Author's Note: I've been spoiling you with long chapters. This one is a little shorter than the last few. I'm still really in my Izaya mood, so I've got lots of creativity for him and not poor Shizu-chan here. Welp. Sorry guys. ._.
Shizuo didn't like feeling nervous. He didn't. It was a horrible feeling that bubbled in his stomach in a way that made him feel nauseous. It made his head spin as he walked, back slouched and hands shoved into the pockets of black slacks. A frown crinkled at his brow, a scowl tugging down at his mouth; why had he thought that meeting Nakura was a good idea?
The morning had been fairly uneventful for a change, and in a place like Ikebukuro that was certainly saying something. The sun had risen to waft in golden kisses to land on his face and rouse him into wakefulness. He had woken early, allowing him time to primp his hair and check that the dye wasn't wearing out, to eat a modest breakfast and drink his milk before Tom arrived to knock on his door. The first client had been a little rat, and Shizuo had tossed him clear across the sheet when the asshole had insulted Kasuka through an offhand comment he had made to Shizuo.
Tom had merely looked on in amusement at the scene, as long as he got his money and Shizuo didn't get too carried away, he had no problem with the blonde hitting a bit of sense into them all, they needed it. Then again, Shizuo needed it too, or so Tom noted. The blonde had asked to leave work early that day, and Tom hadn't minded, but had found it amusing when Shizuo had looked away with a pinch of red across his nose when Tom had asked why. Apparently there was an old friend of his coming into town and Shizuo just had to see him. Old friend, Tom's ass, he wasn't blind; but he had told Shizuo there was no problem with him leaving to meet this 'friend', and they'd just moved on to the next few clients of the morning before he had to leave.
But then Shizuo's phone had buzzed with the little alarm he had set, telling him that he had ten minutes to get to the station in order to meet Nakura off of the train. That had been when the nerves had set in, though he tried to deal with them like he did with all of his problems, but simply using brute force to crush them down. Unfortunately, it didn't work, and they only seemed to get worse with every step that he took towards the station. It didn't seem to Shizuo to be that long before he could see the station rising up on the street in front of him, and he could feel the tingle in his palms, the shortening of his breath, all the while on edge for meeting this man.
What if Nakura didn't show up? What if Shizuo didn't find him physically attractive when he had been so drawn in by his words and his nature? That would be painful for the both of them, soul mates of the mind but not of the eyes. He knew that looks weren't important, and yet he knew that they did count for something. He could have a relationship with someone he wasn't attracted to. Ha. How amusing, Shizuo didn't even know what he was attracted to in a man. He didn't have a type, not really. Did that matter? Or was that a good thing? What if Nakura didn't fit this type of his, the type that no, no, he didn't have? Shizuo didn't want that to happen, but what if he found Nakura attractive, and the other man was repulsed by him. He was Shizuo Heiwajima, and what would Nakura think of that? Shizuo was worried that he would approach the man, and for him to take off screaming and never to return. Shizuo wasn't in love with Nakura, but he didn't want the other man to leave before he had a chance to understand just what it was he felt for him. Was it love after all? Yes, no, he didn't know. He needed more time to figure it out, more time with Nakura before he could decide if he did. Was all love this confusing? They made it look so easy in the movies, in books and in other people that Shizuo saw in the street. Why couldn't he have that effortless confidence in knowing his feelings that well? Why, why, why—
Why the hell was the flea here?
Shizuo had never been able to control himself when he ran into Izaya Orihara. There had just been a boiling pot of emotion that spilled over and turned Shizuo into some kind of monster whenever the man was around. There had always been animosity between them, ever since they met, that was just the way it went, that was just— Shizuo knew how fucked up the louse could be, and he couldn't ever like someone like that, he couldn't ever like someone who played with people like pawns for fun. Izaya Orihara was dead, dead, dead.
