➵ Stargazing with the port mafia! Featuring: Chuuya Nakahara, Kouyou Ozaki and Ougai Mori (separately)
➵ gn!port mafia executive!reader; fluff, some light angst sprinkled in; romantic undertones but the relationship is not explicit (aka can be read as platonic); reader is a sweetheart; everyone has some flavor of avoidant attachment
You had a habit of stargazing at the end of a long work day. Strange for a mafia executive but, then again, none of the higher ups in your organization was precisely "normal", you just so happened to be particularly romantic at the quieter times. You went to a spot where Yokohama's busy night couldn't outshine the firmament and get lost in the infinity that watched over the earth.
Sometimes, one of your colleagues would join in, and you'd stand next to each other, backs against the wall, clearing your heads in silence while inhaling second hand smoke, or drowning out the grasshopper's chirping with idle chatter or the occasional birth of a new joint project.
You spend those nights observing them in their peaceful state, while the moonlight bathed their features with a grace the meeting room could never hope to. There is a magic to it, how it highlights Chuuya's freckles, prettier than any constellation in the sky, his round cheeks framed by loose ruby curls and the worries and ambitions of youth; how Kouyou's gaze turns sad and soulful, how noticing the texture of the makeup over her skin made her more tangible, as if unveiling the model behind a painting, all the pink no longer overwhelming; how Mori seems to soften, inhabiting the silence in rest, not calculation, settling his musings on the wrinkles of his face to give space to a boyish, kind nature.
You would pretend to be aloof while studying them like sculptures, ever so grateful for that brief intimacy in a place as unforgiving as the port mafia.
Sometimes, you would spot a shooting star. The string of light would make you smile, without fail, and sometimes the childhood habit of pointing it out and exclaiming "make a wish!" would slip by.
"Huh?" Chuuya tilts his head towards you, eyebrows knit together as he did his best not to come off as mocking. He hadn't heard anyone say that at the sight of a shooting star in years.
You straighten up, cringing internally at the realization that you said that out loud. "Nothing, never mind..." You chuckle nervously.
He huffs, turning to stare at the sky again, really paying attention to it now. "You can't just let that go by- Do you really still wish on stars?"
You shift your weight on your feet, a little shy now. "Well, no... Not seriously, anyways."
He smiles. "You do wish on stars, then."
"It's... It's like buying a lottery ticket. Just a little bit of hope to carry. I don't actually expect it to work."
"It's kinda cute." He shrugs.
You clear your throat. Silence stretches between you. Another comet passes by.
"If stars could actually grant you their blessing, what would you wish for?" You muse, voice quiet and careful.
He opens his mouth, then refrains from saying whatever answer he had in mind, turning his gaze away to the pile of cigarrette ends on the floor instead.
Slowly, subtly, he turns small, sorrowful- his breath a little more shallow, his shoulders a little hunched. Emotions that would usually manifest as the strength to fight take him deep into his memories this time.
Seeing him that way makes you shiver. You place a hand on his shoulder. He immediately assures you "I'm fine." You retreat.
He absently tugs at his lovelock, then shakes his head. He's lost too many friends, there's no point in forming a sentence to call all of them back to this plane, to ask for just five more minutes and daydream on how to make them worth it.
"Those hypotheticals aren't for me, is all..." He glances back up at the sky, sighing as the immense blue envelops his heart.
"Hm?" Kouyou turns to you with an inquisitive smile. "A wish?"
"Ah... Yes. There was a shooting star, so..." You trail off, shy. She snickers.
"Wishing of falling stars... Do you believe in that?"
"No, it's just for fun... Sometimes I need a little something to give me hope, you know?"
Her eyes narrow warily. "I have never prayed to the stars."
You tilt your head, a grin on your lips. "Could I convince you to try tonight?"
You see it, just for a fleeting second, a crack forming on her carefully constructed mask. She digs her nails into her palm, consciously brushing off the pain from her gaze, turning to stare at the clouds running over the sky.
Would bringing hope back into her soul be too much to ask?
She closes her eyes, shrugging in that dignified way of hers. "I'm afraid not, my dear."
"Oh, miss, come on. You must have something you'd like to ask for." You pry gently.
She shakes her head, her cheeks curve with a graceful smile. "There's no point if it's impossible. And if it's possible, I'll do the work to get it."
"But that the fun part of it. Even if it's impossible, sending your desire to the universe might bring it to you. It's a nice thought."
She sighs. The back of her hand, covered by the sleeve of her kimono, brushes your cheek with rare affection.
"It is..." she almost whispers. "... a nice thought."
"A wish?" Mori gives you an amused chuckle.
"Oh God, did I say that out loud?" You frown.
His dark eyes trail fondly over your face. "Well, if there's someone I'd expect to wish on stars, it's you."
He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. You glance at his hand, bare and long, adorned with battle scars and little moles. Holding the boss' hand sounds like something impossible, and yet tonight you venture to do it.
"Indulge me, Mori," You request softly, running your thumb over his knuckles. "What would you ask a star for?"
His sharp grin softens, the creases around his eyes a little more noticeable as he thinks of home.
He imagines fresh tea and walls filled with portraits, tall bookshelves illuminated by lamps, laughter and tenderness he hasn't allowed himself in years. Little wishes he can't afford scattered like the wounds on his body, reflected on the dancing girl he adorns with lace and mauls for battle when necessary.
"Who knows..." He wraps his fingers around your hand, gentle and wary, pretending for a moment that you're not as tainted as him. "Something warm, probably." His voice is low and thoughtful despite the dismissive words.
➵ Third piece for #fireflyjuly! following @monthlywritingchallenges prompt list!
➵ This must count for if I miss a day... Right?
➵ Dividers by @strangergraphics and @lobster-graphics
