Shizaya.
Warnings: Smoking/Cursing/Love bashing.
Sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors in advance. T_T
He was a man who appreciated the little, jittering moments of hesitance on a person's face once they realize the trouble they're in. He enjoyed the morphing expression of realization that slowly made way to anger or rejection. Then, these poor souls, begin to understand that it was a hopeless endeavor to try and correct the situation. Then they give up.
That was what he thrived on most; that look of utter humiliation and regret that settles in as their final expression. It was reality, he found. This was how it has always been— humans living on pleasure for years only to finally understand that everything will end in misery. It does not matter whether or not you worked for success, or had it thrown at you, or neither. It didn't matter when Alexander the Great died a sick man on his bed, nor will it matter when these amusing humans find themselves following the same path.
Even love, he found, was not enough of a consolation prize to those who walk the walk of life. Love is disgusting, love is an ugly emotion that thrives and breeds like a parasite, aiming to suck the life out of whomever it can claw at. Yes, he truly loved his humans.
Though love, was not this.
Izaya glared at the screen of his television, eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance. Even Namie, who had been watching the man curl his lips at every sappy moment, had the sense not to comment on it. She turned back down to the papers lined along the desk, dragging her jaded eyes away from the informant who was nestled in a thick red blanket. Izaya was moody, and she hadn't felt like dealing with him.
He didn't understand why he was sitting through this movie to begin with. It was so far from the reality of things, that even he found it a little annoying. Not to mention every time a cheap, western pick-up line was used Izaya felt the need to rescript the movie. He watched, mahogany eyes narrowing in incredulity more than anything, as the lead female pressed her chest openly against the typically muscular male role.
"Denise," he cries, "This shouldn't change anything—"
"But Blake— our love is stronger than this! Don't doubt us yet!"
Izaya threw his head back, cackling wildly, eyes closing tightly. This, this is fucking ridiculous. What idealistic nonsense, who in their right mind would believe this? Rubbish. He rested his head back against the back of the leather couch, ignoring the slight sting of cold it gave to the back of his neck. He let his eyes slide open, looking slyly at the assistant who was ignoring his existence for the most part.
"Namie!" He sung, reaching the remote and expertly pausing the movie without having to remove his gaze. The woman did not pay him heed, choosing instead to shuffle through the messy informant's desk, tucking a strand of long hair behind her ear. Izaya pouted slightly, but did not give up on the woman easily, continuing to stare intently before finally piercing a hole in her concentration.
Namie paused, her eyes rolling to their corners, narrowed gaze set on the smarmy informant. Izaya only laughed when he heard her hum in recognition, "I wonder— does this remind you of anything?"
Izaya twirled a ringed finger in the direction of the television, eyebrows raised mockingly, and against her better judgement, Namie stared at the screen. The vulgar sight was something she'd seen a million times over, if not more, on every movie that incorporated any sort of sexual frustration. A blonde woman, pressing her fairly large chest up against the muscular male lead, eyes wide and watery and fake. The plastic emotions of the scene made the woman feel slightly uncomfortable, given the way Orihara was eyeing her reaction.
"Excuse me?" She spoke, keeping her irritation at bay.
Not caring much for her monotonous tone, Izaya's grin only seemed to widen. "No? A love story perhaps?" There was a cruel glee to his tone, "Perhaps I should remind you. Let me see... a dear, young, girl with the name of," Izaya paused, looking conflicted, though his jovial eyes gave him away. "I just can't seem to— oh yes!
Mika Harima?"
With a faux 'oopsies', Izaya covered his mouth. Watching Namie's expression go from irate, to confused, to outraged made him want to record the moment and use it as a reaction gif on a chatroom or something. Yes, yes. This is how people react to love. They react in anger and jealousy and envy and hate. Not that Izaya considered the stalker's relationship with the eerie Yagari to be romantic in the least.
"You're a sick bastard, you know that?"
"Ha!" The sound was harsh, and Izaya turned back to the television, expression morphing into mild annoyance again. He cuddled into his blanket further, "I'm not the one who's daydreaming of fucking her brother. Maybe you should do your work for a change. Should I stick a picture of dear Seji onto your paycheck and dangle it in front of you to keep you tasked?"
