Reflection (Shizuo Heiwajima OneShot)

(Picture by deviantart: 12gaara12)

Shizuo Heiwajima had never been a man of many words. As a child he didn't feel a need to constantly be the best or the center of attention. As a teenager he didn't urge to constantly make conversation with any of his friends, the few that he had. Shizuo was just a quiet guy. No real reason to be talking all the time, right? Quiet was good. Quiet was normal, something the blond dutifully sought, given his major lack of it. Ever since childhood he'd craved for that feeling of normalcy, that calm that shrouded just about every average Japanese home. Given his..."talent," he never really knew what "normal" was, his ignorance to the feeling only making him want it more.

He thought back to his highschool days, that awful time when his life really took a three-sixty. The time he met that disgrace of a human, that evil being he was forced to call man. That sickening creature that he'd so desparately wanted to remove from the face of the Earth years ago. That disgusting thing that made his skin crawl, made his hands clammy, made his mind turn six directions.

Izaya Orihara.

They were the same age, even so much as in the same class all three years, as if fate was just spitting in Shizuo's face. The boy was much smaller, however, several inches shorter and several pounds lighter. But that made no difference in combat; what the boy lacked in brawn he exceeded in skill. No one on Earth you could find that had better skills with a switchblade. Shizuo may have been so much stronger, but he truly had no idea if he could beat Izaya in a real fight.

They also differed in other ways: Shizuo's light hair deeply constrasted Izaya's black. Shizuo's brown eyes to Izaya's red ones. Shizuo's quiet demeanor to Izaya's manipulative personality. Shizuo's disinterest to Izaya's constant inquisitiveness. The two could and would never be able to get along civily, much less be friends.

Shizuo scoffed, returning back to present day. He didn't need to be friends with the flea; he had plenty of people around him. He'd never urged for many. Tom, Simon, Celty, and Kadota were good enough. What else could he possibly ask for? He had a house, a decent job he didn't hate, friends...what else is there?

Love, a voice whispered, tugging in the back of his mind. He frowned, pushing it back. He didn't need love. Sure, he wished he'd found it so his mother and father could have lived to see their grandchildren, but unfortunately Mother Fate was against the idea. That was his only regret in life, not fulfilling his mother's only wish of him. But now that she was gone, he really had no purpose for a relationship, for love. It really held no meaning for him. He'd never had much interest in girls, and any girl he'd ever attempted a relationship with always said he wasn't interesting or didn't move quickly enough for them. Ch, he'd thought, excuse me for being a gentleman. He never understood females, and basically gave up on the concept of dating after his second year in high school.

But it sure would be nice to have someone to talk to, he thought. Someone to depend on, someone to hold in the darkness. Someone that I knew was mine. Someone concrete. Someone that wanted me for something more than a cheap fuck or to say they'd dated the "Strongest Man in Ikebukuro."

Shizuo sighed. Maybe he'd find love one day. Maybe not. Maybe love'd slap him in the face one day and he'd have to scavenge the pieces. Who knew. But all the man knew was that he wanted to find love. He didn't want to be alone forever. He wanted to be accepted by someone eventually. I mean, doesn't everyone?

He didn't want to look at his reflection and be disappointed anymore.