The warm sunlight reflecting off the metallic surface of Izaya's desk did nothing to make the room feel more hospitable. You never noticed just how cold, how un-homey Izaya's apartment felt. You sit beside him on the couch, the coolness of its black leather somehow further distancing you from the warmth outside. Aside from an unenthusiastic greeting, he hasn't spoken since you arrived 30 minutes ago. He only stares out the window from a distance, the retreating sun casting a golden glow over his eyes.



Oh, those eyes. The red-brown reminds you of a forest fire, all chaos and destruction that gives way to new life.



But he doesn't remind you of a forest fire.



Maybe it's rust, then. Decay. Rot. Something improperly maintained. No, he's not that. It could be oxidized blood. A stain on the pavement, he might say. Evidence of human lives and human deaths. That can't be it either. Any metaphor would be too simple to encompass Izaya's depth. Still, his eyes are so captivating and you wish you could assign them some poetic significance. Oh well.



His fingers lightly tap against his thigh, a nervous gesture. He's in a mood today, and you can't quite discern what kind of mood yet. You venture a guess anyway.



"You're lonely aren't you?"



Izaya chuckles, but there's a hint of sadness in it. "How could I be? I love humans so much! Unconditionally. I don't need anything in return."



You pause, watching his eyes wander away from yours out of embarassment. How rare it is for him to be the flustered one.



"Maybe you don't need their love. But you want it."



He frowns and shoots you a resentful glare but says nothing. He's defensive, meaning you're right. You smile. "It's okay to want affection, Izaya." He tenses and tries to hide his discomfort at the prospect of being so open with another person. "Honestly, being open about wanting affection will almost certainly invite people to be affectionate in return."



He mulls it over, considering whether your words are just empty platitudes or if there may be some truth in them. Tried and true and trite and true are the same thing, he thinks. Might as well give your advice a shot.



"Hold me. Just for a little bit, I have work to do."



You wouldn't have been able to hear him if he wasn't sitting so close. He's never sounded so pitiful, so love-starved. He's usually so confident and unphased by the world's rejection of him. His moral compass is questionable to say the least. He's a manipulative bastard, and he probably deserves the feelings of self-loating bearing down on him right now. In spite of everything, all you want is to comfort him.



You lean against the arm of the couch so he can lay on you. He rests his cheek on your chest so he can feel your heartbeat and hear your breathing. It reminds him that he really is human, like you or anyone else. He looks so small right now. His shirt slides up when he leans against you. Your fingers trace the light patches of skin on his back. Scars make some people look tougher; they are evidence of pain, but also of recovery. Seeing Izaya's, you can only think they make him look more vulnerable. More human.



"Your hair smells so nice, angel."



He laughs wryly. "Angel? If anything, I'm more like a demon." You feel something wet against your shirt. You choose to ignore it, not wanting to hurt his pride. He must know that you can just barely feel a few tears streaming down his cheeks, but you both feign mutual ignorance. He'd never let you see him cry, but he is letting you feel him cry. The two of you sit in silence for a bit.



"If you're a demon, I'll go to hell with you."

You put your hand over his, thoughtlessly playing with the ring on his index finger. His breathing is so slow. You plant tender kisses on his head and you're rewarded with a low, satisfied hum.



"A fallen angel, huh?" A breathy sigh. You can imagine the amused smile on his face. "What an irrational thing to say. Stupid, really." He somehow manages to press himself even closer to you.



"You really are all I adore about humans."