Author's Note: I just want to address a few of things early on. :)
1. Namie's role in this story, as Izaya's (ex)girlfriend is important. Even if you do not ship IzaNamie (like I do), please DO NOT skip chapters. Nothing makes me facepalm more than seeing someone tell me that since they don't like a pairing, they skipped the chapter. To me, the first chapter is one of the most vital to the entire story, if not THE very most important. DO NOT SKIP. If you have to skip because a scene disagrees with your ship, I don't have any idea why you're here reading this.
2. This story IS a Shizaya fanfiction. Please keep in mind that even if I go back to OTHER pairings, it IS and WILL BE Shizaya. However, you have been warned. OTHER pairings (especially Izaya x Namie) WILL be present in this story and if you skip, but plan to read everything else, this story will make NO sense to you.
3. In this story, Izaya is going to face some physical changes/development. Some people will probably hate this. Some may even appreciate it. Please note that I did not do anything "weird" in this AU!fanfiction without reason. All of the weird stuff that it seems IC Izaya would NEVER do... well... this is an alternate plain of reality. So bear with me.
4. To those of you saying, "This fic is OOC," Yes. I know. I'm aware. And still, I do the best with what I have and my best says to do what I want. Don't like it? Fine. Don't waste your time here. I'm not Narita. I don't know his characters as well as he does - no matter how much I adore them.
I'm not trying to sound mean or anything. I am very grateful for feedback, hits, favorites, alerts and the like. I love it and I'm happy to have readers. But because this is unlike ANYTHING I've ever done before, and because I'm taking quite a few risks that I've never taken, I want to put these warnings out there so you at least know SOME of what to expect. Because, honestly, if this isn't your kind of thing, I would much rather you read something you can thoroughly enjoy than waste your time on something you're not sure about, or sure you hate. I plan to keep updating and see this fic through to the end. I just don't want you to have reached the end disappointed that I didn't put out what you were hoping for. That's all.
Sorry for the long note. I hope you read it.
THANK YOU!
PS - I'm sorry this is "short." Next one will be longer. I promise.
Waking up had been my least favorite moment of each day. Waking up meant that I was headed back toward sobriety – regular consciousness, which was just too cruel a thing to ask of me.
I rolled out of bed, still fully dressed from the night before; nauseous as the blood rushed from my aching head to even out through my body. My skull was pounding, and all I could remember of the night were tiny glimpses here and there. I recalled picking a fight largely because of the intense, stinging pain my abdomen, and the soreness of my jaw.
With those thoughts in mind, I pulled myself up, slowly trudging to the bathroom to inspect the damage.
Flicking on the lights, I flinched at the initial brightness invading my senses. Head throbbing harder, I closed my lids, until I felt safe enough to reopen my eyes without them falling out of my skull.
"Tch…." I leered, discovering a laughable sight in my reflection.
My hair was in its usual disarray, sticking up in every angle while my greasy bangs stuck to my face. Dark circles – a mixture between smudged eyeliner and purple bags of exhaustion – hung beneath my eyes, accentuating the redness of my eyes – so bloodshot and hideous; making me despise my unnatural irises more than I usually did. That awkward color reminded me only of the names thrown at me in elementary school, often earning me a cracked lip like the one I wore now. Swollen and caked with blood.
If there was anything to appreciate about my face, it was that the idiot who hit me hadn't taken the opportunity to rip out my nose ring, or the small plugs in my gauged ears. His fat fingers probably couldn't have fit through the holes anyway…
Still, what I expected to be a pretty nasty bruise continued to ache, burning as I pulled the fabric of my shirt up to take a look.
"Fuck…" I grumbled to myself, daring to brush my fingertips over the sensitive purple flesh, "Really? That fucking prick…"
The guy had clearly gone overboard, and had it not been for a rough record of my own, I probably would have considered reporting the assault to the police; maybe even suing the dickhead if I could afford a lawyer.
With those thoughts in mind, I decided I needed a shower before making my next move. Knowing that it was much too early to go back to Namie and beg her to let me back into my own home, I tried to consider my options without constantly going back to needing a drink to help me make up my mind.
Convinced that if I came back sober, after giving her a few more hours to calm down, I looked to the day with confidence; swearing to myself that this time things would be different. This time, I'd make her remember why she loved me to begin with, giving her no choice but to let me back into our apartment as well as her heart.
I could be the same irresistible guy she first fell for. I could still charm her the way I had charmed countless girls at bars, flirting and teasing and quite possibly leaving them with a kiss or two. I could get her back, and she would want me.
Somebody in this fucked up world would want me.
I was going to make sure of that. If anything, I was going to give somebody in this world something they never wanted to let go of, regardless my habits.
It was as I told her so many times before – the choice was mine. If I didn't want to be like this, I didn't have to be; always ignoring that when I was drunk I passed the blame onto something else. It wasn't me she didn't love. It couldn't have been. No, it was the alcohol. And so I believed.
If I could make her want me without it, I could make her want me with it too. I could make her accept that it wasn't the problem with our relationship, but her inability to accept that it felt so right.
I simply had to make her understand. She needed to see that with it, I was better. And if I was better, we – as a couple – were better. She only needed to open her eyes and see exactly as I saw.