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The lily in my hands is in surprisingly good condition, considering how hard it was for me to cough the damn thing up. But despite the saliva and speckles of blood covering the petals, it’s still whole and vibrant and not terribly mangled.
My throat is not so untouched.
“You have blood on your lip.” Namie states bluntly from where she sits only a few feet away. She’s wearing a mask. She started doing it as soon as the first flower appeared, almost three weeks ago. “When are you going to get the damn thing removed?” She demands, a little crease appearing between her brows.
“When I have the time.” I dismiss blandly, tipping my hand to let the sticky flower fall to the floor with the other three I’ve choked out today.
Namie watches it land delicately with its siblings, probably debating if she wants to sweep them up now or before she leaves for the day. Sometimes, if she waits, I have a whole garden of golden orange lilies scattered under my desk. She hates them. Almost as much as I do.
“They’re getting bigger.” She tells me, like I wasn’t aware.
Lilies are pretty big, if memory serves. So far the ones I’ve been forcing from my lungs have stayed small and overall easy to cough up. With the bigger buds comes more irritation to my windpipe. Which means more blood. My mouth constantly tastes like iron.
“Have you even looked into the surgery yet?” Namie needles when I silently go back to working.
“Of course I have.” I dismiss easily. “There are several competent doctors. One in particular lives close to a relative of mine. I’ll go in for an evaluation once I have time in my schedule.”
Namie rests finally, appeased for now. After three weeks I thought she would start to get less annoying about this whole thing. Instead she’s become more insufferable than normal. Probably because she doesn’t want to risk catching the disease. Not when her own unrequited love is so impossible it’s practically a death sentence.
Not that mine is much better. But I guess that’s what the surgery is for.
“Did you ever consider confessing?” Namie asks, like she can read my mind. I must’ve been making my ‘thinking about Shizu-chan’ face again.
And now I get to follow it up with my ‘don’t be an idiot, Namie’ face. “I’m sure that would turn out splendidly for me. I can just see it now. The church bells ringing. The future kiddos playing on the lawn. The long nights of lovemaking. What a perfect life.” I sigh dramatically, clutching my hands together under my chin.
“You don’t have to be a dick about it.” Namie mutters.
“I’m sorry, have you met me?” I raise an eyebrow pointedly, and she turns her nose up as she goes back to focusing on her work.
We don’t talk much these days, mostly because we end up like this. Namie will turn any conversation into talking about the disease, and how I need to fix it. Either by confessing, or cutting it out of my chest.
And when the ache in your lungs is caused by a monster, you really only have one choice. A choice I’ve already made.
I just wish it didn’t make me cough so hard every time I think about it.
***
“I’ll be taking a leave of absence soon.” I inform Shiki two weeks later. He doesn’t reply at first, but I don’t look away from the window to see if he’s even acknowledged me. If he hasn’t, it’s his own fault when he goes to contact me and I’m not there.
“I see.” He rumbles at length. “May I assume you’re finally taking care of your…problem?” My hand clenches around the wadded up tissue in my pocket. The tissue that contains a perfect orange lily, crushed to pulp inside.
“My, Shiki-san! How did you find out about my pregnancy? I thought I was being so discreet! What will my lover think if he finds out that you know about our illegitimate disgrace?” The drama comes naturally for me. Just like the scowl on his face comes naturally for him.
“I’m sure Heiwajima-san would be just as interested in hearing about your plans for surgery as I am.” Shiki presses, almost completely unfazed by my theatrics. It doesn’t feel fair, when I’m struck silent by his ever so flippant comment.
I don’t try to deny that it’s Shizuo. Just like I don’t try a second time to deny the reason for my impromptu vacation. I wait until the tickle at the back of my throat dies down and try to swallow the first petals of another lily.
“When will you leave?” Shiki asks as he exhales cigarette smoke. He has his window cracked, and is constantly breathing the smoke out into the world, I think out of consideration. Which I can’t help but to appreciate, even if I would never admit it to him.
“Beginning of next month. It’s just a preliminary evaluation.”
“You’re still in stage one then?” I nod tensely. “It’s good you’re looking into this so early. The success rates are higher the earlier the surgery is performed.” It feels like I’m talking to Namie all over again.
Shiki takes another deep inhale of his cigarette and eases it out through the crack in his window. Even so, the smell lingers and I think of Shizuo and my throat starts to tickle so bad it brings tears to my eyes that I have to keep down by sheer will alone.
“I’ll see you when you return then.” The car rolls to a stop near Ikebukuro Station, and I thank him quickly before getting out. I don’t even wait to watch him drive away, like I normally do. I find the nearest ally I can and cough until three blooms lay blood splattered at my feet. Only then does my aching throat stop convulsing, and my raw chest stop crackling with the need to expel the flowers.
One of the worst things about the disease is the involuntary tears that always seep out of my eyes when I have to cough particularly hard. It makes it seem like I’m crying, like they always make the protagonists do in the movies. Crocodile tears meant to make you sympathetic for the poor, Disease ridden souls.
But I haven’t really seen the use of crying through this whole thing.
Tears won’t pull the flowers from my lungs. And they damn well won’t make me a lovable, redeemable hero who just needs to believe in myself enough to confess and be cured by my love. I roll my eyes at the thought.
Whatever else I may be, I’m not a hero. I’ve never thought that, even for a moment. And the disease in my chest doesn’t change anything.
I’m still just a shitty flea who thrives on the despair of others. It just seems like that despair has finally caught up to me. I guess it was only a matter of time.
***
“As you may know, lilies are a mid-range concern when it comes to this disease. You’re low risk for a surgery, especially since you’re coming in during the earliest stage. Naturally there are still risks, because as you know this procedure does have a 20% mortality rate.” Dr. Sawamura doesn’t address me really. She’s rambling into her notes, more interested in documenting everything than she is in explaining things to me.
Which is fine. I appreciate her for not doting on me, or trying to sugar coat anything. The blunt truth is what I wanted when I scheduled the appointment with her instead of the dozen other surgeons in Japan who specialize in this.
But it is a little disconcerting when she just keeps talking. “Complications usually stem from things like blossom size, flower type, the length of time between flower growth. We’ll need to do a full exam, including a sleep study, before we can schedule you. That being said, I’d like to wait to perform the exam until you enter stage two.
“You’ve already had the disease for two months, which is around when most people progress to the next level. If we wait and collect the data from stage two, it increases your odds of avoiding complication during the surgery itself. Trust me, you do not want me to cut you open only to find out the flower has completely changed since your exam.”
