The Morning After
If there was one thing that Shizuo wanted in this world, even more so than to be normal, even more so than to be in a nice, stable relationship or for the flea to stay the Hell out of Ikebukuro, it was for Shinra and Celty to somehow pick up on the miserable vibes that were most definitely emanating from his every glare and let him go home to get some well-deserved rest.
Sure, tomorrow was his first day off in a long time, and he was positive that there would be too much noise outside for him to get much sleep anyway, but he was a lot less likely to beat someone within an inch of their life when there weren't so many obnoxious drunken idiots bumping into him everywhere he turned.
"I don't think this is a good idea," He drew out slowly, fists shaking in his pockets as Celty led them through the throngs of people lining the streets, "I mean, festivals aren't really my thing."
Shinra laughed good-naturedly, risking a broken wrist as he reached out to pat his old friend on the shoulder reassuringly, "We'll be inside in a moment, don't worry. Celty knows this nice little bar in East Ikebukuro that's offering drinks half price."
'Why the Hell does Celty care about a bar?' he wanted to ask, but ignored it for a more pressing matter.
"People are going to be even more annoying in the bars!"
Celty shook her head at his horrified tone, while Shinra smiled apologetically at the now terrified passersby. For a moment, Shizuo felt guilty for acting out around his two closest friends. He knew that he should have been thankful that someone actually wanted to hang out with him on New Year's Eve, so he wasn't stuck ringing in the New Year in his empty apartment, but... A bar? Celty couldn't even drink, he didn't like alcohol, and he just knew that booze would only make pompous assholes want to pick fights with him more.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he barely noticed when Celty stopped walking, and it took a moment for him to register that she'd thrust her phone in his face.
'Don't worry so much, okay? Shinra and I just thought that you deserved to let loose for once. We'll be there to make sure that no one causes you any trouble, so just try to have a good time.'
In all honesty, he couldn't care less what Shinra thought, but the realization that Celty must have put in the effort to find some sort of quiet, inexpensive place for the three of them to spend New Year's together made his heart clench with guilt. Sometimes he felt that he didn't deserve good friends like the two of them. He had nothing to give them in return, aside from a broken city, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand what they saw in someone so destructive.
Well, maybe he could understand Shinra, since the man had been begging for a blood sample since they were kids, but it wasn't like Celty made a point of liking any of the surgeon's friends. She didn't really care for that damn Izaya after all...
Even in all of his brooding, he still noticed a small jingling as his shoe caught on something beneath it. Wondering momentarily if it had become untied from a long day of running around and beating idiots senseless, he let out the breath he didn't remember holding and glanced down at his foot.
It wasn't a loose lace, he noted, crouching to pick up the tiny pink pouch from the sidewalk, but he wasn't quite sure what it was.
"It's an omamori charm," Shinra announced helpfully, signaling for Celty to halt as he inspected the small item in Shizuo's grasp, "and it's pink!"
He wagged his brow as if Shizuo was supposed to draw some sort of significance from that statement, and at he and Celty's blank stares, the bespectacled man explained, "It's a true love charm."
Shizuo moved as if to throw the item back down on the concrete where it belonged, but the surgeon stopped him, laughing as he closed his hand around the omamori.
"Come on, Shizuo, don't you believe in fate?"
After then shoving the stupid thing in his pocket, Shizuo grumbled the rest of the way until finally, Celty stopped, typing hastily on her phone,
'We're here, so please give it a chance!'
It wasn't like he could say no to Celty, not after she and Shinra put so much thought into it. So with the resignation of a man pulling the trigger of a loaded gun, he sighed, fingering his cigarette carton as he pushed through the heavy doors of the bar.
Izaya coughed, trying desperately to mask his scowl with a devious smirk as three rather surly bodyguards glowered down at him. The gentle ups and downs of a shamisen played just beyond the bulky wooden doors by which said men stood.
The room was clouded with the smoke of cigars, forcing the informant to squint as the fumes stung his eyes and burned through his lungs. Fighting to compose himself, his gaze swept the darkened space in search of a clock, wondering just when his guest of honor was planning to arrive.
He would have checked one of his many phones, but another bodyguard had forced him to empty his pockets and leave his beloved jacket at the door (leaving him only with the small pocketknife that he kept stowed away beneath the tight elastic waist of his underwear, but it was enough to make him feel secure in a room full of thugs).
"Does your boss make a habit of being late to very important meetings?" He asked blithely, cleaning his nails for the hundredth time that hour. All of his years of never smoking and always trying to stay healthy were surely going to waste as he sat in that gas chamber of a room with three gigantic men who were most likely stealing all of his good oxygen.
The bulkiest of the guards gave him a look as if to tell him exactly where he could shove his very important meeting, right as a shrill beeping emitted from the walkie-talkie strapped to his belt and he nodded to his partners to open the doors.
He was momentarily distracted by the sudden gust of good, clean air that blew into the room as the doors were pulled open, before he finally remembered to rise and bow as his tardy guest entered.
Tall but quite gracious around the middle, his prospective client was a seemingly honest man whose thinning silver hair and creased brow told of many years of hard work. Even with his wide, friendly smile, he looked absolutely disgusted to have someone like Izaya in his presence.
"Fumihiko-san, it's very nice to finally meet you." Izaya drew out with surprising honesty.
It was actually very nice to see the man who had already agreed to write him a very generous check if his services proved useful. (So large, he mused, nearly chuckling at the memory, that Namie had dropped and broken his favorite tea set when she'd overheard their phone conversation a week prior.)
"Likewise, Orihara-san," Fumihiko bit out as he settled into his seat, Izaya soon doing the same, "sorry about my tardiness, I had an urgent family matter to attend to."
Izaya grinned, throwing his arms over the back of his chair before asking in his most velvety of voices, "It wouldn't happen to be your son again, would it? I've heard he's quite the rebel—a drag queen, isn't he?"
He held back the following 'you must be so proud', but it hung in the air regardless, as the older man blanched and Izaya thought, amused, 'Bingo.'
Fumihiko cleared his throat uncomfortably, seeming to finally realize just who he was dealing with, before regaining his bearings and huffing gently, "Jun is a little unorthodox, but he's a good kid. He'll find his way."
And the affectionate manner in which he spoke almost made Izaya gag.
"Anyway," he continued hastily, "that's not what we're here for."
Izaya nodded because he really didn't want to spend all night there, hashing over the pros and cons of raising a sexually confused teenager when Simon had so kindly offered him a great deal on ootoro if he spent his New Years at Russia Sushi.
Before the informant could even speak, however, another man entered the room—a handsome, young gentleman who donned the usual bartender's uniform, although Izaya was vaguely disappointed to find that he didn't sport the unusual platinum blonde hair. He very masterfully strode toward table between them, platter in hand, and set a round of drinks on its glossy surface.
"I hope daiginjo is to your tastes," Fumihiko boasted, "it is the finest of fine sake, after all, and this bar of mine serves the best in the city."
Izaya felt a headache slowly forming at the base of his scalp. He took a moment to ponder whether the man was even serious about his services or just out to waste his time.
