The faint click of marble hitting marble echoed in the calmness of the circular study, which was otherwise silent, its majestic walls covered in wooden bookshelves from floor to ceiling. Despite the grand size of the room, it wasn't airy. It didn't matter that on the ceiling had been painted a cerulean sky with a spiral of clouds studded with angels; entering it was like being in a crypt buried in the depths of the earth, smelling of old pages from the ancient strategic essays - and of abandonment as well.
Despite the fact that maids kept the study tidied up, there was no cleaning product that could wipe off the smell of a room unused for so long a time by its owner. The walls and furniture had their own volition and manifested the disappointment through the smell of forsaking. It had permanently stained the carpet and the hardwood desk, inlaid with frames of mythological monsters that the tiny fingers of a child traced in awe. They were the characters in the stories he read by himself before falling asleep, and now were the silent presences witnessing the ritual that took place every evening. This room, forgotten by everyone but him, had become his temple. Like a votive candle, the dim light of the desk lamp projected small circles of light on the chess pieces resting on the carpet and surrounding his tiny frame like an army of asleep Lilliputians.
The sacred silence broke when someone knocked at the door.
"Izaya-kun? Can I come in?"
The raven-haired child tilted his head up from the glossy surface of the chessboard, and turned toward the young maid peeking from behind the hardwood door.
"Would you like tuna for dinner?"
He just nodded. She gave the barest hint of a polite smile and a bow before closing the door, leaving him alone in his father's study. His attention came back to the marble king he held in a cupped hand while, with the other, he caressed it, examining texture - smooth and cold to the touch like the rare gems his mother shielded in her jewelry boxes. Fingertips lingered on its white crown, admiring the precision of the cuts defining the crenellation, before he set the piece in the last row of the chessboard, face to face with his black counterpart.
Izaya awakened the other pieces one by one, lifting their frames from the carpet and placing them at their rightful stations on the chessboard, as he had learned from his father's textbooks - queens, bishops, knights, rooks, and two whole rows of pawns.
It fascinated him how there were peculiar moves for each of them; every piece on that black and white microcosm had its own point of strength along with weaknesses. It was all in the player's strategic ability find the way to optimize every move to make the enemy's pieces fall asleep on the carpet again. Every piece, everybody, has a weak point; a player has only to find out the most appropriate way to trap them.
The child lifted the pawn shielding the white queen, holding it between thumb and index, with gentleness.
Click. Click.
It was always with delicacy that he made the base touch the squares, so the sound resounded melodious to his ear, barely discernible as a hushed whisper. Then, his fingers brushed the black pawn at the other side of the chessboard.
Click. Click.
While he stopped to reflect on the next move, his fingertips absentmindedly traced the intersections between the squares, catching with his pads the infinitesimal gap between them. Every time he had to switch from white to black and from black to white, Izaya repeated to himself that he didn't need another person to play along, surely not some stupid child of his own age, god forbid, or one of their maids - and no, not his father, either. Of course, he could have fun by himself. The silver lining of being alone was that he could create his own rules when he desired to, enjoying himself over and over, without growing tired.
No, it was way more than that.
Painted angels and wooden mythological creatures witnessed how, alone in this dark sanctuary with his father chessboard, Izaya played at being a God.
The corners of his mouth quirked in a smile when a black knight ate a white one. Holding the piece between his cupped hands, as though it was a baby bird fallen from its nest, he made it lay on the crimson carpet. His fingers caressed it gently.
You are beautiful.
He loved each of them, equally, with the tender affection an eight year old child has for his favorite toy. The foreign playthings his mother sent him from time to time, when she and his father couldn't come back from abroad, could only hold his interest for the blink of an eye, a few hours at most. Once the expensive miniature train had made some turns in the long hallways of the mansion where he lived, he had set it aside.
Boring.
The papier-mâché puppet set had the same destiny. Maids found them abandoned in the middle of a hallway, with their grotesque smiles looking even creepier in the dim, perhaps due to the bitter realization that they had been abandoned forever by their owner. Izaya had been in his father's study, with his scrawny frame bent over the marble chessboard, rapt in utter adoration.
