Originally posted at the Drrr kinkmeme on Livejournal (parts 225-243).
Warnings : Potentially triggering flashbacks to rape, some violence.
A/N : Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter here *wishes they'd fix the formatting problems instead of screwing around with inconsequential stuff... OTL* As an apology, have a chapter without a real cliffhanger for a change? XD Thanks as always for reading, and for taking the time to comment.
What You Don't Surrender
Chapter 25
All that stirred in the silence was the ragged hush of Shizuo's breathing, low and out of sync with the lazy, crystalline plink of gathered raindrops trickling from the edge of the roof to splash in puddles on the sidewalk. At least, Izaya assumed that was where it went; he couldn't take his eyes off the thumb Kei held at the 'send' button of his phone.
How foolish, to think his newfound knowledge that Shizu-chan had shacked up with his kouhai the moment Izaya's back was turned had been the nadir of his day. Honestly, he should have known better. All Shizuo brought with him were problems, and today was no exception.
I should thank her for taking you off my hands, ne? It's about time you become the bane of someone else's existence for a change.
But she wasn't here now. Just him, and Shizuo, and the dregs of this mess that he might have given a little more respect if he'd genuinely considered the kid any kind of threat. Either way, they'd dealt with worse, even though it was debatable whether the blond felt any better about the digit Kei had on the phone than he had the finger Takahashi'd had on the trigger of his gun. Both had the same capacity to destroy everything… even if there was much less of an 'everything' tonight than there had been then.
Ah, one for the road, Shizu-chan…?
Keeping his hands visible and away from the pockets of his coat, he shrugged.
"What makes you think we're in the business of negotiating anything, Kei-kun?"
"You're not?" Phony surprise washed across the kid's face. "And here I thought that was your plan all along."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Shizuo's head dip slightly in the sort of condemnation that said he hadn't expected better. Izaya was involved, and so it was flawed from the start.
It might have been easier if he could actually refute that, but it was as much Shizu-chan's fault as it was his own. True, the boy was only involved at all because Izaya had underestimated Takahashi to an embarrassingly uncharacteristic degree, but it was Shizuo's fault that he'd let down his guard enough to dismiss the threat he posed.
"I told you. I'm not interested."
"Yeah…" Kei tilted his head. "'Cept for the part where you really are, huh? D'you think I'm too dumb to see you're just running back to warn him?"
Ignoring Shizuo's quietly accusing intake of breath, Izaya chuckled. "Then you clearly haven't been following me for long, ne? Or you'd have seen that was the last thing I had in mind." He shrugged a shoulder in Shizuo's direction. "He's the one who came after me, not the other way around."
The streetlight sparkled along the edge of the blade as Kei cast a suspicious glance between them. Fine, so it wasn't entirely true, but it was close enough for now.
How far have you sunk when a brat like this can predict your movements, hmm?
"So if you think you have anything to gain, go right ahead."
"Oi, the fuck—?"
"Well, it's true, ne? Shizu-chan should make it as clear to poor Kei-kun as he did to me that our arrangement has come to an end."
"So what the hell did you come here for?" He felt the pressure of Shizuo's scowl searing into his side. "If it had nothing to do with this dumbass?"
That particular piece of information was none of Kei's business. He hadn't quite decided whether it was any of Shizuo's business yet, but he still had no intention of discussing it on the street.
"While I'm deeply flattered that you both seem to think I plan the minutiae of my day around you, I'll have to disappoint you. I was only here working."
Surprisingly, Shizuo just nodded slightly. Even more surprisingly, he displayed uncharacteristic discretion as he asked, "Same employer as usual?"
"Oh? Is Shizu-chan keeping tabs on me now? Ah, it's funny how things circle around in the end, ne?"
"Like hell I would."
"You think I'm gonna buy any of this bullshit?" Kei certainly hadn't taken any lessons in patience from his lord and master. Whatever else he'd been, Takahashi had been content enough to let Izaya talk himself into a corner. It just went to show that beyond the bravado, Kei was impetuous and rash and so terribly young, that the value of strategy had passed him by.
Not that it counted for much. The kid's finger was still brushing intimately against that send button, and the only thing that could stop him before he pressed it would've been the gun Izaya had managed to misplace. His knife and Shizuo's fists would be too slow, unless Kei-kun was already distracted.
It was such a trivial thing, looking at it objectively. The foolish, immature and petty little game of schoolchildren, humiliating each other with embarrassing photos. No one here thought Kei would actually pose a physical threat, even with that toy knife of his. No, his real weapon was the way sending out that photograph had the potential of pushing Shizuo past the point of anyone's rescue.
The only people left alive who knew the extent of what happened were the three of them. Shinra and Celty had pieced together fragments, true, but the only other men who'd been there that night were dead. It was contained, controllable. Under Shizuo's control. Izaya knew information networks well enough to know that once those pictures slipped from their grasp, they'd never regain it. Not completely. Not enough for Shizu-chan.
It had only been okay for Izaya to know because Izaya had never mattered. If those photographs reached his family, his friends… if there was no way to deny the pain, the shame, the ruin…
What would you do then, Shizu-chan?
"Fine." He feigned a sigh. "Please, Kei-kun, negotiate away. What do you want?"
The boy laughed curtly. "It's so easy for guys like you to say that sort of thing, huh? Just throw your yen and your power at all the dirty little secrets and they go away, 'cos they're nowhere near as important as you are. Y'know I had frie—" With a small shake of the head, Kei corrected himself. "I knew kids back at the shop, and you knew they were just gonna disappear some night, never come back. 'Cos no one really gives a shit. And no one ever does anything, 'cos people like you just get away with it. You think you can do whatever the hell you like, to who you like, and 'cos you're way up there and I'm way down there, it's all okay. I was right about you the first time, Nakura-san…" The smile turned mocking, and Izaya couldn't help wonder whether Kei still recalled the way he'd reacted last time he'd made the same accusation. No, it was a lucky barb, that was all; Kei just wasn't that sharp, or he'd have long since understood why Izaya hated it so much. "You're no better than any of those other fuckers."
Che… people really needed to stop making that comparison. He was a reasonable man, after all, but everyone had their limits…
And he wasn't entirely sure who he was talking to when he grit his teeth. "Those photographs you seem so fond of prove otherwise, ne, Kei-kun? I'm a lot of things, but I have no interest in raping underage boys or innocent strangers on the street."
"And you think that's the only difference?" Kei's eyes looked unnaturally bright in the streetlight. "You think that's the reason you can say you're better than him?"
Izaya shrugged. "Well, I think it's a decent start, ye—"
"You don't even know what it's like!" The knife wobbled in Kei's grip. "He was the only person who ever gave a fuck! The only person who ever made sure I was okay! The only place I was safe! And you took that away!"
In different circumstances, Izaya would have found Kei fascinating. Here was a human so subjugated by the abuse of another that they'd morphed their helplessness into a desperate loyalty. Just like Hanako-chan, Kei had found a way to survive by believing brutality and perversion were expressions of affection. Of care. With his options narrowed down to Takahashi's attention or no attention at all, Kei had chosen the former. No other creature, barring this supposedly most intelligent and evolved of species, had quite that much capacity for tolerating the cruelty of others and somehow finding fault with themselves for doing so.
Is it the same for you, Shizu-chan? Was it that way before any of them laid a finger on you?
Was it that way because of me?
"What about all the things he took away, ne, Kei-kun?" Izaya narrowed his eyes.
Fury twisted Kei's mouth with an ugly little smile. "Like your boyfriend's cherry? Yeah, I can see how that'd suck for you."
A few seconds too late, it occurred to him that he'd made a secondary mistake when it came to the kid, one far more elementary than the first.
He'd honestly thought Kei wanted something. A physical, tangible, real something that he could have written off with a few hundred thousand yen.
When the biggest mistake of all still stood mutely at his side, Izaya should have realized from the beginning that what Kei really wanted wasn't that simple. Wasn't that easy. Wasn't that cheap.
All Kei wanted was to have them here, watching him as he tore their worlds apart. And if Izaya, with every meticulous care, hadn't been able to afford that price, he doubted the kid stood a chance.
