Disclaimer: I do not own Durarara!, nor do I own any of the characters related to it, no matter how much I wished I did. Lyrics in italics, separated by 『these brackets』, are from the song Fairytale, by Alexander Rybak, and were the key inspiration for this one shot. I own nothing other than my OC and my writing; no copyright infringement was intended, and all rights belong to their respective creators.
Thanks to all my friends who helped with the writing of this one shot! Please, enjoy reading. Sections of the narrative in italics are flashbacks {one continuous flashback, in fact}. ^_^
『Years ago when I was younger
I kinda liked a girl I knew
She was mine and we were sweethearts 』
Dark, shaggy hair flopping haphazardly in his eyes, the young boy leaned against the back wall of the classroom, his thin arms crossed tightly over his chest. Brooding amber eyes stared out from behind the dark locks, watching almost anxiously as child after child filed into the room. The boys all wore the same uniform as him, navy slacks with leather shoes and belt, a white dress shirt, black tie, and a blue suit jacket. They gathered in groups to talk about the day's plans and who was better at whatever escapade they planned, bickering over who would take the lead. It always came down to that, no matter the broader topic—who was better was all that mattered.
As he brought his gaze away from the clustered groups of students, scanning disinterestedly over the girls, his shoulders slumped down. His hands slipped down from clutching at his arms, digging bitterly into his pockets as he shrugged off the wall. The teacher had begun rapping on his desk, rattling off name after name of students who should have been in their seats as the class began. Sinking down into his chair a hair's breadth away from the snap of his own name, young Shizuo Heiwajima crossed one arm in his lap and put his cheek into the palm of his other arm as it rested across his desktop. He did not bother to turn around to look at the empty desk directly behind him until he felt a feather light tap on his shoulder. His lips twisted into a frown as he turned about furtively, ready to bark an insult at whoever was bothering him, only to fall limp in astonishment.
There she was, her indigo eyes gleaming a little mischievously out of her china doll face. She wore the girl's uniform, a more feminine replica of the same that he wore, and if not for her hair might have matched all the other girls in the room. Unlike the rest of the girls with longer hair, she did not tie it back in a plain ponytail or twintails, but rather she braided it back from her face in an elegant knot, her bangs sweeping just barely over her eyes, touching lightly upon the upper curve of her right cheekbone. Her face betrayed nothing of having run, though one white knee-high sock was slipping down towards her black leather shoes. Save for that, the rest of her attire was immaculate.
"You were looking for me again, weren't you?" she laughed, whispering to him so that their teacher would not hear. "Did you miss me, Shizu-chan?"
"Heiwajima, Ishii! Pay attention!"
Turning around sharply at the crack of the teacher's meter stick against the black board, Shizuo gritted his teeth and muttered a rude retort under his breath. With a heavy sigh, he dropped his hands from his lap and looked over his lowered shoulder with the sort of guilty, accusing glare of someone who had been in trouble before on the account of another person and was again in the same sort of situation.
"I was actually enjoying some peace from the teacher before you came to ruin my day," he hissed, eyebrows pulled down sharply over his eyes in a glower.
"…Liar," she murmured after a moment, watching as he retrieved a pen and notebook from his messenger bag. "You missed me."
Leaning forward over her desk, she slipped one hand between the metal support bars, grasping at his hand as it dangled down. When he did not pull away, she wrapped her fingers stealthily about his, pressing her thumb into his palm and letting it stay there with a self-satisfied smile. Only when he thought she wasn't looking did he glance down to their joined hands. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he looked back to his work.
『That was then, but then it's true』
Fourteen years later, his hair dyed a warm honey gold, Shizuo found himself with his back against the rough brick wall of a bar in downtown Ikebukuro, a half-smoked cigarette pinched between the middle and forefingers of his right hand. His left hand was shoved deep into the pocket of his black slacks, right leg swung casually behind the left and black shoes gleaming under the hazy glow that illuminated the city. From behind the blue tint of the metal-rimmed sunglasses perched upon the bridge of his nose, he watched the smoke from his cigarette drift lazily up to the sky, ghosts dancing in the night. It swirled almost violently to the side as the heavy metal door to his right opened, revealing a sharply dressed brunet with earrings racing up his cartilage.
