CHAPTER 17: Underwear Shopping: What Could Go Wrong?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Days had passed since their last encounter and Izaya hasn't been able to stop thinking about it ever since. It infects his mind like a plague. No matter the circumstances, no matter how many tasks he has piled up for himself as a distraction, no matter how busy he makes himself be, the thought always finds itself creeping back into his mind and sticking to his brain like superglue. He's been more tired lately, too. He chalks it up to not having enough sleep, but even on days when he gets a solid 8 hours, he feels drained. It shouldn't be like this. He knows his little 'ailment' must be getting worse, as is his urge to crawl his way back to Ikebukuro despite having no business there.

With the random urges comes also the realization that Shizuo's birthday is coming up. Izaya doesn't have any particular reason for thinking it over in his head, yet it's an accompanying thought to the memory of their last encounter. And just as the urge to see Shizuo keeps growing stronger, so does the urge to...well, do something nice for him. It was unexpected what he did for Izaya during his moment of weakness while ill, and Izaya thinks that perhaps it wouldn't be such a terrible idea to repay the favor. It's not as if gift-giving is something foreign to him. He'd already crossed that line with that Christmas present, so what's the big deal anymore?

He spends the better part of the afternoon mulling it over in his head. What would Shizuo think of it? It's impossible for him to tell. Surely there'd be some amount of skepticism in his reaction. Some natural apprehension, suspicion, surprise. He'd imagine dark brows curling, eyes narrowing, lips scowling, and a bitter "What the fuck is this?"

And yet, a different thought crosses his mind: those brows arching, eyes wide, and lips curled upwards rather than down. A gentle smile. "Thanks", a word of appreciation whispered in a deep voice.

Izaya's stomach twists into knots. He attributes it to disgust at the thought. This alone should be enough to deter him from going through with the gift-giving, but despite this, his web browser is still open to a home goods website as he browses through their kitchen appliance catalog. He knows where Shizuo lives and has been inside a few times on the off chance. Can't say it was always a time when Shizuo was at home, but it was circumstantial and hadn't happened more than once. He knows the pitiful state of his apartment and the lack of appliances and cutlery, along with the abundance of instant noodle cups stored in his pantry. He knows Shizuo doesn't cook, but he also knows he can when he puts his mind to it. Can't go wrong with stew, or maybe a small hotpot to share with others...

He bites the inside of his cheek. This is a bad idea. He closes the tab. Next is a website with fashionable clothes. Not that Izaya is privy to fashion trends, seeing how he prefers to stick to what's most comfortable for him, but some of the garments do look nice and would look quite exceptional on a tall, blond model. Example: Shizuo. Those pants would fit his long legs snugly, and the color of that suit would bring out his eyes, and that shirt would perfectly expose and frame his biceps, and-

The twists in his stomach are back and heat rises to his face. He bites down harder on his cheek and scrambles to close the page, not looking where he's clicking as his gaze shifts away from the screen. They're just clothes. There's no need to make a fuss about it, he tells himself. They're just clothes. He shakes his head and looks back to the screen, only to find that he had indeed closed the tab, but the next tab right underneath is far worse than the last. It's a massive pop-up taking up the entirety of the page. A tall, blonde man strikes a pose wearing nothing but underwear.

"Fuck" Izaya gasps and surprises himself with the weird noise he makes - a combination of a squeal and a shaky moan, of all things, as his first thought upon seeing the ad is to think of Shizuo. And now he can't get the thought out of his head, prompting more noises to slip out and thus drawing Namie's attention towards him.

"What's wrong with you this time?" She asks crassly, turning away from the bookshelf and fixing her gaze on him as if expecting another computer-monitor-throwing temper tantrum. He snaps back to his senses and frantically closes the entire window, disregarding the twenty other open tabs.

"Don't tell me you're sick again." His face must be hot and red enough for her to speculate such a thing. He shakes his head.

