DELIRIA - YANDERE!CHUUYA NAKAHARA

Six: Plan: Start.

"So what's the plan?"

You're sitting on one of the lush, red velvet chairs, and in front of you is a round table flanked by other subordinates and Chuuya by your side. There are subordinates behind you, their arms and hands behind them, their sunglasses glinting under the dim lighting of the Port Mafia. On their faces is a look of depressed stoicness as missing posters, monochrome photographs printed from CCTV cameras, receipts from credit card usages stapled onto their respective missing owners, anonymous and family tips on paper printed out and stamped by the police all strewn across the mahogany desk. You twirl a pen with your fingers, the other hand propping your cheek with your elbow against the hard surface.

On your face is a look of boredom.

"We're planning on tracking them first using bait," One of the executives, Hirotsu, says.

"How do we track them down?"

"Using bait." Hirotsu says.

"Sounds awfully complicated."

"Do you have any other plans?" Chuuya interjects, and you shrug.

"Kill all suspicious members," You drawl out, leaning back on your chair and looking at them with un-beautiful eyes. Eyes that were dead in their sockets: Milky, and overcome with rot and decay. Eyes whose owner belonged somewhere else now. "Kill them all."

"That's unreasonable," Hirotsu says. You shrug.

"That's just my opinion. So, who's going to be bait?"

"You," Hirotsu says. You freeze in your tracks.

"Come again?" Chuuya says in your stead.

"It's going to be you."

Your insides have gotten cold and you can feel your heart turn inside out from dread, the repetitive faces of your subordinates beginning to waver out like air on a hot day. You swallow the lump in your throat and speak clearly.

"Why me?"

"You're one of the executives. You're a female," Hirotsu says. He doesn't look happy himself, but he perseveres. "You'll be prime meat for them."

"But..." You look down at your hand, now completely frozen with the pen weaved between your fingers. "Aren't there any other options?"

"There are," Hirotsu says. "But they won't capture their attention as fast as they would with you. We must act fast before they spread their business overseas."

"Are you serious?!" Chuuya slams his hands down on the table, a look of fury scrunching his handsome face. His eyes are like will-o-wisps in their sockets, burning Hirotsu; despite that, the elderly gentleman remains steadfast in his decision.

"Did Boss okay this decision?" You gesture to Chuuya to sit down, to which he does reluctantly, and you grit your teeth when Hirotsu gives you a nod.

"Yes. In fact, it was Boss who gave me the idea."

CRASH.

Chuuya's head snaps up as you stand up so abruptly your chair topples over, watching with curious eyes as you stomp over to the door and yank it open, leaving the conference room.

You smash through the hallways with rapid footsteps in succession, breaking through Boss' door with an enraged "BOSS!" trapped in your throat. You have your hands clenched by your sides as the door slams open, smashing against its hinges so hard it bounces back slightly closed. You push it back open with your foot and you're met with Boss waiting for you, expectantly, with Elise by his side with a cheeky smile on her face.

"I guess you got the message, (first name)!" Elise cheers, and in her hands is a red crayon. You grit your teeth and sharply turn your head away from her and look Mori in the eyes.

"Boss, what is the meaning of this?"

"The meaning is," He picks up a chess piece from the chess board, moving it to the left on a black tile. "I've decided to use you as bait."

"But why me?" You slap your palm to your chest, feeling the dull pain reverberate throughout your entire rib cage as the palm turns into a fist. "Why? You know first hand what I've gone through, Boss, and you still decided to go through with this?"

"This mission will be a testament to time," He wisely says. "Will you come out victorious, or will you break under pressure, (first name)?"

You force yourself to calm down, pushing your hands down and locking them behind your back. Yet despite that there's a war happening in your head, rocking the boat of your brain like the stormy seas. You swallow a glob of spit and squeeze your eyes shut, recomposing yourself, before opening them once more.

"This is completely unreasonable, Boss," You say, very carefully. But you know it's too late to change the course of action; the chess piece has already moved. "This is far too much. Even executive Chuuya finds this... preposterous."

"Does he now?" Boss says. He picks up another chess piece by the tip with his spindly fingers, hovering it over a tile before setting it down. "Well, that's unfortunate."

"It is. Boss," You say. "I truly do believe I am unsuited for this job. I'm not psychologically strong enough for this kind of mission. Anything else, fuckin' A," A Western saying. "I'm up for it. But this one?" You pause, noticing him humming in acknowledgement. A spring of hope. "I'm not suitable for it."

"Well, I believe otherwise, (first name)," Mori says, tilting his head and smiling. "I think, despite your own thoughts, you're perfect for this job."

—

"What did Boss say?"

Chuuya's voice doesn't interrupt you as you dangle a cigarette between your fingers, your arms over your knees as you're squatting by an alleyway. Your head is dropped between your shoulders, a sense of despair guarding you from being bothered by any passerbys. Smoke rises from your mouth like you're cradling a fire in your throat.

He's not smoking this time. He's too busy crossing his arms over, looking down at you with furrowed eyes.

"That I'm suited for this mission," You mumble. "What the hell, man."

You take another inhale of your cigarette, finally lifting your head when your companion lets out a huff; an indication he wanted you to talk more.

"I told him I was unsuitable for this kinda shit," You spit out 'shit' forcefully, emphasising the 't' with your tongue clashing against the back of your front teeth. "Even though he knows I'm not."

"Using an executive as bait is unheard of," Chuuya says. "I can't believe Boss verified the mission."

"I can't believe it either," You say.

"But Boss has his ways," Chuuya says. You roll your eyes.

"You don't know what I am. What—Nevermind," You quickly snap your mouth shut when a look of predatory curiosity takes over his facial features; and intimidated by the concept of exposure, you purse your lips to stop any sort of word from tumbling out. "Nevermind."

"Smoking makes you talk," He reminisces. "You were really right about that."

"It does," You say, sticking the cigarette back into your mouth and inhaling the smoke, feeding it into your lungs, not necessarily hurting you but killing you slowly, softly. "That's why I do it alone."

"Well then, executive (last name)," Chuuya says, uncrossing his arms and planting them on his hips. "Are you prepared to be bait for the Port Mafia?"