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Chapter Text

The woman arrives in Tokyo by cab and takes in the city with keen, quick observations, never looking one direction for too long. She won’t look like a tourist, though she’s new to the neighborhood. She approaches Ikebukuro cautiously and calmly and sideways, like it’s a majestic deer that could either turn tail and run, or else skewer her on its horns, in the same short seconds. Maybe both.

Five blocks from here is her new apartment. Her things have been sent on ahead of her, sparse as they are. Aside from the duffel of clothes slung over her shoulder now, there is a heavy writing desk, a plush green armchair, and a filing cabinet full of novel drafts rejected for being ‘too ambitious.’

The woman, Naoko, lies for a living. But that is, in itself, a sort of lie. The writing does not pay the bills, neither the novels nor the newly opened gossip blog that so far has functioned on hearsay and internet research. Her mother, who does not know Naoko dropped out of college, who thinks she has transferred to University here, is the one paying them. Naoko’s life is a bundle of lies in a toothpick-thin, sub-pretty package. Her one beautiful feature, her long, reddish-brown hair, which comes from her father’s side, hasn’t been cut in years, and reaches her mid-thigh. It is heavy. She likes to tell people she hasn’t cut it since she last saw her father. Another lie. Her actual last haircut was ten years ago. She hasn’t seen him since she was four, and even that could be a lie too. Maybe she imagined it up, him stopping by and seeming surprised to find his own red hair on a quiet Japanese preschooler who had been happily playing with dolls and cars, unaware that a father was a thing she even had. The cars had been crashing into the dolls, but the dolls were winning—the cars bruised their ankles, but when the engines caught fire, they had the last laugh. No survivors.

Naoko finds her apartment key where the landlord left it, behind the sconce of a wall light. Evidently, the movers had not been so successful. All three pieces of her furniture are stacked outside the locked door. She checks the phone she’s been glued to all day as a platitude—she is well aware that they never called. She will have to move it all in herself. Fortunate that she is used to doing things on her own.

The cabinet and the chair are unwieldy and hard to grip, but Naoko wraps her long, thin arms around them and uses momentum to her advantage. A sweat breaks on her forehead, but the items are carried inside. The desk is another animal altogether. Solid mahogany, and nearly the size of a twin bed. It used to be her grandfather’s. When she sits at it to write, chicken-scratch notes and texts sent to herself knit together into blankets of adventurous words. This desk has been with her through every move, and it is not going to leave her now.

Naoko pulls at the desk and quickly abandons that tactic. She leans against it and pushes. She strains, and it makes horrifying groans and scraping noises against the concrete, but budges only inches. She pauses to despair, and to think. For this, she can admit, she will need another person. And probably a dolley.

Before she can fret about who to seek help from, someone strolls in through the gate of the complex. Her predicament is somewhat obvious. She grins foolishly, and gives another perfunctory shove to the desk, if only to prove that she has been trying, instead of sitting around waiting for someone to help.

The man who has entered the complex, whose path across the sidewalk she is currently blocking, is tall, taller than Naoko, who is taller than most people in Japan due to that mysterious foreign father she knows exists, whether or not her memories of him are real. This man in front of her is also a bleach blonde, which either means he’s trying to look edgy, or he actually cares about his appearance. The combination of a pair of tinted glasses with a bartender’s uniform though… it doesn’t really fit either profile. If it’s a fashion statement, it’s a very strange one. If it’s a tough-guy act, why the neat suit?

“You’re in the way,” he says, beginning to step around her.

“I’m so sorry,” Naoko answers, sheepishly, struggling again in vain against the beast of solid wood. She tries to elicit sympathy. “My movers took off and left me to deal with this alone.”

The man’s mouth quirks around an unlit cigarette he’s chewing, and his brow creases. He turns back around to face her. Naoko thinks she’s got him now, so she scrambles to an upright position and bows politely.

“Matsui Naoko,” she introduces herself. “I’m your new neighbor. That is, if you live here.” She gestures to the complex at large. Maybe he’s only visiting someone.

The man only nods informally in return, and talks around the floppy cigarette.

“Heiwajima Shizuo,” he says.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” Naoko says, “but do you know where I could find a dolley?” She won’t ask for his help directly, not yet.

“No,” Shizuo muses, and Naoko’s shoulders slump.

“It’s no problem,” she says, dolefully. “I’ll ask someone else.”

“Pisses me off,” Shizuo mutters, and Naoko thinks she’s misheard. But Heiwajima Shizuo stalks over to her solid wood desk, and lifts it all the way above his head.

Naoko’s eyes grow wide: part incredularity, part fear. Fear more for her desk’s precarious perch more than the presence of someone ludicrously strong.

“Pisses me off, leaving one woman alone with a job like this,” he growls, walking the desk inside none too gently. “Where do you want it?”

Naoko snaps out of a daze, scrambling in after him. She has not actually decided where it should go yet, but wherever this man put it down, there it will have to stay. She makes a quick decision, points to the center of the room. He sets it there. The desk makes complaining noises, but it’s a good piece of furniture, and is as solid as ever.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Naoko says, while Shizuo brushes off his hands and looks for somewhere else to channel his rage.

“No need to thank me.” He grits his teeth.

“Can I buy you lunch?” Naoko asks. He whirls around, and she sees his face twitching. “Or… or something? I really am grateful…”

Shizuo places two fingers to his forehead.

“Ask me again when I’m not worked up,” he says, and stalks to the door.

Chapter Text

Naoko does ask him again, though she’s still not sure what he was upset about. It’s three days later, the same time in the late afternoon. Shizuo must be returning from work. If there’s a bar that has a shift ending while it’s still light out.

She’s been nervous to encounter him, but he acknowledges her with a friendly nod when she looks up from checking her mail, and it seems whatever cloud was present when he stormed away last time is gone.

“Hi again,” she says. “I’ll still buy you lunch as thanks sometime, if you want.”

He pauses to consider it.

“I’m not busy now. Is dinner okay?”

Naoko has just eaten, but she knows better than to postpone a debt of gratitude.

“No problem.” She already has her keys and phone in her pocket, so she sets her mail just inside the door and locks it behind her. “Do you like soba?”

———

Heiwajima Shizuo isn’t sure this is a good idea. The key to his incredible strength is his incredible rage, and the ease at which he flies into it. Naturally, this is dangerous for everyone around him, so he tends toward people who are easy on his nerves, like his coworker Tom, or people who he knows he can’t hurt, like the mythical Black Rider, Celty. Shizuo doesn’t casually make friends with his neighbors, as much as he would like to. People who stick around him tend to get hurt. But tonight, he’s hungry, and he really hates that he stormed out on Naoko without any explanation at all. She doesn’t know that he had to go spend 30 minutes throwing things around to let off steam, and trying to make friendly conversation with her would have risked destruction to her new living quarters. Shizuo hates violence and he hates that he carries it with him everywhere he goes.

So they slide into chairs of the soba restaurant across the way from their apartment complex and Shizuo tries to focus on making polite small talk. Not his forte. Naoko seems okay at it, so it ends up feeling like more of an interview.

How long have you lived in Ikebukero?

A long time.

Do you like it here?

Yes.

You’re not actually a bartender, are you?

No.

What do you do?

Debt collection.

“Oooooooh!” Her eyes grow wide, like saucers. His narrow in suspicion. What, does she think shaking pathetic saps down for money is… glamorous? “That makes so much more sense,” she adds.

He notices she’s barely eaten at all. She’s thin, too thin, thinner than the toothpicks he keeps snapping in half. She’s not safe with him. He needs to warn her.

“You know I’m dangerous to be around, don’t you?” is his attempt to do that. “The littlest thing sets me off and people end up in the hospital.”

Naoko nods, contemplatively.

“Yes, after you introduced yourself, I did a little bit of digging,” she admits. “There’s lots of rumors that fly around about you, Heiwajima Shizuo. Not to mention lampposts.”

“They’re not all true,” he grumbles. “But a lot of them are.”

“Did you really throw a bus at someone?”

“I don’t remember,” Shizuo admits. “I see red and I grab things.” Get the hint, girl. Keep your fragile body and your long, long, hair at a distance.

As if to answer his thoughts, she runs a hand absently through the cascade of auburn pouring off her head. It’s transfixing, and Shizuo hates that he’s staring. She notices, and tosses a little grin his way.

“I haven’t cut it since I last saw my father,” she says, apropos of nothing.

“Was he a bad person?” Shizuo asks. It must have been years and years ago, to reach that length.

“I don’t know,” Naoko says flippantly. “He left, so maybe. Or maybe he left because he thought we were better off without him. But…”

She props her chin up on one palm and bites her lip.

“I don’t think people are really good or bad,” she finally decides. “Even if he was a dangerous, violent criminal, I think I would have liked to know him.”

Shizuo doesn’t know if this was meant to apply to him, too, but he suddenly feels guilt for trying to push Naoko away preemptively. Curse that girl, making this complicated.

“What about your mother?” he asks, unable to think of any other vein of conversation.

“She lives in the country,” Naoko answers. “And I have a little brother, too. He’s eight.”

Shizuo has a younger brother as well, who he would do anything for. His brother is a movie star, and doesn’t need Shizuo at all. Shizuo isn’t going to bring him up today. Whether Naoko is a celebrity fan or not, it’s hardly relevant to their life as neighbors.

“Well, I actually have to get back,” Naoko says, standing suddenly, shaking a swooshy wave down the waterfall of her hair. “I look forward to seeing you around. You know, I was nervous to move to the city all by myself, but I feel a lot safer knowing I have a neighbor like you.”

“Most people feel less safe,” Shizuo is unable to avoid pointing out.

“They’re idiots,” Naoko smiles. “I can see that you’re very kind.”

He watches her go towards the door, and then remembers just one more thing.

“As far as safety goes,” he calls after her, and she turns back to him. “Stay away from a guy named Izaya. There’s a lot of rats in this city, but he’s the worst.”

Naoko cocks her head to the side and looks thoughtful.

“Okay,” she says. “Good to know.”

The way she manages to walk lightly in thick-soled boots, the quiet thumping of it, stays with Shizuo even after she’s gone.

Chapter Text

Naoko goes home and researches Izaya. It’s just protocol—she researches every scrap of information she gleans from eavesdropping in cafes or impromptu interviews with the loiterers in the square. Her gossip blog is coming into its own. Before, it was only a recap of existing rumors, collected for easy reading. Now? Naoko has her boots on the ground. A few times, she’s been the first to bring an event to the Net. And though it’s only been three days, people are beginning to notice. She’s gone from a secondary source to a primary one. All of it’s anonymous, of course. Being recognized for this would only hinder the work. She’s very good at appearing not to notice a standoff or a covert meeting, even as she watches it intently. Using her phone screen at an angle as a mirror, or putting her long hair to use as a curtain only she can peer through.

Izaya Orihara is an information broker based in Shinjuku. He charges for information, which means he’s in a similar line of work, except that he charges for it, so he’s richer and less accessible, but probably also more trustworthy in the eyes of customers. They’re paying for a service, and expect accuracy. Naoko can exaggerate freely, and often does. She’s a novelist, after all. Life takes on a sensational tinge when it filters through her point of view.

Once she finally writes the novel a publisher will accept, she’ll use her real name. Until then, the only trace of Matsui Naoko online is a few decent but boring articles she’s managed to sell to lifestyle magazines. The gossip blog bears a different name: BOSSY, spelled with roman letters. It sounds too spunky and intimidating to be just anyone. Hopefully, if people try to discover Bossy’s identity, they’ll be drawn to loud fashion or heavy makeup or people who shout. Naoko is none of those things.

Over the next two weeks, Naoko goes out every day to familiarize herself with every corner of the Ikebukero streets. She avoids more than a couple of gang fights. She knows when to keep walking. Every so often, she’ll look up to see a trash can or a vending machine or even a person flying straight up in the air, and a small smile will twist her lips. It’s like a flag waving above the treetops, pointing directly down to Shizuo.

Naoko waves and smiles and sometimes even chats when she runs into him, which seems to be every couple of days. But by now she’s learned better than to try to seek him out for idle conversation. The signs of his presence—destruction, mostly—are also usually signs that he isn’t currently in a chatting mood. But then, sometimes, he’s just smoking in the park, at peace. She talks to him then, leaning on the same rail two feet away, never overstaying her welcome.

One of these times, it’s twilight, and the shadows reach long across the paving stones and small patches of grass. Naoko sees Shizuo there, and takes two steps in that direction, before she pauses again. There’s someone with him, someone who Naoko didn’t see at first because she mistook that person for another shadow. Except for the motorcycle helmet that made her realize there was a body under it, in black leather. They’re just chatting. Naoko sits down on a bench, looks at her phone. She isn’t so bold as to interrupt, but she keeps glancing at them, Shizuo and that mysterious motorcylist who hasn’t taken off the helmet for the duration of their conversation. But then, to her surprise, both turn their heads and see her. Nobody tells Naoko to come over, but they keep looking, so she does. Her stomach tightens as she approaches, wary eyes on the stranger. There’s something wrong about her, though it’s impossible to say just what it is. Until Naoko sees the bike behind her more clearly. It’s unmistakable: it’s flat where there ought to be a panel of instruments, and the entire thing is so black that it absorbs the light. It looks less like a machine and more like an organism, something animal. And Naoko had just thought all the photos were too blurry to decipher. But no, it’s really like that. She looks up at the helmet of the Black Rider, the urban legend. Who Shizuo just… knows.

“N-nice to meet you,” she stutters, though they haven’t been introduced at all.

The phantom types something on a phone and holds it out for Naoko to read.

[Likewise. Shizuo says you are a friend.]

Naoko nods and swallows. It’s nice to know he thinks so. Would it be rude to ask this phantom’s name? Does she have one?

Naoko doesn’t have the chance. The phantom nods to both of them, climbs on the bike with her hands sinking into the shadows as she grabs onto them. As she peals away, the sound of a horse’s whinny echoes behind her. Naoko’s mouth is hanging open and she still hasn’t shut it as she turns back, incredulous, to Shizuo. Shizuo is fumbling with his cigarette, and he seems less settled now than he did when his friend was here. He shrugs and asks how she’s been. There’s something he’s not saying. Naoko knows, from watching people, how they act when the subject of some sensitive conversation arrives in the middle of it. She’s happy to be someone he speaks about, but wishes she knew what it was they’d said. He’s still watching her, and she has nothing to talk about except the weather, which expires quickly. Before she can say something foolish, she excuses herself. She flashes a warm smile and says she has somewhere to be. But once she’s out of sight, she tucks all her hair inside her jacket, puts the hood up. She stays out of eyeline, but finds a place through the trees to watch what he does next. He doesn’t stay long. A third friend has come to talk, greeting Shizuo with a happy-go-lucky wave, but the blonde man’s entire demeanor has shifted into aggression. His yell echoes across the entire park.

“Izayaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!”

