A/N: I wanted to have it up for Shiro's birthday yesterday, but it just didn't happen. I don't know if this is what you envisioned, Discord, but if you've got suggestions for improvement or changes, just give me a shout. =)

Nope, I don't own any characters from Blue Exorcist.

It was one of those days that make an active effort to get you down. Not by bringing down calamities on your head, no; it's the details. It's the small things that truly make life miserable for you. Like kick-starting the coffee machine first thing you do in the morning, only to realise several minutes later – far too late to make another round, of course, naturally, what were you thinking? – that the filter slipped, and that your "coffee" is now a sorry imitation of bad tea. Or narrowly catching the tram to school, and suddenly remember that the essays you corrected for your students until three in the morning – they complain about the homework, but they don't have to go through twenty copies of the same homework – still lie neatly stacked on your desk back home. It's those small things that ruin a day, but since they really are just small things you can shrug them off if you set your mind to it.

That might just lead the universe to think you're challenging it, since the universe is paranoid that way. In such case, there will come a calamity crashing down on you. When that happens – for this particular day it was a when, not an if – the only thing to do is to drag your sorry ass to a bar and drown any care still swimming. Preferably in company with some other miserable bastard. Because shared sorrow is half the sorrow.

"Who comes up with that kind of crap?" protested a gruff bar visitor whose voice had gone hoarse from… well, either saké or whiskey in too great amounts. "I know my maths. Shared sorrow ain't half the sorrow if I get half o' yours in return for the half I got rid of."

In fact, he had a distinct gut feeling that he was going plus on the sorrow account rather than keeping it in balance. Mephisto had been pouring his whiny, self-absorbed heart out for at least… bah, fuck it. The bar was too dim, the clock on the wall too far away, and the clock hands too many.

"What'cha whinin' for anyway? You actually got chocolate." In contrast to Shiro, whose mail compartment had gaped empty as a student's wallet on Valentine's Day last month.

As headmaster of a school whose staff numbered… well, many, Mephisto got a lot of chocolate on Valentine's. As stingy, selfish son of a bitch, he gave none back on White Day.

He still complained on White Day. Naturally.

"Izz not about getting chocolate, Shiro. Izz the… the thought behind." And that is the one time you'll ever hear a demon advocate 'it's the thought that matters' above material wealth. Mephisto's drunk swaying on the bar stool may not halve Shiro's sorrows, but it did add a little to his entertainment. "Giri-Schokolade from employees is worse than not gettin' Schokolade."

"You're speaking German again."

"Germans make exschellen' chocolate, ya know." Mephisto was going to make an excellent point of that, too, if he hadn't just realised he was about to put his elbow in a bowl of likely-to-be-lethally-contaminated peanuts. "If French izz'e language of love – dun' believe that, bytheway; if you've ever taken a Frenchman to bed you'll know – zen German is ze language of chocolate. And the grammar izz little… little Haselnüssen, for that nice crunchy feeling. To chocolate!" He toasted with himself, very nearly spilling saké on his glove, and downed the remainder of the glass' contents. Then he thought of something; thought long, hard, and… well, focused might be an exaggeration, but he trained a moderately focused gaze on his drinking companion as he did. "Why didn' ya give me any chocolate, Shiro?"

"I didn't get any from you on Valentine's: I got no favour to return t'day", he muttered and took another swig of his own saké.

"Only girls give Schokolade on Valenti-*hic* Valentine's, Shiro", Mephisto protested, and aimed carefully at the fir bar counter before he set down his glass.

"Then you jus' gotta give me chocolate t'day: then I can give ya some back."

Getting chocolate on the girls' day was better than not getting any chocolate at all. …well, maybe. Right now it seemed like the better alternative, at least. That or some more booze.

"This 's always the probl'm with love, you know? Who takes the first step? Who dares make ze leap o' faith and trust there will be Arme to catch you?" True to his habit, Mephisto enacted his speech as he gave it, and flopped into his arms, grinning drunkenly up at Shiro with his head resting against the exorcist's abdomen. "Who'll be first to cross ze point of no return?" Gloved fingers fumbled for his hair and neck, and pulled his face downwards. "Who will-"

"The problem with love is that ya keep mixin' it up with lust."

He shoved the demon away from himself, and it was a small wonder that he managed to get him upright on his bar stool again without him tipping off it. Every damn time he had too much to drink, every single time…

"Ya sayin' I'm ze only one~?" he grinned in some drunken attempt at flirting. "Unless zat's a gun in your pocke-"

"That is a gun."

That did put him off track for a moment. A rather short moment. Then his brain jumped back on track, geared up and replenished with fuel that lit a downright lecherous fire in his eyes.

"My my; you may not get any Schokolade, but you cert'nly aren't Vanille~" he slurred, and had grappled Shiro by the tie in split seconds.

