A/N: Minor edit at the end of this chapter to stitch on a patch for a plot hole!


The shirt hits Shizuo in the face as soon as he steps through the bedroom door.

It's more startling than painful, although the fabric has been carefully balled up and knotted together to make it as aerodynamic as possible. Still, there's not that much weight to it, and Izaya lacks the strength to put any force behind it, so all that it succeeds in doing is drawing a grunt of surprise from Shizuo's throat and a burst of adrenaline in his veins. Then the shirt hits the floor, and Shizuo blinks and there's just Izaya watching at him from the bed.

"Welcome back," he drawls, his voice so razor-edged Shizuo hesitates to come any closer. "Have a nice shower?" His bared skin is mottled purple and blue, darker now than it was yesterday and showing streaks of red across the stitches in a few places. "Did you think about me?"

Shizuo bends over to grab the bundle of fabric, throws it right back at Izaya instead of forming a convincing lie. Izaya ducks his head, takes the hit on his shoulder instead of his face, and comes up with his eyes still flickering dangerous crimson.

"You're a fucking mess," Shizuo says, betting his safety on Izaya's current immobility and taking a few steps in. None of the blood looks fresh that he can see, but there's dark flakes of dried color at Izaya's shoulder and probably some along the worst wound in his leg still covered by the sheets.

"Thanks," Izaya purrs, as if this is a compliment. "Aren't you jealous that you weren't the one to do it?"

"Shut the fuck up." Insults notwithstanding, it's still stomach-churningly hard to see the injuries shown up so clearly on Izaya's skin, printed like ink over the too-sharp dip of his collarbone and the visible lines of his ribs. "What's wrong with the shirt?"

"It's a fucking mess," Izaya echoes back, a corner of his mouth drawing up into a humorless smirk. "Don't you wear anything normal, Shizu-chan?"

"You'd just get it dirty again." Shizuo's still staring at Izaya's shoulder, the asymmetrical line of stitches set into his skin and the angry red around the injury. "You probably need a shower anyway."

"You could have taken me with you." Izaya is smiling properly now, the expression spreading wide across his whole face. "I might drown on my own, after all."

"Fuck you," Shizuo says. He can't muster any real heat, and besides he can see Izaya's shoulders starting to shake from the effort of sitting up. It saps whatever threat Izaya normally poses until Shizuo is willing to cross the rest of the distance to the bed. Even when he's close enough to grab, Izaya doesn't move; he keeps his hands limp on the bed, just tips his bruised face up so he can watch Shizuo with that smile lingering at his lips. This close Shizuo can see the blood matting his hair together across his forehead, the smudges of dirt along his jawline.

"Don't move," he warns, and reaches out for Izaya's shoulders.

Izaya moves immediately, so quick Shizuo jerks back before he can see that there's no knife in the other's hand, that he's just holding an arm out and raising an eyebrow at the blond's reaction.

"Just trying to help." His teeth flash white, a quick slash of amusement. "I don't particularly like leaving you the option of dropping me if the impulse strikes."

"I'm not going to drop you," Shizuo growls, but he takes a step back in anyway. Izaya moves more slowly this time, hooking his arm around Shizuo's neck so he can brace his fingers against the other's shoulder and counterbalance his weight while Shizuo lifts him from the bed.

"You're too fucking skinny," Shizuo points out as he heads for the living room. Izaya's hip is digging into his stomach, the edge of his shoulderblade is knife-sharp against his arm. "Don't you ever eat?"

"Are you worrying about me?" Izaya asks, tipping his head in so his forehead bumps Shizuo's cheekbone.

"You hurt." Shizuo shifts his grip, pulls Izaya up a little higher to change the angle. It helps, a little. "You're giving me bruises."

Izaya laughs. It's too loud, too close to Shizuo's ear even before there's the scrape of teeth against his jawline.

"Fuck." Shizuo jerks away, shifting his weight so sharply he nearly stumbles at the door to the bathroom. "Do you want to crawl instead?"

"I didn't ask you to carry me," Izaya points out, but he keeps his arm around Shizuo's shoulders, leans heavy on the support as his feet hit the floor and he tries to steady out his weight. For a minute Shizuo thinks he won't manage; then Izaya reaches out for the wall, closes his fingers at the doorway, and lets his weight lean against the wall instead. His fingers are white-knuckled, his arm and legs shaking with the effort, but he's not looking at Shizuo, his mouth is set in determination without even a trace of amusement under it.

