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finding izaya is easy.
you could track the scent of him anywhere, smell him from miles away if you wanted to.
and the smell of his blood might be pungent, but it guides you better than any gps in the world ever could.
(it doesn't hurt that he's covered in it.)
you find him hidden away in an alley, back casually pressed against a wall like he's just taking a break after a long jogging session.
(you vaguely you notice the pain in his expression, but you decide not to process that information.)
there is still anger thrumming in your veins, blurring your vision and your judgement, and it's fueled by the mere sight of him.
he senses or hears you almost immediately and leaps back as far as he can, clearing his face of any emotion that might remind you of his humanity. there’s the familiar glint of a knife on his hands, and the edge of his grin is as sharp as ever when you look again.
you trudge forward, a half formed growl in your throat.
you strike.
it’s not a fair fight.
izaya is still izaya, so he gets a lot of hits in, maybe more than usual, and they hurt, but it’s not enough to stop you, it’s not enough to even slow you down.
and izaya might still be izaya, but he’s weak and exhausted, and in such obvious pain it’s a wonder he hasn’t passed out yet. it stalls his reflexes, it clouds his judgement, and it doesn’t allow for the usual fluidity of his movements, and it’s not a fair fight at all.
you fight anyway.
at some point, you break his arms.
you don’t know how or when it happens, but the feeling of his bones breaking, shattering under your fist sends a wave of revulsion so strong through your entire body that it’s almost enough to clear your mind.
almost.
you soldier through.
he can’t run very far anymore, and he can’t parkour his way out of the alley or dodge your hits.
you don’t see the decision being made in his eyes, but you suspect it’s because it was made long ago, before all of this started.
izaya settles back, leaning against a wall of the disgusting alley you both ended up in. he’s doesn’t try to hide his exhaustion anymore, there’s no effort in trying to pretend the wall isn’t the only thing holding him up anymore.
pain is still masked, if poorly, but it doesn’t matter.
his eyes are still red and bright, and his lips are bloodied, but still curved, and they scream at you to do something.
so you do.
you decide to forgo any weapons and grab him by the neck, pushing him back into the wall he’s leaning against with far more strength than necessary, just to hear him cry out.
(he doesn’t disappoint.)
it’s oddly intimate, being this near a person you’re about to kill, but you don’t let yourself think about it.
izaya’s neck is delicate under your hands, fragile, so very breakable. you can already imagine the feeling of crushing those bones – it’d take almost no effort from your part. it’d be so easy.
you’d just need to press a little bit harder, and he’d be done.
his eyes burn into you, and for a second they’re unfamiliar, filled with things you don’t recognise, that you can’t even pretend to understand, things you want desperately to understand.
you flirt with the idea that maybe he’s thinking about his sisters or his family or whatever the fuck it is he cares about, but the concept that izaya cares about anything is laughable, particularly outrageous after the well-known gleam of loathing returns to his gaze and burns so hot you can almost feel it.
even at the last minute, he refuses to yield.
“do it, monster” he says, and his voice is raspy. he’s not breathing right, you notice, probably a broken rib or some shit, but you don’t care and you hear yourself growl in response, feel yourself tightening your grasp on his frail little neck, not enough to crush, but enough to cut off his air entirely.
he reacts to that, moves like he wants to grab at your hands, make you stop, but his arms are broken, and you feel the waste of breath in the shape of a pained moan slip out of him at the effort.
there are tears in his eyes now, born from pain and suffocation, and they mix with the blood on his face, on his lips, dip into the cuts on his cheekbones.
the realisation dawns upon you like a blow to the face.
izaya is human.
you knew this, of course. the theoretical knowledge was always there, but theoretical knowledge is easy to forget, to ignore, when izaya was always so himself – despicable, larger than life, malicious, untouchable.
subconsciously, you always thought of him as greater-than, on some level. he could keep up with you in a fight, after all; it was more than easy to forget that in the end, despite his all his vileness, only one of you was a monster.
you can't kill him.
he’s too human, even if he’s the worst of them all, and you can’t fucking kill him.
you punch the wall by his head with your free hand, and don’t get any pleasure at how he flinches.
