It's hard to have Heiwajima Shizuo as a meister.
It's not that it's hard to work with him. Izaya wishes it were that. It would be easier to resist, he thinks, if there were something he could push against, some point in their connection that grates or misaligns, some reason he could tell himself for the shudder that runs through him every time Shizuo extends his hand, every time the meister's voice tells him to "Transform" with that level dominance that has become so casual over the months of their partnership. It would be easier if it were discomfort, if it were a simple matter of bracing himself for the unpleasant necessity of partnering for another fight, if it were a struggle to fit themselves together. At least that would be something Izaya knew how to handle, something he could deal with behind the wall of his Soul Possession and the set stubbornness of his will to push forward through the fights to earn him the Kishin souls that will set him free at the end of this.
That's not what it's like. It starts as soon as Izaya transforms, as soon as Shizuo's fingers close tight around the hilt of his weapon form. Izaya can feel the heat of Shizuo's skin like a painless brand against him, as if it's his soul itself caught in the steady grip of the other's hand, as if Shizuo's fingerprints are pressing against whatever details make Izaya who he is and controlling them as easily as the meister controls his weapon form. Izaya's attempts at soul possession are token at best, now; he wonders if Shizuo notices how minimal his efforts have become, wonders if the gap between his full-strength attack at their first meeting and the show of resistance he's putting up now is obvious, like he's offering the attempt at dominance only for the satisfaction of feeling Shizuo's soul wavelength sweep over and pin his own under its control. It makes Izaya feel like he's drowning, like he can't breathe enough air to fill the aching void in his chest where his lungs should be; he wonders, sometimes, if this is what his own Soul Possession feels like from the other direction, if there's this same sense of overwhelming dominance to sweep away even the simple reflex of breathing from his control. But Shizuo doesn't have Soul Possession, and that's not what this is; this is something more immediate, something integral to who Izaya is, that the pressure of Shizuo wielding him flares sunbright in him until he wants to kneel, wants to bow his head, wants to offer up the very core of who he is to the Soul-Force-strong grip of Shizuo's hands.
He doesn't. It's a battle every time, one he wages inside himself while Shizuo is focused on the rhythm of their fight and meeting the motions of whatever opponent they are facing down this time; that's Shizuo's job, after all, and Izaya can provide the backup of a sharp shine and a deadly edge without thinking, without having to focus on anything other than clinging to his resistance with all the stubbornness he can muster. It feels like gritting his teeth, like setting himself against a wall and shoving back with all his might just to keep from being swept away by the tide of Shizuo's will; but Izaya does it, pushing himself past the point of reason with every fight and only startled away by the occasional flares of borrowed pain that come when Shizuo is too aggressive in his attacks and gets himself torn by a shadowy maw or vicious claws before he can find the balance to dodge. Izaya can feel the hurt like a flicker of electricity over his lingering sense of self, as if someone is trailing fingers across his skin to echo the burst of agony that distracts Shizuo's thoughts into a flare of blind adrenaline for the first moment. Those are the worst, when his attention for his private battle collapses into concern; it's only Shizuo's distraction, he thinks, that has kept the shrill edge of panic on his inevitable Be careful, Shizu-chan from becoming painfully obvious to the meister. It still leaves him flustered and off-balance whenever it happens; the only comfort he has is that such incidents have become less and less common the more assignments they go on, until now it's been four weeks and counting since the last time Shizuo left a fight smeared with any but their opponent's blood.
