It’s the same spirit he feels sometimes in different words. The same passion he has for people, change, an untold and winding history – but spoken in a different voice, wrapped around a concept that doesn’t belong to him. In all his fervour, Nagito-kun knows just the right things to say, leaves a thousand different loose ends in his words to pull in the curious or overwhelm the weak. He’s like a ball of yarn, unraveling but tightly wound. He’s coming apart and putting himself back together and understanding everything.
For the short pause where Izaya says nothing (because all good speeches need a moment of silence, he thinks) – he considers geniuses, hope, the universal average and the people who would think this boy is crazy. And what he decides is –
‘Say. You’ve got a phone, right?’
– if he’s not crazy, then Nagito-kun isn’t, either.
‘For here.’ He waggles his own phone to demonstrate; he thumbs through the universal directory, but there are easier ways to find people, and he’s not about to waste his time. ‘Because it sounds like you and me are going to have a lot to talk about. Minus a couple disagreements,’–fundamental ones, actually, but Mr. Vice Captain is more fun than threatening–’Which is just fine. Honestly – I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but,’
‘You know what you’re talking about.’
And considering he doesn’t think he’s anything special, it’s cute. It’s funny, but more than that, it’s interesting, to meet someone who thinks on a grand scale and does not consider himself a god. It’s the difference between an observer and a tyrant, and it’s familiar – relatable, in a way that maybe he should find scary.
But Izaya leans forward, and there is no trace of fear in his expression, only the ghost of a laugh.
‘If you and me don’t get a chance to trade stories, I’ll be seriously bummed out. And you’ve got to tell me about your girlfriend sometime. I’ll even tell you about mine –’
– all seven billion of them –
‘If you’ll give me a chance. How about it?’