“Won’t the surgery be more dangerous if I wait?” I point out when she stops to take a breath.
“Yes and no. Stage two surgery is still largely successful, especially at the beginning. My only concern is that you started with lilies, which we normally see during stages two through three. Carnations and daisies are what I come across most often in stage one. Based on that, it’s likely the progression of your disease will be more extreme than most. If you weren’t getting surgery, that is.”
Sawamura carries on after that, reminding me so much of Shinra at times that I find myself ignoring her just on principle. Finally she wraps up by handing a folder full of papers across her desk and shaking my hand very quick and very firm.
Her secretary shows me back out to the waiting room, leaving me with a card that has their phone number and an encouragement to schedule another appointment scrawled on it in classic doctor chicken scratch.
“How did it go?” I glance up from the card at the only other person in the room. Natsu, like Sawamura, doesn’t even look up to speak to me. She just continues working on the embroidery she started after I arrived at her home yesterday.
“I told you not to come.” I remind her with a grimace. She scoffs a derisive snort, pulling gently at her needle until a thread is perfectly in place.
“Are you ready to go then?” Natsu asks, finally glancing up to sweep a quick look over me. “You look like shit.”
“Eloquent as ever.” I mutter, but I have to agree with her. I feel like shit too. “Yes, I’m ready to go.”
Natsu is pretty spry for an older lady, standing immediately and tucking her embroidery hoop into the bag at her side. She leads the way out of the office, even going so far as to hold the door open for me. I give her a polite nod.
“Are you going to eat today? Don’t think I didn’t notice. You didn’t touch a thing yesterday” She immediately starts nagging when we’re out of the office, and she doesn’t stop the entire walk to the train station. I do my best to keep up with her- giving her little hums of denial and affirmation when needed. But my mind is elsewhere.
Stage two. I really didn’t want to let it get to that point. I wanted to have it taken care of before it could get there. It’s not like I’ve been sentenced to death or anything- that comes after stage three. But it’s still further than I’d like.
I want to get this over with. Is that too much to ask? Evidently so.
My chest aches the entire trip to Natsu’s home. And finally, the second I can escape from my grandmother’s insistent presence, the flowers come flooding out like a dam bursting.
For now, it’s a relief to get them out. But I know there will come a time when it’ll hurt as much to get rid of the flowers as it does to keep them.
I just hope this waiting will be over before I get to that point.
***
“What do you mean she wouldn’t schedule you?” Shinra seems surprised, even though I explained everything before getting to the punchline. I have to wonder if he’s just being dramatic because he’s so baffled by the concept, but no. When I look at him, there’s honest confusion on his dorky face.
Celty too looks taken aback by this development. She’s stopped puttering around in the kitchen in favor of blatantly staring at us while we talk.
“Like I said, she wants to wait for me to get to stage two.” I grumpily repeat. Shinra frowns, obviously unhappy with this.
“Izaya, just let my dad do your surgery. I’ll assist him, you’ll be totally fine!” It’s maybe the fifth time he’s proposed this, so honestly I don’t feel it even deserves a response at this point. Not when it’s still going to be the same answer no matter how many times he brings it up. “What if stage two is inoperable?”
“That only happens in one out of every two-hundred cases.” I know, because it was written in the paperwork Dr. Sawamura gave me to look over when I left. I’ve been studying it intently for the last three weeks as I wait for my body to change and push me into the next stage.
It usually doesn’t take this long. Dr. Sawamura keeps calling to check on my progress, and every time she does I have to tell her that another week has gone by exactly the same. What I really want to be doing is snarling about how I could be living without my disease by now, if she had just scheduled my surgery on the faith that I’d stay in stage one.
It grates to know that I could have been done with this already if we had just known for sure what I know now. There’s just been so much wasted time!
“One in every two-hundred?! Izaya those are terrible odds when it comes to the world of medicine!” Shinra screeches. I cringe, rubbing the side of my head. “Let my dad do the surgery!”
“No.” I deny immediately. Shinra makes a long, frustrated noise.
“This is serious, you know! If you’re not gonna entertain the idea that your stage two could be inoperable-”
“I have entertained it, Shinra.” I interrupt him with a sigh. His head cocks to the side.
“And? Do you have backup plans?”
“I believe it’s called the morgue.” My drawl is very clearly not what he, or Celty, wants to hear. They’re instantly yelling at me- or rather Shinra is yelling and Celty is frantically typing and shoving her phone in my face. I sigh and sink down in my chair.
It doesn’t really matter. Any of it. Whether I get the surgery, or if it turns out to be inoperable.
Either way, I’m going to die. Someday. We all die, just some of us die young with flowers on our tongues and leaves between our teeth.
Honestly, that sounds like a more fitting death for an unselfish god.
***
I’ve given up a lot of the schemes I had been working on. Many of them require legwork, and when you have flowers growing in your lungs, it’s a little difficult to be sure of your footing while you run from gangsters and killers.
It leaves a lot of my schedule open though. Which basically means I’m lying upside down on the couch, my feet kicking over the backrest while I watch mindless cartoons, when my door is quite literally kicked in.
I have to prop myself up on my elbows to see over the back of the couch- like I didn’t already know who it would be. Shizuo’s angry growling, combined with the pathetic state of my door, is as good as an announcement. I sigh heavily, feeling my chest protest the action. It aches desperately just from being near him.
“I was just thinking about how I really wanted a new door.” I drawl, letting myself fall back flat on the couch. My head hangs over the seat, which actually feels pretty nice on my sore throat. Or it did before I suddenly found myself with a lily in it. I try to discreetly cough, but it stays lodged.
“Shut up, shitty flea! What the fuck are you up to?” I can feel his threatening approach through the monstrous vibrations his clomping sends out. Moments later his crushing grip is around my ankle, squeezing far too tight for comfort.
I still force a lazy smirk on my face as I link my fingers behind my head- the picture of content. For Shizuo I’m sure I look more like the picture of pure evil.
“You’re gonna have to make up your mind, Shizu-chan. Do you want me to shut up or tell you what I’m up to?” He squeezes my ankle tight enough to make my smirk waver for a moment, but I don’t flinch other than that.
“I fucking hate you.” He growls, low in his throat. My own throat burns with pain, the taste of blood seeping into my mouth.
“Fascinating.” I drawl. “In any case, I’m not sure why you’re here. I’m actually not up to anything currently.” The honest surprise in my own tone is enough to throw even Shizuo off. If only for a moment.
