âwho is she?â
her voice is soft and unassuming, without accusation. she hardly remembered the girl's existence, much less her name. her eyes are fixed to the damp splotches on the floor where she did her best to dispose of the evidence. it's the interruption of their particular momentum that has her so shaken. they have, however attenuated, a routine; a vaguely predictable give-and-take to sustain her right at the edge of madness. he's taken a great deal from her this time, and she didn't come prepared to bare what was left to a stranger.
âwhat would she make you beg for?â
she asks as if he were not in the room, as if the answer doesn't matter, because it doesn't. she's largely disinterested in what he gets up to on his own timeâa man is only worth as much as his best kept secretsâbut this is not his time now, the torch has changed hands. he owes her an explanation, if nothing else.
Izaya follows her gaze to the floor, trying to untangle the peculiar feeling in his guts, his throat. There is nothing to suggest heâs come home to a crime sceneâDelilah wouldnât have bothered to clean up the evidence if it wereâbut it feels that way regardless. He laughs, partially to expel the coiled energy, partially at the absurdity of his own unease.Â
          âWe both married icy blondes. Her nameâs Tem.â     He says it with all the cool detachment one would expect.     âShinraâs dad wanted me to look out for her. Sheâs Nebula property.âÂ
Thereâs an unpleasant scent lingering beneath the disinfectant, bitter and organic, fetid. Vomit?Â
          âAs for begging, I take it youâre talking about the knife? She was giving me the cold shoulder for a while, so I was making a statement. âDonât make me beg for attention. Donât make me beg for forgiveness.ââ     He waves his hand dismissively.     âWas she here? She plays tough but sheâs got the constitution of a little baby fawn. You didnât scare her, did you?âÂ















