Disclaimer: I do not own Durarara!
Izaya sent the email with a click, mentally checking off another one of his clients as he leaned back in his seat. He had spent the past few days vehemently clearing out Tsukumoya's presence from his accounts, weaving one well-orchestrated lie into the other. The man only seemed to have pretended to be him on several of their mutual clients, although he could never be certain. The fact that Tsukumoya had so easily infiltrated into his network gave him no solace.
He massaged the bridge of his nose in frustration.
Izaya supposed he was lucky a majority of his side jobs moved much slower, and a few cryptic updates deterred the others from further prodding into his whereabouts. His inability to meet in person did pose some problems for a few prospective clients, but he had his hands tied with Shiki's insistence that he stay inside at least another week or so.
The informant tapped his fingers lightly on the laptop, wondering just when the cravings would surface again. He shivered at the memory of the insatiable hunger that had consumed his body that night, almost akin to an untamed beast that had taken up residence in his subconscious, threatening to emerge any moment.
A light knock on his door prompted him to look up from his work.
"Come in," he called out, finding it ironic that Shiki had to ask permission to move about his own apartment. Although he would never admit it, the yakuza executive had been a surprisingly good host. Izaya had free reign of the premises in exchange for the request that he not leave without letting the other know. He would have considered the experience stifling if not for the opportunity to study the elusive employer he had spent so much of his youth trying to understand.
One thing that pleased him was that they shared similar tastes in books, having scoured Shiki's entire library during his occasional bouts of boredom. Izaya wouldn't have taken the man to be one who enjoyed Russian literature nor the occasional psychological thriller. Had the two of them been the same age, they might have been friends throughout school.
"I bought some sushi, if you would like to join me," the man in question stated blandly, as if it was completely normal to serve a fellow vampire fish.
Izaya blinked a few times in incredulity. "I thought we didn't require food." He didn't understand the need, nor did Shiki strike him as a particularly sentimental man.
"It's ootoro."
He swallowed, feeling his mouth water at the thought regardless. "Fine fine, put it on my tab," Izaya caved in, closing his laptop and standing up to join the man out in the living room.
"You know you don't owe me anything," Shiki stated as he took a seat across from the other at the dining table. Izaya supposed that he shouldn't be surprised that the man had already laid out the spread on a large plate between them. He had always known Shiki held a level of finesse about him despite being a yakuza, but to see it in person to this degree was something else.
"Thank you for the food," Izaya clapped his hands together before picking up an ootoro. "You can't expect me to just freeload off of you indefinitely," he jested as he dipped the fish lightly into the soy sauce. To be honest, he had already completed a few of Awakusu-kai's jobs without asking for payment, but the money appeared in his bank account regardless. It unnerved him somewhat, not knowing what Shiki wanted from him.
Izaya placed the fish in his mouth, all thoughts momentarily washed away as he enjoyed the familiar flavors. He watched Shiki pour out a glass of wine from across him, finding himself thinking that the entire exchange was almost domestic. Izaya could not recall the last time he had shared a meal with someone else that wasn't related to work, and the slightest unrest surfaced at the back of his mind.
"You know, I'm not expecting anything from you. It was my decision," Shiki's words interrupted his train of thought. He knew that the other was referring to the choice the man had made on his behalf.
But, he was alive, Izaya reminded himself, whether he wanted to be or not. This was his reality.
Izaya didn't understand why Shiki still felt the need to guide him through the process regardless. The possibility that the other actually fancied him suddenly came to him, the thought sending an unfamiliar heat up to his ears. He picked up another piece of sushi in response and stuffed it into his mouth to dissolve his meaningless reveries. Izaya refused to fall into that particular trap. He knew how dangerous something so simple could become, having used it against others a multitude of times.
"How is the gallery these days? I hear you have a potential bigshot buyer dropping by soon," he diverted conversation instead to more familiar waters.
"Is that the word on the street now?" Shiki replied, sharp eyes digging into his. Izaya smiled at how the man was still careful around him with information regarding the Awakusu-kai.
Izaya shrugged to feign indifference, enjoying the game. "He just happened to be acquainted with one of my more recent clients." It wasn't a lie; he had coincidentally noticed Awakusu-kai pop up when he looked further into Yamamoto. He had toyed with the idea that the man was linked with Lycoris given the proximity of his abduction to their intended meeting, but the only thing he managed to dig out was a vague connection to one of Shiki's potential new contacts.
If he had been his past self, he would have milked the discovery, but now he just felt restless.
"By any chance is his name, Yamamoto?"
Izaya looked up, surprised that the other would offer him this information.
"I'd take that as a yes," Shiki confirmed for the both of them.
"I don't have anything on him," he admitted, wondering if he should divulge more. He made the split second decision to trust his instincts. "Tsukumoya was the one who suggested him as a potential new client, but we had missed the chance to meet in person."
