a matter of interest

Because Izuo.

Most of the time, Shizuo thought, Ikebukuro was a stifling kind of city. It was a smoke-in-his-lungs, people-in-his-face, car-horns-in-his-ears thing where the pure distinctiveness of it all seeped into every pore of his skin and settled like it fucking belonged there. And sometimes, he liked it for that very reason. All of it.

He snapped himself out of his thoughts when Celty's fingers clicked across her phone's keypad, and then shoved the device in his face.

Shizuo, can I ask you a question?

"Sure," he shrugged. They were walking together done the lone, sunset streets of Ikebukuro, and he was escorting her back after a transporter mission because she was bored, and god knew he had nothing else to do.

Click. Click. Clickclick.

What would you do if you ever caught Izaya?

"I'd beat the living shit out of that manipulative bastard," he scowled a scowl that morphed his face into its usual state of irritation. "Oh yeah. Kill kill kill kill…"

Oh don't start with that again. She moved her motorcycle to skid in front of his path. Faceless eyes peered out at him from behind her helmet, and suddenly the screen was blocking his vision again.

I just wanted to say that Shinra told me Izaya's leaving. He's packing for Tokyo. Thought it might cheer you up.

Shizuo's breath stilled, and a frown spread itself onto his face. "Yeah… yeah that's great."

He wasn't sure why his hand was fisted at his side. But there was that familiar feeling of something whispering taunting words into his ear. A new kind of enemy, one that his fists weren't enough for. He hadn't a clue what it was.

But he'd damn well try to fight it anyway.

~x~

Two hours later, Heiwajima Shizuo was making his way across Ikebukuro with a scowl on his face an a street-pole held in one fist, swinging blindly at anyone who had the misfortune of getting in his way.

But the people of the city had long since learned that there were three rules to living. One: one must not piss off the color gangs, because they would mess you up. Two: one must not piss off Orihara Izaya, because he would confuse you to death. Three: One must not piss of Heiwajima Shizuo, because he would beat the fuck out of you. He was the traditional tough-guy, except in a rather sharp bartender's outfit instead of baggy clothes and chains.

He walked uninterrupted to Izaya's apartment, clenching at his street pole the entire way.

The flea wasn't in his office, but his secretary was, and she didn't seem impressed. Namie sighed her tired-of-life sigh and pointed him to the rooftop where Izaya liked to gaze over Ikebukuro and his precious humans and love them without loving them in his own, quirky way.

Within minutes, Shizuo was standing on the roof of the building, peering out into the late evening sky, glancing across at where Izaya stood with his hands in his pockets, seemingly doing absolutely nothing. He didn't hesitate to throw the pole, and it sailed through the air before resting in the precise spot where the flea had been only seconds ago.

"Shizu-chan!" He greeted, spreading his arms. "How nice to see you again. Came to try to kill me again?"

"Is it true that you're leaving for Tokyo?" Shizuo seethed. He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing there. It seemed to be going well – Izaya would leave the city and leave him the fuck alone. His presence might change that wonderful idea, but it was too late to back down now.

"Maybe~"

"Don't fucking play with me. Is that a yes or a no?"

He paused. "Well, Namie's been wanting to leave all this smoke and pollution for a while. Tokyo's smoke and pollution is so much more attractive."

Shizuo narrowed his eyes, and looking towards the pole still lying a few meters away. Izaya wouldn't be able to run at this distance. Maybe he'd get a good hit in. But first, he needed a good reason to get provoked, because he wouldn't allow himself to turn into an animal again.

"So you are leaving," he confirmed.

"You look upset, Shizu-chan. What am I, your support system?" Izaya's mouth played a smirk so wide it dragged up every instance of annoyance he'd ever delivered to the world. "What happened to…" he thrust his arms into the air. "Izaaaayaaa-kuuun~!"

Shizuo watched with barely contained irritation. "Something happened," he snapped.

Because this was Ikebukuro, the city where liveliness thrived and played its music to the smoky sky, where all the poor farmland sods dragged their feet to and learned how to fucking live. This was all the stupid color-gangs that Shizuo had never given two shits about. This was that kid Masaomi who failed at acting twice his age, that Russian sushi guy with the smile that scraped across Shizuo's every nerve, the Dollars that hid around every corner, Celty and her clicky mobile phone. This was Ikebukuro, and this was Orihara Izaya.

