Chapter Text
Shizuo stopped in his tracks the second he cracked open the door to his apartment. He didn't have to see to know Izaya was inside—he could smell him.
Hand holding onto the key that was still in the lock, he tried to squint through the darkness past the threshold, but the only light he had was the spotlight cutting through the shadows from the slightly ajar door and the faint shape of a window from across the room—a window he hadn't recalled opening before he left that morning, but from which the cool night air was now wafting through the apartment, wide open.
Tch. He recalled the knife flying towards him earlier that day, clearly meant to miss as it passed his face by mere inches and flew into the wall instead. He didn’t remember the exact words Izaya had said, but he remembered the smug grin on his lips, the baiting look in his eyes—enticing him, taunting him;
Chase me.
And so he’d snapped the cigarette he’d been smoking between his fingers and, fighting a grin, crushed it beneath his foot as he took off in a run.
The people parted for them as they passed, the city well used to being a stage for their rivalry, a tool they could bend to their will. But even so, Shizuo had managed to lose him—he could swear that he hadn’t taken his eyes off the black figure with the fur-trimmed coat in front of him, but some way or another, Izaya had disappeared. He’d vanished, became one with the city in his masterful way, leaving Shizuo alone to yell after him in frustration.
And now he had come back all on his own, without Shizuo needing to lift a finger.
He scoffed, unsurprised but a little amused, and finally thrust the key out of the lock. He let the door swing open and walked inside, feeling around blindly to his side for the lamp he knew was there and, finally grasping the switch, turned it on. A warm, dim light filled the small space.
It wasn't uncommon, per se, for Shizuo to find Izaya in his apartment late at night. In fact, it had probably become a lot more common than he'd intended the first time they stumbled back inside together—not that he was doing much thinking then anyway, more focused on the taste of Izaya's mouth against his and the perfect way his hand slotted against the small of his back.
What was uncommon, however, was walking into his apartment to see Izaya, dazed and disoriented, on the floor next to a knocked over chair, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
What in the–?
For a moment, he couldn’t say anything. Izaya stared up at him, and he stared back, brows furrowed in confusion—this had never happened before. He opened his mouth before closing it again, and settled for a look of confusion that he assumed got his thoughts across pretty clearly.
“Hehe,” Izaya broke the silence first, a lazy smile on his face as he leaned back on his arms and stretched his legs out across the floor. Shizuo’s eyes trailed from him to the shoes ditched at the foot of the window, still very much open from when Izaya had evidently climbed in, the curtains flying up in the breeze. “Hey there, Shizu-chan.”
“Why is there a flea on my floor?”
"Don't be mean," the louse complained, but his smile was wider than before. Shizuo could swear he sounded whinier than usual–his voice was higher-pitched, his words drawn out and slow–and it was starting to get on his nerves. "I came all this way just to see you!”
“And you couldn’t think to try the door?” He huffed as he finally tore his eyes away from the sight, letting the door swing shut behind him and dropping his keys on a nearby table with a clank.
"Hmm... I knew you weren't home. Did you want me to pick your lock instead?" Izaya replied, watching as Shizuo took off his shoes, then he giggled—fucking giggled—and continued. "I thought you don't want your neighbours to see me hanging around your place,"
"I don't," Shizuo said as he came to loom over the louse. "And them seeing you climbing through my window like a lunatic is even worse."
Izaya craned his neck to look up at him, but for once in his life, didn’t fire off a quick comeback that would surely have been on the tip of his tongue. He still smiled, though—not in his usual scheming way, but in an oddly cheerful way Shizuo wasn’t used to seeing on him.
Shizuo sighed and took his silence as an invitation to lean down and hold out his hand. Izaya didn’t really take it—he more so just dropped his limp wrist into Shizuo’s palm, and when it became obvious he wasn’t going to make an effort to get himself up, Shizuo leaned down to grab his other wrist and lift him. He made a ridiculous weeeee sound as he went, head hanging behind him like an infant who couldn't hold itself up yet.
Shizuo cursed under his breath and yanked him up to his feet. As he let go of his wrists, he expected him to hold his ground like any functional human being, only for the flea to start falling over again like a rag doll.
“Shit—” He hurriedly wrapped his arms around his waist and hauled him up, pulling his body flush against his own to keep him upright. “What’s wrong with you?”
Izaya just fucking giggled again. His eyes were lidded and glazed over, and Shizuo scrunched his nose at the sudden smell of alcohol he could make out in this proximity.
Oh, fucking hell.
Shizuo gave him an incredulous look, still holding Izaya’s entire weight in his arms. “How did you climb up to my window without getting yourself killed?”
