Grief

Spirit

((Izaya's POV)

A barely audible sigh slipped past my lips, head propped on my hand and my fingers tapping impatiently. Everyday had become the same torturous routine. Everyday I have to sit here and watch the monster drown in some sick form of guilt about something he's promised to do since the day I met him.

It was pathetic.

And yet I still can't decide who is the more pathetic of the two of us. To die in an abandoned building by Shizu-Chan's destructive hands was unsatisfying to say the least. It was just a normal chase, no grand war claim or crowd to watch Shizu-Chan release his unrivaled rage.

Instead I'm left with a death I can't even fully recall.

No matter how many times I go through that night, which street I veered down, what object Shizuo threw, it all goes blank after we stop in an abandoned building. It's all so vague! So frustrating to not even have the sick satisfaction of remembering your own death! Instead I've been forced to sit here and watch the man I hate wallow in self pity.

My fingernails clacked against cheap wood as my eyes glazed across the room, it finally came morning which meant Shizu-Chan was up and moving to get ready for work. I couldn't help my nose from wrinkling as I watched him pour a criminal amount of sugar in what could have been a perfectly bitter cup of coffee.

With an exaggerated sigh, I slumped my head down to meet the table as the sound of Shizuo's front door slammed behind him. I have been stuck in this apartment for months now, and my only form of entertainment has been watching Shizu-chan get frustrated over simple, everyday matters.

I had no idea as to what the outside world was up to, no clue where gangs had put their aggressions or even how my sisters had reacted to his untimely death. Perhaps Shinra, or even Namie mourn my passing just a bit?

Ah, but I knew better than to have such delusions.

The beast hardly ever has guests over, so the closest I can get to watching my beloved humans, is fainted murmurs from behind thin walls and the gaze of passer-bys on the street bellow.

There's been at least one thing I've been able to satisfy my curiosities, myself, or my ghost dilemma to be specific. I must admit the slight mist of my form was quite alarming at first, being able to see hazy objects through your hand isn't something I claim within the realm of "normal." But with a bit of observation, along with relief it was easy to tell I was still wearing my trademark outfit, yet there was now a strange sort of wisp that followed me when I walked. The haze seemed specifically thick around the furred trim of my jacket.

"Surprisingly similar to some media depictions," I couldn't help but mumble. Recalling just how many movies and stories have described ghosts as something "see-through."

As time went on though, I started to realize that I was growing stronger. During the first month I was nothing but a shadow, I wasn't even conscious during the day-light and couldn't interact with anything, which included myself. Month by month I gained just a little bit more control and understanding, altering myself, walking through solid objects, and most recently and most satisfying, interacting with a few household items.

Light switches for example.

I couldn't help a few quips of laughter at the thought, so far my torment has been small, tedious even. Just a few strange light changes every now and then, just noticeable enough to annoy Shizu-Chan without suspecting anything paranormal.

Though, I suppose it wouldn't be bad if Shizu-Chan caught onto the paranormal that now looms bored out of his mind in his apartment...

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Shizu-Chan seems to be getting worse as the days drag on. At first it felt satisfying, almost like a sense of revenge that I had managed to affect the beast so much. But now it was almost sad, pitiful. And most of all-

Unnerving.

We had been enemies since the day we first spoke, loathed eachother to the point of attempted murder within the first week of our chases. It was a game sure, but a sinister game, a gamble of our lives.

The chases always left us wondering, starved for that little victory. Who had the upper edge? Who hated the other more? Who would stomp out that last breath, and finally win?

Apparently, that answer was Heiwajima Shizuo.

He had won our little gamble of life and death, a victor of a fight which had lasted for years! As much as I hate to admit his victory, he had one, and had every right to celebrate my downfall. And yet I stand here as nothing more than a phantom staring down at the shell of a man he once was.

It was... as disgusting I must admit, it wasn't him.

He used to scream to the heavens every time I'd step foot into Ikebukuro. He would vow and pray for my horribly deserved death, the mere "stench" of myself forced him to stomp his cigarette under his foot and scour the crowd for a fur cuffed jacket. He used to be so full of fury and aggression and passion, and-

Life.

It pissed him off.

For hell's sake, he was the one who had been murdered, so why was it that he looked like more of a corpse than me? What right did he have to feel guilt, his death was anything but an accident? How could my death be an accident when everytime we locked eyes we made our goals abundantly clear?

Our little chases, our game of rivalry would always need a victor, and in the end it wasn't me. At this point, as much as I'd rather fight, I've accepted my defeat. I knew I had lost the moment I died, that had always been the deal of our game was it not?

And yet here lies the victor! Sad and shriveled, worn for wear as he lay in bed with ratted hair and shadowed bags under his eyes.

"This isn't how you celebrate a victory, you protozoan." I murmured, lids dipped low and teeth clenched tight. I couldn't recall the exact time, but I knew it had to be somewhere around four in the morning, Shizu-Chan was yet to fall asleep. Instead he just stared at the ceiling with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, barely lit.

Just like every night.

My arms were folded and I could feel my gaze turn something sour, something disapproving. Hands gripped against the sleeves of my shirt, my fingers gripped tight against loose material as I couldn't stop myself from closing my eyes.

The room felt deathly silent, all but faint sizzled paper and shallow breathing from the beast that lay before me. I closed my eyes with the hope of waking up, realizing this was all some tragically poetic dream I'd brush off within an hour of waking. That I'd open my eyes and never remember this side of Shizuo, or how broken he looked over something that was never supposed to happen.

My death had felt wrong, too soon and unsolved. There was this itch of something missing that made this situation all the more frustrating. Something that felt strange on his tongue and gone in his brilliantly cautious head.

With a tired sigh I shook my head and pulled heavy lids open. Shizu-Chan now held his cigarette away from his lips as weak smoke was puffed out. With a final blink I walked towards the exit of his room in hopes for better company in solidarity.

Taking one last step past the room's threshold I took a glance back. Wide Umber eyes gazed straight back. A face pale and thick with disbelief. With a quivering voice, he croaked one word.

"Izaya?"

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(Apologies for the chapters being sort of short. They'll get longer as the story starts to progress and theres more to write without it sounding tedious. Any whooo hers another chapter, and Im already starting to write the next because I can't just not with a cliffhanger like that- 

P.S- if you see any grammar errors feel free to correct,))