.
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with nothing to blame
.
It takes Shizuo nearly six days to actually work up the will to come back to the hospital in Shinjuku; his most dreaded destination, despite the fact that it's his choice, and he can no longer bring himself to stop going. Izaya smiles at him when he enters the room, but otherwise he stays silent. They don't talk about their last encounter, and Shizuo's thankful for it. He doesn't know what to say, how to address this issue, because when it comes to Izaya, everything is always spur of the moment and impulsive.
Shizuo never knows whats going to happen, what either of them will say and what will result in it. They're strangers to each other, and as such, don't know how to react to one another. Like meeting a stranger at the bus station, both are cautious and hesitant; awkward and unsure. Never being able to predict the others reaction or thought process.
He sits down in the bedside chair with the new magazine he'd snatched from the waiting room downstairs; he didn't look at the cover, and now realizes it's for women. He frowns to himself but pretends to read it anyway while he keeps it open on his lap. Izaya stays looking away from him; stares contemplatively out the window that garners most his interest nowadays. Shizuo glances up at him for a moment, notes the thin eyebrows knitted together in something akin to distress.
There's bruising wrapped around Izaya's throat, and he can't help but wonder what the man must have told his doctor. The staff must have noticed the blue and purple marks decorating his neck from where Shizuo attempted to strangle him in his previous visit.
Shizuo flicks his eyes down to the floor before he can further regulate that thought as he frowns and he leans back in his chair, making to dig his phone out of his pocket. No calls, no texts, but that doesn't make his chest hurt any less. Kasuka still hasn't contacted him, and Shizuo figures eight unanswered calls and three voice messages should've been enough. Still nothing.
Sighing at the slightly hinted feeling of rejection, Shizuo tucks his phone back away and looks up to see Izaya watching him curiously. The brunet doesn't say anything, however, but he knows the unspoken question, something that surprises him. Two weeks ago he wouldn't have known the slightest shift in Izaya's body language; wouldn't have known how to go about reading it at all.
"My brother," Shizuo says. "...I'm just waiting for him to call me back."
Izaya nods a little at that, and turns his head back away. The sun is shining bright outside; illuminating everything in a saturation of color, the air still and clear; the window is open and let's in a fresh gust with every breeze and Shizuo can't stop himself from wanting to know.
"Izaya, does anyone visit you?"
"You're here," the brunet murmurs lightly after a few beats of a delayed response. His gaze is carefully diverted.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Shizuo replies, making careful to keep his voice in check.
Izaya smiles wistfully, and the blond can tell the bordering sadness that envelopes it. The former informants ability to conceal his emotions and thoughts have deteriorated along with his physical state. Raw and exposed; it'd be so easy to do or say anything to him. He's not capable of pretending, or fighting anymore. More than that; Shizuo is getting better at picking up the things Izaya doesn't say with his words.
"At first," he starts, voice soft and serene. "When I was first diagnosed... Shinra and Celty visited me a few times. That... was months ago, however."
"You haven't -... No one else has come since then?"
A breathy laugh is his answer at first, and Izaya shakes his head before looking over at the blond with a sad acceptance and an ironic smile. "You say that as if I actually have friends."
Shizuo furrows his eyebrows and decides not to comment on that. "What about your family, then? Your sisters?"
"I haven't told them where I am. I don't want them to see me, not yet."
Pales fingertips grip lightly at blue covers and Izaya's smile slowly falls from his face. Shizuo can't tell if it's from lack of will to keep up a facade, or if he's simply growing too tired to procure facial expressions at the moment.
"You haven't... told you family?"
"No," Izaya sighs a little. "I've told them my diagnosis, and my... and how long I have. But, I've not told them what hospital I'm at."
"Why would you – why the fuck would you do that?" Shizuo demands, whilst trying to keep his voice at a level tone. The more their visit wears on, the more it grates on him. Even in his death bed, Izaya still manages to make Shizuo feel pissed.
Izaya doesn't seem surprised by the burst of words, but he gives a small smile and a huff of a laugh, regardless. He falls quiet for a moment, and his eyes lower as his expression steadily falls into something more somber. He turns his face away, and stares down at the blankets on his bed and gathers himself before he speaks, voice soft and low.
