The words were still vivid in his head, echoes of a voice too serious and low pitched to be Izaya's.
"Would you promise you'll kill me once we leave this place?"
Izaya's breath was a soft hush, fanning across the skin of his chest, reminding him that the flea was here and those words had been real. At first the puffs of air tickled, only to escalate, until they felt too frozen to bear, as though they were a blast of cold wind instead. Shizuo wondered if someone had altered the memories of their escape to make him remember Izaya being reassuringly warm against his own skin, because the fingers he had just released were as frozen as his breath, almost as icy as the cold pack Shizuo still held on the flea's head.
Shizuo shivered.
But more than the cold, what made his nerves vibrate was the absence of sound, since such calmness had always been the precursor to one of their chases. After so many years, it was a routine Shizuo was used to - a moment where their gazes met, across the distance, the tilt of Izaya's head and the quirk of a smile, before a switchblade would fly toward him as fast as a bullet.
His heartbeat increased, hammering in his chest until his breath was shallow.
Shizuo wasn't surprised. It was a spontaneous, too familiar response his body had toward Izaya. After all, this was the exact way he had always reacted to him, the instant he detected Izaya's scent, or spotted his elegant frame hopping through the hallways of the Military Academy. Immediately, the monster dozing in relaxed bundles of muscles awoke, scorching his blood until in his veins flowed liquid fire, and he tasted a lion-like growl boiling in the back of his own throat.
Despite his rational self trying to impose the notion that he could relax, since they were in a truce now, his body still kept responding to the flea's presence.
It couldn't be helped. Every time he perceived even a hint of Izaya, it was as somebody had just flipped on a switch.
Along with adrenaline, there was still a hint of rage lacing his chest, even if it wasn't pure anymore. It was now mingled with a bitter sensation that tasted just a bit like nostalgia: the realization there was something different in the man whose breath now felt icy-cold, with a curtain of black bangs covering his usual mocking gaze like blinds over a window. For once, Shizuo couldn't understand what expression there was on the other's face solely from the thin line of Izaya's lips and the placid rhythm of breath.
It was unsettling.
The muscles of his forearms twitched. He wanted a smoke.
"Oi, louse. Do you wanna get back into bed?" Words came out muffled by the creaking of the ice pack as his arm jerked.
When Izaya tilted his head up, the frost oozing from his breath, skin, and eyes seeped through Shizuo's skin and reached his blood, freezing it. Izaya didn't reply, only looked at him, his gaze penetrating flesh to such an extent that every cell in Shizuo's body screamed danger.
It wasn't a matter of silence anymore. Because it was awkward, of course, but still comfortable, since he had already experienced it so many times before. It was a calmness he was accustomed to, something which allowed him to predict what would have happened between him and the flea. But now, he had no idea what Izaya's next move might be. It was totally new, the way Izaya pierced his skin with a gaze far too serious, too deep, almost angry. Despite the fact that the eye color was the same, and the shape as well, there was something in them which made Shizuo wonder, who's this man?
There was a different reflection in them, harder, laser-sharp.
Izaya's eyes looked like sheets of ice formed from blood, hiding in their deceptive quietness the frames of something all too dangerous - Izaya's thoughts. Their nature was obscure to Shizuo's mind, but their shadows were outlined under the ice, halos of the dark blazes burning in the depth of Izaya's soul.
Before he could ask again if Izaya wanted to get up from the floor, Shizuo heard the squeaking of the small garden gate and a frantic drum of leather soles on the stone pathway. Shizuo knew they were approaching, but it was like they belonged to a different wavelength from the one of his own perception. He kept admiring the menacing calmness of Izaya's thoughts and jolted when, finally, Shinra spoke.
"Here I am," Shinra said, at loss of air, before kneeling down beside Izaya. "How are you, Izaya-kun? Could you explain me how do you feel?"
