Work Text:
Hisoka hated his stupid job in the stupid cafe at the stupid edge of town where the only customers were stupid business men who tipped him pittance. All of that was only exacerbated by his stupid hovering coworker (technically boss but that's not the point). Anytime he made a drink, either for personal use or commercial, or rang someone up, he'd be there, peering. Eerily might he add. Everything his coworker did was eerie. From the way he stood to the way he loomed, eerie as hell. Now, Hisoka wouldn't ever admit this to anyone (not even himself), but he'd typically find that eeriness enticing, exhilarating, some might go so far as to say attractive, but he really hated this stupid job, and Illumi only made it harder.
He'd only started a week ago, and from what he'd heard, Illumi had started a week before him, which should've made them equals, but there wasn't anyone else and someone had to play manager. Illumi took that very seriously. Hisoka wouldn't have ever thought someone could care that much about baristing, but here Illumi was, proving him wrong.
It was possible it wasn't all Illumi's fault. The reason Hisoka was there in the first place left him particularly sour. He'd been to be a bartender which he'd loved. There was something invigorating about controlling a commodity people were so desperate for, especially when that commodity was a downer. He'd worked at a bar in a boxing ring where he'd occasionally box, another thing he adored doing, but then he'd gotten caught giving free drinks to his opponents and leaving them consequentially inebriated, so he'd been fired. That wasn't fair really because he only did it to the ones he knew he could beat, but his boss hadn't been too fond of that reasoning.
So there he was, in a stupid coffee shop with Illumi breathing down his neck.
Hisoka finished ringing up an old man who hadn't looked up from his phone the entire interaction and turned, reflexively, to say something sassy about Illumi's proximity, only to find him absent from his usual position right on top of him. He shrugged it off and turned back to the counter, grateful that Illumi had finally learned about personal space.
“I'll have that right up for you,” Hisoka said with as much sweetness as possible when his teeth were determined to grind themselves to dust.
“Yeah,” The man muttered, going to sit at one of the tables to wait.
“Douche bag,” Hisoka mumbled as he bent down to grab a bottle of whipped cream only to find it empty. He briefly considered huffing some, just to take the edge off, but reconsidered, instead choosing to go in the back for a new can.
No sooner had he stepped through the threshold of the store room than he was being tugged sideways out of view of the rest of the cafe. He came nose to nose with Illumi, feeling many of his qualms about him melt away.
“Hey,” He whispered, leaning imperceptibly closer.
Illumi placed a hand on his chest and pushed away, head shaking slightly, “Um...Ok. Do you think he saw me?”
Hisoka shook himself out of his reverie and cocked his head, “Who?”
“The guy,” Illumi nodded toward the door.
“No. He hasn't looked up from his phone since he came in here. It was quite rude.” Hisoka admonished.
“Whatever,” Illumi leaned forward to peer out the doorframe, only to duck back a second later, “If you can slip it into casual conversation, will you tell him you work here alone?”
“Why?”
“None of your business.”
Hisoka sighed, “Actually, I'm going to go out there and tell him you're in here.”
Illumi rolled his eyes and then winced like he was trying to make up a lie, “We used to date.”
There was no reason anyone would willing lie about something so heinous. Hisoka peered back into the main room, “Jesus Illumi. He's geriatric.”
“He used to be younger,” Illumi assured, eyebrows furrowing slightly a moment later.
“You were too,” Hisoka said somberly like he was Illumi's therapist.
Illumi shook his hand in front of his face, “I don't know why I'm defending myself.”
“Me neither.” Hisoka stepped away from Illumi, towards where the whipped cream was kept, “I'll make sure to tell him I work alone. Even if it's weird because it really is.”
“Only if it comes up naturally,” Illumi hissed at him before slinking back further against the wall.
Hisoka rolled his eyes and returned to the foyer.
“Here you go,” Hisoka called out a minute later, finished drink in hand.
The man, still glued to his phone, walked up to the counter and took the cup.
“By the way,” Hisoka cringed at himself for the way he was about to go about this, “I work alone.” He could practically feel the way Illumi rolled his eyes in the backroom.
“Excuse me?” The man looked up from his phone and frowned at him.
“If you ever want to visit,” Hisoka clarified, bringing a pen up to his teeth and gnawing.
The man raised a skeptical eyebrow and nodded, “Sure.”
The second the man had disappeared past the panel of glass windows at the store front, Illumi was shaking Hisoka back and forth, “What was that?”
“You asked for it!”
“Naturally,” Illumi shoved him one last time, “Was that natural?”
