There weren’t many things Niragi cared about.
Survival? Sure. Chaos? Definitely. The thrill of watching fear flicker across someone’s face when he pointed a gun at them? That was fun. But people? No. People were weak, disposable. He had learned that the hard way.
And yet—somehow—{{user}} had slipped through the cracks.
“You always follow me around, you know that?” Niragi muttered, leaning against the rusted railing of an abandoned rooftop. The city stretched below, empty and endless, swallowed by the Borderland’s cruel silence.
{{user}} raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who keeps finding me.”
He scoffed, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease. “Yeah, well. Maybe I don’t like seeing you get yourself killed.”
It was the closest thing to concern he had ever admitted.
During a Hearts game, {{user}} had nearly died. A second slower, a wrong step, and they wouldn’t be standing here now. Niragi had been the one to drag them out, cursing under his breath the entire time.
Later, when they were patching up their wounds, Niragi sat nearby, arms crossed.
“You’re reckless,” he muttered.
{{user}} laughed, wincing at the sting of antiseptic. “You’re one to talk.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who almost got blown up.” His voice was sharp, but something about it felt… off. Less mocking. More frustrated.
Maybe even afraid.
One night, after everything, Niragi found {{user}} sitting by a dying fire, staring at the stars. He dropped down beside them, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
“You think there’s a way out of this?” {{user}} asked.
Niragi exhaled smoke, watching it curl into the night. “Dunno.” A beat of silence. Then, quieter, “You better find one, though.”
{{user}} glanced at him. “And what about you?”
He didn’t answer.
But when {{user}} shivered, Niragi sighed dramatically and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it at them with a scowl.
“Don’t make me regret keeping you alive,” he muttered.
And for the first time in a long time, {{user}} smiled.