Disclaimer: I do not own Durarara or its splendid characters.

Nurse Part One:

It's been a while. And by 'a while' I mean never. Never ever. Never ever ever.


I feel it's integral to the full understanding of following events that the reader fully comprehend this fact.

Celty never let me touch her. She also had this astounding ability to sense when I was touching myself and merely thinking of touching her. Touching was apparently something she did not approve of, at least not while I was at the tender age of seventeen, still attending High School, working towards becoming a practicing medical doctor, and maintaining relationships with people who had heads.

She told me once, in the usual font on the computer screen, which somehow had the power to appear colder and more condemning depending on the typed message, that we both had more important things to focus our attentions on.

More Important Things to Focus Our Attentions On.

Looks intimidating, no?

Well, at the time she had said this, I accepted it with a sort of blissful ignorance. I was disappointed, yes, but we hadn't exactly discussed our relationship at that point in time, and I didn't want to push her into something like that before she was fully involved with me. So I foolishly let it go.

And then terrible things started happening.

Terrible, biological things, which I would usually have had an appreciation for, but felt bitter about when they were applied to me. Anyone reading this probably understands what I mean. Anyone with a sexual drive, that is. And it doesn't matter what gender you are, or how old you are because everyone remembers that specific moment in time when all they could think about was how much they wanted to press themselves against a fellow human being (or otherwise) and relieve themselves of that aching, abominable heat.

For some reason, my seventeenth year was the worst for this. Fantasizing in class had become a bit of an unwilling habit of mine. I tried my best to control it, wanting to eliminate the possible humiliation I would face if I were to be discovered by a classmate, or worse, a teacher. This attempt at controlling every single persistent fantasy proved fruitless almost immediately, and so I found myself sneaking into the sketchier bathroom of the school before most lunch hours and after classes had ended for the day.

I was relieved to discover that I could hide it at any other time by shoving my hands in the pockets of the uniform pants and literally holding it down, if I found myself aroused at an inconvenient time, or if I was unable to make it to that eerie bathroom. The bathroom that was tucked into an obscure hallway on the very bottom floor of the building. Almost no one used it, yet it was always kept well-maintained. Mysterious right? There were plenty of other oddities concerning the school, but this one was my personal favourite.

And it was always Celty I thought of, and, surprisingly, most of my sexual fantasies were extremely tame. They were idealized, and romantic, with just enough sexual content to help me release.

And then they changed. Everything changed. Because of one particularly strange schoolmate of mine, with a particularly eerie smile.