Rejection had been the fate of the miniature cars, also the merry-go-round-
"Ouch!" A feminine voice came from the hallway along with a sound of steps stumbling.
-and also the rocking horse.
Boring, boring, boring. They're nothing like this.
"Izaya-kun, supper's ready," the same voice called him from beyond the closed door.
When he replied, the volume of his voice had been modulated well enough for the maid to hear him and but not to break the aura of reverential silence where his playthings slept.
"Coming."
He lifted gently, with no sound beside his quickening heartbeat. He smoothed the folds from his trousers, buttoned up the shirt until the last button, flinching at how it pressed on his neck, and checked with a fast glance if his nails were manicured. He didn't want to be scolded tonight, not in the evening he had waited for a whole week-
"Ah, Izaya-kun, your parents won't arrive tonight. They postponed their return from abroad, your mother is still busy."
Izaya turned his head sideways, smiling through the shadow of his black hair at the sting of pain somewhere in his chest and, despite what he tried to tell himself, had nothing to do with an accident during the fencing lessons he attended every afternoon. Instinctively, his fingers twitched and curled in loose fists.
"Hmm, I see."
He followed her through the hallway, in the silence of his own thoughts and feline-light steps. The corners of his mouth didn't raise of an inch when, through the deafening ticking of her heels, he heard her utter: "But you should be happy, Izaya-kun, Kyouko-sama sent you a new toy."
"Hmm, I see."
The twenty-three years old Izaya murmured, with his head turned to one side, while casted a look at Shizuo through raven-black bangs. His fingers were curled across the armrests, forming the angular shapes of hinted fists. But it lasted only for the blink of an eye, because when they lifted to take hold of a pair of wooden chopsticks, they looked relaxed and elegant as usual. Shizuo, on the other hand, limited himself to sit on the chair he carried from downstairs, head lowered over the meal.
It was the first time Shinra witnessed a verbal interaction between the two man that didn't mention the threat of death to one of them, and he felt even more confused about the nature of their relationship. His attention shifted from one to the other, and it didn't took much time before he understood that between the two men was taking place an implicit discussion he wasn't supposed to garner meaning from. He couldn't understand why those two men - those two soldiers - were waiting for death embracing like lovers but, once awoken, they seemed to hate each other such passionately.
When rationality left Shinra confused, it had been instinct which made him realize the one thing he couldn't doubt: it might be hate, or love, but there was a powerful current between them.
"Ne, Shizu-chan," Izaya whispered, leaning on the small table with the express intent of invading the other's personal space. Shizuo didn't draw back; he lifted his gaze instead, looking Izaya straight in the eye. Irritation creased his forehead when their noses barely brushed, and the doctor couldn't decide if the annoyance was due more to the other's proximity or to the murmured words that followed. "Does Kyouko-san know what kind of being you are?"
Shinra's upper body drew back and brows furrowed at the instinctive sensation that those words, gravid with venomous sarcasm, induced - like a lightning bolt. The tension in the following silence made him wait for the inevitable thunderclap - and so it occurred. However, even if it was a thunder that didn't make glass tremble with the power of the sound wave, the look on Shizuo's face was so intense and frightful that Shinra made a mental note to do nothing in the future that could provoke such a killer gaze.
In response, Izaya stretched his lips in a smile that looked as poisonous as his words. Izaya seemed such a good-mannered person, but the expression on his face seeped through Shinra's flesh to such extent to leave behind a sensation of unease: the suspicion that his politeness served only as an implicit intimidation.
"Izaya..."
The deep growl had the doctor's hair bristling and self-preservation made him turn his head to the door, to find a means of escape just in case the thin balance between the two men would break. Unexpectedly, Shizuo flinched and then murmured "Shinra, please sit."
Shinra hinted a nod and obeyed, sitting at one corner of the bed. He heard Shizuo letting out a deep breath before he started talking.
