Chapter Text
He's meant to be on his way home, exhausted after today's lasting tour of events, which was not limited to collecting debt from people who weren't exactly enthusiastic about paying it and keeping his daily surge of anger in check.
No, the list had expanded to include the kidnapped daughter of a Yazuka boss – adorable thing, tasing him upon their first encounter – and once again, being framed by that damned flea. His fists clench on instinct, a low growl reverberating in his throat and he can sense the first stares of worried onlookers on him.
Tries to exhale because it will do no-one good if he goes on yet another rampage today.
His thoughts drift back to Akane, and a feeling of tranquility slowly settles in his limbs when he remembers her small arms wrapping around his body, and her unexpected thankfulness.
It made him feel like a big brother protecting Kasuka all over again.
And when was the last time he hugged anyone but Kasuka or Celty?
With her, they had embraced exactly one fatal time, thinking nothing of it, but Shinra had seen it and locked himself in his room for three hours, purposefully ignoring Celty's desperate knocking and her attempts of reconciliation by shoving her PDA through the small slit with a flurry of reassuring messages and apologies, and, as she grew impatient, with clear threats to come out if he ever wished to shower with her again.
It had worked, but from that day on they have decided to leave it at the handshakes. Shizuo is fine with that.
It isn't as though he is in constant need of any sort of physical contact, fear of crushing the unlucky, well-meaning person aside, but it had been nice for a second, to have anyone, especially a child that had previously hated him, see him as anything but a monster.
Flicking out his cigarettes and his lighter, he ignites one of those sticks that he should have given up a long time ago, if he didn't find it extremely difficult to kick the habit.
An incredibly bad habit, as Shinra's 100th lecture had told him, but he'd learned to effectively shut him out when it came to that.
His old classmate knows none of his troubles.
If he was chasing after the bastard that spend almost every day maliciously plotting how to destroy his life even further, – calm down , Shizuo; calm down – he wouldn't be blabbering off about alternative stress release and toxins, and “really Shizuo, does your health mean nothing to you?”
It does, admittedly. And yeah, he is ready to quit smoking, the sort-of-ready where he isn't really, only spitting it out again and again like a broken disk player to keep Shinra happy.
He doubts he is any good at fooling his friend, but then he did try out the nicotine patches for his sake, and they hadn't been terrible.
Maybe, some day, he'll be able to make the transition.
Though that, by far, isn't his only problem.
Even worse than the addiction to the dangerous sticks, is the one of picking fights with the flea who manages to piss him off with literally every single thing he does.
Shizuo asks himself if fate is playing a cruel joke on him and has decided, with much delay, to fulfill his 5- year old selves wish for a playmate that would be able to stand his strength.
And it doesn't even even end there, for fucks sake , doesn't stop at the seemingly effortless way in which Izaya can trigger the fury rising up in him with a few well chosen words, no, it seems like he himself is constantly on a passive lookout for the flea, being able to smell his disgusting scent from miles away only contributing to that.
If he is quite honest, it smells a bit like the air does now. Strange, indeed.
Breathing in deeply, he ponders the scent, asking himself if that it really belongs to the flea since there is something quite different about it, something more pungent – a new fragrance that has been ever present in the apartment with the three murdered men he stormed through only some time ago.
And suddenly, he knows.
It's obvious.
It's the fuel of every fight.
Blood.
Again?
Blood, now, after everything?
The flea's stench mixing with it can only mean that another couple of humans have fallen prey to his schemes.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it, I will kill him-
Shizuo doesn't hesitate; spits out his cigarette, crushes it under his foot, and takes off.
He ignores the shrieks and startled outcries of terrified citizens around him, footsteps pounding in the ground, breath speeding up and every single fiber in his body tensing in anticipation of the oncoming fight.
“Izaya-kuuuuuuun -“
“He's on pursuit again! Love love love is in the air!“
An excited squeal tears him out of his concentration, and he glances to the side to see another competitor for the Make Shizuo Flip His Shit The Quickest Prize.
Erika Kasawa, jumping up and down excitedly, clutches a poster with a detailed drawing of what, upon closer inspection, seems to be him and the flea in something that can be only described as passionate kiss.
It makes Shizuo stop in his tracks.
He stares, feeling his eyes bulging out.
