Ch. 01

Fascinating. Even though I have written many other (chapters of) stories elsewhere, this is the first thing I put on here? Even when I haven't seen the series myself yet?

Simply amazing.

That being said, this story is going to be counted as AU. However, it will be (hopefully) strikingly close to the facts given in anime!canon before episode 9.

I blame my beta-ee for dragging me into this. (No, don't worry, you're awesome, kyo =) )

Disclaimer: Hope this covers for all the chapters. I don't own Durarara! or any affiliated characters.

Edit: This story has been rewritten, from chapters 1 through 11. Some details have been modified, and an entire scene was removed (probably much to the dismay of my readers) that is completely against canon timeline-wise and is also against the flow of the chapters. I hope this rewrite will be much smoother than before.

Chapter 01

Sharp eyes looked down upon the crowd, head tilted to the side as he watched interestedly at the humans walking down below him. They all seemed to go about their busy lives, always hurrying somewhere or talking with someone or doing something with those hands of theirs. It was fascinating, so much movement, so much life! Oh to be down there, with them…

Again, he settled himself in his perch again, shifting and stretching one leg first and then the other. It'd been a long time since he'd sat there, and it was no wonder he was starting to get stiff. Not surprising, given that his regular routine revolved around this particular activity, much to the dismay of his peers – watch, eat, sleep, watch, eat, sleep. The only exception was the occasional dispute with the angry neighbor.

He returned to his vigilance, this time tilting his head the other way in an attempt to lengthen the time before he would start developing a crick in his neck.

A loud roar with the distinct undertones of a moan and a whinny came from the street just down from where he was staring, and he shifted his eyes towards the source of the noise, catching sight of a flash of yellow zipping down the roads. He followed the figure of the mysterious motorcycle rider, vaguely admiring the pitch black-ness of the vehicle, before it zoomed out of sight around a corner. He smiled. While the figure never stuck to a predictable schedule, it always appeared at least once down this highway, right under where he periodically crouched. Though it was terribly constant – not good for one who thrived on change – the rider always exuded an aura of mysteriousness that just begged to be unraveled and energy that came from the sense of purpose he saw it ride with. It was always heading somewhere, going somewhere without a mite of hesitation, and he admired that. Perhaps one day he would look more into who exactly this figure was. Perhaps someday.

But not today. Today was designated People-Watching Day, and he was determined to find out as much as he could about the human race as he could in one dawn-dusk period. He was glad he was born in this city; things wouldn't be quite the same if he had lived in some rural area where everyone was the same. Sure, there were the constants: young boys and girls heading to school, walking rather than skipping because of the enormous weight on their back; the older children, who chattered with each other loudly as they flocked in groups towards who-knows-where; the tall teenagers who always seemed to like to beat each other up; the men with their fancy suits and briefcases, hurrying somewhere as though he were racing time; the women with their bags and children, the babies, crying and crying until he wanted to just go and shut them all up once and for all… A great variety of constants, but constants all the same. The normal hustle and bustle that travel under his favorite roost.

And then there were the unusual visitors, like the masked rider who only zipped by, never staying in sight for more than ten seconds at a time. People who talked louder than the rest, with great booming voices as they proceeded to attempt to deafen their companions. People with exaggerated movements, who looked like the rest of life would be a blur to them because they were always moving so much and so fast with their hands, their gestures through their whole body. People whose facial expressions changed with every word they uttered, as though each syllable held a different meaning in their minds and somehow this must be expressed through some means other than simple verbal communication.

What were they expressing? What were they talking about? Why were they feeling that particular emotion? Too many questions, and unfortunately he had no answers to any of them. High up on the rooftops, he was too far to hear the words, to read any lips, and the few times he did journey down to grab some grub, a slang term he was proud to have picked up, he was always in a hurry to leave. People didn't like him around, thought him a bother. Shooed him away the moment he got near. And if he tried to stop and observe, they would be unnerved by his steady stare and either walk away from him or run straight at him, prompting his own hasty escape.

Nevertheless, this didn't curb his enthusiasm at all. There were so many people, so many differences between one another, and these differences changed with each passing day.

Yes, Izaya loved humans, even if he wasn't one himself.