“Oh sure Illumi. Let me just naturally slip in something about me working alone to man I don't know.” Hisoka sighed, “You're insufferable.”
“Shut up.” Illumi bit, crossing his arms across his chest.
The door bell dinged pleasantly, shaking the two of them from their disagreement. The girl who walked in was petite and shockingly blonde wearing a poofy pink skirt. She looked like one of the kid mold Barbie figures.
Illumi cursed under his breath and stalked off to the back again.
“What? Did you date her too?” Hisoka prodded, “Because that's a little low.”
“No,” Illumi grumbled, clearly displeased with the presence of this little girl, “You can tell her I'm here. I don't care.” He ducked into the back, leaving Hisoka alone with the young woman.
“My coworker Illumi's in the back,” Hisoka informed her when she got up to the counter.
“Illumi Zoldyck?” She asked, voice deeper than what Hisoka had been expecting. Maybe little girl wan't entirely accurate.
“I don't know.” Hisoka didn't know anything about Illumi other than his first name and that he was an ass.
“Then why are you telling me?” She leaned around Hisoka, trying to get a glimpse of the store room.
“Because he told me a I could, and I'm a sucker for permission. What can I get you?”
The woman's eyes narrowed, “A black coffee, and do you think you could get him to come out here. I have a few choice words for him.”
“Me too,” Hisoka grumbled, “But I can't make him do anything.”
“Hm,” Her nose scrunched up for a moment before she shrugged, “Then just the coffee.” She paused, smile tugging at her face, “And maybe your number.”
“Oh,” Hisoka beamed. He loved nothing more than other people loving him, “That's very sweet but you're a little,” He mimicked her stature with his hand.
“Short?”
“Young.”
“I'm 57. Not that it's any of your business. Besides it's not like that. I'm an agent, and you have some charisma. If you give me your number we could discuss some things.”
57. Jesus.
“What kind of things.”
“Anything you want, and if you're feeling generous, we can talk about getting your friend back there out of the backrooms.” Hisoka wasn't all that interested in acting, but any good MMA fighter had an agent.
“Don't give customers your number,” Illumi chastised from behind the doorway.
“I won't,” Hisoka called back, scrawling his number on the woman's cup, “My name's Hisoka.”
“I know, sweetheart.” The woman leaned forward and thumbed the pin on Hisoka's apron, “It's on your name-tag.”
-
Hisoka, even after the drunk opponent debacle, was not banned from the bar. He was still a huge draw, and the owner, a man Hisoka had never met and didn't care too, insisted he continue fighting. It made Fridays his favorite day, partly because he didn't work Saturdays and mostly because he could beat some unsuspecting idiot into the ground and pretend it was Illumi.
“Hi Machi,” Hisoka crooned as he walked up to the bar.
“What do you want.” She wasn't all too pleased with him at the moment. Not that she'd been all that pleased with him to begin with, but now Hisoka was seeing her flat tone for what it was. Disinterest and irritation.
“Whiskey sour.”
“Gross,” Machi muttered and turned to her assortment of bottles. He had liked working with her more than he liked working with Illumi. Hisoka wished he could complain to her about it.
“Do you know anyone named Illumi Zoldyck,” Hisoka asked casually. He had looked up the name last night, but all that came up was Zoldyck Financial Services which was vaguely bizarre because it meant Illumi had money, and yet he was working as a barista. Not bizarre enough, though, to warrant such disdain from a high level agent, whose name, Hisoka had learned, was Biscuit Kruger.
“Of course I do. What idiot doesn't know who Illumi Zoldyck is?”
Hisoka rolled his eyes and leaned across the counter, opening his mouth to say something charming before he was cut off.
“You know,” Machi began, turning around with Hisoka's glass in hand, “If you had participated with the Troupe like you'd promised, you'd know. You'd probably be close, really fucking close.”
“I don't know,” Hisoka considered it for a moment, “I don't really like him.”
“So you do know him.”
“I work with him.”
“At the coffee shop? Why is Illumi Zoldyck working at a coffee shop?” She scoffed.
“Maybe his parents cut him off,” Hisoka tried, hoping to pull something more specific about him from Machi.
She laughed, “No. They're scared shitless of him.”
“What the hell does that mean,” Hisoka posited, mostly to himself.
Machi paused, pulling at the seam of her shirt, “Don't you have an innocent to brutalize?"
“That I do, old friend,” He hopped up, downing the rest of his glass, and beamed at her, “Talk later?”
“Can I stop you?”
