A/N: … So, this was my hidden plot… I was going to publish this when I was finished with Beauty and the Beast, my other story, but meh.
Also, I just wanted to share my greatest condolences for the death of Thailand's king, King Bhumibol Adulyadej. May his soul now rest in peace.
Summary: Izaya Orihara and Shizuo Heiwajima are men of two different classes in this social hierarchy of the wealthy and not. With Shizuo being the most influential man in Japan, and Izaya being the sexiest bitch in the galaxy, life seems to go on. But nope, fate just has to smack them together and ruin everything.
Warnings: Boy x Boy love, depression, abuse, violence. Alternate Universe. Rated M for some of the content.
Disclaimer: I do not own Durarara! And its characters, plot, whatever.
Enjoy?
CHAPTER 1
Sore.
That was a quite accurate adjective for how I felt. Sore. Literally, physically, sore. Nothing could compare.
"Izaya, if you're not picking up those bills, I am."
I squabbled up – and tried to look sexy while doing it. Bad idea. In front of me stood an unhappy looking man (he always looked unhappy, if you asked me), named Kadota Kyohei. Damn, it was kind of dumb of me to try to look sexy in front of this man.
"I am working on it, Dota-chin. In case you haven't noticed, I'm naked and just had dry sex. For this." I casually pointed at the money. "For my rent." Scrambling for my clothing – wait, never mind. That fucking bastard ran off with them. "Dota-chin, mind if I borrow your cardigan?"
"Yes."
"Oh, too bad." I shook my head, and grabbed the soiled blanket and flipped it over. There were suspicious stains, but it would do for a ten-minute walk home. It wasn't like anyone in this part of town cared about a naked man going around in the streets (it was pretty common, anyway), but it was a matter of self-conscience. "By the way, what brings you here?"
"Erika was bugging me to check on you." Lighting a cigarette, Kadota gave the window a look of betrayal. "And I was kind of curious how you looked after sex."
"Well, I look gorgeous." Flipping my short, damp hair, I gave Dota-chin my sweetest smile. He gagged, which was what I was looking for. I somehow collected energy I thought I didn't have, and wobbled on my nonexistent two feet. My whole body was screaming in pain, demanding for rest. I guess five hours of pure, dry sex, was meant to tire out a human being. The blanket felt heavy on my shoulders, as I took a cautious step forward, the thick, crinkled bills in my hand.
The scent of dust greeted me as I exited the apartment. Dust, and a tangy hint of blood. Drugs, sex, pain, agony, emotion, and the trashed. Living in one place, was the slums of this fateful town, Ikebukuro. And surviving along those lines, there was me – Orihara Izaya.
Yes, I am dirty.
Yes, I am sinful.
Sin itself.
Funny.
Very funny.
Kadota was blabbered on some stories about Erika and Allen's usual nonsense. I always found their unidentified reason of always sticking together intriguing – Kadota, Erika, Walker, and Togusa – always together, in these slums. I knew better than anyone that they did not belong here.
At least, they weren't supposed to.
"Izaya, you listening?" He pressed, and I chuckled.
"Of course I am." Nope.
Kadota knew I wasn't. He knew me too well for my convenience. "I was saying, that the Heiwajimas did it again."
"Did what?" I bluntly expressed my curiosity. For some reason, I failed to keep a mask all the time in front of Dota-chin. It was frustrating, because there was nothing like a mutual bond of comfort between us. It was not like me.
"They crashed another slum." Kadota took out a yakisoba bread. Cheap, thirty yen per package. No nutrients, medium calories, saved money. "Makes me wonder why they are hesitating at all, crushing this place."
I smirked. Now that, was a legitimate question. "Who knows?" I nicked a portion of the bread and popped it into my mouth. Kadota slapped my back, for all I cared. "I don't keep constant updates on the Heiwajimas. They aren't really my business. Riches and the douches, I mean."
"Riches and the douches." Dota-chin's lips curled up in fascination. "That has a nice ring to it."
"I know." My steps paused in front of my house; I reached for my keys that were tucked underneath my doormat. Kadota's eyes trailed behind my every movement, as if I were some threatening specimen. "Well then, adieu, Dota-chin." I mumbled between the gap of the closing door, locking it just in time to see the latter depart.
