Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today, you stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
:::::
Shizuo adjusts his sunglasses carefully, wanting to make sure that his eyes can't be seen. Eyes are the windows to the soul, after all, and he doesn't want to expose himself like that or expose anyone else to what he knows is in there.
He's tired.
He wishes he didn't have such strength, he wishes he didn't have such temper, he wishes that he didn't feel the need to hurt someone and inadvertently hurt people who are innocent of doing anything at all; they are just unlucky bystanders, roadblocks in Shizuo's path of blind destruction.
"Oh? Fancy seeing you here!"
It takes Shizuo a moment to realize that Izaya is talking, Izaya has somehow gotten back into Ikebukuro without him noticing, and that Izaya Orihara is the enemy he desperately wants dead. But he can't seem to find the energy to be angry, and so he stares with dull, questioning brown eyes, watching as the arrogant and mischievous expression on the other man's face melts into confusion.
He takes another drag on his cigarette, waiting for the flea to lose interest and go away. Shizuo is not in the mood, is never in the mood, will never be in the mood.
"Did you finally figure it out, Shizu-chan?" Izaya is gleeful now, eyes lighting up like a hunter who has spotted prey. "Did you finally figure out that nobody will ever love you, in your whole lifetime? That you're a monster?"
At last, Shizuo feels a speck of annoyance. He doesn't need to hear this from a bastard like Izaya, because he knows, he knows, he's just never let it affect him. Even when he receives no response, Izaya is still humming cheerfully, skipping away with his love for humanity and hate and suffering and ignorance.
Maybe, in an alternate universe, Shizuo Heiwajima is weak and proud instead of strong and cardboard.
:::::
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.
:::::
He arrives home to an empty space, as always. He still needs to replace the television he broke last week; for now, he'll remain cut off from the business of the world. Shizuo doesn't mind- if what the world has to say is important enough, it'll reach him.
The blonde briefly considers eating, but he's not very hungry and hasn't been for days. He digs through an old refrigerator for a bottle of milk, chugging it down in a few quick gulps, and then heads straight for bed, yawning widely as he goes.
He doesn't bother locking his door. No one would dare break in anyways.
Shizuo tries to convince himself, lying there in the dark, that Izaya's words haven't affected him. His rage is a part of him, a part of him that he should be able to accept. Shizuo's wrath is a spurned lover. The more he attempts to reject it, the more it comes around, and it brings fresh pain with it every time. But why? Why?
Falling asleep with those inquiries, Shizuo doesn't wake up again until his phone chimes with a text message. Groaning in discontent, he sluggishly rolls over to pick up the device; it's a short line from his employer, asking him whether he wants to work today. No, he replies, and drifts back to sleep. The crazy idea that maybe Tom Tanaka is concerned flashes through his dreams, but even his night-self dismisses that quickly enough.
He jerks into consciousness for the second time as a result of a knock on his door. Shizuo tumbles out of bed, thinking to himself that it was a very bad idea to sleep in his day clothes, and flings the door open to tell off whoever it is.
Kasuka Heiwajima stares at him with dull, questioning brown eyes and opens his mouth to greet him.
:::::
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, and into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
:::::
"Good morning."