Author's Note: Your reviews make me smile so much! Oh my gosh, I love seeing all your reactions, it's so much fun. (lol, I'm just as bad as Izaya, aren't I?) Anyway, despite the fact that the storyline for this still isn't even finished being planned yet, I've already written the last paragraph for the final chapter. I do things all back to front, welp. Enjoy the ~angsty~ chapter to follow~.
Anger, frenzy, rage, fury, distress; following the fallout of the revelation of Nakura's real face Shizuo had felt them all. He was still feeling them, unable to shake the feelings, they just bubbled over and over inside of him ready to explode. The initial anger had worn away, and now the facts had really set in, eating away inside like moths upon on old scarves. Shizuo was angry, and yet he could feel the nagging feelings and emotions that he normally tried to crush fighting their way to the surface. He was angry with Izaya fucking Orihara, the flea, the bug, the louse, the soon-to-be-dead information scumbag. He had toyed with him, messing with Shizuo's life and his emotions as if they were nothing more than strings of a puppet that he thought fun to tangle. He had pulled out secrets and stories from Shizuo's past that even he told himself weren't true and he had revealed little in return, just because he could. How much of what he – no, no Nakura – had told Shizuo was true? That story about the man who had hurt him, the one who had fucked him around, messed him up so, how much of that was true? Ha, bullshit! All of it, Izaya did nothing but lie. No of it was true, it couldn't be, why the hell He had played Shizuo, and Shizuo had let him. He had been a fool, a damn fool, to be taken in by the notion that someone could like someone like him, he had, he had, he had. Shizuo wasn't sure how Izaya had found his profile, but he knew what sort of things the bastard was capable of and gave it little thought. It had all been a game, some fucked up game, to mess with his head, as if running around in his Ikebukuro wasn't enough. Dead, dead, dead. He wanted the man dead.
And yet it wasn't just anger he felt. Shizuo knew what it was like to be sad, he knew what it was like because he felt that now, laced in with the rage that had settled in his mind like an unwanted guest. There was a melancholy cloud that had drifted over him, and he wasn't sure how he was meant to deal with it. He felt betrayed, he did, he really did. Nakura had— before Shizuo had known who he was, Nakura had charmed him, Nakura had captured everything that Shizuo wanted, Nakura had made him laugh and Nakura had been the one to boost his confidence, to teach him that men out there would pay attention to him if he just paid attention to them. Nakura had done all of that, and then he had betrayed him but just not existing. He had vanished from Shizuo's world, and he hated that. He hated Izaya for taking Nakura away from him, because Shizuo missed Nakura. He missed having someone to email and to joke with and someone who made him feel embarrassed even without being in the same room. Izaya had just fucked all of that up. Bastard, bastard, bastard. Of all the people in Japan he could have chosen to fuck with, why did it have to be Shizuo and why did it have to be this way?
These feelings were so conflicting. Was it possible to hate Izaya and not Nakura? Was it possible to care about Nakura and not Izaya. Shizuo guessed so, because he was pretty sure that's what this was like. He wanted Izaya dead, he was pissed beyond belief at him, and yet— No. Nakura wasn't Izaya; he was just some guy that Izaya had made up. Pretty fucking sad in Shizuo's mind that the only man who he'd fallen for had been made up by the guy he wanted dead, and who he was pretty sure wanted him dead in return. Just his luck, just his lousy, rotten, fucking luck, wasn't it?
"Ah, Shizuo-" cried a booming voice through Shizuo's thoughts. The blonde stopped, blinked, and looked up from where he had been glaring at the pavement under his feet as he walked. Tom was a few paces behind him, apparently having sensed the murderous air around his employee as soon as they had met that day, deciding it was safer to keep his distance while Shizuo was in this mood. The two of them had done with clients for the day, and so Shizuo had simply started walking, his feet leading him to the restaurant district. He and Tom usually went for dinner after they were done with their work for the day, and then would head their separate ways until tomorrow. Apparently they had arrived in the area without Shizuo really noticing, the glaring at the sidewalk had proved to be a much bigger time killer than he'd ever realised.
