Touch Me Not || Chūya × Fem!Reader

--2

"I always see you here, Chūya."

It became second nature for the bartender to prepare (y/n)'s drink the moment she stepped into the bar. The alcohol was served as soon as she took her seat next to the mafia executive.

"Of course you do. I'm a regular here."

"That I know, but there seems to be a pattern of your visit from Monday to Friday." Replied the detective. His fedora still hung loosely above her head - how could he resist? "I keep a habit of going here every Friday, and when I do, I see you here as if you anticipate my presence. Mondays are busy days, so I don't come here. But you don't, too, because at one instance of a Monday did I decide to go here and I didn't see you.

"And although I only have evidences so little, I find it hard to call it a coincidence." She spared him a smirk, and he felt his lips dry all of a sudden.

How provocative.

"So allow me to deduce this into two conclusions," (y/n) continued, "either you're slacking off whatever mafia work you have, or you're just too fond of seeing me."

"Don't flatter yourself too much." Preceding a laugh, he lifted up his glass and sipped his drink as a subtle way to moisten his lips.

She stared at him as he did so. He felt her unwavering gaze, and for a moment he worried that she had taken notice on every little action he made that might have had connections with his undying adulation over her. He then decided to return her stare, and his breath hitched upon gaining contact with two lovely hues of (e/c).

"Tell me," she whispered, boldly inching towards his face, "am I a Port Mafia target?"

"What makes you ask that?" It was proven difficult for him to halt his desire of pulling her closer than she already was.

"It's just another assumption." To his disappointment, she sat back comfortably on her chair.

"Well, you should quit that. I came here with the purpose of anybody else when they go to a bar."

"In all honesty, I wouldn't mind being a target of the mafia. That makes things exciting." (Y/n) said, tracing the rim of her glass as if she expected a sound to emit.

"That's a dangerous life you're willing to have. You do love living with all the blades pointed at you, aren't I right?"

"Hating it would only make things worse."

"So you fear nothing."

She laughed - there always seemed to have a tone of derision whenever she did so, and he always got off to it for whatever inexplicable reason. "Oh no, Chūya. Fear is inevitable. No matter the condition, I fear the lack of trust from those whom I know. It can be scary if you come to think about it."

"...and if it comes to that point, what will you resort to?"

Her gaze settled on the surface of the table, eyes holding a bitter reverie of whatever memory that had happened once upon a time. He anticipated a little longer, and after a while she decided to down the whiskey that had been waiting for the end of their conversation.

"Like I said, it can be scary." She explained. "And I would never want to end up in that situation. But if I do, then I will either kill myself or put up the effort to gain all the trust back."

(Y/n) returned the hat back on top of his head after taking it off of hers and lightly dusting it off. She placed her bill on the counter, and bid a rather quick farewell - it gave him the indication that she no longer wanted to continue the topic, as it must have triggered an unwanted recollection.

Chūya looked at her distancing person with sick appetency. Then, while the bartender wasn't looking, he touched the rim of her used glass; the specific spot of where her lips had touched and where her fingers had traced so daintily that he found himself in a state of jealousy, because he wanted to be touched that way by her. His fingers parted from the glass, and went to his own lips.

"(Y/n)," he whispered airily, "I want you so, so badly."

He was drowning in a deep infatuation with her being - he knew - and it was dangerously inevitable.

▪︎▪︎▪︎

The morning air smelled of the coffee maker's aroma in the office, and as per usual ever since five days ago, Seiko had her focus steady on the thick book she held with both hands. She sat on her chair, leaning her torso onto the desk, with her tongue bearing the effort to roll the outlandish word off her mouth.

"M-Mahar-- er, mahal," she uttered, "mahal kit--"

Quite suddenly, the book was pulled out of her grasp.

"(Y-(y/n)-senpai!" Seiko exclaimed, standing up to retrieve her possession back.

With the limited amount of time, (y/n) did an abrupt scan of the book's cover: it appeared to be a dictionary for Japanese converted to a language that uses the English alphabet. Her eyes trailed to the book's periphery, and figured that it had been bought only recently, as there were scarcely any folds and unruly spots. The object was ripped off of her hold, and she turned to see her subordinate.

"Lengthy phone calls, frequent daydreaming, and now learning a new language? I think I've figured it out, Seiko-chan." She smirked cannily, leaning onto Seiko's desk. "You're in love with a foreigner, aren't you?"

"I'm not!" Yelled the rookie detective. "Of course not! Why would I? I don't have time for that, nor am I interested!"

"I know a liar when I see one. I think you know that very well."

Seiko stared at her superior for a matter of seconds, and soon she sat down and sighed in defeat and slight embarrassment.

"I'm exposed."

"He must be wonderful though, yeah?" (Y/n) questioned. "To love someone to the point of learning his own mother tongue... that's some perseverance."

"I... I want to express a kind of communication with him that no one else can discern." The girl explained. She leaned further into the chair, both her palms resting against the spot of where her heart laid. She once again released a lovestruck sigh. "After that night five days ago... I wanted to let him know that I bear these feelings for him for eternity, and by proving that I opted to learn his language, because language is no temporary lesson."

"And what did the night end up to?" Mused (y/n). "Saying this so shamelessly at work, how bold of you."

Seiko's face blossomed a vibrant shade of carmine. "Hey! What are you thinking?"

"That explains your missing barrette." Her upperclassman ignored her prior query and continued. "Did you leave it at his place, by any chance?"

Just as Seiko was about to retort, a voice called from the door of the room. "(Y/n), Minoura-san wishes to see you."

(Y/n) then stood up from Seiko's desk, giving her a quick apologetic glance for cutting their conversation short - anyway, Seiko had quite enough of her tease. She proceeded to saunter to Minoura's office, knocking against the door as soon as she did.

"You called me, sir?" She asked almost egoistically. Reasonably, she knew she was his most efficient subordinate.

"Addressed from Tokyo Police Station," Minoura said, taking the topic straight to the point, "they're requesting a detective."

"Strange." She commented. "They would usually ask for the one from the Armed Detective Agency."

He hummed in reply, then took a long, brown folder which sat on the left side of his occupied desk. He held it out for her to take, and she reached for it.

"What's the case about?" She asked in spite of opening the folder to view its contents.

"A man missing for five days already."