"How about I stick a picture of Shizuo Heiwajima in your shower so you can delude yourself into believing someone gives enough of a damn to spare you their time of day," Namie scoffed, a smirk making its way onto her features as she could practically hear Izaya's seething and gritted teeth, "Or you can use your hand and pretend to get laid. Must be a blast, you know? Being the most hated individual in all of Tokyo—"
"Most feared, you ignorant bitch," By then, the movie was paused once more and Izaya was sitting upright, palms digging into the back of the couch as he looked back at Namie. She didn't know whether the contortion on his face was a snarl, or a forced smirk, regardless it brought her infinite glee to see him so irritated.
"Oh, I'm sorry. How will I ever sleep at night knowing I angered IzaIza." Her tone was laced with sarcasm, and the use of Erika Karisawa's nickname hadn't helped mellow Izaya's mood. "Now, if you'll excuse me," She said smugly looking back at the livid raven before tucking a folder to her chest and checking her smartphone's screen, "I believe my daily dose of Izaya has been swallowed."
"Why do I even tolerate you?" He huffed, slouching a bit, elbows flattening out against the back of the leather couch, chin rested on bony knuckles, "I should toss you to the hounds, or throw you on the streets."
"No one else can stand you enough not to kill you in your sleep, much less work for you. You're a pain in the ass." She walked elegantly to the door, body swaying rhythmically to the sound of her high silhouettes tapping against the wooden floors. Once she reached the door, she looked over her shoulder. With her hair falling over her back, making her expression clear, she smirked, "Now, please allow me to go pray to the Ikebukuro Gods. Looks like IzaIza is out to get me." Then closed the door, expertly missing the cushion that came flying at her face in perfect aim.
Izaya couldn't help the grin that made its way onto his features. There was a reason he hated Namie, she was witty in a cold and bitter way that clashed with his own personality. He didn't find that trait in many others. They all were either sick of his playful banter and wanted answers, or were too busy trying to dent his skull to bother playing along. How sad, he thought, pouting heavily and sitting back down from his awkward position, my humans don't appreciate me nearly enough.
"Hey Izaya!" he heard a voice call from behind the door. He rolled his eyes. He thought he was done with Namie for the time being, he didn't feel like answering her. That didn't stop the sharp laugh she gave when he didn't reply, "There's a little something I saw from the window I forgot to mention."
Izaya made no move to go look.
"But It's gone now."
Izaya was starting to get a little irritated, "Then why do you feel the need to waste my time with it, Namie?" he called back.
"Because it's on its way up here." That caught Izaya's attention. What on earth is she talking about, his thoughts ran, listening to her quickly retreating footsteps. Either she was messing with him, or she was messing with him. It was already late in the evening and he hadn't had any appointments that night. It wasn't like Izaya even gave his address out to all of his clients, save some, because contrary to the popular belief, he valued his own safety. Getting cornered in an apartment twenty-five storeys off solid ground did not sit well with him. He also didn't want his apartment trashed.
What is she— Izaya's thought process was cut short, every word shattering in the confines of his head. His eyes widened marginally, head snapping up. Please no.
"Izaya!"
His name had resonated throughout the entire building in a thick baritone, the syllables stretched out, ricocheting off the walls. The threat hung. Shizu-chan.
He had three options, he reasoned to himself. It sounded like the brute had taken the stairs, given the distance of the call. His first choice was to face the brute in a physical stand off, with nowhere to bolt, which was stupid. Reason with the inhumane man, which was stupider. Or nose dive under the couch and pretend he wasn't home. When have I stooped so low.
That left him sitting on the couch, still cozied up, waiting for Shizuo Heiwajima to knock down his very expensive door. Which the neanderthal ultimately would. Izaya's inner voice was in a state of rabid panic, not out of fear, rather lack of control. What the hell, what did I do this time?! He thought, throwing the blanket onto the ground as soon as he heard the stomping feet near his door.
With quick, light steps, he tore across the wooden floors in a beeline for the door, flinging it open before Shizuo could tear it down. True to the timing of the situation, the blond charged in with the strength of a rouge elephant. Izaya threw himself out of the way in the nick of time.
"Izaya!" The man turned, screeching to a halt. Izaya watched, mouth involuntarily hanging agape at the sight of foot indentations in the ground, "I'm going to tear you limb from limb, you hear me?" Shizuo roared, looking back at Izaya who had yet to snap out of his mystified stupor. Loud and clear, you noisy brute.
