It was an autumn morning about ten years ago. A faint, metallic light peeked out from the cracked clouds and the air was chilly, smelling like incense blended with the moisture that lingers after a rainstorm. Shiki drew in a deep breath and knocked at the wooden entry door. Though he heard people talking inside, nobody came to open the door, so he turned the brass doorknob and pushed. The door opened.
A small crowd chatted in the entrance hall – maids, the butlers, a cook, others Shiki struggled to recognize but who might have been private teachers. The sight of their luggage scattered at their feet felt like a touch of reality, tangible under his fingers like those leather bags that had been filled to overflowing. The telephone call Shiki had received hadn't been a sick joke. Orihara Shirou, thirty-eight years old widower, had been in a car accident. He lost control of his car, crashed against the guardrail, broke it and tumbled down the hill. When the car stopped, witnesses said that part of it looked like crumpled tinfoil. The voice at the other side of the telephone told Shiki that the police was investigating the accident, that there were some theories about how Shirou lost control of his car and hit full speed against the guardrail—That's not important now. Shiki blurted out, interrupting them. Just tell me if he survived.
Once he had reached Shirou's manor, Shiki explained to the servants who he was: "I'm Shiki Haruya, I come from the Military Academy where Orihara Shirou worked. I'm here for the kid."
At the word kid, some of them flinched. "Strange boy," someone whispered. "I've never seen him crying for his parents. Even now, it looks as if he doesn't care…"
Shiki didn't linger to listen to their gossips any longer. He didn't give a damn, he was tired after driving all night and his headache was stiffening like drying concrete. They showed him the way – hallway, third door to the right – and he took his leave.
The third room to the right proved out to be Shirou's study. Here, a thin, black haired boy about thirteen years old leaned on Shirou's executive desk. There was an old book in his hands and a marble chessboard lay on the scarlet carpet not far from him. It looked as through the kid was playing chess alone, but when Shiki watched closer, he noticed that there weren't kings on the chessboard anymore. What rules is he playing with?
The boy didn't lift his gaze from the book when he asked, "Did you know my father?"
"I do know him."
"Did you know him because of my mother?"
Shiki shook his head. "He was my mentor before he dropped his job to take care of her. My name is Shiki Haruya."
Izaya closed the book and Shiki managed to read its cover.
It said: "The Dullahan: A study of Wild Lands Lore."
Like father like son, he thought wryly. Shirou was a myth and legends enthusiast, willing to spend a fortune collecting old books about the wild lands, not to mention on that intricately carved executive desk where his son sat now. His coworkers teased him mercilessly, for wasting his money on fairy tales. He could have bought a brand new class S Mercedes instead of that creepy ass desk! Shiki found himself smiling at the memories; he didn't like the jokes, but he enjoyed Shirou's ironic replies. Shiki admired him.
"Oh, I see… You're from the Military Academy," Shirou's son said."So I should come with you now, right?"
"Yes." Shiki paused. It hung oddly in the air what he said next: "If that's fine by you."
The boy looked amused when he finally turned his head to Shiki. His eyes were red and almond-shaped like his father, though they lacked the softness Shirou's had. After a few seconds, he averted the gaze to put the book he was reading back in its place. "That was just out of courtesy, Shiki-san! It's fine, though, my stuff is all packed up already. Just give me a moment with the chessboard."
Shiki waited for him outside, leaning on the entry door, and he had half-smoked a cigarette by the time the boy reached him. When they stepped outside, the damp fallen leaves made a soft, accommodating sound under their soles. Midway to his car, the sound of Izaya's step came to a sudden stop. Shiki followed Izaya's gaze and saw a black cat peeking from the well-groomed bushes, the fur too dirty and ruffled to be a rich family's pet. Though the cat had already disappeared behind the bushes, Izaya didn't avert his gaze. Shiki asked: "Is that your cat?"
"No. She's a stray coming here from time to time."
Shiki exhaled smoke. "Do you need some time to tell her goodbye?"
Izaya shook his head and looked away. "She'll be fine. There are other families that feed her."
Neither of them spoke when they sat in Shiki's car. When he turned the engine on, Shiki could have sworn he caught Izaya casting a sidelong glance at his home in his peripheral vision. Shiki clenched the wheel and pushed his feet on the gas pedal, until the manor disappeared from their sight.
