Author's Note: I'm working on a special little Christmas one-shot as a present to all of you lovely reviewers. It's going to be fabulous, just you wait. This is up a little later today, my internet didn't seem to want to connect for me to post this for ages...
'Would you let it go to your head if I said I had missed you?
Sorry, stupid question – of course you would.
You sure you're okay for more?
I'm not as nosy as you, you know.
I'm proud of you Nak.
X.'
What was that sound that Izaya could hear throbbing in his ears? It was faint, like the thrumming of a hummingbird's wings beating the air. It was deafening, like the sound of waves crashing and cascading against cliffs by the ocean. Throbbing, throbbing, throbbing, like the beat of a drum, drumming out a time that Izaya couldn't match his breathing too, couldn't match his thinking too. If he didn't know better, he'd have said it was the sound of his own heartbeat, catching in his throat, making itself all too known to him, exciting at the care and the emotion and the whatever the hell else in Shinozuka's reply. Izaya did know better though, it couldn't be his heart, because he didn't have one. Monsters aren't blessed with a thing as wondrous as a heart. This throbbing in his head, it wasn't a sign of love. Izaya couldn't love. He wouldn't. It was ridiculous that he was even considering this, or even bothering to mull over these supposed feelings. He didn't need a heart. No, he didn't need a heart. It would make things complicated, stupid. Izaya didn't have a heart. He didn't. He had begun to lose it the second he had run from home, when he had left his parents and his sister's behind without a backwards glance, but it wasn't until he left Shiki's side and bid the older man from his life that he finally cut it right out. It reminded him of that cheesy kids movie they'd translated from America a few years ago, what was it called again? Something about pirates, something about a dead man's chest, Izaya didn't know. He wasn't a kid; he didn't care for fads like that.
But the drumming in his head wouldn't go away, it was insistent, and only seemed to intensify as he re-read the email sat open in front of him, looking for a way to reply. He drummed his fingers against the desktop, in some kind attempt to balance out the noise, as if it were just a migraine or something and it would ebb away eventually. It was annoying, it was— Izaya didn't like being out of balance, he didn't like the feeling that his game was tipping further and further into Shinozuka's favour, he didn't like the fact that the control was slipping out of his grasp. This wasn't the way things worked, and if he was honest, even he was losing sight of the outcome he had intended this game to have. Ruin Shinozuka, had that been it? Right now, Izaya was focusing on making sure he didn't ruin himself, because that was where this was headed if he wasn't careful. He had gotten himself too immersed into his role, the role of the lonely, depressed Nakura. He had forgotten to detach himself, that was all, he just needed to take a step back and remember who he was. Then this would all go away, it would. And yet— Izaya had begun to let some of him and his emotions slip out, without having noticed it at the time, without being able to stop himself. When had that happened last? He knew the signs; he had been here before, all those years ago when Shiki had taken him under his wing. The sign that— no— no— this wasn't love. This wasn't, because Izaya couldn't love. It was physically impossible, his brain wasn't wired that way anymore, and he had completely shut down the notion that love was a good thing, because it wasn't. Shiki had taught him it wasn't, and now he had to teach Shinozuka, and re-teach himself by the looks of things.
It was just a fucking shame his body didn't seem to agree with his mind.
His heart was thrumming, thrumming, thrumming out a delighted tune in his ears, had caught in his throat, was swooping inside. What a naïve little— Izaya wondered if that pirate had such a bad idea, maybe he should cut the damn organ out now and be done with all of this. Then he could just live as he had done. He could play with his humans and go back to his games and tempting depressed teenagers into dark alleys and over the edge of tall, lofty buildings. He could get back to his work pulling at strings, crafting that street war, and wake up the Black Rider's head. Yeah, he was pretty sure his knife would be sharp enough to carve it out, and in fact, he was pretty sure that Namie would be more than happy to lend a helping hand; or Shinra in fact, he liked cutting things open, didn't he?