"You wouldn't understand, Shizuo," he decides on saying. "I can't – I don't want them here."
"Christ," Shizuo spits and stands while he stands with the magazine held down at his side. "What is it with you? Huh? You're the most selfish fucking bastard I've ever come in contact with."
"I know," Izaya responds, almost immediately. He looks up rather unhappily but doesn't say anything more about it; doesn't make an excuse for himself. "Just another thing that makes us opposites, you know."
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Shizuo mutters as he paces a few steps away, setting the magazine on the windowsill.
Izaya doesn't elaborate his words as the debt collector stares back at him with every hint the aggravation, and brunet merely lets out a sigh in response. Shizuo looks down at that, breaking their eye contact; something that never seems to last for long anyway, not that Izaya blames him. They're both new at this – this communication between them. It's foreign, and so easy to misinterpret each other.
"I'm scared," Izaya finally says, drawing the blonds attention once more. He voices the fear with a soft smile, one that makes his cheeks ache and his eyes sting. He watches the line of Shizuo's throat as he swallows thickly and turns away.
"Yeah," Shizuo murmurs in response, his voice low enough that it's nearly inaudible. He tilts his head down as he braces his hands on the windowsill, tired and unmoving as his gaze follows a pack of birds just outside that nip and circle each other playfully as they flutter past the glass pane.
Izaya watches the blonds tense back sadly from where he sits on his hospital bed, a deep sorrow ebbing into his expression as the two of them lapse into a silence.
"Do you want to go outside?" Shizuo finally asks without looking over at him, his gaze hard, voice rough and strained.
.
with your hands in the air
.
It's a bit chilly outside but the bright shine of the sun warms his back and the sky is crystal clear. Shizuo closes his eyes and breathes deep the fresh air and scent of grass and trees. The park is something simple, meant for patients with an extended stay at the hospital. Those that are physically able, are allowed to have the occasional visit outside with nurses standing watch in case of emergencies. He grips his fingers against the handles of the wheelchair for a moment; securely as they come to a stop near the shade of a tree. It happens before he even registers it – Shizuo had made a beeline towards shade out of concern of the sun bothering Izaya in some way; the brightness of it all, he he didn't realize until they'd come to a stop.
Izaya's got a dark blue and green checkered print blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and another one in his lap. Sitting in the wheelchair out in the sunlight, Shizuo can make out the definite contrast. The paleness of the mans skin and the dark pressed shadows under his eyes, the bruising on his neck. Izaya's never looked like such an invalid before.
Scratching as his neck as he turns away, Shizuo takes a few steps forward so his back is to the brunet. He rests his hands on his hips and tries hard not to think about what a fucked up situation this is.
"It's beautiful out here," Izaya remarks and his tone is almost ranging on something considerably normal. The blond half-turns to look back at him, and he's greeting with a shy smile that looks so, so wrong on such an ill man.
"Yeah," he agrees quietly, and doesn't add any more to it.
"Shizuo," the brunet says to catch his attention. There's something desperate in his tone, so Shizuo drops his hands and turns around properly to assess him. Izaya's face is tilted down, and one pale, boney hand is fiddling with the frayed edges of the dark checkered blanket around his shoulders. He looks like he obviously wants to say something, but he's biting his tongue.
"When was the last time you were outside?" Shizuo questions as a way to divert to conversation away from what he knows was going to be a dangerous topic.
Izaya pauses at his words and blinks up at him, squinting a bit in a way that says his eyes are far too sensitive to sunlight from having gone so long without adjusting to it. "I guess... since I was first admitted. A few months."
The debt collector makes a noncommittal noise at that, and resists the urge to dig out his cigarettes. Even if he knows his smoking won't have much effect on Izaya – the man's dying, after all – he knows the nurses standing watch of the patients will tell him off. This is a no smoking area.
Izaya opens his mouth, making to start speaking as he glaces up, but he falls short and lets it out with a heavy exhale. His fingers tighten briefly around one of his blankets before falling slack again, and Shizuo can see the energy visibly leaving the man. The simple act of coming outside has worn him out.
"Shizuo," Izaya starts again, and Shizuo braces himself. "I don't..."
