Shizuo wonders if houses this big are even used for living in, or if rich people are just liars who return to their apartments each night. He can't even fathom why a single person would need so much room. The hotel has felt too open and wide lately compared to his closet of an apartment, and a home this humongous is ridiculous.
He swallows his anger, setting down the bundle of supplies just a little harder than he probably needs to.
Izaya is speaking with a man in a suit who isn't Fukayama, probably his assistant, and he's using his hands to talk in a way that even distracts Shizuo a little bit. The louse is frustratingly talented at deceiving people, and he isn't really sure if last night was a trick or not. He doesn't know he if wants to think about it, but as opposed to how horrified he thought he might feel after making out with the flea, he's surprisingly okay. Izaya helped him dye his hair, Tomoko-san gave them breakfast before they left, and he was even able to sneak in a short nap on the ride over, which wasn't interrupted at all by any annoying informants.
He starts unpacking their things, watching Izaya's movements out of the corner of his eye.
Tom-san sent him a text this morning asking if he's been doing okay. He wasn't sure what to say about it, feeling regretful that he hadn't contacted his friend the entire time he's been here.
'Fine.' He'd replied simply, and Tom-san hadn't made any effort to text him after that.
He'd sent Celty a text later, feeling a little lonely as he thought about Tom-san and Varona wandering the city without him.
'How did your cookies turn out?'
She'd responded almost immediately, 'Let's not talk about that. How is your trip? Are you and your partner getting along?'
'You wouldn't believe me even if I told you.' He'd sent, and while she prodded him to elaborate, he really wasn't sure if he was ready to explain everything just yet.
For the next few hours, he helps Fukayama's staff move tables around and hang decorations. He can't quite understand why they're getting ready two weeks early, but the opportunity allows him to become acquainted with the building. He begins to study exits, taking note of all of the places where a person could slip away unseen.
Someone asks him to grab another table from outside. They tell him that it's on the patio, and he stumbles through a throng of thick flora in search of it. He can hear a stream running nearby, birds chirping as the sun blinds him. There are stepping stones leading him through the grass, but his feet are too big to fit on them completely. There are flowers growing so tall that they reach his waist, soft sand decorated neatly in a Zen garden some ways away.
He stops for a moment to breathe in the air, to smell the plant-life enveloping him in a cocoon of serenity. He thinks, if he ever becomes rich by some bizarre miracle, this is the first thing he'll buy: a patio so large that it feels like he's wandered out into a miniature forest.
The feeling of a hand touching his back nearly sheds his soul from his earthly body. It takes everything he has not to punch whoever has grabbed him into the next life.
He turns swiftly, knocking the hand away, primal instincts burning with the need to fight as he finds himself face to face with a familiar pale and handsome gentleman. He notes the scar running from jawline and disappearing beneath the collar of the man's shirt, a grin so cocky that his need to kill is only raised.
But the wind quickly vacates his sails, because when Izaya told him to lay low, this is the exact opposite of what he meant.
"You work for Tachibana Tomoko, correct?" Fukayama asks, and Shizuo chokes for a moment before he can nod, "You're a good-looking guy."
He hands Shizuo a business card, thick paper, shiny writing.
"A handsome guy who doesn't mind heavy lifting," he winks then, that sly smile so familiar to Shizuo that it takes everything he has not to pull a stepping-stone from the ground and lodge it into the man's skull, "if you ever get bored of running errands for a pitiful catering company, give me a call."
There's a sinister edge to his words, like he thinks he's a predator and Shizuo is a sheep grazing in the grass. He's so wrong that it's almost funny. This man, so lithe and pale and fragile, with bones that would crack like eggshells between Shizuo's fingers, has no idea what he's gotten himself into.
"Sure," Shizuo barely makes any noise at all, "I'll let you know."
And as quickly as he appeared, he's leaving.
Shizuo almost forgets to grab the table, he's so full of rage.
At the end of the day, Izaya is more exhausted than he's been since they got here. Shizu-chan doesn't have a lot to say on the ride home, so they sit in silence. They haven't eaten since breakfast, and his stomach growls embarrassingly loud as they're making their way into the hotel.