It was always a bad idea to make things personal. Such a human thing to do, and he prided himself on being above that. Esoteric games played at a distance were far more fitting, and if he'd actually remembered that he could've been enjoying this spectacle for what it was: observing the misinformed, misguided, brilliantly misdirected hatred Kei lashed his way. If the boy's motives didn't mirror his own so bitterly, he could have sat back and watched the proceedings with a casual, critical, expectant eye, knowing that it didn't matter whether the boy disappointed him or not; he could toss away his plans at any point and make new ones. There was little attachment to them, after all, just for what he could learn, what he could attain in the process.
But Shizu-chan always made it personal. Shizu-chan blundered past all those boundaries and kicked away all the distance Izaya tried to create, and didn't even realize what he was doing.
Shizuo held no respect for Izaya's plans. Held no respect for the distinction he'd carved between gods and monsters, and more importantly, none for the distinction between those two things and humans.
Shizu-chan just made him everything he'd cast aside. Made him irrational, and careless, and human, and turned that wide berth into the narrowest of margins.
What on earth was he meant to do with someone like that besides hate them?
"Oh, Kei-kun…" He might have gleaned a little more satisfaction from the kid's expression if Shizuo hadn't flinched at Izaya's sudden bark of laughter too. There was a profound irony, he decided, in the fact that he hurt Shizu-chan far more effectively, far more ruthlessly when he wasn't trying, than all those occasions before when he really was. "You really are a child, ne?"
The boy glared at him, a flicker of confusion in angry eyes. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Why are you here, Kei-kun?" When no answer was forthcoming, Izaya went on. "Ah, so you have time to play guessing games? All right then, I'll go first, ne? You're here to make someone pay for taking away everything you knew. For wrecking the delicate balance of your life that you've eked out for yourself at some terrible price. You probably even think 'if I kill them, if I gain my revenge, I'll feel peaceful and it can all go back to the way it was before'. Am I getting close? Well…" He shrugged, tilting his head. "Then you of all people should know that something as trivial as my 'boyfriend's cherry' was the last thing on my mind, ne?"
Kei's grip on his weapons didn't falter, but his gaze slid to Shizuo. Izaya couldn't do the same without taking his eyes off the knife and the phone, so he had to take his cues from the boy's closed-off expression as to what he saw when he looked the blond's way.
Really, even Shizu-chan couldn't be so dense that he didn't realize that little speech had been as much for his benefit as Kei's.
"But it won't help, Kei-kun," he went on softly, speaking as though the boy was a living conduit, the only way he could get through to that idiotic protozoan skull now. "Even if you do your worst, kill us, ruin us, do whatever it is you think we deserve… ah, you'll feel better for a while, but you'll realize it changes nothing. You'll never get the things you want back. The things that are broken merely stay broken, ne?"
And Shizu-chan ought to have taught him by now that continuing to break things was a terrible method of trying to put them back together again.
"Didja really mean it, Orihara-san?" Kei asked, for a moment sounding young and nervous and wholly out of his depth. At least before he glanced back at Izaya with a hardened viciousness in his eyes that spoke plainly of all the things he'd killed off in an attempt to survive. "That he's not even your boyfriend and you couldn't care less what happens to him? Couldn't care less if he suffers? But I guess that's what happens to damaged goods, right?"
A reckless, desperate light shimmered in the boy's eyes as he smiled, shifting his gaze from Izaya just long enough to glance at the phone he clung to like it was his last treasure. Maybe it was. "No one ever really gives a shit."
Given that arguing was pointless – and no one would believe him if he tried denying it - deflecting seemed to be the only safe tactic. But the breezy little reminder he'd been about to drop about how Takahashi had clearly given so much of a shit when he'd set out to abuse a child more than half his age just died on his lips at the laughter that scraped unpleasantly through the silence.
But Kei wasn't laughing. If anything, the kid looked about as unsettled as Izaya felt at the grating, unnatural sound.
"Damaged goods?" Shizuo's voice had never sounded as animalistic as it did then, a low snarl wrapped in maddened amusement. "Damaged fucking goods?!"
It happened to everyone who tried to rehabilitate a wild creature, Izaya supposed. There would inevitably come a point where you forgot precisely what you were dealing with, when you began to take for granted that the monster was tamed and leashed. That just because you'd conditioned it to eat from the palm of your hard it was made safe, docile and declawed, and no longer required its binds and bars.
Shizuo moved almost too fast for him to see. There wasn't enough room to watch the beast lunge with all his furious grace. He had to settle for the jerky, clumsy way the blond pushed him out of the way, closing the distance between himself and Kei before the boy could even blink, let alone fire off the synapses that would let him press the 'send' button. To his credit though, he didn't even relinquish his grasp on either of his weapons as one large hand curved chokingly around his throat and yanked him closer until the toes of the kid's sneakers barely touched the ground.
Kei cried out, slashing blindly. One lucky swipe caught Shizuo across the bicep, drawing a thin ribbon arc of blood from a shallow cut before the knife was knocked from his grip. Holding the kid by the throat, the blond shoved him back against the closest wall and despite himself Izaya winced at the whiny rush of air knocked from Kei's lungs.
He caught himself before he stepped forward, caught himself before he said "Shizu-chan—" What would he say? "He's just a kid. He's harmless. He's just like you." Shizuo wouldn't listen, and Izaya had forfeited his right to reciprocity on that score anyway.
Instead, he bent down to retrieve the knife, glancing up in time to see Shizuo wrench the phone from Kei's woefully outmatched fist.
"You wanna fucking negotiate?" Magnificently unpredictable, Shizuo didn't crush the phone to so much plastic dust. Fingers shaking with rage, he jabbed through the menus until Izaya knew what those brown eyes were staring at just by how dead they looked. How empty. With a snarl, Shizuo shoved the photo into Kei's face, far too close for the kid to be able to see it clearly even if he wasn't scrabbling ineffectually at the grip around his throat. "You wanna negotiate for a bastard like this? Hah?! Then you fucking negotiate with me."
Kei squirmed uselessly in Shizuo's grip, and Izaya couldn't tell whether he was admirably stubborn or downright stupid as he shook his head as best he could. "It's him!" Kei glared in Izaya's direction. "He's the fucker who did all this! It's his fault!"
"Hah?" Shizuo snarled a laugh, showing teeth. "Is that what he told you?"
In his own defence, Izaya hadn't actually told Kei anything. It was hardly his fault the boy made things up all by himself, ne…?
Kei stopped struggling, the colour draining from his face as realization dawned.
Ah… maybe he's not quite as damaged as we imagined, ne, Kei-kun…?
"You've got to be fucking kidding me…" Shizuo muttered distractedly, paying no heed to the deadweight in his grasp or the thin trickle of blood tickling its way down his arm as he stared at the phone again. "The only person who made sure you were okay…? You actually fricking miss this bastard, don't you?"
No. Kei just missed the life he'd known, that was all. Izaya doubted the kid ever really knew Takahashi enough to actually miss him. All Kei knew was what he'd deemed acceptable for the boy to know. All the things that would keep him in line, keep him afraid and desperate. Kei was just frightened of what the future held, now that he had to define himself by a brand new set of rules.
But honestly, he didn't think there was much use in trying to explain that to either of them. Neither of them wanted to hear it; Kei wanted so desperately to be right, and Shizu-chan wanted so desperately for Izaya to be wrong.
Kei looked away. "Fuck you."
Shizuo stared hollowly at the photo for a long moment, before turning to Izaya, voice flat. "You've been there, right? Tell me where it is."
It took him a second to realize where, precisely, Shizuo meant. "No."
"Flea—"
"What good will it do? Hmm? You said you wanted to forget, Shizu-chan."
"Fuck it, I'm never going to forget! And after all the shit you've pulled, the least you owe me is this."
Izaya grit his teeth. He had no intention of begging, not when it was clear Shizuo had already made up his mind about what he wanted, and about him. Of course, nothing had changed in the couple of dozen minutes since he disturbed Shizu-chan's little lovenest.
And the least he owed was absolutely nothing.
Still gripping Kei by the front of his shirt like he was carrying little more than a squirming bag of groceries, Shizuo stalked closer. Kei whimpered with every step, and the whole image would have been intensely funny if everything about the blond didn't feel so fragile and brittle, about to fall to pieces any second.
"Tell me," Shizuo said again, every syllable clear and quiet, alien to the point Izaya had to shake his head to convince himself he was still looking at the same man, "where it is."
