His dad won't answer his calls.
Well, it's not like Izaya expected him to pick-up in the first place. His dad hated him, didn't he? He blamed him for everything; blamed him for things he had no control over.
Izaya sighed and dropped his phone onto the couch beside him after the fifth attempt at contact with his father. He knew he was home—he was always home nowadays. Izaya's dad wrote articles for the weekly newspaper, and worked from the house most of the time. Now, he did, at least. He used to work at the office, among his other co-workers. But since the death of the Orihara family, his dad spent most of his time locked up in the house. And the only contact he had seen from his father since the funeral as from his articles; which is about daily life, and how you could be a happier and closer family. Izaya used to make fun of him for it, saying that he should listen to his own advice when he writes it down. The articles are still about daily family life, but they make Izaya sick reading them now.
He says Izaya doesn't care. He says Izaya is heartless. He says Izaya shouldn't have been a part of his family. And yet there he is—Izaya's father, and the father and husband of his deceased family—writing about family life, and how it makes life so much better.
"What have you been doing all day?"
Izaya glances up as his secretary's voice, a smile splitting his face in a millisecond. "I've been doing work, obviously," he replies, and he gestures to his cell phone on the cushion beside him.
"Liar," Namie scoffs.
"You don't know who I've been calling," Izaya pouts, waving a hand at his secretary, dismissively. "I've been calling clients all day."
Namie doesn't move from her spot, merely crosses her arms. She glowers down at her boss. "You're a liar."
"And you're cold-hearted."
"Only to you," Namie retorts.
"Oh? Was that supposed to hurt my feelings?"
Namie frowns and her shoulders slump for a moment, her usual up-tight posture relaxing. "Just," she sighs. "I can't watch you sit around here and sulk anymore. Go somewhere! Or do some of your work, for once."
"I have been doing my work," Izaya pouts. "And I don't feel like going anywhere today."
"Get out or I'll make you."
Izaya can't help but laugh at this. Sure, his secretary was scary at points but that didn't mean she could forcibly push him out of his own home.
"I swear I will," Namie continues. "Go to Ikebukuro, go bother people. I don't care what you do."
"It's too early," Izaya sighs. He leans back against the black cushions of his couch and lets his head slump back against them.
"It's eleven,"
"Yeah, it's too early to go taunt people."
Namie sighs, but it's not an aggravated sigh, as usual. It almost sounds calm. "Why can't you just go visit your friends for once? Go out to eat? Go shopping, maybe?"
"I don't go shopping," is Izaya's only reply.
"You could do one of the other things I said," Namie spits. "Shopping isn't your only option."
"I'm not going out to eat by myself."
"If you actually had friends than you wouldn't have to eat by yourself, would you?"
"Auuugh," Izaya groans. He lifts his hands to his face, pressing the palms of them to his cheeks and eyelids, and lets out an exaggerated sigh. "I do have friends."
"Bullshit."
"You're so cruel to me, darling."
"Fuck you. And don't call me something so embarrassing."
"I'm sorry," Izaya says with a snicker, before reaching out to retrieve his abandoned cell phone beside him. "Darling."
The only response Izaya gets is the stomping of Namie's heals echoing into the kitchen, where she busies herself with bashing pots and pans together annoyingly. Izaya takes a moment to glare into the entryway of the kitchen, as the bashing continues, then he sighs and looks down at his cell phone. He flips open his contacts and scrolls through the numerous names of clients, a few friends, and numbers of people he merely finds interesting. He stops with his finger hovering over one name, peculiarly—an enemies name, whose number was in his phone for oblivious reasons.
"Namie," he calls. He waits for the clanking of metal to settle before he continues. "I'm going to Ikebukuro. You may go home now."
From: Orihara Izaya
Subject: Morning!
Message: I'm in Ikebukuro. We should get lunch.
Shizuo stares at the message for a good three minutes, re-reading, clicking out of it and checking if it was Izaya's number texting him before opening it once more to read it, again. It had only been two days since the incident at Russian Sushi. He didn't expect to hear from Izaya so soon—and especially not in a text asking him to accommodate him to lunch. He thought Izaya would refuse to talk to him ever again after what he had said.
What was he up to..?
Shizuo hesitantly replies to the message.
To: Orihara Izaya
Subject: RE:Morning!
Message: Sure where?
Not even a minute after he sends the message, his phone beeps with Izaya's reply.
From: Orihara Izaya
Subject: RE:RE:Morning!
Message: You know that western café about two streets down from Russian Sushi? There. I'll be waiting, Shizuo.
Shizuo snorts, "Oh sure, you can type my full name out but you can never say it out loud, fucking dick."
With a long, drawn-out sigh he peels himself from his couch and makes his way towards his bathroom. He would have to hurry if he didn't want to keep Izaya waiting.
Wait. Fuck that scrawny bastard. Shizuo would make his ass wait.