"Ah, Fumihiko-san," he spoke carefully, lips pursed in a forced smile as the older man downed the first of the many glasses that now stared threateningly up at him, "I must apologize, but I'm not a man who particularly enjoys his alcohol—be it daiginjo or otherwise. Now, to the information you requested—"
"Now, Orihara-san, as a seller of fine wines, I must say that I don't think I can trust a man who doesn't enjoy a good drink from time to time," His eyes glinted in the murky darkness. Izaya likened him to a player who had just revealed his winning hand, "alcohol loosens the tongue, you know? An honest gentleman would have the ability to drink his share of these and still be able to tell me what I want to know."
Izaya chuckled, uncomfortably cornered as he counted the glasses between them.
Fifteen, plus the empty one in Fumihiko's grasp, which meant… eight each.
"Now Fumihiko-san, I never said that I was an honest man."
He seemed unconvinced, however, as he simply set his glass on the table with only the soft click against the wood, and nearly purred, "I feel that I'm paying you enough that you should oblige me this one request… Although, maybe my tastes are better suited for a different information broker? Perhaps one who actually appreciates my business?"
If Izaya had thought the older man had revealed his winning hand earlier, he was suddenly and quite maddeningly mistaken.
"I hope you're prepared to pay for any extra information I might let slip then, Fumihiko-san." He tried to sound sly, to pretend that he was still in control of the situation. His hidden knife suddenly felt heavy against his midriff as he leaned forward and grasped one of the stout, traditional-style sake glasses.
"Of course," his cocky client agreed, pride in his voice, "although most men would feel that the daiginjo was enough of a bonus. Each grain of rice has been filed down to nearly half of its original size, you know. That sort of precision makes it one of the finest wines there is—"
"You don't say," Izaya heaved, throat contracting as he attempted to down the contents of his glass in one go. Tears prickled his eyes as he swallowed heavily, not quite understanding why dryness was considered a plus in the wine-tasting world.
He could practically feel the alcohol settling in the depths of his belly—a dull warmth that spread across his skin like wildfire.
'One down,' he grimaced, already feeling just a bit woozy as he reached for another glass.
Only seven left to go.
"This is delicious," Shizuo gasped, wide-eyed as he sipped at the drink Shinra had all but shoved into his hands, "what did you say it's called again?"
Shinra smiled gently at him across the table, nursing his own beverage as Celty typed away on her phone.
"It's called umeshu," He answered proudly, "I thought you would like it. Celty told me that you hate the taste of alcohol, so we decided something sweet might be better."
Shizuo flushed, taking a swig of his drink and avoiding Shinra's smile.
He still wasn't particularly accustomed to having friends, especially the type that went out of their way to make him happy, and it wasn't that it made him uncomfortable or displeased, but—
"Can you taste the plum-flavor?" Shinra asked, "They say this wine is popular even with those who dislike the taste of beer—"
It was just… embarrassing, to be fretted over.
"Uh, yeah," He mumbled, "I can taste it. It's good." His face felt like it was on fire.
Celty's fingers clicked against the keys of her phone. Shizuo felt momentarily guilty, wondering what the fun was in watching your boyfriend drink when you couldn't even comprehend the taste of alcohol, before pausing to read what she had typed.
'Don't be embarrassed. This is the kind of thing friends do for each other. It's normal.'
Something about the word 'normal' made his chest tighten. Celty must have noticed, as she yanked back her phone and hurried added,
'It's okay to be normal sometimes too.'
He scoffed at that, running his finger over the mouth of his glass as he watched random patrons go about their nights. The bar was fairly empty, especially for New Year's Eve, and he vaguely wondered how Celty possibly found out about it.
'Don't think about that,' he told himself hastily, taking another drink, 'you're just going to embarrass yourself again.'
Gradually, minutes seemed to meld into hours, and Shizuo found that conversation with his two best friends came easily. Before he knew it, he was laughing at one of Shinra's many nonsense stories and staring into the bottom of his fifth empty umeshu.
"You sure do have an impressive alcohol tolerance," the surgeon noted, still sounding ridiculously professional as he nearly spilled his fourth drink. Celty shook her head in amusement, "I wonder how many you can drink before you're actually drunk?"
Shizuo grinned, suddenly fairly lightheaded as he caught a group of women staring at him from across the room. He brushed it off, however, flushing lightly.
"Why don' you buy another round an' let's see?" He asked lazily, wrapping his knuckles against the table. Shinra cheerfully agreed and Shizuo wondered idly if maybe it was all just some type of ploy to test his limits.
His sixth drink soon turned to his eighth, which became his ninth, tenth, then… then he had trouble deciphering much of anything after that.
He remembered a myriad of lights and colors bursting before his vision and Shinra saying something about the dance floor being opened for the last hour before midnight. He remembered admitting that he couldn't dance, before excusing himself to the restroom, but instead stumbling out into the bustling city streets.
The sweet scents of fresh candies and other delicacies made his stomach churn, but he continued his way through the crowd, flesh burning whenever it brushed against a passing body. His ears pounded with the overwhelming boom music and the variety of different voices.
He wondered how close his apartment was. He wondered if that was really where he wanted to go.
In the depths of all of his wondering, he didn't notice when he nearly plowed over another, smaller festival-goer.
"Uh, s-sorry—" He stuttered, reaching forward to pull the fallen passerby to their feet, but stopped when he got a good look at them: dark, alluring eyes, a confident smile, rose dusted cheeks, and shortly cropped, raven-colored hair…
She was beautiful.
She giggled sweetly when she caught his eye, taking his hand and pulling herself up before rearranging her kimono. Shizuo found that the deep scarlet color of it really complimented the fairness of her skin.
"Oh, look who it is," Her voice was like satin, soft and smooth as it slid below the chatter of the crowd around them, "the strongest man in Ikebukuro has come to rescue me!"
She gently pulled her hand from his, smoothing out the creases in her clothes as she smiled up at him from under dark lashes. Shizuo found himself transfixed by her cherry lips, wondering what she had to drink to bring that color to her cheeks, wondering if she tasted sweet like umeshu.
"You know who I am," He slurred, flustered.
She giggled as if it was obvious and he nearly melted when she hiccuped shortly after. He had never taken the time to actually consider what kind of girl he liked, but at that very moment, he was positive he'd found his perfect match.
It was something about the mischievous glint in her dark, dark eyes. It was familiar, he noted, to something else that caused the coiling warmth of passion to sit heavily in his gut, but he couldn't quite remember if that was a bad thing or not. He couldn't comprehend much of anything once his new friend grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him into a nearby alley away from prying eyes and whispered, "Of course I know who you are. Everyone knows all about the feared Heiwajima Shizuo."
Her smaller hands shoved him quite roughly against a nearby brick wall, and he wondered if she was fragile. He wondered just how easily she could break in his monstrous palms.
"W-what are you—" He tried to say, tried to gently pry her fingers from his belt loops as she knelt before him, but her persistence made up for her lack of strength and he found himself wondering if there was someone else he knew like that and if that too was a good or bad thing.
"Just relax," she drew out, voice low and oh-so familiar as a quiet zip echoed through the empty alley. Her hands were suddenly cold against the heated skin of places that Shizuo was too embarrassed to comprehend, "I've wanted to do this to you since the first time I saw you. You always look so tense."
