"How do you feel?" Izaya asks softly when Shizuo recoils slightly from the brightness of Celty's phone.
"Like ass." His body felt weird; his skin too tight and insides aching, though his nausea from the trip is disappearing rapidly. With a frown, Shizuo rubs his eyes with his palms. "Shit's too bright."
"Well," Delic interjects offhandedly, "you weren't really looking at things with your eyes before." Izaya immediately shoots the blond behind him a glare that lets him know that he'll have to deal with questions upon questions later and Delic shrugs back exaggeratedly.
Shizuo massages his eyes to soothe some of the pulsing pain emitting from behind them, eventually removing his hands with a quiet sigh. "Izaya..." He trails off, unsure of how to go about discussing Izaya's feelings and if now is even the best time for that. His weary eyes drift up and off of the floor to meet the brunet's petite frown. It's the concern swimming in Izaya's eyes that settle his mind on the tried and true blunt approach. "I heard what you said to Psykhê."
Izaya freezes, his body tensing and eyes widening a fraction. "Of course. Why wouldn't you." He mumbles sourly, frown furthering.
Delic taps Celty's shoulder with a finger, gesturing to the other rooms up the stairs with a thumb once he has her attention. "We should give them space."
After quickly appraising Shizuo for any injuries from where she stands, Celty nods and the supernatural duo slink away to give them privacy. Without the noises provided by the chatty demon and Celty's typing, the living room settles in to an awkward silence.
The seconds tick by like hours and the air only grows more stagnant and oppressive as neither talks. Shizuo's fingers twitch for a cigarette as Izaya's urge him to reach for his phone in his pocket. Izaya's eyes have fixated on the drawn symbols on the floor to avoid the blond's gaze. Surprisingly, they hadn't disappeared as the summoning circle had. The brunet had yet another thing to ask about later.
In actuality, only two minutes have passed, but it's two minutes too many and Shizuo's annoyed growl breaks the silence like his fist would a wall. "How long?" He demands, tone more angry than curious. Exactly when in his life he should start reevaluating Izaya's actions wholly dependent on Izaya's answer.
Izaya bites his lip instead of answering and Shizuo scoffs loudly. Disbelief paints his face, his lips parting and widening eyes unfocusing as they drift away from the brunet.
"Shizu-chan..." The brunet begins awkwardly, his mouth closing when Shizuo's head spins back on him. The other man's gaze more intense and hotter than before.
He licks his lips and bares his teeth with a disgusted snarl. "If you're about to tell me that all of the harassment and torment you've put me through was just your fucked up version of pulling pigtails on a playground, fucking save it!"
"It wasn't." Izaya retorts, his gaze lifting to glare back indignantly and his volume rising along with the blond's.
"Then what was it, huh?!" Shizuo barks back, voice bouncing around the room as he sits up on his knees.
"It was about me," Izaya snaps. His eyes widening to the size of saucers and a hand slapping over his mouth as what he's admitted fully sinks in. Briefly, the brunet wonders if he's being influenced to speak the truth, but, with what he currently knows about Delic's magic, he can't recall being spelled.
Izaya's stomach sours as he concludes that it was simply himself this time as well. Now that Shizuo knew the truth about his feelings, there wasn't much else worth hiding and Izaya has always been an expert at digging his own grave.
Shizuo's eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the brunet for honesty. Izaya no longer wants to meet his gaze, downcasting his sad eyes to the floor in thought. This confrontation is more awkward and tense than he first anticipated and he had no right to presume it would be otherwise. If Shizuo had to write down all of the things Izaya's done to him and put him through due to his apparent misplaced feelings, he'd be stuck with a pen or pencil in his hand for weeks, maybe even months.
"An apology would never suffice," the brunet softly but obviously states.
"Damn right."
Izaya's now blank gaze lifts from the floor to meet Shizuo's upset eyes. "I'm not expecting anything from you. I gave up that hope long ago, Shizuo."
Shizuo opens his mouth, ready to argue about how presumptuous the bastard's being by presuming that he'd even offer anything to begin with, when the brunet stands up shakily and speaks first. "I understand if you hold a grudge, I certainly have and would."
"Izaya-"
"I," he starts too snappishly, pausing to breathe and calm himself. "I don't really wish to discuss my personal failings with you, Shizu-chan. As fun as that might sound for you."
Shizuo's next intake of air is sharper than the last, his focus on the other man's glassy eyes. Belatedly he's realized that Izaya is trying to remove himself from their current predicament, all the while barely keeping himself put together. Izaya worked with masks and now, will all of them shattered, he himself was.
"Now that you're safe and sound, I… have to go deal with a devil. You know where the door is."
The brunet doesn't hesitate, turning around and heading to the room that the supernatural duo had disappeared in to. Shizuo's left alone in the living room, eyes staring off at nothing as he tries to process everything. He sighs heavily, pawing his pocket for his carton of cigarettes and quickly shaking one out to smoke.
Mumbling around his cigarette, Shizuo talks aloud to himself. "Shit's still too bright."
Once the door clicks closed, Celty doesn't waste time typing out a series of questions. "[What was that? You absorbed Psykhê and disappeared, but you're okay now?]"
"The others helped me, as I knew they would." Delic answers confidently. Subarashi had yet to fail him for anything and, as aggravating as Hachimenroppi is, was, and always will be, the record keeping demon's arm could be twisted so easily. "I am a demon, Celty-san. Recovery is as easy for me as I presume it is for you." Granted, most of the work was on Tsugaru and their ilk.
