Improbable, Impossible

Cigarettes weren't enough. It was like handing a glass of water to a man that was starving. They used to be exactly what he needed, which was why he started the toxic habit in the first place. But one cigarette after the other, dawn to dusk, and no doubt he could smoke a warehouse full and feel no calmer.

That was the problem with the human body. It builds up a tolerance over time, vulnerable to nothing but the bad shit.

Even if he begged for it, he wouldn't get cancer or any other tragic disease that normal people were afraid of. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he had a damn cold. Apparently the asshole up above that stirred the pot of fate and had a hand in the construction of his genetics decided to throw in an immune system just as formidable as his strength.

Everywhere he went he was a bull in a china shop, constantly having to restrain himself, scared of his own actions.

Nicotine used to be able to soothe him. A few inhales of black smoke and all that built up rage would settle down and for a little while he'd be but a lazy lion swatting flies away with a brush of his tail. Well, fleas.

But they didn't work like they used to, and the only reason he kept the habit was because it was just that: a habit. Something to do with his fingers other than throw a punch. Busying his mouth, shutting himself up before he said something dangerous.

And usually, that sort of worked. Throughout the years he found ways to keep his mind busy, a means to distract himself from his anger. But nothing was perfect, and Shizuo learned long ago not to put trust in himself. Just because he found a method of pacifying his rage didn't mean it was foolproof.

Today, he proved that.

It didn't matter what he wanted. Time and time again he kept failing, unable to resist the demon controlling his limbs, sneering at his conscience for even believing it had a god damn chance at being anything other than a monster.

Shinra was right. What he was doing wasn't healthy. Not for him, not for anyone. This craving he felt for Izaya was not something he could just throw into a hole and shovel dirt over like it didn't exist. Every time he saw him, hell even thought about him, that feeling clawed itself out from hiding with a vengeance that tore through him mercilessly.

He was a mess, and during times like these there was only one person he felt understood him.

The front door of his home slammed closed a little too forcefully and it was only when he was reaching for his phone that he realized he already had something in his hand.

With a growl Shizuo flung Izaya's bloodied jacket onto the couch, turning his back on the glaring reminder of his mistake.

He was surprised he could even mash out a coherent text with the way his fingers were shaking. Somehow he managed, and when he was finished he left his phone on the table by the door and went to wait outside, not trusting himself to be caged around so much breakable furniture.

He heard her before he saw her, the sound of Shooter whinnying beneath the rev of an impeccably smooth engine.

A vision in black leather, Shizuo really should've known better than to ask her to come out, aware that just a mere glimpse of her by the neighbors would cause a commotion.

Desperate times, desperate measures, right? Guess that was the excuse he'd be cashing in for today.

The bike rolled to a stop at the curb, black-gloved fingers already typing expertly on her PDA. Dismounting, Celty moved to stand before her friend, turning her handheld for him to read. [What happened? You look awful.]

He really did look like shit. The least he could've done was change out of his uniform. The cuts on his arm had stopped bleeding, the blood already congealing like pureed raspberry jam, but the gash on his neck was still dripping and soaking his white collar. If it was an issue he'd be laying passed out on a sidewalk somewhere. For now, it was unimportant. "Later. Right now I just need to hit something."

Unlike Shinra, Celty recognized when to grill him and when not to. She knew him enough to understand that now was not the time. So instead of caving into her concern, she duly followed Shizuo around the outside of his two story home and into the compact backyard.

Shards of broken pottery littered patches of dried grass, the remnants of the terracotta garden his mother attempted but never had the time to upkeep. Taking his place in the center, Shizuo readied himself. "You know the drill."

Standing with her back pressed to the fence, Celty removed her helmet, ribbons of black smoke curling from the place her head should be.

Any other day she'd deny his request because she knew how much he hated being violent, and the last thing she wanted was to condone it. But today there was something wrong, as was made clear by the look in his eyes. Eyes that, despite his rage, always managed to preserve a subtle genteel.

Now he wore the face of an animal escaped from confinement, and she knew that if he didn't vent that fury the results would be disastrous.

The curtain of shadow fell to the ground in a pool of black, streams of shade winding their way towards the blond teen.

Shizuo's fingers rolled into tight fists as the obsidian plumage expanded and twisted into a bulky mass that stood level with him, the translucency of the soot-like vapor hardening itself into the cast of a human being with indiscernible features and a shell with the veneer of polished onyx.

It wasn't living, so it couldn't feel pain.

The only one feeling anything would be him, and he welcomed it greedily as he drove his fist into the thing's face, knuckles screaming as the skin busted open against bone, the fragility of his human body laughably pathetic compared to his strength.

The muscles in his arm shuddered at the contact, pain ricocheting from his hand to his shoulder, the force of the blow pressuring the joints to shift out of place as the mass of shadow refused to give.

Already his other fist was plummeting for contact, burying itself in the steel wall of the thing's gut. Again his head clouded with pain, his senses on high alert as more skin peeled back from his fingers, shredded and leaking.

Hit after hit was met with nothing but steely resistance, accompanied by the dull thud of blood-slickened skin hitting stone and the feral grunt of his breathing. Beneath his feet the soft ground began to crumble, dry dirt caking his shoes as his heels dug deeper for stability.

The shadow mass was but a statue, an equal opponent if there ever was one, the only thing that he didn't have to withhold himself from.

And he was merciless, each blow bringing with it another onslaught of agony, the freshly spilled blood not even having time to cake itself into his skin before it was wiped off by another graze of his fist on a punching bag that felt like concrete.

It was startling how effortlessly he could keep going, blood loss, pain, and exhaustion not even a potential threat when up against the brunt force of his self-hatred.

In the shiny gloss of the figure's head Shizuo caught sight of his reflection, stretched and distorted, a true monstrosity of a human.

A guttural snarl tore free from his throat as he lunged forward, throwing all of his weight into a strike that cracked something in his hand.

Ignoring it, he continued on, driving all of his frustration into his blows, the charcoal creature withstanding each one of them until sweat was dripping from his hairline and into his eyes, reminding him that just because he didn't acknowledge fatigue now, his body would regret this later.

