Disclaimer: I don't own Durarara!, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Ryohgo Narita and Suzuhito Yasuda. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

The Worst Kind Of Help

Prompt: Fashion victim...

A/N: For a request on LJ.

"What?" The broker raised an eyebrow at him, quite perplexed. "You're asking for my opinion of how you dress? What do I look like, a New York fashion designer?"

Mikado hung his head, fidgeting. Well, by his logic, Izaya had seemed like the best person for him to ask, despite his shady nature. He was, after all, the most well-known information broker in Ikebukuro, so it had certainly seemed like a good enough idea. But now, he wasn't so sure.

"I-It's not like I expected you to know," he said hesitantly. No, that wasn't what he'd meant at all. "I-I mean, everyone in town says that you're the guy to ask, so I thought that maybe you'd have an idea."

The dark-haired man leaned against the wall, tapping his flickblade with a finger. "Well, whoever you talked to has a point. I make it my business to know everybody else's business. So, you get credit for that, kid." He slung an arm over Mikado's shoulder, grinning. "Tell ya what. I just so happen to know a girl who lives for this kind of thing. If anyone can give you fashion tips, she's the one."

He felt strange, looking for people to help him with this sort of dilemma, but the only girl he really knew was Anri, and she... Well, she was the reason he was doing this. He wanted to show her that he could be like Masaomi, but toned down. That there was more to him than the sweet, understanding guy he was.

The two trudged down the street, earning looks that were easily dispelled by Izaya's trademark grin. Mikado must have looked like such a creep, hanging around with someone like him. But, as a boy who had no idea what kind of clothes girls liked on a guy, he was completely stuck.

"Izaya!"

Mikado's eyes widened as they passed by Russia Sushi, turning fearfully over his shoulder.

"Well, well, well," Izaya chuckled, pushing Mikado back a few feet. "If it isn't Shizu-chan. What brings you here? Looking for a hairdresser to fix up that ugly mop of yours? It's about time, really. I mean, blond just isn't what the ladies want anymore. No, they tend to go after dark, bad boys like myself."

"Go to hell, worm," he hissed, throwing the finger at the broker. "This isn't about you, so shut up!"

Mikado whimpered as Shizuo strode past his nemesis, making a beeline for him. Was he about to die? If he was, then he'd have no problem saying that Izaya had just caught him on his way home from school. Mikado wasn't the kind to lie like that, but if it meant saving his life...

"You're Ryugamine," the blond said, tapping Mikado on the head. "Heard you're lookin' for someone with fashion sense."

The boy nodded, very relieved that this wasn't his day to die. Still, it was awkward to be seen with two extraordinarily dangerous men who had a habit of turning the city into their battleground.

"And what would Shizu-chan know of fashion? Have you even looked in the mirror lately? You always wear the same damn thing."

"Go to hell!" Shizuo barked, far louder than Mikado would have liked. "Anyway, I know a lady who could help you out. She works as a part of my brother's entourage, so she'd be able to answer any questions you have."

There was a light whoosh as Izaya's blade buzzed past Mikado's shoulder.

"Hang on a minute," he said, looking rather feral. "Were you listening in on our private conversation?"

"It's not a private conversation if everyone on the street can hear it, dipshit!"

Mikado sighed, turning away from the two as they continued to quarrel. At this rate, he'd be better off hunting down Kyohei and his gang. They hung out with a girl, so maybe Erika would know what to do with him.