Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme on Livejournal.

The following story contains M/M - please don't read if that's not your thing. If it is, enjoy! ;)

Wherever You Will Go

Chapter Two

If there was any indication that all wasn't as it should be, the way he could skip through Ikebukuro completely unimpeded would've been it. No crashing street furniture, no threatening rumbles of "IZA-YA-KUN!" The city felt muted and colourless for the lack. Shizuo might as well be gone already.

But he hasn't gone, not yet…

Stepping out of your door to realize someone had taken away the sky while you were sleeping must feel a little bit like that, Izaya thought. Oh, it wasn't as though he'd taken Shizuo's presence for granted, no… but as much as they both seemed to live their lives on the razor's edge, he'd expected he'd be the one to change the status quo one way or another. Expected to be the one in control, however unpredictable Shizuo chose to be.

But you've forced my hand, ne, Shizu-chan…

He'd woken up that morning to the unfamiliar feeling of doubting his own plans. Even if that foreign notion had lingered, the hollowness of the city streets would have convinced him to forge ahead, regardless of the outcome.

Because this just wouldn't do. At all.

On the bright side, if he survived the day he could chalk this up as another perfectly executed plan. And if he didn't, well… at least he'd have his answers. That had to count for something.

Shizuo's landlord was waiting for him outside the nondescript building. For all the information Izaya had about the place, he'd never seen the need to set foot inside. It was one of those things filed away under "too risky".

"Thanks for taking the time to show me the place." He sent the landlord a bright, breezy smile.

"That's fine," the man led the way to Shizuo's door, but paused before unlocking it, "but I checked, and we hadn't started advertising yet. How did you hear about the place, anyway?"

"Hmm…" Izaya tapped his index finger against his lips, feigning deep thought. "You know, I don't remember. Weird, huh?" A laugh. "Ah, I think perhaps a friend of mine who lives in this neighbourhood must have mentioned it."

He could just imagine Shizuo's reaction to that, could hear the unamused snort and "You don't have friends, flea."

Ah, you see, I'd miss your brutal honesty far too much…

The explanation seemed enough for the landlord, or, Izaya suspected, the man was far too predictably human and allowed his concern for the bottom line over ride his quite accurate suspicions. Humans' general disdain for their instincts, their scepticism of their validity, never failed to entertain him.

Except for you. You're the exception to everything, which is why you're just no fun, Shizu-chan.

The landlord was talking about the amenities and non-refundable deposits, but seeing as the information was unnecessary to him Izaya tuned it out, focusing instead on far more important details.

It was the strangest thing, this tiny little microcosm of Shizuo's life. From the glass drying on the side of the kitchen sink, to the toothbrush in its holder in the bathroom, or the faintest indentation in one of the couch cushions as though it was the last thing Shizuo touched before leaving for work. The scent of cigarettes was strangely subdued; the single ashtray on the coffee table was empty. The movie magazine on the coffee table featuring Hanejima Yuuhei's latest project, even though there was no a DVD player hooked up to the small television.

Izaya was only mildly disturbed by the overwhelming desire to gather all those things in his arms and just breathe in their imprinted memory of the man who lived here. If he didn't have an audience, he might've done just that.

No… the disturbing part was that he almost did it anyway, audience or not.

There was no clue in the neat, Spartan apartment to suggest where Shizuo was going. No floor-plans for new apartments, no brochures for Tahiti. And even though Izaya had already skipped past the point of "where" being relevant, he couldn't resist prodding the landlord for potential information.

Old habits and all that…

"Why is the current tenant leaving?"

"Don't know," the landlord shrugged, "but I can't say I'll miss all the complaints from the neighbours."

"Ah, a troublemaker was he?"

The landlord made a noncommittal sound. "Not especially. Just kept breaking stuff."

Izaya chuckled, rocking back on his heels, hands in the pocket of his coat. The patch-up jobs were very well done, but little things gave it away. There was a section of the wall where the paint didn't quite match up, one of the kitchen taps looked a little newer than the other, and one leg of the coffee table had definitely been glued back on. He entertained himself with visions of how, exactly, those repairs had come to be
necessary in the first place.

Heh. You're certainly not getting your deposit back, ne, Shizu-chan?

"So he's moving somewhere more sturdy? This place looks pretty solid to me."

"I didn't ask. You wanna talk to him, you're welcome to come back later."

"Ah, unfortunately I can't do that." Although the idea of meeting the man who lived in this space was awfully tempting. "Can I stay here for a while, though? You know, just to take it all in."

The landlord stared at him. What the hell was there to 'take in' in a cramped 1LDK, except maybe the fetching view of the alleyway between this building and the one next door, or, if he stretched his neck out the window, the stunning vista of the take-out place on the corner.

Izaya kept smiling his most winsome, 'how can you disagree with this?' smile, until the landlord shrugged.

"Knock yourself out." He hesitated a moment before handing over the keys, eyes darting around the apartment. Evidently coming to the same conclusion as Izaya – that Shizuo didn't have anything worth stealing – he dropped the keys into Izaya's outstretched palm. "Drop the keys off when you leave."

"Thank you."

Except he had no intention of leaving.

As soon as the landlord left, he cheerfully swung the duffle bag from his shoulder and headed for Shizuo's bedroom.

It was as sparse and tidy as the rest of the apartment. No doubt a perusal of the closet would turn up a dozen variations of that bartender's outfit and a quick rifle through the nightstand validated Izaya's decision to bring his own supplies.

Not even so much as a porn stash under the bed. You really are a monster, Shizu-chan!

For a moment he just lay sprawled across Shizuo's once neatly-made bed, clutching the sheets to his face like some school girl with her first crush.

Heh, maybe he was. Maybe that's how it'd always been.

"I don't like you."

Or maybe not.