But he didn't want to stop, because it was working. With every hit he could feel that ache shift, his mind too focused on physical pain to be concerned with the other.

This was the ultimate distraction for the ultimate price: his pride.

Turning to violence like an alcoholic who clutched to the bottle, this was simultaneously the bane of his existence and the crutch that helped him get through another day.

And he was all the more pathetic for it.

Heavy momentum drove another fist forward, however this time there was nothing to meet it as the figure dissipated upon contact into a plume of inky smoke. "Five more minutes," he ground out, chest heaving with every breath, sweat stinging his eyes.

He had to squint to see the PDA that was placed before his face as Celty moved to his side, a careful hand lying reassuringly on an aching shoulder. [Enough, Shizuo. I'm not going to let you hurt yourself like this.]

Shame darkened the already present flush on his cheeks, and he diverted his gaze to the broken earth under his feet. Abusing himself was one thing, but involving Celty in this was unforgiveable. "Sorry, I just—" He sighed, throat shuddering with every inhale, the image of Izaya lying unconscious momentarily resurfacing and causing him to grimace, "Had a bad day. Needed to take it out on something."

[What happened?]

He'd sigh again if it wouldn't offend her. She deserved to know, especially after putting up with him in this state. Cracking a smirk that held no feeling, he asked, "Why do you and Shinra always act like you don't know?"

She typed away, the soft click of her PDA barely decipherable under the sound of his strained breathing. [Did he do this to you?]

Shizuo could practically feel the disdain packed into that 'he'. "It's not his fault, Celty. I screwed up. I—" Again, he moved his eyes away, "Hurt him pretty bad."

[He most likely deserved it. Honestly, I don't understand what you see in him. I don't trust him, especially considering the way he treats you.]

The unfortunate thing when it came to speaking with Celty was that he couldn't interrupt her. There was no such thing as changing the subject. "I don't know, alright? Stop askin'." Reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, he lit it and inhaled the choking vapor hungrily.

[There are other people out there. Better people.]

God, if he hadn't heard this argument just about every damn day since Shinra spilled his secret to her. "I know that, and I told you it doesn't fuckin' matter." With every passing second the pain in his hands worsened, the sting near unbearable. "I can't help it."

A burst of smoke issued from her neck in what was likely an expression of irritation, because all things considered he was explaining the situation with the coherency of a three-year-old child teaching astrophysics. [I just don't like seeing you unhappy.]

He almost laughed. Really, when had she known him any other way? Discontent was his middle name. Day after day, he woke to nothing but disappointment, had to see it in the mirror every morning.

"Thanks," he replied softly, "But there's nothin' I can do about it."

Leather-gloved fingers hesitated, and he knew she was struggling between being a good friend and offering him the right kind of advice. [Maybe Shinra is right. Maybe you should try talking to him. Tell him how you feel.]

"I thought you two were my smart friends?"

Black-clad arms folded across her ribcage, an offended curl of shadow puffing from her collar.

Some feeling returned to his smirk, and he sighed behind his cigarette. "He hates me, Celty, and even if he didn't, Izaya would have no interest in someone like me. I'm just a freak that pisses him off."

Something about the way the usually strong set of her shoulders sagged only reinforced the fact that she pitied him. Hell, he'd pity himself too if he thought he was worth the effort.

[You're not a freak. You're a good person, Shizuo.]

"Good people don't hurt the one's they care about."

[Bad people don't care if they do.]

If only it was so easy.

Shaking his head and instantly regretting it as it felt his brain had been knocked loose due to the amount of blood flowing from different parts of his body, Shizuo commented with the nonchalance of a newscaster reporting a national disaster, "I'm tryin' to move on, anyway. There's this girl, Mari, I'm taking out Saturday."

This seemed to come as a shock to the dullahan, because she nearly dropped her PDA. [WHAT?! Why didn't you tell me sooner?]

"Just happened," he shrugged, taking a long drag of his cigarette, trying to ignore the agony of his burning knuckles.

[You don't seem very excited.]

"I'm not," he admitted, possibly for the first time. "She's just…"

She was just many things. Incredibly pretty, for starters, kind, probably honest and interesting and all that shit that anyone should want in a girlfriend. And yet here he was pining over the world's biggest jackass.

And Celty was trying to convince him he wasn't an asshole. Yeah, right.

[She's not Izaya.] Celty finished for him, her previous enthusiasm leeched by his disinterest.

"Yeah."

Again, she hesitated, almost shyly showing him her handheld. [I think you should give her a chance. You never know what might happen. Things change.]

He grinned, the expression more wry than what he was going for. "Are we talking about me, or you and Shinra?"

If she could blush, Shizuo would bet she'd be doing it now.

He waved a dismissive hand as she began to type another message, already knowing where this conversation was headed and not wanting her to waste her time. "I get it, alright. I know. S'not like I don't think about it all the damn time. But," he pulled his cigarette from his lips and turned so that she could only see his profile, hoping that for once she wouldn't be able to discern the look in his eyes, "It won't change, Celty. I don't think I'd go through all this if I thought it could." As if to emphasize his point, he flashed her a view of his torn knuckles, the skin bright red and screaming in pain.

This time he didn't look at her PDA, because he could practically tell what was written on the screen. The same damn thing Shinra was always whining to know. However, Celty could be quite adamant when she wanted to, and he found the thing shoved under his nose.

[Do you love him?]

Gently, so as not to break a device he had no way of paying for, Shizuo moved the handheld away. "The hell is with you and Shinra and that damn question?"

[Why do you always refuse to answer it?]

"I don't know the damn answer."

[I think you do and you're just afraid of it.]

"Yeah, well, maybe I have every reason to be." The words came out much too harshly, but he couldn't say he didn't mean them. Fingers trembling, and not because of the pain, he inhaled the last of his cigarette in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. A wasted effort. "He hates me."

[You used to think you hated him, too.]

