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"Are you sure that's what you want, Fuuta? It's a strong start for someone who hasn't really—"
"Don't treat me like a kid, ossan."
He hears Kazui sigh in defeat as he retrieves two bottles from the shelf behind him and sets them down on the counter. Fuuta follows the older man with his eyes as he moves to the next shelf, grabbing two whiskey glasses from the top before setting them down in front of Fuuta.
"I'll make you a small one so you can try it first." Kazui goes for the freezer next, pulling out a silicone mold and popping out a ball of ice into each glass.
Fuuta grumbles under his breath despite agreeing that it's probably a good idea. He can't say this is ever how he anticipated his first, proper foray into the world of alcohol to go— he had believed since high school that one day he'd find himself at a bar with classmates or even friends, drinking whatever cheap alcohol they could afford while trying to catch the interest of any girls who would give them even a sliver of a chance. It's a stark difference from where he finds himself now: seated on a barstool at a sleek countertop in his boyfriend's home.
Kazui twists the cap off of the bottle labeled amaretto, then does the same for the bottle with whiskey in the name. Fuuta glances over to the shelf where the bottles had originated, noting the various dark liquids and their distinctive labels. The collection of a proper adult, huh. He turns back once he hears liquid hit the glass. In front of him, Kazui pours a small amount of both liquids into one glass, the brown and yellow liquids mixing together in what almost seems to be perfect halves.
"Didn't know you had bartending skills," Fuuta comments with a smirk as Kazui sets the bottles down. "I thought you'd always been a cop."
"I have," Kazui corrects and slides the barely-full glass towards Fuuta. He chuckles, yet averts his eyes. "Just something I picked up from a friend."
Fuuta opts not to push the seemingly tender subject and focuses on the glass in front of him. He had been nothing short of ardent about the idea of drinking "properly" ever since Kazui brought the idea up to him some time ago, but now the reality in front of him fills him with trepidation. This threshold into unknown territory was more foreboding than he had anticipated it would be.
"…You don't have to if you don't want to," Kazui says, gently. He knows Kazui is just being nice, utilizing that fountain of patience that never seemed to run dry, but the concern only sparks a burst of irritation in Fuuta. He scoops up the glass and puts it to his lips, cognizant not to try and throw it back like it's a shot.
Even with a relatively small sip, the burning sensation quickly erupts into a painful inferno in his throat. He barely manages to get the glass safely onto the counter before he starts coughing, desperately trying to eject the feeling that's now inflamed his nose along with his windpipe. A glass of water is shoved in his hands and he manages to take a large gulp in the interim of his coughing fit. Thankfully, the cool, more familiar liquid extinguishes the blaze. He sets the water down with one final cough and looks up to meet Kazui's gaze, entirely filled with worriment.
He flushes and looks away. How humiliating. What kind of adult— what kind of man, even— was he if he couldn't handle something like this? Even if it's stronger than anything he's ever had before, it's no excuse for him to be choking and sputtering like that. He's not some frail child.
"Fuuta?"
In his self-deprecation, he had momentarily forgotten Kazui had been watching him. "Huh?"
"Do you want to try something else?"
Fuuta looks towards the glass of his abandoned drink, the ball of ice sweating water into the potent liquor. His mind screams yes, do it again, don't be a coward, but the strain the coughing had caused makes his body vehemently protest. "…No. I'll just… Have a soda or somethin'."
He finally looks up at Kazui, who smiles at him. "You don't need to be disappointed," he consoles. "There's no rush. You'll find something you like."
Fuuta only sighs in defeat as Kazui opens the fridge.
Godfather, END.
Kazui sips his drink in amusement as he watches Fuuta shift in the wobbly bar stool, the 4th time the redhead has done so since they’ve sat down.
“Would you rather switch over to the booths?” Kazui doesn't have to raise his voice over the ballad playing on the speakers, nor the quiet chatter of other patrons. He glances over at the rest of the dim yet softly lit bar; It's not the busiest night, so there are still some free seats behind them.
Fuuta shakes his head, and takes another sip of his soda. Ice clinks inside the cup, and fizz bubbles to the top as the younger man sets the drink down. “This is just, different than how I thought bars would be like, I guess?”
