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He comes in late at night, the same time he always does.
Shizuo doesn't lift his eyes from where he's cleaning a glass as he hears the familiar faint creaking of the bar's door opening and almost silent footsteps approaching him. The orange hues of the flickering ceiling lights above reflect softly onto the glass when he pulls away the cloth. He still doesn't raise his eyes, busying himself by looking over the cup he already knows is clean.
"I'll have the usual, please."
He looks up at that, training his expression to stay indifferent as his eyes travel over the person sitting on the barstool directly in front of him. The same place he always sits, of course.
"You say that," Shizuo begins, voice low and edging on a growl, "and yet order something different every time."
The bar is usually silent during this time of the night. Shizuo has found himself accustomed to the distant, soft humming of music from the dated speakers against the stillness of the empty room, though the calm ambience is broken the second Orihara Izaya steps through the door. It's become routine for both of them; Shizuo has found himself used to the mysterious raven-haired boy's irregular visits.
Of course, Izaya's shadiness still infuriates him to no end, regardless of how familiar he is with it.
An obnoxious laugh falls from Izaya's lips. "It's not like you ever listen to my orders. But I'm feeling sex on the beach today," he says, his voice lilting in a way Shizuo thinks is meant to be seductive, batting his eyelashes.
Shizuo isn't amused. He scoffs, narrowing his eyes at the other as Izaya only leans further towards Shizuo, casually resting his chin in his palm as if he's taunting him. "Are you planning on showing an ID today?" Shizuo asks, placing the glass behind the counter and meeting Izaya's alluring gaze with his own sharp one. "Or are you gonna keep up your bullshit today too, Iza-ya?"
Izaya's lips tilt into a smirk as Shizuo drawls his name, the soft edges of his smile turning sharp as the bartender drags the syllables. "Ah, careful with your language, what if a customer hears you? Not very professional, I have to say." he tuts, shaking his head gently. There's no one else in the bar, there hardly ever is at this hour, yet Izaya makes it a point to scour the room nonetheless.
Scoffing, Shizuo runs a hand through his hair, ignoring his fingertips itching for a cigarette. "You're one to talk 'bout being professional."
"Is that any way to talk to a customer?" Izaya replies easily, sighing airily as his mouth curves into a smile. It'd look cute on anyone else, Shizuo thinks. "A regular too, no less. I'd say I'm being more professional than you here,"
"Really, you're the professional?" the bartender says, rolling his eyes. He takes a clean glass from under the bar's counter, distracting himself from Izaya's sarcastic jabs with an order he hasn't made in a while. "Is that why you bring all your shady clients to a hole-in-the-wall bar when you aren't even old enough to order alcohol yourself yet?"
Though his eyes aren't on Izaya's face, he can almost hear the way the other's lip sticks out into a pout and he mirrors Shizuo's eye roll. "I'm an adult, at least. Old enough. I'm sure you've been all too happy to sell alcohol to teenagers before, where's the harm in turning a blind eye on me?"
Shizuo clicks his tongue. "At least they had the brains to bring an ID. Fake or not."
"Ah, so you're admitting to it? Not good for business at all. I can't believe you're the one insulting my brains." Izaya drawls with a sigh, the hand that he isn't resting on gesturing bemusedly as he speaks. "And, for the record, I have given you ID before."
"You have, but last time I checked," Shizuo says boredly, face deadpan, "you aren't a thirty-two year old named Miyashiro Shido. Or bald, either."
Izaya sighs. "What can I say? The power of makeup is beautiful, Shizu-chan. It can change anyone's appearance."
Shizuo mutters a 'yeah, right' under his breath, concentrating on the drink until he's half-listening to Izaya. Shizuo hums distractedly, tuning out Izaya's voice while the raven rambles without any discernable rhyme or reason that Shizuo can keep up with. He pinches mint leaves between his fingertips, letting them fall into the cocktail.
"Don't tell me you're drinking on the job," Izaya scoffs, giving rest to his rant in favour of watching as Shizuo stirs the drink, eyes glinting amusedly as if he can taste the coming taunt on the tip of his tongue. His eyes are almost crimson under the ageing light's glow, though sometimes Shizuo likes to think that it may not be just because of the orange-hued gleams. He'd never seen Izaya's eyes outside of under the bar's lights, and he sometimes wonders if they're red even in the natural daylight. It'd fit him well.
"It isn't for me," Shizuo says, ignoring Izaya tilting his head in a silent request for an explanation. He bites his tongue gently as he cuts a lime into thin pieces, putting it onto the glass's rim. Shizuo has to fight a smile off of his face at the precision of it all; it looks perfect, at least to his standards. He's improved since he first made the order.
