What is love to you?
A question often asked, the mystery question that no one can really put an answer beside it. What lengths would one be willing to go how far? He himself doesn't understand what he's feeling, what is slowly circling around him, w...
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The next day Chuuya woke up on his couch. He looked around his surroundings confused, yet the distant pain in his head was more than enough explanation.
Yet he remembered certain parts of the night before. Those soft eyes, yet all the same filled with a passion and that very same smile that accompanied the female wherever she went.
"(L/n) (F/n)"
he said aloud to only himself, he remembered that name and the words she spoke to him. He didn't like to say it but those words actually did impact him in a way. People normally don't put things like that, they normally don't even talk to him in such a casual manner due to him being a mafioso.
But in the end they were just words. So he didn't quiet understand why he was so hung up on them. But he couldn't control what he thought.
As a glass of water and a bottle of pain killers sat on the coffee table. As well as a small note, in neat handwriting.
He groaned as he stretched out his arms straightening out his posture as he saw his hat and coat neatly placed on his other sofa.
As he opened the lid to the bottle, placing two in his palm, as he set down the glass of water. Quickly taking the pain killers, and chugging down the glass of water placing it back on the coffee table. As he grabbed the piece of paper reading the note.
'Hi their Mr.Chuuya I'm sorry I guess I must've given you too much to drink o^o. I made sure to take you home though, I found out by the information on your license, so please don't think I'm a stalker or something :'(. Also you're going to have one hell of a hangover so be careful. Also I washed your coat and hat, due to some unfortunate events, you threw up on your clothes.
Also I was planning on stealing some of your food. But sadly enough you had nothing but canned food in those cabinets and such a sad fridge T-T. Please go out shopping and get some real food.
Stop by the bar and I'll make you some food myself. But if you come early you better not be asking your eggs with a side of wine. -_-.
Also as a sorry for not cutting you off sooner. Next time you come your first drink is free, only the first though I see how much you drink -_-.
Make sure to tip me twice as much though ~^~.
In case of anything here is my number XXX-XXX-XXXX
Love (L/n) (Y/n)~'
He groaned as he stared at the wooden flooring. His face slightly flushed out of embarrassement. He threw up in front of an attractive female, and was drunk of his ass.
Words could not comprehend how he felt. Well at least they weren't a robber or a person of bad intentions. They were nice enough to wash his coat and hat at least. Yet he chuckled a bit while reading the note. Yet his horrible hangover made it seem impossible to possibly have any joy.
He stood up from his couch, walking to his kitchen as he placed his hand against the marble counter. Opening the fridge with his other as he looked inside. He sighed as he looked inside, well she wasnt wrong his fridge was dreadful.
Well he didn't cook often, he mainly only ate out. Since it seemed much more easy than having to do manual labor. Besides it took less time, due to his busy schedule, their was not room to place his time on hold for so long.
Perhaps he'd take up on the females offer and stop by the bar. Yet that would be shameful to stop by a bar so early. We're bars even open this early in the morning?
He sighed as he closed the fridge walking towards the stair case. As he walked up the steps to his bedroom, as he looked at the mirror. His ginger hair, was messy, especially at the top were his fedora mainly was.
He groaned, as he walked to his bathroom. As he slowly tamed his ginger hair, returning his ginger hair to its original state. Walking to his closet to change his clothes he had a different set of clothes that was the exact same as the one he wore currently in case he ever forgot to send his clothes to get them washed. To which he did quite often.
He walked back down the stairs, walking over to the couch as he draped his coat over his shoulders. The scent of laundry detergent faintly their. His fedora soon placed back on his ginger head of hair.
A small smile forming on his thin lips, as to why? That he didnt know, he didnt understand. I mean who could? Who could ever see what was growing underneath.
