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I'm not blaming you for anything!

[Tears don't start, not yet, but her voice chokes. She's confused--where did all this come from? What's happening? It seemed like one minute everything was just fine and now...

He wouldn't really shoot someone, would he? Of course he wants her to act, he wants to watch what she does, but would he, himself, personally end someone's life to make it happen?

Belladonna couldn't really say. She comes forward halfway at a stumble, gripping the top of her dress with one hand to keep it from falling.]

I'm just so worried about you, right now. I can't help feeling like you must be hurting, and if you'd only trust me...

[Her head pounds. Two seconds. She has two seconds.]

Don't worry, Bella, you should only worry about your potential right now.

(Trust? That's the issue, isn't it? The ever-so bloody battlefield inside of him. Once, he trusted someone was protecting him, caring for him, saving him, and it hadn't truly been for him. At that moment, Izaya felt a myriad of things, but most importantly, he felt envy. Jealousy of said person's ability to sway his moral compass towards a single individual, to jump on a knife meant for Izaya not out of heroism, not out of love for his friend, but out of a desire to impress a thing. This person saw things from a different plane of existence, a true observer of humanity, and Izaya wanted more than anything to be like him.

But Izaya is fragile. Not like a flower, but much like a ticking bomb that can go off in a split second should anyone seek to disarm it. Had he been an honest observer, he'd be able to lie - wait, it wouldn't have been a lie. It would have been truthful to his wishes to simply watch as she whirled into the villainess that she so much urges to be. Trust means he'd let her in, much more than she already has. It's not like anyone has gotten this close to Izaya unscathed. He renounces it with his every fiber while reaching for it with his whole being.

He wants it, but he's too afraid to take it, as per usual. Can't deal with the fact that love comes with rejection, it comes with pain, with expectations that aren't met. He needs to make her despise him. It's to protect the bomb from consuming him whole.

So he doesn't hesitate to continue counting.)

Two...

But you matter so much more to me than something like that!

[At the end of the day, acceptance and companionship is something she's always lacked alongside the powers that she wanted. If she had to choose between them, she'd choose love. She's lived with disappointment in herself long enough to resign to it. But having someone by her side...now that she has it, the idea of being torn away from it, that's a whole different kind of Hell. That's one she doesn't want to be in.

But does he want this? He doesn't, right? Not really. He's pushing and pushing and it feels like some kind of test she hasn't figured out the right answer to, yet. If she does what he's asking, will she pass or fail? If she refuses, what if the outcome is more than her conscience can handle? He wouldn't be mad, she's sure.

But if he looked at her like she was insignificant or uninteresting, how could she look at herself again? How could she possibly hate herself even more than she already does?

Belladonna doesn't have any of the answers. She only has her heart and her instincts, which know little about bluffs or consequence. Her first remaining second turns into the second remaining second, and it's like a gunshot goes off in her brain before he actually pulls the trigger at all.]

No, don't!

[So, she swings. The switchblade opens as her arm careens downward, and if Izaya weren't literally be asking for it, dodging would be laughably easy. There's no grace or practice in the movement, only desperation as the blade jams itself into the wrist of his gun-wielding hand. She doesn't--can't--wait to see if he drops it. It takes more effort than she's normally capable of to pull the knife out and bring it down again, but by now adrenaline is doing its job, and the blade, this time, pierces him in the back.]

(Stop caring for him. If he hasn't made it very clear through this ordeal, he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve this goodness personified to follow his every step, to care so intensively about someone who refuses to accept it.

He's not even paying for it.

There's no ammunition in the pistol if she cares to look later. It was all a very elaborated bluff from the start - he's never killed anyone with his bare hands before, albeit attempts have been made plenty. He doesn't need more sins in his list than what he is doing right now. Another thing to benefit from, considering all the sins he had written off thus far.

He can and he could find several, if not infinite ways to justify himself in what he's doing.

"I just want to see."

"It's all for her growth."

"I'd just like to check if her goodness can be overwritten."

"I need more sins on my back, I can't afford to become inhuman."

So on. All true, none the main cause for his disarray.

The blade on his wrist makes him drop the weapon fairly quick before, surprise, a second one came. Izaya falls into his hands, vision becoming blurred faster than he can react.

At least there's a smile on his lips.)

[The knife slides back out into her grasp as Izaya falls, and all she can hear is static. At some point in the span of a couple seconds, blood splattered across her face and body, but she doesn't feel the warmth of the spray as the knife falls from her hands.]

No, no, oh no...

[She falls to her knees beside him, pulling him against her body, cradling him carefully as he bleeds out.]

I can, I can still fix it.

[But she can already tell it wouldn't do any good. If she knit his skin together, he'd still die. He's still dying, still dead.]

(Not with the amount of blood he's already lost, probably she wouldn't be able to save him. It feels cold, and if feels meaningful while meaningless to bleed on his own carpet, on his own balcony, in his own marriage suite.

It's fine. He deserves this. He just shakes his head as his muscles lose their strength, until Izaya Orihara is no more.)

[Thus enters the idiot.

