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pressure of days

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"When was the last time you showered? You smell like a liquor cabinet."

Izaya looks like hell, but Shizuo is pretty much certain that he, himself, looks worse at this point. The brunet is right, though; he feels gritty and there's oil build up in his hair which hangs loosely before the dark shadows under his eyes. He's done nothing but drink heavily since his last visit to the hospital three days ago. He still hasn't been to work. He's baiting himself, and waiting for the moment in which Tom forcefully confronts him about his absentee.

The former informant wrinkles his nose a little bit as if to mimic disgust in the blond's smell, and Shizuo can't help but notice that this is the closet the man has come to actually acting like Izaya again. If he were to be more honest with himself, he would give anything to hear the brunet speak that horrid nickname that once drove him to homicidal extremes. He just wants things to go back to the way it was; even if he'd never be able to look at his adversary the same again.

"Shut the fuck up," Shizuo growls, if only to push the atmosphere to something more comfortably familiar. Izaya's bed is only inclined a little bit, today, and he has one arm raised to he can weakly rub at his temple with his fingertips. Shizuo knows this must be a 'bad day', given the brunet's slightly irritable disposition as well as appearance.

Letting out a small sigh, Izaya turns his face away as the blond takes his seat near the edge of the hospital bed. He slides his eyes closed with the bit of reluctance he'd shown, pain written evidently across his features.

"Alright," he murmurs in response, causing dept collector at his side to freeze in surprise at the words.

Swallowing thickly as if he doesn't know how to go about expressing just how that word makes him feel; Shizuo averts his eyes to the magazine he'd snatched from the nurses station, if only to make it look like he wasn't bothered by the man's temperament. The Izaya he knew was a disgusting little maggot that would never even think to compromise with anyone – let alone the person he's called his enemy for all these years.

"Don't worry about it," Shizuo mutters quietly; awkward, due to not knowing how to react to this sort of situation.

Things fall quiet after that; Shizuo pretends to read while Izaya stares tiredly out the window with a slightly tightened expression. The blond knows the brunet is probably maxed out on morphine, judging by the 'out of it' look in the man's eyes, and he has to question to himself why exactly he's still in pain, with all of the sedatives pumping through his system.

The window is open again, and the breeze that flows in is a little bit chilly. It's cloudy outside today, though there's no sign of rain. Shizuo thinks about going over to slide the glass shut, because the cool air might be too cold for Izaya's state, and he stops that train of thought in surprise. If the fucker is cold, then so be it; it isn't any of his business, and he tells he doesn't care about the brunet's well being.

"I didn't think you would come back," Izaya says, and despite the softness of his voice, he sounds every bit raw and pained. Shizuo can't help but think that the former informant not only looks, but sounds completely and utterly pathetic.

"Neither did I," Shizuo states, honestly.

A sad smile makes it's way to Izaya lips as he stares contemplatively out the window pane; wishing, wanting. Outside looks desaturated due to the lack of sunshine, but he can see the tops of the trees in the park. His eyes sting sharply, and he chalks it up to not blinking enough and there's a lump in his throat that he has to swallow around. His head isn't the only thing that hurts; but his chest as well. Like there's a black hole; wide and gaping and sucking away everything like a vacuum until there's nothing left but pain.

"Shizuo..."

The blond in question raises his head at the sound of his name spoken to eloquently – so sadly. His jaw clenches tightly at the look on the brunet's face; so fucking heartbreaking, and those brick-red eyes are just a bit too wet for normal, though too dry for tears.

"I'm sorry," Izaya whispers, and he doesn't tear his gaze away from the window as he speaks.

Later, when Shizuo is desperate for consolation of the grief he unknowingly bears, he'll look back on that apology and seek refuge in the simplicity of the inclination.

"You... fucker," the blond starts; he feels hurt by the former informants words, though he cannot fathom why. His words feel choked off – there's so many things that he wants to say; he wants to yell, scream, and shred the man to pieces; but the hurt inside of him holds him back.

The magazine hits the tiled floor with a sharp 'slap', and Shizuo threads his fingers through his hair in irritation as he stands. This is all going too far, and he's not sure just how much he can handle. He considers bolting from the room, just like that, but instead he finds himself walking towards the window that Izaya has placed so much attention in.

He leans forward against the pane as he thinks; shakes his head as he lets out a short exhale that sounds something like a blend between an exasperated sigh, and a curt-mocking laugh. Gripping his fingers into tight fists, Shizuo caves in to his impulse, as he sharply turns to look at the object of his disdain, while he continues to lean forward against the window pane.

