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From the moment I first saw you, I was yours and you were mine
Deep down we both knew you were trouble by design.
Too Late To Say Goodbye, Cage The Elephant
Orihara Izaya loves.
He loves all things. No one has ever had to ask for his love because everyone receives it.
He is benevolent and righteous in his adoration.
***
Heiwajima Shizuo hates.
That’s the extent of it. Hates. He hates nothing in particular except for everything. He hates for no reason except that he is allowed to; that he sees no other option.
With an attitude like his, he receives nothing but hate. He wishes for love but without receiving love he is incapable of giving it. His credit is maxed out. He’s in debt. No one will offer him any loans.
Shizuo dug a hole looking for love and had to fill it with hate.
***
Izaya has never hated.
He doesn’t hate his parents, and he doesn’t hate his sisters, and he doesn’t hate himself.
He might have once received love from them, but he no longer remembers it. Now there is only expectations and investments in the academic success he might become. This does not deter him.
He receives only hate. But he has an unmeasurable amount of love to spend on everyone. No matter what he receives, he will love them. After all, he is a benevolent lover.
***
Shizuo has never known someone with so much boundless spite as Orihara Izaya.
He is smoke between Shizuo’s outstretched fingers, slipping slipping slipping
until he is gone.
He has no reason for hating him. But that’s it; that’s the extent of it. Shizuo hates. He pours his hate into Izaya pouring and pouring and pouring until Shizuo can smell nothing except the stench of sweat and blood raw in his lungs.
Maybe one day, he’ll pour so much hate into him that Izaya bursts.
***
Heiwajima Shizuo is beyond human comprehension.
That’s why no one else should bother worrying about him or thinking about him or loving him. Izaya thinks this with the sudden clarity of a barely missed fist to the face. The bench he was sitting on less than mere seconds ago is reduced to airborne splinters of wood.
Izaya laughs, breathless and in awe his chin tilted to cast his eyes up to meet the other’s gaze. The blade in his hand is extended out and glinting in the sun like an invitation. “Isn’t this fun?”
The words are too excited and eager for more, but he doubts Shizuo will notice. He’s busy working himself into a rage at the words, not thinking about the meaning of Izaya’s gaze.
Shizuo growls, and it tears through Izaya’s mind like a loaded gun. He sounds like a beast and moves like a monster and yet when he breathes out Izaya’s name like toxic fumes, he has to remind himself to turn and run instead of standing still basking in the sheer power the other’s voice commands.
The rest of the world is lost to the pair of them as they race through the city.
***
Izaya’s never late on the uptake. He’s so quick sometimes that Shizuo is slowed by the thought that Izaya might be able to read his mind. But the idea is impossible and even more impossible is trying to understand how Izaya’s mind works. Shizuo has to remind himself of Izaya’s incompressibility or else he would’ve worked himself into a rage all by himself on more occasions than he wants to admit.
He can’t help that the other plagues him. In fact, it’s far from Shizuo’s fault. Every day since they met, stupid, brain-dead gangs from rivaling schools have met him in the courtyard between and after classes, no matter how much effort he’s put into his appearance and reputation to avoid this. Fight after fight after fight with idiots who can’t take a hint. So much for bleaching his hair.
Shizuo decides he'll have to corner Izaya. He’ll go straight for the source of the problem instead of trying to cut off all the hydra’s heads and watching them regrow two-fold.
Izaya’s always a step ahead of Shizuo, working faster than a forest fire and leaving nothing but a trail of smoke and ash. It’s immediately suspicious when he catches the rat too quickly.
“Finally,” Izaya’s looking at him with that tilt to his chin and watching out of the corner of his eyes like he can’t grace Shizuo with his full attention. “Only took you three weeks.”
They’re in a classroom on the second floor. Izaya’s desks away leaning on one of the table tops, and Shizuo’s standing in the doorway; he doesn’t bother closing it, he’s strong enough to act as a barrier. But Izaya doesn’t look trapped. He looks pleased, like a cat who’s caught its mouse. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. Izaya should be the mouse not the cat.
“Huh?”
“Is that it? Is that all you have to say to me after going through the trouble of finding me?” He doesn’t look disappointed though. There’s something else. Izaya tips his shoulders as he speaks, and there’s a sudden posed frailty to him as he looks at Shizuo through his eyelashes. He’s playing coy.
“What trouble?” Shizuo growls. He doesn’t have time for Izaya’s games. “You waited for me. Why?”
Izaya sighs, and this time he does sound disappointed. He lets his shoulders drop, and his gaze leaves Shizuo like he’s bored with their conversation. “Because I knew you’d never catch me if I ran—“
“Like shit! I’d catch you if you didn’t pull bullshit moves like leading me into an alley to get jumped or running out into a street. Face me yourself instead of acting like a coward, and we’ll see who really wins!”
Izaya’s flashes a mean grin. “See, that’s just it, Shizu-chan,” Shizuo nearly spits at the nickname. “Brains are just as important as brawn. Maybe even more. You’d realize that if you thought your actions through before throwing yourself into a fight. But you don’t which is why I’ve given you the benefit of waiting.”
Shizuo stands his ground. He refuses to make the first move without Izaya revealing his hand. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
“That you’re stupid?” His lips curl over the words and a laugh rises in his throat grating like steel on steel. “Shizu-chan, you’re dumber than you look!”
