Oh man, I haven't updated in so long, sorry you guys. I just had the roughest few weeks ever, University finals and such. I've had this chapter for forever, yet I couldn't bring myself to upload it until I was done with my exams. xD

Well, here we go again with daily updates. Sometimes I'm really scared I'm not doing a great job in writing, so I don't know. Do you find this interesting?

Thank you so much for so many favorites and your reviews, they all lightened up my day.

Also, to avoid confusion, Shizuo is suffering from one of the worst case depressions. People in this state usually depend on others more than they let on. I'm going to gradually "cure" him, teehee. Let's see how it goes, then.

Off we go.

Disclaimer: DON'T OWN DRRR.

Only in deep midnight all the lights close like tired eyes.
And the banquet house drowns in the solemnity of sleep and dreams.

I disgusted myself. I felt dirty, used and out of place. Izaya collapsed on top of me, breathing heavily, his sweaty chest leaning against mine.

My eyes wandered around his arms, part of his chest and shoulders. Only now did I notice every little scar he had. It never occurred to me that beyond his shirt there would be constellations of scars, all of them white and miserable on his skin.

I lay there frozen, unable to move, growing limp beneath Izaya. His rapid breathing gradually changed into little gulps of air.

I heard a low chuckle erupt from his mouth. "That wasn't so bad, huh?"

I pursed my lips, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball, let the tears stream down my face and cut myself again.

Izaya propped himself up and looked into my eyes, clearly taken aback by the lack of response from me.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He was trying to be sincere, yet I could feel he didn't particularly care about what was going inside of me. "Didn't I make you feel good? Did I hurt you?"

I placed my hands on his shoulders and pushed him off. Izaya complied without asking any more questions, so I sat up, grabbing my now throbbing head.

We were messy, alright. I could see stains of cum on Izaya's rug, some of it on his couch. Izaya didn't seem to care. He was all too gloriously naked and sitting next to me, his head cocked to one side and his scars painfully affecting my eyesight.

"You…" I started, unsure if I really wanted to hear the answers to all of my questions. "You said you'd tell me about your 27 thing if I had sex with you."

I couldn't look at him at this point. My body was violated, every patch he touched and kissed burned nuclear. Why did it feel so good yet so wrong? Izaya's hand ended up on mine and I snagged it away.

Maybe he was hurt by my gesture. Maybe he wasn't. That damn flea certainly knew how to manipulate his way through emotions and acting.

"I did," he said. "I remember."

We sat like this, still filthy in our own lingering passion, before I heard Izaya take a huge breath.

"It all started when I was 12," he aired. This time, I trailed his fingers with my gaze, without having to look at him. "I had a meek obsession with Nirvana, especially Kurt Cobain. He was basically the most important person in the world to me. At that point, I was stupid enough to believe that he was still alive and the day I found out he killed himself was the day I figured out I needed a new obsession."

I glanced at Izaya for a second and was surprised to see his eyes unfocused. He was reminiscing something dear to him, something he maybe did not want to share with anyone. Part of me wanted him to suffer the consequences of his promise; the other wanted him to stop talking.

"Shizu-chan," he breathed out longingly. "Since the age of six, I knew my life was going to be paced with obsessions. They were my guilty pleasure. I would obsess over anything, even the littlest things. My mother and father dragged me to countless therapy sessions, eager to remove my keen interest in things that were not suitable for kids. I was copying my favorite characters, shows, people. I wasn't myself.

"That's when Kurt Cobain stepped into my life. Every other obsession faded. I submerged myself in his world, started thinking I was him and then my mother told me how he was dead for a long time."

Izaya looked up, straight into my eyes. "He died at the age of 27."

My eyes widened. "Wait, isn't that like the 27 club –"

He nodded. "I believe so, sugar cakes," he said, shuffling closer to me. Once again, I was drawn into him, his eyes, his breathing, his body, his scars. A single story and I was already obsessing over him. I didn't know what that did to my sanity. I didn't know if I wanted to find out. Right now I wanted to hear whatever Izaya had to say.

He stayed silent for three seconds before talking again. "I looked it up. 27. Amy Winehouse died at the age of 27, the newest addition, I suppose."

He snaked his arms around my waist, kissing the place over my heart. "Well, supposing I didn't have anything to obsess over, and my sole purpose was to obsess over one thing, I thought – I can create something of my own. Before you think I'm going to kill myself at the age of 27 – fat chance. I'm no celebrity. I prefer being a shadow and my life is too dear to me. I just thought that obsessing over a number was more profound than trying to be someone else."

"That's it?" I asked. "You could've told me this before we did anything."

"But that would've spoiled the fun, huh, Shizu-chan?" he winked at me.

I felt aware of every little scar on my hands. Izaya was so casually wrapped around me, his gaze never lingering on my scars – it was frightening. I was used to my mother crying whenever she saw them in broad daylight. I was used to see my father's disappointed look every time I had to roll my sleeves back.

Izaya did none of those things. He kept his eyes locked with mine, occasionally drifting to my hair. He brushed it with care, ruffled, played with it. That was the point that made him fairly human. How much of a human he was I couldn't tell.

He untangled himself from me, stood up and stretched. "Care for a shower together?"

"I'd prefer showering alone, thank you," I said. "And after that, you have to take me home."

Izaya rolled his eyes. "We could do a lot more, by the way. You could stay over and I could show you how flexible I can be."

"I'm not having sex with you again," I said, standing up and grabbing my clothes.

"Why not?" he pouted. "I thought we established that this relationship will not contain any feelings whatsoever, just animalistic pleasures."

"For the record, you're the first one I ever got involved with without feelings," I hissed. "I don't normally do this thing where you fuck like bunnies on every corner of the flat."

He bit his lip, making me blush.

"I don't normally hate the person I sleep with," he said, picking his shirt up. "We can make exceptions, you and I."

I stumbled before answering a straight no. I swore I could see a little bit of hurt in Izaya's eyes, yet the moment drifted away. He sighed. "Alright," he said. "I'll drive you back on one condition. You shower with me."

I was about to protest when he held up a finger. "We won't be doing any funny business. I have a strange crave to wash your hair. I swear I won't touch your dick or anything."

Considering I didn't know where we were and it was nearly 8 p.m., I decided my best chance was to follow Izaya's suggestion and get on with it. I nodded, slowly drowning in my own emotions. I was confused. Confused more than I've ever been in my entire left.

And for some reason, I could feel the old Shizuo awakening, somewhere deep inside of my dark dark soul.