happy new year to all of my readers. sorry for the long wait. hiatus is over.
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bow to the champion
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"I'm go-... I'm going to get sick. Give me the pan."
"What?" Shizuo questions dumbfounded, glancing up from where he's been staring solemnly down at his own hands. Izaya is curled up, and leaning sideways as he braces himself on his forearms, muscles trembling in either effort or illness. His face is drained of color and shadows are pressed dark around his eyes, a mix of blues, purples and faded black.
Jumping up as his thoughts clicked, Shizuo grabs the emesis basin off of the bedside table and quickly moves to make it accessible to the other man. Izaya immediately reaches out to grasp the pan as he lurches, head bowed as he pukes without much sound. He dry heaves a few times before falling back against his pillow, knees drawing up to his chest as he lay on his side, weak arms wrapping around his stomach in a feeble attempt at making himself feel better. Shizuo retrieves the pan from where is sits on the covers before it spills and turns his back on the other; trying desperately to ignore the intense pain written across the brunets face. Walking towards the sink area, he grimaces as he dumps the basin into the drain, and runs water to rinse it out properly.
A small, hurt sound emits from behind that has Shizuo's hands shaking with nerves. When he turns back, the blond stills; empty, washed out basin holding in his fingers like he doesn't know what to do with it and he stares. Izaya's still curled up against his elevated bed, arms wrapped tight around his midsection with his knees drawn up to press his mouth and chin against. His eyes are closed, squeezed shut as his breath lets out in a staccato; hitching every few seconds.
Shizuo remains carefully still and awkward, unable to tear his gaze away from the figure on the bed, in such an obvious amount of pain. This is nothing like what he wanted before. He used to fantasize about hurting the former informant – about beating the shit out of him, or killing him – it made him happy. But this; this is not what he wanted. This is feeble, like he'd been inches away from some goal or victory, only to have it ripped from his grasp at the last moment. He's been cheated.
"What does it feel like?" Shizuo questions, voice rough in the eerily quiet room.
For once since this game of masochism began, Izaya's eyes snap open and he lashes out with a sharp tongue. His eyes are wet with tears of pain, threatening to spill over and he looks pissed beyond belief.
"What do you think it feels like?" The brunet snaps back, shoulders shaking underneath the thin cotton of his hospital gown. "What the fuck do you think this feels like?"
Shizuo opens his mouth for a reply that never moves past his vocal cords, and he lets out a breath as he lowers the emesis basin down to his side. His chest aches with a foreign sympathy as he takes a few steps closer. This has been worst state he's seen Izaya in, as of yet. He's not sure how to react to seeing the man in this condition.
"Does this satisfy you?" Izaya presses, weak fingertips digging into his own forearms as his brick-dusted eyes, clouded with agony, let twin tears drop past dark lashes. "Does it fucking make you happy to see me like this? Does it?"
"Do you want me to get a nurse?" Shizuo says back, completely disregarding the mans question and insinuation. He can't do this yet; he's not ready to talk about it.
"Fuck the nurses! Fuck you, fuck – fuck you...!" Izaya spits, trying so hard to scream in protest, but his words and insults come out with a have-sobbed hitch of breath. He grips his fingers into his shirt as it sides, and lowers his face to press against his knees. Shizuo looks down at the tiled hospital floor as he hears congested sniffs, and soft curses of pain.
He should do something; get a nurse to help, try and comfort him, laugh at him, tell him to shut up and stop bitching, but Shizuo does nothing. What does one do when the person they've fought so long to kill is lying on his death bed, crying out of the suffering he's enduring? Shizuo needs someone to tell him what to do; he cannot seem regulate his thoughts.
The hitching of breath seems to echo in the bare hospital room and the shoulders that shake don't seem to be calming anytime soon. Shizuo stands still and awkward, arms hanging useless down at his sides as he stares at the wasted man before him. He shouldn't be here, it's not right. Neither of them should be here.
Something is mumbled within the verge of a sob, and everything remains still and obnoxiously tense.
Shizuo grips his fingers into the trim of his pockets and stares down at the bleached white, tiled floor.
He says nothing.
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see your first mistake
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"You mind talking to me about what's going on, here?" Tom asks from where he stands in Shizuo's doorway, arms crossed over his chest while his face remains a deep-seated calm. It's been seven full days since Shizuo has last been to work; seven full days since he first visited Izaya in the hospital. "I've been patient, Shizuo, but I gotta have something to go on here."