"You really are going to drown," Shizuo points out, unwilling to walk away when Izaya looks like his legs might give out at any moment.

Izaya doesn't look at him, but his lips crack into a smile that doesn't come anywhere close to his eyes. "Are you making an offer?"

"A prediction," Shizuo snaps, and Izaya huffs a tiny breathless laugh.

"Go and get me clean clothes, Shizu-chan," he orders, waving his free hand as if to shoo Shizuo away.

It's maddening, to be told to do what he was going to do already, especially when the options are to obey and leave or linger awkwardly where he is. Shizuo growls and turns to the other room, half-intending to not come back at all. It's not until he's actually in the bedroom that he realizes Izaya has managed to avoid an audience as he makes his way into the shower itself. The thought brings him up short, nearly gets him to turn around, but if Izaya doesn't want to be seen struggling Shizuo really doesn't want to see him. So instead he stalls over the clothes, ruffles through his usual white uniform shirts before finally grabbing an old t-shirt with a logo worn soft and unreadable with years of washings across the front. Pants are harder until he tracks down an pair of sweatpants forgotten at the very bottom of the dresser drawer; they'll be too big on the other, but at least that will be less obvious than jeans or slacks would be. The water's running by the time he makes it back to the bathroom to deposit the clothes just inside the door.

"Are you dead yet?" he calls, loud enough to be heard over the splash of the water.

The pause in response is longer than he expects, so long there's the first cold trickle of fear in his blood before Izaya's laugh shivers through the damp air. "Not yet." There's the sound of weight hitting the side of the shower, a hiss so soft Shizuo barely catches it. "Your stitches are uneven."

"Fuck you, Izaya-kun," Shizuo sighs. He turns his back to the bathroom, lets his shoulders hit the wall so he can slide down to sit on the floor. "At least you're not bleeding."

For a minute there's just the sound of running water. Shizuo stares out unseeing at the living room, the shape of familiar furniture vague distraction for his eyes while he listens for some sort of indication of crisis from around the corner.

"Are you planning to just hover there?" Izaya calls.

Shizuo blinks, can feel his cheeks burn warm with self-consciousness. "Can you even stand?" he shoots back rather than answering.

"I can manage." There's the sound of another impact, a cut-off gasp of reaction. "I've had worse."

"Have you?" Shizuo asks, startled into sincerity, and Izaya's laugh is bright enough that it shatters off the echo of the bathroom.

"Not remotely." The water turns off. Shizuo stays where he is, doesn't so much as flinch even though with the lesser noise he can hear the strain of Izaya's breathing as he makes his way out of the shower, the soft thud as he sits down on the bathroom floor. "Careful, Shizu-chan, you're starting to sound like you care."

Shizuo doesn't have a response to that, can't muster the effort for the anger a proper answer would require and isn't sure what sincerity would taste like even in his own head. Without a reply Izaya goes quiet too; there's just the rustle of fabric, the occasional hiss of effort, and then a shadow falls across Shizuo's line of sight and he looks up.

Izaya's leaning on the doorway again, more heavily this time, his whole body tipped in until his shoulder is pressed to the edge. The t-shirt is big on him, hanging off his shoulders and nearly to his elbows in the sleeves, but the sweatpants are worse, rolled up what must be inches and knotted over at the waist until they're barely staying up.

"Those are too big," Shizuo says.

"Really?" Izaya is smirking at him again, managing a smile even though his lips are white with the effort of standing. "I hadn't noticed."

Shizuo doesn't mean to laugh. The amusement bursts from him against his will, before he has the option to hold it back; he just sees Izaya's eyes blink wider before he looks down and away. Shizuo turns it into a cough as soon as he can, pushes to his feet to regain the advantage of height. Izaya tips his head up to track his face, is still smiling like he's cradling a secret when Shizuo looks back down at him.

"Come on." Shizuo jerks his head towards the couch. "I'll call Shinra and see if he can be bothered to come over now that it's daylight hours."

"Caring," Izaya lilts, sing-songy and teasing, but he doesn't hesitate before he reaches out to close his fingers hard on Shizuo's shoulder, and Shizuo doesn't flinch away from the contact before he takes Izaya's weight to carry him the few feet to the couch.