"I think you already know I'm not a normal human being. My physical strength is way beyond normal standards and this is the reason why I can lift that wardrobe without effort. I don't know where it comes from." The volume of his voice lowered to a barely hearable whisper, as he was talking more with himself than with the doctor, when he added "Well, once someone tried to explain that but I got pissed off and-"
He ruffled his hair violently, teeth gritted before he calmed himself and grabbed his pair of chopsticks to play absentmindedly with a slice of tuna.
"But the problem is not my strength. The issue is that when I'm angry I can't control it anymore, I can destroy everything, I can even hurt people I care about. There's a monster in me I can't control-"
"Ah! So you finally admitted what you are, Shizu-chan."
Izaya grinned, savoring the crack of the chopsticks breaking between Shizuo's growls - the most pleasing sounds to his ears. Despite Shizuo trying to stab him with the force of his gaze alone, Izaya turned toward Shinra, because he would never miss the moment where surprise would escalate into fear, or perhaps even disgust, if he was lucky enough.
But the grin miserably withered on his lips because Shinra was beaming instead, with such genuine astonishment the smile reached his eyes and ignited them beyond the thick glasses. Searching for a hint, any kind of twitch that indicated the doctor was just concealing the fear proved to be a vain effort. Indeed, Shinra was far from being even worried. He looked amazed.
...Eh?
"WONDERFUL! I knew there was something special in you, that wardrobe is way too heavy for everyone!"
Wait -
"Please, please, please, Shizuo-kun, can I take a sample of your blood?"
No, it can't be! He finds him - interesting? Why isn't he afraid? What does he find interesting in a monster? He had seen what that beast's capable to do. He's dangerous, he can't be controlled...
"Um, well... I guess it's okay..."
"Wait! I'll come back in a moment, I left my bag downstairs!"
Stunned, Izaya followed the doctor's frame dashing out of the room, then his attention focused back on Shizuo. The monster wasn't looking at him; his gaze was fixed on the door that Shinra had just exited, so Izaya took his time to study the expression on his face without threats of death. Shizuo's stare was blank, as though he was too lost at processing what happened to focus on the present time.
"Are you happy?"
From the absence of quiver in his features, Shizuo hadn't got the sarcasm in Izaya's words.
"This is the first time..."
Words came out from his mouth in a whisper, and there had been no way Izaya could have understood them if he hadn't looked at their birth on his lips. Just for the blink of an eye, in a distant part of his memory took form the reminiscence of those same lips kissing his hair, in such a sweet and affectionate way he had even doubted whom they belonged to. Because they were supposed to be rough and hard enough to bruise, to let teeth scrape and devour, right? They shouldn't feel so soft, it didn't suit a monster like him at all.
The corners of his mouth stretched in a tensed bow, both in response to his own thoughts and to the rare event of his nemesis' face gradually relaxing, as though all the tensions had been washed away from his jaw, from his forehead and from the corners of his lips, leaving place to an expression of relief.
Before he could find a satisfying provocation to spoil that disturbing look, Shinra came back in the room, holding a battered-looking doctor's bag. He didn't even take a moment to catch his breath and, totally ignoring Izaya, approached Shizuo.
Izaya lifted one brow at such display of unjustified excitement when Shinra opened the doctor bag to pull out cotton, disinfectant and a rubber band, and then knelt near Shizuo, in a way Izaya had always linked to cheesy romantic comedies where the guy proposes to the girl right on cue. It made his stomach churn, how Shinra hummed under his breath as he disinfected the crook of Shizuo's elbow and removed a syringe from its package.
"Shizuo-kun, you have no idea how much this means to me!"
Izaya didn't bother to conceal his annoyance as he rolled his eyes. After all, there wasn't even a remote possibility that Shinra noticed him, all excited as he was by the beast.
So disgusting... He's a doctor, right? And doctors should be interested in humans, not in monsters. Eh, perhaps that freak is even interested in supernatural bullshit-
The intuition hit him with a sudden flash, leaving him blinded by its magnitude. His mind stood blank, as though the links between his neurons had been cut for a millisecond, just for reactivating in an explosion-like rush immediately after. Annoyance flowed out of his body when curiosity filled him, indeed he didn't even raise an eyebrow when Shinra extracted the needle and put the syringe back in the doctor bag, holding it on his palms as though it was a holy relic.