He snaps and without thinking a fist comes down on the nearest desk leaving behind splinters and metal. “You waited for me!”
Izaya doesn’t make a move to show he’s noticed Shizuo’s outburst other than a lingering look towards the unfortunate desk. “Aaah, is that what you meant? You should’ve just said so.”
“I did,” the words are gravel in his throat.
Izaya holds his hands out in front of him as if to placate Shizuo even though there’s a room of space between them. “No point in arguing,” He says. His eyes and mouth are too sharp. “Or we’ll just be back where we started. That’s not why you came to find me, is it?”
Shizuo doesn’t bother with a response.
“Oh well,” he sweeps his gaze around the classroom before settling back on Shizuo. “I know why anyway. You came to find me because you ‘don’t like violence.’ Am I right?”
“I want you to call off those gangs,” He snaps. “I know you’re paying them.”
“Paying them?” Izaya’s mouth quirks with amusement. “What makes you say that?”
“Dammit, Izaya!” His fist lands on the fractured desk again, and it collapses with enough sound to alert the whole hallway to their argument. “It’s not hard to question ‘em once they’re on the ground. Y’really think they’d keep quiet?”
A dissatisfied snort comes from across the room. “Fair enough. I suppose no amount of money will keep a man silent in the face of so much pain,” He’s grinning again as if the idea of Shizuo inflicting pain on others brings him an unbearable joy. “But what’s it to me? If I stop these gangs, what do I get from it?”
“What do you—“ Shizuo starts but the words are lost on an exhale.
Izaya’s never late on the uptake. He’s so quick sometimes that Shizuo never sees him coming. He’s standing in front of Shizuo before he even realizes the other has moved. His body tenses instinctually at the too closeness of Izaya’s body in front of his. It’s moments before he realizes that his own fist is closed around something. Izaya’s finger tips are soft and ghostlike against the pulse of Shizuo’s neck, and Shizuo’s hand is stiff around Izaya’s wrist. Like a sixth sense, his body has moved to meet the other’s without thinking.
“What do I have to gain by letting you roam free without a leash? Where’s the entertainment?” His voice is too loud like he’s still talking from across the classroom. His fingers are still on Shizuo’s pulse.
He thinks the bones in Izaya’s wrist are bending in to meet the pressure of his clenched fist, but Izaya’s smug courage doesn’t falter. It takes another deep breath to deter Shizuo from closing his fist further around the thin bone and feeling the crunch of too much strength.
“Peace,” Shizuo mutters like a pitiful offering.
They’re so close that he can see the almost flutter of Izaya’s lashes as he laughs. “I don’t want peace, Shizu-chan! Have you learned nothing from these three weeks?”
“What do you want then?” He snaps, he yanks his hand and by extension Izaya’s closer to his chest in a fruitless display of strength.
Izaya’s grin is catlike, his cheeks tinged with excitement and his eyes lined with mania. Shizuo’s anger has never been met with such enthusiasm. He should feel overwhelmed; instead, there’s something lodged in his throat and his heart beats double time. There’s an ice cold stream of adrenaline in his belly.
“Nothing,” Izaya’s voice is nails on a chalk board. “I just want to observe humans’ natural reactions to their environment! And there’s no fun in letting you go.”
His heartbeat thunders, and there’s a crack of electricity across his skin.
“There’s something—” he shoves Izaya back into the desks with less force than he intends. He still goes careening halfway across the classroom, catching every corner and chair with his scrawny hips and knees, feet tripping over each other until his back is bent awkwardly over a desk top with enough force to stop his backward motion, and his elbows slip behind him as he tries to find support. Izaya’s breath comes in short, painful gasps. “—Wrong with you!”
Izaya stays silent, leaning back against the surface with his elbows on the desk top keeping himself on his feet. Shizuo turns to go. There’s no way to talk sense into someone who can’t see reason, and he’s exhausted. Meeting Izaya in kind has a peculiar way of increasing his hate ten-fold and draining Shizuo like old batteries; he feels like a used, windup toy.
He’s almost at the door when Izaya calls out another jibe.
“Why do you chase me?” Izaya’s mocking him, but in any other context it would sound like the kind of question that preludes a love confession. It’s enough to stop Shizuo’s forward motion. It’s not enough to get him to turn around and face the other. “What is it? Do you hate me? Does sending gangs after you piss you off that much? You don’t even get hurt. That much…haha…What about me do you hate more than anyone else? You even hang out with Shinra. I can’t be that bad. So why? You can confide in me. I love everything about humans, even all the ways they hate me. Tell me—“
“You talk too much,” Shizuo has turned to look back at Izaya. He didn’t even realize he had until his glare is met with a wicked smile and sharp teeth.
Izaya’s grin grows wider before sinking his teeth in. “Or do you love me? Are you the type of boy to pull a girl’s pigtails? I bet you are! Hahaha, that’s so mean! Shizu-chan, you’re—“
“Shut up!” He’s across the room in seconds, his fists clenched tightly around the front of Izaya’s shirt and pulling him up until Izaya’s feet can’t even scrape the floor. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Who would love someone like you? You can’t even talk without making someone lose their fucking mind!”
Izaya’s looking up at him as if he still holds all the cards. Shizuo can’t standing it. He’s grinding his teeth so hard they’re going to crack.