A soft chuckle falls from Izaya's throat when Shizuo places the drink in front of him. "Awh, did you finally fall for my charm, Shizu-chan? I always knew a time like this would come."
Shizuo only rolls his eyes again, scoffing under his breath as he leans his elbows onto the counter. "It's a virgin mojito."
"I didn't order this, though." Izaya says, a hint of hesitance in his tone.
"It's on the house if it'll make you shut up for a bit. It isn't alcoholic either, for the record, so I didn't fall for shit." Shizuo says.
Izaya hums quietly, playing with the straw between his fingers. "Maybe I was the one being charmed all along," he muses, a smile that Shizuo could almost believe to be genuine tracing his lips. "How sly of you."
Clicking his tongue, Shizuo doesn't respond with anything more than a faint 'don't get so ahead of yourself, flea' muttered under his breath. He lines a few more glasses under the bar counter, distantly noting that Izaya hasn't touched his mojito aside from twirling the straw between his fingertips. He fills the glasses with ice for the few more customers he's expecting until the bar closes for the night. It's a weekday, and the regulars he's expecting have already arrived and left in their own time, but the bar is never completely empty for too long.
Even on slow days, Shizuo can at least expect someone to walk through the door. Even if it's a businessman coming in for cover from the rain, college students celebrating something or other, or Orihara Izaya.
As if on cue, Shizuo raises his head when he hears the distant creaking of the door. There's the faint tapping of rainfall against the sidewalk outside as cold gusts of air brush against Shizuo's face. It wasn't raining when Izaya arrived; it's as if Izaya is an ill omen, Shizuo muses to himself. The bar is too small, in his opinion, though on warmer days Shizuo doesn't mind the door being close enough to leave open to bask in the rays of sunlight creeping into the room. The same sentiment doesn't apply to colder days, of course.
A 'welcome' is on the tip of Shizuo's tongue, the lighthearted greeting and 'so, what can I get for you?' that he's spent years asking regulars every day almost falling from his mouth as to the routine he's fallen into after so long of his job, but he hesitates when he takes a moment to actually look at the customer.
Undeniably, it's one of Izaya's folk.
A white suit, slightly damp from the rain, adorns the man's body. Even when it's soaked by the rainfall, the sleek suit is undoubtedly expensive; Shizuo assumes it'd cost more than his entire monthly wage. Even then, he supposes that's a given when faced with the so-obviously aristocratic way the man carries himself. Even at first sight, Shizuo almost feels intimidated. His brown hair is slicked back, the edges of his face sharp and defined. A stark contrast to the soft delicacy of Izaya's.
Shizuo's jaw stiffens as the man walks towards the counter. His strides are confident, as is all of his posture. The older man, doubtlessly a yakuza, is faintly familiar in a way Shizuo doesn't want to think about; he wonders why Izaya mingles with this type of crowd. How Izaya mingles with this crowd.
"Shiki-san," Izaya greets, extending his hand to the other. The man - 'Shiki' - takes it in a short, yet expectedly firm, handshake.
Shizuo only realises he's been staring when Shiki's eyes meet his. Hesitating, he gives the man a stiff nod. In the corner of his eye, he sees Izaya's shoulders shake in silent laughter, but he bites down the growl that raises in his throat. Whilst he doesn't consider Izaya a customer (he hasn't actually bought anything from Shizuo yet. While he has ordered more than enough in the past months to be one of Shizuo's best-spending regulars, Shizuo rightfully hasn't served his orders), he can't say the same for the clients Izaya brings in. Shizuo tries to at least be professional, as hard as it may be considering they're criminals, in front of them. It's the least he can do. They, at the very least, tend to stay in their own lanes.
Fighting the sigh of resignation from his throat, Shizuo straightens his back and fully faces the man. "Can I get you anything?"
The wrong voice answers. "Of course, Shizu-chan. I'll order for both of us," Izaya says, his tone deviously gentle and soft as if he were talking to an oblivious child. "How about some tequila shots? On me."
Shizuo's sure they've been through this conversation thousands of times before; their routine hardly ever changes, with the exception of Izaya's drink of the day, though Shizuo plays his part nonetheless.
"ID?" Shizuo asks, following the routine they've found themselves in over the months, already at his wit's end. He keeps a hold on his temper, for the white-suited man's sake if not his own. He's long past worrying about his own sanity - not when Izaya's involved. And, well, he has a job to keep.
