The blood fell from his chest as Izaya looked down. He frowned at himself. How had he gotten to this point? He looked around his apartment, too tired to actually get up and do something about this.
The crimson fell soundlessly to the floor, pouring forth from him. He didn't feel anything though. With all depressed people, with every suicidal human, there was always a story they were trying to portray through themselves. They wanted attention.
Izaya knew he wasn't depressed.
He didn't feel the least bit sad. He didn't feel like shouting at someone or talking about his feelings. There was no particular emotion running though him.
Loneliness was never an emotion though, it was rather a lack of belongingness.
His laughter sped the dripping wound on.
It was just so funny! Him, a stranger in his own skin, in his own home; he had no true place in this world. He was so lost!
His laughter died down as the pain began to nip at him. Footsteps approached his door, he heard Shinra's voice and realized…
He was bleeding…
Shizuo headed down the street. The whole area was quieter. Not that there weren't shady characters anymore. It was like the whole system continued on in its backwards, disgusting ways; Those annoying pests still going about their business as if the informant had had nothing to do with them being there.
He wanted to believe that Izaya was to blame for these people. It was Izaya's fault that anything bad happened in Ikebukuro. All the gangs, they were made by Izaya for his sick, twisted mind. All the hurt people found in this city: Izaya's fault. Everything had Izaya to blame.
It had been ages since Izaya had been out and about in this city, so long that no one feared either himself or Izaya like they had used to. He had turned into another face in the crowd.
The debtors didn't even fear him like they had used to, but that only made him more angered. He lost his temper so easily. Tom was getting worried about his frequent sick days, but he couldn't stay calm anymore. He couldn't go out into the city only to lose himself. The only time…
The only time he felt like himself anymore was when he was staring at Izaya, watching the flea sleep endlessly.
He would arrive at around seven, watching the evening sun set upon the man, the night falling as he listened to the sound of the informant's heart beating on the monitor. The lights of the IV machine and the other monitors would light up the room when the sun gave in. Shizuo would sit on the guest chair, sometimes on the edge of the bed, occasionally even on the windowsill. He would sit there until the late hour when Shinra would walk in, complaining that he couldn't seduce his sweet wife to bed if he had his friend being depressed in the apartment.
Shizuo would nod, as usual, leaving the place only to roam the streets. He would watch the gangs running about the place, the darkness that was still as strong and lively as ever.
Life carried on, even without the flea.
That was what made him sick. He couldn't stand to see this. The snake was supposed to die without its head. The evil in this city was supposed to be gone without Izaya.
The ex-bartender headed home, opening his apartment door only to stare at the dimly lit furniture in his home. The door shut with a quiet click before was undressing, tossing his clothes into the shadows nearby. First his vest, then his shirt, the white cloth sporting a large stain from him losing his temper only to lose his hot chocolate. His steps were marked with a piece of clothing lost behind them. The bathroom flickered into light as he walked in. He looked in the mirror only to wince.
Dark bag highlighting red-rimmed eyes gazed back at him, his hair a bad mix between brown and blond. He looked sleep deprived, malnourished, and just plain unhealthy.
Averting his gaze, he splashed his face with some water and declined from taking a shower; opting to just go straight to bed instead.
Where was the point?
He couldn't think of anything.
His head met his pillow, limbs falling where they may. His gaze went to the ceiling, but his thoughts were miles away, sitting before that damn louse. They were always there nowadays. He couldn't think anymore without his mind spanning the great distance to think about Izaya.
It shouldn't matter. He should be happy…
He wasn't though.
Shizuo felt sick. His chest hurt when he breathed, his relationships were going down the drain, he felt so tired all the time. He just wanted to stop everything and go back to the way things were.
No matter the cost. No matter how he hated violence.
He wanted to go back to chasing Izaya out of Ikebukuro again.
We've got no place to go, no place to go~oh
No place to go, no place to go-oh
No place to go.
No place to go-oh…
My heaven…
My heaven…
Is you…