My aching backside leaned against the metal door that was barely glued to its hinges now. Knees giving up, I collapsed on the tiled floor. Exhaustion grew as seconds- no, as milliseconds passed, and my thighs blaming me for the incessant jolts caused by last night.
I made a failed attempt to remind myself what my fridge had in possession. The rancorous fact that I probably couldn't do so meant that I had nothing in it. In which did not help my already bitter mood.
Money. Cash in my hands. It was barely sufficient to pay my landlord this month. There was a limit in how much that greedy man could hold on. A very short limit, too. Which immediately led to the discouraging truth – no food? Well, starvation it is.
Depressing.
That was the first word that popped into my blank mind. How utterly devastating. I sluggishly fumbled the floor and my surroundings, hoping to find a cigarette or anything of the kind, only to be met with more disappointment.
Life.
My phone began to go off, but I ignored it, making my way to the bed. It was most likely something inconsequential, something I didn't find necessary at my current state of physical condition.
So I ignored it.
"Shizuo, you're going to be late to the next meeting."
"I really don't care."
His secretary winced, making a face that clearly said 'Oh no, not this again'. "Come on. The one that's going to get scolded for your pompous behavior is me, not you."
Fake blonde hair waved in the cold office. "Fire them. Easy."
"That's not exactly something I can decide." Tanaka Tom, his secretary, shook his head. "And besides, you're basically the boss now, with the previous boss giving the seat to you. How about collecting something called responsibility?" He gave his boss an admonishing stare, which was skillfully avoided with the least of concerns.
This man was Heiwajima Shizuo, the most influential man in Japan (close to the world, even), a man that could crush a city at the tip of his damned fingernails, a man that could swoon the government with a single syllable that escaped his lips. He owned over an easy few thousand branches worldwide, and even had the "Underworld" within his left palm.
The power of money, Tom deduced, as he now simply gazed at his boss, mesmerized. The wealth of the man was almost godly – the meticulous amount would make any human gape- no, it would destroy a human being. Because it was Heiwajima Shizuo in control, the one at the top of the tower, the whole organization maintained tranquil business.
Heiwajima Shizuo was not particularly smart. He was neither the brightest of individuals, nor the most easygoing person in the universe. However, he was a lucky silver spoon – a gold spoon, even. Meaning, half his achievements were accomplished through his horrid wealth.
"Shizuo," Tom tried a second negotiation, "you can't possible manage to miss a ten million yen deal."
"It'll eventually come in another time." Shizuo said it with such certainty with a perfect base of reasoning. It was not an arbitrary statement – Tom knew it better than anyone. Yes, a few million yen deals were something that arrived around every corner of the week or so. It wouldn't exactly hurt to miss one. "And besides, I don't like the boss for that company. I heard a few things from Kida."
Tom's eyes fluttered open at that. "Kida? Kida Masaomi?"
Now, let's pause there. Kida Masaomi – a talented informant that worked specifically for the Heiwajimas. He claimed a certain person discovered his talents that he encountered during his youthful ages. He behaved more like a rambunctious teenager than a informant, but all of them passed that over.
"Yes, Kida Masaomi. Apparently they're tied to some drug dealing incidents that happened over the course of months. I have no intentions of getting them framed or whatever, but I'd rather stay out of any deals they offer." Tom gave in at the explanation. Shizuo wasn't completely an idiot, with all the massive education he received as a child at a private school for rich kids.
"Also, I plan on scouting out the slums out in the outskirts Ikebukuro today." The young Heiwajima continued.
"Oh. For the new building?"
"Yeah. It's the fucking last one left. The only reason we weren't able to get rid of it earlier was because of all the illegal trading and smuggling going on – it was the center of their business. Now it should be gone for good riddance." Shizuo stood on his firm feet, grabbing his black trench coat and car keys.
Tom closed the door and turned off the fancy lights for the chandelier in the office as they exited. "Should I drive you?"
Shizuo considered the idea. "No. I want some time to myself. Irritating pests have been getting on my nerves nowadays."
"Very well. Don't break anything on your way, okay? It'll sully the reputation-"
"I know, I know." The doors to the fancy white Porsche clicked open. He set out to explore the slums, not knowing what twisted fate awaited him.
Hunger.
"Dad?"
Solitude.
