Prompt by yamameta-inc on Tumblr: "something about what izaya thinks of mikado"
Warnings: manipulation, references to child abuse.
Izaya expected it, but the Ryuugamine boy isn't anything like himself.
Izaya has been awkward, sure. He's been a teenager. He's made mistakes—one of those, he thinks, probably still has its scar just above Shinra's pelvis.
But he's never been stuttery or shy the way that Mikado is (a very genuine, very tangible way), and he's always enjoyed doing things he has little control over. Mikado looks like he'd rather die than let anything step out of the limits he imagines them to have.
Those are the best people to unsettle, Izaya thinks lightly.
Mikado bows deeply in front of him as he introduces himself, and Izaya has to reign in the true width of his smile lest Kida next to him grow even paler and less able to control his anger and fear. "Sounds like an air conditioner," he teases.
Mikado looks at him like he's lost his mind. His eyes don't lose their bright shine of wonder, though.
It's a look Izaya is used to getting from people who have just met him. It never stops feeling great, no matter how many replace the wonder with disgust on the long run. Even the disgust feels good.
"What are you doing here, Izaya-san?" Kida asks mildly. There's sweat shining on his forehead—more than late summer heat really warrants.
"I came here to meet someone." Izaya flicks another glance to Mikado. "Well. I've met them."
He thinks part of Mikado understands what he means, but the boy himself is still too lost in the awe of seeing Izaya throw a single knife.
"I'll leave you both to it," he says, standing up from the bench he's occupying. Kida has grown up a lot since the last time they spoke—the top of his head is level with Izaya's shoulder, now, and Mikado is only an inch or so behind.
Shizuo's timing is bad as always; and Izaya was maybe too lost in his own musings of what use to make of the kid who founded the Dollars he's been nurturing, because he only hears the bin come a little too close, a little too late. He only has enough time to bend his head and take the brunt of the hit with his shoulders—and thankfully, the bin is almost empty, so it's only the weight of plastic and the smell of trash that hit him more than anything else.
His heartbeat speeds up anyway, and his chest and head sing with the flow of adrenaline. It's hard not to get tunnel vision and focus only on Shizuo's quiet steps toward him.
It's been so long, and Shizuo always looks like more of himself with the sun shining on him like this. Infinitely better than crossing paths during the night.
Izaya glances to his side one last time. Kida's face is white as a sheet, fear winning over hatred easily, as it always does with him. Mikado's is slack with surprise and worry; his eyes keep flickering between Izaya and Shizuo.
Izaya smiles, and looks back at what's really interesting him at the moment.
He won't have any trouble on the Dollars front.