And he pulled himself from wondering if he could really count all of his sexual partners on one hand (a hand that had admittedly pleasured him more than anyone else ever cared to) to ponder if her voice was just a little too deep for a woman's, but once the hot wetness of her mouth encased his erection, he wasn't wondering much of anything.
…Aside from maybe just how deep her throat really was.
The next thing he knew, she was dragging him from the alleyway into the busy street, his knees weak from the most earth-shattering orgasm of his life as she smiled at him with that wicked mouth of hers.
"I'm tired," She reasoned, pulling him away from the waning crowd toward what he could only guess was the love hotel district, "I just bagged a really wealthy client, so let's celebrate with a nice room—"
Shizuo wondered in horror if he had just fallen for a prostitute.
"W-wait, don't you want to stick around until midnight?" He tried; feeling just a little tired himself.
She laughed at that, refusing to let go of his wrist as they neared a rather prestigious looking building, and he decided that not even a prostitute made enough for such an expensive room with just one client.
Pushing open the glossy glass doors with one elbow, she breathed, "Midnight passed while we were still in the alleyway. I would have told you, but well, my mouth was kind of full."
The comment sent sparks across his skin as her eyes nearly glowed in the moonlight.
"H-hey," he spoke, feeling slightly guilty as she nearly slipped from the force of him stopping. He dug around in his pocket clumsily, pulling out the small, jingling charm and pressing it against her shoulder, "I want you to have this."
She stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.
"What is it?" She asked, taking it and shoving it inside the folds of her kimono nonetheless.
He hoped that the dark of the night masked the redness on his cheeks as he answered bashfully, "It's called an omamori… The pink ones are a charm for… love."
Her resounding laughter, like music above the hustle and bustle of the streets, wiped away any residing doubt or shame he may have had.
The woman working at the front counter may have been giving them a strange look, but the world was suddenly starting to spin out of orbit, so he wasn't really quite sure about anything.
"I'd like to check out a room under the name Heiwajima Shizuo—"
He must have blacked out again, because when he opened his bleary eyes, he seemed to be lying on some type of heavenly cloud, an angel in red straddling his waist as she twirled something blue and feathery in front of his face.
He wrinkled his nose as one of the feathers flitted against it.
"I found the fuzzy handcuffs," She nearly sang, and Shizuo wondered what happened to her being tired, "are you too exhausted for round two?"
In fact, he was, but he didn't have it in him to argue as those thin fingers wound about his belt loops for the second time that night.
The first thing Shizuo registered when he awoke was that he was very, very comfortable. He was more comfortable than he'd been in a long time, actually, and he wondered how he was somehow avoiding the loose spring in his mattress that always seemed to find way to jab into his back each morning.
The second thing he noticed was that he in fact was not in his own bed, which soon led to his third realization that he was not entirely alone either.
He took a deep breath as the events of the night prior came flooding back, blurry and nearly indecipherable, aside from the few key memories of a beautiful woman, who he assumed was currently cuddled against him beneath the blankets. Her warmth felt nice, he decided. It was a lot nicer than waking up alone.
He'd fallen asleep in his usual bartender's uniform, and he smiled as he caught a glimpse of that familiar red silk on the floor. His throat was dry, but he wasn't really surprised nor was he disappointed to discover that he was apparently immune to the wrath of hangovers.
His bed-partner stirred slightly and he anticipated the moment her cute face would appear out from under the blankets.
Obviously she wasn't the type of girl to mess around and scram before her unassuming date awoke, and he recalled with definite certainty that he still had yet to repay her for her services the night before.
Suddenly, it was almost too hot, lying next to her on that overly-comfy bed.
"Mhmm, what time is it?" the lump at his side groaned, and he thought that maybe he was right the night before—her voice was rather deep. It was almost deep enough to be—
Before he could even finish that thought, a very familiar, messy-haired head popped out from under the blankets.
Time seemed to stop, all noise halted as the world slowed in its spinning and Shizuo's entire universe was thrown out of order.
His throat ached as his muscles twitched and his skin crawled, but mysteriously, for the first time in his life, he was so angry, so shocked and mortified that he couldn't even move.
Lying there, huddled next to him like they were lovers—like they were even friends—was none other than…
Orihara Izaya.
"Shizu-chan, didn't you hear me? I just asked you what time it was—"
And suddenly, it seemed he could move, and he did, almost effortlessly grabbing the flea by the front of his shirt and thrusting him as hard as he could from the bed.
…Except, it seemed, that as soon as he released the other man into the air, he moved with him.
So somehow, they both ended up sprawled in a gigantic mass of tangled limbs on the hotel floor, Izaya groaning something about protozoan manners as Shizuo attempted to understand what had just played out.
"Stupid," the flea huffed, pulling himself to a sitting position and yanking his left arm back and forth, "did you not notice the stupid handcuffs?"
And sure enough, between the wrist that Izaya was still flailing around and Shizuo's own right-handed equivalent, was a single fuzzy, blue-feathered pair of handcuffs, not-so-innocently binding them both together.
He wanted to ask if he was dreaming. He wanted to ask the flea what had happened to his stupid jacket and if he'd spotted a mysterious, beautiful girl on his way in, who apparently was the type to mess around and leave, or why Izaya was even in his room in the first place, but instead of asking any combination of those perfectly valid questions, as he often did when faced with an impossible situation, Shizuo reacted the only way he knew how: by attempting to put his fist through the stupid louse's face.
"Come on now, Shizu-chan," Izaya sighed, easily dodging each of his well-aimed punches, "can't you break the handcuffs first? My head hurts and it's too early in the morning for violence."
Yanking at the cuff that connected them and nearly breaking the bed in half as he went after the information broker once more, he reasoned with himself that sooner or later, the other man was going to get tired.
"Stand still and let me punch you, fucker!" He bellowed, veins screaming as Izaya cackled.
They continued like that for the next ten minutes, until Shizuo finally realized that Izaya wasn't going to willingly let him work a well-deserved ass-kicking into their morning routine and Izaya settled back into his place on the bed.
"At least tell me where she is," The blonde growled, tearing the crinkled carton of cigarettes from his pocket and bringing a stick to his mouth. The flea clicked his tongue as he lit it, displeased, but Shizuo didn't give a damn as the smoke wafted toward him.
Their positions of sitting on the bed and floor left Shizuo's arm angled awkwardly, but he would rather deal with some minor discomfort than have to sit next to the disgusting flea.
"She?" Izaya drew out slowly, rubbing circles on his temple with his free hand, "While I'm wondering how I ended up in some frou-frou hotel room handcuffed to a barbarian, feeling like I just got hit by a bus with no jacket, no cellphone, and only one knife, your very first thought is 'where is she'? I will never understand protozoan logic."
Izaya was trying very hard to look haughty, he could tell, but it was so painfully obvious that the flea was not immune to hangovers as he apparently was, and he took a moment to celebrate that small victory.
"You don't remember anything?" He asked, anger fading out to cold disappointment as the information broker shook his head, "You don't even remember how the Hell you got in here?"
Izaya began to shake his head once more, before the crimson kimono suddenly caught his eye and his face broke into a broad grin.
