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“You guys aren’t even playing,” Saeko whined.
“I can’t get th’ cards to focus, Sa-chan,” Namba mumbled from the floor. “I can’t get you to focus. I can’t focus.”
“You’re no fun! We’ve barely been drinking for a couple hours!”
“It’s been at least three,” Zhao said from his spot leaned against the wall. “Hasn’t it?” He turned to Kasuga, slightly pleading. “It has been three hours, right?”
“How should I know?” Ichiban groaned, rolling to get a view of Saeko standing in the doorway. “Sae, we can’t keep up with you. Ever.”
Saeko sniffed. “All of you! Really! You couldn’t even keep up with my most rookie girl.”
“So mean, Sa-Chan,” Namba grumbled, voice already fading.
“I’m going downstairs to drink with the bartender,” Saeko huffed. “At least they’re not quitting on me halfway through the night.”
“She’s a monster,” Zhao said after she’d stepped down the stairs (not even stumbling, seriously, how?). “Are all hostesses like that?”
Ichiban snorted. “I haven’t known as many, but I guess when you’re getting drunk on a client’s dime every night you learn how to handle it.”
“Sounds like a nice life when you put it like that.”
“Maybe.”
Zhao looked down at him, eyebrows drawn together. “You don’t think so?”
Ichiban shrugged, as best he could from his horizontal position on the floor. “A lot of guys... they’re real scumbags. Real happy to try pouring a lot of drinks into a hostess so they can try to get away with something.”
Zhao was listing to the side a little, staring at Ichiban. “Huh... yeah. I guess I knew some of my guys, who might try something like that.”
“Yeah,” Ichiban said. “So Sae told me, they’ve all got tricks for drinking clients under the table.”
Namba snored from the corner of the room. Zhao was quiet for a long moment, until a Ichiban finally tilted his head to find him grinning slightly at him. “You’re somethin’ else, Kasuga Ichiban.”
Ichiban laughed self-consciously. “What? What brought that on?”
“‘Ve never,” Zhao said, and gave up on being vertical, sliding down the wall until he was laying facing Ichiban. “Never met someone who listens like you.”
A frown twisted the corner of Ichiban’s mouth. “I’m nothing special.”
“You are though,” Zhao insisted. “It’s - you cant tell me you haven’t noticed. It’s ridiculous. Every troubled person on the street corner, you just can’t stop yourself from asking what’s wrong. And you really listen when they tell you. Nobody does that.”
Ichiban waved a hand. “Maybe you just didn’t see much of it, surrounded by mafia all the time. I’m really - anyone would do the same.”
“Nah, I don’t think they would, but alright.” He shrugged. “You’re gonna insist on not getting a big head, I won’t ruin that for you.”
Ichiban looked over to find Zhao grinning at him, an expression he returned. “S’ nice to see you relaxed.”
“Yeah. First time in a long time. Ever, maybe.”
“It was that tough?”
“Nah. Maybe. I dunno.” He looked at the ceiling. “Wasn’ all bad. Wasn’t even mostly bad. Just, this kinda thing - “ he gestured, to encompass the drunkenness, the narrow room, maybe the strange company - “wasn’ exactly a smart move. Yknow? Kid of one of the Ijinchou three - I had an image to uphold.”
Ichiban hummed. “Guess if someone caught you tripping over your own feet, that could go bad fast.”
“Mm-hmm. That and everyone expected me to go around starting fights.”
Ichiban looked over at Zhao, and after catching his eye he started laughing. “You don’t look like the type to start a brawl.”
“Man, you’re just the worst for a guy’s ego, you know that?” He shrugged a single shoulder again the ground. “Yeah, though. I’d fuck a guy up if he crossed me, obviously, but - who has time for starting fights like that?”
“Nah, you’re right,” Ichiban said warmly. “Never got that shit. Earning respect, yeah, you got that down. But some guys were assholes just cause they liked feeling big, and you knew they were even worse drunk. Can’t see you being like that.”
Zhao was quiet for a second, and then rolled on his shoulder. “Shit like that, I’d have pulled a gun on someone for saying to me a year ago.”
“A year ago you were the Liumang boss,” Ichiban said, unphased.
“Can’t argue with that,” Zhao said. “Lot of shit you can get away with now. Lots of shit I can let people get away with now.”
Ichiban looked at him, at the shift in his tone, and noted for the first time that Zhao was close to him, propped on an elbow near his face. His head was spinning pleasantly, but Zhao was in focus, ever-present smirk and all.
“Lots of shit I can get away with now,” Zhao continued, and leaned down to work his other hand into Ichiban’s hair to pull him over into a kiss.
It felt blurry, soft-focus, a little clumsy. Warm. He brought a hand up to comb through Zhao’s hair - falling out of its gel after a long day - and got to feel him relax against Ichiban.
When he pulled back, he didn’t pull out of Ichiban’s hold. This close, even under the sake he smelled good; like some expensive cologne, spice and leather from the jacket.
“Like that,” Zhao continued, finally, just a little quieter into the space between them. The room was an odd half dark, half shadow - no lights on, but the neon signs of the snack district and a nearby street lamp made a flush on Ichiban’s cheeks just visible. “They don’t let you get away with shit like that as the boss.”
Illustrating his point, he leaned back in. His aim was off, drunk and unsteady, brushing warm and wet at the corner of ichiban’s mouth, but Ichiban course corrected. The kiss this time lingered, a little drunkenly hazy, distracted and quiet. The sound of shuffling fabric and the barely-there whisper of skin, almost drowned out under the sound of Saeko loudly entertaining with some story downstairs.
When Zhao pulled back he did it with a sake-breathed sigh, not even moving back far enough to detach Ichiban’s hand.
“M glad,” Ichiban mumbled, into the space between them.
“Hmm?”
“That you can have this.”
Zhao laughed faintly and fell back against the ground, loose-limbed. “You’re such a sweetheart, Kasuga-kun. How’d they ever let you in the yakuza?”
“Didn’t give them much of a choice,” Ichiban mumbled, “and hey - I’m not!”
“You keep telling me I’m a nice guy,” Zhao argued, “I’m just calling them like I see them.”
“Show you a fuckin sweetheart,” Ichiban grumbled, swinging a punch over to bump against Zhao’s shoulder.
“Bet you will,” Zhao said, on the edge of waking and sleep. “Just bet you will, Kasuga Ichiban.”