The gun in his hands was cold. Hard. Metallic.

He turned it over, examining the shiny barrel, flexing his finger in a feint on the trigger. Then he sighed deeply.

It was heavy in his hands. Too bulky compared to his favourite flick knife, which he far would have preferred to be holding. The small blade gave him confidence, made him feel in control.

But the gun's click screamed efficiency as he cocked it against his own temple, applying a little bit of pressure, poking himself once, twice, thrice, as if to wake himself up. His knife would be no use to him now.

How did it come to this?

Namie could never know how much her words had hurt him. She could never know that it would be her own fault when she arrived at the apartment to clean up the mess that was known as Izaya, which would by then be a bloody streak across the carpet.

I'm pretty sure the entire human race hates you.

He glanced once around his expensive apartment, smiling fondly at its familiarity. Had he seen himself in the mirror at that moment he would have realised how… wrong the expression looked on his face. It was so alien compared to the usual self-satisfied smirk that danced across his lips

So I guess this is goodbye.

The thought was aimed at no one in particular, but he said it while looking at Celty's head, maybe because it was the only thing in the room that vaguely resembled anything human.

He closed his eyes as he pressed the gun hard, somewhat painfully, into his temple once more, finger playing hesitantly on the trigger.

He took a deep breath.


Shizuo fumed.

Rage coursed through his body, white hot and pumping through his veins dangerously. His temples throbbed in a way that made him forget that which had made him so pissed off in the first place.

He strode off in the direction of Shinjuku.

Nothing mattered as his footsteps rung out in the afternoon sun. Nothing mattered except where he was going.

He broke into a run as sweat began to pour down his face. He ignored the heat despite his long-sleeve shirt. Adrenaline beat in his ears as his pulse raced, faster and faster, as his legs carried him nearer and nearer.

Kill.

It was the only word that perfectly, coherently rang through his mind like a bell. It fuelled his mad run across the city, that sent people running in all directions until he reached Orihara Izaya's front door.


Everybody hates you.

He let out a shaky breath as he lowered the gun. He hated how weak he was. He hated how human he was.

He was alone. Namie's words had made him realise that. And he felt like it would never change.

Never.

So why couldn't he do it?

He focused on the downward spiral he had been in for months. Focused on the negative emotions. Focused on that one, single thought.

It would be better to be dead.

He clenched his eyes shut.

And then he raised the weapon to his head again.


Shizuo didn't care about Izaya's apartment and he didn't care if he burst in on him at an awkward time. The only thought in his head was that the only way to rid himself of the blind rage he felt was to kill something.

To kill Izaya.

And then, he broke down the door.

And he was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

Izaya hadn't even opened his eyes when Shizuo had crashed unceremoniously into his apartment, too lost in his own world to notice. And the gun was pressed unmistakeably against his head.

Execution style.

Shizuo was across the room, grabbing the gun, pushing Izaya back against the window pane, falling over on top of him in less than a second. There was no time to think about why he had done it. The only thing that played through his mind was; get the gun.

Izaya slowly opened his eyes, widening them when he saw who was sitting on top of him, and then staring pleadingly up at him. He said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes.

Why?

Shizuo wondered that too.

Slowly, deliberately, Izaya reached for Shizuo's wrist, pressing the gun back against his temple and positioning one of Shizuo's fingers against the trigger.

"I can't do it."

Shizuo slowly sucked in a breath when he realised Izaya was referring to his own suicide.

"You do it."

Shizuo didn't want to. He had come here to kill him, but every single angry thought had been chased out of his mind when he had seen the gun in Izaya's hand.

He realised with a slight jolt that he had seized the gun to protect Izaya. He had been trying to save him from shooting himself.

Slowly, he shook his head.

Izaya stared at him.

Please?

Shizuo stared right back.

No.

One big, fat, salty tear leaked shamelessly out of the corner of Izaya's eye. It was followed by another. And then another. And another.

He giggled slightly, hysterically, as he touched his hand to his cheek and brought it back wet. Then he focused those wide, broken eyes back on Shizuo.

"You want me dead, right?"

Shizuo swallowed.

Yes, but…

But what?

Shizuo didn't know.

He closed his eyes, trying to pull his hand, along with the gun, back and away from Izaya's head. But Izaya's persistent hand stopped him.

"Why?" Shizuo whispered, the first thing he'd said since arriving.

"Everybody hates me. Why should I go on living like this?" He laughed again, but it was harsh, cold, cruel.

Broken.

And then, in that fleeting moment, Shizuo saw it. The desperation. The helplessness. The depression. Written in cursive for the world to see in Izaya's eyes.

But the world wasn't looking. The world wasn't caring.

There was only Shizuo.

"You've promised me so many times!" Izaya shouted now, anger coiling in his stomach at the man who wouldn't kill him. "So many times!"

Izaya's head rolled back and he let out another crazy laugh.

Shizuo finally succeeded in getting the gun away from Izaya's head, and he tossed it somewhere behind him in the apartment.

Their eyes met.

"You promised," Izaya breathed in shakily, "That you'd kill me."

"I know."

Shizuo's whisper was so quiet that both of them wondered whether they'd imagined it.

Izaya found Shizuo's hands, wrapping them around his own neck.

"Then do it!" He was shouting again, his voice sounding too loud, and too desperate against the backdrop of the quiet apartment.

Shizuo tried. He tried as hard as he could to find the tiniest shred of anger, he searched his mind, his entire soul for the thinnest thread of that rage that had so blindly brought him here. It was the best chance he'd ever have to rid himself of this… flea.