"Oi, Heiwajima. Manager wants you back inside. Your break was over five minutes ago."
Heaving a heavy sigh, the faux blond took a last drag on his cigarette before dropping it to the ground with a curt nod. His lips remained pressed together in an unimpressed expression as he waved the other brunet away impatiently, scarcely uttering a reply. He would be inside soon enough. As the decorated young man slipped inside, Shizuo proceeded to press the heel of his primly shined shoe against the last smolder of his discarded cigarette, grinding the embers out into ash against the cold stone of the alley. Hand on the handle of the door as he left it behind, he paused.
I promised you I'd never smoke, he thought with a frown, But…that was then. A lot of things were then.
『I'm in love with a fairytale even though it hurts
'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind I'm already cursed』
From the chilled scent of cigarette smoke and empty night, he entered into a new world of heady sweat and alcohol. Raucous shouts and drunken laughter assailed his ears as he shouldered his way through the crowded floor towards the bar itself, reaching up to adjust the black bowtie at his throat and smooth out the crease of his white dress shirt's collar. Dim red lights colored everything in shades of purple from behind his cobalt lenses, distorting the faces of the waitresses and inebriated customers and blackening the leather of the side booths. Wrinkling his nose, he plucked the glasses slowly from the bridge of his nose and folded them carefully, tucking one leg into the v-cut of his vest, the dark silk gleaming like polished metal as he slipped behind the bar. The brunet had already gone.
Knowing you, you'd rag on me for wearing blue glasses, even indoors, he continued in thought, sweeping up an empty glass left on the counter and rinsing it off with polished ease, but I never was one for looking at the world through rose-colored lenses. Not then, and most certainly not now.
As he dried the glass off with a towel, careful not to leave any watermarks, he took pause to stare into his reflection. He didn't look long, shutting his eyes with a dry snort and setting the glass back upon the shelf with a clink.
"Th'fuck is wrong with you?" slurred a less-than sober voice.
"Sorry, would you like to try that again?" Shizuo growled, gritting his teeth, "Perhaps with less booze on your breath?"
"I said," the voice hiccupped as he turned about, "Th'. Fuck. Is. Wrong. Wi-with you?"
Standing at the bar, his balance clearly only so-so and his eyes bleary and bloodshot, was a young man not much younger than Shizuo himself. He couldn't have been far over the legal drinking age, and was still wearing his graduation robes from community college. Shizuo regarded him with a calm smirk, repressing the urge to curse the greenhorn out and tell him to return when he had the balls to hold his alcohol. Holding this job meant too much to his little brother. He opened his mouth, however, only to shut it anyway, as the kid pointed with a wavering hand at the glass Shizuo held.
"I was drinkin' that!"
"Yeah? You left it on the counter, and it was nothing more than a weak shot anyway by the smell of it. I thought it was someone's leftovers, watered down by the melted ice, so I dumped it, and I cleaned the glass. Want to keep drinking? Order another one," the blond bartender grumbled, beginning to turn so as to put the empty glass back on the shelf.
"I ought ta report you,"—a hiccup—"to your manager!"
"Listen, kid." A slam resounded through the bar, complimented by the sound of shattering glass as Shizuo dropped the glass in favor of hitting the bar and grasping his newest annoyance by the front of his robes. "My manager isn't going to give a shit about your whiny ass. Just order. Another. Drink. Simple, right? Even a drunken moron should be able to understand that, but clearly you're not getting the memo."
"I don't want another drink," sneered the kid, pursing his lips, "I want the one you went and dumped down the sink like a moron," and then he paused and let fly a rather unpleasantly alcohol-scented glob of saliva, landing it sloppily on the bridge of Shizuo's nose. "Now put me down you bleach-blond ape!" he continued to hiccup. "That red-eyed guy said you'd be a hard-headed brute, but I didn't b-believe him until now…"
"Why you little—!"
