Addiction

 "Shizuo-San, how did you meet Orihara-San?" Everyone around the room turned stiff. Masaomi jumped to place his hand over Mikado's mouth, but it was too late. The question was already out there.

"Just forget what he said," Masaomi grinned, at the older man. Shinra, Celty, and Anri breathed out, letting their shoulders relax. Shizuo shocked everyone by laughing. He took another sip out of his glass. Masaomi released Mikado's mouth, and slid back to the seat next to him. Shizuo placed his glass down, and looked Mikado straight in the eyes. Mikado sat still, not moving, he remained calm. The blonde broke the stare, first.

"You strangely remind me of the flea, but there's something different about you. It's like you have his intentions, and his ways of operating, but you don't have his personality. You have a heart." Mikado smiled at the older man's words. Shizuo leaned back in his chair, and took another drink. The crew around the table were speechless. Celty pulled out her PDA and began typing.

"You're drunk," she held the device in front of Shizuo's eyes. He began to laugh.

"I doubt it," Shizuo replied as he brought the glass to his lips. He swallowed the last gulp of the bitter fluid in his cup.

"Shizuo-San, you've had like five cups," Masaomi pointed out.

"Like that's enough to get me drunk," Shizuo scowled.

"Uh I think Celty is correct, Shizuo you are definitely drunk," Shinra stated, "you should probably stay the night. I'll get you some water." Shinra excused himself from the table, and went into the kitchen. Shizuo turned towards the dark haired teen.

"You wanted to know how I met Izaya?" he questioned. Mikado nodded his head.

"I know Orihara-San is a very touchy subject for you. I apologize, I shouldn't have asked. If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to." Shizuo shook his head.

"I'll tell you, only if you explain to me, why you want to know." Mikado's face became puzzled as he tried to figure out why he wanted to know. Finally he came up with his answer.

"From what I've heard, you hated him from first sight when you saw him in high school. It just didn't make sense. I understand that some people get a bad vibe off of people they first meet, and they don't like them. But that's different than hate. I've always assumed that you met before hand, and something happened then, that made you hate him."

"You're pretty damn smart," Shizuo replied, "I guess I'll explain it to you."

I first met him in my second year of middle school. It was on a dating website. By that point, I was struggling with my sexuality. So I was naturally curious. I joined the website under the alias "Tsugaru." After I set up my account, I was instantly messaged by Psyche.

Shinra slipped back into the room. He placed a cup of water beside Shizuo, and headed back to his seat. Shizuo thanked his friend, and took a sip of the liquid.

"Please do continue, Shizuo-San," Mikado said eagerly. Shizuo smiled at the younger man.

"Hold your horses."

"Eh, is Shizuo telling a story?" the underground doctor asked.

"Yeah, about when he met Izaya," Masaomi replied. Shizuo cleared his throat before continuing.

We found a connection almost instantly. I remember how I'd rush up to my room everyday after school to see if he messaged me. He usually did. Everything he said was so sweet, he helped me accept the fact that I was gay. It's hard to believe that they are even the same person. It was three months into our online friendship, when we decided to meet each other in person. I kept that a secret from my family, because I knew that it was a horrible idea. Meeting someone in person that you met on the internet tends to result in rape or death. I was desperate, though, I wanted to meet Psyche. I was utterly obsessed with him. And so I agreed to meet him at a bakery near my home. He, apparently, also lived in Ikebukuro. When I first saw him, my heart stopped. He was gorgeous, I mean he is still pretty handsome, but I really just want to murder him, so I don't think of that too often. It's not like he was dressed up for the occasion, either. It's amazing that I still remember what he wore that day. A pale pink t-shirt covered his torso, revealing his small figure. Black jeans hung on those thin hips. His raven-black hair showed signs of being combed, unlike my unruly locks of brunette. I stared at him, unable to speak. He grinned at me, and I forgot how to breathe.