"Wow," The raven raised his shapely brows, crimson irises taking in the sight of the wild caramel eyes that stared him down. Shizuo looked different, he noted dully, without the tacky bartender getup and cheap sunglasses. He never thought he'd live to see Shizuo in anything other than that stupid uniform, much less a pair of grey sweatpants and a white shirt over his heaving chest. "Looks like you do own something other than Kasuka's sentimental trash. Color me impressed, Shizu-chan."
He slowly closed the door, smirk breaking out over his features as he carefully watched Shizuo's sculpted nose twitch in unhidden offense. "I'm about to color you in your own blood, Izaya— I hope you fucking like the color red, you shit-faced bastard!" With another roar, he saw the blond charge.
Izaya danced out of the way, sock-clad feet sliding expertly along the shiny flooring. Before a sense of self victory could arise, he heard something shatter. He heard wood shatter. Izaya winced, turning to the noise with a heavy heart.
Shizuo's fist was stuck in the middle of his expensive door.
"To think I went through all the trouble of opening it for you, only to have you break it. You're so rude, Shizu-chan." Izaya tutted playfully, despite his legitimate annoyance and throbbing vein. He waved a condescending finger at the blond who let his arm fall limp as he listened, "Did your mother not teach you any better?"
"Don't even mention my mother, you filthy parasite!" The other hissed, pulling his arm aggressively out of the door, only to rip it clear off its hinges. Izaya winced. Fuck. He didn't know whether to worry about his door, which was currently perched over Shizuo's head in preparation to be thrown, the rest of his to-be-destroyed apartment or his own safety. Fuck you and your unpredictability, Shizuo Heiwajima.
"Shizu-chan, it's not nice to throw things!" Izaya sung, throwing his arms to the sides, perpendicular to his body, forcing a fake, gritted smile. "Put that down. No one needs broken bones her—"
Shizuo flung the door at him without a moment of hesitation.
Izaya squeaked unintentionally, dropping to the ground in a fluid motion, reflexes kicking in. This time it was glass that shattered, and Izaya felt like sobbing uncontrollably into a pillow. He looked up from his place face down; the door had flown haphazardly over his desk, effectively shattering one of the many lined wall-length windows. Yes, this was not Izaya's day. When he and Shizuo were wreaking havoc in Ikebukuro, he was not the one who was paying the price, in cleanup effort and money.
Now, he was.
He felt his body getting hauled up, Shizuo's fisted fingers harassing the collar of his black sweatshirt, causing it to ride up slightly. He lifted the raven slightly off the ground, bare, boxer-clad legs swinging slightly as Izaya attempted to kick the taller male, with little success.
"Put me down, Shizu-chan," Izaya snapped, ringed hands curled around Shizuo's wrist. "This isn't funny anymore." Izaya closed his eyes and struggled again, short huffs of effort escaping him.
"Who's laughing?" Shizuo said, in a dull monotone. The apathy of the tone made Izaya pause, then look up into the blond's face. His tone was reflected in the stoic nature of his expression, and the calmness of it all scared Izaya witless.
"Uh, Shizu-chan?" He said with wavering uncertainty. Izaya Orihara was never caught unsure in his entire life. Curse this man's unpredictability!
"What is it, flea?" Shizuo replied, almost as though this was the most normal exchange he'd had all day. Knowing Shizuo, Izaya wouldn't be surprised if it was. They sat in uncomfortable silence on Izaya's end, while Shizuo's gradually calming brown eyes stared him down. Shizuo was not allowed to act like Kasuka, dammit.
"Well, seeing as that you practically trashed my home, like the monster you are," Izaya spoke, a little cautious but still irritable, "I would like to know to what I owe the pleasure of this visit?" The sarcasm did not go unnoticed by the blond. Shizuo scoffed, letting go of Izaya, who fell to his knees, not having expected the tall male to let go. He sat there, looking up at the blond who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. What is this, Izaya thought, a little irked. He looks almost, dare I say it, human.
He watched Shizuo walk to the back of the leather couch, leaning against it, still looking as though there was something weighing on his mind. The thoughtful frown deepened when he heard Izaya speak, "Stop it, Shizu-chan. You'll hurt yourself if you think too hard," The informant cooed, watching an annoyed grimace make its way onto Shizuo's expression. "Keep looking like that, and you just might fool someone into believing you're human after all!" He laughed, eyes closing in joviality paired with the absurdity of the situation.
"Whatever." That was a slap to the face. The laughter stopped, Izaya's closed eyes twitched before peeling open.
"What?" His voice was laced with incredulous hysteria.
