Moon (Izaya Orihara/OC)

I'm very happy with this oneshot.  It's more depressing than romantic, but I'm pretty sure I got Izaya's personality down.  Hope you like it. 

He could walk on the moon if he wanted to.

If anything, he had that in common with her. But that was it. They weren’t friends or enemies. They didn’t share common interests. That perpetual smile that loitered on his face didn’t faze her but didn’t exactly have her jumping for joy either, although her displeasure never cracked her blank mask. Before, she would blindly pass him without seeing him, and blindly, he would observe her like everyone else. That was it. It wasn’t surprising that he approached her like he did every other.

“Go away,” was the first thing she said to him three weeks later. She hadn’t even looked up from her book. Chortling to himself, Izaya collapsed into a reclining position on the bench next to her.

“But Micchan,” he whined, “I thought you liked to be bothered. You’re so quiet you need a little excitement in your life.”

“A stalker isn’t my idea of excitement,” she responded flatly, not bothering to remind him not to call her “Micchan.” Sure, it was demeaning, but she didn’t want him to call her anything at all anyway. Micchan, Michiru, it would bug her no matter what he said as long as it was her that he was saying it to.

“You don’t like me, do you, Micchan?” He didn’t sound like he cared.

“It doesn’t really matter one way or the other.”

“You’re so apathetic! Why don’t you get mad at me? Maybe I’d leave.”

“That sounds more like a bribe than anything else.” Her eyes still hadn’t left her book.

“So? Get mad, get mad!”

Finally, Michiru turned her head and arched a brow at him. Izaya let out a disappointed sigh when she made no further action.

“That was a very sad attempt at anger, Micchan.”

“I wasn’t trying.” She went back to her book.

“You’re so boring.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Is that book so very engaging?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Is the reason you hide your emotions behind an expressionless façade because you’re afraid of being judged?”

Silence.

“Ah-hah. Hit right on the mark, didn’t I?”

“No, I was just thinking. You may be right. I don’t really know.”

Slumping, Izaya sighed again. “You really don’t care, do you?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. You’re the one that doesn’t care.”

“Oh, I care. I love humans very, very much. I care about everything they do.”

“…I hate humans.”

“You’re human too, you know.”

Silence. Then, grudgingly: “I know.”

He was like that reflection on the water that taunts you when you try to grab it but invites you to try anyway. She was like a mirror; you could touch it, but you couldn’t get behind it. Your own reflection blocks you from slipping through. But mirrors don’t lie with words like “I don’t know.” She cared. She cared so much she feared it would break her. And she knew that he was lying too, and he didn’t care at all. They both disconnected for different reasons—one to fly, one not to drown. Silently, they each stared down from the moon and pretended not to exist.