Izakaya {Dee!Blitz}

They told you it would be fun, that it was good to go out. “You deserve a little break,” they would tell you but it wasn’t until today that you finally agreed to go with the group. “It will be the office.” The office? Your ears had perked up when you heard that the rest of the office would be joining as well, because you think maybe, just maybe.

But you can’t let that be the only reason you go out. It’s the holidays and while Mother and Father are probably waiting for you to join them, you can’t help it and you pick up your coat and shout after your co-workers. It’s a place you’ve never heard of, but it’s designed so brightly and so lively that the atmosphere pulls you in and the next thing you know, you’re sitting at the longest table you have ever seen.

Your co-workers are pouring you a drink into a small cup and while you know you don’t drink, you can’t help but feel curious about it. Father has this at the house, so it can’t be bad, right? You taste a little sip and you make a little face at the burn. It doesn’t taste bad, but it’s not as yummy as everyone makes it out to be. You hear more people coming in and you turn your head to see—a slight blush starts reaching your cheeks, but you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or your mind trying to tell you something else.

You want to say hi, but shyness is overwhelming—until you see him looking at you, just a few seats away. You want to look away but instead you smile and give him a small wave just before your friends coax you to finish the drink.

You can hear the laughter from the guys sitting next to him, and you can’t help but wonder what it is they’re talking about. Is he smiling? Is he joining them? You turn your head ever so slightly to see his friends laughing and pouring him a drink. You want to keep staring but your co-workers are calling your name and Marie has noticed your glances.

“Oooh, I think Shiori is interested in someone there,” she tells your co-workers, her voice a little loud for your liking. You turn even more red and you know it’s not the alcohol because surely you would have turned redder already. “Marie, be quiet.” Your co-worker, the one you consider the most to be your friend is nudging you though and grinning like a cat. “No, tell us. Do you have a thing for him? You should go talk to him.”

You don’t trust her words—she’s already a few drinks in and looks like a few more could knock her out—but you want to listen to her. You want to stand up and at least say hi because when you see him, your mind goes back to how fast your heart beat when you were standing so close to him. Your mind still remembers those numbers, that pattern, the problem. You can’t let it go.

“No, I shouldn’t. I can’t,” you tell Marie, but she’s already pouring more of the alcohol into your cup and bringing it to your lips. “That’s what this is for,” she tells you. You take the cup from her and you take another sip, eyes still darting from the space in front of you to him.

“Well, are you going to go say hi?” Marie is still coaxing you, but you try so hard to focus on the cup in front of you. The taste of the alcohol is getting better, but you don’t know if it’s because you actually like it or you just got used to it. “Stop pushing it,” you say, hoping she’ll back off. She gives you a silly grin before she starts to rise and says, “If you won’t, then I will. He’s pretty good-looking, I’ll give you that.” And you don’t know what’s come over you but you hastily grab her sleeve and pull her down. “No, no, I’ll do it. Just let me finish this drink.”

Was it because you were worried what could happen if she did talk to him? You can see in her eyes that she was just teasing you, and you are so mad at yourself for falling into that trap. But as you drink the last drop in the cup, you feel emboldened and it’s a little scary. Marie leans on her hand with an elbow on the table as she tries to coax more out of you. “So do you already know him?” You nod your head a few times. “Does he have a name?” “Eden,” you respond shortly, trying not to look at him as his name rolls off your tongue. The grin on Marie’s face grows and you prepare yourself for some more teasing. “Eden? The tall one?”

You don’t think it’s possible to blush any harder, but if you could, you would be right now. He was really tall, you think as your mind wanders again to how he towered over you when he was standing at his full height. “Go talk to him!” Marie insists as she shoves you lightly.

Marie is still egging you on, but you’re just so nervous—why am I nervous? and you can’t do anything but hold the cup in your hands. “Do you want more? It might help?” Marie asks, but you shake your head, knowing you shouldn’t be drinking more. After all, this is your first experience with alcohol and the last thing you want is to look like an utter fool in front of him. “Come on, Shiori, you’ve put it off long enough.” She’s right, I have. You prepare yourself to stand up once and for all, but before you can move an inch, he’s already sitting down behind you.

