Characters: Izaya Orihara, Namie Yagiri, Shizuo Heiwajima, Celty Sturluson, Ren Tsuruga, Kasuka 'Yuuhei' Heiwajima, Yukihito Yashiro

Chapter Four: In Which Debts are Called In, Left Behind, Kept Every Which Way and Swept Under the Counter

Izaya went home every evening to his home, and Namie. Not in the romantic sense at all, of course. Namie fed him undigestible stuff every time, and Izaya went to bed with an aching stomach and slept like the dead. This was because nobody had told Izaya that most days LME work was physical. So this happened every day for a week before Izaya noticed something odd.

Namie was making herself 'at home,' he noticed. She seemed to be bored without him around, and her meddling had decreased. There was more dust. Namie had set up more picture frames. There were new and inexplicable nicknacks accumulating: feathers, paperweights, glass balls. More magnets on the fridge. Sticky notes everywhere. Two TVs sat in the living room without any wires sticking in them. (Izaya missed watching television. He couldn't help the nagging feeling that he was becoming blind to what was going on in his home city, no matter how many contacts he had who would notify him at a drop of a hat if something major came up.)

If the stuff kept piling up, Izaya knew he would not be able abide it. He had created this arrangement with the understanding that Namie was a neat person. She was a very clinical scientist; it was clear from the first time he had met her. She was now his housekeeper. For this to start happening now indicated something was wrong.

But when he asked her about it— "Too much free time," was all Namie would say.

If that was true, the rooms should be spick and span, shouldn't they? "Do you want to start a new business?" Izaya asked prodded tentatively, with the sharpness of a porcupine quill.

Namie shifted restlessly. "Yes. No. I'm not ready."

"But you're thinking about it," said Izaya flatly.

"...I suppose." She was trapped.

"Namie. You can go outside anytime you want." Izaya drummed his fingers on the desk rhythmically. Da dum dadum da dum.

Namie frowned, hunched over, pressed her back to the kitchen counter, and crossed her arms over her chest. "No. I can't." She licked her lips. "Nii-san is everywhere. It's the springtime of love...for him." The kitchen appeared to get even darker.

Detached, Izaya focused on Namie's aura in a way he hadn't before—Namie had a similar black, depressive aura like Kyoko's, but unlike hers, it was not sentient. And what could have happened to make Kyoko's react like that?

Izaya's slight smile snapped out, like a light-switch flicked off. "I understand," he said, perfectly serious. "Just as clearly, you need to get out of here, while I am gone."

Namie bit her lip.

"I'm working for LME now, Namie. I'm not home at all really. Get another job! Do something. Find some guy to fix the TV instead of letting this place go to seed." Izaya jerked his head sharply sideways at the TV. "No. Actually, just fix it." He tried to stare into her eyes as he gave the order.

She wouldn't meet them. "I'm doing the laundry," said Namie half-heartedly in self-defense.

The side-step from the conversation was obvious. "Thanks. I needed that done," said Izaya, half-sarcastically. Well, it really did need to get done, but that wasn't the point, was it.

She mumbled something.

A thought occurred to Izaya. "Or, maybe I am wrong. Could it be?" His shark senses smelled blood in the water. "Maybe that's not the problem."

Namie's head jerked up and she stared at Izaya.

"Maybe you want to get fired," said Izaya casually. "You poured soda on my TV. You serve me terrible meals. You are slowly taking up my valuable and uncluttered space. You are barely civil with me. I think you want me to fire you without your having to say anything." He turned around in chair to stare Namie in the eyes. "Am I right?"

She said nothing.

Okay, either the previous theory, that, or she was in love with him. Naaaah. He always needled her about it and she never reacted. He hit the nail on the head the this time.

Izaya knew that Namie wanted to go. She hated herself for depending on Izaya and she hated herself for not being able to come up with a suitable alternative to get herself out of her own situation. She wanted security, but not Izaya's security. It was probable she had been wishing that she could kickstart her own efforts to climb out of dependence with a 'healthy panic' created by being fired. Izaya knew better. She couldn't actually leave security. Without security she wouldn't be able to dream of a future, or to brainstorm what to do next; she wasn't used to the rough side of life. This sloppy thinking must end.

"Put this black stuff back in the fridge and get me a yoghurt." Izaya turned back around. "And tell me when you are ready to quit. Or go find another job on top of this one. Go on. Clean up the general mess you've made." He waved his arms over the room lazily.

"Yes, Orihara-san."

"That's more like it," Izaya said crankily, without turning his head. He finished reading the newspaper on his desk and shook it with a crackly noise before he put it down. Then he left to take a shower before bed, wrapping one arm around his stomach as if he was either starving or about to be sick.

