Hey guys. Long time no see once again. I am sorry for the stupidly long wait. Thank you for sticking with it.
I just want to say that even when it seems I've given up from lack of activity, unless I actually say so myself, please don't assume I've given up. I may be down but I'm definately not out.
I'm still very much in love with this fandom, and I read the fics uploaded every chance I get.
I've been sitting on this chapter for far too long so here it is.
It had taken hours for Izaya to calm down. Shinra had finally been able to drag himself to bed in the early hours of the morning, reassured that his patient would be in safe hands as Celty insisted on sitting up with the destroyed man.
She had never witnessed anyone cry so much. It was heart breaking.
Izaya had sat rigidly still until the first signs of sunlight slithered through the curtains, his hands clutched over his face with his eyes staring out between his ring and pinky fingers and his knees drawn right up against his chest. His hair was a complete mess, standing out at all angles lacking it's usual shine and softness.
He really was just the hollow shell of Izaya Orihara.
He had finally relaxed when the entire room was illuminated by morning light and had even allowed Celty to sit right beside his bed without panicking that her shadows would rip him apart.
It took a few more hours still until Izaya finally started answering some of her questions. He had very little trouble describing the room and the other humans with him. Describing the situation was a little tougher, but no matter what, he could not bring himself to describe his captors.
He finally found a tiny speck of courage and asked the dullahan for a few sheets of paper, choosing to sketch instead of speak. That was fine with her.
However, even before his pencil could touch the paper, Celty found herself out on the streets, having been called out on a job.
Closing his eyes and taking deep, steady breaths, Izaya prepared himself for the journey back into his mind, back to the white room, back to his deepest fears.
What he feared was not the death side of things, although he wasn't particularly keen on the idea of dying. No, what scared Izaya Orihara was a loss of control.
With tembling hands and shakey breath, he touched his pencil to one of the many sheets of paper and began.
Smooth strokes, flowing as if an extention of his pencil danced across the once blank pages, but it wasn't enough. It was too small. Truthfully, he had found them beautiful, hauntingly so and these small pages simply could not convey that.
"The walls," Kanra uttered, sitting on the foot of his bed and staring directly at him. "Use the walls. I'm sure Shinra won't mind. They're plain and boring after all, plus you're mad! He can't get angry at someone who isn't mentally sound right?"
Izaya stared blankly at his company.
"If I did that, I wouldn't be able to sleep in here. It would be exactly like-" He faltered. Yes. It would be like his dream. Could he relive that?
"The dream? Yes, I know. I was there. It would also make them understand. You cried for goodness sake, they have to understand why."
"Kanra. I can't even walk right now."
"Yes you can. You're just being lazy. Get up! Show them the extent of our madness!
Walking into the guest room was like entering a different world. Sketches towered up the walls, all facing towards the center of the room, the exact spot where Izaya was standing.
"Izaya! What the hell? Those are my walls, not your canvas!"
"I wanted you to understand."
Just a short one to let you all know I'm still kicking. I'd draw all over my bedroom walls if I could.
Anyway. Hope you guys enjoyed.