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Orihara Izaya awoke alone. He had no idea where he was. All he could see was the pure white of the ceiling. The fluorescent light he had expected from a hospital was absent, which relieved him immensely. Izaya still remembered waking up for the first time when he had been stabbed, sharp agony tearing through his abdomen as his mind gained consciousness. The wound had faded into a scar, a white line so light only he was aware of it. Clouds invaded his vision and the young man wondered how he could see the clouds but not feel the sun that was shining across from the window. Then Izaya became aware that he was not seeing clouds but his own breath under an oxygen mask.
The smooth beep of the heart monitor echoed in his ears for a number of seconds. Izaya attempted to move his arms, but a hoarse gasp filled with suppressed pain filled the room, almost too loud as the young man found that his arms hurt too much to move. Izaya slowly moved his head to see that his arms were now encased in casts.
A shudder tore through Izaya’s thin and weak body as sharp white-hot pain melted his veins and disemboweled his intestines. His eyesight began to fade, and he hurt too much to even open his mouth.
His heart began to beat faster as half-formed memories echoed in his mind. The soul-crushing agony as Shizuo used a beam as a baseball bat against his body as Izaya broke through the windows, the tiny pinpricks of glass embedding in his skin, and the feeling of his spine colliding against the concrete of the building. His arms had been broken.
“Do it…monster.”
Pain…pain… His mind was fading away as the broken body became overwhelmed with agony. Izaya didn’t know it, but he was at risk for opening his stiches and bleeding out again. His breaths began to increase as images of Shizuo beating him in the last fight burned. The heart monitor began to wail.
Izaya thought erratically. No. Adrenaline was rushing through his entire body, making his fingers twitch and his lower body spasm. Just as Izaya was about to tear away the oxygen mask, there was a faint pinch in his neck. Warmth immediately spread from his neck to his body.
Why didn’t you finish me… Izaya thought faintly as the world became dark again. Shizu-chan?
Izaya always hated dogs. It didn’t matter what size they were. Dogs were infantile creatures.
Why can’t I go back? It felt as if time was moving slowly forward. The second seemed to stretch beyond its usual limit, and Izaya could only see pure white. Izaya didn’t know where he was. The last thing he remembered was telling Kine that he didn’t want to see a monster witness his death. The adrenaline that had coursed through his entire body had dissipated, leaving his body screaming in pain and half-formed images echoing behind his closed eyelids.
He was dying. Izaya knew the risks when he had decided to end his hatred for Shizuo once and for all. The nine year hatred had cumulated into a fight…no, a fight meant that the individuals were equals. Agony tore through his spine and his arms had been broken. Shizuo had clearly, won. The brute was probably celebrating his death with the Russian assassin with the rest of Ikebukuro. Maybe he was even fucking her.
The thought made Izaya’s agony increase to the point that his mind was spinning.
Izaya would die than admit that he was in love with Heiwajima Shizuo. He still remembered how they met. Sixteen and first year high schoolers, Izaya having been pulled along by Shinra to meet someone. Izaya had thought that Shinra was finally going to introduce him to his non-existent girlfriend.
Adreniline surged through his limbs as he saw a tall boy with bleached blond hair hover over seven or eight bodies of bruised high school students. Their uniform indicated they were from another school, but that was a detail Izaya put in the back of his mind for later. In his hands the boy was half-holding a football net as if it weighed nothing. His uniform was askew, the blue of his uniform half off his shoulder. A hint of skin was revealed by the absence of the uniform tie, and Izaya pushed down the absurd desire to lick his tongue across the slightly bronze skin.
Izaya had been observing the yet-unnamed student’s body for a couple of minutes. Shinra’s voice was half a world away when he introduced the two.
So…his name is Heiwajima Shizuo.
Izaya was wiling to hold out his hand and shake it, even if it meant only a second of skin-to-skin contact.
Shizuo shattered any illusion Izaya had entertained.
“You piss me off.”
Shock had been an emotion Izaya hadn’t felt in a while. The shock turned into anger…anger into rage.
Izaya wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t. He tore at Shizuo’s clothes with his switchblade because he loved seeing the pissed-off face of Shizu-chan, not because of a pathetic emotion like hurt and rage.
Izaya only harbored hatred for Shizuo. He buried his true heart, his true feelings deep down in the abyss of the darkness and loneliness that made up Izaya. It took many years of self-denial and self-hatred, his sisters declaring their hatred for him, and working for the demanding and exhilarating Yakuza, to bury his petty infatuation underneath what made him who he was.
“Monster.”
“I heard he forced girls to commit suicide!”
“Don’t trust that dirty information broker.”
“I’ll kill you!”
“Goodbye…Izaya.”
Why did it hurt so much? Why did the agony that he had kept inside his heart for so long break free from its confines and start attacking him? He didn’t care what people thought of him. He loved his humans, for all the reactions and situations that he had a front-row seat to.
It wasn’t as if he –
“You’re wrong.”
What…?
Izaya heard that voice. But why…did he even hear it? Izaya had at least hoped for a death without any of the film-like qualities. It seemed that all of his plans for the end had been derailed.
I thought of all people, I would hear Shizuo’s voice. Izaya supposed that it would be a subconscious guilt of ruining the ex-bartender’s life. Izaya could see the man’s face right now. The dark-haired man thought that the blue-tinted glasses Shizuo wore hide his beautiful honey-brown eyes. Kasuka might be the one with hordes of fangirls which included his twin sisters, but Shizu-chan was much more handsome in Izaya’s opinion.
Even hearing his voice screaming his name at the top of his lungs with rage and killing intent, Izaya had laughed and laughed and felt the stirrings of lust eclipse his sight.
So then why was he even conscious?
“Who are you?” Izaya whispered. The young man attempted to stand, but collapsed in a burst of agony that almost caused him to faint. The hot agony was causing Izaya to feel weak, his limbs feeling removed from his body. Cold sweat coated his pale forehead, and Izaya grit his teeth as the pain continued to pulse. It was as if every cell was on fire.
Izaya lifted his head despite his skull screaming. Before him was a man. He had dark raven hair and was wearing a crumpled white t-shirt and blue tie. He could see the man’s features were vaguely similar to his own, with the pale skin and angular face. Strangely the unnamed individual was looking at him. Izaya blinked blearily as his body began to shudder from the effort of being conscious for so long.
“I am Loki, God of Mischief.”
Izaya almost balked at the statement. The only god was your past. Gods, demons, the supernatural were myths intended to intimidate children. He didn’t expect to find a god in his unconsciousness.
“I didn’t know you were British.”
Loki…god of Mischief…known in Old Norse by...
Izaya was suddenly moments away from collapsing into unconsciousness.
If the former Izaya had been here, the dark-haired man would have embarrassed himself with excitement.
As it was, the twenty-five year old almost sighed in relief at the man’s touch. The cool fingertips soothed his racing heart.
His fingers are so cold...how long has it been since I was touched like this?