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Izaya leaned back in his office chair, the city stretched out beneath him through the wide window of yet another one of his flats. The glass reflected faint traces of his silhouette, a shadow layered over the restless glow of the streets below. From this height, people lost their individuality. They became movement and rhythm, dots of color shifting along familiar routes, like pieces on a board he had studied for years. Patterns. Predictable flows of behavior. A living system he could watch without ever needing to step inside it.
The faint buzz of his phone drew his attention. The date glowed against the dark screen. February 14th.
Valentine’s Day.
A day he dreaded the return of every year, not out of loneliness, but out of sheer irritation. A celebration of excess. Manufactured affection wrapped in ribbons and sold at a markup. Displays of devotion exaggerated for an audience, confessions rehearsed, emotions polished until they shone just enough to be convincing. Love blooming loudly and dramatically, only to wither by morning once the novelty faded and reality crept back in.
It should have fascinated him. Humans in love were predictable, fragile, obsessive. Perfectly entertaining. They revealed so much of themselves without realizing it, exposing their fears and insecurities in every awkward confession and desperate gesture. Yet thinking about it in this particular context left a sour taste in his mouth.
He didn’t believe in love the way they did.
He didn’t believe in devoting yourself to one person, in that suffocating admiration they dressed up as devotion. He didn’t believe there was some missing other half wandering the world, destined to complete him like a puzzle piece. The very idea felt small. Limiting. A cage disguised as comfort.
No, his love was something else entirely.
Unconditional. All encompassing. Detached.
He loved humanity in its entirety: the grotesque, the tender, the cruel, the sickeningly sweet. Every contradiction, every ugly impulse, every fleeting kindness. He had accepted it all, observed it all, adored it all from a distance that no single person could ever cross.
That was his love.
A love only he could understand. Only he could carry.
And it was the only kind he would ever allow himself to have.
Izaya lifted his forearm to cover his eyes and let out a slow, quiet sigh. The room was unusually still. The faint hum of electricity, the distant echo of traffic, the soft creak of the building settling around him. Namie was not there to nag him about unfinished work or questionable decisions, leaving him alone, truly alone, with his thoughts.
An unpleasant situation.
Because once his mind started wandering, it had a habit of digging up things he would rather leave buried. Memories he claimed not to care about, yet returned to all the same. Persistent, intrusive, impossible to fully discard.
Middle school.
Raira Academy.
Kishitani Shinra.
The past had a way of resurfacing on days like this, uninvited and stubborn, like a stain that refused to wash out. And no matter how many distractions he surrounded himself with, it always circled back there, to the beginning of something he never intended to start.
He remembered vividly the first time he met Shinra. Shinra had practically begged him to start a Biology club together, insisting they only needed two members to make it official. He had spoken quickly, excitedly, as if the idea alone carried enough weight to make it inevitable. Izaya had declined, of course. There was no appeal in pointless social commitments, no reason to involve himself with someone so persistent and loud.
But Shinra kept coming back.
Day after day, with the same unshakable determination, the same bright curiosity. He would show up beside Izaya’s desk, start conversations that had no clear beginning, ask questions that demanded engagement. No matter how firmly Izaya pushed him away, Shinra’s stubbornness pressed forward with equal force until, eventually, Izaya gave in. Perhaps it was out of irritation. Maybe he simply wanted the pest to stop hovering around him. Or maybe it was something else. Something he did not care to name at the time.
Shinra was interesting.
Izaya had always been a loner back then. He spoke to no one unless absolutely necessary, buried himself in textbooks, and treated people like obstacles to be navigated around. Attachments, friendships, they all seemed inefficient. Distractions that complicated otherwise simple goals.
And yet Shinra slipped past all of that without effort.
It was difficult to admit, even now, but Shinra had been the one who changed him. Not all at once, not dramatically, but gradually, in small moments that built on each other until Izaya realized he was watching people differently. Listening differently. Thinking differently. He began noticing expressions, tones, the subtle shifts in behavior that revealed more than words ever could.
Shinra sparked something in him.
A fascination that grew into something far larger than a simple friendship. An endless curiosity toward humanity itself. The way people thought, the way they broke, the way they loved and hated and contradicted themselves at every turn.
