Hey there! I haven't dropped this fic (and I won't ever do it), it's just that real life had been quite stressful. This chapter is shorter than the past ones, so I'm gonna update the next one in two weeks! Anyway, I'm so glad you enjoyed the past chapter! THANK YOU so much for the feedback, I love all of you so much!


Orihara Izaya loved human beings. Nothing soothed him more than the chatter of unknown voices as he let his gaze shift over people busy with their everyday life. He wasn't choosy in his observation; each of them could become his next favorite test subject, and he was ready to study thousands of boring people to find the rare gem, someone that overcame his expectations.

Sitting by the bedroom window, Izaya learned routines and habits, where and when people went and who they met. For example, Kishitani Shinra, doctor, sneaked out at night to go in the wild lands searching for a headless woman he claimed to love. Itou Satoshi, owner of the minimart, got drunk every evening – curiously, he never closed the outer door of his house – did he trust his fellow villagers that much? Togusa Saburo left the village at dawn. A nineteen years old girl named Rika hung out with her friend Misaki in a restaurant called Russia Sushi every Thursday evening, and so on and on. Izaya could ramble on for ages. Though now that he was to a certain extent able to walk on his own, Izaya felt that the time for a closer observation had finally come.

The previous evening, he hadn't sat by the window in the bedroom he shared with Shizu-chan, but on a black faux leather sofa, chewing a rather unorthodox piece of sushi. Unexpectedly, the food here had been so delicious that Izaya had ordered an extra share to eat at home for when Shizuo would come back from work (if Izaya didn't finish it all by himself beforehand). Despite it being a weekday, Russia Sushi had been crowded. The smell of raw fish and beer mingled in the air together with the persistent scent of vanilla perfume emanating from the girls he shared the table with, Rika and Misaki.

Izaya had done his best to study them. If a sommelier must have a receptive palate to catch the peculiarity of a wine, in human observation the key sense was hearing, so he listened at the two girls at the top of his game. Izaya judged himself an excellent listener, and the reason lay in a single quality of his: he held no interest in himself. After all, don't people ask someone else about their weekend just to talk of their own? Don't they just forget what someone they've just met is called, because they're too focused on telling their own name while making a good impression? Don't they ask someone if they're doing fine, just so someone will ask in return, "What about you"? Izaya didn't make this mistake. His emotions meant nothing to him; they were like bothersome dust to wipe away without a second thought. A constant sterilization of his feelings, akin to cleaning fingerprints and dirt and scratches from the lens of a camera before taking a picture, allowed him to catch clearest image possible. While listening to an insightful chat, Izaya gathered the information he needed to establish if a human was interesting enough for a more acute observation, a more contrived type, like wine being swirled in a glass to fully catch its perfume, so to speak.

Misaki's eyes had met Izaya's, and she started to play with the dark hair she wore up in a ponytail. She curled the strands across her fingers and said in a thin voice:

"I heard that the blond haired guy working at Tanaka's pub is going out with Satou Kyouko from the bakery shop."

Izaya had almost choked on his beer. This wasn't an enlightening conversation, yet he had forced himself to keep his metaphorical inner lens nice and clean. He leaned his head on his bent arm, trying to breathe away the uncomfortable sensation that he didn't want to listen at these girls any longer.

"Hah?! Is he into older women?" Rika said. "So many girls I know started going to that jazz pub to flirt with him, but he didn't even give them a second look! For a while, I thought he wasn't even into women at all."

Misaki nodded."I thought he must be Tanaka's lover!"

"That makes sense, Micchan. They look so cute together! Since the blond guy saved his life, he and Tanaka have gotten pretty close!"

Izaya tilted his chin up at the sudden gem that Rika dropped casually. "Hmm, is that for real?"

Both the girls nodded.

"Yes, and from then on, Tanaka totally wanted to return the favor, and it's just so out of character for someone like him. You know, Izaya-san, Tanaka hasn't ever made any new friends since–" Misaki lowered her tone of voice until it was barely audible. "What happened in the wild lands."

"I hadn't heard about that! What happened?"

"Well, when he was a teenager he and his friends left home – they were a kind of street gang here, a pretty harmless one. It was a show of bravado and nobody knows what happened there for sure but Tanaka was the only one who returned. From then on, he only hung around with some of the guys he plays music with in his pub, but he's usually very reserved – like he's scared of something! But he's getting so damn close to that guy! I've seen them together and, believe me, Tanaka is so overprotective!"

"What do you think about him, Izaya-san?" Rika asked him.