Shizuo witnessed how the flea's features stretched into a syrupy-sweet smile, the same one Izaya donned with everyone beside him. Shinra's words didn't manage to pass from Shizuo's ears to his brain as he limited himself to watch Izaya building a mask, smile after smile, while he replied to Shinra's questions. If it hadn't been for those shadows, still lingering in his blood-red eyes, Shizuo would swear Izaya hadn't changed at all, that he was the same man he had chased for years.
But, somehow, he was not.
Casting a last glance to his sworn enemy, he lifted, picked up the first aid kit and headed toward the bathroom. Here, he turned on the lights and approached the mirror to examine the wound on his neck. Since it didn't hurt, he would rather go to sleep immediately, but he didn't want to leave stains on Shinra's sheets, so he decided to disinfect and cover the cut.
The mirror gave back an image that left him utterly confused. It wasn't for the blood dripping from the cut on his neck - how can that fricking flea always manage to pull knives out of thin air? - but for the presence of red trails on his cheek. As he brushed them with his hand, Shizuo realized they had been left by fingertips, as though painted on his face.
Izaya.
...Why?
Brows knitted in an effort to understand Izaya's logic, but the more he thought about it, the more he grew annoyed; there had never been a way for him to figure out the convoluted maze that was the flea's mind. Aaaaah, who gives a shit! Shizuo ended up thinking while he tossed the dirty cotton balls in the bin.
When he exited from the bathroom, he found out that Shinra had already helped Izaya to bed and was sitting beside him.
"He's fine. I'll still come to check him tomorrow," the doctor whispered as he stood up and headed toward the door. Shizuo just nodded, giving half a bow to thank him.
When Shizuo slid under the sheets, Izaya was curled up to his right, his back toward him and appearing asleep. Shizuo wondered if the flea was pretending, since he would swear that Izaya had just shifted, as if to distance himself even more.
Izaya had never been so physically close to him, and yet, he had never been so hard to catch. If they were on one of their chases, Izaya would have been barely a speck in the distance. Right now, he really seemed unreachable.
The next day, Shizuo woke up after the sun had risen. From behind the curtain seeped the blinding light of a clear summer day. He curled up and hid his head under the sheets, like he used to do when he was a child. He couldn't stand living another day with the awareness of his failure. If only he could go back to the darkness of his dreams-
"It's about time you woke up, Shizu-chan!"
SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! Shizuo mentally screamed, curling up even further until only few strands of blond hair poked out from under the sheets. It seemed as though Izaya had shifted back to his old, obnoxious self, as he clicked his tongue before whispering:
"Shizu-chan is such a lazy ass, ne?"
Shizuo had to use every ounce of self control he had to not kill Izaya right on the spot, to at least make that chirping voice cease and stop grating on his ears.
"Well, whatev-"
"SHUT THE HELL UP!"
In full swing, Shizuo kicked away the sheets and stomped toward the bathroom, where he shut the door with such a loud thump the wood creaked. It happened so suddenly that, in all likelihood, Izaya only had the time to catch a glimpse of messy blond hair and reddened face before Shizuo disappeared from his sight.
Shizuo returned in the room a quarter of hour later, freshly showered, but still burning with anger. He tried to ignore the scarlet irises following every single movement he made; his heavy steps thumped against the floor until he reached the wardrobe, which he opened with such force the doors bounced back and almost hit him. Luckily for Izaya's already injured body, Shizuo was too busy spitting out expletives to hear his giggles. When, in that mess of crumpled clothes, Shizuo found some which fit him, he stomped back in the bathroom without uttering a single word.
Persisting in ignoring Izaya, Shizuo came out dressed and stomped downstairs. In the kitchen, he searched for the necessary to prepare breakfast. He found a ceramic bowl, cereals and, luckily, milk. It was exactly what he needed now. The corners of him mouth were lowered as he absentmindedly observed the crown of blue flames dancing under the pot as he warmed the milk.
Once he had filled one bowl with warm milk and cereal, he sat at the kitchen table, blissfully alone.
He lifted the spoon-
"Tsk."
The chair squeaked on the floor as he stood up.
