Author's Note: It's always been my head-canon that Izaya is left-handed, no matter how much evidence there may be to go against it. I AM SO EXCITED FOR THESE NEXT FEW CHAPTERS THOUGH. Just you wait guys; they're going to be AMAZING. I promise~.

I've compiled a little soundtrack for this fic which can be found: freetexthost . com / vdbkbgq2c5 - Just take out spaces, FF wouldn't let me link or s/t. Enjoy~

"Yes?" Izaya chimed into the little phone tucked against his ear. The little thing had rung just a few seconds ago, so he had swiftly flipped it open and pressed the answer button. The name that had flashed up on the screen hadn't been familiar to him, but with so many people stored in the little phone, that wasn't surprising.

"Heiwajima just passed by," the voice on the other end spoke up, the gruff rasp of a man who had spent far too much of his life on the streets, smoking cheap cigarettes and downing hard liquor. Izaya recognised it as one of his numerous contacts then, one of the street rats who he paid every now and then to inform him about this and that. He'd set a couple of them the task of keeping up to date with Shizuo a while back, before this whole thing had started, this game, this whatever, because hey, hey, he couldn't expect to keep tabs on the monster all of the time could he? Izaya listened in as the man on the other end told him of when and where he had spotted Shizuo. His left hand had curled around an idle pen tossed onto the desk, jotting down the name and street of the place, some old habit he had, it was his job after all, yeah, yeah.

The little name of the bar stared up at him from the paper on the desk long after Izaya had hung up, dropping the phone back to the desk. It was almost as if it was taunting him, almost as if it were whispering into his ear. Shizuo wasn't the sort of person to just go out like this, he wasn't, and Izaya was curious; he could feel the emotion, that intense itching to find out what was going on with him. The man had been odd earlier, letting Izaya walk away like that. He had. He'd been acting differently, he'd changed, and now he was going out into some bar or whatever with Tom Tanaka. Izaya wanted to know what was going on.

The old him would have left Shinjuku, headed out without a second thought to the little bar in the hotel district of Ikebukuro. The old him would have gone in, dressed to kill, to play and to mock and to have fun with the monster, to pull his strings, push all the wrong buttons. Sometimes we know we shouldn't and that's exactly why we do. The old him was like that. Always like that. The old him was still there, under his skin, itching and moaning for him to give in, to do just that. But no, no, no, he had said he would change. He'd already started to change, hadn't he? Yeah, yeah, yeah; he'd done some nice things for the oaf, he had. He'd paid some of the money that Shizuo owed the city; it wasn't cheap when you tore up the place half of the time, so he'd paid some of it off, to get them off of Shizuo's back. Yeah, yeah, he'd even bought that silly little pot plant to try and make up. He was going to prove a point, he wasn't going to play with Shizuo like he had done, and he wasn't going to—

But what if someone tried to take Shizuo home? No. No. Someone else touching his things just wouldn't do. The old Izaya smirked from somewhere in his mind, celebrating the victory, as he changed his black t-shirt for that tight red one, trousers for those black jeans, shrugged on that old jacket of his and left the loft. The computer remained turned on, a little box on the screen informing him that his email to Kasuka Heiwajima had just been sent.

The bar was pretty busy when Izaya stepped in through the door. There had been a queue outside, which naturally he hadn't needed to wait in. He was Izaya Orihara, and the information broker waited for no one. There were people, everywhere, laughing and chatting and touching, seated at the bar and clustered around little booths and twirling and sliding together on a little area they had set aside for dancing. It was nice, yeah, it really was, really, really, really. The music was nice and the atmosphere was nice and it wasn't anything like the little seedy clubs that he always visited.

He spotted Tom quickly, seated at one of these booths with Kadota, who had never really liked him, and a couple of other people that Izaya knew the names of but had never met or spoken to. Spoils of his job, he knew everyone and everything, even if it didn't matter, even if they didn't matter. Ha. Ha. He spotted Shizuo shortly after, away from the rest of the group by the bar. He stuck out. Blonde and tall and lean. Izaya could help but let the corners of his mouth twist up into a little smirk on seeing him, seeing him here, looking relaxed, out of those ghastly bartender clothes for once. The jeans he wore looked good on him; they hung low on his hips and curved with his body. Yeah, yeah, yeah. He must be mad, he really must be mad to be thinking things like that about Shizuo, about the oaf, the man he was meant to hate. Mad, mad, mad, that was him with a capital M.

