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The pink fox has always been a Mafia club; one for the public to steer away from, one that helps keeping body count low and out of the eye of common people. It's always loud and packed half of the time, brimming with voices and lights, and music. Someplace that's way too easy to get lost in.
Something that, as Chuuya discovers, Dazai is not the biggest fan of. His escapes are maybe a bit more than regular; but anybody who actually knows the annoying mackerel can't hold it against him, not really. It's not like he spends his entire time drinking; sometimes, he actually talks to people. Easy, tipsy conversations are the best way to have at least a vague idea of who you work with, so a few months in Nakahara is basically friends with everyone.
Or so he lets them think.
Maybe that's why it's so unusual to find someone sitting in a place on the roof that is that's obviously, painfully his. Most of the people have learnt to respect that - either the easy or the hard way; but today Chuuya is in a good mood. So instead of throwing someone down to have a very nice meeting with a ground, he gives a warning first.
"That's my place. Get the fuck out" he demands and only afterwards realizes that he does not recognise the guy at all. He's painfully blond and looks like an emo twink, with a very bad sense of fashion that smell distinctively of early 2000s. Nakahara grimaces, because the guy cannot be much older than himself and yet, the fringe covers like half of his face in a way that's offence to any sense of good taste.
Surely, he would remember someone like that.
He's ready to pick a fight right here and there, he's pretty much just waiting for a reason. But then the guy looks at him; a steel blue eye peeking from the tragedy of a hairstyle, and he stops in motion. There's something familiar that he cannot quite describe, yet he's sure that despite his rather unfortunate look, the man would fight him right back.
The stranger looks like he's sure he'd win.
They stare at each other for a moment, before the blond misery moves a little bit, sighing like he is just making another huge life mistake. Chuuya doesn't ask; doesn't really care, honestly.
"Sorry. Wasn't marked" the man says and Nakahara smirks, letting this one slide. There's something in the guy's posture that almost begs for him to be left alone. Well, it's not like Chuuya would listen. He has a reputation to uphold, his drunken mind tells him. Yet something almost stings inside of him, a feeling he hasn't had for way too long now, so he sights instead.
"Cigarette?" he asks, taking out a pack from his pocket.
"Don't they kill you, or something like that?" the man offers in response, so Nakahara just shrugs and plays with his zippo for a second, before eventually lighting one up.
"Not like I'm gonna live long enough to know."
There's no "that's not true" or "you'll live happy life forever" coming; something Chuuya welcomes. There are people in the mafia who are still naïve, after all; believe in the miracles of staying alive forever, or somehow catching all the bullets. Not like Chuuya cannot catch the bullets; ability rather useful in his profession. Yet, he has no delusions; if not a bullet, there's probably going to be a knife in his back at some point. Or maybe Mori will cut him into pieces for finally snapping Dazai's neck one day.
Can you die out of annoyance? If so, he really might be in danger.
"Well, at least you might have an honourable death. Fighting in what you believe" the stranger says, and it's probably meant to be motivating or inspiring. Instead, Nakahra just laughs. Definitely not from mafia, then.
"You seem like a funny guy" he manages finally. To his surprise, the man doesn't even seem very offended, just shrugs and sighs, and suddenly seems much more tired.
"You sound almost like my captain" he mumbles in response, probably more to himself than his current companion. Nakahara doesn't want to ask. Captain, okay. Not his kink, but he can fully understand. Well, not fully but to some extent.
"Sounds like a smart guy"
"He is quite incredible"
At this, the man smiles with a dreamy, distant smile. Chuuya doesn't interrupt this time, instead taking the drag off the cigarette. He breaths out slowly, and the smoke stays in the air for a second, forming a small cloud. If fades away as he stares at the barely visible stars above them.
He'd love to say that all of sudden, there's a strange connection between him and the stranger; the sort of magical meeting of two forgotten soul that had finally met in the harsh reality to calm each other down. To show each other the stars through the halo of the city. Nothing like that happens, obviously. Chuuya might be a poet; might see the world in abstract colours and shapes, might see the never-ending oceans and think about freedom, look at the sky to see unbearable limits.
Chuuya is, however, not naïve in the slightest; not anymore.
When he looks at the man again and see him scribbling signs on the inner part of his wrist, he almost wants to laugh. He peeks over and yes, he's right, it’s a haiku.
"Writing about your captain's eyes?" he teases and the man stops in his tracks. Blushes, probably, even though it's way too dark to tell for sure. Chuuya can almost feel the air around him tense, though, and can’t help but smile.
"Don't worry" he waves his hand. "I won't tell. It's not like I can't appreciate good poetry.” Honestly, he's way too drunk for that shit.
Maybe he should offer the poor man a drink, he decides. He looks like he needs that, probably along with a coupon for a year of a free therapy. They all need a therapy nowadays - mafia or not - and Chuuya almost suggests that. Before he can speak another word, though, the stranger smiles.
"Someone's coming. I better go."
Nakahara looks behind them to see who the hell the man is talking about and when he turns back, the stranger is gone. Instead, he hears oh so annoying voice of his damn partner.
"Chuuya!" Dazai chirps and sits next to him without even asking. "You were hiding here all by yourself again? You really are, useless, I thought that the point of your little escapades was to get to know people, not to sit on the roof all by yourself. Or maybe you're just afraid that nobody will notice you 'cause you're too sort, hm?"
Chuuya closes his eyes and counts to ten in his mind.
The fact that he doesn't push Dazai down should be counted as a miracle.