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rhythymicwriting · 1 year ago

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A Voice Like Summer Thunder - Shizaya

I'm considering making this a full length fic. For now, here's the initial drabble. It starts with a recap of Durararax2 ep 12.

“Hey… Who the hell is this?” His voice was low as he spoke into the phone, eyes flicking to the side as if to see the caller. He hadn’t saved the number, so it couldn’t have been a client, but the man spoke about Izaya’s dealings with the Awakusu. More specifically, the man knew he told Akane Awakusu that Shizuo Heiwajima was going to kill her father. Who else would know he’d set Akane on Shizuo?

Namie?

Nakura?

No, he knew their voices. Izaya had a bad feeling about this.

The caller laughed. “There’s no need for you to know my name just yet. But as a token of our new friendship, let me offer you an opinion. Or rather,” He corrected. “A warning. You’re a bit too good looking, Izaya.”

“What?” He stopped in his tracks. What the hell did that mean? This wasn’t some stalker creep, was it? Dealing with his breed of clientele put him at risk for that sort of thing and he knew it, but they weren’t usually this forward. Izaya couldn’t help being a little bit intrigued by the mystery call, however unsettling it may be.

“It makes you stand out in a crowd,” The caller explained. “So in your case, blending in isn’t really an ideal way for you to hide. Besides, you’re looking kind of stressed.” Izaya tensed. Hold on, that voice on the phone…

It was coming from behind him.

“I think a nap would do you a world of good.” A shoulder slammed into his own, the man using his momentum to drive something sharp through Izaya’s jacket. Cold metal burst through his warm skin, searing pain running through his torso. His breath caught, a strangled grunt the only sound he could make as the man walked through him, knocking Izaya off balance.

He stumbled, watching the caller walk ahead of him. It was only for a moment, though, before motion on his own shirt caught his eye. A dark stain formed on the cloth, sticking it against Izaya’s skin. As he watched the stain grow, he realized he still hadn’t regained his balance.

He was tipping.

The phone clattered from his hand, call still active, as Izaya dropped to his knees. His arms were too slow to catch him and he fell the rest of the way to the ground, coarse asphalt scraping his cheek.

“Oh and since you asked,” The man’s words were intelligible, but it was a struggle, pain deadening Izaya’s brain. He fought to focus on the call, ignoring the sound of murmurs and his own pained groans. “My name is Jinnai Yodogiri and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Damn,” He cursed. Izaya wriggled, trying to pull himself toward the phone, his fingers brushing the plastic case, but every motion caused agonizing fireworks to blossom in his side, their fiery tendrils snaking through his nervous system.

“Gotta… Get a hold of… Namie.” He groaned. Man, it was hard to breathe. The ground was slick beneath him, the usual grip of asphalt lost to the ruby pool. Countless city lights reflected off the surface, falling flat against his clothing where the liquid seeped.

Izaya’s sight was blurred, the phone a glowing smear against the dull pavement. His fingers, finally reaching, fumbled the device, muscle memory guiding him more than his own will. It was lucky he’d even opened his contacts.

“Hello?” You’re kidding. Even dazed with pain, he recognized that voice. Izaya stayed quiet. “Is someone there?”

The line was quiet for a moment more. Shit. If he kept waiting like this, Izaya might actually bleed out. How humiliating would that be. The great Izaya of Shinjuku, bleeding to death on an Ikebukuro crosswalk. Would it be worse than asking this monster for help?

For a vital, life saving second, Izaya decided it was.

“I’m…I need help.”

A tongue clicked on the other end. “What? Why’re you botherin me?”

“Please,” The word felt like bile in his mouth. Apparently, pride really does evaporate when you’re stabbed. “I’m…bleeding.” He groaned again. His breath was shallow, blood bubbling from the wound with every inhale, pain rocketing through his abdomen.

The phone stayed quiet. The world grew darker and brighter, all at once. Izaya’s vision tunneled at the edges, a dizzying vignette softening the city, but pin prick stars burned his retinas. The sound of the crowd around him buried his thoughts, a muddled knot running through his head instead of their usual ordered lines.

“Well? Answer me, damn it!” The coarse sound stuck out of the noise, drawing his attention back to the blurry screen. He drew the screen toward his face, whatever word that may have been written there moved from too-far-away blurry to too-close blurry.

“What?” His voice drawled, pulling like molasses from his chest, words heavy on his tongue.

“Shit.” The voice grumbled, angry at repeating its question. “Where are you?”

“Um.” Izaya’s eyes flicked around lazily, but there was little for them to pick up, their lids too heavy to lift. “Ikebukuro.”