Celty's helmet cocks, appraising his appearance as he talks. She doesn't see the difference Izaya had brought up, but the feeling of being watched while around the blond had disappeared entirely. The demon still radiated a supernatural warmth, inviting closer contact from those cold nearby.
"[Izaya said you were different, but...]"
"Ah," Delic exhales, his pink eyes drifting towards the ceiling absentmindedly. "Izaya Orihara is a fresh witchling, there must be many new things he's feeling and seeing. Though, he could always be correct if he found a flaw related to my person."
Celty's helmet threatens to tip over and on to the floor as she tilts it further. After everything that's transpired, she's feeling fairly agitated with the creature. Why are demons so damn obtuse?! Typing and shoving her phone at his face, the lit screen reads, "[A flaw related to your person?]"
Delic blinks blearily at the bright screen, as if the light and close distance actually bothered his ability to read it. "I am a dysphoric demon by nature, Celty-san." He reminds her and her body jolts in place as she pieces previous bits of information together.
His private admittance of relating to her situation in-between lamenting the lack of alcohol in Izaya's apartment. The furious and pained words he spit back at Psykhê during their fight.
"[They cut you in half when you went back?]"
It's Delic's turn to cock his head, forefinger resting against his chin as he thinks about her question. "I do not know and there is no way for myself to remember, even with my abilities."
"I would have… to ask Tsugaru or Hibi." He softly admits, eyes crinkling at the corners with a unique sadness she's familiar with.
Retracting her phone into her sleeve, Celty reaches out a hand to comfortingly place on his shoulder. An awful creature or not, struggling with one's forgotten memories and identity is difficult.
The blond demon smiles petitely at the gesture. "I appreciate your kindness. I am very happy that I can remember you, Celty-san."
Pursing his lips suddenly, Delic's head turns to the large windows, a new presence disturbing his attention. His eyes ignore the drawn blinds, instead skirting the perimeter of the large windows and stopping near a corner where the two walls meet the ceiling. Stretching between the corner and the blinds are several thin silver threads and a black spec knitting its nest.
The blond demon gives it an unusual smile, the corners of his lips quirking up as he rolls them inwards in effort to hide the expression. "Look," he says while pointing at the spider. "Izaya Orihara's familiar has already appeared." Quite humorous that the creature chose that form, Delic thinks, having honestly anticipated a cat to show up.
Celty's phone slides out of her sleeve as the door clicks open. Izaya's weary gaze meets her visor briefly before turning his attention to the demon, still watching the little spider spin its web. Fully stepping inside, the brunet walks across the room to better examine the little arachnid that's taken his demon's attention. Something peculiar pulls at his stomach when he gazes at the pest invading his apartment and Izaya can't resist figuring out what that feeling might be.
"It's a Jorō spider," he announces, recognizing the familiar species. His lips purse as he looks at the odd creature, noticing it's trademark bright yellow coloring absent. "It shouldn't be entirely black."
"It's not really a spider, it's your familiar. It might very well change forms one day."
Izaya massages his temple with his fingers, sighing, "Alright." There's still an entire grimoire he has to read, but it's obviously better to start with learning the basics of this new mess he's tangled himself in.
"You're free to let yourself out at any time, Courier." He states, turning back around to face the duo. "I presume Shizu-chan has already," he adds softly.
Delic offers her another sincere smile, tipping forward minutely with a bow. "In case we never cross paths again, it was a pleasure."
Celty hesitates, looking between the two. Izaya needs space and time to recuperate from the torture he's been through, and the demon still at his side might make that very difficult. She feels certain enough that she's not needed anymore, though the new outlook she has on the informant causes her to stall.
With an understanding nod, she offers one last message. "[You have my number if you need my help.]"
As the dullahan exits the room, Izaya steps closer to the wall and presses his hand to it. The spider appears to notice him, carefully scaling down the wall and onto the back of his hand. It continues to crawl up his body as he pulls away and lifts his arm to examine his familiar better. It's body is small, almost no bigger than his finger, but it's thin legs stretch out to around triple its body length.
The unnamed spider familiar travels up Izaya's arm and shoulder to his neck, its legs itching his bare skin with whispery prickles as it explores. Now out of his field of view, Izaya focuses his attention back on Delic. The corners of his eyes pinch and his eyebrows furrow lightly before he shakes his head and his neutral expression returns.
"Dēloun," Izaya starts with a commanding tone. In the dim room, his reddish brown eyes carry a faint glow with an unusual intensity. "I'm requesting to reinstate our covenant, and I request that you teach me everything there is to know about my new predicament."
Idly, the familiar carefully crawls along the brunet's jaw and onto his cheek, drawing a quick glance as it stills there. The eye on his brooch refracts light from an unknown source, the design on the jewelry narrowing as if suspicious or annoyed. The demon's smile twists, lips curling deviously as his neon eyes slowly scan the young man from head to toe with a new light.
Dēloun's main voice is a rich poisonous baritone that Izaya's overly familiar with when he speaks. Viscously smooth and cloying like honey, syrupy sweet and overly saccharine to betray it's true chemical contents.
"And what will you give me in exchange for this information, Izaya Orihara?"
Partially aware of what he's getting into, Izaya's posture remains straight and he doesn't allow his voice to betray him and reveal any apprehension he may or may not have.
"Myself."