Naoko’s eyebrows go up. So this is the infamous ‘filthiest rat in the city’. She watches Shizuo pluck a street sign like a flower and try to skewer Izaya with it, while the dark-haired man in the fur coat almost dances out of the way, teasing him. Naoko wants to watch the rest, but already the two men are running, fast, down an alley, thrown objects littering their wake. It is impossible to follow.

Chapter Text

When Shizuo’s head finally clears again, he is on the edge of a highway overpass, shaking his fist at the empty air, the last place he saw the scourge of Tokyo’s impertinent face before it escaped his vision entirely. Shizuo slumps against the concrete as cars fly around the bend, narrowly missing him, not seeing him there until it’s too late to react. Shizuo doesn’t particularly care, and instead tries to remember what he had been doing before that imbecilic tick appeared. He works backwards.

Izaya had strolled out of the hedges like that had been a normal place to stand. He’d been spying. Gleefully, he’d teased Shizuo about his new girlfriend. Fists flew.

Naoko isn’t his girlfriend. He remembers now, that’s actually what he’d been talking with Celty about before. His phantom friend had been encouraging him to just ask her on a date already.

[You care for her, don’t you?]

He’d shrugged and grunted, his way of saying “yes, but…”

Her fingers had tapped her phone’s touch keyboard again, making small, swift padding noises.

[You’re young. I think love is a beautiful thing. If you can experience it, why not?]

Shizuo had laughed then. He didn’t feel young at all. But then again, wasn’t Celty hundreds of— but that wasn’t important.

“There’s a very good reason why not,” he’d said. “I can’t get close to someone like that, not when my temper…”

He hadn’t had to finish the sentence. She had understood.

[Hm. But you wouldn’t hurt a rabbit or a cat, even if it annoyed you, right?]

Not on purpose, but Shizuo knows from painful experience that most of the damage is collateral. He had shaken his head.

Celty had tried one more time.

[Maybe practice, then. When she’s around, see how long you can stay calm.]

That had been about when they noticed Naoko across the park and he’d tried to keep his stupid heart rate down as she walked over. And he’d done it, managed to be cool and collected and then the flea had showed up. The attempt at calm had evaporated instantly in the presence of Izaya.

Small chunks of concrete and dust break off the side of the overpass under Shizuo’s fingers. He isn’t the kind of man who could just ask a girl out. Not when he is this volatile, this destructive. If he believed in signs from the universe, tonight would be a clear one. But Shizuo thinks looking for signs like that is stupid. Instead, he resolves to go home and forget about the whole thing.

Chapter Text

Naoko next sees Orihara Izaya a week later. She’s gnawing on a pen at an outdoor cafe table. She’s half people-watching, half thinking about a plot point in her novel.

“Did you ever hear the myth of Rapunzel?” someone asks. Naoko looks up, and there he is, the man who Shizuo hates. Naoko’s face grows two shades more hostile and she turns the page in her notebook so that it’s blank facing up. She ignores Izaya. But Izaya isn’t content to be ignored. He takes the seat across from her, leaning the chair back and lounging at a precarious angle.

“Rapunzel was a princess with long, long hair,” Izaya narrates. “And her evil mother locked her up in a tower.”

Naoko wonders if she can kick the chair out from under him from this far away. She scoots her own chair in ever so slightly, and scribbles heavy zig-zag lines in her notebook to disguise how her foot is searching out the distance.

“I know the story of Rapunzel, idiot,” she mutters. “And so does everybody else.”

Her foot won’t quite reach his chair’s back legs. She withdraws it.

“Why do you hate me?” Izaya asks, sitting up so suddenly that Naoko flinches back. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Naoko says. She returns to staring at her blank page.

“From Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks. It’s the first time Naoko’s heard the diminutive nickname. A few more things make sense. She can tell now that Izaya is the kind of man who irritates others on purpose. Shizuo, easily irritated, is simply his natural prey. But Naoko doesn’t have to be. Instead, she can simply not care. Izaya will get bored, eventually, and leave to find more entertaining people to bother. She answers him with stony silence.

This works for a few minutes, until Izaya snatches the notebook from beneath her nose and flips through it.

“Hey,” Naoko lunges for it. “That’s private.”

“What is this? A novel?” Izaya asks, gleefully. He easily dodges her attempts to retrieve her property, skimming its contents all the while. “You’re not a bad writer. I would read this.”

Naoko stops, partly because her efforts are doing no good, and partly because she did not expect him to like it. Izaya deposits the notebook back into her hands. She is grateful she hadn’t brought her gossip-blog notebook instead. Now all the information broker knows is that Naoko is an aspiring writer, not that she authors what is now the number two site for Ikebukero street news. The first being the Dollars forum, which Naoko devours religiously, and with which she could never hope to compete.

“Nice to meet you, Rapunzel,” Izaya says, having apparently satisfied his need to bother her. “Let’s play together again soon.”

“Let’s not,” Naoko mumbles, but Izaya is already walking away.

Chapter Text

It takes Shizuo twenty days, but he is finally convinced that he is not going to be able to shake this situation by pretending he is not in it. For one thing, the fact that Naoko is his neighbor means he might see her any time of day when he is coming and going. And to add to that, he likes seeing her. More than once he has passed her on the street while he is on the clock and followed her with his eyes. It didn’t take his coworker long to catch on, to the point that seeing her very recognizable hair from a distance is now enough for Tom to declare them on-break, so Shizuo has no excuse to get out of speaking with her.

Today Shizuo is going to knock on Matsui Naoko’s door and ask if she’d consider being his girlfriend. The thought makes him sweat, full to bursting of nervous energy. He isn’t sure if he’s more afraid of being rejected or being accepted. He thinks he probably ought to bring flowers.

But Naoko is already there when Shizuo gets to the florist. He couldn’t have prepared for this. She is leaving, with a bundle of bright orange freckled lilies. There’s no question they are the right choice. He wonders if he would have brought her the same. She seems surprised to see him.

“I didn’t know you liked flowers, Shizuo,” she says, forgoing waving since her hands are full. “What are you getting?”

“Just stopping by to look,” he blunders. He can’t get her flowers when she’s just bought herself some, right? Maybe he can bring cake instead?

One of the heavy-looking shopping bags slung over her shoulders begins to slip, dragging her elbow down with its weight.

“Let me help,” Shizuo insists. He moves to take the bag from her. “Are you heading home now?”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Naoko says. Her yellowy-brown eyes shine. “My mom is coming into town. I have to get my apartment prettied up.”

Shizuo looks down at the bag he is carrying for her.

“With textbooks?”

“Used. They sell for cheap at the university when they’re outdated, but my mom doesn’t know that.”

“She thinks you’re in school?” Shizuo asks. He has the bag of thick books slung over his back, held by a few fingers. As if it’s light, like a coat.

Naoko laughs sheepishly. “If she didn’t think so, I would have to get a real job, and then my writing would suffer.”

She’s mentioned being a writer before, but Shizuo doesn’t read much, so he’s never asked to see any of it.

“Would she not want to support you?” he asks. “If you were honest with her?”

Naoko unlocks her door and they step inside. Almost nothing has changed since he was first here, except that the green armchair now sits at the desk, and there is a futon in the corner.

“I think she would, if I moved back home,” Naoko says. She sets the flowers in a jar that’s already waiting on her small kitchen counter. “But I can’t go back there. Nothing happens.”

Shizuo puts the bag of textbooks down on the edge of the desk, which is littered with paper and magazines already. It’s clear to him that Naoko works hard. Surely her mother will be able to see that too.

Naoko comes to stand near him and arrange the textbooks like she’s been using them. Shizuo can smell her shampoo, and the humidity radiating from her hair, which is still just slightly damp. She must have just washed it. He wonders how long that takes.

“I suppose you’re busy for the rest of the day then,” Shizuo comments.

“Yeah,” Naoko says, apologetic. “My mom and brother could arrive anytime. Maybe if you’re around, I’ll introduce you?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Shizuo shifts his stance uncomfortably. “Most mothers find me… frightening.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Naoko says, and her phone begins to ring. It is her mother. She answers, “already?” and moves further away.

Shizuo gets his own call in short succession. He steps toward the doorway to take it.

“Sorry to spring this on you,” Tom says. “I know it’s your day off, but we just got a tip on the Yamahara file. He’s trying to flee the country, but we know where he’s staying tonight. Boss wants us to go.” Shizuo resigns to the fact that today is not the right day to do what it was he set out to, and grunts his acceptance before snapping the phone shut. Naoko’s call ends too, and Shizuo makes to go.

“Work called me in. I guess I can’t meet your mom after all.”

“Ahh, that’s too bad,” Naoko says, but she’s in a hurry to leave herself. “She’s already gotten turned around in the subway station. I’m going to get her now.”

“I’ll see you another time then,” Shizuo says.

“Yeah, see you later!” Naoko waves over her shoulder, and quickly crosses the street. “Thanks again for your help!”

Shizuo only feels slightly defeated. He failed to accomplish what he set out to do, but there’s no deadline on this. He can try again tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Naoko picks her mother out of the crowd stumbling out of the dark of the subway station and waves her long arm above the crush of bodies. Haruko looks very little like her daughter. Chin length black hair, a round face, and hunched with anxious energy. Haruko has to reach up to pull at Naoko’s gaunt cheek.

“You’re not eating enough,” she chastises. “You know if you need more money for food, I’ll send it.”

A small, round boy clings to Haruko’s skirt. Eight years old, Toki has hair in his eyes and is overwhelmed by his first big-city experience. Naoko drops to a knee to hug him.

“Remember me?” she asks. It’s only been three years, and she’s visited on holidays, but it feels like a long time for such a little boy.

“Onee-chan.” He posits it confidently, then seems to shrink back again. He has a different father than Naoko. A quiet banker from the suburbs who actually pays child support.

“I didn’t have time to grocery shop,” Naoko admits. “Can we go out for lunch? I’ll show you my place before you have to head home.”

“Naoko, are you sure going to school here is a good idea?” Haruko looks around, nervous at the sight of all the youths with colored bandannas and more than a few motorcycles. Haruko looks nervous about everything. Naoko has learned to tune it out.

“I’m perfectly safe. I know how to mind my business and keep my head up. There’s a lot of good people here.” She knows her mother won’t believe her, but she has to say it. “Actually, there’s a guy who’s been looking out for me who’s stronger than anyone.”

“Naoko!” her mother’s eyes grow wide with fear. “You’re not dating a delinquent, are you?”

“Mom, no, I’m not!” Naoko protests. “He’s not a delinquent, just my neighbor. The point is, I feel safe.”

Haruko isn’t convinced, but she knows better than to push the issue.

“You have a boyfriend!” Toki points out, gleefully. To him, this is still something people get teased about on the playground. “You hold hands!”

Naoko doesn’t mind the thought of that, but she’s never been bold enough to try. Then again, her family doesn’t have to know that. They’ll go home and feel better about her life here if they believe that she does have a boyfriend who looks out for her.

“Sure thing, bud,” she says, and ruffles Toki’s hair. “Wish you could meet him, but he had to work.”

While the three of them wait at an intersection for the light to change, Haruko asks Naoko how far the restaurant is, and Naoko lets go of Toki’s hand to gesture directions with both her arms. Haruko feels the boy’s fingers wriggle out of her own, and stops listening to Naoko to find him again. Haruko turns. And she gasps. She begins panicking, instantly. Because she can’t see Toki anywhere.

At first, Naoko is embarrassed. She thinks that her mother is causing a scene. Toki can’t have gotten far.

“Toki!” she calls. “Calm down, mom, freaking out won’t help anything.”

Haruko is clutching at Naoko’s jacket, looking around wildly. Then Naoko hears a cry. She whirls around. How did Toki get all the way across the street? He’s on his hands and knees. He looks like he fell down, and some strangers have gathered around him, but they’re guiding him away from the street. Maybe they’re going to a police box? In any case, she has to get to him.

“Stay here, mom,” Naoko says, and darts through traffic, causing more than one angry driver to burn their brakes. She arrives, panting, on the scene. A pang of fear grips her heart, because now she can see that the gathered strangers do not intend to be helpful. They’re ruffians from one of the color gangs, and they’re mocking Toki about his fall even as they force him to stand again.

“H-Hey!” Naoko falters, her voice not as loud as she’d hoped it would be. “Leave him alone. He’s just a kid.”

“And you’re just a girl.”

“A skinny girl.”

“Looks weak to me.”

Naoko knows she is in danger, but she can still spare a disdainful scoff for these idiots.

“You talk big for guys who are shorter than I am,” she says. Will Toki know to run once their attention is on her? Is she going to end up in the hospital because of this? Why, why did Shizuo have to have left town on this very afternoon?

“Did I hear somethin’ about being short?” another man says. Naoko can see from the shadow on the ground next to her own that he is much bigger than she is. Strong hands grip her arm, and they hurt. She knows she can’t fix this, and by the time anyone comes, it might be too late. Her mind races, but comes up empty. She is out of options. Hot tears begin to spill from her eyes, against her will, even as she grits her teeth. The gang forces them to move deeper into the alley, away from sight and passers-by.

———

Orihara Izaya is in Ikebukero. It was he who called in the tip that caused Shizuo to leave the neighborhood for work. It was a real tip, one he’d been saving for the right moment. It was also Izaya who so thoughtfully advised Matsui Haruko that it might be worth checking on her daughter in person, by infiltrating an email group of mothers from her hometown, and finding out that Haruko worried for her daughter’s safety.

And lastly, of course, it had been Orihara Izaya who hired some thugs to nab the boy.

Everything had run like a smooth machine, and Izaya can’t keep a spring from his step as he approaches the intersection where it is all going down.

On the stroke of the tower clock he strolls into the center of it all. Toki trembling, fresh bruises blossoming on his knobby knees where they’d hit the pavement, and walled in behind four rough-looking gang members. Haruko, still across the street in hysterics, begging for someone to call the police, but unable to tear her eyes off her boy. And Naoko, trying to look twice her size while she stands her ground, even as two more delinquents hold her back by the elbows, threatening to cripple her or worse. Her hair is a tangled mess, and desperate tears coat her cheeks, but unlike her mother, she is angry. Naoko looks ready to fight. It’s just too bad that she’ll break at the first blow.

Izaya flicks his switchblade and cleanly cuts the belts of both thugs holding Naoko. Their hands fly to hold up their pants, and before any of them even see Izaya, he has pulled Naoko away from them. Yanked her through another alley and around a corner, out of sight.

“Are you alright?” he asks, grinning. “It wasn’t smart to taunt them like that.”

Naoko begins to yell back at him, but Izaya claps a hand over her mouth.

“Shh. They might come for you again.”

She continues to cry and scream and plead behind his hand. Her fingernails scratch at his arm, nearly drawing blood.

When he finally lets go, she hisses, but this time doesn’t yell.

