This is yet another of my fics written for trope_bingo on dreamwidth. The prompt here was "drunkfic." It was pretty rad, actually; I had already started writing this before I got my card. I wish more people shipped this pairing, actually. My OTP is still Shizuo/Izaya, but this - come on, it's cute. (I do not own Durarara!)

"Hey, Shizuo," Tom starts one night as the two are nearing a street buzzing with drunken laughter and fluorescent light bulbs. They've just finished their last job for the day, and Tom can tell that his kohai is feeling more than a little satisfied with himself for having kept his temper under control the whole time. "You up for a couple of beers?"

The blonde is, after all, in an uncharacteristically good mood, and Tom's looking forward to a day off tomorrow. Neither of them has any other obligations, no impatient women waiting at home, so it'd be a damned shame if they walked right on past a whole line of bars without so much as a peek inside. It's been a while, after all – if a week and a half counts as 'a while.'

Shizuo, following a short distance behind Tom in his usual one-hand-tucked-in-pocket-while-the-other-holds-a-smoking-cigarette manner, breaks his stride long enough to extinguish the used-up cancer stick. He's already grinning the way he only does when he's relaxed like this – usually only after work is over and when Orihara Izaya is nowhere to be found. "Sure," he responds willingly, his voice light. He lengthens his stride until he's walking right beside Tom.

The older man discretely marvels, like he has so many other times in the past, at the blonde's height. Tom's not short, either, but he feels like he might be whenever he has to stand right beside his six-foot-something kohai. It doesn't particularly bother him, of course, because Shizuo stands out from him in all sorts of other ways, as well – his strength, for one, and his above-average looks – but it wouldn't hurt, no, it might be nice, if Tom could show himself to be the reliable sempai in more ways than just his moderate temper.

It's hard to believe that this Shizuo is the same as the one who wreaks havoc at the slightest provocation most days of the week. Right now, he doesn't just look calm – he radiates it, doesn't threaten anything as he walks close to his employer and takes a deep breath of the light spring air. He has both of his hands in his pockets, now, but he apparently doesn't intend to light any more cigarettes for the time being. Like most people, he smokes less when he isn't stressed out.

Tom often wonders if Shizuo's bad days are really more numerous than his good ones.

Well, the days the blonde spends with Tom are, he supposes, more numerous than the days he spends alone or with other people, other friends, but that doesn't necessarily mean that the debt collector has a really good idea of how his bodyguard feels. He can calm him down, sure, and he guesses that's because Shizuo trusts and respects him.

But there are days, from time to time, when Tom wishes vaguely for the chance to spend just a little more time with his kohai. You know – just to see how he's doing, just to answer some of the questions he has. He might even, he sometimes dares to think, be able to make more of Shizuo's bad days into good ones.

Tom thinks along these lines, and Shizuo along his own. Neither says anything until they're standing in the midst of a lively – and, in some cases, very drunk – crowd of people out enjoying their illicit love affairs, their friends' company, their own after-work drinks. The pair picks a place – nothing fancy, just a good, old-fashioned bar – and Tom orders for both of them. He always does, and they always get the same thing. Tom's not picky, after all, and Shizuo's not given to experimentation. It's a familiar thing, a part of their sometimes-ritual that helps both of them relax.

That might be partly due to the alcohol itself, though, and tonight it looks like Shizuo's planning on going all out. He's clearly doing it for the fun of it, which Tom supposes is good. Better than the stress relief that so many of the other patrons seem to be looking for.

It only starts to be a problem when, after who knows exactly how many drinks and some increasingly uncharacteristic comments, Shizuo has to run off to the men's room to throw up. Tom figures that, at that point, it's time to go, so he pays the man behind the counter and gathers up his jacket before heading off to find the idiot.

Said idiot nearly bowls Tom over on his way out of the bathroom, and it apparently takes him a minute to recognize his sempai because he's just that disoriented. When he does, though, he looks immediately apologetic, and his face may just as well be flushed like that because of his embarrassment. "Sorry, Tom-san… Didn't see you…" The blonde shuffles his feet uncomfortably as he runs a hand through his hair – a nervous habit he seems to have developed recently – and Tom rolls his eyes.

