...

theres no escape for you except in someone else
although youve already disappeared within yourself
the invisible man who's always changing clothes
its all about taking the easy way out for you, i suppose

...

.

The hotel room isn't really all that fancy, though the quality is pretty decent. He just wants somewhere to hide for a little bit – nothing too loud and obnoxious, he's not in it for the luxury this time around. It's pretty fucking pathetic that he has to check in under a false identity, but that's what happens when you're on the run from someone you hate, who in turn wants to murder you with a passion.

Izaya honestly can't even remember the last time he's stayed at a hotel; he's so used to sleeping in familiar beds – be it his own, or Shizuo's.

The thought of the blond's name makes him cringe involuntarily; it's still painful to think about. He lets out a bit of a frustrated sigh as he continues on his actions of crushing up percocet tablets into a finer and smoother form of powder, mixing the cut with the cocaine at it's side. Fluffing the substance up a bit with his credit card, he gently files it into two thins lines to be consumed; sliding the card across the flat, smooth surface of the mirror he brought with him.

His movements fall short for a moment as his phone begins to vibrate on the wooden table near his hand hovering over reflective glass, skidding about with each quiet ring. His heart drops a bit as the caller I.D reads of the name he so desperately wanted to avoid.

"Shit," Izaya murmurs to himself, lifting a hand to hover over the device for a brief moment before caving in on the fifth ring. Pressing the green button to accept the call, he swallows heavily as he brings the phone up to his ear with every sense the regret. He remains stony; not making any sort of sound in greeting, but the man on the other end speaks up for him, instead.

"You think it's that easy, huh?" Shizuo questions on the other end of the line, the moment the call is accepted. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Izaya? No – wait, don't answer that, because I already know the answer. You're such a fucking pathetic excuse for a person."

The words are biting, cold and harsh and the brunet wishes more than anything that the man would break out yelling instead. Hearing the blond scream at him would be much easier to tolerate than this algid one.

"You're going to pretend like this doesn't bother you, and I don't expect you to say anything to me because you're 'too good' for that, right? You're going to pretend that everything I'm saying is out of anger, but you know it's not. You destroy everything you touch, Izaya. You tear down and dismantle everyone – including yourself. You have no reason to be the sick freak you are, today; you destroyed yourself.

"You're a spoiled brat who took up self destruction, and you are your own worst enemy. You know this is all the truth, because I know you. You're a waste of human skin, Izaya. You're trash, and I believe it's impossible for you to connect with another person. You don't have the ability to feel like the rest of us do, and I hope to fucking God that you understand one thing..."

At this point Izaya's hand is clutching at his cellphone; throat choking shut as he remains in a stony silence towards the insults being bellowed in his ear. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but everything Shizuo says is the complete and absolute truth; no shadowy grays hiding behind twisted lies.

"No one will ever love you. No one. Do you hear me, Izaya? Not me, not the humans that you claim to adore; we all fucking hate you. You think you can walk away from all of this like it's no big deal, but in all honesty – you're weak. You're a coward and all you've done is run away from the problem instead of confronting it. You deserve to suffer."

The call ends just like that, and Izaya finds himself holding his phone to his ear as he listens to the dial tone beep over and over, staring blankly at the arrayed lines of white powder before him. Something akin to a sigh falls from his lips as he slowly lowers his arm, idly remembering to hit the 'end' button before he carefully sets the small device back down on the table.

His movements are something fixed on automatic, and he feels completely empty inside. He wonders if Shizuo's words really effected him, or is he really was a fucking 'waste of human skin'. Too fucked up to even process or understand what his own feelings on the situation are. That is, if he even has any.

Lightly picking up the tiny straw he'd cut in half, Izaya leans his torso forward so his head is bent down. Aligning the bit of straw up with one of his nostrils and the beginning point to one of the lines; he keeps his mouth pressed firmly closed before he inhales sharply through his nose. He moves the straw up as the white powder quickly disappears.