“Help him, you egomaniacal, worthless jerk!” She tries to escape him, but Izaya holds her back.

“Useless? I saved you,” he reminds her. “Hold still.”

“They still have him!” she insists. She writhes and thrashes, making herself difficult to hang onto.

“You know you can’t beat those guys,” Izaya says, with too much amusement and not enough warmth.

“At least I’m trying, unlike you!” She pauses her thrashing to stamp his foot.

“Ow, so feisty,” he says. “Alright, alright, I’ll help. But it’ll cost you.”

Naoko doesn’t know how she’ll get the money, but right now, she doesn’t care at all. All she cares about is her brother, who is probably being shoved into an unmarked van at this very second.

“I’ll do anything,” she seethes and begs. “Anything at all. I don’t care. Just help him. I know you can. Asshole.”

“Hm.” Izaya taps his chin and thinks for a moment. “Oh, I know. Be my girlfriend.”

Naoko’s brain short-circuits. He cannot be serious.

“What?” she spits, too disoriented to run even now that he’s let go of her.

“You know, go on dates, and all that.” He spins on a heel and throws his arm out for a handshake. “It’ll make Shizu-chan furious, and that’s more than enough payment for me.”

Naoko wants to scream. Izaya is only helping her to get to Shizuo. It’s awful. But she is desperate. The clock is ticking.

“Fine!” she blurts. “Whatever! Please, come on!” Now she is the one grabbing and dragging Izaya by a wrist. He lets himself be pulled, but resists enough to slow her.

“I need some insurance,” he croons, still unharried. “Take a photo with me. I’ll fix everything, I promise.”

His promise is worthless to her, but Naoko gets right in his face and glares, strands of hair sticking to her tear stained face.

“Not like this,” he says, and wipes her cheek off with his sleeve, then throws an arm around her for a self portrait on his flip phone. “Try to look happy. The longer you make this take…”

Naoko smiles a cute and brilliant smile. For her brother. After the sound of the shutter, her face is instantly full of rage again.

“Perfect. My new wallpaper, see?” Izaya points the phone screen towards her. Then he dials a number. When it connects, he puts a hand on his hip, like it’s business.

“Call it off,” he says. “I don’t need the boy anymore.”

Naoko gapes and shakes with rage.

“You tricked me,” she gasps, reeling like she’s been kicked in the stomach.

“You fell for it,” Izaya shoots back.

———

When they return to the first alley, Toki is alone, crying, both knees scraped but otherwise unhurt. He blubbers into Naoko’s shirt. She strokes his hair and whispers that he’s safe now, all while staring daggers at Izaya. Haruko shows up, with the police in tow, and Izaya explains that he managed to scare the thugs off.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Haruko says, shaking Izaya’s hand through tears. “What’s your name?”

“Orihara Izaya,” he says, bowing politely. He knows how to impress a mother. “I’ve been looking out for Naoko for a while now.”

“Oh!” Haruko says, charmed and delighted. “She mentioned you. The neighbor?”

“Yes,” Izaya lies. “Did she also mention I was her boyfriend?”

“Well, I could only assume so. It’s lovely to meet you. Naoko, you didn’t say he was so handsome.”

Naoko’s cheeks are flushed with rage, but her mother is mistaking it for embarrassment, and Naoko cannot correct her.

“Well, mom, that’s not really what I find important,” she manages to say convincingly.

“Will you join us for lunch?” Haruko asks Izaya.

“I wish I could,” Izaya says. “But I have a meeting I’m late for.”

And then he prances away.

Chapter Text

Naoko sees her mother and brother off to the train by early afternoon. After today’s events, they did not want to stay long. Haruko begs Naoko to transfer out of university here.

“You can always come home,” Haruko reminds her. Worry creases the woman’s face, makes her look older. Naoko is stubborn, doesn’t want to admit how much this has shaken her. She isn’t afraid of being this close to trouble. It’s different, though, when it’s her family. She almost considers leaving with them.

Naoko stands in the busy station after the train pulls away, letting the silent crush of commuters around her flow through her senses. Each of them has their own world in tow. Someone is having an affair: he talks in hushed tones on his cell about meeting up. A student is about to buy vegetables for dinner, his grocery list clutched in one hand. A group of dolled-up girls is going out shopping for boyfriends and new lipstick and trouble. They giggle in a way Naoko has never shared with other girls, but has never wanted to.

Naoko steps back up into the open air as the clock strikes four. Even now, the intersection is busy, choked with pedestrians. Music plays and shop windows vie for the attention of passers-by. Cabs idle on the curb. Tourists gape and point and record with their phones.

Naoko remembers that there is a reason she is here, in busy Tokyo, and not in the cozy, quiet countryside where her family lives. Back home, she sticks out. She’s taller than most everyone, and her face is different enough to draw attention. Back home, her identity is hafu— half-Japanese. This is why she grew out her hair, to begin with. If she is going to stand out, she wants it to be for something she has chosen.

But here, in in the bright, bustling city, it’s not too uncommon to see foreigners, or people wearing clothing that draws attention. She’s only one unusual stroke on a canvas full of them. It’s easier here for a girl like her to hide. To disappear. To melt into the environment. And watch.

Naoko stands in the middle of the intersection and tilts her head back, like the city is a luxurious bath of sound. She knows exactly how many seconds are left on the timer and is in no rush to reach the other side. People part to go around her. It’s all almost enough to forget what a horrible mistake she’s made. But it doesn’t last.

Naoko’s phone rings, and she glances at the screen while she makes her way to the sidewalk. It’s a number she doesn’t have saved, but she feels absolutely sure of who is calling. She flips the cell open and holds it to her ear.

“Orihara.” Her voice is cold.

“Naoko-chiiiii,” comes his sing-song response. “Now that we’re dating, you should really call me something cuter.”

“I despise you, Izaya.”

“A little better! We’ll work on it.”

“What do you want?” she demands.

“We need to decide some ground rules. Or, rather, I need to decide them and you need to agree. You’re at the station, right?”

Naoko scowls.

“Are you watching me?”

“Look up. Not there. Across the street.” Izaya is waving from a rooftop garden above the station. “Come on up for ten minutes, and I’ll set you free for the day.”

———

Izaya chuckles to himself while he waits for Naoko to arrive. He had, of course, watched her rapturous moment in the intersection with fascination before ruining it. When she emerges onto the rooftop, Izaya is leaning against a short wall overlooking a garden and small pond. He pats the wall next to him, and Naoko approaches, but keeps out of arms reach, standing in a very formal and polite vertical line.

“Well, I’ll get right into it, then,” Izaya says. “First of all, just because we’re acting as a couple doesn’t mean we actually have to like each other. But—”

He points again to the wall beside him. “It does require that other people believe it.”

Naoko sits down, stiffly, moving her hair to the side so that she doesn’t sit on it. She is still frowning, hands clenched in her lap.

“So, rule number one. Don’t look like you hate me in public. I know you can do it. I’ll give you a pass today, but next time we see each other, I expect you to be prepared.”

Naoko seethes and chews her lip.

“Rule number two,” Izaya continues. “How this all came about is our little secret. I assume you haven’t told Shizuo yet.”

“The fact that you still have all your teeth should tell you the answer,” Naoko growls through her own clenched set.

“Good, good. Then you aren’t going to tell him that part. I want him to think I won you over.”

“You can’t stop me from telling him the truth.” Naoko crosses her arms and glares back at Izaya defiantly. Her yellow-brown eyes catch the light from the side and nearly glow. It is almost otherworldly.

“Oh, but I can,” Izaya smiles. “And you’re not as honest as you want me to think. Let’s just say that your mother is one phone call away from finding out that you’re not actually enrolled in university.”

He watches her confidence flicker. If Izaya pulls this one pin, her carefully constructed life as a carefree writer in the city will collapse beneath her. He knows, just from casual observation, that this is the last thing she wants. Would she even sacrifice Shizuo’s trust, for that?

Apparently so.

“Fine,” she says, at last. “I won’t tell him. Or anyone.”

“Excellent. Rule number three,” Izaya proclaims. “The duration of our little game will be two months. I don’t expect the fun of it to last much longer than that. You’ll be free to continue your life as you were. Oh, but if I get tired of it sooner, I can break up with you anytime.”

Naoko appears to contemplate this, and shrugs. “Fine,” she repeats again.

“Hmm….” Izaya taps his chin. “When I was coming up with these rules earlier, I was going to say I don’t mind if you cheat on me, but I think I’ve decided to play the jealous type. So don’t see anybody else, okay?”

“Whatever,” Naoko says. “Do I get to make any rules?”

“No,” Izaya grins. “Well, you can draw the line with how close we get, I suppose. I’m not so desperate that I’d force you to do all the things real lovers do. I’ll be a gentleman in public. When we’re alone, you decide.”

Naoko’s shoulders lose just a little bit of the tension they’ve been holding.

“Oh, that brings up rule number four,” Izaya continues. “We’ll see each other a few times a week. Mostly in public. I want to make sure Shizu-chan can’t forget about this. But you do have to spend time at my place too. Maybe overnight, sometimes.”

“Why not mine?” Naoko challenges, though they both know the answer. Three doors down from Shizuo is not a safe place for Izaya to be.

“Well, it’s kind of a hole,” is what he says instead. “My place is nicer.”

Izaya stands and stretches and moves to the railing, to look out over the city again. It’s so alive, buzzing with tiny, delicious dramas. Something that has not escaped his notice, is that Naoko knows that too. Just a glance at her notes had told him so. In truth, this experiment is mostly about annoying Shizuo, but it’s a little bit about digging into that head of hers, as well.

“Are we done here?” Naoko grunts, coming to stand beside him. He hardly bothers to hide a smirk as her eyes trace the paths of the strangers down below, like his do.

“More or less. Just one more thing. I’m expecting talk of our relationship to hit the wind by noon tomorrow or so. If you want to break the news to Shizu-chan yourself before he hears it secondhand, you’d better do it soon.”

Naoko’s face darkens, and Izaya leaves it at that.

“Until next time, Rapunzel.” He smooths down a small tangle that’s formed on the side of her hair.

Then he skips away, slips into a stairwell, and disappears.

———

There’s still plenty of time left in the day for people-watching and eavesdropping, but Naoko is not in the mood, so she goes home and leaves the lights off. She feels sick to her stomach. Shizuo has been nothing but kind to her, and she has betrayed him. Even if she could explain, she doubts that he’d be able to hear her out. Naoko has seen the way every rational thought leaves Shizuo’s head just at the mention of Izaya’s name. That kind of hate can’t be reasoned with. And now she will be associated with him.

Shizuo won’t even be able to look at her anymore.

Naoko is surprised to hear an ugly sob escaping her throat. She thought that she had used all her tears up earlier, when Toki was in trouble. She’d remained unmoved during her meeting with Izaya, but now, realizing that she will never have a chance with Shizuo, because he will hate her… something inside her breaks, a little. Izaya has stolen this from her before she’s even had the chance to experience it. And she never plans on forgiving him.

Chapter Text

Shizuo returns from work at dusk. He and Tom have successfully shaken down Yamahara for most of what he owed, and their boss was so pleased, he gave them both bonuses. Shizuo picks up a small strawberry cake in a cute package on the way home. It looks like Naoko is not home yet, but he rings the bell just in case, clutching the plastic box in both hands and trying not to crush it out of nervousness.

No one answers, and he’s managed to avoid exchanging numbers with her this whole time somehow. He’s regretting that cowardice now. He leaves the cake by her door with a note, and then takes a walk. Maybe she’s still out and about. It wouldn’t be uncommon to find her wandering the park at this hour. He isn’t sure why he’s so determined to find her tonight, but maybe it’s the fact that the job went so well that has him feeling lucky.

Shizuo doesn’t catch a glimpse of her unmistakable hair in any of the shifting crowds, but he does find Simon, who waves him down.

“Sup?” Shizuo asks, preparing for a difficult conversation. Simon tends to speak in riddles.

“Had any sushi yet?” Simon asks, waving a flyer under Shizuo’s nose. “You should have some. Fixes a bad day.”

“I haven’t had a bad day,” Shizuo replies, lighting a cigarette.

“Smoking is bad for you,” Simon reminds him. “Bring someone else to fix a bad day. Miss Long Hair’s bad day?”

Shizuo startles, nearly dropping the cigarette.

“Come again?”

“Your long haired friend. She got in a fight. Fighting’s bad, Shizuo—”

Shizuo has him by the shoulders.

“A fight? With who? Where is she? Where are they? What happened?”

“Is all right now,” Simon says calmly. He is strong enough to stop Shizuo’s punches, so the grabbing and shaking doesn’t seem to bother him much. “No more problems. Gang left. No hospitals. Izaya left too.”

Shizuo bristles with rage. That snake. He is going to kill Izaya with his bare hands for… It’s unclear what he did. Not that it matters.

———

Finding Izaya is easy. Too easy, like Izaya has been waiting for him at the edge of the neighborhood.

“What. Did you. Do?” he asks through gritted teeth, as he selects which bus stop bench to rip out of the sidewalk.

“You don’t know?” Izaya teases him, gleefully tossing a switchblade from one hand to another. “Or are you just asking that because you’re trying to make conversation?”

Shizuo hurls the bench. The resulting crunch of metal echoes sickeningly through the empty alley, but Izaya has managed to dodge, as usual.

“What did you do to her?” Shizuo roars, peeling up the next projectile, the route map sign this time.

“If you must know,” Izaya says, scrambling behind a lamppost, “I saved her from broken bones or worse. I know that’s supposed to be your job, but you were nowhere to be found.”

Izaya shrugs. “Would you have rather me stayed out of it?”

The metal sign wraps around the lamppost, only grazing Izaya, who inspects it, impressed.

Shizuo is bent over, breathing hard, his eyes still fixed in a glare on his target.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“And why would I know?” Izaya asks. “You think just because I stalk everyone in this town that—”

Shizuo’s phone makes a dinging sound, and he immediately drops the mailbox he’d been about to throw next. It’s a text.

[We need to talk. -N]

Izaya smiles coyly. It makes Shizuo want to continue the attempted murder, but this is more important right now.

“Are we done fighting already?” Izaya asks.

Shizuo spares him one final growl. “I’ll be back to kill you soon enough.”

———

Naoko waits for Shizuo on the edge of a park fountain. It’s getting late, and although the Ikebukuro streets are almost never empty, they’re very quiet tonight. She clutches her cell phone. It’s full of horrible things.

The first text she ever sent Shizuo, which will probably also be the last.

The mail she’s just received on Bossy Blog, a tip that she knows is from Izaya.

All he told her is that news would get around. Now she sees how. He’s framed it like secondhand gossip, the juicy tidbit that infamous information broker Orihara Izaya was seen on a date with a mysterious redhead. The photo is blurry, and taken from too far away to make out that Naoko is very upset. She has no idea how he got someone to take it without her noticing. But there they are, in front of a flower garden, looking for all the world like they want to be there.