He could have lied, sent Shizu-chan on a wild goose chase through Ikebukuro as he sought that storage unit near the railway line. The blond would tire eventually, ne, especially if he was still carrying his little passenger all through the city. Worse came to worse, Kei would throw an award-worthy temper tantrum and the police would be alerted.
And he couldn't deny he was curious. It was a difficult habit to quash, even in these circumstances, the desire to see what Shizuo might do. Would he be as affected as Izaya had been, or would he be impassive, almost disappointed that this cursed space he'd given so much power was nothing more than a dinghy lock-up that could have been on any street, in any city? Did monsters allow the influence of association to frighten them, control them as much as humans? Given all the things Shizu-chan has avoided – deliberately or instinctively – over the past few weeks, he suspected they must.
But Shizu-chan was nothing if not unpredictable, ne…?
Those brown eyes were almost as hollow and haunted as they'd been that night. Backlit by the streetlamps, it was so easy to believe they were right back at the start, with Izaya running into Shizuo by serendipitous happenstance, except it wasn't the Shizuo he knew.
I don't think so, Shizu-chan. I didn't get shot just for this to rewind back to the beginning. I didn't lose sight of myself just so you can throw it all away.
"Fine." He nodded, turning in the direction of that seedy little side street, an image that had been seared into his brain since the day he stood in the dank dark, holding the shattered fragments of Shizuo's phone. "But don't blame me for what you find there, ne?"
Don't blame me for what you find there.
Tch…
That implied he was looking for anything in the first place, didn't it? Following the flea through a narrow maze of streets, shoving the dumbass brat along every time Kei started to drag his heels, Shizuo couldn't even lay claim to knowing what the hell he was doing, let alone what he hoped to achieve.
He just wanted to see it for himself. Wanted this stupid kid to see it too.
His memories of that night were as lurid and fragmented as the photos the kid had in his phone. He remembered pain, and voices, and the cold, but he could've walked past this place and never made the connection. As grim and innocuous as any other side street in the damn city, there was nothing about the storage unit that set off any fucked-up flashbacks. Nothing that made him feel a damn thing as he stood outside.
Part of him still wanted to pretend he hadn't felt a damn thing since that night, not really. He'd been walking around in a trance, going through the motions, and anything that remained of him had been left behind in this place.
And maybe that was true: he had lost the last vestiges of the him he thought he knew. But it hadn't happened here. It hadn't happened then.
Loitering a few feet behind him, Izaya's voice strained with the effort to stay casual. "There's nothing in there, you know. I don't even see the point of—"
"Shut up."
A swift kick broke off the padlock and chain keeping the door closed. The shutter rolled up with a metallic clatter, a loud slap-slap-slap that made his nerves flinch with every repeat, and—
—he has to squeeze his eyes shut a few times, convinced he's been blinded or at the very least blindfolded, because it's so fucking dark. Dark, and black, and cold, and he can't quite join his thoughts up – feels like he's trying to jam together jigsaw pieces that don't fit right – but he thinks drowning probably feels like this. Like being swallowed up, sinking, so much pressure wrapping around every limb that you can barely move.
Bright white sparks dance across his vision as he feels himself falling, feels himself hitting the ground, and for a second he struggles instinctively, not understanding why he can't just use his hands to lift himself up.
Laughter echoes from somewhere - everywhere - in the dark at his attempts to do it anyway. It comes even harder when he finally works out his wrists are bound and can't figure out worth a shit why he can't just break free. Cold concrete scrapes the side of his face as he goes down again, but it doesn't help him feel any more attached to his body.
"See, that's the difference between us, Heiwajima-san." One of the voices separates from the others, drifting and echoing through the haze in his head. "Know thy enemy. Good advice. You might want to try it some time."
Know thy enemy.
His heartbeat thunders in his head as he fights his bonds again, scanning the dark futilely for red eyes and a malicious smirk.
I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill you…!
"But some other time, hmm?" The voice approaches. A hand grips his hair, tugs his head back with remarkably little effort, and it occurs to him with a detached sort of clarity that it's not that this guy's strong, it's that he's weak. "We've got some other new things for you to try first."
And he catches sight of a completely unfamiliar smile as—
—murky light replaced the suffocating dark. Shizuo couldn't even remember stepping into the grimy, empty space beyond that rattling door, let alone when Izaya had switched on the solitary underpowered light-bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling.
"Ah, someone reconnected the power." The flea's surprise morphed into a wary sort of tension. "If someone's keeping an eye on this place, we probably shouldn't be here, Shizu-chan."
When he could barely breathe, Shizuo couldn't really summon the will to give a shit about that. The air felt soupy and thick, like that feeling of drowning and suffocating hadn't quite lifted along with the memory.
And maybe he hadn't been looking for anything, but this was a place of ghosts and shadows all the same. It was another him watching the proceedings, another him recoiling into the gloom as he shoved the kid in a sprawling heap on the concrete floor. The smile the curved his lips as Kei tried to scrabble to his feet didn't fit right on his face; the expression tugged wrongly at his muscles, forcing them into a shape they didn't want to take.
But it was too fucking funny that this kid was flailing around, afraid of him.
Kei went down with a thump when Shizuo gripped the back of his neck, shoving his face into the concrete.
"I don't remember much about how he got me here." It couldn't have been his voice either, too flat and steady when the guy in the back of his head who hated being here just shied away every time a shadow shifted. "One second I'm beating the shit out of some punks on the street, same as usual, the next… I'm here."
Kei whined, a sound that barely seemed human, his fingers scrabbling at the rough floor—
—but he can't get a grip on anything. His fingers don't work, his voice doesn't work, his fricking brain doesn't work, not that it's ever been much help in the past. All he has are his fists, and he can't even curl his fingers into his palm let alone swing a punch.
They know that. That's why they don't seem concerned as someone binds his wrists loosely in front of him. What threat can he pose when he can barely even shove himself up off the floor?
But it's so cold, and he feels so feverish, he keeps trying just out of discomfort. The room spins as he pushes himself up onto his knees, muscles trembling with the exertion of the simple act.
"Shit, how much didja give him?" someone laughs from the dark. "He's like some fucking retard! Eugh, if he's gonna crap his pants or something I'm outta here."
"Are you, Heiwajima-san?" Another voice slithers from the haze where shadows detach and reattach at will, making up shapes he can't ever focus on properly. He can just hear them. He can just feel the cold. Starburst explodes behind his eyes as his head's yanked back again, and eyes he's never seen before gradually clear in his vision. "It'd be a shame to ruin this cute little uniform of yours if that happened, now wouldn't it? Here, let me help."
Snickers roll in a dizzying wave around the periphery of the room, drifting from one voice to the next, and he doesn't register for a second why it's so funny. Funnier still that he can barely make out their faces, but the clear clink of his belt buckle unfastening shoots straight to his skull.
"No—!"
He thinks he yells out. Maybe. He does something, because one of the other voices snarls "Shut the hell up!" and a sharp kick connects with the side of his head, hard enough to knock him off balance again. By the time he can think past the pain, clammy fingers are hooking into his clothes, tearing them away.
No. No. No…
He tries to curl in on himself, tries to pull away from their stares, but his body's uncoordinated and clumsy, and the mortification's short-circuited any remaining sense.
This isn't happening. They're not doing this. He's not letting them do this.
His struggling's stilled by other hands emanating out of the dark. A low whistle, the kind he's heard coming from some of the seedier clubs late at night as he's walking home, circles the silence. "Heh, nice ass, pretty-boy." One of the men holding him down reaches out, striking the palm of his hand against bare skin. And he flinches, but it's robotic, physical, nothing at all to do with his head. "Betcha let everyone have a piece of this, huh?"
"Make him shake it!" the guy who keeps sniggering in a dark, ravenous sort of way says. "Make the slut beg for it!"
"Shut up," the closest voice says, and he can still hear a belt buckle jangling. It takes a second to realize it's not his. "Not gonna be any fun if he wants it. Isn't that right, Heiwajima-san?" The voice purrs against his ear. He can't move. He can't fight. He can't do anything as cold fingers worm their way between his legs. "Little boys who think they're something special need to be put it their place before they can enjoy themselves."
And he doesn't care about the pain. He really doesn't. He's felt pain before. Not this one, specifically, but pain's pain. It tears up his spine, as though the guy behind him hasn't just rammed his dick inside, but reached in and is tearing each vertebra off one by one.