Koizumi has been blowing up his phone all day, only getting more perverse as time drags on. He thinks soon he might just find a photo online of a guy with a body like his and send it. He doesn't care if the old coot thinks it's him or not.
"Hey, Shizu-chan, what about dinner?"
The blond stops walking just as the doorman bows to them. There's a second in which each of them stand around awkwardly, all eyes trained on the blond.
"What about it?" he replies, not even sparing Izaya a glance, shoulders stiff.
He's almost flustered by it, the cold way in which Shizu-chan pretends that he doesn't understand that he's trying to be nice and offer up his time. Like they haven't kissed each other more than once and slept tangled together on the couch.
"We're off tomorrow, remember? It's the weekend. We should get something to eat instead of staying cooped up inside."
He doesn't admit to himself that he wants to spend time with the other man, but the idea of having dinner and watching these foreign humans is exciting enough on its own. If he were in Ikebukuro, he might be sitting in a café by the window, gazing out as the world carries on around him.
Shizuo turns to glare at him and he almost flinches. He feels so stupid, but Shizu-chan surely doesn't know. The brute can't comprehend how hard he's been thinking about their interactions all day, so much so that he almost forgot to watch security move through the building and memorize the way they worked.
"Why do you think I'd want to eat with you?" he spits, and even the doorman looks like he feels sorry for Izaya, "Go by yourself."
He studies the monster's face before forcing a cool and casual shrug. He despises the man for making it so difficult for him to be cruel, to distance himself and cut off anything he might be feeling.
He stopped allowing himself to be hurt by the thoughtless words of his beloved humans so many years ago, and he never knew how much Shizu-chan could make those lonely scars tingle.
"Suit yourself," he chirps, turning on his heel and heading in whichever direction he thinks he might be able to flee through the quickest, "Go sit by yourself in an empty hotel room and watch those stupid movies again."
He doesn't feel anything as he walks away, at least that's what he tells himself. Shinra told him once that he does the opposite of what he wants. He wants to be loved by other people and so he hurts them. He wants to be loved by Shizu-chan and so he allows himself to be pushed away.
He's maybe two buildings away when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns, and Shizu-chan is looking down at him, lips pursed, looking like he might have kicked someone's puppy.
"Hey," he says meekly, a Shizuo that Izaya has never experienced first-hand, but has only heard the rumors of, "I—well. I did something really stupid today, okay? That bastard Fukayama walked right up to me and I just let him leave. I should have kicked the shit out of him so we could go home. "
He's sitting very still, like he's waiting to be chided, like he thinks Izaya will rap him on the knuckles with a ruler. Maybe he would, if they were both back in Ikebukuro and the foreign air of this city hadn't caused both of them to go a little crazy.
As it is, he doesn't know what he wants to say at all. On one hand, he has so many perfectly malleable humans back home who he's actually allowed to mess with, but on another, Koizumi made it very clear that the extortion needs to take place on the night of Fukayama's big event.
"That's fine, Shizu-chan," he replies, stone-faced, "Will you let me go to dinner now?"
Shizuo hasn't let go of his shoulder yet. They're connected by it like a copper wire, sizzling electricity between the two of them.
"I'm hungry," says the brute, as through that settles it and Izaya is just obligated to bring him along after he made the both of them look like assholes.
Izaya isn't so easy to work up, his ears don't redden like the blond's, he doesn't lower his head in shame, but he thinks to himself, as Shizu-chan finally lets him go:
'I hate your guts. Die already.'
They're at a late-night diner. Izaya wanted to go to a bar, but that's so stupid. The louse doesn't even drink! Why would he want to go to a bar? Why would Shizuo let him go to a bar?
He notes the way that the informant is watching the other patrons. He reminds Shizuo of a kid with an ant collection, and the feeling that this thought gives him is so unsettling that he disregards it immediately.
Shinra has been bugging him for most of his life about Izaya—"Please be friends! You'll be missing out on a wonderful relationship if you decide to hate him!"
