Warning :: Mentions of cutting.

Thanks for deciding to read this fic! Really, it means so much. I just want to say that I'm a huge lover of angst fics. Some part of me just wants to see my favorite characters suffer. I'll also promise you I always give happy endings. No matter how sad things get, it's not the end. If it's not happy, it's not the end! Enjoy, and please review!


The first thing the bartender noticed about the man was his small smirk that seemed to be permanently frozen on his thin, pale face. The second were the crimson red eyes that hid something the blonde couldn't quit put his finger on, something melancholic and sobering. Third came his attire, a black, long-sleeved shirt that hugged close to his small frame accompanied with simple gray trousers.

The final thing he noticed about the man was how much he instinctively annoyed him, even without his irritating voice, a voice that held a grating lilt.

"The strongest thing you've got, if you will."

The blonde couldn't help the low growl that escaped his throat as he turned his back to the raven-haired man. In front of him was an arsenal of ingredients for all types of beverage, an alcoholic's haven. The strongest thing he could make with all of this would kill the man in behind him, especially a man so lithe and light as he.

Would that really be a bad thing? The blonde thought to himself.

Still though, the bartender could get fired, or even arrested if he got the man killed. Although he wasn't the best at controlling his temper or thinking logically, he really didn't want to be put in jail, especially when he was only twenty-five. He decided to prepare a simple liquor, one that could still make one stinking drunk, but not quite put you on your ass.

Once the mixing was done, he turned back to the skinny man and practically slammed the glass onto the counter, a bit of the liquid sloshing out of the cup and the ice clinking noisily inside.

"Here you are."

The man raised an eyebrow, both at the bartenders actions and at his own suspicion.

"Are you sure this is your strongest?" He finally says.

"Absolutely." The blonde grunts, burning holes through the mans chest with his hateful gaze.

The raven-haired man doesn't make a move to drink for a moment, but breaks the silence with a quick, wild laugh and downs the contents of the glass in one gulp. He lightly wipes his mouth off with his sleeve and pushes the glass towards the blonde.

"More. Don't worry, I've got more than enough money."

To the blondes annoyance, this continued until around eight drinks later. He would make a drink, the man would drink all of it, slowing down with each glass. He supposed that the man was beyond drunk and arriving shit-faced at this point. Although the behavior of drunks made the bartender more furious than a good amount of other things in the world, most people got very generous when drunk.

The blonde could do with as much extra cash he could. He wasn't exactly rich, and every little bit helped.

"God, it's hot in here," The raven-haired man giggled, stretching out his arms as if he were exhausted. "Can I take my shirt off? I'm serious, it's like Satan's vagina here."

"No." The blonde hissed.

The man pouted, resting his head on the counter for a second before sitting back up.

"What's your name?"

The bartender didn't know why the hell this man wanted to know his name. What good would it do him? He quickly thought to simply ignore him, but a different, crazier part of his brain rationalized that he was just drunk and he'd forget it in the daze of his hangover anyway, if not sooner.

"Shizuo Heiwajima."

"Shizuo," The man repeated, trying the word out on his tongue. "I honestly don't get the impression of a peaceful man from you."

Shizuo didn't need to be reminded of his inability to be a normally functioning human being. It was the bane of his existence, the thing that helped spawn his lack of self-esteem. Mentioning it was also a trigger of sorts, something that always made him snap and destroy things.

And this man had already been so very annoying from the start.

Before he could rip up one of the bolted down chairs to slam it over the man's head, to knock him unconscious, hopefully dead, he gave a small laugh and raised up his sleeves all the way up to his elbows.

"Well, if I can't take off my shirt, I'll just make do with this."

Shizuo froze and his fingers, grasping tightly onto the wooden chair, fell loose.

Dancing across the mans arms were cuts and slices of different variety, pink and red and white. Some were light, some were deep, some were beginning to fade. They covered his entire arm, and they continued into the part of his sleeves that still covered his arms.

"I'm Izaya, by the way." The man mentioned nonchalantly, crossing his arms on the table. "Orihara Izaya."

