This is a gift for a friend of mine! She adores Durarara, and I'm into the fandom too, so I decided to give it a shot.
Disclaimer: No, I hav no interest in owning Durarara.
The smell of asphalt after it had rained always disgusted Kida. The way it smelt of rotten made him sort of sick to his stomach. And the moisture that hung in the air didn't make it any better. It all made him grossed out. Can't he hide in his apartment and forget about it all? Wait an hour for it to dry up?
No. He was supposed to be here. He couldn't be late, and he would've tried to get the meeting earlier but it had been raining. His 'friend' didn't want to stand out in the rain, and neither did Kida. In the rain would've been worse than standing outside in the residue. Even if standing out in the lukewarm weather made Kida sick to his stomach, so every gaze at every person looked as if he was ready to skin them alive. He's either a smiling, charismatic idiot or a Buddy-Are-You-Stoned-Or-Are-You-Just-Suffering-From-No-Sleep idiot. Funny.
Kida stood in an alleyway, underneath the fire escape to the building to the left of him. He waited for his partner to arrive, so he could get this exchange over with. How much he wanted to go home and stay inside. He would much rather be sleeping or watching TV. Well, neither would be very fun. Sleeping could mean he wakes up next to a skinny-as-hell redhead or brunette he picked up last night - a beautiful princess in the midnight but a goblin in the morning glow. TV meant being distracted and having to see the commercials filled with sex appeal and the unfunny sitcoms, two things Kida hated just as much as this after smell.
"Kida Masaomi." The voice spoke of from his right, sharp and rough. His friend is here, Kida realizes. He doesn' look towards him, instead opting to look the opposite way; Izaya walking in from his right, Kida looking out into the street to his left. Kida frowned when Izaya stops walking, a couple of feet away from him, standing next to a trashcan Kida had just realized was there. Izaya was wearing his everyday jacket, and when Kida finally looks at him, he takes note at the fake fur around the hood, wet and crusted over from dirt, rain and snow. Kida had his speculations that Izaya either lived on the streets or just didn't wash his coat. He found out it was the former.
"Izaya Orihara." Kida's voice is tired and bored - only tired because of the man he is talking to. He can't bear to put on a cute and peppy voice when it's nine in the fucking morning, he'll let his unpleasant and ugly side shine for a bit. Izaya didn't care, he really didn't. He couldn't help his voice was noticeable and lively, no matter if he was wide awake or so tired he could fall down instantly. And those nights wandering the streets often ended in that; Izaya managed to stagger into an alleyway, drunk and exhausted, before dropping down immediately onto cold pavement. If anyone spotted a body, well, he looked shady, right? They'd leave him alone. Maybe a 'gang member'. What gang that was, nobody would care. He'd be a gang member, not Izaya Orihara. Even if someone he knew just happened to walk by and saw the man lying in the alley, they'd probably pass by.
"Do you have the money?" Kida asked, giving a tired look to Izaya. They're both tired. Everyone's tired. Sick of being tired and tired of being sick.
"Do you have the cancelled sticks?" Izaya asked in return, Kida frowning and Izaya grinning at his little reaction. Kida was used to the slang terms Izaya used, but that didn't mean he liked the man using them. Kida slipped a hand into the coat jacket, grabbing a plastic bag inside his coat. He turned right towards Izaya this time, turning his back to the streets (which were far enough for nobody to see them unless they looked right down the alleyway) and held out the bag for Izaya. Izaya's eyes lit up at the drug inside the bag, and the enthusiasm in his eyes made Kida uncomfortable. Izaya held out his money - bills, mostly fifties, clean and crisp without a wrinkle in them - and grabbed his prize, holding out Kida's for him. Kida snatched the cash up and stuffed it into his pocket.
"They're just joints," Kida snapped, his voice now thoroughly disgusted by the desperate act for the joints from Izaya's behalf. Izaya gave a throaty laugh, keeping that grin on his face.
"To you, yes." Izaya was now pulling one out of the bag, and Kida tried his best not to grimace. "But to me, it's sunshine in a bag."
"How long have you been hooked?"
"Long enough to get me kicked out of my place, that's how long." Izaya took a long drag, and Kida swears he hears a groan coming from the man after exhaling the poisonous herb.
Kida shrugged indifferently, "I couldn't possibly get by smoking that stuff. Smoking in general."
"Have you tried it?" Izaya asked, taking another puff, "I mean, fuck, the first high is just beautiful."
"It's not an art to smoke, Izaya," Kida huffed, folding his arms and turning away, so he was side by side to Izaya instead of facing him, "Unless you consider clogged arteries and black lungs an art."
"It's not art, yeah," he replied, "But this is an ugly city and it does ugly things to you, Kida. You'd know this, everyone knows this."
Kida made a 'tch' sound, rolling his eyes. "You're right on that, I hate it."
"And it hates you."
Frowning, Kida squeezed his upper arms, trying to distract the burning anger suddenly bubbling inside him. "I hate this place and I want out. I want out of this shithole of a city but I can't leave."
"Why not, Kida?" Izaya takes another drag of the joint, closing his eyes when he blew out. God, he just wished he could afford a pipe or something, joints made his eyes watery.
Kida started laughing - it's not happy or joyful laughter, and in fact Izaya almost finds it malicious in combination with the way Kida is staring at the building ahead of them, dark and tired. There's a man inside there that wants out of the bubbly and cute little shell to release some sort of human being that may or may not be suffering from lunacy.
"I'm not going to get that satisfaction, aren't I?"
Izaya held the blunt between his lips, barely holding it with his fingers. He grumbled something incoherent and pulled the joint away, blowing gaseous fumes from his lips. "The place has made you, Kida, it's not about to give you, or anyone, up."
A low chuckle came from Kida. Waving some smoke that drifted over to him out the way - all while keeping a knowing smile on his face - he looked at Izaya, through that cloud of smoke that covered him. "I'll see you later, Orihara."
"Wait a second," The blunt is dropped and Izaya grips Kida by the wrist, just while the blond is turning to leave. Izaya turned him around and they're staring right at the other, both sharing sunken in eyes and bony hands. Izaya's eyes are clouding over from the smoke and the drug in his system, and Kida feels like coughing from the second hand smoke. He doesn't. "You forgot the most important part."
Kida frownec. Izaya put on a half smile. Izaya leaned in and brushed his lips to Kida's, Kida staying still and breathing in the taste of marijuana and smoke. The taller man pulled away, the smile off his face and replaced with an uncaring gaze, with Kida sharing the gaze.
"I'll call in a couple of weeks."
"Okay."
"Make sure you have the stuff."
"Alright."
"Goodbye, Masaomi."
"By the way, do something about your breath. You stink of smoke."
"I'll be seeing you around."
"I mean it."