"Why, of course," Izaya says smoothly. Too smoothly; though his features are still infuriatingly innocent in a way that doesn't sit right with Shizuo, he can see the smugness barely hidden beneath Izaya's face. He reaches his hand out, a card between his fingertips, just far enough that the bartender has to reach over the counter for it. Shizuo inwardly hesitates, though tries not to show it as he takes the ID from Izaya's calm hold.
This isn't a first. Shizuo knows something's up.
And, though he isn't surprised by the revelation that the name typed in clear hiragana on the ID isn't Orihara Izaya, a low growl tears through his throat at exactly whose is. Shizuo wasn't sure what he was expecting, exactly, though as predictable he thinks this move should've been - he's frozen by the question of how exactly Izaya managed this.
"A prime age of twenty-five, see?" Izaya coos.
Shizuo clenches his jaw, already feeling as if his veins are throbbing in his neck. There, looking back at him as if he were taunting him, is his own face. The clean, typeface hiragana of 'Heiwajima Shizuo' stands at the top of the card.
"Where," Shizuo growls through clenched teeth, his composure falling by the second, "did you get this, Izaya?"
Izaya's laughs; his laugh is pretty and innocent, too innocent, and it fills Shizuo with rage more than anything else about the younger man. Sometimes, it's enough to make him feel like an idiot for feeling even a simmer of anger even despite how obviously guilty Izaya is of just about everything, and it bewilders Shizuo to think that so many lies can be hidden in such a gentle laugh. "What do you mean?" Izaya asks, his head tilting to the side as his eyes - it can't be a trick of the light, they're red, reminding Shizuo of a devil sent straight from heaven - flicker with dishonest confusion.
"Don't toy with him, informant."
Shiki's words cut between them like a knife.
There's a pause; though the bar isn't silent - there's still the distant humming of music playing from the speakers - it feels like it to Shizuo. A moment, one that seems too long despite it only lasting enough for Shizuo to inhale a bated breath, passes before Izaya drawls a melodramatic sigh.
"It's all fun and games, Shiki," Izaya says cooly as if he doesn't feel Shiki's stern gaze boring through him. "Isn't that right, Shizu-chan?"
Shizuo doesn't say anything for a long second. Throughout the months Izaya has been visiting his bar, risking Shizuo's job and making a spectacle of himself all with a cunning smirk adorning his face and the menacing crowd that follows him through the bar's door wrapped around his finger, Shizuo has never seen anyone have the guts to order Izaya around like this. It's meant to be the other way around; the raven-haired boy's clients cowering behind the counter as Izaya's whispered words cut through them like the slashes of a blade.
It's unnatural. Freakish. It doesn't take more than a moment for Shizuo to decide, he doesn't like this Shiki man. He seems dangerous.
"Sure," Shizuo mumbles. He barely remembers what he's responding to, though the smirk - Shizuo hadn't realised Izaya's smirk dropped for a split second, he only notices the second it's replaced - on Izaya's face curves back into the sharp, deceitful tilt of the lips that Shizuo's found himself all-too used to.
"Why don't we move to a booth?" Izaya asks, turning to face Shiki.
Shizuo's eyes don't linger long enough to see if Shiki nods, or if Izaya even waits long enough for an answer at that, though the man says nothing to protest as Izaya raises himself from the barstool and leads him to a shadow-veiled corner of the bar. Both of their footsteps are light, just loud enough for Shizuo to know the pair have moved from his counter.
It's quiet again now.
From the corner of his eye, Shizuo can see Izaya sitting adjacent to the other in the booth, though their soft mumbling blends with the music until Shizuo can't tell the difference between the lyrics or their words, even if he strains his ears. When Izaya's 'visits' to the bar first began months ago, Shizuo distanced himself as much as possible from him and his clients' shady dealings; Shizuo himself doesn't want to find himself involved in the spiders' web of crime that seems to follow Izaya's every step, but if his manager wants to turn a blind eye to it, so will he. Somewhere along the way, though, he found himself with a sick curiosity of not just the crimes that seem to be wrapped around the visitor's finger but the visitor himself. Izaya.
Of course, it's always been a risk for him to even just listen in on Izaya and his clients' conversations; even if Shizuo trains his face to remain uninterested and idle, he swears he can feel Izaya's gaze burning through him as if he knows Shizuo is listening. And Izaya's always right.
Even if he's walking into a lion's den by letting his own dangerous curiosity to know just who Izaya is get the best of him in such a way, Shizuo can't help the morbid fascination that runs through his veins at the mystery of it all; curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, right?
Besides, it can't hurt anybody but himself.
Blinking, Shizuo's thoughts are cut off by the slamming of the bar's door closing. Shizuo hasn't realised he'd zoned out, still absentmindedly wiping an already-clean glass until it gleams under the lights' reflection, until inaudible chatter begins to fill the bar.
