The first bottle was placed, innocently, on his doorstep, as if to greet him upon his return from a long day of debt collecting.
The second sat atop his small secondhand TV, and seemed to watch him as he walked by.
The third bottle dropped straight onto his head when he turned on the ceiling fan in hopes for some relief from the damp heat that permeated Ikebukuro during the summer.
"…WHAT THE FUCK!"
Shizuo Heiwajima was used to blinding rages by this point in his life. He was not, however, used to finding tiny bottles of lube hidden around his apartment.
This new experience was not a particularly pleasant one. The perpetrator of this heinous crime was apparently quite clever and had seemingly stashed them in every possible crevice of the small living space, obvious and not.
The fourth was on top of his after-work pudding, and the fifth and sixth were on the door of the refrigerator.
He found seven in his freezer, in the ice cube tray.
Eight was where the soap dispenser should have been, and he almost washed his hands – and the dishes – with it before realizing.
They were all innocuous little things, each labeled "F-Max Brand Lubricant: Is it in You?" (and oh god did he not want to think about that slogan too hard), but each and every one made the vein on his forehead bulge a little more, his anger ticking up and up and up as he found more and more and more of the goddamn things no matter where he went. Did some idiot have a death wish or something?
Nine and ten had replaced the salt and pepper shaker, and eleven had somehow made it into the toaster. Luckily, he caught that one before he made his toast with chocolate spread – and yeah, that was so a balanced dinner. He'd eaten a cup of noodles too (after removing bottle number twelve, which had been tucked inside, the paper cover carefully reglued).
The thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth had replaced his toiletries in the shower, as well as his toothpaste, and a funny clunking in the toilet had led him to sixteen, in the tank of the damn thing.
The seventeenth was tucked next to the light bulb on his lamp, and he only found it when the radiated heat melted through the plastic and started sizzling the contents. Luckily, the acrid odor had not set off the fire alarm, but he had gotten a knock on the door from a concerned neighbor. His explanation of what exactly the smell was had been lost in his embarrassed blush-and-mumble.
Flopping on the couch afterward had dented bottles eighteen through twenty-seven, tucked between the cushions, and when he pulled out season one of the TV series Kasuka had recently starred in, he found the box that was supposed to hold the four smaller DVD cases filled with four more of the damn things.
He started lining them up then, each a future punch in the face of the jackass who had done this.
After the thirty-first (inside the teapot), said piece of equipment had become acquainted with the thankfully open window (screens were cheaper than glass). After the forty-fifth (taped to the pipe under the sink), his kitchen table met its unfortunate fate, smashed into bits against his wall after he'd flipped it.
At that point, Shizuo had decided to fuck it all and just track down every one of the damn things now. Maybe this was limited to just the rooms he had been in already.
His hopes were dashed as badly as his table the second he entered his bedroom. They were everywhere – in the pillowcase, in his bedside table, under his comforter, mixed in the pile of dirty laundry. Hell, there was one in every single damn pair of socks he owned. Someone had spent a lot of fucking time here. Who the hell could even use this much lube?
He took that thought back as quickly as it came. He didn't really want an answer.
All told, Shizuo Heiwajima found one hundred sixty-nine bottles of F-Max Lubricant hidden around his small apartment and he knew exactly where they all came from. There was only one little shit in all of Tokyo who had this much free time, liked pissing Shizuo off this much, and was insane to boot. The yell rumbled up from his toes, roaring out his mouth loud enough for the whole block to hear.
"I-ZAY-YA-KUUUUUUNNNN!"
Shizuo could almost hear the damn flea giggling as he stormed out his door, bag of bottles in hand.
Izaya would be getting them back, one way or another.
A/N: Once again, I blame the creation of this fic on Black-Dragon1003 and the weird conversations we have. Thanks to her and nanichan72 for putting up with my rambling and beta-ing when it was all done!
Suggestions for other hiding spots around the house are always welcomed (and ecouraged, heh).