Smoke and Mirrors

by kc creation

Shizuo finds himself, through a series of confusing and dizzying events, working alongside none other than Orihara Izaya: feared informant and constant, unrelenting thorn in his side.

1. Chapter 1

It's a nice day today.

Maybe a little chilly, he muses, but it's the first warm day of Spring. A light breeze works its way through the hair and clothing of every passerby, rustling the leaves of potted plants in open windows and flapping signs against the doors of all of the little shops lining the street. The sun is bright in the big, blue canvas of the sky. The air is so fresh and clear that Shizuo swears he can smell Simon preparing a fresh batch of sushi all the way on the other side of the district.

Tom-san has been inside of their building for nearly half an hour now, he muses, cigarette loose between his lips as he fiddles with his lighter. The boss had called him back early in the workday for "very urgent business". They had a lot of clients to get to, but Tom-san had sighed, sparing all of the city's biggest losers for a little bit longer.

Shizuo had opted to stay outside, since the boss made it pretty clear that he only wanted to see Tom-san, and it was so beautiful out that sitting in the stuffy waiting room seemed like a waste.

He draws out a long breath, flipping through his phone. Celty has texted him something about cooking. He hasn't cooked in months, and nothing more than ramen noodles, so he wonders how desperate she is for this information if she's coming to him.

'How much sugar goes in a sheet of cookies?'

'Depends on how sweet you want them to be.'

He guesses that would be right. Celty doesn't have a tongue though, so he can imagine the entire bag dumped inside of her mixing bowl already. He sends another text.

'Please try to look it up online. Shinra can die from a sugar overdose for all I care, but don't make me responsible.'

The door behind him clicks open and Tom-san appears, a strange look on his face. His lips are a tight line, eyes a little darker than Shizuo thinks they usually might be—he isn't sure, but there's something really off about him, something that makes his stomach knot.

"Uh, Shizuo," Tom-san sort of laughs, sort of coughs, clearly anxious, "The boss says… Uh, he needs to speak with you. Please… be careful."

Which clearly translates to "Don't hurt him", which translates further to "He's going to say something to you that will ruin this beautiful day."

He doesn't reply, but puts out his cigarette and slips it into its envelope. Stuffing his hands into snug pockets, he shrugs, already a little pissed just from the thought of it, and pushes past Tom-san into the building. It's his turn to climb the stairs and wander through the waiting room into the office. Even the secretary looks like she's afraid he'll hurl her computer out the window or break a trash can over his knee. It's annoying, and she makes a tiny, terrified noise as his shoulders twitch.

"G-go right inside, Heiwajima-san," she nearly cries.

This is ridiculous.

Is he getting fired? It's a long time coming, so everyone needs to calm down. He's only beat up one boss out of the many jobs he's went through. The ratio is honestly working in their favor.

He nudges the door open, and the boss looks like he's recovering from a heart attack, only to straighten up just a little too quickly, sweat beading his brow as he spots the blond.

"Heiwajima-san," he starts, and Shizuo is already sick of hearing his own name, "I have a proposition for you, but if it doesn't interest you, uh—we were thinking of asking Varona. B-but, as it is, Tanaka-san and I discussed it, and we honestly believe—uh—you might actually cause less damage. That is… You won't kill anyone."

He cocks his head to the side. This makes no sense at all.

"I'm not being fired?"

The boss laughs at that, calming down just a little.

"No, of course not! Tanaka-san is very pleased with your work."

They stare for a moment in silence after that. He still hasn't gotten to the point, and Shizuo hates it when people fuck around without ever explaining what they mean. It's even worse because they have so much work to do. He wonders if they'll decide to fire him after all if he breaks his dry spell and beats up another boss.

"Oh, uh, well… You see. There's a very interesting job that we've had fall into our laps. It's not our usual sort of work, but it's still technically collections," He starts again, leaning back in his chair and motioning for Shizuo to sit as well. He refuses for the time being. He thinks if he touches that smooth, glossy wood, he might be tempted to throw it.

"You see, Heiwajima-san, a colleague of mine in Aomori is having loads of trouble collecting on a loan from a very troublesome customer. He's asked graciously for my help with this, as we've achieved quite a high percentage of successful transactions since, well, you started working for us. It's an extremely large amount of money, you see, and he's offered give us a certain percentage, of which I am offering you, if you decide to take the job, five percent."

That doesn't sound like a lot to him, to be honest, and the boss must have sensed that, because he grabs a pen and paper then, scribbling something down and sliding it across the surface of the desk.

He takes a few steps forward, slowly, reaching out and grasping the paper. The boss looks at him in anticipation.

¥ 1,000,000

He stares at it longer than he probably should.

"That's a lot of money," he says finally, and the boss seems to sigh in relief.

"Of course," he replies hurriedly, as though trying to stay in Shizuo's good graces as long as he can, "Your travel expenses, lodging, and food will be paid for by my colleague. He's planned for your stay to last about a month, three weeks to be exact, but he has kindly offered to pay for any longer it might take if the job isn't finished before then. As I said, it's been a very difficult task, but with your success rate, Tanaka-san and I feel that you're perfect."

He's silent then, not really sure what to say. It sounds fine, but just fine. The idea of traveling across the country just to collect some money seems like a lot of useless legwork, but ¥ 1,000,000 is also nothing to laugh at.

"Is Tom-san also getting that much?" he asks, which he realizes is rude, but only too late.

"Oh," the boss says after a moment, "Tanaka-san isn't going. You see… This job requires a certain level of discrepancy. If we send too many men, well, we begin to look suspicious."

His heart drops momentarily at that. A month without working with Tom-san sounds exhausting. How can they expect for him not to kill someone for a month without Tom-san around? And why a month? Why doesn't the boss's colleague just go to the loser's house and punch him?

Shizuo has so many questions that it's dizzying. He rests his weight against the chair, feeling a little lightheaded as he takes in everything he's hearing. The boss seems worried as he watches him, but it doesn't stop him from going on.

"Heiwajima-san," he says, so, so nervous, "This will not be a normal job. It won't be easy for you, but I promise it will be worth it. My colleague, Koizumi-san, is requesting that you infiltrate this man's organization and find a way to bypass his bodyguards in order to actually—"

He chokes a little. He seems like he's hemorrhaging, he's so freaked.

"Are you asking me to be a secret agent?"

Shizuo sits, finally, fingers crinkling the paper that he still can't stop looking at in his hands. The boss nods, lost for words.

"We've discussed this, and Koizumi-san and I have organized for you to work for a company that is scheduled to cater one of his client's charity events. If you play your cards right, this should allow you to find time alone with him, and you'll threaten him until he pays up."

It sounds complicated. Shizuo can't do the math in his head, but the money must really be worth it for them to resort to this sort of insanely intricate work.

"Koizumi-san has hired a partner for you to work with as well. This partner will monitor the client's schedule, behavior, his bodyguards, and his security while the two of you and the catering company prepare for the big event. He's pulled some strings with another company, so this partner should be as well-suited for the job as you. So please try to get along with them."

Shizuo eyes him warily as he ends his speech. He thinks about Tom-san waiting outside, leans back so far in the chair that the front legs come off of the floor. His eyes wander to the ceiling as he rolls the paper between his fingers.

How long has it been since he's taken a vacation?

"So what do you say?" The boss questions eventually, "If you need some time to decide, we have until the end of the week to give him an answer—"

"I'll do it."

---

The office is very stuffy with so many men sitting inside. Shiki-san looks like he feels this too, but Izaya reasons that he must find himself in so many situations like this so very often, so maybe, if it bothers him, he should consider getting a bigger office.

He's such an interesting human. Such a bad person, by the standards of normal humans, but so calm and collected, and so accommodating the majority of the time—when he isn't breaking men's ankles and presumably chopping the heads off of horses and crafting cement shoes.

"Don't look so excited, Orihara," Shiki spits. He's in a foul mood, "This is a serious meeting."

But if it were so serious, Izaya thinks, maybe the man should have showed up himself instead of sending a messenger.

He's a big guy, ugly, with scars that speak of so many stories and Izaya wishes he could have read them all. The guy has rocky eyes, jet black, and a sharp, tight jaw. He's dressed up in probably his nicest clothes, but he still jitters and shakes in a room full of thugs. He's some sort of bill-collector, like Shizu-chan, but he actually looks the part. Shizu-chan is more of an idol playing a bad-boy in a chick flick. Or maybe the handsome psychopath in a teen horror.

"You have to understand," the man says slowly, voice a low rumble. Izaya can feel it rattling in his bones, "Koizumi-san is only requesting the assistance of his old friend because he is completely desperate. He understands how busy you are, Shiki-san."

'An old friend of Shiki's', Izaya thinks, 'Another scummy human.'

