Author's Note: I'm thinking this will probably finish on Ch.60, plus an epilogue, but that all depends who the chapters pan out when I write them. I don't want this to end, I'm so attached. /sob/
One reviewer also asked whether I pre-write chapters, so I thought I would answer that here as well in case other people were wondering. Each new chapter is written from scratch the day it's posted. Usually that will take me anywhere from an hour to two to write depending on my creativity that day~. Well, I hope you enjoy this one anyway!
It wasn't until Izaya was alone that his brain really seemed to start to click into place. It wasn't until he was alone that it started to tick, tick, tick in action and really flourish like it always had done, always used to. It was still light in the loft; pleasantly warm thanks to the golden rays sprinkling in to heat it up, light up the cool creams and blacks and colours of the place.
The sheets had still been warm when he had woken up too, for the second time, despite the fact that Shizuo was no longer in them. That heat had stayed with him even when he had left the bed, that smell of golden monster still lingering with him as he headed through towards the sofa, towards the man who had left behind that delicious heat, that wonderful tingling in his limbs.
But Izaya was alone now, left to finally sort through the muddle of his thoughts and really pick apart what had happened, to make sure he didn't lose control or sense of it like he had done before. After their little scene, confession, whatever the hell it had been on the sofa, with their linked hands and linked eyes and linked minds and some unspoken gesture of emotion, the blonde had excused him rather awkwardly to shower. Izaya had almost chuckled at the look on Shizuo's face. That awkward inexperience, the look that told him that he really didn't know what he was meant to do following a sort of confession that you care deeply for a man you're meant to hate. The raven had expected it of course, because even he couldn't help but feel that little tug inside of him that told him this whole thing was messed up, that he shouldn't be allowing these feelings of weakness and whatever to creep back in, and for Shizuo Heiwajima of them all. But Izaya's poker face was better than Shizuo's; he'd had years of practice to build it. The blonde's was practically non-existent. It was hopelessly lovely.
Shizuo had said that he had to be in early for work, that it was just easier and quicker to shower here and then go straight to meet Tom. Izaya had nodded at that, smiled, knowingly. He doubted Tom would even care that much if Shizuo was late, the other man cared for Shizuo too much to worry about a little thing like that. Izaya had seen that for himself, had even questioned at one point whether the other man had allowed feelings more than friendship to brew for the blonde, wondered if that was something he could exploit. That had been a long time ago though, and he had since dismissed the idea, since spotted Tom chatting to some leggy blonde outside of Sunshine 60. Yeah, yeah, Tom might not care, but Izaya guessed that Shizuo knew that too, that it wasn't the reason for his decision to leave on time. It wasn't as if he could tell Tom the truth if he was late about where he had been, was it? It wasn't as if he could tell his boss that he was running behind because he'd been having sex with Izaya Orihara, locked in a castle of heat in a Shinjuku loft owned by the man he was supposed to hate, with a vengeance, with every passionate fibre of his being.
No. No.
That was fair he guessed, it made sense, really, yeah, yeah. But Izaya never had been very good at keeping secrets or maybe, maybe, maybe, he just didn't see the need to keep this one. Maybe it had to be kept quiet though, in the dark and secret, tantalisingly delicious. Did he want people to know about all these sordid, juicy little details about him and Shizuo, the monster, the beast?
Izaya could hear the shower, the sound of water hitting the bottom, through the closed door of the bathroom just across the loft. He half wondered if Shizuo had locked it, still unable to shake those last dregs of distrust for him like he was still unable to shake away those little bites at the blonde, just to see the way he ticked. It was impossible for love to change him completely, and he wasn't sure he would have let it do so anyway. This was nice, wasn't it? Whatever this new thing actually was. Shizuo in his place, showering, him, sat outside in the blonde's own clothes. They were content with this right? This impasse, this dizzying conclusion to the game that he had started so long ago, was this where things were meant to end? Izaya supposed it wouldn't be so bad if it was.
Ha! Ha! What a pathetically human thing he was doing, allowing himself to think things like this, to feel things like this. No. No. Maybe he did understand Shizuo, maybe he didn't want to tell anyone either. No. No. Maybe he didn't need anyone to know. Maybe he was content with this, whatever it was. Maybe they could all go on thinking that Shizuo and Izaya hated each other, that they would fight and yell and scrap like old tigers, vicious until the very end.
