Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 54 - 61)

NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.


What You Don't Surrender

Chapter Eleven

Just when he thought Shizu-chan couldn't get any more entertaining, the beast surpassed his expectations.

Izaya had never seen it at such close quarters before, the way Shizuo worried so hard at the wrong end of the stick. What, exactly, he was making up in his head about the situation didn't particularly bother him – this was Shizuo, there was no way he'd come to the correct conclusion – but in its own way it was almost as fascinating as the way humans thought. They, at least, were right sometimes.

Shizuo, on the other hand, didn't seem to think at all. As in everything else, Shizuo was pure instinct. He knew, gut-deep, that Izaya was up to something – and fine, maybe that part was true – but the details weren't important. In his simple head, Izaya planning something equalled something bad, automatically.

Even now, you're still not willing to trust in that one percent, ne…?

Ah, he might have pushed too soon, but it didn't matter. Once Shizuo realized how much better he'd feel with the source of his problem eliminated, he'd see Izaya was right, and this whole off-kilter deviation could end.

It might be for the greater good of Izaya's world, it might be for the sake of rebalancing his universe, but it didn't mean Izaya had to like any of it. He didn't have to like the way the blond took up space in his apartment, helped himself to Izaya's food, woke up late and left all the towels in the bathroom hanging unevenly. He didn't have to like coming home late to a lighted apartment, the television on and someone there to acknowledge his return with a grudging "Hey."

He certainly didn't have to like the way it upset the equilibrium of his carefully constructed life. He'd worked so hard, so long at crafting it to his specifications, maintaining that perfect distance between himself and the fascinating, but ultimately tainted world around him. He'd worked so hard, so long at keeping Shizuo from tearing it down, from trampling clumsily over his efforts. Who was he to just barge in, pay no attention or respect to the way everything was before he showed up? Who was he to wreak a mile-wide hurricane path of damage through not only the streets of Tokyo, but everything Izaya had worked for?

You're the one who invited him, a pedantic voice in his head reminded him. For some alarming reason, it sounded an awful lot like Shinra. He might have knocked the house down, but you're the one who opened the garden gate.

Whatever. Bored now…

Shizuo hadn't permitted any touching since that incident, but Izaya was confident enough to order in proper massage oils for next time. Whether sandalwood and lavender soothed the savage beast remained to be seen, but he hadn't expected much anyway give the circumstances. Surely a brain like Shizuo's couldn't focus on two important things at the same time. Protozoans weren't known for multitasking.

He wasn't so pleased with the way Shizuo had taken to avoiding him wherever possible, not just the touching. He had no idea the amount of cigarettes the blond got through in the space of seventy two hours, but if Shizuo's lungs weren't wrecked before, they were now.

There'd been precisely one conversation that consisted of more than monosyllabic grunting.

"If it's…" Shizuo had been staring blankly out of the window while Izaya worked. He'd almost forgotten the blond was there; the gravely words, made even more husky by excessive amounts of nicotine, dragged his attention away from the email he was typing to a small-time Shinjuku dealer who'd been looking to branch out. "If Shinra says there's something wrong, then I'll leave."

Izaya looked up from his laptop. "What for?"

Shizuo shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. "It might be, y'know… dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Izaya laughed softly. "Pretty low on the sliding scale of dangerous for us, don't you think? If it makes you feel better, I'll disinfect everything you touch."

"It's not funny."

"No, it's not." He agreed mildly. "Either way, you don't have to leave."

Shizuo shook his head. There it was, that bull-headed stubbornness Izaya knew and loathed. "No. I mean, all this'll be a waste of time then anyway, right? It'd probably be better that I can't touch anyone…"

Couldn't be touched, but Izaya didn't think the semantics were worth the fight. "Playing the martyr already, Shizu-chan?"

A sharp caramel gaze glared his way. "It's called giving a fuck about other people, flea. I know that's kinda confusing for a selfish bastard like you."

"Selfish, hmm…" Izaya turned his attention back to his work, smiling to himself. "Isn't what you're doing the most selfish thing of all, Shizu-chan?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Well, you're not protecting other people, are you? You're protecting yourself. This'll be just another convenient excuse so you don't have to try."

"Who the hell isn't trying?" He really did jump at the hands that slammed onto the surface of his desk, making his laptop wobble. He hadn't even seen Shizuo move. Good to know some of those old skills remained, albeit a little awkward from lack of use. "What the hell do you think I've been doing, putting up with you and your games?"

