Fine

The world was ugly, but more than anything, it was cruel.

Cruel because today the sun was shining and the world was moving and time continued to pass as if nothing had happened.

Dirt caked the toes of polished black shoes.

Izaya Orihara stared at the bloom of sunlight reflecting off expensive leather. Italian, maybe. It was his first time wearing these shoes. He'd had them for so long he wasn't even sure when or why he'd first bought them.

Same with the suit. He wasn't a suit type of person. He found the stiff stitching restrictive, the buttoned shirt frustrating and on days like this, hot.

It was really hot. Too hot to be wearing so much black.

Beads of sweat prickled his brow, moistened his hairline. He thought he'd reached up to wipe it away, but when it began to sting his eyes he realized he hadn't. Just imagined it, he supposed.

His gaze moved to his hand, concentrated on the slice of mirrored sunlight on a silver ring.

The clicking continued as cameras flashed and shutters snapped, photographers and onlookers throwing regard to the wayside for a picture of Yuuhei Hanejima who'd arrived sans his usual entourage.

Izaya's attention moved to the younger man standing across from him, chestnut hair pulled away from a face that was delicate, withdrawn. Ignoring the attention he'd gathered, Kasuka watched the ground, eyes following the movements of a shovel accompanied by the cascade of dirt, clumps of it falling hard and heavy onto expensive wood.

Izaya hadn't looked down yet. Every time he tried his eyes wouldn't move past his shoes.

Beside Kasuka stood his parents. The Heiwajima family.

His mother was beautiful, features pretty yet strong. His father handsome, reserved.

Izaya's eyes fell once more to his shoes, unable to gaze at faces that looked so much like his. His mother's eyes, his father's mouth, the nose he shared with Kasuka, all features Izaya never thought he'd have to say goodbye to.

Not so soon, anyway.

It was over when he felt a gentle hand press between his shoulders, drawing his attention away from the dirt, eyes meeting bloodshot brown.

Shinra attempted a consoling smile. "We should go. I don't mind if you want to come over. I'm not sure when Celty will be back, and it'll be good to have some company."

Pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time, not reading it but simply going through motions that felt normal, Izaya replied, "I can't." And reading the question in Shinra's eyes, explained, "Work, ne."

Anger, judgment, darkened the gaze hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses. "You couldn't take today off?"

A shoulder lifted in a lazy shrug, the motion tiring. "Why would I?"

Shinra made no reply, and Izaya couldn't look at him to read his expression. Maybe he was too afraid. Too tired.

"I just wanted to see it with my own eyes, ne." Except he hadn't. Couldn't. Still, his gaze had yet to move past his shoes. It had been enough to hear it. The crying, the dirt falling, the quiet. It was enough. "It's like a dream come true."

Ah, there it was. The wavering in his voice. The soft quake.

He smiled, the expression odd, uncomfortable. "I'm happy."

A lie, and a transparent one. He knew, strangely enough, what it felt like to be happy in a world that tried so hard to make it impossible.

Not like this.

Happiness was being chased through grimy alleyways, unsure he'd survive, unable to focus on the promise of pain when he felt like he was a sprint away from flying. Happiness was hearing that voice growl his name behind a thrilled smile, knowing the terrifying scream of metal being torn from the concrete and whistling towards him through the night air. It was looking back and seeing him so close behind, a striking mess of blond hair and wild caramel eyes.

Happiness was six feet underground, packaged in a pretty wooden box.

And to think this was what he'd always wanted.

He was looking at his shoes again, at the sun gleaming merrily and bright even through the fresh dirt. Except it was now less clear. Blurry, hazy, too much. The heat of everything was in his eyes and it stung.

A woman passed before him, face morose, wet.

He'd never seen her before, couldn't understand why she was holding flowers.

From his peripheral he saw her bend to place them against a headstone he had yet to look at.

She wasn't the first. Soon there was a small line of mourners, each as unrecognizable as the other, placing down flowers. One after the other, some with drying tears, some with hardened expressions.

Flowers.

A quiet breath escaped his lips behind a dry smile, the sound quiet at first but growing increasingly louder as more and more of these strangers placed flowers down, bowed their heads and mumbled little prayers under their breath as if they were speaking to someone.

As if he could hear them.

He realized he was laughing when he noticed them all staring, absolutely appalled, shocked.

They could stare all they wanted. He wasn't the one giving flowers to a dead man. A man who didn't even like flowers.

Large hands fell upon his shoulders from behind in an attempt to guide him away. For a few moments he allowed it until they tried to turn him away at which point he wrestled free, shoving the person holding him off.

Kadota sighed, rubbed a hand over swollen, reddened eyes. "Izaya—"

"I'm fine."

He hadn't asked. In fact, no one had asked. No one ever asked.

There was probably a reason. No point in asking a question when you already knew the answer.

"I'm fine, ne."

Apparently he'd forgotten how to say anything else. Just that every time his eyes met those of someone else, he found himself saying those same three words, as if saying them enough would somehow make it true.

They were worried, he could tell. Shinra, Dota-chin, even Simon who he hadn't realized had been there until he'd joined the team of people trying to convince him to leave.

He couldn't understand their concern.

There was nothing wrong.

Shizuo died and all of a sudden he couldn't remember the past twenty-four years of his life.

But the sun was still burning, the earth was moving, and strangers were placing flowers on his grave.

It was okay.

He was fine.

Author's Note: I really shouldn't start writing a new story when I haven't finished my other, but I've had this idea in my head for a while and I needed to get it out. I don't enjoy writing about dead Shizuo. It makes me really sad…

Be warned, I have no idea where I'm going with this, which generally means bad news when it comes to updates. Hopefully I'll figure it out along the way. I've got a rough idea for how I want the first few chapters to go, but after that…DERP.

Oh, writing is so fun.

Please review if you have the time!

~Merry