"Don't worry about it. You ready to head out?"

Shizuo hiccups, laughs softly. "Already?" His brown eyes are wide and bright, his hair as disheveled as if he's just climbed out of bed. It looks good on him, though, and Tom can feel his own face getting hotter as his eyes follow Shizuo's slightly uncoordinated movements. He notes, not unappreciatively, the visible curve of the blonde's collar bone where his dress shirt and vest have been left partially unbuttoned. The blonde's skin is light compared to Tom's, and it looks like it must be soft despite the robust muscles working just beneath the surface…

Tom casually averts his eyes and turns toward the door so that his back is to Shizuo. "I think you've had enough," he says, because he clearly has, as well. His mind is wandering, his carefully-crafted defenses cracking under the weight of inebriation. Contrary to popular assumption, Tom is actually far more capable than Shizuo of 'holding his drinks,' and he feels a vague sense of foreboding when he considers how much more Shizuo has had tonight.

The crowds are barely starting to dissipate as the two step out of the bar (and over a few passed-out office workers). Shizuo trails behind Tom, hands missing his pockets to dangle uselessly at his sides. He fails to notice a slight dip in the road and, quite predictably, winds up hugging the pavement.

Tom hears the short gasp of consternation and tries not to let his amusement show too much on his face when he turns to inspect the damage. "You okay?" he calls, not quite willing to approach the blonde for fear of a sudden outburst.

None comes. Shizuo hums a reluctant yes but doesn't bother trying to stand up. The cement feels unexpectedly soft beneath him, after all, and he suddenly feels very much like taking a short nap. His stomach isn't churning any more, yet still he feels the weight of unspoken words on the tip of his tongue.

Yeah, a nap might be a whole lot better than the alternative.

"Oi." The blonde startles at the sudden closeness of his employer's voice. He raises his head and opens his eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of Tom's concerned face hovering a short distance from his own.

And that's all he needs.

Fatigue gone, he's on his feet before Tom has a chance to process what's happening, has the debt collector's hand in his own and starts running – feet slapping the pavement, breath quick and sure, running past people, strangers, witnesses, all standing still with eyes wide in astonishment.

Tom's protests reach him through a tunnel of adrenaline and alcohol, muted and echoing until he finds a place that looks good – really good, with no bystanders and few lights, tucked away from the noise and buzz of the city. He doesn't wait for Tom to catch his breath, just pushes him against a wall and kisses him, clumsy and needy and inexperienced. He knows what he's doing, he's sure of it, sure he's wanted it for a while now, but he doesn't know how or why or what the fuck is Tom going to do in response?

That last thought comes jagged and inexorable, so Shizuo breaks away from his sempai, moves his hands from where they were tangled in Tom's dreads down to his shoulders, where he holds him tight and searches his face desperately for approval, permission, acceptance. Say yes, he wills the breathless man in front of him, letting his eyes speak for him because he can't do that to Tom, he's ashamed of having acted without thinking.

The debt collector is still reeling, dizzy with confusion and surprise and the emotions he usually keeps under firm lock and key. The blonde tastes like alcohol and tobacco, but his lips are soft and incredibly warm against Tom's. He wants to feel victorious, wants to grant Shizuo's wish by telling him that yes I don't mind if you want me right now because I've wanted you longer, but that's wrong and Shizuo doesn't know, has no experience with women or love or even how to kiss with a little more finesse.

But Tom knows, his breath coming slower and not as rough on his parched throat. He knows that Shizuo doesn't exactly socialize like a pro, that he's lonely and maybe too desperate to tell the difference if the difference is slight. He knows that Shizuo can't stand the weight of people's eyes on him, and he knows that two men on a simple date are sure to feel that weight and the ridicule and suspicion and whatever else comes with it.

So he smiles apologetically and lets his own hand fall heavily on Shizuo's shoulder. He has to reach up to do it.

