1.18am.
Namie glances at the clock once more, the third time since the hour passed. She exhales deeply and started to fiddle with her mobile phone. Usually, Namie would have left by now, but today is the 4th of the month and Izaya is late.
Izaya has a habit, more of a fixation in fact. He's ostentatiously punctual. Minute planning he calls it. But then again, knowing the informant, microsecond planning was more like. He calculates things down to the split second, analysing every possible scenario that may happen and plays out the various means and ends mentally everytime he makes a move.
Namie toys with the idea of calling her employer but stopped short of hitting the green dial button. "Maybe he changed his mind today" she whispered, her words swallowed by the darkness. The office was pitch dark save for the blurry streams of moonlight weakly illuminating Izaya's desk. She languidly tossed the phone onto the couch and got up, slowing walking toward the table. The brunette bit her lips slightly and hesitantly plopped onto his chair.
The same chair he fucks her in every month.
It's been 4 months. The first time it happened was in spite, anger driven by lust. He tempted her, aggravated her and then ravished her. Then near the end, he made love to her, so tenderly, almost as if he really cared for her. His touch burning an unforgettable trail on her skin; she lost, terribly.
Orihara Izaya is someone who would never flinch. Even if by accident, the surprise showing of vulnerability is something that he would never admit to. Even exposed, vulnerability disguised can end up as a stronger shield than anything else.
The next day was back to normal for both of them. She was once again tidying, filing and getting taunted and annoyed by the same man who kissed her so gently the night before. Almost as if the night had never happened.
"The one I love is Seiji" she tells herself that every morning as she looks into the mirror, reminding herself of her pure love that can never be corrupted.
She runs a finger over the edge of the desk. The same desk he makes her sit on as he touched her, the same desk he works on every day.
Almost 2 weeks after the first incident, Namie found herself sneaking peeks at the man while working. What started out as quick glances quickly evolved into minute long peeps. She watched him as he slowly swirled around in his chair, talking amimatedly into the phone. Namie smirks, she knows this routine by now - Izaya, amused would first spin around in the said chair. Most of the times it is followed by him squinting his eyes in annoyance. Then, once he gets bored with the client, respond to whatever is being said in a curt and sharp tone. Finally, when he gets what he wants, a sly grin and then a swiftly scribbled note.
"It happens every call, every time." she muttered under her breath.
Almost as if on cue, Izaya stopped spinning, a wide grin plastered across his face and then he started scribbling onto a post-it. Namie's lips curled further upwards and she caught herself looking at the man doing exactly as she predicted, his hand swiftly and loosely flying across the paper. Her eyes followed his every movement, watching as his long and slender fingers danced across the keyboard, starting his work. The older girl unexpectedly felt her cheeks burn as she once again unwillingly recalled how not too long ago, that very hand had expertly skated across her thighs and sent trembles through her body. She mentally slapped herself for remembering and turned back to work on her files. Namie has been really behind time with her work recently.
"I hate him", she mutters that to herself, every night almost as if it were a prayer. Every night while she vividly recalls his soft lips, planting kisses along her bosom as he went down.
"Just once a month," the informant mouthed, sliently looking straight into her eyes.
It was just another normal afternoon - as normal as things can get when Orihara Izaya was involved anyway - when he said that. 'It's been 27 days since that night', not that Namie would admit that she has been keeping count.
Namie watched him as his eyes hardened and he subtly bit onto his lower left lip, something he only does if he's bothered.
Little actions and subtle changes, in poker, players try to figure out their opponent's hand via them. This is known as a Tell and Izaya reads them well.
"People betray themselves, so often, their feelings get wrapped up so badly in their predictenment that they are unable to think logically anymore." he smirked, delighted at her annoyed expression. "Just like your feelings for your brother."
Izaya doesn't realise, but he is a good teacher. By now, Namie has learnt most of his Tells.
"Tonight, wont you stay by me?"
Izaya's fluid voice and intoxicating words has seeped into her deeply, swiftly. She knows he means it and as much as she wanted to run from him, his poison has already rendered her paralyzed. That final line was all she needed to waiver and that my friends, was the start of Yagiri Namie's fall.
A/N: This was meant to be a long fic exploring some ideas I've had about Izaya's past. But yes, since I'm on holiday and forgot to bring my files, I rewrote and figured that this works well enough as a stand-alone too; which explains why the main title's Trace. And yes, I ship IzaNamie as my hetro OTP! I'll be filing this as completed for the moment - Until I get the next chapters settled. Well, hope you guys enjoyed it.