You are the shit. No really, you're enjoying the good life. Life has been kind to you, having been born into exceptional circumstance. Your father is fabulously wealthy, so your childhood was nothing shy of heavily priviledged, consisting of comfort, a huge estate, nannies, staff and convenience. You've never had to so much as lift a finger to get whatever you wanted. All the books you could ever desire to read were at your disposal in your father's library, all the newest gaming systems purchased for you, 'no' a word you were not well aquainted with. You learned at a young age that rules did not apply to the rich.

Your early life was pampered, albiet exceedingly lonely as you had no siblings to speak of and your father was practically a ghost in your world. Still, you were free to do as you pleased and everything you ever wanted or needed was provided for you. It often felt like you owned the world, and with no experience to the contrary, you might as well have. Basically, you were spoiled rotten.

You left your family estate after graduating high school, not monetarily but physically, using your summer to hop around western Europe. You hit France, Italy, England, Germany, and even had a short stint in Switzerland, but that had been more of a mistake than anything. Your graduation present had come in the form of a fat bank account, and your little adventure with traveling was your first withdrawl from the impressive sum. Upon your return you attended college, because it was a good idea, private school, because you could.

You studied business and computers, because those were the industries you figured made money. It's what your father did, so you of course followed suit. Freshman and sophomore year you lived on campus to get the feel of being like all the other students, but your junior and senior year you were out of there. You moved into an expensive apartment 20 minutes off campus the summer after your sophomore year so that you wouldn't have to keep going back to your family estate when term ended. It always seemed too big and empty when you were there, and it wasn't like your father would be around regardless.

At 22, you graduated college, deciding against going on to graduate school. You were done with education, ready to just enjoy yourself. You didn't even attempt to get a job after graduation because you figured you wouldn't have to. Your bank account was healthy enough to last you a few years living reasonably without any additional income. The problem was, "reasonable" was not a word in your vocabulary. You continued living in your far too expensive apartment, because it was nice and you liked it, and when it came to providing for yourself, you splurged on gym memberships and nice restaurants more often than you ought.

You threw yourself a party for your 23rd birthday, bar hopping and buying a bunch of shit you didn't need. Honestly, at this point your funds weren't looking too hot. "Not looking too hot" being an understatement.

You are Izaya Orihara, and you're fucking broke. You aren't too concerned however, because despite your dwindling fortune, you've always known you're going to be fine. You're getting older and you know what that means for rich boys like you. Sooner or later you'll come into some kind of trust fund that your father would have set aside for you from the time you were young, and everything will be alright.

You hope the trust fund is scheduled for sooner, though, because in light of your lack of money and the cost of rent on your apartment, you've gotten behind on payments. Like, seriously behind. As in you've been given a notice demanding two months worth of missed rent in the next two weeks or vacation of the premises. You know you don't and won't have the money in the forseeable future, since you don't work and haven't heard tale of that trust fund yet. Your luck, it's probably locked until you're 25 or 30, and you can't wait that long.

You're ready to contact your father when your phone rings. You answer, and in the course of five minutes, you find out that your father is dead and that you have a meeting with his lawyer tomorrow. For a minute, you can't breathe. You knew your father wasn't well but to just abruptly be informed of his death over the phone? Seems a bit surreal. But when it comes down to it, you never knew him all that well; it wasn't like the two of you were having father-son fishing trips on the weekends. Even still, you're sad that he's gone. He was your father after all.

On the other hand, you're slightly relieved. Shitty, you know, but now that he's gone you know this means you'll be okay. Forget trust fund, you're about to come into a massive inheritance. You were always an only child, and your mother was never in the picture, so that leaves you with the estate, his assets, and his company ownership in one fell swoop. It would be overwhelming if you weren't already used to living like a king. You rest easy with the knowledge that you won't have to worry about things like rent or eviction ever again. It was pretty good timing too, since at this point you only have two days for the rent money anyway.

You wake up feeling almost giddy, subdued of course with guilt at taking joy in your own father's death but giddy nonetheless. The meeting with your father's lawyer is of course to settle the matter of your inheritance and there's a large part of you that can't wait. When 3 'o clock rolls around, you walk down to the lawyer's office, thankful it's only about ten minutes out from your apartment. You never did get around to buying your own car, but now you think that'll be the first thing you do with your new money.