Izaya breathes out as he quickly lifts himself up, scarlet eyes closed as he tips his head back a little bit against the slight burning that last a few moments too many. Sparing a slight glance at his cellphone, a bitter smile works it's way to his lips before he leans down to consume the second line of percocet mixed coke .

He has a plan.

.

youre all pretension

.

It's been over a week since he called Izaya.

Shizuo thinks about getting shit-faced tonight – it sounds about right given the current circumstances in his life. Work had been anticlimactic, save the way that Tom had commented on his physical appearance. One too many days without proper sleep combined with the stress and abuse he liked to put his body through.

Shizuo is still rather baffled as to why he was still managing to maintain his job; then again, his employer was also his closest friend so that certainly had to explain a lot with his current situation.

Some asshole bumps into him as he's walking home, and the small action alone is enough to make him turn and slug the guy across the face. Everything seems to put him on edge these days; but Shizuo thinks that he has all the reason in the world to be the way he is. He's sick of all the bullshit – fuck everyone else.

He's just outside his shitty apartment building when he see's the Calico pattering about near the entrance door. The little bowl he set out to give it food is empty, and the blond knows the cat is probably hungry judging by the way it looks at him with expectant eyes as it mewls. Shizuo makes a mental note to bring down something for it to eat, as he leans to to give it a brief scratch behind it's ears and it purrs contently at the action. He wonders to himself for a moment where the cat goes at nighttime – it's ranging close to winter time and pretty soon it would be freezing out when the sun goes down.

Shaking the thought off, Shizuo enters his apartment building with a heavy sigh and near resignation with the ways things are going to be. He lives on the sixth floor and the elevator has been broken since he moved in two years ago, but he's alright with that because he likes the added exercise. Physical exertion was just another one of the many ways that he liked to vent out his stress and anger. Truly it was the most healthy, as well.

Shizuo climbs the steps while he thinks of digging in his pockets for a cigarette, but he's low on cash and he doesn't really need the smoke right now, so he decides it'd be better to wait.

He finances have been suffering even more lately, due to his excessive use of abusive substances. Makes him think about whether he'd wind up in rehab one day; he knows he's probably addicted to the many painkillers he uses, but he's never not been on them long enough to prove an addiction though the display of withdrawal.

He can hear both a man and woman yelling in an apartment on his floor as he passes by, but he keeps to himself and simply ignores it. Calling the cops around these parts never does anything of use. His own housing is just a few doors down the hall, and the numbers on the paint are chipped and worn just like everything else in the building.

Lifting a hand through the automatic process, Shizuo loosens the bow-tie from his neck as he unlocks his door with his other hand. Entering into his dark apartment with minimal effort, he kicks the wooden frame just behind him before he turns to re-do all the locks and latches. He's had his shit stolen one too many times while he's been away at work, it's become something of a habit to always keep his doors locked and curtains drawn.

Walking further into the room with the cautious effort not to trip over any of the shit he knows he's tossed about, he flicks the light switch if only to revive a bit of light so he can tell just what in the hell he's doing. His body freezes for the briefest of moments as his eyes catch towards the body reclining on his sofa like he owns the goddamn place.

With a bottle of half empty liquor in one hand, Izaya glares over at him with a sharp red gaze, legs crossed as he remains in a stony silence. Shizuo stares at the brunet for a few beats before promptly ignoring him as he continues to strip away the vest on his uniform, pretending no to care that his object of affliction was so carelessly lounging in his living room.

"You really are a monster, Shizu-chan." The words come out a bit heavy, and the blond can tell right away that the informant is drunk, though he's not so far gone as to slur his words. He's on the fast track towards it, however. "You're nothing close to human – you're body; regular people can't do the things you can. You're not human and you never will be – especially with the way you act."