"I- I'm not. It's just...hot. It's hot in here." He clears his throat. "Excuse me for today, something came up last minute so I'll be leaving. Feel free to leave when you're finished here," he says as he carefully slides out of his chair and walks to the door. He puts on his coat and leaves before she has anything else to say.

Izaya's mind is frequently busy. He's fascinated by humans in their actions, their needs, how they process thoughts. He has a way of detaching himself from the world, seemingly understanding everyone around him from just the way they slump their shoulders, yet never able to form an introspective reflection of himself. He never thought he'd fall victim to careless desires so easily. He doesn't allow things like attraction or lust to rule over his life. Those are impulses. And he's not that impulsive. Things like that don't usually phase him.

Yet here he is, getting embarrassed by an article of clothing. It's just underwear. Normally, he wouldn't have given the image any thought. He'd look at that image and think what would be the man's motivation for becoming a barely clothed model. And if not for him imagining Shizuo in those clothes, then that's where the thought would have stopped. Izaya loves all humans without discrimination. Whatever body they have or how they look isn't of particular interest to him. The only rational explanation for his reaction is to default to his usual excuse: Shizuo is simply not human.

Getting a gift for a human would be easy. It's so simple to play on materialistic desires. Of course, other factors would always come into play, such as the person's morals and affiliation with Izaya, but no one has ever been disappointed with winning the lottery, and a large sum of free money with no consequence would always be welcome. Shizuo would be different. Izaya could send him a million yen and all he'd get is a million yen thrown back in his face and some grumpy comment like "don't want it if I ain't earned it". And there are only so many pairs of sunglasses one can get before it gets boring, though that would be a fun prank: to keep gifting Shizuo sunglasses until he suffocates in a pile of them. Izaya chuckles at the thought.

The logical thing to do would be to simply ask. His phone's in his pocket, pressing against his thigh, just itching for him to grab it and dial Shizuo's number. He could easily-

Before he knows it, the cold screen is pressed against his head and the line rings. He thinks it will go straight to voicemail with how many rings pass, but at the last moment, he hears a breathy voice from the other side.

"What do you want, Izaya?" Shizuo's tone is low and deep. It reverberates through Izaya's head and sends a shiver down his spine. The way he enunciates Izaya's name...Fuck. Why now, out of all times, does it sound so...so…

̶S̶e̶x̶y̶ Attractive.

Having not thought his actions through, Izaya stares blankly at the road ahead of him, his mouth agape while he formulates a reply in his head.

Ne ne, Shizu-chan, what type of gift would you like for your birthday? Something cute? Something sweet?

"Oi, flea?"

Izaya remains unresponsive while a scene plays out in his imagination akin to a stereotypical TV sitcom.

How about a warm dinner when you come home? A hot bath, or perhaps...would you like to have me first?

Izaya breathes out a high-pitched squeak. His cheeks burn and his stomach turns again.

"H-Hi, yes. Hi. H-Hello, Shizu-Chan," he stutters out. It's such an embarrassment for him. Once so quick-witted and sharp on his toes, but now he's acting like a shy high schooler trying to confess to their crush, having stupid thoughts that shouldn't ever cross his mind. He clears his throat.

"F-fine day we're having, don't you think? Perfect day to bother you a bit, wouldn't you say?" He asks. Shizuo doesn't answer immediately. The gears must be turning in his head, trying to decipher Izaya's actions. Then, he finally answers.

"The hell you want?" Izaya manages a nervous laugh.

"Come now, must everything I do have an ulterior motive? Can't I just call you because I feel like it?" Izaya asks in genuine innocence.

"Cut the crap. You want something, so what in the fuck is it?" Shizuo huffs from the other end of the line. His voice has returned to its usual angry growl, and how Izaya ever thought it was attractive, he will never know.

"Wow, cranky much? Rather than asking what I want from you, why don't you tell me what you want from me," He's half-expecting Shizuo to flat out tell him to die. He doesn't.