“Don’t play games with me you fucker! You haven’t been in my city in months! You’re obviously plotting something!” His fingers sink between the bones of my ankle, and even with so much of my attention focused on seeming calm and collected, it leaves me gasping as pain radiates up my bones. My leg twitches away from him instinctively, but he pulls right back, even harder.
“Your paranoia is charming, Shizu-chan, but per normal, you’re completely wrong. I don’t have any plans besides the ones I do for a living- and technically those are from someone else. So no, I’m not up to anything.”
He glares down at me, his eyes sweeping over me compulsively like he’s trying to find evidence that I’m lying in the sight of me alone. But all at once his face clears as his eyes dart to the floor in front of where I’ve been lounging all day.
“Is that…a flower?”
My chest throbs as the unsettling feeling of a lily opening up in my lungs spreads through me. I’m nearly certain he can see some kind of reaction on my face, because his hold on my ankle loosens ever so slightly. Not a lot, but enough that the dull ache of it stops spreading up the length of my leg.
I tip my head to the side, eyeing the blood speckled, orange monstrosity with palpable disdain. But thank god it’s only the one, and that I threw out the dozen others I’ve coughed up since this morning.
“Guess so. Namie must have left it behind. I’ll have to talk to her about that. Doesn’t she know it’s unsanitary to leave something so filthy lying around?” His hold eases even more after that, and it actually eases a lot of the current tension in my lungs along with it.
“She has it?” Shizuo sounds nervous now. Huh. I wonder who he’s got unrequited feelings for that would make him so afraid of the disease. Probably that blonde, Russian girl.
“Afraid so. Poor thing, she has the most undignified crush on her brother. So, obviously that’s not gonna work out for her. But thankfully she’s getting it taken care of soon.” I hope it’s soon. I really do.
Shizuo looks uncomfortable, which brings a smirk to my face. “Do you have someplace you need to be, Shizu-chan?” I suggest. His eyes flick to me, narrowing in irritation, but he nods.
“Yeah. I gotta…” He doesn’t bother to justify it. Not when we both know he just wants out of here to avoid the possibility of contagion. I wiggle my fingers in a taunting goodbye which he doesn’t even see as he storms out. The limp, broken door remains ajar and I make a mental note to call for a new one before Namie gets here tomorrow. She’ll just be thrilled when I tell her about this.
I let my head fall back down, frowning. And after a minute of that, I swing my legs from their place over the back of the couch, pulling myself upright just in time to hack out four golden and crimson lilies.
They join the sad, wilting one on the ground. I find myself staring at them for who knows how long through blurry, watery eyes. Ridiculous, the eye watering thing.
It almost makes me feel like I’m crying over Shizuo. I could never do that. Never.
If I did that, I don’t know how much I’d want to stay alive anyway.
***
“Thank you for calling the offices of Dr. Sawamura, how may I assist you?”
“This is Orihara Izaya, I’m a patient. I’d just like to cancel my upcoming appointment with Dr. Sawamura. I’ll no longer be needing her services.”
“May I ask why, Orihara-san?”
I stare almost unseeingly at the fat, purple blossom in my hand. It’s practically insulting, it’s so pristine. Scratch that, it’s definitely insulting.
“You can tell Dr. Sawamura that I finally reached stage two. It’s petunias.” I tell the receptionist, and promptly hang up. I don’t want to hear her pity. And I definitely don’t want an apology from the doctor. Except maybe an apology for the ‘I told you so’ speech I’m definitely going to get from Shinra.
With a scowl, I crush the flower in my hand. Purple shaded liquid runs down my wrist like blood. And I don’t feel any better.
I think it’s safe to say, I feel worse than ever.
***
“Why are they inoperable again?” Natsu doesn’t seem to be grasping the concept. But then again, the whole concept of Hanahaki Disease is foreign to her. The first cases didn’t start appearing until well after any possible romantic troubles in her life were over.
“They’re too resilient. It takes too much of a toll on the lungs to remove them. Almost always ends in death for the patient.” I drawl blandly, not pausing in the report I’m typing up.
“Sounds like bullshit to me.” She mutters. “Just drink some weedkiller so something.”
A wry smirk curls up the corner of my lips, the first one to do so in weeks. “I think that might actually kill me faster than the flowers, Natsu.”
“Don’t be a bitch. Bitch.” She dismisses, and continues sewing.
“Encouraging as always.” I sigh, but I can’t keep the fondness out of my tone. She’s quiet for the next few minutes, sewing silently as I type. It’s only once I’ve paused in my tapping that she speaks again.
“So what are you going to do? Find some back alley doctor to cut it out of you?” She proposes. I snort a laugh.
“Believe it or not, I’ve had offers.” Shinra has been all but begging me to reconsider over the last month of the petunia outbreak- as I’ve taken to calling it. “But that’s not really my style.”
“So what, you’re gonna let it kill you?” She frowns, in what could almost just be concentration for her sewing. But the woman could sew a wedding dress in a few days, she doesn’t even need to think about sewing anymore at this point- she just does it. As regularly as most people breathe.
“That’s the plan.” I agree with a chipper smile that I don’t for one second feel.
Natsu puts down the shirt she’s been mending- one of the ones I tore in a fight with Shizu-chan and forgot about until I pulled it out of my suitcase. Being under her full attention can be unnerving. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s one of the people I learned it from.
“Izaya, you’re too young to be this ready to die.” She tells me, blunt as a sledgehammer to the face. “I may not know much about this disease, or really understand how it even works. But your mother told me it can also be cured by confessing to the person you have feelings for.”
“That only works if there’s a chance the feelings will be returned.” I scoff, pulling up another file that I don’t really need to work on. I just want something to be doing, so I don’t have to meet her eyes.
“And you know for a fact that they won’t be?” She demands.
“With 100% certainty.”
Natsu doesn’t look convinced. But she doesn’t say that. She stands from her cozy little nest on her couch to join me at the table half the room away. She even goes so far as to shut the lid of my computer to get me to stop pretending I have better things to do.
“Izaya Orihara, you should not be throwing your life away.” I feel myself scowling, which in turn makes her scowl. Natsu isn’t one to shy away just because she’s upsetting you. Which is kinda weird, considering how her child and grandchildren turned out. We all shy away from anything even remotely resembling feelings- let alone uncomfortable feelings.
“I’ll make a note.” I tell her, as seriously as I can. Her lips purse tight enough to make them pale under the pressure. For a moment it looks like she wants to yell at me. Or maybe slap me.
Instead all she does is breathe out a sigh and put the finished shirt in my lap. “There’s still time, right? For you to change your mind?”