He slowly got himself ready, disregarding his usual bartender uniform for a casual green T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Don't you dare question it! It was a nice day; and he felt like wearing something else for once.
When he was ready and about to head out the door, his phone buzzes from his kitchen table. He turns and stares at the device from across the room for a moment; caught in-between relief and worry. Relief because he would have forgotten his phone if it had not vibrated just then, and worry because—just because.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he moves towards the table and lifts his phone from it. He stares at the little box that alerts him that he has received a new message. He bites his lips as he clicks it open to reveal a new message from Izaya.
From: Orihara Izaya
Subject: Shizu-chaaaaaaaaaan
Message: You're so agonizingly slow. I hope you're not touching yourself in the shower.
He should have been irritated by the message. He could imagine the look Izaya would have on his face if he had said that face to face with Shizuo, and that stupid smirk that would be stretching across his lips, and the teasing way he would narrow his eyes in Shizuo's direction. But Shizuo didn't feel mad at all; actually, he tipped his head back and laughed.
He types out a reply as he exits the door of his apartment and locks it.
To: Orihara Izaya
Subject: fuck u
Message: Thats none of your business flea.
Now outside, he heads in the direction of Russian Sushi, on his way to—whatever café Izaya was talking about. It was probably western, with a lot of old people. He feels like rolling his eyes when Izaya's reply comes in right away.
From: Orihara Izaya
Subject: RE:fuck u
Message: What a mean subject line, Shizu-chan! And I'm guessing that means that you did, indeed, touch yourself in the shower. Tsk tsk.
Shizuo snorts at the message, fingers immediately moving to the keyboard of his phone to reply. He finds that he has to stop a few times to hit some of the keys, because he keeps running into passerby's. He had no idea how people could walk and text at the same time.
To: Orihara Izaya
Subject: RE:RE:fuck u
Message: I didnt touch myself so fuck off.
Izaya's reply doesn't come in right away like it did before, so Shizuo shoves his phone in his back pocket and strides onwards. He can easily dodge through the crowds now that he isn't preoccupied with Izaya's texts; but it takes him a moment to spot the small tan bricked café. And he probably wouldn't have realized it was the café Izaya was talking about if he hadn't seen the familiar fur-trimmed coat. Izaya was standing by the doorway of the restaurant, his back pushed up against the tan brick as he fiddles with his phone, fingers dancing across his keyboard quick and graceful.
When Izaya shuts his phone and continues to lean up against the wall looking bored, Shizuo feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket a moment later. He doesn't bother looking at it though, since he was already so close to the restaurant.
"Yo," Shizuo greets as he approaches Izaya, clearing his throat immediately after and turning his attention towards the street.
"Finally," Izaya scowls (in a playful way? If that's possible.) "I feel like I've been waiting here forever."
Shizuo shrugs, continuing to avoid Izaya's gaze as he replies.
"You could've gone inside."
"I could have."
"You should've gone inside, if you're going to complain about it," Shizuo grumbles.
"I'm not complaining," Izaya's laughs. He now turns away from Shizuo and gives a nod in Shizuo's direction before he heads towards the door of the café, gesturing for the blond to follow him. Shizuo follows from a safe distance. He may not feel the anger yet, but it may come - at any time. And he would have to be ready for it. He also didn't know why Izaya had invited him here. Honestly, Shizuo couldn't bring himself to care.
"I've never been here before but I heard it was nice," Izaya says over his shoulder. "It's kind of American styled, and some of the food is greasy. But it fills you up quickly. And Shinra says they have really good milk shakes."
"Shinra?" Shizuo asks, more to himself than it Izaya, since he spoke it so quietly. Izaya doesn't seem to hear him. But, if he did, he didn't show any signs of inquiring Shizuo about it.
"Are you still talking to Shinra?" Shizuo raises his voice enough for Izaya to hear him this time. But, again, Izaya doesn't hear him or he's completely ignoring him - Shizuo can't tell which. A familiar irritation boils within the pit of his stomach. He tries to force it down by taking in the scent of burgers and fries around him.
Izaya leads him to a booth in the further left corner of the room, secluded from most of the other customers. He removes his jacket before he sits, hanging it over the back of the chair, and picks up one of the two paper menu's set out for them. Shizuo watches him before following Izaya's actions, except his lack of a jacket. They sit in silence for a while; even when they're orders are taken and the menu's are gone. They both sit merely staring at the small pouches of salt, sugar, and creamer set out in the middle of the table.
"I haven't spoken to Shinra since that night," Izaya suddenly says. He pretends to be interested in the small cups of creamer, picking a few up and stacking them on top of each other.
It takes Shizuo a moment to understand what Izaya meant by "that night", but he soon realizes that it's the night that Shinra heard Izaya crying over the phone. Shizuo presses his lips together, looking anywhere but at the smaller male in front of him.
"Why?" is all Shizuo can think of.