"About whom? Tanaka or that blond haired guy with a soft spot for older women?"

Misaki giggled. "I think he's called Heiwajima Shizuo. You know him, right? When we met you for the first time he was pushing you in a wheelchair."

Izaya had stared deep into her eyes, watching as her breath hitched. Her face had flushed scarlet.

"Yeah, I know him, and if I were you, I wouldn't ever get any closer to him. He's dangerous. He acts on instinct like a beast. My opinion, hmm?" His voice had been deep and calm and neutral, when he added: "I don't like him at all."


The next time the words I don't like him at all came to his mind, Izaya was alone.

It was early in the morning, Rika and Misaki had probably been fast asleep from several hours already, while Izaya wasn't getting any sleep at all. He wasn't even in bed, nor sitting by the window sipping coffee. He was inside a house, but not in his own. From the door left slightly open spilled darkness, only broken by the streetlight. Its halo stretched on Itou Satoshi's dark marble floor. Izaya sat in the entrance hall, head folded in his bent arms, his breath ragged from the run, his knee aching, his heartbeat fast. He didn't want to analyze what he felt now, wanted to just brush it away, but this wasn't superficial dust… It was something he was made with, part of him like the blood in his veins, imprinted into his very bones. It was fear.

The obscure desire he felt now was dreadful. It made threads of rage tangle into knots in his chest. That beast hadn't even tried to kill him. Shizuo said everything had changed between them, Shizuo had touched him, Shizuo had kissed him. Chaste kisses, nothing more than that, but something about Shizuo doing that to him made Izaya shudder all over in pleasure, and when Shizuo kept saying his name Izaya froze, right on the verge of coming undone… And then? What would happen to him after that? Izaya acknowledged his desires, and followed them wherever they took him. When bothersome emotions ensued, he washed them away before they could harm his controlled, rational self. He had built line in the sand between desire and emotion, and if his carefully constructed barriers fell, well… It was a cheesy sentence that made him cringe, but his heart would be easily broken.

He fed his self-control with those familiar words, he clung to them: I don't like him at all. Though there was a different ring to them; they weren't sugarcoated by the usual calmness he found in his thoughts. He was scared and angry and he wanted Shizuo now. He imagined how it would have happened, Shizuo deepening the kiss, and Izaya would have kissed him back, until he was nothing but a pathetic mess in that beast's arms.

Everything is okay, he repeated to himself. He knew it wasn't. He convinced himself he would be all right again if he stayed away from Shizuo for a while, observing humans in a good hiding place that was surely not here in the village, but somewhere else. Anywhere else.

When the dawn came, Izaya left the village. Togusa Saburo barely spoke during the whole travel; he only asked where Izaya needed to go and Izaya replied: "Wherever you're headed". Izaya already had a believable lie on the tip of his tongue to justify his urge to leave the village – possessive boyfriend, gotta disappear for a while, with a casual hint at the kiss and biting marks he still felt burning on his skin – but Togusa didn't ask for an explanation.

Izaya didn't bother to ask him not to tell anyone he had seen him, even if Izaya was 99% sure Shizuo knew Togusa, at least by sight. There was a Nina Simone sticker on the dustless dashboard, placed there side by side with a Heineken one, carefully enough to border on perfectionism, aligned as they were with the air vent on the passenger's side. Jazz music and beer were a combo that meant one thing in the village: a regular in Tanaka Tom's pub. Shizuo could ask Togusa if he had seen someone with Izaya's look and Togusa would reply I did, and tell him where they were headed. And, honestly, Izaya didn't care. He would escape even further away, and Shizuo would keep chasing him forever and ever without catching him, like the good old times. Ah-ha. It serves you right, Shizu-chan.

Izaya pulled down the sun visor with a jerk that made Togusa jump on his seat. Glancing in the mirror on the back, he found his hair was tousled, and the hickeys a dark red color, stains against his pale skin. Izaya found them beautiful. He moistened his lips, poking the cut on his lower lip. Shizuo had kissed him. His chest tightened into a knot that exploded into an unexpected lightness spreading everywhere, from his groin to his cheeks, now flushed pink. He let out few deep breaths, an attempt to douse his hot spirits, but he smelled that beast's scent on himself, and he liked it.

"Once you're done with the mirror, please closethe sun visor back gently," Togusa said, interrupting Izaya's train of thought. In slow-motion, he mimicked the correct movement Izaya should make. "Like this, sloooowly."