The voice rose in volume. “That doesn’t hel-”

Another voice murmured something, the phone sliding gently from Izaya’s hand. He was aware of the pull at his shoulders, lifting him only high enough to slide across the ground, but he was distracted by the pain shooting through his middle.

Izaya felt himself lain on his side against cooler pavement, a softer muttering playing above his head, sticking out from the crowd, but no more coherent. City lights flared, excruciating pain igniting in his abdomen. A woman leaned over him, her arms arrow straight as she pressed on his wound. Izaya coughed. He heard what might have been ‘sorry.’ His phone was on speaker, balanced on his leg. She’d taken over the call. Her hands stayed steady, shoved against his side, the burning pain fading behind a cozy cloud of exhaustion.

The gentle, steady buzz of what he guessed was a phone call lulled him into a foggy dusk, bright, burning lights fizzling out.

When fuzzy white light burned orange through his eyelids, Izaya assumed he was waking up in a hospital. Antiseptic smell, thin sheets, hard mattress, yes, this had to be a hospital. He breathed deep, flinching when his stretch pulled at a raw wound. Nerves flared from his hip to his sternum. “Ugh.” He rolled onto his side, pushing himself up. “Being stabbed blows.”

“Huh?” Rich colored wood greeted him as he opened his eyes. He still smelled antiseptic, paper thin sheets were still draped over his legs, but he realized this wasn’t a hospital. Fuzzy light shone through bamboo blinds. A generic yellow ceiling light hung above his head, pale in comparison to the harsh outside gleam.

Izaya lay on a makeshift bed in some high end apartment in a makeshift operating room. Realizing this, he knew who was walking through the door before the man was all the way through. Clad in a knee length lab coat despite having no real medical degree and carrying a clear box overflowing with white fabrics was his best friend of eleven years. “Doctor Kishitani, thanks for the hospitality.” He grinned, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Oh!” The man looked up, brown hair twitching as he stopped. “Celty, he’s awake!” He hollered. Izaya fought the urge to cover his ears. “You shouldn’t be sitting up yet, Izaya. You’ll reopen your wound.”

“Ugh.” He groaned, letting his hair puff around his face as he dropped back down. Pain exploded up his back when he did. As fun as the dramatics were, that fuckin hurt.

Shinra moved to his side, taking his sweet time uncovering him and lifting his shirt. “You know, after all these years, I don’t remember the last time I treated you.” He said, slowly peeling the adhesive bandage off Izaya’s stomach, letting the tape pull the skin. He was doing that on purpose. Izaya’s mood was quickly souring.

“I do.” Izaya thought reminiscing might distract him from the steady pulling at his hairs, and keep him from throttling this back alley doctor. “It was middle school, wasn’t it? That crazy kid with the gambling addiction.” Izaya hissed, a new burning, true burning, erupting in his side, running from his skin through his kidney and the entire surrounding area. His eyes snapped to Shinra in a fury.

The doctor stood over him with a frown, a bottle of rubbing alcohol in his hand, a bloody swab pinched in the other. “You’re talking about when I got stabbed, Izaya.”

“Oh was that it?” If he could feel anything other than agony right now, he would have laughed. “Bummer. Ah fuck!”

Shinra had shoved another alcohol soaked swab in his wound.

“How’d I get here anyway? Shouldn’t I be in a hospital?” Izaya asked. Shinra’s response was slow, hesitant. There was that bad feeling again.

“Shizuo brought you.”

Izaya’s eyes widened, irritation and confusion bubbling behind them. “What?”

“He didn’t look happy about it either,” Shinra chuckled under his breath.

The growl to his voice surprised him, Izaya’s words emanating from his chest. “Why?”

Shinra’s head tilted, eyebrows drawn. “He said you called him.”

“What a lousy liar.” Izaya groaned.

“I need help.” Coarse concrete cooled his cheek as he listened to the low voice in his phone. That familiar voice, every word like a threat he didn’t mean, poured from the speaker, asking questions he hadn’t processed.

“Where are you?”

Izaya didn’t remember. “Ikebukuro.”

“That doesn’t help-”

A woman had taken the phone.

“Shit.” Izaya’s breath carried the word without his permission. He had called him. Izaya was stabbed, nearly bled out on the street, and had called Shizuo fucking Heiwajima for help.

And the bastard actually showed up.

“You should give him a call. At least let him know you’re alive.”

He groaned. “Why would he care?”

“Izaya,” Shinra stopped his work, hands freezing with fresh bandages. He gave the other a look like a disappointed father, one that said he was one crucial second of self control away from smacking him upside the head. “He carried you all the way here from East Ikebukuro. There was more blood on his shirt than in your body. Call him.”