Did he? It felt so long ago. Back then his strength seemed a godsend, something the heavens had gifted him with just to take down the biggest asshole he'd ever encountered in his life. Those were the good old days, when the only thing he had to worry about was not damaging school property and getting home in time to make dinner for Kasuka. Nothing hurt except the physical shit, and that could be healed.

Now he was all sorts of damaged in ways that couldn't be mended with simply stitches and a prayer.

And it was all because one day he noticed something about Izaya he'd never be able to forget.

"Guess I changed my mind."

[What makes you think he won't change his?]

Honestly, Shizuo had no idea what to say to that. No matter how much he liked to believe he knew how Izaya's head worked, he really had no clue. But hope was a dangerous thing. It made the pain all the more unbearable when the end wasn't what you wanted.

It was something he couldn't risk.

A gentle buzz drew him away from his thoughts before they plummeted into depression and he watched Celty check a message on her phone before a comforting hand moved to his arm, grasping firmly and reclaiming his attention. [I need to go. Will you be okay?]

If that wasn't a loaded question that came with one hefty answer. "Yeah."

Quietly he watched her put on her helmet, suddenly feeling awkward about the way he'd been behaving earlier and calling her out here when she was probably in the middle of a job. "Thanks, alright? I didn't mean to scare you or anything."

Her shoulders shook with silent laughter. [You don't frighten me, human.]

For the first time in what felt like forever, a real smile spread across his face.

[But I am concerned. I'll tell Shinra to come by later. Stay safe, Shizuo.]

"Yeah," he replied offhandedly, watching her leave. "See ya."

The house was dark when he reentered, the curtains drawn and making it feel much later than it was.

The distance from the back door to the living room could be made in just a few steps as the home wasn't large, which was fine as only two people ever seemed to live there.

It didn't feel lonely, however. It was one of those homes that was clearly lived in, even when no one was there. Tiny personal belongings decorated the coffee table, some old comics and a busted lighter he'd forgotten to throw out. A collection of various game systems littered the carpet before the television, movies and games stacked neatly and in some sort of secret order by Kasuka on the shelf beside it. Framed photographs of his family hung on different walls, each of them looking quite happy set against wallpaper that was eggshell not beige, as his mother had put it.

The couch, like the rest of the furniture, was old. It was a detail most obviously noticed in the frayed and worn cushions, the material now a faded blue, the pattern no longer discernable. And Shizuo knew that if he were to flip over one of the cushions there'd be a nice burn mark where he'd fallen asleep with his cigarette in hand.

Despite it being ancient and smelling of dust and old cigarettes, it was the most comfortable damn couch he'd ever laid on. And right now, he wanted to do just that.

But he couldn't because he was bleeding like a fountain, and if he didn't clean himself up he'd stain enough of the carpet, furniture and whatever else he came into contact with to make it appear someone in the house had been brutally murdered.

Izaya's jacket still laid over the back of the couch and Shizuo grabbed it up on his way to the stairs, ignoring the way his knuckles burned by simply moving and grasping the material.

He really did a number on himself this time. If self-harm was an art form, he'd be the fuckin' Pablo Picasso of it.

Upstairs was where his and Kasuka's bedrooms were, the doors only separated by a short hallway and a bathroom. His was the first on the left, as it was the smaller bedroom and he figured he didn't need much space anyway. Kasuka liked to collect things; particularly books and films, so he needed that space in the second bedroom for shelves that would never fit in the first.

Shizuo's room was near vacant in comparison and looked like something out of a magazine that sold ready-to-go furniture. It was simple with just the necessities, but it was clean and that's all he really cared about.

He was just about to toss Izaya's jacket over the back of his desk chair when a musical jingle began to chime from the pocket. Curiously he pulled the cell phone out, an expensive model he'd only ever seen attached to the flea's ear from afar.

The urge to open the phone and see who was calling was tempting, but Shizuo figured he'd be better off not knowing. He recognized a trigger when he saw one, and he already knew it was likely some girl. He wasn't a complete idiot, and like everyone else he was aware that Izaya wasn't particularly chaste.

It was just another detail he forced himself to ignore because the mere thought of Izaya being touched by someone else was enough to send him into a destructive fit. And after his violent little performance a few minutes ago, the last thing he needed was to open Izaya's phone and see some girl inviting him over to play.

Setting the phone on his desk he turned his attention to the black jacket.

For a jacket the flea had worn since middle school, the uniform was still in immaculate condition. The thread was still tight around the buttons, the stitching perfect and not stretched by growth. Aside from the dried blood and dust, it looked brand new.

If it weren't so obvious that Izaya took great care of the thing, Shizuo would throw it into the garbage.

Instead he found himself pressing the delicate fabric beneath his nose before shame could stop him.

He knew that was a lost battle anyway. Shame, morals and his pride never were able to put up much of a fight when it came to the colossal tenacity of his desire.

So it came as no surprise that as soon as the delicate scent of expensive cologne and flea saturated his senses, a current of heat, heavy and thick, pooled in his groin.

When all of this first started, he used to hate himself for reacting this way. Back when he was still in denial and pretended to be confused because that was better than admitting what he felt for another guy was more than just lust. A whole lot more.

Now he treasured these fantasies because even if Izaya didn't belong to him, when his hand was on his dick and he was pumping himself to orgasm, that giant detail was so easily forgotten.

Closing his eyes and inhaling gently, it was so easy to imagine this not being Izaya's jacket, but the graceful curve of his neck, his skin flushed against Shizuo's lips as he pressed his mouth to a jutting collarbone, sinking his teeth just enough to make the flea gasp. And that skin, pale and smooth tasted like sugar against his tongue, and it melted just the same beneath his fingers as he spread them over slim hipbones, gripping firmly to press himself closer, feeling Izaya moan against his mouth as he—

His torn and scabbed hand paused its descent to the buckle of his pants, Izaya's cell alive and buzzing obnoxiously atop his desk. He waited for it to stop, only for it to continue once again.

That's when he remembered Izaya had a family and two little sisters, and if this was an emergency, the least he could do was answer the damn phone instead of ignore it so he could jerk himself off.