"Thanks a lot, Shizuo-kun."
"Ah, no problem, it didn't hurt," Shizuo muttered as he stood up, heading toward the door. "Chopsticks," he answered at the questioning look on Shinra's face. "I broke mine."
"I think my father holds some extra pair in the second drawer, but I'm not sure!" Shinra chirped, and then added, once Shizuo had exited the room, "How are your wrists, Izaya-"
"Tell me, Shinra. Where did you find Shizu-chan and me? It was in the haunted lands, wasn't it?"
Shinra exhaled and lowered his head to avoid the other's gaze, even if Izaya had his head turned toward the window.
"Yes. I found both of you there."
"And, please, tell me... what were you doing in such places? Moreover, in the dead of night."
Izaya wasn't certain of what he was implying and was well aware his words were a gamble, since his memories from that night were as nebulous in his head as one of his childhood dreams. He remembered the smell of grass and blood, and the night surrounding his body in an embrace as cold as the arms holding him. He remembered the touch of Shizuo's shirt against his own lips and how he could hear his breath becoming fainter and fainter, until it wasn't distinguishable anymore from the breeze caressing his cheeks.
Shizuo was dying.
And he was dying too.
In a last-ditch attempt, he had shouted the words struggling for release from his tongue, from his throat, from every inch of his body:
"Help."
His voice came out muffled, faint as Shizuo's heartbeat. He emptied his lungs once again, eyes closed shut in the pain of the effort. Then, he shouted one last time, and his instinct knew it was really the last, his chance of salvation lay in a single word:
"Please."
In retrospect, Izaya found it bitterly amusing that what could have been his last word was the one he dispensed just to strengthen his facade of politeness, until it was solid enough to hide his true purposes. He had always swallowed it without complaining, even if it tasted so syrupy sweet that it had always left a bad aftertaste on his tongue. But then, that same six letters word tasted completely different. It tasted of desperation, it tasted as bitter as the blood and smoke still lingering on his palate, as the future that would not wait for him, bitter as his past. And that taste was definitely worse.
"Would you believe me, Izaya?"
Izaya jolted when Shinra's voice broke his train of thought. He turned, flaunting one of his best smiles, and then uttered "Of course I would."
"Well... I was searching for the woman I love."
One thin eyebrow arched at the absurd explanation, but it surely went unnoticed by Shinra, who had his gaze fixed on a point on the floor beyond his intertwined hands. Izaya heard him exhaling, then his words came out in a whisper.
"She's a Dullahan."
Before Izaya could regain control over the way surprise stretched his features without his consent, Shizuo appeared on the threshold with a new pair of chopsticks, and he must have read something on Izaya's face because he blurted out:
"What's happening here?"
"Nothing, don't worry!" Shinra giggled as he stood up, casting a last, quick glance to Izaya. "Ah! In the end did you find them, Shizuo-kun?"
"Yeah, they're in the third drawer. I'm gonna pay for that one I broke, I'm sorry."
"Don't worry, don't worry!" Shinra beamed, but Izaya clearly spotted his smile becoming melancholic before he turned and headed toward the door, hinting a goodbye with his hand raised. "See you soon and enjoy your meal!"
Though Izaya wanted to make the doctor stay to needle him about every detail, he didn't stop him. There was no proof to the doctor's words for now, and Izaya needed more information to understand if there existed even a glimmer of truth. However, Shizuo must be kept in the dark. If there was a hope, it would surely be thin as a spider web thread, and he couldn't permit Shizuo's unpredictability to cut it.
He knew he must be patient and talk with Shinra once they were alone, without any risk of interrupting monsters. For now, he would liked to have time on his own to digest the shocking revelation, but instead, he had to impose calmness on his still trembling fingers and find a convincing smirk for Shizuo.
Hazel eyes rested on him long enough for Izaya to wonder if he was successful.
The line of Shizuo's brows drew downwards, and he growled something under his breath before he started eating. Even though Izaya already had plenty of plausible lies on the tip of his tongue, Shizuo hadn't asked him explanations about headless women.
