Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. All of these characters belong to their respective creators of DRRR!.

This story contains malexmale relationships.

It was quiet.

A little too quiet, really. But that was to be expected when you were left in a desolate wasteland, nothing but frost bite to comfort your numb limbs. Slowly, the man would stand, bloodshot orbs only mixing in with the bright, red color of his irises. It was like a blizzard out here, the way the snow was falling so fast; it appeared to be a fog of white, though thankfully, the wind wasn't all too bad. He was covered in bits of ice, and his lips were a pale blue, but half of the time he seemed to appear this way anyways.

"This winter is especially cold," He spoke, to no one in particular. It's not like he'd receive an answer, either way. There was no one. And no one in their right minds would come to this abandoned outer-region park of Ikebukuro, a bustling city that had more than enough sense to keep indoors. Being on the outskirts was always worse, when it came to weather patterns. But it kept the raven away from the general population, and that's what he'd always wanted.

Ever since he was young, Hachimenroppi hated humans. Now, this was a bit of a tender subject with him – the reasons were rather nasty. But when your creator was the man you hated most, humans tend to grate on your nerves from an early age. "Now, now," That man would say; "You should control your temper! You're going to end up like Shizu-chan, and that would be a shame!"

Shizu-chan?

His inner voice would repeat. So now this man was comparing him to someone he didn't even know. Well that was just peachy. As usual, Hachimenroppi – Roppi, as he preferred – Would simply turn his back on that dreaded scum, attempting to keep his sanity. It didn't work out too often. But that was just the start of it.

In his adolescence, things got no better. Picture for a moment that there's a man; they're at least somewhat social, they seem to get along with everyone they meet – assuming of course, the other person can get through that hard-to-crack outer shell. They're well-loved all around, despite that horrid nature and bad reputation. Keep that picture in your mind, and now, try to imagine that steadily, all of these people went away. Not just disappeared – but in saddening, sometimes violent ways. Even with relationships, these things begin to happen, and then, slowly but surely, this man is alone. There's more than likely a debate going on in the recesses of your mind; 'well, he had a bad attitude'. Or, 'well, who would want to be around someone with a terrible reputation?'

Say this reputation came from the people that betrayed him. And say that his attitude is a result of the former betrayal. Over time, it could only get worse. Most people would probably consider the solution simple – find someone trust worthy, stick by them, and eventually, the clock will start ticking again.

But now, for the final thought, imagine this man has never met a trustworthy person in his life, and is bid to the ill fortune of never receiving the courtesy of such.

Things become a little more complicated.

Oddly, while Roppi fits that 'man's description perfectly, he's rather stable on the outside. He has a blank demeanor, and an even blanker attitude; in fact, he doesn't display emotion at all, hence having a 'terrible attitude'. When offered a hand to shake, he'll watch until it drops – and when shown a kind word here or there, he'll do nothing but back away. Some may call this pitiable, but this raven calls it a precaution. Getting too close is asking to be burned, and he ran from the kitchen far too long ago to go barging in with skillets.

But if it's the inside we're meant to be speaking of, that is an entirely different matter. No turmoil can be worse than that of a man who not only hates the entirety of the human race, but out of that race, hates himself most of all. More than that informant, who claims to be the opposite; more than that young blonde from so long ago could have ever imagined. Young blonde. .

Looking down, Roppi would fish through his red fur-trimmed jacket, nails clambering through multiple objects before it pulled what it was looking for. A letter.

If there was one thing about Hachimenroppi that was well known, it was that the dark-haired male was incredibly artistic. He drew; he wrote. He could act, and even sing, not that anyone ever heard. Admittedly, however, his guilty pleasure was writing letters – and never, ever sending them. Perhaps it was just because there were certain things about him that he didn't want the world to know, but still wanted to get off of his chest. While this was not one of those letters, it was a letter that he probably should have replied to. But no. He had been too afraid, and even now, years later; he regretted it to the end of his days. The letter, written in red ink, read simply;

"You can't mean that! We've been pen pals for four years, and I've always wanted to meet you. You've helped me so much; you've taught me things about other people and the world that I would have never learned without you. But I know better than to push your buttons. . I learned a long time ago that when you say something, you mean it. So I just want you to know that I'll cherish this picture forever, and someday, I'll find you."