Yep. Every single time. The reactions of Shiro and the wiry old bartender were so synchronized by now they could've plucked a medal in pair figure skating.

"Dun worry, dun worry – here, lemme pay the drinks an' I'll throw him out for you. Less trouble that way. Have a nice evenin'", he added, after making sure Mephisto had both of his silly boots on the floor before he walked him out.

To call it "walking" would've been an insult to the noun. Verb? Gerund…? Well, something took offense at the insult, otherwise it wouldn't have started raining the moment they stepped out of the bar. Fortunately, Mephisto had his umbrella; unfortunately, because nothing that day would be caught in a fortunate state, that umbrella was made for one lone, severely malnourished person. In a half-hearted attempt to fit them both in under it, Shiro slung an arm around his swaying employer's waist and made himself as slim as circumstances allowed.

"Y'know, even if you didn' get any Schokolade, I want'cha to know that- *hic* that I really appreciate you. Not jusht your ass- *hic* -ets, but I appreciate… I 'preciate you."

"Great, great – keep this thing steady", he muttered, but had to grab hold of Mephisto's hand to hold the umbrella properly.

They zig-zagged down the sidewalk, with rain pitter-pattering down on the umbrella, and on Shiro's right ear and shoulder. He would've taken the damn umbrella from him entirely, if he hadn't known the bat familiar didn't appreciate being held by anyone other than its master.

"I mean it", Mephisto insisted through a slight slur, as they stopped at a busy crossing to wait for the lights to turn blue. "I like ya. You jus' dun' trust me when I say I do – that's very… very…" Mephisto scowled down at him, as if he'd snatched the word he was looking for and was hiding it somewhere.

"Rude?" he suggested in off-handed manner. "Ungrateful, unromantic, insensitive – pick yer fav'rite. I'm all of those, prob'ly."

"Ill-mannered, at leasht", Mephisto frowned disapprovingly as Shiro let out a whiskey-oozing burp.

"That too." He cast a doleful glance at another couple – bloody alcohol: he cast a glance at a couple – who shared umbrella on the sidewalk across. A couple as couples should be, a guy and a chick strolling along in their own little bubble of rosy dreams.

"I didn' expect honmei chocolate or anythin', ya know, but… that I didn't even get giri choco from a single woman on the staff…" That had punctured something in his chest. Not his heart, no, but his manly pride wasn't feeling too well at the sight of those two lovebirds across the street. "It's just… I don't know what I'm doin' wrong. It's not like I'm mean to 'em, or don't help 'em out when they ask, or stuff like that. I don't know… Women jus' don't like me", he sighed, and nudged Mephisto out into the street when the lights finally switched.

Across the street they were greeted by another of those illuminated ads that just smile sadistically at your misery. Valentine's and White Day were always full of them – "that special something for that special someone", "don't forget to surprise your darling on White Day", "she deserves the best" – always with happy couples and hearts everywhere. The universe's way of giving the finger to everyone who didn't have a special someone, and in particular to those who had to spend White Day with drunk, whiny dickheads that were absolutely insensitive to others' misery. Dickheads that had the nerve to complain even after getting mountains of chocolate.

"Life just ain't fair", he groaned as he failed to manoeuvre Mephisto sideways in time and got his right shoe thoroughly soaked in a puddle. "I can't 've been so much of an asshole that I didn' even get giri choco – everyone gets giri choco, except-"

"Would you jus' stop whining, Shiro?"

"Why?" he grunted. "You the only one with a right to whine that the girls ya like dun' like ya back?"

"I don't want'cha to like them, I want'cha to like me", he protested; just add a pout and stomping his foot in the ground and he would've been the perfect image of a whiny- Wait, just what did he say?

"I do like you: as a friend." Shiro added a Blatantly Meaningful Look to that, just to ensure Mephisto didn't selectively hear the first part and not the other. "I'm not into guys, ya know that."

"But are you sure?" he persisted.

"Here we go again", he sighed, mentally and audibly. "Yes, I'm sure."

"So you've tried, then?"

"Jesus Christ, what the-?! No, I haven't 'tried', an' I'm not going to either", he sputtered.

"Then how 're you so sure you dun' like men?" he argued.

"'Cause I don't", he repeated, fully aware how having his arm around a guy and cupping said guy's hand in his own sort of contradicted his statement. Good thing the porch to his apartment was just around the corner. He didn't have the energy or patience to put up with Mephisto much longer. "Well, 'ere we are. I'd grab a taxi home or sumthin' if I were you – don't drink an' do magic an' all that, ya know?"

"No, you're right, I suppose…"

Even in a haze of booze, Shiro didn't fail to notice the oddness in that. Dejection wasn't part of Mephisto's repertoire; and sure, his ears did droop when he was displeased with something, as they did now, but he didn't-

"Happy Valentine's."