Somehow Izaya’s ever persistent smile, albeit genuine, was much more unsettling than his smug, calculating grin. At least the latter was expected of him. With this, though—Shizuo didn’t even know how to react. He watched as Izaya slowly lifted one hand, held it up beside his mouth and leaned forward, as if he was about to reveal some secret.
"Parkoouur," He whispered, not in his ear, but in his face, then leaned away.
Shizuo frowned. "Do you hear me? I said you could have died,"
A nod, "Probably."
And Shizuo was called the reckless one! "I won't forgive you if you die. I'm the only one who's allowed to kill you, you hear me?"
"How romantic," Izaya finally shifted his weight onto his own feet, lifted his hands from where he was leaning against Shizuo’s arms, and swung them around his shoulders instead. "Kiss me.”
Shizuo thought Izaya's definition of “romantic” was far different from the average person’s, but who was he to complain, really, when it worked out so well in his favour?
Every other thought vanished when Izaya pressed his mouth against his. The sensation was pleasantly familiar—excluding the bitter hint of alcohol on his tongue—their bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces falling into place. The gentle breathing tickling his face, the soft press of lips, warm and tender; it lasted merely a moment before turning into a lazy, open-mouthed mess of tongue and teeth.
It was probably the worst kiss they’d ever had—wet lips dragging way off the mark across their faces, colliding tongues and clashing teeth—but Shizuo wouldn’t dare pull away, not on his life. That rush of electricity surging through his veins as Izaya threaded fingers through his hair was the same as ever, so was the warmth blossoming in his chest, and he only tightened his hold on Izaya’s waist in an attempt to draw closer to the encompassing warmth.
Sometimes Shizuo had to stop and wonder if he was no better than anyone else—if Izaya had won, had finally gotten the fortissimo of Ikebukuro wrapped around his finger, just the same as the cascade of followers he gathered. Because in times like these, it was obvious to Shizuo that he was far gone, lost in the world of Izaya Orihara past the point of no return.
The scent he'd spent years chasing down with intent to kill was now something he would willingly drown in.
Izaya took a step back and tugged at his collar, no real strength in his pull (at least none that could move Shizuo by force), but enough to make Shizuo follow in chasing his mouth with his own. He stumbled, and as Shizuo rushed to catch him their tangle of limbs sent them staggering backwards onto the couch. Lips finally parting, Shizuo caught himself with a hand beside Izaya's head before he could fall on top of his thin frame.
He came to mutter something about watching where he was going, but as he laid eyes on Izaya's face—hair fallen back from his forehead and splayed under him, eyes dazed, skin flushed—he decided he didn't have anything to say.
Izaya did, though, because of course he did.
"You look stupid," he snickered, which, in fairness, was very few words for someone who could essentially never shut up. He always let every thought pour out of his mouth, struggling to keep up with an ever-racing mind.
So a drunk Izaya was a quiet Izaya.
The more you know.
"Shut up," Shizuo replied. "Have you seen yourself? You look like shit." It was only a half-lie. Izaya didn’t look good by any means, but Shizuo would be lying if he said there wasn’t a part of him that loved seeing him like this; knowing this side of the louse was reserved only for him.
"Uhuh?"
"Uhuh,"
"Then why're you lookin' at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like that," Izaya's hands trailed from playing with the ends of Shizuo's hair to cupping the sides of his face. “That’s how humans look at people they care about.”
Shizuo stalled for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t think he was looking in any particular way, not that he was very wary of it anyway. He wouldn’t be surprised, though, if Izaya could pick up on things he himself wasn’t aware of, no matter how much he complained about Shizuo being “unreadable.”
Caring about Izaya? He was surprised for a moment at how okay he was with the idea, but on second thought, it wasn’t that odd. It had been a long time since he accepted that he didn’t hate Izaya. Sure, he could still be really fucking annoying—but irritation and mildly amusing banter was a far cry from the blinding rage that used to enter his mind when Izaya showed up in Ikebukuro.
One might call their insistence to drag out their high school rivalry stubborn, but if Izaya hadn’t backed down yet, then neither would Shizuo. Either way, there was no malice behind it anymore. Hell, he could even say he looked forward to seeing Izaya.
So he did care about him, then?
He could live with that.
“Stop it,” Izaya cut in, interrupting his train of thought with a slap to Shizuo’s face and a squish of his cheeks. “Stop doing that.”
“N—” Shizuo started, realized he sounded muffled, and shifted his weight onto one hand so he could remove one of Izaya’s from his face with the other. “No, don’t think I will.”
Instead he intertwined their hands and bent down to plant a quick kiss on Izaya’s lips, then leaned his forehead against his. He continued to watch him, their eyes locked and stupidly close, leaving Izaya childishly distraught.
“Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to stare?” He grumbled.
"Didn't yours tell you it's rude to break in through people's windows?"
“Hmm,” Izaya hummed. "You seem to be enjoying it, though."
Shizuo huffed. It didn’t matter if it was true; it was detrimental to his argument. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not enjoying this at all."
“Mmhm,"
"If you try that again and break your legs, I'm not taking you to the hospital." He leaned in to kiss him again but didn’t linger long, getting a quick taste of that pleasant familiarity before moving on to trail kisses across his face, along his jaw, lips dragging across his neck, teeth lightly tracing the steady beat of his pulse. He could hear Izaya’s breaths right by his ear; could hear the hitch as a shiver coursed through the body under him. His arms winded back around Shizuo’s shoulders to pull him in.
Although there was a trace of desperation—of fervour driving him to get as close as possible, and even closer still—it wasn't inherently sexual like the majority of their other late night rendezvous; not driven by lust or the intense desire to touch. There was only a deep yearning to be close, and an all-encompassing peace that came with it as Shizuo finally let his head fall and rest against Izaya’s shoulder, eyes closed and face buried in the crook of his neck. He exhaled and slowly eased his weight down, muscles relaxing at last. If it weren’t for the ever present sound of the bustling nightlife coming from the still-open window, he would have thought that the rest of the world had melted away.
It was just so natural, so unbelievably easy, to lay together in peace, doing nothing but simply existing side by side. Shizuo would question why they didn’t do it more often, if he didn’t already know the answer.
Izaya could never stay.
He ran away like he was running for his life, like he couldn’t control himself. The chase never ended with him, whether they were running through the streets or close in bed; Izaya was always gone in the morning, silent as a ghost, then off the grid for months. He slipped through Shizuo’s arms just as easily as he slipped through the cracks in the city, into side streets, crowds, and alleyways—like he'd disappeared completely.
Shizuo didn’t understand. That was fine—Izaya was the last person he expected to understand. Maybe one day he’d figure it out, but right now, he didn’t care. It was so rare for Izaya to accept tenderness; he just wanted to savour this.
"Always so mean, Shizu-chan," came a quiet voice by his ear.
"Hmm?" He hummed in response, not wanting to so much as open his eyes and risk breaking the illusion.
"You shouldn't make people fall in love with you when you don't love them back,"
And yet his eyes definitely snapped open this time, accompanied by something he could only describe as a jolt of surprise in his stomach. He pushed himself up on his hands, detaching from the warmth to look back down at Izaya.
"What?"
"What? It's very cruel," Izaya must have had his eyes closed too, because he was rubbing at them now, his eyelids hooded and expression drowsy.
"No, what—what do you mean?"
"I mean, you should think before you act like that. You could really hurt someone."
"You love me?"
"You're so dense I’m going to cry," Izaya muttered much too nonchalantly for the words coming out of his mouth.
"You love me," Shizuo repeated dumbly, as if trying to believe the words coming out of his mouth.
"Shhh,” Izaya replied, raising his hand in what must have been an attempt to shush Shizuo with his finger, only to end up slapping his whole hand against his face instead. "You’re so loud. I was about to fall asleep earlier, y'know." A yawn interrupted him halfway through his sentence, as if to prove his point.
Under normal circumstances Shizuo would retort that Izaya was the one that broke the silence first, but he didn’t have the capacity to care right now, not when a minute’s worth of conversation had caused his brain to lag worse than an old desktop.
"I'm sleeping here, by the way. Hope you don't mind." Izaya continued as if completely unaware of the state he’d put Shizuo in, and reached for the cushion just a bit further along the couch to pull under his head.
“I—” Shizuo started, slow and unsure. “Well, yeah, I’m not letting you walk home like this.”
Izaya hummed in what seemed like satisfaction and closed his eyes.
"But you're not sleeping on the couch,"
"'m too tired to move,"
He only dawdled there for a moment watching Izaya—mouth hung agape and breathing softly—before getting up from the couch. Izaya only opened his eyes after he’d lifted him up, with a little yelp of surprise and quick glance up and around, then let them fall shut again and dropped his head back against Shizuo.
Shizuo paused briefly to wonder what the hell was going on and what choices in life had led him to this point, then carried Izaya to his room.
He lowered him onto the mattress, guided only by the faint lamp glow of the living room and the streetlights behind the curtains. He slowly started to ease Izaya’s arms out of his coat ("What're you doing?" "You're not sleeping in my bed with that stupid thing. I don't know where it's been." "Ugh,"), after which he quickly curled into Shizuo’s pillow, oddly resembling a cat, and drifted off nearly immediately. Shizuo joined him not too long thereafter, collapsing on the other side of the bed—his side of the bed, he referred to it, as if the whole thing wasn’t supposed to be his—after he had changed out of his uniform and turned off the lights.