"Being smart enough, for once, to realize you have no other choice." He'd shut down the laptop screen, both to save it from potential carnage and in case Shizuo tried to read his mail. Then again, Izaya'd been to school with him – he wasn't a hundred percent certain Shizuo could read. "Look, there's nothing wrong with making use of all the options at your disposal-"

"In your world, maybe."

"—and yes, you were running a little low on options, but I don't see why it's a big deal." Chin propped on one hand, he'd reached the other across the desk, one fingertip touching the back of Shizuo's hand. A couple of weeks ago, that insolent little gesture would have earned him a split lip and a splintered desk. Now, it took Shizuo a moment or three just to snatch his hand away. "I'd use you, if it was the other way around, Shizu-chan."

"You'd use everyone, flea." Shizuo laughed humourlessly, backing off. "Sad part is, you don't even get why that's a problem."

"No," he agreed, opening the laptop again and returning to work. "That's because you've spent so long trying to be human, Shizu-chan. You've forgotten your place, and theirs."

It was cute, the way Shizuo obviously thought that the sound of a slamming door, followed by stomping footsteps heading down the hall to the elevator, counted as the last word. It just went to show that any old brute could fight, but it took skill to argue. Skill Shizuo, with his impulsive, heart-on-sleeve, foot-in-mouth recklessness, painfully lacked.

Hayashi, being the prize idiot he was, called demanding to meet him the day Shizuo expected the call from Shinra. Shizuo, obviously, had been especially moody all morning. Really, Izaya was glad for the excuse to get the hell away from him for a while.

"I have to go out," he said flippantly, handing Shizuo the phone Shinra would call only after wiping it clean of any other contacts. "It's important."

"Whatever. You'd only drive me crazy hovering here anyway."

"I think I'm allowed to hover all I want in my own home." He shrugged into his jacket, checking his other cells. There were other calls he was still waiting on, Shinra aside.

Honestly. Was he the only efficient businessman left in this city?

But something made him hesitate at the door. When he looked back, Shizuo sat on the edge of the couch, hands steepled, gaze fixed on the phone. He'd sit like that all day, as devoted and hopeless as an abandoned dog waiting on its master's return.

He was curious, that was all. It'd be a pity to waste the chance to observe the way a beast reacted in such circumstances. It'd satisfy him to see that the shortening gap between Shizu-chan's inhumanity and the distinctly human fragility was only Izaya's imagination.

"Shizu-chan..." He walked back over to the couch, picked up the phone and programmed one other number into it. "That's my other cell. If Shinra calls..."

His mouth didn't want to form the rest of the words. And, after all, why would Shizuo bother telling him? Izaya wasn't important. He could see the conversation playing out now, Shinra cajoling Shizuo to leave, to come and stay with him and Celty just so he could add to his collection of monsters. Of course Shizuo couldn't stay with that asshole Izaya, it wouldn't be good for him. He'd probably come back to an empty apartment, either way.

Shizuo just took the phone from him with a shrug. "Understood."

Izaya had no idea why that irritated him as much as it did. If snatching the phone back and erasing the number wouldn't be supremely immature, he'd have done it in a heartbeat.

He didn't like this. Any of it…

Moron he may be, but Hayashi was also dumber than a post. He'd wanted to meet at an Ikebukuro hostess club, citing his preference for conducting business "where I can watch hot chicks at the same time." Izaya suspected, just from one meeting, that paying for them was the only way Hayashi could get said 'chicks' to look at him twice.

Sad.

Mid-afternoon, and the club wasn't busy. A couple of foreign girls made a beeline for him as soon as he walked into the room, which said a lot about Hayashi's taste in clubs. If they were working legally, Shizu-chan was a rocket scientist.

Hayashi himself was happily ensconced in a booth, surrounded by two other girls. Izaya brushed off his own admirers as Hayashi waved him over.

"Ain't this place great?" The flush already creeping up Hayashi's face said that he'd already run up quite a tab, or that he really was excited to be sitting between two bored, overly made-up women. From the stench of their perfume, Izaya couldn't even tell what Hayashi had in his glass. The colour suggested some kind of dish detergent, and the umbrella sticking out suggested the man who ordered it was a loser.

"Ah, you know how to live Hayashi-san," he slid gingerly into the booth, "I'll give you that."

"Damn right." Hayashi's stare lifted briefly from one of the women's cleavage. "Go ahead, order whatever you want, my treat."

"I'd rather get down to business. After all, we're not all as lucky as you, Hayashi-san, able to relax and enjoy yourself like this in the middle of the day." Izaya shook his head, feigning a sigh. "Besides, I'm already in your debt, ne?"

