He had always hated illogical things. If a conclusion couldn't be reached by fact and knowledge then it wasn't a real conclusion at all, only a glorified product of wishful thinking. It was a loveable attribute of his humans but one Izaya, being the presiding god over these lesser beings, never condescended to take part in. So he only took into account the possible logical causes of this breathing difficulty.

Izaya could say without the least exaggeration that he was, at his age of forever twenty-one, in the best shape of his life. He was used to running for long distances at top speeds and was no stranger to agilely scaling buildings. So he racked his brain attempting to understand why he was close to hyperventilation after only fifteen minutes of running followed by ten dizzyingly confused minutes collapsed on his living room couch. While outside Izaya's vision had narrowed from a familiar effect of loss of oxygen and though the air was cold outside, there were no freezing winds to explain the trails of salt water streaming from Izaya's stinging eyes. Even more confusing was the fact that even in his warm and static position, his breath came out in foreign heaving sounds and his eyes still leaked and stung as much as they had while he was running through the deserted snow covered streets of Ikebukuro.

But why? Why couldn't he breathe, and why did his chest hurt so much-and why did Shizu-Chan say that-and why was this happening?

Why am I wasting my time? Questions beget answers and these were in front of him the entire time. What was the sense of applying logic and sensibility to something so completely devoid of either? Izaya was just as guilty as Shizuo in all of this, if not more so. Shizuo was an idiot from the beginning but Izaya should have known-had known-better. This state of confusion was just the normal price paid by his humans who made the unwise decision to abandon logic. If you made human mistakes you faced human consequences.

This train of thought slowed, but didn't stop, Izaya's ocular stream. With a shaky breath he stood from the couch and unsteadily padded up the stairs to his bedroom where he planned to forget this idiocy and Shizuo's face when he said-no, no none of that. File it away and forget the incident but remember the lesson.

The sight of a stretch of white cloth on his bed stopped him. Gingerly he picked it up and realization entered his sluggish brain. The monster had the habit of leaving random articles of clothing strewn across Izaya's room. Izaya's complaints were always met with a smirk and a "It's convenient, flea."

Well, there wasn't any convenience now, only a bubbling anger and a bitter taste in his mouth. His hands shook as he held the shirt's fabric tighter and another one of those weird gasping sounds expelled itself from his throat. Logic told him to simply throw the item away without another thought. Rid himself of any evidence of his naïveté and of the monster who had the warmest eyes behind those stupid sunglasses and who indulged the childish addiction to strawberry milk to balance the adult one to nicotine and who until very recently he was almost very certain he-but I can't. Sentimentality, slimy and sickening, undulated like sewage through his veins-possibly explaining the pain in his heart; cut off blood flow to the organ which had one job and one job only.

But realizing this didn't do any good and neither did fighting it through analysis-if only feelings had throats complete with carotid arteries which could be severed with little to no effort compared to that involved in actually confronting them. Izaya had taken a hit of that noxious folly of humanity and was coming down from a high of precarious altitude. And if his pillow was soaked by the time he woke up and if his fingers were aching from the way they were trapped in Shizuo's shirt in some kind of pre-mortem rigor mortis then he would just deal with it because, after all, he only had himself to blame.

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Shizuko had been a surprise. Usually Izaya had a dual policy concerning surprises; if he was the one conducting them, all was right with the world, if he was receiving them, it only meant there was an imbalance which it was his responsibility as presiding deity to correct. But there's no correcting what's perfect. And that's what Shizuko was. A perfect surprise in every sense of the word.

Shizuo-or more accurately his monster DNA-had unknowingly given Izaya a gift. And while it involved sensations new-and frightening-to Izaya, he realized he could wholeheartedly thank that idiot for this little being who took his breath away and replaced it with amazement every time he looked at her. But then, of course, could was the operative word. Izaya believed in his own ability to accomplish many things but retained the right to refrain from doing so for various reasons.