"You don't have to say anything," the blond states in a lowered voice; he knows what's coming and he doesn't want to hear it.
"I need to say it, okay? I'm sorry, but I have to."
Shizuo's mouth twists at the words before he lets his expression fall back into indifference. The maggot is actually sincerely apologizing for something he's going to say.
"Shizuo, I'm..." The words can't seem to make it out properly, and Izaya keeps his face down as he tries to speak again. "You're not... I..."
"I know, Izaya," Shizuo insists, quietly.
"No, you don't," he responds and fingers tighten into weak fists and he shakes his head while he swallows thickly. His eyes burn and he takes a steadying breath, he looks like he's fighting something from surfacing and when he looks back up his eyes are too wet for Shizuo to look at, so he doesn't.
"Shizuo, none of this is your fault."
"We're not having this conversation," the blond immediately cuts in, talking over the other before he'd even finished speaking.
"No; you need to hear this!" Izaya insists, and his voice raises to better make the debt collector hear him. "You're running away from the issue, Shizuo, and this. This isn't something you can fix. This is set and stone and it's going to happen."
"Shut up, Izaya," Shizuo growls in warning, tone soft and dark as he keeps his head turned away. "Just, shut up."
"It's going to happen," Izaya repeats. "It's going to happen, Shizuo, and it's not your fault."
"Just shut the hell up, okay?"
And Izaya does. He falls silent, and Shizuo keeps his gaze carefully averted. He watches a pair of squirrels scurry across the bark of a tree, chasing each other in some endless game. It seems almost nostalgic to him. There's a man in woman sitting on a bench across from the tree; the man is in a pair of hospital scrubs, clearly ill and weak and the woman has her arm wrapped tightly around him with their heads resting together while they talk.
He glances down at Izaya, who has his eyes closed with a troubled expression. Shizuo can makes out the shivering that run through him from underneath his blankets. It's too much for him, obviously – this; being out here in his condition. Having raised his voices in something akin to shouting – the adrenaline that likely followed. It's exhausting him.
"Want to go back in?" Shizuo asks him after a moment and he's not prepared for the hazy, pain filled eyes that look up at him. There's no voiced response, but the brunet gives a small nod of his head for affirmation.
Not waiting for anything further, the blond steps behind him where he resumes his grip on the wheelchairs handles. He turns them around to start their trek back into the hospital, but Izaya's voice causes him to momentarily pause in his long strides.
"Shizuo, I don't want to die," he whispers something meant only for the man standing behind him. "I really don't."
The blond in question stills and stares at the back of Izaya's brunet head and tries to process the words without failing.
"I'm really fucking scared," the former informant admits quietly, and Shizuo can hear the tell-tale tremors in his voice.
He doesn't think about the action, but merely lets it happen. Shizuo's fingers loosen their grip on the handles, and he reaches one arm further out, palm flattening on Izaya's blanketed shoulder in something drawing close to comfort. He rests his hand there for a brief moment and tries to ignore the way Izaya tilts his head a little towards it.
Pulling back, he takes hold of the bars once more and maneuvers them towards the hospital.
.
youre waiting to finally be caught
.
"Tell me something about yourself."
The silence is shattered by a soft, nearly inaudible voice. Izaya's maxed out on his painkillers and he stays immobile and half awake from where he sits on his bed; blue and white blankets pulled up to his chin as he stares blankly out the window. It's dark out; the sun nearly setting and his eyes are half open, his breathing slow and lax.
When he speaks, his voice is rough and scratchy from the amount of stomach acid that's washed over it throughout the day; according to one of his attending nurses, this is one of the worst weeks he's had so far. Shizuo himself has been in and out of the room since their adventure outside earlier in the afternoon; when Izaya starts to get violently sick, and calls for a nurse to aid the man and steps outside for a smoke.
Shizuo's hands, shaky from caged in nerves, gently turn the page of the magazine in his lap as he looks up to better view his former enemy. He scans over his body; taking in how complacent and doll-like he's become over the past few hours. The mere act of blinking seems to drain him of energy.
"You already know everything about me," the blond grunts back, looking back down to the article he pretends holds his interest.
