Disclaimer: I don't own Durarara!, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Ryohgo Narita and Suzuhito Yasuda. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

Too Much Time

He doesn't know what he's doing, wandering around a place like this. The old shops, all those that he visited as a boy, look very much the same. Some have fading paint, peeling off the buildings, while others look as though they've been fixed up quite a bit. He finds it strange, peering into those windows and seeing double. Himself, as he is now, and that sour little boy from before.

But Shizuo supposes he hasn't changed all that much.

He's waiting for the call that Tom promised. The one that'll send him to some whore house or filthy bar where his friend's clients are lounging around. He'll walk in, and they'll make fun of his attire, as always. He'll blow his top, trash the place, and extort from them the money they owe. That's how it always goes, and he's fine with the routine, minus the violence.

He wishes he could keep his head on his shoulders as Kasuka's always hoped. If he could do that, maybe his life would turn out like some whacked-out anime series. The hero, or whoever the hell he is, learns to control his powers, only to end up losing them in the end. With that idea in mind, Shizuo's not sure if controlling himself is such a good thing. Then again, he doesn't even know what he wants.

"Are you lost?"

He turns, staring into the doorway of a shop where a dark-haired woman stands, a puzzled expression on her face. He freezes, his mind forcing the memory to overlap with the present. It's her, the woman from the dairy shop he used to visit every day. The woman he saved and nearly killed.

Words elude him, time standing still. He wants to run away as he did that day as a boy. The day that he last saw her, bandages on his face and his arm in a cast and sling. As she'd started to turn around, he'd taken off, deciding that it wouldn't be safe to visit her anymore. Even if she had treated him like a person rather than a little beast.

"Would you like to come inside?" she says, stepping into the street. "If you're lost, we could print out a map on the computer in the back."

He shakes his head, retreating a step. He wishes that the world, like that which he sees through his glasses, was dark. That way, there would be no risk of her recognizing him. But, with his hair this color, the odds of that are slim. Still, they exist.

Again, he makes a wish. That he'd been smart enough to stay away. But he'd wanted to know, after so long, if she'd been permanently injured by his faulty rescue. If she hated him for what he'd done. It had been a damned stupid idea, and, if she didn't hate him, then he hated himself for being such a fool.

"Aren't you...?" She walks right up to him, peering through the blue lenses and into his eyes. She looks curious, almost contemplative as she studies him for a moment. She steps back, giving him his space, before smiling. "Hello again, Shizuo."

Funny she remembers his name. Hers won't come to him. But, he can see that she's pleased to see him again, even after so long. After all the time he's wasted thinking about her. She's visibly older than she was the last time. Not much, but she looks tired. Probably from having children. He wonders if she's told them about him; about the little boy who saved her.

Her eyes widen, and she insists that he stay where he is. She turns around and runs back into the shop. There, through the window, he can see her open the glass door of a refrigerator, the neck of a glass bottle in her hand.

"Here," she says, handing it to him with a smile. "You need to drink milk so you can grow up and keep those bones strong."

That's what she'd always tell him, especially when he'd walk home with Kasuka with his wrist in a splint or hobbling around on crutches. He'd stuck with that, even after walking away from her. And everything she'd said had come true.

It was advice before. Now, it's their joke.