“What do you think?” Hisoka said, sliding her a 20, “Keep the change.” He was hoping for a 'thank you', but was satisfied when she didn't say anything negative and just kept her mouth shut.
Hisoka did indeed have an innocent to brutalize. One Kastro something something (Hisoka wasn't paying attention when they announced him). He was adorable. White hair, good posture, Hisoka was willing to bet he was a standup citizen. He was just the type of person Hisoka liked to toy around with.
When they got up to the mat and the ref spouted his bullshit about safety and consideration, Hisoka paused and turned very seriously to his opponent.
“Do you know who Illumi Zoldyck is?”
Kastro squinted at him, “Who doesn't?”
Hisoka's mood soured again, “Me. Who is he?”
Kastro chuckled a little nervously, glancing around the bar, “Are you being serious?”
“Yeah fuckass.” Hisoka bit back, slowly loosing interest in giving this man a satisfying fight.
“Watch it,” The ref said slowly.
“How about this,” Kastro began, expression returning to that of a saint, “If you win, I'll tell you who he is.”
“And if you win?”
“Bringing you down is retribution enough.”
Oh yeah. Hisoka was going to kill this guy.
Kastro was wheeled out on a stretcher five minutes later, unfit to tell Hisoka anything about anyone. Hisoka rubbed absently at his wrist, wincing. He might've sprained it beating the man.
“Hello again,” Hisoka hopped up onto a bar stool, “Any good will left today?”
“For you?” Machi began drying the glass in her hand with more fervor like she was trying to sand down the edges.
“No, Actually. My poor opponent promised to tell me about Illumi if I won, and I was hoping you’d take pity for someone I thoroughly injured and pay his debt for him.” Hisoka beamed at her in a manner he thought was quite convincing.
“I have no pity for anyone you hurt but myself,” Machi answered sullenly.
Hisoka scoffed, tracing the lines of wood across the sticky bar, “Then why are you mad about what I did to the rest of them. I never did anything to you. I wouldn’t.”
Machi tilted her head up slowly to glower at him, “If you’re not going to order anything, then you should probably leave.”
Hisoka, feeling no desire to pry into Machi’s feelings and then subsequently have to deal with them, got up and did just that.
-
“Why do you always wear long sleeves,” Hisoka asked out of the blue one slow afternoon, “You got scars or something?”
Illumi's eyebrows raised minutely in a way that conveyed, 'Yeah, but that's not why.'
“Why do ask?” He said instead, running a wash cloth across the surface of the counter that was no doubt clean by now.
“It's 80 degrees out and your shirts buttoned to your chin. You don't do that unless you have something to hide,” Hisoka hopped up onto the counter and crossed his unblemished arms like he was an open book.
“You're so weird,” Illumi said to himself, putting down his cloth to unbutton the sleeve of his uniform. He folded back the hem to reveal a portion of his arm decorated with an array of tattoos. They didn't seem cohesive, just a collage of impulse decisions that looked good together because of sheer quantity.
Hisoka reached out and grabbed Illumi's wrist, pulling him closer to inspect his arm. There was a small caricature of two stick figures holding hands on the flat of his wrist. It was crudely drawn like it had been penned by a child.
“Tattoos aren't professional for a job like this, so I have to wear long sleeves.” Illumi explained, letting Hisoka draw his fingers along his skin.
“Do you have them everywhere?” Hisoka asked as he tugged Illumi's sleeve back down and helped him button the cuff again, fingers ghosting across the delicate skin of Illumi's wrist.
“Anywhere I can cover with long sleeves and pants.”
Hisoka raised his eyebrows suggestively as he relinquished Illumi's arm. Illumi, much to Hisoka's delight, said nothing to the contrary and moved on with the conversation, “Do you have any?”
“Tattoos? No,” Hisoka shook his head, “They give you Alzheimer's.”
Illumi's face fell into a disapproving glare as he stepped back away from Hisoka to lean against the opposite wall, “No they don't.”
“Yes, they do. It's the metal in them,” Hisoka placed a hand on his chest, “And while I don't plan on living to Alzheimer's age, I don't want to risk it.”
Illumi scoffed, shaking his head slightly, “Alright. Piercings?”
“My ears,” Hisoka pointed to his respective body parts as he counted, “My septum, though I don't wear it ever, and I used to have my tongue pierced, but then it got infected which was a real shame because it came in handy quite a bit.”
Illumi opened his mouth, revealing a delicate gold bead tucked into the cleft of his tongue.
“I know.”
In the midst of their discussion, neither noticed the tell tale sign of the door bell jangling.
