Title: When Things Fall Apart

Fandom: Durarara

Pairing: Shizuo/Izaya (?)

Warnings: cursing and graphic imagery

Words:1,234 (Lucky!)

The snap and crackle of one-sided banter reverberating off cement, the grind of teeth set on edge as a post box is wrenched from its moorings, the echo of confident footsteps pounding down filthy alleys, the burn and wheeze of breath hitched in throats—Izaya is drowning in the cacophony of sound, oblivious to all else but the chase, until tangible pain spikes through sensitized nerves and the symphony resolves into a single, silver sound—the distinct clink of steel casing on asphalt as a calloused grip none too gently plies a flick blade from trembling fingers. The world spirals out of focus.

Izaya awakens suddenly—as if from a nightmare—but the threat is all too real. He finds himself desperately straining for the rasp of night air in his burning lungs, pinned neatly by his throat against the alley wall with Shizu-chan's sunglasses-eclipsed glare mere inches from his own widened eyes. Izaya's fingers clutch and scrabble at the grip cinching like a noose about his neck, but his struggles have all the effect of a mouse writhing between the paws of a cat.

"I swear I'll kill you, louse," Shizuo states, issuing the death warrant as calmly as one would recite the weather forecast. His grip relaxes ever so slightly, and a sweet-sour breath of sweat-tinged oxygen finally rattles its way into Izaya's chest, leaving a diffuse burn in its wake like a length of slow match.

"So…y-you've said," the louse manages to reply, his voice cracking weakly. "And al-although…" He coughs and tries to swallow around the dryness of his mouth and throat, but the sensation is about as pleasant as chewing gravel.

Shizuo stands silent and still for a long moment, almost as if giving Izaya space to compose himself. The sheer uncanniness of the situation raises a red flag in Izaya's mind, and he promptly gathers his wits about him. Trust Shizu-chan to never comply with my expectations.

With a flash of nimble tongue through pointed teeth, Izaya continues. "And while I have no doubt that you are physically capable of snapping my neck like a toothpick, I wonder if you are mentally prepared to do it. Do you have the balls to commit cold-blooded murder? … You've never killed a man before, Shizu-chan, and I know it. So, why me? What makes me so different from the others?"

Izaya feels Shizuo's fingers twitch threateningly against his jugular. He wonders what kind of expression dear Shizu-chan is making, but the flickering light of the nearest lamppost is reflected in Shizuo's sunglasses, hiding his eyes in a field of glassy blue. So Izaya throws caution to the wind and presses his advantage.

"So, can you do it? Can you squeeze the breath from my lungs? Can you listen to my spine snap? Can you watch the life fade from my eyes? Can you live with my blood on your hands, when your every waking moment and every sleepless night from here on out will be filled…with night…mares of—!"

Shizuo snarls and slams Izaya against the brick. The sunglasses that had been hiding Shizuo's gaze clatter to the pavement, and Izaya yearns to stare into his enemy's eyes, to feast on and drink deep whatever tempest of emotions lurks there, but Izaya's world is fading at the edges, shot through with black and grey. His field of vision narrows to a pinprick, tighter and closer by the second—until all he can see is Shizu-chan, Shizu-chan, Shizu-chan, Shizu…chan…!

And somewhere in the recesses of his mind, sealed behind a door so rarely opened that the lock has rusted shut, Izaya wonders if it might not be so bad to leave his life in this way, with the afterimage of this moment burned into his memory for all eternity. With the heat of Shizuo's hands on his neck branded into his skin, with both of their heartbeats thrumming madly in his ears…

With the last of his strength, Izaya inches the distance between them, his frenzied panting ruffling the wisps of sweat-matted hair clinging to Shizuo's neck. His eyes rake over flared nostrils, over flushed cheeks, up and up and up until his eyes meet Shizuo's own—and Izaya recoils as if scalded. His reaction startles Shizuo, who slackens his grip.

For whatever animalistic concoction of rage and hate Izaya expected to see frothing wildly in the deep golden hues of Shizu-chan's eyes, he is entirely disappointed. He chokes on air. Forgets to breathe. Those eyes hold no hate, only regret and compassion and—

The realization sinks in belatedly, cold and dead with the weight of a stone sinking to the bottom of a riverbed. Heiwajima Shizuo, inhuman beast and brute and protozoic nonexistence, pities him, Orihara Izaya, a god among men.

At Izaya's bewilderment, Shizuo's laughter is empty and dry, like the scratch of sandpaper on asphalt.

Silence.

Finally, Shizuo opens his mouth, licks bloodied lips, and speaks. He is eerily calm.

"You wanna know what makes you 'different from the others', huh, louse? It's 'cause no matter how much you bite and claw and cling to that pathetic little life of yours, in the end, you're barely alive. You know that. Believe it or not, I know that, too. I'm not quite as fuckin' stupid as you think I am."

But how could he…?

Shizuo pauses, waiting for a response. Izaya does nothing but stare blankly back at him with eyes the size of saucers, his mind reeling. Seeing this, Shizuo continues.

"There's a huge, gaping hole in your life where something's missing, but you're too much of a bloody coward to admit it, aren't you? Your petty little heart is so starved for love that you fill it to the brim with make-believe love for others, since you think, deep down, that there's no way anyone could truly love a sick bastard like you."

"Love"…?

Izaya is enraptured and clings to every word like a lifeline, as if Shizuo holds all the answers and need only give them voice. Shizuo frowns and averts his gaze, thinking. For a long moment, there is no sound but the steady drip-drip of water falling from a rain pipe to a puddle. Izaya feels as if he's drowning in the silence, being pulled ever deeper by the current, until Shizuo's voice once more pierces the illusion and drags him back to the surface.

"And no matter how much you think you see, you're fucking blind, Izaya," he says, anger and some other, unknown emotion now straining his composure. "It didn't—doesn't—have to be this way. I…I might even… I mean, I think I—"

Suddenly, Shizuo releases his grip on Izaya as if touched by the plague, leaving the louse to crumple limply against the wall. Shizuo's eyes are hidden behind his bangs as he bends to retrieve his sunglasses and promptly jams them on his nose. Then he turns his back on Izaya, shoves his hands in his pockets, and simply walks away, away toward the circle of light cast by the lamppost at the end of the alley.

Izaya's silver tongue is rendered speechless until long after Shizuo's figure has faded from view. Tears well in his eyes, and he is shocked and indignant at the foreign sensation, but he cannot stop them from falling any more than he can quell the sob rising in this throat.

"Shizu-chan… Don't…go…"