i couldn't pick between “You’re not gonna cry, are you?” and “I’m fine.” so you can choose or do both ;-; thanks in advance! i love your writing so much, thank you for all your nijiaka!
omg no aaaa thanks so much for your kind words;; i’m not sure if this is what you wanted but i hope you like it ;A; (also i’m guessing the pairing you wanted was nijiaka :)) )
The bar gets busy these hours so no one really notices when a boy, no older than seventeen, pops in and demands the drink the unconscious guy in the far corner had consumed.
That is, no one but the bartender himself.
“Right,” Nijimura says slowly, unimpressed. He steers back a little and cocks his head, grabbing the attention of Himuro, a co-worker, sharing a look with him only to receive a shrug in return. The rag falls from Nijimura’s hands, draping over the counter as he crosses his arms.
“How old are you again?”
“I’m twenty.” Unblinking eyes stare back at him.
“How old are you really?”
Nijimura almost jumps when a ten thousand yen note is slapped on the counter, the supposed adult’s gaze narrowing just so.
Nijimura said nothing. So did the boy, but Nijimura notices his jaw tense and the ice-cold fire in his spectacular crimson eyes, contrasting heavily with his false smile. He scans the area for a moment before sighing.
At least the kid looked satisfied with the drink.
Nijimura takes his money, gives him the right change, and glares when Kid protests.
“Just this once,” he says.
His name, Nijimura later learns, is Akashi Seijuro, and he has a freaking Wikipedia page. The next time obocchan visits (he’d been expecting it), the first thing he asks is if he had known that.
“I do.” Akashi replies without flinching, “although someone finds humour in changing my family name to ‘Brat’ every Friday.”
“Yeah that’s me right there.”
“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” Nijimura asks Akashi when he looks particularly down one day. “I’ve had enough babysitting for this week and no ten thousand bill is gonna stop me from kicking you out.”
“I’m fine,” Akashi says although he’s not. “I’d like a drink.”
The bartender looks sceptical at first but relents when his gaze is returned head-on. He places the drink he had prepared earlier on the counter and finds he isn’t disappointed with the furrow of Akashi’s eyebrows.
“What is this?”
“It’s a drink.”
“This is not what I want.”
“This,” Nijimura says sharply, “is a chocolate milkshake. It is what everyone wants.
“And,” Unfazed, Akashi stares at him. The man rummages through the hollow of the counter until his hand closes around a cylinder object. “You get one with cream,” a swirl is professionally produced atop the glass, “and a cherry.” He places it on the tip of the swirl, an image that is worthy of their brochure if he’d say so himself.
“Free of charge. Lucky you.”
“Lucky me.” Akashi says in monotone.
“Yes, lucky you,” Nijimura snaps, feeling some vein in his forehead tighten in exasperation. “Drink.”
Akashi complies. Nijimura has jut his hip to rest comfortably against a chair as he watches, a sight that, Akashi thinks, competes with the drink’s sweetness itself.
Akashi smiles, “a bit.”