Your father's lawyer, Mr. Shiki, welcomes you into his office, offering you a seat across from his desk. He mentions initially that it's "truly a shame to lose such an intelligent man", but doesn't officially offer his condolences. You've known Shiki a long time now, and you know that he isn't going to. Complimenting your father is the closest he'll get, as he believes apologising when someone dies implies fault and one should never do so. You are slightly uncomfortable however by the lack of objects in the room. You had thought that there would be at least something physical from your father's will that would be here, but all you see is papers strewn across Shiki's desk. Your attention is pulled back to him when the man starts speaking.

"Let's get down to business then shall we? Your father left a formal will as a man in his position ought to, and in it he highlights that you are to be given this," Shiki starts, his voice impersonal as he hands you what looks to be a...letter? You take it, your eyebrows furrowed as you glance down at it. "Read it, as it intones exactly what is to be done about your father's possessions." Shiki stops talking then, leans back in his chair and watches you expectantly.

You do as you're told and begin to read the letter, scratched out in what you recognise to be your father's handwriting. At the top there's a line saying "To be given to Izaya Orihara upon my demise." Colourful.

Son,

You have been raised in the comfort that my wealth has always provided for you. You have never had to stuggle for anything nor wonder when your next meal would be. Nothing was ever made difficult for you. Your entire life, you have been spoiled. As your father, the fault for this is mine. In your upbringing I allowed you to coast, free of challenges or concern. You've done as you pleased up to this point. You don't understand what it means to do hard work, nor have you known the satisfaction of overcoming adversity. Your life was served to you on a silver platter with a golden fork.

This has not been the case for all of my children. Six years after you were born, I fathered children out of wedlock. Twin girls, Mairu and Kururi. Their mother was a maid, and given their illegitimacy, they were raised largely without my support. I gave their mother enough for them to get by, but they never lived in a standard anywhere near what you are used to. I do implore you to forgive me for the diservice I did your mother in having this affair that produced these girls.

However, my point stands that their lives have consisted of struggle and hardship where yours was pampered and provided. Compared to the two of them, you are like a prince. I intend to make it up to all three of you. I know as my son you are expecting a rather large inheritance. This, Izaya, I cannot give you. You have not earned it, and cannot be allowed to continue your life spoiled as you are without knowing the meaning of work. Mairu and Kururi, they have not had the opportunities you have. So I leave my assets and my entire estate to the two of them. I've made arrangements for my company to continue to be run by an advisor of mine, and upon your 27th birthday, it will be yours. I can only hope that by that time you will have learned what it is I am trying to teach you about life. I have left you a little something to remember me by, which I hope you will keep. I know this all will undoubtedly make you livid, and for some time you will detest my memory, but know Izaya that this is all for your own good. In time I hope you can come to forgive me for this. I wish you and my daughters all the best for a bright future. Learn from this.

S. Orihara

You stare at the letter long after you finish reading it. You can't believe this. He left you...nothing? You have twin sisters? Half sisters anyway...and the little bitches were stealing your fucking money! Anger at them, the situation and at your father immediately boil in your blood. How could that bastard do this to you? You hate him, you absolutely fucking hate him.

You glance up at Shiki then, remembering you're not alone in the room before you explode. He's taken out a slim box with your name across the top, handing it to you, his arm outstretched across his desk. "This is what he refers to in his letter, what he's left you for now," Shiki explains.

You take it from him, still filled with nothing but anger for the man who was your father. You do open the little box, curious as to what he left you despite your fury. You recognise it immediately, its a necklace with a silver chain, at the base of which hangs a charmlike symbol. It's reminiscent of a cross except less defined, and with vines snaking around its form. It was your grandfather's, given to your father, who gave it to your mother until she passed, after which it hung in your father's study untouched for years. Normally this would mean a lot to you but right now all you want to do is throw it out the window. Instead, you shove it in your pocket.

"Can the will be contested?" You ask, your tone dark. If there's one thing you've learned from being brought up in this world, it's to try the sneaky option if at first you don't suceed.

"I'm afraid it's ironclad, kid." Shiki at least has the presence of mind to look like he feels bad for you, a crease in his brow and his mouth cinched in a tight line.

You stare at the letter before placing it back on Shiki's desk, breathing deeply to contain your anger. "Is that it then?" You ask, looking up at Shiki. He has you sign something or other to confirm that you did recieve what was left to you in the will and dismisses you. You turn and look back at him when you reach the door. You're upset at this whole situation and by wrongful diffusion you feel like you should be upset with Shiki for being the bearer of such bad news, but... When you look at him, it feels for all the world like he's your last connection to your family and your life as a (now ex) rich boy. You give him a sad smile. "Thanks," You say as you leave.