I don’t want to give her hope where there is none. But I also don’t want to talk about this anymore. So I nod. “About eight months, usually.” A year in total, but I’ve already burned through a third of that.
“Alright then.” She sighs. “Wasn’t there another of these you needed mended?” She gestures to the shirt she fixed. I look at it in consideration and slowly shake my head.
“No, thank you.” Natsu looks doubtful- which is fair, since I’m lying. “I think I’ll go lay down for a while.” I tell her, escaping before she can insist on something irritating, like eating lunch before I nap.
The room I borrow when I come to visit my grandmother is slowly becoming more and more familiar to me. I’ve been here more often in the last four months than I have in the last four years. Since I’m not seeing Dr. Sawamura anymore I don’t really need to be here, but Natsu seems to enjoy it. And I like being out of the city every now and then.
I like putting space between me and him.
The shirt Natsu fixed for me winds up tossed in a pile with the other things I need to wash in the near future. How boring. Doing laundry, like a mortal. I suppose that’s what I get for being mortal enough to catch a fatal disease. No more wild chases and fun schemes- now I do laundry while visiting my grandmother.
I hate this. I hate how quiet this town is. I hate how sedate Natsu is. I hate how much it hurts to sit still and watch her mend the rips in clothes that remind me of older times in Ikebukuro.
There’s another shirt on my bed, almost identical to the one Natsu just fixed. At the shoulder there’s a wide rip, where Shizuo grabbed my sleeve during a chase and the seam separated like tissue paper. It falls open to reveal skin when I pull the shirt on over my head.
I should let my grandmother fix it. But I don’t know what would hurt worse. Remembering those days of chases and hatred every time I look at this shirt and the rip in the shoulder. Or forgetting it when there’s nothing to prove that it happened.
A petunia sits heavily in my windpipe as I rub thoughtfully at the jagged fabric. I should cough it up and take this shirt to Natsu, and forget about both of them.
But I don’t. I curl up on my temporary bed and dig my nails into the revealed skin of my shoulder. And I let the tickle in my throat build until my eyes water with it. And when I start coughing and that water spills down my face, at least I can say it’s my body forcing the tears, and not my mind.
Even if it’s not true, I can say it.
***
23:04: FROM: Headless Wench: Why won’t you answer any of Shinra’s calls? I thought you were his friend.
23:25: TO: Headless Wench: I didn’t realize I had to justify myself to you. To either of you.
23:26: FROM: Headless Wench: He’s worried about you Izaya. God knows why, but he’s worried.
23:47: TO: Headless Wench: There is no god, Celty. I’d think something like you would know that.
23:49: FROM: Headless Wench: What is that supposed to mean?
00:36: FROM: Headless Wench: Izaya?
00:57: FROM: Headless Wench: You shouldn’t be pushing people away.
01:12: FROM: Headless Wench: Or do you just want pity?
01:13: TO: Headless Wench: Fuck off Celty.
I turn off my phone before anymore messages can come through. It leaves me with nothing to do but stare at the dark ceiling of Natsu’s guest bedroom, but that’s fine.
Maybe I’ll actually be able to sleep tonight.
Yeah, right.
***
“I understand you’ve fired your secretary recently.” Shiki has never been one for easing into a conversation. Which I can respect. Or I can when it’s a conversation I want to be having.
“It had to happen eventually.” I acknowledge, keeping my eyes pointed outside at the hoards of humans going on with their lives. I wonder how many of them have the disease. I wonder how many of them would even care if they did. For most people it’s more like a test of how daring you are than a life threatening illness.
“Better now than in six months?” Shiki suggests in a drawl.
“Better now than when she gets it too.” I admit. It’s a little too sentimental for me to normally say, but hell, I don’t have much longer to live anyway. Might as well tell the truth if someone wants it.
“I see.” Shiki rumbles.
It’s quiet for the next few blocks. I almost wish it would stay quiet all the way to the station Shiki normally lets me off at. But I gave up on making wishes before I was even walking.
“How much longer do you intend to continue working?”
“Worried for your own health, Shiki-san?” I propose, raising an eyebrow even though I haven’t looked away from the window and he probably can’t see it.
“No. I’m more worried about finding a replacement for you.” At least he’s being honest as well. It helps me feel less stupid for letting a little honesty out earlier. But only a little.
“I have a few names I can suggest for you.” I tell him blandly. He doesn’t really acknowledge me- which is a little ruder than is normally in character for him. I glance at him finally, caught off guard by the visible upset on his face. “Not to imply you can’t find a capable informant on your own.” I try to appease him. But he only looks angrier for it.
“I already took the time to find a capable informant. And now I get to watch him wither away to nothing because he’s too goddamn stubborn to just confess.” Shiki is unexpectedly savage, his tone cutting like a blade. I blink mutely at him. “What do you stand to lose from telling Heiwajima-san?”
“A little thing called dignity.” I scoff.
“You’re dying, Orihara-kun. Hardly any dignity in a long, drawn out death choking for air through a windpipe clogged with flowers.”
“I never said it would be drawn out.” I snap. It’s his turn to silently stare at me. I shift a little, uncrossing and recrossing my legs. Coughing softly into my shoulder. And then I look back at him again. “I’ll do all I can to find you a replacement. But don’t assume that I feel like I owe you anything. I won’t listen to you telling me that I’m doing everything wrong.”
“You are doing everything wrong.” Shiki mutters. But then sighs and rubs at his closed eyes. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?”
“Afraid not.” I tell him with all the forced chipperness I can manage. “Besides, this is for the best really. In the long run. Shizu-chan will finally be able to calm down. My beloved humans will be able to breathe easily for once. Ironic, isn’t it? Their chests get lighter the heavier mine gets.”
I chuckle, but it’s a dead sound. Shiki grimaces, like it’s grating on him. The upset curve of his scowl is too much right now. I can’t take this anymore.
“I think I’ll get out here today.” I tell him abruptly, opening the door. The driver slams on the breaks to accommodate the sudden decision. Shiki curses and jerks forward like he needs to brace me against the stop. But I’m already moving out the door, bending down to give him a fake smile and wave. “I’ll have that list for you next time, Shiki-san! And, of course, your information. Bye now!”
I slam the door and skip away before he can react. I know I’m being petty and childish- and probably pissing him off even more than normal. But I need to get away from him. I need to find a dark ally, immediately.
I have a little too much emotion inside me right now. It’s about time I coughed some up. In a way, the disease in almost cleansing like that.
