Push and Pull | Chuuya Nakahara

CHAPTER 2

Sakura wanted nothing more than to sock this ginger midget in the face.

She'd woken up around a half hour ago in a dingy cell in what she could only assume was the Port Mafia Headquarters. Not five minutes after she had come to her senses and managed to turn on the light— some semblance of a light, at least— Chuuya had bust into the cell.

He'd looked at her as if she were dirt beneath his shoe and didn't even bother to smirk when she gave a low shout of pain due to her countless wounds and bruises. He'd also denied her any answers to any of her questions and on top of that, had insinuated that she was a lowly criminal of the same caliber as the miserable pickpockets in the streets.

When she'd asked him if she could go to the bathroom and have a look in the mirror, Chuuya refused and proceeded to give her a very detailed description of how terrible she looked (because apparently, his testimony was as good as any mirror's).

Her usually pin straight black hair that looked velvety under the moonlight were now tied in knots and looked awfully dirty and matted like she hadn't washed it for days (which she had to keep in mind, was probably true). Chuuya also told her that her clothes looked like a monkey's backside and that her face was so filthy that it resembled a lion's shitty cage. He made a brief note on how big and dark the bags under her eyes were but couldn't bring himself to actually insult the brilliant emerald green of her eyes. The bruises that littered her body didn't look or feel any good either and Chuuya didn't fail to mention that too.

And Sakura hated to admit it, but the little midget was probably right. She had no idea how long she'd been there but she clearly hadn't showered in a long time. She also noticed that the Port Mafia hadn't bothered to check or bandage her wounds and that she was in the same state in which she had passed out.

However, Sakura also noticed that contrary to herself, Chuuya still looked frustratingly good. Though still reminiscent of the love child of those old, stereotypical cowboys and Michael Jackson, he was the image of beauty.

Much to Sakura's dismay, his hair was as neat and fervently red as she'd remembered. His eyes were the deepest of azure blues, mirrors of the sky and the sea alike. His hat still sat prettily on top of his head, making his features more prominent (though she'd never admit it to his face). His choker was a very nice touch and it matched perfectly with his white blouse, the first two buttons of which were purposefully unbuttoned. His gloves were an interesting sight to behold and it made Sakura strangely want to pull them off. Why did he wear those? She'd heard rumors, of course, but each was more unlikely than the last. His trench coat and his boots only added to his overall image and to top it all off, he looked like the dictionary definition of 'clean'.

Sakura grumbled. "Did you only come here to feel better about yourself?" She asked him offhandedly, shooting him a sharp glare. "Thought that if you insulted me maybe you'd feel better about that disgusting hat?"

This was all a lie, of course. His hat, though old-fashioned, was rather stylish. It fit his aesthetic in a strange way.

Chuuya clicked his tongue in evident distaste, flinching as if Sakura completely disgusted him. "Did you really think I would come here of all places, with you, to feel better about myself? If so, you're even more stupid than I originally thought you were"

Chuuya leaned on the wall in front of her and crossed his arms before his chest. He tried to play it smug, rolling his eyes and reveling in the sight of her in chains. But when he looked up, his attention was instantly captured by her eyes.

Sakura's valley green eyes that screamed life were suddenly shivering with such raw, unadulterated hatred that Chuuya felt a chill run down his spine. In all his life, he had never seen anything akin to this. Her eyes didn't look like eyes anymore, they looked like black holes.