Masaomi bursts through the door with so much force that he staggers, nearly faceplanting in Izaya's entryway. He's gasping for air, but there's no time to stop and catch his breath. Shoving off the wall earns him some momentum, propelling him forward as he jerks his head this way and that in his desperate search for Bella.]

Where are you?! [He calls, both into the phone still pressed against his ear and into the apartment itself.] I'm here!

[It doesn't take all too long to spot her, pacing back and forth around the entrance to the balcony, where she can't bring herself to fully step back into. Having been on the phone, she hasn't had the thought yet to go and clean herself up, so Masaomi gets the full picture: covered in blood, holding up a dress that's had its straps sliced off to keep herself decent, overall wild look on her face, pale but puffed with tears.]

Y-You're here!

[Belladonna doesn't mean to parrot him, but really, she doesn't even know what else to say or how to react. Her phone finally falls from her hand, clattering forgotten to the floor as she stumbles over.]

I, I didn't know what else to--I was panicking, I couldn't think--

[Masaomi spends approximately two seconds staring wide-eyed at her as he supports himself against a bookcase. Then he strips. He tears off his hoodie, closes the distance so he can press it against her chest.

There. One problem solved. He's on a roll. Now he just needs to comprehend everything else he's seeing.]

I know. It's gonna be okay. Put this on. [He insists between attempts to catch his breath.] Now... where are you hurt?

[Someone thinks that's Bella's blood all over the place.

Oh dear.]

[Belladonna takes the sweater as if it's a foreign object before Masaomi tells her to put it on. A flicker of recognition crosses her face, breaking through the panic and horrified mania, before she puts it on, successfully taking care of her indecency issue. Her head swings from side to side, less of a shake and more of a swivel.]

I'm not.

[No gashes, no surface pain.]

I...

[She visualizes the knife swinging down and has to put a hand over her mouth. No, she can't say it, she can't think it, she'll be sick. Looking like she might collapse right on the spot, Belladonna points her free hand behind her, toward the scene of the crime.]

[He reaches out a hand to steady her swaying shoulder. If she's really not hurt, he'd rather she stay that way. But once he's sure she's not going to tip over, he gives her a gentle squeeze and lets go.]

I'll be right back, okay? I'm just gonna look.

[With that promise still fresh on his tongue, Masaomi steps out onto the balcony and immediately recoils. The stench of spilled blood hangs over the corpse like a stifling blanket, it's heavy humidity tainting the cool, outside air. The murder weapon has been cast aside, a glint of metal peeking out from beneath a fresh coat of red. What burns itself into Masaomi's brain, however, is the body itself, the gaping wound, the pool of blood already sticky at its edges.

Izaya Orihara's lifeless eyes are accompanied by his signature grin. Even in death, the bastard is smiling.

Masaomi had never seen a corpse up close like this before he fell into hell. The fact that it has the face of someone he knows leaves his throat dry, his breath ragged. Before he has a chance to truly panic, however, he's reminded of why he's here - how desperately Bella had been sobbing over the phone and how she never could have done such a thing if it weren't for Izaya's manipulation. He can't be sick over this. If he falls apart, then what's left for Bella?

Quietly, with an eye on the balcony door, Masaomi picks up the knife and makes sure to press all ten fingertips onto the weapon's bloody handle.

Just. In. Case.

With a deep breath, he slides back inside, makes sure to position himself so that Bella can't see the balcony until he's shut the door behind him.]

Bella.

[His voice is a no more than a whisper. In his uphill battle to sound calm and not at all unnerved, it's just too strained for any real volume. His narrow eyes, furrowed brows, and tense stance convey the urgency his voice lacks.]

Start running water in the tub. You're going to take a shower.

[He's only gone for a moment, but it feels like so much longer, and when he returns she's pacing again, looking for the life of her like a lost child in a grocery, on the verge of bursting back into tears any instant. What's he going to think? What's he going to say? Will he look at her with disgust or disappointment or fear?

And shouldn't it be a delight to be looked at that way?

Not when it's a friend, and not when she's already so ashamed of herself.

Despite how quiet he is, she jolts like she's been slapped when he says her name, and anxiety is plain on her face as she forces herself to look at him.]

What?

[His words don't line up in her head like anything that makes sense, not for a few solid seconds. She blinks rapidly, trying to refocus, and stammers.]

Oh. Oh, yes. My goodness, I'm a mess. I'm sorry, I'm such a mess. Aren't I just...

[Not that she makes any movement to go anywhere. Now that she has him here, what happens when she's alone again, with her own self-loathing? The hate that she's always felt for herself is tainted a different color, now, and Belladonna still isn't sure quite how to address it.]

[Masaomi hasn't figured out how to deal with her obvious shock, not yet. She's even more scattered than usual, even more hesitant, even more apologetic. That's to be expected. This kind of trauma is not something he can make go away with a few choice words.

The corpse though? He can get rid of that before she finishes in the shower. That one is an achievable goal, and he has to focus on that if he wants to get through this with his sanity intact.]

Bella? Babe? [He will repeat her name as many times as he has to, anything to keep her grounded and responsive.] You can do it. I know you can. Do you... Do you have any music around here? Would that help?

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i need to find her some intense icons jeeze

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