Author's Note: I haven't been able to get this idea out of my head so I just started writing and couldn't stop. This first chapter is more of a prologue to introduce you to the story, most of it takes place back during Shizuo's Raijin days. So the next chapter will be a flashback. There is good reason for Shizuo to act the way he does in this chapter. :) Hope you enjoy! And just as a forewarning, the rating to this story is likely to change to M in later chapters.

Chapter 01 – Broken Picture Frames

He takes a long drag on the cigarette resting in between his lips as he trudges up the stairs to his apartment. Once he reaches the top, he leisurely ambles down to his apartment door. Out of the corner of his eye he can see mail has been piled up at his doorstep. Shizuo kneels down to retrieve it and begins shuffling through the bills and the advertisements, eyes skimming over everything briefly as he rummages through the stack of mail.

With his other hand he fumbles for the key in his pocket. He is sure it is there somewhere, and yet as he digs his hand further into the depths of his pocket, he begins to wonder if it fell out earlier while he was walking. (Or more precisely when he was brandishing that stop sign, or when he was chucking that vending machine, or when he was swinging that parking meter around. Really, it could have slipped out of his pocket at any one of those moments.)

But then as the cool brass grazes his fingertips and he's finally able to grasp hold of it, he knows that he hasn't lost it. This is the same routine he goes through every day, after all. Nothing ever changes. In this boring, monotonous life where things are in between normal and abnormal, everything stays the same. And, he convinces himself, he's alright with that.

Unfortunately change comes when you least expect it, and just as he finally hears the familiar click of his door unlocking, tucks the key back into his pocket, and reaches for the knob, he sees it. While he is clumsily sorting through all of the junk mail, a blue envelope slips out and flutters the ground, landing right near his feet. Its coloring stands in stark contrast to the gray concrete.

At first Shizuo scratches his head. Perhaps he wonders whether or not he should bother to pick it up. If it's another bill, he doesn't have the money to pay it right now. If it's an advertisement, he's not interested. There is a chance that it is something else entirely, something that will change his monotonous life. He isn't sure he wants that either.

Before he can really decide whether or not it is worth the time to even be debating whether or not to pick it up, it is already in his hand. While cradling the rest of the junk mail in the nook of his arm, he gingerly slips his finger through the top of the envelop. The sound of the tearing paper makes his ears twitch.

As he pulls out the card within, he is mildly surprised to find it is a wedding invitation. "Wrong address?" he assumes, flipping the envelope over to double-check. Sure enough, his name is written on the front in perfectly legible cursive with his address scribbled in underneath.

His brows furrow. Surely, he thinks, if Celty and Shinra were getting married then they would have said something to him in person first. Since he doesn't have many friends, it seems a bit odd that he would receive an invitation out of nowhere.

The cigarette between his lips wriggles up and down as he grinds his teeth together. Finally he pulls it out and throws it to the ground, stamping it out with his foot as he flips the card open. Lazily, his eyes skim through the words engraved on the inside. His shoulders stiffen upon seeing a familiar name – Rin Takemori. An acrid taste suddenly rolls across his tongue as he crumples the card and envelope in his fist. The sudden rush of bitter memories leaves him feeling a bit sour.

He glances over the railing, looking out at the bustling streets of Ikebukuro as the sun fades into the distance. Light is growing scarce and darkness is descending. Shizuo approaches the ledge and lifts his fist, as though he is going to throw the crumpled paper in his hand down into the dumpster sitting just below. But he hesitates and slowly his eyes wander to his clenched hand.

Why can't he throw it away? He has spent enough time mulling over bad decisions he has made in his past. There is no point in looking back anymore. Even if his past tries to cling to him, he only has the future to look forward to. That is why he has to toss it, like an ordinary piece of junk mail, to just pretend he never saw it to begin with.

There is a voice tugging at the back of his mind, though. Shizuo has never been to a wedding before. It has been years since he last saw her. What is the point of throwing away such an opportunity? There are still wrongs that can be set right. Why squander a gift that has been dropped into his lap?

Thinking so much makes his head hurt. Suddenly he wants another cigarette. Shizuo breathes out a sigh as he shoves the crumpled card and envelope into his pocket. He will deal with the question of whether or not to throw it away later. For now an ice cold glass of milk, fresh from the refrigerator, is just what he needs.

