Shizaya based on Taylor Swift's "Mine"
.com/watch?v=XPBwXKgDTdE ~ how they meet (Shizuo is the waiter/Izaya is the college student)
~ how they meet (Shizuo is the waiter/Izaya is the college student)
~ how they got to know each other/dating
~ moving in together
~ Shizuo proposing on the boat
~ Fighting one night over something stupid
~ Izaya crying, thinking back on how his parents fought, and then comforted by Shizuo
~ Kids! (Psyche, Tsugaru, Delic, and Hibiya)
Smut is optional but fluff and slight angst is what anon craves!
Please someone fill this!
P.S Must have some scene at the beach!
xXxXx Mine xXxXx
The bells on the door go unheard against the light chatter in the café as I step inside. It's an older place—the door doesn't ease shut on one of those fancy sliding bars, I have to push it. I give it a gentle nudge back towards its frame with the tips of my fingers, but the slab of wood is stubborn and doesn't click like I want it to.
I look around. No one is watching me, thankfully. Taking a step back, I push my arm back against it. The problem is, I've been losing weight recently and it's still not enough force.
I subtly thrust my back against it.
Not only is there a loud thud, but a great cacophony as the doorknob springs out of its prison and makes a wild dash across the floor.
Now people are watching me. I can tell not only because I can see their eyes, but because my face is warm and my eyes burn because I've forgotten to blink for a few too many seconds.
A tall blonde appears suddenly from behind a wooden column. His hair is nicely messed and the sleeves of his white work shirt are rolled up. To his elbows, revealing nice but not excessively muscled forearms. My face does not get less warm as he smiles and walks over to me.
As soon as I see him leaning to pick up the doorknob, I copy his motion. As fate would have it, this is not my day at all and I smack my thick skull into his forehead.
"Oh shi—Are you okay?" he asks worriedly, doing that kind of concerned crouch people always do when something like this happens. You know, his arms are crooked and kind of ready to catch me or something in case I fall, and he's got his feet placed askew to keep his own balance. I briefly wonder if he even felt it. My hands are glued to the spot on my head, even warmer than the rest of me. I pray to some divine entity that I'm not bleeding. That would just be too great.
"Y-yeah," I manage breathlessly, wishing my hands could hide the rest of me well enough so I could Houdini out of this place. But then, giving up already would be so unlike me. And wouldn't it be more embarrassing to come in, wreck the door, injure the staff, and then leave without even offering them a simple business trade of a few dollars for a cup of coffee? My hands clench in my hair as I remember the door and I look up at him. "I'm sorry about the door, I'm not usually this clumsy! I'll pay—"
"Hey, no, it's okay!" he interrupts me, laughing a great carefree laugh. "This thing breaks all the time! I've been telling management for months we need to get it fixed!" He moves past me (or rather he takes a step towards the door and I practically leap back, lest I do any more damage) and pushes the now easily-swinging door open, picks up the other doorknob, and fixes them together easily. "This thing should be open anyway, it's a nice day." He smiles at me and I feel incredibly foolish. I know he didn't mean to totally devalue my entire war with the entrance to the place, but I do feel stupid for not just leaving it. Of course that would have been tons easier. If someone really cared that it was open, they would close it. Someone who wasn't being followed by the destruction fairy.
I laugh back a little. At least the appearance of this man has stopped the stares. I privately feel they're hoping he'll throw me out for disrupting the peace. He certainly looks capable. "This is probably the most awkward thing that has happened to me in a long time," I say, "I'm usually pretty smooth."
He puts his hands on his hips and grins. "I envy you that. I'm always breaking things. Tom gets pretty mad at me."
I stand awkwardly in response, still wondering if I should leave.
My intent is apparently clear to him, and in the interest of business, he remembers himself. "Oh, sorry, you probably came here for coffee or something." He takes about four long strides over to a table in the opposite corner of the place. Goddamn, he is tall. "Why don't you have a seat? I'll be with you in a moment."
As soon as I make it more than halfway to the table, he figures my escape plans have been quashed and heads into the back, presumably the kitchen.
I resist the temptation to adjust the crooked packets of sugar and Splenda in the little ceramic tin, or to even touch the menu that is peeking out from behind it with tempting pictures of delicious looking pastries. I don't trust my luck today. I figure as soon as I touch it, even its laminated surface will burst into flame. Or rather, the plastic will melt into a gooey mess on the nice rustic wooden table.
The span of the moment the blond has promised to return in passes, and he returns, pulling out a pad of paper from the black half-apron he has tied around his waist. "What can I get for you?" He's still got that friendly smile on his handsome face. I notice his eyes. They're brown, but they're deep. They're not like chocolate—that's too cliché. They're like—
"Coffee," I reply, before I let my mind wander too much. "Just a coffee, please."
"That's all?" He doesn't quite sound disappointed, just disbelieving. I suppose people don't come here much just for coffee. It does have that whole quaint demeanor about it. I heard about it from one of my friends. Most of the people who come here are regulars, and he's not, but the first time he came here he swore he died and went to heaven from their Napoleons. Which doesn't explain at all why I'm not ordering anything besides coffee.
I'm a writer.
Well, I want to be a writer. I'm in college right now, getting my English degree. I don't really feel there's much they can teach me, but my parents wouldn't just accept me launching myself into the job market without some kind of inspiration.
Anyway, on top of having this aspiration, I'm also a bit sentimental. I've always liked the idea of being a regular at some nice, secluded little place. All of the places in town are so overexposed. I don't see myself coming up with great inspiration for a novel in a Starbucks, which overflows with the soulless clones of business men and women every few hours. I need a place with magic. I need to sit and feel it.