The blonde wasn't alone though, a fact that had the old Izaya laughing, mocking, deep in the corners of his mind. There was a man, stood with him, grinning, smiling, tugging Shizuo off towards that dancing area. Shizuo didn't look pleased, the scowl, the frown, that downturned mouth said it all. Izaya wasn't pleased either. He didn't like the way that stranger's hand was curled around Shizuo's wrist, he didn't like the way that Shizuo was frowning, scowling, but doing nothing to stop the man from towing him away. The brute was his and his alone to play with, to tease, to do as he pleased with; and that man had no right, no business to be touching what wasn't his. It was rude, so fucking rude, and Izaya didn't like it at all.

The raven slipped into the crowd from the other end, taking care to ensure that neither Tom and his group nor Shizuo spotted him in the process. One of his hands slipped into the front pocket of his jeans, thumbing the little back of the flick blade tucked in there. He had spotted that man now, as he slid in and out of the bodies, through his humans. He was good at things like this, sneaking and prowling like a cat on a hunt. It was his kingdom, his domain, he fit in here, with the music and the heat and the closeness. Shizuo didn't, it was obvious from the way the blonde's shoulders tensed, hunched up and the way that he had turned to try and escape that he didn't want to be here, that he was uncomfortable. Izaya could remember the last time that he had spoken with Shizuo – no, no Shinozuka – about this sort of thing; even then the oaf had said he wasn't good at being in places like this.

Izaya smirked, his lips tilting upwards as he approached, drawing the little blade from his pocket. Shizuo had turned in some attempt to escape, facing back towards the bar and the booth where Tom sat, where safety sat, but the irritating man had placed his hands on the blonde's waist to pull him back, to start the dance. Well, naughty humans had to be punished didn't they? And there was nothing naughtier, nothing more deserving of punishment that touching things that belonged to Izaya, of manhandling his playthings, his toys, his monster.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to touch things that don't belong to you?" Izaya hissed, digging the tip of that cool metallic blade into the side of that stranger's torso. He delighted in the little hiss of complaint from the other man, the little gulp that followed. He delighted in the victory when the bastard dropped his dirty hands and made to scuffle away. He delighted in watching the man shoot little glances back at him as he left, a hand clutching to his side as if Izaya had followed through with the unspoken threat and dug the blade all the way in. Ha, ha, as if he would dirty his knife, dirty the cool metal with blood belonging to a rat like that.

"Would Shizu-chan rather dance with me instead?" The information broker purred, stepping up behind the blonde once he was sure that the other man had been sufficiently scared off. "Or am I not your type? That man was rather handsome wasn't he? Shame he didn't know when to keep his hands off,"

Maybe it was mad to get so protective over the monster, especially when Izaya knew he could take care of himself more than well enough, especially when Shizuo was still so insistent on hating him; maybe, maybe, maybe it was mad, but it didn't matter, Izaya didn't care; people do crazy things when they're in love after all, don't they? Besides, ha! No, no, Izaya wasn't just going to let Shizuo get out of this mess that easily, he wasn't going to let him walk away, just give up, not when there were still so many signs pointing his way, not when Izaya had his hopes up. Things with Shiki had disappeared into the darkness and pulled Izaya along with it, into nothingness, into— no, no, Shizuo wasn't getting away, and Izaya wouldn't let the monster flee.

It was funny, wasn't it? Mad, mad, mad, that he felt this way. Who would have ever thought that this would be the case? Erika was probably jumping for joy somewhere in Ikebukuro, squealing madly.