“The fuck is this?“ he snarls, once he has recovered enough to form a coherent sentence, and points an accusing finger at both of them, “The fuck ideas do you kids get these days?!“
Seething, he steps closer to them, making a grab for the paperthin humiliation, but Erika instinctively jumps back. Walker, who appears behind her in a split second, takes the drawing and smiles politely while hiding it behind his back.
Shizuo growls, he really has no time for their perverted fantasies when he is supposed to be going after something that holds much greater importance.
“Ah, Shizuo!” That voice is familiar. He grimly stares at Kadota Kyohei, as he approaches them with an pained and apologetic grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I told them-” a warning glance is directed at the pair, who suddenly seem very interested in the brick wall of a nearby building - “to not show this to you under any circumstances, but-”
“Yeah, whatever, make sure they destroy that shit.” Shizuo cuts over his former classmate, who looks startled, though not at Shizuo's request, but rather at the haste in which it's spoken. If not for his outbursts of anger, the blond is calm, taking his time in most situations.
“I gotta go.” Shizuo adds what he hopes might serve at least as a makeshift explanation, “The flea. Up to some trouble.”
“Izaya?” Kadota frowns. Erika's attention is visibly perked, and an excited glance is shot in Shizuo's direction, “Haven't heard of him for some days. Suspiciously quiet, almost.”
“I have.”, Shizuo grinds out between clenched teeth, “More than I would care to.”
Three pairs of eye fasten on him.
Kadota seems worried.
Walker seems curious.
Karisawa seems downright delighted.
“Is he sick, Shizuo? Have you been playing nurse for him? Have y-”
An all too familiar urge to crush something welling up in him again, he decides to make short work of this.
Giving a customary albeit forced bow, he mutters a brief: “Excuse me.”, before turning on his heels and continuing his run.
He doesn't stop, even when he hears Kadota call after him, doesn't slow down for a second before he turns a corner and they're out of sight and voice range.
It's not that he wouldn't have liked to talk a bit more with one of the few people he considered a friend, but there's simply no fucking time, he's been held up long enough.
Hopefully not too long, damn it.
He will never forgive himself and his lack of self-control if someone dies simply because he got pissed over a dumb pictureby a ridiculously talented artist that is, according to him, investing his potential in the wrong pieces.
At least, he seems to be moving in the right direction, if the the stench of blood becoming tremendously more caustic can serve as a reliable compass.
Shizuo, though equipped with a strong stomach, feels a tiny bit of nausea creeping up in him, as he runs through crowds of people that part automatically upon sighting him – one of the few benefits that being the strongest man in Ikebukero does seem to bring.
He's surprised when the trace doesn't seem to lead into an alley but continues straight down the public walkway.
A crime committed here?
In full sight of anyone who passed by?
An all-out display instead of dexterous, undetectable, underhand dealings?
That doesn't seem like the flea at all, but then, the bastard's specialty has always been his surprises and his cleverly laid traps.
Shizuo swears to not fall into one of them this time.
He picks up his pace.
And there, he can see it from a distance.
People milling around it, there's the outline of a small figure lying on the ground, splat in the middle of road, sandwiched in between the end of one walkway and beginning of the other.
A puddle of blood is seeping out from underneath it, covering the ground like a morbid version of a blanket.
His insides twist.
Just a few more steps, before he can assess the full damage.
Brightly burning flames of anger spread through his body in a dizzying rush.
What the fuck did the flea do this time?
He's close enough by now to make out more details. So, there doesn't seem to be more than one person. The one that is lying on the ground has a mop of black hair, is clad in black pants and a black coat with a fur-
Fur trimmed hood ?
His breath halts. Taking the reminder of steps in a sort of trance, while his thoughts scream in vigorous denial.
This isn't happening. There are laws of the universe after all, and logical reasoning, and probabilities, and they cannot all be offbeat at once.
It's what he tells himself, as he feels the anger partly give way to a surge of utter bewilderment.
He pushes through the crowd, muttering apologies, attempting to block out the hushed whispers and alarmed cries.
“Someone call an ambulance!”
“What happened?”
“He got stabbed, I think.”
“That poor man...”
“Wait, hold on, isn't that-”
“For heavens sake, this city is more dangerous than I thought.”
He kneels down, right in front of the casuality.
A second glance confirms what he already knew and merely was too illustrious to admit.
But can he really blame himself?
Not even fate would be this ironic.
“Flea?”