Good god, had he just met a car freak?! He glanced at Togusa, at the straight light-brown hair, at the starched white shirt from under which peeked out a flashy golden chain that reminded Izaya of someone he knew in the past. He wondered if he was supposed to call them sooner or later to let them know he was safe and sound but nope, there was no way he would do that. There was a Dullahan waiting for him and he had never liked goodbyes—

Wait, he thought. Why am I thinking of me instead of focusing on this human?

Izaya shifted his attention back to Togusa. He cast sidelong glances at him, trying to grasp something of the man's personality through body language, but he felt like a radio with a bad signal. The music faded in and out, and in the moments of white noise his rationality blackened out, and the Shizuo from the past evening came to his mind – the weight and warmth of his body, his smell, the way he had called Izaya's name before kissing him. A quiet rage built up inside of him, and he decided to focus on the scenery as an attempt to reset. With the sea on one side and the wooded hills on the other, they followed the road that kept stretching, empty and narrow.

The closest village resided a hour and a half drive away. It was composed entirely of colored houses, built around a gulf in which waves cradled fancy motorboats. It looked like a tourist location; clusters of people holding cameras gathered in the narrow alleys, sat on the benches eating packed lunch, or flowed into the golden beach where kids holding buckets and spades and groups of friends enjoyed the last hot days before summer broke. Izaya had a passing thought, that the village where he lived now wasn't any less picturesque than this, only more backwater. Here, at least there was a train station; he had already spotted the street signs leading to it. Once Togusa had parked his van, Izaya thanked him and they parted ways. Izaya headed toward the station that, in the end, proved out to be two tracks, a ticket shop and three old metal benches close to each other. Izaya pulled out from his pockets some crumpled bills – the change for the sushi – that was enough to choose a one-way ticket to several destinations, all far away from here. Between them, one in particular was the perfect hiding place. He spent the few remaining money on a Crosswords Magazine and a pencil. Habit.

When the train arrived and the doors opened, the crowd of tourists walked past him, their suitcase wheels rattling on the paving, the chatting loud and disconnected. A single male voice emerged from the clamor.

"Wait!"

Izaya turned his head toward it and he felt his mouth going dry and legs turning into jelly, because he was sure it was him. When the man came closer, though, all the similarities with Shizuo went down the drain - Izaya's stomach made a flip and then dropped, leaving him nauseous and displacing all his thoughts.

The car in which he sat was old and stunk of over-heated brakes, floor cleaner and sweat. The air conditioning was broken and there was barely anyone to observe since all the people got out at the tourist village . He slept during most of the trip, the magazine pages flapping in his lap. He didn't dream.


The sun was in the west when Izaya reached the top of a hill. The city spread at his back; grey buildings rose between the sparse traces of parks and shone with the sun's reflection on the skyscrapers' glass and the train station's roof, now toy-sized with distance. Beads of sweat moistened his hairline and made the creased shirt cling onto his back, the air heavy and humid. All in all, he bet he looked pathetic.

He limped, and he did nothing to conceal it anymore. He had walked for so long that the ache dug deep into his knee, and now it stung as though something was chewing flesh and bones from the inside. For a moment Shizuo's worried face flashed through his mind. Let me help you, Shizuo would say, and without waiting for an answer he would grab Izaya around the waist, pass Izaya's arm over his shoulder and carry almost all his weight. Izaya started laughing under his breath, thirst and exhaustion making his voice hoarse. He laughed because he had spent an hour and a half with that van freak, almost half a day on a stinky train, he had walked so damn far, yet it was as though Shizuo had followed him all the way here. Shizuo wasn't physically at his side, but the thought of him reached Izaya everywhere, no matter where he ran, no matter where he hid. It was like an uncomfortable backpack, one so full that there was always something poking at his back no matter how much he readjusted the content. Though… it didn't feel heavy at all. Quite the contrary, Izaya still felt that same unsettling lightness in his chest, every time he thought of Shizuo. He refused, though, to name it, that emotion slipping through his self control. That beast, he thought between the fits of hysterical laughs. I don't like him at all.

Ahead of him, a manor grew into view out of the disheveled grass. Many seasons had passed by since the last time Izaya saw it, and in the interim, time had picked at it like vultures on remains, until grey stones peaked through the brittle yellow paint of the façade. Izaya ran his eyes down to the entry door, traced the doorknob with the palm of his hand, and curled his fingers around it, recalling its shape, the sensation of cold brass on his skin. He turned it and pushed - locked.