“Hello Illumi,” Bisky said brightly from the other side of the counter. Illumi started, mumbling a curse under his breath.
“Biscuit.” Illumi said it with a palpable anger, ill-fitting for the word at hand.
“How have you been?” Bisky asked, sweetly.
“Fine, thank you. How's Kil?”
“Oh,” Biscuit frowned, tiny mouth folding down into a picture perfect pout, “You haven't talked?”
“He hasn't been home.” Illumi replied icily.
“Can you blame him?”
“I don’t blame him, no.”
Sensing that this was going to go on either forever or end in bloodshed, Hisoka stepped in. “Another black coffee?”
Bisky turned to him like she'd forgotten he'd been there and smiled like she meant it, “Yes sweetheart, and a cupcake too.”
“Wonderful,” Hisoka said breezily and turned to Illumi, “Do you want to get that for her?”
“I'd rather burn myself alive than do anything for that witch,” Illumi replied calmly and stalked off to the back room. Probably not going to get any sort of cupcake.
“He is such a delight,” Hisoka pursed his lips together in irritation, focusing his attention back on Bisky to give her her total.
“You used to bartend at their bar, right?” Bisky continued on before Hisoka could answer or ask who's bar she was referring to, “Because I'm holding a soiree a couple nights from now, and my last bar tender bailed on me.”
Unlike Illumi, a quick google search had uncovered a trove of information on Ms. Biscuit Kruger. Actually 57, divorced more than par, and used to have the body of a champion weight lifter until she underwent a series of experimental procedures (one of which may have been the literal swapping of minds between bodies, but Hisoka had found that one on reddit). Regardless, a soiree held by Madame Kruger would no doubt be the event of the season. Plus, Hisoka would kill a man to bartend again at whatever venue, which wasn't saying a lot. Hisoka was a violent person, but it was still saying something.
“I'd love to fill in,” Hisoka answered quickly.
“Wonderful...” Bisky trailed off for a moment, peeking past Hisoka, “One thing.”
There's always another thing.
“I'd really appreciate it if you could get our mutual friend back their to attend. Any party attended by a Zoldyck is a winner, and this event is 21 plus which rules out the only one I'm on good terms with.”
“I don't know if that's possible. He doesn't seem to like you.”
Bisky waved her hand at him, “You're right. That's fine then, I'll just find someone else to man the bar. Don't worry about it.”
“Wait,” Hisoka let out a nervous laugh, “I said I didn't know, not that I wouldn't try.”
“Perfect!” Bisky beamed at him and fished in her wallet for a $20, “Think of this as an advance. I'll send you the address and time just as soon as I have a moment.” She turned and bounced away, pink dress bobbing up and down with her.
“No,” Illumi said flatly as he emerged from the storage room.
“Please,” Hisoka pouted at him and gave him his best pitiful stare.
“I'm not going, so drop it.”
“You have to,” Hisoka griped. He had managed to be relatively (the bare minimum) respectful of Illumi, no matter how aggravating and overbearing and idiotic he was, and he didn't think he was in the wrong to want some kind of compensation.
“I don't have to do anything,” Illumi bit back.
Hisoka shrugged, “Fine. I'll just tell your ex that you work here, and that you've worked here the whole time, and that, when he inevitably returns, you're probably lurking in the back.”
Illumi's face contorted into confusion for a moment before melting into what had to be the Illumi equivalent of horror. “You can't.”
“I can, and I will,” Hisoka turned to the store front and smiled, “Look, here he comes now.”
Illumi's eyes flew open, darting once to the door to the back before deeming the distance to far, so he fell in a limp heap to the ground.
“Hello!” Hisoka greeted cheerily, “What can I do you for today?”
“Oh God,” The man groaned, “Are you seriously the only one who works here?”
Hisoka felt a singular tug on his pant leg.
He leaned forward, opening his mouth to say something only to (oops!) knock over a pen jar, scattering its contents all over the floor behind the counter. What a ditz.
“Ah damn,” Hisoka cursed dropping to a crouch and sparing a quick look at a dejected Illumi who just nodded once, looking like it cost him 10 years off his life.
Hisoka popped back up, “I'll pick them up later. The usual?”
“Yeah,” The man mumbled, pulling out a card and swiping it through the machine.
The second the man left the shop, Illumi spoke.
“I hate you, and I hope desperately that you die before Bisky's party.”
-
No such luck.
Hisoka pressed the doorbell to Illumi's apartment 5 minutes after he was supposed to be there. Through the door he heard a muffled call, “It's unlocked.” Probably not the best idea for an area like this.