[I know this is a strange request, but could you hold off on posting it until noon tomorrow?] the footnote reads. So that’s how he plans to control the time.

Naoko wonders how many of her other tips might have come from him. She isn’t surprised he knows the blog. A lot of people do, now. He doesn’t seem to know that it’s hers, though, or otherwise why go to the trouble of sending an anonymous tip when he could just force her hand? She has to make sure he does not find out. Which, unfortunately, means she has to post this exactly as he asked. The clock is ticking.

Naoko still doesn’t know what to say to Shizuo. All she knows is, she has to say something, and it has to be tonight. He is so kind to her, and he has no idea how little she deserves it. The cake sits next to her on the edge of the fountain, unopened. She thinks that sweetness might kill her faster than his hate would.

She has to end this. Whatever it is.

Shizuo arrives, panting, in the park. Did he run the whole way here? She stands, steeling her nerves. Upon spotting her, Shizuo jogs over, and before Naoko can get a word in, he’s wrapped his arms all the way around her. He isn’t showing any signs of letting go. Those sobs are threatening to come out again, ragged and hideous.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs into the top of her head, burying his nose in her hair.

Naoko lets him hold her for as long as the universe allows it. It’s all she’ll ever get of Heiwajima Shizuo, and she knows it. He smells like sweat and cigarettes—it’s not exactly dreamy, but that’s the last thing she cares about right now. She tries to memorize the scent, and the feeling of being cared for. Why did she fail to realize how much she wanted this until it was too late?

The hug is over too soon, and Naoko is sure her face is covered in snot and tears. Shizuo is looking at her with such attentiveness. No one has ever treated her so well. Everything in her screams not to ruin this.

“Naoko,” he starts, and she chokes out a fresh sob. Shizuo’s brow creases in worry. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. No, she can’t tell him. She won’t.

“Then… what is it you wanted to talk about?”

She points to the box of cake on the edge of the fountain.

Shizuo flushes, just slightly.

“Do you not like sweets?”

“It’s…” Naoko has to summon all of her courage to speak. “I want to know why.”

“Oh.” Shizuo scratches at his collar. “Well, the truth is, when I stopped by earlier, I was going to… ask you out. It seems like my timing was bad, though.”

“I could tell that much,” Naoko says, her voice wavering. “I want to know why… why it is that you like me. I just… need to know.”

Shizuo turns fully red now. He looks like he is out of his depth. Naoko watches him intently. She wants, no, needs to know the answer to this before she blows all of it to irretrievable pieces.

———

“You’re a hard worker,” Shizuo starts. He panics, because that sounds like the kind of thing a boss would say. He fumbles to make sense of what are mostly just feelings words can’t do justice to. “You don’t talk in an irritating cutesy voice.” Where did that even come from? “Your… Your hair makes me lose my breath sometimes.” Finally, something that sounds more like a confession.

Naoko manages a chuckle, now, and it puts him more at ease.

“That can’t be healthy,” she jokes.

“But most importantly,” Shizuo says, finally managing to be coherent, “You’re not afraid of me. That… it means a lot.”

Naoko’s eyes well up with tears again, and Shizuo reaches to take hold of her arms. His grip is in his control now. He’s never been so sure of anything.

“I don’t know what happened today, but I should have been there,” he says. “I want to be the one protecting you. I’ll be there from now on.”

“No,” Naoko says. “You won’t. You’ve shown me a lot of kindness, and I’ll never forget it. But I think you’ll be better off forgetting about me. I don’t deserve you.”

Shizuo is confused, to say the least. It seems like he’s being rejected, but it’s not clear why.

“You don’t have to punish yourself for—”

“Shizuo… it was Izaya who saved me today.” Naoko tells him through tears. At the mention of that hated name, Shizuo feels his grip tighten, and Naoko gasps in pain.

Horrified at himself, Shizuo lets go. He didn’t mean to— then he’s not ready to protect her after all. Not if he can’t even protect her from himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “This was a bad idea.”

Naoko is rubbing her arms where he’s probably left bruises. In the lamplight her hair and her eyes and her tears all seem to be glowing, and she looks hauntingly sad.

“That’s not all,” she says, so quietly that Shizuo can barely hear it. Something changes in her expression, from soft regret to chilled steel, and she turns to face him. “Izaya asked me out, and I said yes.”

Shizuo feels his brain go white-hot, and then ice cold.

“You should stay away from me for a while,” he says, unable to feel his feet on the ground. Directions like up or down don’t seem to have meaning for a time.

When he opens his eyes again, thankfully, Naoko is already gone.

Chapter Text

Naoko spends the rest of the night writing the article Izaya asked her to publish. She almost always posts tips she’s sent. It doesn’t matter if they’re accurate. But they’ve never involved her before.

Of course, there’s no connection between the ‘mysterious redhead’ and BOSSY, so far as anyone knows, and Naoko needs to keep it that way. Should she hesitate to post a scoop, Izaya would become suspicious.

So Naoko shuts her eyes as tight as she is able, until the darkness behind her eyelids explodes with buzzing lights, and then opens them again. She looks at the picture and the request with the eyes of a ravenous observer, as if she doesn’t know these people at all. And she writes.

At dawn, Naoko schedules the article to post, and then lays down under a blanket to contemplate what she’s done. She has spent the entire day afraid, then angry, then sad. It was surprisingly easy to pack it all away and just… write her own doom into online gossip reality. She is done grieving, she decides. It is a waste of time. Instead, she closes her eyes and this time, she dreams about revenge.

———

Sometime before she’s fully rested, in the late morning, Naoko’s phone wakes her. It’s Izaya. She doesn’t answer, but he calls again immediately. And again. And again.

Finally, once she’s wasted enough of his precious time, she picks up.

“You’re a pain,” she says, bluntly.

“Morning, Rapunzel~” he croons. It’s clear he took her insult as encouragement. “I hope you’re not busy. I want to see you.”

“I have important things to be doing,” she lies.

“What could be more important than accompanying your darling to a show?”

“Disgusting,” Naoko mutters.

“Hm? I didn’t quite catch that. In any case, I’ll expect you in an hour. There’s a cell phone store near Russia Sushi, we’ll meet there.”

He hangs up before she can get another word in. Naoko curses and drags herself to the bathroom. She brushes her teeth, washes her face, and, knowing her hair is too large of a project for the time she has, she binds it all into a thick, messy braid.

Is she really at his beck and call like this? Surely, even if her relationship with Izaya was legitimate, she’d still have a say in whether she was available to meet up. How far can she push back before he retaliates by calling her mother?

Today isn’t the day she wants to find out. She has to evaluate the playing field before she makes any major moves.

Naoko peers through a sliver in her closed curtain to make sure the courtyard area is clear before silently slipping out of her door. She leaves quickly. Shizuo is probably at work, but she doesn’t want to take any chances running into him. The bruises he left on her arms ache, but she blames Izaya for those. Still, it’s not worth the risk of repeating.

Naoko arrives at the cell phone store a full twenty minutes before the time Izaya gave her. It’s not uncommon for Shizuo and Tom to walk this way between jobs, so she doesn’t loiter in the street. Instead, she slides into a narrow alley, where she discovers a rusty ladder covered in peeling paint. Without a second thought, she climbs this to the roof.

The view is excellent. A panorama of the intersection and the major thoroughfare, and enough cheap signs to peer out from behind without being easily spotted. Naoko can watch for Izaya from here.

———

Izaya strolls through Ikebukuro with a wary nonchalance. He has perfected the art of looking careless while keeping a sharp eye on absolutely everything. After Shizuo didn’t return last night to make good on his death threat, Izaya isn’t sure what to expect the man’s mood to be, other than violent, as it always is.

That’s why this is so exciting. Izaya has prodded the man with insults and sharp objects many a time, always to the same predictable result. Usually, threatening someone else, especially someone Shizuo cares for, will escalate, but generally not change the nature of that reaction. But if that person is on Izaya’s side?

This is the machination of the moment. A test Izaya has not yet run. He is giddy with anticipation. When he reaches the place he told Naoko to meet him, he glances around for her. She’s running late. He cannot blame her for not wanting to come. Rather than call her or wait around, he stalks around the building and climbs to its roof, one of his usual favorite spying places.

Izaya is only moderately surprised when he sees that Naoko has beat him to it. She has heard the ladder, so she is already facing him, arms crossed. A sly grin tugs his face tight.

“I was going to show you this spot, but it seems you already know it,” he says in greeting.

“It wasn’t hard to find,” Naoko informs him. “What are we doing here?”

“People watching,” Izaya says, crossing the roof to lean over a sign on the edge of it. “Isn’t that what you’d be doing right now? What time is it?”

Naoko checks the tiny screen on the outside of her flip phone. “Twelve-thirty.”

“Good,” Izaya says, opening his own device with a flick of the wrist. “Time to forward an article.”

He finds the gossip blog easily—it’s bookmarked in his phone. It’s proven to be quite the useful resource. Izaya logs into one of his proxy emails, and pastes the link. ‘BOSSY’ has delivered a juicy take on his tip, just as he hoped. Word will get around naturally, but there’s a few people he wants to see it right away.

Naoko is staring warily at him.

“Oh, did you end up telling Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks, casually. “About us.”

“Yes,” Naoko says, bitingly.

“How did he take it?” Izaya scans the street again.

“Really excellently,” Naoko frowns, and her hand moves toward her forearm without touching it. “He’s happy for us.”

Izaya knows she doesn’t believe she can actually fool him about this, but she’s lying anyway, maybe because of the lack of control she feels. He makes a note of it.

“Well, here he is now. Should we say hello?” Izaya points down to the street.

Naoko comes to look where he’s indicating, though she can’t quite see around the sign. She cranes her neck, apparently preferring that to stepping closer to him. He snickers and steps aside to let her have a better look.

Shizuo is walking with his hands in his pockets, as usual, but the irritation he radiates is almost visible. The crowds split in front of him as people scramble out of the way. Even Tom follows at a nervous distance.

Izaya says nothing, but his expression betrays his pleasure. It’s only when Naoko turns to him and scowls darkly that he feigns incredulity.

“Did we do that?” he asks. “Look at us. Our love is changing the traffic patterns.”

“So he’s mad,” Naoko rolls her eyes. “You already knew he would be.”

“Yes, but on what scale? And is he going to take it out on me, or hold back because of you? Of course, he might beat us both up. Now that would be interesting. At what point do his morals begin to deteriorate?” Izaya waves around his open cell phone as he narrates. When Shizuo reaches a certain street corner, he sends the mail he composed earlier. “Now watch closely.”

A loud squeal fills the air.

Both he and Naoko peer down again to see its source—Erika, one of Dotachin’s group, is waving her phone in the face of her constant companion, Walker.

“It’s just like an anime,” she’s saying at a mile a minute. “A real life enemies-to-lovers drama! A hate triangle!”

It’s difficult to make out the rest as Erika and Walker animatedly discuss the article that’s just been forwarded to them, but the effect at street level is as intended.

“That’s our cue,” Izaya says, beckoning towards the ladder.

———

Shizuo has barely contained his rage since last night. He didn’t sleep, just wandered aimlessly through town. Barely noticing when the sun came up. Tom had suggested he take a sick day, and Shizuo had nearly bitten his head off. Even Tom, who is level headed and calm, is pissing him off today. And so it continues. By this point, even the rustle of a tree branch is getting on his nerves. Maybe he should have taken the day off. But not working, not having anywhere to channel the violence, might have been worse. For some reason, though, today nobody is putting up a fight. They take one look at Shizuo and pay up. And so Shizuo has not thrown one person or thing so far. His insides are still boiling.

Shizuo is about to tell Tom he’s done for the day when he hears someone say Izaya’s name. Loudly. Shizuo is finding it hard to think clearly, but is just conscious enough to see that it’s Erika and Walker who are fawning over this awful situation, and despite that, he bears them no ill will. They’re his friends, and they also have the decency to shut up about it when they see him. Kadota is apologizing for their behavior, smoothing things over. Shizuo takes deep breaths. Maybe too deep. He’s getting dizzy. The sound of Kadota’s voice is distant.

Shizuo tries to remember how to ground himself. Focus on something he can see, something inert and harmless, like— Izaya steps into his field of vision, pulling Naoko by the hand. For a second—one long second—Shizuo tries to ignore him. He puts his focus on Naoko’s face instead. She’s not here to taunt him—she clearly thinks this is a bad idea. But Izaya pushes himself into the frame by adjusting Naoko’s braid, petting it, and then turning to meet Shizuo’s eye with a triumphant, mocking expression. The second of clarity passes, and the rage rushes from Shizuo’s head to his arms like water. His body moves more by instinct than choice. People are vacating the area. It’s Simon who stops him, grappling Shizuo’s fists and pushing back just as hard, locking him in place until his head clears enough to realize that Izaya and Naoko are gone, and the few bystanders left in the street are cowering. This is bad. He can’t keep losing his head like this. Innocent people are going to get hurt.

The ‘do not enter’ sign Shizuo does not even remember wrenching from its post lays bent on the ground where Izaya had been standing. Where they’d both been standing.

Chapter Text

Naoko did not intend to stay at Izaya’s place so soon, but this afternoon it has become clear that she is actually in some amount of danger. Shizuo’s ability to control himself is fragile. He is capable of hurting her, even if he is trying not to. Izaya isn’t bothered by this. On the short train ride back to Shinjuku, he babbles about the success of his experiment, in between sending a slew of texts. They exit the station into a street lined with skyscrapers. Izaya insists on holding her hand as they walk, because there are still plenty of people around to see it.

“Rapunzel, your tower awaits,” he mocks her, eyes glistening. He gestures upwards. “Do you think the prince will come for you?”

Naoko doesn’t answer, just stares up at the clear afternoon sky between the buildings. She hasn’t even packed a bag. All her notebooks are at home. Her hair is a tangled mess. She certainly does not feel like a princess. And she isn’t so sure that Shizuo is a prince, either. He’s more like an errant knight in service to nobody. And she is holding hands with the dragon.

Naoko follows Izaya into the building, into the elevator, silently. When the doors close and they’re alone, she separates from him and sulks against the far wall of the car. Izaya chuckles and shoves his own hands in the pockets of his coat.

“I have work to do, so I won’t be able to entertain you,” he comments. “No clients until tomorrow though, so you can do whatever you want in the apartment. You could go out, too. I don’t mind. Just avoid Ikebukero for the time being.”

Naoko glowers, and the doors open. She intends to find the furthest corner from Izaya and stay there, but a few things stop her.

First, the apartment is huge and luxurious. Leather upholstery, gorgeous wood floors multiple levels, floor-to-ceiling windows, and bookshelves. Hundreds of books.

Secondly, there is already a woman here. A tall, pretty woman with long hair, no less. Naoko freezes. She is unsure how to act. She casts a desperate glance at Izaya, who smirks, seeming to revel in both women’s discomfort before introducing them.