There was a smirk stretching Izaya's lips when Shizuo crossed the threshold carrying two bowls. He forced himself to ignore the louse as he approached him, just close enough to hand over the food. Izaya leaned in and, once he had verified the contents, one thin eyebrow lifted.
"Cereal and... milk, Shizu-chan? Hahaha! Do you still drink milk?"
Shizuo's grip tightened so much the ceramic began to crack under his fingers.
"Eat."
His tone of voice didn't leave room for complaints. Izaya pouted, but still took the bowl as best as he could and put it on his lap.
"Just for information, I like black coffee better. And pancakes."
Shizuo didn't bother to answer. He was already calling on all the patience he possessed to not throw the breakfast straight in Izaya's face. The lousy flea inspected the contents of the bowl with a disgusted expression, before he lifted it with both hands. However, it hadn't quite managed to reach his lips before he dropped both spoon and bowl. They fell, spraying half of the content all over the sheets and the bandages.
It took Izaya a moment to disentangle the tension making his jaw clench and eyes screw shut. Once he had come back to his usual, controlled self, he tilted his chin up proudly and muttered, as if it had all been intentional, "In the end, I think I'm not going to eat it. This slop disgusts me."
In silence, Shizuo put his own food on the nightstand and grabbed spoon and bowl from Izaya's lap. He took a spoonful of milk and pointed it at the flea's mouth.
"Eat your breakfast, Izaya. I don't buy your bullshit, I can see a mile off your wrists hurt too much to lift the bowl by yourself."
"And guess who is to blame?" Izaya chirped, rolling his eyes in a theatrical way. "You're the worst, Shizu-cha-"
In a textbook example of seize the day, Shizuo took advantage of Izaya's open mouth to push the spoon over his lips. Red eyes widened comically as Izaya forced himself to swallow. Brows furrowed as he shouted, "What the hell, you monster, you put SUGAR in milk?!"
"Of course I do," Shizuo shrugged. Even though Izaya hadn't dropped his disgusted expression yet, Shizuo still took another spoonful of milk. "Hurry the fuck up, shitty flea. I don't have the whole day!"
"Hmm, so it would seem. Who knows where Shizu-chan has to go..."
Shizuo didn't answer, he just focused on making the spoon pass beyond the flea's lips without spilling more milk on the sheets. Izaya turned up his nose after every spoonful, but he still kept opening his mouth, probably as hungry as Shizuo was.
Soon, silence was upon them. Awkward, yes, but still comfortable since Izaya was finally quiet. His familiar singsong chirp had replaced the low-pitched tone of voice and the hard look, apparently without fanfare, as though that mysterious side of Izaya had just vanished silently like the shadows of the night with the rising sun. This Izaya Shizuo knew how to deal with.
When the milk was gone, Shizuo took his own bowl between his hands and drank all the contents in two gulps.
Immediately after, he grabbed the bowls and stomped out of the room, trying to not care about the gaze scrutinizing every move he made. He took the time to wash the dishes and then he was outside, heading towards the pub where Tom was waiting to teach him bartending. Hands in his pockets and lost in thought, Shizuo walked down the slope.
While, step after step, he delved deeper in that labyrinth of narrow lanes, Shizuo pondered. He didn't know if he could trust Izaya's words or not. Izaya was a manipulative person, and a liar, surely he had one of his plans in mind. But at the same time, Shizuo was sadly aware he didn't have much of a choice but to put up with the flea.
"Hey you!"
Having been walking on autopilot, he visibly jolted when a feminine voice broke through his train of thought.
As he lifted his head to see if the voice was referring to him, Shizuo realized he was in the small square with the tree in the flowerbed, where he had sat the day before. The heavenly scent of baked goods still permeated the air.
He turned his head, a questioning look on his face. "Me?"
"Yes, you!"
A thin, bespectacled woman approached him, one arm raised to stop him from going away; in the other, she held a broom. Under a white apron, she wore a yellow shirt and a salmon pink skirt. Wavy, black hair brushed her shoulders and framed her kind but worried face, creased every so slightly, which caused Shizuo to estimate that she was in her mid-thirties.
"Are you alright? Your neck is bleeding!"
