Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of updates! I went back to college today – ended up skipping my last lesson, I am a model student right? – and I had to catch up on all my work that was due in today. Hopefully updates will be back to normal now at any rate.

A couple people have asked if this story is nearly over now, and honestly, I don't really know~. It's probably going to get to at least 50 chapters, but after that, who can say? I've got a vague plot still lined out, but no detailed plan, so it could well be another 10 chapters, or it could be more or less than that.

Reviews on this would also be lovely, where have you guys vanished off to? Kiwi misses 'ya~!

"So where does that leave us, Shizuo Heiwajima?"

"Where does that leave us?"

"—leave us?"

Echoing, echoing, and echoing, again, again, again.

"I feel something for you, Shizuo. Can you believe that?"

Shizuo was pretty sure that was hate. It had to be, because that was just what they did, because that was what Izaya and he did, they hated, like it was what they were born to do. That was just how the world worked. Yeah, Izaya felt something for him, but that didn't mean— didn't meant what he thought it could. And yet— And yet—

"I know what it's like to hate you—"

"—but I don't think that's how I feel about you anymore."

Shizuo felt numb. Cold. Silent as the night. It was as if his body had merely frozen in place, as if his limbs and his bones and all the little joints had just locked up, stiff, like some kind of machine in need of a good oiling or three. Izaya had said anything more, letting the question hang in the air like a bad reminder, like an angry ghost. He hadn't said anything, but that didn't mean that Shizuo couldn't hear his voice anymore. No. No. The words were echoing, over and over and over again, like a mantra, like a prayer, like some half buzzing headache that was flitting around under the tumbling blonde strands of Shizuo's hair.

Numb. That's what he was. It felt best. There's much to be said for feeling numb. Time passes more quickly. It lessens the pain, lessens the aches and dulls of whatever life is throwing at you. He was numb, like ice, save for the fire roaring through his blood.

He could hear everything. The sound of Izaya by the door, the louse's breath drawing in and out in quiet puffs, the rustle of his jacket and the impatient tap of his foot on the floor. He bet Izaya didn't even know he was doing it, some nervous tick. Tap, tap, tap. It echoed in his head too, mixing and twirling and twisting along with those horrid words. He could hear the hum of the light in the hallway outside, the faint mumble of sound next door from his elderly neighbour. He could hear everything, the sound of blood rushing to his eyes, his own heartbeat, but he couldn't hear any words in his head. He couldn't hear anything telling him what to do, what to say.

"I often wondered what it would be like it we had been friends or why you chose to hate me."

Yeah, yeah, Shizuo had often wondered that too. Of course he had wondered that, once, twice, when the anger had faded from a chase through the streets or late at night, staring up at the ceiling. Wasn't that when everyone did their deepest thinking? He had always hated Izaya, it was just a given, it was just the way things word. They had met, and Shizuo had simply decided there was something about the bastard that made him feel— of course Izaya had given Shizuo so many reasons to hate him now, so many that he would be hard pressed to pick just one. But he had never once considered the idea of them being friends, not after everything that had happened, not with the way that the louse made him feel. Angry, irritated, he sent tingles down his spine, sent his body crashing around the place on its own without Shizuo's control, breaking, destroying everything around it. Shizuo had never tried to question the natural order of things, not until tonight, in the dim light of his apartment, lit only with a cheap bulb in the ceiling.

Shizuo was many things, and despite what a lot of people assumed, he wasn't stupid, really, he wasn't. He couldn't deny that he and Izaya had managed to get along just fine when they had been unaware of the other's true name and face, he couldn't lie and say that had never happened. He couldn't deny that he had enjoyed talking to him, that he had opened up and that Nakura, no, no Izaya, had probably opened up too. He couldn't deny that the personality he had seen, the personality he had spoken with, had managed to make him feel things that he hadn't felt before. He couldn't lie about things that important, he wouldn't.

So just where did that leave them indeed?

"Get out," He muttered, a low and deadly growl that curled between his gritted teeth in warning, his spine shuddering in an almost mechanical manner as it seemed to creak back to life. He felt numb, like ice or something, something, something, but there was a tingling in his fingers, like waking up after a long sleep or time out in the cold. Izaya either didn't hear, or chose to ignore the words, for he didn't move from where he had stood himself, by the doorway, lingering on exiting. Shizuo bit out the words again, this time louder, this time darker, this time more angry. He could feel the irritation again, rising under his skin like it always did, rearing its ugly head once more.

"What if I were to tell you I love you, would that change nothing?" came the reply, low, muted, and Shizuo had the funny feeling he had heard those words before. That felt so long ago, a whole different time, a whole different place.

Would it change nothing? Shizuo wanted to say it would, that everything would remain exactly as it was, but he knew that wasn't true, it just wasn't. Everything would change; the whole world would crumble and give out from underneath his very feet.

"I'm not interested in playing your fucking game, bastard," the blonde hissed, and he turned now, eyes promising death to the man in black who stood in shadows by the door.

"Stop saying such fucking— get the fuck out of here, get the fuck out of Ikebukuro and get the fuck out of my life!" He was shouting. Who cared? He didn't. Numb. Numb. Those words were echoing in his head, over and over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer, like some half buzzing headache that was flitting around under the tumbling blonde strands of Shizuo's hair. Echoing, echoing, echoing…

Izaya didn't move for a moment, and neither did Shizuo.

The blonde was seething, his chest rising and falling and huffing out along with the anger, the rage that was boiling inside of his chest. It wouldn't be long before Shizuo was throwing things again, it wouldn't be long before Izaya was fleeing, like normal, just the natural order, just the way things worked. There was something so captivating about him like that, something so raw in the emotion and the power oozing from the monster, his monster. Izaya remembered their encounter, remembered the sweet little groans and moans that Shizuo had uttered into his ear in the throes of passion. He couldn't help but smirk, saluting the blonde as he slipped from the apartment and into the dim lighting of the hallway.

It was madness that he had even gone. Madness, madness, madness, absolute fucking madness. Shizuo would never accept that he could be friends with Izaya, let alone something different, something much more— He was stubborn, Izaya had always known that, had always exploited that. It shouldn't be surprising, it shouldn't.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Even Izaya Orihara could be wrong, and maybe, maybe, maybe he was now. Maybe he had learned by coming here that his biggest mistake wasn't falling in love, no, no, it wasn't even falling in love with Shizuo Heiwajima. No, no, it was for thinking that a monster like him could even think about loving Izaya too.

But no, no, who cared? Izaya didn't. He'd been, he'd admitted to that curse of love, that plague, had ended the infatuation, right? Right? This was good. It was good. It was how things were meant to work. It was just the natural order of things, just the way it always went. It had been madness to hope for anything more than that, madness to even want anything more than that.

How could a monster like him ever fall in love after all?

"Get out,"
"Get out,"

"Get out,"