Shinra held out a small device, the surface lighting up with the movement. Izaya sighed as he took the phone, making quick work of dialing the number.

“Hello?” Low, gravely, but polite, that voice irked him every time. Its owner clearly hadn’t saved his number. Izaya would bet a lot of money he didn’t know how.

“Hey, Shinra wanted me to let you know I survived.” Shinra shot him a dirty look. God, this felt like being a kid at the park again, his mom making him apologize to a kid he pushed off a swing. He almost felt like laughing.

The voice changed immediately, sharp, short, ill-tempered. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Heya, Shizu.”

The line stayed quiet. Usually he’d hang up by now.

“Look, I uh…” Even the thought of what he was trying to say made Izaya’s stomach curdle, his pride slowing his tongue. “Thank you.”

“Oh? What was that?” A smile crept into his voice, lifting at the sharpness in his words.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Izaya groaned. “Thank you for taking me to Shinra’s.”

“You’re welcome.” Good humor made Shizuo chattier than usual, the man no longer debating hanging up and now digging for the story. “How’d you get stabbed anyway?”

Izaya, on the other hand, wanted this conversation over with. “Long story, bad people. Bye bye, Shizu-chan.” He moved swiftly, pulling the phone away from his ear, thumb hovering over the bright red button.

“Hold on,” Izaya did. The phone traveled back to his ear, albeit held further away. Not that Shizuo was hard to hear. “You, uh… You okay?”

Izaya’s eyebrow twitched. He wasn’t asking about the wound, was he? “Whatever could you mean?”

Shizuo cleared his throat. “You’re not in some shit again, are you?”

“Aw,” Izaya drawled. “Are you worried about me?”

“Forget I asked.” The phone beeped softly, ringing through the space. The line was dead, Shizuo’s contact info staring back at him instead of the interface.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” Shinra gathered his materials, already making his way out. “Lay down and don’t move. I don’t want you hurting yourself again.”

“But Doc, what if I need the bathroom.” Izaya’s characteristic smirk snaking its way onto his face.

Shinra flicked hair out of his face, his expression flat, but voice teasing. “I’ll give you a catheter.”

Izaya was a little worried he was serious.

“You’re not in some shit again, are you?”

“Aw, are you worried about me?”

“Forget I asked.”

The problem was, Izaya couldn’t forget he’d asked. In fact, the moment replayed in his head over and over again, his brain picking apart and reassembling it, like looking for secrets in a video.

“You’re not in some shit again, are you?”

He could almost see the man, stopped on the sidewalk, his coworker walking a few strides ahead before wondering why he’d stopped. Tall despite the slouch in his shoulders, black-brown roots exposed by wind that tossed fried blond hair, head tilted into his phone, eyes angled as if making eye contact with the phone might get an honest answer.

He could picture his face contort, where real concern might have been written, irritation blossomed.

“Forget I asked”

And he’d move on without a second thought.

But why had he asked that? Why did he care? Izaya had been nothing but an obstacle to him since they met. He’d liked it that way. Izaya hated Shizuo and Shizuo hated him back, so what did he care that he was mixed up with the wrong crowd?

Why did he show up that night?

Izaya was reminded time and time again why he hated that monster. While he found fun in watching humanity, there was a part of him that relished the predictability of it all. The struggle, the fear, the anger, it was all a game, but it was a game with rules.

He knew that if he talked to a girl on the internet in some forum and encouraged her emotions, he could control her, he could guide her into his game. Any person he messed with, he had some amount of control, some amount of influence.

But Shizuo was a raging storm, a natural force he couldn’t sway. No matter what he did, Shizuo always colored outside the lines. He was an outlier.

And yet, his voice kept playing in Izaya’s head. Over and over again, he asked the same question, that unexpected concern like a broken record.

It was getting on his nerves.

Izaya pushed himself upright, taking in the makeshift operating room. Shinra had told him not to move, but there was only so long he was going to stare at that damn ceiling. He wriggled to the side of the bed, ignoring the pulling at his wound. The wooden floor was cold under his feet as he slid off the edge. A weight tugged on his arm, drawing his attention back to the bed.

“Oh, that’s right.” He muttered. Thin tubing ran from a rack in the corner to the crook of his elbow, clear saline flowing through the plastic. Shinra had replaced the bag during the phone call, but it was almost empty, most of the liquid in Izaya’s bloodstream. A tiny valve created a dam about eight inches from the drip bag. Turning it stopped the flow into Izaya’s arm, a small amount of the liquid remaining in the tube. He drew in a quick breath as his hand drifted up his arm, fingers daintily grasping the tubing.