Back then, Shiki had worried for Orihara Izaya: a Military Academy wasn't a place for kids in first place, and Shirou's boy studied to become a military strategist like his father so making friends with the recruits was hard – he didn't sleep in the barracks but in a room all his own, he didn't attend the standard military training but had private teachers, he didn't eat the sometimes literal slop on long tables but had decent food served in private rooms. Yet, this isolation didn't seem like a problem for him. He was a quiet and reserved boy, but not out of shyness. It was more like a reticence, a conscious choice to not get involved if it wasn't necessary. As a result, he spent his spare time alone, bent over Shirou's marble chessboard or attending fencing lessons even if, with time, his favorite hobby proved to be walking down the hallways or sitting on the roof, his gaze skimming over people. Sometimes, Izaya joined other soldiers' conversation, uttering just a few words; other times they tried to harass him, only to regret it a moment later when the harmless-looking kid pulled out a switchblade (a katana wouldn't fit my pockets, he'd said) and flaunted his ability to wield said weapon. The reason Shiki's sympathy never became actual pity lay in the fact that despite the loneliness, the sudden change of habitat, and the loss of both his parents in the span of two years, Shirou's son showed absolute stability, not the slightest hint of stress, even to an attentive observer. He seemed to adapt just fine to the new environment.
On the other hand, since Shirou's son came there, the Military Academy had undergone a drastic change. There was something that drew people to that kid. Shiki guessed it didn't hurt that he was a good-looking boy and a straight A student, but it was more than that - Izaya's talent as a strategist was bright, making him stand out no matter what the issue was.
Besides the weekly military meeting they attended together and the mealtime conversations, they managed to spend some time together, beyond just the two times a month he brought Izaya with him to the closest town to visit Shirou at the Kitahara clinic. In a private room, Shirou rested on crisp, cold sheets, bound to stay there, in an endless sleep that looked too much like death. What hurt Shiki wasn't just seeing Shirou's cheekbones casting sharp shadows on his once handsome face, or his wrists, grown thinner, or his pallid complexion – Shirou's kid had never stepped into his father's hospital room and didn't plan to do so in the future.
"I can't understand why you keep visiting my father. It's been two and a half years already, he may as well be already dead," Izaya said, unaffected.
Shiki frowned. "For fuck's sake, he's your family. You shouldn't avoid visiting him just because it's too painful to see him like this."
"This isn't about me, Shiki-san. It's about you," Izaya said in a low voice, and he stepped so close that Shiki could smell him. Shiki thought that there was something of Shirou in this Izaya, not in looks because Izaya resembled his mother Kyouko; it was something subtler - maybe it was the allure, or the sharp mind, or the habit of looking people straight in the eye - Shiki couldn't put his finger on it, he just felt it.
He scowled when Izaya laid a hand on his chest. This didn't feel like an attempt to console him at all. Izaya tilted his chin up and stared into Shiki's eyes. "Don't frown like that, Shiki-san. It's fine," he said, giggling under his breath. Shiki stood as though frozen when Izaya whispered across his lips: "Face your feelings already."
That was the last time he brought Izaya with him.
After that episode, Shiki didn't see him for long time. He accepted assignments abroad, and he had no reason or will to come back to the Academy for long time. He kept visiting Shirou but lost touch with his son. In the meanwhile, Shirou didn't wake up, and his cheekbones casted even sharper shadows on his face. Sometimes, in the lonely afternoons he spent at the clinic, it struck Shiki that this body was only a phantom of the man Shirou had been, and his hope felt frail, like thin glass creaking under his fingers.
When he finally came back to his old job, the Academy had changed again. In the five years Shiki had been away, Izaya had become a man. He was now powerful, beautiful, rich, and hated.
Both authorities and soldiers disliked him immensely but needed him more, talented as he was - he had already overshadowed his father in fame. The coworkers who laughed at Shirou's hobbies flinched at the way his son provided his own fun. Sinister accidents had started to occur in the Academy and the nearby town, and the one thing they had in common was Orihara Izaya. A soldier who held a grudge against his own brother found, under the pillow, a present from a mysterious tooth fairy – a loaded gun. A shy boy in his teens was found crumpled on the ground with both legs broken after he had thrown himself from a three story high building. Two streets gangs fought and an innocent girl ended up being hurt.