"Oh," He purred, "Shizu-chan got some action last night and his lady left without even taking her kimono—how tragic." There was something strange about his eyes, as if Shizuo's predicament was the opposite of tragic for a reason entirely different than laughing at his pain, but reasoning that he must have still been just a little tipsy from the night prior, he brushed the thought off, rising to his feet and tugging the flea forward.
"I think you're full of shit," He proclaimed, only half-convinced himself, as he gathered the red garment in his arms, checking the pockets for a familiar pink charm and noting that they were empty. He then grabbed the room key from the bed-side table and dragged Izaya along with him toward the door, "and until you're ready to tell me how the Hell you snuck into my room last night, you're going to help me look for her."
He laughed inwardly as the smaller man struggled, spitting out empty threat after empty threat. Without his jacket, Shizuo was positive that the only weapon on the flea was the tiny, useless pocketknife he kept beneath the waistband of his underwear.
'Ew,' He paused, scowling as Izaya bumped into him, then kicked at his ankles for good measure, 'why do I know that?'
"Shizu-chan, wait," The flea fussed, trying and failing to dig his heels into the carpet and stop him from moving forward, "at least let me grab the keys to the handcuffs. I'm sure they're in the room somewhere... You need to check out, right?"
To which Shizuo allowed a winning smirk to work its way onto his face, patting around in his vest pocket until he found his glasses and slipped them on. Izaya did his best job of glowering, although Shizuo was a good head taller than him.
"Do you really think I'm that stupid?" the blonde hissed through clenched teeth, "Do you seriously think I'd let you go that easily?"
The flea looked away, refusing to give any indication that he'd heard, lower lip jutting out in what Shizuo could only describe as a pout. So he was going to start acting like a child, great.
"Of course," he added quickly, yanking the other man forward by the cuffs, "I'll gladly let you go as soon as we find her… Now let's go check out."
Izaya made some sort of horrified noise as he dragged the little louse toward the lobby.
'Good,' He thought, chuckling mentally as the shorter man struggled against the cuffs, nearly tripping all the way down the hall, 'he can see how it feels to be humiliated for once.'
Until, of course, he realized that he would be taking part in checking out too, since he was handcuffed to the stupid flea, after all.
"Uh," He blushed, dropping the keys on the front desk as the clerk smiled up at him, "we're ready to… check out."
Trying the hide their joined hands behind his back, he followed the woman's eyes and realized that it must have looked like Izaya was grabbing his ass.
"It's room 132, right? For Heiwajima Shizuo?" He nodded quickly, intent on getting as far away as possible as soon as possible, before an idea struck him.
"H-hey, you didn't happen to see a girl leave this morning, did you?" She jumped at his sudden enthusiasm as he tried unsuccessfully to compose himself, "She was rather tall for a girl—short black hair, dark eyes, small, uh… you know…"
He motioned as if cupping imaginary breasts, face aflame as Izaya made another strange, gargled noise behind him.
"O-oh, and she was wearing this," he added, holding the kimono up for her to see. She looked to Izaya, as if unsure about something, but the flea cleared his throat noisily and she snapped her head away quicker than lightening.
"Ah, no," she stuttered, chancing another confused glance at Izaya, "I don't think I've seen a girl like that."
He stared at her for a moment longer, suspicious, but not really sure why. There wasn't really any reason for her to lie to him.
Shaking his head and yanking the flea forward, he thanked her for her time and headed toward the door, suddenly too dejected to even care that the fuzzy cuffs were in plain sight.
"So where do you plan to start, Shizu-chan?" The flea asked as the doors swung open and they stepped out into the crisp, winter air. Part of him almost worried that Izaya would be cold without his jacket, but he squashed that thought rather quickly.
The flea's comfort wasn't really his problem.
"Uh, well," he started, patting his pockets as he spoke, "I should probably call Celty and let her know that I'm alive."
He was sure that he heard the louse make some type of snide remark about how it would take a lot more than a night on the town to kill a brute like him, but he was too busy freaking out about his phone not being in its usual comfy spot in his pocket to worry about what the little shit had to say.
"I must have dropped my phone last night," he scowled as Izaya sighed childishly, catching a glimpse of the flea massaging his arms for warmth, "could you call her for me? And don't act like you don't know her number, you creep!"
He knew that as her usual employer, Izaya had an absolutely legitimate reason to have her number memorized, but being able to call the louse a creep made him feel considerably better.
Izaya cackled, still hugging himself as Shizuo's arm hung uselessly between them, and answered smoothly, "Didn't I already tell you that my phone is in my jacket?"
A moment of silence passed, Izaya shivering in the light breeze as Shizuo pulled out and lit another cigarette.
"Fine," the blonde breathed, "where is it? Let's go get it."
Because for some reason it felt rude to just show up at his friends' apartment, even if he had done it a thousand times before. Something about the way he'd simply ditched them the night prior… he felt as though he didn't deserve their kindness, and though he knew he owed them at least a phone call, he definitely didn't want to drag someone like Izaya into their home without a warning.
The flea was not the type of person anyone really wanted to be around so early in the morning.
Or at all, really.
Wordlessly, Izaya began to navigate them in the direction of his lost jacket, his small body wracked with increasingly violent shivers as time went on.
A fresh layer of frost coated everything, old snow half-melted and graying in the gutters as the shorter man shakily led the way. Shizuo wondered idly if the flea would accept the kimono if he actually had the nerve to offer it.
"Here," the flea announced as they stopped in front of a rather large, rather prestigious-looking sake-bar. He made no move to step forward, however, and flinched when Shizuo reached for the door handle.
"Wait!" He hissed, clawing at Shizuo's arm like a frazzled cat, "I can't go in there looking like this! My client is in there!"
He was tugging helplessly at the cuffs, as if just by messing with them, they would somehow pull apart, and while part of Shizuo really did want to feel for him, he had to remind himself that this was Orihara Izaya, and while Orihara Izaya could apparently feel the pain of a hangover and shiver in the cold, he definitely was not capable of shame.
"It's your fault for getting yourself in this situation," He answered nonchalantly, "and if you ever want me to let you go, you'd better get your ass in there."
The louse replied by looking simply scandalized, the cold flush on his cheeks deepening to a hot scarlet as he swallowed deeply, glare shooting daggers at the taller blonde before shoving his way through the double doors and pulling an extremely amused Shizuo along with him.
It was fairly quiet inside, as many of its usual patrons were surely home nursing hangovers of their own, and was very easily one of the nicest places Shizuo had ever been. It was dimly lit, as classic Japanese music rung out overhead, but he spotted a small stage across the vast distance of the room that he imagined was built for live bands to perform on. Glossy wooden tables lined every wall, circling around the room and stopping only when they met the stage. His shoes clicked against the spotless hardwood floor, as he removed his glasses and eyed the wrap-around bar that rested in the center of everything, its shelves housing hundreds of fancy-looking bottles whose brands he couldn't name if he tried.
Izaya was leading him toward that very bar, something nervous but urgent in his step as he smirked up at the single bartender and drew out, sultry, "Is Fumihiko-san in today? If so, would you tell him that Orihara-san has some business with him?"