Beautifully unpredictable. Endlessly interesting.
Shinra stood at the center of that realization, whether he knew it or not. He was strange, earnest, and completely unapologetic about it. Someone who wore his heart openly, who chased what fascinated him without shame, who spoke with a sincerity that most people learned to bury as they grew older.
And Izaya, who had once viewed the world from a distance, found himself drawn closer simply by observing him.
Not because he cared. That was not how he would describe it.
He could still recall the countless conversations they shared after school, most of them carried almost entirely by Shinra himself. Shinra would talk and talk, eyes bright, voice warm, always circling back to the same person. Celty. Every story, every tangent, every idle observation eventually returned to her. The way she moved, the way she reacted, the way she tried so earnestly to understand the world around her. The little habits Shinra had memorized, the small details he repeated like treasures.
Shinra spoke with such open fondness that it bordered on reverence, as if simply knowing her made his life fuller.
Izaya would listen in silence, offering the occasional dry remark, watching the way Shinra’s expression softened at the mere mention of her name. There was a warmth there, something genuine and unguarded.
He told himself it was fascinating, just another example of human attachment in its purest form. Something to observe, to analyze, to store away for later.
And yet there was a faint irritation beneath that curiosity, subtle and persistent. An emotion he refused to accept, one that surfaced whenever Shinra’s attention drifted too far, whenever every conversation inevitably returned to Celty. She occupied a space in Shinra’s world that no one else could reach. A space Izaya had never been invited into and never would be.
He brushed it off easily, of course.
Shinra was a weirdo. That was the simplest explanation. A strange, obsessive boy rambling endlessly about the person he adored. Anyone would grow tired of hearing the same name repeated over and over. Anyone would feel annoyed. That was all it was.
At least, that was what Izaya told himself.
He denied the quieter truth every time it surfaced. Denied the tightness in his chest when Shinra smiled at his phone, the subtle way his tone changed when he spoke about her, softer, warmer, undeniably obsessed. Denied the strange discomfort that lingered when Shinra’s attention shifted away, when conversations that once revolved around them both became one sided.
He denied the possibility that the feeling beneath his irritation might be jealousy. That it might be something far more inconvenient. Something dangerously close to longing.
Love was a ridiculous concept, after all. Limiting. Irrational. Something that belonged to other people, not to him.
So he dismissed it, buried it under logic and observation, and laughed it off as nothing more than curiosity. Just another human emotion passing through his line of sight. Nothing personal. Nothing that could ever belong to him.
And yet, for all his denial, he remembered every word Shinra had ever said about her. Every smile he had witnessed. Every moment he had pretended not to care about.
Maybe that was the reason it hurt as much as it did. Because some part of him had been listening more closely than he ever meant to, holding onto things he had no right to keep, and realizing far too late that the distance he prided himself on had never been as absolute as he believed.
Izaya abruptly stood, the chair rolling back with a soft scrape as he reached for his fur trimmed coat and slid it over his shoulders. The familiar weight settled against him, grounding in a way his thoughts were not. He needed to move. Needed to do something before his mind dragged him under the way it always did when left unattended for too long.
The only question was what.
Sushi, maybe. Something quick, distracting, ordinary.
Pick a fight with Shizu-chan. That was always reliable, always loud enough to drown out anything else.
People watch. Blend into the city and let strangers fill the empty space in his head.
Or take on a small job.
Anything. Anything was better than sitting still.
Izaya pushed out of the apartment and took the stairs two at a time, shoes striking the steps in quick, sharp rhythms. The descent was fast enough to make his pulse jump, adrenaline prickling faintly beneath his skin. He welcomed it, clung to it, hoping it might cut through the fog building in his head. It did not.
By the time he reached the ground floor and stepped into the open air, the thoughts were still there, waiting patiently for him to slow down.
He had half a mind to silence his phones. He knew the call would come. It always did. Like clockwork. Shinra, cheerful and unguarded, talking about how happy he was, how Celty had done something small and wonderful, how another year had passed with the same unwavering affection.
Izaya could already hear it in his head. The warmth in Shinra’s voice. The softness that crept in when he spoke her name.