He thinks there are cries and catcalls and jeers about how he's bleeding, but all he can hear is a ringing in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, baffled at the way clear drops of water splash onto his bound hands.
What the fuck's wrong with him? All he needs to do is tear his hands loose, and tear these bastards limb from limb. He's Shizuo Heiwajima. That's what he does. That's all he does. That's all he's good for.
"Oh…?" Disgustingly breathless and low, that voice rasps against his ear again. "Did you really think you were better than this, Heiwajima-san? You're not." He shudders as a tongue licks his cheek, skin slapping skin as the man behind him picks up his pace. "You're nothing. Just another worthless whore who's going to come all over my prick. You don't really want to fight, do you? You just want to bend over and spread your legs."
You don't really want to fight.
You don't want to fight.
Don't fight…
Don't—
—"…Shizu-chan. He's horribly annoying, but he's not the one who—"
"Shut up."
Izaya sighed. "Just ease off, ne? I'm running out of places to hide the bodies."
Kei stiffened under Shizuo's grip at that, trying to turn his face to the side. Face flushed with fury, and fear, and fighting to breathe past the collar of Shizuo's fingers the kid still had the nerve to glare at him through snot and tears. "So you got fucked up, so what?!" Kei spat. "He did that to me all the time, I'm not crying about it! I'm not—"
"Shut the hell up!"
But it was true. It was all true.
It was one night to him. A handful of hours, most of which he didn't even remember that clearly.
It had been the kid's life. Days, weeks, months, years of it, and unlike Shizuo, Kei'd probably been vividly aware through most of it. Knew what was happening. Knew it wasn't going to stop. Knew why.
But all he could see was someone else who could have stopped it. All he could see was someone else who could have done something, before everything went to hell. Someone else who should have stepped up and dealt with his own shit before it all spilled over onto other people. Someone who shouldn't have been weak, shouldn't have been helpless, shouldn't have just stood back to protect himself.
All he saw was himself, hunched and trembling on that filthy floor.
The goddamn kid wasn't the one who should've been on the receiving end, but he'd fucked that up already. He'd missed those chances. He'd palmed off that responsibility onto the flea, and turned Izaya from just plain twisted into something as useless and broken as he was.
And if this dumbass kid was still going to cling to the memory of pain, the memory of someone who hurt him, then…
"Still fucking missing him now, hah?!" He couldn't stop his hands from shaking, but that was probably the only reason the kid's neck hadn't snapped under the punishing grip. Fumbling with the phone, his vision blurred a little as the photograph came up on the screen, as though even his brain had decided it had had enough of seeing it. His knuckles scraped the concrete as he shoved it in front of the kid's face. "That was right where you are now. Right fucking here. Still think he gave a shit about you? Still think he gave a shit about anyone but himself? Hah?!"
Maybe the boy mumbled something, but it was muffled and frightened against the stained floor.
But it was okay. He was a monster. He'd been made to hurt, and destroy, and ruin, and there was a perfect fucking symmetry in the fact he was the one pinning a scared, shivering, pleading figure onto this same dirty concrete. It was stupid simple, when he stopped to think about it; the only way he knew to stop hurting was to make someone else hurt even more.
All along, he'd been so foolishly desperate to know why, and worse than thinking it was because of him was knowing it wasn't for any reason at all.
And with this, they'd won.
This wasn't anything someone else had done to him. This wasn't Takahashi, or Izaya, or pain, or lies. It wasn't because he'd been raped, or fooled, or frightened, or lost. This was him. His choices, his inactions. The only one to blame for the way it had ended up tonight was him, because there were no other options, nowhere else to go when you were this flawed from the very beginning.
He'd been right all along; Izaya's perverse little thrill had been sitting back to watch the inexorable slide to self-destruction, and the closer he could get those ringside seats the better.
Kei's whimper was high-pitched and grating as Shizuo brought his fist down onto the concrete, inches from the kid's face. "You think your boyfriend didn't fuck me up enough, hah?! You think you wanna have a shot yourself?"
Another punch.
"You wanna send those fucking pictures to my brother, to my friends?"
In his head, Kasuka's gentle, passive indifference morphed to shame and disgust, his gaze never meeting Shizuo's again if their paths happened to cross. 'You deserved it, nii-san. After all, all you do is wreck other people's lives.'
No, please…
"You want them to know how badly I fucked up? Is that gonna make you feel better, hah?!"
Another punch. And another, until chips of the concrete started ricocheting up into the kid's face. Shizuo's knuckles were barely grazed; he could keep—
—"…going all night, Heiwajima-san."
It already feels like they have. Every time he thinks he's going to pass out, there's a punch or a kick to the ribs to drag him away from that blissful void. His shirt sticks to him, and every time he squeezes his eyes shut or grits his teeth, he can feel everything that's dried against his skin pulling tight and ticklish. The smell of it's in his head, bitter and strong. He'll never get rid of it.
For a long time, he tried concentrating on the pain, but with a freak like him that was never going to last long. The pain isn't in his body anymore, anyway. It's somewhere deeper, somewhere he's stupidly devastated that assholes like this can even touch.
With a grunt, whoever's in his mouth pulls out, spattering hot and sticky fluid across his face again. He tries to close his eyes in time, but his vision stings and blurs anyway.
"Fuck, he's good…" The hand in his hair is almost praising, a pat well done for a well-behaved pet. He shrinks from it. "No damn way he's never done that before."
"Heh…" He can't see clearly, but there's a weird gleam of light from somewhere off to his left. He tries to focus on that, because it's better than paying attention to the hand crawling between his thighs, or the fingers digging into his hips, or the sour taste in his mouth. "Wonder which one'a these he's usually spreading 'em for, huh?"
"S'that his phone?" A braying laugh. "You should call someone! Make 'em listen to their bitch getting fucked properly."
"Don't be stupid." That smooth, oily voice again. The one who… the first one. "We don't want to be disturbed yet." Fingers curve against his cheek, spreading the cooling, drying come. "Not when you're still having so much fun, right? Or do you want your buddies to see you like this?"
The thought of it makes him flinch, and whoever's inside him groans through their laugh. "I think he might. He sure as hell tightened up just then."
"He don't have that many friends. There's only like… a dozen names in here."
"Oh? And you being such a charming, lovely guy Heiwajima-san, how can you be so unpopular?"
"They probably haven't realized what a good fuck he is, huh?"
"Y'think?"
"Awww, are you lonely prettyboy?" A hand grips his chin, a grubby sour-tasting thumb working its way into his mouth, prising it open. "No one like you 'cause you're a dirty freaky slut? We'll be your friends, won't we guys? We'll be really good friends. But you gotta do nice things for your friends, don'tcha? Gotta make your friends feel good or they'll just ditch your ass."
"Gonna fuck it raw before I ditch it," the guy doing just that snorts, still groping between his legs in a gruesome parody of trying to get him hard.
"Heh, that's right." Something hot and blunt jabs at his lips, more of that disgusting taste spreading onto his tongue. "So open wide, prettyboy. Clean me up good before I have another round with that cute ass of yours."
He blames the choking sensation on the tears that streak down his face. Maybe it's true; he can't be upset, can he, when everything they're saying is right.
There aren't many people in his phonebook.
There aren't any people who don't think he's a freak. Messed up. Flawed. Pathetic. Useless.
He tries again to form a fist from numbed fingers, as the guy with his phone cackles. "Hey, wonder who 'Flea' is? C'mon, lemme call."
"No. If you want to do something, take some pictures. We should capture this special moment, huh Heiwajima-san? Give you something nice to remember us by on all those lonely nights, right?"
A hand smacks his cheek to make him pay attention. "Hey, smile for the camera, prettyboy."
"Hold on…" The guy behind him groans rhythmically. "Wanna see his face when I come in him again?" And the pace picks up again, a hand clamping down on his shoulder, and—
—he lashed out, because it was all he knew to do. Izaya dodged out of the way before his fist could make contact, but not before that look in his eyes connected with the shards of all the pieces of himself Shizuo had lost on this floor that night.
So it wasn't just them who could reach in and make him hurt…
"Shizu-chan, you need to stop."
