Grief

Strange

And yet-

Like a record player jammed on a single groove, I couldn't look past that haunting question that repeated in my mind, just who is Izaya Orihara? It's been almost thrilling, perhaps daunting, to learn about him so far. To know what lay past those disgusting lies and creepy "love" for his humans.

He was just so strange, almost fascinating to learn about-

Holy shit, I'm starting to sound like Izaya.

I shook my head, hard. Willing that terrifying train of thought away, Izaya's mannerisms were not actually rubbing off on me! Like hell would I-

"Shizu-chan? Are you there? Perhaps the word was too much for your protozoic brain to handle after all..." Izaya mused his tone light with teasing thick on his lips.

Right, quit getting lost in thought- I gave my head one last shake, my shoulders shivering along with the lingering thought I just had before I looked back up to catch Izaya's expression.

And looked real.

Something that, surprisingly enough, had become a more common occurrence with Izaya as of late. Moments where he'd "slip up" and just speak with whatever tone or expression that came with it. Sure he still acted like Izaya, the same prick who mulled over psychology and laughed like a hyena, but the faces he'd make while doing them looked a little less sharp. A little less chiseled, crafted, and chipped over time to form a perfect sculpture of a persona.

I couldn't help but smile, there was something special about being one of the only people to have seen a side of Izaya like this. Honestly, I'm not sure the flea even realizes he's been letting his guard down so much- And like hell was I going to risk it by pointing it out to Izaya.

But then again, there isn't much to accomplish in hiding any longer when you are in Izaya's situation.

An onslaught of memories hazed at the edge of my smile, faltering it a little, but the curve still held stubborn in its upturn. My eyes flickered a little wider in realization, the thought of much darker things had made me realize how the flea had managed to completely change the topic of the conversation entirely.

Izaya sat silently observing me all the while, expectant for some sort of response as he watched, keen to note every little twitch my face probably made.

"Hey, Izaya?" I blurted out, speaking before I'd even processed what I was going to say. He hummed a response. "Sorry." We both knew it wasn't an apology for the random outburst or lack of response.

No, we both knew what it was for.

It felt good just to say it. I know I had already said it, but truth be told, I don't think I'll ever stop saying it, because I know I won't be able to forgive myself for what happened that night.

Izaya stayed quiet, and I was alright with that. I expected no forgiveness in return. Honestly, I was grateful he hadn't, because even if the flea wants to believe that, "a building did him in," I can't deny my part in what happened.

I'll never be able to just brush off what happened that night as some sort of accident.

So I'm grateful.

Grateful that the flea hadn't forgiven me, hadn't done some sweet-sickly routine of reassurance where he claimed it wasn't my fault at all, not that I'd expect anything like that from him anyway.

But there was also that selfish side of me, that part that had my heart thrumming with the realization that even if Izaya never truly said "I forgive you," he was still here- still talking, laughing, and trying to make me mad.