Shizuo clicked his tongue, not answering the raven that continued to stare at him from a few feet away on the floor. He huffed, looking to the side and pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He let one dangle from his mouth, bringing a tacky plastic lighter to its rolled mouth. Izaya watched the scene in dismay.
"Just what is it you think you're doing?" He snapped, glaring slightly at the blond.
"Smoking." Shizuo deadpanned.
Izaya felt the irrepressible urge to hit his head against the floor. He pushed himself up, shivering slightly as a gust of wind came flying in through the shattered glass, his legs trembling slightly. He ignored the way Shizuo's gaze dropped to his knees as this happened.
"You look cold." Izaya ignored the comment, huffing as he wrapped his arms around himself. Of course he was cold. There was a reason he had the windows closed. Izaya's bangs fell over pristine ruby irises as they stared hotly at Shizuo.
"You're going to kill yourself. You smoke give or take three packets daily. That's a lot, if you didn't know." Izaya said, raising a sharp eyebrow.
"I'm not going to ask about how you found that out, you stalker, I figure you get off on this shit." Shizuo grumbled, but is didn't sound as angry as it usually did. Something was extremely off about the blond and it annoyed Izaya to no end. "Besides," Shizuo spoke again, "You used to smoke, too. Hypocrite louse."
"Yes, Shizu-chan," Izaya chuckled, teeth chattering slightly, "But I was a stupid sixteen year-old back then. Then again, I'm sure you haven't matured that much since highschool, hm, Shizzy?"
Shizuo took a long drag on his cigarette and stared just as long at the raven. Izaya felt extremely uncomfortable under the calculating gaze. He didn't like being scrutinized, especially by Ikebukuro's dimmest. He scoffed to himself, tearing his own eyes away from the tall blond. Shizuo wasn't as stupid as Izaya liked to make him out to be, after all, the blond and Simon were the only two other than Namie that could see through his bullshit. The amount of times Shinra fell for his stupid jokes left Celty chasing the broker out of their apartment. Even when they were younger; the 'I've got your nose, and I'm not giving it back!' always left Shinra sobbing. Some underground doctor.
"Whatcha thinking of, louse?" Shizuo spoke conversationally, breaking into the informant's reverie.
"Mostly how I'm going to get you to pay for these damages." Izaya sighed, looking back at Shizuo. To his utter surprise, the fortissimo cracked a loop-sided grin. Izaya's nose twitched, mouth hanging open in incredulity. "What are you smiling for, brute? You think I'm joking?"
"Not at all," Shizuo pushed himself off the couch, in a very smooth and practiced manner, sauntering over to the raven whose guard was immediately raised. "In fact," He spoke again, a single foot away from Izaya, "I just find the fact that you call me poor all the time, then expect me to pay for this absolutely hilarious. Looks like Shinjuku's least loved parasite is out of luck."
Izaya took a suspicious step back as soon as Shizuo neared. The look of victory that flashed over the debt collector's expression at the sight, however, made Izaya hold his ground, taking that same step forward. They were so close, the raven noticed, the breadth of space between them narrow, almost nonexistent. Every fleck of calmness in Shizuo's eyes reflected in the burning ember's of the raven's; every breath of heated tobacco brushing the thick eyelashes that shaded the ruby gaze. Izaya felt strange, as he watched Shizuo's expression fall into a parody of his brother's. The monster looked so calm; Shizuo looked at ease, and this was one thing Izaya had never bore witness to.
What Shizuo Heiwajima did next was the most unexpected action he'd ever taken in the presence of Izaya Orihara. That alone was a shock in itself.
The raven watched slender fingers bring up the dying cancer stick to rest in between Shizuo's thin lips, held in by a row of slightly crooked teeth. Izaya's eyes trailed down, watching the orange bud of the cig pressing into the blond's mouth, the dim light blazing as a breath was stolen off it. Izaya couldn't take his eyes of the burning bud of the fag. Not until Shizuo brought his hand to Izaya's face, cupping his chin and pressing light pressure with his fingers onto the broker's cheeks. The raven involuntarily hung his jaw, letting his dark, naturally magenta lips drop open.
That's when Shizuo tilted his head and blew a string of foul tasting tobacco breath straight into Izaya's mouth.
To say the raven felt light-headed would have been an understatement. Izaya, despite having smoked his fair share as a teenager, had never truly warmed up to the idea. Not that he didn't find the idea appealing when someone else was doing it. It seemed bad and rebellious, and in a sense, ridiculously hot. The reaction of shuddering pleasure at the disgusting shotgun he'd received was enough proof to his subconscious.