"Sorry, Shizuo," he says gently, and the hurt and disappointment on the blonde's face mirror what he's feeling so much that he almost takes it back then and there. But he doesn't, he shouldn't and he can't. "Really, I am."

The blonde shuts his eyes tight and releases his grip on Tom's shoulders. When he opens them again, there's a new look there that mixes with the other emotions, a look that says he'd sort of expected things to work out this way. And he had, in a vague sort of way. He'd been hyping himself up on false hopes and dreams without substance. He'd wanted Tom to reciprocate his crazy feelings so much that he'd started to believe it possible. It's ironic, and he mocks himself and his naiveté with every syllable that falls from his lips. "No," he breathes, ultra-casual, composed and unscathed.

As if he hadn't meant what he'd wasted himself on all that alcohol to say – or do, as it had happened. "You were right. I've had too much to drink." He's ready to apologize, but Tom stops him with a wave of his hand.

"That goes without saying," the debt collector grants, his voice still comforting. He wants to tell Shizuo so many other things, wants it so badly, but he can't do it now, not while the both of them are still feeling the buzz of their drinks. He's shorter, not nearly as strong, not as attractive or as well-known, but he does have his ability to reason through things – and his responsibility as Shizuo's sempai. "Just… think it through, alright?"

Shizuo's expression is instantly perplexed. He sits with his back to the wall of the nearest building, to Tom's right. "Think what through?" he asks, his voice slurring a little as the tension and adrenaline fade from his system. He hears Tom sigh and doesn't know why, doesn't realize that it's not a sigh of exasperation or of irritation, but of plain and simple disappointment. Because Tom, like Shizuo, can feel the distance lengthening between them, and it's lonely and sad and unfair. After such a pleasant day, to end on a note like this…

"You know," Tom sighs. He hates how wilted Shizuo looks now compared to his previous vivacity, hates knowing that the change is his fault, that a good day has turned bad because of his stubbornness. This is what's right, it's what he should do as a responsible and considerate sempai, but the tone of Shizuo's voice is cutting and it's directed at himself and that's wrong. It feels like a mistake, like the greater of two evils.

Oh, to hell with it.

Tom sinks to the ground beside Shizuo and watches as the blonde pulls a cigarette out of the crumpled pack he carries in his pocket. However, several attempts at lighting the thing yield no results – of course, because Shizuo's coordination is completely screwed at this point. "Here," Tom offers, and he has the end of the cigarette burning after a single try.

"Thanks," Shizuo says gruffly. He takes a long drag from the opposite end, his eyes focused on something far away while he stares at the ground in front of him.

"Can I clarify something?" Tom questions, and Shizuo visibly cringes.

"You don't have to," the blonde says quickly, expecting something about how Tom's not gay and what the heck were you thinking why don't you just take a little time off to think it through?

"I think I do."

Shizuo exhales, watches as the smoke curls about in the air in front of him. "Fine," he decides, because his body feels all heavy again and he doesn't really want to fight with Tom, he just wants to go home and rest for a very long time.

"I'm not rejecting you just yet, Shizuo," Tom explains, feeling guilty and enjoying the whole thing all the more for that because he wants to try and Shizuo's an adult too and it's either that or a whole lot of awkwardness for them in the future. "I'll listen to whatever you have to say when you're sober." That's fair, he thinks, and he'll make sure Shizuo learns everything he doesn't yet know. He'll play the role of sempai by teaching his kohai, and he'll do what he can to make all of the blonde's days good ones.

Shizuo's wide-eyed and red-cheeked, and he's finally looking back up at Tom – first in disbelief and then in amazement. He seems to be waiting for his sempai to shrug it off as a sort of joke, but that doesn't happen and the blonde grins and laughs; the sound is as light and airy as wind in the trees or a stream flowing over a bed of pebbles.

He leans into Tom and lets his eyes fall shut once more. He's starting to drift off, but he has to make a promise before he can let that happen. It's a chance, and he can't miss it.

"Ne, Tom-san… you have the day off tomorrow."

"Yes…"

"Which means I have the day off, tomorrow, too."