I am back from the dead! I was re-watching the episode of durarara where Shizuo gets shot when inspiration struck so I decided to write again. Thank you all readers for being patient while I took my long break.

I hope you enjoy the oneshot and thanks for reading, everyone! Reviews are always welcome as is constructive criticism.

IZAYA'S POV

The very first time I met Shizu-chan, I left my mark of possession. A knife wound cutting straight along his chest, right over his heart. I admit that at the time it was done out of malice, but now I think of that moment fondly.

That was the very first scar I gave him, which is miraculous if you think about Shizu-chan's amazing regenerative powers. Perhaps Shizu-chan himself never really wanted that wound to heal.

Looking back now it is ironic, as if that wound bound him to me eternally. Both all the love and all the hate in that heart was forever after directed at me. I wouldn't have it any other way.

SHIZUO'S POV

The very first scar I gave the flea was the first time I managed to hit him, indirectly at least. Just a month after our meeting, I had been chasing him with blood pounding in my ears and adrenaline coursing through my veins.

For that whole month it felt like a fist had been clenching my heart. Red eyes constantly peered at me from the corner of whatever room I was in, yet when I spun round furiously with that dreaded name on the tip of my tongue, I saw nothing but air. That cockroach was never far from my mind and it frustrated the hell out of me. Slowly I was driven into a rage unlike anything I ever felt before, until my thoughts never stretched very far from "Kill, Kill, Kill".

You can imagine my pleasure when my uprooted vending machine slammed straight into his chest. I remember my mouth stretching into a satisfied grin at the look on the flea's face as I had wrenched the contraption away from its very roots.

His smirking mouth for once agape, the normally narrowed eyes widened, and the blush of exhilaration on his cheeks turning pure white. That small, lithe dancer's frame was battered away by metal, bruises and broken bones sure to blossom. I almost thought that the vermin looked pretty, but that was a thought quickly dismissed.

For a moment the trash lay there unmoving on the ground, and for a moment I felt like the hand supposedly clenching my heart had ripped it right out of my chest. I was gripped by a sudden fear and tremors shook my deceptively lean body.

Then the lump of black fabric and hair on the ground twitched. My heart soared in what I refused to recognise as relief. Yet I was still unable to move, I only stared as Izaya staggered to his feet with bright red blood dribbling through a rip in his dark shirt. He held his arm at an awkward angle and bruises were already surfacing along pale skin.

Red eyes met blue for a long moment, and it felt almost like a bond first forming one month ago had finally been completed. Eventually eye contact was broken as the flea turned and ran, somewhat less gracefully then before, down a side alley and out of sight.

I stayed in that very spot for a long time afterwards with a cigarette burning away at my lips and my feet still unable to move. It wasn't until later, within the comfort of my own apartment, that I realised Izaya's blood was coming from a graze on his chest right over his heart.

Eventually I found out that the cut soon became a scar, which is ridiculous when realising how many times he had fully recovered from much worse. Now that I think about it, that scar was my first mark of possession on Izaya. I wouldn't have it any other way.