For the life of him, he can't recall a single person who has ever benefited from a relationship with the louse, but Shinra has stuck around for so long, so maybe he knows something that no one else does.
It makes him think though, what would their relationship be now if they would have decided to get along? Would they be sitting across from each other like this, Izaya's eyes trained on him, talking about something sneaky that he's been up to and Shizuo just wouldn't care? Would he be able to ignore the slimy feeling that the informant gave him from the very beginning?
Surely not. It wouldn't have worked in any universe.
Izaya has barely picked at his food, but Shizuo is almost done. The louse is just too distracted. He keeps eyeing a young couple who appear to be arguing about something. He's smiling sweetly, fingers laced under his chin. The boyfriend is whispering so aggressively that it sounds like he's hissing at the girl. She's teary-eyed, voice a lull of high and low sobs muffled through trembling palms. She reaches for his hand, mascara a shiny smudge below her eyes, and the boy smacks her away.
"I'm going to the bathroom," Shizuo grunts, rising so quickly from the table that their glasses rattle. He's shaking with rage. He needs to go calm himself down.
Izaya nods like he's barely listening, but Shizuo can feel those eyes following him all the way to the bathroom.
The door groans as he shoves it open. It's empty save for a drunk leaning against the urinal, rambling to himself about something that Shizuo doesn't care about at all.
He turns on the sink, splashes water on his face. He counts backward from one hundred, thinks about clouds drifting through clear blue skies, of Tom-san and Varona looping easily through the busy Ikebukuro traffic, collecting bills and eating cake on their breaks. He thinks of Celty making food for Shinra that causes the young doctor to choke and nearly vomit. He thinks of Akane playing with her friends at school.
He feels better after naming off everyone he knows, thinking of what they might have done today, thinking of them locking their doors and falling asleep safely in their beds.
There's music playing softly overheard, an old tune that he's not familiar with. It's scratchy through aged speakers. He can't even make out of a word of what's being sung.
When he finally leaves the bathroom, Izaya isn't at their booth. He looks around, mortified, for only a moment, thinking that the louse has left him behind with the bill. He finds that their table has been cleaned, however, and the waitress waves at him as though she thinks he's leaving.
With a sigh of frustration, he heads out to the street.
He finds the louse soon enough: standing against the side of the building, speaking softly to someone who Shizuo can barely see. He has his arm extended in front of him, palm resting on the brick right beside the other person's head.
As he draws nearer, slowly, he begins to make out Izaya's words and the face of the man who was just yelling at his girlfriend inside.
"You think saying ugly things to her will make her feel bad enough to stay with you, right?" the informant purrs, long lashes casting shadows down his face, "but you think she's sleeping with your friend, right? Why don't you go through her things and find out? Apologize to her like everything is fine, then when she falls asleep—"
Shizuo grabs the headache by the back of the sweater, lifting him off of the ground and away from the other, truly flabbergasted, man.
Izaya says something rude to him, he's sure, but he tunes it out. The flea doesn't even struggle, just hangs there limply like a doll. The pale skin of his stomach glows like porcelain in the dark. He's so thin, and the hollow of his abdomen looks especially deep as shadows play against jutting bone.
"Listen up, jackass," Shizuo spits, shaking with suppressed rage and noting the way the stranger flinches—as though his glare alone has burned him, "Don't yell at your girlfriend if you don't know what's going on with her. Don't take any of this parasite's advice, got it? If you think she's cheating on you, ask her. Don't be a fucking idiot or she's going to leave you."
Izaya giggles then, like a teenage girl.
"Dr. Shizu-chan," he cheers, clapping his hands, "Relationship Extraordinaire."
He's dropped moments later, so surprised that he doesn't even catch himself before he lands right on his ass.
Izaya is complaining like a whiny teen and he almost feels bad for the poor guy who's been forced to witness all of this. The guy looks scared out of his mind, like he thinks he might get murdered, and Shizuo decides that maybe this is good for him. It might teach him some humility.