Shiki swirled the wine slowly in his hand. "Is that so?"
He picked up his cup of tea. "How did you come across his name, Shiki?"
The yakuza took a slow sip before setting the glass down. "I was looking into our new business partner and he came up."
"What a strange coincidence!" Izaya exclaimed, but he knew both of them were considering the implications.
Izaya dived into the forums that night in search for any other traces of Yamamoto, his efforts as fruitless as they had been during his first few attempts. He didn't deny the possibility that the man was a hacker, and he wondered why Tsukumoya would even refer the other as a potential source of information. He clicked his tongue in irritation, knowing that he would have to venture outside if he were to ever get to the bottom of this.
"I'm off then. Please remember our promise," Shiki reminded him as Izaya waved the other off in the morning.
He sank into the couch as soon as the door closed, wondering just why he was even honoring Shiki's request. They both knew that he could just run off at any time, and that Shiki would let him go without a fight.
Yet, he stayed, waiting for the hunger to reappear again.
.
It was on the seventh day that Izaya woke in daze, peering at the clock on his phone before realizing that he had slept straight through the afternoon, the rays of the setting sun now peeking through the slits of the blackout curtains. He heaved himself out of bed, the scratchiness in his throat reminding him of the few times he had accidentally left the heater on max through the night back at his apartment in Shinjuku.
But, he knew that this was not the same ailment, not by a long shot.
"One week, huh?" he muttered under his breath as he made his way into the living room, involuntarily shielding his eyes from the sudden light with the back of his hand. Everything was too bright, too radiant for his sluggish senses.
He spotted Shiki on the sofa reading a book and opened his mouth to call out to the other only to wince when a wave of nausea washed over him. His sudden movement caught the man's attention, his heart sinking at the flash of understanding that crossed those dark eyes. Shiki closed the book and headed for the kitchen without a word while Izaya deposited himself heavily onto one of the dining room chairs in defeat. He focused his attention down on his own hands, disgusted with the way his body trembled in anticipation as Shiki defrosted the bag of blood under warm water.
It seemed like an eternity before a metal tumbler appeared in front of him, its intoxicating metallic scent wafting through the air.
Footsteps prompted Izaya to look up in time to see Shiki already heading out to the balcony with a pack of cigarettes in hand. He listened silently as the sliding door opened and closed, leaving him alone in the room with his meal.
Izaya unclenched his fists slowly and gingerly picked up the tumbler, taking a deep breath as he raised it to his lips. He downed its contents quickly in an attempt to ignore the sweet scent that permeated his nose. The thirst faded away with each gulp only to be replaced with a rolling nausea, and Izaya stood up briskly from the table. He made a beeline back into the guest room and buried himself under the blankets, waiting for the sensation to pass lest he hurled his one meal into the toilet.
He knew this feeling from back in that warehouse.
It was helplessness.
Izaya cursed the psychologist who came up with the advice that identifying your feelings was the first step in letting them go. He held onto his own thoughts like a leech, letting them fester in his chest as he held back an involuntary sob.
It will pass, he told himself.
It always passed.
He could hear Shiki place the tumbler into the dishwasher outside.
.
Izaya woke normally the next day, the time on his watch reading early morning instead of late afternoon. He slid out of bed and peeled back the curtains to the world outside, feeling the warmth of the morning sun against his skin. It wasn't as uncomfortable as he remembered, although he could tell that it made him sleepy, almost akin to a soothing blanket. He closed the curtains with a sigh and went to the bathroom to wash his face.
"Good morning, Shiki!" he greeted the other cheerfully as he bounced into the living room. He knew Shiki would not mention yesterday; the man had a surprisingly large amount of tact.
"Did you sleep well?" the man answered.
"Well enough." He stretched, pushing last night's episode to the back of his mind. He almost wanted Shiki to ask about how quickly he had retired after his meal, but he could not bring himself to talk about the subject himself, not yet.
"I have a meeting again later today, so I'll be out."
"Ah, same client?"
The yakuza snorted. "I wish. At least it's not for drinks or I'd have to entertain their nonsense the entire evening."
Izaya stared at him, surprised that Shiki would openly complain about a client to him. He traced the sharp edges of the man's face, reminiscing how much he used to study the other. It made him just the slightest bit annoyed that the appearance before him could possibly be a fabrication. "Just how do you hide your fangs?" he found himself asking. The man had not told him how to change the color of his eyes, and it was rather difficult to learn by himself, given the situation. "Not being able to see yourself in the mirror is hard," he added.
"Ah yes, I never did answer you." Shiki held a hand up to his chin as if he were really considering the question. "I guess you just concentrate your excess energy on your appearance. You'll feel it more once you gain more strength."
"What? So I have to level up? Lame," Izaya grumbled, trying not to think about the logistics.