He'd never wanted this. He'd been perfectly content with the charade, with the endless game of cat and mouse through the streets of Ikebukuro and through his entire life. Once he'd realized he could never shake these feelings, there had at least been a way to subjugate them, channel them into a method he could control. It wasn't as though Shizu-chan ever knew the difference. Shizu-chan would have hated him no matter what he did.

"I don't like you."

But Shizuo just had to go and change the rules now, just had to disrupt the perfect order of things like the reckless, tiny-brained creature he was.

Izaya sat up reluctantly, reaching for his bag and methodically removing the contents onto the rumpled sheets.

"Ah, you don't have to like me, Shizu-chan. But I don't remember ever giving you permission to leave me behind."

One thing he wasn't going to miss about this city was the fricking idiots his job forced him to deal with on a daily basis. Who the hell was desperate enough to land themselves in debt to their eyeballs over a dating site? Was it really worth all that just to have someone to say "I'm home" to at the end of the day?

Shizuo had long since resigned himself to the fact that'd never happen. So really, the thought of being alone didn't bother him that much. Hell, it'd be a break just to not have to worry about everyone all the damned time.

Yeah, it was better all around this way.

And it wasn't like he was abandoning anyone. Celty had Shinra. Tom had Vorona to rely on, who, arguably, scared the debt-ridden even more shitless than he did. Kasuka would be so engrossed in his work it'd take him weeks to even notice.

So yeah, not a big deal. And even if it was, well… he didn't need reminding of how dangerous it was to stay.

Still, he couldn't help the wry smile that twisted his lips as he unlocked his door.

"I'm home."

As though to humour him, something in his bedroom went thud.

Shaking his head at his own hopelessness, he dropped the shopping bags he carried onto the couch, and slid a finger under his bow tie to loosen the knot. Shopping. Clothes shopping, fuck. There, Celty, is your proof I've thought this through.

What he hadn't told her was that continuing to wear the clothes his brother had given him felt damn near fraudulent now. The man who had the right to wear this uniform could've clung to the knowledge he tried his hardest to keep his promises. The man who had the right to wear this uniform strove to live a life that wouldn't let the one who gave it to him down.

Ah, fuck it all…

Picking up the ashtray and a new pack of cigarettes, he settled on the narrow windowsill, one knee drawn up. The late afternoon sun drenched the window with amber light at the time of year. Cranking open the window, he leaned back and closed his eyes, just listening to the sounds of the city below.

Tucked away in one of the shopping bags was the small box Celty had given him, its ornate carvings worn glass-smooth from centuries of handling. Inside, looped on a black cord, was an unassuming disk of silver, marked with some indecipherable engraving.

"This is it?" He'd asked dubiously when Celty handed it over. "Doesn't look like much. You've tried it, right? It's not gonna blow up my building by accident or something?"

[Well, no, but according to legend it allows the wearer to travel to any destination they choose.]

"According to legend?" He'd raised a brow "So you don't even know if it'll work?"

[Of course it will!] The black smoke coiled indignantly. [It wouldn't be in my possession if it wasn't genuine, right?]

Exhaling a ribbon of cigarette smoke, Shizuo laughed softly to himself; when the hell had things like that become normal, become mundane? The day he figured a mythical fairy happened to be one of his closest friends, or the day he'd picked up that refrigerator?

Didn't matter. As long as it did what it was supposed to do, and, more importantly, did so without leaving a trace.

Because he'd find me, somehow.

Planes were out. So were trains, taxis, anything that would leave behind witnesses or a paper trail the flea could follow. He'd have been loathe to make too many traceable plans anyway, but when he was dealing with someone who, unfortunately, could boast about being frighteningly good at what he did… ordinary means just weren't an option. And there weren't many people he could trust with something like this. Hell, he still wasn't sure he should have trusted Shinra with this knowledge, despite Celty's reassurances that Shizuo would be the only one to know where he was going.

[That's because it's up to you. Anywhere you want to go, it'll take you there.]

"What if I don't know where to go?"

[Then it'll take you home.]

Home. This was home. It wasn't as though he was one of those people who had no idea where they belonged. There'd been days where the madness of this city was the only constant thing in his life, the only thing he could rely on. In the surreal circus of Ikebukuro and its residents, he'd felt… not content, maybe that was the wrong word for it, but hell, at least he hadn't felt as though he was the only screw-up in the world. It had been comforting, for some dumb reason, to know there were other things just as messed up as him out there.

And now he had to walk away, because of that goddamned flea.

Unbidden, he heard the echo of screeching brakes, crumpling metal, those fucking screams—

Eyes snapping open, he took a long, shaky drag of the cigarette, scrubbing a hand over his face. The sun slipped a little lower in the sky, disappearing behind the grey monolith of a skyscraper.

No… the flea wasn't the one responsible for that. It would have been so much simpler if he was, if Shizuo could just blame it all on Izaya being a conniving little bastard again for reasons known only to himself. That was just what Izaya did, what he'd always done, what he would always do unless someone broke the cycle. The provocation, the taunting, the goddamn constant prodding and niggling, it wasn't a good enough excuse anymore because a better man would never have let it get to him.

A better man wouldn't have let someone die for such a pathetic, pointless reason.

Fuck…

The sounds of the street changed from gentle to grating. He shut the window, wishing the things he felt were as easy to close off.

Something in the bedroom went thud again. Shizuo frowned, stubbing out his cigarette and levering himself up from the windowsill. Maybe something fell, though he couldn't recall leaving anything out that might. And shit, surely he could make it one more week without something else breaking in this dump…

Just as he reached for the door handle, something ominously familiar danced across his senses, the same sensation that usually said "…oh crap" just before fate decked him with a brick.

…Nah. Couldn't be.

Shaking off the misplaced feeling of doom, Shizuo opened the door.