He shuffled out of his shoes and into his house slippers. He loosened his bowtie, and the stress levels in his mental health lowered a bit. He hated the fact that desperate schmucks always have to run away from the debt collector. They could have just calmly said they didn't have money and he would have beaten their ass with equal calmness.
"I'm home!" he yelled, but his voice was drowned by the clattering in the kitchen. No evidence of food could be traced in the air. He sighed. Yet again, Shizuo Heiwajima was late for dinner. As much as he wanted to spend his meals with his family, his job of chasing dirt bags down didn't let him.
He leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, where his wife washed the dishes of her and Haruo's dinner. Her back was to him.
"Dinner's in the microwave," Mizuki muttered. It was still nice of her to let him just press a button to eat dinner. Guilt, such a familiar feeling it felt like family, crept up in his throat. He didn't like the fact that Mizuki had to stay up late just for her to catch him eat dinner, neither did he like spending only the morning with his family.
"Sorry, I'm late…again," he said, muffled with bashfulness. "These guys just-"
She turned her head with a smile on her face. "It's part of the job, right? No apologies."
Damn, has five years aged her. She still had the luster in her long brown hair, the gleam in her wide chocolate brown eyes, and the power to wash Shizuo in warmth with just one smile. Yet, the four year old son and his excuses have creased the edges of her eyes and overuse that smile. He remembered the first time he met her, she was so straight-forward and honest about everything, it seemed like she wasn't real.
He didn't even bother to resist the urge to kiss her. Sometimes, he wished it were that simple again; to kiss her without any worries in the world, and hold her like she wouldn't be going anywhere else. She put her soapy and wet hands on his chest and pushed away gently. There were at least two shades of red painted on her face, and an amused smile on her lips.
"What was that for?"
He grinned, "Do I need a reason to kiss my wife?"
"Well, next time, take a breath mint or five before you do," she giggled.
He turned pink with embarrassment. "Sorry. Um… so, what's for dinner?"
"Vegetab-"
"DADDY!"
A little boy in fire truck printed pajamas came running down the hallway. He turned right to enter the kitchen and jumped to hug his father. Shizuo caught the boy in his arms, only falling a few inches backwards. He held the boy up in the air, his brown hair messy, the same chocolate eyes of his mother gleaming, and high-pitched giggles.
"Haruo! What are you doing up so late? Huh? Stay up this late and Daddy will have to toss you out of the window!" and Shizuo mock-swung his son near the window and Haruo squealed with fear and excitement.
"Alright!" Mizuki clapped her soapy hands, sending foam on the table, "Haruo come with me, I'll tuck you to bed. Let Daddy eat, okay?"
He patted his belly after a satisfying bowl of sweet vegetable stew. Mizuki wasn't able to cook a single damn thing before they got engaged. Their dates were comprised of sushi at Simon's and Dennis', take-out anything, and the occasional ramen. When he popped the question, she hopped to the nearest bookstore and purchased a life-time supply of cookbooks. She vowed to be a good wife or die trying.
Her microwave sure did.
"Shizuo!" she scolded him with a smack on the head.
He pressed "STOP" on his thoughts.
"What did I tell you about smoking in the house?" Five minutes ago, she played the understanding wife card, but now she played the "I hate your vices, get out" card, and she played it well. Her eyes were smoldering embers, ready to take the skillet out of the cupboard if her hand and demands didn't work. That happened once and he had no intention of repeating it. She didn't like him poisoning Haruo's lungs, or hers for that matter.
He stubbed the cigarette on the plate, and pleaded with his eyes at Mizuki to not take out the frying pan, "Sorry. Force of habit."
Her eyes cooled down, but just a little. She pointed at the door, "Take it outside."
He stood up, stepped in his shoes, and shuffled out of the house. And a good wife she made.
The cigarette lay in his lips and he breathed in the good smoke.
There was a good spring breeze in the residential area. It was the typical Japanese housing lot, tall walls that guarded two story houses. It was the same neighborhood that he and Kasuka grew up in. The only noise you would hear were children playing games, old ladies crying out at the children, and the occasional mess the delivery boy made on the way. He and Mizuki figured that a cramped apartment in the city of underground gangs wasn't the best place to bring up a son. Man, Tom's face was priceless when he said he was moving out, a mixture of loss and pure joy.
"Then again, the apartment wouldn't smell of tobacco anymore!" he joked.
They weren't too far from the city though. Shizuo could never stay away from Ikebukuro. His job was just a train ride away. In fact, from where he stood, he could still see the city's skyline, just a tiny bit. If he squinted, he could make out one of the skyscrapers.