"If I ever run into you again and you're still yelling at that girl like that," he adds, hauling Izaya to his feet and dragging him away, "I'll fucking kill you, got it?"
The guy only nods, looking like he might have just peed his pants.
Izaya doesn't stop talking all the way back to the hotel. He's rambling about humans and how much he loves them, trembling with excitement as he goes on and on. Shizuo thinks the entire thing is just an act, but he doesn't say so.
"Izaya just doesn't understand how to connect with other humans," Shinra had told him once, "he fumbles with people's hearts and breaks them, but only because he's lonelier than anyone he's ever met."
He never took that comment very seriously because he doesn't like to think of Shinra as the type who can read people. He doesn't want to consider that maybe the doctor has used this ability to peer into the caverns of his heart too, and what he might have found.
But right now, Izaya seems almost hysteric as he breathlessly expresses his love. His eyes are so wide, hands waving about in the air as though he's trying to grab all of his words. It's a little scary watching him, and when Shizuo stops only a few meters from the hotel, Izaya almost continues in without him.
"Eh, Shizu-chan," the louse laughs, "not ready to go home yet?"
He reaches out, grabbing the informant by the sleeve of his jacket. Izaya's mask slips into place naturally, as though he doesn't even know he's activated it, as though it's that normal for him to hide his fear of what exactly Heiwajima Shizuo is capable of doing to him right here in the moonlit streets of a city so far from home.
He's quiet for the first time in hours, eyes sparkling in the light of the moon and the streetlamps, the neon signs and stars. The smirk on his lips looks lopsided, like he's not so sure anymore, like maybe he's made a wrong choice and stayed in place when he should have run.
And Shizuo kisses him then, right on the sidewalk, with only the doorman and a few passing cars as their witness.
Before he knows it, there's the sharp edge of a knife against his throat. Izaya has pulled away so quickly that the warmth of his lips is only a ghost to Shizuo's senses. His face is a dusted red, sweat beading at his brow as he stands, unflinchingly, with his blade against Shizuo's skin.
"You think you're funny, don't you, Shizu-chan?" he breathes, grin feral as the doorman makes a strangled call toward them, "You think what those idiot women said at work is the truth, don't you?"
He's silent, calmer than he has been in decades. There's a tight feeling in his chest, not quite hurt, or anger, but—
"I was just messing with you, moron."
It's pity.
Izaya stumbles back. His eyes are on fire, tiny shoulders crumbling beneath whatever it is that's been torturing him since they arrived here. Shizuo sees him now as Shinra has for many years: a lonely man with no understanding of how to reach out and touch the lives of those around him without destroying them. He understands, as so many lovely things crumble in his own palms. He thinks of when Shinra told him, "The two of you are so alike, but you just can't see it." And he hates the fact that the perverted doctor might have been right.
They're at a stalemate for a long beat of time. No one is around on the sidewalk, but a small crowd of staff has gathered behind the glass of the hotel's front door. Shizuo reaches out to take the knife. He thinks if he can settle the louse down, maybe they can talk things out. He's never been good at talking, but maybe Izaya will listen. Maybe they can figure out this weird electricity that's been popping between them ever since Izaya kissed him at the bottom of the pool.
But the louse is quicker than lightening, flicking his knife and slicing a gash right across Shizuo's palm. He laughs like a maniac, falling further back.
"I'm not in love with a monster like you," he seethes, so shaken that Shizuo can see hints of sadness through the corners of his smile, "don't even think for a second that I could love someone like you."
And with that, he's gone, darting away into the shadows nearby and scampering off so quickly that Shizuo doesn't even think about trying to follow.
'What the Hell was that anyway?'
Izaya asked him to go to dinner, which people do when they're interested in dating. Izaya kissed him in the pool and he kissed back. They leaned against each other while doing laundry and spooned on the couch all night. Izaya dyed his hair, he talked about him to people at work. He stared at his ass! The damn louse stared at his ass so many times that people at work were making jokes about it!
Grumbling, he eyes his bloody palm. The louse can be a drama queen all he wants.