"You're the one who called me. If I wanted something from you, you'd be the one picking up my call." Izaya purses his lips and inhales sharply.

"Ah well… The reason I'm calling… you know. Tomorrow. It's. Ahh, your birthday, isn't it?"

"So? What? You're calling to wish me a happy birthday...or something?"

Or something. Just ask him. Ask him, for fuck's sake!

"No, actually, I wanted t-to…" Izaya stutters. "Wanted to...do something interesting…" he admits with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"Oh like last year, when you tried to blow me up? Or the year before that, when you tried to poison me? Do us both a fucking favor, why don't ya, and actually get me a present that matters? Hell, do us all a favor. Disappear for just one fucking day and let me have my peace," This time, it's not Izaya's stomach that twists; it's his heart.

"That's not…" he starts. That's not what he wants. He scowls, all the bitterness coming back to him.

"That's not going to happen, dear Shizu-Chan. In fact, I hope you have an awful day. I hope it's completely deplorable because I absolutely detest you. You'll see what I'm up to, and when it finally hits you, when you finally feel like your entire day has gone to shit, then you will know it was all my doing. And as an added bonus: get ready for a hospital visit, because this time, it's going to be someone close to you," he says in a dry mix of amusement and resentment.

"What the FUCK DON'T YO-" Shizuo's rage-filled bellows stop there as Izaya quickly presses the 'end call' button. Not a moment after, his screen lights up and the familiar Doraemon ringtone fills his ears. Shizu-Chan 3, the caller ID reads. Izaya doesn't pick up and waits for the ringing to stop. Eventually, it does, only to be replaced by a bundle of incoming texts.

Dnt FICK WITH MR

WHAT THE HEL DID YU MEAN HOSPITL VISIT?

WHAT FUK ARE UU YP TO?

FLEA

FICKNG FLEA

ANSER

IL KILL YIU

ILL FUCKONG-

Izaya stops reading there. The messages keep coming but he doesn't care. He turns his phone on silent and shoves it deep in his pocket where it will not disturb him anymore. Then he starts walking. His mind is no longer set on a gift. He feels a bit like an empty husk drifting along the street, not exactly sure what he's doing or where he's going.

Maybe coffee or some ootoro would cheer him up, if only he didn't feel as if he would vomit at any moment. He instead directs his attention towards a girl by a fountain as he begins observing her from a nearby overpass. He can't hear what she's saying with the busy traffic down below. All he has to go on is the blonde hair and the large notepad she's carrying. Some people stop by her and write down in her notebook. Others pass her without a second glance as if she were an invisible ghost to pass straight through.

To disappear. To not exist. What would that be like? Who would actually notice? Izaya has thought about leaving once or twice. He's thought about erasing every trace of himself, of clearing out his apartments until they look like brand new homes, ready for new inhabitants. Would anyone talk about him? Wonder what happened to him? Would they think he's dead? Who knows? Who cares?

Izaya leans forward, resting both arms on the stone barrier separating him and the road below. In the distance, an explosion of red and orange bleeds through the sky. Izaya squints at the treacherous sunset burning his eyes with its glaring glow. So quick to set, barely even a few minutes and the vivid fire turns into a dim glow before the sky is engulfed in darkness and the only source of light is the array of artificial street lights adorning the pavement edges. Impulsively, Izaya jumps up onto the thin barrier, holding his arms out to balance himself.

"Why don't you do us all a favor? Disappear, and let me have my peace," he mocks in spite, looking down at the rush of cars below.

And then, he jumps.

His feet land back on the bridge and he walks away, hands in his pockets, ignorant of the select bystanders who'd thought, for a moment, he would jump off the other side. He doesn't know where he is in particular but he knows it's not Shinjuku, nor is it Ikebukuro. He walks past some school, then catches the street name of a dark side road just as the light flickers and a street dog knocks over a garbage can. He snaps his attention to the dog and flinches, casually sinking away before the animal could catch a glance at him. Not long after, he's startled again, this time by something much bigger: a man coming out from an alleyway to block his path. He's tall and well built, with a green bandana tied around his neck.