Shiki simply nods. His men look tired and bored. They'd already been talking for a few hours when Shiki called Izaya, and it had taken him nearly forty-five minutes to arrive. He still isn't entirely sure what's needed of him, since no one has directed more than a sentence toward him in the fifteen minutes he's been here, but from what he's overheard, he understands that there's a lot of money on the table and this Koizumi-san needs help getting it.

"Orihara here would surely be happy to help you," Shiki says, making Izaya wonder when he became his keeper, "Although, I must warn you, his biggest weakness is how single-minded he can be. He's a rampant dog if you let him out of the muzzle for too long."

Izaya gives him an indignant look because he's wrong. Shizu-chan is a single-minded person. He, on the other hand, is perfectly capable of getting work done without becoming too distracted.

"You see," Shiki continues, "He has this habit of ruining people's lives. Three weeks is a long time for him to suffer through allowing others to live peacefully. I hope the catering company is prepared to replace their entire staff after Orihara convinces each of them to dunk their heads in the fryers."

Well, if Izaya wasn't offended before, he definitely is now. Shiki has no faith in him. Fryers? Really? How lame.

The bulky bill collector doesn't seem to be amused by this at all, only fixes Izaya with a steely glare. He takes a large bundle of papers from his bag and sets it on the table between them.

"This is everything you need to know."

Izaya isn't even quite sure what's going on, but he can spot what appears to be a plane ticket poking through the edge of the pile, and the sight of it makes his chest ache. Leaving Tokyo won't be fun, but Shiki doesn't look as though he's in the mood to argue. It's not really fair though, he muses. He doesn't even work for Shiki. They can't just expect him to drop everything because some bigshot lost a bunch of money.

Shiki gives him a look as though to say, 'Yes we can. Don't say a single work or you'll wake up tomorrow missing a few fingers.'

So he shrugs, drawing out a long sigh and stretching his tired limbs.

"Ah, well, I guess I haven't been on vacation in a while."

---

The airport is too busy. It's early in the morning, the sun hasn't even begun to peek over the horizon, but the building is already alive with businessmen and tired families, all rushing through, hysteric with stress, winding around Shizuo as though he isn't even here.

He was expecting to have an escort to Aomori, but no one is here. The folder of information is tucked securely under his arm, ticket in hand, as he looks for his flight on the board. He's never flown first-class in his life, but Tom-san says it's nice.

"For someone like you, who never treats himself, it might feel like a vacation." He'd joked, and Shizuo sure hopes so. This job has the potential to be a complete disaster. Varona was the only one with the common sense to look doubtful when they'd told her.

"Why do you not just kill him?" She'd said, and Tom-san seemed to think that was a great reason why Shizuo was their first choice.

He wanders across the room toward a row of seats, noting the flight number listed above. This is his flight, he discovers, and seats himself in the waiting area as a busty flight attendant eyes him like she's never seen a man before. She looks a little hungry, he notes. She must be ready for breakfast.

It's going to be lonely for a while, if this partner of his isn't a friendly guy. If he's too friendly, it might be bad for his health, because while Shizuo promised Tom-san that he would try to take deep breaths and meditate every morning, he's not sure if he'll be able to keep his promise if this guy decides to get a little too personal.

He hates people who ask too many questions.

It's late afternoon when Izaya finds himself stepping up to the waiting area of his flight. Shiki told him that his partner will meet him at their hotel, and that they'll be sharing a suite, but there's no information on the guy. Koizumi must know something about him, must understand the way he can't keep his fingers off of other people's playthings, because while he's been itching to have a go at this masterful spy who has been hired to do the heavy lifting, Koizumi is holding him just high enough that he's out of reach.

Oh well, they'll have plenty of time to get to know each other soon enough.

The client, as they've been calling their target, is a man named Fukayama Hiroto, thirty-four years old. He borrowed money from Koizumi's company many months ago to fund some sort of business endeavor and was extremely successful. However, when time came to pay up, Fukayama became greedy with power. Why pay someone such a large amount of money when you can pay someone else a lot less to protect you from them?

Well, because you'll have to meet someone like Orihara Izaya.

He thinks about this person who is destined to be his partner. Will he be intimidating but cowardly, like the man who visited them? Or will he be a handsome James Bond type, who will somehow sleep his way to victory?

The doors open for his flight, and he shuffles with the crowd, suddenly very excited.

---

First class is nice.

Shizuo didn't even know that they put beds on planes, but apparently they do. He drank milk, he watched the morning news, he enjoyed the good life for nearly two hours before it ended, but as the boss said, his chauffer is to pick him up at the airport, drive him to his five-star hotel, and the first day, he will be allowed to enjoy the city before work begins.

"The catering company doesn't know that you're working for us," Tom-san had explained, as they'd finally gotten to start their work, "You're going to be doing a lot of heavy-lifting—no dealing with customers and very little interaction with coworkers."

That sounded heavenly. He wondered what kind of strings they pulled to get him such a nice fake job.

"Your partner, however, is supposed to be a master of manipulation. They'll be booking events, answering phones, and running errands for the business owner. If you want to switch them, I'm sure they'd let you."

Tom-san had laughed then, patting him on the back. Shizuo wondered idly how it would feel to be good at talking to other people.

He finds his bag easily. Celty gave him a cute little tag when she'd heard the news. She was so excited for him that he felt bad when he acted like he didn't want to go. Maybe she thought some decoration for his luggage would make him a little more enthusiastic. Instead, he just feels guilty.

The tag is light blue with little purple flowers. It's cute like something a teenage girl would like, but it works. He recognizes it easily, even though a few people eye him strangely when he makes a grab for it.

He walks through the gates and finds a short, chubby man standing a ways away, holding up a sign with his name scrawled neatly across it. He looks friendly enough, if not a little tired, maybe a little uncomfortable.

"The man who picks you up will be your assistant. He'll drive you around, he'll find you the best ice cream in the city at 3AM, and he'll be the one you talk to if you have any problems or questions."

The man smiles widely at him when he approaches, lowering the sign as he takes a deep bow.

"Heiwajima-san," He greets, balding head shiny under the fluorescent lights, "It's an honor to meet you. I hope your flight went okay."

Shizuo returns the bow, suddenly feeling skittish. No one has ever shown him so much respect unprovoked.

"Oh," the man says suddenly, rising from his bow, "You can call me Ota."

They leave soon after for the hotel. Shizuo is momentarily taken aback by the car they're driving—a sleek, black sports car—but he figures he needs to get over it soon enough. A wealthy man like Koizumi-san is going to flex his muscles as much as he can, he figures, in hopes that Shizuo and his partner will return to their respective companies with many stories, inciting jealousy in the hearts of his rivals.

"You've been briefed on the job, I presume," says Ota, and Shizuo nods.

This man reminds him of a father-type already. It's not hard to imagine him posing for cheesy Christmas pictures with a couple of young children and a wife with obvious smile lines. He probably works so hard to save up for his children's futures. He probably loves his family more than anything.

That's the only way he can imagine that a man with such an honest face would allow himself to get mixed up with monsters and soulless business men.

"I've been told that you have a sweet tooth."

His curiosity is suddenly piqued, although he feels a little embarrassed that that's the thing his company chose to inform Koizumi-san's company of. He can't even imagine the humiliating profile they'd submitted about him.

'Heiwajima Shizuo, 24, has the appetite of a child.'

"Well," Ota continues, seemingly not put off at all by his silence "I took the liberty of stocking your room with some ice cream and candy. There are also several flavors of milk, and I set out some restaurant pamphlets in case you were interest in going out to eat tonight. Your partner won't arrive until late."

He isn't sure how to reply, so he chooses to say nothing. He's definitely not used to being treated like this by such a fatherly person.

His own father, well, he was more of the silent, disapproving type. He can't even imagine him saying something like "I bought you sweets because I know you like them". That's more like Kasuka, he muses, and comparing this man to his brother gives him a strange feeling.

Loneliness, maybe. Homesickness, already.

The hotel is a lot bigger than he was expecting. The people inside are dressed so nicely that Shizuo feels cheap in his uniform. The ceiling is high and he tilts his head back to see it. Chrystal chandeliers sparkle overhead. Each of their footsteps echo against the glossy floor. He wonders how many times his apartment could fit just in this lobby. Seemingly miles away, the counter sits, long and shiny, dark wood contrasting the pristine whiteness of the rest of the room. He wonders if the workers ever get a headache here.

He wonders if people think he's Ota's assistant, instead of the other way around.

"We've come to understand that you have a bit of a reputation in Tokyo," Ota says after fetching their keys from the desk, "I hate to ask this of you, but Koizumi-san hopes that you won't be recognized by anyone, and that you'll keep a relatively low profile while staying here."

They step into an elevator that Shizuo decides is bigger than his bathroom.

"That being said, we've taken the liberty of picking out new street clothes for you. If nothing suits your tastes, please let me know. Our stylist will pick another wardrobe for you immediately."

He hasn't bought new clothes in years, he realizes, face suddenly warm. This feels like some sort of bizarre dream. What's he gotten himself into?