The bartender, in turn, nodded quickly, throwing down his cleaning rag and making his way toward the back of the building. Izaya returned to massaging his temple, grimacing as he hoisted himself up onto one of the many barstools, Shizuo soon taking a seat next to him.
The flea appeared absolutely miserable, and Shizuo forced himself to look anywhere but at his still slightly trembling, still absolutely exhausted, sagging form.
"Wait," he noted with sudden realization, "is this where you drank last night?"
Izaya nodded tiredly, resting his forehead against the counter.
"Tell me when you see that bartender again, okay? This is very unprofessional."
Forcing down a laugh, he watched as the information broker closed his eyes, brows relaxing as he allowed his barriers to slip, if only slightly.
Shizuo found that he didn't mind this more human part of the flea at all. In fact, he realized that he wouldn't have minded watching the louse rest for the remainder of the day, if only he would continue looking so vulnerable.
'What the Hell am I thinking?' his mind screamed, 'I only need to tolerate him until I find that girl! Then we can go back to the way things were and pretend this never happened!'
Shaking his head, he found himself once again staring at the raven haired man before him, wondering just how the two of them ended up in this situation, wondering if the informant really didn't know anything about the mysterious girl he'd met the night before.
In fact, the bar wasn't too far away from where they'd bumped into each other, he noted, realizing that there had only been a block and a half—tops—between him and his beautiful one-time lover and the enemy that he knew all too well.
It wouldn't have been too terribly farfetched to assume that Izaya had followed them to their hotel room, maybe scared the girl off and took her place beside him just to piss him off…
But that seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go through just for a cheap laugh at his expense, even for someone like Izaya, who sort of thrived on that kind of thing.
Or maybe—he ran his free hand through his hair, trying to concentrate on just how miserably he needed a toothbrush and a shower, hoping to keep his suspicions from becoming too crazy—but maybe Izaya had paid her to bump into him. Maybe he'd told her to reel him in and break his heart, but why just one night? And God, not even Izaya would pay some girl to suck him off in an alley, then a hotel room.
So maybe, a tiny, rarely-heard voice in the back of his head whispered, maybe he was experiencing the elusive one percent: the one and only horrible occurrence that the conniving little flea wasn't behind.
He realized, with a certain sense of bewilderment, that he may have been witnessing a miracle.
The quiet squeaking of the backdoor opening alerted his attention to the two men that suddenly appeared from behind it: the first being the young bartender from earlier, the second, a rather stout but kind-looking gentleman who Shizuo assumed was Fumihiko-san. Tucked under the man's arm, he spotted what was undoubtedly Izaya's missing jacket.
He almost regretted nudging the flea awake, as he looked so comfortable and utterly innocent as he drooled unconsciously on the counter, but the desperate way that he sprung to life and wiped his mouth on the back of his free hand definitely made up for it.
"Fumihiko-san," He drew out gingerly, hopping down from the bar and artfully hiding their joined wrists beneath it as he bowed, "I sincerely apologize for barging in unannounced—"
Fumihiko-san cut him off with a laugh.
"Of course, it's no trouble! Although it's a miracle that you can even think clearly after last night."
The information broker's coy smile remained flawless, but Shizuo knew him well enough to recognize that something akin to pure horror was hiding behind that pristine mask. It was something about the way his brow twitched, how his thin hips locked to the left at the older man's words, and Shizuo chided himself for paying so much attention to his enemy's body language outside of their makeshift battlefield.
"Ah, about that," Izaya seemed to be fighting the urge to lunge forward and snatch back his jacket, and Shizuo wondered if the louse had always been so easy to read, or if the hangover was just making him weak. Fumihiko-san didn't seem to notice nonetheless, "I see you've brought my jacket back, so thank you. That's actually what I came for."
The man handed over the garment gently, as if completely understanding just how important it was to the young informant before motioning toward Shizuo and adding, "And I see you've been so kind as to return my kimono as well."
Shizuo blinked dumbly down at the kimono in his arms as Izaya's mask fell and shattered, absolute mortification painting his features as the old man pulled the gown from the blonde's grasp.
The seconds ticked by as Izaya began to resemble the gaping fish that he so hated, as Shizuo wondered just what was going on and Fumihiko-san smiled good naturedly at the duo.
"Orihara-san," the old man drew out whimsically, folding the robe in his arms and turning to an equally red Izaya, "this wouldn't happen to be the 'Shizu-chan' that you were going on about last night, would it? I didn't believe you at first, but I must admit, he does look rather handsome with that blonde hair of his."
Izaya made some type of indecipherable noise that may have been a squeak, as his face darkened further and he hugged his jacket to his chest, as if hoping to melt into its fibers and never come out.
Shizuo pushed himself from the bar, the effort tugging Izaya just a little closer toward him as he bowed shallowly.
"Excuse me for interrupting, sir," he spoke slowly, ignoring Izaya's mini-meltdown in favor of looking the man in the eyes (Kasuka had taught him years ago that it was a sign of confidence and respect), "but did you happen to loan this kimono to a girl?"
Fumihiko looked as if he was about to laugh, but when Shizuo neither chuckled nor smiled, his expression changed to that of someone who felt they'd just missed a joke.
"No, I don't—" with a look over Shizuo's shoulder, to where Izaya had previously been attempted to sink into the cracks in the hardwood, he seemed to suddenly understand whatever had been perplexing him because a mad grin broke across his face as he answered positively, "Actually, I did. See, one of my guests is quite the lightweight, and after her share of daiginjo, she decided that she absolutely had to see someone and refused to wait for her jacket, so we loaned her what we had on hand..."
Izaya was making noises behind him again. Was the flea always so easily flustered or was he having some sort of strange, standing seizure?
Regardless, Shizuo thanked Fumihiko-san, asking if the man had any more information on the girl and frowning deeply when he received a negative reply.
"Well, it's been fun, but I really do need to be getting back to work," The older man added quickly, bowing deeply before stepping toward the backdoor, "your services have proved extremely useful, Orihara-san, and I hope you'll stay in contact?"
The flea seemed shocked by his words, although he'd quickly regained his composure after his little freak-out had blown over, and Shizuo was sure that he appeared a blank slate before his unassuming client.
"Of course, Fumihiko-san, anytime!" The louse was suddenly all smiles as he slipped on his jacket and practically hauled Shizuo out of the building; waving cheerfully until the front doors closed behind them and he allowed the cheerful façade to dissolve in the cold, outside air.
Shizuo eyed him curiously; content enough with the information Fumihiko had given him to allow the flea a few moments to collect himself before asking about the phone.
It was worth noticing that he was only able to slip his arm through one of the jacket's sleeves, as the cuffs came in the way and the tattered thing hung lopsided from one shoulder, only making the information broker look smaller.
Taking out his third or fourth—or whatever the Hell number it was—cigarette of the day and lighting it wordlessly, he let the minutes go by silently as he took drag after drag, before asking softly, voice wafting in the air like the smoke around him, "So why did you let him humiliate you like that?"
At Izaya's cocked brow, he reiterated, "You usually don't let people degrade you… Why didn't you like... use your mind-tricks to put him in his place?"