Most likely, Shizuo hadn't heard what Shinra had said, or had no clue what a Dullahan was to begin with. He couldn't mess with something he hadn't even the slightest idea about, right?
Izaya's smirk deepened.
He had still control.
Perhaps, he thought, immortality wasn't so out of reach anymore.
In the early afternoon, Izaya was still sitting by the window. The table had been cleared from their meal half an hour before, and on its polished surface now lay the chessboard Shinra lend it to him this morningalong with a pair of biology books.
While Izaya pouted at how far the chessboard was from his father's luxurious set, nostalgia made him wonder under how many layers of soot it, and the rest of their camp, now rested. His right hand twitched at the remembrance of how cold and smooth its surface felt under his fingertips, how the minuscule intersections between each square tickled his skin and had a soothing effect on his nerves. Izaya wondered which of the sixty-four squares were disfigured by a web of thin fissures crossing from side to side by now, and which of the thirty-two pieces laid still on its place, waiting for the next match - probably none.
He exhaled, slowly, trying to soothe the pressure on his breastbone that was making his breath shallow, and moved the white pawn he held between thumb and index.
Click. Click.
He exhaled again, but in a short loud burst. It's just glass on glass.
At his back rose a growl, feral like the one of an angry dog. Izaya ignored it and lifted the black horse.
Click.
A loud "Fuck!" barely muffled by the pillow came from the bed. Izaya shrugged, trying to focus on the next move. The slight pain on his right wrist, added to the beast rolling on the sheets, tripped his attention away from the state of mind he needed to plan clever moves.
Click.
"Izaya..."
Click.
Izaya raised one eyebrow at the stupid move he had just made - all the beast's fault.
"If you can't sleep it means you aren't tired enough, Shizu-chan."
"Bullshit! It's your fault, flea! You didn't let me sleep last night and I have to work soon!"
Izaya heard the impact of a fist on the mattress along with a growled: "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"Stop complaining, I can't focus. If you can't sleep, at least be quiet."
"Hah?! And what am I supposed to do? Stare at a fucking wall?"
"You can read, Shizu-chan."
"Biology?!"
"You don't have much of a choice, and I guess staring a wall for a protozoan like you is much more enthralling than reading a book you can't even begin to understand, or playing a chess match with someone like me."
Izaya realized that what he had just said just for provocation sounded a bit too much like an invite. Of course, he didn't want to play with Shizuo at all. Luckily Izaya was aware that, for Shizuo, even biology was better than spending other time in Izaya's company.
His fingers tapped the chair arms as he waited for another shower of grunts and insults which, however, never came. For a split second, a pair of thin wrinkles creased his forehead when he heard a rustle of sheets at his back, and approaching heavy steps. The blond monster sprawled on the chair at the other side of the small table, ruffling his bleached hair before he spoke with an exhausted voice across the palms of his hands, as an attempt to wash away the drowsiness rubbing his face violently.
"Teach me."
Izaya tilted his chin up, savoring the image of his arch-enemy sleep-deprived by his own hand.
"It's a strategy game, are you sure a Neanderthal like you won't get bored?"
"Oi flea! I may not be the fricking smartass you are, but I'm not the idiot you think I am."
And then, the aggressiveness in his voice faltered and made Izaya wonder if perhaps Shizuo's hands were trying to wash away something more than drowsiness. "I don't have choice, I would stare at the wall, but having nothing to do means thinking, remembering - Aaah I don't even know why I'm saying this to you."
With his head tilted to one side, Izaya examined his monster. Then, he began to put the pieces back in their starting positions, muttering under his breath, "I don't want to play with Shizu-chan at all." Slowly he reset the board, glancing up, every now and then, to see if Shizuo had lifted into a proper sitting position.
"If we start, we have to finish the match, you know? Growling, trying to hit me, throwing away the pieces or destroying the chessboard are not allowed, even if you lose."
And of course you'll lose.
Shizuo's eyes were glistening too much to blame on exhaustion when he lifted his head for the time needed to burst out "Hah? Of course I won't!" Indeed, his hands hid his face once again when he muttered "It's just a fucking game."