“This is Yagiri Namie. She used to be a CEO, but now she works for me. Doing the shopping, among other things.” He peeks into the bags set out on the table, then comes to put a hand on Naoko’s shoulder. “And this is my girlfriend, Matsui Naoko.”

Naoko sees Namie’s eyes turn from suspicion to disdain. She wonders how far she is supposed to play this role of ‘girlfriend.’ Is she meant to act jealous and possessive that there is another woman in his life? And just how often is Namie around? Naoko had expected coming to Izaya’s apartment to be a break from the charade, if nothing else. It seems that is not the case.

“I got everything you asked for,” Namie addresses Izaya. She manages to ignore Naoko almost entirely. “So I’ll be going now.”

Namie stalks towards the door. Her long hair is a natural black, and beautifully kept. She’s incredibly cold, but Izaya doesn’t seem to find it offensive. He doesn’t seem bothered by a lot of things, which is going to make ruining his life difficult. But Naoko will find a way to do it, she is sure.

“Nice to meet you,” Naoko calls out after Namie as she steps into the elevator. The pleasantry might be returned, but Naoko can’t quite hear what Namie says in return, because the doors close between them.

“Well then.” Izaya says, pulling several bottles out of the shopping bags and studying their labels. “I assume all this is for you. I’m not familiar with hair products; so I just told Namie to get what she uses at home.”

Naoko finds herself drawn to the offering, despite her intention to remain aloof. Some of these brands are very expensive. What is Izaya doing here? This can’t be genuine kindness. Is he trying to appease her? Or is it meant to show her she’s nothing special? After all, he seems to have enough long-haired women around to choose from.

Naoko decides not to think too hard about it. If Izaya is playing a psychological game here, the best she can do is simply ignore that fact. Especially because she really could use a shower.

———

Izaya looks up from his chatroom session two hours later, and glances curiously towards the still-shut bathroom door. He’s successfully planted a few different rumors he hopes will guide the city’s gangs into certain positions, like flint and steel, ready to strike each other at the right moment. He’s also just done some trolling purely for entertainment. One must never neglect one’s non-paying hobbies.

But now, Izaya is starting to wonder just how long shampooing actually takes, or if Naoko is purposefully staying locked in the bathroom to avoid seeing him. As if in answer, the latch clicks, and Izaya returns to his computer screen to give the impression he hasn’t noticed her absence. A cloud of steam follows Naoko out, along with some very strong scents. She’s still dressed in the same clothes from earlier, minus the jacket, with a towel draped over her shoulders instead, and her hair neatly combed down over it to air-dry.

She doesn’t acknowledge him either, but he slyly keeps watch as she makes her way over to the bookshelf. She has to pass behind him to get to it, and still, even as she comes within three feet of where he sits, neither of them nod or say a word. But he watches her in the reflection off the edge of his shiny computer monitor, and there, in a sliver of reality: she is using it to watch him too. He grins and spins his chair around. She balks, caught in the act.

“I’m getting a book.” She indicates the shelf and moves closer to it.

“Help yourself,” Izaya says, and observes.

Most of Izaya’s collection is bent towards psychology, but he reads widely. Useful insights can be gleaned from anywhere. He owns books pertaining to just about any layer of society; though he prefers to observe people directly, it’s not always possible. He also has a fairly wide selection of books on fairy tales and the supernatural.

Naoko selects a book about behavior and motivation, a thick, philosophical tome. Izaya watches as she pretends to leaf through it, using it as a shield as she again walks past him and down to the couch, her nose buried in it all the way.

At some point Izaya has to acknowledge she is not pretending. She turns pages at a steady rate, apparently perfectly satisfied with the book’s contents. He goes back to his research, for a time. As the sun sets, he grows weary of it, and contemplates his guest again.

Izaya had said Naoko could make herself at home, but he didn’t actually expect her to. He’d prepared for some squirming, some complaining, at least a hint of discomfort. Most visitors to Izaya’s home and office feel this way. It is part of the design—he sits a level above them, making sure they know who is in charge. Felons and respectable folks alike, and hell, even Namie seems to be waiting for the first chance to leave most of the time.

Naoko just lounges with one of his favorite books, sweet-smelling water dripping from her long hair onto his expensive leather couch. She’s too comfortable. It makes Izaya antsy.

“I’m bored,” he announces, and flounces down the short stairs from where his desk is to the lowered area where the couch sits, in a sort of conversation pit with the television. “Let’s watch something.”

Naoko has been sprawled over the whole couch, but when Izaya makes to sit down, she retracts into the corner, now curled around the book and giving him plenty of space. Izaya turns on a cartoon and pretends to pay attention to it for a while. When Naoko remains withdrawn, he nudges the book down with one hand.

“What.” Naoko glances up over it. She looks worn out, tired.

“Would you prefer to watch something else? Do you like horror movies? Documentaries?”

“Watch whatever you want. I’m fine.” She turns the page.

“Can I watch you?” Izaya swivels to face her.

———

Naoko has had a very long day. She does not usually spend much time with anyone, preferring to be alone, even while she puts herself in the center of crowds. There she is anonymous, an observer. Here she cannot avoid being the one under the magnifying glass. At least Izaya is admitting it, that he’s paying attention. They’ve been silently sizing each other up for hours.

Naoko brings the book up to her face again.

“I’m not going to be doing anything interesting,” she assures him.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Izaya insists. He taps the side of his head. “Most of the time when humans say that, they’re up to fascinating things inside their minds. For example, you’re trying to bore me so that I call this whole thing off early. But you’re going to have to try harder.”

Naoko’s cheeks flush just slightly. Has she been so transparent? Or is he just good at reading people? Or, the way he put it…

“Humans?” she questions. “You’re not one, then?”

“Opinions vary,” Izaya says, matter-of-factly. “Think of it this way: I find humans fascinating, all humans. I like to find out what drives them, test their fundamental assumptions, expose their hypocrisies. Some would say that makes me a monster, something apart from them. What do you think?”

“I think you’re full of yourself. You’re not so unequivocally bad that it excludes you from being human. Plenty of people are monsters.” Naoko says it with certainty. If seeing others as dolls in a complex game of life is all it takes to cross that line, she’s just as far gone.

“See, there. You’ve made yourself interesting enough to keep around already,” Izaya states, and then moves closer to her. He removes the book she’s holding up between them and leans into her space, looks right into her eyes, which she narrows, the glint of gold in them disappearing into shadow. His are so brown that they’re almost red. It isn’t natural.

“You’re such a pretty girl,” he says, with bold intensity that sends a shiver, both of fear and fascination, through her heart like a shockwave. “I thought so from the first time I saw you. Of course, finding out you were Shizu-chan’s girl made it all the better. I had to have you.”

Naoko almost believes him, but there is something about the cruel curl of his lip that tells her he is only saying this to toy with her. She keeps her face a statue of pure disdain while she glares back, refusing to fold. He reaches toward her and catches up a lock of her long hair, which he lets slide over his fingers until it forms a slack arc between them. He contemplates the sheen of it, also refusing to budge.

“It won’t work,” Naoko says, finally. “Your stupid plan. Shizuo won’t come for me. We were never even together. He’ll accept my decision and never speak to me again. You can ruin my life, but his won’t change all that much. He already hates you as much as a man can.”

“Did you just give me permission to ruin your life?” Izaya laughs. Naoko replies only with more stony silence.

A moment later, Izaya backs off, apparently satisfied with the interaction. He stretches, not unlike a cat, and walks away.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces, and heads towards the stairs leading to his loft.

“Good riddance,” Naoko calls after him, and lays flat on her back, taking up the whole couch again. She stares at the ceiling and waits for sleep to find her.

Chapter Text

Naoko wakes up to Izaya standing right next to her, poking her cheek with the TV remote. The sun has risen, but it took Naoko so long to fall asleep last night that she isn’t ready to face today. She turns over in defiance, burying her face in the couch.

“You can keep sleeping, but not here,” Izaya stays sternly. “I have a meeting.”

Naoko doesn’t move. Izaya manages to peel her partially away, but she makes it difficult for him. He directs her, still drowsy, up the stairs to his loft, where he leaves her with no further instruction. Downstairs, Naoko hears the door open and Izaya greets his client.

Naoko glances around the loft. It’s just an unnecessarily large bed, a plain dresser with a small mirror set on top, and more space that seems to exist just for the sake of it. A low glass wall rails off the edge. From Izaya’s desk, where he sits now, he can see her standing there, but the client, on the couch below, cannot.

Naoko waits for Izaya to glance upwards. When he does, Naoko holds two fingers to the sides of her head, like horns, and sticks out her tongue. Izaya does not visibly react, needing to retain his lofty image for his client. Naoko recedes to the far side of the loft, where they can no longer see each other. She can hear the meeting in bits and pieces, but it’s mostly lists of names that don’t concern her. Still, Izaya seems to find all of it fascinating.

Since boring Izaya appears impossible, Naoko’s next tactic is to be a thorn in his side. Her eyes roam over the top of his dresser and the items there. It isn’t much: a contact lens case, one of Izaya’s several pocket knives, a box of tissues, a book about Rapunzel. At this, Naoko’s gaze narrows. Either he set this here to bait her, or else he’s actually been reading it. No matter which, she knows it’s only here because of her. She picks up the book, and on a moment’s consideration, the knife too. Careful not to make too much noise, she sits in the center of his bed and slices the pages into ribbons one by one. The knife is sharp, and cuts well, though she suspects the paper will dull it considerably before she’s through. On an impulse, she pauses and tests its edge against a single strand of her hair. It cuts clean through, and Naoko returns to working on the pages, slowly and silently.

She has to get out of here. This tower is far away from the world down in the streets, and last night she spent two hours in the bathroom, scouring the Dollars forum for BOSSY blog material until her cell phone battery died. If she stops posting while she’s away from Ikebukero, and Izaya notices, she doesn’t know what he’ll do with the information, but she is sure it won’t be good.

Naoko pauses to listen, making sure the meeting is still ongoing before resuming her meditative task. She has to spend time in Ikebukero. She’s still not sure going near Shizuo is a great idea, though. Even if Izaya is nowhere around them. Maybe she can wear a disguise. Cover up her hair, or—Naoko stops cutting pages, weighing the knife in her hand. On an impulse, she sections off a lock from the underside of her hair and cuts it just below her ear. It’s so easy, just a shift of the wrist and ten years fall away into scattering strands over her hand. She remembers how Izaya teased her last night, how he won’t let this Rapunzel idea go. The princess in the book had her long hair severed against her will. But what if she beats him to it? What if it was by choice? Suddenly, Naoko cuts another section, this time from the front, where it will be impossible to hide. No going back now.

Piece by piece the story crafted for her falls away, and seeing the growing piles of auburn strands surrounding her, mixed with shredded book pages, a huge mess that covers Izaya’s expensive looking sheets, fills her with a strange sense of power and glee. When she’s finished cutting, it’s as if her head moves too fast, no longer weighed down. She wonders what she looks like right now. Probably awful.

Naoko brushes bunches of looses hair off of her clothes as she walks to check the mirror on Izaya’s dresser. Not just his bed, but now the floor, are covered in the stuff. Naoko has to stifle the urge to laugh wildly. Izaya will be finding her hair floating around his apartment until the end of time. She hopes it drives him insane.

As expected, her hair looks quite bad, not even edgy in a cool way. Naoko finds that she doesn’t even care at the moment. The weight is lifted, she feels light and lithe. Naoko feels like she could dance.

———

Izaya sees his client to the door, and then glances toward the loft. It’s been awfully quiet up there. Perhaps Naoko went back to sleep, though more likely, she’s been eavesdropping. So he talks to her as he climbs the stairs, as if she’s been listening the whole time.

“You know, he gave me more information than he took in the end. So silly, these yakuza guys,” Izaya is saying, when Naoko breezes past him on the stairs. Izaya’s head whips around to track her. Something is—

“I’m going out for a while,” Naoko announces while she unhooks her jacket from the stand beside the door and jams the elevator button.

Izaya takes in the choppy haircut with some surprise. This, he hadn’t quite expected. He also takes some entertainment from the fact that Naoko has to wait for the elevator to go all the way down to deliver his client to the ground floor before it returns for her, ruining her quick exit.

“Do I even want to go up there?” he teases, leaning over the stair rail. “It seems a little early for such dramatics.”

Naoko raises a hand to run it through the choppy, lopsided mess, and the elevator opens.

“Have just the greatest day, Izaya,” she says.

“The tantrum looks cute on you!” Izaya calls back as the doors close. Then he goes up to survey the damage. The message is clear: Naoko does not intend to be the princess any longer.

Izaya picks up the decimated book cover by its corner and smirks. His new hobby has left him with an incredible mess, which he’s going to make Namie clean up, of course. This will be a lot of fun to explain. Izaya throws himself down onto the bed, hair and all, and laughs. And laughs, and laughs. Matsui Naoko is far more than she seems. And he is more intrigued than ever.

Chapter Text

Naoko does not go back to Izaya’s apartment that day, or the next, or the next. Despite having to sneak through her own apartment complex to avoid seeing Shizuo, she is relieved to have her own space again. She doesn’t text Izaya, and he doesn’t text her. It almost feels like none of it happened, except for the fact that every time Naoko unconsciously reaches for her own hair, it is not there.

After an attempt to even it out with scissors in her bathroom leaves it looking worse, Naoko goes to a salon. The stylist is all politeness, but Naoko is amused by the woman’s struggle to mask her horror. She tells the woman that her hair got caught in a bicycle wheel, fabricating more and more details while the other stylists gather, transfixed, to listen. And then, while her hair is being worked on, Naoko pretends to be absorbed in her phone while her keen ears pick up details about which clients are two-timing their boyfriends and whose neighbors are in what gangs. In the end, Naoko leaves with what the stylist generously calls a ‘short pixie with microbangs,’ and the next three stories for her gossip blog. It’s a shame she’ll have to wait for her hair to grow at least another inch before she can go back.

After that, it’s business as usual, mostly. Naoko picks different cafes and park benches, and swaps out the few scarves, beanies, and jackets she owns, still feeling a need for caution and anonymity. Without her hair, it’s even easier to sink into the background. On the third day of this, she even sees Shizuo in the street from a distance, and he looks right past her. Without her hair as a landmark, there is no reason for him to pick her out of the crowd. She breathes a little easier.

———

Exactly a week after the day Izaya ruined Naoko’s life, he texts her again.

[Where do you want to go for our date?] the message reads, followed by several overly cute kaomoji.

Naoko ignores the text message. She is in the middle of typing a post for her blog, a riveting piece about a group of local stalker girls who met up to swap tips about breaking and entering their targets’ homes. One girl, notably, bragged about posing as a delivery service and planting a camera while the man’s wife stood by, none the wiser. Naoko embellishes the details, making it read like a thriller.