He knows where the hotel is when he's done throwing a fit.
How humiliating.
He's sitting on the roof of a small restaurant near the hotel, flipping through his phone as he allows his skin to cool off. His sweater is wadded up somewhere in the darkness. His heart has yet to stop thundering in his chest. He thinks it might explode if he isn't careful.
Shizu-chan had reached out and touched him. His skin felt so warm, his eyes had been so full of something that Izaya couldn't name. His lips were just as soft as they'd been when he'd stolen that very first kiss. He was so gentle that it made Izaya sick, so honest that it made him want to vomit.
He was embarrassed, and so, he'd lashed out.
Who did Shizu-chan think he was, touching him like that? And in public? Anyone could have seen them!
His phone vibrates.
With a sigh, he pulls it from his pocket, groaning as he sees the familiar name of his stalker. He's surprised, however, to find a photo instead of a text.
When it loads, he almost drops his phone, almost throws it from the edge of the roof, and it takes everything he has not to run straight to that old pervert's house and beat him within an inch of his life.
The picture is dark, but there's no doubt about it: from a short distance away, behind the doors of the hotel maybe, it's a photo of Shizu-chan pulling him forward for that mortifying kiss.
There's another vibration, and the text he was expecting suddenly appears.
'What was with that little display afterward? Were you having a tsundere moment?'
He knows better than to ignore the messages. They'll only get worse.
'I'm not sure if that's any of your business, old man.'
He thinks of the feeling that filled his chest, like helium stretching a balloon, when he looked up into Shizu-chan's deep brown eyes. He'd watched in awe as his reflection in those shadowy irises grew closer until the brute was pressing their lips together. He thinks, in that moment, he'd felt so light that he could have just floated away.
He checks his phone again as it buzzes.
'You could be getting destroyed by him right now, you know, but you blew it.'
He knows better than to think that Koizumi means that they'd be fighting. He can feel his nerves concentrating right in the middle of his brow, a sharp headache pulsating under his skin.
He's not interested in being "destroyed" by Shizu-chan. He's not interested in having anything to do with the monster at all, except maybe someday killing him. There's a strange chemical in the oxygen here, he decides. It's driving him and Shizu-chan crazy. Once they return home, Shizu-chan can throw some street signs and he can run back to Shinjuku, and finally, everything will return to normal.
'Oh well,' he thinks, resting his head on top of his arms as he looks over the edge of the roof onto the city below, 'if we're just going to forget about everything once we leave, it doesn't matter what we do here.'
Ota-san is in a panic.
"Heiwajima-san, p-please, let me clean it before you wrap it up!"
Shizuo ignores him. He's never gotten an infection before and he's sure not planning to start now. He's dug dirt into so many wounds in the past, scraped himself on rusty metal and shattered glass, and nothing seems to be able to penetrate the calloused wall that he's built up between epidermis and everything else below.
"What could have possibly happened?" Ota-san cries, flitting around him like a mosquito as he tightens the bandage around his hand with his teeth, "Did you get mugged? Where is Orihara-san?"
The blond lets out a long breath, leaning back on the couch. He stares up into the ceiling for a bit, allowing Ota-san to get the rest of that panic out of his system before forcing himself to reply.
"I got scratched by a really pissy cat," he draws out, imagining Izaya in that moment with pinned down ears and a fluffed up tail, "I tried to pet him and he attacked me."
Ota-san looks appalled. He's about to say something when they hear a rapping on the balcony door—three successive taps.
Ota-san stands still then, thoroughly confused, until a series of less patient knocks shake the glass behind the curtain. He steps forward, sending Shizuo a horrified look over his shoulder as he pulls back the curtain.
Shizuo rolls his eyes when he jumps back, nearly startled out of his skin. Izaya is leaning forward against the window, smirking like he didn't just cause a gigantic scene in front of any remaining hotel workers who might not have thought they were crazy.
"Leave him out there," Shizuo huffs, sending the louse a glare, "let him sleep on the balcony if he can't come in through the front door like a normal person."