“Does that mean you’re crazy about me? Sweet. You’re so sweet, Shizu-chan. You can tell me, don’t worry,” his voice is like sugar. He’s extending his kindness to this monster who no one else will listen to. That’s what Izaya’s smug smirk tells him. “I won’t tell anyone. Not those gangs. Not even Shinra. I love everything about humans, even the silly things they think are worth keeping secret.”
“I don’t have any secrets. I hate you. I hate you more than anyone! More than those gangs! More than Shinra!” Shizuo’s yelling, his heart is going to beat out of his chest and he can do nothing about it except listen to the blood rushing in his ears. “You can tell everyone! I don’t care! You piss me off!”
Izaya’s voice is as quiet as a whisper in comparison to Shizuo’s, but his confident smile says more than Shizuo’s abrasive voice ever could. “Then you’ll keep chasing me? Even if I call off all the gangs, you’ll keep running after me until I’m dead?” His hands come up to cover Shizuo’s clenched ones. The cold of his fingers against his own stills Shizuo’s mind as if it’s been frozen over. Izaya’s smile is strangely diabolical and yet accepting, as if he were a king granting forgiveness to a serf. “I love that too. Everything about what a person is, their thoughts, actions, and emotions. I love it! Which is why I accept your feelings. Love or hatred, I want to see it! It’s what makes you so human!”
Shizuo draws back in an inhale. It’s small, and he barely notices it himself. Immediately he sees Izaya’s gears shifting behind his villainous eyes, and though he doesn’t know what to expect he’s sure Izaya’s going to sink his claws in as deep as he can.
“You’re human,” he says as if there is no one in the world who would refute this fact.
Shizuo glowers down at him.
“The most human.”
***
Heiwajima Shizuo is beyond human comprehension.
That’s why no one else should bother worrying about him or thinking about him or loving him. It’s a duty only Izaya can fill. It’s his responsibility as mankind’s greatest lover to love mankind’s greatest creation. Anybody else would simply be incapable of such understanding.
He doesn’t remember the distinct moment his love transferred from specific individuals to all of humanity. It’s not something that bothers him in particular, but it seems to be of great importance to those around him. Perhaps his love never belonged to any individuals. He doesn’t remember having any overflowing emotions towards his parents, and surely they never felt that way either. Those are the only people Izaya can reasonably fathom who he had once singularly loved. He is aware of a time when he didn’t particularly love anybody, but that was just a stepping stone to his bottomless love now. At the time, Izaya was a simple observer trying his best to navigate his own way, but somewhere along they way he must have found his true love for humanity.
It was probably in middle school. Shortly after meeting Kishitani Shinra, Izaya’s indiscriminate love began. There was nothing distinctly important about Shinra at the time, or so Izaya had determined. It wasn’t long until he proved to be more of an irritation than a benefit to keep around though, and he became Izaya’s first challenge in his grand love for humanity. But there would be many challenges ahead of him, Izaya knew, and he would manage it.
No one has so singularly pushed Izaya’s love like Shinra. Anyone else that stuck out along the way was soon forgotten once he was done examining them. Individuals tend to be useless once he has observed and learned everything he can from them and wasting space in his memory was something Izaya found abhorrent.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t give extra attention to certain individuals though. There have been a few who stood out from the masses. Shinra, of course, with his annoying and relentless pestering, and Kadota Kyouhei with his calm and insightful demeanor. Izaya knows he’ll eventually learn everything he can from these friends and be done with them, but there is also benefit in keeping certain people around who can prove themselves to be useful.
Then, there is Heiwajima Shizuo. Izaya did not foresee this obstacle.
Obstacle…Izaya did not find that word quite fitting for his predicament, but he could not find any other way to describe how Shizuo’s existence factors into his. Surely, Shizuo is an obstacle in others’ lives; a painful, destructive obstacle. But those individuals’ complications with Shizuo are far different from Izaya’s. They do not understand the overwhelming authority that Shizuo conducts just by existing. All they see is their pitiful, useless life flashing before their eyes like a boring black-and-white film as they look into the face of someone stronger than themselves. Surely all they feel is fear. Izaya is not so weak-minded as his peers. No individual should be revered and avoided as Shizuo, but that is a human folly sure to exist as long as people did. The key is to take advantage of it.
It’s difficult to balance Izaya’s desire to observe this person to glean all he can and the need to insert himself into the situation. He chalks it up to his youthful excitement at the prospect of a new project. He’s always had difficulty distancing himself from situations he finds thrilling even if logic would suggest he’d be safer further away from the source of chaos. But no matter. If an individual were to come to him, should he not lend an ear? And Shizuo did come! It took time and calculation and some patience on Izaya’s part, but he was duly rewarded with the other’s undivided attention.
A question surges to the forefront of Izaya’s mind while he waits in the classroom. This little ritual has made him late arriving home for a week now, but that isn’t any concern of his. He’d be late for another week if it meant having this person stand in front of him. The sudden question at hand makes Izaya falter. Briefly. No one is in the classroom to witness the irritation and conflict flashing on his face before it’s rearranged back to his usually curved lips.
Wouldn’t Shizuo be more useful beside him than as an observation?
Izaya barely has time to mull it over before Shizuo makes his presence known, but he can think and speak at the same time; where would he be if he couldn’t?
