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31_days2011-06-07 06:34 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2011-06-07 06:34 pm
[June 7] [Durarara!!] Smash Your Feelings to the Sidewalk
Title: Smash Your Feelings to the Sidewalk
Day/Theme: June 7, 2011 "I would not touch a thing he touched"
Series: Durarara!!
Character/Pairing: Izaya, Shizuo (Shizuo/Izaya...or maybe just Izaya->Shizuo?)
Rating: PG
Author's comment: This, uh, this totally isn't me goofing around. Serious. ^^; I think I was thinking about![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ivoryandhorn's fic The Strongest Man in Ikebukuro" while writing this.
With no one in particular watching, Izaya walked up to the streetlight and put his hand against the spot where a mailbox had met the pole. The dent was deep, but the lamp was still standing. Would it be left that way long, or would city officials deem it unsafe and replace it? Would Shizuo's mark on this particular corner be long-lived or short?
He stroked the crooked material. His fingers fit perfectly between the rough hills and troughs created by the crumpling of the smooth, tough material. This was Shizu-chan's version of carving their names onto a tree. Izaya liked it. It was more environmentally friendly. It was longer lasting. It was less overtly personal. To other inhabitants of Tokyo, it was simply the result of another strange accident in the area of Ikebukuro. To Izaya, it was a monument to a hate so strong it veered into the territory of love.
He caressed the pole a mere millisecond longer (it was important not to linger to the point where he would be noticed, but there was no reason he couldn't move on to the next one of Shizuo's love poems in steel or cement), pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the elegant destruction, and walked away.
It was a well-kept secret (like most of Izaya's) that he had a scrapbook filled by pictures of them all. Alone, at home, he would pour over them, like a schoolgirl rereading love notes. Some (a crumpled vending machine blocking an entrance to the subway) had been transient, some (the scrape in the wall of Kentucky Fried Chicken) still remained.
"I would never walk in Shizu-chan's footsteps. If I placed my hand on those places marked by tangled banners and mangled metal, it would only be to reminisce over my inherent superiority over the quick-tempered idiot," Izaya lied. His tongue was ripe with denials such as these. His hands were honest, channeling his heart. Even if it was just the smallest brush of fingertips to stone, he felt these touchstones as he passed, each time he was able. He stroked the pictures just as fondly, waxing sentimental over Shizuo's path of destruction, a public statement, performance art, meant for him alone.
He pressed his lips to his enemy's picture. This time (and a thousand others) they would betray his poison tongue with their sincerity. Where Shizuo's hands went, Izaya could only hope his would follow.
Day/Theme: June 7, 2011 "I would not touch a thing he touched"
Series: Durarara!!
Character/Pairing: Izaya, Shizuo (Shizuo/Izaya...or maybe just Izaya->Shizuo?)
Rating: PG
Author's comment: This, uh, this totally isn't me goofing around. Serious. ^^; I think I was thinking about
ivoryandhorn's fic The Strongest Man in Ikebukuro" while writing this.With no one in particular watching, Izaya walked up to the streetlight and put his hand against the spot where a mailbox had met the pole. The dent was deep, but the lamp was still standing. Would it be left that way long, or would city officials deem it unsafe and replace it? Would Shizuo's mark on this particular corner be long-lived or short?
He stroked the crooked material. His fingers fit perfectly between the rough hills and troughs created by the crumpling of the smooth, tough material. This was Shizu-chan's version of carving their names onto a tree. Izaya liked it. It was more environmentally friendly. It was longer lasting. It was less overtly personal. To other inhabitants of Tokyo, it was simply the result of another strange accident in the area of Ikebukuro. To Izaya, it was a monument to a hate so strong it veered into the territory of love.
He caressed the pole a mere millisecond longer (it was important not to linger to the point where he would be noticed, but there was no reason he couldn't move on to the next one of Shizuo's love poems in steel or cement), pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the elegant destruction, and walked away.
It was a well-kept secret (like most of Izaya's) that he had a scrapbook filled by pictures of them all. Alone, at home, he would pour over them, like a schoolgirl rereading love notes. Some (a crumpled vending machine blocking an entrance to the subway) had been transient, some (the scrape in the wall of Kentucky Fried Chicken) still remained.
"I would never walk in Shizu-chan's footsteps. If I placed my hand on those places marked by tangled banners and mangled metal, it would only be to reminisce over my inherent superiority over the quick-tempered idiot," Izaya lied. His tongue was ripe with denials such as these. His hands were honest, channeling his heart. Even if it was just the smallest brush of fingertips to stone, he felt these touchstones as he passed, each time he was able. He stroked the pictures just as fondly, waxing sentimental over Shizuo's path of destruction, a public statement, performance art, meant for him alone.
He pressed his lips to his enemy's picture. This time (and a thousand others) they would betray his poison tongue with their sincerity. Where Shizuo's hands went, Izaya could only hope his would follow.