The little ways I lie to myself in order to survive. Sometimes they amaze even me.
***
I have to order food in most of the time now. Since I can’t cook, and Namie is gone, and walking to Ikebukuro and back has become difficult- it’s my only option most of the time. Some nights I just don’t eat at all.
But when the craving for Russia Sushi hits, I have to obey it. Unfortunately, there’s no delivery service for Russia Sushi. At least no conventional delivery service.
‘You’re taking my title as transporter a little too loosely.’ Celty types out as she offers me my box of otoro. I offer her the roll of money I promised in exchange, hoping to close the door immediately after. Her foot prevents me from doing so. ‘Pretty hypocritical- ignoring all my messages unless you want food.’
“I assure you, I’ve learned my lesson. Next time I just won’t eat.” I smile with all the exhaustion I’ve been feeling recently. Celty cringes.
‘How much longer do you have left?’
“About four months. That is, if there are no complications. Considering my disease has been one big complication, probably less.” I shrug it off as easily as if we were talking about the weather. But Celty flinches back like I’ve slapped her with the information. Oh what a dear, sweet, weak-willed mom friend.
‘Izaya…what are you still doing here? You should tell Shizuo. Or, if that’s impossible, you should be out doing something! Enjoying yourself!’
“Relax mom, I have a plan for my last days.” I assure her. “And that plan does not include Shizuo. He never needs to know about this.”
‘Even after you’re dead? Because you know he’ll be asking questions.’
“Especially after I’m dead.” I level her with a heavy gaze; staring deep into the visor of her helmet, and feeling the disembodied smoke that she’s made up of stare back.
Her attention darts down to her phone as she very deliberately types out a response. Which sets off a lot of warning bells in my head. But not enough. I’m still not prepared for the question she shoves in my face.
‘Are you afraid he’d get it if he did know?’ It hits like a solid Simon punch. Most people have just been assuming that I don’t want Shizuo to know out of pride. And I haven’t exactly been contradicting them. It’s better if they think I’m being petty. Better that they don’t know how much it hurts to think about the end.
My own end sucks to think about, yeah. But more importantly, I don’t want to drag Shizuo down with me. I don’t want him to know, especially once I’ve died. Because I know him. I know his monstrous guilt will send him spiraling down, and maybe even get him infected by this damn thing too.
I can’t allow that.
“Thank you for bringing my food.” I grumble at Celty, trying again to close the door on her.
‘I can see how much pain you’re in Izaya.’ I lay my head on the door, staring blankly at the phone popping through the crack. It disappears for a moment only to pop back up with more. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t want you to die. And I’m sorry that you’re so ready to go. But please, don’t give up. Please just tell Shizuo. He might surprise you.’
Celty waits for my answer. And waits. And keeps waiting. She’s an immortal being, she could stand there waiting for the entire last four months of my life.
But I can’t. My chest is burning. The need to cough is tearing up my throat. And my stomach is aching with hunger from not eating over the last two days. I need to get rid of her. But what’s a surefire way to make her go?
“I want to die, Celty. Just let me have this. Just let me go in peace.” I rasp, my voice gone hoarse from the flowers tickling my vocal chords in the silence.
‘I can’t accept that.’ She insists. I sigh.
“Then leave me alone for Shizuo’s sake. He’s your friend, right? Make life easier for him and just fucking let me die.” She has no response to this. There really isn’t one to be had. Her phone disappears. And a few seconds later her foot too. I slam the door before she can change her mind, locking each and every lock available.
And when I’m done I sink down to the floor and cough until five petunias sit in a puddle of blood between my knees. They’re disgusting. But morbidly beautiful too. Still, I hate them. And I hate Celty. Most of all I hate Shizuo.
Or rather, I hate that I don’t hate him most of all.
***
“You’re looking peaky.” Natsu observes, poking my ribs. I’m too tired to shoo her away, instead all I can do is bear with her sharp fingers as they poke and prod. “Have you eaten in the last month? What do you do when you go back into the city? Why don’t you eat?” She demands.
“I sleep mostly.”
“You can’t eat sleep!” She objects, whacking me over the head. Natsu ushers me into the dining room to sit me down while she starts puttering around in the kitchen. “So…you’re really going through with this thing. You’re really dying.”
“I was really ten eight months ago too.” I remind her. “Once the very first one came up, I was already dying.”
“We’re all already dying, Izaya.” Natsu dismisses. “Not all of us are ready to accept that.”
I shrug carelessly. “What’s the point in trying to stop it? If it’s not this, it’s something else in a few years from now. A few years don’t mean much really. Not to me.” Not with all I’ve seen. All I know. Hell, my best friend loves a timeless, ageless fairy. And one day he’s going to die and she’ll still be the timeless, ageless thing he fell desperately in love with. There’s no way for it to end happily between them.
I don’t understand why they try to make it end happily. They both have to know it’s impossible.
“Who the fuck raised you to be so cynical?” Natsu sighs. And then, before I can even reply, “Oh, that’s right, no one. Your idiot parents were too busy to raise the child they went out of their way to have.”
“They had to work. Raising a kid means supporting a kid.” I point out. I don’t often feel the need to defend my parents. But I know Natsu has always been bitter towards them for being absent so much when I was growing up. And it doesn’t feel right letting her hold onto that bitterness on my behalf when I’m going to die soon anyway.
“Raising a kid means being in their life. You should know, you raised your sisters.” I cringe.
“I wouldn’t exactly call what I did ‘raising them’. I just…fed them.”
“And interacted with them and made sure they were safe, healthy, and happy.” I want to object on that last one, but what would be the point? Natsu has a one track mind in all things. Especially when it comes to stuff like this. Stuff involving my parents and siblings. “It’s just a shame you’ll never have children of your own. I would have liked some new little babies in the family.”
“You still have two granddaughters, you know.” I drawl dryly.
“Those girls couldn’t keep a cactus alive, and you know it.” She dismisses immediately. Natsu finally returns from the kitchen, bringing with her a big bowl of rice and a plate of microwaved meat buns. She puts both in front of me and settles down in the chair next to me. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry, Natsu.” I sigh.
“I don’t believe you.” She immediately dismisses. I clench my teeth, looking anywhere but at my grandmother.
“It’s hard to eat.” I admit softly. She’s quiet for a long moment before her bony hand settles on my shoulder. She pulls me closer until I’m leaning on her shoulder, then wraps her arm around me.
“You’re okay, baby boy. I know it’s hard. But I’ve got you.” She whispers into my hair.