The flea's reply came only after a surprised and somewhat impressed laugh, as if Izaya hadn't expected that after all the years they'd known each other, for Shizuo to have been able to read him like a book.
"He's a very important client," He murmured, just a little unsettled by the information himself, "for a multitude of reasons."
There was quiet between them for a moment, as Shizuo allowed himself to grow accustomed to the idea that even Izaya could be forced onto a painfully short leash from time to time, and he found that he liked that knew realization. It made him feel just a little less alone.
"Yakuza's orders: I'm not allowed to break him just yet," The information broker explained almost mournfully, "Shiki-san thinks he'll make a fine business partner, especially since the man he wanted information on, who owns a rival bar, flat-out refused the Yakuza's offer... and I can only play with him if he does the same. So you could say that multiple paychecks are relying on this one job, along with the respect and continued employment of my longest-standing client."
Shizuo hummed in understanding, flicking his dead cigarette butt into a nearby trashcan.
"So it's the flea equivalent of a big promotion."
Izaya snickered at that, nodding his head good-naturedly as he shuffled from foot to foot.
"So why did you decide to tell me all of that?" he inquired, eyes caught on Izaya's limp sleeve, "It's not like you to share secrets unless you're going to gain something from it."
The louse shrugged, pulling his jacket back into place as it slid loosely down his arm and answered, the slightest inklings of hope in his voice, "I thought that maybe if I answered all of your questions honestly, you'd be more likely to let us stop for breakfast."
Snorting in amusement, he agreed that maybe breakfast would be best, if only Izaya promised to let him call Celty when they were done, before Izaya began navigating them toward a good sushi joint he knew of that was close by.
Three minutes into their short journey, however, he was pulling his phone out of his pocket.
"This is where that god-awful festival was held last night, correct?" He questioned, and when Shizuo nodded, continued, "Well, we should try to call your phone. Maybe you dropped it around here somewhere and some lowlife didn't snatch it."
At that very moment, the flea appeared to be such a genius that Shizuo could have almost kissed him. Sure, it was vaguely disturbing, although not entirely unexpected, that Izaya was able to dial his number without even asking him what it was, but all doubt and discomfort was wiped away as a distant ringing sang through the empty streets.
They followed the noise, Shizuo's heart pounding in his ears as it grew louder and louder, until Izaya shoved him into a familiar alley where the ringtone was practically deafening, and he realized just exactly where they were.
There, against the grubby wall of the small space, sat his cellphone, unscathed and suddenly mute as Izaya ended the call and, bending over and scooping the little thing up, he unconsciously whispered, "It must have fallen out of my pocket when she pulled my pants down."
A strange retching noise to his side caught his attention, and he recoiled quickly, shrieking at his companion, "What the Hell are you doing? Don't throw up right next to me!"
The flea didn't listen, however, and just continued to vomit on the concrete. His thin form was wracked with sickness as he doubled over, clutching at his stomach with his free hand, his other hanging between them.
Shizuo was at a loss. Part of him wished he could lean down and brush the smaller man's sweaty bangs from his face. The other part simply wished for him to stop, to suck it up and keep moving because they were only wasting time.
"S-Shizu-chan," Izaya croaked, spitting in disgust as he rose to his feet, "your girlfriend sounds like a slut."
His tone was far from condescending. If Shizuo didn't know any better, actually, he would say that it sounded almost self-deprecating.
"Shut up, flea," He shot back, still too perturbed to put up much of a fight, "you don't know her. Don't say rude things like that."
The louse simply smirked, as if he knew all about the girl and just didn't feel like sharing, and Shizuo resisted the urge to pummel his face in.
'It's just an act,' He told himself, leading the sickly man out into the reawakening streets, 'he's just trying to piss you off.'
"So I guess breakfast is out?"
The flea scoffed at his offhanded comment, rearranging his jacket so it sat on his shoulder once more and wrinkling his nose in discomfort.
"I could really go for some nice coffee. Let's stop at the next diner and you can text Celty."
Shizuo wanted to ask the other man when exactly he became in charge of their little endeavor, but with the streets gradually becoming busier as it came closer to the afternoon, he wasn't really too eager to be seen parading around with his arch nemeses and a pair of fuzzy blue handcuffs between them.
They walked for only a moment longer, before coming upon a small diner on the corner which looked empty enough to be comfortable, and while Shizuo wasn't entirely familiar with this particular part of Ikebukuro, Izaya seemed completely at home.
He wasn't sure if that particular thought should have made him angry.
They slid into an empty booth near the wall, completely obscured to the pedestrians outside. Sitting next to each other, huddled up like some sort of couple… it felt sort of nice, he realized, and he wondered if Izaya felt the same.
'Stop it,' He chided himself, 'you should be wondering if that girl is the type to cuddle in public, not if the damn louse is comfortable!'
Izaya was thumbing lazily through the menu. With the dark bags beneath his eyes, he really looked like he needed a nice nap, but Shizuo decided that a little caffeine would have to suffice.
His eyes were sort of glassy, face still tinged with color, and the blonde had to resist the urge to reach forward and check for a fever.
Instead, he pulled out his cellphone, deleting a few random missed calls before settling on his single unread text. It was from Celty, naturally, and something in his gut told him that Shinra must have taken away her phone to keep her from spamming him.
Shizuo didn't speak to his parents too often. They had their own normal, immaculate lives to attend to, and those lives didn't usual call for a destructive monster-son who demolished half of their kitchen as a child. He knew that they loved him, sure, but when he used to come home for the holidays as a young adult, there would always be a certain glint in his father's eyes, a certain way his mother smiled, as if very silently, they were always asking, 'Why couldn't you be normal like your brother?'
He was sure he was just imagining it, but sometimes their shame was deafening.
Anyway, he backtracked, disturbed by how quickly he'd allowed himself to reminisce, Celty always seemed fairly eager to fall into the role of the doting mother, as his own was so obviously absent in his life. Sometimes their strange arrangement almost freaked him out, but as the headless rider was easily ten times his age, maybe her motherly instinct was just finally kicking in.
Izaya cocked a brow when he growled uncomfortably, utterly disgusted by where his thoughts had ended up.
Opening the text as his heart quickened ever-so slightly, any good mood he might have been in instantly deflated once he read what she'd written:
'Where are you? Please text me when you get this.'
"Are you two ready to order?" A short, stocky woman asked cheerfully, pen and tiny notebook in hand as she smiled down at the both of them.
Izaya sniggered when he gave a start, obviously not ready at all. The waitress happily opted to get them started with their drinks instead.
For Izaya, it was black coffee, for Shizuo, cold milk.
He snatched the menu from the flea's hands as she walked away, face warm as he searched through the small list for something to quench ravenous hunger.
Finally deciding on a simple tamagoyaki, he pushed the menu back toward the flea and opened his phone to text Celty back.
'I'm sorry about last night', he wrote, throat suddenly sore again, 'I'm okay. You won't believe what happened.'
Her reply came within seconds and he chanced a glance at Izaya, only to notice that he'd decided to rest once more.
'Shinra and I both took the day off. He isn't feeling well. Stop by whenever you're available and you can tell us what happened.'