This time his conscience really did thwart his desire, and with an annoyed grimace he placed Izaya's jacket on his bed before picking up the phone and flipping it open against his ear.

"Hello?"

For a second he thought the connection was bad or something until he heard the quiet sound of delicate breathing. "Orihara-kun?"

It was a girl.

Shizuo was almost alarmed by how quickly he went soft, the blood rushing from his groin to his head, an annoyed pounding drowning most sound. "You his family?"

Another pause, this one lengthier, and then, to his surprise, the line went dead.

Shizuo withdrew the phone from his ear to stare at the screen, the contact name reading an ambiguous M. K. that meant nothing to him. Hopefully it meant nothing to Izaya, either.

Probably just a fuck buddy.

The thought made his head pound even harder, the oncoming headache reminding him that it wasn't just his head that hurt, but his whole damn body. And as soon as he remembered how damaged he was, everything stung and ached a million times worse.

Tossing the phone on the bed next to Izaya's jacket, Shizuo peeled off his blue uniform and carefully unbuttoned his ruined white shirt, no longer in the mood for fantasizing and hoping that a hot shower would be enough to wash away more than just dried blood.

It took approximately ten minutes after she'd hung up the phone to find Izaya, and that was only after asking passing students if they'd seen him anywhere after school had let out.

When Mari entered the nurse's office it was vacant, giving her free access to the side of Izaya's bed.

She frowned at the swollen flesh beneath his right eye, the skin bright red and decorated with tiny strips of medical tape that seemed to be holding together a cut. It was only after she brushed careful fingers through his fringe that she noticed the second gash near his temple. Her gust twisted.

She didn't like him very much, but he didn't deserve to be beat like this, surely.

And if this weren't an absolute emergency, she'd leave him be to rest. However, their plan was in jeopardy as it seemed Shizuo had Izaya's phone, which meant that it was only a matter of time before he looked through it and found her text messages. Worst case, he already had.

Firmly she shook Izaya's shoulder. "Orihara-kun, wake up."

Eventually he seemed to rouse, perfectly thin brows lowering as consciousness brought with it the dull ache of half his face being cut, bruised, and swollen. When he opened his eyes, squinting his lashes to guard against the late afternoon sunlight, it was to find Mari looking at him with an expression he recognized as concern.

"Should I find the nurse?" She asked when he pulled himself up. Not giving him time to reply, she continued. "No, never mind. Look, I think Heiwajima-kun has your phone. I tried to call you earlier to tell you that he messaged me, but he answered. I'm sure it was him."

Izaya supposed that was a problem, and normally he'd react. However, normally he didn't feel as if half his face had been mashed against a rock.

His head swam as he tried to recall just how he ended up here. The last thing he remembered was sitting atop Shizuo's lap—alright, grinding—before lights out. Honestly, leave it to a virgin like Shizu-chan to react so violently to a little fun.

Or maybe he just reacted that way because it was him.

Either way, Izaya wasn't about to just excuse the fact the brute had attempted to ruin half his face simply because it was a natural reaction.

Mari was still saying something, and the grating sound of her voice was only worsening the throb in his head. Holding up a hand to silence her, he glanced around for his jacket, realizing that along with his phone and his knife, Shizuo must've taken that too.

He ignored her offer to help him as he stood up. The rest of him was quite fine, although the area between his shoulder blades felt a little sore, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Rolling the kinks out, he approached the large cabinet against the wall as if it was his own and he had every right to its contents.

"Orihara-kun, maybe you should wait until the nurse comes back."

"Why would I waste my time? They're just painkillers, ne?" He commented smoothly, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was. Popping two of the large pills into his mouth, he swallowed them down with a glass of sink water.

Mari watched him quietly, unable to keep her questions at bay for long. "Why does he have your phone, anyway?"

Standing before the sink, Izaya's eyes found hers in the mirror where he was assessing the damage. Reminding himself that he needed to be nicer to her if he wanted her to remain loyal, he held back the words he really wanted to say. "It was in my jacket, which I'm assuming he took with him. Stealing from me after doing this to my face. He really is awful, ne, Mari-chan?"

Izaya couldn't help the satisfaction he felt when he saw the way that made her eyes widen. After all, she had been pestering him the past few days how it was impossible that Shizuo was the monster Izaya claimed he was. Maybe she'd believe him now that she had evidence.

What he wasn't expecting to see, however, was disappointment. Every word spoken was thick with disillusionment. "I didn't realize he was like that."

"Don't worry, ne." Turning from the small sink, Izaya closed the distance between them. She met his gaze, hers every bit suspicious of his nearness, still not trusting him.

Really, that was all his own fault. He really knew better than to treat his subordinates like he treated Shizu-chan. Humans didn't enjoy taking orders from those they didn't feel appreciated them properly. Unfortunately, Izaya knew exactly how Mari-chan deserved to be spoken to. The thing was, most humans deluded themselves into believing they were worthy of much more respect than they were due.

Mari-chan had yet to prove in any sort of way that she had the right to even his attention, never mind respect. However, he was going to continue letting her believe otherwise less he wanted her to ruin this entire operation.

Softening his expression and slipping into the sort of character that could charm the panties off of a nun, Izaya lifted slender fingers to her cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb across smooth skin that warmed in response. "Shizu-chan would never hurt you. Not intentionally."

As expected, those pretty hazel eyes glazed over, enchanted by a smile and a touch. Izaya fought back a grimace, distaste thinning his lips. He didn't care how pretty she was, any human that was this easy to manipulate would never hold his interest longer than he had use for them.

Perhaps that's what made Shizu-chan simultaneously so infuriating and exciting. Nothing could convince him to do anything he didn't want to. Not money, not sex, not a million vanilla milkshakes.

And if he were being honest, he'd dare say that was a compliment.

"Nii-san, your phone."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'," Shizuo replied, heading downstairs in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, drying his soaked hair with a thin towel with one hand and twirling Izaya's flick blade with the other. Closed, of course. Unlike the flea, he hardly had near the same dexterity with his fingers to even slice bread without causing an accident.

