The first time Shizuo laid eyes on Izaya Orihara, he was objectively aware that she was beautiful. Unfortunately for her, he was pissed, and she had a smug look on her face, so he hated her straight away.

"You. You're pissing me off."

"Aaw, really?" She pouted, sauntering over to him. It was an expression that probably would have had most guys groveling at her feet, but Shizuo knew rage more than any other human emotion, lust included. She was a short woman and he was a tall man, but with a bit of a reach, she grabbed his tie, and pulled him towards her playfully, seductively. "Cuz I thought you were pretty cute, big boy."

Now, Shizuo normally had a pretty strong personal moral about not hitting girls, but in the ten seconds he'd known her, something in him had decided. This creature in front of him, it wasn't a woman, for all her dolled up beauty. No. She was... a flea.

Growling, he yanked her wrist away from him, expecting outrage, maybe a slap to the face, only to find the girl, no, the flea, hadn't missed a beat in flipping out a switchblade and ramming it into his chest. For a second, still holding her wrist in the air, he paused. He could honestly say he had never been stunned like this in his entire life. She had stabbed him. This, this, this flea, so small she barely reached his chest in height, had stabbed him.

"See?" She said, grinning, brimming with arrogance. "I'm plenty of fun!"

Slowly he released her wrist to pluck the blade from his chest, the wound gushing a waterfall of blood with its absence, and snapped it between his fingers, before crushing beneath his heel.

"Iz. A. YAAAA!" He bellowed, charging at her for the first, but certainly not the last time. She had escaped that day, and nearly every day since, seeding between them one of the greatest rivalries the world, or at least Ikebukuro had ever seen. What he didn't know, or at least failed to consider at the time, was the old adage. Because as they say-the line between love and hate, is often all too thin.

He remembers that night like it was yesterday. It had been years now that they had been rivals, and though she moved out to Shibuya long ago, she always seemed to spend more than her fair share of time in Ikebukuro. It pissed him off.

And he was more pissed off than usual that night. He had just gotten fired from his latest job, at a fast-food joint, because apparently beating up customers does not fall within the employee code of conduct. Even if they're dickbags.

He was on his way home, on what was probably his second pack of cigarettes for the day, in one of those moods to destroy half the city and rack up a good few hundred thousand in property damage, when he smelt it. It was an expensive perfume, something not too many people in Ikebukuro had, and if they did, certainly not enough of it to wear it as liberally as she did. He would know it anywhere. The smell of flea.

"Izayaaa," he growled, looking around for where the bitch could possibly be hiding. Being the flea that she was, she could be just about anywhere.

"Yes, Shizu-chan?" An all too familiar voice purred, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of black encased legs hanging from a third-story window ledge. Just like a cat, she let herself slink down to her feet so that she was standing before him, dressed the same as always. Her long black hair was pinned half up, half down, and perfectly done liner framed her scarlet eyes, doing its best to draw in men to their certain dooms. A siren.

Spitting out his cigarette, he drew back into a fighting stance, because over the years he'd learned that if he didn't immediately do so, he had about a 70 percent chance of ending up with her knife burrowed deep into his chest. "I thought I told you to stay the FUCK out of Ikebukuro."

"What?" She pouted, batting her absurdly long and undoubtedly fake lashes as him. "And miss seeing my favorite, handsomest man? Well, maybe not so much a man."

Her lips twisted up at the corners cruelly, knowing full well that she could dig at him just as well with her metaphorical knives as her physical ones. "But a handsome monster does just as well."

Ripping a street sign out from its base and wielding it towards her like a sword, Shizuo screamed. "Izaya, I am not in the FUCKING mood today."

Ducking gracefully below the makeshift weapon, she popped back up with a cheerful grin. "Oh yeah, I heard you lost your job at that shithole, huh? Well, I'm sure it's hard for a monster to function in the human world, so I suppose the fact that you got the job at all is commendable-"

She leapt into the air, narrowly avoiding yet another attack from her favorite plaything. "Who knows how long it'll take you to find something else, huh?"

"At least I do fucking honest work, not that you'd know what that's like, fleabag!" He roared, charging at her with his fists, "weapon" forgotten at the roadside.

Izaya only laughed, shooting off toward the main roads, knowing the more public destruction she could get him to partake in, the more amused she would be. And god, did she love a sexy fit of rage. What could she say? Maybe she was a bit of a masochist, but, then again, she didn't see anything wrong with that.

