So I ended up deciding to do this chapter in 2 parts, so I lied. There is one more flashback chapter after this one. But this one is longer, so rejoice!

…~-~...

It was there. It was right there. The literal key to his escape. The jacket that he had seen contain the key to the collar around his neck was sitting, unguarded, on top of the dresser in the corner.

However it was out of his reach. The chain only extended so far, meaning he could not reach the dresser no matter how he tried.

He needed a tool to reach it but there was nothing within his reach that would work. There was no telling how long until his master would return. If he was caught… he shuddered at the thought of what punishment he might receive if he was caught trying to escape. But he couldn't idly let this chance pass by untouched.

He searched everywhere in his reach for something—anything—he could use. But there was nothing… nothing except—

The blanket.

Working quickly, Izaya tore the rag off the bed and held tightly onto one corner. He flung the other end at the jacket, but the rag only grazed the dresser. He would have to give it a few more centimeters… He could lose his grip if he wasn't careful and miss out on this chance entirely. Holding onto the tip of the corner, Izaya tried again.

Flop.

The jacket was pulled to the floor. Izaya's heart raced. His hands shook violently in fear and anticipation. He could do this. He just had to work quickly.

Carefully, he dragged the blanket towards him. A few times the rag lost its grip on the jacket and he would have to cast it out again.

Almost.

It was almost within reach.

Izaya's heart felt like it was about to burst from his chest.

He shouldn't be doing this. What if he were caught? He should stop before it was too late…

No.

Freedom was so close. he couldn't give up the chance to matter how much pain it would cause if he were caught.

The tips of his fingers touched the jacket. He pulled it in and shoved his hand into the pocket. His fingers wrapped around cold metal as tears welled in his eyes.

Move faster damnit, he told his worn body.

The keys were in his hands. There was a clattering as Izaya desperately tried to unlock the collar from his neck. The key slid into the lock. Izaya tuned it and a click rang out into the silence. It was the most beautiful sound he could have imagined.

The lock was open. The collar fell from his neck and clattered to the floor. He should have been concerned that the noise would attract attention but Izaya was solely focused on his goal.

First he checked the door. Nothing. The keys he grabbed didn't have the key to the door. He could try to pick the lock if he had anything in the room to use, but there was nothing.

His eyes darted around the room until landing on the small, discolored patch close to the ceiling. It could be a window.

Moving as fast as his body would take him, Izaya tried to jump up to it, but his muscles were too weak from who knows how long being tied down.

He glanced around again. The dresser. With lightning speed, Izaya leapt over to the dresser and shoved. It was heavy. Rather than pushing it under the window, he ended up knocking the whole thing over with a loud crash.

"Shit!" he exclaimed.

Jumping up onto the side of the dresser, Izaya latched into what he could now see clearly as a piece of plywood nailed into the wall. He pulled hard on a corner where a nail was located. It pulled out of the wall. He pulled again. Another nail popped out. Bracing his foot against the wall, Izaya pulled with all of his strength. Although severely weakened, his desperate situation allowed for him to call upon strength he didn't know he had. With one massive pull, the board came loose and Izaya fell backwards off the dresser.

It should have hurt but the adrenaline pumping through him made him able to ignore it. He felt no pain when he looked up to see what could only be a blurred street light through frosted glass. He sat up and took notice that the dresser drawers had popped open and a small bit of fur was sticking out. His hand wrapped around the familiar fur and he pulled his jacket out along with his pants. He hastily put them on, followed by his shoes.

Once his shoes were on, Izaya scrambled to his feet and leapt back up to the window. It was locked with a padlock from the outside.

There was no thought or hesitation behind his actions when Izaya flung his elbow hard into the glass. It broke fairly easily, although he was now bleeding from the impact. He made quick work of the remaining shards of glass, knocking and pulling them out of the way so they couldn't cut him open when he finally lifted himself up with all of his strength and clambered out the window.

Izaya hated the cold. Cold weather was the enemy. However when cold outside air hit his face, Izaya welcomed the sensation, trying to hold back tears of relief as fresh air filled his lungs.

He couldn't allow himself to cry right now. He needed his vision to be clear to figure out exactly where he was and how to get away.

The window had opened into a long, narrow alley. It was nighttime, but Izaya's eyes were already well-adjusted to the dark.

When he stepped out onto the street he found it to be relatively empty save for a few people who eyed him curiously. He knew he probably looked like trash. He definitely felt like it. Izaya forced those useless thoughts to the back of his mind in favor of figuring out his situation. Right now he needed to put as much distance between himself and that vile place as possible.