"Shut the fuck up. You're even fucking worse than he is! You both think this is some goddamn game, but at least he's just some dumb fricking kid who doesn't know any better. The fuck's your excuse, hah?" And it wasn't even his voice, it wasn't even his words anymore, vicious and hurt and lashing out just to make someone else feel as bad as he did. Just to keep Izaya from getting to that place, from uncovering that part of him that broke so fucking easily because it was weak, and pathetic, and lonely, and scared. "It should be you!"
Izaya nodded, his voice quiet and hypnotic. "So make it me, ne? Let him go and make it me. If you want to make someone pay, Shizu-chan, at least make it someone who deserves it."
"No…" Shaking his head, his throat stung as he tried to speak. "Don't fucking do that. Stop acting like you give a shit."
Stop acting like the guy who touched like I might break. Stop pretending you're the guy who looked like he might cry for me, the guy who said 'I love you' and start being Izaya Ori-fucking-hara again. Please…
"Ah, if you figure out how I'm meant to do that, Shizu-chan," the corners of Izaya's mouth quirked in a not-quite smile, "I'd love to know."
Somewhere along the line, Kei had passed out. Be it the choking hold or the terror, he couldn't tell. Someone else was still controlling his strings as he jerkily got to his feet, turning slowly on the flea.
He thought he'd chased after Izaya to say 'thank you', but he wasn't the one in charge anymore. As if it had been dammed up for the past weeks, the anger sang through his veins in a shaky, jittery rush, fuelled by the fear, fuelled by the humiliation. Fuelled by the monster who'd pleaded and cried on this floor, knowing it was all his own fault that he was there in the first place.
Why the hell had the flea expected him to be able to exact his revenge, when the one he despised most hadn't been any of the men who'd raped him? The rape was his revenge, wasn't it? Exactly what he'd reaped for himself all along.
He couldn't remember moving. A sliver of a gap in the red mist allowed him to hear Izaya's gasp as he was shoved back against a dank wall, Shizuo's forearm barred across his throat.
And the fucked up bastard was still smiling.
He could feel Izaya's convulsive swallow against the straining muscles of his arm. "If it makes you feel better, then it's worth it. Do whatever you need to, Shizu-chan. Do whatever it takes to be you again."
No. He didn't want to be him. Couldn't the goddamn shitty louse see that?
"That's what you want." His chest heaved, what must have been sweat trickling its way down the side of his face. He swiped at it with his free hand, but it kept on coming. "That's what you've wanted all along."
Izaya nodded. "Because that Shizu-chan might have been afraid, like you said, ne? But it never stopped him. That Shizu-chan was stupid and reckless and unpredictable and alive."
"Shut up…" He shook his head, teeth clamped shut. "Shut up…"
"I told you before, didn't I? I know what you are, Shizuo. I've always known. And I don't care." Head falling back against the wall, Izaya laughed softly. "Ne, Shizu-chan… you know, the only one who's appalled by the fact you're a monster is you. Doesn't beating yourself up over it get awfully boring after a while?"
"I said shut the fuck up!"
Unable to take staring at those knowing eyes, bright and clear and piercing clean down to his soul brazenly as if it had every right to, he shoved away. Izaya didn't know anything. Izaya didn't know him. Izaya didn't…
The damn flea had been right about one thing: there really wasn't anything here. Which was unfortunate, when his hands pounded with the urge to break something.
Well… if he couldn't break something, he might as well break everything.
"Shizuo!"
A cascade of dust snowed from the ceiling at the force of the punch, a cracked crater appearing around his knuckles as the flimsily built wall creaked.
"Get the fuck away from me. Go!"
The shutter tore free from its moorings with a metallic scream, every link in the chain severing with a snap. Something in his head kept snapping in sequence like that too. In the dim light, sparks grated as he swung it into the wall like a baseball bat, hard enough to make the light bulb above them sway. Shadows danced, and the fear of what hid in them just made him hit harder.
Pathetic.
He should have been able to beat the shit out of them here, that night. It hadn't been Izaya's place. It hadn't been Izaya's fight.
Weak.
But he hadn't. Just done what they told him to, just let them fuck him. Just let them put him in his place.
Useless.
Because what was the point of being a monster when he couldn't even do that? What was the point of enduring it, what had been the point of giving in to it? What had been the point of all the normal things he'd given up, when push came to shove it didn't help him at all?
Afraid.
Afraid of them. Afraid of himself. Afraid he'd enjoyed it. Afraid they'd been right. Afraid it had all been predetermined. Afraid it had all been pointless. Afraid of going back, and afraid he never could. Afraid of the flea. Afraid of gentle touches and knowing eyes and afraid of believing it was all okay because it wasn't. It never had been. He never had been, and Izaya couldn't pretend all that had gone away.
Afraid the flea would never forgive him for being so weak. Afraid his fear had broken the flea as surely as they'd broken him.
"You're not broken, Shizu-chan. Not anymore."
The unbidden thought, neither memory nor entirely his- but most definitely the flea's voice, even though Izaya hadn't said a word - threw him off his stride just long enough to catch his breath. Ugly welts decorated the wall, some gaps peeking clear through into the narrow alleyway between the storage unit and the building next door, and cool night air tinged with garbage and gasoline drifted through the tears.
"Are you going to give them what they wanted, Shizu-chan?" It really was the flea's voice then, subdued and quiet. "Is everything we did going to be for nothing?"
Gripping the folded up shutter so tightly had cut his palms. Red streaked against the metal, making it hard to hold on. "You were right. Things that are broken just stay broken."
"I wonder… but maybe it's just because neither of us are much good at the alternative, ne?"
"Tch…" His fingers dug into the bent shutter again, a primitive satisfaction singing in his blood at the way it protested under his grip. At the way it gave. At the way he should have made them give, until it was their blood splattered around this room, not his. He remembered the way that gratified, pleased part of him stretched itself out in the back of his mind when his fist smashed into that Takahashi bastard's face. It hadn't been there when he pulled the trigger, and it hadn't been there when he watched that other guy meeting the wrong end of a truck, but…
Maybe it wanted to be. Maybe if he'd just let it, then…
"Maybe that's 'cause we were never meant to be."
"Shizuo—"
He swung the shutter again, just as the dumbass flea took a step forward, right into its path.
And if he was paying attention, he'd have noticed that it was instinct that made him try his damndest to temper the force, tried to stop, tried to lessen the blow. It still clipped the flea hard enough to make him stumble to the side, but the fact that it didn't smash him into the closest wall – what was left of it, anyway – just went to show…
That what? That maybe a part of that shattered, ruined, hopeless man actually did want to be someone who knew how to put stuff back together, after all? Don't be fricking stupid…
Izaya sucked in a breath, mouth contorting into a grimace as his hand went instinctively – protectively – to his side, and he was back on that rooftop again, watching the flea's blood spilling over his hands and helpless to do a damn thing to stop it.
It had been his fault then, too.
And he'd never said 'thank you'. He'd never said 'I'm sorry.'
The shutter slid from his fingers with a clatter. "I-Izaya…"
The flea waved him off even as he dropped to his knees, head bowed as he braced his free hand against the ground. "It's fine. It just does this now and then, ne? Just… hurts."
You're breaking him, too.
Whoever had been hauling him around by the strings must have cut them abruptly. Feeling too weighed down to stay standing, he found himself mirroring Izaya, slumping to his knees on that stained floor.
But not for them. Not this time.
He didn't dare reach out, didn't deserve to. Instead his hands clenched into fists on his thighs, his gaze on a crack in the concrete between them. "No. It's not fine. I didn't…"
"I know." Gingerly, Izaya withdrew his hand from his side, his shoulders relaxing when he saw his palm was dry. He held it out for Shizuo's scrutiny. "You see? Didn't even pop a stitch. Ah, Shinra'd be hurt if he knew you thought his work was that shabby, and… Shizu-chan?"
He hadn't meant to. Really. But Izaya's hand was just there, and weeks of muscle memory overrode everything else; he was meant to touch. He was meant to overlap the flea's palm with his own, fingers entwining, and his body was too conditioned by the familiarity of it to stop himself.
"I'm sorry…" His throat constricted around air that felt like lead, the words thick and tangled on his tongue. He couldn't let go. He shouldn't have been holding on in the first place, but damn it he still couldn't let go. "I… fuck, flea, I didn't…"
It was just as well Izaya didn't try talking again. Anything Shizuo meant to say got stuck in that choking sensation in his chest, and it only took the smallest of tugs to pull him forward. He felt the rain-matted fur trim of the flea's coat against his cheek as his vision blurred, clinging tight to those thin fingers linked with his as the furious despair that should've exploded the last time he was here crashed over him.