Kazui raises an eyebrow. “How so?”
The younger man groans, burying his head into his hands. “Y'know, I thought bars would be sleek and cool and all that. You grow up looking at all these fancy places in movies and stuff, but real life just isn't like that.”
Slumping over, Fuuta glances at Kazui’s drink before glaring at his own. “Ugh, why am I even drinking soda in a dump like this?”
The bartender shoots them a dirty look from the other end of the counter, to which Kazui has to quickly give an apologetic smile. Guess he'll have to order another drink.
He pats Fuuta’s back with a light chuckle. “Now now, there are plenty of worse places I've been to, trust me.” The man downs the rest of his drink, savouring the mild burn at the back of his throat before he orders another of the same. With the bartender now focused on the new cocktail, Kazui moves his soothing hand downwards. He rests it near Fuuta’s waist, lingering for just a moment more until his glass is served.
Kazui takes a small sip, only to catch Fuuta staring at his lips that are wrapped around the rim of the cup. Fighting the urge to smirk, he brings the chilled glass towards the younger man. “Do you want some?”
Fuuta freezes when he gets caught. His eyes dart between the sloshing orange liquid and Kazui’s curled lips, swallowing as he does so.
The older man smiles. “No pressure. You don’t have to force yourself.”
“No, I,” The redhead quickly takes the glass. Fingers brush against one another, and the tint of Fuuta’s cheeks is barely visible in the dimly lit bar. “I’ll give it another shot.”
Kazui watches as Fuuta trepidatiously brings the glass to his lips. The younger man tips it back ever so slightly, before steeling his resolve and taking a reasonably sized sip. It doesn’t take long for Fuuta’s face to scrunch up, brows furrowed as he swallows and reaches for his soda.
“What’s even in this?” Fuuta asks in-between gulps, still grimacing. “How do you even drink something that bitter?”
“Bitter?” Kazui is surprised at the comment, before nodding in understanding. “Ah, I used to think that too, when I was younger.”
Kazui takes a sip for himself, letting the liquor spread across his tongue before sending it down his throat. Fuuta isn’t wrong; The bitterness is still there, even after so many years of ordering this drink. And yet, it gives way to the sweetness of fruit and the spicy hint of wood, stirred alcohol burning warmly in his gut. He’s come to like this drink quite a bit, actually. For all those nights he spent at his friend’s bar, basking in the atmosphere of a similarly cozy drinking spot, this cocktail was his companion of choice for mulling over his many woes.
Fuuta simply stares at him incredulously. “And you kept drinking that?”
Kazui chuckles. “I suppose I did. Drink it enough times, and it starts going down like water.”
The way Fuuta’s eyes dazzle when looking at Kazui makes the older man’s heart inexplicably ache. To think that he was once the same, amazed as he watched his friend mix his first drinks, helping him taste test cocktails until his entire body turned beet red. The bitterness used to be so overwhelming, the whiskey setting his insides aflame. Perhaps the drink has always tasted the same; He’s simply acclimated to it, stomaching the stinging sensation so often that he’s grown numb.
Kazui leans back in his stool. His back muscles feel tense, and his spine creaks.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it over time.”
Manhattan, END.
Fuuta fidgets next to Kazui, barely listening to the man give the restaurant host the last name and time for their reservation. For whatever reason, Kazui's been on a mission for them to have a proper date— whatever that means. Sure, their dates had typically fallen on the more 'casual' side, but that didn't make them any less 'proper', did they? Regardless, the upscale, Western-style restaurant they found themselves is far too fancy of an experience for Fuuta's comfort. Someone like him didn't belong in a place like this.
"Seems like our table's ready. Shall we, Fuuta?"
Swallowing hard, Fuuta hastily nods. The host leads Kazui to their table while Fuuta follows meekly behind, trying to ignore the way sweat runs down the back of his dress shirt. Should've ditched the suit jacket… He keeps his eyes straight ahead, focusing on the point on Kazui's vest, desperate not to acknowledge any of the patrons that could potentially be staring at him with judging eyes. The feeling alone is enough for him to want to turn tail and run out the door.
