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a silent movie

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Shizuo calls off work and spends his entire morning in the park. He was surprised that Tom didn't call him on his bullshit, because he's one of the few people who really knows him, and he knows that Shizuo does not get sick. His body is sturdy and hard, and the only think he ever really falls victim to is hangovers. Yet, when he called his boss and friend early this morning and said he was too sick to work, Tom merely accepted it after a few moments of silence.

He's sitting in on a park bench; a tall Styrofoam cup of coffee resting next to him, it's contents loaded up with enough cream and sugar to make it syrupy in texture. There's a cigarette between his fingers, he has a dark blue scarf wrapped around his neck against the late autumn cold, and the sky is a pretty clear state of blue; almost as if yesterdays storm had never been. It's a bright and sunny morning, but chilly enough that he wrapped himself up in a coat and scarf, his bartender uniform underneath.

He tossed his breakfast roll on the ground after having torn it into little pieces, and there's a flock pf pigeons quickly gobbling it all up, and he has to wonder to himself why the birds haven't migrated yet.

Shizuo's not really sure just what exactly he's supposed to be feeling – what a proper reaction is to this kind of situation; but he doesn't feel anything. He's not angry or happy, he's not depressed or overjoyed; he's just... numb.

The leaves are matted and stuck to the ground from last nights rain, and Shizuo kind of wishes they would dry out soon. Childish as it may be, he likes to watch leaves flutter around. He stares mindlessly at the way the smoke curls and sifts from his cigarette; ashes breaking off the tip and scattering away with the chilly wind as gusts.

After returning home from his quick and somewhat meaningless visit from the hospital, Shizuo went through and entire pack of cigarettes before the clock struck midnight. He hasn't been to sleep yet and he feels haggard and worn down. He spent all night laying awake in his bed, tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable and trying to get his mind to shut up. He just sorta laid there, watching the way the moonlight shown through his window and spills across his blankets and sheets.

It had been somewhere around the fifth hour of laying there sleepless and staring at the ceiling and alarm clock and moon; he had finally given up on resting. He grabbed himself a fresh cigarette and began to pace his room back and forth in nothing but his pajama pants. His apartment was empty and quiet; he's been living alone all these years.

He idly takes a sip from his coffee; he had left the lid on it to seal in and preserve the heat so he could drink it slowly like he always does. He knows he probably looks like a wreck; bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep and ragged in appearance; but that's what happens. He doesn't remember ever having suffered a sleepless night before now.

Shizuo has to look up; giving a small wave as he sees Celty approaching him. He can't really determine how she knew where he was; but then again, Celty has always been rather in tune with other people.

She takes a seat next to him, and immediately begins to type away on her PDA. "You look horrible."

"Yeah, I feel horrible..." He grumbles out moodily, exhaling a thin stream of smoke with the words. Shizuo leans forward so he can place his elbows on his knees, looking to the side to properly address his friend.

"When you left last night... you went to see Izaya, didn't you?"

Shizuo stares blankly at the screen for a few moments, then flicks his eyes up the the empty helmet that encased her would-be head. Her ability at perception never ceases to amaze him, but he cannot help but feel guilty; as though he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing.

He mumbles something that sounds akin to an agreement, and he has to look away from her so as not to show his crestfallen face, but something tells him that she already knows – she always does. "Sorry..." He says softly around the cigarette he's holding to his mouth, chin resting gently in the palm of the same hand.

Celty waves at him dismissively; giving him the signal that it was alright, and no feelings were hurt. She starts to type out on her PDA again, pausing here and there in brief moments before she shows him her response. "You seem very sad... I honestly expected you to be happy. You hate him, right?"

Shizuo growls a little to himself as he reads the words; they send something of a spark through him, and he once again turns away from her as he speaks. "Of course I hate him. You know that – and I'm not sad." He says gruffly and his cigarette is nearly finished out; down to the nub. "I just... I don't even know what's wrong. I don't really feel anything, to tell you the truth." He flicks the butt to the ground where he snuffs it out halfheartedly with his leather boot.