Leaning heavily against the door frame, Shizuo scrubs a hand over his face as he rubs sleep from his eyes. His hair is greasy and stuck up every which way from tossing and turning in bed, and he knows he reeks disgustingly of cigarettes and alcohol, knows his entire apartment has probably adopted the smell. He feels almost incompetent; like he cannot take care of himself, or rather, he's lost the will to properly take care of himself. He just doesn't care anymore.
"I'm sorry," he says with a sigh.
"I know you are," Tom replies, gently. "I know – but, man, you've got to talk to me here. This can't keep going on."
Heaving a breath at the tiredness worn so deep inside, Shizuo steps back briefly as he stares solemnly down at the floor. He finally moves to the side enough to let his companion enter, and Tom doesn't voice his thoughts on the disarray of the blond's apartment; the smell of liquor to strong it makes him cringe.
Venturing further in, Tom stops a few feet away, staring down the hall towards Shizuo's room as the said man closes the door behind him with a soft click.
"I know you're going through something and I don't want to push you, but you've got me really concerned," Tom states before turning around to face the blond.
Shizuo scratches at his neck while he avoids his friends gaze, and walks over to take a seat on his couch, hands fumbling with the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. The brunet follows suit, moving to sit in the recliner adjacent to the other. He remains silent as he waits for some form of acknowledgment towards their situation, and it doesn't come until Shizuo's finally lit up and taking a deep inhale on his cigarette. He keeps it near his mouth, smoke curling around his fingers as he finally looks up. The air is hazy with stale smoke and the older man resists the urge to open a window.
"I've just been having a rough time, lately," Shizuo explains, voice scratchy and dry. Tom gives a small nod at that, willing him to continue. "I guess I just... I'm just realizing some things. It's – it's complicated," he says, to the side and down, keeping his face turned away. "Something happened recently – or, well. I... I found out something recently. It happened a while ago, I guess, but I just didn't know. And now that I do – I should... I should be happy, but, I'm not. I'm anything but happy."
"Okay; it's okay, Shizuo."
"No," Shizuo says as he dips his head down, buries his face into one hand while his elbow rests on his knee. "It's not okay, and it's never going to be okay."
"Hey – hey, Shizuo," Tom starts, alert and moving to the blonds side where he kneels in front of the sofa. "Hey, come on," he places a hand on the mans arm; tries to get him to look back up and face him again.
The blond shutters once, twice, as he takes a quiet sniff, keeping his face buried in his hand; hidden and ashamed. "It's stupid," he says, then. "It's so fucking stupid and I'm such a goddamn idiot. I feel like this is all a fucking joke -I can't... I can't, you know?"
"Alright," Tom reassures, moving to sit at the others side, placing a comforting hand on the younger mans shoulder. "Okay; what happened?"
Shizuo looks up at that; his eyes are scratchy red from lack of sleep, but they're dry of any barest forms of tears.
"I can't talk about it," he says, dragging his fingers through messy hair. "Not yet."
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was thinking you could relate
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It's not something he means to happen; it's more an accident than anything. He's decidedly drunk and depressed beyond belief, and his mind apparently thinks it's a perfect idea to visit that goddamn cockroach just to tell him off. Tell him to stop playing this game and come outside and fight, already. The nurse behind the check in station gives him a disapproving glare at his disgruntled appearance, but she's seen him here several times and lets him on through. Shizuo figures he must do a pretty good job of impersonating a sober man.
His confrontation with Tom ended with him taking 'sick leave' for the next couple of weeks, which is something so ironic that makes him want to laugh until he throws up. Tom says he needs a break, needs to rest and get himself together again. Shizuo completely agrees.
The door is ajar as always, and when Shizuo finally reaches his room, he leans against the frame and watches the bedridden shithead from a length.
Izaya looks over at him, eyes clouded with misery and agony and he's still laying on his side, knees drawn up to his chest just like he was this morning. Two visits in one day isn't something that's happened as of yet, but Shizuo thinks this is a special occasion. He's fucking sick of this little joke, and it's all gone on long enough. He enters the room on unsteady feet, and knocks the door shut behind him with a little more force than necessary, even though some part of him knows it should remain open in case of an emergency. But Izaya's not really sick so why should he?