Izaya has plans for his future. Mostly dangerous, some life threatening. He already has the skills equipped to deal with these complications or else he wouldn’t bother risking it. Some things have already been set in stone, and he’s just waiting for the dominos to fall; others he has yet to plan but is certain that each success will have a positive correlation on the growing danger he encounters. He’s considered buffers between him and the danger, people who he could calculate would protect him when the time comes; but those people would be thrown away after that one encounter. Either dead or finally capable of seeing that he’s using them. He hasn’t considered someone who could be there every time. Is that the sort of gamble he’s willing to take? Can he afford to spend the time on someone who listens to instinct alone? As appealing as this quality is to him in an observation, it’s not precisely a quality of security and safety.
His thoughts are wiped clean as he fails to predict Shizuo’s strength. Izaya is shoved back into the desks behind him. The legs of the tables and chairs scratch and screech across the floor as the force of his body is propelled through them. His back aches as a final desk halts his backward motion. He is so suddenly distanced from Shizuo he can’t help but allow a shaky breath escape between his lips.
He watches Shizuo turn to leave, his thoughts scrambling between his inner monologue and his outward conversation. He can’t seem to pick one up without the other confusing the direction he intends for the conversation to go. He has to say something now, or the past three weeks will have been for nothing. He’ll have to start over again, and he doesn’t want to waste that time. He wants to witness Shizuo’s exhaustingly human behavior from right beside him. Izaya’s going to have to go for the lowest blow.
“Why do you chase me?” It’s enough to make the other pause. That’s all Izaya needs to regain control. “What is it? Do you hate me? Does sending gangs after you piss you off that much? You don’t even get hurt. That much,” he allows a loose laugh at the thought even though he has to work to keep his shoulders from flinching in pain. “What about me do you hate more than anyone else? You even hang out with Shinra. I can’t be that bad. So why? You can confide in me. I love everything about humans, even all the ways they hate me. Tell me—“
Shizuo is turned to look at him, a scowl pulling his mouth into a snarl and his eyes shadowed with resentment. Just a little more, and Izaya will have him.
“You talk too much,” Shizuo faces him fully, and Izaya bares his teeth in a grin.
He just needs another push.
“Or do you love me? Are you the type of boy to pull a girl’s pigtails? I bet you are! Haha, that’s so mean! Shizu-chan, you’re—“
Shizuo is on him in an instant, but this time Izaya catches it. He can see Shizuo in that spine chilling slowed motion that allows him to calm his mind and retaliate in kind. But Izaya doesn’t move, he lets Shizuo yank him from his slouch to pull him off the ground. He shouts angry and loud, and Izaya gives him an assured smile and keeping his breath steady and confident.
In the back of his mind, there’s a strange itch like he should be remembering something. Perhaps his own instincts are trying to warn him against provoking Shizuo, But at this point, the warning goes to waste; Izaya’s already in his grasp, literally.
Izaya says something as he responds, and it’s probably not important; it’s usually not when he talks at length like this. It’s always just to keep the other person engaged and usually irritated enough to snap back. He’s so close to Shizuo’s face that it could be a mistake. Or it might not be. He takes the opportunity to interject between Shizuo’s outbursts just to say it again.
And then Izaya sees it. The in hidden between all the outs Shizuo is giving him. There’s a vulnerability hiding behind all that outward rage, and Izaya can only see it because Shizuo is holding him so close. He can’t help but sink his teeth in.
“You’re human.” He is. “The most human.”
***
Izaya is spiteful.
Of all the things Shizuo’s brain can supply him with, that is the thought at the forefront of his mind.
Izaya is the most spiteful person Shizuo knows.
His words careen through his chest, ripping open a raw wound Shizuo thought he’d stitched up years ago when he was still just a child.
He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say. No one like Izaya could say those things honestly. Someone like Izaya never means it. Shizuo wonders if there even is any love hiding inside Izaya or if it’s just immeasurable maliciousness and resentment.
So Shizuo doesn’t think. He does what he always does. He takes the hatred fed into him from everyone else, and he spits it back out.
“You’re a monster,” Shizuo snarls, and the whites of Izaya’s eyes flash.
It doesn’t matter if it’s words others have used to hurt Shizuo. The irony isn’t lost on him that the first person to call him human is someone Shizuo will gladly call a monster. Shizuo’s heard that word a million times over. Monster, monster, monster, inhuman, monster, monster, freak, monster, animal, m o n s t e r .
Shizuo’s fists are still curled in Izaya’s shirt, shaking and pulling the fabric taunt. Izaya’s hands are on his, cold and grounding, but Shizuo still feels shredded through and scattered to the wind.
“Do monsters tell the truth?” Izaya asks. His voice is calm and measured, but his eyes are wild like he’s seeing something Shizuo can’t. “If so, then I am. I’ve been called a lot of things. In the end, what I’m called doesn’t change how I feel. Monster or freak or vermin, I still love humanity.”
Something between Shizuo’s heart and his stomach creaks. If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Shizuo would prefer that it didn’t. He can shield himself from the sound, cover his ears and squeeze his eyes, but Izaya is sharp. He hones in on everything Shizuo doesn’t want him to see like he’s scenting for blood. The tree creaks, and Izaya watches.
