literature

Leverage // Izaya Orihara

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You hated spring.

It was the worst season out of them all, you thought. For whatever cruel twist of fate, whenever spring would roll around your sinuses would be blocked something fierce, your eyes would water, and your throat would inflame and close up. Most nights during this you weren’t able to get any decent amount of sleep.

Though, you supposed spending days upon days in bed with endless treats and Netflix was infinitely better than sitting at your desk for eight hours. That was a benefit, you couldn’t deny. Perhaps the only benefit.

But the worst part about your sickness was the snarky information broker who’d follow you around and refuse to leave you alone.

Izaya knew how bad your body reacted whenever spring dug its roots into the ground and threw endless barrages of bees and flowers in your face. So, of course, he’d come over each and every time just to take care of you. In actuality, he was just an annoyance. Something told you that he knew this, too. Maybe it was his intention to begin with. You could never understand him or his motives, let alone how he never got sick from spending hours in your presence.

That morning when you woke up, you had hoped that he wasn’t in your apartment. You hoped that he’d just gone home, that he realised he should be a half-decent person and finally left you to rot in your own filth—

Who were you kidding? He’d never be that nice.

You smelled his cooking from the kitchen. You were beyond surprised when he revealed he even had any skill in making meals. All you had been able to cook since living alone was whatever had been cooked already. It wasn’t a healthy diet, all that processed crap you devoured on the daily, but you’d been too lazy to figure out how to make a decent meal to begin with.

Not that you needed to, now that he’d made it his job to cook and clean for you. It was too nice, you thought, he must’ve been up to something else, but you had no semblance of a clue as to what that nefarious plot would be.

“Izaya,” you called, your nose blocked and your voice raspy. Quite a far cry from the velvety pipes people would constantly acclaim you having. “What’re you cooking?”

He turned away from the pan to face you, with that same grin on his face. Did it ever move? “Ah, my dear [First], I was wondering when you would wake up. Not that you should be awake. You’re supposed to be sick, aren’t you?”

“I am but you were cooking in my kitchen--”

He raised a hand to silence you. “Mm, sorry, I can’t hear you. You should go lie down.”

It was then that you realised how damn cold the room had felt. You hugged yourself at the elbows and shivered. “Why is it so fucking cold in here? Did you turn on the air conditioner?”

He nodded eagerly. “I did, indeed. I figured if you were exposed to the cold, it would help level out the humidity outside!”

“…What.”

“Oh yes, I’ve been reading up on your hay fever, and they recommend staying in cold environments. They also recommend exposing yourself to as many flowers as possible, so that you can build up an immunity towards them! That’s why I took the liberty to have all these plants delivered right to your humble abode.”

You turned your head to the other room only to see practically every inch of it had been covered in potted plants. What the fuck was Izaya thinking? What was he up to?!

“Y-you… I-I don’t think this is how curing hay fever works!” you snapped.

“Is it not? Hm… well, our only choice is to go through all the methods to see what one works best.”

“No.”

“No?”

You frowned at him. “You’ve been here for a week! Don’t you have a job? As soon as you find out I’m sick, you’re always coming over to my apartment and you refuse to leave until I’m not sick anymore!”

He turned back to focus on cooking once more. “That’s just because I want to make sure you get better, of course.”

You threw your arms up in defeat and strode over to sit down at the table. He was impossible to talk to, not even comparable to a brick wall in this circumstance, because at least a brick wall wouldn’t fucking grow arms and legs then use its new founded limbs just to poke you.

In truth, not that you’d ever know it, Izaya just wanted to spend time with you. He was almost a hundred percent certain that there were at least twelve other ways that didn’t involve such asshole behaviour to do that, but Izaya was exactly the kind of person to take the least pleasant route on purpose. Just because it was more fun that way.

Catching the attention and affection of Izaya definitely made you the most unlucky person in the world. Your hay fever would look like someone delivering a fresh batch of cookies to your doorstep every day in comparison. He was impossible to reason with, impossible to talk to, impossible to influence…

Yet still strangely charming. At the very least, you knew you’d never get bored with him.

As you slouched over the mahogany, trying not to die a horrible, flowery death, Izaya continued to prepare your meal in the kitchen. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing your way every few minutes. You looked like shit, absolutely terrible, but it wasn’t your appearance really that caught him in an emotional entanglement. It was rather just… you. The idea of you, sitting in the same room as him and dealing with all his crap despite how much you evidently wanted him out.

You… you were something. You didn’t need to look attractive for him to be attracted, if that made any sense.

Finally finishing the meal he’d been preparing, Izaya uncharacteristically elegantly presented it on a plate and placed it in front of you.

Instead of leaving you to enjoy your meal in peace – like he should – he instead decided to linger, flattening his hand on the table and gazing down at you with some sort of twisted infatuation.

You couldn’t even pick up your fork. He was so uneasy to be around. Almost nervously, your eyes met with his. “You mind?”

“No,” he replied. Was that a sense of… love, in his voice? He sounded so… what was the right word for it? Flustered? Contented? An easy mix of the two?

Your stomach sank. You couldn’t believe it. That wasn’t his unerring urge to be a creep in those eyes of his, that was love. Pale, awkward, weird-as-fuck and utterly uncomfortable doe-eyed love.

This… couldn’t be happening, could it? He wasn’t really in love with you. Did Izaya even know what love meant? If he did, then like everything else he supposedly knew he had a damn weird way of showing it. He loved you, so he took the liberty to care for you while also keeping you sick enough to spend time with?

You narrowed your eyes and looked down and away from Izaya. Did you have feelings for him, too? Maybe you could, but…

There was one thing you were sure of.

If there was a relationship to be had, this shit he was pulling was not on.

You grabbed a tissue and cleaned yourself up to look as presentable as possible for what you were aiming on doing next. You couldn’t very well seduce a man without looking seductive, of course.

Standing up from your seat, you turned to Izaya in confidence as he seemed to shrink back. Maybe he saw the determination in your eyes and decided not to push it.

“Izaya…” you breathed. Well, as much as you could with your hay fever clogged sinuses.

“Yes?” he replied, his smugness acting as more of a shield rather than an instinct.

You traced your fingers along the fluffed lining of his jacket, then quickly yanked him in for a kiss. Not even he saw it coming, because as soon as your unstoppable force had pulled him too close to take a step back his eyes filled with an emotion you hadn’t seen before. Shock? Anxiousness? Fear?

You let him calm into the kiss and linger for a moment, but not for too long. You needed him to yearn. You broke apart but kept him close enough to continue his near-flustered behaviour.

“…Get the fuck out of my house,” you finished, lowly.

Surprisingly, without even a single complaint, he complied. Once leaving you – for the life of you – couldn’t believe that impulsive, ill-decided (literally) action had caused him to do exactly what you told him with no questions asked.

You smirked to yourself as you stood in the middle of your now thankfully empty apartment.

You just couldn’t wait to see how this would unfold.
had this sittin in my unfinished folder so i finished it B^) 

can u tell the difference between my style mid-story? if u can its bc this has been unfinished for literal months

i think im gonna finish more fics now
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daydreamingninja007's avatar
next week wakes up to phone call fromhim
what the fuck u want
im sick
suck it up. hangs up
later hes back there