NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.
What You Don't Surrender
Chapter Three
How many times had he walked the streets of Ikebukuro? A million times, probably more. How many footsteps had he taken completely for granted, confident that whatever else was wrong – of which there was usually plenty – he had no reason to feel threatened by these streets.
How many times had he crossed at this intersection? How many times had he sloped past Russia Sushi, hands in his pockets, lost in his own thoughts and only paying cursory attention to his surroundings?
Too many times.
So it was strange that he couldn't remember any of that.
Ikebukuro was an alien landscape. There were eyes in every one of its myriad shadows. He could feel anonymous gazes on him, sharp and icy as cold, driving rain. There were whispers on every corner, passing judgement, because everyone had to know by now. Even if they didn't, one look at him would be enough. Surely it was written over every inch of him, from the ill-fitting clothes to the hunched shoulders, and the desperation in his stride.
He didn't want to be out here. He didn't want to see anyone he knew. He didn't want to see anyone, period. Couldn't take their stares, their whispers, their consolation.
No… it wouldn't even be that; they'd be thinking it was about time the famed beast was brought down a peg or two.
That was easier to take. After all, they were right. He'd been so full of himself. Relied on a power that was ugly and unnatural to begin with. A power that had turned him just as ugly and unnatural with it. He lost that battle the moment he decided it was pointless fighting against it, the moment he even considered the possibility he could tolerate what he'd become.
A group of high school kids were approaching on his side of the street. Laughing. Joking. He kept his head down, fighting the urge to cross to the other side of the road.
One of the kids, showing his friends something on his cell phone and not looking where he was going, bumped into him. A nothing touch; the kid's bony elbow barely glanced against his arm.
"Hey, watch it." The kid began, turning to glare at whoever dared invade his personal space. His eyes went wide when he looked up and saw exactly who he'd just growled at. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't…"
He could still see the kid's mouth moving, but all he could hear was the rush of his pulse in his ears. Through the thin parka, its sleeve not quite coming down far enough to cover the bruises circling his wrist, the touch stung as though it had been made of barbed wire.
The kid stopped staring, lowering his head with a grimace. No doubt he was waiting for the creak of uprooted street signs, or the impact of a lamppost swung like a baseball bat.
Waiting. Hopeless. Scared.
"Heh, who'd have thought you'd look this fucking hot when you're scared. Bet you've never shown this face to anyone else, huh?You should be happy, Heiwajima-san. That makes us special."
Shizuo ran.
Ran until his lungs burned, his legs ached, his eyes stung. He didn't slow down, didn't stop, until he was standing in front of his apartment door, fingers shaking too badly to manoeuvre the key into the lock.
Once inside, he locked the door and slid the security chain he'd never used before into place. Leaning against it, he closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath.
How many of these crude defences had he broken on some job or other, a kick that barely required effort shattering locks and hinges someone'd carefully closed? How many people had felt that despair that all the attempts they'd made to keep the scary shit out just didn't work?
Payback was a bitch.
His apartment was on the third floor, but he still checked that all the windows were locked. It was still light out, but the taller buildings surrounding his own cast his room in shadow. He didn't turn on the lights. He couldn't even bring himself to take off Shinra's borrowed clothes, even though the only thing he wanted was to go take a shower. Get clean.
He got as far as turning on the shower. The whole damn building was a mess, and waiting for the water to heat up took forever. Long enough for him to catch his reflection in the mirror before it started to steam.
Long enough to see those bruises on his jaw.
And there were fingers there again, prising his mouth open. His responses were sluggish. He tried lifting his hand to shove the touch away, but he might as well have tried dragging his hand through thick molasses.
But the hand he lifted had been about the only thing keeping him balanced. Without it, the fingers gripping his hair – someone else's hand, he couldn't tell anymore – just held tighter. Pain licked along his scalp, bright and sharp, bringing the world into focus again for a moment.
The one in front of him took advantage of his gasp, and his awareness dimmed mercifully when a thick, bitter pressure shoved past his lips. Tears stung his eyes as he choked, panicked, tried to pull back only to be shoved forward again.