They're seated at a table without incident. The booth-like seating makes Fuuta want to sink down and deflate, but the threat of maintaining appearances keeps his spine ramrod straight instead. Kazui, who Fuuta swears must never feel out of his element in any scenario, hums as he picks up one of the menus the host had left them before departing their table. Fuuta reaches for the other menu with trembling hands, desperate to maintain some facade of normalcy amidst the chaos in his brain.
"They've got fantastic seafood here," Kazui muses as he skims the menu's listings. "Their cuts of meat are high-quality as well." Fuuta can only nod along, looking at his own booklet but not actually reading it. "Ah, I'm getting ahead of myself. How about some drinks?"
"Drinks, yeah," Fuuta murmurs in agreement. Out of habit, his gaze falls on the non-alcoholic section.
"They've got some classic cocktails, if you'd like to try one."
He peeks over the top of his menu at Kazui, but he still seems deep in considering their dinner options. Slowly, he flips the page to the extensive list of alcohol and skims through wine, beer, champagne, before finally taking a closer look at the cocktail section. He immediately skips past anything that looks like straight alcohol. No way in hell am I embarrassing myself here. His journey eventually leads him to cocktails with lists of ingredients long enough to make sentences out of. Some of them are conveniently accompanied by pictures.
Fuuta cringes at the descriptions of many of the options. Too fruity, too flowery, too bright. He doesn't really want a girly drink. However, a description and its accompanying image eventually catch his eye: a warm, orange-colored drink with a slice of lemon on the conical rim that listed amaretto, orange liqueur, lemon juice as its ingredients. While it's got fruit in it, it feels more mature than an outright fruity drink. Not only that, but his first drink— despite the fire hazard it caused within his body— did have a note of almond that he had enjoyed, attributable to the amaretto. Maybe this won't be so bad…? Still mostly alcohol, so that counts, right?
A waiter appears at their side, making Fuuta jump. "Would you gentlemen like to start with drinks?"
Fuuta debates if he's making the right choice while Kazui tells the waiter his order. When the waiter turns to him expectantly, he points to the menu and stutters out: "This- this one."
"Ah, very good. One of my favorites." The waiter smiles and nods as he pencils the name of the cocktail down. "I'll be right back with those."
He leaves. Fuuta exhales a sigh of relief, this time giving into his urges and flattening against the back of his seat a bit.
"I'm glad you're trying something new," Kazui says, closing his menu. "I was worried the first one had scared you off a bit."
The last thing Fuuta would ever do is admit that it most certainly had scared him off, a lot. He really hopes this drink goes better, both for his own pride and for the sake of both of their appearances.
"I just wanna find something that works," Fuuta can't help but grouch.
"You will. There's plenty of options for you to try," Kazui glances around them before reaching across the table and squeezing Fuuta's hand before pulling away. "And plenty of time for you to try them."
"Sure, but…" Fuuta sighs. "I wanna know now. Feels like it's what all adults do, y'know? Everyone's got a drink," he huffs. "Everyone's got a path in life."
Kazui is quiet, studying him. "This isn't just about the drink, I'm guessing."
I don't even know why I'm saying this. "It's stupid."
"It's not, if it bothers you."
Ever-patient Kazui.
With a groan, Fuuta sinks deeper into the booth. "I dunno what I'm doing, ossan. I've just been taking these university classes with no freakin' destination in mind. Meanwhile, my classmates have their whole degree planned out and job prospects that'll guarantee them for at least the next five years." He closes his eyes, listening to the quiet chatter of the restaurant patrons, the clinking of silverware against dishes. "Meanwhile, I can't even find a drink that I like. Talk about lame."
A presence by his side makes Fuuta straighten himself. The waiter has returned, this time with drinks in hand. The glass that gets set in front of him, much to Fuuta's surprise, looks just like the picture in the menu. He can smell the lemon juice and the orange, gently tangled with the scent of the liquor.
"Are you ready for appetizers, or shall I give you two a moment?"
"We'll take a little more time."
As the waiter steps away from them, Fuuta gingerly picks up his glass. Before he can take a sip, Kazui holds up his own whiskey glass.
"A toast," Kazui says, "To us. And to the future ahead."