He searched for the Swiss army knife in his pocket to use one of its tools to force the lock open, only to remember he had thrown it at Shizuo yesterday evening along with all the knives in the cutlery drawer. The graphite in the pencil he had bought before could lubricate the lock (if only he managed to separate it from the wooden part) though he still lacked something thin and sharp to catch the lock, like a bobby pin or a paper clip. Izaya sharpened his eyes and started chewing on his lower lip, tasting blood as the motion reopened the cut. If he only had Shizuo's strength, he would tear the hardwood door down with a push of his shoulder but, since he didn't, the windows of the ground floor looked like the best choice. The shutters broke like cardboard in his hands and, behind them, lay the last outpost of the house: a thin pane of glass. Izaya looked around for a rock, and when his gaze fell on the bushes between the pine trees an unsettling melancholy balled up in his chest. He breathed out, and wiped it away.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"

Izaya jolted. A man had materialized out of thin air behind him - Izaya hadn't caught the sound of steps approaching, despite the fact that, from what he would tell, this was a pretty large guy. The stranger's hair was dark grey and combed in two little horns on both sides of his head in a kind of Wolverine fashion. It would seem almost cool, if only the man himself didn't have a face crisscrossed with scars, as though someone had exchanged his skin for a chopping board – a face currently wearing a killer expression that didn't bode well for Izaya.

"Hah?! Who the hell are you s'posed to be?" the man barked, leaning closer.

"I'm Orihara Izaya. Shirou's son," Izaya replied, not giving in an inch. "This is my house, so… Who might you be?"

The man lifted a brow. "I'm Aozaki, the guardian here until my boss comes back. And like hell I'm gonna let a little thief like you break into this goddamn house. Because you ignore a pretty important stuff, my dear thief—"Aozaki pulled out a nine caliber gun, and pointed it between Izaya's eyebrows. He grinned. "Everyone knows that Orihara Izaya is dead."

Izaya clicked his tongue as he lifted his hands above his head. "I'm not a thief, I just don't have the key, because I gave it to your boss before leaving for my last mission. And you can see a mile off that I'm alive and breathing, can't you?"

Aozaki pressed the gun against Izaya's forehead. "Not for long."

"Wait, wait, not so fast… Listen. Why don't you go ahead and call your boss so he can identify me? Think about it, wouldn't it be a huge mistake if you shoot the owner of the house, just because everyone claims that he's dead? Besides, they never did find it, did they? Orihara Izaya's body, I mean."

It worked. Aozaki stepped back, though he didn't put the gun back in its holster. "Fine," he said. "I'm gonna call him, but you'll kneel with your hands on your headuntil he identifies you, and if you're not who you tell you are I'm gonna stick a bullet in your pretty head for good."

Izaya shrugged. "Do as you wish," he mumbled, biting on his lower lip when he sank to the ground.

The city lights had begun to gleam steadily in the crisp night air when he finally heard the roar of an engine and the sound of wheels on gravel. Eventually, headlights flicked up the darkened hill, approaching fast and then coming to a sudden stop.

A male figure got out of a black sedan. He was a dark-haired man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a white suit and a black collared shirt. A flashy golden chain shone around his neck. "Hello! Nice to see you again," Izaya said, and the man stopped walking, as though those words alone managed to petrify him.

Izaya outstretched arms. "Did you miss me, Shiki-san?"

Instead of hugging him, the man called Shiki grabbed Izaya at his shirt collar, violently pulling him to his feet. Deep wrinkles settled on the man's face as he frowned. Izaya flinched. He was exhausted and his injured knee hurt too much to make him stand upright.

Aozaki pressed the gun on the back of Izaya's head, barking: "Can I shoot him now, Shiki-no-danna?"

"No, it's him," Shiki hissed, glancing at his subordinate for only a moment. Then his black eyes fell back on Izaya and the scowl deepened even more. "I thought you were dead. Why didn't you call?"

Izaya smiled. "Well, what matters is that I'm alive, ne? But I won't be alive for long if you don't call off your underling here." He stretched his hand toward Aozaki. "I would like to have my keys, please."

Only after he had received a nod from Shiki himself did Aozaki reluctantly give up the keys. He threw them at Izaya, who caught them in one hand. "Thank you," Izaya said, and his smile turned into a smirk.

Past the entrance hall, a dark hallway stretched out. It was the one Izaya saw in his nightmares, though devoid of the underlying dread and the sense of dreaming. The walls weren't burning, the ceiling was dark but still visible and there weren't golden letters drawn under the doors that opened on both sides. It looked harmless, and he knew that his mother, disguised as a Dullahan, wouldn't be hiding in the room to which he headed.