He exhaled and ripped the needle from his arm. Izaya let the tubing clatter quietly against the rack as he rifled through a nearby first aid kit. Most of the bandages here were too big. He opted instead to tape a cotton ball over the spot.

The door cracked open silently as Izaya stuck his head into the hallway. Seeing it was empty, he tread softly into the open. The living room was empty too, with the exception of Celty’s helmet, indicating that the headless woman was somewhere in the apartment, but running water in another room meant she wasn’t going to catch him any time soon.

His shoes were placed neatly by the door, but his characteristic jacket was nowhere to be seen. “Shit…” Izaya murmured. He would be fine without the jacket, but his knife was in the stash pocket.

There weren’t any closets near the door that it might have been hidden in, if Shinra had even meant to hide it from him. If he had, his shoes likely wouldn’t be here either. He turned, moving back to the operating room, and stopped in his tracks.

Light shone around the edges of a knee length lab coat, Shinra blocking his way back into the apartment. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Bathroom.” Izaya shrugged. He swore he could see a vein pulse in the doctor’s forehead. Standing in the entryway with his shoes on the other side of the apartment from a bathroom probably didn’t help his lie.

“Izaya, where are you going?”

“I just needed to clear my head. Will you allow me that?”

“You’re looking for your jacket, right?”

“I was, yeah. Don’t want to get chilly.”

Shinra sighed. Heavy fabric collided with Izaya, fur tickling his nose. It was his jacket, lacking its usual weight. His knife wasn’t in it. He sighed, slipping the sleeves over his bare arms. His t-shirt was light, picked to layer under his jacket so he wouldn’t overheat, but it left him pretty cold without the coat. Not that he cared.

“Look, Izaya.” Shinra put his hands in his pockets. “You’re still in critical condition. I’m not gonna stop you, but be careful, okay?”

“Yeah yeah,” Izaya waved a hand, slipping into the hall.

The streetlights were their usual comfortable glow, pale in comparison to that burning star spot from the night before. His eyes were vigilant, flicking amongst the crowd. It was subconscious and it annoyed him.

These were his people, his family, his playthings, and yet his own mind was betraying him, keeping him vigilant on his own playing field. Unbelievable. One kitten shows its claws and he can’t will himself to relax.

The crowd moved like water around him, people perfectly spaced for him to pass between them. The city buzz heightened his senses, but it helped to focus his thoughts, honing them on the crowd instead of the noise in his skull.

A girl was talking on the phone nearby, likely to a partner or a close friend. Her voice was too high, too tight, upset but trying to fight it. What he wouldn’t give to hear that phone call.

A man passed too close beside him, distracted by the woman to his right. He was talking about drinks. Maybe coworkers? She didn’t look comfortable. It’d be fun to follow them a couple blocks.

The crowd had parted wider, working around Izaya instead of letting him through. His brows furrowed. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t that well known, was he? “You’re a bit too good looking, Izaya. It makes you stand out in a crowd.”

He felt himself slowing down, his limbs heavy, thoughts fast. The voices around him were whispers, too quiet to pull him out of his head. Their eyes were nervous, shifting, focused on him. No.

Something behind him.

Izaya went ridgid, breath picking up as if he was already running, but his legs wouldn’t move. It felt as if lead were tied around his ankles, cotton in his knees.

He hadn’t felt fear like this since high school. That’s what this feeling was. He’d almost forgotten it. This was fear.

“Besides,”

He could feel the presence behind him now.

“You’re looking kinda stressed.”

There was a hand on his shoulder.

“I think a nap…”

“Hey, what are you doing out here?”

“...Would do you a world of good.”

Izaya took off running. Pedestrians stumbled out of his way, his coat flailing behind him as he tore through the waters. This would be a good time to have his knife. Damn it, Shinra.

“Hey, what the hell?” Part of his brain knew that voice was wrong, it didn’t match, the other part of his brain didn’t care. It was animal fear. Survival. He didn’t care who was chasing him.

He was not getting caught.

The footsteps behind him were loud, steady, like a heartbeat. They were gaining on him. Fuck. Izaya let his weight fall on his right foot, nearly falling into the mouth of the alley. Eleven years of running for his life had paid off in this respect, movements that would slow others down were a flick of the wrist. He dashed down the alley, foot hooking on a dumpster, hands gripping a balcony rail, working in harmony to propel him upward. In mere moments, Izaya had scaled the side of a low rise apartment, taking his flight along the roof.

A heavy impact landed not far behind him, his pursuer following him to the rooftop. This guy wasn’t normal, but in his panic, Izaya didn’t care. His abdomen was screaming. If he didn’t lose this guy fast, he might actually pass out up here.

