Disclaimer: I do not own Durarara! just so everyone knows (duh how could you not)

ALSO the title comes from a quote from Emerson "Let us be silent that we may hear the whisper of God."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sunlight peered in behind the rich chocolate velvet that covered the floor to ceiling windows. A vine of molten gold crept its way up across naked svelte limbs, licking across a bare thigh and spilling onto the silk coverlet. Illuminated skin quivered as lithe muscle grew taut and pale arms stretched, fingers wiggling in celebration of the new day. Bleary ruby eyes blinked twice and slid over to glance at the digital display that had but a few hours earlier cast a ghostly sheen over the raven haired man's room while he had counted the hours till sunrise. A soft sigh escaped parted lips and muscles rippled as Izaya Orihara began his day.

Dragging himself out of the sinful luxury of his bed, Izaya stumbled his way into the bathroom with the hopes of washing another sleepless night off under the warm spray of his multi-headed shower. Stepping into the stream of heated water, he released another sigh, this one of pleasure, and leant against the glass backsplash. Let it not be said that he was a morning person. Thoughts ambled tiredly through his head as he massaged shampoo into his hair. For the most part they were frivolous things: Was the milk in the fridge any good? Did he have any significant clients scheduled to deal with today? Had Namie dropped dead from a stress induced heart attack?

Just then the ruby eyed man shut off the water only to hear the distinctive sound of high heels click clack across the mahogany floors downstairs accompanied by the closing of a door, almost as if his assistant felt that he had just awoken and had come as the hound wakes to its rising master like the bitch she is. He briefly wondered if he could add telepath to the list of highly useful yet highly annoying attributes that the icy woman possessed. As much as he pretended to find her behavior interesting, he did so for the sole intent of aggravating her and in the privacy of his dripping shower he permitted himself to scowl into the fluffy warmth of a crimson towel. Izaya would not call himself a vain person, but he would admit that the red accents of his décor mirrored his eyes in a rather striking way.

He pouted at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and finished his morning routine, dressing in his usual charcoal v-neck and black slacks. Down the stairs he went, quickly placing the earbuds from the ipod he had snatched off of his dresser into his ear as a last minute whim struck him. Today seemed like it would be one of those days, and music was often the only way to make it bearable, as an added bonus it drowned out Namie's sharp nagging. He flashed her a quick smirk as he continue his path to the kitchen and began a pot of tea. He leant against the counter and tapped his fingers against it in time to the beat that filtered through his ears while his thoughts focused on the information that Namie rattled off to him. He winced as the cutting, scientific cadence of her voice contaminated the precious lilting tones that soothed his fraying nerves. The infuriating woman had yet to figure out that he could read lips perfectly fine thank you very much.

The tea shrieked and Izaya lazily reached over to take it off of the stove and pour a cup of his favorite pomegranate green tea. He cocooned the cup with his hands, doing his best to leech the warmth from the sides while the steam brushed his lips, tantalizing him with its delicious aroma and promising taste. He opened the eyes that he didn't remember closing only to lock gazes with an annoyed assistant who seemed to be expectant of an answer. He smirked and waved a half acquiescing, half neutral hand. She sighed and shook her head, Izaya's smirk widened over his tea. He was sure that her opinion of him was as unpleasant as his was of her. He was also sure that he didn't give a damn. He sighed, this time in bliss and strutted over to his work station as only Izaya Orihara could. He sat in his swivel chair and spun round in it once, giving into yet another impulse. That seemed to happen more often on these kinds of days. Yes, on these kinds of days he seemed to have difficulty focusing on things online, the "important" things Namie prattled about to him, or really anything in this reality. On these days his mind wandered in a most unproductive manner, turning over various thoughts in a painfully slow manner. It might have been because of his natural inclination to focus on multiple things at once, or it might have something to do with the quiet whispers that lurked in the back of his mind. He sighed again, this time mentally.

Oh my host, you should really stop worrying about these earthly duties, they're far below you. Human emotions should not interest you.

The exasperated growl rolled through the edges of his consciousness and swelled at the forefront of his mind. Izaya would like to say that this was surprising, but the strongest response he could muster was a lazy eye roll. He did his best to block any more of these wayward ...thoughts, but with his mind running on the vestiges of yesterday's energy it was proving to be a challenge which was enhanced two-fold by the distractions of work. Hours ticked away until Izaya felt the absurd urge to chuck his switchblade at the sleek yet still plain analog clock that hung innocently on the wall. He turned the volume up in an attempt to block out the remnants of those annoying distractions. He spent the next twenty minutes attempting to collect more information from the internet, but it all proved futile and five minutes after that he sent Namie home, waving away her questions about the unfinished work in order to get her out the door as swiftly as possible. Thankfully the woman was accustomed to his ever changing whims and left with little protest. As soon as the door snicked shut, Izaya hastily threw down his ipod and cradled his head in his hands, his breathing was ragged and he brought a hand up to massage the bridge of his nose. His head throbbed for reasons known only to him, and the ticking of the clock seemed to have intensified. Each passing second sent a resounding echo through his skull. Perhaps a fresh cup of steaming tea could soothe his mind. Attempting to push the insistent throbbing away, the raven haired man stood up and was ambushed by another wave of pain on which rode lurking whispers. He put a hand on his desk to steady himself.

Fuck the tea. I need sleep.

Still cradling his head in one hand, Izaya began the trek back up the stairs, doing his best to weakly shed his clothes as he went before collapsing back into the sweet haven of his bed. Doing his best to forget about the pain in his head and its source, he let his mind drift along feeling rather disgusted with himself that the day had ended after only a few unproductive hours in the same manner as it had begun. He buried himself deeper into the precious silk in a rather unsuccessful attempt at drowning out the dangerous whispers that curled about his exhausted mind.

Aphotic depths swallowed the bright glimmering drops, hungry for the light of the city that winked in a parody of playfulness along the edges of the aqueous. Tear filled emeralds gazed down after it. Malicious crimson slid over sweaty, caramel flesh. A rising scent of fear and anguish mingled in the night air. The sounds of the city traffic faded into cacophonous breaths. An anticipatory wind swept over the rooftop mussing raven locks and bottle blond curls. Concrete grit growled under shuffling feet, the scritch scratch of gravel screamed in harmony with the howling wind and turbulent breaths. Emerald turned to capture crimson and thin lips turned up into a mocking, encouraging grin. Impatient gusts pressed against shivering ankles urging dainty heels to resume their feminine saunter. Immaculately painted nails edged forward and enthusiastic darkness rose up farther, farther embracing caramel, jean, cotton, and emerald. Crimson looked down into the gloom, catching a faint glimmer of liquid flesh at the bottom. Pale fingers undulated in a lazy wave. Goodbye lovely emerald. A single black feather floated solemnly down and melded into the once again still depths.

Ruby eyes snapped open.

I hope you had sweet dreams, my host.