Izaya exhaled, massaging his temples to get rid of the hint of a headache and of the image of his monster on verge of shattering. After all, despite the fact that today Shizuo had found people who could accept him for who he was, or even love him, for the beast that was a cold comfort - once alone and undistracted, the sense of guilt for losing his little brother in the fire was something he could never escape.
"Whatever. Let's start. What do you know about chess, Shizu-chan?"
This Shizuo looked like the ghost of the old one when his arms rested on his knees and looked at him. He seemed lost, so desperate and lonely he would play with Izaya instead of being alone with his thoughts.
"You have to checkmate your opponent's king to win, right?"
Izaya nodded. "Yes, that's true. But do you know what its deepest purpose is?"
Shizuo didn't bother to answer him; he knew the flea enough to understand when his questions were rhetorical, so he just stared at the other in silence. And then, his upper body lifted out of curiosity when he witnessed at the birth of a spark of excitement in Izaya's features. But whether it was ready to explode in childish joy or madness, Shizuo couldn't decide. Or perhaps, he thought, it was such a childlike enthusiasm it seemed like madness in the eyes of a grown-up man.
"You know, the real issue is to plan all your moves in order to weave a net of traps to corner, and then defeat, all your opponent's pieces, obviously supporting your own. You can capture everyone if you master their qualities and their Achilles' heels as well." Izaya put the last piece back and lifted his gaze from the chessboard to Shizuo. "Understand?"
Shizuo just nodded, even if he felt a bit annoyed by the smartass tone in Izaya's voice and the notion of fighting fire with fire tickled his guts. What stopped him was the glimmer of a sensation, so faint it was barely more than premonition but still made him lean closer to the other man.
"Perfect, let's start with the basics. I'm going to explain to you how the pieces move and capture the opponent's, so pay attention."
Shizuo was paying attention - not to meaning, but to sound. But it wasn't the ticking of glass on glass that held his interest; it was the strange tone of Izaya's voice. There wasn't trace of his mocking chirp, no provocation or words stressed just so to incite a reaction in Shizuo. Izaya's voice flowed out like a script; words came in succession as his brain didn't need time to choose the most appropriate one. Shizuo wondered if Izaya had composed them beforehand to prepare himself for a moment where he would teach his favorite game to someone.
He shook his head.
No, it didn't sound like something Izaya would do at all, because Izaya played alone - with chess pieces, and with people. And yet, he couldn't shake off from his mind the image of his nemesis as a child, moving pieces while he explained with this same excitement.
Shizuo blinked.
Undressed from the smirks and provocations he flaunted in Shizuo's presence, Izaya looked young, and somehow less distant. He looked human, and, beyond that, one as lonely as Shizuo was.
"Understand?"
"Eh?"
Izaya rolled his eyes. "Earth to Shizu-chan! I'm going to explain it again, but be careful because this time is the last!"
Even if he is a bloodsucking flea, even if I hate him-
Shizuo shifted his attention from Izaya to the chessboard, where Izaya moved the different pieces in what seemed to him to be foreign dances. Izaya's long fingers were firm and elegant in lifting tiny pawns and majestic queens in a precise way which transcended technique, and seemed something closer to affection.
At some point, as he nodded to Izaya's accurate explanations, the anger and grief, perhaps even loneliness lifted from his chest, leaving his whole being relaxed. Shizuo was aware that this state of mind wouldn't last for long in Izaya's presence; sooner or later the flea would say something with the express purpose of pissing him off. But for now, he decided to enjoy the sensation.
"That's all. Don't worry if you don't feel confident, with practice you'll overcome every insecurity."
Izaya lifted his head, searching for approval in the other's feature. A puff of wind was blowing into the white bedroom, surrounding them with the faint smell of mowed lawn and saltiness when Izaya spoke again, the corners of his mouth raised in a symmetrical bow that looked so similar to the sincere smile that was now stretching Shizuo's lips.
"Can we play now?"
A/N: Thanks to my beta, Aira Kay!