And on the same cold, dirty floor where everything fell apart, Izaya's fingers threaded silently in his hair was the only thing left keeping him together.
"I'm sorry…" His fingers curled into Izaya's coat, still a little damp from the rain. Rain the flea'd only gotten caught in because he'd decided to come by Shizuo's apartment for no apparent reason. The thought just made him hold on tighter. "I'm sorry…"
Soft, cool fingers carded into his hair. "I'm not the one you owe an apology, Shizu-chan."
"No." He began to shake his head, but those fingers just gripped a little more forcefully.
"Yes. And until you understand that, they're always going to win. While you keep yourself wide open to attack that way, you'll always be vulnerable to it."
Once, he'd have thought that was a damn weird definition of vulnerable. As long as he had his anger, as long as he had his fists, then he'd be okay. Now… well, it was like the flea told him once, right? There were more than one way to hurt.
He'd been so fricking stupid…
"Fuck it, you got shot because of me."
"I got shot because some bastard tried to kill us." Izaya corrected. "You're the reason he didn't. If it wasn't for Shizu-chan, he'd have gotten in a better shot, ne? A more accurate one…"
No… the flea got hurt wasting his time trying to save Shizuo's ass. Izaya couldn't possibly believe that the only reason he hadn't been wounded even more critically was because of Shizuo's shitty intervention.
"Besides, we were only on that roof because of me." The fingers set up a slow, thoughtful rhythm, a quiet, contemplative stroke that should've felt patronizing and stupid, but didn't feel either one. "You're right, Shizu-chan… I really am no better than them. I thought I was doing the right thing. It was the right thing, but… maybe not for you, ne? I'm not sorry for anything I did. They deserved it. I'd do it all over again. I just…" A warm breath shifted through his hair as the flea lowered his head on a wry chuckle. "I'd be more careful about letting you find out. I wish it had played out a little differently, but… Ah, you're right to hate me, ne? I mean, even though it hurt you I can't bring myself to regret it."
'If you're asking me to place a value on him in comparison to you, then… you won't like my answer, Shizu-chan.'
He was almost glad Izaya wasn't sorry. If the flea did regret the things he'd done, then that just sapped them of any meaning, any point. If Izaya still thought it was the right thing to do, then… at least it wasn't all for nothing.
And maybe it wasn't, but it still hadn't been Izaya's fight, no matter what the flea thought.
"You should hate me. You're supposed to hate me."
"What's the point?" He felt Izaya shrug. "You do such a thorough job all by yourself, you don't leave the slightest leftover for anyone else. Even I can't compete with that, ne?"
There was an amused tinge to the flea's voice, but not his usual mocking condescension. Instead it was something softer, something bittersweet. Something Izaya probably didn't even realize he was capable of.
They'd both spent so damn long convinced they knew who they were, what they were about. They'd both railed against other people slapping labels on them, but they'd been content enough to do it to themselves.
And maybe we were both wrong, huh…? Tch, would that really be so bad, flea?
"Forgive him, ne? He's done a lot of things, but ah… haven't we all? But he's not to blame for this. You were never to blame for this, Shizuo, or for me. I'm a big boy, ne? I make my own choices, and you've never managed to stop me before… why would this be any different?"
Because you said…
A little belatedly, he noticed he'd been using the flea's lap like a pillow, and was still hanging onto Izaya's hand like a lifeline. And he didn't have the right to do that anymore. He'd turned this down, remember? Then walked out on an injured Izaya for the best part of three weeks just to add some insult to injury.
Letting go awkwardly, he rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He could feel Izaya's scrutiny for a moment before the flea got to his feet, brushing the dust off the tails of his coat.
"What are we going to do with him?"
"Huh…?"
Crap, he'd forgotten all about Kei, still sprawled in a heap on the floor and now covered with a frosting of dust and splintered plaster. A shiver of anxiety slid down his spine; the kid hadn't been come 'round through all that destruction. What if he'd—
"He's fine." Izaya knelt at the kid's side, looking thoroughly uninterested as he checked for a pulse. "But is it really okay to just leave him here?"
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Shizuo glanced around at the mess. For all he knew, the place could cave in on itself at any moment. He'd sure as hell done enough damage to warrant it. He almost thought he could hear the framework creaking…
He had a feeling Izaya hadn't asked because he was concerned about Kei's welfare, but he chose to answer it that way anyway.
"We could just… ditch him outside," he said. "Where the hell did he come from, anyway?"
"I have no idea." Izaya tilted his head. "I always assumed Ueno, but frankly he could have come from anywhere."
"And he doesn't have anywhere to go back to now, huh?"
"Don't even think about it, Shizu-chan. He's past the point of needing your pity. If he's survived this long, he'll be fine."
That was probably true. Fucked up attempts at blackmail aside, the kid seemed to be coping better than he was. In a perfect world he wouldn't have to – neither of them would – but Shizuo wasn't dumb enough to think that counted for anything. The only reason Kei wasn't falling apart was because he'd had so much longer to get used to it, when no kid his age should've even known what it was like.
No one should know what it was like, but a fourteen year old hadn't even clocked up enough years to account for the sort of karma that tempted shit like this.
"But just because this is how he's ended up today, it doesn't mean he's powerless to change it, ne?" Izaya watched him, and Shizuo suspected the words weren't meant for Kei at all. Actually, he doubted most of the things the flea'd said tonight hadn't been for the kid. "He can choose where he goes from here. He can choose whether to let it break him or not."
Kei whimpered when Shizuo hooked his hands under the kid's arms and hauled him up, and even barely-conscious there was a belligerence to the frown wrinkling his brows.
"Yeah… I guess he can."
Outside, there weren't many options when it came to stashing away a passed-out teenager. He had to drag Kei around the corner before he found a narrow alley that seemed concealed enough not to draw attention should anyone walk by.
At least the kid was still breathing, though whether he was gonna see that as a plus when he came 'round, Shizuo didn't know. Tch, he'd damn well better… stupid little punk probably didn't even realize he'd been given a second chance.
Propping him up against a dark, sheltered wall, he caught himself wondering whether it was safe to just leave the kid here. Anyone could come by. Anyone could do anything to him. That the men who'd brought him here couldn't hurt anyone else ever again didn't make him feel much better.
"Oi, Izaya…"
"Hmm?"
Holding out a hand, Shizuo didn't turn around. "Gimme his knife."
Izaya sighed softly, but a few seconds later he felt the cool hilt of the blade pressing into his palm. "This is what got you in trouble in the first place, you know. Being so naïve. Being so sure they won't stab you in the back the moment you look away."
"Maybe." Kneeling, he tucked the folded up knife into the kid's pocket. "But it's still not fair if he can't fight back, right?"
"Honestly…" Izaya tsked quietly under his breath. "How do you even survive, being this stupid? Next you'll want me to keep tabs on him, just in case he dies of hypothermia overnight."
"You'd do that anyway."
"True." And damn it all, something about the flea's tone made him think Izaya was being awfully serious. Like it mattered that Shizuo paid attention. "But not for the same reasons as you, ne?"
Know thy enemy, huh?
"Fair enough." He stood, sparing the kid one last glance before he began to walk back in the direction of home. "It does the same thing in the end, right?"
Izaya fell into step alongside him, silent for several streets, during which time Shizuo fished Kei's phone from his pocket and systematically crushed it into so much crumbled plastic and torn-off wiring.
Watching him scatter the fragments along the side of the street, Izaya finally spoke. "Does this mean we're even now?"
"No. This means I know what I owe you."
Izaya shook his head. "You don't owe me anything, Shizu-chan."
Yeah, he did. He knew that, even if he couldn't articulate what it was. If it wasn't for the flea, annoying and persistent and uncomfortably fucking clever, he'd be lost now to that part of him that had wanted nothing more than to lie down on that grubby, cold floor, draw down those shutters and give it all up. Stop fighting. Stop trying. Stop being him, because being him meant making these mistakes, meant risking hurting the people he loved.
Izaya was still favouring his side a little as they walked. He didn't seem to be in much discomfort, but hell if the flea wasn't good at covering up that shit when it suited him.