Izaya didn't know how many times he read this latest email, or why he needed to when he could have formed a reply after the first scan of the words. He didn't know, but he did it anyway. It was his game, he was allowed to take his time, and he was allowed to be irrational if he wanted. Shinozuka was proud of him. The words at the bottom did nothing to stop his body's treacherous reaction, and if anything only served to intensify the pounding in his head, in his chest, in his bones. What reason had he be to be proud? Well, no, that was a stupid question. Izaya knew what he meant. It was because he had promised to share more, he had shown that he trusted the other man and clearly that had settled well with Shinozuka, clearly Nakura had won some serious brownie points here. Izaya knew he could just lie for the rest of the questions that Shinozuka was going to ask, he could, and he knew that he probably should, yet there was that voice that nagged in the back of his head, the one that sounded just like Shiki, telling him that he wouldn't. The voice sounded smug. Izaya hated it already, and ignored it as easily as he ignored Namie when she was here. Shinozuka had missed him. He hadn't said it, but Izaya knew from his reply that was the case. He had actually missed him – no, no, he had missed Nakura, not Izaya – missed, missed, missed him. Ha, ha. Shinozuka was just being a romantic, oversentimental oaf. What a turn off. Who wanted someone nice? Who wanted someone thoughtful, caring? Izaya didn't. He wanted someone who was— no, he didn't want anybody. Not again. Not after the last time. He was happy to be alone, he was happy to be with just himself, because who could be better company for him than the expanses of his own wonderful mind?
And yet—
Izaya tapped the mouse, nudging it over the reply button so that a fresh email popped up for him to write all over. His face was blank, devoid of the smirk or the frown or the scowl that had come to be a standard expression when he emailed this other man. It was— this email of Shinozuka's was so very curious, and Izaya didn't know what to make of it. There was all of this cliché or romantic bullshit that had turned Izaya's own mind in on itself, had shifted his own opinions, his thoughts, and his game. It was as if his mind felt like it was moving too quickly for him, as if it were moving at such a pace that he just couldn't keep up with what it as feeling. It was as if his body was acting independently to his mind, as if it wanted one thing and his brain wanted another. His heart and his mind, stuck in one of those age old battles that he knew would not come to a pretty end. There was turmoil within him, and he was starting to feel disgusted in his own being. This was so pathetically human, such a weak flaw that he was even contemplating emotion and feeling and this was all such bullshit. This was all Shinozuka's fault, and he wasn't even playing the game the way Izaya had intended him too.
The man on the other end had completely ignored Izaya quip about his night out. What did that even mean? Shinozuka had told him when he had found some man in a bar, had gone back and been fucked or sucked or whatever the hell he liked to do. Izaya had at least acknowledged it, and here was Shinozuka acting like nothing had been said. What did it mean? Either the man just really didn't care what the hell it was that Izaya – no, no, Nakura – did in his free time, or he had not wanted to think of him with some other man, in a sweaty mess of sheets and tangled limbs, and so had just not commented on it at all. Neither reply seemed like the Shinozuka that Izaya had formed in his mind, the one he had thought he had all figured out would make some kind of naïve, flustered comment, and even that was missing from the email. He had known his actions, his words, would have, and in fact he had intended them too, have an effect on Shinozuka, but was this it? He hadn't expected the other man to shift that quickly, and he still didn't understand what had changed. When had his Shinozuka changed from an innocent, naïve boy into this man? More importantly, when had Izaya turned into Nakura and lost sight of himself? When had immersed himself too much into this fantasy world of his game? It was pathetic. He felt sick, and the throbbing in his ears still wouldn't go away. This wasn't love, this wasn't love, this wasn't love.
'I'm hurt you think so little of me Shino-chan!
But delighted to hear you missed me~
Of course I'm ready, why wouldn't I be?
If this is what it takes to meet you, then so be it~
For what it's worth, I missed you too.
Baka!
X.'
Bullshit. Izaya wasn't ready in the least. He wasn't, he was— was this just Nakura he was playing now, was it just Nakura who missed him, or was this something else, something deeper and much more immediate that Izaya didn't want to address?
Fuck. Fuck. Love was a monster. It was just like him. It took no survivors. Gave no mercy.
This game of his had shifted now. It was dangerous and it was racy and it was much more serious than it had been originally. Shinozuka was in the game now, he was involved, and whoever fell first was the loser.
Izaya could already feel himself slipping.