Izaya raised a hand along with his smirk, letting it ghost around Shizuo's waist, skimming over the front of his torso and lower, lower, lower; his fingers, swift and lithe, had just brushed over the buckle of Shizuo's jeans when he felt a firm grip tighten around his wrist, forceful enough to stop him in his tracks. He raised his blade again, pressing the tip just against Shizuo's thigh, a little reminder that the blonde should behave, or Izaya would punish him too. Naughty, naughty monster and all that, ha, ha. He could feel the tightening of Shizuo's shoulders, his form, but he could feel what seemed like relief oozing through the blonde and the slight tremble in his fingers, holding his arm. Nothing stays the same. No. No. Not even Shizuo Heiwajima. Not even the monster, the brute of Ikebukuro can stop himself from changing, can stop everything, the whole world falling out from under him. Izaya could see that, Izaya could feel that, all in the tiny trembles of Shizuo's fingers.

"Damn louse," Shizuo bit out. Izaya only just heard him over the music, noting with a delightful laugh that it held hardly any of the venom that usually wormed its way in. Maybe it was the situation, maybe it was the fact that Shizuo was unknowingly admitting that he had changed, was changing, was going to keep changing. "I thought I told you to stay the fuck out of-"

"You never told me anything the last time we met though Shizu-chan~" he scolded back, twirling the handle of the blade idly in his hand, but not removing it from where it lay, pointed just inches from Shizuo's leg. "My, my, is that any way to talk to someone who's done such nice things for you? So rude~!"

"Nice?" the blonde scoffed, "You've done nothing but—"

"Life is not about what I've done, what I should've done, what I could've done... it's about what I can do and what I will do," Izaya cut across, a little irritated, a little bitter, but sincere all the same. His tone was light; it was, nothing like the normal way he was used to speaking to Shizuo. This was softer; this was different, just like how Shiki had used to talk to him, ha, ha. The irony in that didn't fail to register in Izaya's mind. Neither did the scent of the man in front of him, ghosting over him, around him, pulling him in, and drowning him; it was mad, mad, mad. It was mad that he had fallen for this man, but now, yeah, yeah, he thought it mad he had ever been able to hate him quite the way he had done in the first place. He was fascinating, beautifully monstrous, how could he have hated that? Mad, mad, mad.

"Just because someone messes up once doesn't mean that within time they can't find a way to change for the better. I got you that nice potted plant didn't I?" he continued, again with a low chuckle. His knife had lowered now, and Shizuo had removed his hand from around Izaya's wrist, but neither of them had moved, neither of them had made to get away from this closeness, not even Shizuo, the man supposedly so against him, against whatever it was they were capable of being. Ha. Ha. Nothing stays the same, not even Shizuo. No. No. No.

Izaya really couldn't hold back the smirk now. No. No. No.

"You've messed up more than once," Shizuo shot back, and from the hissed tone, Izaya could tell that he was getting himself worked up, that the whole thing, the past, everything still irritated him. He was wise enough not to push his luck. He wouldn't stay longer than needed and ruin what he had already started, ruin the point he was trying to make. He'd done what he had aimed to do by coming here. He'd chased off any dirty rat trying to steal what was his, and better yet he had managed to see more proof of the changing man in front of him. He was changing, they both were. Izaya could see it, Shiki could see it, yeah, Shizuo would see it soon enough. And then— and then—

"I don't regret anything. The sun still rises, the sun still sets. The heart forgives, the heart forgets," Izaya simply laughed back, letting his hand drop from around Shizuo and stepping away a pace or so. He hadn't felt this good in days, weeks. He was gleeful, everything was just— those strings of control over his life had found their way back into his hands again. He felt better, no longer free falling through blackness, unsure of where he might land. "Maybe when the sun next rises, you'll come and find me,"

He'd almost vanished when Shizuo turned, wildly, nearly knocking someone across the floor in his haste. There was a look on the blonde's face that Izaya found amusing, endearing, hopelessly fascinating. Shizuo was scowling, he was, but there was something in his eyes that Izaya could read, something that gave him hope that Shizuo would keep on changing, that Shizuo would take the plunge soon too, and join him wherever it was he had landed. And then— And then—

"You know where I'll be, monster,"

Because Love was a monster, and it's name was Shizuo Heiwajima.