"What the hell am I supposed to say to that?" Shizuo demands; voice raised just slightly to express the building frustration he's had towards the brunet.

Izaya doesn't respond as he slowly raises his eyes, and the pain within them is too much for the blond to handle – he can't take this, not right now. As selfish as it may be, he's not strong enough to deal with all of this; it's too much at once.

Letting out the soft laugh that falls flat with a hollow sadness, Shizuo shakes his head as he drops his arms to his sides. He feels absolutely desolate and hopeless, and he's not sure just exactly how he's supposed to accept this sort of reality.

"...What the hell do you want from me?" He tries again, and Izaya furrows his eyebrows in a way that fully expresses his mournful melancholy.

"Why are you here, Shizu-chan?"

That was it – the single name he never realized he'd love to hear so much from the person he hated with a passion. It was almost like he could illusion himself; make himself believe that this was all still just a joke and that his enemy wasn't dying. The fantasy was better than the truth, and he would continue to push himself into believing a lie that would never come to be.

"Don't call me that," the blond bites out, but his words aren't nearly as hostile as he was hoping. He's avoiding the question and they both know it.

Izaya's eyes slips closed for a moment as a small smile spreads on his lips; though it's unspoken, it's obvious he wants to say something about the brutes constant deflection of his question.

"And don't fucking smile like that when it's obvious you don't mean it."

At this, the former informant returns his faded red gaze to blond; mild surprise showing forth on his features. He doesn't say any of what he's thinking; instead opting for watching sadly as Shizuo turns to glare back out the single window in the room. Izaya wonders why the man hasn't left yet; it's getting to about that point, yet here he still stands.

"You're so unpredictable."

Shizuo doesn't turn his head; doesn't even bother to look over at the man in the bed as he lets out a sigh. "What's that supposed to mean," he says, and it sounds more like a statement than that of an actual question.

"I was an informant, you know," Izaya starts, his voice still soft. "Reading people was a part of the job. Picking them apart to the point that I knew everything about them within five minutes of being in the same room. But you, Shizuo... I've known you for going on nine years... and I still don't know you. I don't think I ever will," the way he says it seems more along the lines of distant musing bordering on regret, rather than that of bitter resent.

"It's not," Shizuo starts, but stops himself from continuing. He's not sure what he was going to say, anymore.

"I don't know you, Shizuo," Izaya states, shifting his gaze to meet the blond's tired and nearly desperate one. "...and you don't know me."

"How... how were we supposed to?" The blond asks, letting out a breath in dejection. "It's... not like we ever actually talked before."

Izaya grins softly at that, shifting just a little to press his cheek into his pillow while he looks down at the blue and white bedsheets. Eyes the color of fatigued brick dust trail from the I.V needle stuck in his arm, up the thin tube to the bag hanging on the metal rack at his side. He swallows thickly as he breathes deep.

"I actually liked you at first," Izaya amends, catching his enemy by surprise. "When I first heard of you... I wanted to get to know you. I thought, maybe, this was someone as fucked up and twisted as me. You were – are, but... two minutes into meeting you and I knew how it would end up. I could see how much you hated me. And I hated you for hating me, for seeing through me and my manipulations... like this, endless cycle of childishness."

Shizuo lets out a tiny, desperate laugh as he turns away, one hand resting on his hip while the other runs through his hair. It's physically paining him to have this talk – to be here, to go through this. He's confused; unable to process and understand why he's so disoriented with the entire situation. His mouth twitches slightly as though fighting a frown, and a heavy knot builds in his chest. He takes a moment to steady himself enough to turn back and face the other occupant in the room.

"Originally, I wanted to use you. Gain an ally of the sort," the brunet explains in a soft, monotonous tone; distant, the way one talks about everyday occurrences, or the weather. "You would be the brawn, and I would be the brain. I wanted to use you to gain more power over people. I wanted to know you for purely selfish reasons, really. But then again, everything I did in my life was selfish." He gives a sad smile at that, aged and worn with too many regrets. Shizuo knows that look all to well; he see's it in the mirror everyday.

"But," Izaya continues, looking up rather solemnly. "you and I were never friends; never even acquaintances. We were enemies, and we always will be."

Shizuo nods as he clenches his jaw, throat working as he sharply turns to glare out the single-pane window. His eyes are starting to sting and prickle, but he swallows again and holds it back, the knot in his tight pulling tighter as a full blown ache settles deep under his skin. He doesn't let his turmoil show.