A small crowd of college students, Shizuo assumes. He spares a hesitant sideglance to Izaya. He can only see the back of the raven's head and the fur of his coat peeking behind the booth's couch from where he stands, but his gaze doesn't linger long enough to catch sight of Shiki sitting in front of him. Drawling a silent sigh, he puts away the glass.
"So," he says, the words falling naturally from his mouth the moment the students are close enough to the bar stand, "what can I get for you?"
And everything's almost back to usual again.
The students order a round of drinks, Shizuo's thoughts are quiet as he makes them, and the routine he's fallen into over the years goes without a hitch. They sit a distance away from Izaya's booth, and the raven doesn't bat an eye to their presence as if he doesn't see them in the first place. A few more customers trickle in as the minutes pass, but Shizuo can't keep his eyes off of Izaya for too long. The breadth between himself and Izaya isn't too big, the bar is small enough for Shizuo to catch some of the other's indistinct muttering, but he can't understand the words under the other patron's chatter. He can't see Izaya's mouth from the angle he's sitting at, only seeing the midnight black of his hair and pale hands gesturing in ways Shizuo doesn't understand, but he doesn't let his gaze linger on Shiki sitting in front of him for long enough to try and lipread him.
Holding back a sigh, Shizuo slumps his elbows onto the counter. It'll still be a while until he has to shut the bar down for the night.
The music from the speakers hum distantly, it's a pleasant almost-familiar tune that Shizuo thinks he's heard before in high school, but the lyrics are too faint and unmemorable for Shizuo to focus on; they go through one ear and out the other. He finds the white noise to be pleasant nonetheless.
Tapping his foot off-beat to the music, Shizuo's eyes drift along the counter. He pauses when he sees Izaya's drink, the virgin mojito, sitting untouched.
Shizuo reaches out his hand to run his fingers along the glass' rim. He twirls the straw between his fingertips, faintly thinking at the back of his mind of Izaya's lips against it. The moment the thought intrudes his mind, he shakes his head flusteredly, face feeling hotter than it had a few seconds earlier. He doesn't spare the mental image another thought - Izaya didn't even drink from it, so why should he care?
Still, that doesn't stop the red-hot pounding in his chest as he brings the straw to his lips and sips.
"An indirect kiss?" Izaya's voice lilts airily, the edges of his lips slanting into a smirk as he leans onto the counter. Shizuo feels as if his heart stops for a moment. His words feel stuck in his throat as Izaya's face smiles inches away from his own. He doesn't know when Izaya stood up, he doesn't know how he didn't notice Izaya's breath mixing with his own even as they're standing a hair's breadth away from eachother, but his brain feels as if it's shortcircuiting and can't bring himself to ponder on it. "How cliché."
"Izaya," Shizuo gasps out, feeling as if he's frozen where he stands. The name falls from his mouth before he can think of saying anything else.
The sickeningly sweet laugh that Shizuo thinks he should hate, that Shizuo thinks should make his fists clench in rage instead of making the fluttering in his chest suffocate him more than it already has, slips from Izaya's throat. The door closes behind Izaya, assumedly his business partner making his exit, but he doesn't move his eyes from Shizuo's. "I thought you didn't drink on the job, Shizu-chan. Was it just too tempting of a sin?"
"I'm- I'm not drinking on the job, you pest. It doesn't have alcohol in the first place," Shizuo growls. His face flushes harder from what he wishes was rage. "And you haven't even touched the drink yet. It doesn't count as a kiss, quit pulling on my dick. I'm just makin' sure the drink isn't wasted."
Izaya hums. "You can tell yourself that."
Shizuo slams the glass back onto the counter, holding back his strength just enough not to crack it.
"Yeah, I will," Shizuo growls lowly, closing what distance there is between himself and Izaya as he leans over the bar stand. His glare is unwavering as he gently hits his forehead against Izaya's. "So why don't you get off my back and-"
Izaya puts his finger over Shizuo's lips. "Shh, you'll scare off the customers," he says, glancing to the side at the people sitting in the booths. Shizuo grits his teeth, lips set in a snarl as he fights back the threats on the tip of his tongue. His face feels too hot with Izaya's fingertips against it. The touch lingers long enough for Shizuo to feel as if the imprint of his finger is being burnt into his lips.
It takes a few, long moments before Shizuo finally grabs Izaya's wrist. He doesn't put any strength into it, but it's enough for Izaya to resign his hand after a gentle tug from Shizuo.
