Disclaimer: I don't own [K] nor it character. This is merely for fun.
Woow! I did not think that this would be as popular as it was! I'm really excited! :D In light of interest and demand, I have created a second chapter to this drabble. Enjoy!
"Annnnd tada!" Tatara exclaims, holding up the Jack of Hearts that magically appeared there from the pile in his hand . Having master string threading, origami, and Ikebana for some weird reason, Tatara had now moved on to magic tricks as his latest hobby.
"Wow, that was neat Tatara." Izumo droned, hoping he didn't sound too sarcastic or hurts his friend's feelings. It was a neat trick. And Izumo is impressed by it. However, right now, he can't muster up the energy to be enthusiastic about the mesmerizing card trick. He's too dead tired.
Izumo had announced earlier in the week that that Saturday would be the day that he would begin cleaning of his newly purchased property as he wanted to get started right away. He had gotten up at literally the crack of dawn, practically giddy to get started when he opened the door with his less than edger but still helpful friends.
Now though, that the sun had gone down hours ago and he sat in the dim light of a camping lantern on the floor dirty, sweaty, and aching from all the work, his pep was pooped.
"Do you want me to help you get home?" The brunette asks with a soft smile, not seeming bothered by Izumo's apparent lack of interest in his trick or that he too was covered in more dust than the floors had been.
"Nah. I just want to sit here for a bit. Take it in, that sort of thing." Izumo tells him smoothly.
The younger man shrugs and raises from his seat on the floor, dusting his pant front in a hopelessly futile gesture of decorum, before giving the blonde a pat on the head and a motherly 'don't stay up to late' before departing.
Izumo would have glared at him, if his eye balls didn't ache in the effort of it as well.
Instead he just leans heavily against the wall, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath of the aged air around him. He might just have fallen asleep there, if the sound of the door reopening and closing along with the heavy sound of boots didn't rouse him.
"Where'd you sneak off to?" Izumo asks curiously, considerably impressed that Mikoto could sneak off unnoticed. The man was one: hard to miss and two: Izumo was so warn out that he could barely muster up the strength to sit up right let alone sneak off to anywhere unnoticed.
But Mikoto shrugs, seeming unwilling to share his secrets of stealth with the other man, and pulls a bottle of whiskey out of thin air. The man seemed full of magically feats today.
The blonde smiles tiredly up at him as his head flops back against the wall. "Just what every good bar needs."
Mikoto scoffs a little through a small smile as he sits down on the floor next to Izumo. His agile fingers make quick work of the plastic wrapping around the cap, and he is just about got it fully twisted off when he realizes something.
"We don't have any glasses."
Izumo head lulls toward him with a scowl and he takes the bottle from his hands quickly. "Fuck it." He announces while tossing the cap across the room once it's freed and taking a large swig from the bottle. At this point, he has no intention of leaving any whiskey in the bottle anyway. And he and Mikoto have shared worse than second hand spit.
The fiery red head smile and laughs in his throat again before taking the bottled offered back to him. He gives it a small raise, a salute to the 'cheers' in question, before taking a large gulp himself. He grimaces, much like Izumo, as it burns down his throat. The first one is always the hardest.
"What the hell did I do Mikoto?" The blonde male finally asks after a long silence filled with nothing but the slosh of liquor being passed and the click of Mikoto's lighter when he sets off a smoke.
Mikoto says nothing. He just looks at him curiously with a gruff 'hn?' and Izumo falls limp in his sudden defeat of the walls surrounding him.
"What the hell did I do Mikoto? I can't do this. I'm 23. I can barely handle the responsibility of a potted plant. And I'm definitely not smart enough to run a business by myself."
"You and Tatara got good grades in high school." Mikoto pipes in stoically.
"Tsk! Tatara didn't even have to try." Izumo mutters with an irritated expression. Tatara was practically a savant at everything he tried, and school work wasn't an exception.
They had become friends when the perky freshmen got moved into more advanced classes with the upper classmen. It had been to stimulate Tatara and keep him interested. For the rest of them, it had just messed up the curve.
"You're still really smart Izumo." The red head assure him with an exhale of smoke, popping another cigarette out of the pack tuck in his shirt pocket.
Izumo looks at him with a sort of awe for a second, as if he's temporarily spell bound by the man's calm and ease and confidence in the situation Izumo's put himself in. But Mikoto has always been like that, ever since Izumo has known him. He's always been quiet and reserved and surprisingly profound in his own way. But Izumo guesses that 'the boy who'll be King', as people seemed to be calling him now, needs to march to the beat of his own drum.
Finally the blonde snaps out of his revere of his companion and takes the offered cigarette with ease. "I'm glad you're so sure." He mutters. And he really, honest to God, really is glad that he's so sure.
Izumo pats his pants in search of his lighter for a moment, the unlit smoke between his teeth, before the click of a lighter next to him tells him to give up.
Izumo sighs and leans over into the flame to get his fix started before he leans back against the wall in a slouch again. "I should have listened to Tatara." He thinks out loud to himself more than anyone before he's taken by surprised when a dramatic quaff of red hair is suddenly resting on his shoulder.
"Tell me again how this place is gonna look like an English pib." Mikoto's gruff voice beckons before he hands Izumo back the now half bottle of whiskey.
And the blonde can help but smile down at him as all the tension washes out of his body when his voice washes over him. "It's called a pub. And I was thinking….."
Must stop writing K drabbles. Must stop writing K drabbles. Must stop writing K drabbles...Damn you K and your plot bunnies of horror!
Reviews are, as always, welcome!