So he ducks into his apartment with the stack of junk mail still cradled precariously in his arms. As he passes by the dining room table, he dumps all of the bills and advertisements on it and continues his way into the kitchen. He promptly opens the door of the fridge and plucks a fresh bottle of milk from one of the shelves. In his haste he nearly breaks the lid as he tries to twist it off. But that doesn't matter – the rush of cool liquid down his throat quenches his thirst and calms his nerves. Yet somehow it doesn't manage to fill the aching void in his chest.

Still carrying the now half-empty bottle in his hand, Shizuo traipses back over to his makeshift table (which he has broken and super glued several times already) and sits at one of the unevenly cushioned chairs. He slams the glass down against the table, which rocks and sways precariously. With both hands free, he tucks one into his pocket and pulls out the crinkled card. Shizuo flattens it out against the surface of the table.

The lettering of the card is gold. It has a picture of several hearts trimmed with lace on the front cover. He runs his fingers over it. How strange it feels to be looking at a wedding invitation. In his eventful life, filled regularly by his job as a bodyguard and his hobby of hunting down Izaya, it seems impossible that he can be involved in something so normal as a wedding. He has never imagined it.

Regarding the card wistfully, he opens it once more to glance at the inside. That name he recognizes catches his eye again, and like a glaring reminder it spells out his past mistakes when he notices an unfamiliar name beside Rin's. She is getting married to someone he doesn't even know.

Suddenly he digs his hand into his vest pocket and lifts out a pack of cigarettes. After giving it a small shake, he manages to produce one and quickly puts the butt to his lips. A short moment later and he has lit it up with his lighter, which he then gently lays on the table beside the card. The rush of nicotine calms him, and the smoke rises into the air in thin wisps that curl then eventually dissipate.

Everything is silent as he stares at the card with a bored expression. Whatever thoughts or emotions are going on through his head are not easily displayed on his face. He just remains motionless as he sits there. At least until he suddenly grabs the card with one hand and the lighter with his other.

Shizuo sets one edge aflame and starts to watch it burn. The reddish orange light intermingles on the decorated paper as it slowly licks at the grandiose embroidery. But as the fire starts to devour almost half of the card, he suddenly slaps it against the table and hurriedly puts out the flame with his hand. Hideous burn marks are left behind on his flesh, though Shizuo seems to disregard whatever pain he feels.

Throwing it away doesn't work, burning it doesn't work. What else is he supposed to do to get rid of it? He stares at the singed card, the large heart on the front half-gone now. Ash falls away and lands on his pant leg, but he doesn't even seem to notice. All he can do is sit there absentmindedly.

Then, out of nowhere, he hears his phone ringing. It is a welcome distraction from that card and he crawls out from his seat. He reaches for the phone hanging on the wall and places the receiver to his ear. "Hello?" he answers in a low voice.

"Brother," the response comes from the other end. The voice is easily recognizable; it's his little brother, Kasuka. "I finished filming. I'm coming over to visit."

"'Kay..." They don't have to exchange many words to understand each other. Perhaps this is the bond that siblings have. Shizuo feels a little better thinking that Kasuka is coming over to visit. It will help him forget that card and the bitter memories that it stirs up.

It is only about fifteen minutes later when Shizuo hears a knock on his door. He already knows who it is and so he opens the door without even a glance through the peephole. The familiar sight of his brother – despite being disguised in a hat and glasses – is relief to him.

Kasuka gives an acknowledging nod to his brother and Shizuo steps aside to let him in. The door closes with a soft click behind him and the two make their way into the poorly furnished living room. Despite being a star, Kasuka doesn't seem to mind the couch which has been patched several times by fabric that doesn't match the original, or the springs protruding from it, or even the missing cushion on the one side. He sits down without any complaint, disregarding how lopsided and uncomfortable it may feel.

He might ask the question, "How have you been?" But he doesn't need to, and he knows there is no point. Shizuo always knows what he wants to say without him having to say it. So Kasuka just looks at his older brother with that bland expression of his as he takes off the hat and sunglasses.

"Work has been going well," Shizuo assures sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head. And it has been going well, all things considered, because although he has caused substantial property damage and sent a few people to the hospital, he hasn't seen Izaya and he still has the same job he had six months ago. "How was filming?"