At first, Shizuo stood motionless as though petrified, not comprehending her meaning, then a vivid blush of embarrassment spread from his cheeks to his ears, until the meaning of the words reached him and he smacked his forehead with a loud clap.
Oh god, I was so angry with the flea I forgot to put a new bandage on it after I showered!
"Ah, it's ok. I just forgot to cover it," Shizuo mumbled after a pause. The blood had probably stained Shinra's shirt by now. Fuck.
"Would you let me bandage it? It won't take long, my shop is right there."
She turned, pointing the window of a bakery shop that Shizuo quickly identified as the source of the smell which was even now making him drool. Above the glossy window stood a big sign whose letters had been written in red with an old-styled but elegant calligraphy: "Sato Bakery."
"Please, come!" She motioned for Shizuo to follow her, the warm smile reaching her eyes. In the end, it had been instinct which made his feet move toward the shop; in his gut, he already knew that her smile was far different from Izaya's.
The door's bell tinkled when the woman crossed the threshold, followed by the blonde, whose jaw dropped in astonishment as his eyes spotted the most complete display of his favorite foods that he had ever seen in his life. Bread, cakes, croissants, muffins... dairy products! However, the view was as beautiful for his eyes as it was painful; he hadn't money to spare on frivolities like sweets.
"Come this way." With an agile movement, she passed the counter and opened a door, which led to a narrow hallway studded with cardboard boxes. As she opened the door, the amulet hung on a nail in the center swung slightly. It was covered in scarlet brocade silk, with a pattern of white flowers adorning each side, similar to one Shizuo had placed in his uniform's pocket few days before. Kasuka had given it to him, as a protective charm, since their army would have marched flanking the lands still considered haunted, even in this day and age. Even the most skeptical of his brothers in arms had kept one in their pockets, squeezing it for dear life as soon as they passed around the rope hung with talismans that marked the edges of the wild lands, where they were to make their, in the end final, camp.
Shizuo was aware he had crossed their territories during his wandering, but he hadn't witnessed at the supernatural beings from which the charm must protect him.
After all, why bothering about spirits when human beings are way more dangerous? he thought, as he followed her in silence, glancing at her delicate frame through his dyed bangs.
Of course, the bespectacled woman would have a protective charm too, as close as their village was to the lands' boundary. Surely every single villager had it, inside their houses or in their pockets, though he had yet to find where Shinra's father might have put his.
At the end of the hallway, there was a small closet. Here, the woman searched in a cabinet for the necessary supplies to treat his bleeding wound. "Ah! Found you!" she exclaimed, pulling out from under the sink disinfectant, gauze, and surgical tape, along with a bag of cotton balls. After pouring the disinfectant on the cotton, she stood on tiptoe to have a clearer view of the wound.
"It will burn a bit."
Shizuo's face immediately clouded. Of course it won't, since he couldn't feel it like a normal human being. Just then, the potential danger of the whole situation became clear to his own eyes. He had never been in such a confined space with a woman in his whole life, and he had never been in such proximity to one, with the exception of his grandmother. But he was a child back then, provided with just an ounce of the strength he had now as a grown-up man. Fists clenched as images of the violence he could release with just a spark of anger flashed through his mind. He visualized her, injured because of him, laying senseless on the ground and covered by the blanket of debris caused by the passage of a monster.
The images he saw in his mind were so vivid they could have happened for real.
She is so small, she's fragile, and she doesn't even know I am a monster.
He felt himself panicking. His features stiffened, drops of cool sweat trickling down his forehead before his heartbeat became frantic, so fast and deafening he swore there was no way she couldn't hear it. The woman's eyes, however, were too focused on the cut to notice the sudden change of expression on his face. Slowly, Shizuo lowered his head to look down at her.
I don't want to hurt you.
He jolted when, out of the blue, she lifted her head and looked back at him. Just for an instant, her eyes widened, before the gentle smile reappeared on her lips.