Izaya bangs on the window again, a little harder. There's a sour look on his face and he seems to be a little cold. He's missing his jacket. Shizuo wonders if he's having some sort of eccentric breakdown.
Ota-san must have come to the conclusion that disobeying Izaya is more scary than disobeying him, because he lets the flea in pretty soon after.
"Thank you, butler-san," Izaya purrs, bowing deeply as he steps into the room, "Clearly you aren't as incompetent as I'd originally assumed."
Shizuo meets Ota-san's eyes, telling him mentally, 'I told you so. You should have let him stay out there.'
The louse is looping around the room as though drunk. He's rambling again about how easy it is for humans to be manipulated by the luster of monsters. Shizuo takes out a cigarette, ignoring Ota-san's protests as he struggles not to break his lighter while lighting it.
"Ah, Ota," Izaya croons, resting his hands on his hips as he gets just a little too close to the older man, "you must be thinking now that you have your hands full with the both of us, right? Does it make you miss your estranged son, taking care of that monster over there?"
Shizuo blows out a cloud of smoke.
"Leave him alone," he growls, glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Izaya stops for a moment to grin his way, stepping back from Ota-san and crossing his arms over his chest. He's being neurotic like this to compensate for something, Shizuo thinks. Any time there's something up with his behavior, it's always to camouflage a chink in his proverbial armor.
Ota-san says that it's fine, Orihara-san isn't bothering him, but his voice sounds a little strange. The flea, true to his parasitic nature, has found the most sensitive spot and sunk his teeth into it.
"And what will you do if I don't, Shizu-chan? Hm? What if I just keep pushing poor butler-san's buttons until he decides he doesn't want to come back here anymore?"
There's a dangerous spark threatening to burst into flame between them. His muscles are screaming to carry him over the couch and toward the louse. Anger rumbles in his chest. His skin crawls with the need to crack the damn louse's face open for thinking that he can just wander in here after causing such a scene and talk to other people like they're the ones who have something wrong with them.
He takes another drag of his cigarette, thinks about lying out in the sun, of chocolate cake and milkshakes, and seeing Kasuka's face on a movie poster.
"I'll kiss you again."
The flea is deflated just like that.
He steps back a few paces, grin suddenly darker and more sinister than he allowed just a moment prior. Shizuo can tell that he's pissed off, especially when Ota-san gasps in surprise.
Surprisingly, Izaya says nothing else to him, just slinks away to his room and closes the door behind him. He can hear the click of the lock as it turns, and Ota-san stares at him for a long time before either of them say a word.
"My apologies, Heiwajima-san," the older man starts, smoothing out his shirt in a fit of nervousness, "but I thought you said that you hated Orihara-san."
He thinks about the feeling of that blade against his throat, that odd, unnamed emotion that glimmered in Izaya's eyes. He thinks of the feeling of the louse leaning against him in the laundry room.
"I do," he replies simply, taking another drag, "Are you not allowed to kiss people who you hate? Even if you're only doing it because you know they hate it?"
Ota-san looks doubtful, but he doesn't press the matter. He knows better, probably.
Izaya awakens to the sound of his phone ringing.
The sun is barely creeping over the horizon, and he squints at the too-bright glow of the screen in the darkness as he fumbles with the answer button.
"Orihara Izaya," he greets, dreary and still half-asleep.
He hears only breathing, deep and needy, and as he finally snaps awake, horrified and ready to hang up, a voice calls out to him.
"Iza-chan, you didn't think I'd actually harass you like that, did you?"
He groans, out loud this time, throwing his head back against his pillow and wishing he would have just turned his phone off.
"I'm not calling to tease you, so don't be that way," Koizumi chuckles, somehow perfectly awake at this hour, "I want you to do some work for me today."
He wants to tell the old man to kiss his ass, but this is what he signed up for. This, of all things—his actual, real job—is the first thing this entire trip long that he's truly felt like refusing to do.
"What is it?" he asks, not in the mood for any games.