"Fine," Kasuka answers flatly. His eyes narrow slightly as he notices the burns on Shizuo's hand. He makes a brief motion toward them without saying anything.

The blonde-haired man's head jerks down as he glances at his palms. "Oh," he says suddenly, his voice downcast, "This is nothing." He lies unconvincingly but tries to change the subject. "I'll go get some milk."

Even though Shizuo is really happy to see his brother again, he doesn't feel like talking about the invitation he received. He wants to be distracted from it. He wants to pretend that it was never delivered to him. Those thoughts alone are enough to distract him from glancing at the half-burnt card still sitting idly on his table as he passes by it on his way to the kitchen. Unfortunately, it does not escape Kasuka, who follows closely after his older brother.

The dark-haired celebrity pauses for a moment and picks up the card. He pries it open and his eyes flit over the words as he trails into the kitchen. "A wedding invitation," he mumbles. "This is from your old high school teacher, isn't it?" Not that he really needs to ask, because he already knows that it is.

Crash!

Somehow one of the bottles slipped out of Shizuo's grasp and shattered against the tile. He stares at it for a moment, his reaction delayed, but he still seems calm. "Ah, yeah," he answers vaguely as he reaches for a couple of paper towels to clean up the milk that has splattered across the floor.

"You should go."

Shizuo stares blankly at his finger. He had felt a prick just a moment ago when he had started to pick up the glass. Apparently it had cut through the skin. Blood is starting to sputter out in small beads from the wound on his fingertip. His eyes are glued to it. He swallows the lump forming in the back of his throat. "Go to the wedding?" Shizuo asks dumbly, pretending as though he doesn't understand what his little brother is telling him. Maybe he doesn't want to understand. Suddenly he thinks he should have thrown that invitation away after all.

"Yeah," the younger brother answers back. He retrieves some napkins and hands them to Shizuo to help stanch the bleeding. Kasuka doesn't offer any reasons as to why he thinks Shizuo should go. Perhaps he does not need to.

"I'll get you another milk."

"I have to go soon."

Since it has been so long since the two of them have had a chance to talk or spend time together, it is a little disheartening to hear that Kasuka will be leaving soon. But it isn't unexpected. Shizuo gives an understanding nod. Being a celebrity keeps his brother pretty busy, and since it is a career Kasuka apparently enjoys, it makes Shizuo happy.

So after Shizuo cleans up the mess, the two of them spend a little longer together. It probably isn't even an hour but it is long enough. Such distance between them would cause a rift for normal brothers, but the bond between Shizuo and Kasuka is unusual in that the two don't have to speak many words or spend much time together in order to understand one another and be content.

And Kasuka's visits, however brief and sporadic, always act as a reprieve for Shizuo. Especially since most of his days are routinely tumultuous and filled with random, large appliances flying. (Sometimes people go flying too, but not every time. Sometimes they're smashed beneath aforementioned appliances like pancakes.)

As Shizuo sees his little brother to the door, Kasuka suddenly pauses and turns toward him. "Brother," he says somberly, looking more serious than normal with those glassy, slanted brown eyes of his. "Takemori-sensei said, 'Don't ever regret something that once made you happy.' You should go to that wedding... and smile."

"Rin said that...?" His eyes avert to the ground. Even if those are words that Rin spoke, Kasuka isn't aware of the other ones she spoke. Shizuo can still remember them as vividly as yesterday. There were tears in her eyes, her cheeks were flushed, there was a tremor in her voice. And she had said... "You're a monster."

Kasuka glances down at his older brother's hands, which have clenched into tight fists. "She also said not to judge a person by the last conversation you had with them but by all the conversations you ever had."

Those words are spoken out of concern to give reassurance, but somehow Shizuo does not want to hear them anymore. He reaches around his brother and grasps the brass knob, twisting it and prying the front door open. "You should put your sunglasses and hat on so people don't recognize you," he tells Kasuka in a brotherly tone. It's fake and they both know it. It is also out of character for Shizuo to be ushering his younger brother out of his apartment, but this is a situation where he just wants to be alone.

No more words need to be said. Kasuka does as his older brother advises and resumes his disguise before stepping out of the apartment and going on his way. He pauses for just a moment to look back at Shizuo. There is something resembling sympathy in his eyes, but to Shizuo it looks like pity.