"I know... your height, weight, natural hair color. I know your blood type. I know... that you have a massive sweet tooth and love dairy products. I know the average amount in your bank account. I know that," Izaya pauses and makes a visible effort to regain enough will to continue speaking as he gently tilts his head, brick-dusted eyes moving to meet a light brown. "I know... I know that you're violent, ill-tempered. I know that you hate me."
Shizuo lets out an unsteady huff and rubs at his neck while he closes the magazine. He moves to toss it back on the bedside table, and his gaze skitters over the brunets vital monitors; the beeping of the heart monitor so common and expectant that he almost never hears it anymore unless he thinks about it.
"That's – that's all, really. That's all I know about you."
"What do you want to know?" He questions, hesitant. His instincts tell him to remain guarded this is Izaya, after all. The pissant cockroach who'll leek anything and everything he digs up on others. He's probably just using this all as a ploy to dig up information on him. It's not safe to talk about anything personal with him, and yet, at the same time. This isn't Izaya. This a rapidly decaying man whom wears the same face, but something inside – the wiring has been altered, and something has been broken.
"I don't know," Izaya murmurs, looking down. "Just – tell me something. Anything."
At a loss, Shizuo stays silent as he searches for words and topics. He can end this right now – tell Izaya to fuck off and walk away, but he doesn't. He can't anymore, not that he even knew how to begin with. He's already in too deep to call it quits.
"What's your favorite color?"
The question throws him off, and Shizuo immediately glaces up in surprise. Izaya's staring right back, meeting his gaze sadly with a small, tragic smile. All the reasons and warning signs inside his subconscious diminish at that look. He reminds himself – yet again; this is not the Izaya he knows. It's not.
"Blue," Shizuo finally responds, his words quiet and nearing a shyer tone.
Izaya exhales a deep breath, something skittering towards a laugh, and looks down at the blankets covering his form. "I figured you would be more of a red person, given how violent you always are."
Shizuo is silent to that at first, not knowing how to respond, but he shakes his head all the same and leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. "Izaya, I'm not," he starts and irritably has to find his words again. "I hate violence, I really do. I'm... I like peaceful things. Quiet things."
"I see," Izaya murmurs.
"It's one of the reasons I've always hated you so much. You talk all the goddamn time. And you just – you were always twisting your words around, you know?" Shizuo explains. "There was never a clear answer with you, and everything you did, everything you were pissed me off. It – got under my skin, made me so full of anger and hate," he stops at that, rubbing a hand over his forehead and eyes as if to prevent himself from getting worked up over nothing. "You were always doing things to hurt people and ruin lives, like you did my own. You always did it without remorse."
"So you're what, a 'Gentle Giant', then?" Izaya questions, keeping the same soft and curious tone he's maintained over the past few hours, ignoring the last part of the other mans statement.
"Well, no – I mean. I'm, I'm violent. I know that," the blond continues on, briefly noting to himself that he's spilling his guts to the person he's supposed to hate; the person he does hate. "I just... I don't want to hurt people. I want to live peacefully. I want to help and protect others - I want to be good. But... things happen, and those things piss me off. And, when I get mad, it's like my body runs on auto-pilot; and, I can't control it. And... it makes me hate myself," he admits, keeping his gaze locked on the tiled floor beneath his feet.
When he's met with silence, Shizuo raises his eyes to find the former informant giving him a very soft smile, eyes a bit wet as he strains a tiny laugh. It's not mocking – he's not smiling in amusement, but there's something mirror very deep regret on his sullen features.
"This is exactly what I meant when I said I don't know you," Izaya says, looking away as his eyebrows knit together. "Shizuo, I've always thought of you as a monster."
"I know," the blond replies, but Izaya continues on.
"But... you're really not a monster, are you?"
Shizuo freezes at that, cautious to speak and he keeps his mouth shut as he waits for the brunet to elaborate.
Izaya turns his face away as he takes a brief moment before he speaks. His cheek is brushing the blankets pulled up to his chin, but Shizuo knows that even with the layers, the man is still cold. He can see it in the way he keeps himself huddled, the slow beating of the heart monitor doing little to tell him otherwise.
