A/N: Updated chapter as of 11/15/16 because I periodically become disappointed in the quality of my writing and try to rewrite to a higher standard. Adding new chapters to this story soon!
We had been close.
Before the gang violence. Before the legend of the Black Rider. Before the Slasher serial killings. Before the Dollars turned into a movement bigger than anything Ikebukuro had ever seen.
My last vision of Shizuo Heiwajima was the most painful memory I retained. Four years ago, he gazed at me with eyes so anguished, you would have thought I'd physically ripped his heart from his chest. And to be entirely honest, I may as well have. Those pained eyes left a steadfast scar in their wake; a wound that even when no longer fresh, would never go another day without festering.
I first met the strongest man in Ikebukuro through Izaya when I was in my ninth year of school at Raijin Academy, and grew close to him through Tom and Shinra. All of us were in the same class, but I was a year younger than the four of them, having skipped a year of school earlier in junior high. However, it should be noted that my very first impression of the blonde was one of pure terror.
My family and I had just moved to Ikebukuro and here I was, finding it difficult to start over in a new town, at a new school, and make new friends. The well-known, dark-haired Izaya Orihara was actually the first to greet and welcome me to the city. We had met online, in an anonymous chat room filled with local users looking to make friends, and met up in person soon after, before the term began. Believe it or not, Izaya wasn't always the douchebag he acted like as an adult. He was my first friend, and the oldest one I had.
When he walked me into our classroom on the first day of class, a much taller blonde boy immediately jumped up from his desk upon recognizing the dark-haired boy.
"Izaya," he growled and drew out the pronunciation of my new friend's name before he charged the doorway we stood in. In a state of sudden panic, I genuinely thought, this is it, this is how I die. What a pathetic end it would have been for a naïve girl who had never cared about anything other than school. I'll never forget the blur of shaggy, bright blonde hair and the look of sheer hatred in the strange boy's eyes as my life flashed before my own.
Of course, Izaya effortlessly whisked me out of his path of destruction, but only before taking off back down the hallway, laughing and taunting his relentless pursuer. It all happened so fast that I could only assume what had just happened was some sort of fucked up game or inside joke, but in all manners of honesty, their level of commitment to the joke was intimidating as hell.
As I settled into my new life in the big city, I grew closer to Shizuo. Our teacher had me sitting right behind him in class. Boy, was that a surprise no more than a couple minutes after that fiasco on the first day. I nearly pissed myself every time he so much as flinched for the rest of the day, terrified that at any moment, he would turn around and actually finish me off. As it turns out, he wasn't the brightest student. Nearly every day for the remainder of our public schooling, he would turn around in his chair to face me, completely lost, and asking under his breath for clarification and copying my notes. I guess I became his personal tutor of sorts, and he eventually accepted me into his group of friends. Tom, Shinra, and Shizuo would frequent my suburban home to "kidnap" me from my studies despite my protesting. After a while, I truthfully didn't object to being dragged away from my textbooks, but we had fallen into this cliché routine that had become somewhat of an inside joke. It wouldn't have been the same without me playing a little hard-to-get each time, causing them to drag me kicking and screaming (metaphorically, of course) along with them on their adventures. It was the first time I felt as though I actually belonged somewhere; a feeling not many are blessed to experience for even a fleeting moment. I wouldn't have traded that feeling for the world.
After spending more frequent time with him, it became apparent that Shizuo possessed an unusual amount of strength when he flew into a rage, normally only due to the taunting (or in some cases, just the presence) of Izaya. Many times, I'd seen him pull street signs out of concrete and heavy machinery from bolted walls in his overt desire to maim his rival. As a science geek, I was naturally interested in the fact that the he retained abnormal strength for his size. He was taller than the other boys, but no larger in muscle mass than the average teenager. Shinra and I were pleasantly confounded by the way his ability violated the fundamental laws of physics, and often traded theories about how his abnormal strength was even physically possible, much to Shizuo's annoyance. He didn't care to understand the explanation of is strength; only to hone it, in hopes that his frequent injuries would soon be a thing of the past.