His head hurts already. He'd fallen in and out of sleep all night, restlessly mulling over everything that's happened to him and Shizu-chan, wondering at which point he'd ruined things between them.
"Leave the monster at home," Koizumi draws out, seeming to relish the bitterness in his silence, "I want you to do some people-watching."
Shizuo awakens sometime in the early afternoon. It's the first time he's slept in his bed in a few days, and he wonders how he could have stayed away.
There's a moment of panic in which he thinks maybe he's missed the first half of his shift, but slowly, the realization hits him that he's off and free to do whatever with his day that he might want to. He gropes around on the night stand for his phone, tugging it free of the charger and flipping it open.
Celty is still harassing him about how his trip is going. He would feel bad about avoiding the question, but he thinks maybe it's better that he doesn't worry her too much. He wants so badly to tell her about kissing Izaya in the pool and in the street, to confide in her that the louse had folded against him perfectly, like two pages in the same book, but he can't. Not like this. It would be too many words, and surely she would refer him to the nearest shrink.
She might even travel all the way over here and force him to get his head examined.
There's another text from a number he doesn't recognize, and it takes him only a second to remember that Bunko-san had asked for his phone number at the end of his shift the day before yesterday.
"Hey, uh, Hayashi-kun," she'd stumbled over her words in a way that wasn't too unfamiliar to him, like he was making her nervous, "If you're not doing anything this weekend… would you like to get lunch?"
He'd been so happy to have made a friend here that he'd forced himself to accept.
Usually, he muses, he tries to distance himself from people. While it doesn't always work, he's managed to keep a decent amount of Ikebukuro at arm's length for most of his life. He thinks that Tom-san and Celty are strong enough to handle him, Kadota is too level-headed to ever piss him off, and Akane is too sweet. Someone like Bunko-san is completely foreign to him—a normal human, living her life completely separate from the daily oddities that seem to gravitate toward a monster like himself.
So maybe it was weird of him to accept, because it'll be dangerous going out with her in public where anyone is bound to piss him off, but it's been lonely here, and Izaya has been so ambiguous lately that asking the flea to hang out would be a gamble in and of itself.
Regardless, she sent him a text about fifteen minutes ago asking what time he might want to go out. He tells her that he just woke up and apologizes. He'll be ready in half an hour.
'Where do you want to meet?' He questions, sending the message before it gets too wordy.
She gives him the directions to a café that's only a mile away and he tells her that he'll see her there. He contemplates inviting Izaya along as he pulls himself out of bed and selects a random outfit from the closet.
However, the louse isn't anywhere to be found when he leaves his room. His scent is faded, door closed but not locked. He considers cracking it open and looking for the informant inside, but he can't sense him at all, and he knows he'll just feel gross if he finds himself looking in there without Izaya around.
Something about Izaya's room seem off-limits, forbidden almost, and he doesn't like the thought of being anywhere near it.
It takes him little time to get ready. He thinks of leaving a note, but shakes the thought away. Izaya gave him no indication that he was leaving, so the louse can just deal with it.
He doesn't even consider that his feelings might be a little hurt, that it would have been nice to have spent the day exploring the city together. (Because that's absolutely not it. He just hates the idea of the flea sneaking around.)
The maids greet him as he steps out into the hall. He nods to them, wondering if he's went and made a reputation for himself regardless of Ota-san's warning, only as a shady guy who pays too much attention to the hotel staff instead of a monster who obliterates guard rails and street signs with a flick of his wrist.
When he finally makes it outside, it's warmer than it has been. He's thankful because he forgot to grab a jacket, dressed only in a maroon shirt with sleeves reaching his elbows, form-fitting black pants, and a different pair of sneakers. He feels stupid anyway, unsure of if he looks like he actually knows how to dress himself or not. He tries not to focus on it as he checks Bunko-san's directions and travels toward the café.
He sends Celty a text.
'I'm doing fine, stop worrying. I'll explain when I get back.'
Her reply is immediate.
'Have you met someone?'
