Summary: One day, one job brings help to Orihara Izaya in a situation he absolutely needs no help whatsoever. Or does he? Izaya's POV. Oneshot.
Warning: Slashy, may be a bit OOC, especially at the end, but the author couldn't help it – the plot bunny bit me, demanding it to be this way and this way only.
Disclaimer: I own naught. Alas!
- The Favor, unasked for -
I'm standing in a street, a street full of traffic but not crowded with people, – all in all an ordinary place to be – but I feel my life changing and crumbling down before my eyes.
There's a black, normal-looking suitcase lying on the pavement beside my leg – it fell out of my weakened grasp. The suitcase is full of money. But I have little interest in it; my whole world is narrowed down to the piece of paper clutched in front of my eyes.
It's a note, or a letter to be precise. It has only 69 words in it, but they manage to contain an immeasurable meaning. My hand is shaking, making the words blurred and difficult to read, though I've read it several times already and know without a doubt what it says.
It all stared irksomely and without any interest whatsoever, or for me at least. I was approached by a representative of one of the business-slash-mafia groups, a quite large and successful one by the way, not that it matters to me. The man and the whole "enterprise" needed some information I could easily provide, and they would pay a great sum of money for it.
Now, I must point out that these whole too serious groups of people – dealing with important stuff and always meaning business – they were too... serious, and not in a good way. To put it simply, they were boring, boring to the ache in ones teeth, and I made it a point to avoid them as much as possible. But this time I just banally needed money; and the job seemed simple and quick, so I went against my principle and intuition... And that should forever and ever teach me to never go against my intuition, because the payment...
The payment for my job was a good sum of money, – currently being stuffed in the black suitcase lying just nearby, – and a "present", as the letter told me.
We would like to thank you for the favor you've done to us, and we are looking forward to further collaboration with you.
As a token of our gratitude we would like to give you a present. The rumors reached us that you are constantly having problems with one man, Heiwajima Shizuo. We are going to settle this little problem for you, so please have no worries.
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha – I can't contain my laugh any longer. It comes out hysterical.
Settle this problem? Oh, I just know how they are going to do it! These people always – always! – mean business. They are going to settle it via the most practical working method known to mankind – a bullet into the forehead, or heart. Probably both. Maybe they would drug him beforehand...
I crumble the letter in my hand, throw it to the ground and step on it, step-step-step.
"How dare they?" I roar, uncaring if anyone hears me.
Now my whole body shakes and not just the hands.
How dare they? I haven't planned this! How dare they bluntly burst into my life, my plans, and screw things up? I didn't ask for such favors! They are trying to destroy my carefully made plans, my painstakingly conjured schemes, they are trying to cut down all my manipulations. Hell, the whole chessboard is lying on the floor, swept down by these ignorant worthless pieces of trash!
To kill Shizuo-chan for me? Oh, I feel anger boiling up inside of me. I'll show them. Don't they understand that man is mine – and mine alone! – to manipulate, to use, to kill! They should've never stuck there rotting noses into my games.
I giggle. I'll rip and cut them down, or maybe I should let Shizuo-chan tear their limbs apart, one after another, one after another, hmm?
Suddenly my giggles stifle down... Shizuo-chan... How long has it been? Could it be these bastards are already in action? Could it be he's already...? No! Impossible. No, not even that, not impossible, but impermissible. I am not going to permit it.
But what should I do?
I end up doing the most logical thing – I call the fallen angel and her crazy friend of a doctor. I tell her I have an urgent and very-very important job for her and that I'd pay for it a great deal. She doesn't seem interested. But just as I mention that Shizuo-chan is in trouble Celty immediately rushes into action. I am impressed, Shizuo-chan really is her friend.
I can almost picture Celty flying down the building and onto the streets on her wheeled black horse, spreading her black wings and conjuring a shadowed scythe, aiming to slash and cut the fools that dare to stand in her way.
She won't be alone this time. My knife may not be as long and is not made of shadows, but its cuts are real.
It seems those rotten insects indeed tried to drug Shizuo-chan before killing him. Fools. As if this man would succumb so easily to any kind of drug or poison – though the difference between the last two is only in the dosage, ne?
All the broken furniture, all the holes in walls and all the pieces of everyday machinery embodied in those walls indicate that Shizuo-chan met the unwelcome guests in person.
Celty, the angel of vengeance, looks around. Dark shadow distortions are swirling in the room – silent remains of the battle.
Bodies are lying everywhere, blood is but squelching under my feet, the hands are becoming sticky and crisp because of it. But I can't help myself, I jerk up my head and laugh, laugh-laugh-laugh-laugh, and the laughter would echo around the room, but the walls are soaked and damp with crimson, the blood greedily swallowing any sounds.
This time my laugh is not hysterical but pleasant and merry, because Shizuo-chan is lying there, soaked in blood, but he is breathing, unmistakably raising his chest up-and-down, up-and-down, up-and-down, and it makes me so damn glad that I can't stop laughing.
Celty is beside me.
"Are you alright?" her PDA says, clutched in one dark-gloved hand.