Izaya had returned to his desk when Shizuo had left to shower, still curled up in the over-sized white shirt that belonged to the blonde himself. He didn't even bother to think about changing, didn't even bother to think about why he had chosen it in the first place when his had been within reach too. Maybe it had been because it looked lighter than his own, softer, maybe it had been because he wanted to see the look on Shizuo's face when he came out; still unable to shake that little playful tinge to his own nature, though he had since said that he would stop playing such games with Shizuo. Maybe, maybe, maybe, Izaya didn't really care too much, not much at all; just so long as that soft, crinkled white fabric continued to whisper across his skin like the lingering touch of a monster's grip, he didn't care why, didn't need to think of why. It just was, just like they were, they just happened, without any miracle imaginable.
'I give up.'
'I give up.'
'I give up.'
Yeah, yeah, Izaya had settled himself back at his desk, his legs curled under him in that funny little way that he always sat lately. His computer was on, had booted up just as quickly as any other day, the screen filled with things like normal, information and figures and the like. His desk was clustered with papers as usual, work that Shiki had faxed over at some point the previous day that he had only really focused on now. His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his hands linked together to perch his chin on and his eyes were staring at the screen, glazed over, not quite taking in what was there. He was all ready to do work, and yet with those words echoing in his head again and again and the sound of the shower across the loft, he couldn't work. All he could hear was that honey voice, over, over, over.
Shizuo gave up, that's what he'd said. Izaya knew what that meant, and yet he couldn't help but pick and prod at that, wonder just if Shizuo was meaning what he was saying. Izaya guessed he did, Shizuo was hardly one to beat around the bush, and yet— with Shizuo involved, anything in the world could happen, even he could happen without a second thought, a laboured breath. Anything was possible with Shizuo Heiwajima involved.
"All you ever do is fucking work," murmured a voice from across the room. Izaya looked up at that, finding Shizuo now exciting the bathroom with his trousers on, towel slung around his neck and hair still glistening slightly with drops of water from the shower.
"I enjoy my work," he replied, letting his lips quirk up into a smirk, both at the blonde's words and his casual state of undress. Funny how he could go from hating the blonde to admiring that wide expanse of skin, marred with a few little hicks and scars as pale as day now, in just a few short weeks, months, years, yeah, yeah. Was that concern he was hearing in Shizuo's voice? Was that kindness he spotted dancing in those liquid golden eyes? Once upon a time, the raven would have mocked the other for that, prodded and pulled at that little human weakness. And now—
Ha! Ha!
Shizuo didn't reply after that, just let a little half laugh fall from his mouth and his own lips twist up in a smirk that lasted a second or two before being replaced with that same expression he always wore. Izaya pretended not to watch him walk across the loft, head over to the desk, because no, no, no, this might have changed, their relationship might have twisted into something else, something much lighter and newer, but he wasn't going to go back to that person he had been before, with Shiki. That scrawny teenager who wore his heart too readily on his sleeve, who took pride in declaring exactly what he was feeling when he was feeling it, no, Izaya had learnt from him, would keep him close, but he wasn't going to let that old him back out, not completely. He was the new him now, some strange mix of all of these images together. He was Nakura personified; he was Nakura now, right? Maybe it didn't matter, because Shizuo was here. Not that Izaya was noticing that, not that he was watching, not that he knew exactly when Shizuo drew to a stop by his chair to peer over his shoulder at the work on his screen.
"What's so fucking interesting about this anyway?" Shizuo questioned, and though Izaya had turned his attention back to the screen, sort of, not quite, he could feel the warmth of Shizuo's arm press against his as he leant over, could practically see the way his brow would be crinkled in confusion. Izaya knew him well. He'd had years of reading him. That was more than most married couples could say, right? Ha. Ha. "All I see if a bunch of words and numbers and shit,"
"Shizu-chan has such a foul mouth," the raven playfully scolded back, dealing out a little slap to the blonde's bare skin behind him, which he guessed was his chest from the taunt tenderness of it. "Maybe you should have cleaned that out in the shower too,"
"Tch," was the response, "Damn louse,"
This was nice, wasn't it? Whatever this new thing actually was. They were content with this right?
"Eh, Shizu-chan, you're dripping all over me," Izaya piped up after a pause when a stray cluster of water droplets had fallen to his shoulder and seeped through the shirt covering it. He could feel the stiffening of the body behind him. He could feel, see, the tinge of pink creeping across the monster's nose.
Izaya smiled, and fought back a laugh. Yeah, yeah. This impasse, this dizzying conclusion to the game that he had started so long ago, was this where things were meant to end? Izaya supposed it wouldn't be so bad if it was.
Izaya supposed it wouldn't be so bad if it was. Maybe he was content with this, whatever it was. Maybe, maybe— no, no, he really was, wasn't it?