"Dad, where are we going?"
Abandonment…
"Sell him?"
Betrayal…
"We can't support him."
Effaced…
"We'll have to forget him."
My eyes snapped open at the memory. I clawed at my shirt to make sure I was still in existence – not vanishing away, my inner demons eating my conscience until there was nothing left.
"It's just a dream." I convinced myself, managing to piece my sanity back together. "Just a dream." My voice shook, and my lower half jerked in surprise as I tried to move. Burning pain slowly seeped through my bones again, my muscles contracting in refusal.
I somehow forced myself off the rough futon. Food. I was craving for any sort of victual – rotten or not, edible or not. When I flung my fridge open violently to the side, I was met with one microwave meal – one that expired two weeks ago. I was in luck that this apartment room even came with a microwave – or else I wouldn't have the money to afford one.
Groaning, I popped the plastic meal into the microwave, closed it, and entered the usual time in. I hoped it wasn't spoiled, because then that meant I would have to starve until I paid the rent.
While waiting for the food to be prepared, I reached for my phone that was on the floor. I had missed forty-one calls from people I didn't know, and one from Dota-chin. Not like I really cared – Kadota called every now and then, just to check whether he was still alive.
Right. What was the time?
I glanced at the clock on my phone's screen. Nine in the evening.
Ugh. That was too early for anything to happen.
Just when I was about to close my phone, a message arrived, with a rather disturbing notification sound that I forgot to change.
It was from Dota-chin – of course.
The message read:
[You have a Porsche parked outside your apartment. What the hell did you do?]
… A what?
I typed back in bewilderment.
[A Porsche, as in the fucking car?]
In less than a minute, he had punched back a ferocious response.
[Yes, a FUCKING Porsche. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO]
He must've been pretty damn frustrated if he forgot to add a period or whatever at the end, I thought. But for one thing, I could not recall any of my clients owning a white Porsche. None of my clients were exactly that rich and sensible to begin with. Most of them were sex-deprived old men, or frustrated gay college students that had a terrible breakup with their ex-boyfriends.
But never the Riches and Douches. Never.
So I quietly exited my apartment room (he was clearly there for a reason, hopefully not me, considering the only person that lived in my apartment was me) and looked down to get a better glimpse at this man, completely forgetting about the meal in the microwave.
But then he saw me first.
I didn't even flinch, as he opened his mouth to speak. For some reason, I expected him to start spurting flamboyant French at me. But no, what came to my ears was flawless, slightly gruff, Japanese.
"Hey, do you live here?"
Duh. Did he think I was taking emergency refuge at this apartment? Making out at a lover's room?
"Yes, I do." I flicked a finger. "Are you a client?"
He seemed confused, which meant he obviously wasn't here for me, and precisely my sexy service. "No."
"Aw. You sure? You won't regret it." This had to be a chance. A chance for me to rip some shitty bills out of that blonde's pocket. Out of his expensive Burberry trench coat, out of his fucking who-knows-what-famous-brand shoes and sunglasses.
But instead, he stole a cautious glance at his watch. Oh god, that was a Rolex. A solid silver and gold Rolex right there. How much would that even cost? A few million yen?
"I'm not particularly into sexual trade." My face fell. "But I would appreciate it if you have something to eat. My tire got flat, so I have to wait until my secretary arrives."
Bingo.
"Five thousand yen."
He blinked. "What?"
"Five thousand yen," for an expired microwave meal, "for food. What do you say?"
I did not expect him to say what he did so nonchalantly afterward.
"Sure."
Oh god. I hated the Riches and Douches, seriously.
He walked up the stairs to my apartment room, as I opened the door again. He wrinkled his nose at the poor environment (at least, that's what I think he seemed so bothered about), and then stared at the small table I had next to my "kitchen".
"You can sit there." I mumbled, taking out my microwave meal. I wondered what the consequences would be for getting a wealthy person sick.
"Would this table break?" He asked with serious concern, and I laughed aloud – it sounded exactly like what those Rich and Douches would say!
"No." I said through my laughs. "By the way, what's your name? I'm not going to take money from a stranger," although I did that all the time, "when I'm about to feed them."
He hesitated. I don't know what I expected. An infamous family name that I didn't know about?
"Heiwajima Shizuo."
Oh.
Shit.