The third door to the right opened to his father's study. It still was an impressive room, even if more than a decade of neglect had taken its toll. Shelves lined the walls, full of beautiful ancient books, but the spines wore a thick layer of dust that had never been polished off; that layer of grime now covered everything from floor to ceiling. At first glance, the painting above Izaya's head appeared to be a dull light-blue color, but with closer look he recognized a sky, drawn on a plaster that had started to fall to pieces on the once fluffy scarlet carpet, now littered with dents and faded to pink. The marble chessboard wasn't there anymore, either. That rested somewhere between burned trees in the wild lands, forever lost.

His father's executive desk was the only thing that time didn't manage to consume. It still stood like a votive altar in the middle of the room, like it had always been, even in Izaya's faraway memories, untouched and untouchable. Its original form was mahogany trees severed from a forest on the edge of the wild lands, that had been sculpted with hundreds of mythological beings all entangled on the wooden surface. Izaya flinched in pain when he kneeled down beside the figure of a headless woman dressed in a long Victorian dress. He narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling up when he traced with his fingertips the severed head she carried under her arm. Soon, he thought. Wait for me, Celty.

Izaya heard the sound of Shiki's leather shoes crossing the carpet, and when the older man stopped behind him, Izaya smelled the scent of his expensive cologne, tobacco and something deliciously twisted - self-hatred, regret and unrequited love.

Shiki asked: "Your leg. Was it the fire or did they shoot you?"

Izaya got up to lean his weight on the desk. "I'm fine now, I don't feel like lingering on details. Besides, you're not part of my family nor my tutor-" He tilted his chin up, eyes half-closed, locked with Shiki's. A smile crept on his lips, and his voice was low and smooth when he said: "It's not like we're friends either. We just fucked every now and then."

Shiki scowled, and Izaya swore he had caught a glimpse of anger in his gaze. Izaya liked humans like him. Shiki was an old flame that Izaya used to enjoy, one he could control. It was safe, subdued like the one in a fireplace. Izaya warmed up when he felt like it, and distanced himself when he had enough. Sex with a man like Shiki was satisfying, yet it had never touched Izaya's heart. When he was in his teens, Izaya had slept with women and had found it pleasurable, but when he grew up he discovered that there was something thrilling in walking on the line between pain and pleasure pretending to be at someone's mercy. It was like walking on a balustrade at the top of a skyscraper, but unless you're suicidal (or just very stupid) you hop on it only if you trust your balance. Control was everything in these situations, otherwise you'd become nothing more than a splotch on asphalt. That was why he liked men like Shiki the most; it was a thrilling win-win situation. He had control and, as a lover, Shiki reminded Izaya of how Shizuo acted during their chases – violent, selfish, burning with hate even stronger than love. For Izaya, this was water in the desert.

Izaya stared into Shiki's eyes, and pressed his index finger between his eyebrows – the touch was poised, the pressure perfectly studied. "Don't frown like this," Izaya teased, his voice deep. "It makes you look older."

"I've got my reasons to frown. What about your responsibilities? You left us alone dealing with an enemy that had totally thrashed us. You disappeared and we all thought you were dead. And now you pop up out of nowhere, without calling or even asking for the keys beforehand, looking like this, after who know how you survived. Do you at least plan to stay?"

"If you want I'll help you to plan a counterattack," Izaya replied, leaning back on the desk."But I don't plan to stay here nor to go back to my old job. Eventually I'll leave."

"Is there a good reason?"

"Yes."

Shiki exhaled. "It always shocks me how selfish you are."

"It's quite the contrary Shiki-san. Do you call me selfish because I live following my desires? I don't bend anyone to them, I just observe, and I swear that I would feel so blessed to spend eternity watching my beloved humans without worrying about my human self, without bothersome things like emotions..."

"That's wishful thinking."

"Oh no," Izaya said, and headed toward the library. He remembered where he put that book he was looking for. He blew away the dust that had piled up on the back like dirty snow. "I wouldn't say that."

Shiki shook his head, and headed outside the room. "Take your time," he said. "I'm going to bring here my stuff."

Izaya nodded. Now that he thought about it, that was the book he was reading when he met Shiki for the first time. It was the last book he read in this room before he left this place for more than ten years. He caressed the yellowed pages tenderly, and a smile stretched his lips in a tense bow.


A/N: Thanks to my beta, Aira Kay!