Perhaps it was the fact that his nose was being assaulted by one of his least favorite odors, or the fact that it now dripped with a viscous mixture of saliva and God knew what else. Maybe it was the fact that this punk had even vaguely mentioned the flea, but whatever the reason, Shizuo's fist was cocked back in preparation for a heavy blow, his pupils constricted and wavering with broken control. He was hardly conscious of the utter panic that had come over the bar, muffled by the rush of blood now audible in his ears; the incessant tugging against the back of his shirt and shoulders was a passing breeze for all the good it did. His fist still launched, undeterred.
No satisfying crunch of cartilage resounded, however, no delicious crumpling of a nose or cheekbone under the pressure of his fist, but rather a solid smack as an open palm caught the blow. Thick fingers wrapped over his before he could unclench his own, holding still to his arm.
"Cool it Heiwajima!" barked an irritatingly familiar voice, and then he was dropping the younger male and whirling on his manager.
"Stay out of my way!"
The grim smile on his face twisted wickedly as he at last felt the delirium of causing another creature pain, of venting out his resentments, however unorthodox the thoughts and actions may be. As the blow sent his manager reeling, Shizuo took the interval to hop the counter that separated them, one palm down against the glossy top and the other swinging out wide to pick up a nearby barstool. With infantile ease, he swung his new toy over his head and let it fly, as neatly as if he were tossing a Frisbee across a park. Only, this Frisbee happened to weigh several pounds rather than a quarter of a pound and was capable of knocking a substantially thick man of five feet, eleven inches completely off his feet with a three-inch gash on his forehead. Not the least of the injuries for which the man would need stitches.
In the end, five brave civilians and the remaining three bouncers at the bar had latched onto the irate blond and, sustaining their own fair share of damages, thrust him out the doors and onto the street. Through blood and spittle, the talking pulp that had become his manager roared insults and threats at him, concluding his hoarse rant with the accustomed words Shizuo hated the most. Yet another career had ended with the slamming of a heavy door in front of his face, his uniform rumpled and his vision slowly receding from the hazy red zone.
Ten stiff paces later and he was far enough away from the ravaged establishment to notice how heavily he was breathing, to feel the faint ache in his fatigued muscles. Sinking back against a brick wall, he groaned through clenched teeth and raked his hand through his tousled hair. His chest heaved up and down with each raspy inhale, the bitterly cold air both too thick and too thin for him all at once. It slowed only marginally over time, his hand in place over his face to shield his eyes from the harsh lights as his head began to pound. Gradually, his shoulders shook, first once, then twice, and then a sudden, feral noise leapt from his throat, his free hand clenching up at the crossroads of his broken necktie and his skewed glasses. He discarded the two items to the concrete with a vicious fling, putting a dent in the wall just below his waist seconds afterwards.
For several minutes, he remained in that position, half doubled over with his right fist resting in a small crater in the wall and his left against his sternum. His head was dipped low, shaggy hair drooping into his eyes, and for a moment, he was again that isolated child in a crowded place.
Waiting, he thought sullenly, for a fairytale that will never come back.
Slowly, he became aware that it was starting to drizzle, watching the pavement grow dark around the shards of blue glass at his feet. The fine mist settled over his bowed shoulders like a blanket, seeping into the silk of his vest and working the same magic with its cold fingers there that it had on the sidewalk. It sank into his hair unobtrusively, dampening the dyed locks and plastering them to his skull and the back of his neck. A subtle shiver crawled up his spine, and he sighed at last. With little more energy than a man half roused from sleep, he leaned upwards with a sway and shuffled forward a few steps. Hooking his thumbs into his pockets, he forced himself to soldier on with no more than a head ducked to avoid the rain, his shoulders hunched over just the slightest.