Yet when he continued walking Izaya found himself stopping once more. He was suddenly feeling overwhelmed as he brain tried to process everything he was seeing, hearing, and smelling. The lights felt way too bright—brighter than he remembered street lights being. Signs pointed to a bunch of different landmarks around the area but Izaya found himself unable to process what he was reading. Despite it being a quiet night, he could hear cars driving by, people talking, and background noises that he couldn't distinguish—all of which filling his brain with information, but none of it useful.

He closed his eyes to try to focus when the scent of something cooking hit him and forced him to keep moving. He was shaking with hunger at the scent but he didn't have the time—nor money for that matter—to stop for food. He kept his goal in his mind as he finally stepped forward, trying to take things one step at a time.

…~-~...

Itabashi Station. He was near Itabashi Station. After wandering the streets frantically as he tried to get his bearings, Izaya spotted a sign that finally made sense. The sign pointed to the left and Izaya followed it.

He didn't have any money to take the train home (it was likely closed for the evening anyway), but it was a good landmark. He knew the route to his apartment in Ikebukuro from the station. His job took him all over Tokyo after all.

Picking up the pace, Izaya ran. Now that he knew which direction to go, he felt more confident running. The last thing he had wanted was to get lost in an unfamiliar area.

However, he tired out quickly. By the time he reached the station he was already out of breath and the muscles in his legs ached from disuse.

As he leaned against a wall for support, something caught his eye. A bright sign that bathed the dark entrance to the station in an orange light.

It was a sign displaying the date and time.

3:45 AM.
November 21st.

Izaya stared at the sign in awe, frozen for a moment as he tried to understand the meaning of what he was seeing.

Thirty-seven days. He had been stuck in that hellhole for thirty-seven days.

Izaya felt sick. His vision swam and his legs suddenly felt very weak. He couldn't breathe properly and he felt as if he might faint. He knew it had felt like a long time, but he assumed his perspective on time was just skewed.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

Startled Izaya's eyes lifted and looked towards the source of the sound. It was a woman, probably not much older than himself. She was talking to him.

The first person other than Jiro to speak to him in thirty-seven days.

"You look very pale," she said hesitantly when she got no response, "Would you like me to call an ambulance?"

"No," Izaya said, finally finding his voice, "I'll… be fine"

The words were more meant to comfort himself than to answer the woman in front of him.

"The station is closed do you need a phone to call a ride?" she asked.

Izaya smiled for the first time in a very long time. "You're too kind," he replied, "But no, I don't have anyone to call." Izaya looked over the woman once more before finally turning his back and walking in the direction of his apartment. "I'm going home and I suggest you do the same. There are some messed up people on the streets this late at night."

Izaya didn't turn around to look at the woman as he spoke. Her kind words helped pull him out of what he could only describe as a panic attack. Now he returned his focus to getting home.

Home…?

Wait…

In his rush to get away, Izaya hadn't thought about a few crucial details.

He quickly checked his pockets. His wallet was missing, but the key to his apartment was still there. That was some good luck right there, but there was another major problem.

He had been gone for over a month…

He hadn't paid his rent and the landlord had no way to contact him.

Maybe, with a little more luck, the landlord had gone ahead and taken the money from the rental guarantee company and all he would have to do is pay the company. Worst case, he was evicted and would come home to find his apartment empty or rented out to someone else.

If that was the case he would have to manage somehow…

Izaya continued his walk towards the home he hoped he still had when finally, he saw a sign for Ikebukuro. He picked up the pace, as he once again walked the streets where he had grown up.

Mind solely focused on his goal, Izaya was paying little attention to his surroundings. He hadn't even noticed who he had just passed by across the street.

"Hey!" the deep familiar voice caught Izaya off guard, "What do you think you're doing walking around 'bukuro this late, huh?!"

Izaya turned towards the source of the voice and stared at the man rapidly approaching him.

"Shizu-cha—aack?!"

Before he could even finish speaking, a rough hand had him by the throat and forced him up against a wall. The harsh impact aggravated the healing wounds on his back causing Izaya to let out a small cry of pain.

In the moment, Izaya forgot that he wasn't supposed to show pain in front of this man. However it probably didn't matter. Now that Shizuo had him quite literally in his grasp, Izaya knew he was staring death in the face. So close to freedom only to be killed by the monster he loved. It was poetic, really.

Maybe this is for the best, he thought. Being killed by Shizuo was better than risking Jiro finding him again. At least with Shizuo his death would be swift.

There was a long pause while Izaya awaited his fate, eyes tightly closed as he anticipated the last pain he would have to endure before his death. But there was nothing.

Cautiously Izaya opened his eyes.