He watches as each number lights up on the wall as they move up noiselessly. It's so different from the creaky horror at work. He wonders how successful Koizumi-san is if he can afford this sort of treat for just a random guy helping him get some money back. He wonders if Ota-san gets perks like this too.

"You look familiar, by the way," Ota-san blurts, "I think—uh, well. Never mind."

Shizuo gives him a look, shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot as the elevator reaches the 8th floor and the bellhop lets them off.

Minutes later, the situation is completely forgotten as Shizuo stumbles around, baffled, in the suite.

True to the theme, the room is sparkling white. The walls are a strange, white stone, the floors slick and shiny white, the table and chairs, the furniture all slightly different hues of white.

The main room of the suite, which he's told by Ota-san that he will share with his partner, is a living room sort of area. There's a window to his left that seems to take up half of the wall, heavy white curtains opened slightly to reveal a gigantic balcony overlooking the city. There's a glass-top coffee table between two long, fluffy couches and a television mounted on the wall some ways away. There's also a shelf with a radio, a computer desk with a closed laptop and a telephone, a mini-fridge that is so large that he's not even sure if it counts as mini anymore, and a small kitchen area.

Across the room, there are two doors. Ota tells him that the room on the right is his.

"It's bigger than the other one," He whispers slyly.

Shizuo blushes as he makes his way in to check it out. It doesn't surprise him how huge it is, but there's a strange, stirring feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looks around.

All of the clothes in the closet are as soft as his uniforms were when Kasuka first dropped them off. There's a smaller mini-fridge by the bed, which is extremely fluffy-looking and might just fit ten people if they put their minds to it.

There's a plush rug over the floor, a window blocked out with another heavy curtain, and a wide mirror that seems to make him look a little thinner than he actually is. There's a TV mounted on the wall in here too, far bigger than any TV he's ever seen.

He wonders why someone would even need a TV so big. Do all rich people have bad eyes?

"You should try on your new clothes," Ota-san says from behind him, "Just to make sure they fit."

He thinks there might be something in his eyes. They're suddenly very itchy.

---

There's a man holding up a sign that reads "Orihara Izaya" and people keep turning their heads to stare at him, as though double checking the spelling of such a strange name. Surely they think he's crazy. He looks like he might just put in his two weeks at the end of this, and Izaya wonders how many assistants this company is willing to give him.

'What a mistake, assigning a human to cater to my needs.'

"Orihara Izaya," The man bows, "Please call me Yuuki."

Izaya decides not to bow, but nods just a little. He hands his bag over to the man, already pretty used to this whole shtick, but ready to see what Koizumi has to offer.

They board their car and drive to the hotel. It's impressive, and he tells Yuuki this. He doesn't use an honorific, and he can tell this pisses the older man off.

He's maybe forty, maybe younger by a year or two, tall, lean, dark hair, dark eyes. He's very plain looking, from his hairstyle to his skin, from his clothing to his shoes. He reminds Izaya of a salary man, and he wonders how such a straight-shooter found himself tiptoeing between bill collection and money laundering schemes with the yakuza.

"Your partner has already arrived," Yuuki says slowly, as though swallowing his frustration, "From what his assistant has told me, he should be soaking in the Jacuzzi when you arrive."

'How tacky,' Izaya thinks, 'what kind of amateur is so impressed with a Jacuzzi that they need to soak in it on the first night?'

---

Shizuo thinks that maybe he's actually died and gone to heaven.

He's eating ice cream in a Jacuzzi. There's a silk robe and a fluffy towel draped over a chair nearby, slippers (so soft that it feels like walking on clouds) tucked underneath. He's pulled the curtains of the window back, far too high up for anyone to spot him. He can see the sparkling lights of the city blinking on one by one as the sun sets. It's a strange feeling, watching everything but remaining unseen.

It makes him think of this partner of his. A master manipulator, a people person. He wonders if that man feels this way all the time.

He can hear some commotion through the bathroom door. He'd asked Ota-san to relax while he took a bath and the older man's face had softened at the words, coughing to mask a soft chuckle.

"My coworker," He explained after Shizuo's brow had twitched in annoyance, "He harassed me when I chose to be your assistant over your partner's. He said I was stupid for choosing the dangerous one."

His chest hurt a little, but he ignored it. He wondered how much Ota-san knew about him.

"But, you see, he's having a terrible time right now with the other guy, and you're admittedly the kindest man I've ever been an assistant to."

It sounds like an argument and suddenly, there's a terrible smell seeping in from under the door. He can't really put his finger on why, but it definitely stinks, and he can feel anger bubbling in his chest as Ota's voice cries out, muffled through the wall, and another voice seems to laugh.

Suddenly, right outside of the door, he hears it,

"If this partner of mine is so unprofessional and childish that he would waste time taking a bubble bath instead of greeting his colleague, then he deserves to be taken out of the bath like an unprofessional child."

The handle jiggles and the door is pushed open.

"Hello, little child," a familiar, blood-boiling voice sings, "Mama-chan has come to take you out of bath time now!"

---

Izaya admittedly is not an easy guy to surprise.

He was considered a bit of a legend in high school for his stoic expression upon first discovering Shizu-chan's monstrous strength. He didn't shake or stutter when the yakuza offered him work for the very first time. He fought off the Saika monster like a champ, accepted Simon's violent outburst in stride.

But at this moment, Izaya is forced to admit, yes, he is shocked.

So shocked that his body refuses to even move.

His throat feels very tight, hand gripping the doorknob so firmly that his knuckles are white.

Shizu-chan is so tacky, eating ice cream in a Jacuzzi like someone who has never stayed in a fancy hotel before. But he probably hasn't, Izaya realizes. Most nice hotels don't allow guests to bring pets.

But that shouldn't be what he's thinking about, even though it's honestly the only thing he can bring himself to actually think about.

But how did this happen? How did Koizumi, in all of this alleged infinite wisdom of his, not do the research to discover, duh, that Shizu-chan is a monster and has been after Izaya's head for almost a decade? How did no one let it slip? Did Shiki know? Did Shizu-chan's boring boss know?

Is Koizumi trying to get him killed?

"Shizu-chan," he finally finds his voice, thankfully smooth and confident and not shaken with nerves as he's found himself suddenly feeling, "No dogs allowed."

Okay, scratch that. That was total and absolute shit. That was such a complete disgrace to introductory insults that he wouldn't be surprised if one of their butlers decided to put him out of his misery for even letting out such a shitty remark.

But it seems to work, because the bowl of ice cream is shattered on the marble floor, melted cream splattering against those cute little night clothes that Shizuo's assistant has so kindly set out for him. Shizuo is out of the tub in a flash as well, naked and wet, and Izaya works hard to keep his eyes where they need to be.

He's not sure why he's working so hard at that, actually.

Never mind that though, because Shizu-chan is coming toward him. The butlers are freaking out. The fat balding one is calling out, "Heiwajima-san! Heiwajima-san!" as if that will help anything at all.

Izaya takes a step back, finally, almost tripping over the threshold between bathroom and living room as he waves his hands in front of him.

"Oh Shizu-chan, don't end your bath time just because of little old me!"

And Shizuo steps in the doorway, takes one look at the short, fat, panicky butler, and slams the door shut.

There's silence then, for a long moment. Izaya is staring at the door as though a bomb has went off in the middle of the room. Izaya's butler—Yuuki—says something along the lines of 'Good job, Ota-san.', and the fat one just sits there, dumbstruck.

"Koizumi-san didn't tell us that the both of you knew each other. That could have been a lot more dangerous, right?"

Izaya nods, letting out a small 'mhhm'.

"Shizu-chan usually breaks something big, like ripping the sink out of the wall or taking out the toilet. Then he uses it to break everything else."

There's no noise at all on the other side of the door. No talking, no moving around. It's as though Shizu-chan has disappeared.

Izaya steps forward, ear against the wood. He listens, but there's nothing.

He begins to feel braver, so he turns the knob as gently as he can, pulling the door open one more time. Peering through the crack, he can see Shizu-chan's back, clad in only an ice-cream stained silk robe. He's sitting on the floor, legs crossed. He's taking measured breaths, Izaya can tell. His hands rest on his knees, fingers turned in the stereotypical way that humans do when meditating.

"Out." He says simply, low voice echoing against the walls of the bathroom.

And Izaya slams the door as quickly as he's ever done anything in his life.

There's too much riding on this job to let Shizu-chan ruin it on the first night.

---

Ota-san knocks on the door after maybe half an hour has passed. Shizuo's hair is sticky against his face, his entire body itching as the soap settles on his skin. His nerves are shot, and the effort it takes to calm himself is so exhausting that he feels he might just fall asleep on the floor.

He might anyway, he muses, if the flea is still hanging around outside of the door. If he sees that stupid bastard's face, he won't be able to control himself, he'll just snap.

