A/N I'm going on vacation in a couple days, so the next update will probably take a little longer than usual. Sorry about that!
As always, thank you for your support. Enjoy!
_

When Izaya awoke, he couldn't open his eyes. Even though he was engulfed in darkness behind his eyelids, he could tell that he was no longer in his apartment. This room reeked. It reeked of ammonia, dried blood, and iodine. He knew where he was instantly. An annoyed sigh escaped his dry and stale-tasting mouth as he slowly attempted to crack his eyes open. The sheer brightness of the room was too much for him, and the sheer nausea that came over him forced him to shut his eyes. Trying not to vomit, he focused what he could feel against his skin. Sheets. They were thin, but cool and surprisingly comforting. Izaya stretched his tired legs outward, and flexed his toes. They were now the only part of his body that wasn't aching. Although, his shoulder and head didn't hurt as much as he had expected.

Just as Izaya began pondering whether or not he should let someone know that he was awake, he felt a presence enter the room. The clacking of the person's shoes against the floor possessed a somewhat light and bouncy tone. Izaya frowned.

"Hey! You awake?"

"I suppose I am, Shinra," he paused, "although I can't seem to open my eyes."

"That's to be expected. You do have a minor concussion, and you lost a pretty decent amount of blood."

Izaya wasn't surprised to hear this. Despite his injuries, his memory seemed to be in good condition. His fight with Akito played through his mind vividly. When he thought of how Akito hit him on the head with his gun, a shudder went through his body, and his head throbbed.

"I put you on some pretty strong painkillers, though, so you should be feeling okay right now," he paused, "also, you needed a few stitches, so don't touch those bandages on your head!"

Izaya slowly nodded. Silence temporarily overtook the room, but after a moment, he could hear the sound of Shinra dragging a chair over to his bedside.

"So, how did it happen?"

Izaya contemplated if he should tell Shinra the truth or not. He rarely trusted anyone with information regarding his cases, but didn't see any harm in telling Shinra about Akito. After all, he hadn't even seen his face, and didn't even know his real name. All he knew was that he was a member of BH, and that BH wasn't happy with Izaya for trying to dig up information on them. For a brief moment, he thought of Shiki and how he really needed to contact him with the basic, yet important, things he had uncovered. After all of these thoughts filtered through his mind, he told Shinra what happened.

"Hm," said Shinra after a moment, "you're lucky Shizuo found you when he did."

Izaya could feel his mouth fall open. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so shocked. What was that monster doing in my apartment? Had he come to finally kill me? No…if he had wanted to, he could have finished me off while I was unconscious...

"Wow," Shinra said with a very amused tone, "you're actually speechless! When was the last time I saw the great Izaya Orihara speechless? Could it have been back in middle school? You know, when y—"

"That's quite enough. Please explain what he was doing in my apartment."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he'll want to explain that to you himself."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

It had been the second time in less than 24 hours that Shizuo had had the opportunity to finish him off, but decided not to. He wasn't sure what Shizuo's reasons were, but made a mental note to figure them out. Izaya briefly wondered if he himself had grown weaker somehow. It was unlike him to get injured at all, never mind twice in one day. No. He knew he was as physically and mentally strong as ever. What had happened to him recently was just a fluke, or perhaps a result of him being too consumed by the case he was working on. He knew he needed to be more careful.

"Well, he's here right now, and I think he wants answers. Should I bring him in."

"No," Izaya said with a strange urgency that had surprised even him, "I'd like to meet with him in one of your offices, if possible."

"Can you even open your eyes, yet?"

"Just give me a few minutes. Are my clothes here somewhere?"

"Yeah, they're next to you, although your shirt has blood on it…"

"That's fine. I'll come to your office after I've changed."

Izaya heard Shinra stand, put the chair back where it had been, and walk toward the door. He stopped in the doorframe and abruptly turned on his heel.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you. That girl woke up about an hour before you got here."

Izaya sat up a little too quickly. His head protested, and he struggled to not fall back down. His heart pounded. His breath caught in his throat, but he hardly paid attention to any of that.

"I need to speak to her."

Shinra left without responding, and Izaya cautiously tried to open his eyes again. Although the room was still impossibly bright, he managed to keep them open this time. The pounding in his head got worse. He dreaded how he would feel when the painkillers wore off.

Izaya swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood, trying to gauge how much his balance had been disrupted by the blow to his head. He felt the nausea return, but was determined to not throw up. He untied the cloth robe that he had been dressed in, and started putting on his familiar set of clothing: black, long-sleeved shirt, dark jeans, simple belt, and sturdy shoes. The only thing missing was his jacket. He hadn't been wearing it during his fight with Akito. He became annoyed with the fact that he'd eventually have to deal with the frigid, winter air without his coat.

Izaya checked his pockets for his phone, but came up empty. He was sure that he had put his cell in his pocket before his altercation with Akito, and was now worried that it had been stolen. There was a possibility that it has fallen out during their fight, but he wouldn't know until he returned home. Strangely enough, however, there was a piece of paper in his front left pocket. When he pulled it out, he saw that it was a piece of blank, lined paper which could have very well come from his own desk. When he unfolded it, he saw that only one word had been written on it. It was in all caps, in untidy handwriting, bisected by one of the many lines on the page. It may have only been one word, but Izaya stared at it for a long time. His veins gradually turned to ice, but he wasn't quite sure why.

Eventually, he neatly folded up the paper, slid it back into his pocket, and walked into the hallway.

Every time he blinked he could see the word, clear as day, scrawled on the inside of his eyelids:

PROJECTION