Izaya flashes an awkward smile and sidesteps the man. Only for another, slightly shorter but bulkier man to block his path, and another lankier man coming to close the only other path he could take. The most noticeable feature on them all is that same green bandana like the first man's. Oh, so it's going to be like that.

"Gentlemen, anything I can help you with?" Izaya asks, his eyes flickering between the three men.

"Ye, as a matta o'fact, ya can. Yer our guy," the tallest one says. Izaya's cold fingers trace over the outline of his switchblade in his pocket. He maintains his composure, but his eyes occasionally glance from building to building, looking for a parkour route he can potentially use as his escape.

"Sorry, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," he shrugs while his other hand starts fiddling with the cellphone in his other pocket.

"Don't git smart with us, we know who ya are!" The bulky man speaks up. His dark eyes narrow and the scar over his nose crumples. He shifts his position, leaning forward, feet planted on the ground and ready to sprint. Being the heaviest, he'll also be the slowest. He's not the immediate threat Izaya has to look out for.

Izaya shifts his weight. His attention falls to the lanky man. Out of the other two, he seems to be the most put together. His hands are in plain sight and Izaya doesn't see any weapons in plain sight. The man doesn't seem to be giving any indication of malice. To give credit where credit is due, it's because he's good at masking it, but he can't hide the bloodlust in his eyes.

"And who would that be?" Izaya asks.

"Black coat. Light fur trim. Dark hair, reddish-brown eyes," the thin man answers. He's the only one out of the three to speak calmly and eloquently. For a gang of easily malleable idiots, it's hard to believe even one of them would have a shred of intelligence to figure out Izaya's identity, especially someone who he's never spoken to directly. Just some irrelevant lackeys. If they managed to figure him out, then sure, he'd be impressed, but if it's a fluke, then that would just be disappointing.

"My, I never thought my fashion choices would be a reason to be ganged up on like this. I'm shocked you decided to pick me out of all the other black-coat-wearing, dark-haired people in Japan," he remarks. The big guy takes a step towards him, his breath ragged and mouth agape, waiting in anticipation for the fight to break out. He scrunches his nose and snarls.

"Don't play dumb with us we knows yer-" the thin man holds up a hand to cut him off. Izaya bets he feels so powerful now, being able to order around two goons to do his bidding.

"Look, it's nothing personal. Or maybe it is." Izaya can see the brief flash of disgust flash across his hollowed-out face. "We saw you a few days ago. We know who you are." Izaya arches an eyebrow, wondering now what sort of situation he'd been caught in and just how careless he must have been at that moment.

"Heiwajima's boyfriend ." The man spits scornfully. Izaya's face drops. Out of all the imaginable possibilities he could have thought of, this wasn't one of them. Then, he comes out with a shaky, fake laugh.

"Whatever relationship you might think I have with this Henejima character, well, it's not exactly correct. I'm not affiliated with any such person," he explains, dismissing it with his hand. He does well to hide the fact that the man's mannerisms do bother him.

"Cut the act. We saw you. Being close. Intimate in the middle of the street. Quite shameless. Gross, even." It's still the thin one talking, with the other two nodding their heads in agreement. Izaya's never been in a situation quite like this before. He'd witnessed these types of conversations, watching from the sidelines. In every faction of society, there are those who think of themselves as being above others. They prey on those weaker than them, whether it's for religious, socioeconomic, or political reasons. The world's a dark and cruel place filled with unjustifiable violence directed at those who are deemed outliers in societal standards. Izaya is different, too, in the way that he doesn't care about those differences. He can understand these men's point of view and theoretically, he doesn't have a reason to be angry with their words. Especially because he knows them to be untrue.