“You have very human reactions,” Izaya says. He almost whispers, gently, but his words are cruel to Shizuo’s ears. “No one else has the power to react as earnestly as you do. That’s why everyone else is afraid. They can’t stand to see such genuine displays of human nature. They’re foolish to turn away from it, but that’s okay. I won’t.”
“No, people can—“ control themselves. Shizuo gnashes his teeth. Shizuo’s strength is a fault, and his lack of control a weakness. Other people run because of his own incompetence. He’s only human in that he was born to human parents. Other people were the human ones.
“Other people can fear you. They can hate you,” The tree tips. Izaya smiles. “But I love humanity. Everything about it.”
Shizuo shakes his head. “No. No, I hate you. I hate you.”
“That’s—“ Izaya starts, but for the first time Shizuo can recall, he runs.
He pushes Izaya back and away from him as if he can push him far away enough he won’t be able to hear the tree topple, and he runs. His foot catches on a stray chair, but he rights himself before he can fall, and then Shizuo’s out the door. No one chases him because no one wants to catch him, and Shizuo is finally just like everyone else. He’s running away from himself.
***
“That’s—“ Izaya says, but Shizuo pushes him away, and his back hits against the desk again and his spine sears with pain. “—Okay.”
But Shizuo is gone before he can hear, leaving Izaya to stew with his bruises and familiar aches.
Did Izaya lose? He wants to know, but he can’t tell.
Shizuo is predictable in that Izaya has found the pattern of words and expressions necessary to beguile him into a chase, but any other string of emotions has Izaya fumbling. He’s scared Shizuo, he knows that. Izaya touched a nerve with intention, and Izaya is unsure if it was the right nerve to touch.
Is there a right one? He would usually wonder, but Izaya can’t just press any nerve anymore if he wants to get the right thing out of Shizuo. He needs to find the give in the lock he’s picking that will allow him through the door, and yet while Izaya’s the one on his hands and knees peering through the keyhole, it feels as though Shizuo has simply smashed a hole right through Izaya’s own door and let a gust of chill air through.
It’s vulnerability, Izaya thinks. Pouring love into something is a vulnerable act that Izaya hasn’t perfected yet. He thought he had. He’s loved all of humanity for so long that anything coming through the door would immediately exit out another one—it would go straight through him.
Shizuo isn’t the first person to reject Izaya’s love. Most people balked at his proclamations and brushed him off with odd glances and a few mumbled words. But Shizuo is important, much more important than offhanded nobodies.
Shizuo is a culmination of all the things that make people human. Impulse, emotion, adrenaline, honesty. Raw and open and exposed. His strength gives the impression that he can protect himself, but rather it serves as a cleaver; every overexertion snaps a bone, presenting Shizuo’s body torn at the seams. No one would get close enough to touch, much too afraid, and so Shizuo became a mess of nerve endings and blood and heart. He has no callouses or scars, only the kind of flesh that needs to be gently caressed or torn open anew.
It’s risky business getting close enough to reach out as it is. The cleaver swings to and fro as if Shizuo has no skill with a knife and is left with his panic as a teacher. Izaya has to learn to dodge the knife and step into Shizuo’s world. He can swing the cleaver on anyone else, but Izaya will be the only one to touch his open wounds and sew them back with fragile, delicate thread; an image of safety but ready to tear at the barest touch.
But Izaya leaves it. Shizuo’s too far away now for Izaya to chase him or even follow his trail. He spent too long breathlessly in thought wondering what he ought to do. It isn’t good for him to rely on impulse, so Izaya stands straight and smooths his clothes before leaving his school behind him, a knot tight in his stomach.
He doesn’t go home. He’ll end up trapping himself in his own thoughts, endlessly mulling over the outcomes. Instead, Izaya hits the city, wandering up and down different streets watching other people and allowing himself to forget, as much as he can, about his afternoon gambles.
***
If Shizuo thought he avoided Izaya before, now Izaya is a plague. The hint of Izaya’s broken bell laughter, and Shizuo is darting into the mens’ restroom; a whiff of Izaya on the breeze, and Shizuo is already a mile around the next corner; even if Shizuo so much as sees Shinra, he assumes Izaya can’t be far behind, so Shizuo ducks into any classroom he can, empty or not.
Yet, Shizuo has never encountered Izaya so much in the months that they’ve known each other.
The gangs and other such bullies have been called off, although Shizuo can’t—and doesn’t want to—attribute much of that to Izaya. So many of them have ended up in the hospital after the last three weeks that he’s not sure there are any left to come for him even if Izaya could pay them or more likely trick them into it. Shizuo’s life should have become much more peaceful with no one picking fights and waiting for him after school. But Izaya was a true parasite hooked underneath Shizuo’s flesh.
If Shizuo isn’t seeing him, he’s hearing about him. Izaya has found a way to mesh himself so fluidly into the school’s very nervous system that he could be talked about in any group from the drug dealers to the debate club to the teachers. Izaya was either a nuisance or a promising student or some—shoddy—psychic.
“Oh, he’s brilliant,” A girl says behind Shizuo. Shizuo slouches further into his desk, already dreading what he can overhear. He can always tell when someone is going to mention Izaya even when his name isn’t brought up like a cursed sixth sense. “He helped me get ahold of some of that—“ Shizuo can hear her sniff dramatically behind him.