Confused, Fuuta taps his glass against Kazui's and finally takes the tiniest of sips.
It's… Not bad. It's not great, either, but he can at least stomach this one. The burn is nowhere near as intense as the drink before, and the elements of acid and almond mix together in a mostly pleasant way. He takes a second, larger sip, and the burn hits a little harder, but it's tolerable. A step in the right direction.
"What do you mean," Fuuta watches Kazui take a quiet sup of his own drink. "By 'the future'?"
Kazui sits back, observing Fuuta with gentle eyes. "Our future, I suppose," he expounds. "But your future, more than anything. You give yourself too little credit. Or, more accurately… You give others too much credit."
"Hah?"
"It's easy to believe your classmates have things all figured out, but I can assure you most of them probably don't." Kazui shifts his glass against the table, watching the ice jostle against the clear walls. "It's tough at that age, to be expected to know everything you want to do in life. Most people don't. I'd even say…" He looks up from the glass and at Fuuta. "…That even most people my age don't know."
Fuuta holds his gaze. "Even you?"
Quietly, Kazui chuckles. "Maybe so. My point being… Very few people will ever know for sure what they're doing, or what path they'll take. In this old man's opinion, you're doing just fine for yourself. I have no doubt that you'll figure out what exactly you want to do before you know it."
For once, Fuuta can't find it in himself to brush off Kazui's encouragement. So he clears his throat and picks up his drink again, hiding the red that's creeping onto his cheeks behind the glass.
…It really isn't that bad.
Amaretto Sidecar, END.
“Oh? Who’s this, Kazui?”
An old friend greets him from behind the bar. Waving back, Kazui gestures for Fuuta to join him at the counter. A favourite jazz track of his plays while they settle down in their stools.
“Just a friend.” Kazui replies curtly.
“Wait, is this the young’un you’ve been talking about?” The bartender’s face lights up as he turns towards Fuuta. “What makes someone like him interested in an old-timey place like this?”
“Don’t sell yourself short, you’re the best bartender I know. There’s no better place for drinks than here.”
The bartender chuckles. “If you wanted something on the house, then your smooth-talking sure did the trick.”
He turns towards Fuuta, who’s been quietly watching them the entire time. “You’re not used to drinking yet, I bet. I’ll make you Kazui’s favourite back in college.”
Grabbing bottles off the shelf, the bartender chuckles in reminiscence. “Really brings me back. You should’ve seen him! He caught the eye of so many girls, but he turned them all down! Kazui said he’d rather go drinking with me instead.”
Kazui sighs. “You’re exaggerating, really. Please just give me something sour.”
“A sour drink for a sour friend, coming up.”
As his friend jokes on, Kazui sneaks a glance Fuuta’s way. The young man looks more at ease here compared to the last bar they visited, but there’s this lingering tension in his smile. Fuuta’s laughs aren’t as carefree as usual, instead uneasy and restrained as the bartender prattles on about Kazui’s unnoteworthy youth.
Sure enough, Fuuta nervously leans into him once the bartender is busy making their drinks. “Does he not know?” About us. Fuuta whispers, a twinge of disappointment in his voice. The words left unsaid make Kazui’s stomach churn as he shakes his head.
He looks away, afraid to meet Fuuta’s eyes. “I want to tell him, but,” Kazui sighs. How many nights has he spent in this exact seat, mouth dry as he tried to drum up the courage to break the news, only to head back home with his tail between his legs? “I never got around to it.”
Fuuta turns away with a huff. “Yeah, whatever you say.”
Conversation dies down. When the bartender comes back with their drinks, his presence alone is enough to lighten the mood. He focuses his attention on Fuuta today, giving him a brief rundown of all the different spirits he keeps in stock. Fuuta asks the occasional question, to which his friend answers so succinctly that even a beginner to alcohol like Fuuta can understand.
The older man simply sips his drink as his friend moves on to giving an overdetailed and dramatized account of Kazui’s proper yet wayward life. Kazui knows how it should taste, that it’s a perfect blend of sour, sweet and bitter. He trusts his friend’s handiwork more than anything and has perfect faith in his abilities. And yet, his tongue simply lingers on the sharp tanginess of lemon. No matter what he does, the tart flavour sticks. It sticks out like a sore thumb, ruining the balance of this delicate concoction.