Looking a little disappointed, Hayashi waved the girls away. Izaya figured he'd done the poor things a favour – he couldn't tell exactly where Hayashi's hands went when they ducked under the table, but he could guess. Sometimes, humans were just… crass.

"Heh, how's that workin' out for you?" Hayashi leaned his elbows along the top of his seat, and laughed. "I asked around about that. If we'd known so many people wanted to take that guy out, we coulda made a fucking mint!"

"You could have sold tickets." Izaya smiled, plucking the wilting umbrella from Hayashi's drink, twirling it between his fingers. The cocktail stick was still sharp enough, despite being soaked in alcohol the colour of a supernova. It would probably still work if he rammed it into Hayashi's jugular. The smile turned a little wry. No, that wasn't his style. He set the umbrella down, folded his hands. "I doubt many people in this city would blame you for it."

"Yeah, that's what I heard. Supposedly he's some kind of big deal," Hayashi scoffed, "but you ain't no big deal if you bend over and scream like a little girl. Dunno why no one else did it before. Heh, maybe we're just better than those Ikebukuro fuckers, huh?"

"Oh, no doubt. Can I ask you something, Hayashi-san?" Izaya leaned conspiratorially close, voice lowered. "What did he do to drive you to those lengths?"

"'Cause no one gets in the way. Takahashi wanted in on Ikebukuro turf." Hayashi rolled his eyes. The action wasn't exactly smooth, belying the fact that the glass in front of him probably wasn't his first. "Y'know, like that little shit knows his ass from his elbow. Ask me, he and Nishimura shoulda stayed in Ueno where they belong. Me an' Satou just got our asses dragged in 'cause we'd been doing some y'know… freelance shit for the Wakahisa. Anyway, we're kinda getting into it, beating up these Ikebukuro punks, when this fucking butler breaks it up. Heh," Hayashi took a swig of his drink, almost snorting it through his nose. "I thought he was a host! And I don't even give a shit, really, but no way is some fuckin' prettyboy telling us what to do."

It was a good thing he'd declined a drink, Izaya decided. He'd probably have choked on 'prettyboy'.

"So, you decided to teach him a lesson, ne?"

"Only after. Takahashi wouldn't shut the fuck up about it, wanted to come back to deal with it seeing as this brat had screwed up his big shot." Another roll of the eyes. Clearly, Takahashi was no longer on Hayashi's Christmas card list. "Nishimura still had some of the shit he'd been hawking for the Wakahisa, but fuck… I've seen guys who're the size of sumo wrestlers go down with just a shot of that crap, this guy…" Hayashi whistled low. "Took fucking forever, and he never did go totally under. He was still snivelling and begging like some schoolgirl all the damn time. Fricking disgusting. You ask me, there's something wrong with a fucked up bastard like that. Ain't normal."

"Ah, they do say he's not even human, you know."

"Heh…" Hayashi grinned, showing crooked teeth. "Trust me, kid was human enough, if you know what I mean."

Izaya didn't even think he wanted to. He was still a little blindsided by the desire to rearrange Hayashi's teeth. Maybe send them somewhere into the bastard's intestines, for a start.

"Don't get me wrong, I wasn't into it or nothin'. Gimme a hot pussy any day over some dirty piece of ass." Hayashi's gaze slithered back over to the girls waiting by the bar.

"Oh, of course. You seem a man of impeccable taste to me."

"Yeah. 'Sides, they say he ain't been around for a while." Hayashi laughed, a smug, braying sound that had Izaya's fingers twitching with their longing to reach into his pocket for the knife. How well can you laugh with your throat cut, I wonder? "Maybe he's dead, huh?"

"Ah, could be…" Hayashi didn't know how right he was. Oh, maybe not physically dead, but in all the ways that mattered, all the ways that had defined their lives up till now… that Shizuo was all but gone. "Could be. It'd certainly be convenient, ne? For you and for me."

"And now you're workin' for me." Hayashi smiled smugly. "I asked 'bout you, too. They say you're good."

Making a mental note to find out who would talk about him at all to the likes of this idiot, he withdrew a folded slip of paper from his pocket, sliding it across the table.

"As we discussed, ne? I think you'll find this man very reliable. He's been working in Shinjuku, but he's just as eager as you to take advantage of the, ah… relaxed atmosphere in Ikebukuro recently."