"Izaya is the worst kind of person; with everything he's done to people... everything he's done to me. This is just Karma coming in full-swing – I'm glad he's fucking suffering."

He runs a hand through his hair, cringing a bit at the oil build up and he considers going home after this to have a good shower. Celty has her hand paused over her PDA, like she's thinking of how to respond, and can't find the proper words to express herself. Finally, as though she had come to some sort of decision with herself, so slowly clicks away on the device, her movements less immediate like her usual typing. It takes a few long moments until she finally holds it out for him to read;

"I don't like Izaya, and I never have. But... I don't believe anyone deserves to suffer like this. Believing that they do just makes you even worse of a person than they themselves are."

Shizuo feels a knot build and tighten in his chest; the words strike him a little too hard and he leans back on the bench as he mulls them over. He barely registers the way a silence falls over them, and it was probably about five minutes of sitting there before Celty tells him she has to get back to work. He watches her walk away from him, in the direction of her bike that he could see parked off near the exit of the park.

He's not feeling anything in particular besides the small ache in his chest from the what she had told him, and he just sits there looking every sense the melancholic.

Taking a deep breath, Shizuo digs his cellphone out of his pocket and scrolls down his rather short contact list. He clicks on his brothers name, and stares at the options for a few moments before sucking it up and choosing 'call'. Something akin to sadness ebbs itself into his heart. The line rings a couple of times before hitting to voice-mail, and he lets out a small sigh as he lowers his hand and ends the call before a message could be recorded.

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make me whole; i dont want half a soul

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Izaya doesn't talk as much as he used to, Shizuo noticed.

He's called off work for the second time, and it's his second visit in the hospital. Izaya always either has a severe headache, is sleeping, or is too nauseous to do much when Shizuo comes to see him. It's beautiful outside today, and the air is just warm enough that the window in his hospital room is open. The door to 338 is almost always ajar; something that the blond will quickly picked up on over the consistent visits that will soon follow.

"You never answered me, you know..." The soft voice draws Shizuo's attention, and he looks up from the magazine he's flipping though. They don't really have any conversations, often opting more to sit in silence as Shizuo reads what he's brought with him, and Izaya stares solemnly out the window. He's been nauseous most of the morning, and Shizuo came in around 10am; just in time to watch the brunet puke into an emesis basin while a pretty young nurse attended him.

"'Bout what?" The blond grunts back in response, as he returns he attention to the article he's reading in his lap. The white curtains shift and flutter with each cool breeze that passes in through the window.

Izaya emits a small sigh as he turns his head to face the other. "About why you're here... why you came back."

Later, Shizuo will hear these words echo in his head over and over in a way that drives him to flirt with insanity.

But that's not yet; not now.

Shizuo has to stop for a moment so he can re-evaluate what he's going to say in response. It's so normal – so habitual, and he wants to list off insults and reasons why Izaya should suffer and burn in hell, but they all get stuck in his throat, because he can't stop thinking about what Celty said to him. His enemy looks even paler today, mouth turned into a small frown and his eyes are half lidded as though he's extremely exhausted. Shizuo knows the feeling.

"Yeah, and I already told you. 'I don't know'," he repeats as though the brunet didn't hear him clearly the first time. Shizuo barely slept three hours last night, and his tolerance was boiling away into apathy and agitation. He's had about a collective of three hours of 'sleep' ranged over the past three days, and he's never felt so tired and annoyed in his life.

"Right, of course.." Izaya murmurs; and there's that sad fucking smile again. The blond wishes that he wouldn't do that if it was so painfully obvious he didn't mean it.

Shizuo glances up from his magazine again, as Izaya closes his eyes and lets out a heavy exhale. He thinks the former informant is going to sleep yet again, but his voice sounds; just as soft and breathed as it had been since he first saw him in here.

"You hate me, Shizuo." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yeah. I do," is the blond's response as he stares at that pale face which harbors a mixture of pain and relaxation, and Izaya slowly opens his eyes. They've dulled in color; no longer like fresh blood, but something more akin to brick dust.

