A/N: First ever Sekaiichi Hatsukoi fic. and I couldn't help but want it to be from Kirishima's POV (even if I consider this my Yokozawa appreciation story) I realize that it's rather (or very) emotionally removed, but Kirishima is a hard character to capture I think. For me at least, because we don't know all too much about him. I'm not sure what his intentions were intially, but I thought I'd give it a try.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with Sekaiichi Hatsukoi, Nakamura Shungiku,or Fujisaki Miyako.
Kirishima had only been a little surprised when Yokozawa gestured to him to sit – the circles under his eyes told of a deep weariness, and he had thought that he was the sort who liked the quiet- but the loneliness seemed to roll off him in waves, and the pitiful tremor of his hand on his glass, was enough of a give away as it was.
This was heartbreak wasn't it? Only such a thing could bring a man – even as strong and prickly as this one- to such desperateness. Only then would they shatter into pieces on the floor, picking themselves up as they went along, becoming a terrible mess inside until someone bothered to put them back together piece by piece.
The rain splashed against the asphalt outside as he slid into his seat, reaching for the drink his companion had already ordered for him.
He wouldn't mind helping sweep up a little.
...
It was only a good half an hour or so later, after many more drinks, and drunken growls that the tears started.
It had been after one small mention of work – he had commented on a certain Takano Masamune from Emerald who was doing surprisingly good work: "For a greenhorn that is." And a slurred, blurted out response: "He was my first love."
A gulp of alcohol.
It began as a small snuffling – so small that Kirishima almost thought that the other had just caught a cold –but it soon escalated into a pathetic sob, the other male's chest rising and falling sporadically, one hand cupped to his eyes, as if trying to hide his despair.
Kirishima found himself momentarily stunned – the bear like worker from sales, with his harsh cynicism, was crying his heart out over a man who worked in the Shoujo manga department. He would almost find this amusing, if those tears falling from raw eyes weren't so passionately distressed.
And if he weren't so harshly reminded of his own past.
Waving the concerned bartender away, with a hand to the younger man's shoulder as he choked over his tears of shunted first love and angry mutterings, Kirishima found he couldn't just leave this despairing creature to his own devices, or let him fall farther into this self dug hole of distraught.
A little voice at the back of his head warned him that this was a bad idea, as he paid the outrageous fee for their – or rather Yokozawa's- never ending drinks, but he ignored it as he hefted the drowsy, and tear streaked man to his feet. After a few questioning looks from other late staying costumers and the judging glances as he asked for directions to the nearest hotel, he reasoned that if he was going to help clean this poor guy up – he might as well have some fun himself.
A/N: I'll probably go over this again tomorrow. Or take it down completely. It depends. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.