A presumption piece on my part because second-guessing how they'd met is my hobby next to glorifying their love. I don't own a thing.
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Quirk of Fate
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He runs his thumb over the touch screen of his phone.
His contacts run along the list and stops.
It may be a coincident.
Awakusu-kai's Shiki.
But he will always see it as a quirk of fate.
The sky is getting darker by the minute and the city lights are glowing brighter by the second. He breathes out evenly but the city has already caught up with his systems and then he remembers an old scar from the past.
His thumb hovers over the name.
000
It had happened almost six months before he had permanently moved to Shinjuku. He was on a street corner adjacent of Ikebukuro West Gate Park. He had left his jacket unzipped and ajar, the edge brushed against his legs like the night air that caressed against his exposed skin.
One man caught sight of another man in a fur-fringed coat.
Shiki stared from across the street.
His hips jutted out, pale skin stretched over fragile bones. Those pants only seemed to fit with the belt that tightly held it in place. There was a pain to this type of sensuality. His eyes were glued to the cell phone screen and the soft hue of blue only seemed to amplify that. To Shiki, he was displaying himself like he was the first to die.
It barely took a second. Their eyes met, and like the photograph that rested in his pocket, Shiki knew that he had found the one.
Informant, Orihara Izaya.
Shiki was hesitant to approach him. He didn't like his light smile or the faint glow in his dark eyes. The red was unpleasant, like the last few glower to a burnt out fire.
And beneath the neon lights that surrounded them, nothing felt right.
His eyes waned with his widening smile and Shiki saw the overlap, the angle was the same.
Orihara Izaya looked exactly like he did in the photograph. He had always known that their group had an eye on him. This brat was taunting them, posing for a picture he should have never known about.
Snaking his way through the crowds, Shiki watched as the young man strolled over almost too easily.
"Good evening."
There were no restless glances around the park or the release of an uneasy breath. There was only boldness, a youthful arrogance that stood apart from their humble Japanese roots.
Shiki glanced dully at the informant's attempt to entertain.
"I'm Ori—"
"No need for the formality, Orihara-kun. We know who you are." He had his hands in his white pants pocket and his stance was far more fearful than the handful of men scattered around combined.
"If you say so, Shiki…" Those lips curled, drawing full lips thin. "-san."
They stood a few feet apart, the crowds glided pass and its noise wrapped around them like an echoing cocoon. And then he was laughing with a hand over his lips, the last polite defence before he flared his true malicious intents for all to see. "Don't look at me like that, you're going to give me the wrong idea."
Shiki remained stoic, it was the only thing that came to him when the young man stripped away a mask, only to brandish another to him in the dazzling Ikebukuro lights. He stifled his last laugh and continued. "So, will this be business or private, client-san?"
Shiki reached into his suit pocket, brushed his fingers along the edge of Orihara Izaya's picture before he found what he wanted. "I don't think I need to explain since you've shown me how much you know already."
Shiki's eyes narrowed at this but Izaya's smile never wavered, not even as their hands brushed with the exchange. Reaching out, the informant accepted a business card of an arts trading company.
"… Executive manager? What a fancy title for a yakuza…" He tapped the card against his lips as he added. "I suggest you to get yourself a full name at the very least. Just Shiki sounds a little too… suspicious, don't you think?"
Shiki turned to leave. His business with the other man had lasted far too long. Three more steps and Izaya broke through the noise on the streets.
"I look forward to your house call though, Shiki-san!"
He could well imagine the energetic wave as he stalked away.
There was only trouble that he could sense and he didn't like the way that smile remained even after he had turned away.
That was the first of many meetings between the two of them.
000
He has long since lost that so-called business card but the number remains.
Awakusu-kai's Shiki. Still no full name.
Izaya suppresses a smirk and presses call.
Cackling a nasty tune, he waits for Shiki-san to pick up.
XXX Kuro
As I was writing, I couldn't stop wondering whether Shiki was a last name or a first name... Him and his sexy pristine white suit is just too mysterious.