I guess that still doesn't explain why I'm avoiding their myriad of muffins.
"Yeah." I confirm my order casually.
"Cream and sugar?"
"Neither. I like it black."
He tucks the notepad back into the pocket of his apron and slips the pen between his ear and the smooth locks of his hair. "You got it." He turns to leave, then stops. "Oh, I'm Shizuo, by the way."
"Izaya," I return automatically, only remembering afterwards that it's not customary to give your name to your waiter.
But he smiles at me again anyway. It's the kind of smile you never get tired of. "I'll be back with your coffee."
I look around this time when he disappears. The other patrons have forgotten my catastrophe. If so most of them are regulars, they must know about the door. The question is, how many drifting caffeine addicts do they get who don't? Was my mishap really that unusual? If—Shizuo—yes, his name was Shizuo—had been telling management to get it fixed for months, others had to have made similar mistakes.
"What do you mean you don't have any cash?" I hear a nearby woman suddenly whisper so harshly her voice is apparent above all others.
"Keep your damn voice down, I've got my card."
"It's a six dollar tab, including tip, you ass."
"You spent the rest of your money on that whore, didn't you?"
"Shut the hell up. If there's any whore, it's you."
"How dare you! How fucking dare you! I'm going to take your ass to court!"
"You're drunk, just shut up and go to bed. You'll forget about it all in the morning."
"One black coffee." A steaming mug is set down on the table in front of me and I blink away my memories. I reach for it immediately and he cautions me, "Careful, it's hot."
I smile. "Well you were touching it…" Despite his warning I reach out and place my hand lightly on the mug. After a few seconds I snap it back to my side. "Ow," I admit.
"Everyone here says I have magic hands. It doesn't bother me." He looks a little guilty, despite the fact that he told me about the danger.
I ignore the slight sting in my hand. "So it's true then. Everyone here is a regular?"
He shrugs. "More or less. We always welcome new faces, though."
The woman's voice rises up again. "No, forget it. You fucked up; you stay here, and I will go home and get some cash."
Shizuo has overheard the conversation as well, apparently. "Excuse me for a second," he says to me, hurriedly crossing to the distressed couple. "Hey, Kiki, don't worry about it. It's on me."
She softens instantly, and the man looks uncomfortable. "We can't let you do that, Shizuo."
"Well what if I just tack it on next time?"
The man looks towards the woman, Kiki, and she looks at him. They agree through some sort of lover's telepathy that this is okay and nod at him. The man stands up and claps him on the shoulder. "Thanks," he says. The two of them leave through the open door, and Shizuo returns to me with a few small plates on the tray he was carrying my coffee on.
"Kiki and Keiji," he says, as if their names explain everything. I must look uncomfortable, because he adds, "They fight a lot, but they're okay."
"Mmm," I hum, looking up at him as I sip my coffee, now holding the handle instead of the cup of the mug.
He nods at me and retreats into the kitchen again. I decide I'm okay with this. Normally I would make casual conversation, but I've already made such a fool of myself that I think I'd like to sink into quietude for a little while.
My spot is right next to a wide window. When I look out of it, I see the edges of the forest I passed on my way here. This place is small, and a little old, but it's no hole in the wall. I am looking for a place to nurture my inspiration, and this is definitely the right kind of candidate. It's a little bit out of the way, but it's definitely got a nice view. There are a few other little shops around. It's a sort of market place, but with more permanence. It's the kind of permanence that you don't really understand. There's got to be a tight-knit community for the whole place to function. People supporting each other. Dare I call it a big family?
It sounds so cliché, but I like it. Like I said, I'm sentimental. The two kind of come with each other, right?
I'm half way through my coffee when I finally tear my gaze away from the thick pane of glass, cloudy with the scratches of age. Shizuo is wandering around the restaurant serving the other customers. Upon looking around the small room, I notice that a few of them have been exchanged for new ones. There's a young mother with two kids, a boy and a girl; an elderly couple; a middle aged man reading a newspaper; a couple of women just a bit older than me.
They're all obviously regulars. As soon as the attractive blond approaches them, they cordially exchange their orders for one of his smiles. He brings out scones and muffins and cakes. I find myself envious of them. I want this familiarity. I want to belong to something with a concentration of heart.
It feels like a privilege when Shizuo returns to check up on me. "You want another coffee?"
I shake my head. "That's okay. I think I'm done for today."
"Hope to see you again." When he says it, it's not just automatic. There's a meaning to it. He pulls out a different notepad from the one I saw earlier and scribbles my total on it, handing me the white sheet while he keeps the yellow copy. Then he takes my cup and leaves again. I shift in my chair so I can pull my wallet out of the deep void that is the pocket of my jeans and give him twice as much as I need to.
xXxXx Prepare for long explain-y Author's Nonsense!
So I am posting this mostly because I am super excited. I did tell you the updates on Touch would be super erratic. That chapter's seriously kicking my ass. It's 13 pages and it's about ¾ of the way done (Just for comparison, this is 3).
This is the first ever multichapter I've done for the kinkmeme, and it's the second multichapter (not counting Touch) I've done on my own. Because the kinkmeme is a very lovely but very demanding place, I will be writing this right out of my head, with almost no plotting. I basically did stream of consciousness last night when I did this part.
SO HERE'S THE DEAL:
I will not edit this at all. In the spirit of the kinkmeme, what's posted is posted, errors or no. I don't know how many errors are in this, but I'm sure there will be more as I go on.
I will post a new chapter when I finish posting it on the kinkmeme. If you want to read it a piece at a time, you will have to go there. If you're okay with waiting, then that's cool too.
I love reviews, as always! I really am very excited about this story…I hope the excitement doesn't wear off! ):