I'm cursed, he muttered to himself, staring bleakly down the street as he walked—thinking of her again. In more ways than one…
『Every day we started fighting』
For a split second, dawn's warm golden light spilled across a dusty hardwood floor in a long rectangle, throwing a slanted and tattered shadow down along its edge. There were no lights on in the dim little apartment, and the grainy TV in the corner, kitty-corner away from the threadbare couch and the door, was turned off. Broken glasses dangling from one scraped and bloodied hand, a half-dried trail of red trickling out from under a torn sleeve, the figure slumped in the doorway gazed about wearily, head bowed. Hardly a whisper made its presence known as he blindly fingered the doorknob, pulling the door shut with as much care as his shaking muscles could manage. It was only after that any noise broke the waiting silence.
"Shizuo."
He grimaced.
"Kanako…"
"No excuses, Shizuo," the voice murmured to the tempo of measured footsteps crossing the room. "What was it this time?"
As the ebony haired beauty stepped from the shadows into his small square of light, Shizuo glanced away, leaning back against the door. For all the subtle undertones of pleading in her question that enticed him to speak to her, he remained stubbornly silent, chin resting on his shoulder as he avoided her gaze. He stood still as she lifted her petite frame up on the balls of her feet, soft fingertips tenderly cupping his bruised cheek and coming through his hair.
"Shizuo…?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Shizuo, tell me what happened," she insisted, taking hold of his hand in a childishly repeated gesture.
"I don't want to talk about it!" he snapped, pulling his hand away and hastily shoving himself away from the door, clipping her shoulder as gently as could be described for him as he passed her.
"You never do, but we're going to. What set you off?"
"Nothing!" he all but shouted, whirling back to face her form, standing there with her hands on her hips. "That's all it ever is! Monsters don't need a reason to destroy things, do they? That's why we're monsters—because we break things without any real provocation!"
His cheek was stinging again. One eye closed, he looked to her still-raised hand, the slight tremble in her fingers as she slowly curled them together and lowered it to her chest. Her words echoed mutedly behind his ringing ears as he touched the newest addition to his wounds and turned to walk away. "You're not a monster, Shizuo." It almost made him sick when she wrapped her arms around his stomach and put her head into his back, whispering it again.
"You're not a monster…"
Whirling suddenly, he took her arms by the wrists and brought her back to the wall. She inhaled sharply at the impact, the sound lost amidst the clash of thick plastic and hardwood floor. Jarred loose from its crooked nail, time stopped.
"If I'm not a monster," he growled, pressing his lips close to her ear, "then why do I break everything I touch?"
"You haven't broken me," she whispered.
『Every night we fell in love』
A possessive rumble resonated from his chest as he tugged her in closer, switching the hold of her wrists to a single hand. His free hand coiled itself within the ebony locks of hair at the back of her skull, demanding the tilt of her head as he caught her lip between his teeth. There was the faintest hint of vanilla on her tongue as she arched to meet his advance. He, instead, lost himself in her challenge—in her. It was nice, he reflected as he dropped his head hungrily to her shoulder, when it was okay not to think. When it was better to act on an impulse instead of calculating every action and reaction to make sure he didn't screw up.
『No one else could make me sadder』
Some vague, guilty notion told him he'd regret his actions later, as he dropped her wrists in favor of palming her ass and hoisting her up to his waist. Her breathless whimper as he crushed her between his chest and the wall told of the bruises that he'd see when she got up in the morning to take her three AM shower; the ones she tried to hide by getting up that early in the first place. There would be a bite mark on her shoulder, her skull would ache from where he held her hair, and, in turn, his heart would ache from knowing he'd caused her pain. No, he hadn't broken her, he never did. But, as he hushed her noises, good and bad, with an aggressive kiss, he knew he'd hurt her, and he always would.
『But no one else could lift me high above』
Doubts turned to jumbled steps, hesitation to overcompensating confidence and scattered clothes, and all else to heated caresses and incomprehensible murmurs as they collided on the bed in back. Were it not for how her touch turned tender where his skin was torn or bloodied, and the gentle way his palm grazed her skin, it would have seemed that both had forgotten the other's injuries. Seeing the other smile, hearing them croon their name and gasp aloud…it was worth forgetting where they were, and why they were there in the first place. Head bowed and hair matted with sweat, a pleased grin danced on Shizuo's mouth as he watched Kanako's lips part, flushed pink as she arched off the bed and clung to his shoulders with a cry. He wasn't far behind.