Another girl laughs and drops her voice conspiratorially. “Yeah, Orihara-kun knows all the good people to get blow from. Sad he won’t deal it himself though. It’d be so much easier to get.”
As if hooking people on illegal drugs isn’t enough, Shizuo always learns more than he wants to even with his eyes closed.
He’s leaning against a brick wall during gym class waiting for his turn to pitch. Shizuo’s closed his eyes, hoping the teacher will pass right over him to spare the other students his monstrous throw when the boys beside him start chatting.
“I lost so much money last night,” One of them grumbles. It’s none of Shizuo’s business but already he’s uncomfortably suspicious.
“At the baseball game?” The other guy snorts. “Yeah, you should know better by now to gamble with Orihara. I dunno how he got so good at it. He walks away with everyone’s money every damn time.”
“Fucker’s gotta be a psychic or something,” His friend responds with some hint of bitter humor. “Now I’m gonna have to beg my boss for more hours.”
Shizuo’s pitch ends up flying across the field through the fence and passed the street. No one runs to find the ball.
“I heard he used to win poetry competitions in middle school,” A teacher says. Shizuo places another textbook on the cart trying not the hear the gossip just a row over. He has a job to do, pick up textbooks for his peers from the library, not idle around listening to whispers. His homeroom teacher would chew him out if he’s late.
“He does exceptionally well on my tests,” Another teacher says. “It’s just a shame he’s always skipping class. I wonder what happened.”
“I heard the Orihara parents are very busy people. They’re always away on business, so he has to take care of his younger sisters,” A teacher replies.
“Still,” The other teacher whispers. “Shouldn’t he try to lead a good example then? If his parents knew he was skipping all the time surely they wouldn’t leave him alone with his sisters.”
Shizuo pushes the cart away before he can hear more, fists clammy and tight on the railing.
If only that were it. If Shizuo only had to deal with whispers and muttering, he might just be able to make it through the next three years of high school with his head down and a scraping GPA. But it can never be just that. Izaya’s some new type of parasite that only Shizuo has discovered, the type of thing you can’t get rid of by starving it or pumping yourself with antibiotics. In fact, Shizuo’s a feasting ground for parasites, made to live off the very chemicals Izaya thrives on.
Shizuo can’t help but get angry. It’s what he does. He hates. He hates everything for no reason other than he can; because he’s supposed to. He has nothing else inside of him but some convoluted anger and bitter resentment. Izaya can sense it like a shark, and he’s on Shizuo like he never really left him.
Someone in the cafeteria got into a fight. It wasn’t even with Shizuo. It was two other guys he doesn’t even recognize, but they step in front of him like he’s not even there, and all he can think is, They’re in the way. Can’t they see me. Are they really that rude.
Shizuo snaps, and he’s pushing them away from each other before they can even land the first blow on the other. His unopened milk carton squelches between his fist, and the rest is some blurry mess of thrown lunch food and broken noses.
Shizuo’s sitting in a chair outside of the counselor’s office staring at a wall when he finally comes to enough to breathe evenly and register exactly what he’s done. He accepts it easily, because he has to because if he doesn’t then the hatred he has for himself will result in his parents being billed for a new counselor’s desk. And some chairs. And possibly being sued by the board.
“Well, that was a show,” Izaya’s voice grates on Shizuo’s nerves worse than metal on metal.
Shizuo’s gaze slips from the wall to Izaya’s face. Shizuo’s quiet and stony for a moment. “Don’t sneak up on people.”
“I didn’t,” He says, smiling. “I just walked up. Very normal, even for me I might admit. Are you sure you’re feeling all right? It’s not like you to not chase me. Or have you been avoiding me lately?” He muses with some put on expression.
It’s a false concern, Shizuo can tell immediately although Izaya doesn’t make an attempt to disguise it. Whether Shizuo is actually all right or not would never matter to Izaya. Izaya just wants something he can play with.
“Leave me alone,” Shizuo says instead of giving in to the hot red anger tickling under his skin. He wishes he could have enough of the anger, that he had some quota that couldn’t be overfilled. That if he just got angry enough in the beginning of the day, he could be quiet and sensible for the rest. But it’s like some feverish addiction Shizuo can’t control, being force-fed his own anger.
Izaya ignores him with a jaunty tip of his head. “Why don’t we get out of here?”
Shizuo’s breath catches, and he’s reminded again—why do you chase me?—of the sort of thing that preludes a love confession, and it curdles in his stomach.
“No.”
“Why not?” Izaya says, and his voice catches on a childish complaint. “You’ve already done this a million times. The counselor’s just going to tell you not to do it again, and then you’ll go out a do it again anyway. Let’s cut the bullshit and leave. Everyone knows it doesn’t matter.”
Everyone knows. He’s right, but every time Shizuo finds himself hoping it’s the last time he’s sitting in this chair. “Can’t disappoint my parents,” Is all he says.
Izaya meets Shizuo’s stare with unconcealed disbelief and an awkwardly bent smirk. “Really?” Shizuo stares. “Why don’t you just embrace it? If you can’t change it, accept who you are. Oh, and don’t say you hate violence—“
“—Izaya—“
“—Because we both know it’s in your nature. So what if other people are scared of you? So what if they end up hating you? They already do. You can’t make people love you if they don’t want to. But no matter what, I can stand by your side—“
“—Shut up.” Shizuo’s voice is low and steely. His legs are stiff and his fists clenched like he’s ready to leap to his feet at any moment and give chase. He can’t listen to Izaya's words of truth mingled with false promises. “Stop acting like you’re somehow above all this. Saying you love ‘humanity’ but causing nothing but problems. You’re just a fucking parasite. I know who you are, and you can’t trick me into thinking you really love me.”