Every time Roppi read that letter, it made him sick. And yet, he never threw it away. It wasn't that he didn't want to; in truth, that kid was rather annoying. He was clumsy and needed help with everything; hell, if it wasn't for Roppi, that boy wouldn't understand the first thing about the real world! "Tch." Once again, he found himself folding the paper back up, and putting it in his pocket. He had no idea what the other boy looked like, except that he was blonde. That wasn't much to go off of. But it wasn't like Roppi would be the one looking; and they'd stopped talking two years ago, now. Who would still be searching after two years, especially for someone like Roppi.

"Yea, right." Releasing another 'hmph', the raven would only stomp away, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. He would then approach a back road, and without a second though, dived into the alleyway. Slipping out of the other end, he walked out just in time to hear, "Oh, you! If you keep complimenting me like that, you might get somewhere!"

Roppi's head snapped to the side. That voice sounded oddly familiar. . Who was it?

Me?

No, of course not. That'd be silly, Roppi wasn't even talking. However, after a mini-debate about this to himself, the man was already skipping away. "Hm. ." Well, that was strange. Who was he talking to, Roppi wondered? Himself, perhaps?

He didn't know.

But he also didn't have the patience to even begin questioning it.

Stepping out to where the man had been, he looked at the slush beneath him, his boots crunching the melting ice beneath them. ". . Heh."

There were no cars; no other people. If it were like this all the time, Roppi might actually grow to appreciate winter. That was, until he heard a second gush of wet snow, his head lifting to gaze at the source of the sound.

"Hate. . Everything."

"What. .?"

There wasn't a response.

Instead, a young man, a blonde; walked past the red-clad raven, the small breeze blowing the colored fleece on his hood back in the burning wind. The man was dressed in a bartender suit, and wearing. . Sunglasses. In this already gloomy weather, no less!

Now, there were really only two ways to ever catch Roppi's attention. Being that he hated humans, it was nearly impossible for him to group you out of a general section filed under 'dislike'. The first option was to do something extraordinary. That being, be someone fascinating, do something useful with your life, rather than being a normal, everyday human. And he didn't mean actors, or singers. He meant people with 'supernatural' talents, the kind that made them extremely interesting – such as professional fighters, or even someone that could psychologically banter with him for more than a minute. Be unique. Secondly; have something about you that is extremely personal, and share it with him. If it's something he has in common, he finds that he often attaches himself to that person, thinking that perhaps, if they've been through the same; they won't do it to me. If you hate humans too, share it with him, tell him about it. If you've been wronged so many times you don't believe in a right, then share with him. These two things are the only surefire way of knowing Roppi will even somewhat appreciate your existence, or at least speak with you.

That being said, hearing a strange looking man say such words on an open sidewalk immediately caught the man's interest. And he watched, down to when the blonde walked away, until he instantly looked to the slush where the other had walked. "How. . Intriguing."

Sadly enough, Roppi's conditions of enjoying another's company weren't exactly the best. They often earned him even more drama, and an even worse reputation. However, he'd learned to let go of whether or not he seemed like a good person. He was well aware of the fact that he lacked all means of being such. He was always surrounding himself with angst-filled people, and it seemed like just from that little brush, this man would be no different. But Roppi would succeed in finding a way to know this man, and he would learn the bartender inside out.

This may have seemed brash, but the one true fact about Roppi, out of everything his reputation claimed, it was that he was a stalker. Not so much the kind of stalker that wanted to kill you in your sleep, but just the kind that wanted to watch your movements as you slept, or the way your features might twitch if having a nightmare. Perhaps this was a trait he picked up from his 'father'; that being, Izaya Orihara. The man was a fiend, and certainly a stalker as well, although, he tended to stalk all of humanity. . And not just one person. Sadly. . This man was the only one that would know about any human in particular. Being an informant and all, that was his job. And Roppi would have liked to avoid him at all costs – he hadn't seen the man since he was 8, when he was left to fend for himself 'since he was so tough'. Hibiya laughed at him, and Psyche felt sorry, but Roppi despised Psyche for obeying Izaya's every word; and thus denied his help at every turn.