"You know what I think?" Izaya asked as he made his way around the still-flickering streetlamp to perch on the edge of the rooftop. "I think that you don't have a choice in whether you love your enemies. The religious nuts can say all they want, but in the end loving your enemies is just another part of you, and it's not anything any nonexistent god could judge us by. You all don't have a say in that sort of thing. No one else can possibly achieve the level of hate I'm capable of, but it's fun to watch you try."

Shizuo held his ground, and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what the fuck you're saying."

"Ah, you don't need to, you never need to," he waved his hand in the air like some sort of frantic dramatist. "Understanding isn't necessary. If humans knew why they were interesting, they wouldn't be interesting anymore!"

"I'm not one of your-"

"My what? My humans?" Izaya's smirk was from the depths of hell, he could swear it. "You're even more interesting than most, because you don't understand a thing."

There were multiple levels of insults hidden somewhere in there and Shizuo could almost feel them taunting him, waving right beyond his reach. Every time he tried to grasp one, it faded. Izaya was the only person who could make him feel this kind of burning anger that lit a fire down every one of his nerves and sent his common sense marching off to hell.

"And you don't have a choice either, Shizu-chan," he went on. "Admit it, you want me to stay because you like me."

"I fucking don't!" He growled, hands fisting automatically. The lamppost was beginning to look incredibly tempting.

"That's a shame," Izaya leapt up and slid his hands into his jean pockets, walking over calmly. "Because that would be really interesting."

"Fucking troll," Shizuo spat. "Don't play with me! Leave the stupid city if you want," he turned to leave, but there was the curl of a hand around his arm, and he spun with fury in his eyes because Izaya had dared to touch him.

"Hey Shizu-chan," his eyes held a secretive play. "Want to try something?"

"What-"

And then suddenly he was on the tips of his toes, pulling their mouths together with one hand fisted in the front of Shizuo's bowtie. It was a harsh kind of kiss. Shizuo had never kissed anyone before, and the scrape of his teeth across Izaya's lip was downright brutal, almost drawing blood with their mixture of pleasure and ferocity.

It took Shizuo five seconds to realize that he was kissing the flea. It took three more seconds to curl his hand into a fist and punch Izaya across the rooftop, where he crashed into the railing and slid a hand onto the metal to hold himself up.

"Why the hell…" He exclaimed, stunned as he watched Izaya pat himself off. "Why did you-"

"Ah, you're not so good at it," Izaya replied, thumbing his bottom lip thoughtfully. "You kiss like a middle-school boy, Shizu-chan. You need to improve."

Shizuo raised his fist. "Come here and say that."

"-I like the enthusiasm, though. Maybe I'll give you a few tips."

"Izayaa!-"

"But woah, looks like you do like me. And sure, you're good-looking for an inhumanely strong brute, but what's so attractive about me right now anyway? I mean, I haven't even showered yet, and Namie kindly informed me before I came up here that my hair is a mess. Do you like the color of my eyes, or something?"

"I fucking hate them. Red-eyed freak." Thoroughly red and humiliated, Shizuo spun on his heel.

That was the end of it. The pole was lying nearby, calling to the part of him that wanted nothing more than to pummel his long-time enemy, but somehow it felt wrong to heed its call. The longer he stayed, the more risk there was that Izaya would kiss him again.

It seemed like the flea had found a new weapon to use against him.

Right as he opened the door, Izaya called out, massaging his own leg that had crashed into the railing. "Shizu-chan! If you ever want those lessons, drop by, alright? Or did you change your mind about me leaving?"

He stopped momentarily in his tracks, fingers denting the handle of the rooftop door. "Just… stay in the damn city," Shizuo muttered, tossing a glance over his shoulder. "It just wouldn't be Ikebukuro without you infecting it."

~x~

"Hey Celty, why did you tell him?"

Did I? Celty's hand tapped against the top of her phone in a gesture of dryness, and her fingers returned to skitter across the keypad. Who knows? I did it for him, though. Not for you.

"Yeah, I know. Shizu-chan's really interesting, sometimes. I might just stick around."

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