Atlas

Chapter 6: Cohabitation

Izaya moved straight to the kitchen, in a hurry to get him out.

Shizuo took his time to explore the apartment a little.

Books. Lots of books. More than a respectable libraries worth.
Books, but not a photograph in sight.

He found the computer. A month ago he would have broken it for the lives it had ruined and ended. But for now he left it.

"Quit nosing and come eat."

He sighed, eyes flicking over book titles as he made his way to the kitchen.

"Sure it isn't poisoned?"

"Not with anything that'll affect you."

"Why does she do that?"

"None of your business, Shizuo."

"...Shizu-chan."

Izaya froze, and turned to look at him, confused.

Ah crap.

"What?"

"I- uh, it's weird, you calling me by my actual name."

As in it makes me feel weird and I'm not ready to analyse that, I'm struggling enough as it is.

"Let me get this straight. You'd... rather I call you Shizu-chan?"

"...yeah."

"I'm starting to wonder if I was the only one acting, Shizu-chan." Remarked the ravenette.
His face was turned away from Shizuo so he couldn't tell how the informant had reacted, but that was a relief as the blond wouldn't be too surprised if his face was red.

"Finished?"

"The meal, yes."

"Then go."

"No."

Exasperated, Izaya groaned and leant back on the kitchen counter.

"What do I have to do to get you to fuck off?"

"Look me in the eyes, tell me that you aren't going to end your life, or deliberately put yourself in a situation where your life will be ended. And mean it."

Izaya paused.
There was a part of Shizuo that wished desperately for Izaya to stride towards him, look him in the eyes and if not mean it, at least attempt the lie.
Show some kind of fighting spirit.

But that part would be disappointed. Izaya sighed.

"There's no spare room, so you'll have to make do with the couch. I want you out of my sight during client meetings."

He gave up. Again.
Shizuo had achieved his first goal, but the trials to come seemed even more insurmountable.

"Then, I'll be in your care, flea."

"Unwise, beast."

"Well, I am protozoan. They aren't known for wisdom."

Izaya didn't deign that with a reply. He simply left the kitchen, selected a book with his slender fingers and moved to sit down.

In following Izaya's movements, Shizuo noticed for the first time, a piano nestled among the book cases.

"You play piano flea?"

"Occasionally."

Shizuo moved across the open plan apartment and reached out to touch the-

"Don't."

He'd retracted his hand before he'd even realised it.
Something in Izaya's tone.
He didn't ask. Just moved back to where he'd dumped his things by the door.

Collecting his toiletries, and clothes, he approached the stairs, when Izaya didn't speak again, he headed up. Under the pretext of finding the bathroom, he explored a little.

He ironically found the bathroom immediately. It was completely normal. Externally at least. He didn't risk searching. He didn't even know what to look for. Or whether he was prepared for anything he'd find. He somehow knew he'd regret it though.

Leaving his toiletries, he left and carefully opened the next room.
An office, haphazard and stuffed with papers and documents. He was worried setting foot inside would upset the mountains of probably state secrets, so he gently closed that door too, and moved on.

There was a bedroom.
He had no idea what he'd imagined, a vampires lair or something else retrospectively childish.
The walls were a dull cream, the furniture unpainted wood. The whole room almost vacant of personality, excepting the additional bookshelves and a single landscape painting. The only image of any kind displayed that he'd seen.

He couldn't see anything particularly notable about it, other then the heavy loneliness the painting seemed to ooze. Though now he thought of it, most of the house was filled with it. But it wasn't the loneliness of someone who wished for company. But that of someone who didn't think wishing was even worth it. Who expected isolation.

He left the room hastily, before that atmosphere made him rush down stairs and do something stupid.

That was the last room, so he headed with relief back downstairs and, picking up his own book, he settled on the opposing sofa to Izaya, waiting for the jibe.
You can read? Or another criticism of the genre he'd chosen. But none came.

Surreptitiously watching his new flatmate, he found Izaya genuinely lost in his book. His brows were lightly furrowed in concentration, his vermillion eyes serious, and he was biting his lip slightly.

"What are you reading?"

"The Structure of Scientific Revolutions by Thomas Kuhn. Yourself?"

"...Murder on the Orient Express, Agatha Christie."

"That's a good one." Was the only reply he got before the ravenette reimmersed himself in his book again, letting the silence sit between them.