"Would I go that far. .?" After all, he hadn't even tried speaking to the man yet. But the blonde didn't exactly seem to want to be on speaking terms. But maybe he'd stick around a bit; follow the other at a few turns, here and there. Maybe then, he'd find out more.

"Kill, gonna kill, gonna kill, gonna kill!" These were the words seeping from the blonde man's mouth, his teeth clenching as his fists followed in the movement, brows furrowing in irritation. "Dammit all!"

First, there was the fight with those kids. Then there was the trail of Izaya's scent, but just as he'd gotten there, it went cold. Now, he couldn't find a convenience store that was open in the snow, for some milk! "Aaaggh!" Frustrated, he huffed to himself, mocha orbs narrowing on the nearest street post. Perhaps if he just bent it. . No, that wouldn't do him any good. Placing a hand to his forehead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to ease his headache. "Aaah. ." It worked. For about five seconds that was, until he was bumped into.

"S-Sorry!" The man would shout, but immediately go running.

Shizuo stared – for a grand total of five seconds, before shouting, "GONNA KILL!" and uprooting the sign post. Throwing them into the walls of the nearest buildings, he would then backtrack, hoping at this point to just find his way home. "Stupid. . Damn. . Hate. ." He wasn't even forming coherent sentences; that's how you knew it was bad.

"Hate, hate, hate. ."

Little did this blonde know that a certain raven had seen that entire show of strength, and was now fascinated beyond belief.

"Wow. ."

The ex-bartender whipped around, gazing at nothing in particular. That was, until a form emerged from the shadows of an alleyway, approaching the blonde with curiosity. "That was amazing. ."

Shizuo couldn't help but stare. First off, who the hell was this guy, and why did that face tick him off so much? And who was he to call it amazing! Only a monster could do those things, someone inhuman, someone who was worthless. "Tch," He spouted, hissing in annoyance. With that, he would turn his back on that man.

"No, I mean it!" He would hear; stopping for a moment, if only to attempt tolerating that voice. Something about that voice. . "You really are amazing, that was incredible. Have you always been able to do things like that? It's. . Really something. ."

Shizuo blinked. "What?" Turning slowly, it's just then that it dawned on him. ". . . IIIIZAAAAYAAA."

Rage immediately pooled in his abdomen – but 'Izaya' didn't smirk. In fact, Izaya got a very annoyed disposition, before he looked to his feet.

". . I know I look like him. Don't. . Go comparing me to him, too."

Shizuo snarled. "You can't pull your tricks on me, flea. I'm not some dumbass you just met yesterday!"

Roppi could only frown. Maybe he shouldn't have bothered saying anything at all. . Because now he wouldn't even speak. He only kept his gaze downcast, ashamed of having anything to do with that 'twin' of his at all. Biting his lip, he only awaited whatever judgment Shizuo had in store; If only to hear the soft crunch of snow.

The raven didn't even realize his eyes were closed until he opened them, watching as the bartender had placed his hands into his pockets and began to stalk away. "W-Wait!" He would shout, following that intriguing man as he knew he forever would. "At least tell me your name!"

"Like you don't know it already," was that harsh reply.

"I. . I really don't."

Once more, the blonde was brought to a screeching halt. He turned slowly, as if what Roppi had said caused hell to freeze over. "You seriously don't?"

Roppi shook his head. It wasn't like he was 'hip with the times', and he didn't exactly have friends. "I'm not a social person. ." He admitted quietly, though he knew the other male would listen. Or at least, was hoping. "Well. . I mean. . I am, just. . The people I associate with, they don't. . Really care about things like that, and whether they do or doesn't, doesn't really matter. They leave." With that, he looked up at the blonde, a certain solemn disposition causing the other male to stare. "Down to the very last ones. So. . For the record. . No. I wouldn't know."

Shizuo wasn't sure what about that struck the chord, but this man was not Izaya. Even Izaya wouldn't sink so low as to take on an entirely different identity, especially one that would strike his pride this way. ". . Shizuo." He said simplistically, to which the dark-haired male would lift his head, lips parting in surprise. "You're. . You're him?"