It was getting worse. He could tell it was when he started losing focus in meetings, when his mind drifted into a not-quite-pleasant nothingness as an onslaught of barely skim read messages appeared on his screen, lightning fingertips failing to tap out quick-witted responses to the tune of the life that he loved so much.

It had been weeks now, weeks bleeding into months of restlessly rolling around whilst willing his uncooperative eyelids to stay shut. Three out of seven nights a week he managed to get approximately four broken hours of sleep, whilst the remaining nights were spent wide-eyed and staring into blackness. Checking the time habitually probably didn't help, what with the way that the piercing glow of his phone illuminating the darkness remained imprinted into his eyelids long after the true source of light had faded - but he lacked the resolve to let the time pass by unmarked during his waking hours.

Sometimes he didn't bother going to bed at all, convincing himself that he may as well optimize the extra hours and complete his work instead when he was well aware that sleep wouldn't come. He'd sit at his desk, flicking through other people's correspondences and searching for patterns in data, even though his eyes were watery and stinging, and everything around him was distorting as though he was seeing the world through bubble wrap. He wouldn't admit to that, of course, despite the fact that not having clear vision troubled him greatly. After all, Gods could not andshould not have any weaknesses. Weakness implied imperfection - and Gods should never allow the imperfection of the world to touch them.

Orihara Izaya knew that he was not perfect, and that he could never attain divine perfection, but that didn't stop him from projecting a God-like image of himself to others. And, for the most part, he was able to do so successfully, because even if the majority of his acquaintances believed him to be morally corrupt, he was untouchable to consequences that he did not desire. He had never yet been tainted by the havoc that he wreaked, despite being the grand director of most of the sordid chains of events constantly unfurling in Ikebukuro and Shinjuku. He saw no problem in inciting gang wars, nor in bundling confused, quasi-suicidal teenage girls into suitcases after he'd drugged them.

Consequently, most people would think that it served him right if they knew what he was experiencing on a daily basis. Whether or not he diddeserve such discomfort was a question that Izaya had never had to ask himself before, and had not stopped asking in the last two and a half months. Sure, he knew that every human suffered at some point in their lives, some for the whole of their lives, but Izaya was different. He had never made the mistake of letting anybody get close enough to cause him pain, and he wholly believed that people who did deserved their pain for accepting its infliction from an external source. But there was no external source stopping him from sleeping, and he knew that there were no other health problems causing it, which led to the conclusion that his insomnia was caused entirely by himself.

His lips twitched into a small smile when he belatedly realized this. If he himself was the problem, then he could also be the cure.

A week later, Izaya had tried all of the self-help available online. He'd stopped taking his two laptops and eight mobile phones into his bedroom, and desisted using them a whole painful hour before making his way into what he now perceived as the chamber of doom (although realistically he knew that he was his own prison, and that his large, luxurious bedroom and expensive king-sized bed had nothing to do with it). He'd tried non-caffeinated hot drinks, warm baths and rubbing lavender oil all over his pillow (which only resulted in making his eyes even itchier and leaving an odd, greasy feeling on his skin). Heck, he'd even sacrificed his black bedding in favour of a more calming blue colour, because didn't you know that the colours of a room can unwittingly affect your mood, which in turn affects your sleeping pattern? He had pretty much exhausted all of the potentially influential extraneous variables, and still no sleep came. It had reached the point where he no longer had the energy to feel frustrated, and had instead adopted an apathetic demeanor towards his new and unwanted state of being. Sleepless nights and blurry days had become so normal to him, so routine, that he was beginning to wonder if this whole insomnia thing had ever been a legitimate problem.

After all, in some ways it wasn't as if this was anything new. He'd lived through varying degrees of sleeplessness for most of his teenage and adult life. It was hard to rest when the endless itch to watch over the city plagued him like ants crawling on his skin. Maybe it would have been better to choose an apartment elsewhere, knowing of his compulsion to watch the streets for all hours, but the fact that this apartment allowed him to do so had magnetized him to it. Even so, foregoing sleep entirely (or even limiting it to the extent that it was now limited) had always been a choice. It took some effort and some high-tech soundproofing to shut himself off from the city's throb, but he had been able to do it if he so desired. It hadn't been a problem then, but surely it was now? Surely it wasn't normal to feel the way that he did?

Roughly once a fortnight he'd pass out entirely from exhaustion, always in inconvenient locations, like when he awoke in the lukewarm, shallow water of his bathtub with the tap running on his back and his jeans still on after reaching for the shampoo had propelled him into such a state of dizziness his mind had sunk into oblivion.

