Haze // An Izuru Angst Fic

Chapter One

TW: Suicide attempt, overdose

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It's an unfortunate existence, being perfect. It's an ironic thought, really, that perfection leads to such an imperfect life. The idea of "perfection" is so sought after by man, and yet the perfect human might just be the most pathetic and tragic creature of all. Izuru thinks that if he could feel, he might almost find that thought funny.

But of course, Izuru can't feel. He never could. Never once has he felt happy, never once has he felt love, or joy, or intrigue. Nor has he felt pain, sorrow, or heartache. Of course, these feelings are all just a collection of chemicals that his brain can no longer produce, all meaningless and boring. Izuru doesn't care that he can't feel things. He's never minded. Feelings are boring anyways. That's what he always says, anyways.

Many times he has had to say those words to his fretful servant. The boy was always a little too perceptive for his own good, and always far too selfless. He'd given himself to Izuru, mind, body, and spirit, all in hopes of one day winning Izuru's praise. His love. And Izuru almost feels bad for his poor servant when he reminds him that he is incapable of love. Almost.

And it's that same sweet servant who calls for his master now, three floors above where Izuru stands now, rifling through a small medicine cabinet. He hears his servant continue to call for him from above, and if times were different, he might go up there and scold the boy for not leaving him be. This time, though, Izuru decides that the servant takes lower priority.

Izuru picks up the box from inside the cabinet now, and sets it down on a counter. Looking inside, he finds it full of translucent orange and opaque white bottles. The pills within the bottles rattle about as he sorts through them, picking out which ones may prove useful and sorting them all by purpose.

He finds three bottles of painkillers, varying in strength, a bottle full of sedatives, two kinds of stomach medicine, a bottle of antidepressants, and two small bottles of dietary supplements.

Izuru sets the dietary supplements aside on a separate countertop, thinking that perhaps his servant could benefit from them, and turns his attention back to the others. He hears footsteps coming down a flight of stairs now, and notes that his servant is now two floors above him.

Izuru picks up the bottle of antidepressants. His mind flashes with the chemical composition of the medicine, the exact diagnostic criteria required to prescribe it, how long it takes for the medicine to take effect on average patients, all the possible side effects, and the success rates of it in treating clinical depression. He never even looked at the label. Dreadfully boring is what it was. He knew everything, nothing was interesting. He was bored. So bored.

Izuru sets the bottle back down, casting it aside. He knows lack of interest and constant boredom were common symptoms of depression. Somewhere deep and visceral within him, he wishes he was simply depressed so he could take that medicine and feel better. So he could take that medicine and feel. Maybe then he could find interest in his own many talents, and in the wisdom he possesses. Maybe then he wouldn't be so hopelessly bored and boring. Maybe then he could learn to love his servant the way his servant loves him.

A pointless hypothetical it is. There's never a point to lamenting what could have been or what could never be. All there is in life is now. And now? Now Izuru is bored. Now Izuru is incapable of emotion. Now Izuru doesn't care for his life. He's so bored. So, so bored.

Servant's voice is growing louder now. More frantic. He's calling out for Izuru wildly, in a panic. Izuru hears his feet scurrying quickly as he searches up and down the building for his master. Echoing footsteps indicate the servant descending another flight of stairs. He's only a single floor above Izuru now, and his pace is ever quickening.

Servant's frantic search seems asinine to Izuru. There is no purpose to hunting for him. If he wishes to be found, he will be with ease. If Izuru decides he wishes to remain hidden, there is nothing his poor little servant can do to find him, and Izuru is certain his servant knows this. Still though, Servant cries out for him.

Servant never liked it when he couldn't find his master, Izuru had noticed. He seems to panic with the idea that he has nobody to serve when Izuru is gone, but stranger than that, it seems that the servant worried for Izuru. Somehow, the boy got it in his head that Izuru needed him. That he might not be okay when his servant isn't around, and that he might be in danger. As Izuru lifts up the bottle of sedatives, he blankly thinks that perhaps his servant is correct.

Izuru idly ties his long hair back into a ponytail with a rubber band he usually carries to ensure cleanliness. Servant always loved to touch Izuru's silky hair. He would braid it, or tie it up into a messy bun, or spend hours combing it out. Izuru never minded his servant's infatuation with him, and allowed him to do as he pleased much of the time. Izuru remembers, almost fondly, the time his servant brought sunflowers back to the torn up hotel they had been staying at at the time. He spent hours weaving those flowers into Izuru's hair in a large braid, and Izuru kept it in until the flowers lost their splendor. He remembers the way his servant smiled every time he saw his master with all those flowers adorning his hair. He said that they were like a crown, perfectly fitting for Izuru in all his regality.

Junko had said something like that once before, though it was far less endearing then. She always loved to pull his hair back and run her clawed fingers along his lobotomy scar. She called it his crown. The gruesome crown fitting for the king of despair. Izuru got bored of her quickly.

Izuru runs his hand over the scar, feeling the smoothness of the cut. A perfectly straight line.

Izuru slowly removes his hand from his head, and removes the white cap of the sedative bottle in his other hand. He peers at the small white pills. They're perfect little circles with a line down the middle of each one. He gently shakes the bottle, feeling them rattle around the plastic container.

Izuru hasn't slept in days at this point. His perfect body can go weeks without sleep and still work perfectly. His mind is a different story, though. His boredom demands a break. A break from the monotony, a break from the days on end of perfect boredom, a break from the pathetic and miserable existence of Izuru Kamukura. A long break is what he needs. A long, long break.

Izuru pours the contents of the bottle into his hand, not letting a single pill fall from his grip. He gently rubs his thumb over the top of the pile in his palm, before tipping his head back and pouring the sedatives into his parched mouth. Izuru swallows the pills dry, feeling the large mouthful scrape his throat and burn his chest on the way down.

Just as soon as the burning sensation comes, it fades, and he floats.

Up, up, he goes. Higher and higher. And it's beautiful. It's calm, it's peaceful, it's freedom. In the fading remnants of his floating mind, he hears his servant's footsteps race down the final flight of stairs. And if Izuru could think, he'd realize his servant was likely only feet away from him now, but the thoughts don't come. And it's everything he's ever wanted.