I just wave her off, then add, "It seems the sedative they dosed Shizuo-chan worked, but not soon enough for their liking."
Celty crouches beside that impossible man, carefully checking for any signs of injuries. Then she straightens up and types, "He doesn't seem injured, the blood is not his."
"So he's just out and sleeping?" I ask a bit incredulous; and then I'm off again, laughing, but stop quicker this time.
"Here," I say to the headless rider, the excellent courier, and toss her the suitcase full of money.
Celty opens it, peeks inside – through whatever means of receptor input she owns – closes it quickly and types something.
"I don't need that much..." then shakes her head, erases the message to substitute it with another one. "In fact I don't need payment at all. He is my friend, I'm glad he's unharmed."
"Then throw it away," I shrug. "I don't need the money."
Celty turns my way and regards me for a long moment.
"Then buy him some medicine," her PDA says, "or new furniture." Celty's shoulders shake, she's laughing, the display shows, "Or maybe get him a couple of new suits."
What the hell? It's not often someone is able to surprise me. But this? To buy suits for Shizuo-chan? What the fuck is this monster implying?
The black-clad shoulders stop shaking – with laughter, I just know it! – and drop down in a sigh.
The glowing display is once again thrust in front of me. I read:
"You remind me of the Saika-sword."
I blink at her, what the hell? To be compared to that piece of shit?
"The sword loves people," she elaborates. "It shows its love by cutting them; it doesn't care that by doing so it hurts them."
"What do you mean?" I grumble, how very uncharacteristic of me, but I can't help it.
"You also claim to love people," the message says. "And to express this love you mess with them."
Celty lowers her hand with that thrice cursed PDA of hers.
Damn it all. What's with this day, why do people insist on acting so strangely and not according to the rules of my game?
She turns to leave, yellow helmet in her hands. I watch her go. Just by the doorframe, that no longer has a door on its hinges, the headless rider stops and again turns the damn thing for me to read.
"You mess with Heiwajima Shizuo more than you mess with anyone else. What does it mean?"
I glare at her, defiant to make the effing question rhetorical. But the Dullahan adds the final message, just like a shot to the head:
"You are not a sword. You are capable of not just cutting. So take better care of him."
And with that Celty is finally gone in the sound of the horse neighing.
I stand in the middle of the apartment, – its walls are fallen, the floor is littered with torn bodies, a man is sleeping in a corner, snoring lightly, – and I feel my life turning on its axes for the second time this day... or maybe it's just ending the changes that started this morning? I don't know and either way I don't care.
Walking to the sleeping man I can't stop it – why the hell should I anyway? – and search for the injuries myself. Finding none I smile, slide down the wall to sit on the floor and pull Shizuo-chan closer, so that his head is resting on my knees. The feeling is nice. Really-really nice. I should've tried it sooner.
My hand brushes away the soaked in blood hair from his face. A chuckle escapes me, not that I'm trying to stifle it.
"Silly Shizuo-chan," I murmur. "How could you sleep through all of this? Honestly, a real princess on a black horse rides to your rescue, slashing down the enemies... Not that the princess is yours, mind you. And I sure hope you don't want her to be yours, or I will have to cut you for this, Shizuo-chan! But look, instead of a princess you get a prince, ha-ha-ha-ha! Though the prince isn't clad in shining armor, and to be honest he doesn't have a horse, black or otherwise, and instead of a sword he has a knife. But for a protozoan such as yourself, you should be glad as it is, so if you're planning on your usual reaction when you wake up, Shizuo-chan, you'd better..."
The man in my arms stopped snoring a while ago but I notice it when he emits a low moan interrupting my speech.
I glance down at him. His eyes – quite a pretty color, if you ask me – blink; the gaze cannot focus, still hazy with sleep. I have a fleeting thought that once it does focus Shizuo-chan would try to hit me. Surprisingly the thought hurts more than I anticipated.
However he just blinks the haze away, looks at me, then at the room around us – at the crimson walls, the countless bodies and at the picture in general – and returns the gaze back at me.
"Izaya-kun," he growls. I freeze up; oh, these are the words I've heard so many times.
But Shizuo-chan just sighs – a lone deep sigh – and turns onto his side, to lie more comfortably on the floor, nuzzling my stomach. My breath hitches.
"Shut up," he mutters, "your babbling disturbs my sleep."
I smile and hug him closer, my chest feeling light and heavy at the same time.
"Sure thing, Shizuo-chan, sure thing."
"And don't call me that, you pest," he adds half asleep.
I can't help but chuckle, feeling uncharacteristically happy.
- Fin -
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AN: So, the author discovered a new anime, and a new wonderful love-hate relationship to play with. And I just wanted to write something in the first person singular, and in present tense.
But to be honest, just how many of you were squealing with joy when in one of the episodes the girl commented, "Shizuo really does love Izaya, that's a boy-boy love," or something along those lines? I for one was :3
Anyway, I hope they were not OOC. I tried my best to make Izaya act a bit crazy, but ended up writing almost about my dearest sister *laughs*.