dedication: to Mew Mew.
notes: I'm sick. I want soup.
title: screaming bloody murder
summary: OH MY GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED? — Namie, Izaya.
The problem with working in close quarters with Orihara Izaya was, well, working in close quarters with Orihara Izaya.
Of course, it was only so bad when Namie actually had to spend time around him, and that wasn't all that often, really, because, well, Izaya spent a fair amount of his time away from the office. And that was the way she liked it, because when he was around, he made her want to kill babies or kick puppies or other dastardly things that evil villains had to do to keep their evil villain status.
Really, if she had to cook his food, she was going to spit in it every chance she got.
That was the kind of dislike Namie felt for Orihara Izaya.
Since she didn't have to see him too too often, life was surprisingly bearable. He paid well (he had to—she'd seen his hard drives, and Namie was not above blackmail), he wasn't around all that often, and it was… usually quiet. Usually nice.
Except when he did things like this.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Namie screamed at the top of her lungs.
Orihara Izaya was lying in her bed, a rose clenched between his teeth, stark naked. He sort of tried something that might have been a smile, but ended up just looking like a grimace, and Namie screamed again in reply.
"GET OUT GET OUT I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING GET OUT—"
Izaya spat the rose out. "Ne, Namie-chan—"
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?!"
"Lost a bet," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Which it, you know, really wasn't.
"WOULD YOU COVER UP—NO, NOT WITH MY SHEETS, UGH—"
Izaya pulled his pants on, and Namie calmed down some.
Some, but not much.
She drew a deep breath of air in through her nose. "Why are you in my bed?"
"Kida-kun surprised me," he threw a hand across his forehead in an over-dramatic gesture that wasn't fooling anybody. "I didn't think he'd actually go, ne?"
Namie stared at him stonily. "Get out."
"I will harm you, Orihara. Get out now."
Izaya didn't move.
For a moment, they stood at stalemate.
And then Namie threw him out the window.
He made a very satisfying crash in the garbage bins. Namie dusted her hands off, shaking her head wearily. Good god, why?
"I could never live with him," she muttered vehemently.
A sound that felt like pain drifted up from the bins. She paid it absolutely no mind whatsoever. He deserved worse.
Namie smiled blissfully, and closed the window.