Warnings: General warnings can be found in chapter one. Specific warnings for this chapter: Self-harming, alcohol consumption, sexual themes, mentions of death, rape, and suicidal themes. If you are sensitive to any of the former, I strictly advise to skip this chapter.

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Orihara Izaya did not, as it were, consider himself a stranger to hatred. Neither did he consider himself a stranger to lies, manipulation, pain, hunger, cold, nor, indeed, almost any other negative terms out there. For fifteen years, they had been pretty much all he had. Grown up, as he was, with a raging psychopath of a man who viewed him as both his favourite research specimen and #1 punching bag. Orihara Izaya did not, at all, tell people that he spent his first five years of life locked in a small room and saw no one but his father nor that he saw his mother murdered at age two. He did not mention that he couldn't even say his own name until he was about four. He did not tell people that there was not a bone in his body that had not been broken at some point nor that he lost his virginity at the tender age of three. He did not tell people anything of his past. He did not tell them a single thing. For all they knew, he popped in to the world at age 15, orphaned, curious, and ready to cause trouble.

Orihara Izaya did not tell people that he became an informant, a manipulative bastard, a huge slut, and a public nuisance because he did not want to be shut out from the world again. He wanted to see everything, to learn everything, to feel everything. He wanted to catch up on everything he had missed during all those years when he was supposed to have had a childhood. So, could you really blame the guy for being immature at times? Orihara Izaya considered his behaviour not only fully excused but also perfectly reasonable. He never learned social codes and rules, because he never had someone to teach him. Orihara Izaya consistently ignored people who told him he could still learn it.

He didn't feel like it, 'cause there was no real point in doing so, was there? His success as an informant was entirely because he would dance right over lines his fellow informants would not dare come close to. He would happily say and do things to provoke reactions and lure secrets out that the others could not even imagine bringing themselves to do. Humans were such fascinating creatures, after all, and Izaya just could not make himself stop. Being surrounded by humans was like sitting in front of the largest control panel in the world, and he just loved pushing buttons! He loved poking at bruises and picking at scabs. Humans were so cute in all their ridiculous simple-mindedness; they never even realized they were being manipulated. It was down right endearing. It also made Izaya feel strangely responsible for them. Humanity, as a race, were like little lambs in dire need of a loving parent to guide and teach and punish them, and since Izaya knew how shallow their buttons really lay, he wanted to keep them safe from others who could find out the same thing.

That didn't, of course, mean he cared much for humans as individuals. Quite frankly he felt a very deep-rooted disdain for the majority of them. Especially the male half of the population. He was not the least bit ashamed of his view of most of them as weak and pathetic animals with little in their minds besides money and sex. But then there was that very resounding exception by the name of Heiwajima Shizuo.

Since the very first day Izaya first caught sight of the protozoan, he was lost in a raging sea of emotions he never thought he'd feel in his life. Shizuo appeared in every thought, every dream, every naughty late-night fantasy. Every time he was in Izaya's vicinity, the blacknette would feel his breath become forced, his heart racing and all his thoughts become a hopelessly jumbled mess. He ached and pined inside for a smile, a kind word, a touch… anything. Of course, that was in high school, so he had the easy way out of blaming the whole thing on hormones and all that stuff and just walk right by him. But apparently his heart had other ideas. It was dangerous, and he couldn't take any chances. If Shizu-chan ever found out – if, God forbid, he even felt the same – it would drag him into the dirty chaos that was Izaya's past, present and whole reality. Selfish asshole he may well be, but not that selfish. Not to Shizuo. Never to Shizuo.

In hindsight maybe his choice of method might not have been the best, but it was far too late to change it now, and it had proven quite effective. As long as Izaya was left with no choice but to run for his life every time they met he had no time to start thinking about things and do something really stupid. 'Stupid' would be something along the lines of making a very cheesy confession or straight up kiss him in public – and Izaya would not live to tell that story. So he kept feeding Shizuo's hatred. He poured all he had into it, for both their sakes. Shinra thought he was stupid to keep it up, the romantic fool. Hell, even Celty was giving him a headache about it. He didn't care what they thought, though, as long as they did their part and kept their mouths firmly shut. It wasn't like they were supposed to know either! Damn Shinra and his experimental truth-serum to Hell! Shizuo must never know, end of story.