He had never known such overwhelming affection-not even for his humans. As long as those inherited garnets only shone upon him and as long as he was the cause of that radiant smile, he could do without everything else. Izaya's childhood had left him jaded and cold, unable to even fathom what love-be it familial or, God who does not exist forbid, romantic-could ever have to do with him. Yes, he loved his humans but it was the distance he maintained that kept his heart fond. And he proclaimed to himself and to the world that he was fine with that, preferred it that way even.

But Shizuko had made him dig beneath his own bullshit and he was surprised-but not really; he tried to lie to himself but never with the full satisfaction of success-to find that the truth did not lie in this sentiment. He saw what his parents' mistakes had done to him-but were these even mistakes when their actions were so without any sense of effort or acknowledgement, never mind-and he swore to give Shizuko everything he never had and never even had a chance to think that he could have wanted. Izaya had completely closed off one part of his heart in order to devote it all to the owner of the little hand that felt so fragile and yet so strong in his own.

But now here Shizuo was in front of him attempting to pry open that shut off section of cardiac muscle with an, admittedly plausible, explanation for his actions that welded it closed in the first place. And that little masochistic organ obviously hadn't learned its lesson or it would have refrained from stuttering in excitement just from one sentence from the beast.

"So is Shizuo-San trying to blame all of this on my neglecting to coddle him like the overgrown child he is?"

Shizuo looked both horrified at the interpretation of his words and deeply saddened by it. "No! You were doing everything right. And I was just too stupid to see that I really had you and that everything was absolutely fucking perfect."

"You're saying you told me you didn't love me because you loved me? Ne, that isn't a very good excuse."

Shizuo shook his head but the exasperation was clearly with himself. "It's not an excuse." They were both still standing and Shizuo looked right into Izaya's eyes. "I know that you forgiving me or even believing me is against the odds. I have to face that. But it's also a chance I gotta take."

Izaya didn't want to be doing this. He didn't want to look into those unguarded eyes and see any trace of the truth he was too afraid to believe was really there. But he couldn't look away and his solace in his own silence was revoked when his heart-not his brain, his brain would never betray him like this-usurped control of his vocal chords. "So now what Shizuo?" The opening Shizuo was waiting for.

The monster stepped closer. "Now…you could let me kiss you?" It had the ending inflection of a question and the absence of an immediate dismissal from Izaya only spoke to his own crumbling defenses.

Shizuo had his hands tentatively cupped against Izaya's cheeks and Izaya began to tremble because it shouldn't have been happening-it shouldn't be this easy. A painfully familiar pair of lips covered his own before the yelp of protest could leave them and suddenly something clicked. It was supposed to be this easy. That was the point, that was always the point.

Izaya had forgotten but it all came back before his eyes like a movie reel. Thinking was never hard for him-he was often called a genius-but it did require effort. When he was with Shizuo, even if it was the high-stakes chase through Ikebukuro, he didn't have to be the cerebral being he usually was if he didn't want to be. And he slowly came to realize that he didn't. Shizuo made Izaya privy to his own desire to feel-something, anything-and with Shizuo he knew he didn't have to do anything, just be and nothing else. All that selfless monster wanted in return was permission to be beside him.

That was what he had always loved about Shizuo. The admission opened a stream of saltwater, unnoticed until Shizuo touched his forehead to Izaya's saying, "You're crying, flea."

Izaya found himself caught halfway between a laugh and a sob when he responded, "Shut up Shizu-Chan." His request was honored with another kiss.

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Izaya's got to be the most intricately mental kind of tsundere. Ne, I'm tired just thinking about the word weaving and unraveling that goes on in this relationship. Mai c'est l'amour. The next chapter will be the last so please stay tuned. Once again, this fanfic is dedicated to Novoux whose account is collecting dust, ne. (Maybe you should all barrage Novoux's inbox with PMs demanding a glorious return. Just a suggestion.)

This chapter was actually heavily influenced by two songs. Points and perhaps a treat to whoever can name them.

Thank you for reading.