Hisoka opened the door onto the most barren, neglected apartment he'd ever seen in his life. There was a queen sized mattress, without any sort of bedding on it, shoved into the corner, a floor-length mirror propped up against a wall decorated with a sheen of grime, and a pile of clothes acting as a makeshift bedside table. It was like a frat house for one. Pasted above his pile of clothes was the same drawing of the stick figures holding hands Illumi had tattooed on his arm but crossed through it were big vengeful lines of black marker.
Illumi was sitting in front of his mirror, slight wrinkle in between his eyebrows as he combed his hair. “I'll be ready in two seconds,” Illumi said absently, but it fell on deaf ears. Who lived like this? Hisoka could smell mold, and although he couldn't see its origin, he suspected the mattress.
“Illumi?” Hisoka asked, unsure of how he wanted to proceed.
Illumi turned, mouth falling open when he saw Hisoka's concerned expression. “Oh I don't live here.” He added quickly, getting to his feet, “Sometimes I sleep here, but it's not my house.”
Hisoka's shoulders sagged with relief.
“Normally I live with my parents,” Illumi tacked on breezily.
Hisoka's shoulders sagged again, but this time with further disappointment. Though, he wasn't sure why. When had he started caring about the intimate details of Illumi's life and how they'd correspond to his own?
“You get along?” Hisoka asked, following Illumi out the door.
Illumi shrugged, “My Dad and I aren't particularly close, but my Mom makes up for it,” The most adorable grin crept across Illumi's face, “She's my best friend.”
Hisoka made and involuntary squeak of pain which he attempted to brush off as a polite giggle. Judging by the way Illumi side-eyed him, it didn't work.
-
Bisky's party was indeed decadent. High ceilings, nice clothes, an absurd amount of people. An amount which doubled after the arrival of Illumi Zoldyck. Hisoka was going to make a fortune in tips. He'd probably make enough to quit his job at the cafe, but as he watched Illumi be pulled into another conversation he was clearly unhappy to be a part of, Hisoka pushed the thought from his mind. How bad was it really?
“Hi.”
Hisoka looked down at Biscuit Kruger in a pale pink slip of a dress, shoulders covered by the dyed pink remains of some poor mink.
“Hi Bisky.” Hisoka replied kindly.
“How do you like it?” Bisky gestured around herself to the ball room. Hisoka liked the way she talked to him. Like everything he had to say was important, and even though it probably wasn't genuine, Hisoka was having a hard time caring.
“It's the second most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” He responded.
Bisky's face fell a fraction.
“Besides you,” Hisoka finished, heart surging as her eyes lit up.
“Oh you,” She waved him off, faint blush growing across her already rouged cheeks. Bisky cleared her throat and continued, “Would you like the rest of your payment?”
“Desperately.” Hisoka leaned forward, sparing one final glance at Illumi in his suit. He was dressed all in black, a fact Hisoka hadn't noticed before, attention glued to the horror of Illumi's part-time home. The cut of his pants was perfect, perfect in the way that it was just a little too tight in all the areas Hisoka wanted it to be tight in.
Maybe it was more than a glance.
Bisky snapped once in front of his eyes to ensure Hisoka was listening and then went right on, “His family is from a long line of very old money. Currently, they're financiers, but before that it was tech, and quite a long time ago, it was oil. At least that's what they said. They've had their fingers in every skeevy pie since the invention of the oven. If there's something nefarious going on in the city, they know about it if they're not the ones financing it. Why their eldest is working at a coffee shop with you is beyond me.”
Hisoka let out a quiet whistle, trying to ignore Bisky's emphasis on the word 'you'.
“Also they might be assassins,” Bisky said like it meant nothing.
Hisoka shook his head, “Assassins?”
Bisky made a 'eh' gesture with her hand, “It's a conspiracy theory, likely rooted in antisemitism like,” She waved, trying to find the right turn of phrase, “Mark Zuckerberg being a lizard man. It's just something people talk about, and I didn't want you hearing about it from someone who wasn't me and getting pissy.”
Hisoka pouted at her.
“Yeah yeah,” She reached up to pinch Hisoka's cheek, “You're very cute. Now do your job and get me drunk.”
“Yes ma'am.” Hisoka did a little salute and got to work.
-
Illumi came up to him ten minutes to ten, telling Hisoka that he'd be outside getting a breath of fresh air waiting for Hisoka's shift to end. When ten did hit, Hisoka made his was to the exit and was met with the unpleasant discovery that Illumi's idea of a breath of fresh air was nicotine and tar.