"You eat sushi!" came the voice again, in a thick, deep accented voice. Simon stood beaming in front of Shizuo, who had gone from frowning at the floor to frowning at Simon now. The Russian was holding a fistful of coupons in one hand, and the other was pointing at the little sushi restaurant just behind as if Shizuo had never been there before. "It will turn frown, upside down!"
Shizuo heard Tom laugh from behind him as the other man caught up, reassuring Simon that they had been heading here anyway and he could stop his sales pitch now. Still frowning, Shizuo disappeared into the restaurant without another world, frowning, frowning. Nakura had liked sushi; ootoro had been his favourite, apparently, though Shizuo had confessed to him that he'd never had the chance to try it before. The flea liked sushi too; Shizuo had run into the bug too often coming out of this very sushi shop. The notions made that anger flare up in Shizuo, though he ducked his head and tried to calm it down. The louse, that bastard, wasn't going to ruin Shizuo's life any more than normal. He refused to be some player in the twisted asshole's game; he wouldn't let Izaya use him, no, not again, not like he had with Nakura. Nakura. Nakura. Nakura.
Tom joined him shortly after, and though Shizuo had been keeping his eyes away from everything and on the menu, he could see the look on his employer's face. It was one of those looks that told Shizuo he knew something was up, and that it was obvious to him and to everyone. That just added to the irritation scorching Shizuo's skin. Thankfully though, his boss didn't seem to want to probe on that, instead settling for discussing the clients they would need to deal with tomorrow and how he felt today had gone. Shizuo had lost it more than normal, and Tom had needed to step in at one point to get him to ease up on one guy when his anger had peaked and he had been unable to see anything except kill, kill, kill. At some point, Shizuo's eyes had met with the dish of 'ootoro' on the menu, at which point he had violently thrust it along the table and ordered whatever Tom had ordered so he didn't need to look at it again. Too many bad reminders, too many angry ghosts lingering around things like that now. Fuck Izaya, fuck it and fuck it. Nakura, where was he? Dead, non-existent, fuck. Shizuo hated it, he wanted it back, and he wanted nothing more than to forget this ever happened. Didn't he know that might have to happen when he signed up for the site? He had known he could just stop whenever he wanted. And he wanted to right now. And yet— yet—
"So are you going to tell me what happened or do I have to find this friend of yours and ask him myself?" Tom broke in through Shizuo's thoughts again, and there was a hint of both amusement and concern lacing each word that left the dark haired man's mouth. The blonde turned to look at him, but said nothing more than a grouchy 'hn' in reply. He was still frowning, still trying to quell the fire under his skin and in his heart and everywhere around him. He didn't want to answer that, didn't want to know how Tom had known that was what was bothering him because he didn't want to be that transparent.
"It's not good to keep things bottled up, Shizuo," the other man said again, and Shizuo noticed the irony in the words he had picked. Hadn't he thought that about Nakura not telling people things before? Yeah, yeah, that had been before, when Nakura had been real and honest and dear to Shizuo himself. Who cared what the flea did with his feelings? Shizuo didn't, just so long as they didn't involve him. He didn't care. He didn't care, he didn't—
The arrival of their food shut Tom up for a while, allowing Shizuo to pick at his food without having to reply. He wasn't really hungry, at least not for sushi, if anything he felt sick, and his stomach was churning and gurgling; but for the sake of needing the fuel to keep him going, he forced down enough to satisfy what he would normally eat for dinner, though that did nothing to help the feeling in his stomach. He hated it. He didn't like it, and worse, Tom was giving him that look again, that fucking look.
"Shizuo," sighed Tom, leaning back in the seat and bringing the drink he had ordered with his meal up to his mouth for a sip. "Just because I'm a guy, it doesn't mean that you can't talk to me when some jerk breaks your heart. I mean— it won't be awkward if that's what you-"
"Shut up," Shizuo muttered, his voice low and deadly and promising death to numerous people who had annoyed him during his life. There was a pause, in which Tom stared at his face, trying to pick apart what was going on. He knew that Shizuo was mostly alone, that he had only a handful of people he could count on to trust, and that he would never let it go if he didn't try and help Shizuo when something was so clearly bothering his friend. The blonde still didn't speak, just grunted and shoved himself to his feet, knocking the table as he did so and sending it skidding a little bit closer to Tom. "I just need to accept the fact it didn't work out."