For a moment, he’s almost envious of Fuuta. As Fuuta eagerly learns more about cocktails and whatnot from his friend, Kazui can only marvel at how unreserved the young man can be sometimes. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, Fuuta carves his own path with determination and bluntness. Kazui can only wish he had that resolve when he was younger, that he had the guts to disregard others and live a life he truly wanted. But it’s too late now. When the years pile on, even the sweetest of nectars can’t balance out a soured base.
Kazui glances down at his glass, the drink so murky he’s spared from seeing a reflection of how sorry he must look now. He downs the rest in one go.
The bartender steps away to work on other customer’s orders, leaving the two alone. Kazui and Fuuta don’t talk. They just sit there, letting the clinking of glasses, murmur of guests and smooth jazz fill in the silence.
After a while, Fuuta finally speaks up.
“I thought you were serious about us, that’s all.”
“Fuuta, I…”
I am.
He thinks of the toiletries, slippers, and cutlery he’s set aside for Fuuta back home. The drawer where Fuuta keeps his spare clothes grows slowly but steadily as the younger man stays over more frequently. His fridge is always stocked with Fuuta’s favourite energy drink, ever since that one time the redhead found out it was easier to complete assignments at Kazui’s place. Before he knew it, Fuuta has become a constant in his life, a person he looks forward to meeting every week, someone he wishes he could see after a long day of work.
When was the last time he felt this comfortable with anyone?
He doesn’t remember.
“I’ll introduce you to my friends someday. Properly.”
Kazui reaches under the bar table and squeezes the younger man’s knee, hoping it provides Fuuta with at least a morsel of comfort.
He’ll make it up to him, no matter what. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Maybe the next time they meet up, he’ll bring Fuuta something special. If he doesn’t like it, then so be it. Even then, he’ll continue trying his best to support Fuuta. He’s still young after all. Plenty of opportunities for him to thrive and live a life he’ll be happy with. Plenty of chances for him to realize he’s better off with someone closer to his age, similar in experience.
“So please Fuuta, bear with me for a bit.”
He sounds so pathetic that he wants to laugh.
Whiskey Sour, END.
"Looks good."
Fuuta dusts his hands off as he looks at his handiwork. His apartment, notoriously the type of untidy only a university student could obtain, finally looked respectable enough for a guest. The mess had never bothered him before, and no one had ever visited him here, so keeping clean was never on his top list of priorities until today. After feeling like he'd been doing nothing but imposing on Kazui— him picking out their dates, or Fuuta staying over at his place— he'd finally worked up the nerve to invite Kazui to his apartment instead.
Though it doesn't hold up to Kazui's house… At all.
There's a sudden knock on the door. Fuuta glances at his phone— right on time. He quickly looks around for anything out of place before trekking over to the door and opening it wide.
"Hey, Fuuta," Kazui greets him with a grin. He's dressed in his usual casual clothes, which makes Fuuta less self-conscious about his tracksuit. "Thanks for inviting me over."
"Yeah, yeah, we don't gotta do formalities at this point," Fuuta waves his hand dismissively and steps back, giving Kazui space to take off his shoes and enter. "…But I'm glad you're here," he adds quietly.
If Kazui hears him, he doesn't acknowledge it as he steps into the apartment in his socks. It's now that Fuuta notices a small cellophane bag in his hand with a foil ribbon wrapped into a bow at the top.
"I brought a gift," Kazui presents the bag to him once he's noticed Fuuta staring at it curiously. "I hope you don't mind."
Fuuta swears he just said something about ignoring the formalities. However, he leaves it be in lieu of taking the bag and opening it right then and there. The ribbon easily pulls away, allowing him to scrunch the bag down to see the item inside.
"You seem to be liking amaretto," Kazui explains as Fuuta holds the small bottle up to the light. "So I wanted to get you some you could have whenever you wanted."
It's so thoughtful it almost hurts, the way it squeezes Fuuta's heart. He clears his throat. "I actually, uh… Y'know what, just c'mere."
