DELIRIA - YANDERE!CHUUYA NAKAHARA

Two: The Present, repeating.

"—And thus concludes the debriefing."

Your voice is firm, solid, heavy—like an iron door closing shut. You stand before Mori, your hands locked behind your back, your eyes staring at your boss's face as though you had stared at Medusa straight in the eyes. Your lips are a twinge of pink, tight lipped and metallic in the way you didn't let any noise out. There is a hung God in your body the way you almost seemed holy in your show of violence, your past of violence, your potential for violence; to have you under his wing was to have an infallible God, Old-Testament in nature. You were considered an odd, solitary figure amongst the Mafia members, who seemed to carry a ponderous burden; simultaneously unbreakable but on the verge of shattering like thinned glass. You had no known relatives. It was not only that you wouldn't speak of the past, but you hardly spoke at all; you often gave monosyllabic answers to questions.

Your silence is broken by Mori's slow applause.

"Well done, (First name)," He says, over his own claps. The gloves on his hands muffle the sharp noises, rendering them muffled like kittens mewling in a closed bag. "Well done."

"Thank you, Boss." You dip your head down out of respect, your eyes fluttering shut.

Your voice is as cold as a dogma.

Mori laces his fingers together and tucks them under his chin. His violet eyes are half-lidded, evidently pleased with your accomplishments in the West. "Thanks to you, (first name), our arms will be arriving faster, without pests invading and biting into our stocks."

"Yes," You lift your head and look at him in the middle of his eyes, a spot where your bullets frequented. "I worked hard."

"Though you've missed all the fun in Japan while you were gone." His voice pitches in disappointment. You blink.

"Fun?"

"The Guild Fiasco," He says, swinging a scalpel side to side like a pendulum. He then performs a final swipe before leaning his chin on the back of his hand. Your head does a half-nod.

"I've heard about it. From the news," You say. "The Port Mafia ought to feel proud. For their noble deeds in stopping the Westerners."

"Yet you dilly-dally in missions concerning the West."

You close your eyes. "That, I do, Boss."

"Why, if I may ask?"

You don't answer. Your breathing, coming in slow inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, is the only sound evident in the room. You kept so still that you could feel the pounding of your heart, arms still poised to keep your hands behind your back.

"I think you know, Boss."

A lecherous smirk that stretches his lips. "I'd like to hear it from you."

"Does it please you when I do?" You ask, finally opening your eyes. Your eyes are a shade darker; the irises offer nothing less than experience of time irrefutably past; a time where no language could tell the sheer amount of pain evident in you. Only if you died would you be able to describe the extent of its effect on you.

"You know me so well, (First name)."

You suck in a breath. "Missions in the West take me away from Japan."

"And why do you not like Japan?" His voice has an intonation of that of a rhetorical question.

You don't hesitate. "Because it is the place where I murdered my family, Boss. It is a dark place."

"Ironic," Mori says. His face is smooth as carved stone over running water, pale and his eyes flashing as he spoke. Satisfaction from your answer gleams on his countenance. "As Japan is known as the Land of the Rising Sun."