I know this comforting stuff is more for her peace of mind than anything. But I can feel tears working up in my eyes, and since I’m not coughing, there’s no way for me to pretend they’re anything but tears.
Which makes it even harder to bear as I start sobbing into Natsu’s shoulder.
“Grandparents aren’t supposed to see their babies die.” She tells me softly, rubbing my back.
“I’m sorry Natsu.” I choke out, seconds before something wet drops on my face. Well, at least I’m not the only one crying.
“I love you Izaya Orihara.” Natsu tells me with a wavering voice that only makes me cry harder. Which in turn makes her cry harder.
Of everyone in my family, Natsu is the one I never wanted to make cry. Is this my punishment for choosing to die? If it is…there might finally be a part of me that wants to live.
But it’s too late for that now. Another month and stage three will start. And there’s no coming back from that.
***
Ikebukuro is nice from this distance. It looks bright, but quiet. I know if I was actually there, it wouldn’t be quiet. There would be yelling, honking, the noise of the city all through the night. But from the top of my apartment building, it looks nice.
I thought about going into town for this. It would be dramatic, like some kind of poetic finale in a play. But my lungs hurt too much. There’s no way I could make it all the way into Ikebukuro. Even to be dramatic.
My building will suffice, anyway. It’s plenty tall for what I have to do.
This was always how it was going to end. I can’t die at Natsu’s house tucked away in the countryside. I can’t do that to her. I can’t make her watch.
And no hospitals for me, either. I don’t want to get all the way to the natural end of this thing. It’s painful enough already.
So this is how it has to be. A tall building in the dead of night. Before I can’t make it up the stairs anymore. Right on the border of stage three- maybe it’ll even happen tonight. That would be poetic enough for me.
The wind whips against my face. I keep my eyes forward, towards Ikebukuro. That’s where everyone is. My sisters. My best friend. His immortal lover. Shizu-chan. I should be there. But I don’t deserve to be there.
I creep a little closer to the edge. My chest aches. My throat tickles. I step back and it eases a little. But still it itches and I steady myself as I cough into my hand. Over and over and over again until- a new flower falls into my palm. Just as vivid and striking as the last, in the same color even. But not a petunia.
If I remember right, it’s called Aconite. Wolf’s Bane. An absurd giggle works it way up inside me. It’s honestly hilarious to me. One of the most famous poisonous flowers in the world! Of course my stage three would be as extra as this!
The aconite falls from my shaking fingers, drifting behind me in the wind. I hope it stays on the roof at least. I hope no one finds it and picks it up, getting the disease by proxy. That would certainly be a shitty last act of me.
“You were never going to tell me, were you?” I spin on my heel, my eyes catching onto the purple of the aconite first. It’s in the hands of someone else now. Someone I desperately don’t want to see.
“No…don’t touch it Shizu-chan.” I shakily plea, reaching out compulsively towards him, even though he’s half the rooftop away. He doesn’t look happy to see me. But he never does. His angry gaze burns in my chest like thorns. It aches to see him. It aches to let him see me like this.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me, Izaya-kun?” He demands, storming towards me, holding the aconite even harder. Dribbles of purple juice seep between his tight clenched fist.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested.” I try for bored and unconcerned. It couldn’t be further from the truth. “You shouldn’t be touching that. You’ll get sick you know.” He’s close enough now to grab the front of my jacket, holding it almost as tight as he’s holding the aconite.
“No I won’t, because the person I love loves me back.” He growls. I feel my heart attempting to squeeze itself out of existence. I look away from Shizuo’s face, and that helps a little. But not enough.
“How lucky for you, Shizu-chan. To have found someone who could even love a monster…that’s impressive.” I goad. I wonder if I could get him to throw me off the building. I wonder if he would hate himself for it though. “Not all of us are so lucky.”
He’s silent for a long moment, glaring at me and grinding my flower to mulch in his hand. I hate the flowers. But for some reason it makes me feel indignant. I’m dying for those damn things, and he just comes along and utterly destroys them? Talk about rude.
“Who is it, Izaya-kun?” Shizuo demands finally. I roll my eyes.
“Everyone’s first question. Always. Who is it, Izaya? Who could it possibly be? You don’t have real feelings after all, how could you possible catch it? It’s not true, you can’t actually love someone!” I pitch my voice a few different ways, watching the way his face shifts from anger to fury as I do. He shakes me sharply to shut me up, even knocking my feet out from under me.
I stumble off the ledge, crashing down to my knees on the roof itself. Shizuo doesn’t let go of my jacket still, glaring down at me as I go.
“Who the fuck is it?!” He shouts in my face. I swallow thickly, the flower in my throat making it difficult.
“It doesn’t matter.” I murmur.
“It does. Just fucking tell me already.”
“Why should I?”
“Because it’s me!” I choke on my sharp inhale, which triggers an uncontrollable coughing fit. It doesn’t stop until six aconite lay crumpled between us. Oh- there’s seven. One mangled almost beyond recognition.
Everything hurts. My lungs. My throat. My head. Everything. But getting rid of the flowers doesn’t help like it normally does. There’s no relief this time. No lack of pressure. I guess that’s what stage three means. Or maybe it’s just because through all of my coughing and choking on flowers, Shizuo has kept his hold on me. He’s still refusing to let me go.
“It’s me. And I deserve to hear that from you. Not just from Celty.” I’m going to kill that headless wench.
“No.” I deny, shaking my head helplessly.
“She told me everything Izaya. She said she couldn’t let Shinra get hurt because you refused to seek help.”
“No.” I shake my head more firmly. Shizuo catching it between his hands, keeping my face pointed towards his own.
“You should have told me yourself. You should have…fuck, you’re stupid.”
He lurches forward, and I press my eyes shut- prepared for a headbutt or something equally as brutish. But the warmth of his lips against my own was not something I was expecting. The press of his tongue against mine is so hard to accept that I’m certain I’m imagining it. But when I move my tongue, his reacts.
His kiss is as domineering and forceful as everything else about him. But there’s a certain tenderness there that I never would have imagined. It can’t just be in my head. I’d never give him that much credit, even in my mind.
Peeking my eyes open doesn’t help. He’s so close, blurry but beautiful. And as real as the flowers he’s kneeling carelessly on. Which means he’s really, actually kissing me right now.
“Shizu-chan wha-” I jerk away from the kiss, but I don’t get far. I can’t even express my confusion, because he’s pulling me back in and kissing me quiet before I can get the words out. His hand cups my jaw to keep my face still while the other twines in the back of my hair. I’m his captive, no doubt about it. But that’s not as terrifying a thought as it once was. Not when this is the treatment I’m getting.