Out of pure reflex, Shiro caught the small, crisply cellophane wrapped bag of chocolates that Mephisto dug out of his pocket – and dropped, in one drunkenly uncoordinated motion. Then he turned, swayed, and left him at the porch.

The rain came down on him with full force when the umbrella left with its owner. It blotted the view through his glasses, and blurred the swirling red ink on the greeting card that was fastened to the bag of chocolates with pink ribbon.

To Shiro

The chocolates were all of different kind, resting in pleated golden paper cups and dusted with raspberry powder, finely chopped nuts or caramellized orange peels.

The rain seeped down to his scalp and trickled down in his collar, soaked him cold and wet and miserable: the universe's way of giving the finger to everyone who didn't have a special someone, and in particular to those who had to spend White Day with drunk, whiny dickheads that were… absolutely insensitive to others' misery.

Dammit.

Shiro jogged along the sidewalk, off to the shape that was disappearing in the grey downpour.

"Hey, wait up!" He couldn't see a thing through his glasses, and so took them off while jogging. That screaming pink umbrella was a good enough landmark even without them. "Mephisto, wait, dammit!" Another puddle, and his left shoe was as soaked as his right. Great.

Shiro caught up with the blob of white and pink, and… had no fucking idea what to do next.

"I, just…"

Just stood there like an idiot and couldn't fit two words together: great, great. Couldn't even see what kind of smug face Mephisto was pulling at his floundering. And the rain had probably soaked through his jacket and ruined his smokes.

"It's still rainin'", Shiro muttered as gruffly as he ever could. "You're better off stayin' at my place till it stops. Get yer boots ta dry up an' such." And trousers, probably, from the puddles he'd trodden in on the way.

…it could all just be some prank ass-hattery from Mephisto. Wouldn't that be just the thing to dot the i in White Day? It would be so like him: piece o' fuckin' chocolate cake, just set him up for a guilt trip and then turn him down when he tried to ease his conscience 'bout it. Make him look like an idiot – a soaked idiot, who was starting to freeze pretty badly – and conveniently turn the episode into a different kind of "invitation" when he re-told it next time they went out for a-

"Can y'make hot Schokolade?"

It took some time for Shiro to tangle the question out of his own thoughts, and some more time to ponder if he knew how to make hot chocolate or not.

"Uh… yeah, I… think so. Got the stuff for it back home, at least."

"'Cuz ya owe me Schoko- chocolate now, y'know", he pointed out where he swayed on the sidewalk.

"Guess I do", Shiro chuckled. He caught his friend before he swayed into a street lamp, and felt the cellophane wrapping creak softly in his hand. "C'mon up and we'll make some hot chocolate."

Belial was used to his master's irregular sleeping habits, so when his highness did not return to his mansion at the end of day he simply assumed that his highness was working overnight at his office. Butlers are an adaptable breed of staff, and without a moment's delay he had gone from the empty bedroom to the kitchen to ask the chef to prepare a breakfast tray to be served in the office.

The office was as vacant as the bedroom, however. There was no Prince Samael behind the desk, nor any neatly organised stacks of paperwork on top of it. The assorted piles of chocolates on said desk puzzled Belial for a moment, since he never placed orders for sweets as small in size as this, but he soon remembered the Japanese custom of giving chocolate as a token of appreciation: 'appreciation' ranging from formal appreciation of business associates to heartfelt affections of the kind humans called 'love'. His highness had spent a whole day last month – Valentine's, it might have been called – talking animatedly about the nuances humans perceived in affection, and how these reflected in the kind of chocolate given.

Belial levelled a professionally curious gaze at the different kinds of chocolate that clustered together on the desk. Peculiar, that some of them bore greeting cards addressed to a 'Fujimoto-san'.

A/N

Giri choco is obligation chocolate, the kind you give to colleagues and employers.

Honmei choco is chocolate you give to someone you have profound feelings for.

Vanilla and chocolate are terms used to describe what kind of sexual activities you're into. Just like vanilla is somehow the "default, basic" variety of ice cream, vanilla sex is the basic form of sex. Chocolate is the more exotic stuff: latex, bondage, toys, roleplay, etc.

The devil is in the details in this fic. I don't know how clear I managed to make the hints, but notice all the chocolates addressed to "Fujimoto-san" on Mephisto's desk. Mephisto himself addressed his chocolate to "Shiro": those other chocolates are the ones Shiro's co-workers did give to him on Valentine's. Also, do notice that Mephisto apparently didn't return to his mansion but stayed the night in Shiro's apartment. Stayed for hot chocolate, or stayed for hot "chocolate"? You decide~ ;)