Orihara Izaya was not beautiful.

His hair, too dark to be brown and yet not black, hung jaggedly about his face in short, wild tufts – not lustrous, not midnight, not exotic. His eyes, slitted as they were, with short eyelashes and dull black irises, were ordinary. His chin was sharp, tracing back to an unusually flat face, making his jawline curve oddly. And certainly he was pale, but not in a translucent, delicate way – he had the pallor of a man confined in a prison and denied the pleasure of sunlight. His smile, too wide to be sincere. His voice, singsong and tinny and endlessly infuriating. A cackle of a laugh. His figure – hardly slender or proportionate, more closely resembling that of a battered alley cat. Even the way he walked was closer to a lazy prowl than anything else.

And yet he held the entire world in his hands, those thin hands scarred and callused from knife work and god knows what else – he held it, dangled it from a silken thread the way a cat plays with a ball of yarn. And those unattractive eyes watched with a sort of vicious, almost childish delight as chaos unfolded and the world teetered and spun on its wobbly axis. He laughed, with that nerve-grating, almost insane voice.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

He was not beautiful, he was not prestigious, he was not kind. He was dangerous… and literally quite breathtaking.

A/N: Haha short drabble...this idea just kept floating around in my head so yep. Because it's quite interesting that despite Izaya's non-bishie looks, EVERYBODY loves him. Me included XD. (It's cuz he's evil lol) Hope you enjoyed~