Izaya jeopardized his reputation, career, and life for an incomprehensible reason: "I didn't force those people to do anything, I offered them an opportunity to unleash their feelings and desires. They decided to take it. Why did I do that, hmm? It's easy: I love humans."
Shiki didn't understand him, and what he felt for him was more than annoyance for a kid's immature behavior. He found Izaya leaning against the balustrade of the main building roof, head pillowed on his bent arm. His head was bowed to observe something, or someone, on the ground.
"Nice to see you again, Shiki-san," Izaya chirped, without turning. His voice was smooth, and deeper than Shiki remembered, but there was still a childish ring in it. "I've quite missed you all these years. What about you? Did you miss me even a bit?"
Shiki knitted his eyebrows. "If you call yourself a philanthropist, why don't you do something to make people happy instead of destroying their lives?"
Izaya turned to look him in the eye. He had grown so much in the years they had been apart, and Shiki thought that people were right when they said that there was something stunning about him now. Izaya had always been a pretty boy, but adulthood gifted him with something more than a pleasant look – there was a charm intrinsic to his gestures and tone of voice, the one that blooms only when an astounding appearance is paired up with an equally excellent mind. That kind of attractiveness on someone as dangerous as Izaya felt like a beautifully decorated bottle filled with an addictive poison.
As though he had sensed Shiki's surprise, Izaya smiled. "I love them both when they're happy and in pain, Shiki-san. I love them even if they're tedious or don't have the courage to change, I love them regardless of the atrocities they committed or will commit. My love touches everyone, unconditionally," Izaya said, and he looked back to the ground. "Look at him instead, he wants to be human but he's bound to forever be a beast, and this is the reason why I won't ever love him. Such a tragic hero he is."
Shiki glanced over the edge to see what Izaya was staring at: the blond, tall recruit called Heiwajima Shizuo. From what he had heard, Izaya and Shizuo had hated each other from the moment they met. Shiki had been told that Izaya did his best to make his life a hell, and Heiwajima kept trying to kill Izaya on sight, interrupting whatever they were doing and with no regard for Izaya's higher military rank.
Shiki exhaled. "Stop tormenting him, you know he's human."
"Really? What about that strength of his?"
"Heiwajima Shizuo can't control his rage, he had to destroy his body over and over to become like this. It's all written in his folder, and you never miss crucial information."
Izaya ignored him. There was a cut on his cheek that he hadn't bother to treat, a wide bruise peeked out from underneath his ripped shirt, and he had scratches and cuts scattered in several places from ankles to fingertips.
From the distance, Shiki saw the blond sit on the ground and pull from his pocket a thin white cylinder. He lit it, inhaled, and coughed. Izaya laughed and sat on the balustrade, kicking his feet.
"Have you seen him, Shiki-san? He's smoking! He's clearly not enjoying it, look at him. Someone must have told him that nicotine has a calming effect. As if tobacco were enough to calm a raging beast!"
"Spare me this bullshit and come down from there already," Shiki snarled. God, he felt too old for this – how could it be that Izaya seemed more like a child now at twenty than when he was thirteen? Shiki searched for his own carton of cigarettes. In the meanwhile, a black haired boy walked up to Heiwajima Shizuo, and the pair disappeared together. "If you like him and you want him to like you back, stop being an ass and ruining his life."
Izaya laughed. "Who? Shizu-chan?! I don't like him, I wish he would die already."
Shiki lit his cigarette. He tipped his head back, and exhaled smoke. "I don't understand. You have the power to expel him, you're cunning enough to make someone kill him without dirtying your hands. Yet he's still here, safe and sound. None of that makes sense, unless you don't want to see him dead at all."
Izaya shook his head. "I don't want anyone between me and him. He's my plaything. He's mine to torment. Someday I'll kill him, yes, but there's no rush. The more I wait the better it is, because he just hates me more and more, to the point that he will never hate someone more than me. And that is the best feeling ever."
"You seem rather obsessed with him, you know that, don't you?" Shiki could almost hear the sound of the wheels turning in Izaya's mind. "You can pretend to hate him because him rejecting you would break your heart. You know, you can run away from your emotions, but not from your desires. They will follow you everywhere."