“Do you mind?” Illumi nodded to his cigarette, freshly lit by the looks of it, but certainly not the first going by the two filters laying at Illumi's feet.
“Yeah,” Hisoka hated the smell. He hated the way it coated his lungs even when he wasn't the one smoking it.
Illumi rolled his eyes, taking in the deepest breath Hisoka had ever seen, reducing half the cigarette to ash in his fingertips. He snubbed it out between his fingers and slipped it back into the pack, all before exhaling.
“Are we going?” Illumi asked, eyes slightly red at the corners from the smoke.
Hisoka nodded. “You were very popular tonight.”
“I know,” Illumi pushed off the wall and began walking towards Hisoka's car, “It must be my personality.”
“That is why you're my date tonight,” Hisoka slung an arm around Illumi's shoulders.
Illumi cocked his head at that, “Dates typically spend more time together, but I don't doubt the time we did spend was because of my charm.”
“Who said the night's over?” Hisoka opened the car door for him.
Illumi chewed at his lip, “Me. I have to get home. There are...things I have to do.”
“Things?” Hisoka feigned confusions, “Because last time I checked-”
Illumi lifted a hand to silence him, “Whatever joke you're about to make isn't going to land, so just,” He made a closing movement with his fingers.
Hisoka smiled at him, “I really have no idea what you're talking about.”
Hisoka drove Illumi home, jabbering on about whatever came to mind. Illumi was a good listener, or at least he was good at pretending to be one. It didn't matter to Hisoka either way.
Hisoka felt his gut drop to his shoes as he parked in front of Illumi's current residence. “You sure you're that busy.”
Illumi tilted his head back to look up at his apartment. Hisoka could see the gears in his head begin to turn in a way that spoke of rationalization. “I mean...nothing you couldn't help me with.”
“No offense Illumi, but there's no way I'm entering that biohazard of a home again,” Hisoka said, almost regretting the words as he said them. It was really gross up there.
Illumi's lips pursed, “Do you live close?”
“Close enough,” Hisoka paused, “You know that tongue piercing you have-”
Illumi leaned forward, placing a hand on Hisoka's steering wheel, “I brought a spare.” He opened his mouth and ran his tongue across his bottom lip, “It vibrates.”
Hisoka's mouth opened on a wordless plea, eyebrows tilting downwards. If he could've seen himself, he would've called his expression desperate.
Hisoka's phone buzzed, breaking their eye-contact.
Hisoka pulled it out of his pocket, giving a grimacing Illumi an apologetic grin. It was Bisky, thanking him for 'being such a help,' and telling him how he was 'such a good bartender' and 'an even better drinking buddy.'
He felt Illumi laugh. He was very close.
“I hate that woman.”
“She's nice,” Hisoka tucked his phone away, wanting to get back to that tongue piercing.
Illumi fell back in his seat like a petulant teenager, “She likes to take my things.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you'd be stupid to fall for it,” Illumi took a moment to consider, “Or really fucking desperate, and you're not an idiot, Hisoka.”
Hisoka's lip curled, “What the hell are you on? You can't talk to me like that. I don't even like you. ”
Illumi raised his eyebrows, looking delighted, “Ok. Good night Hisoka.”
“Good night,” Hisoka bit back, reaching over Illumi and opening his door for him.
Illumi stared at the open door, and Hisoka was feeling a little better when he saw the anger, the disappointment, on Illumi's face.
-
Illumi didn't come into work on Monday.
Nor would he be coming in any more at all. The owner had called Hisoka that morning to tell him that Illumi had put in his two weeks two weeks ago.
All he left was a bitter taste in Hisoka's mouth, an empty shop, and a drink in the fridge. On said drink was a post it with messily scrawled words on them, 'Give this to the man that comes in. Consider it my goodbye to him.' then further down in even sloppier writing like the author had gotten drunk and decided to tack something on, 'like an apology.' The words were written in tiny letters, ashamed to be on the paper at all.
The bell above the door chimed, leaving Hisoka no time to decipher what Illumi meant.
The man, presumably the one referred to on the note, walked in and groaned at Hisoka's presence.
Hisoka crumpled the note in his hand and greeted him with enough smarmy joy to drown a cat. He was in the mood to ruin someones day.
“I can see why no one wants to work with you,” The man said before moving onto his order, but Hisoka stopped him and held out Illumi's pre-made drink.
“It's for you,” Hisoka beamed.
The man took the drink skeptically, “Why?”
“A gift! From the only barista who’s gonna take your order for the rest of your life,” Hisoka leaned across the counter, resting his chin on the backs of his hands, “You're stuck with me.”
