Coffee For 2 (Don’t Be Late)

Coffee for 2 (Don’t be late)

Pre-Stormbringer oneshot where Hirotsu is Iceman’s mentor (inspired by @whathorselegs)

The mission had gone off without a hitch. The intel had been secured. The bodies left with the cleaning crew.

A job well done and now all that was left was to indulge himself for just a moment. But the smoke around him coiling with that of the blood stained floor didn’t give him that same sense of accomplishment.

No, something was amiss.

He stamped out the dying cigarette as he thought. It wasn’t the mission, that’s for sure. The Boss hadn’t summoned him either, none of his men had needed to be accounted for.

Except that is for his ward.

A cursory glance at his watch made him frown. In the Port Mafia you were never to be late if you could help it. Even if it was only a mere minute or two, every second mattered.

In the Port Mafia to be late was to be in trouble. And trouble was one that Port Mafia members were to cause, not the ones to be afflicted by.

Hirotsu knew that and so did his ward. He taught him everything he knew, and then some more. He lit another cigarette and hummed to himself.

So his ward had landed himself in trouble? So much for the quiet night in.

______________

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to send me a text.”

Iceman didn’t look up from where he tucked away in the corner of the cafe. But Hirotsu spotted the flicker of amusement in his eye even from the door.

The youth of the day.

As he sat down a mug of coffee was placed before him. He thanked the waitress before she silently left, probably with the rest of the staff.

It wasn’t a building that the Port Mafia owned but it was still part of the territory.

It’s rather cosy atmosphere and the old record player spinning tunes from Hirotsu’s youth made it a place many of the Port Mafia wouldn’t wish to venture into.

It was however the perfect place for Iceman. Hirotsu would know for he showed him the place years ago.

“I had to ensure you’d come” replied Iceman pleasantly. He looked the picture of relaxed, as if this was nothing more than a simple chat.

“Perhaps” Hirotsu sipped his drink before remarking “or is it because you didn’t wish to be tracked?” His mentee closed his eye “I could never get one past you, could I?”

Hirotsu chuckled “and yet it never did stop you from trying.” He placed the mug down and rested his hands on the table. “Do you wanna know what I’ve gathered? Or will you make it easier for me and talk?”

Iceman responded by simply leaning back ever so slightly in his chair and giving him an expectant look. Really, Hirotsu couldn’t recall ever teaching him such theatrics.

“You’re in a spot of trouble or rather you will be. You’re on the fence, mulling it over and need a deciding vote.” The other great thing about this place was that it was rather old fashioned.

Thick walls as close to soundproof as one could get. And not a single security camera in sight.

“You could ask your club mates for advice but they’re all involved.” He reached for cigarette and Iceman did the same. Twin flames burst to life before them and in the smoky haze they met eye to eye.

“So you came to me.”

Iceman held his gaze steadily. His face nor his voice betraying anything as he remarked“you got all that from 2 minutes.” Yet he didn’t deny it in the slightest.

Hirotsu raised an eyebrow in question. “But what I can’t understand is why, care to enlighten me?” The mug was set down as Iceman rested his hands on the table. “It’s about the kid, the sheep kid.”

He was silent for a moment before asking “when you look at him? What do you see?”

Hirotsu considered him for a moment. “When I fought him last year, I saw a mirror. Loud, abrasive with the power and confidence to back it up. It was like looking at myself at that age.”

“What changed?”

“I spoke to him when he was imprisoned. Away from battle and prying eyes and you know what he asked of me? To light a torch where his friends were being kept.”

He could picture him now, dirty and angry as he stubbornly refused the meal in Hirotsu’s hands. Despite it being clear he hadn’t eaten anytime recently.

‘I wouldn’t if I were you. It may not bode well for your captive friends.’ It was like a switch had flipped. The anger was ever present but there was a touch of fear. Chuuya had never looked so small before now.

But they never do at first.

‘…Hey old man…’ He’d called when Hirotsu went to leave. ‘Just, turn on a light…they’re scared of the dark. I won’t fight ya, but they deserve that much.’

“I saw not a king but a kid. One who let others may have drawn their own conclusions. But lying would do him nothing here. He wouldn’t even have known if the torch was lit. But knowing fed him better than any feast.”

Hirotsu smiled, his eyes warm and fond. “If anything, I see more of you in him than me.” Iceman scoffed “I think you’re getting your memories muddled old man.”

Yet there was no bite to his words.

“Maybe, but it stands to me now it doesn’t really matter what I see in him. Because he doesn’t. If I may be so bold, I’d say he has not a clue of who he is.”

That got Iceman’s attention.

He leaned forward and his voice dropped to a soft whisper. “And what if he could?” And with that admittance it all fell into place got Hirotsu. Why Iceman needed a deciding vote and why he was here at all.

He lit his cigarette and smiled “well then I’d say he’s lucky to have such friends.” Iceman stared at him for a moment before returning the smile.

“I won’t be late next time.” Hirotsu scoffed “sure, we’ll have to see. I think you like dragging me across the city without any rhyme or reason.”

His mentee shrugged half heartedly “I learned from the best.”

Hirotsu sighed before his voice turned serious. Even without needing to speak, Iceman sobered up and looked at him expectantly.

Good to know he still knew that much.

“How many bullets do I have left on me?” Asked Hitotsu, holding it up but even without looking Iceman knew. “There’s 3” came his careful response as he Hirotsu have a silent nod.

3 shots straight to the chest. That would undoubtedly be followed by breaking their jaw on the pavement. Because that was how the Port Mafia disposed of traitors.

The gun was placed back in its usual place.

“I have nothing scheduled this week. I would hate to waste any.”

And there it was. The scolding that Iceman had all but asked for. The unsaid warning as if he didn’t know exactly what he was getting into.

But one he welcomed in a strange way. And the next time the two met for coffee, Iceman walked in right on time.