He leads Kazui through the short walk to his tiny kitchen and sets the bottle down on the counter, next to a row of a few other, similarly-sized bottles. "I… Decided to stock up."
Kazui's eyes widen, taking in the small variety of bottles and even the shaker next to them. "I see," Kazui nods to himself, crossing his arms. "Fuuta's turned into a party animal and I didn't even know…"
"Oh, shaddup," Fuuta grumbles, his ears burning from embarrassment. "It's not like anyone else comes here anyway." He looks away, scratching the back of his neck. "Just you."
In his peripheral vision, he can see Kazui's fake-shock shift into genuine surprise before melting into a smile. "Even the shaker?"
"I…" Fuuta is fairly sure he'll die if he has to admit much else. "…Looked up some stuff online about making drinks, and… I dunno, I just wanted to give it a try."
The videos online about using a drink shaker did not encapsulate the learning curve that the tool had, but Fuuta had been determined to figure it out. He had only been practicing with water, though— the last thing he needed was to spill expensive alcohol on himself. Tonight would be the real deal.
"Want something?" He asks, praying it curbs any more possible questions. "I don't have much, but…"
"I'm good for now," Kazui shakes his head. "But feel free to make yourself something. You seem excited to try it out."
Fuuta ignores the flutter in his stomach at the thought that Kazui can read him that well and turns to his selection. He definitely didn't have much. However, within his alcohol-related research, he had found a recipe that stood out to him and went out to buy the ingredients, along with a couple of alcohol types he had recognized from Kazui's house.
With the feeling of Kazui watching him, Fuuta pops open the metal shaker as he tries to remember the portions he'd seen online. A little of the amaretto (the one Kazui had just gifted him, of course), a little more sour mix, the lightest splash of a cheap bourbon, and finally some simple syrup. Kazui has come into his view, now, observing his movements with amused intrigue.
Shake it… Carefully… Fuuta places the lid back on and triple-checks that he's sealed it tightly before giving it a rough shake. He counts up to fifteen in his head before stopping. "Could you grab me some ice?"
Kazui opens the freezer atop the refrigerator and passes the ice tray to him. Fuuta pulls the shaker lid off again, drops in a handful of small ice cubes, then closes it and shakes for a few seconds more. By some miracle, he manages not to spill anything this time.
Kazui passes him a whiskey glass— part of a cheap set that Fuuta had found on sale— and Fuuta pours the drink from the shaker into it.
"That looks great," Kazui voices as Fuuta, with the slightest bit of excitement, deposits the shaker into the sink. "You've been studying, huh?"
Fuuta grins. It's been awhile since he's done something that's made him feel this proud of himself. He picks up the glass and, without too much hesitation, gives it a taste.
It's perfect. The alcohol no longer assaults his senses, now that it's more smoothly mixed with the acidity he found himself liking at the restaurant, along with some extra sweetness to shave down the edge. Kazui even seems impressed with his handiwork, which is a huge bonus on top of this silly accomplishment.
The giddiness makes way for something more sentimental, something as sappy as the liquid sugar he'd mixed into his drink. He sets his glass down and ponders for a moment. "I think you're right, ossan."
"Hm?"
"About not rushing. About figuring it out," he says. The amber shade of his drink reflects his face back to him. "I think I can do it. But…"
"But?"
Fuuta feels the flush return to his face again, and he almost wishes he were already further into this drink for what was about to come out of his mouth. "But it's only because you're here," he admits, growing quiet. "No one's believed in me like you do. So…" He looks up at Kazui, looking at him with something along the lines of awe. "…You better stick around. I won't forgive you if you don't."
Amaretto Sour, END.
Kazui blinks. Once, twice.
He stares at Fuuta, letting those steely eyes of his pierce through him.
“Thank you,” Kazui smiles. His heart aches for a moment, at the redhead’s tinted cheeks, and at his own cowardly self. “You’ll find plenty of other people who believe in you as well.”
Fuuta’s different after all. He has his whole life ahead of him, and more confidence in himself than Kazui ever did back in the day. He can make it. Anyone can, if they live true to themselves.