The man paid and stalked off, probably to look for another coffee shop in the area.
-
Hisoka woke up the next morning, turned on his phone, looked at the news, and was convinced he was clairvoyant.
Dead. The man was dead. Foul play suspected, found belly up in his bathtub by a housekeeper, and the last barista he'd been served by was definitely Hisoka. He thought briefly about the drink Illumi had left, dwelled a little longer on what Bisky had said about assassins. Then shrugged. Why did it matter?
Hisoka hated his stupid job in the stupid cafe at the stupid edge of town, and he hated it all the more now that he wasn't working with Illumi. If he had killed that man, then so be it. He was a dick, and Hisoka was planning on quitting anyways.
Wednesdays were usually slow, but today it seemed never-ending. Hisoka even tried washing down the counter like Illumi always did. He found a stain and spent a whole half hour scrubbing at it only to realize it was just part of the marble. And then just kept scrubbing.
“Hey.”
Hisoka started. He hadn't heard anyone come in, and the counter hadn't been that engrossing.
“Jesus kid. You scared the shit out of me.” Hisoka looked at the boy across from him. He looked unenthused, dark cropped hair and light eyes that were so pale they easily reflected the pink paneling plastered to the front of the counter.
“Sorry,” He didn't sound sorry, “Can I have a croissant?”
“Sure,” Hisoka pulled out the pastry from the display, “That it?”
“Yup,” The boy pulled out his wallet to pay what he owed, counting up the change exactly in his palm. It was kind of adorable when kids were so specific, but also a little aggravating because it meant Hisoka probably wasn't getting tipped.
He took the kids cash when offered and bid him a good day. The boy then pulled out a slip of paper and put it in the tip jar slinking out of the cafe, not triggering the doorbell. Bizarre. Hisoka shrugged it off and turned back to the jar, picking out the slip. Maybe it was monopoly money. That would be funny however unhelpful.
-
Illumi's phone rang, rousing him from a troubled sleep and pounding at his ear drums. His vision went white with pain as he scrabbled around the edge of his floor mattress for his phone.
He had fibbed to Hisoka when he said he didn't live in his apartment. He stayed there a lot more than he ever wanted to let on. Turns out that sharing a home with a family of roaches is preferable to living with your own family if they hate you, and oh boy did Illumi's family hate him. Something about kidnapping his younger sister and almost killing her had tarnished their opinion of him slightly, but that was the furthest thing from Illumi's mind. He was far more focused on finding his blaring phone.
Illumi grabbed something. It was definitely a phone, but not the phone which was simultaneously good and bad news. Bad because the ringing was still happening, but good because the only person who'd be calling him was Hisoka.
After another couple moments searching, Illumi came up with the right phone and answered.
“Hello?” He asked like he wan't expecting the call.
“Dude you're never going to believe what just happened to me.” Hisoka replied, shockingly quiet, voice shaking.
Dude? Illumi rifled through his pants, heaped in a corner next to his 'bed' and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one. “What?”
“Some kid just tried to tip me $500,000.” Hisoka's voice broke off into a hiccup like he was crying. Why was he crying?
“That's nice. You sound upset.”
“Nice?” Hisoka snapped, “Yeah whatever. It would be nice, but I can't cash it.”
“Why not?” Illumi fingered the hem of his wife-beater and looked down at himself. He was wearing the underwear and tank top he'd had under his suit last night. That had been the nice thing about having a real job. It meant he had to get up everyday and put on a uniform, tie his hair up, put on a baseball cap. Also, he had gotten to hang out with Hisoka which was nice.
“Because it's not in my name,” Hisoka broke out into a manic laugh, crackling through the line like wildfire.
“Not in your name?” Illumi began sorting through his pile of clothes for an out fit of some sorts.
“No. I use a fake name in public, but all my financial stuff is in my legal name. Which makes this a piece of paper,” Hisoka paused, “A very painful piece of paper.”
“Fucking hell,” Illumi cursed under his breath, snubbing his cigarette out on the floor, “Just wait a second. I'm going to come see you.”
Now it was time for Hisoka to ask a question, “Why?”
“Why'd you call me Hisoka?” Illumi paused in his search for a shirt.
“Because...I don't know.” Hisoka huffed out a wet laugh, “I don't have any other friends.”
“How about Bisky.”
No response. Illumi smiled.
“Well,” Illumi said, lifting a t-shirt from his pile, “That's why I'm coming. You're my friend, and I also plan on smacking the shit out of you, so steel yourself for that.”
