Durarara Lemons

Shifting

/

We'd already driven three miles before I realized I'd never gotten my smoke.

We had slumped in and resigned ourselves to watching the road in front of us in uneasy silence. Izaya had picked up his jacket from the floor where he'd left it earlier and was fidgeting with the fur lining. The tension was making me sick. What the hell WAS that?

I wanted to go back in time- to undo the last hour, the whole day, hell, all the way back to the night of that stupid party.

But mostly, I just wanted the uncomfortable crowding in my jeans to go away. Damn thing has no allegiance. I had to stop myself from wondering if Izaya was in a similar state.

He was trying lamely to segue into his normal babbling.

"So, Shinra wants to do his thesis on the hypothetical effects of surgery on a grim reaper. A grim reaper, for God's sake!" he chuckled lowly. "I've told him that no reputable establishment is going to accept a medical essay about fairy-tale creatures, but he absolutely insists on it! Can you believe it? The idiot will never get his medical license. It's screwy, right?"

"Shut up," I grumbled automatically.

And for what was probably the first time in his entire life, he did. Somehow, that made me feel worse.

It looked like wouldn't be able to skate over this, after all.

Izaya pressed his head to the window in a gloomy, self-deprecating way. I'd never seen him so devoid of spirit before, and I was the reason for it.

It was all wrong.

My subconscious kept prodding: he wasn't bad at it. Not even a little.

If I didn't get a cigarette soon, I was going to drive off the side of the mountain.

/

I pulled off the road without warning, which startled Izaya, and parked in front of an overlook.

I lurched out of the car, fishing my pack and lighter out of my shirt pocket. I stood at the edge of the landing. The city was still a long way down. I lit up and drew the much-needed nicotine into my lungs, hoping it would clear my head.

Focus wasn't coming easy. Something had shifted in our dynamic. We were different people in this moment, and I had an irrational thought that we would change back again if we reached the bottom of the mountain.

I touched my shoulder where his hand had been. Tch. Sneaky, shameless, out-of-his-skull Izaya. It was his fault. He should never have put us in this situation.

...So why did I feel like I was the one who'd screwed up?

Clearly, this conversation was not finished.

Before I could decide on another course of action, I marched to the car and threw open the driver side door. For his part, Izaya was watching me from across the seat with a mixture of interest and apprehension.

I leaned on the frame, ducking to look at him. "Get out of the car."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I think you're going to kill me."

I took a drag off the cigarette, let it out slow. "I won't."

He regarded me warily. I didn't move, just let him size me up, tapped some ash off onto the ground. A moment later there came the pop of the handle and he crawled out.

He walked around front and leaned sheepishly against the grill, half-sitting on the car. He watched from the corner of his eye as I sauntered over and joined him. Neither of us spoke. It was strangely empowering, the sight of Izaya so visibly on edge. He cleared his throat but didn't say anything. His shoulders were stuck in a defensive shrug, and he was eyeing the cliff in front of us like he didn't completely trust me not to throw him off it.