I also eventually came to the understanding that Shizuo and Izaya had a rivalry of some sort, which dated further back than I cared to ask about. Not being able to comprehend their distaste for one another, I concluded that boys were more complicated than girls, and try as I may have to comprehend their actions, there existed no laws of science which could explain their peculiar behavior.
Before long, we started high school, and hormones started making everyone crazy. I admittedly caught myself drifting off during lecture, far more fascinated by the back of Shizuo's head than quadratic equations, and noticing his handsome features more and more often. In turn, I noticed his frequent glances in my direction, though he did his best to hide them. I couldn't help but hope and fantasize that he felt the same butterflies in his stomach when he thought about me.
It wasn't until after belligerent teasing via Shinra and Tom, as well as some haughty taunting courtesy of Izaya, that we finally acknowledged our feelings and entered into an exclusive relationship. I had just turned 15, whereas he had been 16 for a few months already. As long as I'd known him, he was never one to show much emotion, so it was cute and a little bit unexpected when he admitted his feelings for me. The way he blushed and adamantly avoided eye contact…It was quite a romantic moment; that mushy crap you really only see on TV. I think my straightforward response took him by surprise when I leaned over and pecked him innocently on the cheek that windy summer afternoon. We were an even more inseparable pair after that.
Albeit somewhat possessive and always disapproving of my continuous friendship with Izaya, we had a magnificent, passionate relationship. I continued to help him with his studies; I even did his homework for him when he was hospitalized for his occasional superhuman-strength-related injuries. He was full of spontaneity, which was something I think I craved because I was so serious, planning and mapping my life out at every chance I got. Living for the moment was something I would never have had the courage to do by myself.
The two of us also worked really well together sexually. Sure, our first time was sloppy, awkward, and virginal, and he constantly worried he would lose control of his strength at the height of sexual ecstasy and accidentally hurt me…But truthfully, I liked it a little primal and rough. Practice made perfect, and before long, we were jumping each others' bones at the most inconvenient of times, but that of course made things all the more kinky.
Now, at this point in the story, most people are thinking the same thing: Shizuo's short temper combined with his brain's inability to control his strength would likely guarantee an episode of dating violence at least once in a while. But you might be surprised to find out that he never once raised a hand to me. Yes, we had problems and arguments every now and then, as any healthy relationship should. And we were both stubborn as mules when we got into it. However, he tended to take his anger out on his immediate, lifeless surroundings instead, never swinging a fist or an inanimate object in my direction. Through it all, I never worried that he would physically injure me after our first day of school. I'd seen him at his best as well as his worst, and had the utmost trust in him.
I kept my academic spot atop our class, but our differences didn't start hitting me until I began applying to colleges. Shizuo had no intention of continuing his education—none of my friends really did. It wasn't a surprise for most of them, though I was somewhat shocked by Shinra's blatantly stubborn refusal to apply to college, instead planning on opening a black-market (for lack of a better word) surgical and medical practice similar to that of his father.
The best and worst day of my life was the day my acceptance letter came in the mail. I had been approved to travel abroad and study physics at the University of Texas at Austin, in the United States, on a full scholarship. I didn't come from a poor family, but college is never cheap for anyone. The full ride was nothing short of a miracle, and something I couldn't afford to pass up, financially or morally. My mistake was keeping it a secret from Shizuo for as long as I could.
Every morning that summer I woke up thinking, today is the day. I need to tell him today. But everyday held new adventures. It was such a refreshing and exciting summer, I never wanted it to end, and I never wanted to bog the mood down by dropping a bomb like oh, by the way, I'm going halfway around the world for the next four years. I don't know what I expected to happen. I was just putting off the inevitable, and clearly I still hadn't learned my lesson, considering I continued to put things off that stressed me out to this very day, like looking for a job in the professional adult world.