"Not my fault you're always so obnoxious. I don't even know shit about you," Shizuo says, his voice lower than it was before, "and it pisses me off. I don't know why you decide to come here of all places. I don't know who those shady people you bring in are, and I don't know why you bring them here in the first place. I just know that, whatever it is, it's fucked up."
"Would you like to?"
Shizuo pauses. Izaya stays silent, too, letting the question lay in the air between them. He doesn't specify which question he's replying to, or comment on anything else for that matter, but Shizuo doesn't need him to say more. What comes next is Shizuo's call.
So he stays silent.
Izaya's smile doesn't waver when Shizuo remains silent. He leans back, lifting his shoulder in a tired shrug as he continues talking. "It'd only be fair, really," Izaya says, "I already know plenty about you. Turns out you have quite the reputation. Honestly, I'd be more surprised if you didn't; I don't think I've ever seen Shiki so on edge around someone."
Izaya's shoulders shake in laughter as he continues. "Did you see how quiet he was when he walked in? No wonder all the lowlifes hang out here, nobody in their right mind would risk lifting a finger around you. It's pretty practical, really. Can't lose a fight if you can't start one in the first place."
Shizuo furrows his brows. "What?"
"Ah, don't worry though," he tilts his head and sweeps his hand boredly, still smiling, "he says to give us his blessings. Looked to Shiki like you couldn't get your eyes off me. Really, though, you must really be something to impress him like that. Or to intimidate him. Either goes."
Shizuo stands there frozen, blinking as his mind races to process the raven's words. A moment passes until he feels his face flush as if he's been burnt. He feels his jaw go slack, sputtering flusteredly as his words get stuck in his throat. "He- blessings? What the fuck are you on about?"
Izaya takes the drink from where Shizuo left it on the bar stand, bringing the straw to his lips.
"How about I show you?"
And he sips.
Shizuo knows what Izaya is doing, he isn't oblivious; an indirect kiss. He also knows it shouldn't be as big of a deal as Izaya's smirk makes it out to be. It isn't a direct kiss. Even then, he feels his face heat up impossibly more, mouth parted in a dazed emotion that Shizuo doesn't want to put a name to.
What is a big deal is when Izaya closes the distance between them, leaning over the bar stand to brush his lips against Shizuo's. It's a soft touch, barely a kiss, but it makes Shizuo's heart pound harder than it ever has nonetheless. They stay like that for a second before Izaya leans further into the kiss. Shizuo's lips move lightly into the contact before he catches himself and stops.
He feels Izaya hesitate before pulling away from the touch, his hand still holding Shizuo's chin as their breaths intertwine. There's the faint taste of lime on Shizuo's lips now, the flavour lingering from Izaya's mojito. He has to resist the urge to lick his lips.
"Just like that," Izaya says, smiling.
Shizuo's mind still hasn't caught up. He stands there, mouth slightly agape, for a long moment before Izaya speaks up again.
"It's getting late now, don't you think?" he takes his coat from where he left it on the barstool, "I should get going."
He doesn't know what compels him into taking Izaya's wrist again, tightening his grip on Izaya's wrist just enough so the raven can't shake off the hold, but he knows he can't blame it on the mojito. Though the faint taste of mint and lime on his tongue makes his face flush, he can't get drunk on something if it isn't alcoholic in the first place - he already said so himself.
Truth is, he feels drunk on Izaya.
"When will I see you again?"
Izaya laughs. "I always come back, don't I?"
Shizuo hesitates, loosening his hold on Izaya's wrist enough for the other to pull away. He doesn't.
"You will come back again, right?" he asks, the words sounding desperate even before he says them. But he says them regardless; he doesn't care who hears, and he doesn't give any thought to what'll happen once the words leave his mouth. All Shizuo cares about is that Izaya, as irregular as his visits may be, doesn't leave for good. Not when Shizuo's just starting to see behind the facade of smirks and taunting laughs.
"What, has business been that slow lately?"
Shizuo clenches his jaw. "Izaya."
"Yeah," he says, "I will."
The corners of Shizuo's lips quirk into a small smile of relief.
Izaya turns around, his coat over his shoulder as he waves his hand in a small wave. "Thank you for your service, bartender-san. Really, though, it's going to be pitch-black outside now."
A gentle chuckle falls from Shizuo's mouth. He hides his smile behind his hand, rolling his eyes even if Izaya can't see them. He takes the drink in his hand once he hears the door shut behind Izaya, bringing the straw to his mouth again as he rests his elbows on the counter. The taste of mint on his tongue is refreshing when he sips.
Even then, it'll never be as addicting to Shizuo as Orihara Izaya is.