“You fucking moron, you were gonna kill yourself.” He growls, pulling away from my lips abruptly. I blink dumbly at him. “All because you couldn’t fucking tell me. I should kick your ass.” He rants a little, stroking his thumb back and forth across my lips. His own curl into a smirk. “If I didn’t have plans for that ass, I would.”
I don’t know what’s happening right now. But I do know this can’t possibly be the real Shizuo. I touch his face, expecting it to feel plastic or waxy, or fake in some way. But it’s just flesh. Soft, human flesh. I frown.
“You haven’t been cut by any weird swords recently have you?” I ask, poking his cheek. He rolls his eyes, pouncing on me and forcing me onto my back.
Shizuo looms over me, looking like a god of vengeful destruction. “Look, I like you Izaya. You know how irrationally angry I got when you stopped lurking around Ikebukuro? Simon was getting really concerned. I can’t go without seeing you, or I get pissed off!”
“You get pissed off when you do see me.” I remind him blandly.
“Only because I’m always excited to see you. And I hate that. Or I did. I dunno, somewhere along the way I stopped hating you and started hating the fact that I didn’t hate you. But then you told me Namie had the disease and I was worried I’d catch it and you’d laugh at me for having it. And then Celty told me the truth, what you were too scared to tell me. And I got fucking pissed off again.”
“Is your whole life just a cycle of anger, and fear of that anger?” I suppose with a sigh. He ignores me. Which is so out of character for him.
“You should have just told me Izaya. If I didn’t feel the same, at least you would’ve known. But if you had told me, I could have told you months ago that I like you too. As irritating as it is, I like you.” He repeats, kissing my cheek to punctuate himself. I swallow thickly again. It doesn’t hurt as much as it did a few minutes ago. But it’s still not pleasant.
“Don’t make yourself say this because you feel guilty.” I choke out. He rolls his eyes in an impressive display of derision.
“I don’t feel guilty. Well maybe I do, but only because you’ve been dealing with this shit for so long. Even though that’s your fault for not fucking telling me.” He kisses me again, like it’s some outlet for his frustration when it builds up too high. But that’s ridiculous. I’m the one who causes his frustration, not the one who cures it.
“Stop it. This isn’t funny Shizuo. And if you’re not trying to be funny, you should know that false hope isn’t something I’m interested in.” I finally try to wriggle away from him. He plants one strong palm down on my chest and keeps me pinned just like that. Easy as can be.
“I’m not lying Izaya, I’m not you. This is real. And whether you believe it or not, I’m not letting you die.” He bends down, planing his ear just beside his hand to listen to my chest. It must sound pretty bad based on the discontent mutter. But he keeps listening and gradually he seems to be appeased. “At least your body seems to believe me. Your breathing is already clearing up.”
I don’t want to admit that he’s right. But even I’ve started to notice the difference since he started spouting his lies. It’s easier to breathe, and my chest doesn’t feel as raw anymore. But it still aches. Everything does.
“Get off me.” I whine, shoving at his shoulders. He doesn’t even budge.
“The Web MD article said that to really cure the disease, there should be some kind of physical intimacy between the person with the disease and the person causing it. Kissing is usually good enough for people in the first two stages. What stage are you in?” Shizuo demands, glancing towards the aconite with a scowl.
I purse my lips. I’m not playing along with this ruse.
“Really? And you call me a child.” He mumbles, then looks considering. “If you won’t tell me, that probably means you’re further than the first two stages. But that’s definitely not a black rose yet, thank god. So you must be in three. Which the article said requires a little more to cure most of the time.”
“Fuck, shut up! Don’t pretend to be an expert on something you have nothing to do with!” I snarl, not enjoying the hints he’s dropping. I mean, I like the idea of having sex with Shizuo, but not like this. Not when more than likely he’s just trying to clear his conscience and cure me, and then walk away with his hands clean. That would just…it would hurt more than the disease. “Please just stop.”
“No. I won’t. I’m fucking saving your life, and you’re gonna fucking like it.” He grabs my face, kisses me again, then sits up so his knees are on either side of my hips. “So how do you want to do this? I’ve only ever topped, but if it’ll help or whatever, I can bottom instead.”
I can only stare blankly up at him. He waves his hand in front of my face, and still all I can do I blink and stare.
With a shrug, Shizuo reaches for my jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them without so much as a moment of hesitation. It’s as he’s jerking them off my hips that my brain finally resets.
“What the fuck are you doing!” I hiss, kicking at him. He doesn’t look bothered by this, deflecting my kicks easily while dismissing my pants and starting on his own. “Shizuo stop! You shouldn’t do this!”
“I have to do this, to save you. I promise next time there’ll be more romance or whatever, but right now it has to happen. So please just stop pretending that you’re unlovable and let me do this!” I’m stunned yet again by his words. He pauses in his relentless pursuit to cup my cheek in his palm. “I know you’re scared, and that you don’t have a reason to trust me. But I do like you Izaya. I want to do this, and not just when you’re in danger of dying. But, baby steps, right?”
He kisses my forehead gently, then shoves his pants off the rest of the way. I’m still shocked silent as I watch him spread lube on his fingers, reach between his legs, and prepare himself. This is all definitely a dream. Some kind of fever dream. I’m in a hospital somewhere, dying from flowers growing in my lungs, and this is some comfortable hallucination.
“I’m gonna start, okay?” Shizuo announces before his warm, wet fingers circle my dick and start stroking. I’m already a little hard just from watching him finger himself. But having him touch me makes things go about ten times faster than when I was just watching.
A whine leaves my throat when he pulls his touch away. It turns into a full out groan as he starts to lower himself on my cock.
“Ah! Ah- Shizu-” I toss my head back, trying in vain to find some kind of outlet for the pressure building inside me. ‘Overwhelmed’ doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling right now.
“Nngh…Izaya-kun…” Shizuo rumbles, making my blood rush even faster somehow. Then he starts to move and I can’t breathe for a few seconds- which has nothing to do with the flowers in my chest for once.
The more he moves, the less I can feel the aconite in my lungs. The less my throat itches with the need to spit them out. The less it hurts to breathe- when I can actually remember to draw a breath that is. For someone who said he’s only ever topped, Shizuo is breathtaking as he rides me.
“I-I can’t-” I gasp, reaching for him after what feels like forever. I can’t keep myself from seeking out his touch anymore. He twines his fingers with mine, a little smirk curling up his lips.