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Izaya woke up to unbearable amounts of sunlight flooding his eyes and setting off the impending hung-over headache that had been steadily building up during the four hours of restless and nightmare-plagued sleep he'd gotten since he collapsed in his bed in a drunken stupor earlier that morning. He grabbed his head with a groan and attempted to hide under the covers. His searching hands came up empty, and a second later there were no covers to grab – only cold air and Namie-san's voice screeching in his ears.

"Get up, you lazy dog!" she barked. "I don't care what you do in your evenings, but you have work to do now, and this place is a dump!"

"Namie-saaan!~" he whined, but immediately shut up when it felt like his skull was going to crack in two. After battling waves of nausea for a moment, he tried again. "Just five more minutes, 'k?"

"No. Get up!"

He knew Namie well enough to know he really had no choice in the matter. She would not hesitate to straight out torture his poor hung over head until she got her wish. And soon, he knew, his body was going to give him all hell for mixing beer and fuck-knows-what yesterday. The nausea just got worse and worse, and within a heartbeat, he was halfway down the corridor trying to make it to the bathroom before he threw up. He did, albeit barely so. After throwing up little other than stomach acid and alcoholic remains, he got in the shower. He felt clammy and smelly, and hoped he could freeze himself to death with a cold enough shower so he didn't have to go back out and deal with the world.

That turned out a failure, although his headache lessened some. Not enough to be in any way bearable, but at least his head was starting to feel like it wanted to stay in one piece. He cautiously made his way back to his rather smelly and messy bedroom to find something to wear. Some rummaging through the closet resulted in the same nondescript dark jeans and v-necked shirt he usually wore. Truth to be told, he had little else in his wardrobe; most of his income went to buying information and paying rent. The rent on the apartment was astronomic, but he paid it gladly for the security systems coming with it. But it also meant he seldom had money to buy other types of garments, and when he did, they were usually ruined by the second time he wore them. Clothes got ruined at a frightening speed in his profession, and so he never shopped anywhere but the 500-yen stores. If someone asked him why that was, he would smile and lie and tell them there was no point in buying fancy stuff when Shizu-chan or the yakuzas would only ruin them five minutes later. In reality, as said, it was simply because he couldn't afford anything else.

Information was an expensive item, and Izaya wasn't the only informant out there. But people always had a price; Izaya had yet to find a person who wouldn't leak info for the right sum. He would gladly live on the cheapest noodles and water with a hint of tea for a month if it sold him a really dirty secret before anyone else could get to it. There was even that month a few years back when he'd survived on Pocky for three weeks. Since then sweets were not something he took any enjoyment from. He was piss poor, living in a filthy rich neighbourhood. That was, of course, also a part of his success; he was willing – eager, even – to sacrifice his own comfort for the sake of his job.

But that was before.

Before Shizuo broke what little hope he had left.

Before Shizuo forever removed himself from Izaya's hopes of a knight in shining armour to come and save him from himself.

It had been three months now, since that very epitome of female beauty had been seen hand in hand with Heiwajima Shizuo, smiling like only a woman in love could. Three months ago, since Shizuo had kissed her under a blossoming Plum tree as the sun set. She was so beautiful! It made Izaya hurt inside, so badly. How could he ever compete with those looks? Jet-black hair in big waves all the way down to her hips, eyes the most mesmerising blue he'd ever seen, a gorgeously curved body with full chest and perfectly rounded hips and ass, lips like cherry-blossoms and a skin a perfect pale golden tone. She was so… beautiful. Izaya had never been beautiful. He was underweight, due to various reasons, his skin was way too pale, his hair was a hopeless cause and he had those freaky red eyes that scared people every time they saw it. It had scared Shizuo too. Besides, Izaya was the villain in Shizuo's world – he was the Loki in their little circle of freaks and demi-gods. The trickster, the cheat, the prince of lies and the master manipulator – whichever one you chose would fit.

Three months ago, Izaya gave up.

Three months ago, he decided to sort out his business and tie up the loose ends.

Three months ago, he decided his ride on the carousel of life was over.

He never told anyone about this decision. But they all noticed a change in him. For starters, he never went to Ikebukuro anymore – only sent someone else in his stead or went in the dead hours of night when the streets were near empty. And he didn't take on any new jobs when the current ones finished. Shinra got worried, since Izaya never came to visit anymore, but to his calls, the informant only assured him everything was fine and dandy, if he answered them at all. Celty was frustrated because he was acting like more of a jester than ever before when she encountered him, and she got absolutely no answers out of him about anything. The only one who seemed oblivious to the whole thing was Shizuo. Because life is a bitch and Izaya had never had much luck with it.