And you know what? Izaya was happy for him.
As happy as he could be.
Shinra had a connection that endured year after year without fading. Izaya understood the value of that, even if he refused to admit it aloud.
But that did not make it hurt any less.
Shit. This isn’t working.
Izaya picked up his pace down the street, long strides carrying him past storefronts and intersections, past couples walking too close together, past the bright clutter of Valentine’s displays. He was running from nothing, and from everything at the same time. From his thoughts. From the memories. From the quiet acknowledgment he could not quite smother.
People noticed. They always did. Some stepped aside instinctively, tension flickering across their faces. Others watched with wary familiarity, half expecting a vending machine to go flying, or the pavement to crack under sudden impact. The usual chaos that followed him and Shizuo like a storm.
But nothing happened.
No explosion of movement. No roar of frustration. No towering presence charging down the street after him.
Just the city, loud and ordinary and indifferent.
Izaya slowed slightly, breath steady, eyes scanning out of habit more than intention.
Even Shizu-chan is busy today, huh?
The thought landed strangely flat. Almost disappointing. He had expected resistance, noise, something to push against. Instead, the day moved on without him, couples passing by, laughter spilling from cafes, the air thick with the shallow sweetness of a holiday he despised.
And with no distraction strong enough to grab hold of him, his mind threatened to drift right back where it had started. Back to middle school corridors. Back to quiet conversations. Back to Shinra’s voice, endlessly circling someone else.
Izaya clicked his tongue under his breath and shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing himself forward. If the city would not give him chaos, then he would have to find it himself.
Maybe the universe decided that was enough struggling for one day, Izaya thought as his shoulder collided with someone passing in the opposite direction. The impact was not hard, but it was enough to knock him out of his rhythm and halt his steps.
He supposed he was not as aware as he usually was. His attention had been elsewhere, tangled in thoughts he had been trying and failing to outrun. Normally, he would have anticipated the movement and stepped aside before contact ever happened.
Maybe this was a good thing.
Maybe it meant he could finally stop thinking abo-
Izaya looked up and froze.
The glossy helmet reflected the city lights back at him, smooth and unmistakable. The presence in front of him was silent, steady, familiar in a way that sent a sharp jolt through his chest before he could suppress it.
Celty Sturluson.
Of all people.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The noise of the street carried on around them, footsteps and laughter and distant traffic blending into a dull hum, as if the world had decided to continue without acknowledging the strange pause that had settled between them.
Izaya’s lips curved automatically, instinct taking over before emotion could.
“Well, this is unexpected,” he said, voice light and amused. “Running into you here of all places. I should start believing in fate at this rate.”
Celty tilted her head slightly, then reached into her pocket. Her phone appeared in her gloved hand, screen lighting up as her fingers moved quickly across it. A moment later, she turned it toward him.
I could say the same thing.
Izaya’s smile sharpened just a little.
“Ah, still as direct as ever,” he replied. “I was worried you might ignore me and vanish into the crowd. That would have been tragic.”
Celty typed again, her posture calm, movements practiced.
You look distracted.
He laughed softly at that, the sound easy, almost genuine.
“Is it that obvious?”
She did not respond right away, only held his gaze through the dark visor before typing again.
You walked straight into me.
“Fair point.”
He slid his hands into his pockets, shoulders relaxing into a familiar, controlled posture. From the outside, he looked exactly as he always did. Casual. Observant. Untouched.
Inside, the tightness had not left.
“So what brings you out today?” he asked. “Errands? Patrol? Or did Shinra send you out on one of his overly cautious missions?”
The name slipped out before he could stop it.
Celty paused. Just for a second. Then she looked down and typed, slower this time.
I was on my way home to him.
Of course you were.
Izaya felt the thought before he could stop it, sharp and immediate. His smile did not falter, though something behind it stiffened.
“Valentine’s Day,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “How fitting. I assume he has something planned.”
Celty angled the phone toward him again.
He always does.
The simple sentence carried warmth even without a voice behind it.
He exhaled through his nose, faintly amused.
“He is nothing if not consistent,” Izaya replied. “I suppose that is admirable, in its own way.”
Celty studied him for a moment, then typed again.
