Grief

Evening

It was late in the evening, a day had passed since me and Celty spoke and I was now heading home from work. It was nice to be able to talk to her, it was relaxing to just sit down and have a calm conversation with somebody you could trust. Celty had always been a great listener and in turn a great friend.

But-

I still decided not to tell Celty about the flea. It was obvious she could feel something was there, something ominous and off-putting as she put it. I felt guilty for lying to her, but I didn't know what else to do at that point. I knew that Celty would be eager to help find a solution to the situation and would be there for me.

But part of me wasn't ready for her to find that solution. Ever since yesterday, I'd started noticing more about the flea. And now that I've noticed them, It's hard to believe I'd never realized them before.

I never would have expected to find so many little habits, so many things that gleamed through as little cracks in Izaya's perfect facade. His false bravado dripped something purely sinister, something that encased the demonic rumors around the man. That he was a pure unadulterated villain at heart.

And hell! I'll admit people had every right to believe he was, and so did I. He's a bastard and a sociopath when it comes to his plans and "lovely humans." He thrives on the horrible experiences of others and labels it all as some sort of sick entertainment for his fascination.

But looking past all those blatantly glaring flaws, I couldn't help but laugh a bit at what I was beginning to notice-

He finds it criminal that I always order sweet foods, arguing that the finer cuisines of savory and bitter foods were a much better palate choice.

He also enjoys cartoons, quite often might I add. But when he gets bored of those, he'll do a one-eighty and flip the channel to something horror-themed. Something grotesque, be it a movie or a documentary, the flea always managed to laugh when he watched them.

Or how he sometimes twists his twin silver rings on his fingers when he's lost in thought. I don't know if he even realizes he does it, but whenever he stares out the window, I can't help but notice his fingers as they twist those silver bands absent-mindedly.

With every little trait, I'm learning more and more about who exactly the illusion of Izaya is.

Honestly, I was unsure of how to feel about it all. Admittedly, I like knowing a different side of Izaya, the side that's more mundane, casual even. The side of him that was bunched together and knotted with strange little habits and quirks that make a person over time. Things he'd acquired through living, not through deceitful lies and false personas.

But on the other hand, I hated it. I hated that I'm seeing this new, human side of Izaya that I never thought could have existed before any of this happened. Izaya calls me a monster and beast all the time, and my one feeble defense against his words was that he was worse, that he was a demon in human skin. Seeing Izaya act so casual, so flawed and chiseled through trial and error, of little things that he holds close in his memories that helped form who he was-

I hated it.

I hated it because I was the one who destroyed it.

All this time I've hated Izaya, a symbol of deceit, lies, and manipulation. I despised the chaos he brought in his wake because all I craved in life was peace. Something so unattainable. I knew it was, and it still is. But seeing Izaya personify that wicked layer of lies in Ikebukuro, of teetering people's minds to the extreme, was what drove me mad with hatred all those years.

I never wished to have this strength, this force that could shatter somebody if I so much as touch them wrong. It's disgusting, brutal, primal, monstrous, all things strangers made sure to whisper around me. And Izaya was always at the forefront, smiling, taunting, and luring out my anger to prove what he called me was true.