Namie shivered. She thought he had been faking, but now she was not so sure. He had not been acting like himself for the last few days. It had suddenly occured to her that even if she hurt him beyond what he could sustain, Izaya would stubbornly and deliberately fall for her revenge — refusing to fire her — maybe even until he died, if it got that bad. He had his own brand of cold honor which was, in its way, frightening. It was also perhaps the only way he made himself vulnerable to people.

And now it was too late to get him the yoghurt he'd asked for, which she knew was all the plea for relief he would ever allow himself to make.

So when Izaya left the shower ten minutes later, he found a hot water bottle carefully placed in the middle of his bed, and a mug of warm milk on the bedside table.

A mute apology. That meant truce.

Shizuo returned home from another plane ride, very tired, to find Celty waiting for him outside his apartment. There was no telling how long she had been there, staking him out. A stubborn woman, Celty.

She took in the shocking pink suit and immediately started laughing so hard that she had to take off her yellow cat-eared helmet before the smoke lifted it from her neck and pushed it to fall to the ground. Gulfs of smoke puffed upwards in time to her gasps for breath. Shizuo watched the black puffs form clouds and disappear into the atmosphere. Oddly, their effect was so calming that he couldn't get angry with her. Finally, he said mildly, "Celty, you can stop laughing now."

After a couple more smoky puffs of laughter, Celty recovered herself, tucked her yellow cat-helmet under one arm, and typed furiously. That suit is very funny. Who are you working for?

Shizuo looked at her. "You're one to talk."

Okay, not very funny. She held out her phone, pulled it back again, and re-typed. LOL. Yes, Celty could smirk without smirking.

Shizuo rolled his eyes. "I am working for an agency called LME. If you must know, the acronym stands for Lory's Majestic Entertainment. The owner is — eccentric. No, don't ask. Izaya dragged me into it. The reasons will no doubt sound stupid if I say them out loud."

Celty nodded seriously. That explains it. Everyone was worried about you. Both Izaya and Shizuo, actually, which was...peculiar. If Celty had her head back, she would have smiled. Isn't that the agency your brother works for?

"Yeah. Got it in one."

Seen him yet?

"No, I got a stunt double's job. At least it takes me away from Izaya sometimes, too."

Celty got exited. Oh, that's a good one! I can see you doing that. Why didn't we ever think of it as a possibility?

"Because there aren't that many tall blondes in Tokyo?" Shizuo said dryly.

Oh, who are you doubling? They must be famous, Celty typed.

"It's Sho Fuwa. He's a rock star, of a sort."

Hmm, never heard of him. Celty shrugged. Tell me if his music's any good. I'm building a list.

"Frankly, I'm not the person to ask about music quality."

And why would that be?

"One, Fuwa doesn't actually play his music much on the sets where I am; the music is dubbed over the action instead. Two, I just don't have much of an ear for music. It sounds like noise."

Ah, makes sense. That's too bad. Celty rubbed her neck, then typed, Shizuo, I really hope you can keep this job. It could be a very good thing for you.

Shizuo looked at her. "I suppose I'll take your word for it, then." He had too many conflicted emotions—about Izaya, about his brother—to really feel excited that maybe, just maybe, he had found the perfect job.

I feel sorry for Tom, though, losing you so suddenly.

"Yeah. I owe him an explanation." Shizuo brushed past Celty and started mounting the stairs to his apartment. "You okay for work with Izaya so busy?"

Celty shrugged. Shinra always wants me at home more. We don't need the money. He's been thinking about teaching me basic doctoring. She thought about what she had just typed, and shook her head to clear it. The smoke rising from her head lashed to and fro. No, no. She didn't like that idea. Blood. If she was human, she would have blanched at the thought. Which was weird, she never thought of herself as squeamish, and that was why she hadn't objected when Shinra brought it up the night before... She typed, Actually, I can find another job if I want to. I know! Maybe I'll take your old one and help out Tom! *Beat* If that's alright, that is.

Shizuo rolled his neck back in her direction to say, "Fine by me. That's good to hear." Then he stopped on the stairs and turned to lean over the railing. "Hang on, can you come back tomorrow morning to get a letter I'll write to Tom, explaining everything? I can recommend you in it, too."

Of course. How early?

"Seven o'clock."

That's not even that early! Yes, I'll be there, no problem.

"Thanks." Shizuo got to the door, opened it. "Goodnight, Celty."

Goodnight, Shizuo.

No fair, you didn't look at my reply! Celty stomped her foot.