"Good god," Izaya murmured. "Hearing love advice from you really grosses me out."
"Love, hmm? That could be the point, who knows. Maybe you didn't know how to deal with him rejecting you, so you thought that making him hate you would keep him bound to you forever. What if someday he stops hating you and leaves you behind?"
"If that happens I would ask you for an advice, Shiki-san. After all, you're abundantly experienced in the matter."
"What the hell is this supposed to mean?"
Izaya stepped forward, and pulled the cigarette away from Shiki's lips. He was so close, Shiki could smell him, the adrenaline from the chase, the scent of his skin and the shampoo he had used. Izaya's eyes flashed, and the second before he started speaking Shiki sensed that nothing would be the same between Izaya and him again. Rationality blackened out and horror struck him at the sight of his own shadow, which the setting sun had lengthened out into a grotesque, dark being.
"Too bad my dad wasn't into men, hmm? Did you think I wouldn't figure it out, Shiki-san? It's such a bad idea falling for straight men, especially if they're married… And it's even a worse idea keeping your hopes up after all this time, especially since my father is like that at the moment. Unless you're enjoying this, of course – having my father all to yourself. I wonder if you did something disgusting to him in that hospital room like shaving him or combing his hair-"
Izaya didn't speak another word, because Shiki hit him before he could. He drove his fist into Izaya's jaw, and the golden ring Shiki wore on his index finger struck the tender flesh of a lip. When knuckles hit bone, Izaya's head snapped sideways, making him lose balance and fall to the ground. Shiki felt himself shivering from head to toe as he shifted his gaze from his own hand to Izaya's frame lying on the ground. He flinched in horror because Izaya's eyes were narrowed and rigid and hard, while his lips had deformed in a smile that made Shiki understand the painful truth: Izaya had studied him; he was no different from the other humans Izaya liked to mess with. Shiki knew that smirk would last only as long as it took him to hit Izaya again, so he threw himself on top of him, his fist raised, his breath ragged, but when he thought he had managed to make him shut the fuck up, Izaya reacted. And when Izaya moved, Shiki understood he had just made the mistake of his life.
The hand on his chest felt warm and gentle and so damn provoking. Izaya's messy hair fell on his face. Those red eyes, the same as Shirou's, watched him, flickering with mischief.
"Besides, Shiki-san, when will you start coming to terms with that sense of guilt of yours? I know it was suicide, my father's car couldn't have slipped because it didn't start raining until an hour after he crashed, so the asphalt wasn't wet. The brakes had been put on several times before the impact, but not enough to stop. The police checked to see if he was drunk, or high on drugs, but, come on, he wasn't the type, he just took a smoke every now and then. I won't speculate any further, but these are the facts. Quoting you, I never miss crucial information. Now, what you probably don't know, because it's not written anywhere, is the reason my beloved father tried to kill himself. The reason was that he was way too invested in the relationship with my mother to restart living again. Her death broke him to pieces, made him crumble like sand. Then, of course, when he saw you or he replied to your calls or listened to those jokes about his desk being traded for a Mercedes, he pretended he was fine, and you believed him. I think you feel guilty that you didn't realize how bad he felt, that he probably felt so overwhelmed in that moment, to think to kill himself off without even bothering to write a letter. Probably you should have helped him, but do you really think that your friendship and interest would have been enough to stop him? My, my, that's just wishful thinking."
The next moment, Izaya was so close that Shiki smelled the blood flowing from his lip. Izaya's voice was low, almost affectionate. "Do you want to humiliate me now, to make me pay for what I said, hmm? It's understandable. Hit me again if it makes you feel better. Pain doesn't bother me at all."
Shiki's breath faltered when Izaya's hand ran down his stomach, searching smoothly for his belt buckle. Izaya surged forward, until Shiki felt hair tickling his cheek and the damp touch of Izaya's lips on his earlobe.
"Now, Shiki-san, the matter is – do I remind you of my father enough to let you fuck me?"
Shiki felt his stomach flip in anger, and when he pushed Izaya down on the concrete, Izaya flinched in pain. "Fuck you," Shiki spat out. "You couldn't be any more different from him, you will never be like him."
