I've noticed some inconsistencies between my story and ... well, the series and real life, but I'm planning a revision after the whole thing's done. Not any sooner. I've actually had a story where I continuously revised the first three chapters and guess where I am 6 years later? Chapter 3 =P I'll correct small details though, especially if it's blatantly wrong. Feel free to alert me to errors!

Thanks for reading, you guys =)

Happy reviews happy reviews happy!

Chapter 10

It had been four months since he had first started staying with the odd duo, and within that time the boy, Shinra, who couldn't have been any older than he was, decided to oversee his education on his own. "If he's going to learn, then he's going to learn from the best of the best!" so the boy had said. Well, seeing how he was only on personal terms with two people and one of them had no mouth to speak with, it was obvious that there was only one person for the job.

Izaya didn't complain too much at the time, seeing as how any chance to learn what he had always coveted was a chance he would take, but now that he was well on his way to learning the language (amazingly quickly, was the general consensus between the other two), he started getting more and more miffed at being talked down to by a boy his age.

(Shinra, on the other hand, was getting more and more excited at the prospect of possibly teaching someone language within the span of a year. He'd never known anyone to pick something up so quickly before. He wouldn't go so far as to call Izaya a genius because that title was specifically reserved for certain people like Celty and himself and maybe, maybe, his father, but the strange kid was pretty close.)

What probably would have taken most at least half a year to get took Izaya simply two months, and the rest was simply practicing and expanding upon his vocabulary. It just seemed to come naturally to him; he supposed it was because he was always listening to the words and thinking like a human now, so all he really needed was that connecting line of "This word means that" and a grammar structure to go by.

Shinra had even gone out and bought elementary grade books for him to do exercises in, but Izaya, ever the believer in getting as much done as early as you can, had finished them long before their "due date." Generally, the day after he got the books, when Shinra was off in "school," Izaya would rush through the books, finishing every problem on a separate sheet of paper before copying only that day's assignment's answers into the book. He had learned the hard way, when the first time he had actually filled out the entire book, his education overseer wouldn't believe him when he said he finished all of it. Only gave him a skeptical look that even Izaya knew Shinra didn't believe him.

So, in the end, Izaya spent his early days finishing that day's problems by copying his answers off his answer sheet, and then lounging the rest of the day off in front of the television. The box was like magic, as far as he was concerned. He had no idea how it worked, but it was like a window into different dimensions, and there was no better way to see so many emotions in such a short span of time. Even though he didn't understand most of what was being said, the expressions shown were blatant enough, and really, that was what he was paying attention to.

A smile meant you were happy. An open grin, that you were joyous. However, a slight pull upwards, and that smile became a sneer of malicious intent. The eyes, too, told much, depending how much they were narrowed, on the position of the eyebrows. The day after he had first discovered how the television worked, he found himself in front of the bathroom mirror making faces at himself for an hour. Every day after that, for another month, he practiced the expressions he learned for half an hour a day, sometimes even more unless Shinra really had business to take care of.

But expressions weren't the only actions that interested him. There were the hand gestures – something he had always kept an eye on back when he wasn't human, back when he had envied those versatile limbs. Then there was the intonation of the voices.

Eventually, though, solely being on the sidelines got tiring. He had prepared enough; he wanted to see how he fared out there in the wild, so to speak. He had practiced and practiced talking so that he had a way of communicating with others (something he would not give up for all the world). He had stood in front of the mirror, watching his own expressions and gestures, both in a critical and admiring manner. Shinra had once said, when he had spied Izaya imitating people from the shows, that they were acting – that it wasn't real. But it was real enough for Izaya, and he figured that they couldn't be that fake, and so he continued using them as his model.

The television had showed him a new world, appended new information to what he already knew. Rage, sorrow, maliciousness … all of these were ones he hadn't seen with his own eyes before. Sometimes he heard screaming through the windows at night, disturbing his sleep from the rooftops, but never had he actually seen what these emotions looked like. It was surprising, even slightly appalling, to finally bear witness to the extremities of human expression in a small window from the coziness of a couch.

But Izaya was not going out today to watch people, scrutinize their expressions, or hear their words.

He took the steps two at a time, the back of his now slightly small jacket fluttering upwards as gravity carried him down. Sticking his hands in his pockets (one of the first things the two had done was get him a new wardrobe, and one of his favorite additions were the pants with pockets), he made his way down the street, out of the alley he had wandered into that fateful day.

The sun was high, although not quite at its apex yet. There weren't too many people in the streets – it was common for this time of day and Izaya didn't think too much of it. Indeed, he was quite glad for it because that meant having to pay less attention to where he was walking so he could avoid running headlong into someone again.

He passed by the now-familiar buildings, streets, and crosswalks – these things did not change, and so they did not interest him past their initial discovery. While he hadn't exactly been outside the most (since he was under the mercy of a certain to-be scientist), he had a good memory when it came to places, especially with those he's visited at least twice. On his outings, he generally made his way back to the park, to familiar sights, but today, his destination was a bit different.

He hadn't returned to this alley since he had essentially been picked up by Shinra. The sunlight shone down, covering the walls in barred shadows as the light slid past the railings. The dumpster next to the building looked about the same, the only difference being its contents. And up above it, the ladder was still there, as well as the little platform that was the place where he spent so many nights.

With a hop, he grabbed onto one of the rungs, which were so coated with rust that when Izaya pulled his hand back he found them covered in red. Not paying it any mind (Shinra could clean out the stains if he decided he cared enough about the clothes), he made his way up and onto the first floor. Predictably, there was nothing there – any possessions he may have left on the floor would have been blown off over the edge – but oddly enough, Izaya felt content when he leaned on the railings, looking down.

Guess his love of heights never quite left him. He'd always been either on the ground or behind a thick window pane that prevented the feeling of reality that he was up six floors. Twenty meters. The closest he came to the edge was the balcony the two never used.

A breeze blew by, and Izaya enjoyed the feeling of it playing through his hair. He sighed in simple contentment, and for the first time in a long while, his thoughts did not circle around the human race.

He stayed like that for quite some time, he didn't know how long. It wasn't in his nature to think about the past. There was still so much to do; after all, for whatever reason, he had been given at least a twenty year life extension. Maybe more, considering what the average lifespan of a human being was. What was it again? Seventy for a Japanese male?

He gazed off into space as he leaned against the rails, back to the main street. Elbows rested on the slightly creaking barristers, and his head tilted back to stare at the sky, or what he could see of it at least. Too much hubbub lately … it's been a long time since he's had silence. Never thought he could miss something like this, even in a vague sort of way.

Sometimes he could still imagine the wind ruffling through his feathers. If he spread his arms wide, with his long coat open, the occasional breeze would practically sweep him off his feet. Once, he'd even tried to climb on to the railing, but a panicked Celty had dragged him back in and yelled at him for an entire hour.

There was no dinner that night either.

Not that he regretted this opportunity, however it had happened. He probably never would. He enjoyed life as it was too much.

Still, that didn't prevent him from relishing in moments such as these.