"Why, I didn't know you care about your looks that much," Shiki replied, the beginning of a smile playing on the man's lips. "I supposed that could be necessary in your line of work."
Izaya snorted. "How rude. What, do you think I sleep around for my information?" he joked, turning Shiki's comment on its head. Even he knew that he looked somewhat more appealing than the average human male, and to be truthful, he might have lost count of the number of times one of his clients had asked for something more besides information. He waited to see how the other would respond but was met with a mere shrug.
"You're easier on the eyes than most," Shiki answered.
He felt his ears flush involuntarily. He didn't know Shiki was one to jest back and frankly, it caught him off guard. "I-If I did that, you'd be the first I'd use my good looks on," he struggled to compose himself before shutting his mouth, instantly recognizing the slip up.
"I'm just stating a fact," Shiki replied smoothly, standing up from his chair. "Well, I'm off then. Try not to cause too much trouble."
"Yes yes, see you later," Izaya waved him off. The door closed behind the yakuza when Izaya realized that a week had just passed, and he had not immediately taken off. He grimaced, settling down in his spot on the couch. He'll give it another cycle, he decided.
It was probably safer that way, he convinced himself, grimacing when he recalled how his body had reacted to the blood last night. The notion of hunting still made him want to retch, and he had still not yet established a source of blood through Shinra, finding himself unable to bring up the subject every time he had the chance to ask.
.
The next week passed by excruciatingly slowly. Further inquiries into Yamamoto gave no results, and Tsukumoya was back to his old irritating cryptic self.
Izaya could feel his patience wearing thin, his desire to go outside growing with each passing day. To his chagrin, he felt the urge once again at the end of the second week, almost like clockwork.
"Looks like your limit is 7 days as well."
Izaya stared at the tumbler distastefully as Shiki placed it carefully before him.
"Take your time," Shiki told him before heading out to the balcony for a smoke.
He sighed and lifted the cup to his lips. The blood trickled down his throat thickly like nectar, satisfying the deep craving that called for it. He thought of the humans that he adored, the ones that have now become his prey.
Izaya stopped halfway, unable to continue. He stood up abruptly, feeling the shivers spread through his body. He took a deep breath to compose himself, but it did little, so he trudged instead to the living room and deposited himself on the couch, closing his eyes until the feeling passed.
He could hear Shiki entering, tracing the man's footsteps to the kitchen with his ears.
"You didn't finish your meal."
"I'm not hungry," he lied.
"Do you want to try it warmed? It'll be closer to…"
"I said it's fine." He looked up, finding a look of pity from the other. He hated that. "What?"
Shiki sighed. "You need to eat, Izaya."
"Why do you care so much?" he returned, standing up from the sofa to face the other. Like everyone else in his life, Shiki had never shown an inkling of concern for him, and it made no sense to start now.
"I…" the man hesitated. Shiki never hesitated.
Izaya looked towards the balcony, tracing the outline of the sun behind the blackout curtains. He tilted his head to the side when the man didn't answer, knowing that Shiki probably was reconsidering this entire charade. Izaya sighed, the irritation only growing.
"Do you want to go outside that badly?" Shiki asked instead of answering his question.
"Yes," he replied. He missed the rush of exhilaration he felt, the chaotic bustle of Ikebukuro as he weaved through its many alleys.
His impatience continued to grow as he waited for Shiki to continue talking. The other must want something from him. There was no other reason to have saved him from that warehouse, even if Tsukumoya had somehow orchestrated the entire disaster.
He remembered the few days without his memories. It was the first time in a while he had not felt on edge, had not anticipated betrayal from every corner of his life.
Izaya eyed the tumbler distastefully, knowing that it would never be the same. The humans he loved so much were now his prey.
He had become a monster.
"You should finish the blood," Shiki told him.
"I can't," he admitted out loud. Just the thought made his stomach turn. Shiki regarded him silently as he took a step back, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. The beat was strong, reminding him of the life the other had given back to him. He remembered that dark room once again, the despair that washed over him as he lay on the floor slowly fading in and out of consciousness.
The thought that Shiki had only saved him under Tsukumoya's direction or worse, out of pity, was unbearable, and he didn't know why.
"Izaya?" Shiki called his name, much too soft.
His breath hitched in his throat, the pit of his stomach dropping as he took one, two steps back, and turned towards the patio.
"Wait, Izaya!" he could hear Shiki calling after him as he pulled the glass open, feeling the sudden warmth of the sun on his face, and leapt from the balcony ledge. The wind roared against his face as he propelled himself onto the closest railing one story below, balancing on the ledge before descending in likewise fashion down the side of the building.
Izaya landed nimbly on the sidewalk and continued running, pulling the hood over his head to shield himself from the irritating rays of the setting sun.
As usual, thank you for reading!