"Don't worry, it's almost done. Just lift your head a bit more so I can do a proper bandage-" Tiny, warm fingertips brushed his jawbone and, in response, he immediately lifted his head, cheeks flushed. "Yes, like that," she mumbled, applying the gauze and the surgical tape.
Shizuo tried to force himself to relax, but he couldn't. Despite being asleep, the monster was there. If the gentle woman could see the things he was capable of, would she still treat him so compassionately? He feared the answer, because, deep in his heart, his conscience assured him that he didn't deserve her kindness, however much he desired it.
"There we are!" The bespectacled woman checked her handiwork and distanced herself to put the first aid kit back in the cabinet.
Would she still smile at me and not flinch in horror?
When she turned back, she must have caught something on his face, because her relaxed expression faded. Shizuo felt his heart clenching, because his mind had just visualized how her features should look, driven by repulsion and not by kindness.
"Does it still hurt? You look pale..." Shizuo was so surprised he didn't, couldn't, manage to reply. "Ah, of course!"
He didn't manage to utter a single word as she guided him back on the shop, the palm of her hand a warm pressure across his back.
"Wait a moment."
So he did, with widened eyes and lips parted in surprise and curiosity, watching as she grabbed a chocolate muffin wrapped in brown paper and handed it to him.
"You've lost blood, you need to eat to regain strength! Here, take it."
Before Shizuo could process it, in his other hand there was a glass bottle the top of which had been covered with a frilly lilac cloth, full of milk. As he felt the cold glass pressed against his palm, an irrational part of him wondered if there could be a single grain of hope that she would just accept him - for who he was, despite his being dangerous because he was so utterly weak in control his own strength.
Immediately, his cowardly self confirmed he was only blinded by his own delusions. Next time, indeed, he should choose another way to reach Tom's pub that avoided the square with the tree in the flowerbed. There should be a path lacking the scents of sweets and some stranger's kindness, right? And even if he would meet her again, he would lower his head and just keep walking, pretending he had never seen her before.
He should just forget, and surrender to the irreversibility of his own weaknesses, shutting the world out because, after all, self-imposed loneliness had always been the wiser decision.
He knew he really should just keep his head lowered and walk away-
Shizuo blamed his being hopelessly delusional when his gaze lifted instead.
Even if he was in a blind alley, even if he would soon pay the price for Kasuka's death, even if he had always brought just destruction, even if he had always been an outcast, his gaze slide up from the red floor tiles to the glass of her spectacles, and when she chuckled softly at his shocked expression, he didn't reciprocate. There wasn't even the hint of a smile on his face. He was way too scared of the decision he had just taken.
He'd come back.
Surely not now, and not even tomorrow, but perhaps there would be a day he'd become strong enough to thank her for her kindness with a sincere smile.
Once Shizuo had dashed out of their temporary home, the room had fallen into an utter silence. Izaya closed his eyes and let his body fall back on the bed, exhaling a sigh of pure boredom. Tormenting Shizuo was the only thing he could do to pass the time, since he wasn't able to leave the bed. Now that the beast had gone who knows where, Izaya had nothing interesting left to observe.
Izaya noticed the grip of the knife, then, peeking out from under Shizuo's pillow, stained with the same blood that still lingered on his fingers.
I'm curious of what he thought.
Izaya evaluated the possibility of taking a nap, since he had barely slept the night before - at first, because he had listened to his brain combing through memories of their escape to develop conjectures on them over and over for the whole night, until his thoughts sounded rusty and cacophonous; then because he had definitely heard Shizuo's breathing - too loud, too slow, too near. It didn't matter how hard he had tried, Izaya couldn't synchronize his own with it.
It didn't let him relax.
The placid rhythm of Shizuo's breath kept his mind on alert and all his muscles taut, ready to run until, at some point during the night, Izaya had found it so unnerving that he was the only one still awake that he fell asleep lulled by graphic fantasies of vengeance.
Izaya wondered if he would ever succeed to force his body to relax in Shizuo's presence.
A spark of excitement made him push himself up to a sitting position when Shinra came to ask how he was feeling and aid in the washing and changing of his bandages. At least he had someone to observe, now.