Shizuo was glaring at him, but his hand had loosened it's grip to allow Izaya to be able to breathe, just holding him in place.

"What's wrong with you, Flea?" he asked without a hint of concern, his tone sounded more like he was accusing him of something, "You're acting weird."

Izaya only stared back in silence. He didn't know how to respond. This didn't even feel real. Why hadn't he been killed yet? Was Shizuo really standing here or was this a dream? Was he going to wake up in that horrible place to find none of it had happened? His hands began to shake but he hid them in his pockets. No, this was real. It felt different than any of his dreams. Shizu-chan was simply being as unpredictable as ever.

For a moment Izaya let his eyes wander to take in Shizuo's appearance. He was wearing what looked like a fast food worker's uniform. He must have gotten a new job. That explains why he was out so late.

"Hey, Flea! You hear me?" his grip around Izaya's neck tightened again making Izaya cough. "Why aren't you fighting back?"

The words echoed in his head. Fight back…? He could fight back…?

Then he remembered. He was supposed to fight back. That's why Shizuo was confused. Somehow, in 37 days Jiro had trained him not to try fighting back!

"You sick or something?" Shizuo questioned, looking Izaya up and down, "You look like shit."

The pressure around his neck was removed and Izaya's knees began to tremble. It took all of his concentration to stay on his feet.

"It wouldn't be fair for me to kill you when you're sick," Shizuo said, turning his back, "Just stay the fuck out of my sight."

It wasn't until Shizuo was gone and he was left in silence once more that Izaya collapsed, falling to his knees. He knew what had happened. Shizuo had taken pity on him. The man had an otherworldly instinct. He knew something was wrong and chose not to fight a man who was clearly already weakened.

"Fuck," Izaya whispered, arms wrapping around himself. He remained on the ground for a few minutes, holding himself tightly until his breathing evened out again and strength returned to his legs.

He wasn't shaking anymore, but he still found it hard to pull himself back to his feet. Exhaustion was beginning to set in. The rush of adrenaline he had been riding on up until now had finally left him.

The cold air felt as if it was blowing straight through him as he continued on. Finally, he turned down the street where his apartment complex was located. Grasping his key, he hoped for the best.

He was at the door now. There was a letter.

Tearing it opened Izaya scanned the contents to find that he had gotten very lucky. He would have to pay a late fee as well as pay the rental guarantee company, but he still had a home for now.

Turning the key and opening the door brought a feeling of relief. Once inside, he quickly closed and locked the door, as well as the security chain.

The first thing Izaya did was search his apartment. After he was sure he was alone, he shoved his couch against the door as a barricade and headed directly to the bathroom.

It was there that he turned on the shower, removed his clothes, and froze when he caught a glimpse of someone else in the bathroom.

Izaya stared for a moment until he finally realized that he was looking in the mirror. The stranger in his bathroom was himself. He stepped forward to examine himself for the first time in over a month.

Shizuo wasn't lying.

He looked like shit.

There were dark circles under his eyes accentuated by his much-too-pale skin. His cheeks and neck were thinner and even his eyes appeared to be different. If he were analyzing another person, he would say that their eyes looked dead, as if they had given up on life. With those dead eyes, Izaya examined the rest of his body. There were bruises littering his torso and his ribs were too prominent to be even considered healthy. The cut on his elbow from breaking the glass wasn't bleeding anymore, but it was red and swollen. He would have to bandage it later. As his eyes continued down his body, they were attracted to a dark patch on his hip. Izaya stared at the mark in the mirror that was already almost completely healed. He could still clearly make out the kanji for "slave" that had been burned into his skin.

As the mirror began to fog over, Izaya began to turn around, however he hesitated. He felt as if he wasn't ready to see what the injuries on his back looked like, yet at the same time, he felt like he needed to know.

He turned his body so that his back was to the mirror and turned his head to see. Izaya's eyes stared blankly at the marks on his back. They were jagged and ugly. Five long scars littered the once flawless skin of his back. They were partially healed, but the worst of the five—the one that extended from his left shoulder diagonally to the middle of his back—was bleeding slightly from when Shizuo had pushed him against the wall.

Izaya continued to stare long after the mirror had fogged up and he could no longer distinguish the marks in his reflection.

Tearing his eyes away, Izaya stepped into the shower, allowing the hot water to wash over him. His back stung where the injury had re-opened, but he ignored it in favor of getting clean.

Izaya washed himself head to toe 5 times and still didn't feel clean. His skin felt raw from his scrubbing combined with the water that reddened his skin with its intense heat.

Reaching down, Izaya plugged the tub and allowed the water to fill up. Maybe if he soaked in the water for a while he might begin to feel clean.