"To be honest," Izaya says, not looking for a response from the other. His words are growing softer, as if the more he talks, the more energy it's burning up with his fatigued and pained state. "I'm... I've always been rather jealous of you. Even if you're a freak of nature with inhuman strength, a bad attitude and a sharp temper... you have people who care about you. You have friends, and loved ones, Shizuo. I'm completely alone. You – you have... I can't do that. I'm... incapable of it, you understand? I can't connect with people the way you do. You and I; we're just too different, I guess. Too opposite."

"We're not different," Shizuo speaks up, and his voice is rough as though it's been unused and choked. He's barely holding himself together – he want's to get mad. For once in his life, he want's to feel unadulterated anger flood his senses and he want's his body to throw itself into automatic while he surges on a rampage. It doesn't happen, however; and all he's left with his a hollow void that gushes an arduous ache that leaves him feeling hopeless.

"I'm glad you think so," Izaya murmurs, but his words don't hang with sarcasm. He's speaking honest and raw, and it pains Shizuo even more to comprehend such a thing.

"We're the same, Izaya," Shizuo says quietly, staring intently out the window as though he cannot physically bear to speak such words while looking directly at the one they're intended for. "I'm just - …I'm alone, too. We're the same."

"Right," Izaya murmurs while he lets out an exhale of baited breath. He turns his face away and closes his eyes, something unreadable passing briefly across his features before he falls silent and still.

Swallowing to regain himself, Shizuo furrows his eyebrows as though something outside was catching it interest, but he wasn't seeing anything; merely looking blindly in an attempt at distracting the ache he's becoming all too familiar with, as of late. When he hears no further form of speech or noise outside of the machinery and heart-monitor that reside within the room next to the only bed-ridden occupant, Shizuo finally turns to face the former informant out of curiosity.

Izaya looks serene – as serene as a dying man can. There's a melancholic heaviness about him that never existed before all of this derisive reality. The brunet has his eyes closed, face smoothed out with a quiet, lingering sadness. Shizuo thinks the man has fallen asleep until brick-dusted irises shown themselves as the former informant looks up at him without moving a single muscle. His silence seems to have effectively established the end of their previous conversation. Shizuo doesn't know whether he wanted to continue it or not, in retrospect. Talking about emotions and feelings have never been his strong suit. He's only every been able to open up about things with Tom and Celty; his version of 'opening-up' being a mockery of sorts that involves much cussing, angry words and cigarettes.

"I don't know what you want from me," the blond settles on saying once again as he drops his arms to his side, stance indicating a true desperation. He's got all the makings of a lost child – if only he knew what he was looking for.

Smiling softly, Izaya's arm curls a little tighter around his midsection as if to ward off incoming nausea. The corners of his mouth are tight; showing more bitterness in the simple gesture of counterfeit happiness and amusement.

"Neither do I."

Exasperated, the blond raises his hands once more to run through his hair, stopping to grip tight at the roots as though the sting will distract him from the lump in his throat; the burning that pricks his tired eyes. He huffs out something far too close to exposing grief, and he shakes his head as he nearly pleads. He's at the end of his rope, and they both know it.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Izaya doesn't answer at first, studying the man from the distance between them. For a moment - for a brief, sad moment; that gaze looks calculating and sharp, far too smart and clever like the maggot who terrorized a city in his spare time. But, just as quickly as it shown, the look dissipates as the brunet tilts his head just a little, a small frown settling over his lips.

"I'm not doing anything to you."

"Yeah," Shizuo says as he wipes a hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes for a moment before pulling back. "It would be easier if you were, though."

"What do you mean?" Izaya questions.

"I wish I could just blame this all on you," the blond says, his voice quiet.

Nodding, Izaya doesn't look the least bit thrown off. He's not insulted or offended, but that doesn't stop him from asking; "Is that what you want?"

Shizuo breaks then, for just a mere moment as he lets his frustration show; "I want this to be your fault - fucking... I want you to deserve this, Izaya. I want..." He trails off at that, letting out a laugh that in no way displays of happiness. It's agonizing and hollow, and Shizuo stares down at the blue and white bed sheets and shakes his head in disbelief, as he speaks. "I want to walk out of here and never look back. I want to go on with my life like nothing happened, and not give a damn that you're rotting in some fucking hospital."

"I see," the former informant murmurs. "...You're implying that you care."

Shizuo stills at that, shifting his gaze back to the window pane as he stares silently. It's still too much to look at that shell of a man in the eyes. "What do you want, Izaya," he asks again, his tone low and sounding less questioning and more of an assertion. He's ignoring the man's previous question altogether, and they both know the answer to it.

Izaya sighs softly, and waits for the blond to look over at him again before he gives a tired smile.

"I don't want to die."

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please tell me what you think.