Are you working today?
“Not particularly.” He glanced at the decorated storefronts, the couples passing by, the ridiculous heart shaped displays crowding every window. “Just observing. Trying not to get swept up in the holiday spirit.”
You don’t like Valentine’s Day.
It was not phrased as a question.
Izaya huffed a quiet laugh. “I like people on Valentine’s Day.
Celty held his gaze, unmoving, then typed once more.
You sound tired.
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Izaya blinked, then smiled again, softer this time. “Careful. If you keep making observations like that, Shinra might start worrying I’m rubbing off on you.”
Celty’s shoulders shifted slightly, something almost like amusement in the motion. Her fingers moved again.
He already worries about you.
That one caught him off guard. Not visibly. But for a split second, the rhythm of his thoughts stumbled.
Izaya looked away, eyes drifting toward the street before returning to her.
“Does he now,” he said lightly. “How touching. I had no idea I occupied such an important place in his thoughts.”
Celty hesitated before typing again, slower, more deliberate.
You do. You’re his friend after all.
The screen dimmed slightly as she held it out.
Izaya stared at the words for a second longer than necessary.
“Yes, we’re best friends aren’t we?”
But the tightness in his chest returned, sharper this time.
Standing here, face to face with her, with Shinra lingering in every sentence and every implication, felt like being dragged right back into the thoughts he had been trying to outrun all day.
He clicked his tongue softly and tilted his head, the familiar smirk returning like a mask settling back into place.
“Well! I suppose I shouldn’t keep you,” he said. “You have somewhere to be. Someone waiting at home.”
Celty lifted her phone, fingers poised to type, then paused. The screen dimmed slightly as she hesitated, her posture shifting in a way that suggested she was weighing her words. For once, she did not respond immediately.
Izaya watched her in silence, curiosity flickering beneath his composure.
After a moment, she resumed typing and held the phone out toward him.
Take care of yourself, okay?
The message was simple. Gentle. Not observational, not teasing, not directed toward Shinra or anyone else. Just for him.
Izaya blinked, caught off guard in a way he did not allow often. For a second, his expression softened before he smoothed it over, the smile returning, controlled and effortless.
“Now that sounds almost like concern,” he replied lightly. “Should I be worried?”
Celty did not type again. She simply stood there, quiet and steady.
Izaya exhaled through his nose, the sound faintly amused. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She gave a small nod, then lowered her phone.
The moment stretched, then broke. Celty stepped past him and hopped onto her motorcycle- or, horse. And just like that, Izaya was alone with his thoughts again.
The crowd swallowed him easily, bodies shifting around him, conversations rising and falling in waves. Izaya moved with it, hands in his pockets, posture loose, expression composed. Anyone looking would see the same person as always.
Take care of yourself.
The words refused to fade. They lingered, echoing against thoughts he had been trying to outrun all day. Celty’s quiet concern. Shinra’s warmth. The easy way both of them existed in a world that made space for only them.
A world Izaya could observe, but never enter.
He had known it for years. Known it, understood it, accepted it.
And still, it hurts.
The realization pressed down on him with a weight he could not logic away this time. Shinra’s voice, Shinra’s laughter, Shinra’s endless affection directed somewhere else. Always somewhere else. Celty’s name spoken with a tenderness Izaya had never heard in any other context.
He loved him. And god, how he wanted that.
The thought surfaced plainly, without disguise, without the usual deflection or sarcasm to soften it. It settled in his chest like a stone.
Not as an observation. Not as a curiosity.
As something real.
And completely, painfully unreturned.
Izaya clicked his tongue sharply, irritation flaring in an attempt to smother it.
Pathetic.
Love was supposed to be small. Predictable. Something other people fell into. Something he studied, not something that took root inside him and refused to leave.
He had spent years convincing himself it was fascination. Attachment to an interesting human. A bond formed through proximity. Nothing more.
But standing there earlier, seeing Celty speak about Shinra, that quiet certainty, had stripped the lie away.
There was no place for him there.
There never had been.
Izaya exhaled slowly, the breath trembling just enough to annoy him. His fingers curled tighter in his pockets, nails pressing into his palms as if the sting might bring him some clarity.
Fine.
