Grief

Focus

I felt a little lighter.

I blinked, walking behind Tom as we made our way towards the first location of the day. Last night after Izaya and I's talk, I managed to fall asleep and get a good three hours in before I had to head off to work.

Admittedly, It had felt good to talk about it some, it made the memory a little less heavy on my mind. Sure, the thoughts were still there- but they had been just a little more distant- starting this morning.

One step at a time I suppose, but I know for a certain there are some things I can't move passed.

It's not my right to choose.

I glanced back at Izaya, who walked in step behind me, his head turning towards every face we passed. He seemed like his usual self this morning, well, maybe a bit more excited to go outside but besides that, he hadn't acted much different.

Even so, I got this strange feeling whenever I'd turn my back to him- like his eyes were barring straight into the back of my head, watching me as if I was one of his "humans," he was keen to observe and figure out.

I suppressed a shiver at the thought. Being the enemy of Izaya was one thing, but I don't think I'd know how to handle an Izaya drowning in curiosity, on my psychology nonetheless.

"He should live in Room 188," Tom murmured, his focus set on his phone as he read through the allotted information. I let out a low hum, nodding my head as I looked up at the old apartment complex we were about to enter.

The stairs creaked with strain I wasn't keen to trust as we walked up towards the second floor. The place was far from nice, and even I had a sense of pride in my own apartment complex compared to this place.

Not that places like this weren't common- quite the opposite.

Honestly, sometimes I felt bad for the people we would collect from in places like this, a poor old woman who made mistakes in her past, or a sickly family that just can't provide for themselves...

Tom knocked on the door.

On the other hand, there were the people I felt no sympathy for, the people who lied through their teeth for excuses because they needed to get their fix of paid sex or cheap alcohol.

And it was obvious what category this guy fell into.

I frowned, staring down at the man who answered the door- rancid with the smell of stale alcohol and had a bit of struggle on his feet. A spike of nervousness made me glance towards Izaya, watching to make sure there wasn't any cause for concern in the guy's attitude besides alcohol.

I'd rather not have to deal with another person having an overdose...

My fingers twitched the slightest of relief when I saw Izaya looking down at the man with nothing but amusement and a bit of disgust.

I didn't pay much attention to Tom's repeated spiel of introduction, as he explained to the debtor what they had come to collect. Instead, I concentrated on the guy's hung-over face of growing realization- Izaya of course chuckled as he watched along with me.

The man's forehead became sheer with sweat and I cursed my sense of smell for picking up the mixture of sweat and old beer that seemed to cling to his very being. The guy- never quite bothered to catch his name, fumbled over a horrible excuse for more time.

"I-I don't have the money yet." He paused to chew on his lip, "My- my wife died and I've been paying for her funeral expenses!"

His flimsy knees and hands trembled as he kept glancing between Tom and me, slurring between pleas and frantic threats as he spoke.