His hands curled around the nearest object they could grasp, even Shizuo didn't really know what it was, and hurled it at the rat where he sat. He didn't even appear to have noticed that Shizuo was there, and the blonde couldn't help but smirk, couldn't help but hope that this was his chance to kill the bug once and for all. Annoyingly, the object – a rubbish bin he now saw – crashed not into Izaya, but a little way away from the asshole's head. Shizuo needed to brush up on his aim for next time. Izaya had started speaking then, but Shizuo couldn't hear behind the haze of rage that had settled into his mind, clouding all else except the voice inside his head telling him to kill, kill, kill Izaya Orihara once and all, once and all, once and all. People had started to run now, they were yelling and fleeing and shouting about Heiwajima and Orihara's latest fight, telling people to get out of the way. Others had gathered at a distance they deemed safe, observing the fight with animated interest, a couple of them filming it on mobile phones to show off to their friends later. It wasn't everyday this happened after all, and the two of them were as much of an urban legend as the headless rider was.
And then the fucking louse had moved, he had flicked himself off of the wall, and his hair had tossed in the wind and his eyes had roamed over Shizuo and he had flicked out his knife and said more of those words that Shizuo couldn't hear no matter how clearly Izaya was speaking them. Shizuo was seeing red, literally. Red, red, red. Why the fuck was he wearing red? Red, dead, red, dead, red, dead, red, dead. Shizuo hadn't been able to control himself anymore then, he didn't understand, and what people don't understand they fear; Shizuo had always dealt with fear with brute force again, and the only solution seemed to be to kill Izaya while he was still here. Red, red. Nakura had said he would be wearing a scarf in red so that Shizuo could find him. Was it a scarf Izaya wore? Or was it just some twisted coincidence, some twisted way for karma to screw with him next. He had worn a red shirt in high school, right? It didn't mean that— red, red, red. Things moved in a blur after that. There had been more words said, more things thrown, and Shizuo still didn't understand, still tried to see through his cloud of rage and hate and concentrate. Izaya turned and fled, and Shizuo's anger fell back onto its reflexes and did what it did best, what it was used to doing, and gave chase. They twisted through streets and alleys and past people in areas that were busy and areas that were crowded. Izaya wasn't as fast as he normally was, and that boded well for Shizuo, except he wasn't as fast as he normally was either, because somewhere along the way he had stopped intending to kill the flea but trying to see that flash of red again.
It wasn't until Izaya turned the corner, offering a laugh and a wave at Shizuo that his body turned in such a way that Shizuo could see it; the red scarf wrapped around Izaya's neck. Red, red—
Dead. Izaya Orihara vanished into the underworld, into the alley that Shizuo knew led to the hotel district and that Shiki bastard's place, and he just stopped. Dead.
There was no way for him to describe what that moment felt like, there was nothing to— Nakura had been Izaya all along? Then this had all been a game, this had all be just another one of those fucked up things the asshole found hilarious. He had been doing this, planning this all along. Shizuo was angry, he was pissed beyond words, and yet— and yet there was some gnawing inside, something inside his stomach that seemed to have dropped. He felt sick, he wanted to throw up, he wanted to kill something, someone, anyone. This was all so fucking—
Bullshit. Bullshit.
Izaya had planned this. The damn flea had fucking planned this, and now he was probably laughing at Shizuo in the alleyway now; and yet— and yet he couldn't bring himself to step forward in pursuit. Izaya was Nakura after all, and how could Shizuo hurt someone that he had been falling in love with?
He turned on his heel instead, and ran. He just ran and ran and ran and ran, because running from his feelings had always been what kept him safe, had always been—
The first thing Shizuo did when he returned home was to take the computer that had started all of this and send it crashing to the floor. The second thing he did was the make sure it was in pieces and beyond being able to work ever again. The third thing he did was send things crashing across his apartment, finding the smashing and the breaking to be a soothing factor to the torrent of emotions whirling inside him. This was all such—bullshit, bullshit. It all made so much sense, it did, it did. Nakura lived in Shinjuku, Nakura had twin sisters, Nakura had black hair, Nakura had—Nakura had—
Nakura had never existed. He wasn't real. Shizuo Heiwajima had fallen in love with a man that didn't exist. That was the story of his life, really, wasn't it? Ha, how fucking ironic. How fucking wonderful, how—
There just wasn't anyone in the world left to love a monster like him.
Why had he ever believed otherwise?
He had been a fool, he had been-
Love wasn't meant to be this painful, was it?