While they casually talked, Izaya hid under the polite facade of small talk to scrutinize Shinra from head to toe, as he was used to do with his beloved humans. Based on his considerable experience, Izaya came to the conclusion the bespectacled doctor was an interesting human. Shinra was cultured, sharp, and he was an enjoyable interlocutor, even if sometimes he turned out to be a rather long-winded person. However, under the verbose and reassuring mask, the doctor's core was impregnated with something else, darker and way more intriguing. Red eyes couldn't help from narrowing and shining in anticipation.
Before he took his leave to visit other patients, the doctor provided Izaya with a chair and helped him shift so he was seated near the window. "So you can enjoy the view of the sea and our beautiful village, Izaya-kun!" And, even better, he could keep himself busy with his favorite hobby: human observation.
As Izaya looked outside, his attentive gaze recognized the place. He had never been here before but he remembered he had seen it in the maps and reports he had consulted in order to plan attacks, and marked it as a location too small and backwater to be useful for their city-state. It was a coastal village, of medieval stamp, connected with the outside world only by boat and an asphalt road.
Izaya was aware geography has a decisive impact on a battle tide so, as a strategist, he was really fond in the subject. He knew the extensive island where they lived like the back of his hand, and he was able to make a rather precise appraisal of how many miles the village was from the place where their camp had lain – it was a lot; the beast had run far. But, even more than the number of miles, or the fact he remembered Shizuo bleeding profusely, what left Izaya astonished was the kind of lands the monster had walked through to come up to this place.
Shizu-chan, you idiot, people avoid those places even if their life depends on it.
Since Izaya had been a child, he had always been told by his private teacher that in the island where he lived, there were lands forgotten by the gods, where life and death merged and, together, engulfed every attempt at civilization. The ones who tried had failed miserably, and some even swore that curses had been passed down to their descendants. Such stories were rooted to such depth in their cultural heritage no one ever dared to test them, even in their technologically advanced era. Izaya always found it amusing to witness the way fear of the unknown wiped away rationality, even from the most levelheaded human beings. In this they were a perfect copy of their ancestors, who avoided writing or referring directly to the wild lands during conversations out of superstition, until the lands' name had been lost in the current of time.
There were still some who tried to delve into the wild territories, and despite having more talismans hung on their body than bullets in their guns, nobody came back to tell what they had seen or found. They had been swallowed, one by one, as though the wooded hills had been freak waves instead. It had been unavoidable, then, that rumors started to circulate, assuming there were guardians shielding those lands from human invaders, killing explorers, exorcists, or some poor curious soul who couldn't wait to find out what the lands hid, but above all, why they stopped humans from finding it.
Despite what outsiders might imagine, the development in sciences proved to be useless, since once over the boundary, something produced interference in any radar and technological devices and impeded the user from discovering the truth. To eyes blinded by fear, it really looked as though there were supernatural presences protecting the sacredness of uncontaminated nature, whispering "humans aren't admitted".
In a book with pages eroded and yellowed by the flowing of centuries, Izaya had learnt there were legends about headless women called Dullahan. They wandered through the uninhabited lands on wagons towed by familiars who took the aspect of black horses, and killed the human beings who dared to cross their paths, uttering their names with the severed heads. Some theories asserted that the birth of such supernatural beings melted into the dawn of times as guardians of the wild lands, others swore they rose with the wars lacerating their island for generations. Other theories again, linked them to the Valkyries of Nordic Mythology, and assured that beings called by them would be guaranteed access to something else than nothingness after death: Valhalla.
Honestly, a rational man like Izaya didn't believe in rumors without any scientific foundation. But, even if they were with every probability just hot air, he had always felt an instinctive curiosity toward the old legends. After all, he couldn't deny that they were based on a mysterious phenomenon that made people disappear and annihilated every attempt to discover its nature through technology.
The supernatural, the afterlife - immortality.
Even if they were probably just fantasies rooted in the illiteracy of the Dark Ages, there was still a remote possibility they were right, wasn't it?