"No point fighting," a voice panted from somewhere beyond his line of sight, syllables in perfect sync with the pain arcing up his spine. "C'mon, that's gotta be a break from the norm for you, right?"
The fingers gripping his jaw loosened a little, thumb stroking back and forth in a cold, slimy caress that made him shudder.
"Heh, he ain't gonna be fighting anyone for a while after this, right Heiwajima-san? That strongest man bullshit ain't helping you much now."
The mirror cracked. It took several long seconds, and the sting of his knuckles, to realize it was because he'd just punched most of it through into the hall.
He stumbled back, only stopping when the steam-slick wall stopped him. Sliding down the wall, he drew his knees up to his chest, lowering his head as his breath began to hitch.
No point fighting.
No point at all.
As much as anyone tried to make themselves safe, if there was one weak link in the chain it was all worthless. It had been far too easy to sweet talk Shizuo's landlord into handing over the spare keys to his apartment, far too easy to convince him that Izaya was Shizuo's best friend ever - "Look, I even have a photo of him on my phone. No, he really doesn't like having his picture taken!" - and he was awfully concerned about his well being.
Well? It was true, even if the concern was more for himself than Shizu-chan.
The door chain caused a flare of irritation. Really, Shizu-chan? Ah, trust a primitive mind like yours… Unfortunately for Shizuo, Izaya's hands were slender enough to allow him to wedge the flickblade in the gap in the door and prise the poorly-bolted slider free.
A hole in the wall greeted him the moment he stepped through the door, plaster and glinting shards of glass scattered across the hallway.
"Shizu-chan?" He felt the need to announce himself, in case more masonry was likely to implode. He wasn't here to be skewered by Shizuo's crappy apartment. Still, he followed the trail of destruction to the ajar bathroom door, cautiously pushing it open.
The suspicions that had taken root in his mind ever since the conversation with Shinra bore fruit the moment he peered inside. The shower was running, water long since turned icy. A shard of broken mirror fell into the sink, adding to a pile of jagged fragments glinting in the fluorescent light.
Shizuo was hunched against the wall, still fully dressed - albeit badly - and shivering. His bleeding hand left smears of red on his pants, and streaked along his cheek where he'd obviously tried wiping his eyes.
"Shizu-chan…"
"Fucking stupid…" Shizuo muttered, teeth chattering. Izaya had the distinct impression he had no idea who he was talking to, seeing as the conversation involved neither flying objects nor threats of bodily injury. For the sheer lack of any reaction to one's archenemy just showing up in your bathroom, maybe Shizuo thought he was merely a bad hallucination. "Just… can't get warm."
There was nothing to hand in the tiny bathroom: no extra towels, no bathrobe. Shizuo's taste in home décor didn't run to throws or quilts either, and so Izaya was reduced to snagging one of the blankets from the half-made bed, trying not to trip over it as he carried it back into the bathroom.
Shizuo flinched as Izaya loomed closer. Under any other circumstances, he might have enjoyed it. He wasn't quite sure why he didn't now, just that this edgy, pitiable, all too human creature just wasn't his Shizu-chan anymore. The sooner he got that man back, the better they'd both feel.
"It's okay," he crouched, offering out the blanket, "it'll just help you get warm, ne?"
Shizuo blinked at the sheet, then at him, looking increasingly dubious. "What are you doing here?"
"Helping you out before you destroy your apartment. It wouldn't be good for you to get evicted, now would it?"
Though in that case, he could take Shizuo home with him, which would make things a lot easier. He'd been in the midst of concocting a plan to incite more property damage when Shizuo yanked the sheet from his grasp, wrapping it around himself and smearing more blood over it in the process.
Izaya sighed. "Have you ever thought before acting, Shizu-chan?"
The sheet muffled whatever reply Shizuo had to offer.
At least the search for something to bandage Shizuo's hand with was more fruitful. What did it say about someone who had no spare blankets or extra towels, but had enough of a first aid stash to make small hospitals blush?
It said they were monsters, like Shizu-chan.
Feeling that boundary strengthen a little, like the thought was a pen reinforcing a chalk mark, he picked out a small bandage and some antiseptic and returned to the bathroom.