"You should go to Shinra."
"I'm fine." Izaya shrugged. "You're the one who's still bleeding."
Shizuo glanced down at the cut on his arm. "It'll be fine. Didn't even go that deep."
Izaya smiled wryly. "Ah, I don't suppose it ever does with you, ne?"
"Tch…"
True, though. And sometimes it took more than blades, or needles, or… well, sometimes it took more than that to get through to him.
Their pace slowed as they reached the busier streets, and the point where Shizuo's apartment and Ikebukuro station would be in different directions.
"Shizuo…"
"Huh?"
"Come back with me."
He couldn't help the way his gaze shifted back in the direction of his building, anymore than the flea could probably help that small barked laugh.
"Ah, in all the excitement I forgot Shizu-chan already has company tonight, ne? Oh well." Turning on his heel, Izaya shrugged casually. "It's not nice to keep ladies waiting. Maybe next time, hmm?"
Tch. Yeah, and in all the 'excitement' he'd forgotten the flea'd managed to get some screwy ideas in his head. But then what was new about that? Watching Izaya walk away, tugging up his hood again even though it wasn't raining, he fumbled in his pocket for his phone.
He'd smash it up too after tonight. The kid probably still had copies of those photos, but he wasn't gonna do anything with them. Shizuo couldn't even contemplate looking at the fucking things long enough to delete them. A new phone was a small price to pay. Still watching the back of the flea's head, he waited for the call to connect.
"Yes?"
"Hey, Vorona?"
A few feet away, Izaya's jaunty stride faltered.
"Senpai. Was Izaya Orihara tracked successfully?"
"Yeah. Look, do me a favour and lock up for me when you leave? I'll pick up the keys at work tomorrow."
"Affirmative." A pause. "Has Senpai found an opportunity to affirm an expression of gratitude?"
He really needed to quit planning shit. He'd gone after the flea to say 'thank you', and he'd dragged Vorona to his place to try to keep her from worrying about him by not worrying too much about her. He still hadn't said 'thank you', and he was pretty sure disappearing like that hadn't done a whole lot to set his kouhai's mind at ease.
Still… she was okay. Tom would be okay, and Celty, and Shinra, and Kasuka, and everyone else who'd been in the line of fire.
And as for him and Izaya…
"Not really. But I've made a start, so that's something, right?"
"Beginnings essential for all courses of action. If Senpai has done this, then objective will be achieved, no problem."
"Yeah," he smiled wryly as he shut off the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. "I hope so."
Izaya didn't turn around as he approached, barely even glancing at him as he drew up alongside.
"You're gonna have to pay for the train, flea. I didn't bring my wallet."
From the confines of the hood, Izaya huffed a soft laugh. "Shizu-chan's such an imposition. He eats all my food, he makes my apartment smell like an ashtray, he demands I pay for the train… you're really a terrible houseguest."
"Yeah, I guess I was. So you didn't miss me, huh?"
Izaya'd probably only deny it, and Shizuo wasn't confident enough to argue, but he could've sworn he saw the edge of a smile peeking out from that hood.
"Of course not. Who would?"
One day, the commuters of Tokyo would get it through their dumbass heads that Shizuo and Izaya regularly got on trains looking like they'd just gone ten rounds with monster trucks. It wasn't as though they were taking up the whole damn carriage. You wanted to sit somewhere a guy wasn't bleeding on you, there was plenty of room.
It had been weeks since he last walked out of Izaya's place. It should never have been familiar enough that something about stepping through the door felt like coming home.
Or maybe it had something to do with the fact he could stagger in in the middle of the night, bleeding and battered, and no one seemed to give a shit. No prying, no judging. Just Izaya glancing back at him, and taking in the way the shallow cut had begun bleeding worse now that they were indoors where it was warmer.
"You should get that cleaned up."
"Ah…"
Izaya sighed as Shizuo just prodded at the cut like it'd just knit itself back together by itself if he stared long enough – hell, it worked most of the time, but then he didn't have as many expensive things to bleed over as Izaya did – and shook his head.
"I don't know why I bother putting the first aid kit away. Honestly, I should just have bandages laid out in little containers like the condiment section of those so-called restaurants you like so much…"
Shizuo ducked his head. "Sorry."
"Bathroom." Izaya waved him off in that direction. "Unless you'd like to find out precisely how I know it's very hard getting blood stains out of my floor."
Part of him wanted to argue. Part of him wanted to ask if that was really okay. But since Izaya was probably more concerned about the part of him that was still threatening to mar the polished floorboards with red, he gave in.
The mirrors had been uncovered ever since that day Izaya bleached his hair. The roots were beginning to show again; he'd need a touch up one of these days.
He didn't know yet whether the eyes staring blearily back at him were the old him, a new him, or something in between, but at least he could stand looking at that guy for longer than five seconds. The hopeless disgust was still there, but it felt more aimless than it used to, as though the target it had latched onto wasn't there anymore.
It was a start.
"Here." Izaya handed him some antiseptic-soaked cotton. "For your hands, ne? You don't know what I'll do with your bloody fingerprints all over my apartment otherwise."
"Tch…" He'd forgotten all about the cuts and grazes along his knuckles and palms until the antiseptic made them smart. Sitting down on the closed toilet lid, he grimaced as he wiped off the dried blood and dirt. "Wouldn't fricking put it past you."
"Good. It means you're not underestimating me."
"That'll be the day…" Methodically watching the cotton turn rust-red, he frowned. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe just call Shinra and—"
"Che, I've hurt it worse rolling over in bed." The flea dismissed the idea, and Shizuo wondered how the hell that admission was meant to make him feel better before he realized that it wasn't. Izaya didn't do shit like that, and for that he was grateful. Even if the flea was only saying this stuff because he genuinely didn't see the connection between his injury and Shizuo's responsibility – or lack of it – he appreciated the bluntness. He'd kind of missed it. "It's just in one of those awkward places that hurt just to breathe. But Shinra's good at what he does, so it's getting better."
Tucking up the sleeve of his t-shirt, Izaya brusquely began swiping more of that stinging liquid along the cut on his arm. Shizuo didn't see the point, personally; the kid hadn't managed more than a glorified paper-cut and Izaya's efforts smacked of overkill. But the flea seemed determined, and hell, it didn't hurt anyone…
"Ne, Shizu-chan…" Izaya began, slathering some cream along the wound before pressing a thin strip of dressing over it. "Remember that night you did this for me?"
Shizuo shrugged. "Yeah. After that asshole client took a shot at you, right?"
Izaya was silent for a moment, methodically winding the gauze around his bicep. "There was no client that night. I did that to myself. I just wanted to see what you'd do if you were put in that position. I wanted to see if you'd touch me."
"Shit, flea…" Shizuo dragged a shaky free hand through his hair. "Even for you, that's pretty fucked up."
"But you did, ne?" He felt the brush of warm air against his arm as Izaya laughed a little. "Ah, it wasn't as though you'd have touched me for any other reason back then, hmm? And maybe you were right all along, Shizu-chan… maybe you never should have."
"Tch… you're the one that started it."
"Ah, I suppose that's true. But you could've been the one to finish it. You had plenty of opportunities to."
Yeah, he had. And every damn time he'd wound up back here.
Waiting for the inevitable 'why', he tried to rationalize it in his head. He could've claimed he had nowhere else to go, but that was a lie. He could've gone home. He could've gone to Shinra's – hell knew Celty would've been happier with that move.
No, he just kept coming back because he didn't want to go anywhere else. Because he'd grown far too comfortable with the knowledge he didn't have to pretend. All the masks fell away with Izaya, all that fricking exhausting trying. Trying to be normal, trying to be safe.
He'd always just figured it was because Izaya didn't give a fuck. Because the flea never expected more from a monster who was barely civilized enough to be housebroken, let alone anything beyond that, and so Shizuo never had to bother with the pretence of being any more than he was. It was liberating, and reminded him exactly what he was, where he belonged, all at the same time.
And maybe Izaya hadn't given a fuck, but… maybe not for the reasons he imagined.
Izaya never asked anything.
"There." Smoothing his fingers along the edge of the gauze, he leaned back to admire his handiwork. "Now you won't bleed all over my things."
"Thank you…"
"You're welcome."
"No, I mean… fuck, flea, for all of it." He didn't dare reach out, just gestured at Izaya's injured side. "For that."
