weak point / SEVEN

Red rivers flooded over hills and valleys, running thick through his fingers. Shizuo tightened his grip, but it did little to stop the bleeding of the deep cut in his arm. The sleeve of his bartender uniform had been torn in the fight, dirty stains against the cuffs where his fists had missed and hit walls and roads. He had suffered this stinging pain, a defeat to his ego, for half of an hour and his lightheadness only grew as each minute passed. He was not used to being in such a sorry state.

At the top of the stairs, he paused to breathe in deeply. He didn't regret it, not when thinking about how close he had been to finally killing that flea, Izaya Orihara. Catching him outside the flower shop where Hikari worked had been his good fortune for the day. This cut from his knife had been the bad.

Shizuo, as he made his way towards his apartment, could focus only on one foot in front of the other. If he lost focus for a second, he was sure that his balance would slip and he might accidently break something trying to keep himself upright. As it where, he almost found himself walking straight past his door.

He tried the handle, bewildered to find it locked. The key; remembering this, Shizuo used the hand most clean of blood to slip it from his pocket. Even then, inside the lock, it still didn't move. He blamed the blood on his fingertips, the nicotine twitch in his hand, and his frustration mounted to the point where he could no longer be bothered with patience. He turned the key as hard as he could, busting the lock – at least the door was open now.

He took a few steps inside, the hallway ahead lit only by the lounge room light. He thought it strange, not being able to remember leaving it on when he had left that morning. Maybe it was the blood loss, his own aching arm and pounding head that drove the memory from him.

Shizuo walked a few steps further, reaching the end of the hall, and it was there that he found himself falter once more. His fingers twitched, slid across his skin slick with blood, as her eyes turned to look at him from over her shoulder.

"…Heiwajima?"

For a second, he lost his words in the deep of Hikari Shibata's gaze. It was then that his mistake dawned upon him.

"Oh. Wrong door."

He turned away before she could criticise the embarrassment on his cheeks. She was still staring as he kept moving away. The weight of her eyes on his wound seemed to make the pain throb fiercer, and Shizuo was determined to leave her apartment as fast as he could and to never think about this incident ever again.

"Heiwajima, what-?" Hikari started and stopped, faltering in her surprise.

Shizuo looked down at his feet, forced himself to take another step. His body seemed frozen, mortified, and he realised how strange it was to feel this self-conscious around anyone. "Sorry I broke your lock." He muttered.

Her breathless laugher stopped him in his tracks. "If you were that eager to see me, I'm not gonna make you leave." She told him teasingly, surprising herself with her own words. It wasn't often her compassion got the better of her, but Hikari honestly couldn't just ignore the deep, gushing wound in his arm.

Shizuo acted as if it were nothing, but his actions, language and countenance donated some degree of affectedness. To herself, she thought him an idiot for acting like it was nothing. Hikari was standing in a moment, moving around her couch and a basket of washing, before thought took the place of instinct. Shizuo still didn't move, even as she edged around him and went ahead to push the door shut. With the handle broken, Hikari resorted to using the old chain lock.

"Sit down," Hikari ordered, spinning around to face the uninvited guest, "I'll do something about that cut."

"I don't need you to."

She walked up to him, poked his shoulder firmly. Unlike usual, Shizuo swayed back on his heels and his eyes narrowed at the pain. Hikari smiled smugly at his affected state. "Don't care. Sit down anyway."

Shizuo could feel his irritation mounting. He had no desire to sit here, in Ryuji's old apartment, while his sister cleaned up his cut. It wasn't even that bad –

"Heiwajima!"

Hikari caught his arm before he collapsed completely. For a moment, at least, he couldn't help but concede and give in to her help, to lean on her shoulder. Though her figure was petite, she was warm and held up surprisingly well under his weight. Shizuo thought to glance across, but the moment he turned to face her, he decided it was much too close.

He could have counted every one of her lashes, every shade of green in the palette of her wide eyes. Shizuo jerked his head around sideways, resuming the usual boundaries between acquaintances.

"The couch." Hikari explained shortly, guiding him around her apartment to take a seat. Once Shizuo had been settled, Hikari left his side and stood up straight. "Take your shirt off."

"What? Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "So I can clean up your arm, pervert," she amended, "I'll be back in a second with something to clean it."

Hikari disappeared down the hall, leaving Shizuo to his own devices. He took the time in silence, eyes roaming the room. Though there was nothing immediately out of place, he was struck with an odd sense of melancholy. The air seemed stale, dead, and he was reminded once again of Ryuji Shibata, sitting on the same couch as he was just weeks ago. Not as dead then as he was now.