Yeah, so relaxed he could picture Shiki-san developing new frown lines even as he spoke. One day, Izaya might have to consider offering an apology for even insinuating the man was as inept as he made him out to be.

Ah, Shiki would understand. After all, this was business.

"It'd be a shame not to exploit the gap in the market, right Hayashi-san? The supply lines to Ikebukuro have become quite disrupted of late. Everyone's chasing their own tails. With this, you have the upper hand. Undercut them a little to bring in the custom, and…" he smiled, inclining his head towards the girls. "They'll be the ones flocking to you."

"You really have the Awakusu in your pocket, don'tcha?" Hayashi took the paper. "I still ain't sure about this…"

"Ah, I wonder. It's true to say they take my information seriously. And, conversely, if I tell them I don't know about something, well… It doesn't exist. Like a ghost, ne, Hayashi-san?"

Hayashi shuddered. "Don't talk about fucking creepy shit. Can't stand that stuff…"

Interesting…

Izaya stood from the booth, noticing that Hayashi didn't waste much time in waving the girls back over. Nice guy. So polite.

"Ah, stay in Ikebukuro long enough, you'll get used to that sort of thing Hayashi-san." He shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled away from the table, out of earshot – as if Hayashi was even listening to him anyway. "In your case, it might be for the best that your stay'll be brief."


He'd been at the train station when his cell phone rang. Too lost in his thoughts – most of which still involved stabbing Hayashi with the cocktail stick umbrella until the bastard stopped smiling like that – he couldn't remember which ringtone matched which phone.

What if it's—

He'd reached into the pocket of his coat a million times, but even his muscle memory didn't help; the haste with which he made a grab for the phone he could feel vibrating sent it tumbling from his pocket, skidding away across the platform.

"Ah, so clumsy~!" He beamed at the woman who almost stomped on the phone with her heels – wouldn't that be irony at its finest? – as it came to a spinning stop right in her path. "I'm so sorry."

It wasn't Shizuo, and Izaya let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Damn it.

He didn't recognize the number. Flipping the phone open, he answered with a cautious, "Can I help you?"

A voice he didn't recognized addressed him by the alias he'd used to get in touch with Nishimura's creditors.

"Ah…" He relaxed a little, pretending his heart wasn't still rattling louder than the trains shuttling by. "It's good to hear from you, Mochizuki-san."

He'd done a little homework on this guy, too. From all accounts, he could've done with a collector like Shizu-chan scaring the shit out of his clients. Until recently Mochizuki had been content – and wealthy – enough to sit back and pretend he was some self-styled father figure, helping out the hapless. After one of his businesses went belly-up last month, however, he was looking to sell off anything that wasn't nailed down. Luckily for him, Izaya was about to take one of his worst clients off his hands. Unluckily for Nishimura, he was going to find out that his new creditor wasn't quite as… patient as Mochizuki.

"Do you even know how much this guy owes me?"

"Hmm, last I checked, just short of twenty million." Nothing special, in the scheme of things. Izaya's apartment cost over twice that much. The difference was, he wouldn't be stupid enough to put it up as collateral for a loan he'd foolishly doubted would be called in this decade.

That these idiots got the better of Shizu-chan continued to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He was smarter than this, damn it. Why hadn't anything he'd done affected Shizuo this way?

Ignoring the fact he knew full well why, he turned his attention back to Mochizuki. "I'd be happy to throw in a generous administration fee, Mochizuki-san, if that would guarantee your discretion in this matter."

Oh, Mochizuki would be discreet. After all, he was on the other side of the fence now. Humans had a tendency to keep quiet when people were after them for money.

He hung up after extracting a promise that Mochizuki would send over the relevant documents – "Ah, no, on second thought Mochizuki-san, I'll have my courier come and pick them up." – and boarded the train. Even though he knew it wouldn't ring while he was on the move, he still wrapped a hand around the other phone. It was about damn time they extended the signal to the trains, he could get so much more work done that way…

He still couldn't chase Hayashi's words out of his head. Every time he replayed them, his mind embellished it a little just to spite him. The volume of Hayashi's laughter, the smugness of his smile. The way he'd leered when he said "Trust me, kid was human enough, if you know what I mean."

I don't want to know. I don't want to think about him like that.

Because monsters didn't scream, or beg, or cry. They didn't break from something that insignificant. They didn't. They couldn't.

He was still thinking about it when he got back to the apartment, but he schooled his face into bland neutrality. Bad enough that he had to see Shizuo after the conversation he'd just had. Worse if Shizuo noticed.