When Izaya came in to his living room/ work area, Namie was waiting for him with a stack of files and an annoyed frown. She probably wished she was home with her beloved brother. Izaya hardly spared her a glance as he staggered over to his chair and sat down. Namie unceremoniously dumped the stack in front of him, not even raising an eyebrow as he flinched and grabbed his head with a pained groan.

"You have only yourself to blame," she scoffed. "Now, these are business proposals that arrived this morning. I've done a brief skimming through, and if you accept these then you are covered for work and income for the coming six months. One of these will even require you to infiltrate a government building, and don't bother denying that you like doing that."

Izaya pushed them aside.

"Give them to someone else," he said tiredly. "I've got work already."

A nerve in Namie's face seemed to twitch a bit.

"You've got one job left, Izaya-san. One. And that one will be finished within two weeks even with you in this pathetic state. You need to take more jobs on."

"I said to give them to someone else, Namie-san." Izaya's voice was suddenly cold. "I don't want them." He turned to look out the window. "It's the same old bullshit anyway. Some guy is pissed at some other guy, or chick, and wants me to drag up enough dirt for them to flaunt around in public to get some petty revenge. Humans are vile. I'm tired of this."

"You're…what?" Even Namie was surprised, probably even shocked, by that statement. "Izaya-san, I don't know what kind of down mood you're in right now, but you don't mean that. If you want to lessen the workload, I can surely arrange that, but-"

"I'm quitting."

Izaya turned around to face her again. Namie just stared.

"You can't be serious!"

"Wow," Izaya snorted. "Namie-san, you sure are slow to catch on sometimes. And yeah, I am as serious as can be. I'm quitting. After this last job, I'm done. I want you to cancel the lease for this apartment. And put out an ad for all the stuff. Not the computers, though. I'm gonna destroy those. I got some stuff to finish, but I'll be outta here in a month top."

Namie felt herself start shaking at this more than shocking revelation. She could only stare dumbfounded at her employer as he stared longingly out the window.

"Oh," he said like he suddenly thought of something. "I want you to look up train tickets to some place by the sea that isn't swamped with people. Preferably with a good hotel and a beach." He turned back to face her. "You can probably do all that from home, ne?"

Namie, still in shock, nodded. With a causal wave of his hand, Izaya sent her on her way. The last thing she saw before going out the door was Izaya grabbing a bottle of cheap, disgusting vodka and disappeared back up the stairs.

What the hell is going on with him? Namie thought as she got down to her car. Is he actually leaving…?

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Izaya curled back up in his bed, taking deep swigs of the strong alcohol. He usually hated vodka, other than in "girly" drinks, but it was the best for getting smashed quickly. He needed some alcohol in his blood if he was going to be able to go out tonight. It had become his new habit. To go out, dance and flirt until he scored, get fucked through a mattress/against a wall/in a bathroom stall, until he felt thoroughly disgusting, filthy and soiled so he could go home, drink himself to sleep and do it all over again. It had really become an endless cycle of drink, fuck, sleep, repeat. Of course, Izaya himself called it "indulging in life" now that he was going to leave it. To go out with a bang, to spend himself completely – it was the only way to go, wasn't it?

Tears began rising in his eyes as he caught sight of the photograph of his beloved protozoan the he usually kept hidden under the bed. It was laying on the floor now, a pair of golden-hazel eyes looking into his with that solemn expression that was all Shizuo. The blonde never knew he took it, and Izaya sometimes felt so stupid for doing it – but he needed it, damnit! Never having been a very stable person, Izaya had found comfort in that gaze so many times he'd lost count. How many nights of flashbacks and pain had he not survived solely thanks to those eyes? Shizuo had kept him on the right side of that very thin line between sanity and madness for years now, and Izaya loved him for it. But it didn't work anymore; Izaya felt his sanity slipping faster and farther from his grip every single day. He couldn't even look at the photo without feeling… guilt. Guilt because, one; Izaya had slept with his little brother, Kasuka, thus making himself a downright whore in comparison to Shizuo – and two; because Shizuo had found love; a beautiful woman who made him smile.

"I really burned all my bridges, huh, Shizu-chan?" he murmured as he tried to stop the tears from escaping his eyes. Because Orihara Izaya didn't cry. Ever. Not when he got beat up. Not when he was raped. Not when he was shot or stabbed or thrown off a building. Not ever.

