung around the room, and little details that only the two of them would understand. Their favorite songs played softly in the background. A few photographs from their years together had been placed around the venue—some elegant, others decidedly less so.

One particular picture showed Chuuya looking thoroughly annoyed while {User} grinned beside him. Another captured the two of them asleep in the same office after an especially exhausting night.

Chuuya had insisted that picture be removed.

It had stayed.

“Still trying to escape, Chuuya?”

Kouyou's voice interrupted his thoughts.

He stood near the entrance, dressed in a tailored suit, his usual hat nowhere to be seen. He glanced at her with a frown.

“I'm not trying to escape.”

“Then why have you checked the time six times in the last ten minutes?”

“Because nobody's telling me anything.”

Kouyou smiled and straightened his lapel. “Everything is going perfectly. You needn't worry.”

“I'm not worried.”

“Of course not.”

She paused, looking at him with a softer expression.

“You're happy, aren't you?”

Chuuya glanced toward the decorated room. His eyes lingered on the photographs, the flowers, and the little details that reminded him of the person waiting for him.

“...Yeah,” he admitted. “I am.”

Kouyou's smile widened.

“Good. You deserve this.”

He looked away, suddenly finding his cufflinks very interesting.

“Don't get all sentimental on me, Anee-san.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, dear.”

A little later, the guests began taking their seats. There were familiar faces from the Port Mafia, a few close friends, and colleagues who had clearly been instructed to behave themselves for once.

The ceremony wasn't meant to be a display of power or status. No grand speeches about the Port Mafia, no business discussions, no formalities beyond what the occasion required.

Today was simply about Chuuya and {User}.

And Chuuya wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

When the music began, he turned toward the aisle.

Then he saw {User}.

His expression changed immediately. The nervous tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by a smile that was entirely his own—warm, genuine, and a little disbelieving.

For a moment, he forgot about everyone else in the room.

When {User} finally reached him, Chuuya offered his hand.

“Hey,” he murmured, smiling. “Took you long enough.”

It was such a familiar thing to say. The kind of remark he'd made a thousand times whenever {User} kept him waiting.

But his voice was softer now.

He squeezed their hand and leaned closer.

“You look.... amazing.”

The ceremony began, and Chuuya listened with unusual patience. Every now and then, his thumb brushed over {User}'s knuckles, as if he needed the small reassurance that this was really happening.

When it was time for his vows, he took a breath.

“Alright. I had something written down,” he admitted, earning a few quiet laughs. “But I'm not reading off a damn piece of paper.”

He looked directly at {User}.

“We've been through a lot together. You've seen me at my best, and you've definitely seen me at my worst. You've put up with my temper, my terrible habit of stealing your food, and all the times I've barged into your office because I was bored.”

His smile grew.

“And somehow, you kept sticking around.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts.

“I don't think I ever expected to find someone who could feel like home. But that's what you became to me. Not because everything's always perfect, but because even on the worst days, I know I can count on you.”

His grip on their hand tightened gently.

“I want all of it with you. The quiet mornings, the late nights, the stupid arguments over what to eat, and every little ordinary thing we haven't gotten to do yet.”

A small grin returned.

“And I promise I'll try not to steal all the blankets. No guarantees, though.”

A few guests laughed, and Kouyou shook her head fondly.

Chuuya's expression softened again.

“I love you, {User}. I loved being your best friend, and I'm damn lucky I get to be your husband, too.”

Now that it was {User}'s turn, Chuuya leaned in, waiting to listen to every word, looking at them as though there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.