Shizuo snapped his gaping mouth shut, but couldn't force his eyes away from the ugly slashes. The funny thing was that it wasn't only marks made from a knife, but deep purple and blue bruises littered in a haphazard manner.

"Are you going to stare at my arms all day or get me another drink?" Izaya questioned, tilting his head slightly to the side, mocking.

Fucking Christ, Shizuo thought. How can he be such a jack ass and be this fucking damaged?

Still though, Shizuo made the man yet another drink, almost dropping it on his way back.

The man leaned back into the chair, crossing his legs left over right. He lifted the glass lazily to his lips and took a small sip.

"Tell me about yourself, Shizu-chan."

"Don't fucking call me that, you god damn louse."

Izaya looked amuse, a grin replacing that smirk. "But you just nicknamed me, too! I think we're even now, no?"

Shizuo growled, wanting more and more to kill the man, to go through with his previous plan... but he couldn't, not when he saw what he saw. He found himself wanting to know why he'd done that, and if those bruises were caused by him as well or someone else.

"Why the fuck do you wanna know about me?"

"I thought we could be friends." He teased, smirk yet again plastered onto his face.

"You're getting drunk in a bar." Shizuo replied matter-of-fact. "I don't want to be friends with little shits like that."

"And you're the one serving me the drinks, Shizu-chan!~" Izaya sang, moving his finger to the tune he made on the spot.

Shizuo ignored the nickname.

"Why don't you speak first then, flea?"

The man put a finger to his chin and pretended to contemplate for a moment.

"Nope, sorry, can't. Turns out I just don't operate that way." The man downed his drink, dropping it onto the table once finished. "I'll be back soon enough, Shizu-chan! See you later.~"

With that, he stood up and stumbled his way out of the bar, slamming the door clumsily behind him.

=x=

"How are you doing today, Shizuo?" The woman asked, a pleasant smile gracing her pink lips.

The room was cold, almost freezing, but the burgundy furniture he sat upon was warm and inviting, much like the woman in front of him. She was blonde, beautiful, and the kind of lady he wanted to say vows with one day. Perfect in every way. She knew more about him than anyone else.

Or so he thought.

"I think I'm getting better." Shizuo replied, hateful tone from the other night completely gone.

"I'm so glad to hear that." Her smile was genuine and happy. "Has anything happened recently?"

Shizuo didn't know if he should tell her. She was his therapist-supposedly he could tell her anything at all without being judged. It wasn't that that he was afraid of – he felt that he would be bothering her.

"I met this weird guy..." He began.

"A weird guy?"

"He was some drunkard, I guess. He drank about nine glasses of liquor and then split." Shizuo continued. "He was really annoying. Started calling me 'Shizu-chan' or some shit and his voice made me want to rip my damn ears off."

Shizuo frowned, then recalling the scars he'd seen.

"But then he pulled up his sleeves when he got hot, and there were cuts and bruises." Shizuo finished, deciding to leave off there.

The woman frowned, lost in thought for a bit. After a moments hesitation, she spoke.

"Maybe he's like you."

Shizuo narrowed his eyes, suddenly at odds with the woman in front of him.

"He ain't like me, Vorona."

"Well, how do you know? Did you both talk?" She asked, giving Shizuo a serious look.

"Not really. I don't guess you could call it talking." He admitted, scratching his head.

"Did he say he was going to be back?"

Shizuo didn't really want to tell her, but the look in her eyes was insistent, and he didn't want to upset or disappoint the girl he so admired.

"Yeah, he did."

"When he comes back, talk to him." Vorona smiled. "Tell him about yourself. Maybe he'll open up to you, and you could be friends."

The mere idea of being friends with that repugnant, skinny, repulsive black-haired bastard was absolutely horrifying, but he faked a smile just for Vorona's sake.

"R-right."

When Shizuo left the cold office, he noticed that rain had begun pouring down from the cloudy gray sky. It was fitting, he thought, that it began raining after that. He knew, just knew, that his life would be a downward spiral from here.

Talk to that thing?

Bastard?

Mutant?

Creature?

It?

No way in hell.

Still, though.

Where the hell had those cuts and bruises come from?