He hates the way she can just read him like that, even when they're texting. It's not her fault, since he knows he vents to her entirely too much, but sometimes it would be nice if he could tell her "it's a secret" and she couldn't figure it out right away.
'I'll explain when I get back.'
Before he can allow himself to think too much about what he'll say, he spots Bunko-san waving at him from a few meters away. She's sitting at a table outside of the café, dressed in a pink sundress and a wide-brimmed hat.
"Hayashi-kun," she greets as he makes his way over and takes a seat across from her, "you look nice."
She's wearing makeup. He can only tell because her eyes seem larger than usual. He tells her that she does too, and she's flustered immediately.
The waitress arrives and she orders tea and some sort of pastry. He asks for a milkshake and cake. He thinks they sound like a couple of children, but he doesn't say so. She's smiling up at him in such a bashful way that he feels guilty. For tricking her, mainly, and all of the other workers at the catering company. Tomoko-san doesn't understand that she's planning a party for a criminal and she doesn't know that her two newest employees are working for her just so they can use her to get to him. It's sad to think of leaving everyone behind. They have only two weeks left and he wonders how he'll feel when he leaves them.
He's been so caught up worrying about what's been going on between him and Izaya that he's barely even noticed how comfortable he's gotten with this new life.
"S-so, Hayashi-kun," she starts, fiddling nervously with the edge of her napkin, "how do you like your job so far?"
He tells her that it's been nice, and he finds that he isn't lying. She says something about liking her job too, that Tomoko-san is a good boss.
"Do you think you're interested in anyone at work?"
It catches him off-guard when she asks, because he's not sure what she's getting at. It's been a long time since he's let himself have a crush on anyone—whatever this bullshit is between him and the flea definitely doesn't count—and he thinks about their coworkers and what sort of lives they must lead when he's not around.
"Eh," he sighs, nodding his thanks at the waitress as she drops off their food and drinks, "I don't think so. I'm not very good at dating."
He had crushes on a few girls in school, but he never found the courage to ask any of them out. He always ends up saying the wrong thing, even if his reputation doesn't ruin his chances, and he thinks that maybe some people just aren't meant to be with anyone else.
Bunko-san is clearly embarrassed. Her head his bowed and her cheeks are stained red. She's picking at her pastry and staring, brows furrowed, into her tea.
"Can I tell you something?" she asks.
He raises a brow, cheeks full of cake. He tells her, through a mouthful, of course.
"T-to be honest," she stutters, shoulders trembling, "I think I have a crush on Maki-kun."
At first, he finds himself thinking, 'A rival', but he has no idea where that thought came from and it pisses him off. A rival in what? Getting fucked over by Izaya? No thanks, she can have him.
Well, not really, because he would never allow someone as innocent and pure as Bunko-san to get mixed up with a living dumpster like Izaya, but he won't stop her from pining after whatever act the louse is playing in order to mask the stench of his evil intentions.
"I-I know that he's interested in Shizu-chan though!" she cries out suddenly, bumping the table in her eagerness and rattling the dinnerware, "But he says she doesn't feel the same way, and he's such a sweet guy, and so handsome... He always says the most insightful things when Kyou-chan has a problem. He reads people so well."
That much is true, Shizuo admits to himself, glowering down at the crumbs of his devoured cake.
He doesn't really understand how no one has been able to see right through the louse's act and call him out as the piece of human garbage that he is. He wonders what a charming Izaya would even look like. How do normal people see the informant? Is he friendly? Is he funny? Does he somehow not cause gross tremors to shutter down their spines?
"I don't like him," he says finally, noticing the worried way that Bunko-san is flicking her eyes from the table to him, then back, "I don't trust him at all."
She giggles at that, tearing a piece off of her pastry and nibbling on it.
"Can I tell you something else?" She asks.
He drinks some of his milk and nods. Birds call out overhead. An elderly couple sips tea two tables away. Wealthy-looking people pass by with arms full of shopping bags. The sun is high in the cloudless sky. It's bright and warm, and he can't believe that he's wasting such a beautiful day thinking about Orihara Izaya.
"I know there's something weird going on between the two of you."