Though the city seems more lively at night, it is also more serene, and a strange feeling comes over the blond as he walks, knowing that what he has now is ephemeral, pure but temporary. As the sun will rise, the curtain will drop, and little will have changed – yet the last mile and a half gives him a view no angel has seen from the air.
He sees the uncleanliness of the streets. A coat of grime seems to veneer every surface, like a gritty varnish; invisible, however darkening. While he passes over sidewalk after sidewalk, he wonders if he's the one who caused those cracks in the cement. Why has he never been in this part of town? It can't be this filthy everywhere else, or God knows there would already be activists sweeping across the skies in protest.
Shizuo snuffs out his cigarette, reluctant to contribute to the pollution of this place.
It's not the way he usually takes; back then, it was Kasuka or Shinra who led the way, and Shizuo, lost in his own thoughts, was not one for attentiveness. Now, he longs to find a familiar landmark. All he needs is a vantage point.
Fuck it.
Shizuo breaks into a run, easily jumping to fifteen in four seconds due to strong, exercised legs. He has no purpose, no goal, no direction, but freedom. No one can tell him he's late for an event, or to get back on track, because there is no track, and he can't lose that part of him now. Not now, not when the wind is tugging back at his hair and the pavement at his feet is going soft from his momentum.
Spur of the moment, he decides to turn the corner sharply.
He slips and falls hard on his side.
The blow to his pride hurts more than the injuries – simple scrapes and bruises and a skid burn on his wrist – he's sustained from the fall. Everything he strived for in that run, all of it, gone in a mere instant like he'd never thought possible. Shizuo uses his hands to push himself to his feet and brushes the dust from his clothes. There's a scuff in his shirt, which he's not all too happy about, but as he looks up he sees a blue and purple glow coming from an area across the street. Groups of people about his age are flocking toward it.
Well. He's arrived.
Shizuo returns to a walk, crosses the street, turns into his destination, and almost knocks Shinra over.
"Ah! Shizuo, you made it."
"Yeah," he answers curtly.
"L-look, Shizuo, about earlier–"
"It's fine, don't worry about it."
Shinra sighs, then nods eagerly. "Here, come on over to the bar, have a drink with me!"
"I don't drink."
"You know the most they'll have here is 10 proof, right?" Shinra jokes then, "This may be Heaven, but sinning's for the basement–"
"I don't drink," Shizuo repeats through clenched teeth.
"You can have a soda, then. But promise me you'll let go a little. Just for tonight?"
Shizuo grimaces, placing his hands on the counter when they reach the bar. The bartender is entertaining drinkers with bottle flips and fire tricks worthy of a three-ring circus. Music is pulsing through the crowd as one of the band members on the corner stage plays what looks and sounds like an electric harp. The circular tables that litter the area unoccupied by the dance floor are empty, chair turned out or used to hang coats. Shizuo scans the place, seeing one or two familiar faces in the crowd; none of them belong to the person he's looking for.