"Heiwajima-san," Ota-san calls out feebly. He seems scared (and Shizuo notes, shamefully, that he should be), "Are you okay, sir?"

He shrugs. His jaw is so tight that he doesn't think he'll be able to talk.

"Orihara-san has retired to his room. I've volunteered to spend the night in the common area just in case he tries to bother you, so please rinse off and come to bed. You have a big day tomorrow."

"This isn't… It won't work," Shizuo grits out, his hands shaking against his knees, "We'll kill each other. I need to go home."

Ota-san is quiet for a moment, but soon, Shizuo is flinching as he feels a hand against his shoulder. It's been so long since he's been touched gently by someone, and without warning, it's hard for him to resist spinning around and pushing the man away.

"Please reconsider," Ota-san says quietly, "Koizumi-san is depending on you, and if you let him down, I'm afraid he might blacklist your company."

'Of course,' Shizuo thinks, 'there's a catch.'

Because nothing is ever easy, especially when Izaya has anything to do with it.

It takes a long time, but eventually Ota-san convinces him to stand and ushers him into the shower. He fetches a new robe, towel, and pair of slippers, he leads him into his room, tucks him into bed, pours him a glass of milk and turns on the TV.

Shizuo is numb through most of this, until the station changes to some trashy celebrity gossip show and the familiar hooded eyes of Kasuka stare back at him through the screen. He's embarrassed to hear the gross things they have to say about him, but Ota-san gasps when he looks to the TV.

"That's it," he cheers, and Shizuo looks to him, confused, "My daughter loves him. She has a poster of him in her bedroom. Do you realize how much you two look alike? I feel like I've met you every time I've woken my kids up for school."

He's too exhausted to feel annoyed that someone is talking to him about Kasuka, and he's not sure if he would even if he were completely awake.

"You're sharp," He mumbles, setting his empty glass on the night stand, eyes heavy, "that's my brother."

And if Ota-san says anything else, he doesn't hear it. Kasuka's gaze puts him right to sleep, satiates his homesickness enough that he can allow himself to rest, and the bed is so soft that he feels like he's floating.

---

Izaya isn't sure how he's supposed to feel, but sleeping with just a wall between Shizu-chan and himself, it causes vibrations to run over the surface of his skin.

He's been so busy with work lately that he's found little to no time to harass the brute.

It's been almost six months since they've seen each other, now that he thinks about it.

And of course Shizu-chan looks the same, but maybe a little more naked than he remembers. He stops for a moment to contemplate why his mind keeps wandering back to that.

Regardless, this is troublesome. He sends Shiki a quick text to explain the situation. Maybe he can pull some strings and send an assassin their way.

'My partner is Shizu-chan. Were you aware of this?'

Shiki probably won't reply until the morning. His work gets the busiest at night.

Until then, Izaya is left with his thoughts, which unfortunately, continue to lead him back to how slick Shizu-chan's body looked when he climbed out of the Jacuzzi.

---

The morning creeps in slowly, light seeping through a tiny crack between the curtains, and the sound of birds cooing outside of his window is what eventually wakes him. It's so peaceful, lying in a super comfortable bed, staring up at the ornate designs on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of nature, the city too far below for him to hear.

He realizes that the world's most disgusting parasite is sleeping only a room away, but there's a hollow ache in his chest at the thought of it, and nothing else. He just keeps imagining Tom-san clapping him on the back, cheering him on. He tells himself how bad it would be to let everyone down.

He still thinks it won't work, he thinks Izaya will ruin everything somehow, but he'll do his best.

There's a knock on the door, and a moment later, Ota-san pokes his head in.

"Good morning, Heiwajima-san! I hope you slept well."

He realizes suddenly, guilt-ridden, that Ota-san wasn't able to wake up his kids for school because of him and the flea.

"I'm sorry," he says meekly, not looking at the other man, "your family must have missed you last night."

Ota-san seems shocked, but he recovers quickly enough, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"My ex-wife has the kids this week, actually, so the two of you kept me away from an empty apartment."

Well, there's an illusion shattered, but Shizuo feels proud of himself for guessing right about the kids. And he's sure the ex at least has smile lines.

"Why don't you get up and get ready?" Ota-san suggests, wiping what appears to be a spot of dust from the doorframe, "Koizumi has allotted you only a few hours for breakfast before you're supposed to begin work."

He wonders why he was given a free day to settle in and Izaya was not. He thinks maybe it was a precaution, because Izaya is dangerous in different way, and accommodating the little nuisance won't do anything to stop him from fucking things up.

At least with himself, he muses, it's possible to interact without getting hurt.

(Maybe it's not easy, but Tom-san and Celty have managed just fine.)

He gets out of bed slowly, already missing the comfort of the mattress. Ota-san bows and steps out of the room. Shizuo is left to stare into his closet at more clothes than he's owned in his life, wondering if they fool-proofed the wardrobe so he couldn't mess it up.

'If there's even one piece of clothing in here that's ugly or unfashionable, I'm sure I'll choose it.'

In the end, he picks something simple: a gray t-shirt with a neckline that's a little too low for his tastes, a navy blue sweater-type… thing, and a pair of dark pants. There are so many pairs of shoes in the bottom of his closet, he notices just now, that he almost just sits on the floor and gives up, but he thinks of Tom-san and Varona, and he knows he needs to persevere, if only for them.

He picks a regular-looking pair of tennis shoes, a pair of silk boxers, and socks that are impossibly soft. It's been so long since he's worn casual shoes that he wonders if he'll even be able to walk normally.

Carrying the clothes with him, he makes his way toward the bathroom. Ota-san is nowhere to be found, and neither is Izaya, which he thanks whichever God might be smiling at him for. The louse's scent is faded as well, as though he's been gone for quite a long time. A stray feeling of anxiety shivers through his chest. Even when Izaya isn't around, if there's even a hint of him, it can't be a good thing.

He pushes that thought aside, setting his clothes on the bathroom counter and undressing. The shower is warm instantly, the perfect temperature, and it's such an odd change of pace from the icy spitting of the shower at home.

His bath last night was not really a bath. His hair feels sticky still and his face is oily from not being washed. He also needs to brush his teeth, so to kill time, he digs a toothbrush out of the cabinet and squeezes on some toothpaste, brushing as he steps under the water and lets it relax him.

It takes him only a few minutes, then he's drying himself off, setting the toothbrush back in the cabinet, and trying to get his hair to situate. Sometimes he finds himself wishing that he had straight, silky hair like Kasuka's and not such a curly mess, as though he doesn't have enough to feel insecure about as it is.

He thinks maybe people would take him more seriously though, if he looked more like everyone else. He's the only person he knows with such fluffy hair.

The clothes fit him perfectly, and he wonders how they got his measurements. His company definitely doesn't have them.

He's not used to wearing such a low-cut shirt, and the air against his collarbone feels foreign. At least the pants aren't too low, but they cling to his backside in a way that makes his face hot without even looking at his reflection in the mirror. He thinks maybe trendy clothing is for narcissists. He can't imagine ever feeling the need to showcase his body in such a way if he had a choice.

Finally, he's confident enough to leave the bathroom, and Ota-san is waiting for him when he steps into the living room.

"Looking sharp, Heiwajima-san," he greets, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, "I hope you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty of selecting a place for breakfast."

---

Yuuki seems a little frustrated, but it's not like Izaya can worry about every human at once.

They're sitting at a window-side table, Izaya gazing out at all of the people passing by. He's talking to Yuuki about their job, about how interesting of an opportunity it is to be asked to extort some random bad guy, and before he knows it, he finds himself rambling on about Shizu-chan.

"He's truly a monster! He can barely contain his anger even if his entire body is convulsing at the effort. Didn't you see him last night? Standing there, about to rip the door off of the hinges even though he was so naked and wet—"

And he shuts himself up instantly.

'Why am I still talking about this?'

Yuuki seems to notice too, as the sudden silence snaps him out of his trance. He raises a brow at the informant, but otherwise stays quiet.

"—anyway, what I meant by that is that Shizu-chan has no awareness of his actions when he becomes angry. I can't believe your boss would allow such an obvious risk to work on such a high profile job. Really, if Shizu-chan thinks he can just rage around the suite in his birthday suit, I definitely won't be able to concentrate!"

And Yuuki's perplexed look only deepens, head cocked to the side as Izaya sits in mortified silence.

Breakfast passes slowly afterward, Yuuki sipping coffee peacefully as Izaya tries to pretend that the humans outside are more interesting than any of them appear to be.

---

Ota-san brings them to a quaint little diner a few blocks from the hotel. He must have done a lot of research on Shizuo to know the kind of places he likes, and the idea of it makes him feel a little uncomfortable. It reminds him of a story Kasuka told him earlier in the year, about a fan who made his favorite cake for him and begged him to take it outside of his hotel. Not only was it bizarre that she knew his favorite kind of cake when he didn't remember ever saying it, but the press didn't even know where his hotel was located.

