**NOTE** I thought it would be silly of me to upload these two short chapters separately, so I just put them together. This is taking place on the same day as the last three (?) chapters. These two incidents are occurring at the same time, but in Izaya's and Shizuo's eyes, so yeah (just wanted to clear that up). Also, I really want to take this time to thank everyone who has bothered to read this story. UvU It means a lot! 3
Anyway, enough of that. Here's chapter 11 ^.^
Izaya:
The taxi driver looks at his rear view mirror and notices the look on Izaya's face. He doesn't seem sad, or worried, or even slightly aware of his surroundings. He looks like he's thinking…deeply…about someone.
And he was. He thought about what he had put Shizuo through since the day they met. How he's framed him, made him feel like an idiot and constantly reminding him how much of a monster he is, but…. that seems so far away now. The only memories lingering now are the ones that involve being tangled in each others arms. And then, the only question he isn't so sure he can answer without unfolding and revealing his own twisted human nature pops in his head. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Do you really want to know?" He didn't mean to ask out loud, but realizes he had when he hears the driver talk about how someone so young shouldn't have the weight of the world on their shoulders. That talking about what's troubling us now will help us later in the future. He considered entertaining the idea, but he doesn't see a point to it. Talking about this isn't an option because it's nothing more than a test gone awry. Shizu-chan wasn't supposed to let him go as far as he did that night on the skyscraper. He wasn't supposed to tie him up in that warehouse nor was he supposed to tremble underneath him the way he did on his now nonexistent couch. But what's worse isn't was Shizuo did, but rather what he himself allowed to happen. That's really bothered him —he let things spiral out of his control.
The man's voice seeps into his ear again, snapping him out of his daydream and back to the bore of the car ride. He notices the heavy traffic, spots a furniture store at the end of the block and decides to walk there.
He pulls out enough money to cover more than a day's worth of fare and gets out.
Shizuo:
The bed sheets lie tussled on the ground. The pillows are drenched in sweat. The body on the bed tosses and turns, struggling to clear his mind of the words he knows he shouldn't say out loud. Shizuo can't count how many times he's looked at the digital clock on his dresser in the past five hours, but he's certain it's bound to be nighttime by now. He waits for his vision to clear and stares at the time to find that only ten minutes have passed. "Oi."
He catches a glimpse of the flickblade on the nightstand, reaches out for it, but pulls his hand back. Instead, he rubs the bridge of his nose, puts on his shades and stares at the ceiling. Maybe he should go out for a walk or a drink. No, he should just stay home and wait for all of this to blow over.
But, what if it doesn't? What if he and Izaya, y'know, got together? "What the hell is wrong with me?" Thinking like that is only making things worse and if there's one thing he's certain about, one thing that's made any sort of sense since Izaya became more than just the man he wanted to kill is that thisis something Izaya wouldn't allow, right? But...
He knows Celty said he should be honest, but what's the point if you can't trust the person you want to be honest with? For fuck's sake, this is Izaya we're talking about. And suddenly, all of the hope and wishful thinking that had Shizuo running around in circles quickly turns into unnerving anger. There's no way in hell he's going to destroy his home more than it already is, so he settles with clouding his lungs and room with smoke.
Shizuo opens the last drawer in his nightstand and opens a new pack of his favorite nicotine stick. He pulls out his lighter, flicks on the flame and sparks the far end, distorting the white paper and tobacco with black and orange. He sucks slowly, gently releasing the gray shadows into the air along with the endless mental pictures involving the flea.
He crushes the cigarette butt on his crowded ashtray, readjusts himself on the bed and closes his eyes. He's about to fall asleep again when he feels his cell phone vibrate inside his pants pocket. He answers the phone, reluctantly accepts Tom's offer for Russian Sushi and heads out.