He slams the door, confused as to how the brief visits from his brother that he always looks forward to has turned into what resembles a fight. He never fights with Kasuka. Frustrated, he traipses back into the kitchen where Kasuka had set the half-burnt, half-crumpled card onto the counter. This time he has resolved to tear it into shreds – and he starts to – there is a small tear that he has created before he can even blink... But he stops and stares at it, fixated.

Every time he looks at it, he hears that line replaying in his head. Again and again like a broken record. "You're a monster!"... "...a monster!" …. "...monster!" Until he can't take it anymore and finally he trudges back through the dining room, and back toward his bedroom where he opens one of the drawers to the bedside table.

It is filled to the brim with junk. Random bills that he has paid or that are otherwise past due, newspaper clippings that he cut out because he suspected they had something to do with Izaya, and an old cell phone that Kasuka bought for him a while ago that he used once before accidentally breaking it. At the bottom of the drawer is a broken picture frame with an old photograph. He gingerly grabs it and pulls it out.

A picture from high school, a time that he doesn't want to remember. He is wearing his high school uniform and it is wrinkled with dirt splotches all over – and that red stain on his shirt is probably blood, but it definitely isn't his – he looks particularly pissed off. A slightly chubby woman at least five inches shorter than him is standing beside him with a cigarette in her hand – he remembers it being a habit he was just getting started on. In fact, he also remembers she was intent on trying to stop him and that is why she had taken it away from him. Her face, which always looked gentle, is set in a fierce glare and her lips are slightly parted. Those soft green eyes of hers are narrowed as she looks up at him. She is probably yelling at him. And as usual, Rin has that long mousy brown hair of hers tied back in a messy bun. Shizuo remembers liking it better when she let it down.

There is a crack in the middle of the glass. He doesn't want to remember how it got there. But he traces it with his finger, the one with a napkin still wrapped around it. The bleeding has already stopped but he doesn't bother to take it off.

"Don't ever regret something that once made you happy."

There is a phantom of a smile on his lips right now as he remembers those words and he gazes wistfully at this picture. Maybe – just a little bit – he wishes he could go back to that time and undo the mistakes he made.

But as he sits slouched on his bed with a wedding invitation in one hand and a picture in the other, he reminds himself that this broken frame is a remnant of the past and this half-burnt card is hope for the future. Even if it is only her hope and not his. It isn't like he can imagine himself ever getting married. Standing at the alter and watching a lovely bride walked down the aisle by her father, that is something he thinks he can never have. That kind of thing is normal, and Shizuo Heiwajima is not normal.

So he lays the card against the picture frame and sets it at the bottom of the drawer and puts the junk back on top of it. He promises himself that he'll forget he ever received that invitation, just like he has promised himself that he will forget the time they spent together.

But just as he starts to leave, something crunches beneath the soles of his shoes. Slightly surprised by the sound, he jerks his head down as he lifts his foot out of the way. There is something on the floor that he can only barely distinguish through the darkness that has now settled in his room. It looks like a watch, lying face down. He reaches down and picks it up. The glass on the face of the clock has been cracked. It probably fell out of the drawer when he was rummaging through the junk.

He remembers this watch, just like he remembers that photograph. It is one of the few gifts someone has ever given him. A thank you gift, Rin had claimed at the time. He can still recall the blush on her face as she stuttered out those words. A watch so that he could be in class on time.

This time he hesitates when he opens the drawer again. He intends to throw the watch in and forget about it too, but somehow his hand closes in a fist around it and no matter how much he commands his fingers to let go, they won't do it. All day his body has been uncooperative and he is beginning to get a little frustrated. Or maybe he's been frustrated this whole time.

Breathing a sigh, he plops down onto his bed and sinks back against the mattress. His calm brown eyes stare up languidly at the ceiling. He raises his right arm over his face and tries to secure the watch around his wrist, but somehow the strap ends up breaking. In frustration he shoots upright and nearly throws it, but at the last moment he stops himself.

Cradling it in the palm of his hand, he stares at it. It is broken and yet he still can't throw it away. The phantoms of his past are still clinging to him and he can't shake them loose. And somehow, Shizuo thinks, maybe he doesn't want to. Those memories, however painful now, were once some of the happiest ones. He could never regret them.