Just another day. Just another day of violence. Just another day filled with red hazes and headaches because of the noises that kept flowing from their mouths. Their useless mouths. Shizuo took a drag of his cigarette, feeling himself getting more irritated as he thought about it.

The setting sun coloured the usually grey buildings a pleasant orange, and the blond thought he could hear the Black Biker in the distance. His walk to his home was surprisingly peaceful, what he could appreciate, but there was something off. There was something not quite right in the isolated alleyways.

A soft voice drifted from between the dark walls, making Shizuo stop in his tracks for a moment. It was not like whatever was going on was his business, and it didn't sound like someone was being threatened or beaten up, either.

"Shh, shhh, it's okay."

The ex-bartender frowned at the gurgling noise that followed. At first, he thought it was someone talking to a pet that had been run over, but -

"Don't try to talk," the unfamiliar voice responded. "It's okay. I'm not leaving you alone."

There were no thoughts when Shizuo turned on his heels. There were no thoughts when his footsteps resounded against the cold stones. There were no thoughts when the figure that had been crouched over something else looked up, black, silky strands of hair falling down their face.

It took Shizuo a moment to realise it was a man. His hair was extraordinary long, reaching all the way down to his waist. He was wearing a lip piercing, two more silver rings dangling from his ears.

But the most odd thing was that when he heard Shizuo, he simply stood up and brushed the dirt of his clothes, without giving a single glance to what or who he had just been trying to comfort.

"You're in good care now," he said, his navy eyes holding the blonde's gaze, though his words were obviously not meant for him.

The huddled form on the ground seemed to make something that resembled a disapproving grunt, but the dark-haired stranger just laughed light-heartedly. "I told you it's okay. It'll be over soon."

His accent was not from an area near Tokyo. Nevertheless was the strange tone of his voice unmistakable. It wasn't how a kind or concerned person was supposed to sound, in Shizuo's opinion.

"Have fun, Heiwajima-san," the slender male said, a careless smile ghosting over his face as he passed the other. The usual anger his strange behaviour would have provoked stayed out, suppressed by shock.

Black boots had passed the corner by the time it finally hit the ex-bartender that the person in the fur-trimmed jacket resembled Izaya Orihara a little too much to be a stranger.

Shizuo squatted on his heels, a strange feeling of anticipation welling up inside as he pulled at the other's shoulder, causing him to roll on his back. His breath caught in his throat.

It was Izaya. The dried blood on the side of his face and in his hair didn't do anything to hide those familiar features. Anyone would have recognised him, despite the surrealism of the situation he was in. The red-brown crusts were old, implying wounds of a few days old that hadn't been cleaned. Half-lidded eyes stared up at him, or past him, he couldn't really tell.

"Izaya," Shizuo said, surprised at the hoarse sound of his own voice. He wasn't entirely sure why he said the other's name. Maybe so he could assure himself this really was the informant. Assure himself this wasn't a weird dream he had walked into, a dream that could disappear any moment. But it really were the flea's auburn hues, his face, his body that despite looking so unnatural couldn't possibly belong to anyone else. Even his smell, his disgusting smell, was the same, mingled with the scent of old blood and garbage that was littered around them.

It was really him.

There was no reaction from the raven-haired male, not even when a strong hand gripped his throat. It was a bit of a shame he didn't seem to be aware he was about to get killed, but it didn't matter. This would be the final end. It was almost too easy.

Shizuo's nostrils flared at the thought of the stranger that had left Izaya at his mercy. It was odd. A trap? But even if he got assaulted for murder, he didn't care. Izaya had to end. He had to die. He had to disappear.

Hatred swarmed in his body like a disease. It ripped him apart, burned him, it ate him alive. He had to get rid of it. He had to. He had to.

His grip suddenly tightened, golden hues widening slightly as he watched the other's face. He wasn't sure if the shallow breaths reaching his ears were his or his victim's.

More.

It wasn't enough. Uncontrollable rage made his fingertips dig into Izaya's skin even deeper. His body acted on its own. But he wanted this. He wanted it to stop. It was awful. There was nothing he could do, absolutely nothing. The urge to kill, to kill this person, this person who had destroyed so many things, it was unbearable.

He found himself leaning closer as ragged gasps hitched in the smaller male's throat, watching, waiting for him to die. Part of him wanted to see his enemy suffer, to see agony in those maroon optics, the realisation that he was going to die, and part of him just wanted to snap the informant's neck and be over with it.

The moment Izaya stopped breathing, Shizuo pulled his hand back as if he had gotten burned. With wide eyes, he stared at the pale face. Or rather, he stared at the tears rolling down. In complete silence, they dripped from his cheeks.

A few moments later, the fragile frame started convulsing, curling up as Izaya coughed, his lungs desperately searching for air. That brought Shizuo back to reality. His chance was slipping away, as he had hesitated. If he was quick, he could still –

He had hesitated.

With a deep breath, Shizuo touched the wet cheeks and forced himself to take advantage of his own surprise, temporarily suppressing his anger. His animosity for the flea hadn't disappeared or changed in the slightest, but at the moment, he was able to keep it lingering below the surface.

His arms slid beneath the once more motionless body of the abused male, gently lifting him up as the strange, crying eyes slid shut.