"Care to explain," Izaya said, his tone dropped in a purring whisper as he expertly blew the breath back at Shizuo. The blond growled, baring his incisors, as he crushed the already dimmed cigarette in his fist. Izaya was greatly amused—
"No." And heavily annoyed.
Izaya threw his slender arms around Shizuo's neck before the blond could draw himself away, "Now, Shizu-chan. I don't think that's fair. You barge in here like you own the place, get—" Izaya pushed himself a little closer to the blond, breath riding heavy on the other's ear, "—this close to me and then push me away without explaining? You're too cruel. If I didn't know better I would say Shizu-chan likes me."
"And what of it?"
..What?
At this point, Izaya didn't know which one of them was messing with the other. He drew back slightly, not destroying their proximity entirely. His forearms slid down Shizuo's broad shoulders, allowing both his palms to cup the other's neck, thumbs pressing the Adam's apple weakly. "What are you doing to me, Shizu-chan," Izaya whined, sounding worn out. "Why are you so confusing?"
Shizuo didn't answer, looking at the raven through curious eyes. Izaya raised an eyebrow at the blond, "You better not love me, Shizu-chan. That would be horribly problematic," Izaya nodded solemnly, though there was a twinge of playfulness, "You see, love is such an ugly thing, Shizu-chan. An ugly disease that thrives on pain and breeds like a parasite, aiming to suck the life out of whomever it can claw at— and that's why I love my humans. But you, Shizu-chan, I hate you."
"What kind of stupid logic is that, louse?" Shizuo snorted, letting one hand drop to Izaya's waist, the other hanging loosely at the small of the raven's back. "That makes no sense."
"Doesn't it, though? Hate is such a strong word, all on its own. Love needs something to give it strength," the informant continued, seemingly passionate, "It's a leech. It destroys people."
"And hate doesn't?"
"Have I destroyed you yet, my sweet monster?" Izaya cackled, biting his lip sinisterly. "I don't think I have. And here I stand even with all the hate you seem to radiate. We both still exist— though the emotion behind that one word, hate," he let out a warm breath, eyes dropping to Shizuo's lips, "Has kept us going, don't you think?"
Shizuo brushed the length of his nose against Izaya's, humming. "Maybe. I don't know about this fancy shit, okay." He leaned in, the filthy sent of a cologne clad Izaya spurning him on, as he pressed his lips firmly against the informant's. It was not soft, it was not arousing. It was a firm press of the lips, dominant and painful, captivating— claiming. It wasn't enjoyable, though Izaya believed the sudden action was not affection— rather the epitome of all they were. The description of their relationship, one words fail to convey.
Izaya pulled back, teeth sinking into Shizuo's bottom lip before he drew himself from the kiss entirely, eyes of rich mocha staring him down, "So you're saying you're a little masochist?" Shizuo chuckled lowly.
"Call it what you must, Shizu-chan," Izaya sighed dramatically, pressing his thumbs a little deeper into Shizuo's clavicle, "Doesn't that make you a sadist, you vacuous protozoan?"
"Call it what you want to call it, flea." Izaya smiled plastically, snaking a hand to the back of Shizuo's head before giving it a painful, steady whack.
"Want to explain my wrecked home now, you love-sick playground bully?" Izaya snapped, not unlike a mother chastising her child. Shizuo's hand slipped off Izaya's waist, to rub the back of his head. It wasn't like it hurt, though Izaya's ring stung him slightly.
"You wanted to know why I hurled your door out of a window, right?" Shizuo spoke, a strange look in his eyes. He sounded almost confused.
"That would be nice." Izaya huffed, looking away but not changing their position.
"I was bored."
The blond then had the fucking audacity to shrug. Izaya's eye twitched, a blossoming, violent warmth spreading in his chest. Fucking hell.
That night saw small flying trashcans, knives, and Izaya Orihara chasing a laughing Shizuo Heiwajima throughout the busy streets of Ikebukuro.
"SHIZUO HEIWAJIMA, I WILL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU, YOU DAMN BRUTE!"
Such a hypocrite, Izaya-kun.
Fin.
A/N: If anyone's wondering, Shizuo took the stairs because the elevator was taking too long. Impatient Shizu-chan~ I tried my best to keep them in character but.. sigh. C'est la vie, yeah?
venpast