Falling to the bed, he leaned to the side and caught his weight on his shoulder, exhaling heavily and shutting his eyes as he lost control over his vision. A softer, lighter panting echoed at his side, and out of instinct he reached his arm over and pulled her to him. They weren't separated by much, and still connected where it physically counted, but even with the heady scent of sex in the room and the sultry atmosphere permeating every corner of the small space, he wanted to be close to her.
For as long as I can, he thought regretfully, opening his eyes a margin and looking down to her. Seeing that she slept already, he smiled and rested his cheek atop her head. Mine.
『I don't know what I was doing
When suddenly we fell apart』
The moment she'd begun to wriggle out of his arms, Shizuo brought his eyelids up to half-mast and watched through glazed toffee eyes as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. For as long as he could he savored the view of her hips swaying to and fro as she sauntered away from him. Only did the obvious soreness of her movements bring his attention to the course of action he had decided upon the night before.
"Kanako," he murmured softly. "wait."
A deer caught in the headlights, she paused, but made no sound. Watching her as he sat up, it occurred to him that she knew—she knew, just as well as he did. That made it no easier, he decided, swallowing hard as he realized also that she would not turn around to face him. Last night had been the last time he was going to see her face.
"I think…," he began, and then stopped, swallowed again, "I think it would be better…if I didn't come around anymore."
"…"
Yes, she knew.
"I'm sorry, Kanako, I just—"
"No, Shizuo. You're not. Have a good day, all right? I'm going to go take my shower."
Clenching his jaw, he watched her walk away for the second time that morning, but his eyes could see nothing more than a taught form marred with mauve bruises and held so rigid that it trembled. The finer curves were lost to the whole, and he turned his head away as the door took away what was left of his last glimpse. His gaze settled instead on his rumpled pants and boxers, lying dejected against the wall as if they'd been discarded far longer than a few hours ago. As he moved to pick them up, he listened numbly to the distant patter of water against the shower walls as it dulled from a roar to its quiet rain. Beginning the search for his shirt, having found his shoes not long after his pants, he heard—with a flinch—the sound of hushed tears amidst the downpour. Shirt and jacket thus abandoned, the last remnants of his presence, he quickly left the apartment.
『Nowadays I cannot find her
But when I do we'll get a brand new start』
Emerging with a sigh from his reverie, Shizuo lifted his head to see where, at last, he had ended up. Some time along his walk, the subtleties from his past had bled into his present—the rain had picked up, now, and fell down in steady currents. It poured through his hair in rivulets and down the contours of his face as he gazed solemnly about. The buildings were taller and the lights brighter where he found himself, some place deeper into the commercial district. Late-night shoppers hurried along the streets in pairs and singles and groups, umbrellas held high as they hastened through the area. High overhead colorful billboards contrasted against a black and starless sky, their kanji blurred from this distance in the heavy rain.
He dropped his head to an even level as the rain dripped into his eyes and shook the water in a futile movement from his scalp, migrating closer to the awnings of the stores. Warm light from within pooled over his form and illuminated the glass-like puddles that followed his pattern of thought and congregated away from the rain's initial influence. Shadows of the mannequins in the displays gave the illusion that he traversed the same crowds as the others, but even so, he knew the notion was as empty as their cavernous bodies. Nowhere, in this crowd or theirs, was any attachment for him. She wasn't with them; these were not her crowds either.
"It's funny," he sighed under his breath, "what I wouldn't give for a second chance with her."
『I'm in love with a fairytale even though it hurts
'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind I'm already cursed』
Less than five minutes of walking brought him out from the covers and into the rain again, large droplets connecting with a head that no longer bothered to bow in their wake. Water drenched his form from head to toe, even after his respite from the downpour. It squished in the soles of his shoes and dripped from clothes so water-laden no amount of drying would ever repair the damage done to their tailored threads. For once, however, he reflected as he stood at the curb and stared at the traffic passing by, he didn't care about the suit. He'd already lost the bowtie, and Kasuka had given him dozens of identical outfits to wear for a job he no longer held.