Even if they're complete bullshit, let's admit they are rooted in the truth.
Let's admit there's a way to have the certainty that our existences aren't wasted after death.
If only we-
No.
If only I could gain a ticket for the afterlife...
While Izaya studied his precious humans walking through the narrow lanes, his train of thought carried him to fantasies about the places they had passed through while he was unconscious. He craved to know, since he had always desired to master the secrets of those lands. But he had never ventured into them any deeper than few miles, exactly where their military camp rested just few days before. And even then, his scope had been only to make the army he commanded disappear from enemy's radar, just to approach, and then conquer their city, through the impossibility of being tracked. Izaya had never delved into their depths, because his own life was too precious for testing some old legend. He swore there must be another method to gain immortality, a safer and more sure one.
Before he looked at death straight in the eye, he believed he had still whole decades in front of him to find a solution.
The sudden forced acknowledgement of the transience intrinsic to his own nature had terrorized him, because he couldn't deny the evidence any more - his superior mind and soul had been trapped into a mortal shell. It unsettled him, the realization of how frail his body was. It lacked the strength his mind had, it was mediocre, not different at all from the ones of his beloved humans. Yes, it was athletic, lithe, fast in running and avoiding obstacles, but yet - so disappointing.
Lost in thoughts, Izaya spotted a familiar frame walking up the slope with ungraceful big steps, carrying a pair of shopping bags.
Here it is, the monster.
I wonder where he went.
As Shizuo came closer, Izaya narrowed his eyes to have a better look at the expression on the man's face. The best bet was that he would find it darkened with anger, or even the despair that had lingered close to the surface since to the realization of what had happened to Kasuka. He was surprised, however, that instead of either, he read determination.
Shizu-chan crossed those lands... and yet survived. He came out unscathed from fire and enemy, he lost his little brother, he's trapped here with me, and yet...
So inhumanly strong.
Hate him.
His eyes followed the loathsome frame, observing with meticulous precision every movement Shizuo made, as Izaya had done with the humans he studied since he sat near the window. However, the monster had the innate ability tosense Izaya's gaze. Shizuo always looked back at him, eyebrows knitted in a killer glance.
Then, just a moment after, Shizuo's eyes weren't on him anymore.
The hint of annoyance in his own chest had Izaya grinning. Craning his neck, he realized the beast had broken their silent exchange of death promises to turn and greet Shinra, who had just exited from his clinic. Shizuo began scratching the back of his head, and both his cheeks and ears turned to a darker shade of pink. Then, from what Izaya could hear, his voice became smooth like velvet. When he didn't shout, or growl like a beast, Izaya realized, Shizuo had indeed a very pleasant, deep and mellow voice.
Observing the beast while he walked with Shinra through the garden, Izaya compared him with the sixteen years old Shizuo of their first meeting. That angry boy was still there, in his features and in his hazel eyes, in the way the corner of his mouth lowered when he pouted. And yet, Shizuo had changed. As time passed by, Shizuo became even taller, and his body became firmer and more muscular, with broad shoulders, strong arms and long, toned legs.
Izaya had to admit the evidence: his enemy was a handsome man. If it wasn't for short temper and insecurities - and the fact he is a monster, of course! - he would have been successful with women. But Shizuo had never been. The beast had always been alone, repulsed by anyone who crossed his path, girls included. It was fitting, Izaya thought, since his beloved humans couldn't love someone as monstrous as Shizuo.
They will never love him.
When the two men were near enough, Izaya focused in trying to catch the thread of their conversation. He was able to make out something about bartending. A certain Tom-san taught Shizuo the basics to be a bartender in his pub. Izaya chuckled at the thought of someone as graceless as Shizuo vaulting between tall columns of glasses.
He will fail.
When they closed the door at their back, Izaya tapped the arms of the chair in frustration. Now the words were too blurry to be understood. Even if he held his breath, from the floor echoed just a light buzz of male voices, or sporadic laughter, clear and too high-pitched to be Shizuo's.
