Disclaimer: I don't own Durarara!, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Ryohgo Narita and Suzuhito Yasuda. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

Misery Business

A/N: Follow up to "The Worst Kind Of Help"

"Go ahead, kiddo. Take a look."

Mikado turned around, eyes bulging as he spotted himself in the mirror. He couldn't say that he looked horrid, but he certainly didn't look like himself. It looked rather strange on him, Izaya's black coat. The fur trim on the hood and sleeves was tickling his neck and fingers, and it was a bit too big. He honestly hadn't thought that Izaya was really that much taller than him.

Frankly, Mikado thought he looked like a thug.

"A-Are you sure this is what girls like?"

The broker nodded, throwing an arm over the boy's shoulder. "Of course I'm sure." He walked away from the mirror and stood in the ailse of the department store, grinning as two girls passed by, staring and squealing to one another. "See? No problem."

Yeah, maybe not for the likes of Izaya Orihara. He'd lived in the city for years while Mikado had been out in the countryside. He also seemed to have had plenty of practice, as most everyone in Ikebukuro knew his name. Really, the differences between the city and Saitama were vast. It was almost as if they were two completely different worlds, with Mikao being familiar with the older and more outdated of the two.

"I-I don't know... I mean, it's just not me." Mikado grimaced as Izaya approached him, fearing that he'd said something that would merit that flickblade being shoved between his ribs. "I-I'm sorry!"

"Not a problem, Tanaka," Izaya said with a grin, slapping him on the back. "So, it's not your thing. Nothing you need to apologize for." He paused pulling Mikado's phone out of the boy's jeans. "Tell ya what. Go look around and find something you like. When you're done, buzz me, and I'll take care of it."

Mikado was wide-eyed as the phone was pressed back into his hand, the broker's number now stored in its memory, the coat pulled off his shoulders. The boy stared after him as he walked off. Izaya would take care of it? What did that mean?

He was more than a little hesitant.

Shrugging it off, he walked away from the mirror, his shaking hands on the clothing racks as he sifted through several dozen shirts. He'd just gone up to the first one he'd seen, and had managed to find shirt he kind of liked. It had long sleeves, and was made of a very light thermal fabric. The kind that could easily be worn year round. It was a faded plaid patter, mingling blue, yellow, and green into the design.

I like it, he thought as he walked out of the dressing room, pulling the shirt down over his jeans. But what about Anri? What will she think?

That's right. This had all started because he he had wanted to find something nice to wear for his friend.

"Oh, Mikado!"

He turned, shocked to see that Anri herself was standing there. Mikado stood there for a few moments, realizing that she looked a bit worried when he hadn't responded. "H-Hi, Anri. What're you doing here?"

"Same as you, I guess," she said with a small smile. "Just looking around."

Mikado nodded, swallowing as he pretended to check the price tag. He probably should have noticed that the rack was part of the store's clearance sale. It would have saved him a bit of obvious embarrassment.

"That's a nice shirt."

"What?"

Anri touched the fabric, brushing his hand. "This shirt. I like the colors." Gently, she pulled it out of his hands, holding it up against him. "It matches your eyes, too. I think it's nice."

He was sweating, but gladd that he'd come all the same. If he'd stayed home like he'd planned, then he wouldn't have run into Anri.

Maybe he didn't really need any outside help. Maybe his own choices were good enough.