Shizuo thinks maybe this feeling is similar to that.

The waitress is very sweet. He forgets at first that the people in this city don't know about him, his bad reputation, and he's taken aback when she doesn't stutter while taking his order at all.

Ota-san's phone beeps, and he apologizes while he checks it. It reminds Shizuo that his cellphone is at the hotel, probably in his uniform pants. The other man laughs, typing something quickly before setting his phone to the side.

"Heiwajima-san, I'm sorry if this is too forward, but what exactly is your relationship with Orihara-san?"

Shizuo can feel his skin crawl at the mention of the smelly bastard's name. He scrunches his nose, brow furrowed, probably glowering at the table in a similar way that a child does at the vegetables their parents made them eat.

"I want to kill him," he says simply, and Ota-san seems confused by this.

Their food arrives, and he doesn't want to talk about Izaya at all anyway, so he's thankful. The less the louse comes up, the lower his blood pressure will be, and the less likely he is to throw a table through the window or flip a few chairs.

"Yuuki-san says that he's saying strange things, that's all," Ota-san draws out after Shizuo has gotten down a few forkfuls of his breakfast, "he seems really… enamored."

He earns himself a glare, so hot that he scoots back a little in his chair, sputtering as he realizes that yes, Shizuo is not above throwing him too.

"If that piece of shit is saying anything gross, it's because he's trying to mess with you. Don't believe a single word that comes out of his mouth."

Ota-san apologizes and they eat quietly. The waitress refills their drinks often and people walk right by their table as though there isn't a monster sitting right there who needs to be avoided. Maybe this is the vacation he's needed, he thinks, just to experience life like a normal person, to blend into the background.

"Koizumi-san will be expecting you in about an hour," Ota-san tells him after some time has passed, "Once we finish our meal, we can head over. It will take us awhile. Your cover job will start later this afternoon. We've selected it specifically based off of your strengths and weaknesses, so please do your best. Even if it isn't a real job, it would be inconvenient if you were to get fired."

He nods, setting his fork down on his plate and taking a drink. A new job sounds interesting, if he's completely honest with himself. He has a lot of experience at beginning new work. He's good at starting over, then starting over again and again and again.

He thinks, if there's anything he's good at, it has to be first days at temporary jobs.

---

When they finally arrive at Koizumi's building, Izaya is so buried in his own thoughts that he follows silently behind Yuuki without making a single derogatory comment.

His mask is in place at least, he muses, as he smiles childishly at the security guards, but his mind is so stormy that he can barely force himself to walk straight. He almost trips on his way into the elevator, and Yuuki sends him a distasteful glare.

He almost doesn't even notice as Shizu-chan and his butler step in beside them, but when he does, well, he wishes he hadn't.

Shizu-chan is dressed casually for the first time in years, and not just casually, but in clothes that fit him even more snugly than those gaudy bartender's uniforms.

…And a cardigan? Since when does Shizu-chan know anything about clothes? Does he even actually know what a cardigan is?

The monster is shaking slightly, staring at the wall with such aggressive fervor that Izaya thinks he might burn a hole in it. Even making such a warped expression, Izaya thinks he looks handsome, and he tries to convince himself that it's just an innocent observation, and tries even harder to block out the following naked rampage memories from the night before.

He's doing a very impressive job of controlling his temper, Izaya notes, albeit not without a small feeling of bitterness. Who knew it was possible for him to behave like a human being? Has his boss back in Ikebukuro really succeeded in training him to heel?

When the elevator doors finally open, Shizu-chan is out in a flash. He's heaving like he's been holding his breath the entire way up, and Izaya realizes with distain that he probably has. His butler is patting him on the back gently, and Izaya scowls at the two of them.

Of course Shizu-chan would be making friends with the help. Of course Shizu-chan has no problem at all making friends with everyone somehow, even as a monster.

They sit at a wide, circular table surrounded by two circular couches. Shizu-chan sits on one side, and he decides to sit opposite, if only to give himself more room to dodge if the brute does decide to freak out after all. Yuuki sits next to him, and Shizu-chan's butler sits next to the beast. Izaya thinks they're just a little too comfortable with each other already.

He clicks his tongue.

"Don't act like you're pissed off about this," Shizuo barks, hands fisted at his sides, "You're the fucking insufferable one. Try feeling sorry for the rest of us who have to smell you!"

Izaya grins at him, wide and toothy like a child.

"Oh Shizu-chan, you're so stupid, it's funny. Don't you understand? They picked me for this job because I'm the best. They picked you, well, because they know you won't die. That's it."

The elevator doors open again just then, right as Shizu-chan opens his mouth to say something.

'Stupid, probably,' Izaya thinks with a smirk.

The man who steps into the room then is very tall, with broad shoulders and a wide, square jaw. His skin is dark and leathery, his clothes pristine and very expensive looking. The smell of cologne follows him as he steps further into the room. Both of their butlers stand and bow, and Shizu-chan almost looks as though he will do the same, but the man—Koizumi—waves a hand and tells him to relax.

"Heiwajima-san, they warned me that you would be a handsome guy, but I wasn't expecting a model! I can't believe my secret agent will even look the part!"

Shizu-chan's cheeks flush lightly, and Izaya takes a moment to drink in the sight. He's only seen the beast blush a few times before, usually because he's broken something important and he's ashamed, but this pinkness is purer somehow. It's becoming.

"And of course, Orihara-san," Koizumi says, voice dropping an octave, "I've heard so much about you. I hope you're as ruthless as they say."

Izaya reassures him, yes, he is, absolutely. There's no reason to play games with him when Shizu-chan is sitting so close by. The protozoan is so dull that he'd ruin everything anyway, calling out any bluff Izaya might have up his sleeve.

They talk for a long time after that. Koizumi explains the situation to them again, that they'll be collecting information on Fukayama over the next few weeks before the party. The catering company will be visiting his estate frequently, and while Izaya will be on the visiting team, Shizu-chan is to stay back at work because he's a monster who can't control himself.

Or something like that.

They'll take the bus to work as to not look too suspicious, and they're not to behave as though they know each other.

Koizumi slides two envelopes across the table toward them. Inside, there are fake IDs.

His chosen name is Maki Hiroki. Pretty boring, he thinks, but he can live with it. Shizu-chan's name appears to be Hayashi Yukio, which he thinks doesn't suit the beast at all, but it doesn't matter. He'll never have to call him by it, but it's funny watching the barbarian squint at the writing, undoubtedly struggling to memorize the name.

They're given the address of their new job and two pairs of uniform shirts each.

"Tomoko's is the name of the catering company. It's run by Tachibana Tomoko. You can wear your own pants, but try to keep it casual. This company usually caters for schools and birthday parties, so if you show up looking too fancy, they'll get suspicious. Fukayama has hired them to show how charitable he can be. He'll be expecting all of the employees to seem overwhelmed by the idea of catering such a high-brow event, so being unprepared to a certain degree will be preferred."

After more talking, the both of them are shoved into a taxi.

"We're running behind," Koizumi reasons, waving goodbye, "Don't forget, you don't know each other! The cab will drop you off a block away!"

They're crammed a little too close. Izaya can smell the shampoo Shizu-chan used this morning. He's sure the idiot is scrunching his nose again. He doesn't even care to look. He just knows.

Shizu-chan steps out of the cab before it can even come to a complete stop. The driver makes a noise as though he's concerned, but doesn't push it much. Koizumi already paid him anyway.

He can see the title Tomoko's hanging from a sign on a quaint building just a little ways away, but as he turns to tell the idiot Shizu-chan, he realizes that he's wandered off somewhere.

'Not my problem,' he reassures himself, 'as though I need a monster tailing me through this entire job.'

Right as he's about to head over, he spots the beast coming out from an alleyway behind him, already wearing his work shirt, the other folded neatly in his arms.

'Did he really just undress in public?'

Granted, it was only a shirt, but… How scandalous.

"Are you coming?" Shizuo spits, already passing him.

He shakes his head, collecting his thoughts, before rushing behind the blond. He's definitely not changing so soon. He can find a bathroom inside for that, and anyway, what does Shizu-chan expect to do with his other shirt? They'll know he changed outside somewhere if he wanders in carrying it.

What an idiot.

When they finally find themselves in front of the building, Shizu-chan hesitates. He reaches out to push open the door, then just… stops, fingers ghosting over the handle.

Izaya chances a look at his face, and what he finds is a massive concentration of nerves. Shizu-chan seems to be mentally coaching himself to go in, as though the door will lead to a math class or a beer drinking contest, and Izaya really can't understand what's stopping him.

"Shizu—"

"Shut up," The monster growls, voice hoarse, jaw tight.

Then, he pushes open the door, but Izaya doesn't miss the way his shoulders shake.