As he'd predicted, Shizuo was still where Izaya left him a couple of hours ago. Izaya kicked off his shoes, hung up his coat, and sauntered over to the couch. Shizuo shied away when he thumped his hands on the back of the couch and said brightly, "So, no news is good news?"

"Your important crap didn't take you long." Shizuo raised a brow.

"Ah, some of us are just that good, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo's grunt didn't sound complimentary. Turning his gaze back to the phone, he shrugged a little. "I was thinking—"

"Oh, that can't be good."

The glare Shizuo sent him was half-hearted. "Anyway, I… Sorry. About the other day."

"Hmm?"

"I was just…" Shizuo's hands scrubbed through his hair. If Izaya looked closely, he could see the dark roots growing out. He tried to imagine a dark-haired Shizuo. A Shizuo that blended in with the rest of the world. No, it'd never happen. Like venomous bugs wore bright colours to warn off predators, there'd still be something about the beast that betrayed its inhumanity. The hair was just temporary decoration. "You got me thinking about shit I didn't want to. It's no excuse, but…"

"Thinking about what?"

"The shit you said about being pissed off at the right people."

"Ah…"

Not exactly a discussion he felt confident having today. Not when he could still hear the echo of Hayashi's braying laughter, could still see his hands pawing at the hostesses.

The thought of those hands on Shizuo…

"He was still snivelling and begging like some schoolgirl all the damn time. Fricking disgusting."

He felt that umbrella in his hands again, the feel of the wood grating under his fingers like nails on a chalkboard. Saw Hayashi's leering smile. Wanted to tear it to pieces with his bare hands.

You have no idea what 'disgusting' is, you vile, pathetic excuse for a human…

His fingers clutched so hard at the back of the couch, his shoulders ached.

No… he really didn't like this at all

Fortunately, Shizuo wasn't even looking at him. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped, he worried at his thumbnail with his teeth. "You know, you were right. I do just want it all to go away. And maybe…" he gestured towards the phone. "Maybe it's never gonna go away. Maybe I'm doing this all wrong, and it's just… ah, shit, I don't know. I mean… what if it's not just me, y'know? What if… you do that sort of thing once, I bet it gets easier to do it again."

Izaya didn't care what happened to anyone else. They were none of his concern. Trust this so very human monster to worry about other people who'd just as soon kick dirt in his face as thank him for it. What would he do if Izaya told him, word for word, how Hayashi described him? What expression might he make? Would it be enough of a catalyst to change this increasingly irritating status quo?

"So what do you want to do?"

"…I don't know." Shizuo shook his head. "I keep thinking I should… I don't know, have better answers than the ones I have."

"Well, what answers do you have? It's a place to start, ne?"

Shizuo was silent for a long moment. Izaya found himself fixating on the darkness at the base of that golden hair again.

True colours, hmm…

"I just… Y'know, I can think of a hundred reasons why. Bad karma, all that crap. I think I even knew it'd catch up with me some day, 'cause that stuff always does, and you can't tell me I wasn't due." Shizuo's tone was soft, matter-of-fact, as he clenched his hands into fists. "But y'know I still expected it to bail me out, like it always does. That's pretty fucking pathetic, huh?"

If he could have, he'd have reached out, unfurled those fists and placed in Shizuo's hands instead all the proof he needed that there were far more pathetic creatures out there. He could show Shizuo the track record of the men who'd broken him, shown him how misplaced his damned apathy really was.

Karma? Oh, I'll make sure of it.

"Shizu-chan, I—"

They both jumped at the cell phone's trill. Izaya glanced at the caller ID, before tossing the phone to Shizuo. His fingers were clumsy enough that the aim was off; Shizuo didn't catch it with much more grace.

"Hey, Shinra…"

Izaya couldn't sit and watch. Getting up, he paced over to the window, staring out unseeing at the streets below. Life went on out there, a million disparate existences, and before this each one of them would have enthralled him enough to let him forget, to take him outside himself to a place where he was just distant, observant. They couldn't touch him, not really. He could touch them, should he choose, but he was the one dictating where the barrier fell.

Now… even the muted beep as Shizuo shut off the phone hit with the force of the blond's punches.

When he turned around, Shizuo was staring at the phone in his hands. Izaya couldn't see his eyes.

"It…" A shrug. "It's fine."

Shizuo kept talking, in a voice that sounded as though he hadn't used it in years, saying something about Shinra advising another test in a few months and something to do with ninety-six percent plus accuracy. Izaya stopped listening after 'fine'.

