The Happiest of Man

Chapter 19

It has been months and he suddenly appeared right before his eyes. Shizuo gritted his teeth, fists clenched as he tried to not squeeze the package in his hands too hard. He would have screamed his name and attempted to throw something at him, but this wasn’t Ikebukuro. Although he was angry, about ready to explode, there was something that tugged at the ends of his nerves. 

Izaya was on a wheelchair. Izaya looked thinner and paler than before.

Shizuo stood there, somewhat dumbfounded as he watched Izaya hold up his journal and smiled sadly at his writing. Setting the notebook aside, the man looked around his surroundings a bit. (This was the part where Shizuo had expected the man to jump off of his seat and prance about like he has been healthy all along.) After he had felt safe, Izaya stood up from his wheelchair and began to make small steps forward. His movements appeared mechanic – his knees didn’t bend. There was a point where his leg refused to move forward and that was when the frustration was obvious upon his face. Izaya’s hand grasped onto his leg and made it move forward as he finally made it to the lamp post that was yards away from the wheelchair. 

The blond could tell that he was breathing hard. The winter air made out the puffs of breath that Izaya exhaled every second.

Celty’s words appeared in his head: Even Izaya can’t escape change.

“It’s getting cold.” Shizuo mumbled to himself the moment he felt the need to apologize for throwing a garbage bin at him. He had pride in himself, but the blond was aware when he needed to apologize if he was wrong. But, when it came to Izaya, he didn’t desire it as much. It was apparent that he wanted nothing to do with him, but to see him in such a state, even though he shouldn’t have been there to watch him, he actually felt . . . bad.

Izaya’s arm was wrapped around the lamp post, leaning his body against it as Shizuo began to wonder whether walking such a short distance was really that big of a deal for him. If he was on a wheelchair, shouldn’t he have just stayed there instead of pushing his limits? In a way, maybe his question within his head was answered.

The smaller man fell to the ground and didn’t even move.

“. . . Stop playing around . . . .”

His fingers pressed into the package as he shook slightly from his anger.

“Get up like you usually do, you damn flea.”

The very thought of helping Izaya out should have not invaded his mind. He knew that if the situation was reversed, the brunet would have ridiculed his unconscious body and attempted to do something to embarrass him the moment he woke up. Actually, he probably wouldn’t even have the time to be embarrassed, especially since his initial reaction to anything strange was to get pissed because he knew that it was Izaya behind everything. 

Shizuo left in a hurry before he did anything.

He never left the city, though. Shizuo kept himself busy as he ordered some pastries in a café along with a warm cup of hot chocolate. He continued to remind himself that it was none of his business and that Izaya was capable of taking care of himself. Even if he was categorized as “disabled”, he was more than able to look after himself. Why else was he outside all by himself in the first place? The blond even tried to chant a couple of words to himself that consisted of, “I don’t care” and “It doesn’t matter”, but in the end, he finished his pastries and half of his drink with little to no success. The image of Izaya lying on the cold concrete floor never left his mind.

“Damnit.”

He buried his face in his hands for a brief moment before getting up from his seat, slightly crushed package in his hand as he walked off, heading to the front of the park.

Shizuo did not realize that he was in a hurry until he realized that the scenery around him was passing him by in a quicker pace than normal. And, once he had made it to his destination, his movements came to a halt as he noted immediately that Izaya was still there. The area appeared to be somewhat desolate and the silence was almost suffocating.

“Just what is this?” He asked himself as if his question was going to be answered by the gray sky above.