It's small inside: polished hardwood floors, various advertisements hanging on the walls, a few mismatched chairs sitting in a corner by a shelf stocked with food magazines. A bell rings overhead as they step through, and there's a curtain behind the oak desk across the room that shutters at the sound.

A woman rushes through within seconds. She's fairly short, round face, with wavy, dark hair. She's wearing a floral apron over curvy hips that reads across the chest 'Tomoko's'.

"Welcome," she greets, but pauses to eye Shizu-chan for a moment, "You must be one of our new guys!"

He nods, then greets her bashfully.

"I am too, actually," Izaya interjects, smiling as kindly as he can fake, "You wouldn't happen to have a room where I could change?"

"Of course! Of course! Follow me!"

---

Shizuo is left alone in the room as the woman, who he assumes is Tachibana-san, leads Izaya through a door by the magazines and chairs. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, nestling his other shirt under his arm. Something smells heavenly, but he's still full from breakfast, so his stomach makes an uncomfortable little gurgle at the thought.

He almost turned back earlier. If the flea hadn't been there, judging him, he might have. Even the thought of letting down Tom-san hadn't stopped the anxiety from rushing through him like ice water, freezing his insides and rooting him to the spot. This whole trip has been one shock to his system after another, and while each thing individually is a nice change, something about being so far from his life in Ikebukuro is even more draining than being there.

He thinks maybe sometimes he takes comfort in his reputation. He doesn't have to experience the horror of strangers when they witness his monstrous strength for the first time anymore. He doesn't have to worry about letting anyone down.

Where he would have went, he has no idea, but his muscles had been screaming so loudly to run away and hide that it took everything he had not to listen.

"Sorry about that," the woman calls over as she comes back into the room, "You can call me Tomoko."

Shizuo bows low, shaking off the last of his nerves.

"Hayashi Yukio," he says, thankful that he took to time to study the name on the ID Koizumi handed him earlier, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Her face is red when he rises, but he knows better than to say anything about it. It's been a long time since he's met a woman who doesn't recognize him, but he remembers when he was younger and girls would always give him strange looks like this. He wonders if they can sense how violent he is.

Sometimes he thinks women might have more senses than men.

"S-so you're the guy we hired to be our muscle," she jokes, albeit a little shaky starting out, "It's a shame we have to hide you in the back room."

He's not really sure what she means by that, but she's sure embarrassed when she seems to realize what she's said.

"I'm sure you'll do a great job! The hiring company said you were a hard worker and could lift more weight than all of the other applicants, which is important!"

He can hear Izaya coming out of the other room, so he decides not to reply at all, since the louse will begin sucking all of the air out of the room as soon as he can.

Tomoko-san greets Izaya as well, although she seems a little less embarrassed with him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the louse draws out in what is supposed to be a seductive voice, but it causes a vein in Shizuo's forehead to bulge, "My name is Maki Hiroki, although… you may call me whatever you like."

She laughs at that, and says that she knew he would be her customer service rep as soon as he walked in the door. She doesn't say it's a shame to have him out front, but Shizuo sure thinks it is. The less people the little disease is allowed to interact with, the more likely this city is to stay in one piece.

She brings Shizuo first into the back room. There are boxes everywhere as though a tornado has torn through just this room, throwing things in every direction. She asks him if he can organize everything.

"Each box is labeled, as are each of the shelves. If you could match them up, that would be a great help!"

He tells her he can manage while Izaya gives him a judging look.

'Are you sure you can?' his look mocks, and it takes everything in him not to blow their cover already and snap the little fucker's neck.

---

Tomoko bounces along to the next room and he's surprised when they pass more employees, sitting at desks and typing away on computers. There are three of them, all women, and they flush darkly upon meeting him, acting like the girls he remembers manipulating all the way back in high school.

When he introduces himself, they swoon, and he knows already that this job will be entirely too easy.

"The girls handle our finances," Tomoko explains, leading him to a larger desk in the corner, obviously placed there at the last moment, "I used to take the phone calls and make the schedules, but, you see, we've recently been booked by a very large, famous company, and the publicity has made things a little hectic around here. We used to do just fine with the four of us and the cooking staff, but now there is far too much to carry for us girls, and far too many phone calls to answer. We have so many orders that I'm really not sure if I'll have time to sleep!"

Izaya laughs at that, like he's supposed to, and notices idly that the girls are all watching him from around their desks.

"Of course, I understand," he says, pretending to sober after her joke, "It must be getting very hard for you."

It's her turn to laugh, and she does it openly. It's a little charming, how boisterous and honest she is already, with a total stranger that she found through a pretty sketchy employment agency, and he thinks she'll be an interesting human to watch.

He wishes he didn't need this job for cover, so maybe he could try double-booking her. Or maybe, turning each of the girls against each other.

"I've had to hire four new workers in the kitchen," Tomoko replies, "Luckily, the agency says Hayashi-san will be more than capable of doing the heavy-lifting. He doesn't look like it though, does he?"

Izaya says, no, no he doesn't, and he thinks about the thin length of the monster's body. Like the string of a violin, he is stretched long, with knobby knees and legs that go on for miles, a soft, flat stomach, jutting collar bone, the sharp curve of his hips—

He needs to get a handle on these disturbing thoughts.

Tomoko spends the rest of the day explaining to him what it is that he'll be doing, from answering phones to scheduling events, talking to Fukayama about his upcoming banquet, verifying orders, and generally just playing secretary. She sits with him as a few phone calls come in and shows him the programs they use on the computer to log their orders. It's terribly boring, but he listens to the way she talks and watches her movements.

While the other girls seem absolutely transfixed on him, Tomoko doesn't seem attracted to him in the least. He doesn't consider himself to be a conceited person, but in order to manipulate humans so easily, he needs to be aware of his strengths, and he knows he has a nice face.

He knows most women and some men swoon at the sight of him, and while she seemed to trip over herself around Shizu-chan, she has not afforded him the same treatment.

It's a little unsettling, to be honest.

---

Shizuo is just setting the last box on the shelf when Tomoko-san calls to him.

"Hayashi-san—Oh my goodness, did you really get all of this done already?"

He's a little embarrassed, so he shrugs. He wonders if he'll lose this job simply because he's getting things done too fast and there's nothing left for him, but Tomoko-san seems overjoyed.

"This is amazing," she coos, clapping her hands together, "It hasn't been this clean in here since we opened."

He tries not to look too disgusted by that, but everything is still in the package and none of it is food. To be completely honest, he's not sure what most of the boxes are even holding. He peeked inside of one while trying to find where it went, but there were just a bunch of strange, plastic funnels inside, so he gave up even trying to figure it out.

Each box was labeled with a number that corresponded with the number on a shelf and nothing else. He thinks, secretly, that maybe the place wouldn't be such a huge mess if she would just label her stuff like a normal person.

"Anyway," Tomoko-san says, finally done 'ooh-ing' and 'ah-ing' about the room, "the office girls ordered takeout for lunch, so we wanted to see if you'd like to come in and eat! There's plenty for everyone! I was going to say that you have lots of time to finish the room, so not to worry about taking a break, but, well, now I don't have to."

He agrees to come with her, but he's a little nervous about the office girls, and even more nervous about whether or not Izaya will be waiting in there as well. He's sure the louse probably convinced one of them to feed him anyway, since it's been at least a few hours since breakfast and the headache is generally just the kind of person to try to manipulate people for no reason at all.

When they make their way into the office area, one of the girls is very excitedly telling a story. She's waving her hands around and the other girls are laughing. It's something about a nightclub and a guy who tried to talk to her, but… something. He isn't quite following all of it over their laughter, and as soon as they spot him coming into the room, they're all completely silent, faces stained red.

The one who was talking puts her arms down slowly. She's cute, very thin, with her long hair pulled back in a braid. She's wearing a lot of makeup, especially for being dressed so casually in the company t-shirt and denim jeans, but it's not like Shizuo cares.

The other girls are also cute, he notes. One of them has shoulder-length curly hair, dyed red, and the other has very short, dark hair.

And in the corner, he notes, swallowing a scowl, sits the flea, picking through a to-go box filled with rice and vegetables, and smiling at him in the way that an old person would smile at a child.

He sends a deep glare the flea's way, and it's not missed by Tomoko-san, who seems a little worried about something.

"Hayashi-san, come, take a seat," her voice shakes as she pulls him out a chair, stuffing a to-go box into his hands, "Maki-kun was just telling us about himself! Would you like to tell us about yourself?"

'Not really,' he thinks, but he knows he can't be like that. There's nothing quite as suspicious as someone who refuses to talk about themselves.

"Uh, y-yeah, well, there's not a lot to say. I live alone, I, uh, I have a little brother. That's about it."

Tomoko-san laughs at that, and he knows he sounds stupid, but without his massive strength, he realizes that he's actually a pretty boring guy.

"What kind of food do you like?" the short haired one asks through a mouthful of takeout. The makeup-wearing one sends her a mortified look.