He'd have turned back to the window, except he already felt like he was falling, and that sensation in front of a high-rise plate glass window didn't seem wise.

It's fine. It's fine. Normal was still somewhere within his grasp. He could still make this right, he could still make it like it was before. He could put that distance back between himself and this mess.

Shizuo looked up, then frowned. "The fuck is wrong with you?"

"I…"

Nothing, right? This was everything he wanted. This meant he could get what he wanted. He was back in control. The plan was back on track. The vermin would pay. Shizuo would be fixed, and Izaya could get rid of this damned nagging paranoia that something wild and violent – typhoon Heiwajima, ne? – had just crashed through his life.

"Fuck…" Shizuo reached for his cigarettes, giving Izaya a look that no sane man would mess with. "Make me go out on the roof now, and I'll throw you off it."

Sitting down next to the blond, Izaya said nothing. Shizuo must have taken silence for acquiescence. He heard the click and flare of the lighter, and a few moments later the way Shizuo blew out the smoke on a quiet, content sigh. The smell of smoke, acrid at first, softened into something else, a warm, cloying scent that made him think of cherry wood burning in the fall. If it was possible to wrap yourself up in a scent, he thought he might try with this one.

It's not the cigarettes.

"Dunno why it bothers you so much," Shizuo said quietly after a while. "Wouldn't it work out fine for you if I just kicked the bucket?"

No, it wouldn't. Not like that.

He felt the way the smile tugged at his lips, but it was mechanical as a robot. This is how you smile. This is how you move your face. You don't have to feel truly happy at all. Fake it. That's easy enough"It'd be pathetic if something like this did you in, ne, Shizu-chan?"

Shizuo snorted softly. "It'd be something, that's for sure…"

"See, this is why you need to stop this, too." Izaya picked up the cigarette packet, turning it over in his fingers. He could feel the dents in the cardboard from the way Shizuo always held the box as he tapped one of the sticks out. He fitted his fingers against those grooves, eyes narrowed. "I absolutely won't tolerate anything but me killing you, do you understand?"

"Oi, flea…"

"And if you are stupid enough to get yourself killed, I'll have to bring you back just so I can kill you properly. Don't expect me to go easy on you, either, if you're that stupid…" The cigarette packet blurred and wavered. He blinked hard, blaming the way his eyes stung on the smoke. "If you're…"

"Flea."

Wrong, that it was Shizuo's hand reaching out to cover his, hesitant and jerky. Wrong, that sensation jolted up his arm at the contact, as though he'd just grabbed onto a live wire. Wrong, that he wanted to uncurl his grip from the box, and furl in into those strong fingers instead.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

"Ask me, there's something wrong with a fucked up bastard like that. Ain't normal."

He dropped the carton as though Shizuo set its contents alight at the same time, snatching his hand out from under that touch as he got to his feet.

I don't lose my own games, Shizu-chan. Not even to you.

"Ah, we should celebrate, ne?" He headed for his laptop. For something familiar, something safe. He didn't want to face the silence. "What do you want? My treat. Ah, but within reason, all right? I can't have you getting used to luxury after all, not with the way you live."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" He fired up the computer, pretending he had no idea what Shizuo meant. Damn the stupid idiot for noticing all the things he shouldn't. Damn him for sounding as though he had answers to something even Izaya didn't understand.

I'm the observant one, Shizu-chan, not you.

Shizuo shook his head. "Forget it. And keep your money, I don't want anything. I just got something I didn't even deserve."

"Ah, your loss then." Izaya slammed shut the laptop. He'd worry about abusing his poor, unassuming technology later. "If you insist on being that boring, I'm going for a shower to get rid of this horrible cigarette smell. You'd better have put that out and opened the windows by the time I'm done."

He wouldn't be done for about six hours, if he had his way and his hot water lasted that long. Maybe by then, he'd stop feeling the way Shizuo's eyes felt on him as he crossed the room, that amber gaze he absolutely refused to acknowledge heavy and expectant.

You'll be waiting a while, Shizu-chan… he smiled wryly, closing the bathroom door and leaning back on it. I don't even know what you're waiting for.

He took a deep breath. Shower. Shower was a good idea. It wasn't just the smoke clinging to his clothes, his hair, his skin. He wanted to scrub off the association with Hayashi too. He wanted to wash away the whole day, if he could. Most of all he wanted to wash away the growing awareness that Shizuo, somehow, knew more than he did.

And he almost got away with it. His hands were just on the hem of his shirt, about to tug it off, when the knock came at the bathroom door.