Did I Say You Could Speak?

8: There was a certain amount...

There was a certain amount of discontent. Masaomi didn't understand why. He just felt it. The more he thought about it the more he realized that Izaya was turning him away. It wasn't in so many words, of course, but Izaya ignored him every time he came back. He was always busy with other things. Too preoccupied to give the two bleached blondes attention. So now, he was sitting here, across from Shizuo, in a cafe that neither of them looked right sitting in.

"Is he depressed?" Masaomi asked, staring into his cup of coffee. Ah, yes, the sweet nectar of the bean. He needed this delectable juice to get him through the next couple of days. It didn't matter to him, whether it was a sorry excuse for instant coffee, or straight from the freshly ground beans of hipster locations. Coffee was coffee. Caffeine was caffeine.

"Do you think he can get depressed?" Shizuo frowned. The two were waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. No answers crashed in through the window. Izaya didn't magically appear walking through that door. They were still alone. They were still drinking shitty coffee. And, they were still confused as all get out.

"Well, he is only human, right?" Masaomi looked up. Shizuo's eyebrows furrowed. His frown was more evident on his face. He was going to get wrinkles. Masaomi, being the good man that he was, refused to point that out. If Shizuo wanted to get wrinkles he could get wrinkles. He wasn't going to make the man mad at him when his bones could crack with a single one of his glances.

"You think that scumbag is human?" Shizuo grabbed the bridge of his nose. "If he was human this would be a lot easier..."

"You're telling me he isn't?"

"Would that be so hard to believe? Celty is a dullahan. I have superhuman strength. You know a chick that can slice people and make them her 'children.' Things aren't always as they seem, you brat," Shizuo clenched his teeth. This bitch. He was causing all of the problems. Well, not all of them, but most of them. It wasn't until after Masaomi appeared that everything started turning on its head.

The bell on top of the door rung as a new customer walked in. The two blondes turned their heads, instinctively, before being disappointed once again and going back to gazing into each other's eyes. Shizuo had to do a double-take. This person wasn't Izaya. He didn't smell like a bastard and wear a stupid ass grin. No. But, his looks were incredibly similar. Everything about Izaya and this stranger was exactly identical in physical appearance. Except for the trim around his coat was the color of blood.

Shizuo squinted from the safety of his sunglasses. The male fidgeted in his coat and jumped out of his skin at the smallest noise. He mumbled words at the counter and grabbed his foot immediately. He sat in the furthest corner of the room, the darkest area, and avoided eye contact at all cost. Curious, the blonde got up and walked over. He sat in front of him.

"S-Shizuo Heiwajima?!" he squeaked out.

"Do you know Izaya Orihara?"

A shadow cast itself over the stranger's face. He looked to the side, at the wall, and stared at it with great intensity, "I hate him," he muttered. "I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him." He completely ignored the fact that he was in public or the fact that Shizuo was sitting across from him. His rage burned within and he snapped the plastic fork in his hand. "I hate him," he repeated. "I hate him. I hate humans. I hate social interactions. I hate society. I want him to die a horrible death in a pit of flames with no one there to cry about it."

"I can understand that," Shizuo sighed. His mind wandered as he stared. If this guy wasn't Izaya, per se, was he still Izaya? Was Izaya acting again? What did he call this version of himself? Shizuo and Masaomi met 'Psyche.' How many Oriharas were there?

"You can?" he looked hopeful. He stood up and leaned across the table. His face was incredibly close to Shizuo's. "Really?!" excitement unable to hide from within his voice.

"Humans are pretty shitty," Shizuo nodded.

A small sliver of a smile crossed his face. He sat down again. "My name is Hachimenroppi. Everyone calls me 'Roppi' because of that guy," he sighed.

"Is there a nickname you prefer?" Shizuo didn't have to ask to know who that guy was. Izaya obviously had a thing for annoying nicknames. Need he remind you of the 'Shizu-Chan'?

Masaomi, unable to quench his curiosity, walked over to Shizuo with (yet another) coffee in his hand. "Are you Orihara-san?" he asked. It was a simple enough question. Inquisitive minds wanted to know. Masaomi wasn't the smartest lightbulb in the toolbox.

"I'm-" Hachimenroppi clutched his head with his hands. His face contorted as he tried to refrain from the tears threatening to fall. "I'm nothing like him..." he whispered and ran out of the cafe. His cake still resting in the same spot it always had been. The exact opposite of something Izaya would eat.

"You made him upset when all he wanted to do was eat cake," Shizuo shot Masaomi a glare. He deserved it. The poor guy.

"How was I supposed to know he was that sensitive about looking like Orhara-san?" Masaomi frowned. He eyed the cake. "This is paid for, right? Do you think he will come back for it or..."

"You're such an ass," Shizuo rolled his eyes and went on his way. If he stayed around Masaomi any longer he might strangle him with the yellow scarf around his neck.

"So, there are different Izayas?" he looked up at the sky as he inhaled that sweet lung cancer. "Then, is there a version of him somewhere that loves me?"