If anything, his anger would be directed at Shizuo. After all, it had been Shizuo who held him hostage. Shizuo who had held his face. Shizuo who had captivated his gaze with his stupidly warm brown eyes. It was Shizuo who had made him feel warm and safe in their personal little bubble, isolated from the outside world. It was Shizuo who had made Izaya think of the people around him as nothing more than insignificant dots scattered across a map.

Izaya can feel the anger build up. He can feel it swirling in the pit of his gut, a hot and volcanic mess ready to erupt at any moment. How dare he? He clenches his pocket knife hard until his knuckles turn white and his hands tremble. How fucking dare he! No, not Shizuo, but rather this ignoramus standing in front of him, trying to shame Izaya for simply existing.

"The fuck you know? You parade 'round like you're hot shit yet you go 'round following the orders of some lousy ass kid who can't do shit right without someone else whispering in his ear. You don't know a fucking damn thing about me," he barks. The lanky one cocks his brow, then steps up. He draws a concealed blade from his pocket and points it at Izaya, the tip aimed right between his brows. Izaya knows where this is going now. There's no other option. He unlocks his phone in his pocket and blindly punches in a series of numbers, hoping that he hits them correctly.

"Well lads, seems like we've struck a nerve," is all the man says as he approaches closer. "Careful now, don't get too feisty, wouldn't want anything to accidentally happen to you." Izaya makes an expression that's a cross of a scowl and a forced smile. His cheeks burn from newfound indignation.

"Oh? You really want to attack me right here in the broad streetlight, right on the corner of a dingy little clothing store just past, what was it? Konan Elementary school just down the street? Are you stupid or what?" he replies. The man in front of him growls in response and lunges forward, but Izaya is quick to draw his own blade in retaliation, dragging it in one swift motion across the man's face and cutting deep into his cheek.

"Son of a-" he doesn't have a chance to finish his sentence as Izaya's foot connects with his stomach, sending him falling flat on his ass. Next is the tallest guy, running at him and swinging a knife around without a care. Izaya is too light on his toes for him. He hops to his other foot and leans back, swiftly evading the man before jumping up to an outside air conditioning unit, then kicking the man's back, thereby adding to the momentum needed to send the man straight into a wall.

Now it's the buff man's turn. He attempts an attack from behind, grabbing at Izaya to try and hold him down, but all it takes is for Izaya to duck and plunge his switchblade into the man's shoe, cutting into his foot. A moment later his wails echo through the street, sending off any resident dogs into a barking frenzy and a nearby light from one of the houses to turn on.

Izaya was always aware that his line of work is dangerous and has spent years accumulating the knowledge needed to protect himself. This is merely a petty tiff in his eyes. He barely breaks a sweat. His heart rate hardly accelerates. It's not the same thrill he gets from dodging vending machines, or the same way he breaks into a run upon hearing his name bellowed out at full volume halfway across the city. Deep down, he knows all of this is because of Shizuo. It's for Shizuo. It's always Shizuo.

"Just. Fuck. Off. Already," his voice is shrill, filled with hot anger that consumes him. His actions border on erratic, his attacks becoming more haphazard by the second. They should know. They should fucking know not to engage with him. They should know not to piss him off. For fuck's sake, who do they think he is? He's the strongest fucking man in Ikebukur-

"Oh-" a small gasp slips past his lips as he staggers on his feet. His breath becomes loud and rugged, with blood rushing in his ears. He doesn't look down but he can feel it: the sharp jabbing in his stomach, followed by the red hot blood seeping out into his shirt and over his coat. The knife quickly gets yanked out of his gut, a drop of blood flicked onto his cheek. Before he has a chance to fall to his knees, a black boot collides with his face and snaps his head to the side. His vision blurs and blends together as two bloodstains on the pavement turn into four, then back into two, then to one. One mistake. All it takes is one mistake. All because of his own carelessness. All because of Shizuo.