Even so, as his light turned, Shizuo pocketed his hands and shuffled along with the crowd's majority into Ikebukuro Station, where high arching walls sheltered the commuters from the elements. Darkened by the rain so much as to seem more pale brown than gold, his hair lay plastered to his skull in messy wisps, half-heartedly wrung dry by the absent rake of a single hand as he gazed around. Gleaming tiled floors stretched out from the bottom of the staircases on every level, as if they'd been poured from the east and west entrances and had spilled over every surface. The cascade ran periodically into towering pillars, pooling around their bases and continuing on like an endless sea into which he numbly waded. Head and shoulders above the crowd, he moved at a slower pace than all the rest, watching them pass by as if from behind a Plexiglas screen.
I wonder, murmured the errant thought, if I'll ever…
Choked off by a the sudden and familiar scent of vanilla, the thought died, and a new one arose—he knew that perfume, those curves, the swell of those hips and the sway as they sauntered past him and down the nearest set of stairs.
Kanako.
Dumfounded, he stood frozen in time for all of a moment, the hum of the flood fading to white noise behind the throbbing pulse in his ears. His knuckles turned white, wrapped around the nearest pillar, then clenched in nothing but dust as a chunk came free and crumbled under his fervent grasp. Just as those unmistakable curves, hugged close by dark denim, slipped away from his vision again, he broke into a run.
I have to have lost my mind, he panted, but for one last shot…
『She's a fairytale, yeah even though it hurts
'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind I'm already cursed』
The rain that had so long ago soothed his ire soon became a new frustration as he slipped on the moist soles of his shoes and scrambled for traction in the midst of a damp crowd. Far ahead of him, she seemed all but swept up in the tide of comings and goings in the Station, first here, then there. A halo of artificial light gleamed around her raven-black hair, and he struggled to keep his focus on her in this faceless throng. Unspoken curses and pleas roiled in his consciousness as, barricaded by an up-current flow of persons exiting a train, he watched her descend another level. He couldn't let her walk away again.
With a sense of urgency squeezing his chest, however, he was forced to a standstill, waiting impatiently for the foot traffic to clear. It wouldn't do to be stopped by Station Security if he became any more riled up, not now; he couldn't risk that. As soon as the crowd had thinned enough for decent mobility, he increased his efforts twofold, leaping the entirety of the steps and turnstiles down the tunnel into which she'd disappeared. Casting his gaze to and fro as he passed the crowds and made his way to the boarding platform, he found with dismay that he could not see her any longer, and at once, his heart sank. Somewhere behind him, a clock struck midnight, and overhead a metallic voice indicated the closing of the doors.
Then…there she was. Hair cascading down her shoulders in a loose waterfall of night, her torso wrapped about by a white knit top patterned with black roses. She held a book to her stomach with one arm, the other stretched overhead to take hold of the bar at her side. What's more, she was real, and this was no dream; the burning in his lungs told him that. Heavy metal doors separated her from his sight as the train began to roll along the track, and then she was nothing more than a glimpse between passing windowpanes.
"Kanako!" he yelled, voice raw with futility as he took a few faltering steps after.
She looked back once, as if seeing him, and a quiet, mysterious smile touched on her lips. Too quickly, the tunnel swallowed her, shadows engulfing the abyss left in her wake. Nevertheless, he still stood, and on his lips a smile as well. His fairytale was being whisked away all over again, but she'd seen him, and she'd smiled. Perhaps he wasn't as cursed as he thought.
As I said before, all rights belong to their respective creators. I hope you have all enjoyed reading this one shot, and thanks again so much to my friend who "requested" this and helped me when writer's block got me down, as well as all the rest who helped with that particular process. Messages and reviews are always welcomed, as long as they are not flames, spam, or hate mail.