Shizuo tried.

Shizuo failed.

Shizuo removed the hands from around Izaya's neck, sitting back slightly.

"I'm not going to kill you, Izaya," Shizuo said gruffly, the words tasting foreign on his tongue.

"You promised." Izaya's eyes looked up at him accusingly now.

There was a short silence in which Shizuo contemplated whether he was losing his mind.

Then Izaya started thrashing wildly, eyes wide, struggling to get Shizuo off him, reaching blindly for the gun.

"You promised you'd kill me! You promised," he shrieked trying to slap Shizuo. "You have no right to stop me from killing myself!"

Shizuo looked down sadly at Izaya. He was… delirious.

And then an image flashed through his mind. An image of a world without Izaya.

It was boring and dull, with no snide comments to wind him up, and no smug smirk to send him over the edge. It was lonely; Shizuo realised with a jolt that Izaya was one of the few people who actually dared to come near him, let alone talk to him.

It was horrible.

He refocused on Izaya's words, realising he was still ranting on in that desperate, hysterical way.

"You don't know what it's like!" His voice was nearing a scream. "Nobody coming near you! Everyone's afraid! You don't know what it's like! You don't know-"

But Shizuo did know what it was like. Had known what it was like for most of his life. And he wanted Izaya to stop.

So he grabbed his wrists.

And he leant down.

And he kissed him.

There was a moment when neither of them knew what was going on, amber eyes locked on auburn. They froze, Izaya's body tensed, and he wondered what on earth was happening, the words 'Shizuo' and 'kiss' in completely opposite corners of his mind.

But then their eyes slid closed, and Izaya moved his lips experimentally against Shizuo's. Momentarily forgetting about the gun, and pleased with the result, he slowly, timidly, melted into the kiss.

Shizuo's head spun and his mind reeled when he felt Izaya's hot mouth press back, and he pushed himself closer, wondering why he was doing this as he slipped his tongue into Izaya's mouth. Izaya readily complied, fascinated by the remnants of smoke and nicotine he tasted on the slick muscle.

Shizuo let go of Izaya's wrists, needing one of his arms to balance him against the window pane to stop him from tumbling forward and crushing Izaya, and allowing the other to slip behind the raven's head, burying his fingers in the inky black hair. Izaya used the new freedom of his arms to lever himself up, arching his body against Shizuo and pulling their bodies flush against each other.

The kiss quickly became intoxicating. Shizuo lost his balance and tried his hardest not to crush Izaya, but effectively pushing them impossibly closer as his weight pushed the smaller man down into the floor, while Izaya's hands tangled into Shizuo's blonde tresses. Their lips moved frantically, as they each tried to touch and taste everything they could of the other. They breathed harshly through their noses, neither minding the asphyxiating closeness of their bodies humidly, stagnantly pressing against one another.

Izaya had long forgotten the gun, which lay abandoned a few metres away on the carpet, strewn there by Shizuo.

All he could think of were the lips against his as he buried himself in the passionate kiss. He drank in the way Shizuo dominantly pressed him into the floor, and he thought about drowning in the blonde locks that he fisted his hands in, causing Shizuo considerable pain. Not that he cared.

And then they parted.

Shizuo sat up, and moved off Izaya, allowing him to prop himself up. They glanced at each other, and then looked away blushing hard.

Then Shizuo remembered what he needed to say.

"I know what it feels like," he whispered shakily, letting his blonde fringe fall over his eyes.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and stood up, wondering what to do next. He needed to get Izaya out. He didn't know where, just out. Somewhere. Anywhere, as long as it was away from here.

He offered a hand to help Izaya up, not expecting him to take it, and was pleasantly surprised when he did.

He was even more surprised when the thin arms wrapped around his waist, and the slim figure leaned heavily into him.

He let out a long breath, lightly returning Izaya's embrace.

"You promised."

A pause.

"Sometimes we make promises we can't keep."

He wasn't expecting the sob that racked Izaya's body, nor was he expecting the tear-drenched face to be turned up to look at him.

"It just," Izaya gasped, pausing to choke back another sob. "Hurts so much."

His voice broke on the last word as he again buried his face in Shizuo's chest and succumbed to a fresh bout of sobs.

Shizuo didn't know how long he stood there like that, holding him tightly, letting him cry onto his shirt, but when Izaya finally loosened the arms around his waist and looked up, the sun was setting.

Izaya was a mess, his hair was rumpled and his face was flushed, his eyes were swollen from crying and he sniffled a bit. But the last rays of sun caught on his hair, and stuck to his throat and collarbone, illuminating his pale flesh.

He had never looked more beautiful to Shizuo.

"I think-"Izaya began, struggling to pick out the right words. "I think that when you hold me close, it hurts less."

And so Shizuo held him close, pressing his lips to the smaller man's forehead, and knowing that words weren't the thing to heal Izaya's pain yet.

Izaya felt as if Shizuo's arms were holding him together.

It was far from perfect. And it was far from love. But it was the only thing they had.

"Let's go," Shizuo said, releasing Izaya from the hug and taking his hand.

"Where?" Izaya sniffled a little.

"I don't know," said Shizuo, but he still tugged at the wrist he had a hold of.

And they left, heading for a destination that neither of them knew. But Shizuo knew that he needed to get Izaya away from the gun and away from the depression and just away from everything.

And Izaya felt like he would follow Shizuo anywhere as long as he kept holding his hand like that and letting him lean on his shoulder.


A/N: This is what happens when I stay home sick. Ugh. It's so sappy. But I wanted to upload something... hope you like it.