He sounded horrified, but he felt a tremor underneath, a dark desire looking too much like a door left slightly ajar. He flinched, and opened it.
What he remembered next was the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, Izaya's skin slick with sweat under the palm of his hand, the shape of his body pinned down into the ground. Self-hatred poisoned Shiki's bloodstream in a perfect blend of lust and anger, and all of this made him feel incredibly disgusting. Izaya's gaze on him felt as though the little shit was trying to read his train of thought, and Shiki had a sudden revelation: this meant nothing to Izaya – it was just human observation. Izaya came to the point of risking his own life to offer people what he called opportunities, so sex should be such a little price to pay for him… Shiki scowled and tried to hold back, but he had already been dragged over the point where pleasure burned and there was no choice to go back anymore.
Lazy clouds rolled over them, drawing shadows over the roof that the summer sun had overheated and across their entangled bodies. In the distance, soldiers prepared for dinner, their voices sounding far away, as though they belonged to another reality. Under him, so painfully close, Izaya panted and laughed and flinched with each punishing thrust.
"God, what you said before was so flattering-" Izaya's voice broke as he tipped his head back. He closed his eyes shut, and in that moment the bruises that Heiwajima Shizuo left on Izaya's body stood out on his pale skinlike Technicolor jewels, badges that Izaya treasured enough to not hide or treat. "I swear it," Izaya whispered. "I'll do everything to not become like him."
Ever since Izaya appeared out of nowhere at his parents' manor, Shiki had worked with him all day long, devising a new attack against the enemy. Unexpectedly, they worked together just fine. Neither of them ever shifted onto personal topics: Izaya didn't ask him about Shirou's condition and Shiki decided to not mention his father until they got their work done; Izaya didn't try to seduce him and Shiki stopped asking how he had escaped from the fire. They spent their spare time on their own, and even had separate rooms where they bathed and slept.
Shiki never stepped into Izaya's quarters and Izaya never entered Shiki's, but Shiki knew that Izaya had trouble sleeping. The rooms weren't far apart and, in the dead of night, Shiki woke up to the sound of a door being opened, followed by the unmistakable sound of Izaya's slightly uneven gait limping down the hallway. Izaya returned to his room minutes later, closed the door and cracked open the creaky window shutters, only to close them about an hour later. At first, Shiki thought that Izaya just needed a breath of fresh air, then he swore that the little shit was doing it on purpose to rob him of his sleep, but eventually, Shiki wondered if he should get worried. The fact that he and Izaya weren't family or friends was no lie, but Shiki was aware that Izaya had always been alone in whatever shitty situation he encountered. Alone enough, that he'd had no one but Shiki to entrust his family's manor to before he left for that disastrous mission.
The night they finished revising the plan, Shiki woke to the sound of Izaya's steps approaching his room. This time, though, he decided to knock at Izaya's door after their owner had returned to his own quarters.
"Come in," Izaya said.
When Shiki opened the door, he found Izaya sitting on the windowsill, holding a plain mug on his hands, the wind from the open window ruffling his hair. Izaya wore long pajama pants and a housecoat that had been knotted loosely across his waist. His head rested against the window frame, and his eyes were closed. Shadows had settled under them, growing darker and thicker with each sleepless night he spent. Shiki sat on the bed and pulled out a cigarette.
"Can't you sleep?" Shiki drawled, searching for the lighter.
Izaya opened his eyes. Thin horizontal lines appeared between Izaya eyebrows, and though they were fleeting, or maybe a trick of the light, Shiki wondered if Izaya had expected to see someone else.
"The bed is uncomfortable," Izaya said, regaining his composure. "You know, the pillow is too thin, the mattress too hard…"
When he left the mug on the windowsill to reach for him, Shiki realized he wasn't supposed to be here if he only wanted to talk. Seriously, what did he expect? That Izaya would confide in him? That was just a delusion; they had never had that kind of relationship. Izaya sat on his lap, close enough for Shiki to smell the coffee he was drinking and the scent of his skin, and pulled the unlit cigarette away from Shiki's mouth, throwing it somewhere on the bed.
Izaya whispered across his lips, "Now that we're done with the small-talk, let's fuck."