And all that confidence that you had just built up is gone as you see him. “Ye—yeah,” you respond weakly. Marie is still grinning like a fool—she has so much more confidence than you—and she says, “Of course! You can take my seat.” And you frantically look at her like don’t leave me alone I don’t know what to say where are you going but she’s already taking his place and talking to his friends.

You look shyly at him before saying, “You can sit here.” Was that too bold? “If you want, that is,” you throw in hastily, hoping it didn’t seem like you were ordering him to do anything. “Do…do you want more?” you gesture at the bottle, not even sure if there’s still alcohol in it.

He mentions that he’s hungry and you realize you had forgotten that the last meal you ate was lunch. It causes you to question your co-workers thinking ability, but they do serve food here, so it’s possible that no one had thought about food just yet—until he mentions it. He suggests getting 50 potstickers and sharing with the others which you have to think a little bit about because math isn’t exactly your forte at the moment, but nothing really is as your mind is starting to cloud.

Before you can respond, he suggests getting 100 and not sharing with the others, causing you to laugh. A hundred seemed like a ridiculous amount, but because the suggestion was so ridiculous, you are inclined to agree to his proposition. “If we get 100, you’ll have to eat most of them,” which he probably could. “Let’s get 50 and not share,” you counter-offer, picking what seems like the middle ground but you really have no idea. You reach into your pockets to pull out some money, but you struggle as you can’t remember which pocket contains the money and which pocket contains napkins of random drawings.

You look like a mess as you put everything on the table, but you’re finally able to spot some of the money and you hand it to him. “Here,” you say as you grin widely. You should have stopped drinking after the first cup.

He shakes his head at you, refusing your money and you don’t know what to do. We’re sharing aren’t we? It only makes sense to you that you should also split the cost. He makes a point, though: you really don’t think you can eat more than twenty-five potstickers no matter how loud your stomach is grumbling. When he winks at you, your heart starts pacing a little faster, but you’re still left speechless. Words, why can’t words come to your mind?

He takes one of the napkins that you had drawn on…last night? Two nights ago? There was a bunch of junk in your pockets that you never bothered to clean out, so who knows when you had doodled on that specific napkin. You don’t understand why he’s interested in them, but you’re so giddy—is this the alcohol or is this something else—that you nod. You blush when he calls it wonderful, because you never think of these as “wonderful”. You draw on these napkins when you have an idea or if you’re bored, but you never put much thought into them so you never think highly of them.

To have someone else, especially him, think that they are so great humbles you. “You can have it,” you say with a smile, trying to remember when you had drawn on that napkin. “It’s a drawing of my brother’s ‘pet’,” that was what you called your brother’s gadgets. Your brother always had an eye for creativity along with electronics and whenever he made his “pets”, they were always so cute. You must have been bored when you were drawing that, but it isn’t until you give it a second look that you remember. “Okay, I will pay you with this doodle,” you consent.

He makes a comment on how the pet looks more like a machine and you realize that “pets” are generally not gadgets, but actual animals like dogs and cats. He mentions how his “pets” were plants and you laugh at the thought of talking to plants for comfort instead of gadgets. So you both grew up in a slightly unusual household, and it makes you smile. You are also curious to know why his parents have plants, but you don’t know if you should ask.

It doesn’t matter as he stands up to go order the food and you just nod with a smile as you realize how hungry you are. Maybe you can eat 25 after all. You know better than to try, though; the last thing you need is to overstuff yourself and throw up. Your eyes shyly follow him as he talks to the man at the counter, but you can’t see much so you turn back to your cup and wonder if it’s a good idea to drink more. No, I really shouldn’t.

He sits back down and you turn to him. “Thank you. For paying for the food, I mean,” you mutter, constantly blinking as you try to force yourself to focus. The heat in your face no longer feels like blush but the lasting remnants of your last cup. How do people do this all the time? “Um, you mentioned plants. Do you know a lot about them like you do with electronics?” You mentally beat yourself as the question slips out. So dumb, Shiori. That question was so dumb.