His body is cold.

Where has all the heat of the fight gone? The intensity, the tension, the adrenaline. Where is it all now?

Gone. Evaporated into the icy air, the same air that turns Shizuo's breath into smoky puffs, with each heavy rise and fall of his chest.

Taking the smaller hand in his own, Shizuo pushes up the ridiculous furry sleeve and presses a finger to the near-translucent skin of his wrist. No pulse.

For a moment he feels it. The high. The intoxication. Everything he's ever wanted.

He has killed Orihara Izaya.

Everything. He. Wants.



For a single moment, there is only silence, and him, and Izaya's lifeless body.

But only for a moment - because then it comes back to him.

It comes back in fragments: that obnoxious smirk, the sickening crunch of sign post against bone, and the strangled half-scream that tore from Izaya's lips as his small frame was tossed into the air.

Then there was the way his body rolled, skidding on the snow and concrete, coming to rest the wrong way up, bent at odd angles. Broken.

And then, there was silence and the colour red seeping into snow and fur.

Now he's kneeling beside the corpse, not quite sure of when he closed the gap between them. Not quite sure why.

He swallows harshly, telling himself he just wanted to check if he was really dead. Forcing himself to throw his head back and bark out a cruel laugh. Forcing himself to enjoy this final moment of triumph, this final victory.

Forcing himself.

But when he opens his eyes and looks at the still figure, really looks, he doubts.

Is this really what he wanted?

Izaya is curled, facing away from Shizuo, but when he gingerly leans over him, the blonde can see his face. Lips slightly parted – in surprise? In protest? The corners of his mouth still twisting slightly upwards, as if the smirk had just been disappearing when his heart stopped beating. His pale skin tinged with pink from the cold, giving him the appearance of a china doll. Perfect even in death.

But there is also the imperfect, the ugly, and Shizuo can see that too.

Arms tossed aside and legs twisted within each other (unnaturally so. Has he broken a leg as well?) from where he rolled across the ground. The concrete-grazes on his face, the split at the corner of his lip…

And the blood.

The sharp edge of the sign has cut him. Deeply so. Through his beloved fur-trimmed jacket (now stained the colour of red wine), though skin, through flesh.

Through bone.

But it is his eyes that shake Shizuo the most.

Wide and innocent. Something that Izaya has never been, and probably never could be. But they make him wonder: did Izaya know at that moment, that it was his last?

Did Izaya know, that this time, he wouldn't dodge the blow? That this time, he couldn't just get Shinra to patch him up? That he wouldn't be running off in a moment, mocking laughter playing from his lips? That this was the last fight? The last chase?

Had Izaya known, that this was the last time?

He's shivering now, even though he's still on fire from the chase. The last chase. And again he questions; is this really what he wants? What he's always wanted?

Even as he tells himself to get going, as he urges himself to leave, he finds himself passing a gentle palm over Izaya's eyelids. He can't help it though; looking at Izaya's eyes just makes him feel sick, now that they don't mock him, now that the last remaining light has finally bled out of them.

This was supposed to be the best thing that ever happened to him. This was supposed to make him happy. He's supposed to be ecstatic, over the moon, jumping for joy.

Instead, he just feels empty, alone. He thinks of how long the days will be when not taken up with chasing the brat across the city, of how boring they will be without the familiar flames of rage that lick at his belly when he hears the click of that switch blade.

It's supposed to feel like everything he's ever dreamed of is coming true.

It's not supposed to hurt this badly. It's not supposed to hurt at all.

And Shizuo Heiwajima, the strongest man in Ikebukuro, starts to cry over his worst enemy's corpse.

Because sometimes your worst enemy, is also your best friend.

A/N: Trust me. This hurts my feels too T_T