Izaya arched his back to meet him and Shiki felt lust built up, hard and steady in his groin. He could feel Izaya's fingers tangle in his hair, the hold firm enough to hurt, so different from the smooth, rational touch Izaya used to seduce him the last time. Shiki slipped his hand under the housecoat Izaya wore, prying it open. He sucked on a spot on Izaya's neck and Izaya suddenly froze, his chest exposed.
"Wait," Izaya breathed, and wasn't laughing or flinching or panting or whatever Izaya usually did when they slept together. His eyes were fixed on the creaked wall at Shiki's back, watching but not seeing as though it was a gaze focused on the inside, on Izaya himself. On his neck and chest and torso Izaya wore the ghosts of so many kisses… His hard nipples were darker than their usual light pink and rimmed with healing biting marks. Those were signs of passion, of affection maybe, but looked like violence on Izaya's pale skin. The words slipped from Shiki's lips before he realized it:
"They look like the bruises that guy used to give you. You know who I'm referring to. Heiwajima Shizuo."
Izaya's gaze didn't move an inch. Eventually, he spoke: "He spared me. He doesn't hate me anymore-" His ice-cold voice broke to a whisper. "I lost to him."
"Are you telling me that you've been with him all this time? Did you run away from him because he did this to you?"
Izaya didn't reply to Shiki's questions. "I don't care what he feels. I can't accept anything other than hatred."
"Or anything less. But that's not the point, I guess…" As Shiki spoke, Izaya got on his feet and reached the windowsill. Turning his back to Shiki, he took the mug and drank another sip of coffee. "This isn't about his feelings, right? It's about yours."
"I'm too tired now, we'll talk tomorrow," Izaya replied flatly, and drank the rest of his coffee like it was a tequila shot instead, downing it all in once. "Goodnight."
"Yeah, goodnight," Shiki said, and made his way out of the room. "By the way, when you get to see him again, ask him if he wants to join us to attack the enemy. The more the better, especially with that strength of his."
"Sure," Izaya replied. Shiki was on the threshold when Izaya spoke again. "One last thing— Heiwajima Kasuka. Did he survive?"
Shiki shook his head before he turned and walked away. He said, "Nobody came back, Izaya. Only the two of you."
Dawn hadn't broken yet when Izaya prepared to leave. He wore what looked like a burgundy tuxedo Shiki had already seen on Shirou ages ago. It suited Izaya just fine. Shiki saw from his bedroom window that a taxi waited for Izaya before the gravel gave way to the asphalt. That kid planned to sneak off without even seeing his father or saying goodbye but, after all, Shiki didn't know what else to say about Shirou or how to convince Izaya to visit him every now and then, and none of them was good with goodbyes anyway.
He wondered when Izaya would finally accept his feelings for Heiwajima. How much more time and effort would he waste? Shiki bet that guy was lodged in Izaya's mind, and there he cavorted, popping Izaya's defenses like they were soap bubbles. Hiding in some place or in some self-imposed certainties that totally ignored the facts was useless for Izaya at this point. Izaya could run miles and miles away, yet Heiwajima Shizuo would never leave his thoughts.
The darkness swallowed Izaya's frame and Shiki had the sense that he wouldn't see him ever again.
He pulled out his cigarette package, to chain smoke until he felt like sleeping, and remembered that one of them must still be on Izaya's bed. When he got there, though, Shiki found no trace of his cigarette. He observed that Izaya had left the room like it had been for all these years. The king size bed had been made, the deep red curtains had been pulled over the window as if to wrap the room back into its sepulchral silence, and the room smelled like stale air and dust once again - no trace of Izaya's scent lingered. Only Shirou's burgundy tuxedo was missing; otherwise there was no sign of Izaya's temporary return.
Shiki had just returned to his room when the phone rang.
"What the hell," he hissed, casting a sidelong glance at the clock that had just ticked a quarter past five in the morning. "If it's a prank call I swear that I—"
"Am I speaking with Shiki Haruya?" A female voice said.
"Yeah? What's the matter?"
"I'm calling from Kitahara clinic; you are currently listed as our emergency contact for our patient Orihara Shirou. Please come to the clinic at your earliest possible convenience."
The world dropped under Shiki's feet. "Did something happen?"
"Yes, sir." The woman said. "He woke up."
A/N: Thanks to my beta Aira Kay and to my dear Su – she's an endless source of inspiration!
