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you have no idea how you landed yourself in this situation.
in fact, you’re having trouble processing what is happening at all – your brain seems to be either refusing to or outright unable to process it.
there’s also a voice on the back of your head yelling at you.
you think it’s your rational mind. you can’t tell for sure, but it’s shouting something along the lines of what the fuck are you doing , so it’s more rational than whatever it is that’s in charge now.
it’s also very much useless background noise. you and the reasonable part of your brain have never been very close at all, which is something you realised when you were still young, after your third or fourth stay at the hospital.
but this– truly, you think, you’ve outdone yourself. it’s absurd even for your already fucked up standards.
and the day was going so well, too.
you don’t understand how everything went to shit like this.
(except you do, of course you do, because everything went to shit is usually preceded by orihara izaya showed up with only a conjunction between them)
chasing izaya through the streets of ikebukuro has become, you think, an intrinsic part of your life.
it’s a constant at this point, really. almost comfortable in its repetitiveness: you see him, he does something to piss you off (or not, sometimes just seeing him is enough), you get pissed off, and the chase is on.
you don’t like to admit it, not even to yourself, but you have fun with it most of the time.
izaya might be a piece of shit, but he’s the only one around who can stand his ground (ha) in a fight with you.
(shinra once mentioned something about how it’s because you literally built each other’s fighting style around one another, but you decided to ignore that. it has connotations you’d rather not think about)
it lets you blow off some steam, having someone who can and will give a decent challenge, someone who’ll keep you angry until you’ve exhausted yourself.
(izaya once told you i’m doing a public service you know , and you didn’t understand what he was talking about then, but you think you might now)
doesn’t mean you want to fight him, though. you’re serious when you say you hate violence – you’d really rather not fight anyone, not even izaya.
but if he’s there, he’s bound to piss you off, and you’re bound to fight him.
and today was no different.
you were making your way home after a relatively pleasant day of work when he showed up out of fucking nowhere in that annoying way of his.
you can usually sense his presence when he’s around– it’s like something shifts in the environment when he’s near, and you can’t help but notice him. it’s irksome, but it’s proven useful in many occasions.
this time was no different, except you’re so relaxed it takes a while to place the sudden strange feeling in your gut.
by the time you recognise it for what it is, he’s already announced himself with one of those unbearable cackles of his and a purr of what have we here that sounds so loud to your ears, he might as well have been next to you.
immediately, you feel your blood starting to boil.
you look around, but the streets are empty at this time and he’s not anywhere you can see.
then you remember the fucker has a penchant for standing above, some next level god complex that makes him even more insufferable than he already is, and you look up.
and of course, there he is.
he’s sitting precariously atop a high wall, legs bouncing back and forth like a toddler on a seat too high, looking completely at ease and uncaring of his own safety. the words be careful are on your tongue before you catch yourself and remember who it is you’re dealing with.
you feel your face twist with anger at the sight of him all high and mighty, but even through the hazy cloud of ire that fogs up your brain, a small part of you is acknowledging how picturesque he looks right now.
there’s nothing different about him in particular – the same fur trimmed coat hangs from his shoulders, the same blood red eyes stare at you with mild amusement, and the same sadistic grin curves his lips.
but the moon is full above him, and its glow makes him look softer, accentuates the prettiness of his face enough to make up for the awful expression in it.
you’re almost distracted by it.
“you’ve got five seconds to leave my sight,” you say. you think it’s a fair, reasonable demand.
izaya disagrees, obviously.
“and why would i do that?”
you take a deep breath.
you were having such a good day.
“because otherwise i’m gonna kill you.”
“ah, shizu-chan. you’re no fun at all.” he says, but doesn’t move an inch from where he’s sitting.
his grin grows.
and then he drops a fucking flower vase on your head.
your immediate response is to subconsciously lift your hands above your head so the vase falls painfully on them instead of on your damn skull.
your second, and perhaps most appropriate response is shouting “what the fuck?” at him, who answers with a series of giggles.
by the time you recover from the absurdity of him throwing a flower vase on your head, he’s already running merrily down the street and away from you.