He leapt over a gap, the rooftops close enough together. At least they looked that way. His foot missed the other side, the toe of his boot catching the edge and slipping out from under him. Shit, this was a far fall. He bucked forward, catching himself on his stomach.

Izaya coughed, spit flying from his mouth. Pain exploded from his side, rocketing through his entire torso, stretching from his collar to his thigh. He couldn’t get a hold. He was scrabbling for a grip, managing to hold himself despite the struggle.

Another heavy impact almost shook him loose, the rooftop jostling beneath him. A hand caught his wrist.

“Shit, no!” The words fled his lips before he thought them. He was drawn onto the rooftop, firmly, but without aggression. He thrashed in their grip, kicking out, hoping to hit anything.

“Dammit!” His foot connected. The man didn’t budge. “Would you stop that? I’ll drop you!” The growl was familiar.

His eyes caught polished shoes, the roof beneath them cracked and fractaled. The ghost of a cigarette hung in the air, clinging to the man but no longer with him.

Shizuo pulled Izaya from the edge, setting his feet down on the rooftop. There was fury in his eyes, but he wasn’t acting on it, instead backing away.

“Why did you run like that?” He was avoiding eye contact, but it ended quickly when he realized Izaya’s only answer was staggered breathing. “Crap, sit down, would ya?”

Shizuo strode forward, grabbing Izaya by the shoulders, leading him to the access shed and sitting him down on the ground. Izaya moved easily, his brain too busy frantically looking for escape.

“Hey, hey!” Shizuo snapped in front of his eyes, drawing their focus to himself. “Good, breathe.”

Izaya did. He drew in his breath slowly, frustrated by its trembling. If he’d been thinking clearly, he would have exhaled in the man’s face, but his lungs didn’t want to release the air, shaking harder as he breathed out.

“Jeez,” Shizuo ran a hand through his hair. “You really are an idiot.” He pulled a yellow flip phone from his pocket, a clumsy device for a clumsy brute. If he could laugh, Izaya would have. Shizuo stood up, stepping back from Izaya’s ragdoll form. “Hey, I’ve found Izaya. He- yeah. Okay. Yeah, be there in a few.”

He hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket. His steps were lighter as they came back. He kneeled gently in front of the man, head tilted to see under Izaya’s matted hair. “Are you okay? What was all that about?”

Izaya fought for a smile, forcing his walls back up. The idea of letting this monster see him like this was driving him insane. “You caring about me now?” His breath caught again.

“Aw, are you worried about me?”

Shizuo didn’t react, the taunting either bouncing off him or going over his head. “How’s your back?”

“Ouch-y.”

His brow twitched. “Ouch-y?”

“Yeah, ouch-y.” He tried to grin.

“Why did you run?”

Izaya shifted, his hand on his stomach. “Anyone would run if you were behind them.” He pretended to shudder, ignoring the screaming pain from his wound.

“Izaya,” The sincerity in his voice was alarming, a gentle rumble like summer thunder. “I’m serious, what’s wrong?”

He frowned. “I…”

“Woah, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me,” Shizuo was suddenly flustered, pulsing open palms, as if trying to soothe him. “Just don’t cry, okay?”

“What?” Venom seeped into Izaya’s voice. Cry? He thought he’d cry in front of this monster? What a dick.

Izaya flinched, a ripple of movement across his flushed cheeks. A bug? What bad timing. He moved to swat it away, wincing at the shooting pain through his side. His hand came away from his cheek damp.

You’re kidding. Saline ran from his eyes against his will, a mixture of pain, relief, and embarrassment. This was ridiculous. First, he calls him for help, now he cries in front of this neanderthal? Whatever happened to his pride?

A coarse hand grazed his cheek, the cracked skin of his knuckles scraping against his face. “It’s okay, alright? You’re okay.” His eyes widened, an overwhelming feeling washing over him, one like drowning, like suffocating.

Izaya acted before he could think. He was doing that a lot lately. Soft, warm fabric enveloped his face, the scent of cigarettes filling his sinuses, miraculously soothing his trembling breath. With his face on his chest, Izaya could hear the man’s breath catch, quiet surprise emanating from his lips.

If he’d been thinking clearly, this would have made him vomit. But as it stood, the feeling of Shizuo’s arms hesitantly closing around his back, the subtle cigarette smell, the beat of his heart, the sound of his breath, it felt safe.

Summer thunder rumbled again, timid, unsure. Hesitant fingers lifted off his back, sticking ever so slightly as they peeled off the fabric. “Hey… You’re bleeding.”