"I told you…" Izaya seemed to have the same hesitation, one hand rising to hover ineffectually in the space between them before lowering again on an overdone shrug. "No one kills you but me, Shizu-chan. You can't blame me for protecting my interests, ne?"
Shizuo breathed a short laugh. "Yeah… I remember." He looked up. "Still don't think it was worth it."
Izaya shrugged. "Then that can be another notch in the 'things Shizu-chan and I will never agree on' column, ne? Along with horrible cigarette habits and property destruction."
He took his time following the flea back out of the bathroom. Izaya was in his kitchen, scowling vaguely at his fridge. He shut the door abruptly when Shizuo arched a brow in question.
"I was going to say you could conduct experiments in nuclear fission in my kitchen again, but… well, I've been very busy with work, ne? So there's not much here. You'll have to call out if you want something, which at least means you won't burn the building down, so that's one small mercy…"
"Working?" Shizuo echoed. "Shouldn't you've been y'know, resting instead?"
"Why would I do that? It's so boring." Izaya made a face. "And Kei-kun aside, I wasn't in any more mortal danger than I usually am, so… why not? You went back to work, ne?"
"Yeah, but I get to do it with friends." Emphasis on 'friends', before the flea kept on making up weird shit by himself. "You do it with yakuza assholes who'd dump you in the bay soon as look at you. Ah, that reminds me… I took your gun back to that Shiki guy."
Izaya glanced up, surprise fading to a mild resignation. "Well, that explains a lot. You know I'm never going to live that down, ne?"
"Shouldn't have borrowed a fricking gun in the first place then, huh?"
"And then we'd both be dead, Shizu-chan. I don't know about you but I prefer this option."
Yeah, and maybe that night just… never would've happened instead. Maybe they'd never have done the things they did, said the things they did…
But they had. And it was stupid wasting time on fanciful shit that'd never happen. He couldn't do a thing about yesterday. Today was pretty much done. Tomorrow…
I have no fricking idea. But I kinda feel better thinking you don't know either.
"You should get some sleep, ne?" Izaya sauntered past him. "Shizu-chan looks terrible."
"Thanks. You look pretty crappy yourself."
"I'm sleeping perfectly well," Izaya said, even though no one had actually asked. "Though failed blackmail attempts do take it out of a person. Shizu-chan knows where everything is, ne?" As though shaking himself out of a stupor, Izaya's stride was more purposeful as he turned for his bedroom. "I think you left some clothes here too, so…"
"Oi, Izaya…"
He didn't even know what he was asking for, let alone whether he had the right to anymore.
Either way, he figured he got his answer when the flea just watched him for a moment, before carrying on his merry way and pulling the bedroom door closed behind him.
"Go to sleep, Shizu-chan."
You could've been the one to finish it.
It'd have been better for them both if he had. From the very start, he'd known he couldn't offer anything Izaya wanted from him. All this damn… toying wasn't right. If he couldn't see himself here, then he should just go.
But not now… the least he could do was explain himself in the morning first.
He let himself into the spare bedroom – not his anymore, right? – too tired to be that mad at his body for the way it began to relax infinitesimally just at the thought of sinking into that fancy mattress and not his narrow, beat-up bed. Peeling off his t-shirt, his fingers caught on the edge of the bandage wrapped around his bicep.
Tch… if the kid had half-hacked his arm off, the dumb flea wouldn't have gone this overboard. Who the hell did he think he was patching up, hah?
Weak. Pathetic. Useless.
"Forgive him, ne?"
Getting into bed, he pillowed his head on his hands as he stared up at the ceiling.
It hadn't been this room, that morning. He figured he'd instinctively gone for Izaya's bed that night because he'd wanted the escape route, and leaving the flea in his own bed was the only one afforded to him at the time. Sure, they'd done other stuff in here, but…
There was nothing about this space that should've felt so bittersweet. Just four walls and fancy furniture, just like that storage unit had been hard concrete and rough walls.
The wall behind him was all that separated him from that morning. He reached up, feeling the cut on his arm pull in a grimly satisfying pain as he rubbed his knuckles silently against the wall.
Are you in there right now, thinking about it too?
The thought of doing anything still scared the shit out of him. But if he just framed it a little differently… if he just thought about how pleased the flea'd looked whenever Shizuo grudgingly trusted him, or how stupidly good he'd felt when he could go just that fraction further without bolting, then it took the same act and turned it into something else entirely. It wasn't about anyone else. It never had been. The way Izaya's skin felt against his had never been like anything he'd known.
But it still wasn't fair. What he wanted had nothing to do with it… he just didn't think he was capable of giving the flea what he wanted, and he couldn't even tell for sure that what had happened to him affected that any.
He might never have been able to.
"But just because this is how he's ended up today, it doesn't mean he's powerless to change it, ne?"
Tch… who the hell gave the louse the right to make it all sound so easy? So simple. As though Shizuo could change years of their mutual history with just a thought. With just wanting to. If he could've gotten all the damn things he'd wanted, he'd never have been in this position in the first place.
So maybe you never wanted them enough, huh?
Damn it all…
Kicking off the sheets, he got out of bed, padding across the darkened room. It was never dark in Izaya's apartment; he could never tell where the hell it came from – the city itself, maybe, thriving and pulsing and alive – but there was always a glow seeping in from somewhere beyond the vast, impersonal windows.
Kinda like the flea himself, really. There shouldn't have been any light in him after everything they'd done to each other over the years, or after all the shady schemes he'd pulled, but still…
There was no light around Izaya's door though, and he wondered whether the flea had just slipped out quietly and left him to it. But as he pushed open the door, the gleam from the building across the street outlined a figure curled up under the sheets.
Izaya didn't say a word as he glanced back over his shoulder, expression impossible to read in the half-light. Shizuo didn't mind. Sometimes things were a hell of a lot easier when the flea didn't talk. They were definitely better when he didn't.
The expensive mattress barely dipped under his weight as he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing the door. Now that he was here… what if the flea didn't even want him to be? Hell if Izaya hadn't been keeping his distance all night, even if he'd been the one who asked him back here to start with…
Warm fingers brushed against his hip as Izaya reached past him, flipping down the edge of the sheet in silent, undemanding invitation.
When he looked back, the flea had already turned to face away again, breathing too evenly and carefully to be dozing, nothing but glossy black hair against the pillows and a pale expanse of his bare back sweeping down to the waist of his jeans.
Your call, Shizu-chan.
Tch…
There'd be no excuses for this. No claiming he didn't know what the hell was going on, or what he was getting himself into. He knew with a frightening intensity where things stood, and for that reason alone he didn't want it to be his damn call…
But what about the rest of it, hah? Do you want that?
The bed frame didn't so much as creak as he climbed awkwardly under the sheet, clumsy and shy just because he had no fricking idea how else to be. Damn it, if Izaya looked at him now, or said something stupid, he swore he'd lose his shit and flee back to the other room.
Izaya just kept breathing, slow and steady, slender shoulders rising and falling in a lulling rhythm, his skin disarmingly warm and reassuring as Shizuo tentatively rested a hand on that narrow waist, feeling the static jolt of contact. It was too dark to make out where the bruises and marks from the gunshot wound began or ended, but he whispered his thumb back and forth with more care than he'd ever shown anything, just in case it hurt.
I'm done having anyone hurt because of me. I'm done having you hurt because of me, stupid dumbass louse…
It was a nothing sort of touch, but the flea shivered anyway, and Shizuo couldn't even remember how his other arm wound its way around Izaya's chest, or how his face ended up pressed into a pale shoulder. Just that something in the flea's warmth or his scent or just the fact that he was fricking there, that they both were, beaten and bruised but – somehow – still breathing, made something deep inside crack and crumble.
Skinny arms wrapped over his as a warm back pressed closer against his chest, and he shuddered at the hushed, pleased sigh that drifted warm and lazy across his fingers, because he still didn't know what the fuck he was doing but even he could tell he was finally doing something right.
'Bout fricking time…
He still didn't know how to explain it to the flea, this odd disconnect between what he wanted and the things he could actually offer. He didn't know how to explain it to himself, when the very act of trying as good as tore him in two, into a him he recognized, and a him he barely understood at all.
But he would explain, somehow, 'cause the flea deserved that much.
And for now, he could at least offer this.