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There's a distracting noise on the otherwise quiet street. The click-clacking of a woman's high heels as she takes long steps in a direction only she seems to know.
Chuuya looks up from his phone when the Uber app shows him that his driver will take ten more minutes to get here. The woman passes him not paying him even an ounce of attention, dark hair bouncing slightly with every step she takes, an azure purse clenched in her hand.
His eyes follow her silhouette mindlessly, wondering where she's going at this hour. It's nearing 1 am. And while this part of the city is calm and secure, you just never know...
He reaches to his pocket, fishing out the crumpled pack of thin cigarettes and lazily placing one between his lips. He can hear the clatter of her shoes starting to slow down.
Before Chuuya moves his head to take one more look at her, there's a new sound of someone walking.
A man way taller than him, slightly hunched forward, with hands in the pockets of a long, brown coat passes him. The smell of camellia, somehow so unmatched by the man in front of him, hits Chuuya's nose.
With his interest spiked, he looks up at the mop of brown hair and the white collar of the shirt underneath the coat.
The universe has its own ways of telling jokes.
The quiet sound of something falling to the ground makes Chuuya look down. He retrieves the small object, with the cold cigarette still hanging in the corner of his mouth. With a sigh, he takes the cigarette between his fingers again.
"Sorry? Sir? Hey, sir?" he says loud enough for the tall figure to stop and turn his head enough to make sure the words are for him. "I think you dropped this".
There's a quiet sound coming from the box when he shakes it. A simple matchbox.
The man takes a few steps back before he turns to fully face Chuuya. With the height difference, the redhead has to look slightly up.
"It's yours?" he asks, showing the find. There's a small drawing of a man with a top hat and monocle, right underneath a red part with "Lupin" written in white.
"Had to drop it" goes the response and Chuuya looks back at the man. The velvety, calm voice doesn't seem to match the nearly boyish look on his face and the brown curls on his forehead. "Thank you though. Let me..." he nods towards the cigarette Chuuya's still holding.
In the distance, the click-clacking comes to a full stop now.
The universe has also this particular liking for not giving any explanation to anyone.
Chuuya watches as the man lights up a singular match for him, covering the small flame with his hand as he holds it up. After lighting the cigarette, he blows at it. A thin line of smoke disappears in the wind.
Chuuya frowns, letting the smoke seep from between his lips. It seems that for a moment the time stops. He doesn't know why and how but he thinks... he thinks about things he never thought about before.
He thinks about the red glow, a neon-like one. About driving a motorcycle although he never liked it. There's some type of hurt, deep inside of him, and an even stronger feeling of yearning.
The inexistent memories of soft touches, smeared blood, and kisses tasting like gunpowder.
It seems like he's not the only one caught up in the moment. The man in front of him has his head tilted to the side, dark brown eyes scanning his face as if looking for something once lost.
"Osamu? What is it? Are you coming or not?".
The sound of a woman's voice makes Chuuya look away, blowing smoke into the cool air. Said Osamu answers, but doesn't move away from Chuuya.
"Yes, coming right away!".
Although Chuuya doesn't know it, the stranger in front of him is as confused as he is.
He thinks about the bandages he hasn't worn in ages, about being drenched in water. Then there's something so peculiar about the colour of the redhead's eyes, he can't shake the weird feeling off. There's the need to reach out, to move his thumb over his freckled cheek.
The overwhelming feeling of loneliness and the only spark of life quickly cut with the sound of an explosion.
Dazai takes a deep breath when his chest seems to close up as if he was falling from a height.
"Sorry..." his voice now doesn't seem so smooth, so sure. It's tinted with the worry of being forgetful. "Have we met before?".
Chuuya wishes they had.
He stares back at him, his eyes for a moment focusing on how his fingers clench around the matchbox.
"No, at least nothing I remember of. Why?".
He can't explain the sudden sadness in the brown eyes. He feels like he said something wrong, but all he said was... the truth, right?
"Just a weird feeling...".
"Osamu Dazai if you don't come right away I will-".
"I said, I'm coming!" the harsh edge in his voice makes Chuuya's guts curl unpleasantly. In the yellowish light from the lantern, he can see the sharp edge of his now clenched jaw.
Chuuya's phone buzzes with a notification. His Uber will be here in one mere minute.
"Either way... thank you for the matchbox".
The way he smiles at him makes Chuuya want to stay, to cancel his drive back home and light another cigarette.
"No problem" he hears himself speak. "Have a great rest of the night".
There's this boyish charm in how his lips curl in a smile.
"You too. Take care" he says with a nod before striding towards the visibly annoyed woman, letting her take his hand.
As he looks over his shoulder, the redhead is opening the car's door.
Dazai is quiet as they walk back to their flat and Chuuya doesn't engage in any small talk with his driver.
The universe likes to mess with people. Making them feel something they never experienced.
Missing the person they never knew.