That had shook him a little, to think that had he landed differently, he could have died a most inelegant death, drowning in three inches of water face down in a bathtub. He imagined that Namie would have found it hilariously ironic - that after all of his dangerous dealings with the yakuza and the strongest man in Ikebukuro, Izaya would die at the hands of a common household object. Every time it happened, he silently thanked God or fate or whatever it was that might be up there that Namie hadn't found him. She had of course, noticed that there was something going on. It was hard not to when her motor mouthed, patronizing boss became unusually irritable and began to alternate between caffeine-induced bouts of restless energy and almost catatonic stasis. It was during those periods of silence that Izaya seemed to lose track of time completely, looking genuinely surprised when Namie announced her departure for the day.

No, it wasn't right if he couldn't orchestrate his puppets - when he was losing track of what time it was, what day it was - when his whole existence was being negated by everything blending into a never-ending amalgam of notbeingabletosleep.

There were a lot of things that Orihara Izaya understood, and understood well. And this was not one of them.

Finally, he swallowed his pride and went to see Shinra. So much for his own autonomy. He'd already tried the dark web, but had only managed to find sleeping pills that resulted in erm, permanent sleep.

"What? No, Orihara-kun, I can't give you sleeping pills just like that!"

"Why not?"

"For a start, I don't know what poor soul you're going to use them on! I refuse to be a part of whatever you're planning this time, Orihara-kun. Besides, it would compromise my integrity as a doctor to give tablets that can knock a person out to somebody like you."

Izaya gritted his teeth and fought back the temptation to knock Shinra out himself and just take what he needed from the cupboards.

"The only person they'll be knocking out is me, Shinra."

"Hmmph." Shinra looked Izaya up and down, unconvinced.

"Well I have to say, you do look a bit peakier than usual, but even if they are for you, there are certain steps I have to take before I can dispense medication."

"Like what?"

"Like you keeping a sleeping diary. You have to do that first so that I can assess the situation properly. I can't just give you tablets because you haven't slept well for a few nights, Orihara-kun."

Izaya's irritation was roiling within now, spreading an unfamiliar warmth throughout his body.

"Ahh, but you see, Shinra, it hasn't just been a few nights. It's been over a month."

He directed his most piercing gaze at Shinra, feeling increasingly hopeless when he knew the Shinra wouldn't budge, and seriously considering hitting his head against a wall if it turned his mind off for a while.

"Well, like I say, go home and keep a sleep diary for another two weeks, and I'll see what I can do for you." Shinra smiled and watched Izaya expectantly, clearly waiting for him to leave, but persistent as he was when he didn't get his own way, Izaya continued the conversation.

Orihara Izaya never lost his cool, but it seemed that there was a first time for everything.

"You know Shinra, unlike you and your perverse fixation with that headless monster of a girlfriend, some of us actually want to pay attention to the world around us - so why can't you do just that for once, listen to what I'm saying and give me the goddamned pills?!"

There was silence for a moment whilst Izaya stood facing Shrina, red eyes shooting a death-glare as strong as a laser beam and nails digging into his palms before Shinra's look of distaste transformed into a sly grin.

"Ah, I never took you for being much of a hypocrite, Orihara-kun, but perhaps I was wrong. After all, I'm not the only one with a 'monster' fixation now, am I?" His voice took on a patronizing tone for the latter part of the sentence, and Izaya was overcome with a blistering urge to wring Shinra's scrawny neck. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, counting back from 10 and trying to regain any sense of himself before replying in the most disinterested tone that he could produce whilst his irritation settled down, all the while kicking himself for stepping into such an obvious trap.

"If by fixation you mean a passionate enthusiasm for executing his demise, then I suppose you aren't wrong." The two men regarded each other for a few seconds, before Shinra sighed and continued.

"It's not like you to snap like that, Orihara-kun. If you're having trouble sleeping, why don't you try some basic sleep hygiene?"

Izaya scowled.

"I'll have you know that my sleeping quarters are in a state of impeccable hygiene, as am I."

Shinra laughed lightly.

"No, it's stuff like having a hot drink, a bath, not doing work in the same room that you sleep in, not taking..."

"Yes, yes, I've done all of that already". Izaya cut in, turning away from Shinra slightly to look out of the window.

"Hmmm. Well if you will, go home and keep the sleep diary. Record what time you go to bed, estimate the time that you fell asleep, and write down each time you wake up. Then I can decide on the appropriate course of action. Have you considered that it might be caused by something like anxiety, Orihara-kun?"

"I have considered all avenues, Shinra, but I'm not anxious."

Izaya made his way to the door quietly, and was halfway out of the door when Shinra called out to him.

"Oh, and Orihara-kun - if you ever speak about Celty like that again, don't expect to come back."