"Stop it," he what he finally decides on snarling at the brunet, who blinks up at him with hazy eyes as Shizuo takes a few steps closer to the bed. There's a secondary IV accompanying his first, and something tells him it's more morphine. The nurses always drug him up when he's a lot of pain.
"Shizuo," Izaya voices, and it's something just over a whisper. He looks much too weak at the moment to speak louder than that, and he doesn't move in the slightest. When Shizuo had left the hospital this morning, he remembers the nurse telling him that this is one of the worst days the brunet has had, and he decidedly ignores her words.
"Stop fucking with me," Shizuo snaps, fingers curling into a fist while he stands only a foot away from the other man.
"Have... you been drinking?" Izaya asks him, brows knitting together in worry, but he doesn't make any more reaction than that.
Shizuo growls at the question, teeth baring for a moment as he sweeps in close. He doesn't waste time – doesn't even think as he's suddenly reaching out and grabbing the man. He shoves the brunet onto his back and stands at the bedside while he reaches a hand up to grip that pale throat.
"Fight back, Izaya," Shizuo commands, voice stern and unrelenting as he lets his fingers begin to tighten against the former informants skin, closing around his neck.
Izaya gasps, eyes widening and he brings his hands up to claw at Shizuo's wrist and forearm, weakly tugging and pulling as he lets out a strained, wheezing breath.
"Shiz- sh..." he tries, but is only met with the grip on his throat tightening even more until he can no longer produce any words.
"Fight back! I know you can do it, fight me, you fucking maggot!" Shizuo yells down at him, but a half-sob is the only answer he gets, and he can feel the vibration of the noise against his palm. Izaya's eyes squeeze shut as he slaps one hand against Shizuo's arm, who hardly feels the pressure. The heart monitor behind him begins to pick up in pace, beeping rabidly and loudly until he blocks out the sound entirely.
A near minute passes as Shizuo keeps his steady grip, though his resolve starts to weaken when he hears another noise emit from that throat, and those brick-dusted eyes blink open to look up at him, brimming with tears and silently begging for something.
This isn't Izaya.
Letting go almost instantly, the blond shakes his head in denial as the brunet sucks in a deep breath, letting out a strained coughing as he regains his air circulation. His once pale skin is flushed red from the physical exertion, as he stares up at Shizuo with something so eerily similar to fear. For the first time in the decade of knowing each other, Shizuo sees fear in his enemy's eyes – fear of him.
"I -" Shizuo starts, and his knees buckle as he falls to them, face nearly level with Izaya's as he lifts his hands to hold onto the blue and white blankets that spill over the edge of the man's hospital bed; needs something to ground himself, because he suddenly feels like a lost child. He leans a bit as he presses his forehead against the mattress, fingers curling into the sheets as he keeps his face hidden.
Several minutes pass in agonizing silence, as Izaya's labored breathing evens out, and the heart monitor slows down from it's previously erratic pace.
He's not expecting it, and his blood runs cold for a minute when he feels a hand threading into his bleach blond locks, rubbing gently at his scalp before smoothing at the strands in a calming manner. Shizuo shakes his head to get him to knock it off, but the hand only travels to the back of his neck where the thumb swipes back and forth.
"I'm so sick of this," he chokes out, turning his face to the side so he can look up at the brunet who stares down at him sadly. "I'm so sick of this, Izaya."
"I know," comes a whisper in response. If Shizuo weren't so drunk he'd realize it was because he'd just attempted to strangle the man; he's probably not capable of speaking any louder.
"This isn't fair – it's not fucking," he doesn't finish his sentence as a broken sob escapes from within him. He buries his face into the brunet's blanket and let's his emotions out for the briefest of moments. Izaya continues to smooth a hand through his hair, gently calming him from the ache that spreads through his chest. Boney fingers brush over his temple before trailing back behind his ear.
"I know," Izaya says again, just as quiet as before.
"It's not supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be the one..."
"I know."
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yes i am still writing. i have the next two chapters written, but they are not yet edited.
the next chapter will be extremely heavy. i cried writing it. and that's saying something.
still working.
nearing the end; a few more chapters to go. should be 8 altogether. there will also be a companion one-shot to be posted after this is finished, from izaya's perspective. its almost done as well.
please tell me your thoughts so far. it makes writing this worth it.
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