"Take care of yourself," is what he replies with to your retreating back. It's the most sentimental thing you've ever heard him say in the past 20 years. You don't look back as you exit, knowing you probably won't see him again.

As you walk out of the building, you're left with a sense of emptiness. You're at a loss for what to do next. There's no one to take care of you now; no family and no friends. You're broke as all hell with no job and no car, and by tomorrow, no house. With every step you take toward your apartment, your anger dissapates into fear and panicked confusion.

You reach your apartment and step inside, looking around for some kind of lifeline. You rack your brain for someone you can call, some kind of help you can get, but come up blank. Your apartment is mostly empty at this point since you'd been selling your shit to get some extra cash for awhile now. On the brightside there's nothing to move out once you're evicted tomorrow. You run your hand through your inky black hair frantically and try to control your breathing as you begin to pace back and forth.

You have no experience. You have no skills. You don't know anyone. After tonight you're not even going to have a place to live. You have that college degree but you know it's no guarantee of getting a job. You're not prepared, hell, you're not even sure how you'd go about that. You're also shit at calming yourself down. The tears are running down your cheeks hot and fast before you even notice you're crying. You raise a hand to your face to scratch your cheek where the tears touch you and your hand comes away wet. Somehow that makes it all the worse, opening the floodgates as you have your very first, honest to god breakdown. You can feel the box still in your coat pocket, and you reach in and fling it across the room. It bounces off the wall with a thud and makes your tears fall faster.

You stagger into your bedroom, collapsing onto the mattress which now just lays directly on the floor, and let the sorrow and self-pity wash over you. You sob and shake, whining noises making their way out of your mouth. You whimper and cry like that until at some point you fall asleep, too tired and emotionally drained to do anything else.

When you wake, it's to a slight headache, the taste of cotton in your mouth, and banging on your door. You stumble to your feet, trying to get yourself oriented before answering it. The banging continues, now accompanied by shouts to open the door. You do open it, to the lovely sight of your landlord's frowning face. He asks about the money, and when you tell him you don't have it, that's it. He tells you that you have to get out and demands your keys. You relinquish them and are given an hour to collect what few things you have left and get the hell out.

You consider taking your mattress, it's really the only thing in here, but you have nowhere to put it so you trash the locate the box with your necklace in it on the floor from where you threw it yesterday and all your bad feelings threaten to come rushing back but you stifle them down. You open the box and take out the necklace, staring at it for a full minute before deciding to put it on. It is officially the only thing you own. If anything, it'll probably fetch a price if you need to pawn it later.

You take one last look around before leaving, taking a deep breath and putting on a mask of indifference as you walk out. You're not quite sure what time it is, as you don't have a watch and if you did you'd have sold it by now, but judging from the position of the sun when you get outside, you guess you slept until about early afternoon or so. You rummage in your back pocket for your wallet. You've only got $30 left, so you figure you'd better make it count. Or not.

You head to your favourite sushi place and order fatty tuna, cracking a joke in your head about the last supper. You snort, but there's no real amusement in it. Your food comes and you savour it, yet still it's gone too quickly. You feel cheap for not leaving a tip as you normally would but circumstances are dire.

You're still not sure what time it is but your body tells you it's time for a nap, so you find yourself a park bench and try to get comfortable, which is impossible, and catch some much needed zzs. You curl in on yourself, hoping beyond hope no one will rob you.

Rough concrete is what eventually wakes you as you roll off the bench in your sleep. It's considerably darker now, and fuck all you're getting a drink. You walk down to the nearest bar and blow the last of your money entirely on alcohol, consuming way more cheap shit than a lightweight like yourself ever should have. The blond guy serving you drinks seems to get more and more concerned every time you take a shot, but you don't give a shit. You're fucking homeless so if this guy wants to judge you he can go right ahead. The bar does actually have a clock, so you know it's two am when you leave, drunk off your ass. The bartender asks if you're alright as you stuggle to leave but you don't deign to respond.

You stagger outside, the autumn wind seeming somehow much colder than it's ever felt before. You have no idea where to go, your thoughts hazy and your steps shaky. You don't think you've made it that far away from the bar when you run into a streetlamp, hitting yourself in the face and passing out on the cold, hard, ground. As the world fades to black around you, you manage to wonder through your muddled thoughts what your father would say if he could see you now. See what he did to you. What you did to yourself.