IzaNami- hairball

Namie Yagiri scowled and stirred the pot. The soup within bubbled and boiled as violently as the malice in her own heart. Damn that Izaya, she thought vehemently, giving the side of the pot a good thwack to dislodge some dill from the ladle. Namie was a scientist, an intelligent, well-respected (until recently), grant-possessing scientist. Who was he to tell her to make him dinner? Was she some sort of servant? A maid? He did nothing but sit as his computer all day and laugh at his stupid, nonsensical checkerboard! Izaya could take five minutes to make his own dinner.

The steam rising from the stew combined with the indignant flame in Namie’s cheeks to produce a thin layer of sweat. She huffed in annoyance and brushed her bangs away from her forehead, drying off some moisture in the process. She pulled an elastic band from her wrist and began brushing her waist-length hair with her fingers. It was Namie’s custom to tie her hair back whenever she was cooking, but she’d been so upset she forgot about it. Keeping her hair back ensured she stayed cool, and at the same time prevented-

Namie halted at once. Then she grinned wickedly to herself.

Maybe she wouldn’t tie her hair back this time…

Later that evening, Namie happily served the stew to her employer.

“It smells lovely, Namie.” Izaya complimented with closed eyes as she placed the bowl in front of him.

“Remind me again why I need to make you dinner?” Namie asked through a clenched smile.

“Because, as my housewife-“

“Secretary.”

“-Same thing. As my housewife, it’s your duty to make sure that I’m well taken care of, and that includes cooking my meals. Or do you enjoy not having a job?”

Namie decided to ignore him and sat down to her own food. She watched Izaya out of the corner of her eye as he dipped his spoon into the broth and lifted it to his lips.

Go on, she sneered inwardly, take a sip.

Suddenly, Izaya laughed. Namie’s expression turned to surprise as he put his spoon on the table and shook his head.

“Namie,” He admonished playfully, “did you really think I wouldn’t notice that?”

“Notice what?” Namie retorted.

Izaya inserted two fingers into the soup and pinched something. What he brought out of it, dripping and coiled, was a two-foot-long hair. Namie scowled, her face burning with embarrassment.

“Nice try.”

Izaya dropped the hair onto the floor and then continued to eat his soup. They continued in silence for a minute or so, Namie still too riled up to speak.

Then something strange happened.

Izaya started to cough, at first only as though clearing his throat, but then heavier. Namie watched keenly as his eyes went wide and his fingers flew to his mouth, clawing to pull something out. She grinned as his windpipe momentarily closed and he choked.

And then he vomited it right on the table. A hairball. He’d probably mistaken it for a meat dumpling, as Namie had taken care to wind the strings so thickly around each other that they wouldn’t look suspicious at all. The first hair was one that came loose.

Izaya’s face was pale and his breathing was still a bit hoarse. His eyes were wide and rimmed with tears, and he coughed strongly a few more times.

Namie laughed. She laughed hard and long, hitting her hand on the table. Izaya glared at her. It was as though someone had just told the funniest joke in the world, and Namie just couldn’t get it out of her head. She actually fell out of her chair and sat dumbly on her bottom, crying with laughter.

“I could fire you for that, you know.” Izaya pointed out, pushing the bowl away.

Namie burst into another heap of giggles.

She snorted, “Nah, you’d never find a housewife who loves you as much as I do.”

“I mean, think about it.” Namie told him as she shakily climbed to her feet. She cleared the last of the laughter from her voice and locked eyes with him.

“Anyone else would have used poison.”