Izaya’s smirk is stuck on his face like it was glued on. Shizuo can see the waver in his eyes. “It’s okay, you aren’t the first person to misunderstand my love. See, I don’t love people individually. I love the whole. But if you really want me to, I might be able to make an exception for you since you clearly need it so much.”
Shizuo does stand at this, abrupt and teeth bared. He glowers down on Izaya. “I’m not like Shinra or Kadota or any of your weird followers. I’m not going to trail after you hoping if I show you my belly enough you might actually give a shit.”
“You won’t have to,” Izaya says, lifting his head to stare up into the face of Shizuo’s hatred without flinching. “I said I’d make an exception for you, after all. I love humanity, and what better way to love it than to love the person who embodies human qualities so naturally?”
“That’s such—“ bullshit. Humans express human qualities, no one can do it better than anyone else. And Shizuo defies human nature on principle. Down to his chemicals, his body rejects the natural hormones needed to protect himself, and so he is left with limitless strength that shakes and racks his bones and an anger that seeps into every pore and nerve ending.
“Heiwajima-kun?” An uncertain voice interrupts him.
Shizuo pauses, realizing his fists are curled in Izaya’s shirt and he’s leaning down to snarl in his face. Shizuo drops Izaya’s shirt unceremoniously and straightens up.
“You can come into my office,” The counselor says, already retreating into his office with a lingering glance to Izaya.
Shizuo turns to follow the counselor, turning over his shoulder to say plainly, “Don’t move.”
“Hm,” Is all Izaya says, watching as the door falls shut behind Shizuo.
It’s exactly how Izaya predicted. The counselor chews Shizuo out, telling him this isn’t how they want their school represented. He tells Shizuo he’s lucky the boys he got in a fight with are other delinquents, so their parents don’t want to press charges or else risk embarrassing their own name due to their sons. He tells Shizuo not to do something foolish like that again and sends him back out into the hall.
Izaya’s disappeared by the time Shizuo reemerges and even though Shizuo told him to stay, he’s not surprised to find Izaya didn’t listen.
Izaya’s right, and Shizuo hates it. It’s a familiar feeling, the same thing that grates him when there’s not enough milk for his breakfast or when he misses the walk light at a cross section. It’s an overreaction that he’s been allowed because no one can control him. Shizuo can’t even control himself, and his anger runs rampant destroying telephone poles and bones and any budding relationship.
So what if other people are scared of you? So what if they end up hating you?
Shizuo’s nose wrinkles as the thoughts flash through his mind, unwarranted.
They already do.
If they all hate him, they’ll leave him alone, Shizuo reasons. It’s easier to keep his head low and make it through life if no one bothers him. Shizuo accepted that years ago. He yearned for it even. He’s always wanted a quiet, uneventful life.
Cut the bullshit.
What bullshit? Shizuo thinks. His mind is not so labyrinthine as Izaya’s. He’s not some tangled mess of lies and half truths. Shizuo likes honesty, prefers it, can’t live without it. He doesn’t know how to lie, or at least he’s not very good at it. He certainly wouldn’t know how to lie to himself.
You can’t make people love you if they don’t want to.
The hypocrisy hits Shizuo like a truck, and he feels himself grin as if he has no control over his own reactions, which is typical.
Shizuo hates for no other reason than he is allowed to. He receives the same in kind and finding no love from anyone else, he’s uncertain how to replicate love for others. There’s a gaping hole inside of Shizuo that he’s spent years filling with anger and hate—though he desperately wishes to fill it with love—and has found himself capable of living off the fumes his anger provides him. It’s living enough to go through the motions but never enough to find some other source of vitality.
Izaya is a liar. He doesn’t replicate his emotions the same as Shizuo’s blatant honesty. Izaya has found some way to to turn his jealousy and resentment into a polluted affection that does quite the opposite of what love is intended to do. Izaya says he loves, and others balk. So he says it over and over again, he loves humanity, he loves, he loves, he loves. In his repetition, he’s not convincing anyone except for himself. Orihara Izaya is a spiteful, lonely creature who’d rather pretend to love everyone than acknowledge his own senseless desperation for companionship.
Izaya is a liar, and Shizuo is honest. It’s a matter of fact but comforting nonetheless to establish its finality. In a similar fashion, Izaya is searching for someone to accept his perverted sense of love, and Shizuo wants for love. So if Izaya will run, does it not stand to reason that Shizuo will chase?
Shizuo can follow Izaya easily even though there’s almost a certainty that Izaya left as soon as the office door shut behind Shizuo. It’s not that he can smell Izaya, although he is following his nose in a manner of speaking, but that Izaya’s presence—or lack of—is like a sixth sense to Shizuo. Perhaps if Izaya was even cities away Shizuo would still be able to track him, linked by some instinct to follow him.
***
Izaya disappeared to some rooftop in the center of Ikebukuro after the counselor called Shizuo into the office. No one bothered to stop Izaya on his way out of the front doors, too used to him skipping midday to fuss over it now.