And then everything caught up to him at once.
Izaya had basically climbed into his apartment drunk, told him he loved him, and then fallen asleep. What the hell was he supposed to make of that?
He’d had a similarly overwhelming night like this before—staring at the dark ceiling with his eyes glued open, thoughts spinning faster than he believed humanly possible without actually forming any cohesive conclusion—that first time he realized he didn’t hate Izaya.
It had come as an unwelcome shock, because he'd never noticed when it happened, it just had—and thinking back gave him a headache. So when Shinra had curiously asked him why the mention of Izaya didn't set him off anymore, he'd simply threatened to punch the shitty doctor's face into the wall and walked out. He would come to realize, though, that overwhelming thoughts about the whole situation were a lot harder to punch away.
It was one thing to accept not-hatred-with-the-occasional-hook-up, but love? How? He'd always assumed this was all a game to Izaya, as most things were. That was why he never stuck around, Shizuo told himself—that was why he'd do something to piss him off every time things got even remotely serious. Come to find out, this whole time he was…
“You shouldn't make people fall in love with you when you don't love them back,"
God, Izaya was so fucking confusing.
He turned, squinting to make out Izaya’s sleeping face in the faint light—his cheek was pressed against the pillow, mouth slightly agape and eyelids gently shut, his back going up and down in soft breaths. The longer he watched, the more he felt a feeling of deja vu coming over him.
Izaya had come into his apartment just to sleep once before; that time had also been through the window (he needed to stop doing that). He’d complained about not being able to sleep—a common occurrence, apparently—and didn't give a bewildered Shizuo time to respond before he’d gotten comfortable in his bed and was out like a light.
Shizuo reached out, his hand lingered hesitantly, and then slowly brushed a strand of Izaya’s hair out of his face. That morning too, Izaya was gone when Shizuo awoke—and thinking back, he felt a bit disappointed. He’d wondered what it would have been like to wake up next to him; see his calm, sleeping face in the light of morning, to eat breakfast together while making sleepy conversation, their day filled with more quiet, peaceful moments in each other’s presence—
Fuck, he was in love with Izaya, wasn't he?
He slapped his hands against his face and let loose a muffled groan (that sounded more like a squeak), fighting every urge in his body to get up and crush something. It was almost comical, the sudden surge of fluttery, panicked emotions rushing through him.
He was in love with Izaya. Alright. Okay… alright. He was an adult, he could handle this.
So… what now?
He’d never been in love before; he’d never so much as held someone’s hand. It’s not like anyone would have approached him in school—they wouldn’t have dared—and he would probably have turned them down anyway. Even after graduation, he never spent any time looking for a relationship. Why would he?
A familiar gnawing feeling of dread was growing in his stomach. He clenched his fists around the blanket.
However scared the people were of him, he would always be worse—he was absolutely terrified of himself. Terrified of what he could do, what he would do if one day his temper snapped like the cigarette in his hand and he came to hours later to see he had hurt, or even killed, a loved one. But even if that never happened—he had yet to hurt anyone he cared about—he could never love someone like that. More than anything, he was terrified that one day they would wake up and realize that they were laying next to a monster.
He was terrified of the day he would see fear in their eyes.
He pulled at his hair. This wasn’t the time for these kinds of thoughts—the refusing-to-leave kind of thoughts, the dread-inducing kind of thoughts. But if these things could be banished at will, he would have done that a long time ago.
There was an urge rising in his gut—an urge to get up and grab the nearest piece of furniture and crush it in his hands, to snap his things in half, throw the lamp at the wall and watch it shatter into a million pieces—and just its mere presence disgusted him to his core. This was all he was capable of, and all he would ever be capable of. Violence. What was there to love in that? There was only something to fear.
But that was the thing with Izaya, wasn’t it?
For better or for worse, he was never afraid.
He turned to look at Izaya again, fast asleep and without a care in the world, almost like he wasn’t lying vulnerable next to a beast who could probably crush his skull with one hand.
Without thinking, Shizuo found he was smiling. Just slightly. What a fucking idiot.
There was really no one in this world for him but Izaya, was there? There was no one that could handle him like Izaya could—and to be fair, there was probably no one that could handle Izaya like he could either. What a joke; they were practically made for each other.
It was with these circling thoughts and the quiet sound of Izaya’s breathing that Shizuo drifted off to sleep.
It was a good thing he loved him back, then.