I love IzaIza and I love Kida-kun but this pairing is in a dire need of a psychiatrist, it just can't be healthy for any of them. D: Also, do note that this fic is suffering from an intense case of awkwardness. Please do point and tell, I don't own a thing.
XXX
Distaste
XXX
He saw him from across the street.
Kida Masaomi.
His blonde hair was a tone darker than Shizu-chan's bleach blonde and his brown eyes were sharper than Shizu-chan's dull brown.
Izaya smiled and parted from the crowd.
Resting his weight against the guardrails, he stared straight ahead, eyes lingering over the boys in Raira uniforms. The blonde made a wild gesture with his hands and his friend, Ryuugamine Mikado laughed at a joke that Izaya couldn't hear.
A knot formed in Izaya because the only sound that he could hear was the city's laughter and it was a low rumble that seemed to be emitting from the manholes on the streets. It didn't sit well with him, especially not when Ikebukuro had always been his to frown upon.
He trained his eyes on the blonde dye and it was although he could hear an inner part of him flare up, the part of him that loved the human race: He wanted to break the boy until there were only tears left in him.
Izaya couldn't help it, his cruelty had always been, without a doubt, his love too.
And the genuine smile on Kida's face only served to tighten the knot within him.
As an outsider to Kida's situation, he was not sentimental enough to place himself in the other's shoes. Otherwise, he would have picked up the call from years ago and told the boy that everything was all right. Now, he would only feel an unwillingness to surrender Kida to anyone else. It was an unreasonable possessiveness, one that Izaya had already sunk knee deep into.
And then Kida-kun laughed, a sound that Izaya had never heard.
This time, he couldn't stop himself.
It was a case of well-controlled impulse.
Izaya raised his phone, levelled it with his line of blood red vision and snapped a shot.
The soft beep was swallowed by the city life. Kida's smile was captured into memory just as he slipped the sleek black phone back into his coat pocket. And not even the fur at his collar could hide the menace that flashed in his smile.
Their muted conversation carried on.
He stood still and waited for the perfect opportunity.
Kida looked away from Mikado's baby face for a fraction of a second and his laughter had drained from his lips. Izaya raised a hand and waved at the blonde from across the street. He watched as Kida-kun's eyes widened and the glint of genuine brown turned into a solemn stare.
Distaste.
That was all that Izaya could taste, on his tongue, hear, in the Ikebukuro's streets, see, in Kida Masaomi-kun. Because Izaya knew that all he could ever receive were dead eyes and a gaze devoid of human emotions.
The silver rings glinted in the glow of the sun and Kida gave a quick nod in his direction before walking off with a hurried pace to each stride.
Kida was his to love (and torment,) he wasn't about to let go of him for long.
000
It had always been psychological and he had always been in his head.
000
He could be looking at Mikado but he would be seeing someone else instead. The black hair would turn ebony and the dark eyes would glint a ruby red.
His breath hitched in his throat, guilt burning at him as he caught Mikado's smile. He turned away.
And then he saw him from across the street.
Orihara Izaya.
From the bottom of his heart, he wished that he had never met him.
Kida averted his gaze and focused solely on his best friend. His joke tasted stale on his tongue. His grin wavered over his lips but no one could tell the difference. Everything was happening on the inside and the world still hadn't caught on to the pace that Kida ran on.
Mikado laughed, he didn't know what he had said but he was glad that he did because Mikado was the last person he wanted to worry. The sun felt different on his skin, it was as though Ikebukuro knew something bad was going to happen.
And he willed that this city was wrong.
But he was drifting away nonetheless. The air smelled of new leather (like Izaya-san's ridiculously lavish sofa) and his cell phone seemed to be ringing on repeat. Kida felt his hands going into his pockets to clutch at a cell that was never vibrating in the first place. He couldn't help but remember Saki and the way that not even her pain could compare to how Izaya had failed to answer his call and the despair that had wracked his entire body then.
Izaya broke away from the crowd.
Kida could see the man standing at the street corner from his peripheral vision. He was waiting and Kida didn't know whom.
From the start, he had known every risk to the game that involved Orihara Izaya.
But he was a willing participant because he firmly believed that the dial tone was Izaya's way of saying: I love you.
He could wait and he would wait but no one would ever pick up.
Kida knew from experience. His farthest outreach for Izaya-san had always been his voice mail.
Kida had long since learned to give up. There was only hate and a need for his love that tied him to the man. If someone were to ask him what Orihara Izaya meant to him, Kida would reply: A nasty taste that I can't wash out of my mouth.
All the memories he had of the man had poisoned his heart a bloody red.
Kida could feel his pulse in his veins. He thought that the world had passed him by but Mikado was still smiling at his side. A waver of his focus, a lingering gaze and the man with the dark smile was still standing across the street, hand up in mid-wave.
They were looking at each other.
Distaste settled into his senses, he hadn't meant to be discovered.
Brown stared into red for a fraction of a second and Kida could only muster a weak nod as he fell into a downward spiral of complete darkness where only red eyes would peek at him with sinister intentions behind their friendly winks. He was swooning into their psychological embrace. Kida couldn't hold on but neither could he ever let go of Izaya-san.
The man was his last lifeline, even though he was also the one drowning him in fresh water.
Kida continued to offer himself on a silver platter, it was a habit he had learned, not a mistake he had learned from.
Because Orihara Izaya was his God at the end of the day.
XXX Kuro
At the end of the day, Kida-kun is a sad boy and Izaya is just a sick sick man.