If that was the truth, then he would treat it like everything else. A fact. Something to accept, catalog, and move past.
But his chest still ached.
Every step forward felt heavier than the last, the city blurring around him as his thoughts spiraled back again and again. Shinra smiling at someone else. Shinra worrying about him in that distant, harmless way. Shinra never once looking at him the way Izaya had quietly, desperately wanted.
Enough.
He needed something loud. Something physical. Something that would drown this out before it swallowed him whole.
And there was only one person in this city reliable enough to do that.
A grin slowly forced its way back onto his face, sharp and deliberate, more like armor than amusement.
“Alright, Shizu-chan,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s not waste the day.”
His pace shifted immediately, steps turning purposeful as he veered off the main street. Down a side road. Then another. He moved on instinct, already mapping the routes Shizuo tended to take, the places he gravitated toward when work slowed or irritation built.
The sorrow did not leave. It clung stubbornly, a quiet ache behind his ribs.
But anger layered over it, then anticipation.
A fight would help.
Pain was simple. Direct. Honest in a way emotions never were. Shizuo’s rage, the crash of metal, the force of impact, none of it lied or lingered. It happened, it burned bright, and then it was gone.
Much easier than this.
Because Shizuo would not hesitate, nor misunderstand. Shizuo would not look at someone else while Izaya stood beside him.
Shizuo would see him and then he would try to kill him. That’s what he counted on.
Izaya spotted them before they noticed him.
It was almost laughable how ordinary the scene looked. A small café tucked between two storefronts, late afternoon light slanting through the windows, the low murmur of people talking over coffee and plates. And right there, at a corner table, sat Shizuo Heiwajima.
Not alone.
Tom Tanaka was leaned back in his chair. Shizuo, of all people, looked calm. Not stiff, not irritated, not seconds away from violence. Just… present. Listening. His hand rested on the table, fingers loosely curled around a glass, his shoulders relaxed in a way Izaya had almost never seen.
A date?
The realization landed like a stone in Izaya’s chest.
Of course it was. The atmosphere gave it away. The soft laughter. The way Tom’s attention never drifted. The way Shizuo actually held eye contact instead of glaring holes into the nearest wall.
Izaya stayed half-hidden outside, just far enough that the glass reflected the street instead of his face.
Love again.
It was everywhere lately. Inescapable. Like the entire city had decided to rub it in his face.
Shinra’s smile when Celty was around. The quiet domestic ease between them. The certainty. The belonging. Enough, enough.
And now this.
Even Shizuo.
The monster who broke vending machines and bent street signs like they were paper. The man who ran on rage and instinct and brute force. Sitting across from someone who looked at him like he was just another person.
Izaya felt something twist in his gut, sharp and ugly.
Why him?
Why does everyone get something?
His thoughts turned, unbidden, back to Shinra.
Shinra, with his unwavering affection. Shinra, who loved someone else so completely it left no room for doubt, no room for Izaya, no room for anything except that one, singular devotion.
Izaya swallowed, suddenly aware of how tight his throat felt.
Unrequited. The word echoed, heavy and suffocating.
He could analyze it. Break it apart. Call it chemical, evolutionary, predictable. Humans seeking connection, reinforcement, attachment. He could reduce it to data points and behavioral patterns.
But that didn’t stop it from hurting.
Inside, Shizuo let out a short laugh at something Tom said. It wasn’t loud or aggressive. It was awkward, almost embarrassed.
Izaya’s hands curled into fists in his pockets.
Of course even you get this.
Of course the universe hands you something gentle.
Heat flared under his skin, irritation building fast, spiraling into something sharper. He imagined walking in, sliding into the empty chair, tossing out a cutting remark. Watching Shizuo’s temper ignite. Shattering the moment just to prove it could be broken.
It would be easy.
One sentence. One smirk. One push.
Shizuo would lunge and the café would erupt. Glass would shatter, Tom would be dragged into it. The illusion gone.
Izaya exhaled slowly, forcing the thought down. He turned before either of them could notice him, hands still buried in his pockets, shoulders tight. The city noise swallowed him as he stepped back onto the sidewalk, blending into the flow of people.
He really, truly, hated this holiday.