With a growl, he reached for one of his switchblades on the nightstand, and within a second he had buried close to half the blade in his own arm in an attempt to shift his focus and stop this ridiculous crying. He couldn't stop himself from crying out, but the tears froze in place. A wicked smile spread over his features, an almost lustful glint in his eyes and he pulled the blade out, only to slice diagonally across his thin forearm. Laughter bubbled up through his throat, a demented sort of giggling as he cut and stabbed and bled. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and laughing and dancing through his hallway he made it to the bathroom where he cleaned himself up and put some tight bandages around the arm, before putting a pair of deep brown contact lenses in and getting dressed. It was time to go have some fun!

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Fast and heavy industrial music blared through the hugs speaker system, making both floor and walls vibrate with the bass and making any small talk impossible. Stroboscopic lights mixed with coloured lasers to create a surreal feeling, the shifting lights making it hard to distinguish any features upon the people around you. It was an underground club, frequented solely by men of a certain orientation, situated in an old abandoned warehouse near Tokyo harbour. It came fully equipped with a bar, two dance floors, strip poles on key spots, a lounge area, and several smaller room to which keys could be acquired in case of a sudden rise in libido. The keys were easily accessible, hanging by the bar and free to take. Each room had four keys, so privacy as such was debatable, but no one really cared. Izaya loved the place. Only humans could conjure up a place of such exquisite decadency! But, as mentioned, he loved it. This was a place where Heiwajima Shizuo would never venture, nor, indeed any of his other associates.

Dressed in a pair of slim-fitted jeans and an equally tight black, long-sleeved shirt with the fabric ripped at strategic places, Izaya danced. His eyes were closed and he let the music dictate his every movement, not caring about how crowded the dance floor was nor about the bodies either shoving him from side to side or hands groping him and groins pushing against him. He just moved along with it, loving it.

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around his waist and he felt heat and moisture as a devilish tongue lapped up the small beads of sweat that had started to run along his neck. Grinning widely, he allowed the strange hands to roam his body as they wished, too absorbed in the sensations of that hot tongue to really care about playing hard to get. It wasn't why he was here after all, now was it? Instead he raised his arms to rest around the neck of whoever-it-was, and let himself be ravished and aroused. It wasn't long either, until he found himself being dragged towards one of the smaller rooms, giggling madly at his own treacherous body. Sure, his heart might belong to Shizuo, but his body, it seemed, belonged to whoever touched it!
The guy wasn't very gentle, but hey, Izaya didn't want gentle from anyone but Shizuo and since that wasn't happening any time soon; bring on the rough play! Afterwards, Izaya had to lie still for a while to collect his breath and try to coordinate his limbs into working again. No, gentle wasn't a good word for that guy at all. Shit, everything hurt! As he cleaned himself up with some strategically placed tissues, he found blood in quite a few places – his ass being by far the worst off. Oh well, shit happens. When he finally managed to get back up and put his clothes back on he immediately headed for the bar. Nothing like a Flatliner to take your mind off the pain. He hated the drink, but he knew it was quite effective on his pain-levels.

A few rounds of drinks later and another round in a small room, and Izaya called it a night. It was around four in the morning as he stumbled through his front door and managed to lock it on the fourth attempt, before falling asleep on his couch. Almost as soon as he had closed his eyes, the nightmares began and he curled on himself as the tears began running down his cheeks as he whimpered and mewled and screamed. All alone in the darkness, Izaya begged for death.

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Sorry about the wait, peeps! I've been drowning in uni-stuff – still am, as a matter of fact – but I decided to give Mr Foucault the middle finger for a while and give you an update. It's a bit short, and I do apologize for that, but it was just finished here. I normally write chapters at a length of 12-16 standard Word pages, but when they're finished, they're finished.

So, Izaya is losing his mind. Yup. I'm a true Izaya fanboy, and I love that little devil, but he's not exactly what I would call "mentally stable". I'm sorry if the knife part felt a bit melodramatic, but I'm sick and tired of everyone having razor blades in their nightstands, and I don't really picture Izaya to be the "emo-type" either. Now don't get me wrong here; I know more about self harm than I am really comfortable with, having been stuck in it for almost fourteen years of my life – I know what I'm talking about. I felt that this kind of thing *points to chapter* would be more likely when it comes to Izaya. The guy's got no brakes! If he goes for it, there's just no stopping him.

So. Next chapter should be longer (I hope), and most likely be following Shizuo for a little. Which means you're going to have to stand an OC for a little too, but please bear with me! I don't ship OC/Char pairings, so it won't be a permanent problem :)

Reviews?