Shizuo's hand waved to her through the window, and then the lights blinked off. Celty mounted her motorcycle, whose engine bucked playfully and gave a horse-like neigh, and she drove back to Shinra to tell him the news.

Kasuka Heiwajima, aka 'Yuuhei Hanejima,' had played a couple of roles with Tsuruga Ren, once upon a time. He was a little surprised when Tsuruga called him to ask him a couple of questions about the new LME members. Lory had called Kasuka the instant Shizuo had entered the auditions. Kasuka was past feeling either hope or fear for his brother. What came, would come. He agreed to meet Tsuruga.

They met in the downstairs LME café. It was the one time and place when both of their busy schedules coincided and met. Before they went inside, Tsuruga gave Yashiro half an hour to 'get lost' and find his way back. This was surprisingly hard for Yashiro, who tried not to be seen lingering about the door.

Yashiro 'left' and Tsuruga breathed a sigh of relief—even if it wasn't true privacy, it was better than nothing. Luckily, Yuuhei wasn't quite famous enough to have his own manager yet. He still took odd and varied roles as a semi-celebrity TV talent. Tsuruga knew the type. Though his popularity and talent recognition curve was slow, Yuuhei wouldn't take much longer to be widely recognized by the public, especially if Lory kept sending him out to handle local TV.

The other reason for the slow growth in popularity, in the first place, was the result of Yuuhei's strange-but-alluring lack of emotive expression; to some, the effect was uncanny or unearthly, but to others (namely, the fangirls), it was the cutest blank slate to which all manner of attitudes could be safely ascribed to—and for now, the girls' influence was what was exponentially inflating his stats.

If Tsuruga understood Yuuhei, however, he was the type who was unlikely to be fazed by the publicity and the tabloid hype that would bring him a well-deserved manager or bodyguard squad. He would then be less than fazed by the decline in popularity. A good thing; that popularity would probably fluctuate for the entirety of his career. Yuuhei could not be separated from his looks, which blended seamlessly with his sinuous, catlike, cool, reticent nature.

When thinking of Yuuhei, Tsuruga was always irresistibly reminded of a particular American President, Silent Cal Coolidge. Was Yuuhei's popularity due to the same alluring and charismatic quality the President summoned to his advantage in the Roaring Twenties? That quality which did not inspire any deep love for, or understanding of, his character, but one that captured the audience through their sheer fascination and curiosity in Yuuhei's thoughts and the life behind his pretty, shuttered face.

Tsuruga spoke first. "I'll gather you heard that your brother joined show-biz."

"Ah," Yuuhei acknowledged. It was hard to tell, but Tsuruga was felt fairly certain from the tone of this reply that Yuuhei had known for some time.

"I have some concerns. I thought maybe you could tell me a little about him," said Tsuruga. Yuuhei's blank stare made him feel uncomfortable, and he shifted his legs once more.

Yuuhei said only, "I see." His gaze made Tsuruga wonder what he would think if he knew it was for Kyoko, and that he had never met the man himself. "Sempai." Respect, but testing.

"Yes?" said Tsuruga, uncomfortably.

Yuuhei shifted but little. "If I may, what made you concerned?" he asked.

"Ah—" Tsuruga really hadn't wanted to answer this question. "He seems very strong. A bit — albeit very angry."

"I cannot deny that is who my brother is." Yuuhei spread his hands, a slight movement that nevertheless startled Tsuruga as if he had seen a sudden gust of wind sent birds flying into the sky. And in the quiet afterwards, he saw the resemblance: Yuuhei's arms were the tree branches, and the words were the birds whirling into flight... "He does his best."

Tsuruga shook his head and tried to dispel the disturbance of daydreams. Yuuhei rarely spoke even this much. He owed him something. Tsuruga bowed his head and decided to confess. "If you really must know, my kohai is in the LoveMe section, and she was concerned about ... one of the men who recently joined."

Yuuhei bent his head forward slightly. "Very likely," he said softly, without a hint of sarcasm.

"Likely?" asked Tsuruga, confused.

"I wish to remain neutral," Yuuhei explained.

Abruptly, Tsuruga felt like he missed a significant portion of the conversation. He was lost and floundering in the mysterious oceans again, without a map. It was always so with Yuuhei.

Yuuhei reached over and picked up the small circumspect satchel that had been hanging over his chair the entire meeting and yet Tsuruga had not noticed. He rifled through it. Found the CD he was looking for. He slid the CD over the table to Tsuruga. Tsuruga took it, but Yuuhei did not release it just yet.

"I know my brother very well. He doesn't intend to harm anyone. The other man—" Yuuhei leaned forward.

