Chapter 2
This chapter is from Izaya's POV. The chapters will tend to switch back and forth between the two of them...
It was a place he went often, usually alone, where his clients had asked to meet.
It had been some time since he'd been there but it always seemed to help clear his restless mind.
Lately, he'd been thinking of a lot of things, but mainly, little things that had grown into larger issues.
What had begun as a job he loved, and a life-long career, felt more and more like a hindrance to his enjoyment of his true passions, his love for humanity, and everything it entailed.
He had loved the freedom and excitement of working on the edge of the thin line between an average life and the dark underbelly of the city. But lately, the underworld had been dragging him down with them and he had had enough. He felt a desperation take hold of him that he had never known and he wasn't sure what it meant.
Desperate for a break? He took one.
Desperate for a change of scenery? He had taken leave from his doings in Ikebukuro to see what interesting business he could stir up elsewhere.
But nothing stirred his heart, or woke his passions.
If he was being honest with himself, he just felt incredibly bored. A mind-numbingly, excruciatingly ache of boredom. The worst feeling in the world. It was that, and well…
The lengths at which he would go to to avoid this feeling could not be met, he hated the feeling of boredom more than anything in the world. He would even walk into a trap to avoid this feeling. He groaned in exasperation and threw back his head to stare at the tall ceilings for a moment.
People had started to gather at the Tokyo Metro building but very few stayed in the lobby long; they were there to quickly get to work and start their day.
The best time to play unnoticed.
Normally, he wouldn't play once this many people began to gather but today he felt the urge to release all his pent up emotion.
The intense boredom, frustration. Sorrow. Anger.
...Regret. So much regret.
He would've let out a choked laugh were he not seated in the center of the room at the grand piano.
Pain struggled to form a tangible release from his throat...but instead, he would channel it to his fingers. He played a g key a couple times, testing the weight of the keys. It'd been awhile, it felt different.
He did too.
Last time was for fun, this time…he needed to restore his sanity. As much as that was possible anyway.
With a breath he zoned in, picturing the notes in his head as he began, he decided on the song. Chopin's Opus 9, No 1 in b flat minor.
He began hesitantly, feeling his hands shaking, not from nervousness of anyone that may have stopped by to watch, but from disuse and...fear. Fear of not stemming the emotions that he was feeling. The mental anguish that was threatening to tear him apart and had been all week. Why everything had crescendoed to this point was unbeknownst to him, yet he began to fear the end. Of what...he couldn't be sure. And that made it worse.
His hands allowed the keys to sing the sweet, off-tune melody, echoing eerily off the tall ceilings and wide open space. If his eyes had been open, he may have noticed small groups of people pausing to listen intently to the sad melody that flowed, with melancholy, from his fingertips, however, his eyes did not open once. He wouldn't allow them to, for fear of slipping into the abyss of his mind.
At least here, with his hands touching the ivories he could pretend. Pretend his life was something else, somewhere else.
The inconsistent melody of this song provided him the spontaneity and inconsistency he desired, at the same time soothing his beaten soul.
That is, if he even had one. Something he wondered probably not often enough.
His hands began to move from melancholy to the soaring major key, bringing inspiration to the downtrodden listlessness of earlier. He played this part light and quiet, full of hope, before slowly returning to the sweet, hopeless minor key as he finished it with the final few grand chords in forte.
He held the last note down, holding onto it as long as he could, as if wishing it would never end.
He wasn't sure he could end it.
What a perfect ballad to mark the end of his life.
Finally, he opened his eyes, noticing that there were quite a few people that had stopped to take notice. Among them, he immediately spotted Shiki and a few of the Awakusu. Ah, and back to reality.
He didn't let his tiredness or disappointment show though as he stood from the bench and turned around to face the small gathering, bowing with a flourish for all the wonderful humans who had stopped to enjoy his final act goodbye. Before he came up from the bow, he fixed a relaxed smile on his face and stood up, speaking amicably as he greeted the group, walking the short distance to stand in front of Shiki. "Shiki, what a surprise running into you here!" Fear overwhelming, but not causing him pause. He was a man who would greet death with a smile, and just as a dead man facing the grim reaper, he has already known this day had been coming for him.
Today is the day they would bury him.