He worked quickly; the man would be awake soon. Silver flashed in the waning light in the back of the van. Izaya made his mark in the toned abdomen of the other, blonde man passed out on the floor; watching the rise and fall of said toned abdomen. Red, angry, yet lightly grazing the surface, the lines that made up his own name would not scar. They served only to be a reminder to the other that the slender Izaya held the upper hand, always held the upper hand in this strange game of his. He finished the last stroke, marvelling at his handiwork for a sliver of a second. Orihara Izaya. He wiped off the knife , and with a flick of the wrist, put away his blade. Tucking it back into his dark jeans, he paused and straightened Shizuo's bowtie, a smirk on his face.

He then dragged and dumped the blonde- shirt open and glasses askew, but bowtie perfectly aligned- in the alleyway. "Dammit, Shizu-chan, you're heavier than I thought."

He got the hell out of there before the much larger and stronger man awoke, parking the stolen- no- borrowed vehicle back in its place.

He strolled off, flicking his blade and humming.

Shizuo would kill that bastard next time he saw him, he swore to himself. Kill him and turn his own knife on him, just to see the look on his face. But plans in his mind, and reality, were two different things.

Izaya breathed and stared out the window at his grand experiment below him. He held it all. And that was his reality.