"Izaya Orihara," Tsuruga supplied.

"Yes. Izaya has been my brother's rival for some time. They don't like each other."

"Then why did they join the section together?" asked Tsuruga, confused.

Yuuhei said simply, "Yes." So, that is the question, Tsuruga mentally translated, and with that, Yuuhei let go of the disk. "You will understand when you see."

He closed his satchel and gathered his coat and scarves, adding, "My brother, as I said, doesn't intend harm to anyone. But when people come in between these two men, they get hurt." He turned around, and looked Tsuruga in the eyes.

It was Tsuruga who replied to his silent question, "I understand." He slipped the disk in his pocket. "I won't make judgments."

"Good." The briefest of smiles appeared on Yuuhei's face. "Sempai, you will be a good friend to my brother." As if it were a sure thing.

Tsuruga was dumbstruck.

In that moment, Yuuhei's eyes shifted past him.

Shizuo stalked past Yashiro and into the café. He wanted a cup of coffee, or tea, or whatever-you-name-it. Soothing tea.

Yashiro thought about saying something to stop Shizuo, but he couldn't think of anything—and he was already out the door. Would that have been a good idea anyway? Tinkle-tinkle.

"Irasshaimase—"

Yashiro heard the shocked silence, then the muffled greetings, and backed away from the door. He had almost escaped to the other end of the hall when Tsuruga swept through and caught up with him. "For goodness' sake, Yashiro-san!" he snapped. "Can't you get properly lost when I tell you to?"

"Yes, but—"

Tsuruga rolled his eyes. "Yes, Kyoko this, Kyoko that. I forgive you this time." Tsuruga stifled an undignified laugh.

"You left fifteen minutes early. I always stick around in case it turns out that you didn't have a good sense of time. So it was a good thing that I—"

"Yashiro-san. Don't push your luck. We both know what you were really doing."

"Yes, sir," said Yashiro, smoothing his face, and then ventured, "I don't regret it, sir."

The cheek. "I never doubted that," said Tsuruga.

Yashiro's professional side took over. "Good, because I believe it is almost lunchtime. Ren, why didn't you order something more substantial than coffee?"

"I have no idea," said Tsuruga, because of course he had not even thought of it.

"We have extra time. Where would you like to go?"

"Fast food," Tsuruga supplied.

Yashiro snorted. "Never mind, forget I asked you."

"That was just rude, Yashiro-san."

"Hah!"

Tsuruga rounded on Yashiro. "What?"

"Your questions about Heiwajima's brother were rude! Weren't they?" Yashiro shot back defensively. "Was that a justified use of your sempai status?"

Tsuruga actually growled. "Yashirooo— Of all the— You hypocrite!"

"Blockhead!" Yashiro shot back.

They bickered and argued all the way back to the restaurant.

Shizuo walked in the room and met the eyes of his brother Kasuka—then sought Tsuruga's. Tsuruga avoided his eyes. "I'll leave you to it," he muttered, and walked out first, though Kasuka seemed about to go.

"Goodbye, Tsuruga-sempai," Kasuka murmured from behind Tsuruga.

Tsuruga swept out without another word. The door clicked. He was gone.

Shizuo stared after him. "You have a sempai?" It shouldn't have been so surprising, but Shizuo was amazed.

Kasuka wrinkled his nose, tipped his head. "Nii-san." And my first sempai is...?

You absurd, droll little thing. "Yeah, right," muttered Shizuo, and fell silent. If I was a sempai, I never acted like one. You always were like that for me, you know that? He almost laughed, madly, breathlessly. And definitely not now. I joined later than you.

Kasuka set down the satchel, sat down gracefully, and gestured to the table. Eat. He could not have been more clear.

Shizuo crossed to the table and sat down.

The waiter was brisk. "What would you have, sir?"

"Green tea. Hot."

"Coming right up."

They waited, and no one spoke.

"Douzo. Anything else?" The waiter was nervous, tense because of the lack of chatter. In his experience, actors were usually chirpy.

They shook their heads in unison. The waiter left them alone after that.

Safe. Shizuo tried to... he didn't know. "Kasuka, I—"

It was too soon. Kasuka waited, impassively stirring his coffee with a silver spoon. It was a good little café, even if a little over-priced, but that was to be expected in the workplace of wealthy actors.

Shizuo hung his head. "I'm sorry."

Kasuka shrugged.

"No. No, I mean, I'm really sorry." His head lowered further.

The sun had lowered; now it announced that it was setting. Through the glass windows of the café, the clouds appeared a freakish pink and red, bathing the café in a yellow-orange glow. Kasuka immediately dropped his spoon in the coffee, touched Shizuo's shoulder and gently pushed him back into a sitting position.

