[A/N: My definition of the tritest emotion on Earth.]

There are some days that she almost swears that there's something else. That she feels something other than the usual feelings of contempt, frustration and blatant disdain that are usually associated with her interactions with the information broker.

When she watches him play with his mismatched chess set that only he understands, she can almost feel the other side of him; the side that he doesn't wear on his fur-trimmed sleeve. She sneaks a peek at the man who supposedly loves all of humanity equally (with only one obvious exception to the rule, of course).

To what extent does he love them?

How does he love them?

Like a mother chiding her children or, rather, a scientist observing his most prized experiment?

But, of course, his love is nothing compared to hers.

Her love for her brother is unrivaled. Her love is and always will be the only untainted thing left in this world. She would do anything for her Seiji.

Her love is so strong that it didn't matter if her brother usually shrugged her aside. It didn't matter that he loved a detached head far more than his adoring sister. It didn't matter.

She wonders how Izaya came to be. Not much information is known about the notoriously mysterious man. She knows the basic facts such as his love for fatty tuna and his supposedly demented younger sisters.

But she wonders if his parents are as convoluted as their creations.

It was impossible for a child that grew up in a loving, nurturing environment to grow up to be so twisted.

She remembers the absence of paternal and maternal love very much so. The only adult that she had ever admired had been her uncle, but even he had, to some extent, disappointed her. He had been much more utilitarian than nurturing.

But because of the absence of love, she was able to direct all of her feelings towards her brother. So because she did not receive love as a child, she was able to love Seiji that much more.

"Namie-chan!" The way he stretches out her name nearly causes a blood vessel to pop.

She chooses not to gift him with a response and continues filing.

He pouts before saying, "Now, now, Namie-chan I know you're still bitter 'cause Seiji ignored your call but…"

"I'm not bitter!" She cuts him off abruptly; momentarily forgetting her composure as she clumsily drops a few files onto the floor.

"Jeez, whatever you say, Namie-chan." He replies as he exits the room with a flourish.

She forgets that there ever was time that she didn't hate him. How could she have possibly even contemplated …?

She's bent on her hands and knees picking up the miscellaneous papers that have unfortunately scattered everywhere.

How did this happen?

One moment she has a legion under her command and the next she's doing grunt-work for the most irksome person in all of Japan.

She doesn't feel gratitude for him though, she probably should. It's because of him that she's still living comfortably instead of in a jail cell. He's keeping her safe.

Namie's been independent for as long as she can remember though, she admits, that she's emotionally dependent on Seiji. But even then, it's she who helps her brother out of messy situations and makes sure that he never has to worry his pretty little head about anything.

She's not used to being the underling. She's not used to being taken care of.

She's much more accustomed to ordering others, to be the one giving the orders. Hesitantly, she admits that Izaya probably has the potential to be the worst boss ever but he isn't. He practically gives her free reign on everything in the office.

She's the one who chose the nifty coffee-maker imported from Denmark.

She's the one that changed the color of the curtains simply because she was bored and had always wanted to try her hand at decorating.

It takes her a while to realize that she's essentially become his housewife.

The bile that she expects to rise from her throat doesn't.

The shudder that should creep along her spine doesn't.

The reason because is that Namie refuses to be labeled as such; her relationship with Izaya is complicated and can not be simply defined by social standards.

But that's a paradox, isn't it?

Aren't they just employer and employee?

Since when did she begin to admit that their relationship was anything but simple?

She grudgingly admits that occasionally she enjoys their sporadic banters and quarrels.

But it's not like she loves him.

No, that emotion was solely for Seiji.

She can hear him drawling her name as he slams the door loudly.

"Honey, I'm home!"

She gives him a cold, blank stare as she takes in his image.

Fur coat.

Dark hair.

The smirk that would put the devil to shame.

He drops copious more files and some takeout onto her desk.

"I brought dinner, you like fast food, right?" He boasts as if he expects some due praise.

She explicitly remembers telling him that she hates fast food.

One glance at his smirk and she knows that the bastard did it on purpose. For a brief second, she contemplates venting out all of her frustration in a rant loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

But instead she smiles.

It's neither the smile that she reserves for Seiji nor the smile that she uses during business deals.

It's a wry smile made only for the troll.

And her reaction is rewarded with a brief loss of composure on Izaya's part. She sees his confusion and puzzlement that is quickly covered with yet another veneer.

She realizes that what she feels for Izaya is not love.

But fascination.

She wants to see that side that he covers so carefully.

The imperfection that he hides so well.

She wants to find the man inside of him.

Izaya continues to talk as though nothing is out of the ordinary.

And Namie continues to wonder.