Izaya considered lifting his head, but it was suddenly heavier than he thought it was. If he had, he might have seen the red staining Shizuo’s hands, the pallor of his cheeks, or even the frightening smear he’d left against the wall behind him. But in his exhaustion, he melted further into cigarette scented cotton and let the rest of the world fade out.

#writing #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #wattpad #oneshot #writers on tumblr #durarara #shizuoheiwajima #izayaorihara #shizaya #drrr #Heavily abused flashbacks #Izaya's a little ooc but whatever

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rhythymicwriting · 1 year ago

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Bitter Tar ~ Shizaya

If Shizuo was being honest, he never smoked for the taste. He wasn’t sure anyone did. Bitter tar coated his mouth, throat flooded with suffocating smoke. In truth, the taste of cigarettes was his least favorite thing.

He hated it.

But as he watched the cool night breeze sweep the escaping smoke into a gentle waltz, he felt his shoulders broaden and fall, leaning his full weight on the railing. Smoking was a vice, not a pleasure. He couldn't stand the taste, yet he kept coming back to the bitter tobacco, to its subtle numbing, the ritual almost meditative.

Soothing waves brushed the bank below, frolicking around rocks and running away with the smaller ones, drawing them quietly to the bottom of their depths. Some part of him knew this river was mostly sewage and litter, another part of him recognized the many people lost to its current and too high bridges, but in the night he could bask in its ebb and flow, stars shimmering off its surface, and the song it sang as breeze stole smoke from his parted lips, a siren coaxing away his woes.

Shizuo drew the cigarette from his mouth, aware of how its emanating smoke warmed his knuckles which flared red in the cold. There wasn’t much skyline to see from here, but there was something surreal about watching the river carve between towering apartments and offices, bound in their glass armor, man made obelisks formed to the whim of a trickle.

He’d wished the clicking footsteps kept moving, but he couldn’t be bothered to care, lingering in his serenity a moment more. “Gross. You almost look human doing that.” The drawl was low, meant to provoke him, but it lost its usual dig.

“Get lost.”

His visitor hummed. “Don’t wanna.”

Shizuo’s growl was faint, more habit than frustration. He spoke as he drew his cigarette back to his lips, talking from the side of his mouth. “I don’t feel like it right now, fleabag.”

“Feel like what, Shizu?” More clicking steps. That irritated Shizuo. Izaya could move like a cat if he wanted to, all air and spring, completely silent. But he was choosing to let his shoes click against the pavement, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet. Shizuo swore he could feel the fur on his jacket cuffs brush his side, Izaya infuriatingly close.

He clicked his tongue, taking a long drag instead of answering. The other joined him in watching the river for a moment before he spun on his heel, catching himself on his elbows against the guardrail. Izaya sighed, letting his head fall back, balancing on his spine. “This is boring.”

“You can always leave.”

“You’d like that.”

“I would.”

“‘S why I won’t.” He teased, smile dancing at his lips when Shizuo groaned. The other drew his now dying cigarette away from his lips, snuffing its heat against the rail, but he held onto the butt, looking briefly for a trash can. There was one just off the bridge. Clicking steps trotted behind his silent strides, following him like a kid. “Why don’t you just drop it? Throw it in the water. Everyone else does.” Izaya asked, gesturing vaguely to the pavement, several cigarettes littered around as if for example.

“Doesn’t mean I have to.” He grumbled.

“Well, aren’t you sweet?” Izaya’s giggle was low, under his breath. Shizuo regretted turning to face him, flicking his cigarette butt into the can and pivoting. Izaya stood mere feet behind him, clad all in black, accentuating the moonlight reflecting on his pale skin. Light pollution burned in his eyes, deep brown shimmering with thirty different shades of red. He looked around the bridge, stood perfectly still. Shizuo wished the man’s beauty was spoiled when that malicious smile was turned to him, splitting Izaya’s visage with a hateful gleam. “You’re staring.”

“Whatever.” He grumbled, shoving past the man. His apartment was a block on the other side of the bridge. He may as well go home, now that his night was ruined.

“Oo where are we going?” Izaya sang, slinking beside him.

Shizuo groaned. “I’m going home. I don’t give a shit what you do.”

“Oh good! Then I’m coming with.”

He almost laughed. “The hell you are.”

“You don’t give a shit what I do, Shizu,” Izaya grinned, letting his head fall back as his eyes slid to the other. “So I’m coming with.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what you said.” Izaya let the weight of his head pull the rest of his body, twisting around to face the now stationary Shizuo. His smile only widened when he saw the fist balled up at Shizuo’s side, the latter taking a slow, steady breath.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than piss me off, Izaya?”