"You're a contradiction. You want to live peacefully, yet you're the incarnation of violence. I've always thought you to be a horrible person, worse than me. But, I can see now, and I get it," Izaya says quietly, before looking over at the blond to speak more seriously. "You're a good person aren't you, Shizuo? You have a good heart; a good soul."
Shizuo opens his mouth to respond, but thinks better of it. He lowers his eyes, sadly and takes a moment to think. Coming to a small decision with himself, he shakes his head.
"I'm not a good person," he disagrees. "I'm really not. I've hurt so, so many people."
"But you feel remorse for it. That alone is a very human reaction, something a monster wouldn't be able to express. A true monster wouldn't care for others well-being; they'd see someone hurt and laugh and not care. So, I guess, in the end," Izaya smiles ruefully as he avoids the other mans gaze. "I guess I was the monster all along, wasn't I?"
"My first crush," Shizuo starts before he realizes the words that come out of his mouth. "she, um. She was an older woman – motherly, and she was always nice to me and my brother. I started having this kind of... school boy crush on her."
Izaya, not put off by the sudden change in subject, turns his head to better view the man as he listens. "What happened to her?" He questions, softly.
"I hurt her," the blond states, light brown eyes dejected and troubled as he recounts the past. "There were these guys in her store harassing her – some stupid assholes and when I saw it... it made me so, so angry. I just... lost it. I beat the fuckers down, and destroyed her store by accident. I went overboard, lost all control... and when it was all over, I realized that during it all, I accidentally hurt her along with those thugs."
"I'm sorry," Izaya murmurs back in response, but he understands what Shizuo's trying to say. He's trying to grasp at straws, give an explanation behind why he's such an awful person, and it's a depressing thing to listen to. "You know, Shizuo, I've never had a crush on anyone," he admits.
Blinking in surprise, the blond furrows his eyebrows. "You had girls hanging over you all the time in high school, they were practically your harem," is his response, as if it's actually supposed to mean something.
"I've never had a crush, and I've never been in love," Izaya continues. "I've never had an actual relationship with anyone, at all."
Something inside of him hurts at hearing that, but Shizuo doesn't voice it. He frowns softly and keeps his mouth shut as he listens.
"It's not that I didn't have anyone," the brunet says. "I had a lot of girls, like you said. I got confessions right and left, but... I just, wasn't interested. It was all too intimate – too invading, for me. I'm incapable of experiencing that sort of intimate connection with others."
Izaya tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling, contemplative, and Shizuo scrubs a had over his mouth, resting it there as he focuses his gaze on the IV cord winding up into Izaya's blankets, no doubt attached to the thin arm underneath the cocoon of covers. He doesn't know what to say; doesn't understand just how things got this personal, so quickly. Yet, at the same time, his mind tells him that it doesn't matter – Izaya is dying. Anything said to him won't matter within the next few weeks because he'll be wiped clean from the world.
"I feel regret," Izaya says at last, his voice soft, and when Shizuo looks up, he can see the former informants eyes are a bit too wet. "When I look back, I feel so much regret. The way I treated people – the way I treated you."
"Well, you should," Shizuo says instantly, and nearly flinches at his own sharp words. Izaya doesn't seem to mind, however, and the smile that graces his lips is as sad as always. Shizuo doesn't take back his statement, because he doesn't see the need to apologize for how he feels.
"You have all the reason to hate me, after everything I've done," the brunet discloses and his smile falters as he speaks. "I thought I understood the world, how people worked. I thought... I thought I was so goddamn smart," he says, and his tone is nearing into bitterness. "I saw entertainment in it all. Messing with people, you know? And I thought you were the most entertaining to tease and poke, like a caged animal," he shakes his head, and the smiles slowly fades from his lips. "It's funny how knowing your own expiration date can suddenly make things so clear. Now, I get what's truly important – I understand, and... know that before, before I knew nothing. I still know nothing, but... I think I understand a little better, at least."
And suddenly – just like that; Shizuo understands something. No one will ever hate Izaya as much as Izaya hates himself.
"Why did you attack me that day when we met?" Shizuo asks after a beat of silence.
