Shizuo glowered at his all time rival with three parts hatred and one part a mix between confusion and the slightest hint of caring concern. Even though it was such a small portion, the concern seemed to be winning out when it came to what he should do next. Izaya, the very essence of all things evil and annoying, had just surrendered to him.
Perhaps Surrendered wasn't the word to describe what Izaya had done. It was more like he wanted to continue their deadly dance, yet couldn't find the strength nor the will to so much as dodge a vending machine. Something was very, very wrong with Izaya.
Slowly he approached the crumpled body sprawled on the ground after it had bounced off the building he had thrown it at. There wasn't even a twitch it the muscles as he entered the flea's field of vision. This wasn't a trap…. Probably. Izaya's eyes were half lidded but nevertheless followed his actions like a hawk as he settled down beside him.
He took a minute to observe the lump of aggravated flesh mere inches away.
Light bruises were already forming over all of his exposed flesh, and his hair seemed more wild than usual and didn't have it's usual sheen. Worst of all were heavy bags under his eyes, accented by both the lighter than usual skin and the bloodshot eyes.
How had he not noticed them when he'd first seen Izaya through the crowd and chased after? The answer was obvious. As usual, his mind had been clouded by it's normal rage, He hadn't noticed a thing about the actual Izaya and wouldn't have if it hadn't been so easy to catch him.
He leaned down to question Izaya over his well being.
The smile he always wore that seemed so fake now appeared on his face as he chirped his response just to be extra annoying. "Aw. Is the big bad monster actually capable of being worried about dear old me? I'm flattered, truly."
The flea's words sent him into a fit of rage as they inevitably always did. Thankfully, Izaya somehow managed to escape from his angered outburst. For all he could really remember was charging after the little annoying flea until he finally lost him- perhaps intentionally- in a crowd of hundreds of people.
Only much later as he settled down for bed did he look back upon the unusual encounter. He realized with a flash of the all to common rage that the flea hadn't answered his question. Shouting in hatred that bordered on worry, he broke the already battered headboard into splinters and forced himself to shut his eyes. That night he felt resignation. He may worry for the little flee, but he was Shizuo and Izaya was Izaya. They both had their own roles to play and that would never change. A small smattering of emotion would never be enough to change that.