fic DRRR: When I Was Thirteen: [ 00 ]
fandom: Durarara
pairing: variousXIzaya eventual ShizuoXIzaya
rating: PG +, may go up to M
warnings: none, yet.
Summary: Izaya was once a child, with wrists that bruised black and blue.
A/N: hello, just randomly posting this up here for now. I will come back and update this as I go along. I just, really wanted to write. Really. My heart is breaking.
[ 00 null ] is a teaser or a standalone drabble. A short one, I promise.
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When I was Thirteen
Chapter 00 [ null ]
Once upon a time, Orihara Izaya was thirteen; small, pale, and greasy, with wrists that bruised black and blue, and beady eyes that flickered with veiled defiance at the world.
He sat at the back of the classroom, a dark, damp corner nearest to the trash basket, where he melted quietly into the walls. His teachers ignored him, and his classmates treated him no differently from air (with the exception of Shinra; but then again, Shinra was a whole different kind of freak ). The only indicator of his existence was the sound of his favourite switchblade ( a slightly rusted novelty which he handpicked off the dirty streets ) scraping meticulously against the wood of his desk. He filled his desk with tiny, nonsensical quotes, and lyrics from forgotten songs, all mostly unintelligible except for one particularly imposing statement, carved out in uneven kanji;
[ I LOVE HUMANS ]
At that time, Izaya didn’t quite understand why he wrote something like that; he was thirteen and going through soul searching and hormonal rages and all that angsty shit, so perhaps it was simply one of those abstractly compelling things that stuck with you for no rational reason; the way some people liked the smell of gasoline.
He would carve into the words again and again, hacking at the abused wood with all the violent, brutal intensity that his thin, white fingers could muster.
“I love….humans.”
In contrast, the words fell like dandelions from his lips; light and whispery, barely audible.
At thirteen, Orihara Izaya did not yet exist.
---
[ CONT ]
---
Thank you for reading.
pairing: variousXIzaya eventual ShizuoXIzaya
rating: PG +, may go up to M
warnings: none, yet.
Summary: Izaya was once a child, with wrists that bruised black and blue.
A/N: hello, just randomly posting this up here for now. I will come back and update this as I go along. I just, really wanted to write. Really. My heart is breaking.
[ 00 null ] is a teaser or a standalone drabble. A short one, I promise.
---
When I was Thirteen
Chapter 00 [ null ]
Once upon a time, Orihara Izaya was thirteen; small, pale, and greasy, with wrists that bruised black and blue, and beady eyes that flickered with veiled defiance at the world.
He sat at the back of the classroom, a dark, damp corner nearest to the trash basket, where he melted quietly into the walls. His teachers ignored him, and his classmates treated him no differently from air (with the exception of Shinra; but then again, Shinra was a whole different kind of freak ). The only indicator of his existence was the sound of his favourite switchblade ( a slightly rusted novelty which he handpicked off the dirty streets ) scraping meticulously against the wood of his desk. He filled his desk with tiny, nonsensical quotes, and lyrics from forgotten songs, all mostly unintelligible except for one particularly imposing statement, carved out in uneven kanji;
[ I LOVE HUMANS ]
At that time, Izaya didn’t quite understand why he wrote something like that; he was thirteen and going through soul searching and hormonal rages and all that angsty shit, so perhaps it was simply one of those abstractly compelling things that stuck with you for no rational reason; the way some people liked the smell of gasoline.
He would carve into the words again and again, hacking at the abused wood with all the violent, brutal intensity that his thin, white fingers could muster.
“I love….humans.”
In contrast, the words fell like dandelions from his lips; light and whispery, barely audible.
At thirteen, Orihara Izaya did not yet exist.
---
[ CONT ]
---
Thank you for reading.