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Samejima steps into the bar and escapes the chilly winds of winter with only a softly lingering shiver. A few of his coworkers chat away as they follow behind him, so he smiles and nods as appropriate. The expectation to join them for drinks after a shift is one of his least favorite parts of the job. He's run out of excuses, unfortunately, so it's time for him to pay his dues.
"Samejima, would you mind picking up the drinks for us?" asks his coworker.
Before he can get a word in edgewise, people start listing off their drink orders, expectant and lazy, eager to return to their boring conversations. He repeats the list in his head once, then stalks to the bar counter. This is a blessing in disguise. Now he doesn't have to engage with them for a few more minutes.
He takes a seat on the high chair and takes some private delight in it. It's a nice feeling to tower over his peers. The man next to him looks at him with some indecipherable expression, then scoots his chair further away. Ah. Well, in that case, the expression is rather decipherable in hindsight.
The bartender approaches—he's much smaller than he seemed at a distance. In fact, Samejima can barely believe the man is old enough to serve alcohol in the first place. His eyes are sharp and his face gruff, unafraid as he addresses Samejima.
"What do you want?"
"The house special, a bottle of soju, and…"
"Got it."
Samejima wonders if something is wrong with his smile tonight. The bartender seems mad. He deducts this from the short sentences and flat tone of his questions, as well as the avoidance of eye contact.
"Stay right there. I'll be done in a few minutes," the small bartender says.
He straightens his back upon hearing the direct order. He can certainly do that. Now he has extra excuse to stay here and avoid his coworkers.
It's nice to observe the man at work, shaking cocktails and clicking his tongue whenever another inebriated customer raises their hand. Despite thin arms and jutting bones, the bartender makes drinks efficiently, displaying a deep power in his lithe body. Samejima squints at the man… He can barely be called a man. It seems foolish that no one else has bothered to question it.
When the bartender returns, Samejima extends a hand and introduces himself, smiling. His voice is steady and commanding, as he's practiced it to be during interrogations.
"My name is Samejima Satoru. And you are?"
The bartender seems shocked at being lead into conversation. He grunts. After filling a cup of soju, he slides it across the counter to Samejima and nods.
"Ryou."
"May I see your ID, Ryou?"
"…What."
The question is rarely asked from this side of the bar, but Samejima's detective intuition is rarely proven wrong.