Hisoka sniffed one last time and chuckled, “Ok Illumi. I'll be waiting.”
-
Illumi walked in 15 minutes later in a short sleeved t-shirt, the same pants from last night, and a pair of wide black sunglasses. He looked like Hisoka's old boss from the bar before she'd left and her son who never came by took over. There was a thick ropey scar originating from somewhere under Illumi's shirt and falling down his arm and a single hard stroke. It was noticeably free of tattoos, the only empty spot on his exposed arms.
“Give me the check,” Illumi pulled off his glasses and tucked them into his collar, holding out his hand to take the check from Hisoka. He proceeded to rip it up into 8 clean pieces and shoved them back across the counter.
“Hey!” Hisoka chided, sorting through the scraps with a finger.
“Like you said, it was useless.”
“I would've framed it.”
Illumi rolled his eyes, pulling out a check book from his pocket, “Real name?”
“What're you doing?” Hisoka crossed his arms and looked apprehensively at the check Illumi was beginning to write.
“I'm writing you a check. What's your name?”
“Hisoka Morrow. M-o-r-r-o-w.”
Illumi paused then raised his fingers into a heart shape, “Amorou. That's cute.”
“Thanks,” Hisoka's brow furrowed, “Why are you writing me a check?”
“Because you helped me kill that guy.”
“Oh,” Hisoka nodded slowly, “Ok.”
“Don't be concerned,” Illumi assured him despite Hisoka's apparent lack of interest, signing his name illegibly on the slip of paper, “We won't get caught, and even if I did, you'd have plausible deniability,” He brought the pen up to his lips and bit at the end, “Until you cash this check. Hm. Maybe I shouldn't give this to you.”
Hisoka slammed his hand down on the note, “No.”
Illumi looked up at him and smiled, “Alright.”
Hisoka looked down at his new found wealth, “Bad breakup, or what?”
Illumi looked confused for a moment before rolling his eyes at him, “Oh my God. I can't believe you fell for that. No, Hisoka. My standards aren't that-” He gave Hisoka a once over, “Never mind my standards. I was contracted to do it, and he was notoriously paranoid. I thought I'd use you for cover.”
Hisoka took a little offense to that. He was imposing. Why wouldn't someone known for their paranoia be scared of him? The offense, however, was soothed by the large amount of money in his hands.
“It took longer than I thought,” Illumi went on, leaning on the counter like they were having a conversation about gas prices and not the murder they'd committed, “I took this job for spending money and it took me ages. God I hate this place.”
“Spending money,” Hisoka waved the check at him, “This is 'spending money' to you? Half of it is enough to change my life forever. I can't imagine calling the whole of what you're commissioned 'spending money'.”
“You think that's half,” Illumi chuckled.
“It's not?” Hisoka scoffed, “I did half the work. I charmed his ass off,” Illumi raised his eyebrow at that, but it did not discourage Hisoka, “I gave him the drink. You owe me.”
“What happened to that money changing your life?” Illumi sighed wispily, “Um. I don't know. Do you want your old job back. Would that make up for it?”
“You could do that?”
“I own the bar. I can do whatever I want.”
“You own the bar?” That explained his resemblance to the woman.
“I manage it,” Illumi shrugged, “Didn't I fire you?”
“Not to my face.”
“I distinctly remember telling someone with pink hair that they...you were fired. Oh. Maybe it wasn't you,” Illumi brought the pen back to his mouth and chewed on it in thought.
“Were they a 5'2” girl?” Hisoka asked determined to frown no matter how hard his lips tried to pull themselves up into a smile.
Illumi's eyes went wide, “Yes! That's it. Anyway do you want your job back?”
“Yes please.”
“You can come in next week, and-” Illumi gestured to the cup sleeves, “Give me one of those.” Hisoka dutifully handed one over and watched Illumi stoop over it to scrawl a series of numbers in his unintelligible handwriting. “This is my number, my real one, so call me if you need anything,” Illumi took a deep breath, sliding the piece of card board over, “Or if you want things. I can do that too.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” Hisoka had something else to say, but it got lost in the recesses of his mind as his gaze raked down Illumi's body, “Are your nipples pierced?”
“I have to go!” Illumi announced, pulling his glasses off the front of his shirt and slipping them onto his nose, “Call me.”
“Oh, I will.” Hisoka watched Illumi leave the cafe, trailing him until he disappeared around the corner. Then, he turned his attention back to the two slips of paper he'd just acquired: the check and the number. He wondered which one would benefit him more.
Probably the check.