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“If you don’t shut up and agree to cooperate, we can take our money elsewhere. We’ve heard some pretty fucked up things about you and how you get your info. ”
Izaya internally snorts at the lackluster vocabulary. Money is the last thing he needs; however, the six sketchy looking men currently sitting across from him don’t know that and the informant isn’t about to drop his poker face. He's been dying of boredom as of late and he’s hoping these guys will have something fun for him to do. The only problem being he really doesn’t feel like getting beaten up or tortured again.
To the untrained eye they look like nothing more than regular businessmen, all of them donning suits complete with ties, watches and other expensive accessories. Despite their formal dress though, the sheer number of scars adorning most of the men is a dead giveaway to just what type of “business” they do. One member in particular, the representative for this meeting, is an exorbitantly large man whose physique rivals that of a bodybuilder. A typical human would be cowering in fear and giving into demands; however, Orihara Izaya is anything but typical. Instead, he straightens his posture and chuckles.
“Now, now… you can’t trust every little rumor that the media and my enemies cook up about me. It is true that I have unconventional methods; however, no one ever achieved greatness by conforming to the crowd. To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to-“
A large pair of fists slam down on the table and Izaya swears he can hear a faint cracking sound but still doesn’t flinch, only stops talking.
“Enough babbling! We were told by our client that you were a smooth talker who will do anything to weasel out of his end of the deal! We were also told that you never shut your fucking mouth and so far our info seems pretty damn accurate!”
“Well, if you’re that distrusting of me why even seek out my services? I’m sure there are plenty of other information brokers who would like to go play gangster with you.” Izaya teases and waves his hand as if he’s dismissing them.
The larger man suddenly stands up and clenches his hands into fists until his knuckles are white. Internally the information broker is laughing at the little threat display. Nothing this big oaf can throw at him can even come close to the power of one of Shizuo’s blows, which he remembers the feeling of all too well. Upon seeing the lack of a reaction on Izaya’s end the man sits back down and clears his throat.
“Because we heard that even if you are a pain in the ass, you’re the best at what you do. But we don’t take well to dirty little rats who like to chew their way into our gang. We got methods of dealing with pests like you. You hear me, little rat?” the leader’s voice dropped to a low growl.
Suddenly the sound of a door opening and closing can be heard and the entire room falls into dead silence.
The side of Izaya’s lips twitch up in a knowing smile as he marvels at the confusion plastered on the thug’s faces. The infamously asocial broker Isn’t known to live with or be with anyone. His reputation as a friendless, cold-hearted sociopath greatly lends to the fear and power he holds over his clients and human pawns. The men are probably thinking they lucked into the perfect blackmail opportunity, Izaya muses.
“Ah, I hear you loud and clear,” Izaya starts then pauses for a moment. “but, you know...”
Suddenly a tall, lanky man with bleach blonde hair enters the room and lazily makes his way down the stairs.
“I also have my methods.”
The uninvited guest is wearing simple blue stripped pajama pants complete with a large white tee shirt and disheveled hair. His eyes are heavily lidded and he looks half asleep. The leader of the little gang visibly begins to sweat with anxiety and shifts uncomfortably. Typically the notorious beast of Ikebukuro is fairly unrecognizable without the bartender get-up but even the most amateur of street thugs know to memorize the face of Heiwajima Shizuo.
Izaya stares daggers at the man sitting across from him, never once acknowledging the sudden intrusion. The men don’t dare to move as the blonde lumbers his way across the room and into the kitchen, seemingly unaware of the dagerous tension that lingers in the atmosphere. Sounds of shuffling and glass bottles clacking against one another can be heard. Some of the thugs turn their heads to glance at each other in confusion.
“Oi flea!” The gang leader nearly jumps out of his skin. “Are we out of milk?!” Shizuo yells less out of anger and more out of the hope that Izaya will hear him, wherever he is.
The informant is tickled at how baffled his potential clients look. He crosses one leg over the other in a show of casual confidence and calls back to his roommate.
“No, try looking in the back left drawer!”
More shuffling can be heard from inside the kitchen, followed by gulping sounds and more clatter. Not long after, Shizuo emerges and scans the room with lazy eyes until he finds what he’s looking for. He strolls over to where Izaya is sitting and leans down so that their faces are level.
Then, the unexpected happens. The strongest man in Ikebukuro places a chaste kiss on the informant’s cheek before uttering a simple yet sweet “Goodnight, Izaya-kun.”
Every gang member in the room sits frozen in fear. Some of them are wondering if the informant drugged their drinks because they can not believe what they're seeing. The notion that the two most infamous monsters in all of Tokyo are lovers is nothing short of horrifying. The leader is begging to question not only Izaya’s sanity but his own for deciding to come here.
Izaya shoots Shizuo a playful glare that he misses and grabs his hand to quickly kiss it. The blonde smiles at the out of character gesture and walks off towards the stairs. Normally Izaya would scold his lover for being so affectionate around others but this time, he figures he can let it slide. With a delighted smirk he turns back to face the large thug, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
“Come to bed soon.” Shizuo sleepily mutters over his shoulder and leaves the room almost as abruptly as he had burst in. A thick silence blankets the room until Izaya picks up the coffee cup he’d sat down earlier and takes a sip from it as if nothing had happened.
“So… gentlemen, where were we?”