Tossing his vest on the reclining chair near the couch that Izaya occupies, Shizuo clenches his jaw in irritation as he fully turns to look at the man. The brunet looks just as worn down as himself; shadows around his eyes as though he hasn't slept in a week – which likely sounds about right, considering the timing.

The informants words are so sharp and biting, but they don't hurt nearly as much as Shizuo knows the man wishes they would. Izaya isn't thinking clearly enough to really make any insults that cut deeper than the mere surface.

He's not wearing his fur trimmed jacket which Shizuo finds rather odd, but he chooses not to comment on it as he listens to the informant tear him down. He spots the man's girly looking coat hanging over the armrest of the couch at his side; forgotten.

"Telling me 'no one will love me'... Are sure you're not just displacing your own insecurities on me? Why would anyone in their right mind love you? Fucking – monster... heh heh ha ha ha..." Izaya tilts his head back against the couch as he laughs, but he watches the blond with a cutting red gaze out of the corner of his eyes.

Shizuo still doesn't seem affected by his words; face stoic and impassive and it's pissing Izaya off. He want's him to get mad – to lash out and prove him right in his theories of the man. But as always, the brute never acts according to his script. Always re-writing the scenes and playing them out methodically.

Instead of gracing the informant with the response he knew the man was looking for, Shizuo slips off his blue tinted sunglasses and gently sets them on the end table. He tries extra hard to make sure he looks calm and together; even if tense anger was warring on his insides. He knew the brunet was too drunk to even notice something like that, though.

Izaya trails off in his laughter, expression sobering to an extent as he glares hatefully at the blond on the other side of the room. He didn't think it's possible to hate someone as much as he hates that man. His animosity towards the man borders somewhere between obsession and homicidal; part of him wants the blond to live forever, whilst the other part wants to slaughter and maim him dead. Rip his corpse apart until he looked nothing like the handsome blond Izaya knows him as.

Tightening his grip on the neck of the liquor bottle, barely a minute passes of silence before Izaya growls out in anger, chucking the bottle at Shizuo with all of the strength that he can muster. The blond manages to to side-step just in time before it slams into his face; sailing past him where the glass shatters on the wall behind him, slicking the sharp scent of vodka across the plaster and floor.

When he looks back to the informant, he finds the brunet now standing and holding his flick-blade out before him, stance placed as though he's warring between offense and defense.

"I hate you, so – so much, Shizu-chan." The brunet spits with a seething disgust. Some sick part of Shizuo finds this all amusing; he wonders if Izaya would even be able to land a hit on him in his intoxicated state.

He's almost tempted to test it all out; to step forward and punch the man – purposefully initiate a fight just so he could have the thrill of getting to beat the shit out of the man while he's too pissed drunk to fight back properly. Shizuo doesn't really have what people often refer to as 'honor' or 'morals' – especially not when it comes to a fucking maggot like Izaya.

Shizuo remains still despite his adversary's disposition, but non-the-less keeps his eyes trained on the blade as he awaits the informants next move. Whether this was going to be a fight or not, the blond can't deny the sense of exhilaration that tickles up his spine as he thinks about all the times the man has cut him – sliced up and bleeding while they fuck relentlessly. There's definitely something wrong with him, if seeing a blade turns him on. Maybe he really is the sadomasochist the informant often referred to him as.

Izaya's in the middle of saying something; blabbering away and Shizuo doesn't realize it until the other raises his voice. He's too focused on the knife the brunet's holding to really think properly, but the informant doesn't really notice his suddenly shift in temperament. The man's ability of reading people is shit when's he's intoxicated. It's all laughably funny, in a disturbing sort of way, to be honest.

"-uck you, Shizuo." It's hearing the brunet speak seriously; not cursing that horrid nickname that draw's the blond's attention back to the situation at hand.

Izaya lowers his hand, the switchblade disappearing into the pocket of his pants as his bright crimson eyes seethe all of the hate he has bottled up inside. Shizuo keep's his eyes trained on the informants face; curiosity winning his interest as the brunet falls silent for a few moments. The sparks of pure unadulterated loathing deem something of their ballad.