Kasuka was waiting for him near the entryway to the kitchen, holding out the silver cell phone that was vibrating with some default ringtone he'd never bothered or cared to change. "It keeps making noise."

Flipping it open, Shizuo read the text message he'd received a few hours ago from Mari but hadn't bothered to check.

[Great! I'm looking forward to it! Where would you like to meet?]

Right. Their date. The one Izaya had set up in the previous text. Opening the message he'd sent her, the blond was relieved to find it wasn't some weird as hell place the flea had decided on. Dinner and a movie. That was cheap and easy enough.

When he closed out of his inbox, it was to find the picture Izaya had set as his wallpaper. There he was with his head to the pavement and the flea's knife on his neck, looking stupid as hell, and Izaya smiling elatedly into the camera like a well-fed cat.

It was so them, Shizuo couldn't even say he hated it.

But a strange look must've been on his face, because Kasuka was staring.

"It's nothin'," Shizuo grunted, tossing the towel over his shoulder and heading into the kitchen for a bottle of water. "What do you want to eat?"

He sighed when he opened the fridge, the interior looking depressingly sparse of ingredients that weren't breakfast foods or soup. Guess he'd need to go shopping soon. "Curry rice alright?"

"Un."

"Good."

Setting Izaya's knife out of the way on the counter, Shizuo got to work, pulling out various pots and pans.

And despite living with Kasuka his entire life, Shizuo still was unable to detect when his brother just appeared out of nowhere, he was so damn quiet.

"What happened?"

Shizuo knew precisely what his brother was looking at, and he tightened his fingers around the silver panhandle, really regretting the fact his wounds were so damn obvious. He didn't like Kasuka seeing evidence of his lack of control. He didn't want him to know that he was weak in the ways that mattered. "Just an accident."

Not another word left his mouth as he gathered the ingredients, pouring a dab of oil into the warming pan. He was almost thankful when the doorbell chimed.

"Oi, can you get that? It's Shinra. Just let him in."

But it wasn't Shinra. Kasuka knew Shinra, had spoken to Shinra. This was someone else. Someone he recognized only from afar.

"Kasuka-kun, ne?" Izaya smiled cheerily, stepping inside uninvited. "I'm here to see your onii-chan. Is he home?"

Dark brown eyes followed the pale intruder. "What business do you have with nii-san?"

Pursuing the noise coming from the kitchen off to his right, Izaya all but ignored the expressionless brother who'd greeted him. How he and Shizuo were related was beyond him. Later, when he had the time, he'd pay more attention to the younger boy. Right now, he had more pressing matters with the Heiwajima family's dearest firstborn.

He found him in the kitchen, standing at the stove, entirely unaware that his sworn enemy had all but pranced through his front door. Oh, how deliciously easy it would be to take his knife, which he spotted on the counter, and bury it into that naked, bronzed back.

But no, that would be too easy. Besides, the only enjoyable part about murder was seeing someone suffer. Death without torture was like sex without foreplay. There wasn't any doubt in his mind that one day Shizu-chan would meet his ultimate end at his hand, but first Izaya was going to play with him a little longer.

Soundlessly retrieving his knife from the counter and flipping it open, the raven-haired teen closed the distance between himself and the blond innocently frying rice.

Shizuo felt the cold press of metal bite into the front of his chest a moment before Izaya's mouth was at his shoulder, breath hot against his skin.

Panic threaded itself through every wiry muscle as Izaya pressed himself into his back, his free hand sliding against his bare hipbone, making Shizuo wish more than ever he'd bothered putting on a shirt.

Like that'd make a damn difference.

"The hell you doing here, Izaya?" He finally managed to ask, pretending to ignore the knife digging into his chest and continuing to stir the rice before it burned. Stay calm, he commanded. If he lost his temper now, Kasuka would see, and he didn't want that to happen.

"We have unfinished business, Shizu-chan." As he spoke his lips brushed softly against wonderfully warm skin, and he inhaled the clean scent of soap, noticing the damp ends of gold at the nape of Shizuo's neck.

"Don't you think you've used that thing enough for one day?" He asked pointedly in reference to the blade.

"Enough will be when I've bled you dry. And in any case, you owe me. For all the times we've fought, I've never hurt your pretty face, Shizu-chan." Gently, he nipped Shizuo's shoulder between perfect white teeth, continuing to run his free hand around to the protozoan's deep navel, his thumb brushing it curiously, enjoying the way his hardened abdomen dipped away from the caress. "Now I have to walk around looking like a pathetic victim, as if I lost."

God fucking damn him if he wasn't trembling beneath the hand Izaya was gliding across his stomach, those slender fingers dancing dangerously close to the hem of his pants. "You did lose."

He nearly hissed as the blade buried itself into his skin, no longer a prick but a definite puncture that drew blood. He could feel it trickle down from his chest to his waist, and he growled, pissed that he'd ruined so many clothes in one day.

"Nii-san?"

Fuck.

"Oi, Kasuka, don't you have homework to do or somethin'?" As if that wasn't the most desperate attempt yet to distract his brother from something glaringly wrong.

"I've finished it. Who is this, nii-san?"

Teeth grinding a chorus of pain, Shizuo bit out the words he knew Izaya would ridicule the moment he dared attempt to pass off such a lie. "Izaya Orihara. A friend, alright? Just go."

As anticipated, the flea released an anything-but-quiet laugh. "Really, Shizu-chan?"

Unexpectedly, Izaya withdrew his knife and released his hold, likely believing Shizuo would never exercise violence within his own home and being damn right, as usual.

"Me and your nii-san are not friends, Kasuka-kun," Izaya refuted with an amused grin, pocketing his weapon and nearing the young teen that'd entered the kitchen and disrupted his fun. "It'd be more accurate to say we are the opposite of friends. In fact, I hate your nii-san more than anyone in the entire world."

It was remarkable just how unresponsive the young boy's face was, and Izaya's Cheshire-grin faltered, unused to having someone look at him as if they saw right through him.