Izaya's gaze shifted from an indefinite spot back on the white wall to the anthill outside the window, searching for some human frame to follow. Down on the lane, a pair of young girls were strolling around, giggling and whispering secrets in each other's ears. His eyes immediately fell on them.
His fingers, however, kept tapping the wooden chair.
Eyelashes fluttered once, as his wicked smile faded in a neutral expression of boredom and resigned frustration. He felt like a fish in a bowl, the window glass was too thick to let him hear the sound of the outside world as clearly as he would like to, and the water surrounding him muffled his perception. He hated it. He hated how unresponsive his body was, no matter how much his nails tried to scrape the shell enveloping him, where his senses dozed like a baby chick waiting to hatch. He could recognize the daylight and the buzz of voices, but words were impossible to catch distinctly.
His eyelashes fluttered again, and his gaze lifted to the sparkling expanse of water.
Once again, his mind kept poking the thought that Shizu-chan had-
-spared me?
Fingers tightened as nails scraped the wooden surface. His mask, however, didn't falter even an inch, like a sheet of ice enclosing enormous sea monsters. Just as he was used to hide his emotions from others, Izaya was used to suppressing them within himself, so he didn't let the enraged creatures break the surface, even if he was alone in the white bedroom.
When he heard steps going up the stairs accompanied by voices, the monsters disappeared, churning their caudal fins in the depth of his soul, leaving behind a placid ocean. Orderly thoughts, fingers relaxed on the chair arms.
Not a single break in the ice.
His head turned, with an elegant motion, when Shinra opened the door carrying a tray laden with lunch. Izaya flaunted one of his most polite smiles when Shinra greeted him, but red eyes immediately darted on the tall man at the doctor's back. Shizuo carried a small, round table and a chair. Izaya followed his heavy steps until he put down the table, and then the chair, near the window. Shizuo didn't look at him for the whole time, but even if Izaya's eyes were on him, the expression on his face didn't change. He was calm. Shizuo was calm - as Izaya's presence didn't bother him anymore.
Through the abyss laying under the ice hurtled a black shadow.
Izaya gave an imperceptible jolt when he caught the sound of his own name, belonging to background noise that his mind had decided to shut out without asking him for consent.
"Yes?"
"Were you listening, Izaya-kun?"
Shinra didn't wait for the answer Izaya had ready on the tip of his tongue.
"I said I've brought lunch. I hope you like seared tuna!"
The dishes on the tray clinked as the doctor placed it on the table with a theatrical gesture.
"And Shizuo carried the dessert!"
Through the thin paper, Izaya could see the outline of the contents, which resembled thick mushrooms. Muffins?
"Ah, such a lucky boy! Kyouko-san gave them for free! Ah, she must like you, eh, Shizuo-kun?"
Izaya studied the mischievous expression on Shinra's face as he elbowed Shizuo in his stomach, eliciting an embarrassed look.
"Kyouko-san? Hmm, interesting... So Shizu-chan found a job and hooked up with a girl, ne? Why don't you introduce her to us?"
Along the glimmering surface of Izaya's masks resounded the loud bumps of the monsters' bodies, heavy, trying to shatter the thick iced layer.
She has such an interesting name.
Despite his attempt to pierce as deep as possible into the loathsome, unreadable face, the monster didn't reciprocate, but for a barely perceptible quirk of a blonde eyebrow. But Shizuo didn't look back.
Those hazel eyes weren't on him anymore.
Shizuo just breathed a menacing rumble, so deep it shook Izaya to his very core, as though he had been stabbed.
"Don't you dare touch her, Izaya."
Shoulders closed on his chest, chin lowered and red eyes fell shut as he accepted the words, that came at him with the force of a blow, in silence. His fingers curled inward in fists, nails scraping the chair arms, grasping, holding on.
But the ice had cracked.
In a chain reaction, Izaya felt his own lips stretched in a rift. It had slashed the pristine surface of his face, revealing brooding, dark waters.
It looked like a smirk, but it was a wound instead.
Seriously, Shizu-chan...
I hate you so much.
A/N: Thanks to my beta, Aira Kay!
