Title: Soaked with History
Fandom: [K], Project K
Characters/Pairings: Kusanagi Izumo/Bar Counter, HOMRA. *laughs* Appearance of Papa!Mikoto, Mamabear!Izumo, Totsuka Tatara, Kamamoto Rikio, mentions of Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki and Kushina Anna.
Disclaimer: [K] does not belong to me, nor do I make any profit out of this work.
Warnings: unbeta-ed, grammar errors ahoy. I'm half-serious about the IzuBar pairing, haha. In which everything is rainbows and unicorns and nothing hurts because Saruhiko is still with HOMRA and Totsuka Tatara is ALIIIVEEE.
A/N: This was written after episode 6, I think, or was it 7? I can't remember. But yeah, the IzuBar pairing was thanks to another livestream hosted by kidsfromhomura on tumblr.
A [K] Project Fanfiction
Soaked with History
Izumo loves his bar.
It is so well-polished it gleams with perfection; a rosewood bar counter imported straight from a pub in England, heavy with history and the laughter of patrons enjoying their times all throughout the century. Izumo likes the still strong scent of ale and cigarettes that mixes with the smell of old wood, loves how smooth the surface feels under his fingertips. Every single day, he polishes it with great care, checking every nook and corner of the fine piece of furniture, careful not to rub too rough to scratch it, and not too soft that a corner wouldn't shine as brilliantly as the rest of the counter. He loves the color—a dark brown that blends in flawlessly with everything around it no matter how bizarre a thing Tatara comes up with to add to the interior.
He never lets a speck of dust marring the counter. Every single member of HOMRA knows better than to spill anything onto the counter lest they risk Izumo's wrath. Not even Mikoto dares to interrupt Izumo when he's polishing his bar counter—it is a private and wonderful experience, to immerse himself in the smell of a good bar, listening to the counter telling him of laughter and chatters from years and years ago, inhaling the scent of simple, mundane day-to-day happiness that is often forgotten to be a part of history. It gives him some sort of a contented feeling, a feeling of connected to people living centuries before him, knowing that such happiness still exist in this day and time.
But love and pride is a different thing, and Izumo prides his bar even more.
It isn't just about the counter. It is the way his bar has inexplicably transformed into home for these random people popping into his life in the last eight years. If a bar is supposed to be a place where everyone can forget their problems by drinking and having a good time, making new acquaintances and forging new bond, his HOMRA bar is more than that. It is home now, Izumo realizes, in a lot of different ways. It is home for him and Mikoto and Anna, home for Tatara who never ceases to sneak in even before he comes of age, home for Yata and Fushimi who have nothing left in the world, home for Kamamoto who craves for company, home for the rest of the members who seek a purpose in their lives.
He's pretty sure he's the only bartender in the world who has to deal with this kind of domestic idiocy every day, but he can't quite say he minds.
"Mikoto," he says, peering at the clock on the wall. There's a dart stuck to its side, a sign that he's going to strangle Yata when the kid comes back later. "It's almost three, Anna's school should be over."
Mikoto grunts out a "hn," rising to his feet after killing his cigarette on the ashtray. The lump on the sofa moves, and from under the blanket, Tatara's tuft of golden hair pokes out, expression sleepy.
"King, Izumo-san, I'm hungry."
"Me too," Kamamoto grumbles from the other sofa, looking like he'd rather not move or the rest of his life. "We skipped lunch after all, and neither Kusanagi-san or Totsuka-san or Yata-san had a chance to whip something up—"
Izumo sighs. "Whose fault was it that I forgot to order more rice?" His hand reaches out for Mikoto's coat on one of the stools, throwing the heavy fabric at his friend. Mikoto doesn't even need to turn around to catch it. "If you're really hungry then just go out and get some food."
Tatara's head disappears back under the blanket. "But I'm sleepy."
"I have no energy to move," Kamamoto complains. Izumo opens his mouth to scold them, but something upstairs makes a loud thudding sound, and everyone pauses to look up.
"Oh," Tatara says rather cheerfully. "Yata and Fushimi are at it again. Lively, aren't they? I wonder if Fushimi really does—"
Kamamoto buries his face on one palm and groans. "Totsuka-san, really, I'd rather not know in detail what they're doing up there."
"If they so much as scratch the floor, I'll kill them," Izumo mutters darkly, knowing the room would stink of sweat and sex by the time Yata and Fushimi are done. Oh, he'll make them clean up and air the room themselves, but leaving those two kids alone by themselves usually means risking them having more sex or sparring instead of doing their job, and in the end he'll end up having to step into the room. What a hassle.
The clock strikes three. Izumo looks over at Mikoto, who is still standing before the bar counter. "Go, go. Don't let Anna wait too long." He makes a shooing motion with his hands. And that is exactly the second when Tatara's and Kamamoto's stomaches growl simultaneously.
"Hungryyyy." Tatara grins unrepentantly. Kamamoto scratches the back of his head. Izumo sighs.
"I'll bring something back to eat." Mikoto murmurs. And just like that, the two kids on the sofa brighten, throwing their hands up and cheering. Tatara has his blanket thrown up, too, and the fabric makes an odd balloon shape as it slowly drifts back onto his head.
"King, you're the best!"
"Thank you so much, Mikoto-san!"
"You're spoiling them," Izumo points out sternly. Mikoto turns his back and head towards the door, but Izumo catches a small smile playing on the Red King's lips before he slips out of the bar.
The bartender's expression softens for a second. It's a rare sight to see Mikoto so relaxed, after all. It also doesn't mean he'll let these kids lazing around in his bar doing nothing for free food.
"Okay, you two, we're going to clean this place up before Mikoto comes home."
There are half-hearted complaints echoing in the empty bar as he thrusts Tatara and Kamamoto a broom each, but he also notices how the two of them still have their smiles on. It's gone quiet upstairs, and Izumo mentally gives Fushimi and Yata another half an hour before barging in himself and demanding them to clean up. Mikoto and Anna will be home then, and they can all have late lunches while Izumo cooks up something for dinner. Oyakodon should be simple enough to prepare in no time.
He prides his bar for this even more. It is the daily dose of domestic violence and easy laughter carved in every single nook of the bar, of every furniture, of every inch of the floor. It is the way the other members respect his love for the bar counter, it is the way a blanket, a bonsai, a jukebox, and several egg replicas have become a normal sight in his bar. It is the familiar faces present not only when patrons come at evening and night, but persistently also make their ways into his mornings and afternoons, too. HOMRA has become home, and it is in here that Izumo creates a new history every day.
It is in here that he finds his family.
So with a small smile, he takes the cloth he's abandoned moments before and starts polishing his bar counter.
-o0ofinitoo0o-
Oyakodon literally means parents-and-kid-bowl. It's a simple Japanese rice bowl.