Not that he was hiding anything, but still, the effect was all the same discomfiting.

"Is this a joke, nii-san?" Kasuka eventually asked, turning his attention to his brother who'd taken the pan off the stove to clean up the bloody mess Izaya had made of his chest.

If only. "Yeah, he's just kidding, alright. We just need to talk. Give us a few minutes."

They both waited until Kasuka had retreated into the living room before returning their attention to each other.

Now, face-to-face, Shizuo could see the damage he'd done to Izaya's eye, temple, cheek, hell, it might as well be his whole damn head.

Immediately his stomach clenched in disgust with himself, and he drew his eyes to the wall behind the flea's head, an action that did not go unnoticed.

"He's cute, ne."

Shizuo snorted softly, stupidly feeling secure enough to turn his back and continue making dinner. "Guess he got the good genes, huh?"

It probably wasn't the best move to give Izaya such an easy in at insulting him, but he was surprised when the flea didn't take it. Instead he sidled up to the counter beside the stove, casually pulling himself into a sitting position on the edge, black-clad legs crossing at the ankles.

"Not all of them. Shizu-chan is much prettier, although undoubtedly more stupid."

If the flea asked, Shizuo planned on blaming the stove heat for the flash of color on his face at the double-edged compliment. "Get your damn eyes checked, flea. And your hearing. Maybe then you'll know how damn crazy you sound."

But he wasn't crazy. Not in the least.

Perhaps Shizuo was insecure or honestly didn't notice, either way Izaya didn't care. But there was no denying the blond was attractive. Izaya wondered idly, as he quietly watched the other teen stir more rice, if this was the first time he'd seen Shizuo without a shirt on. It definitely felt like it, as he couldn't keep himself from staring at the naked expanse of creamy skin, stretched over hard, lean muscle, decorated with scars.

His markings.

The side of Izaya that took pleasure in his possessiveness smiled gleefully at the sight of the slightly faded scar in the center of Shizuo's chest, a testament to the first time they'd laid eyes on each other.

Shizuo growled, the sound jolting Izaya to awareness. "The hell you staring at?"

"You," Izaya answered honestly, pressing his weight onto his right hand in order to lean further into Shizuo's line of vision, because he wasn't looking at him and it was beginning to get on his nerves. "Shizu-chan seems very domesticated like this."

"It's my damn home. How the fuck else should I look?"

The slender teen shrugged, glancing around the kitchen as if it'd struck him for the first time since he'd entered that he was in Shizuo's home. "So this is what a monster's lair looks like, ne. It's cleaner than I expected."

"It's not a lair, it's a house. And fuck you."

Izaya's face hurt with how wide his smile grew, making the pain in his cheek throb as a reminder that the painkillers were wearing off. "Sometimes I really do wonder if I'll miss you once you're dead. Shizu-chan is so entertaining."

"If that's the case, just kill me once you're bored."

"Ah, but then you'd be alive forever."

Shizuo's hand stilled, his heart catapulting into his throat. Discreetly he moved his eyes to Izaya, curious as to what expression he was wearing while saying shit like that. Shit that could so easily be misconstrued. Shit that was dangerous, because it fed the part of him that was hungry for even a scrap of hope that the flea didn't hate him as much as he said he did.

However, one glance and all Shizuo saw was bruising skin and a deep cut, and christ he was a fucking idiot. Of course Izaya hated him. Who the hell wouldn't after being hit like that?

"What business?"

"Hm?"

"You said we have unfinished business. Isn't that why you're here?"

The smile disappeared from Izaya's face, whatever strange enjoyment he'd gathered dissipating upon the reminder of his purpose. "Like I said, you owe me, ne."

Reaching out to switch off the stove and moving the pan to the back burner, Shizuo laughed despite his aggravation. "Do you have your face insured? Why the hell do I owe you anything? If you wanna talk about who owes who, then I got a list for you, and you can start with replacing my damn uniform."

Izaya's eyes narrowed, not that Shizuo was looking to notice. "This is not a negotiation, Shizu-chan. I'm not asking."

Of course he wasn't. Izaya Orihara didn't ask for anything. Not when the entire world was handed to him on a damn platter for him to pick at as he pleased.

"You want an apology, flea? Cause other than that, there's not much else I have to give." At this point, he was just pretending to be this stupid. He knew precisely what Izaya wanted. The thing was, he was so worn out and damaged at this point. He'd really hoped he'd have a little more time to heal his current wounds before Izaya gave him another.

But luck never had been in the cards for him. Neither had mercy.

Rubbing a tired hand across his eyes, Shizuo ceded softly, "Can you wait til after dinner? I don't need Kasuka seeing that shit."

"Of course, ne. I can be fair. In the meantime, maybe Shizu-chan can return everything he stole from me."

"Right."

Shizuo disappeared briefly and when he returned it was with Izaya's phone, the owner of it more disappointed than he wanted to admit at the clean white shirt the blond was now wearing.

"Your jacket is in the wash," Shizuo stated simply, still refusing to meet Izaya's gaze even as he handed the flea his phone.

"I dry clean my uniform, Shizu-chan."

Of course he did. "Yeah, well, just fuckin' deal with it." He knew he should've just thrown the damn thing away. "Ungrateful asshole." Going over to the fridge for a bottle of water, Shizuo mumbled as he uncapped it, "Some girl called, by the way. I thought it might be important, so I answered."

The only sign that Izaya was a little too interested in this topic was displayed by the pausing of his thumb on his keypad. "Am I supposed to believe Shizu-chan didn't look through my phone? You must know by now that I'm not even near that naïve."

"I didn't. Just so you know, not everyone is a nosy asshole."

"Not everyone," Izaya agreed, pocketing his phone when he realized that all of his messages had remained unread, proof that Shizuo wasn't completely lying. "But most."

"Guess you would know."

"Guess I would."

The plates made way too much noise as he pulled them out, and it was a welcome distraction and hopefully enough of one to mask the tenseness in his voice as he said, "Figured it was your girlfriend."