These women are your neighbors, she writes. Keep your eyes open.

She publishes the post, after painstakingly scrolling the length of it on her phone screen, and wishes she could afford a laptop, though that’s truly a luxury. Maybe she could convince her mother she needs it for school.

Naoko returns to Izaya’s text message. He’s continued to send cutesy emoticons, interrupting her writing every five minutes or so.

[Pick somewhere UwU] he says.

[Can’t you pick?] she texts back. [I thought you were a control freak.]

[Not when I’m trying to figure you out~]

Naoko scoffs. Izaya’s texting style is so girly. The fact that he somehow maintains an air of being in charge despite that is bordering on incredible. She picks a random shopping center and texts him the name of it. As long as they stay indoors, the risk of running into Shizuo is reduced. He doesn’t seem to like confined spaces.

———

“Naoko-chiii,” Izaya says, far too loudly, as he crosses the plaza in front of the shopping center to where she stands. A few people turn and look. Good. That’s what Izaya wants.

“Izaya,” Naoko says.

“Let’s go in, shall we?” Izaya offers his hand. Naoko takes it, because she knows her role. It doesn’t stop her from digging her fingernails into his skin. Izaya acts as if he doesn’t notice, but allows her to let go when she wants to test a pen at a stationery store.

Izaya watches her make a few lines on the test pad and compare it to another one. She absentmindedly touches the nape of her neck while she considers the results. It’s still odd to see her without all that hair, despite the fact that he’s well aware of its condition. He’s still been collecting pieces of it that Namie missed and deducting them from the woman’s paycheck. He’s even taken to absently winding the strands around his finger while he rambles about the human condition to his more or less captive audience. Namie puts up with him because she is paid to, and because he would turn her into the police if she quit. That whole pesky human trafficking business keeps her squarely on his payroll, but often she’s little more than a sounding board to him. It’s admittedly nice to have a second option in the ‘people who have to listen to him talk, whether they like it or not’ category.

“Izaya,” she asks, in a very suspiciously cutesey voice, “Will you buy me this pen? I really like it.”

He smiles warmly. “Of course. Pick a notebook too.” It’s clear she’s testing his commitment to the boyfriend act. He’s not wanting for money, and it’s entertaining, so he plays along. Naoko proceeds to be unable to decide between two notebooks. He tells her he’ll get both, and suggests a third that he thinks she’ll like as well. In the end, they leave the store with a bundle of paper goods, and Izaya is pretty sure that Naoko’s gratitude is at least a little genuine. Which means he still has the upper hand.

He buys them both tea as well, in a themed pop-up cafe where the waitresses wear hats themed around anime mascots. Erika and Walker are there too, which doesn’t surprise him, and Izaya makes sure they can overhear him sweet-talking Naoko. Erika doesn’t know it, but he’s on one of the doujinshi message boards she frequents, posing as a fellow fan from another country, and has been asking her for updates on the ‘hate triangle.’ He’s even been encouraging her to adapt it into a zine.

Naoko adapts surprisingly easily to the act. She seems to be playing a cool girl type with a soft spot for her boyfriend, blushing and whispering in between bouts of calm. Izaya makes it a game to try to generate more of the embarrassed moments.

“Want to watch a movie at my place tonight?” Izaya asks after they leave the cafe and their secret fans.

Naoko’s eyes dart around to see if anyone is watching.

“Not really,” she answers in a low voice.

“It wasn’t really a question,” Izaya whispers back. Naoko scowls so only he can see. Izaya returns a beatific smile. Then, at a regular volume, he asks, “Was there anything else you wanted to shop for before we leave?”

“Sure. A laptop,” Naoko huffs. She’s clearly annoyed at him.

So the panicked look on her face when he says “sure,” and drags her off towards the electronics store, is payment enough.

———

Naoko sits in Izaya’s apartment and stares at the computer, surrounded by packaging detritus. She shouldn’t touch it. It’s like a bear trap sitting on his coffee table. And yet…

“It’s not going to bite you,” Izaya says, emerging from his bathroom with wet hair he’s still dabbing with a towel. “And neither am I, for that matter.”

“Why did you get this for me?” Naoko asks. “Seriously. What game are you playing?”

“All my cards are on the table,” Izaya shrugs. “I can afford it, and it keeps you invested, so why not?”

He examines the length of his bangs, and then sits down right next to Naoko and compares them to hers.

“It’s so short,” he says, of her hair.

Naoko scoots further away, casting Izaya a suspicious glance.

“If you’re worried that I’ve developed feelings for you, rest easy,” Izaya tells her, while texting some chatroom rapidly on his phone. “I don’t see that happening. I love humans, but no one in particular. I don’t mind if you fall for me, though.”

“I’m more worried that you think you can buy my cooperation,” Naoko mutters.

“Can’t I?” Izaya asks, eyes glittering. “Well, I suppose I’m technically extorting you. Maybe by the end of all this we’ll call it even.”

Naoko moves to the other wing of the couch, and takes the laptop with her. Izaya turns on the TV. He still keeps an eye on his chatroom texts, and occasionally he nudges one of the assorted pieces on his incomprehensible game board. Naoko opens the word processor taps the keys, trying to decide what to write first.

Chapter Text

A rhythm forms for Naoko and Izaya far more easily than Naoko had hoped. Despite her continued attempts to irritate him, he only seems amused and encouraged by it. Everything is important to Izaya, and simultaneously, nothing is. She hasn’t yet found out how to get under his skin, but she is determined to, with careful observation and tests. She also notes how he moves (or has Namie move) his game board pieces after important conversations. It’s a visual way to keep track of the who’s who and what’s where, Naoko discovers.

When Naoko is out doing her usual eavesdropping, she’s started to send him updates on her location. Not directly, more like photos she took on a different day or dropping the name of a cafe. She wants him to think he has her under his thumb. Meanwhile, she’s keeping BOSSY up to date with things that are happening nowhere near the place she supposedly is, making sure Izaya has two separate tracks to follow that don’t seem related. Though from time to time, she does let them overlap, just to shake things up. Naoko and Bossy have separate tokens on the game board. Naoko’s is a Go piece, which Izaya likes to flip over between black and white depending on her mood.

Once or twice, he has shown up where Naoko claimed to be and called her out on it. On these occasions, she texts back an insincere apology.

[omg srry. I just left like 10 min ago!!]

She has to admit she enjoys leading Izaya on wild goose chases. Maybe this is why he goads Shizuo into trailing him around town. She understands him a little better for it.

One morning, after Naoko fell asleep on Izaya’s couch, typing away at her novel draft, she is again ushered upstairs at the crack of dawn because of a client. She listens to the meeting from the loft, as she usually does. The client is asking about a string of strange store robberies, and Naoko’s interest piques. Just yesterday, Izaya had messaged BOSSY blog (she can always tell when it’s him, no matter how many fake identities he uses) with a request for more details about an article where she’d witnessed one of these robberies. She really had been close enough to see most of it, but many of the details for her article had been manufactured.

Feeling bitter, she’d described a culprit out of thin air, spinning a myth just for Izaya. There was a lot of style to it, but no real substance. It is surreal to now hear some of those details repeated from his own mouth. Naoko can hardly contain her excitement. It seems that Izaya relies too much on her information. This is how she can take him down.

After the meeting, Izaya wanders upstairs to check on her. Naoko works hard to mask her enthralled state. She sits on the edge of his bed, her notes scattered around and the laptop at her fingertips.

“What’s got you so bright-eyed?” Izaya asks, apparently seeing through her projected concentration. “Is it the robberies?”

“Maybe I’ll write a heist next,” Naoko says. “It sounds exciting.”

“You haven’t stopped writing since I got you that thing,” Izaya says, and flops back onto the mattress behind Naoko. He picks up one of her loose pages of notes and turns it over. “Are you going to let me read any of it?”

“Last time, you didn’t bother asking,” Naoko reminds him. She snatches the page back. “The day we met, you stole my notebook from under my nose.”

Izaya sits up and puts his chin on Naoko’s shoulder as he peers over it at her screen.

“Is that Shizu-chan?” he asks of a character described only as ‘handsome and mysterious.’ “Or is it me?”

“Neither.” Naoko uses her whole hand to push his face away from her, causing him to fall over backward. He giggles like a toddler finding a delightful new game.

“My protagonist is a woman with good taste,” Naoko adds pertinently.

“Something you don’t have in common,” Izaya retorts, and puts both of his socked feet on her back, lightly kicking at her like a drum, so that her voice is distorted when she tells him to shut up.

———

Naoko considers her next move on the BOSSY blog for a while. She doesn’t want to play her hand too soon, and become a source Izaya considers unreliable. She needs to wait for opportune moments when the wrong answer could really screw him over. Maybe she can get him in hot water with the mafia, or fool him into making an extremely expensive error that would leave him destitute.

It’s thrilling, the prospect of it. Once the dragon is defeated, maybe Naoko can tell Shizuo the truth, and even present a ruined Izaya as some sort of hunting trophy.

Naoko frowns. She’s getting carried away. Would Shizuo even appreciate a gesture like that? He’s not a mean-natured person. Not like she apparently is.

Naoko has never gotten her hands dirty. She eats up other people’s drama and tragedy, but stays out of it herself. It’s been this way as long as she can remember. In school, while all her classmates were getting boyfriends and gossiping, she sat quietly, did her work, and pretended not to notice. When she got home she filled journals with the things she’d listened to, and no one ever knew.

A couple brave boys had asked her out in the course of her school days, but she broke up with the first because he couldn’t name one thing he liked about her besides her hair, and the second had turned tail because he was creeped out when she showed him the notes she took on their classmates. In fact, it feels like Izaya is the only person she’s ever dated who doesn’t think she’s creepy or boring. And he doesn’t even like her that much.

Naoko writes Izaya’s name, then Shizuo’s, then hers just below both of them, drawing arrows and lines between all of them. It’s a fool’s errand—all of this is too complex for a single chart. Instead, Naoko turns her attention to a couple in the park. They’re not doing much of anything, just eating lunch together. The girl cooked something cute at home, and the boy gratefully lets her dote on him. They laugh and blush and seem to share some kind of private world. There’s no drama and no pathos in it. In other words, it’s boring.

Naoko heaves a long sigh and scribbles over the chart too hard with her pen. The tip breaks off and creates a big ink blob, smeared across their three names. Had none of this mess with Izaya ever happened, Naoko has her doubts she could have kept Shizuo around either. His interest had been flattering, but they’d never really had anything in particular to talk about. Would he have expected that cute, boring relationship from her? Maybe they would have both been disappointed. Still, she hangs onto the bitterness of not being allowed to find out for herself.

The couple leaves, and Naoko tears out the page. She crumples it in her hands, leaving ink all over her fingers.

———

Later that week, Izaya buys Naoko a new pair of shoes. He generally buys anything she asks for. She seems to enjoy using this to her advantage. He enjoys turning her attempts to control him back onto her by indulging them. He’s spoiling her, and they both know it, and she’s furious about the entire thing. It’s adorable.

Izaya knows she’s picked these particular shoes because they have a tall wedge heel. She’s already an inch taller than he is, but this exaggerates the difference. She wants him to look silly and small next to her. He retaliates by not minding at all.

“They look good on you,” Izaya tells her earnestly. “You have to wear them.”

He revels in the states of irritated confusion her face displays as she tries to decide if her scheme has backfired. When Naoko showed up dressed in her usual baggy pants to a date Izaya had been clear was going to be a formal one, she was probably hoping to embarrass him. In the end, she has to walk slowly because she isn’t used to balancing on shoes like this. She’s also wearing a brand new satiny green dress that shows off her long legs, something she’s clearly uncomfortable with. Izaya is pretty sure he’s won this round.

They’re making their way slowly to the movie theater after a fancy dinner at an exclusive restaurant Izaya has a standing reservation to, when a fight breaks out right in front of them. This is run-of-the-mill Ikebukuro, and Izaya barely reacts. He casually takes Naoko’s hand and tugs her toward an alley where they can watch from somewhere out of the way. When he meets resistance, he expects to see her in some sort of shock, but her face says otherwise. She’s riveted, almost jubilant. He practically has to drag her away from the action, into the alley.

“Curious. I thought fights made you lose your head and accept terrible deals from information brokers,” he comments, as she’s still trying to peer around the corner.

“The good thing about having long hair was being able to watch through it without looking suspicious,” she comments, sourly.

“So you aren’t going to plead for me to help that guy?” Izaya asks.

“No…?” Naoko blinks. Then she laughs. “I think you’ve got me all wrong, Orihara Izaya.”

“Enlighten me,” he suggests, offering his hand to aid her balance as they continue on their way.

They step past the loser of the scuffle. He’s taken a difficult beating, and his attackers have vanished.

“You threatened my brother,” Naoko says, and she doesn’t appear to get emotional remembering it. “Of course I’d be upset if my family was hurt. They’re mine.”

“So if it’s a stranger?” Izaya asks.

Naoko looks over her shoulder, but there’s already too much distance and too many people between them and the scene to see it anymore.

“Then it’s fascinating,” she says.

“And what about Shizuo?” Izaya asks. Naoko laughs again.

“I don’t have to waste my worry on him,” she says. “Nobody can beat up Shizuo.”

“And what about me?” Izaya asks, finally.

“I’d save you,” Naoko states blithely, as they turn into the theater. “If only so that I could finish you off myself.”

Izaya grins.

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

Chapter Text

Izaya discovers that his convenience store information was slightly faulty when video surfaces online of the incident in question. Some of the details are a bit… off. For one thing, the assailant was fully masked. It’s hard to believe someone got a good description of their face. Still, the account on the BOSSY blog is too accurate to be entirely disregarded. The anonymous writer probably was on the scene, just not as close as they would have the reader believe.

Izaya scrubs through the footage frame by frame, squinting at passers-by who appear as little more than smears of pixels. Is one of them the elusive BOSSY? Izaya thinks that it’s well past time he discover the gossip writer’s true identity. If they lead him astray again, he’ll be able to threaten them back.

Izaya examines the recorded crowd for anyone watching with more interest than fear. Ikebukuro residents are generally good at keeping their heads down while remaining aware. He jots down descriptions of a few bystanders to investigate, though they’re little more than wild guesses at this stage. Then he sees her.

A grin slides across Izaya’s face as he zooms in on a blur that is unmistakably Naoko. She’s only visible for a second, as part of the crowd, but her gaze holds that same hunger as two days ago, when they witnessed that mugging. It isn’t… normal. There’s something not quite right with that girl.

Not that Izaya minds at all.

He glances away from the computer to where Naoko is passed out on his couch.

It always turns out this way when she stays the night. Though they intentionally let people think these sleepovers are a different type, once they’re out of view of the world and Namie has left for the day, Izaya goes upstairs alone, and Naoko stays down here. Not even once has she asked for a blanket or worn anything resembling pajamas—she just sleeps in her clothes on the couch. If Izaya doesn’t have an early meeting, she leaves as soon as she wakes up.

