This is Izaya and Shizuo, and some shit I made up for my cousin.
Long, slender fingers were tapping on the mahogany armchair. His brown eyes were focused onto the television screen, with a bored look on his face. There wasn't anything good on the news; nothing big has been happening in Ikebukuro nowadays and all the stupid shows were getting too practical, repetitive and boring. He sighed, head facing the ceiling. This world is getting too boring, he thought. He wants to leave the apartment, but he might come face to face with those children, and he'd rather not do that. Or as Kida once said, "Shit will go down."
He quickly snatches the remote control placed on top of the side-table next to him. Gritting his teeth, he presses the channel button, looking for something actually interesting to watch. A minute passes by and lobs the remote control across the room. He lets out a defeated sigh and walks around in his living room. God, he really needs a hobby. Instinct calls to him, and before he knew it, he was inside the kitchen, facing the kitchen sink. Next to the sink were the knives, placed neatly in one container by size – smallest to biggest. He tilts his head, he doesn't know which one is which, are any of those the bread knife? What about the fat one, that's probably the butcher knife, right? He asks himself. He vaguely remembers that he bought the knife set just for show, just so his apartment somehow looks "normal" as the other people would call it. He chuckles, it's still useless. Besides, he frequently buys take-outs.
He leaves the kitchen and takes out his cellphone, sitting on the Lazy Boy couch. Speaking of dangerous, he just knows who to call. He presses the number 6, since the person is on speed-dial. People will think it's weird to have your possible-killer is on your speed-dial, but sometimes it keeps him on his toes.; especially when satellites could track the man's phone whenever he's within a 100-meter radius. He waits for someone on the side to answer, he's been counting.
1, 2, 3 -…
"'Lo?"
"Heh, hey," he smirks; he could imagine the other man fuming.
"The fuck do you want again, Izaya?" He groans incredulously, the man on the other line sounds frustrated.
"Yeah," he replies. A beat, "Missed me?"
"Fuck no," the man seethed, Izaya could hear him grit his teeth.
"Aww, don't be mad. How many phones have you destroyed this week, like six?" he taunted.
Izaya could hear the other man's breathing, from erratic to normal. It seems he could somehow control his temper.
"No, Izaya, shut the fuck up. I don't need this shit from you right now," he growled.
Izaya laughs, amusement in his eyes. The other man really is entertaining, but he doesn't need to know that.
"I know you don't, that's why this is so much fun, don't you think?" the man on the other end sighs. Everyday seems to be like this: Izaya annoys the hell out of him, he gets provoked, they try to cut each other's throats, someone interrupts, and they stop fighting. It's an endless cycle.
"Look Izaya, I don't fucking care, you some-"
"Come to the park, today at 3," Izaya distracting him.
"… And if I don't?"
"Ikebukuro goes boom!" he exclaims.
"You wouldn't?"
"Oh, I would. You know me well enough, I always stick to the plan," he sing-songed.
"You're bluffing. I know you are, Izaya."
"No, I'm not," checkmate. "So who's going to save Ikebukuro now? Time is ticking…"
"You ass. Fine, I'm go-" Izaya quickly disconnects, and plans for the rest of the day, smirking.
Life isn't so boring after all.