The moment the words left his mouth he wished he could shove them back in, because the Shizuo Izaya was used to didn't concern himself with the flea's personal life. The Shizuo that hated Izaya gave zero shits about anything concerning the dark haired teen outside their stupid game.

"Just because a girl happens to have my number does not mean I'm fucking her, Shizu-chan."

If Izaya was in the mood for answering his weird-ass questions, then damn him if he wasn't gonna take advantage of it. Blame it on the thrill of relief that he'd been wrong earlier. Maybe he was wrong about a lot of shit. "And the girls that follow you around everywhere?"

Izaya shrugged, wholly disinterested with the topic, but quite curious as to why Shizuo was so concerned. "Believe it or not, I have taste. Unlike Shizu-chan, who seems to just take what he can get."

"Not all of us can have what we want, Izaya."

"And I'd feel sorry for you if I cared." But now he was curious, because people didn't say that sort of thing unless they meant something by it.

Sliding from the counter Izaya approached the blond, his nearness forcing Shizuo to finally turn and face him, although the brute still refused to meet his eyes. "What do you want, Shizu-chan?"

Shizuo's immediate response was to move his gaze to the floor, shielding his eyes before Izaya saw what would undoubtedly be written in their expression.

You. A million times over, you.

Annoyance like none other erased the smirk from Izaya's face, and instead of going for his knife, his hand found Shizuo's chin, forcing the monster's attention where he wanted it.

However, the expression reflected in that caramel gaze was far from what he expected, and his frustration warped itself into biting anger because he recognized that look. It was the same one he gave to humans who were beyond pathetic and way past saving. Pity. "Look away from me again, and I'll carve out your eyes, ne. Just because you've managed to hit me once, Shizuo, does not mean I am no longer a threat."

In a strange way, Shizuo could probably blame Shinra for this entire fiasco.

After all, he was the one that first introduced them. He was the one that made the comment that Izaya wasn't psychotic; he just didn't know how to react to people caring for him because no one really did.

And it was that comment, which had been made so casually, that had begun Shizuo's obsession with the flea. Made him wonder what his life was like outside their games, outside school. Made him look closer until he was too close, and at that point entirely lost with no way out.

People as messed up as Izaya didn't get that way by themselves.

And it took a while until Shizuo noticed that the look Izaya wore when he thought no one was looking was one he'd worn himself his entire life.

Sometimes, and Shizuo knew this better than anyone, loneliness was self-imposed. And no matter how many people surround you, if you don't think you deserve love, you won't notice when someone cares. It won't make any damn sense.

For him, love was pity, and others caring was just a sign they thought he was weak. It'd taken time, and he was still working on it even now, for Shizuo to accept that he was wrong.

Unfortunately, Izaya wasn't there yet.

But whatever the fuck Izaya thought he saw right now wasn't pity. Maybe when this thing first started and he realized Izaya was more than just a pretty-faced asshole with a sharp tongue and a lot of money. Yeah, he pitied him then.

Now, there was no point. Whatever Izaya needed, whatever it was he wanted, Shizuo would give to him without hesitation.

If the flea saw anything, it was frustration. Frustration because the stupid louse was too damned blind and defensive to realize he wasn't alone at all. Too wound up in this ridiculous game to give Shizuo the damn opportunity to prove him wrong.

So, what did he want? Just a damn chance.

That wasn't going to happen if he kept screwing up, though. His gaze moved to the swollen flesh beneath Izaya's eye, the color darkening as the skin began to bruise a deep purple that would otherwise look beautiful against the flea's complexion had it not been a fucking wound.

The crimson gaze that was watching his every move narrowed when he remained quiet, no doubt trying to figure out what was keeping the monster inside of him so docile.

"Thankfully it won't scar. If it did, I really would kill you."

The hand that held his chin slipped to his cheek, the soft pad of Izaya's thumb rubbing gentle circles beneath his eye.

"After mutilating Shizu-chan's pretty face first."

It took everything to turn his face away from that touch when all he wanted was to press it closer. But the Shizuo that hated Izaya wouldn't tolerate such a thing. Not if he could help it.

To make sure the flea didn't try again, Shizuo just kept a firm grasp around his wrist, squeezing tightly, but not enough to bruise.

It was such a tiny movement, nothing but self-preservation.

Izaya would never see it that way. Everything Shizuo ever did was just another way of attacking him. He could just breathe too roughly and the damn flea would treat him as he would a raging bull.

Even now the arm within his grasp was tense, ready for the first chance to lash out and defend.

"I am not afraid of you, Shizu-chan. Don't treat me as if I have reason to be."

"But you do, dumbass," Shizuo all but growled, releasing his hold on Izaya's wrist before he accidentally snapped it. "Look at your damn face. The fuck is that if it's not a reason?"

Unchecked fury flittered briefly across Izaya's face for a moment, the next second gone, a mask of indifference solidly in place.

Shizuo didn't even give him the chance to answer. "It wouldn't happen if you'd just leave me the hell alone, Izaya."

"You expect me to simply ignore you?"

"I didn't say that. Just stop fuckin' trying to stab the shit out of me for one second."

The look he gave him was as if the thought had never even crossed his mind, just before a dry smile stretched his face, a sign that he was thoroughly entertained. "And what? Become friends?"

Try. That's the only thing he could do. He had no one to blame but himself if he didn't even attempt to change things between them. Maybe Celty and Shinra were right. Maybe he just needed to be honest and see where that got him before he decided to just give up on the hope that him and Izaya could be something more than at each other's throats.

"It's not impossible, flea."

"Except it is, because I hate you." Something in those garnet eyes hardened, all amusement vanishing, closed off behind a cold exterior of malice. His tone was chastising, hard. "Or have you not been paying attention?"

Yeah, he'd been paying attention. Apparently somewhere along the line he supposed his delusions got the better of him. Blame it on being an idiot. Blame it on his friends and their constant support and encouragement.

This disappointment, this ache was not Izaya's fault. It was his own for even daring to believe that there was such a thing as a chance that things could ever be different between them. His feelings didn't mean shit.