Izaya makes his way down to her and tugs the laptop from her limp hands. She’s liable to roll over onto it in the night. He almost puts it down on the coffee table, but that’s just a passing thought. Now that he has the machine, he sits on the other wing of the couch with it.

And types in her password.

———

Naoko is well aware that Izaya has access to the computer he bought her. She let him watch her type in the PIN a couple of times, just so he’d feel confident she has nothing to hide. She pretends to keep sleeping, though his soft steps woke her even before he touched the computer. She watches through the tiniest gap in her eyelashes.

Izaya won’t find anything on it. At least, not about BOSSY. Naoko always types those files completely in the browser, and she always clears her history after. Everything on the laptop is related to her novel. He’ll get bored of this before long. Naoko waits for him to shut the laptop, defeated, but he continues to browse long enough that the pretense becomes real and she falls asleep again.

The next time she wakes, it’s four in the morning, and Izaya is still on the couch. He’s not reading anymore—the laptop is closed on the coffee table. But it looks like he hasn’t moved from that spot, just laid his head down and went to sleep there.

Naoko reaches quietly for the laptop and opens it, squinting at the bright screen in the dark. Her novel file is open, and Izaya has left notes. Some of them are grammar—irritating because this is a draft. She’s not editing yet. But many of them are reactions: [I like this part] or [excellent way to describe despair, LOL]

Naoko snaps the laptop shut, feeling embarrassed for some reason. She’d told herself she didn’t mind if Izaya read her work, but she didn’t actually expect him to take the time. She turns on her side and holds the laptop to her chest like it’s a stuffed animal, feeling strangely vulnerable. Naoko should be upset about the intrusion, but she isn’t. Actually, it’s kind of nice to have a fan. She isn’t sure, but as she’s falling asleep again, she thinks she sees Izaya’s eyes open slightly. She slips into unconsciousness before she can wonder if he was watching her, too.

Chapter Text

“Don’t forget, we have dinner with Shinra and Celty at five,” Izaya says, opening his eyes abruptly when he senses Naoko getting up from the shifting of the couch.

Naoko blinks some of the exhaustion away, and then checks her phone.

“I don’t see why I have to meet your middle school friends,” she grumbles, just to grumble, against a lost cause.

“Because they invited us,” Izaya says, sitting up. “And Shinra’s a great cook. I think you’ll find his roommate intriguing too.”

“Yesterday you said she was his girlfriend.” Naoko narrows her eyes.

“They might even be married,” Izaya adds thoughtfully. “Nobody’s really sure. He’s been in love with her since he was six. They have their own thing going.”

Naoko gathers her notes and the laptop and tucks them into a messenger bag. She says nothing about Izaya’s odd behavior last night, first trolling her laptop, then sleeping downstairs, though he knows she’s aware of both.

“I’m not going to stick around here until then,” she tells him. “Just text me the address.”

———

After she leaves, Izaya goes about his day. Namie arrives and they organize notes and records. As he reviews recent meetings, it’s not lost on Izaya how much inspiration Naoko seems to be pulling from his work.

“She’s using me,” he tells Namie matter-of-factly. “She’s crafty and remorseless.”

“Sounds familiar,” Namie grumbles back.

“I think she’ll have a harder time leaving me than she wants to admit,” Izaya says, twirling a pencil and staring whimsically into space.

Namie glances over with disdain. “Any sane woman would have left already.”

“Clearly,” Izaya mocks her. Naoko has stayed for the same reason Namie has: Izaya has leverage. He knows Namie would abandon him the instant she thought she could get away without punishment. He begins to wonder: would Naoko do the same? Or, considering how much use she seems to be getting out of him, would she be tempted to stay?

———

Naoko stands in front of a door in a tall apartment building, and checks that the number is right with the last of her cell phone’s battery. She used up the entire thing intentionally today—there is a BOSSY post queued within the next couple of hours, and she wants Izaya to know that she doesn’t have access to it during that time.

[I’m here… I think] she texts. [my battery’s at 1% LOL]

Naoko looks around while she waits. This place is… a little strange. She can’t help but notice a few old drag-shaped stains on the carpet that probably used to be blood. Izaya did say his friend was some kind of emergency doctor. Additionally, there’s a burn mark from a tire. On this floor? It would suggest someone rode a motorcycle directly out of the window, which is ridiculous.

The door opens. A man with a labcoat, glasses, and a stupid haircut greets her, and Naoko finds herself inside an apartment that is much nicer than the outside might suggest.

Izaya is already here, leaning on the counter and talking to… a woman without a head? Naoko tries to avoid her eyes bulging, but she doubts it’s working. When the woman turns and offers a phone screen with a typed greeting, the tire markings in the hallway suddenly make all the sense in the world. This ‘Celty’ is Shizuo’s friend, the Black Rider.

Shinra introduces himself and Celty, fawning over the phantom. Naoko mentions that they’ve met before.

“Where?” Izaya asks.

[Just around] Celty types quicky, shoving the phone at Izaya before Naoko can answer.

———

“Tell me how you two met,” Shinra says once they’ve sat down at the counter to eat, the women on one side and the men on the other. Naoko exchanges a glance with Izaya across from her, and he indicates that they’re using the cover story, even with his supposed longtime friend.

“Izaya saved me and my little brother from some trouble,” she says, nonchalantly, as she eats.

“Out of the goodness of his heart?” Shinra laughs, seeing right through it. “I’d be more likely to believe that aliens were invading.”

Celty shivers.

“The truth is, I was already interested,” Izaya insists. “When the opportunity arose to introduce myself as a hero, why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t be fooled, Naoko,” Shinra says cheerily. “Izaya’s not a good person.”

“I know,” Naoko says, dismissively. “Neither am I, really.”

Celty begins to type something, but then thinks better of it and backspaces. Shinra is not so delicate.

“I heard you broke poor Shizuo’s heart,” he says, grinning as Celty shadow-boxes him from across the table.

“Not only that,” Izaya adds, “But she’s always mining other people’s business for writing ideas.”

“At least I’m not actively putting anyone in danger to get my kicks,” Naoko shoots back.

“Yes, but she’s taken up smoking, which is worse,” Izaya says, grinning. “I think she does it just because she knows I hate it.”

“He’s always blasting obnoxious cutesy music while I try to write,” Naoko posits, with a haughty grin. “The worst part is that it’s catchy.”

“And she keeps moving my game pieces,” Izaya concludes.

“How long did it take you to notice?” Naoko asks.

“I’m so glad you two found each other,” Shinra says, nearly beaming. Then his face becomes serious again. “I don’t think anyone else on this earth could handle either of you.”

“We are pretty well matched, aren’t we?” Izaya says, leaning back in his chair and casting a blatantly flirty gaze Naoko’s way.

“It would appear so,” she smiles back so sweetly that her teeth hurt. The conversation moves on to something else.

At some point, Celty types something, but only shows it to Naoko.

[Can we talk?]

Naoko looks up. Izaya is cackling about something and Shinra is teasing him, so she nods. Celty types again.

[What really happened with Shizuo?] Then, when Naoko hesitates, she adds more.

[You don’t have to defend Izaya. Everyone knows how he likes to mess with people.]

Naoko takes the phone and types a reply.

[I wasn’t trying to hurt Shizuo, honest. He didn’t do anything wrong. It just… ended up this way.]

Celty sighs with her shoulders and types again.

[If it’s a misunderstanding, would you be able to explain?]

Naoko shakes her head ‘no.’

[I see.]

Naoko types again: [If I’m being honest, he can do much better than me, anyways.]

Celty begins to respond, but doesn’t get far.

“What are you two talking about over there?” Shinra asks.

[GIRL STUFF MEN SHOULDN’T LISTEN TO] Celty responds with a wave of her phone.

“So even ancient mythical beings experience such things,” Izaya says.

It’s another hour before Naoko and Celty can continue their unspoken conversation, and then only as the guests are getting ready to go. Naoko holds her palm out quietly for the phone, and Celty hands it to her.

[If you see him, can you tell him I hope he’s well?]

[And… that for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.]

Celty reads the message and nods once with the smoke escaping her empty neck. Naoko finds that she isn’t even fazed by it anymore.

“It was nice to meet you properly,” Naoko says aloud, as Izaya begins to tug her away.

[Likewise] Celty responds.

———

Naoko is quiet on the way back to Izaya’s place. Izaya doesn’t like not being able to guess what she’s thinking about.

“Just so we’re perfectly clear,” he says as they step into the quiet of his apartment, “All that stuff Shinra was saying about us, you didn’t believe it, did you?”

“Obviously not,” Naoko scoffs. “If you died in a horrible accident tomorrow, I wouldn’t even cry.”

“Nor I you,” Izaya says. “Now take a look at this.”

He’s pointing toward his bookshelf, behind some books he’s pushed aside. He watches Naoko’s face intently as she comes closer to look, expecting it to be nothing she cares about.

When Naoko sees the head in a jar, her eyes bulge. Izaya can tell she’s connected the dots instantly.

“That’s—”

“It is,” he says. “Now this is a secret that I expect you to keep, of course.”

“Why the hell do you have that?” Naoko asks, then murmurs, “actually, do I really even want to know…”

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time. I’m feeling withholding at the moment,” Izaya lies. He’s actually keen to see her reaction to the plan he’s orchestrating—for the time being, only Namie knows most of it, and she doesn’t really appreciate the intricacies. Still, it’s a little early for trusting Naoko with all the delicate details when she is still capable of turning on him.

“Whatever. I’m going home,” Naoko says.

“When you just got here?” Izaya asks.

“I left my cell phone charger this morning,” Naoko says, and unplugs it from the outlet. She raises one hand in farewell as she turns her back on him to leave. “Later.”

Izaya watches her go, and then boots up his computer. There is a new post from BOSSY blog, timestamped from twenty minutes ago, when they were on the way back. Naoko’s phone has been dead in her pocket this whole time. It doesn’t entirely clear her of suspicion, but Izaya moves her a little further down the list.

He pops into his usual chatrooms and spreads his usual rumors, and stays busy until it’s time for bed. It’s only then that he reviews the conversation over dinner with anything other than the buffer of pretense.

Because other than the part where Naoko and Izaya claimed to actually like each other, most of what they’d said tonight was true. They are always looking for new ways to bother each other, and they’re always at odds, even when they agree. It’s mostly the fact that Shinra fully accepted the relationship that is bothering Izaya. They’ve known each other since middle school, and Shinra knows Izaya is a schemer who plays with people like dolls. And yet not once did he question it, when he ordinarily should have.

Izaya stares at the ceiling, slowly losing hold of his thoughts.

Maybe it’s just Shinra’s fragile grasp on reality that makes him think Izaya and Naoko are actually compatible. After all, the man has been lovesick for a Dullahan his entire life. His judgement isn’t exactly to be trusted.

That decided, Izaya finally falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Naoko wakes up on a Saturday morning, at her own apartment for the first Saturday in two weeks, to a hammering at her door. She wonders what anyone could possibly need from her. She isn’t late with rent, is she?

Groggily, she checks the peephole just to be sure it isn’t Shizuo—she doesn’t know what she would do if it was, though—and when it’s just a middle aged lady who lives in the complex, Naoko cautiously opens the door.

“Sorry to disturb you, but have you seen my dog?” the woman bursts out, holding forth a shaking arm with her small cell phone displaying a picture of an animal that at first glance, seems to be a dirty white shag mop with two beady eyes and a brown nose. The neighbor is clearly so upset she isn’t thinking straight, because Naoko’s curtains are always drawn these days and she certainly hasn’t seen any stray dogs, or even mops that look like dogs, inside her own unit.

“No, sorry,” she says, with what she hopes is a calming candor.

“I’m so worried that puppy-napping ring got him!” the woman says, emitting fresh anxiety in response.

“The what…” Naoko says to herself.

“Please keep an eye out,” the woman says, and she’s already on her way to the next door down.

Naoko closes her door and sits down at her desk to research this rumor. It’s mostly other paranoid pup owners who seem like the type to forget to close their gates, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t substance to the story. Maybe this operation goes for easy targets. The most compelling part is that, of the number of dogs disappearing lately, most of them haven’t been found.

This is something worth leaving the house for, Naoko decides. She chooses a notebook and a sturdy jacket with lots of pockets. She is going to investigate this…somehow.

As she’s closing her door behind her, she sees Shizuo at his, just three units down. Crap. They make eye contact. And… nothing happens. Cautiously, she nods, just to be civil. He does too, almost imperceptibly, and then turns away to look at some random bird flying through. When (and if) he turns his head back, Naoko has already split.

———

Despite having something to investigate, Naoko isn’t quite sure where to start. She heads to the area of town where most of the dogs seem to have lived, which takes less than ten minutes. It’s a busy area, not far from the park, where it’s easy for things to be lost in the hubbub of daily life. Naoko isn’t sure where to begin, so she observes some tourists who are fighting loudly in English about soap of all things, and then sits down on a bus stop bench to take notes about it. It’s unrelated to her investigation, but may make for some interesting novel dialogue if she tweaks a few things.

She’s only three sentences into the exchange when she spots what might be a mop, but is probably her neighbor’s dog, cowering between two vending machines.

Case closed, she supposes. No dognapper in sight.

Naoko would rather not get involved, but she doesn’t have her neighbor’s number, and it’s not like it’s far. She thinks she’d feel bad if she left it here.

She squats at the crack between the machines. The dog is quivering just out of reach of her arms. She’s skinny, but not that skinny.

“Come on, boy,” she says to it. It presses back further.

“Oh, good, did you find my dog?” a man says from behind her. Naoko cranes her head around to look. He’s normal-looking, with a crew cut, fuzzy eyebrows, and plain clothes. He could be anyone, but Naoko knows he’s definitely lying about this being his dog. Even if she hadn’t been pretty sure it’s her neighbor’s, the dog doesn’t appear to be soothed by his presence.

“Yeah,” Naoko says. “I don’t suppose you can move the vending machine over a bit so I can wiggle in there?” Of all the times to wish Shizuo was around.

The man, joined by another buddy, manages to shove the machine just enough for Naoko to lunge for the dog and scoop it up. It immediately begins yapping, drawing a ton of attention. Naoko shushes it and pets its head. The man holds out his arms for the dog. He looks nervous.

“Can I carry him for a bit?” Naoko asks, pretending to be enamored with the dog. “He likes me. Do you live close by?”

The dog doesn’t like her, but it doesn’t like the man more. It growls when he tries to take it.

“Sure,” the man says, giving up. “My car’s down the street.”

Naoko could make a run for it with the dog. She’s a good sprinter, and it’s gotten her out of many a tight situation. But the chance to be the first to find out about what’s going on here is too good to pass up. She silently apologizes to the puppy for using it as bait, and follows.