"Uh, I really like sweets," he replies, digging around in his own food, "but this is fine too. Thank you."

He's not sure who paid, but they all seem extremely interested in what he has to say, so much so that no one even says 'you're welcome'.

"Are you seeing anyone?" she asks, leaning back in her chair. The curly-haired one makes a strangled noise.

His face gets a little hot at the question, and he's almost too embarrassed to answer.

"No," he says finally, "I haven't for… awhile."

Izaya chuckles from his spot across the room, and while everyone looks at him, Shizuo is the only one sending omens through his glare.

"A cute guy like you is single?" says the walking disease, "what's wrong with you?"

Shizuo stuffs his mouth with rice in order to avoid answering, because he knows he'll only end up destroying something.

Still, what a shitty thing to do, even for the louse.

'He's just trying to make me slip up,' he thinks, 'he wants me to mess this up even if that means his company loses too.'

"I'm Chiyo, by the way," the short haired one interjects quickly, and for that thoughtful save, Shizuo decides that he likes her already, "the redhead is Bunko-chan."

Bunko-chan waves meekly, cheeks still pink.

"And this," Chiyo announces, flailing her hands in the direction of the third girl, the one who had been very excitedly telling that strange story earlier, "is Kyou-chan. She likes to tell stories, and she gets so into them that it's hard not to love listening."

Kyou-chan waves at him. While seeming slightly flustered by the introduction, she doesn't argue. In all honestly, Shizuo is definitely not one to eavesdrop, but he'd found himself engrossed in her story when he'd come in. He wonders if she'll get back into it again.

"Oh, uh, I'm Hayashi Yukio," he greets, bowing his head, "Calling me anything is fine."

He can feel Izaya eying him from across the room. The flea seems a little angry about something, but he'd be damned if he knew what about. Now that he thinks about it, the louse has been pretty pissy since they got here, as though this isn't just the type of thing he would be doing at home.

"Yukio-kun," Chiyo-san says after a few moments have passed, "Everyone seems to be wondering, but I'm taken, so I can ask: What exactly is your type?"

As the sun is setting behind the tops of buildings, the store closes. Shizuo is slightly sweaty by the time his shift ends, from cleaning out the storage room, to moving fryers, ovens, fridges (anything too heavy for normal people) out of the way and cleaning underneath, to changing light bulbs just a little too high up for anyone else to each.

He changes back into his other shirt, which feels rough against his sweaty skin. Izaya is changed by the time everyone gathers outside to lock the door and say their goodbyes.

Tomoko-san sends him home with a little cake with a strawberry on top, wrapped in saranwrap. Izaya seems perfectly rested upon leaving, surely because he just sat at a desk all day doing nothing. He's humming a little tune as they walk toward the bus stop, and while Shizuo pretends not to notice for the first ten minutes, once they're out of sight of Tomoko's, he snaps.

"What the fuck is your problem, anyway?"

Izaya seems surprised, leaning against the sign that indicates that they have, in fact, found the bus stop.

"I was just humming, Shizu-chan," he says slowly, "it's not my fault that some people like to look on the bright side and not brood all the time—"

"I don't mean that. You've been glaring at me the entire goddamn time we've been here. Usually you act like you can't stay the hell away from wherever I am, like you're just trying to piss me off, but now I haven't seen your sorry ass for months, and when I'm forced to be around you, you act like you're the one who can't stand being around me."

Izaya doesn't talk for a moment or two, watching traffic go by, eyes fluttering from person to person who passes on the sidewalk.

"I didn't realize you ever paid attention to my ass."

Shizuo swings then, missing the louse's head by mere centimeters and punching a fist-shaped dent in the pole of the sign.

He panics then, looking around quickly, and when it appears that no one is watching them, he hurriedly bends the sign back in a shape at least similar to how it was prior. It's lumpy now, but at least it doesn't look like it's been punched.

Just maybe… hit by a bus.

"Why do you have to say shit like that," he hisses, too afraid to attract attention to them by yelling, "I'm trying my damn hardest here not to snap your shitty louse neck, and you just keep pushing me! I don't need the yakuza after me again, flea! Don't make me strangle their informant to death!"

The bus pulls up right as Izaya starts to laugh at him, and he's more thankful than he wishes he was. He still has so much growing to do, he muses, even though he's fought hard to even be able to exist in the same space as Izaya without destroying anything.

They climb on, and thankfully, there aren't a lot of people. He hopes Izaya remembers how to get back to the hotel, because he's not sure if he does. They might be on this bus all night.

The louse begins to text the moment they sit down. His typing seems a little more aggressive than Shizuo has seen before, and he wonders what he's talking about, and to who. He hopes he's keeping his business out of Ikebukuro when Shizuo isn't around to stop it.

There's an old woman sitting across from them with a young girl. The little girl waves at him, and he smiles. She's excited by that, and her grandma has to grab her arm to keep her from running over.

He thinks, maybe a long time ago, he was innocent like that too. He thinks, maybe during that time, the world wasn't a cruel place, the city didn't need protecting. He was just a child who loved the excitement of the planet moving around him, and the world loved him as a child experiencing the ever-changing sights and sounds.

The bus stops and Izaya stands then. No one gets off but the two of them, and he waves goodbye to the little girl as he leaves.

It's a little chilly when they step out onto the sidewalk, the sky already dark and the streetlamps pouring light down over the two of them. The hotel is only a few buildings away, and Izaya begins walking over without saying a word, nose stuck in his phone.

His brows are knitted together, shoulders stiff. He's scowling slightly, in the way he does when he forgets that anyone is looking.

Shizuo is almost uncomfortable about the realization that he knows the informant's body language so well, but they've hated each other for almost a decade, so he thinks it's more about survival than anything else, and this mood, brooding and touchy, is a dangerous one to find the louse in.

The doorman greets them as they make their way inside, and Shizuo bows to him. He's so surprised that he almost closes the door on them.

"Can you cut that out?" The flea asks finally, voice icy while his eyes still don't leave his phone, "if you keep acting so respectful to the help, they're going to know something is up and you'll blow our cover. Do you think these rich humans care if the doorman is having a bad day? Maybe only so they can make it worse."

He stops to push the elevator button. Shizuo watches the numbers above blinking as it comes down to their level. He's too ashamed to look anywhere else.

"Humans are especially interesting when given money and power," Izaya continues, voice low and loving, as though he's speaking about an old flame, "they become deluded. They liken themselves to Gods. They're particularly entertaining."

A chill strikes through Shizuo's veins at the words, the urge to squash the pest rising as the elevator doors open. The worker inside asks which floor, and Izaya answers as though it's difficult, not even looking at the kid.

It's hard, but Shizuo tries not to look at him either, not to thank him as they leave. When Izaya passes, back turned, he gives the kid a small, quick bow.

He can be new money, he reasons, someone who has actually worked at a real job before, unlike Izaya.

Their room looks the same when they return. Ota-san is taking a few things out of a grocery bag on the coffee table, and he seems a little upset as Shizuo and Izaya enter.

"Oh, Heiwajima-san," he greets, "I thought your shift ended later! I'm terribly sorry, I thought I would surprise you."

As Shizuo comes closer, he sees what the other man has bought him: a boxset of Yuhei Hanejima movies, a bag of candy that he's never heard of before, and some sort of gaming system with a few games.

"Koizumi-san has given me an allowance to spend on things you might want, so I thought… since you don't seem to be asking for anything, maybe I would buy something for you anyway. I do apologize if I have overstepped my boundaries."

Shizuo's eyes sting a little and his ears feel hot. He picks up the candy, reading through the description and wondering how expensive this sort of thing is.

"Get married already," Izaya croons, still not looking up from his phone, "at least turn your butler down gently, Shizu-chan. He seems to have it bad for you."

Unfortunately for him, he's not paying enough attention when Shizuo launches the bag of candy across the room and decks him right in the back of the head, but fortunately for Shizuo, it makes a very pleasing 'whack' sound as it connects.

The force of it causes the louse to stumble forward, dropping his phone and whipping his head around to glower at the both of them.

"I'm taking a shower," he spits, one hand on the back of his head as the other fetches his phone from the floor, "Try not to break your butler's back if things get too serious, Shizu-chan."

After he slinks away, Shizuo turns to apologize to Ota-san, but the older man seems more amused than anything.

"I'm not sure if I lean that way," he chuckles, "I'm sorry if I've given you an odd perception, Heiwajima-san, but you actually remind me of my son. I'm sorry if missing him has caused me to coddle you too much."

That's what causes Shizuo to become rattled, however, because Izaya's comments are gross and uncalled for and he never would have taken something like that seriously, but this…

Well, the idea that Ota-san could liken him to someone as gentle and innocent as a child is quite an emotional confession.

"Does your son have a temper?" he asks, wandering over to pick up the candy and checking to see if the bag burst. It didn't, but he thinks some of the candy might have gotten smashed. Stupid, brick-headed louse.