He wove a trail through the streets of Ikebukuro knowing if Shizuo chose to find him after his meeting, he’d be able to follow him. Izaya rarely left traces where he went, in an out like smoke, but no matter how he came and went Shizuo managed to track him. It was some impressive feat Izaya admired that loosens the knot in his stomach at the thought that someone like Shizuo—so clearly human and yet altering the path of everyone he comes across—would be so instinctively attuned to Izaya’s every move. He wonders briefly if Shizuo can even imagine what Izaya does as he tracks him. Does Shizuo know that across from the convenience store Izaya ran a hand through his hair, or that Izaya stalled at the crosswalk a moment too long? It draws a quick huff of laughter from Izaya’s lips at the idea.
Despite his attempts to leave a trail, Izaya doesn’t actually expect Shizuo to follow it. He left Shizuo less than happy but not riled enough to give chase. Izaya knows Shizuo’s been avoiding him all week; Izaya has increased his activity around school as a result, talking to more students from Shizuo’s homeroom and partaking in more sports team bets, knowing his activity would reach Shizuo’s ears. Izaya will have to make himself more of a constant presence, he thinks, if he wants to needle under Shizuo’s skin.
But Shizuo is needlessly unpredictable. It’s fascinating to observe but ever startling to experience.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Shizuo says, and he’s much calmer than Izaya anticipated him being. The roof door slams shut behind him as he stalks over to the edge of the building.
“I wasn’t exactly hiding,” Izaya responds, calm in turn but adrenaline itching under his skin with the all to familiar need to run when faced with Shizuo’s strength. Izaya ignores it and looks out over the city, smiling to himself.
“I told you to stay,” He says plainly. Shizuo is still standing away from Izaya, not quite on the edge.
Izaya pretends to consider his words before looking back at him. “I never agreed.”
“I’m not going to be your friend,” Shizuo says suddenly. It rings like words that should be laced with anger, but instead Izaya finds unfamiliar diplomacy.
“Oh?” Izaya turns fully to Shizuo now, trying to disguise his confusion behind a smooth facade of carelessness.
“I won’t be your enemy either,” Shizuo continues. “If you want to love me, you can. I won’t stop you. I won’t reject it.”
“That’s sweet,” Izaya says, voice in a mocking cadence as if he’s simply indulging Shizuo’s whims and the knot isn’t tightening in his stomach, knotting itself over and over again until it’s impossible to unravel.
Shizuo doesn’t take to the barb. “I won’t return it either, unless…”
Shizuo trails off, and Izaya’s eyes narrow, wondering if there’s something to sink his teeth into. “Unless?”
Shizuo shrugs as if that’s it, as if he has nothing in particular to add except some strange layer of mystery for Izaya to stew over. Shizuo seems unconcerned for the whirlwind drifting through Izaya. “Unless one day I want to, I guess.”
It’s so simple. It’s so easy. Shizuo’s honesty comes to him as if he couldn’t imagine what a lie might sound like on his tongue. It’s painfully human to Izaya’s ears, a sense of brutality that even Izaya doesn’t know how to deliver.
“No one loves you—“ Shizuo says plainly again.
“Ow,” Izaya says, not really meaning it.
The corners of Shizuo’s mouth turn upwards, gracing Izaya with the barest of smiles that is usually missing from Shizuo’s face. “And no one really loves me. So I figure, what the hell?”
“That’s one way to put it,” Izaya scoffs humorously. “Very simpleminded of you.”
“Very human of me,” Shizuo corrects with a gleam in his eye that Izaya doesn’t recognize. One of the knots in his stomach slips and untangles itself.
“Indeed,” Izaya says, for once pleasantly mystified.
“So where does this leave us?” Shizuo asks.
“Hm?” Izaya’s mouth turns down into a frown. “What do you mean?”
“I thought you would have some sort of plan,” Shizuo says, equally confused at Izaya’s question. “You did spend several weeks toying with me until you got what you wanted. I’m here now. I dunno, I thought something would happen.”
Izaya does have plans; many plans. But he hadn’t anticipated what he’d do if he really could win Shizuo over. In all his attempts, it was too unreasonable to imagine a future where he may be able to witness Shizuo from right beside him. Part of Izaya finds himself wanting to control Shizuo, hungry to trap him in Izaya’s grasp to never stray from him. Maybe that is the truest part of him, Izaya thinks and shudders at it, because instead he says, “I have no immediate plans. I’m happy just to observe you for now.”
Shizuo scoffs, some mix of humor and disbelief. “You are so full of shit. Do you ever stop lying?”
Izaya is trapped by Shizuo’s gaze, and the knots in his stomach are tightening further but Shizuo’s fingers are stronger than anyone Izaya’s ever met, and he can feel Shizuo picking at the knots, loosening until they fall apart like Shizuo’s able to reach right through Izaya to deal with the core of him. He’s not sure how long it’ll take Shizuo to pull the knots a part. Months, years even. There’s too many. But Shizuo’s staring at him steadily as if he refuses to leave; Izaya knows he could try to push him, shove his shoulders and hit against his chest, and Shizuo wouldn’t move an inch. Izaya is free to leave, but he’ll never be able to make Shizuo do anything.
Izaya shrugs at Shizuo’s words. “I didn’t lie.”