Shizuo took a deep breath and took off his shades, wiping his eyes. "Man, how many times do I have to screw up, Kasuka? How many times..."

Once again, Kasuka patted his shoulder.

"I come to this and it hurts so much more than if I'd snapped and lashed out at someone. At least then it would be expected, right?" He took a shaky breath. "Instead, Izaya baits me..."

Kasuka shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I keep causing you trouble, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Kasuka signaled the waiter. "Two yoghurts." The waiter jumped in surprise, and turned around. "Yes, two yoghurts...strawberry flavored?" Kasuka shrugged—doudemoii—and turned back to his conversation.

"Shizuo. It's fine. Daijobu da yo." Their eyes met, and Shizuo believed.

"Yes. Hai." Shizuo hesitated, then sipped his tea. It helped.

The waiter brought the yoghurts. Kasuka pushed one to Shizuo first, then took the other for himself. He said one thing. "You joined LME, with Orihara-san. Why?" Kasuka opened his yoghurt and started eating.

Shizuo wouldn't touch his. He didn't really care about the yoghurt. That had always been Kasuka's thing. "He sent me a packet of information. It was so ridiculous, I couldn't believe it. I had to meet the person who spouted such romantic nonsense as if it were good business sense."

"Ah." A nearly imperceptible smile slipped through Kasuka's lips.

"Anyway. I don't know how, but somehow Izaya took me through the entire application process without my knowledge. Probably forged things. Or stole them." Shizuo shook his head.

Kasuka chuckled.

"Yes, I know, I'd better make sure or I'll pay hell later. Like in high school." Shizuo drummed his fingers on the table. His fingers made shallow dents in the fake wood. Kasuka flicked a surreptitious glance at the waiter, then pointed to Shizuo's tea. Shizuo picked it up obediently and drank.

The bottom of the yoghurt cup grated against Kasuka's spoon, which scraped at the remnants of white left. Kasuka finished his yoghurt, took Shizuo's, opened it and ate. That always seemed to happen, Shizuo thought distantly. Ah well. It was just a part of the ritual.

"I'm sorry I'm in your field, Kasuka. I didn't mean to barge in on your show like this."

Kasuka raised his head. "I am not upset." He shrugged, licked the spoon of his yoghurt, pointed it at Shizuo. Look, I took yours, didn't I?

But Shizuo did mind. He felt the conflict pounding in his heart, and the guilt had been piling up in his head all that week.

"So stay awhile," Kasuka said. Shizuo shook his head. "Stay if you want to," said Kasuka, more forcefully. The emphasis was even more unusual than any rare length of words.

He still felt reluctant, so Shizuo said only, "Maybe." It was still Kasuka's turf, as far as he was concerned. He sipped the last of his cooling green tea.

That was enough for Kasuka, however. "After application." He stirred his coffee.

"Izaya forced me to meet Lory. I... I couldn't say no."

Kasuka nodded. "The job will do you good."

Shizuo wondered a little at that. "If you say so." If Kasuka was so sure... "I'll do my best to handle Izaya," he promised, and put his shades back on.

That, Kasuka could accept. He finished his coffee and organized the plates. The brothers stood together.

"Go. I'll pay." Kasuka pointed to the door.

"What?" Shizuo's head swiveled, listening. "Damn, you're right. Pay you back sometime. Izaya—" He launched himself at the glass door which led to the outside gardens, threw it open, and took off running. Kasuka winced, waiting for the crash—but for once the glass didn't crack or shatter.

The oft-spoken-of Izaya burst in.

The waiter started. "Irasshaimase—"

"Konbanwa, Heiwajima-Hanejima-sempai. Talking about me?" Izaya modified his speech as usual to fit his aims, although his demeanor made it clear that he would have liked to address Yuuhei familiarly. Still, he bit his tongue.

Yuuhei cocked his head to the side, nodded once.

"Ah, I see." Izaya grinned with anticipation. "Silence again. I don't suppose you could tell me where dear Shizzy-chan has gone?"

Yuuhei pointed.

"Thanks for your help. Bye." Izaya grinned, saluted, and beat it out of there—a different way than Yuuhei had showed him.

In return for the waiter's silence, Kasuka 'Yuuhei Hanejima' half-smiled at him as he paid. "You told him right, but—" the waiter commented, a little forlornly. He would have liked a little light shed on the situation. Refusing to comment, Yuuhei bowed, gravely. "Doumo arigatou gozaimasu," said the waiter in defeat, and handed Yuuhei the receipt, perhaps a bit late.