He hummed in faux-thought. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“God, you’re annoying.” His words were a low growl, rumbling from his chest. Yet, the other had no reaction, still smiling, still blocking his way, still highlighted in the moonlight. Izaya shrugged. He slunk back to the railing, popping himself up on the edge, primly crossing his legs as he looked over his shoulder. His elbows seemed moments from hyperextension, but they held steady, shoulders pressed high, neck stretched and turned, muscle flexed from his ear, straining as he gazed into the water.

Shizuo stayed concrete still, mind warring with itself. It would be so easy to shove the leech into the water, but a nagging part of him wouldn’t let him move, still studying where the moonlight washed his skin with clear glass. He found himself trapped in deep ruby without realizing what that ruby really was.

“You’re staring again.” Izaya’s eyes, like gemstones in the mix of fluorescent and celestial lights.

“I don’t know if I want to kiss you or shove you off this bridge.” He’d probably meant that as a threat, but when he’d said it, he realized it sounded nothing like one. His filter was waning.

“Can I pick?” Whatever surprise Izaya might have felt vanished quickly. A grin split his face, lips peeling away from sharp teeth, long eyelashes lifting over city lights reflecting in sepia. His head tilted, black hair falling softly over his cheeks, hanging like a curtain behind his ears. Izaya pushed to his feet, balanced on the guardrail. His arms spread wide, partly to keep his balance, partly an invitation. Cold night air breezed over the two, moonlight shimmering off cold, pale skin. The breeze blew harder, coarse blond hair swept off Shizuo’s cheeks. Izaya’s coat billowed behind him like a sail, forcing a staggered step to keep him on the rail, knees sunken, arms still wide.

Shizuo realized, then, what Izaya was to him. A cigarette, an addiction, something he chased because it felt right, not because he enjoyed it. Izaya was suffering, a slow death, a bitter tar. Izaya was a release, a chase, a high. Shizuo shuddered, cold snaking up his sleeves and through the fabric of his clothes. Goosebumps ran up his arms.

The man before him giggled again, turning and pacing along the guardrail, a delicate balance beam with death on either side. “This is boring, Shizu.”

“You said that already.”

“You're all bark. And it bores me.” He drawled, waving lazy circles with his hands. “How long has it been now? Ten years?”

It really had been that long. That they'd met, that is, since they began this cat and mouse relationship. Though, it felt more like cat and cat. Or snake. There were many euphemisms for Izaya’s breed of twisted.

“I guess.”

“You haven't changed a bit, Shizu. You're all bark, no bite.” He remembered the day they'd met, Shinra’s eager smile that faded quickly, giving way to stress as the two went at it. Shizuo remembered the knife that split his chest, the month it took to heal, an itchy scab that just wouldn't go away. But he couldn't remember when he vowed to keep chasing him. When the violence became an addiction. He'd told himself so many times he’d have his peaceful life back if he got rid of Izaya, but was it really Izaya’s fault?

Or was he choosing to chase a man that didn't matter?

“Something on your mind, mutt?” Izaya leapt down from the railing, landing a step in front of Shizuo. He was rarely this close, always an arm's length or more. A taunting gleam twinkled in his gemstone eyes, a malice swirling in their glass. “Having an epiphany?”

Shizuo’s voice was barely more than a breath, one that smelled like ash and tasted like tar, poison in his mouth. “I guess, yeah.”

Izaya drew back, water lines pulling millimeters out of place. It had always been fascinating how precise Izaya was, on every account. Even down to his own face, he only lost control for millimeters, the rest of his expression perfectly managed. But this close, Shizuo saw the twitch.

“Why are we doing this?”

“Oh god, don't start this bullshit.” Izaya whined, eyes rolling. “Don't tell me the mutt has a conscience now.”

“I'm serious, Izaya. If you're bored, why do you keep showing up?”

“Why do you keep chasing me?” Shizuo didn't have an answer. “I just like the thrill of it all.” He grinned, tilting his head to peer under Shizuo’s glasses. “You can chase me all you like, kill me if you want to. It’s fun for me. And the way I see it, you lose either way.”

His teeth bore, a rabid growl emanating through gaps between them, his second nature. He had always been slower than Izaya. Even now, as his hand reached for the man’s collar, he wasn't expecting to catch anything, hand already following through. Except this time was different and the return flight brought Izaya’s shirt harshly down. Realizing he’d caught the fabric, Shizuo drew his balled fist to stand between them, pulling the man closer.

Izaya made a face, the only moment his shit eating grin had wavered. “Your breath stinks.”

“What do you mean I lose? You trying to tell me you don't care if I kill you? You don't care if you die?”

