Death (Shizaya)

4|Regret

... My eyes really opened.

*Izaya's POV*

I blinked away the darkness, my eyes being greeted by a pleasantly smooth ceiling, coloured like the thick rugs of snow... So it was a dream...

Either way, I wasn't too happy.

... Ugh.

My head still hurt... When I sat up, I pressed my palm against my forehead, my nose twitching as a stray bandage hung, and tickled it. I felt the sweat clinging to my skin again, the moist lilac comforters that shielded my body.

Bright, golden swords stabbed in through the blinds, painting their radiance across the carpet. The birds sang their songs, cars blasted their honks, and people screamed their morning greetings on the other side of the window.

My eyes hesitantly scanned across the room. The suits I saw before were tucked away neatly, or I supposed, seeing the closet door shut and the room tidied up.

I turned my head some more, flinching as one of the golden needles mercilessly thrust in my eye. Leaning my head back, I found the mirror against the wall, ricocheting the sun's blows, aiding the light in its criminal activities.

...As well as a certain bartender.

The blonde man stood, his back hunched over a bit, his head lowered as he was captivated by his reflection. The long, slender fingers of his ruffled through his bangs, him not seeming to be satisfied with its appearance. His bowtie hung undone, his belt slung over his shoulder.

Around his torso was a milky dress shirt, buttoned up to the collarbone. Hanging down from the fancy top were long, dark trousers, stopping at the ankles and the socks.

... There stood Shizuo.

When he seemed happy with his look, he quickly tied the bow around his neck and under the collar flaps. His hands flowed gently, gracefully going through the motion as if he'd known his whole life.

... And I just stared.

The belt was pulled off his shoulder, flapping upwards before it left his backside. He patiently slid the leather under the fabric inserts, his socks soundlessly carrying him out of the room.

And I just stared...

...

I suddenly winced. I felt like I was burning; it was probably from the comforters, or so I thought at first. I scrambled out of the thick fabric, the bright, light, thick fabric, which intended to keep me hostage.

... But it was burning.

My thigh was still burning.

I glanced down, seeing I remain dressed in the oversized garments. Pulling the silk hem of the shorts up, my eyes catch another bandage... Over my thigh... As there was years ago...

... And it stopped burning.

...

The bandage looked fresh, and it was wrapped securely. Its colour, still bright, as if it were just torn off the roll. It was more clean than the wrist bandages...

I wonder what happened...

I gave out a sigh, my eyes trickling away from the bandages as I spaced out. I sat there in thought... In question...

... Did he really hate me all along? We always fought, but... but... he always looked out for me, too...

... Maybe I was the stupid one. Maybe he's been trying to tell me something I couldn't figure out... Maybe his 'misunderstanding' was just payback from how gullible I've been around him...