(it just makes you sick instead.)
your grip on his neck loosens until it’s not more, and he falls to the ground like a ragdoll, legs buckling under his own weight.
he coughs, struggling for breath, and you don’t move a single inch.
“and here I thought our interests had finally aligned.” he says, and his voice is even worse than before, so scratchy and pained you don’t know how he’s talking at all. “but you refuse to die, and can’t even give me the satisfaction of killing me.”
“shut up.” you say, and there’s a new type of anger brimming under your skin, but for the first time it’s impotent because your entire body refuses to move, to finish izaya off. “just shut the fuck up.”
“now I get to die in a dirty alley floor. or maybe a shitty hospital bed instead. how exciting.” izaya’s words are cold, but his face says something else entirely and the fact even now you can’t figure him out angers you.
“you’re not going to fucking die, shut up, fuck.”
“is that what you think?” izaya laughs, bitter and resentful, so completely unlike his usual laugh that you have to blink to recognise the sound for what it is. “only one of us has the ability to walk off being hit by a truck, shizu-chan. it isn’t me.” he coughs out a mouthful of blood, and you feel your own blood freeze in your veins. “so if you’re not going to kill me, do us both a favor and leave now.”
“what?” the words catch you off-guard and question rolls out of your mouth before you can stop it.
“leave. is that too big a word for you?” he says, almost angrily, and the effort of the small outburst is enough to make him paler than he already was. “go away.”
“i’m not just gonna leave you here!” you say angrily.
izaya’s response is immediate. “why the fuck not?” he spits out, just as angry, and it makes you stop.
why not just leave, indeed. you don’t particularly like izaya, nor do you have any obligations towards him; there’s no reason for you to linger, much less for you to help him, especially when you spent years of your life specifically trying to get rid of him, hurt him, kill him.
why you even want to help is beyond you.
except it’s not, because the little voice in your fucking head that stopped you from killing him in the first place is back, whispering the same thing as before.
“because you’re too human.” it comes out before you can think it through, and izaya’s eyes widen in surprise.
and then he starts laughing.
he laughs in a way you've never heard before, almost carefree, filled with amusement even if the familiar undertone of hysteria is still there.
it's odd, to say the least, and discomfort prickles under your skin at the sight.
“and to think,” he says, between giggles, face pale and voice breathless. “that it only took you the better part of two decades to figure it out.”
“it’s not hard to forget when you're such a piece of shit.” you answer with a frown, but he just laughs some more.
“ah, after all this time you still manage to catch me off guard.” he scoffs, half amused, half bitter. “i really hate you, shizu-chan.” izaya says, but it sounds tired and worn out.
you don't answer.
izaya moves after a while, face scrunching up in agony with the effort of trying to get himself up, and you instinctively move towards him.
“don’t.” he yells through his teeth, so sudden and urgent you don’t hesitate to obey. “don’t get near me.” there’s something in his voice now that compels you to do as he says without question, something in his eyes when he looks at you, and it’s so foreign on him, so alien, that it takes you a while to match the expression with the emotion it represents.
fear.
cold freezes up your veins, and you feel something weight on your stomach at the realisation that izaya is afraid of you.
you stagger back subconsciously as he struggles to get on his feet.
as much as you hated izaya, there was always a fucked up sense of relief in fighting him; there was someone who could keep up in a way, someone who wasn’t afraid of picking up a fight, who actively sought it.
the idea that now even someone like izaya is terrified of you – that you managed to strike fear into someone everyone thought was untouchable, unfeeling, uncaring – it’s jarring.
you look up at him, but he has his eyes closed, head resting against the cool of the wall he’s leaning against.
he seems even more fragile than before, and when he whispers leave in a tone of resignation and exhaustion, you don’t protest.
you just turn around and do as he says.