“Go ahead Izaya.” He encourages, kissing my palm sweetly. He shifts a little, clenches down on my dick and I can’t hold it anymore, I can’t-
“Shizuo!” I all but sob his name as I come, clinging to his hand so hard I wonder if I’m cutting off his circulation. He moves over me the entire time I empty myself in him, until I’m whimpering with over stimulation.
When he does fall still, it’s only so he can bend down and listen to my chest again. He looks a little more pleased this time, but still troubled. Without even worrying about getting off my dick, he reaches for the little bottle of lube he brought with him and slicks up his fingers again.
“What are you-” I mumble, cutting myself off with a gasp when he does slip off of me, only to settle between my legs and prop one of my knees up over his own. “Shizuo wai-”
A cold finger wriggles its way inside of me insistently, stealing the air from my lungs more effectively than eleven months of flower growth has. I choke on a few inhales before one finally makes it through my chest, but even then I feel like it does nothing for me.
It’s even worse when he adds the second. Then the third.
“You’re so much tighter than I was.” Shizuo remarks thoughtfully, making me flush. He was pretty fucking tight around my dick, after all.
Before I can suggest that maybe we not do this right this second- I don’t think I’ll die in the next few days, even if the disease wasn’t already in remission- he’s pulling his fingers free and spreading the excess lube onto his dick. I shiver at the feeling of his slick head rubbing against my entrance.
“‘M gonna…” He trails off, pushing forward with his hips to slowly enter me. I arch against the coarse rooftop, gasping for air I don’t feel hitting my lungs.
“Sh-Shizuo-” He growls at the shape of his name on my lips, thrusting in a little firmer to bottom out. Fuck…is this what he was feeling? How the fuck did he move? I feel like I might never move again.
It doesn’t matter- Shizuo moves for me, just like before. Thrusting slowly at first, but speeding up when he seems to think I’m taking him better. I can only gasp and moan and hold on for dear life. Huh. Life.
If I’m being honest, I kind of gave up on life. And not just because of the Hanahaki. I think I gave up a long time ago, the very first time I thought about how I would never have a happily ever after with Shizuo.
Even now I’m not sure I believe it. But it’s harder to deny when I’m completely at my monster’s mercy.
“Fuck…Izaya, you’re so…fuck…” He seems to have lost some of the limited articulation he had earlier. Which does makes me feel a little good about myself, I’ll admit.
“Shizu-chaaan…” I groan, tipping my head back again. He coaxes my face towards his, unwilling to let me look away as he fucks me this time.
“I like you, Izaya-kun. Don’t fucking doubt it, I like you.” He repeats against my lips. I whimper back against his, grabbing hold of his shoulders.
“L-Love you, Shizu-chan…” I admit with a horrific feeling of embarrassment. Shizuo purrs appreciatively.
“See. That wasn’t so hard to say, was it?” He goads, lifting my hips a little with his next thrust and slamming right into something that makes the rest of the world feel insignificant by comparison.
His incessant barrage against that spot makes it impossible for me to sneer at him or even look away from his face. Everything in the world feels like it’s reducing to him right now. And the worst part is that I don’t even mind.
Shizuo’s hips stutter suddenly, and warmth spreads through me. It’s sort of uncomfortable, but also sort of nice. More importantly, the noise and face he makes as he comes is beautiful. And I’d love to see it again and again. I’m so caught up in the sight and sound of him that I actually yelp when his hand wraps around my dick and works me over in three quick strokes.
We’re both left panting for air in the quiet aftermath. For Shizuo I’m sure gasping in lungfuls of air doesn’t mean so much. But I can’t help but to marvel at the stretch of my lungs around air instead of organic matter. I can’t help but to laugh at the absence of a tickle at the back of my throat. I can’t fucking stop myself from pulling him down and kissing him as senseless as he first kissed me.
But he doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t pull away, or stiffen up. He doesn’t look disgusted when I part our lips to look at his face. Holy shit. Maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe he actually does like me.
Now wouldn’t that be something.
***
Natsu looks almost as surprised to see me as I am to see her when I open the door of my apartment. It’s like she’s the one receiving an unexpected visitor instead of the other way around.
“Natsu.” I state bluntly, and she blinks.
“What happened to you? You don’t look dead.” She demands, stepping in uninvited to observe me closer. “You’re not all skin and bones anymore. Did you get laid?”
“Natsu.” This time it comes out as a sigh. Not that she pays it anymore attention because of that. I can feel Shizuo’s staring at the back of my neck, and obviously Natsu senses something as well. Because she suddenly whips her face towards the living room where the blond beast is sitting, staring at us in confusion.
“You must be the one who almost killed my grandson.” She states loudly, marching towards him. I can see the way he cowers before her. It’s kind of hard not to cower from Natsu.
“I um…” Shizuo stutters.
“Not that I blame you dear.” She abruptly switches tone, patting him softly on the shoulder and sending a glare my way. “It’s this dumbass who nearly got himself dead. So, are you staying for dinner?”
I can’t fault Shizuo for being incapable of keeping up with the storm that is my grandmother. But it is kinda hilarious to watch him try.
“Yes, I think?” He tries. She nods firmly.
“Good. And, are you staying forever?” She eyes him even more intently. Shizuo looks to me, desperate for help. I shrug.
“Um, yes. I think.” He decides finally. I feel my cheeks growing hot despite my best efforts. Natsu grins, first at him, then at me.
“Perfect. Welcome to the family.” And just like that she wanders off to the kitchen, without even asking his name. I stumble over and collapse on the couch next to a very terrified looking Shizuo.
“So that’s my grandma.” I tell him through my intense mortification.
“She seems…nice.” He suggests. I hide my face in my hands. Which he quickly pulls away to kiss the tip of my nose. “A lot of stuff just started making sense about you, at least.”
“That’s so comforting.” I drawl with a huff. Shizuo chuckles, kissing my nose again. Then my cheek. Then my lips.
“I can’t wait to meet everyone else in your family.” Oh god. That’s literally a nightmare to even imagine!
“If you stick around that long.” I mumble. He frowns.
“I’m not going anywhere Izaya.” Shizuo promises with another, deeper kiss to punctuate it.
And it’s funny. Even though it’s only been a week since he saved my life, I’m already starting to believe him.
Hope is a dangerous thing, after all. It grows faster and deeper than the deadliest disease. And when it flowers, it can be just as fatal. But I guess, I’d rather die from that in the long run.
The very, very long run. Because I don’t see myself wanting to give Shizuo up for many years to come.