The movement is weak and it's obvious it takes him a lot of effort. Izaya gently lifts one of his hands, reaching out a little as though he wants to touch Shizuo, but his movement falls short as he backtracks his own actions. He draws his hand back, letting it fall across his abdomen and he tilts his head back towards the window. He looks tired again.

"Go to sleep." Shizuo orders without taking his eyes away from his magazine. He's read the same line over and over again, and he's still not quite sure what it had said, but he continues to pretend like it's holding his interest.

"Why... so you can kill me?"

He tries hard; very, very hard not to look up at that comment. Shizuo can't let the brunet know it affects him so harshly; the reasoning in which, he's confused with himself.

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny." Izaya says and gives something akin to a tiny chuckle but it comes out as more of a small breathy laugh. Shizuo glances up from the article to meet the brunet's sad gaze. He's suddenly hit with the desire to reach over and shake him until he was Izaya again. He has to swallow thickly to himself and let out a frustrated huff as he snaps his magazine closed to show his agitation in the matter. The former informant doesn't seem at all effected by his aggravation.

"You look worse than me," Izaya comments by way of observation, and this is the most Shizuo has heard him speak out of both his combined visits. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

The blond in question shoots him a tiny glare as he tosses his magazine on the small table at Izaya's beside. He runs a hand through his hair in an irritated manner, and he rises to his feet with a small growl. "That's none of your fucking business."

Looks like he's reached his limit for today. Shizuo's already annoyed and exhausted and he doesn't want to have to look at his enemy right now. It hurt's, and he can't determine why. Turning his back on the other man, Shizuo starts towards the door only to have a quiet voice halt him in his halfhearted steps.

"...Are you leaving?"

Izaya sounds sad; Shizuo registers, and he moves a little so he can look back at the brunet. He hasn't moved much, still lying back against pillows and staring at him with an unreadable expression that he can't decipher. He wishes he had better empathy towards other peoples emotions, and he re-thinks his previous intent and actions. He wonders, in that brief moment; if Izaya actually has any visitors besides himself – if anyone even cares that he'll be dead in a few weeks.

"No," he decides with an almost defeated tone; guilty. "I was just going out to have a smoke."

It was partially the truth; Shizuo was craving nicotine to calm his jittery nerves, and this was the perfect excuse without seeming like a complete asshole. He wishes he had the strength to turn his back on the man and never return – to read his name in the Obituary's without a sense of shame or remorse; but he doesn't. Celty was right.

When Izaya makes no response, Shizuo continues out the room on his original path.

Once he's outside with a fresh cigarette between his lips, Shizuo steps until his back touches the building a few feet to the side of the entrance. He slides himself down to the cement, stretching one leg out before him and keeping the other bent as he breathes white smoke into the nippy air. He rests one elbow on his bent knee so he can hold the cigarette in place; fingers curled around his chin and mouth. With his free hand he digs his cellphone out, and clicks speed-dial for a number that's been called all to many times before. The line rings and rings and Shizuo has to mentally chant 'pick up, please pick up... please, come on; pick up, pick up, pick up...'

A click is heard as the ringing stops, and a voice comes on – a voice he knows like the back of his hand – who tells him 'I'm sorry I missed your call' and 'leave a message at the tone' and Shizuo feels a little desperate. He's feeling lost and alone, even though there's several people outside before him and he can see paramedic's rushing someone into the ER on a stretcher.

"Hey, Kasuka..." He starts when the tone signals him. He stops and swallows; tries to get his voice to sound a little stronger and a little more confidant. "I, uh... I left two other messages already... I don't know if you got them. I know you're busy, and all... but, um...I really need to talk to you. So, just - …...please call me when you can...?" He lowers his head back against the building, and his cigarette is held barely an inch form his lips.

"Okay. I'll... talk to you later... bye."

Shizuo snaps his phone shut and drops it into his lap as he stares at the clear blue sky hanging overhead. A few hot ashes flake down to his other hand, and the nicotine from his cigarette does nothing to curb the hollow feeling in his chest.

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an:

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