The night before my flight to America, Shizuo and I sat atop the roof of my family's house under the stars. I remember it all so clearly; I sat up looking out at the city skyline laid out like a colorful necklace on the horizon. He was lying back on the shingles, one hand behind his head and the other in mine as he gazed up at the constellations. And then he said it. For the first time in our relationship, he started talking about the future. Our future. He had just gotten a job as a bartender downtown, and he suggested moving into an apartment and starting a life together. He offered to support me while I went to college.
"I can pay the bills while you go to class at Tokyo U," tears filled my eyes at his affectionate words. It physically pained me to realize that his assumption implied that he trusted I would have told him if I was leaving. What sort of monster did that make me? I reached into my hoodie pocket with my free hand and gripped my acceptance letter tightly. It was crinkled, having been carried around all summer in my intent to tell him sooner. What did I think I would accomplish by waiting this long? "And later down the road, I'll make you my wife…That is, if you'll have me."
And that was it. I snatched my hand away from his and began sobbing uncontrollably as I covered my face in shame. I didn't deserve for this selfless, compassionate human being to desire to share his life with me.
"Michiko?" I felt him sit up and touch my face as he tried to pry my hands from my watery eyes, but to no avail. "I'm sorry, we don't have to rush anything until you're ready," his voice was taking a drastic, frantic turn as he tried to determine the cause of my sudden outburst and I didn't respond to his affectionate touch. Of course he jumped to blaming himself for my tears. "Don't cry—please, look at me, Michi—"
"I'm leaving," was all I managed to spit out between hysterical breaths. "I'm the most awful, deceitful bitch—"
"Calm down, Michi," he either didn't hear me, or wasn't taking my words seriously in my hysterical state. Although I couldn't see him with my face still buried in my hands, I felt the shingles shift as he repositioned himself on his knees in front of me and wrapped his arms around me. He knew how to calm me; when I was hysterical, he just held me. No words, just a tender embrace and some steady breathing. When my sniffling subsided after a moment, he leaned back, running one hand through my hair affectionately as he took one of my hands with the other, planting a reassuring kiss to my fingertips. "Tell me what's wrong."
I pulled the mess of an acceptance letter from my pocket with a shaky hand, and pushed it into his chest as I waited for the worst. He let go of my hand to unfold the crinkly paper, but I didn't hide behind my palms again. I let my hand drop beside me, but I didn't look at him. I couldn't look at him.
"This is…" I felt him lean back from my figure when the comforting warmth of his close proximity began to dwindle. I could picture the gears in his head turning in the silence that followed. For a moment, I recalled how elated I felt when I first ripped the manila envelope open and saw the word congratulations. It almost seemed unreal to me that a source of such happiness had quickly become a source of anxiety, and was now becoming a source of heartache. "University of…Michiko, you're not…"
"I am," I gulped as I choked on my words; figuratively, that is. But right now I wanted nothing more than to literally choke. I would have deserved it.
"But the term starts on Monday," his voice cracked, I could hear him suffering. I could hear his heart breaking. Almost immediately, I felt like the biggest piece of shit for avoiding meeting his gaze. I was the one doing this to him, the least I could do was look him sincerely in the eyes as I stabbed him through the chest.
"My flight is tomorrow," I turned my gaze to his face, and almost wished I hadn't. I had looked up just in time to see the hope drain from his lifeless eyes in the dim light of the moon. I had never seen Shizuo cry, but I knew him well enough to tell when he was holding back tears. And in an out-of-character sort of way, he didn't move to touch me. Shizuo's ego normally required reassurance; when he was suffering, he tended to pine for attention, to yearn for some sort of comfort. This behavior suggested he had given up, as if he already knew the ending to this story.
"I love you, Michiko," despite his passionate confession, the desperation in his eyes, which hadn't left mine since he looked up from my acceptance letter, told me everything I needed to know. "Does that mean nothing?"
I wanted desperately to reach out and touch him. I wanted to say so much more, but what good would it have done at this point? Any comfort I offered would only provide a sense of false hope. I didn't have it in me to do that to him. It would be better for both of us this way. "I'm so sorry, Shizuo."