Kazui? He spent his entire life doing anything but that. Instead, he used every waking moment to bury his true self within the deepest of trenches. It was the only thing someone born fundamentally different, inexplicably wrong, could do after all. If it weren’t for Fuuta stubbornly trying to make him open up, Kazui might’ve continued masquerading as someone he wasn’t, someone he wished he was for the rest of his life.
Because of this, watching Fuuta grow into a respectable person would be his greatest honour. He’d like nothing more than to support the young man as he matures, to give him some pointers as he navigates adulthood. And yet, Kazui has no right to stay by Fuuta’s side. Not when he’s the exact antithesis of who Fuuta aspires to be, not when he’s equally clueless on what he’s doing in life.
“...It doesn’t have to be me, you know.” Kazui’s confession is quiet, defeated.
Fuuta simply stares at him dumbfounded. His face soon warps into a scowl,
“Don’t you get it?!”
The redhead’s voice is pained as he growls. He glares at Kazui, fury sizzling within his eyes.
“I don’t wanna figure shit out with anyone else! You’re the only one that treats me like a proper adult even though I’m not, and you’re so damn patient with me even when I’m a complete idiot! I just— I don’t know. Are you really telling me to go find some rando even when I wanna be with you?!”
Fuuta’s chest heaves from the outburst. Looking at the still-quiet Kazui, at how much smaller and apologetic he looks, the redhead can only sigh.
“Ugh, dammit,” Fuuta curses under his breath. “Sorry, I…”
There’s a long pause before Fuuta speaks up again. “C’mon, I can’t be the only one drinking here.”
He pushes the bottles of liquor towards Kazui. “I’ll make you something. Not that I know any other recipes, but you’ve gotta have some, right?”
Kazui glances at the options before him, and nods.
“Tell me, then. How do I make it?”
He guides Fuuta through the drink. A spoonful of sugar, some dashes of bitters, mixed together with some water. Fuuta does look at Kazui for affirmation after every step, just to double-check if his portions are correct. But the uncertainty quickly goes away as the redhead continues, adding the mixture over ice before pouring in the cheap bourbon. By the time Fuuta strains the drink into a chilled glass with ice, there’s this shine in his eyes that Kazui can’t help but smile at. He does try to prepare an orange twist just to help out, but is vehemently stopped by Fuuta. Instead, Kazui ends up chuckling as Fuuta tries to find a peeler in his kitchen, only to give up and use a knife.
Soon enough, Kazui’s order is completed. Deep amber swirls in the glass, garnished by a crudely cut orange peel.
“Go on,” Fuuta urges him with anticipation. “Try it.”
Kazui clinks his glass against Fuuta’s and sips it. The bourbon assaults his senses, overwhelmed by the excess drops of bitters. It’s a bit too sour as well, even if the oversized orange peel is refreshing on his tongue. There’s barely any sweetness in the aftertaste either, but the melted sugar does calm the inferno in his gut ever so slightly. It’s nowhere near refined and doesn’t even hold a candle to his friend’s drinks. But it’s so distinctly Fuuta, that Kazui can’t help but grow fond of it.
He must’ve made a face though, because Fuuta looks downcast when Kazui looks up.
“I messed it up, huh?”
Kazui shakes his head. The drink could’ve gone a lot worse, after all. Really, he was the one that gave less-than-ideal instructions. Still, he’s glad that he got to guide Fuuta through the recipe, that they made mistakes together. At the very least, Fuuta will have someone by his side to give him pointers. It’s a lot more than what Kazui had back in the day and should hopefully spare Fuuta the pain of figuring things out on his own.
If it weren’t for Fuuta, perhaps Kazui would still be stuck in his old ways. Wallowing in his misery, having no one to truly turn to, that was how he lived until Fuuta made his way into his life. The redhead was one of the only people to see past his composed demeanour, to see how truly troubled he was. And yet, Fuuta stuck around. He called him out on his act but wasn’t even remotely disgusted.
For someone like Fuuta, no, because it’s Fuuta, an old man like him can take a chance.
“I like it. You made it for me, after all.”
Fuuta returns Kazui’s heartfelt smile, albeit with a small huff.
“Whatever you say, old man.”
Fuuta’s retort is warm and lighthearted. It complements the alcohol burning pleasantly in his gut.
Old Fashioned, END.