Your vision fades in to the sight of Hikaru slouched against a wall, smoking a cigarette. This time the recognition is instant - his hair is dyed, his star tattoo peeks from under his collar, and most of all, his trademark sardonic smirk is being aimed directly at you.
“You took your time.” As you approach him, the dim light of the alleyway you’re in throws his eyebags into relief. No amount of concealer can cover up those.
Grunting an acknowledgement, you shove an envelope into his hands, the sound coming low and rough. He shrugs off the unfriendliness, and opens it to check inside before you can turn to leave. Immediately, his head snaps up to glare at you, the fake smile wiped away in a moment.
“Are you kidding? This isn’t what we agreed - if you’ve stolen, it’s her you’re in trouble with, not me, you idiot!”
Something about the look on his face brings you a sense of satisfaction. “Me, stealing? Someone’s projecting. It’s not me that’s in trouble, mate. That’s just your pay after the ‘nosy bastard’ discount.”
He goes pale and narrows his eyes, trying to place where he knows you from. You laugh, nastily.
“Don’t blame me. It was my girl that told her. Funny, that. She came back to me after all.”
Recognition flickers in Hikaru’s eyes, but he doesn’t have the chance to say anything before a pair of hands grab Hikaru’s shoulders and you realise they belong to you - rough, scarred, butterfly tattoos on the knuckles.
“So that’s your telling-off from the boss. This one’s from me.”
Your fist stings, but the satisfaction of punching Hikaru in the face is more than worth it. He stumbles back, his cigarette falling from his fingers as he tries to stem the blood that he can tell is about to come gushing from his nose.
The instinct to follow it up is strong, but just as you’re about to, a bouncer emerges from one of the clubs around the corner, shouting at you both to break it up. He roughly bundles Hikaru away, who’s too dazed to protest, and you huff and turn away back into the night.