He inhaled the smoke and puffed it out.
This was what he considered the life. No more gangs to pounce on his ass since they all probably got bored of him. He had a family and a peaceful home here. No one was going to blow up his house or anything. He had a stable job as Tom's partner in his company which grew into something that was more than two guys roaming around the streets collecting money people owe. No more-
Then, the hairs on his neck and arms stood up. Something in the air wasn't right. He scanned the area to see most of the widows darkened. His heart beat increased. The feeling was familiar to him, like he was trying to find the right word for something and it was at the tip of his tongue.
He clenched his fist and locked his jaw. He hated this feeling. It was the feeling of being watched. He threw his cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out.
"ALRIGHT! WHO'S OUT THERE?" he roared at the empty roads of the night. The sound of crickets was its reply.
He knew someone was out there. He hasn't felt this feeling in years, which meant it could only be-
SLASH
A dark figure darted across him, leaving a long gash in his dress shirt. He hasn't been cut in that area for years as well.
The slasher was going for another strike, but Shizuo raised his leg, ready to bring hell down on him… and missed.
"My, my, Shizu-chan, you've lost your touch!" the figure mocked at him.
An animalistic noise came from the depths of his hate. He didn't want to believe who that person just was. God damn it, the stupid flea leaves his life alone for eight goddamn years and he couldn't just make it ten.
CUT
His opponent slashed at his back. Shirt, skin, flesh, cut open.
"It's going to take a lot more than cuts to put me down!" he shouted.
"Ooooh, I'm shaking, old-man Shizu-chan!" he retorted. Shizuo hated that nickname. Hate hate hate hate hate hate. Kill kill kill kill kill.
He couldn't keep it in any longer. He never knew he'd utter that name once again, and he wished he wouldn't have to until he got to his grave.
"IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
It felt like sandpaper on his tongue.
He grabbed his neighbor's mailbox and took a swing at the incoming figure, and hit empty air.
"You missed me, Shizu-chan!" Izaya Orihara grinned as he was perched on top of a wall. "Though, I can't say the same for me." He went in for another cut.
But Shizuo caught his hand before it could slash at him again. He slammed his hand against a wall, and Izaya's body followed suit. His blade, the very same one, dropped to the ground.
"Who said I missed you, flea?" he muttered, almost laughing.
Shizuo got a good look at his past enemy, and resisted the urge to slam his face on the ground repeatedly. Izaya Orihara hasn't aged a day. He had the same choppy haircut, same smooth face, same flawless slender hands, and the same irritating grin. It was like staring into his past through a magic mirror.
"You have grown old, Shizu-chan. The haircut makes you look 10 years older than what you really are. And what happened to those tacky shades?" and he rambled on like they were old college buddies at a reunion.
What? He couldn't keep his hair shaggy forever, so he got it cut and slicked it back.
"I have to say, you've made quite a life for yourself. Wife, son, home, and same shitty job. But, still, oh so very booooooooring! I think I can puke from this mediocrity!" he dramatized and laid his free hand on his forehead.
Shizuo made a sound in the middle of a growl and a roar. He slammed his fist, aimed for Izaya's head, but made a crater in the wall instead. Damn it, he had to pay for that later. Izaya moved his body to the right, to where his hand was captured.
"What do you care about my life anyway?! Why in hell have you dragged your smarmy ass back here?"
"I do deserve some vacation time."
"Yeah, back in hell, where you belong."
"Like I said, I just miss the filthy Ikebukurean air!" He made these eyes that were supposed to resemble puppy dogs' eyes.
"I don't live in Ikebukuro, leech. Your real reason?"
Izaya tsked. "It's not fun playing with a sharper Shizu-chan. If you must know, I'm on a job, which just happened to be near Ikebukuro so I also decided to keep my tabs on you guys. I have to say, you surprised me the most, Shizu-chan!
Who would have expected you to find someone to love that piece of trash called you."
With his free hand, Izaya grabbed Shizuo's arm and threw him to the left.
"But, you're not as sharp as you used to be!" he grinned. "Well, I'm going to have my fun for the next weeks to come. See you later..." and he jumped to a roof.
"… Shizu-chan."
And the next roof, and the next, and the next, and the next.
As Shizuo lay on the ground, he replayed what the hell just happened. He had a good eight Izaya-free years and now the worm from hell crawled back.
And what he considers fun, was ruining his life as well as other's.
His life now, included two other people.
He needed to see Shinra as fast as possible, about Izaya and he was losing a good amount of blood.