–
Izaya didn’t bother turning the lights on when he stepped into his flat.
The door clicked shut behind him, sealing out the noise of the city. Inside, the air felt still, familiar, untouched. He slipped off his shoes, shrugged out of his coat, and let it fall wherever it landed.
Silence wrapped around him.
For a moment, he just stood there.
The café scene replayed in his head on a loop. Shizuo’s awkward laugh. Tom leaning forward, attentive. That quiet, comfortable warmth that seemed to exist so easily for everyone else.
Izaya scoffed under his breath and crossed the room.
His laptop hummed to life with a soft glow, lighting his face in cold blue. He sat, elbows on his knees, watching the loading screen like it had personally offended him.
Love. Connection. Devotion.
People treated it like something sacred. Untouchable. Unbreakable.
He knew better.
The internet unfolded in front of him in an endless stream of names, profiles, messages, photos. Lives laid out in neat little boxes, waiting to be observed, analyzed, nudged.
Izaya’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.
If love was real, if it was strong, it should survive anything.
Right?
A familiar grin tugged at his mouth as he began clicking through accounts. Couples who posted too much. Couples who wanted to be seen. Public affection. Shared photos. Pet names typed for the world to witness.
Fragile.
All of it, fragile.
It didn’t take long.
He found them buried in a mutual friend chain. Matching profile pictures. Comment threads full of hearts and inside jokes. A timeline that practically narrated their relationship from start to present.
Izaya leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as he read.
Trust. That was always the weak point.
He opened another window. Dug deeper. Screenshots collected with quiet precision. Old messages. Ambiguous phrasing. Timing that could be twisted with the right implication. A conversation taken out of context just enough to sting.
Nothing fabricated. That was the key.
He assembled them slowly, thoughtfully, like pieces of a puzzle. A hint of secrecy. A suggestion of betrayal. Enough to make someone doubt. Enough to plant that awful, creeping question.
What if they’re lying to me?
Izaya exhaled, steady and calm.
Humans unraveled themselves once doubt took root. He didn’t have to do much. Just give it a push.
A message sent from a burner account. Screenshots attached. No explanation, only a single line.
“Thought you deserved to see this.”
He hit send.
The quiet hum of the room returned.
For a moment, nothing happened. Just the ticking clock and the faint glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes.
Then the typing indicator appeared.
Izaya smiled.
There it was. The crack.
He imagined the spiral. The confrontation. Raised voices through phone speakers. Accusations. Panic. Hurt. The frantic need for reassurance that would never quite feel enough once doubt had been planted.
One suspicion. One misunderstanding. One moment of insecurity.
He rested his chin on his hand, watching the conversation unfold in real time, detached and analytical.
See?
Fragile.
All of it fragile.
And yet…
The satisfaction didn’t land the way it was supposed to.
Izaya’s smile faded slightly as he stared at the screen. The messages kept coming, faster now, emotional, messy. Exactly what he expected.
He should have felt entertained. Vindicated.
Instead, there was just that same dull ache sitting behind his ribs.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
Even knowing how easily it broke didn’t make the absence hurt less.
The laptop chimed again. Another message. Another crack widening into something irreversible.
Izaya closed the screen halfway, letting the light dim.
Love was fragile.
He could prove it a thousand times over.
But as the room fell quiet again, he knew that destroying it still left him completely alone.
And then, his phone started ringing.
Izaya flinched slightly, eyes shifting toward the sound. For a second he just stared at it, pulse quickening in a way he refused to acknowledge.
Right. He had forgotten to silence it.
Of course it would be now.
He pushed himself up from the chair and walked over to the couch, every step feeling heavier than it should. The screen lit up before he even reached it, the caller name flashing in familiar letters.
Shinra.
Izaya exhaled slowly and dropped onto the couch, stretching out across it like he had done a thousand times before. He answered on the third ring, holding the phone loosely to his ear.
“Hello, Shinra.”
“Ah, Izaya, hey! Sorry, I know it’s kind of late. I just wanted to say hi and then I ended up thinking about today and, well, you know how it goes.”
Izaya hummed softly. “You tend to ramble, yes.”