He began to peel off his clothes slowly, waistcoat first, before loosening his bowtie. The cuffs of his shirt were stained with red fingerprints, his own, as he pulled it over his head and ignored the pain of unsticking it from his bloody cut. A low, disapproving growl welled in his throat. Shizuo hated to see his clothes, specifically bought for him by his brother, wrecked beyond compare.

Just as he wondered what do with his dirty clothes, Hikari returned and solved the issue for him.

"Just leave them on the floor," she told him, "Any stains you leave will just blend in with the rest."

He did so wordlessly, the thump of them falling accompanied by the clang of a metal case against the coffee table. Opening it revealed a stash of medical supplies, though Hikari first took up a wet cloth.

"You don't have to." Shizuo reminded her.

"I know," she replied, smiling, "But why would I want to miss out on a chance to make you cry?"

He found himself relaxing back into the couch, his arm offered to her. As she began to wipe away the blood, Shizuo couldn't help but grin. "As if." He muttered.

As if to test him, Hikari began to press down hard around the edges of his wound. A glance told him that some of his blood had managed to stain her fingers, and watching her expression, he had to wonder about the lack of panic in her eyes. If anything, she seemed accustomed to this, as if it were a daily ritual.

"It looks pretty deep," she remarked coolly, "I could stitch it for you."

"You know how to do that?"

Hikari blinked, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Oh, ah…" He had caught her off guard with the question, "Ryuji, um…well, I used to have to do this for Ryu a lot." Never mind that she hadn't seen her brother in years.

She prayed he didn't catch her out on the lie, and Shizuo seemed to let it pass as he nodded quietly. His arm tensed as Hikari's fingers held him down too tightly, a hiss of pain escaping through gritted teeth.

"Gentler!" Shizuo ordered.

"I'm being gentle!"

Hikari pressed down hard on his arm, irritated by his command. In response, his arm twitched and Shizuo fought to keep from tearing himself away from her. If he swung too wildly, there was a chance he could hit her or break something. Her grip remained firm, as unrelenting as her gaze.

"Good." she decided, as Shizuo managed to remain still for longer than a few seconds. Hikari paused for a second, reaching over to the medical kit and pulling out a small bottle. "The antiseptic might sting." She warned, eyeing him sidelong.

Shizuo shrugged. "Just do what you have to." It was odd to him, all of it, and not just because it was Ryuji's apartment, or Hikari's familiarity with this situation. What seemed most unusual to him was that, despite all that, he still didn't mind it so much.

The wound stung as she began to sterilize it, though Hikari sought dominance over all his senses. "I get the feeling being stabbed isn't that unusual for you, is it? Does this happen often?" she asked, distracting him briefly.

He frowned. "How often is often?"

"Once or twice a year, I guess."

Shizuo smiled, though it wasn't exactly a happy one. "Yeah, well then I guess it does."

She laughed, head thrown back, and he wondered if one person could really be that beautiful. He stared for as long as he could without being noticed, before turning his attention to the ceiling once more. Hikari leaned across to the kit once more, shoulders hiding it from sight.

"That really doesn't scare you, does it?" he realised.

"No, not really," she agreed, "Probably because I think you're cute."

His surprise showed for a second only. "Oh." What a dim-witted reply.

Fortunately, Hikari's smile seemed to say that it was okay, that she didn't expect an answering statement. He could have answered, had he needed to, but Shizuo would rather not even admit it to himself.

Once more, Hikari's fingers wound around his arm, constricting him. Shizuo glanced down, saw the needle and thread running through his skin, and looked back upwards. "Almost finished." She promised.

He nodded shortly, was silent as he considered his next words, before simply saying, "Thank you."

"No problem," Hikari dismissed him easily, busy concentrating on finishing up the stitches, "This'll cost you though."

"…Shouldn't you have mentioned that first?"

She shrugged lightly, offered an apologetic smile. "Probably, but you don't have to do it – I was going to ask you," Hikari paused, reaching across to swap the needle and thread for a bandage, "If you had the time, to show me around Ikebukuro."

Shizuo felt his breath seize, and he stalled for time by asking, "You don't know the area even after this long?"

"I know how to get from here to the supermarket and not much else." She admitted shamelessly, using her elbow to push back her ebony hair as she finished wrapping the wound.

Their eyes met accidently, a clash of colour, and he lost himself for a moment. Beneath the makeup, the bravado, was something so human he was compelled to answer with a short, concise, "Sure."

Hikari smiled widely. "Really? You don't have to."

Shizuo mastered his expression, kept his voice flat. "Yeah. It's no problem. I can meet you after work some time." He held her gaze for as long as possible, turning away the moment he felt self-consciousness threaten his composure.

It annoyed him that he couldn't seem to say no, as he thought he would have, and how he felt compelled to like her. She was not on his list of possible things, but Hikari looked far too happy for him to even consider other options. It would be impossible to take any of it back now.


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