Fuck being honest. Fuck hope. Fuck trying to be happy.

The only thing Izaya would ever want from him would be his life, and one goddamn day, when all of this was just too much, and he was too tired of the constant disappointment, maybe he'd just hand it over.

"You should go, Izaya," he said firmly, unsure just what he'd do if he had to take another second of this.

"Not until I get what I came for, Shizu-chan."

Fuck it. Shoving past the flea, he threw over his shoulder a gruff, "Come on then," before walking out of the kitchen.

Kasuka glanced up from the couch as the two of them emerged, Izaya waving at him good naturedly as if they were the best of friends and the only reason he was following his brother out into the backyard was to play a friendly game of catch.

"Go eat, Kasuka. I'll be in soon," Shizuo ordered, refusing to meet his brother's inquisitive gaze.

The air was cooler now that it was evening, the sun's rays barely reaching the top of the fence surrounding the yard.

What was odd was just how quiet it was, not a bird to be heard, not a car passing by. Uncomfortable with the stillness, Shizuo moved to pull a cigarette from his pocket, as if Izaya wasn't standing behind him with the intent of dishing out his revenge in what was no doubt going to be insanely painful.

"I'd ask why you're being so compliant about this if it wasn't a waste of time," Izaya began, the sound of his voice pleasant despite his words.

"I don't think the answer would satisfy you very much anyway," the blond countered quietly, watching the end of his cigarette burn away, wondering how long it would take for heat to singe his flesh, uncaring if it did.

All of a sudden there was a lot he didn't care about. Izaya reinforcing the fact that he hated him sort of sucked the feeling out of him, and as always, there was no telling how long it was gonna take to recover.

"Y'know, flea, it was an accident. I didn't hit you cause I wanted to."

And just as he knew would happen, Izaya laughed, the same humorless laugh he forced whenever Shizuo said something he didn't know how to respond to. Because it was kind, and that meant it didn't make sense.

"There is nothing you can say that will make this hurt any less, Shizu-chan. So please, save it, ne? Kasuka-kun can't hear us, so there's really no point."

"Yeah," he murmured with a slight nod, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette. "Guess you're right."

He really was a creature of habit, and soon he found himself standing quietly in the same place where not hours before he'd taken his anger out on the black mass of smoke Celty had provided. Now standing before him was Izaya, and while not nearly as indestructible, he was a hundred times more intimidating, but for so many different reasons.

"Try any shady shit, and you're dead, flea," Shizuo warned, the threat holding no weight as he didn't mean a word of it. All for the sake of appearances.

Izaya didn't even look as if he were listening, his right fist already curled and ready. "I would never, Shizu-chan."

Except he would and he did, because just after his fist smashed itself into the side of Shizuo's face, his silver ring catching soft flesh and making the cut that much deeper, the flea managed to embed his knife somewhere in the region below Shizuo's ribcage. Or maybe it was just a deep cut. It was difficult to tell.

All Shizuo knew was that he was bleeding, again, and it hurt.

"Now we're even, ne?" Izaya murmured silkily, somewhere in the vicinity of Shizuo's ear and neck.

"You call this even?" He heaved a pained breath as the blade slid away from his skin, the flesh on his side igniting, and the right side of his face pulsing angrily. "I don't remember slicing the shit out of you."

Stepping away, Izaya teasingly touched his tongue to the edge of his blade before closing it with a quick flick of his wrist. "True, but unfortunately it would take me all night to knock a monster like you unconscious. This is much more efficient."

"Asshole."

Shit. Maybe it really was more than just a cut, because his vision began to swim, his head feeling as if someone had pumped it full of helium. He shook it, only encouraging the swell beneath his eye to pound harder.

He supposed he was starting to black out too, because one moment he was standing and the next he was leaning against his fence, not sure if he fell or walked himself there. All he knew was that the left side of his body was wet and hot and everything hurt like hell.

And maybe he imagined it, but he was sure he felt something soft brush his cheek before Izaya's voice was once more in his ear. "You're not immortal, Shizuo. Don't pretend to be. Even for you, that sort of arrogance is annoying."

A reply caught in his throat, trapped beneath a pained breath.

Somewhere off in the distance he heard Kasuka calling for him, but he was too tired to be concerned.

"Make sure cute little Kasuka-kun doesn't try calling the police, ne. Not unless you want him involved."

Somehow he managed to ground out a shaky, "No."

"See? Shizu-chan can be a good boy when he wants to."

The asshole actually dared to pat him on the head like a damn dog. And just like a dog, Shizuo growled, the sound a gravelly gurgle.

He thought he'd lifted his arms to shove Izaya away, but apparently he'd imagined that too, because when he managed to open his eyes both his hands were braced on dry grass.

No doubt he looked pathetic, but he was just too damn drowsy to care. So much blood loss in one day even affected someone like him, and like Izaya said, he wasn't immortal.

"Shinra will be over soon to make sure you don't die." Pocketing his phone, Izaya lowered himself until he was eyelevel with the half-unconscious monster, his ringed hand once more grasping hold of Shizuo's chin to hold it up. Caramel eyes forced themselves open, eventually finding warm cherry.

And Shizuo knew for a fact he was hallucinating, because there was no way Izaya was gently brushing his thumb across his lower lip while looking at him like that, as if he couldn't tear his eyes away. As if he were looking at someone he didn't hate.

Yeah, he was definitely hallucinating. There was no way that gentle voice was Izaya's. "We could never be friends, Shizuo. You and I could never be that boring."

And Shizuo was ready to deny it, even if it felt impossible with the way his breaths were coming fast and harsh, but damn it, dream-Izaya had it all wrong, and as usual he was just saying shit that didn't make any sense.

But the only sound Shizuo made was an unattractive grunt as a fist met the side of his face, the world swiftly falling into black shadow.

Author's Note: I hope everyone had a great holiday and ate lots of delicious food. I know I did (and it shows…).

Thank you everyone for your reviews/favorites/follows! Encouragement and comments are always appreciated!

Happy Holidays!

~Merry