AN: Yes, I have seen Durarara. Yes, I love it to death. And yes...I ship Shizaya. XD Please don't kill me.
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The story starts with the arrival of the raven.
His feathered hair, dark and glossy like a snatch of midnight silk, shimmers in the starlight and streetlamps of the lurking city he now wanders. It provides perfect contrast yet remains unremarkable.
His attentive eyes, darting and deep like twisting rapids, glow in the shadows of the overhanging night of the roughened streets he now treads. They watch all and miss very little.
His lithe form (graceful in rigidity) his stunning dexterity (serious when comical) his alabaster skin (whiter than black) and his sharp-toothed grin (mischievous with insanity).
He loves, although he doesn't really know what love is. He pays attention, but only to things that he can misuse. He weaves in and out of countless lives, inconspicuous yet obvious, easily read yet obscure. He is seeking his match, something worthy of his balance. Equilibrium.
A giggling mystery in a fur-trimmed jacket, that raven.
The story goes on to include a monster.
His messy hair, blond and brassy like untamed sunbeams, flutters in the wind and rain of the mysterious city he protects. It stands out as a warning and suits him perfectly.
His unassuming eyes, sharp and shaded like hidden knives, gleam behind the tinted sunglasses that mask them just like the sneaking city he watches. They see all and miss very little.
His imposing stance (hinted brutality) his carrying voice (echoing without walls) his powerful presence (thinly-veiled strength) and his explosive anger (scares without silence).
He hates, and he knows perfectly well what hate is. He fights, but only against the things he's paid to. He is passed by countless lives, surrounded yet alone, simple yet complex. He is seeking his match, something worthy of his balance. Equilibrium.
An ardent mystery in a bartender's suit, that monster.
The pages keep turning to reveal serious conflict.
For whatever reason, the monster hates the raven with all his potent passion, and the conniving creature on the other end loves all the attention he receives, regardless of the stunning negativity of it all. He thinks he's found his perfect balance, attained his lovely equilibrium.
In turn, the raven despises the monster with all his raving reasons, and the brooding being on the other side craves the moments they meet, despite the brutal and often painful consequences of it all. He believes he's hunted his perfect balance, attained his needed equilibrium.
They both starve for the power only given to them by the other, practically lust for their chances at battle (the raven's weapon of choice a switchblade, the monster's whatever he can heft) and scream in the confines of their minds that this is right, but there's still something wrong.
Somehow, there's something wrong.
Pages turn faster as the climax is neared.
It's the monster, believe it or not, who figures it out first, being more human than the raven could ever hope to be. For all his passion, for all his hatred, for all his intensity and desperation, he withdraws from the battle. He's realized why there's something wrong, and he's realized it's impossible to make it fully right.
Not when it's the raven on the other end. So he quits.
Without his caramel-eyed companion, his playmate in hatred in pain, the raven is lost. His drive vanishes, only to be replaced by listless and aimless confusion. His violent partner in crime has forsaken him, his bleach-blond confidant in a city of secrets has tossed him aside like just another street sign.
If only the monster could see his pain, maybe he would return to their dance in hatred, the endless two-steps and dodging twirls that filled their days and sometimes nights. Perhaps the monster had heard some careless whispers from above one night, and without a single finishing move, had disappeared into the city. Perhaps he had tripped at some point in their fateful dance and realized that it wasn't worth it. What was it? What had happened? It was a rather unceremonious finish to the world's most heated tango.
And so, in the briefest of moments, equilibrium is shattered.
They both feel the change, like it's atmospheric, like it's chromatic, and it frightens them. Their strange safety net of hurtful words and angry fights is gone, and they sense the loss and flee in confusion, wheeling alone under streetlamps in the rain. The monster takes shelter from the raven, and the raven hides from himself.
And then, as if fate itself had grown tired of the weak barriers built, their two forces collide in earnest accident. There is silence, then screaming, and the pent-up passion explodes with a vengeance as their fight begins anew with furious ardor-
But something goes wrong, somehow the raven is pinned against the wall, too soon the much-needed battle is over, too soon, too soon-
And then the monster remembers how to make the wrongs feel right.
The story seems to pause as silence envelops them.
"There's a better way to do this," a voice whispers, breaking the tension, and it's not the monster speaking in his deep bass.
The sneaky little raven blinks up at the other, his crimson gaze strange and subdued. Almost as if he means what he's saying. Has he realized now too?
The monster growls, but it's different this time, frustrated and cornered. He wants to say it too, but he can't. He thinks about running again, leaving his problems behind with the raven, but that wouldn't fix anything. So what to do?
The raven shifts in his rough grasp and the monster decides in that instant that their dance, their war, their equilibrium must never cease. So he leans in, and the raven tilts his head up, and a new type of battle begins.
The amount of pages left to turn grows thin with time.
It started with the arrival of the raven, and it only escalated when he met the monster. Their conflicts wracked the city, leading up for so long until the monster came to his senses and refused to dance their twisted dance any longer. The upset balance-the ruined equilibrium-collapsed in on itself, and they crashed back together like matter and its darker brother. There was passion, tension, and then a frozen pause-
"There's a better way to do this."
And the raven was right. And for the first time, the monster listened to him, because he also knew that they had other options, better ones.
Better ways to maintain their precious equilibrium.
Because, if they can manage anything, they must at least manage that. In any way.
And so the story ends.
Equilibrium.