Twisted Obsession [Yandere! Izaya x Reader]

Fifteen

WARNING: SOME TRIGGERS

The warmth radiating next to you shifts and you groan in protest. A cheery tune annoyingly drums your ears and the familiarized aching pressure in your head also finds the noise abhorrent. Again, there is movement; cool fingertips fondly brush against your forehead as they part your rumpled hair. The tune –the alert of an incoming call – demands attention thus the gentle fingers leave you alone, but not before draping a substitute for the warmth that had been detracted.

"Hello~?" You know that alluring voice. Izaya. "Ah~! Yes, yes. I remember now~. How can I be of service?"

That's right. You had – under the influence of his insistence- spent the night at his place. Evidently, you must have fallen asleep on the couch. Wait. Did he...sleep next to you?

Footsteps thud across the room and soon you hear rapid clicking. Curious about the clamor, you struggle to lift your eyelids. They crack open just to be snapped back shut when the offending natural light of the sun refracts off the window. The informant is heedlessly chatting away and the creaking of wheels suggests he has risen from his desk chair.

"Oh~? If it is urgent then it's gonna cost extra~...."

The statement Izaya uttered is the last thing you hear as he exits the room, leaving you to your lonesome.

You force your eyelids open for the second time, blinking the irritating blur from your vision. Eyes slowly adjust to the ambient light and sit up straight, Izaya's trademark fur-trimmed coat falling off your shoulders. Ignoring the present headache, you lightly –almost affectionately- stroke the material of his coat. The fur is so soft that it tickles your fingertips. As your dainty digits trace the lining of the coat, you notice a rather large rip in its side. Puzzled, you inspect it further, curious to how this may have occurred. A brief flashback of that hellish night invaded your memory. Your ears echo with sound of distinct ripping and you shudder at the possible thought. Tossing the coat aside, you reach into your bag for your phone. It is blinking, notifying you of a missed notification; a missed call to be exact. Fortunately, it is not the evil Unknown, but an unidentified number. Whoever it was, they left a voicemail to which you automatically opened to listen.

"Hello [Last]-san, this is Kotono – "

You realize this maybe about your lab results; though it did little good considering having figured out that your stalker was drugging you. As you listen to the medical jabber, your [E/C] orbs shift to the computer lying open on his desk.

"The drug we found in your system is a class of drug called Benzodiazepine – "

It was difficult to believe that someone with his sort of talent would fail to have some kind of information in regards to your tormentor. Could it be that he had more than he was letting on? But why would he do that? Conflicted, your mind sets your body into auto-pilot, legs stretch to stand and robotically tread for his desk.

"Your lab results show high concentrations of Temazepam – "

'Temazepam? I've never heard of that drug before...'

You are mindful that it is discourteous to rummage through someone's personal belongings – your mother having instilled that value into you - but you have to know for sure. The absolute need overpowers trivial manners. Since he recently utilized the device, the desktop was still open and vulnerable. Hanging up the phone, you give a quick scan of your surroundings to ensure the info broker was absent. Snubbing the guilt, you click the start to button to view his most recent files. Hurriedly scrolling the screen, you finally come across a file with your name in capital letters. Keen excitement mixed with anxiety creates a growing pit in your chest that aches to be filled. Feeling courageous, you click open the file.