God she found him sexy. If he had half a brain, she thought, he would see through his rage blinders for ten seconds and realize that for her, this was just a very unique brand of flirting. God, did he think she stabbed just anyone? She wouldn't torment him like this if he wasn't special. What a moron.

Though she'd be lying if she said pissing him off wasn't pretty fun on its own too.

Unfortunately for her, today his rage had been particularly sexy, and she found herself more wrapped up in her thoughts than she would normally allow herself to be while on the run for her life. She knew Ikebukuro's layout like the back of her hand, so she could run on autopilot for the most part, but there were a few variable factors she had to stay alert for, like construction, or-

"cars..." was the only thing she said lying in the middle of the road, the world around her going fuzzy. Above her, she could just make out the face of the man who hit her, some middle-aged businessman, very distressed, and to his left, someone a little more familiar. Her beloved Shizu-chan.

"Iz..aya?"

She smirked one last time, and that was the last thing she heard her before her world faded to black.

Shizuo, on the other hand, was, for the second time in his life, stunned. Izaya- THE Izaya, his rival for over half- a decade had just... gotten hit by a car? That was it? This untouchable, infuriating, luck of the devil fleabag... was gonna go out because of a car? And all with that same, stupid, smug grin on her face.

"Excuse me, excuse me, sir, please, do you know her?"

"Huh?" He felt... dazed.

"This girl, do you know her?" The businessman pleaded.

He looked at his rival, lying there on the ground, and he felt something stir in him. It was some kind of emotion he was sure of that, but it wasn't familiar. He didn't like it, and he didn't trust it, but still... he could leave her here to die. He could walk away, knowing damn well it takes hours for any kind of police of first-aid response to get anywhere in Ikebukuro, and she would die, and he would be rid of her. He should be happy. But instead...

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"She's... she's a- yeah. I know her. I'll make sure she gets somewhere where she'll be taken care of."

His body was moving, but it didn't feel like it was his own, scooping her into his arms bridal style. She had that same stupid smirk on her face, but her hair was a mess, and one of her false lashes had been knocked askew from the fall. He nearly laughed. She really did weigh nothing.

"Oh thank you, thank you, sir, um, since she was at liability I assume you don't need my license number, or anything, because-"

A nerve on his temple twitched.

"You hit her with a car and you're standing here, wasting my time, penny-pinching?" He slammed his fist down onto the roof of the car, bashing in not just the rooftop, but probably the motor inside as well. "I don't have time for this."

Ignoring the man's groveling and apologies, he stalked off, and before he knew it, found himself jogging full speed in the direction of Shinra's house.

When she came to, the second to last thing she expected was to be draped, naked, across Shinra's couch, with a beet red Shizuo burying his face in his hands, looking for all world like he wanted nothing more than death, and Shinra spouting off confused ramblings in his ear about what, from what she could catch, seemed to be something about... the miracle of love? Or something like that. Probably something about Celty. The last thing she expected was to wake up at all, but she wasn't complaining about that one.

"Was stripping me down to my lingerie really necessary, Shinra, or is this just a ploy to embarrass Shizu-chan as much as humanely possible?" She quipped irritably, attempting to sit up, only to be met with a burst of dizziness like she'd never known.

"You might not wanna be trying that right now," Shinra urged, rushing over to push her gently back down by the shoulders. "And yes, Izaya, as much as seeing Shizuo blush was worth it in and of itself-"

"I am not blushing, Shinra!"

"-I had to see make sure I was aware of any and all injuries. Especially for someone as small as you, it's really a miracle you're in as good of shape as you are, at least from what Shizuo tells me of the accident. Only a concussion and some bruises, really."

"Shizuo?" She asked, really just properly registering that he was really here. And not attacking her.

"Yes, it was very romantic," Shinra swooned. "He broke the door down barging into here, carrying you in his arms, begging for me to save you."

"...What?" She asked, waiting for him to yell "syke!" and tell her who actually brought her here, but he just continued to ramble about how sweet it was- something about 'rivals turned lovers'. Though to be fair, it's not like it was much likely to be anyone else. Even if someone else did happen upon her, the chances of her being brought to Shinra rather than a typical hospital were extremely slim. Already the gears in her brain were turning, putting together the information and sorting through all the possible implications. Throwing an arm over her face, she found herself laughing. Just a little laugh at first, but it grew, and soon it was echoing off the walls, totally consuming the small apartment.

