Death, whether he was indirectly responsible or not, had never affected Izaya much; no one close to him had left a mark before they died when he was younger, and by the time that might have happened the dark haired young man had begun habitually pushing people away. The unconscious habit kept him free from the burden of mourning through-out high school.

In a way similar to how he laughed in the face of danger, Izaya too laughed at the mere idea of death, both in general and his in particular. Or, he did, before learning he was as mortal as the rest of his precious humans.

Shizu-chan (and even thinking that name leaves Izaya feeling sick) had done a number on him. His death and subsequent funeral lay heavy on his mind, the subject of mortality was depressing him to a point of no return. His death would leave everyone happy, his funeral would really be a party, a joy filled occasion. Ding dong, the witch is dead.

The twist of his lips taking on a bitter edge, Izaya pours himself a glass of whiskey. Which old witch? The manipulative bitch.