He hates struggling to please Izaya.
He hates it more than anything.
And it's in this twisted, sick kind of place—the time where they're stuck at the bridge between chasing each other through the streets of Ikebukuro and being together, really and truly together—that Shizuo has to do the most. It's not even expected, but he knows he should. There's a kind of force that just pulls them together, and there are so many things he tries to do in the name of pleasing a flea.
It's not like it'd usually happen, but things aren't the way they used to be. And when it comes to defining the lighter side of the finer line of priorities the bartender puts Izaya before his job, before Tom, before Verona, Shinra, or Celty, because being around his flea has taken over his life and made him selfish in a way he can't even fully comprehend. It's like fighting the battle that's already been put to rest, and he's there every day cleaning his own apartment or putting yet another single flower on Izaya's desk. It's these deeds that kill him just a bit more, make him indulge a little bit more into his own greed.
The blonde man feels so fucking guilty, but he's caught in the web of altered events. Things aren't the way they used to be and all the Heiwajima wants is to watch the way Izaya's thin but long lashes cast feathery and feminine shadows on his cheekbones and feel that pale skin under his rough fingers. There's a different rhythm to the way they act around each other; the chase isn't the same. The way they talk… The bartender's too submissive by day. So he compensates.
So for every kind event he pulls that he wouldn't normally do for Izaya, Shizuo will leave a dark mark on the skin of his neck that same night. He'll drag the informant to his flat and fuck him senseless because it's his right, and Izaya has changed his ways so now the blonde just knows that the black haired lithe man is his and no one else's.
"Mine." He likes to growl it when Izaya is in his bed, writhing and moaning beneath him. They get into the bed activities with too much enthusiasm for the informant to handle—it's too rough, and the brown eyed man knows his partner is suffering, so he'll end up cooking in the morning. But that's their plan, and there's no problem with the informant sticking around for a little while.
Things have changed. Nothing's the way it used to be. Shizuo's crossed the threshold, and the familiar only stays in the miniscule events of day to day life. Izaya's the biggest part of his day now, driving him to lengths of addiction like some kind of immoral belief. He can't even think of the days they used to play their games of chase; all the bartender has on his mind is the way he can't even feel Izaya's heart beat anymore. Shizuo wants to know everything about his lover, but he doesn't know his mother's name. And while the blonde gives the raven every part of him, he receives so little. The worst part, though, is that he doesn't even care. He'll keep on trying. He'll get there one day.
Looking down at Izaya sleeping exhausted between his sheets, Shizuo feels his eyes soften and his lips melt to a frown. In the dim light the night brings through his window, Shizuo feels so fucking guilty. But he's caught in the web of altered events.