"And what exactly is so fuckin funny, huh, flea?" Shizuo demanded, knocking his chair back with how forcefully he stood.

"You care!" She accused, nearly rolling off the couch now with the strength of her laughter. "You, Shizuo Heiwajima, you care about me!"

"No I fucking don't!" He defended. She only laughed harder.

"Ya know what, I'm gonna give you two some alone time," Shinra stated, though he wasn't entirely sure either on noticed at this point, and wasted no time in slipping into his room on the opposite side of the apartment. Not that that meant he wasn't gonna eavesdrop, of course.

"Ah, ah, stop making me laugh Shizu-chan, it hurts," she wheezed.

"I save your life and you're still trying to piss me off!" He yelled, flipping the coffee table, though, she noticed pointedly, not towards her.

"Oooh Shizu-chan, you absolute moron," she groaned, laughter finally dying off. Reaching up and taking a good fistful of his shirt, she yanked him down to her level, and in his shock he let her. Lifting her head just enough to whisper in his ear, but not enough to cause herself a second bout of dizziness, she whispered in the most seductive voice she could muster as the victim of a recent car wreck. "I was never kidding when I called you sexy."

His mouth dropped open in something akin to a gape, lit cigarette falling onto her bare chest, burning a light circle in the skin above her breast and she moaned. Gripping his shirt even tighter, she decided to take advantage of his shock and pulled his lips down to meet hers. Initially unresponsive, she slipped her tongue in between his still parted lips, and something in him came to life, kissing her back with equal fervor, climbing awkwardly above her onto the sofa. After making out for what felt like eons, they finally pulled apart when she started to fumble with his shirt buttons.

"Izaya."

"Yeah?" She asked breathlessly, and he thought he'd never seen her look so... not put together, physically or mentally. And even more, he thought, maybe, he... liked it?

"Stop."

That snapped her back to reality. "Why?"

"I'm not having sex with a girl who just got hit by a car, and especially not on my friend's couch."

"Oh." She breathed, as though the thought hadn't occurred to her. "But..." she smiled, and he could see her games starting to run again behind her scarlet eyes- stunning, though he'd never let himself really notice before. Sure, he was vaguely aware of it, but he hadn't really thought it himself. Or if he had, he'd never noticed through all his rage. "What if I hadn't just been hit by a car, and it was a week from now, and we got drinks at that bar near the west gate first?"

He inhaled, knowing for all the world that if he was sane he would say no. What kind of dumbass gets drinks with a woman who's stabbed him at least once a month for the past five, six years? What woman wants to sleep with a guy who'd beaten her over the head with a street sign, and thrown vending machines at her? Aman that she herself called a monster? Had the concussion messed with her brain? He ought to ask her what the fuck is wrong with her. But instead he says, "If that happened... I might."

She smiled her signature smirk, though, for some reason, it didn't piss him off this time. "Then I'll meet you there at eight."

He must be the one with the brain damage, he thought, because he found himself smirking back against all reason. "Eight it is."

Just because they started having sex, it didn't mean that they'd stopped fighting. To the outside world, they looked much the same as ever, but to them, it was obvious that much of the bite was gone. She still pissed him off, and she still had fun tormenting him, but there was a newfound nuance to their exchanges. Sometimes he thought maybe he loved her.

Even after he lost his job at the bar, apparently throwing the entire bar at a customer was not the appropriate response to having a drink hurled at you, she didn't take the opportunity to mock him for it, though it didn't keep her from her usual taunts either. But she didn't take the chance to rub salt in the wound as she would have before- and it's times like that, that he wondered if, just maybe, sometimes she thought she loved him too.

Snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray she kept on her bedside table for him (she would not have some barbarian getting ash all over her high-end furniture, she liked to remind him), he looked at his lover, sound asleep on her side of the bed, and wondered that someone so small and angelic-looking could, in reality, be the Izaya that he knew. And, for the moment, he thought- just maybe- that he might like her that way.

AN: All aboard the "updating million-year-old fanfictions because quarantine" train for me. Hope you're all staying healthy and safe out there y'all!