Ota-san laughs heartily, sitting down on the couch and fiddling with the plastic-wrap around the Yuhei Hanejima boxset.

"Not really, but he's only ten, so he has his share of outbursts," Ota-san has a soft look in his eyes, "both of you look at the world in a different way than most people though, like everything should be cherished. You hold things as though they're more fragile than they are—candy, toys, and… people."

Shizuo can't really move, he's so mortified. His chest hurts, and the candy feels really heavy in his hands. He doesn't like the way Ota-san just spoke through him, as though he's picked apart Shizuo's heart and found the most sensitive spot to tug. As though Ota-san hasn't done his research and learned how much of a monster Shizuo is, as though he doesn't know how his horrible strength can tear through anything if he's not careful.

"Don't compare me to your son," his voice is gravely and strained, he feels like his throat is going to collapse, "You don't want him to be like me."

Ota-san's eyes are large and round as he sputters apologies. He seems a little terrified, and Shizuo thinks maybe he overdid it. He's not angry enough to do anything rash, just a little hurt, he decides. He hates the thought of Ota-san getting the wrong idea about him, that he regards Shizuo as anything less than a loaded gun.

"Ah, I'm very sorry," Ota-san sighs, hands shaking, "he also loves sweets more than anything else. I thought he would grow out of it, but after meeting you, I think maybe I was wrong."

He wonders if his sweet tooth getting out of control.

---

Shiki is garbage, that much he knows is true.

Izaya finds himself sitting on the toilet, fresh out of the shower as the water continues to beat against the pristine tile, masking his words from the monster and his assistant outside. His damp hair clings to his face, beads of water running down his neck, along his naked chest and into the dip of his belly and jutting hips.

"Of course I knew that Heiwajima would be joining you," Shiki reiterates, seeming like he's really enjoying himself. Izaya can hear the muffled screams of someone in the background, "You wouldn't have gone if I'd have told you, but the money is too good to pass up. Do you understand how much Koizumi-san is paying us?"

Izaya wants to hang up, he really does, but he's not sure what he'll do afterward if he does.

The back of his head aches, a small migraine concentrated right where Shizu-chan hit him, and he really doesn't want to sneak by the monster like he's been defeated somehow, even though he just doesn't want to start a fight and ruin everything.

And seeing the blond and that fat man together is so frustrating—acting like they're best friends when Shizu-chan has barely even been here for a day. What kind of grown man buys gifts for another man anyway? It's gross, really, like he's a schoolgirl with a crush, and Shizu-chan is playing right into his perverted game. He doesn't want to be around when the old man makes a lecherous move and Shizu-chan throws him through a window.

Just the thought of the guy running a palm over the monster's long, thin thigh, or brushing his lips across the vast milky softness of Shizu-chan's collarbone causes a strange heat to wrap around inside of his gut. Anger, he reasons, which is normal because of the sneaky way Shizu-chan slides into the lives of others so easily, and something else that he doesn't want to dwell on.

Shiki is repeating his name over and over, growing in volume, and the voice in the background is begging for something.

"I'm here," Izaya sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The screaming is the only thing he hears for a second. He concentrates on the sound of it, relishing the suffering of a human that he wishes he could have met.

"Listen," Shiki says then, firmly, "You're not going to get this, but hear me out: If you let your dick do the thinking and mess up this job, I'm going to break your knees, got it?"

And before Izaya can object or even question him, the line clicks and Shiki's voice and the screaming are both gone.

He has absolutely no idea what Shiki could have meant by that, and it's bothersome. He's never told the yakuza about his sexuality, obviously, so as far as they know, he's a single-celled organism who can't even think of such a thing.

Surely they would assume that he has a normal sex drive, that he's not so deranged as not to divulge himself from time to time, but why would this even be an issue now?

Maybe Shiki knows how cute the girls are at his job, but that's probably not it. He's done numerous other jobs with even cuter girls, and it's never proven to be a problem. It's bizarre to even consider why Shiki would feel the need to say such a thing, and to threaten him no less, and he tries to forget about it for now.

He'll have to ask when he gets back home, because the mob boss definitely isn't going to feel like talking right now.

The water is probably nice and cold for Shizu-chan by now, so he turns it off. It's a shame that there's no scale here. He'll have to mention something to Yuuki, who might have quit, for all he knows. He hasn't seen him since earlier today. Oh well.

Well, he realizes belatedly, he's forgotten to bring clothes. The idea of putting on the dirty ones from earlier is disgusting, so he settles for wrapping a towel around his waist.

'Shizu-chan thinks he can parade around naked, so I can too.'

He pretends that he didn't just think of that again, and gathers up his things, hoping that Shizu-chan has moved to his room as he opens the door and steam rolls out around him.

Of course, he's disappointed.

The protozoan and that damn butler both look at him as he leaves the bathroom. The towel seems to cling just a little too tightly to his thighs as he walks through toward his room, the air too cold against his heated skin. No one says a word, not as he stumbles by, so close that Shizu-chan could reach out and feel the goosebumps raising on his arms, and not when he fumbles with his doorknob just a little too long before finally getting the stupid thing open.

What a nightmare. Really, the worst way to end a day.

Within the safety of his room, he's frantic to put on a pair of pajamas. He grabs the first pair he can find—they're all soft anyway—and buries himself under the blankets in his bed. He flips through his texts. Namie is complaining about having to work even while he's gone, and he's sure by the way she says it that she's not actually working. He should probably tell her about the security cameras in his apartment, lest she get any indecent ideas while she's alone, but that wouldn't be nearly as fun as blackmailing her later.

There are a few texts from various clients, even though they were all informed of his vacation, and a new one from a number he doesn't recognize.

'Don't fret too much, Orihara-san. Your secret is safe with me.'

He ignores it for a bit, rolling over on his back and slipping in and out of sleep, wishing he'd thought to turn off the light before jumping into bed.

In his dream, there are big hands running over his skin, calloused and rough. Those hands are so cool compared to how hot he's burning, like he has a fever, and they spread his legs so slowly that he feels more vulnerable than he thinks he ever has before. They touch him in indecent places, but only briefly, and when his phone chimes and wakes him violently from this nap, he's a little more than annoyed when he notices the way his pajama pants pull against the erection bulging underneath.

'Do you touch yourself thinking of him, or have you not even admitted it to yourself?'

He really doesn't know what to make of this, and he wonders if maybe someone is playing a trick on him. After such a weird encounter with Shiki, he's a little on edge, and he really wants to tell this stranger off for implying that Orihara Izaya thinks of anyone when he touches himself, but he's definitely not going to let that much of himself bleed through in texts.

'Is this a person I should be aware of, or are you trying to prank me?'

It doesn't sound as condescending as he'd like, but he's too tired to care about it. This person obviously knows him, so it's not worth intimidating them at the cost of sleep.

Finally, he makes the trek across the room to turn off the light. As he slips under the blankets again, his phone beeps.

'Does it make you hot when he hurts you? Are you a masochist, Orihara-san? Do you fantasize about him fucking you so hard that you can't walk straight for a week?'

Well, at the very least, these annoying messages have killed any need he might have felt swelling in the pit of his stomach. He's more of the pampered type, he wants to reassure them, all play and no work, but that would just fuel them, he's sure.

Just as he's about to reply, three more messages ding, one after another, as though this person is trying to beat him to the punch. The clock on his phone tells him that it's far too late to be messing around like this.

'Do you call out his name when you think you're alone?'

'Do you writhe in the safety of your big, empty bed, gripping yourself so tightly that it hurts, because it's as close as you can get to the way he would surely break you if you could ever get near enough?'

'It's okay, Orihara-san. I don't think you're his type either.'

This is just perplexing, he muses, truly at a loss for words.

In the end, he decides to just turn his phone on silent, sticking it on the charger and turning it face-down on the nightstand.

His dreams are a troubling mix of big hands and blond hair for the rest of the night, and when he wakes up in the morning, he ignores the five new texts and checks the time, breath labored and skin slick with sweat. He's thankful for such roomy pajama pants, even if they're feeling a little snug.

He still has another hour before he wants to start getting ready, and another two hours before the beast will surely roll out of bed, so he thinks he's safe as he sets his phone down and pulls the blanket over his head.

It's still dark outside, so he can't see anything in his little self-made cocoon, but he doesn't really need to as he pulls down the waist of his pajama pants, scraping his nails over the tiny patch of hair just below his navel.

The hands in his dreams were familiar, but he knows better than to dwell on it. He has a sinking feeling that he would be disgusted with himself if he knew which innocent human has gotten him so hot and bothered, and secretly, he blames Shiki for even reminding him of his body's wants and needs.

He thinks of the feeling of those fingers teasing his shaft, pushing against his thighs, dipping inside of him—

He keens, gritting his teeth as he touches himself.