Shizuo had managed to drag himself up to sit on the closed toilet seat, just an unruly tuft of bleached blond hair sticking out from the cocoon of the sheet. Izaya resisted the urge to reach out and tug, because the likely outcome of that was a fist to the face and he didn't much want to raid Shizuo's first aid mountain for himself.
"We need to clean this up," he said instead, gesturing towards the bloodied fingers peeking from the edge of the sheet. It wasn't even a touch, just a displacement of air, but Shizuo slapped his hand away.
"I can do it myself."
Surreptitiously checking that none of his fingers were broken, Izaya nodded, holding out the first aid supplies. "Then it might be a good idea if you do, before you bleed out all over the bathroom."
"It's not that bad." Shizuo took the proffered bandages with a grunt that might've been gratitude.
"Hmm, you can't say the same for your wall. Ah, but it could be quite efficient, don't you think? If you'd punched a hole in the other wall, you could have watched TV from the shower. Speaking of which…"
In the silence that followed when he turned off the shower, he could hear how harsh Shizuo's breathing really was. His hands were still shaking a little as he wound the bandage around his knuckles, not bothering with antiseptic.
"You know, you should wash it out. There might be shards of glass left in there."
Shizuo flexed his fist when he was done, apparently satisfied. "Don't care."
Not about his hand, maybe, but it was painfully obvious Shizuo cared about something. Cared enough to break the only thing in the apartment that might show his reflection. Nothing else in the place seemed damaged.
What did you see, hmm, Shizu-chan?
"What did the mirror do to you?" He mused instead. "That's seven years bad luck, Shizu-chan; do you really think you can afford it?"
"Isn't that about as long as I've known you? Then I guess I'd say I've had plenty of practice." Shizuo sounded a little steadier, a little less husky as he looked up with another displeased frown. "And seriously, what are you doing here?"
Well, he supposed he could give Shizuo most of the truth. And after all, the best lies were always wrapped up in sincerity. "I heard Shinra sent you home. Given that I'm the one who rescued your sorry ass in the first place, I wanted to see how my experiment in altruism was doing."
Most of that would probably have gone over Shizuo's pretty protozoan head, but he did manage to latch onto the important part. "I didn't need rescuing."
"Ah, okay." Izaya agreed mildly. "I should have just left you passed out on the street, then. I'll remember next time."
Shizuo glared at him, a familiar fire in amber eyes, even if it was a little muted. "There won't be a next time."
"Hmm." Izaya tapped his lips in mock-thoughtfulness. "I'm still curious as to why there was a this time."
"If you expect me to be grateful—"
"Well, 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss would it?" Izaya's eyes narrowed. "After all, who knows what might have happened to you if I'd left you alone out there."
Shizuo paled a little, and looked away.
Oh, Shizu-chan, now you're just making it too easy. No wonder some loser could take advantage of you and-
Izaya frowned, wondering why he wasn't particularly enjoying that train of thought either. He refused to believe anyone else could truly play Shizuo this well; there was some kernel of the fight, the rage, the inhumanity still left in there, he just had to find a way to coax it back out of hiding. Otherwise…
"Anyway," he said brightly. "Now I'm here, I might as well make myself useful. Have you eaten?"
Shizuo looked at him as though that sentence was just missing "kittens" or "babies" tacked onto the end.
"No. Didn't feel like it."
"Well you need to, it's probably making you feel worse. Besides, you need energy to heal, right?"
Without waiting for an answer, he skipped out of the bathroom and back to the narrow galley kitchen tucked into one corner of the apartment. He wasn't expecting much; given Shizuo's penchant for fast food and sugar, Izaya doubted he'd so much as cracked open the oven since he moved in. Even the microwave smelled sweet when he opened it up, like it had been used to warm up pudding or popcorn. In his mind's eye he saw Shizuo doing just that, saw him carrying his treat over the to nearby couch, snacking on it while he flicked through the channels of his television.
Like a regular human would do.
He slammed the microwave door shut, forced his attention back to choosing between the various unappetizing flavours of the instant noodles Shizuo seemed overly fond of.
No. You'll never be human, Shizu-chan. I won't let you.