He bit back the urge to type 'okay mom', and set about figuring out just how he was going to explain his unexpected bed-partner and why said partner would be walking into their apartment along with him, connected by some horrible, blue-feathered sex toy.
'I'll be over in about an hour. Is it okay if I bring someone with me?'
The waitress dropped off their drinks, and as Izaya appeared completely comatose, Shizuo opted just to ask for two orders of tamagoyaki. If the louse had any complaints, well, he would just have to deal with it.
It was his own fault for looking so damn cute when he slept—
'Whoa, whoa, whoa, where the Hell did that come from?'
His phone vibrated lightly, rescuing him from his impending mental breakdown, and he smiled as he read how excitedly Celty seemed to have replied.
'Of course! We'll see you soon!'
Taking a gulp of milk to sooth his aching throat, he nudged Izaya with his trapped arm, grinning as the flea groaned miserably.
"Hey, louse, wake up. Your coffee's gonna get cold."
That seemed like enough to pull him out of his stupor, as he rubbed at his eyes and glowered down into his cup, "Did you already order?"
He took another swig of his own beverage (which he preferred over Izaya's bitter sludge of a drink any day), before nodding, "Tamagoyaki for two."
With a grimace, the ungrateful little shit answered, "Ew."
Shizuo wondered if maybe this entire experience was to teach him that he should never have children, because the informant was sure acting like one, and he was just about ready to snap his skinny, unappreciative neck.
"Fine, I'll eat both orders and you can just get something else," he muttered, clenching his fists tightly in an effort not to splinter the table. The flea was watching him wordlessly, a strange expression settling over his features as he switched his gaze to the steaming coffee before him.
"It's fine," he all but whispered, "I'm still feeling sick."
They didn't speak until their food arrived, Shizuo thanking their waitress and wasting no time before digging in. Izaya nursed his caffeine and stared distractedly across the table, brow tight as if he were really contemplating one thing or another.
Sure, Shizuo wasn't a sociopathic genius by any means, but sometimes he felt that all that thinking would get really old. He wondered if Izaya ever just sat down and didn't think about anything. If maybe from time to time he gave up watching his precious humans and actually lived his own life for once.
He realized that he'd been doing an awful lot of thinking since he woke up that morning as well, and it was absolutely draining.
Something that Fumihiko-san said earlier was still bothering him, however, and for the life of him, he couldn't quite figure out how to ask the flea about it. He couldn't stop wondering about it either.
"Hey, Izaya," He opted to use the flea's name instead of one of those awful but completely characteristic nicknames, hoping that maybe it would soften the blow of his following question, "did you really tell Fumihiko-san that I was handsome?"
Izaya didn't jump or sputter like he was expecting. He didn't even look relatively surprised that Shizuo had brought it up. Maybe the coffee was helping more than he thought.
"Fumihiko-san is an old man—"
But Shizuo cut him off, "Don't make up excuses, louse. I want the truth."
At that, Izaya did seem a bit disgruntled, but after a second or two of contemplation, he continued, "I guess I did. I was drinking, you know, and it's not like it's some big secret. A lot of people think you're good-looking."
The blonde snorted to mask his embarrassment, shoveling another spoonful of omelet into his mouth and dropping the subject. If there was anything that he was absolutely positive of, it was that the flea knew every way possible to get under his skin.
But then, he supposed, that's was vermin was known for.
Brunch was uneventful after that. Shizuo told Izaya that they would be dropping in to visit Shinra and Celty. The louse laughed at the prospect of explaining their situation, though Shizuo couldn't fathom how it was even relatively humorous.
They paid and tipped generously, Izaya surprisingly offering to fit the bill, before heading in the direction of their friends' place. The information broker clued him in on the best back alleys to take and in a matter of minutes, Shizuo found himself knocking on Shinra's front door, heart hammering in his chest.
How in the world was he supposed to make them understand? He would most likely end up looking like a complete moron.
The door swung open after a moment of heart-pounding silence, revealing a helmetless and quite casual-looking Celty—still clothed in her pajamas—as, even without her head, she was still somehow able to appear utterly shocked.
She moved aside to let them in nonetheless. The first thing Shizuo noticed as he stepped foot in the apartment was Shinra, who looked ten times more miserable than Izaya had all day, lying on the couch with an icepack perched atop his head, waste bin sitting helpfully by his side.
Squinting up at the two, he blinked once, then twice, before drawing out in the roughest voice Shizuo had ever heard him use, "Shizuo and… Izaya?"
And after a moment, "Celty, I think I'm hallucinating! Would you be so kind as to escort me to the hospital?"
Izaya giggled like some sort of deranged schoolgirl, making himself quite comfortable on Shinra's coffee table and forcing Shizuo to sit down next to him. He was entirely too levelheaded. It would usually piss the blonde off to no end, but at that very moment, he was thankful that someone wasn't gawking at him like he'd suddenly gone insane.
Sure, it was all the louse's fault in the first place, but it was nice to have someone he could depend on every so often.
"You're not hallucinating," Shizuo drew out gruffly as Izaya drummed his fingers against the table, "I told you that you guys wouldn't believe what happened."
Celty nudged Shinra's feet to the side so she could sit at the end of the couch. She pulled her phone from her breast-side pocket, typing expertly before revealing the screen to him.
'You didn't tell us that he was involved though.'
And it mattered, he understood, because once Izaya was added to the equation, it suddenly went from fairly surprising to an absolute disaster.
"In know, but… how was I supposed to?" His voice was low, as Izaya kicked his feet under the table, artfully ignoring the fact that the conversation was revolving around him.
'You could start from the beginning.' was Celty's reply, and he nodded uneasily.
Slowly, and to the best of his ability, he began recounting the night's events, starting from the moment he left the bar and ending with the second before Celty opened the apartment door.
"So what did she look like?" Shinra asked as his story came to a close, "She must have been pretty attractive to get your attention, right?"
Shizuo stared out the open window as Celty elbowed the surgeon in the ribs. His story had taken a lot longer than he'd expected. The sky was suddenly a blurred mixture of blues and burnt oranges, and while he hadn't bothered to check a clock all day, he imagined that it was gradually nearing dusk. He'd spoken more in those last few hours than he had in his entire life.
Aside from the occasional muffled laugh or scathing retort, Izaya had been surprisingly complacent, seemingly content with just listening to his side of the story, even though he had been around for the vast majority of it.
He'd taken to leaning sleepily against Shizuo's side, wrist ghosting against his own as the metal of the cuffs clicked lightly as the blonde spoke.
He tensed, however, when Shizuo began describing the girl.
"She was absolutely beautiful," he breathed, remembering the way she had smiled up at him in the twinkling starlight, those smoky eyes so alive with mirth, "but it was more than that. She was really familiar, but I can't figure out why… It was like I'd known her forever, but we finally met last night."
Izaya gasped sharply, but he ignored it, wondering why the louse's pulse was thundering against his own.
"It probably helped that she put out on the first date though, right?" Shinra joked, only to be silenced by another elbow in the ribs.
'Are you sure she really left you in the morning?' Celty questioned, body-language suggesting that her would-be head would have been glaring incredulously in Izaya's direction.
"I-I don't think I understand what you're getting at," he drew out uncertainly, risking a sidelong glance at Izaya, who was currently glaring at Celty as if she'd just kicked his dog.