“i fucking hate you so much.” you say, but it’s not loud enough for him to hear so you wonder who is it you’re talking about before you rush out after him.
it goes as usual: you throw everything you can get your hands on at him, and he dodges every single one of those things, which only grates your nerves further. he taunts and laughs at you, you curse and threaten him. pedestrians hurry to get the fuck out of the way before they become casualties.
it’s routine.
you chase him down to a long alley– you can see the street at the end of it, dark and ominous looking. you’re not afraid of it, but you realise you’re already a long way from where you started and you're not willing to let him lead you on this chase through the night.
so you use the last of your stamina to fasten your pace, trying to get to him before he escapes into the main street.
you catch him by the coat and throw him against the wall by the trash bins.
he hits it with a painful thud, and lets out a harsh exhale and a low whimper that makes your skin tingle. you try not to think about that.
“i’m guessing you didn’t like my flowers.” izaya’s voice is breathless, but he still manages to make it sound arrogant and snarky. his hands are harmless by his side, but you’re clever enough to notice that his pockets are just within reach.
you see the precise moment he moves to reach for the knife you know he keeps there, and you move before you realise, grabbing his wrists and slamming them to the wall by his head.
“i’m more of a chocolate person.” you say.
“i’ll make sure to keep that in mind.” he leans back, head resting against the wall as he looks down at you through half-lidded eyes.
involuntarily, you notice that he looks irritatingly beautiful.
there’s a cut on his cheekbones gently oozing blood down his face from where he must’ve gotten cut dodging something you threw; his dark hair is sticking to his forehead a little, messy and ruffled, and his mouth is parted, full lips still crooked into a faint smirk.
you’re close enough to feel his warm breath on your face, you notice vaguely. you could count his eyelashes if you wanted.
“so what now?” izaya asks, looking at you with feigned disinterest.
you know it’s feigned. you’re not sure how you know this. maybe it’s because you can feel his pulse, erratic, frantic under your fingers on his wrists. maybe it’s the way his voice seems just a little bit too composed.
“you caught me.” he arches towards you, and reflex has you tightening your hold on his wrists at the movement. he’s even closer now – you don’t think there’s a full inch between you two.
“i did.” you answer, eyes still stuck on the arrogant curve of his lips. “not sure what to do with you now.”
“oh, so you’re not going to kill me? how boring.” you can feel his eyes on you, gaze so intense it’s a wonder it doesn’t bore holes into your skin. you wonder if he feels the same about your gaze on him.
“just shut the fuck up.” you say.
and then you close the distance.
you honestly don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, but izaya’s lips are soft and warm, and when he kisses back it feels like something just exploded inside your chest.
it’s nothing like you imagined it would be, had you ever imagined kissing him — it’s gentle , almost tender, but there’s an underlying desperation to it that makes you kiss him harder.
(he tastes like coffee and sweets, and it makes you wonder if he planned this because you're finding this combination hypnotising)
you can feel his body flush against yours, his hair grazing your cheeks, his shallow breath on your lips when you pull apart for a millisecond. izaya’s always been overwhelming in a way, but you’ve never felt the extent of it until now.
you’re not quite sure any of it makes sense, but if you stopped to think you probably wouldn’t be kissing your worst enemy in a dirty alley.
at some point you must’ve let go of his wrists, because suddenly his hands are gripping at your hair and yours are tight on the curve of his hips, and you don’t even care when he bites into your bottom lip with enough strength to make it bleed.
“fucker.” you whisper, lifting a hand to wrap it around his neck and shove him back.
as expected, he giggles.
his lips are swollen and bruised, his mouth and cheek are stained with blood from your lips and the cut on his face.
the urge to kill him is effectively swallowed by the need to have him.
terribly unhealthy, a part of your mind tells you.
you ignore it and kiss him again, hard and brutal this time. he moans, and you groan at the sound of it, tightening your hold on his neck because of course he likes it.
it goes like that for heavens know how long. he pulls at your hair with disregard and you press harder into his neck in response. he gasps for air, and you loosen your grip, until he claws at your neck and you do it all over again.
it shouldn’t be so– so good , but it is and you never want it to stop.
izaya pulls apart again after a while, breath heavy on your face, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed. there’s a ring of bruises around his neck when you pull your hand away, and you’d feel guilty if it didn’t look so beautiful.
then, in the blink of an eye, he’s flipping you around so your back is to the wall, one of his damn knives to your throat, blade digging into your skin painfully.
“what the fuck” you say, more out of habit than honest shock – you were starting to wonder when he was going to pull some crap like that, even through the haze of luxuria that fogged your brain.
“well,” izaya says, a lazy grin on his blood stained lips. “it’s been fun.” he leans forward, dropping one last kiss to your lips.
and then he’s running away, back into the main street, and you’re left behind wondering what in the world just happened.