Izaya lets out a breathy laugh before he turns to better view him. "I'd heard all about you from Shinra. He told me how powerful you were, and as I said before, I wanted to team up with you. I wanted to see first hand just how strong you were, so I arranged that test with getting a bunch of our classmates to fight you. Afterward, though, you were anything but kind to me – not that I blame you. I could see in your eyes just how much you detested me, and, now I get why. You hate violence, and I was making you commit it, is that right?"
Shizuo looks down and doesn't answer the question, and he watches as a thin wrist reveals it's self from under Izaya's blankets, lifting up so that boney fingers can rub a bit at his temple.
"Well," the brunet continues on, quietly while closes his eyes."it was around that point that I realized I would never gain you as an ally. So, why not make you an enemy? It was fun watching you lose it over nothing, at least that's how I felt at the time. I knew you were tough, so a little cut to the chest wouldn't do much harm, and I was right. At some point, somewhere along the line... I think I – I think we, lost ourselves. It started as something simple, something easy. A game, you know? But it escalated. It got worse and worse until I just... Until I forgot why I hated you so much. I had to invent these reasons, draw out specific flaws and characteristics about you that I disliked, and I exaggerated them."
"Yeah," Shizuo murmurs in agreement, watching steadily at the way the brunet's eyes remain closed, fingertips tapping and rubbing lightly at his own temple. He looks partly ready to fall asleep; maxed out on pain medication. "You should go to sleep."
Izaya's eyes flutter open at that, and he looks unreadably at the blond before speaking. "I'd rather not," he says softly. "Sleeping is a waste of time, which is something I haven't got much left of."
They fall silent after that as Shizuo stares down at the floor and Izaya's watches him with an expression bordering on sympathetic. The blond stands and crosses the room quietly, not acknowledging the sad eyes that follow his movements. He stops in front of the single window where he leans against the pane, taking in the beauty of the night sky; dark purples and blues with tiny dots of white that shine dimly.
Part of him wishes he could tug Izaya over here with him to point out the stars and ask what constellations are visible, because he knows the man is a smart-ass who probably know all of them by heart.
If Izaya were still the maggot of an informant he once knew, Shizuo would just get laughed at.
"Silly Shizu-chan," he can hear the mans condescending voice in his head. "we're in the city, stars are not visible here due to all the lights. What you're seeing are just orbiting satellites, not that your protozoic mind would understand that."
Something inside of Shizuo breaks at that thought, and he lowers his head while letting out a sarcastic huff of a laugh. His bangs shadow his eyes as he shakes his head, grinning softly while a pressure builds up in his ears and he can feel his throat tightening.
"Shizuo?" Izaya calls, his voice curious at the sudden break in silence.
The blond in question laughs again as he raises his head to stare out the window. Who is this dying man that calls him by his first name? Who the fuck is he?
Another laugh makes it past his lips but this one sounds more akin to a stifled sob than anything, and Shizuo can't help it as he wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, itchy warm tears brushing away.
"This is stupid," he says, turning to face the former informant head on, who merely watches him sadly with a frown. "This is so fucking stupid."
"Hey, it's okay," Izaya says to him and Shizuo cannot fight back the laugh that follows that, or streak of a tear that follows it, something he immediately rubs away.
"Fuck you, Izaya," Shizuo asserts with another shake of his head; wistfully as if trying to deny something. "Just... fuck you," he says and crosses the room in long strides, making towards the door without stopping in the slightest.
"Are you coming back?" He hears Izaya's hesitant voice drift from behind his back, but he blatantly ignores it as he exits the room.
It's the last thing he ever hears Izaya say.
.
.
.
.
sorry for that month delay. i know some of you were upset over it, judging by what you've told me. i am sorry, though. i work fulltime and don't have much of a window for writing, anymore. when i am able to sit and write, i just feel... unmotivated, i guess.
having ya'll kick me in the ass does wonders, though. every time i get messages that makes me guilt-trip, i start writing. so i guess, thank you guys for leaving messages/reviews that make me feel horrible for not writing - no, seriously. it motivates me. tell me you're pissed about the lack of updates and i write quicker. it's weird.
uh, so yeah.
please feel free to give me a jump-start kick in the ass.
i makes all this worth it, and i makes me want to write.
EDIT-
no, this is not the last chapter. as i said before, there will be eight altogether. two more chapters to go.