“Ding ding ding!” Izaya’s grin sharpened with the rest of his features, a razor blade glare on his face. “You go to jail and I never have to see your stinking face again. Sounds like a win to me.”

“You're fucking crazy.”

“Better crazy than boring.” He smiled. Shizuo’s eyes widened ever so slightly, cold metal biting at his stomach. A knife. Not breaking the skin, but dangerously close. Izaya’s smile darkened. “Besides, that's hypocritical, isn't it?”

“The hell?”

“I think it was Einstein, right? That said that thing about insanity? If you keep trying the same thing and expecting different results, blah blah blah. And yet, I'm the crazy one.” Shizuo's grip on the man's shirt was beginning to loosen. “When are you going to try something new, Shizu?”

With another growl, Shizuo shoved the man, hard. Izaya stumbled, falling to the pavement with a grunt. He chuckled as he pushed back up to his feet.

“Just piss off, will you?”

Izaya raised his hands, head ducked behind open palms. “Fine, fine. You're not as fun as I was hoping anyway.”

The blond shoved past him again, letting extra weight fall on his left foot to drive his shoulder into Izaya’s, his way of getting the last word. Like always, he never got to keep it.

“Goodnight, Shizu-chan!” Izaya sang after him. “Hope you find a personality soon!”

He clicked his tongue. Sometimes it was easier not to react. Sometimes he had that option. Tonight was one of those nights.

The walk back to his apartment was uneventful, a warmly welcomed change in his night. Shizuo fumbled through his pocket, his keys lost somewhere underneath both his lighter and a scattered pack of cigarettes that opened some time earlier. After managing to unlock, enter, and relock his apartment, Shizuo collapsed onto the couch, kicking off his shoes and fighting through the buttons on his shirt, lacking the energy to turn on the lights. Today had taken a lot out of him.

“Huh?” The fabric felt frayed under his hands. His vest had slipped off easy enough, so he hadn't noticed, but flicking on a lamp revealed the slash running from his right hip to below his left armpit. Not only was his shirt effectively ruined, but the gash ran deep through his skin. Red brown fabric clung to the edges of the wound, clumps like clay forming around the line. Bright carmine beads continued forming down the contours of his body and he watched as they grew heavy and raced down the gash, pulling other beads into themselves.

“Shit.” He grumbled. Shizuo slid off the rest of his shirt, carefully peeling the cotton out of the bleeding crevice. “Well, it's ruined anyway.” He muttered, ripping off a sleeve to press against his stomach.

The bathroom medicine cabinet looked like a craft box, antibiotics, super glue, and fabric shoved in unceremoniously. Shizuo pulled out a small roll of tape, ignoring the landslide that poured into his sink as he sloppily taped the sleeve against his skin.

“That damn flea.” It had to have happened when he pushed him. Now that he thought about it, Izaya's knife held steady, even as he fell back on his ass, his knife pointing upward in a strong fist. Moonlight glimmered on the surface, a perfect extension of his arm, the gleam easing into the bones of his wrist before falling flat on a fur cuff. How hadn’t he noticed? His chest was cut open for Christ’s sake.

“When are you going to try something new, Shizu?” Canines like fangs twinkled under a venomous sneer. “You’re boring.”

Boring? Even running for his life, Izaya was bored? Shizuo growled. “Why do I even care?”

The reality was, he shouldn’t care. Izaya was the reason his life was a living hell. The reason every day some crazy, stupid, fucked up thing happened. The world would be better off without Izaya.

So why did that thought make his gut twist? Why did he feel some sick need to apologize?

Why did the thought make him feel so damn guilty?

“When are you going to try something new?” Crystalline city lights. “You’re boring.” Pearlescent teeth. “You’re all bark, no bite.” Silhouette like shadow outline in celestial glow. “Can I pick?” That sneer he couldn’t get rid of.

Why was that image so stubborn in his mind?

Why did Shizuo look for him on every street corner, rooftop, and window?

“I don’t know if I want to kiss you or shove you off this bridge.” What possessed him that made him say something that damn stupid? Nothing about Izaya was attractive. He was bad news personified. And he said it anyway.

“Can I pick?” Izaya didn’t so much as blink. That comment should have been kindling for harassment. He’s latched on to less. So why did he move on so fast?

Why did it matter?

Why did it make him feel a little sick?

Shizuo was hardly aware of the crude twist of his lips, a confused smile peeling them away from his teeth. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he’d really lost it. But for some strange, infuriating, and glorious reason…

He couldn’t imagine a life without Izaya.

#writing #fanfic #durarara #writers on tumblr #oneshot #shizuoheiwajima #shizuo #izaya orihara #drrr izaya #shizaya #drrr

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