Grief

Epilogue

Within Ikebukuro, there was a man. A famous man clad in a bartender suit that was able to lift mountains and rupture earthquakes, but those were just the rumors.

When people imagined Shizuo Heiwajima, they imagined a man with his shoulders raised high, proud with fury and a strength like no other as he walked through the streets he owned.

What most wouldn't know though, was that that very man spent his time keeping a grave clean and taken care of. He'd visit every week to talk, mention his day and what new thing had happened in the latest book he'd read.

How after all the novels and authors he'd grown to love there are still two that had stayed his favorite.

One read in highschool for a literature project and another a personal favorite of the one he loves who never got to finish re-reading it.

Some days he'd come to vent, to grumble about a difficult day of work that had his frustrations brimming, or when he felt sick of himself-

When he missed him, pleading for him to come back as shame wracked his shoulders.

He'd kept true to his promise, going to a floral shop every week so that he could get a proper offering for the grave. A warm mix of chrysanthemums the old woman behind the counter had crooned over with a fond eye. She'd said that the language of flowers was like a poem you'd never hear, Shizuo had cried that day in a flower shop.

There were times when he'd sit in his home and look out his living room window and sob. Times where he'd shove a cheap pair of earphones in and listen to classical music until he'd exhaust himself to sleep.

Only two of his dearest friends knew the truth of what he was going through. His own words explained in frantic tears as he'd begged for Celty to bring him back, for her to find a way that he knew wasn't there.

But he already knew there was nothing anybody could do.

So he continued to visit that grave, he kept it clean, flourished with flowers that fit the season, a new meaning behind each as he tried to imagine what the poem might say. He brought otoro sometimes as he ate his own meal from Russia Sushi. Simon was used to the order by now.

He made sure to watch over Izaya's sisters when he could, but he knew they had each other. He checked up on Shinra sometimes, Celty was always there to help him.

Sometimes Shizuo grieved his own jealousy of it all, of realizing too late. Of thinking he's a monster who had ruined what he could have had. But some days he'd laugh to himself when a small memory would strike his mind that felt so much more special now.

It was progress. It was slow.

People never imagined a man still grieving for somebody he loved. They didn't understand that he was just a human with a heart brittled and sealed with gold from memories he wouldn't trade for anything.

They didn't understand that he'd spend his weekends visiting a calm bookshop to find more interesting novels, or that he'd pass by a certain cafe with a fond smile on his face every time.

He was healing slowly, with memories kept close to his side as he made sure to keep in touch with those around him, even on the days it felt too much to bear.

Afterall, Izaya had asked him to take care of himself too. And even if sometimes it hurt, he was taking it one step at a time with the flea teasing his mind as a fond memory.