"You know," the informant starts as he takes a step closer. "... you're the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

The words hurt more than they should, and Shizuo finds himself locking down a bit inside as the brunet walks past him, making to exit his apartment. He continues to stare at the spot that Izaya was standing – yelling insults at him just minutes before, and the sound of the door slamming shut does nothing to alter his attention.

He's not sure what he's supposed to be feeling; it was a bit of a jumbled mess.

.

i never pay attention

.

It's sometime close to 4am when his phone goes off.

Shizuo had made decent on his previous plans that night; he's trashed himself with a mix of alcohol and painkillers, something his system had built up against to keep from overdosing on the hazardous combination. Over the years of abusing his own body, he's developed something akin to a stomach made of iron for these types of substances.

He didn't even manage to make it to his bed, tonight; finding himself sprawled across the couch instead, with his face pressed into the fur trimmed jacket that Izaya had left behind. He can still smell the informants scent clinging to the material; rousing his obsession. He couldn't stop thinking about that stupid fucking maggot, whether it be in a good light, or nothing but a hostile anger. Izaya is just on his mind, regardless.

His phone is laying somewhere on the floor within arms reach, and he blindly grabs out until his fingers wrap around the noisy device with the intent of throwing it across the room until it stops ringing. But somewhere amongst the fog in his brain, he takes a moment and glances that the screen to see who was calling him. Seeing the name of the one person he'd been obsessing over, Shizuo's thumb pressed 'accept' before he even realizes what he's doing; sealing his own fate.

Having no alternative, and lifts the phone to his ear as he makes a small grunt in greeting; still much too trashed to do any form of intellectual verbalization. There's a lot of distorted music and laughter on the other end of the line, and Shizuo blinks as he furrows his eyebrows, now much more intrigued as to what the hell was going on.

"Ne, Shizu-chaaaan – guess where I am right now? Haaah – ah ha ha ha!"

Bracing an arm against the back of his sofa, Shizuo pushes himself up into a sitting position as he emits his full attention to the voice speaking on the other end. The one he loathes with every fiber of his being, yet still unable to break attachments from. The person who is the exception to every rule and boundary in his life.

"Hey, baby – wanna pay for the full-"

"-zu-chaan! Having a greaaaat time! Hahaha!"

There are mixed voices; he can hear Izaya's clear laughter and drunken slurs along with a rather seductive sounding female as she so obviously purred to the brunet on the other line. It barely lasts more than about twenty seconds before the call abruptly falls dead, and the Shizuo is left glaring at the device in his hand as if awaiting for some form of clarity as to what the fuck that was about. It comes a moment or two later, though this time in the form of a message rather than another confusing call.

Clicking the message open, mocha eyes narrow exceptionally at the picture displayed on the screen of the cellphone. It was obviously taken from Izaya's point-of-view; showing down towards a cute female stripper looking up from between his legs. Before he'd even had time to process the information, several more pictures are sent all at once, filling him in on just what the maggot was up to.

Glimpses; the interior of a strip club, of pretty men and women dressed scantily as they serviced him in such a provocative manner.

Shizuo's never felt so fucking pissed off in his life.

Who the hell did Izaya think he is? It was like a passive-aggressive act of revenge on his part – hitting below the belt rather than speaking it out verbally, but then Shizuo realizes that it's so very like him. Of course the informant would react in a manner such as this; raises the stakes whilst diminishing his own dignity. It was pathetic to even think about, but it figures that he would alter the playing field in such a way.

Izaya always was a coward; the little fucking cockroach who's too afraid to confront things head-on, so he hides behind lies and pawns – always sending someone out on the front lines, while he manipulates the scene from far away. Shizuo has never wanted to snap the mans neck as much as he does now; anything to end this destructive charade.

He's going to make that fucking maggot pay for all of this shit.

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TBC

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