Shizuo snapped wide awake. This time the dream was superimposed on memory. To the point of being undistinguishable.
"Izaya!"
His heart was still beating in his ears. Each time he dreamt this he felt like he had just lost another chance of reaching out a hand at the right moment. He covered his eyes in a weak attempt of hiding from the bout of pain.
"There, there young man. Have some food."
He could not place the voice but the homely scent of freshly made noodles was familiar. Shizuo realized that he was lying on a bench in a park. Next to him sat an old man, his face a map of wrinkles as he smiled and offered him a steaming cup. Shizuo sat up and took it.
"Are you feeling alright now? I found you passed out and was wondering I should take you to the hospital."
Shizuo shook his head.
"No hospital. I'm fine, thanks."
He emptied the whiskey flask. It was bitter fire.
"You should eat some instead of drinking booze."
Shizuo was indeed hungry. Yet he ate slowly. He could not even remember his last real meal. But Izaya had still been alive.
"Thanks. How much do I owe you?"
"No need to pay me, my treat."
Shizuo chewed methodically. It occurred to him that this was his favorite brand of noodles, beef flavor with tiny bits of vegetables, but the tasty broth was without taste to him. But at least it quartered the hollow dizziness in his head while warming his hands. After some hesitation he popped a vitamin pill.
"Young man, drugs are not the answer."
Shizuo smiled wanly.
"Vitamins. They're good for you. Thanks for the food and the help."
He was about to leave when he spotted a sketchbook. Shizuo looked closer and anxiety flared up.
"Did you draw this?"
"Why yes. I'm a street artist, I make a living doing portraits."
Shizuo pointed to the page that arrested his attention.
"This guy right here, with the jacket. When did you draw him? Do you remember him?"
The old man looked needed only to glance at it.
"Why yes, I remember him. Such a nice young man. You could learn a thing or two from him."
Shizuo was back on the bench.
"Tell me all about him. When did you meet him? What did he say? I'm sure he said something, he always says something, he never shuts up for a second and when he does- well, he is still talking- in a way."
"Slow down, young man! I'm no spring chicken, don't go throwing so many questions at me."
"Sorry."
Shizuo wished he had learnt some of Izaya's information extraction procedures.
"This seems to be really important to you, so let me rack my old brains. I was working here in the park when he approached me and asked to draw him. You're right, he was a very talkative fellow. He told me that people were very interesting and asked me what I'd learnt from sketching them. A really nice boy, most of you youngsters don't spend the time of day with us old timers."
"Did he say anything else? Anything at all."
The man rubbed his graying stubble.
"Why yes, now that I think about it. He said that he was in love."
Shizuo started despite himself.
"He did…?"
"'I'm in love with someone that hates me' or something like that. I thought it was really strange, he looked like the kind that girls like. Some high school sweet heart. I don't suppose you know her?"
Shizuo licked his lips. This was too cruel.
"-he doing? Young man, are you listening?"
"Huh, sure. Just spaced out a bit."
"I was asking how he's doing. I'd like to talk him again, such a good model too."
Shizuo's hands shook a bit. He coughed to clear his throat.
"He's passed away."
"How awful! Was it some kind of accident? And so sudden, too."
"Yeah."
"And to think that just last week he was sitting in front of me, so alive! Such a sad thing."
It took Shizuo some time to realize it. The platitudes of grief could not reach his abysmal loss and so he did not immediately see it.
"Did you say a week? When exactly?"
"Why, a week to this day, I believe. Wednesday."
Shizuo jolted. He was very much afraid.
"Are you absolutely sure?"
"I think so…might have been Tuesday but-"
"That can't be. Izaya's been dead for two weeks."