The man takes the dog from her once they get to the car, not asking this time. He puts it in the backseat of his blue sedan. Naoko memorizes the plates and pulls out her phone, pretending to text, bored, when she’s actually grabbing as many pictures as she can of the two guys. They pull away, and she lets them get halfway down the block before she starts walking fast in the same direction.

Thanks to city traffic, she keeps up with them for a block or two, but it seems like they’re about to turn onto the highway, so she starts looking around for a cab. Not finding one, she begins to jog faster, hoping at least to see which direction the car takes at the split, but it’s easily outpacing her. Without even realizing it, she runs right by Celty and Shizuo talking at the edge of the bridge. She’s forced to stop running before long, out of breath. As she’s bent over, Celty pulls up beside her on the silent bike.

[What’s going on?] the phantom types.

Naoko points further up the highway.

“Dognappers,” she pants. “In a blue sedan. They have my neighbor’s dog.”

Celty seems immediately concerned.

[Get on.] she writes.

So Naoko clambers onto the ghost-bike, and it isn’t long before they begin to catch up. It seems like Celty is going to overtake them, but Naoko, clinging onto the phantom for her life, has a different plan.

“Can you hang back and follow from a distance?” she asks. “I think they’ll lead us to the rest.”

Naoko feels Celty nod in the affirmative and slow down a touch. Which is when the van shows up.

It’s impossible not to recognize this van from around town. Naoko knows the faces of all four of its usual occupants—they’re usually the first ones to show up when someone’s in trouble, or a when a new manga hits the bookstore. Real do-gooders, despite being a slightly shady bunch themselves. And they’ve now turned what was a stealth mission into a full-on car chase.

The dognappers, now positive that they’re being pursued, kick it into high gear and make a sudden swerve to exit. The van follows, just barely, the median scoring a beautiful horizontal line across the side as it narrowly misses a collision. Another unlucky car who happened to be at the exit spins out when the sedan clips its rear bumper, and the van only just squeezes by. Celty, undeterred, drives right over the blockade. Miraculously, it doesn’t even leave a dent in the hood or crack the windshield, like the motorcycle is made of air, even though it handles like a weighty machine.

Naoko catches a glimpse of flashing lights arriving to the accident before the bike’s tires find purchase on the asphalt again and the scene falls out of view behind them. Celty quickly gains on both vehicles again. Erika and Walker are pressed to the van’s windows, and Celty pulls up alongside. When Naoko sees Shizuo is also in the van, leaning into the front seats like he wants to explode right through the windshield, a momentary uncertainty grasps her, but it wears off almost as quickly as it comes. She is high on the thrill of being right in the center of the action. Sure, it’s dangerous. It’s also addictive. At some point, she realizes she is laughing.

———

Less than an hour later, eight sore and sorry dognappers have abandoned their hideout, and Shizuo is sitting on the floor surrounded by dogs of all shapes and sizes. The others are petting the dogs too, but the pups are drawn to Shizuo, despite his hesitance, and his arms and face are taking quite the licking. Naoko smiles secretly at this, hiding her face behind their neighbor’s mop-dog. She thinks he can’t see. He can.

Shizuo didn’t have much time to think about Naoko’s presence when he was busy throwing people around, other than a vague but pressing need to keep moving. Now he’s stopped moving, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself again. Her hair is all gone. She’s holding the dog his neighbor begged him to look for this morning. Well, it made sense she’d ask Naoko too. They live hardly a hundred feet apart, after all. And yet she’s managed to avoid him for weeks.

Which was probably for the best. If Shizuo tries very hard, he can avoid thinking about why exactly that is. Another dog slobbers all over his vest. He’s thankful for the distraction, even if it is sort of irritating.

“We’ll find all the owners,” Kadota assures everyone, taking charge of the situation.

“I already posted to the message boards,” Erika volunteers.

“And we can watch the rest until then,” Walker says.

Saburo has little say in the fur-covered future of his van.

“I know who this one belongs to,” Naoko says, waving its little paws around. She needs to stop being so damn cute right this freaking minute or—

“Ugh,” Naoko says. She digs her ringing phone out of her pocket and makes a face at the caller ID. She sets the dog down and walks a few paces away. “Yeah, I’m late, so what?”

Shizuo remembers the reason he’s not supposed to think about Naoko anymore.

He shouldn’t eavesdrop. It’s none of his business. His ears strain to hear every word. All they hear is the sound of another dog panting inches away from his face.

Naoko closes the phone and sits back down on the floor.

“Everything good?” Kadota asks.

“Yeah,” Naoko says, grinning and pulling one of the puppies into her lap. “Iz—” (she reconsiders the present company) “—my boyfriend said he hates dogs, so I need to get as much fur on me as possible before whatever ride he’s sending for me gets here.”

Shizuo blinks. Something doesn’t add up here. Celty wouldn’t give him a straight answer about what she learned at dinner last week, only saying that Naoko doesn’t bear Shizuo any ill will. Which was… comforting, but unhelpful. It was easier to just assume she hated him.

“Sorry to be blunt, but… Do you even like the guy?” Kadota asks the question Shizuo can’t.

Naoko’s eyes flicker in Shizuo’s direction for only a fraction of a moment.

“Of course,” she replies. “I like to tease him, is all.”

Celty’s phone buzzes. She reads the message, then types her own, holding it out where everyone can see, but directing it to Naoko.

[Looks like I’m your hired ride] the message reads.

“Convenient,” Naoko says, unenthusiastically.

“I can return the neighbor’s dog,” Shizuo offers. It’s the first thing he’s said to her this entire time.

“Thank you,” Naoko says. She gives the mop-looking puppy one final ruffle, then hands it off to Shizuo. She doesn’t look at him. Naoko leaves with Celty, and Shizuo refuses to think about where that trip ends.

———

BOSSY BLOG

Saturday 8:14 PM

Am I the last person in Ikebukuro to hear about this?? OMG. If you thought you were seeing a lot more missing pet posters lately, you’re not alone. Dogs have been going missing from yards and houses all week, leaving owners sick with worry. Well, despair no more! This afternoon a group of upstanding troublemakers exposed the plot to… what? Your guess is as good as mine. No, scratch that. My guess is pretty good. So was it dogfighting? Fearmongering? Plain old greed? The reason for the abductions has been highly contested on message boards, but take a look at this account on a stock photo site I found. And now take a look at this pic a friend of a friend texted me from the scene. Look familiar?

It’s all the same dogs, huh? So selling stock photos of other people’s pets is the latest get-rich-quick scheme in town. If you ask me, it’s half genius, half idiotic. Were they going to give the dogs back? Or keep them and turn them into online celebrities, hoping their owners wouldn’t notice?

I guess we’ll never know, cuz they all split when Heiwajima Shizuo showed up and wrecked their ****. Wish I’d been there to see it, for real. Someone else sent me pics of a couple of the guys. If you see them, say hey, maybe with a fist! Ha. BTW, if your dog is in any of these pics, email [___] to arrange retrieval. LOL. If nobody claims the big brown one, can I keep it?

Chapter Text

Izaya thinks, not for the first, second, or even third time, that Naoko is getting too comfortable with him. She knows what he’s capable of—giving orders to gangs and hitmen from the shadows, industrial sabotage, manipulating friends against each other. He even showed her Celty’s head, a privilege not shared by many others. Most people who get a peek at the Izaya behind the curtain are horrified. And he enjoys handing out such glimpses at opportune moments. The look in someone’s eyes when they realize he’s not like them. That he’s been playing them. They get wary. But by that point, usually, they also have no choice but to rely on him.

Naoko had her moment early, he supposes. That delicious half-second when he called off the kidnapping of her brother and watched the realization play itself out in her wide eyes. But perhaps he’d miscalculated then. Sometimes, his memory even seems to tamper with her face. Was it actually horror she showed him, or that hungry look he’s seen a few times since? All his attempts to repulse her since haven’t landed with the same impact. Instead, Naoko seems perfectly content to let him go about his business, and the game they play where they both try to outdo the other in daily annoyances is just that—a game. Naoko claims that she hates Izaya, but it never quite seems sincere, and that troubles him.

Maybe what keeps him wary is the fact that something deep inside Izaya is a little bit afraid. Afraid that she really is fully cognizant of all his abnormalities and… doesn’t mind them. She can’t possibly be seeing him for what he is. Can she?

The difference between humans and himself, Izaya thinks, is that thing commonly referred to as a ‘conscience.’ That thing that prevents humans, even humans who kill or steal, from becoming like him. Some small voice deep within a person that cries against atrocities, or desperately tries at least to justify them, to satisfy a moral conviction. Humans can get quite good at numbing that voice, but it’s still there. Izaya knows this well, because when he prods a person enough, it always shows its teeth.

Izaya may have had a conscience, once, but if that’s true, he’s buried it under more detachment than a soul can bear to carry. Unlike with his experiments on others, he’s yet to find a trace of it.

So where does Naoko’s conscience live? And how much weight will it carry? Enough to withstand even him?

Izaya decides to find out.

“Come here, Naoko,” he calls from his desk the next time she’s over, reading on his couch as is her usual habit while he works.

“What?” she asks, and doesn’t move.

“I want to show you something,” he insists. “On my computer.”

Naoko slaps the book shut and stands, slowly, taking the time to set it neatly on the coffee table and straighten the other things around it before meandering up the stairs to where Izaya waits.

He rolls his chair back, leaving room for her to stand in front of the monitor.

“What am I looking at?” Naoko asks, blandly.

“Chat logs,” Izaya says, with a sharp gleam in his eye as he studies her reaction. “Not the Kanra ones you read over my shoulder sometimes. These are… let’s call them case studies.”

Naoko leans down to read the walls of texts more closely. She sees ‘Nakura’ for the first time, building empathy with teenagers who are discovering the cruel complexity of life, only to rip that comfort away again, exposing their deepest insecurities. Most of the exchanges draw to their close with plans to meet up and end it all together, which Izaya clearly hasn’t followed through with. And most of the others haven’t either, considering the unanswered demands of “how could you trick me like that” and “I hate you” that act as a post-script to the exchanges.

Some of them do just end, though.

Izaya expects Naoko to read one, maybe two, and to express her unadultered revulsion. That’s not what happens, though. She starts a third one, hardly blinking as she scans each line. Her brow is creased, but it’s not disgust. It’s focus.

“You’re really going to read all of them?” Izaya asks.

Naoko doesn’t look away from the screen, but nods slightly.

“In that case, at least sit down,” Izaya says, moving over in his chair to make room for her to perch on the edge of it.

He just… watches her read them. Waiting for some kind of reaction. She’s glued to the transcripts, without comment. Izaya’s gaze travels from Naoko’s expression and moves along the sharp edge of her jaw and then to her hairline, following it absently to the nape of her neck.

What now? Izaya asks himself. Because if this won’t scare her off, what will? To tell the truth, he has no real desire to mess with her family again so soon. For one thing, he may still need to play that card in the future. For another, this situation he’s found himself in is… unique. There has to be some way he can plumb the depths of Naoko’s strange psyche from this angle that he rarely has the opportunity for, otherwise. He waits for a twisted plan to suggest itself, but nothing comes to mind, not yet.

And Naoko is still completely absorbed in his cruel histories. She barely seems to notice when he presses two fingers to the side of her neck, below her ear.

“You don’t have a proper sense of danger,” he tells her, quietly, feeling her pulse pound under her skin. “If I was a vampire, you’d be beyond saving now.”

“I seem to recall you saying you wouldn’t bite,” Naoko mutters, still reading.

“Maybe I was lying,” Izaya says.

Naoko doesn’t answer. Izaya leans against her back, his cheek pressed to her ribcage as he thinks, or tries to. Her pulse is louder like this, echoing in his ear, steady even as it should be racing in reaction to the unforgivable things he’s done.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to try to run.

———

Naoko reads the last chat log in the collection—about two dozen in total—and closes the folder. Izaya hasn’t spoken in a while. She had barely noticed him leaning on her as they shared his chair; she’s been so wrapped up in what she was reading onscreen that the world around her has nearly vanished until now.

“Did you fall asleep?” she asks.

“No,” he says, not moving. “What did you think?”

Naoko waits a beat, but she knows the answer already.

“I think it’s amazing. Terrible, obviously, but so interesting.”

“Why?” Izaya asks, and for once in the entire time Naoko has spent with him, he seems sincere in asking.

“I guess it’s like a car crash, or a dissection,” she says, and stands up to lean against his desk. Her back feels cold where Izaya had been pressed against it. “You aren’t supposed to like it. It’s uncomfortable by nature. But if you don’t look away, you can start to understand how it all works and what went wrong.”

Naoko doesn’t think this explanation is sufficient, but even if she talked for an hour, about eight of the words she says might start to get at the cold fascination that lurks within her. Sometimes it’s better just to absorb it.

“So you do have a gut reaction to it, but your curiosity gets the better of you,” Izaya posits.

Naoko drums her fingers on the desk.

“I suppose so, but I think it’s different for me than most people,” she says. “I think most people feel it when someone else is upset, and it makes them want to help. I— I’m pretty selfish. I just want to collect everybody else’s feelings without interfering. I don’t care if they’re bad ones. Actually, sometimes the bad ones feel more real.”

Izaya has his head propped in one hand, his elbow on the desk, and he studies her.

“You’re some kind of sociopath, aren’t you?” he asks, as easily as if he was observing that she often wore green.

“As if you have any room to talk,” Naoko shoots back, but she doesn’t deny it.

The conversation dies off there, not for having nothing to say, but because there’s too much, and it’s quite late. Izaya shuts down his computer and goes to brush his teeth. Naoko almost leaves without saying goodbye, but something compels her to stay. She’s waiting by the door, her coat half-on when Izaya comes out of the bathroom in his silly flannel pajamas.

“You’re leaving?” he asks, apparently surprised.

“I can still catch the late train back,” she says. “I think I want a pillow and blanket tonight.”

Izaya’s gaze flickers to the couch.

“You can have those things here, too, you know,” he remarks flippantly. “It’s just that you never once asked.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Naoko says.

She still leaves.

Once Naoko is in her own bed at home, she wraps her blanket tight around her back and replays everything in her mind. She’s always known she sees things differently from others, and over time, learned to not ask insensitive questions when someone else was in distress. Instead, she observes, and devours what she learns. Hiding that nature from others takes less and less work the more she copies what she sees in others, whether or not it’s real. It makes others comfortable and open to her, even if it’s a lie.

Actually, she feels strangely better having read what she did tonight. While she’s never dared to toy with the lives of real people to that degree, something in her desperately wants to unravel why they act the way they do, how they feel so strongly all the time. It’s why she writes, why she clings so fervently to the stories she sees around her.

It’s… comforting, in a sense, to realize that even if there is something wrong with her, she’s not the only one. Not only that, but Izaya is bolder than she is. Willing to get his hands dirty for it. And right now, Naoko has a front row seat.

So it’s that night that she realizes:

She has to keep him.