She shrugged as if exasperated, clicking away on her cell before shoving it in his direction.
'Have you considered that maybe it wasn't a girl? That maybe it was—"
He flinched as a hand suddenly swiped in front of his face, shoving Celty's phone back into her arms as Izaya jumped to his feet and announced, hurriedly, "I'm feeling sick again! I need fresh air! Let's step outside, Shizu-chan!"
There wasn't even enough time to struggle before Izaya had pulled him out onto the balcony, slamming the clear glass doors shut and tugging him over to safety railing.
He grumbled softly, fishing out his lighter and searching for his cigarettes, only to scowl deeply as the flea plucked it from his hands, slipping into his pocket as Shizuo crushed the carton in his palm.
"You've smoked enough today, Shizu-chan, wouldn't you say?"
He stayed silent, deciding instead to count his battles and simply glare out at the sunset.
An entire day had passed, and he'd only collected a few small hints and a free meal. He couldn't find it in himself to be disappointed, however, as Izaya leaned forward over the banister, commenting on just how convenient a balcony would be for people-watching. Sometimes the flea was just too much, and he chuckled softly, which soon became laughter, and suddenly, he was howling with it.
Izaya was eying him as if he'd lost his mind, as if considering just how hard it would be to break the cuffs and run as far away as possible, and only after he'd calmed down did he decide to explain.
"I've seriously spent an entire day tracking down a girl who obviously never wants to see me again."
The light was playing against Izaya's face in a way that was both haunting and oddly becoming, and he wondered if anyone had ever told the louse that he was attractive, as they'd apparently neglected to tell him.
The informant's eyes were locked on a young couple below, who kissed and danced and giggled in the streets as angry drivers honked and complained. Shizuo wondered how it felt to be so recklessly in love.
"Maybe it's for the best," Izaya drew out faintly, and it was the last thing he'd expected to hear the other man say, "Maybe it's a sign that she just wasn't the one."
At that, the louse turned to face him, and Shizuo was suddenly aware of just how closely the handcuffs forced them to stand.
He wondered if those smooth words had gained the flea all of those followers back in high school, if with that very same silver tongue, he had convinced countless gangs to come after him back when they'd first met.
For some reason he just couldn't find it in him to care, not as the flea's lithe fingers came to rest against his wrists, as if the informant were just was hesitant as he was to move.
"I'm kind of running out of chances," Shizuo found himself whispering, and he wondered why he was being so honest so suddenly. The flea would only use it against him later.
But he was lonely too, the blonde could tell, as Izaya's eyes darkened even further and they became hooded by thick lashes.
"Maybe what you're looking for is right under your nose," he left the comment hanging, as if just waiting for Shizuo to connect the dots and close the distance between them.
The blonde laughed breathily, forehead mere centimeters from the louse's own before he slipped his arms out of his grasp, replacing his larger hands over Izaya's smaller wrists and, leaning down—
'Snap!'
He broke the chain of the cuffs.
"Maybe you're right," he sighed as Izaya blinked up at him, backing away and sauntering toward the sliding glass doors, where it was obvious that Celty and Shinra had busied themselves in the kitchen to keep from spying, "maybe I just need to watch where I'm going next time."
Izaya wasn't shocked, maybe a little miffed, maybe a little disappointed, as he left him hanging out on the balcony, bathed in the sunset like some sort of tragic bride.
But, walking back into the living room, closing the doors with the softest of clicks, he decided that maybe it was for the flea's own good.
These sorts of things took time, and if Shizuo was going to be doing in kissing or confessing on the balcony, it was going to be after a shower and some mouthwash, which Celty and Shinra were more than happy to provide.
Izaya allowed a small smile to play across his lips, arms extending out into the open air as he reached toward the receding sun, wondering if maybe humans like Icarus weren't so misguided in their attempts to touch it.
Shizuo could easily be likened to something as powerful and dangerous as the sun, and he'd definitely just gotten his fingers slightly singed.
'He'll be back,' he reassured himself, retracting his arms and massaging his suddenly-freed wrist, biting his lip in distaste as he wondered just how we would remove the remaining metal. He was sure there was some sort of joke to be made about Shizu-chan marking his territory, or the handcuffs being the kinky, feathered equivalent to wedding bands, but he just didn't have it in him to try, especially with no one else around to appreciate it.
He slid a hand into his pocket, smirking as his fingers brushed silk and he pulled the small trinket out, chuckling at the memories it held. It jingled as he lifted it into the air, glowing light pink in the dwindling sun's rays as he tried to remember what exactly it was that Shizuo had called it.
'Some type of love charm, right?' Something heavy settled at the bottom of his chest and his heart fluttered. He cleared his throat to keep the color from rising to his cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
He'd let down his guard far too much, in front of Shizu-chan, no less, and he wondered just how he was supposed to regain all of that lost resentment.
"Shizu-chan really is blind, isn't he?" he asked the emptiness, dangling the omamori charm in front of his face as he pulled the blonde's lighter from his pocket, "A girl, really? Should I be offended?"
Clicking the lighter to life, he held it under the charm, eyes glowing as it ignited, and after admiring the view, tossed it over the edge of the balcony.
Surely it would be burned beyond recognition by the time it hit the ground.
"Shizu-chan, you're such a fool," he murmured as the sun sunk behind the clouds and the sky was suddenly dark.
'But what does that make me?' He wondered idly.
The biggest idiot of all, surely, for loving someone so blind and stupid, but, allowing himself to stare over the banister at the street below just one more time, he decided that maybe it was for the best.
He could never live up to what Shizuo had envisioned about that girl. He could never be the same person sober as he was so completely intoxicated.
He could never be as honest with himself as he was the night before, when he had finally admitted that he'd loved the protozoan since the first time he'd laid eyes on him—all the way back in high school, so many years ago—and decided, once and for all, that he was going to seek him out and tell him.
Well, he mused, skulking just slightly as he shook those thoughts away, that hadn't gone quite as planned.
And so, he stretched his tired limbs, sliding open the glass doors and resolving to win Shizu-chan over in his own way, on his own time, without the aid of alcohol and stupid little love charms.
But first, a shower would be nice.
Fin.
Inspired by Katy Perry's 'Last Friday Night', the movie 'The Hangover', and an acquaintance of mine who got drunk one night and woke up two towns over in a stranger's kitchen.
I sincerely apologize for any out of character behavior. I'd like to use the excuse that hangovers and alcohol in general really do affect the personality, but still.
Also, as for Shizuo mistaking Izaya for a girl, one night while at a random party, I met this guy who I was determined was destined to be my bro for life (because I'm a total frat boy like that, ha!), so I gave him one of the bracelets I'd bought at a Pride event earlier that year so I'd remember him the next day. Well, long story short, I did find him, but when I confronted him, he was like, "Oh, uh, don't take this the wrong way, but I actually thought I got this from a dude." (What an awkward story to share with a fandom I'm still new to...)
As always, I'd like to thank Chappy-the-Bunny for always so enthusiastically encouraging me to put my ideas to good use!
Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave a review and let me know what you thought, and I hope that everyone has a very safe and eventful New Year's!