His body shakes too much for him to so much as wipe the blood from his leaking nose. Two muscular arms quickly heave him up by his armpits and set him straight, with his hands held behind his back.

"Not so fucking tough now, are you?" The lanky man snarks and walks up to him. He presses his boot over Izaya's stab wound with his shoe, pushing down on his toes with all his might and digging the point of his shoe into the bloody hole. Izaya cries out, a pitiful sort of wail as his stomach muscles desperately recoil inwards with each shaky breath.

"I'm going to enjoy this," the man continues as he bends his leg to lean forward and shift all his weight onto his foot. His grungy fingers grasp Izaya's cheeks, dirty fingernails digging across his cheeks and leaving thin streaks of blood down his face. He uses his other hand to trace the dull blade of his knife down to Izaya's throat. This is it, Izaya thinks through his haze.

"Oi, don't kill 'im, we's still need him. T' send a message, y'know? Else boss will be mad," one of the other men says. Izaya can't even tell if it's the one holding him back or the other one. It doesn't matter which one it is. The lanky one squeezes down on his cheeks one last time, then lets go.

"Oh. I plan on sending a message," he scowls and pulls back the knife. The next moment, Izaya's head is sent to the side again as a fist connects with his cheek. Izaya should feel panicked. He should be terrified, he should be begging, pleading, anything at all to bargain for his life with the man towering above him. Instead, he turns his head back and smiles through the pain.

"All you've done is waste time," he wheezes. "And beat up some poor guy who has nothing to do with you. What, does it give you some sort of sick satisfaction to gang up on a stranger? You feel superior yet? Knowing that you can't win alone so you need two other people just to hold me down?" Izaya can barely see the man's expression through the dark locks hanging over his face like a blood-soaked veil, but he sees the sneer and the way the man's lips pull back over his teeth in a snarl.

"Why you little fucker-" his hand flies up, the knife raised high above and aimed straight at Izaya's chest. Izaya braces himself for the impact, but the knife doesn't hit his chest. Instead, he feels the blade penetrate his thigh muscle before twisting and whirling around where his tendons connect to the bone. He cries out again, and this time he can feel the hot tears pool out from the corners of his eyes. The knife pulls away and comes right back down, eliciting another cry from him. Over again, blood splatters out and over his face from the force of the stabs.

"Not so cocky now, are you?" His assaulter laughs until he's turned Izaya's entire thigh into a bloody, gaping mess. The knife pulls out one last time, but before another stab can be delivered, a police siren erupts from not far in the distance along with what his delirious mind perceives to be as the neighing of a horse. By now he's lost a lot of blood and he can't make out the last words said to him as he gets thrown halfway across into an alleyway.

"Shit. Consider yourself grateful, punk."

Gra...te….ful...for...wh...at?

The words don't make it past his thoughts, let alone past his slowly bluing lips. His eyelids feel too heavy to keep them open. The January air sends chills down to his bones. There's just...so much blood. A hot stream slowly turned into a freezing puddle around him. The police sirens continue to wail, mixed in with heavy footsteps of running.

Whenever Izaya pictured his death, it was always to Shizuo. That he would go out in a blaze of glory, ascending past the mortal realm to Valhalla like some sort of honorary god, because in the end, he proved to the world how much of a ruthless monster Shizuo is: a murdered consumed by rage, whose strong hands would wrap around Izaya's throat and strangle the life out of him.

The same strong hands that Izaya failed to see the tenderness of. The hands that lifted him up from collapsing and carried him to his apartment. The same hands that fed him soup and held him tightly and gave him warmth. The same hands that held his, the same hands that gave him a stupid hat for Christmas so he wouldn't freeze. The same hands that cupped his face and made him look into those eyes, those lips making him promise to take better care of himself.

The blurry street lights start fading from his vision, and just like the sunset he'd watched moments ago, his world is engulfed in cold darkness.

So, so cold.

So, so dark.

And so, so alone.