And with that, he left the little building despite Simon's enthusiastic words prompting Shizuo to stay longer and enjoy more food. Tom sighed again, watching the retreating black and white clothed figure leave and head down the street outside. It was getting dark out, and he guessed that Shizuo would probably just go home and sleep. Tom couldn't remember seeing Shizuo like this, he couldn't remember seeing the man express passionate emotions other than anger, but no, no, he had seen the haunting loneliness in Shizuo's eyes earlier, like some kicked puppy, left abandoned out in the rain.
It was dark when Shizuo got home, and his apartment complex was lit up with dim and flickering lighting when he arrived. He had spent the past hour or so wondering the streets, something that he usually did after work every day. It was calming, and given the past day or so that he had been through, he needed that. He had turned on his phone at some point, and found that Nakura, Izaya, whoever the hell, had sent even more messages while it had been switched off. Meaningless crap like what he'd had for lunch and how 'Shinozuka' just had to try it too, or wondering if he was busy with work and that was why he wasn't replying. Shizuo didn't bother replying, but promptly turned his phone back off again. Why was the louse still doing this? Shizuo didn't understand, he didn't get it at all. Surely this game couldn't be fun for him anymore, not now that Shizuo had stopped playing, not now that he knew what was going on. So why was Izaya – Nakura – still sending him messages?
Shizuo grumbled to himself as he came up the stairs to his floor, and the frown only intensified when he noticed his neighbour, a little dainty old woman, stood outside of his door with a parcel in her hands. She beamed on seeing him arrive, shuffling down the corridor towards him, cooing his name.
"Heiwajima!" she laughed, and despite her age, she sounded as youthful as someone thirty years younger. Shizuo had always been fond of her, despite never really speaking to her. She quickly thrust the little brown box into his hands before he could protest.
"Someone left this for you earlier. The poor man knocked on my door and said that he got no answer at your door and that his boss had asked him to make sure it was delivered today. So I told him I'd give it to you later. But the silly men spelled your name wrong of course! I didn't tell him that though, I didn't want to embarrass him or his boss!" Here the elderly woman laughed again, shuffling past Shizuo towards her own place. "Well, have a nice evening, Heiwajima!"
Shizuo returned the notion, and balanced the parcel on his hip while he fished in his pocket for his door key. He didn't glance down at the box until he had gotten into his apartment and kicked off his shoes. Shizuo didn't understand. She had said that someone had delivered it for his boss, so clearly Izaya himself had not come here, and yet— and yet how the hell had he found out where he lived? Well, well, if he knew that Shizuo was Shinozuka, had known all along, then he guessed it wasn't going to be too hard. There was a little note taped to the top in curling writing that Shizuo had to admit was lovely. He didn't understand, he didn't— why was he trying to get Shizuo to keep playing? This wasn't like the flea; this wasn't like him at all.
'Not talking to you kills me, but trying to talk to you and being ignored hurts even more. I said I was sorry Shinozuka; can you really not forgive me? Not even if I give you nice presents like this? – Nakura x.'
Shizuo tore open the box without another thought, without really letting the words process in his brain, because that would just cause all sorts of unneeded feelings to complicate things for him. There was a little bento box inside, wrapped with clear foil to stop the contents moving, in which was settled a nest of white rice, nestled in which was the most expensive, delightful looking sushi that Shizuo could say he had ever seen. Another little note was inside the box too, in the same curling script and just perched on top of the box.
'Well, you said you'd never tried this before. I bought the most expensive stuff I could find. Enjoy it Shino, and maybe you can stop being mad long enough to tell me what you thought? X.'
Shizuo set the box down on the table, pulling out the pack of cigarettes in his pocket and lighting one up. God, he needed that nicotine fix right about now. The smoke danced around his head as he exhaled, bringing with it a new cloud of questions to Shizuo's mind. When the louse acted like this, Shizuo couldn't help but wonder if maybe what he had thought before was wrong.
What if Izaya didn't know who Shinozuka really was? What if, what if, what if?