Shinra laughed, breathless and warm. “Right, right. Anyway, Celty and I went out earlier. She finally convinced me to try that new place near the station. The one with the ridiculously long lines? Absolutely worth it! She kept poking at the menu like she was afraid it might bite her!”
Izaya closed his eyes, free hand resting over his forehead.
“I see.”
“And then we ran into this guy who wanted to take a photo with her. You should have seen her panic! She started typing so fast I thought she might break her phone. It was adorable!”
A small pause.
Izaya let out a quiet, almost automatic chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”
“I take that as a compliment. Oh, and we walked home together after. She insisted on carrying the groceries even though she doesn’t eat. Said it felt more normal. I told her she already is normal, but you know how she gets.”
“Mmm.”
Shinra kept going, voice bright and animated, bouncing from one detail to the next without slowing. What they ate. What Celty typed. The way she tilted her head when she was confused. How she tapped his arm when she was trying to get his attention.
Izaya responded in small pieces.
“Sounds eventful.”
“You must have enjoyed that.”
“Typical.”
Just enough to keep the conversation alive.
Shinra did not seem to notice how quiet he was. Or maybe he did and chose to ignore it.
“Anyway, I just wanted to tell someone about it,” Shinra said after a moment, softer now. “It was a really good day.”
Izaya swallowed, eyes still closed.
“I’m glad,” he said, voice steady.
And he was. In a way that hurt more than he wanted to admit.
Shinra laughed again, light and relieved, and immediately launched into another story. Something about Celty trying to learn a new route through the city and nearly knocking over a street sign.
Izaya listened.
He listened to every word, every fond note in Shinra’s voice, every casual mention of her name.
The ceiling above him blurred as his eyes unfocused.
He made the right sounds at the right moments. A quiet hum. A short reply. A dry comment that made Shinra laugh again.
Shinra’s voice finally slowed, his excitement tapering off into something softer, more relaxed. For a moment there was only the quiet hum of the line between them.
Then Shinra spoke again.
“Anyway, I’ve been talking your ear off. What about you? What did you do today, Izaya?”
Izaya’s fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
What did he do?
He broke strangers apart for entertainment. He wandered the city trying to outrun his own thoughts. He watched love bloom in every direction except toward him. He listened to the one person he could never have talk endlessly about the one he did.
“Nothing particularly interesting,” Izaya replied smoothly. “Usual errands. Some work. Observing my humans, you know how it is.”
A half truth. The easiest kind.
Shinra hummed. “You always say that. You should take a day off sometime.”
“I do take days off.”
“No, I mean actually relax,” Shinra continued, tone thoughtful. “Not just watching people like a bird. You might even enjoy it!”
Izaya let out a quiet laugh. “You give terrible advice.”
“Hey, I’m serious!” Shinra said, then hesitated. “And… I don’t know. Maybe one day you’ll find someone too.”
Izaya’s breath caught, almost silent.
“Someone?” he echoed.
“Yeah! Someone you truly love. Like how I love Celty!” Shinra’s voice softened, earnest and unguarded. “I think you’re capable of it. You just pretend you’re not.”
The words hit harder than anything else Shinra had said all night.
Izaya stared up at the ceiling, vision suddenly blurring. Warmth gathered at the corners of his eyes before he even registered it, tears slipping down the sides of his face and disappearing into his hair.
He lifted his forearm quickly, covering his eyes.
A laugh burst from him, light and sharp, just a little too loud.
“You really are strange, Shinra,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Projecting your own delusions onto me like that.”
He kept laughing, letting it fill the space, letting it disguise the tightness in his chest and the sting behind his eyes.
Shinra chuckled sheepishly on the other end. “Maybe. But I mean it.”
“I’m sure you do,” Izaya replied, still smiling behind his arm.
The tears kept coming, silent and steady, hidden from view.
How ironic.
Shinra spoke about love as if it were something simple. Something inevitable. Something waiting patiently for Izaya somewhere in the world.
His laughter softened into a quiet exhale, forearm still pressed over his eyes as he listened to Shinra’s voice on the other end of the line, warm and alive and completely out of reach.
And Izaya already knew that he had found it. That feeling.
It just happened to belong entirely to someone else.