[Mm! Already late, it seemed ♥. But social tardiness was a fashionable talent of his. Izaya ventured to guess that his favorite strawberry blonde, the one he deemed to call housemate, would be home as always. Toting a messenger bag on one shoulder and carrying a formidable box against his hip, he managed to reach into his pocket and loop his finger through a key-chain. Still, he came to a pause as he stepped onto the welcome mat which he so generously provided, of course, and brought the back of his hand against the door --
Knock. Knock.
After which he stepped aside. He hated peepholes. The idea of being seen through one, looking distorted and anything less than devastatingly attractive, well. You get the picture.]
Fufu-chan? Ah, it seems I overestimated my carry-load.~