Shizuo's improving in other ways too. It's not just that he's faster on his feet, not just that he's starting dodging backwards in advance of the panicky shouts Izaya offers in moments of particular tension; he's hitting harder too, more deliberately, aiming his blows for the weak points indicated more by the way the Kishin egg in front of him holds itself than by any consistent anatomy. His punches hit like hammer blows, his swings with Izaya's weapon form tear through corrupted flesh and shadowy joints alike as if they're tissue paper; Izaya can feel the razor edge of his blade parting the inhuman body before them almost without resistance as the force of Shizuo's swing runs up against the strength of bone and sinew and wins almost on contact. It leaves Izaya breathless and trembling, hot all through his body with the vicious drag of efficacy he could never dream of managing alone; and then Shizuo loosens his grip, and lifts his other arm, and he's tossing Izaya from one hand to the other before Izaya has realized what it is he intends. There's a moment of disconnect, a heart-stopping breath of sudden panic tensing hard across Izaya's shoulders; and then Shizuo's hand closes against the handle of his weapon form, his fingers tighten hard against the hilt, and all Izaya's composure is gone, swept aside by the casual pressure of Shizuo's hold against him. There was no hesitation, no concern for a mistaken trajectory or the damage Izaya's edge could do to unwary fingers; just absolute certainty, as if Izaya is an extension of Shizuo's body, as if he can be manipulated as simply and as surely as Shizuo moves himself through the strange violent grace that runs through his body alongside the blood in his veins. The thought knocks Izaya's focus loose, leaves him gasping for air that he doesn't need and can't get in his current form, and it's then that Shizuo's Soul Force hits him, running down his spine and jolting electric through all the small bones of his body in a single overwhelming impact. It's like getting hit by lightning, like being lit up from the inside out, and for a few brief moments there's nothing Izaya can do but let Shizuo guide him through a clean sweep of movement, let his edge tear through the darkness of the Kishin egg before them while his thoughts are still struggling to regain some bearing other than that which Shizuo offers.
It would be easy to steady himself. Izaya can feel the weight of Shizuo's self alongside his own, like the glow of sunlight through a pane of glass forming the wall between them; Izaya could reach out, he thinks, could admit he needs the support and catch himself against Shizuo and let everything else realign itself accordingly. It would be simple, it would be easy; but he doesn't know how much would bleed across that line if he once breaks it, doesn't know how much of himself he might spill under the pressure of Shizuo's soul wavelength. And there are things he doesn't want to share, things he doesn't want to give up and that he doesn't want Shizuo to know, so he presses himself back from the line that joins them together, holds himself as far back from the thrum of Shizuo's wavelength as he can get, and if he can feel the vibration of it like a held note thrumming against the back of his skull at least he can stand it for another moment, a second, a third; until the Kishin egg hisses a last dying protest, and collapses in on itself, and Shizuo lets the tension in his body go limp with relief as the shape in front of them disintegrates. The force eases, the pressure of Shizuo's soul wavelength pulls back; and Izaya is transforming, pulling himself away from Shizuo's grip and back into his own human body as fast as he can remember how to work through the shift. His legs are weak, his hands shaky; but he catches his balance before he falls, and shoves his hands into his pockets where their tremors won't be seen, and when he says "Great work, Shizu-chan" he thinks he manages to attain some kind of mocking drawl, even if he can barely make out the sound past the ringing in his ears. "You're overwhelming, I'm sure all the new Kishin eggs live in mortal terror of your coming."
"Shut up," Shizuo tells him. Izaya can't be sure - it's hard to piece together the tenor of the other's voice when Izaya can barely separate the murmur of sound into individual words - but he sounds calmer than usual, as if the fight has sapped him of the energy for anything more than token protest. "It's only because we're working together that we're making so much progress." Shizuo turns away to step forward towards the glow of the Kishin soul floating just above the ground; the span of his shoulders gives Izaya the promise of a moment without observation to let his shoulders slump and work through a deliberately slow inhale in an attempt to push back the shadows threatening to close his vision off to darkness. He shifts one foot by a few inches, just enough to ease the trembling strain of his locked-out knees, and focuses on the rhythm of his inhales as Shizuo reaches to close his fingers around the crimson glow of the soul.
"This was better than last time," Shizuo is saying, but Izaya can barely hold to the words, can't get his thoughts to focus on anything beyond the low rumble of Shizuo's voice humming through his body. "We're getting the hang of this." There's a rush of sound, a gust of air; Izaya only parses it as a laugh as Shizuo goes on talking with amusement warm in the back of his throat. "I didn't think we'd ever work so well together when we started out."
"It's not like you gave me much of a choice," Izaya tells him. Shizuo is getting to his feet, is turning back around; Izaya braces harder against the ground as if that will somehow prove more steady than his spinning head, tightens his fingers into a fist in an attempt to bring himself back to his too-distant body with the application of painful pressure. "Work with you or have souls delivered to me, I think were the options."
Shizuo's mouth tightens at the corner to threaten the beginnings of a smile. Izaya feels like he's coming detached from the world. "Those are still options," he says, and holds his hand out to offer the flickering light of the soul for Izaya's claiming. "You didn't have to help me."
"Yeah," Izaya says, not sure what he's agreeing to, feeling the thread of the conversation slipping from his thoughts as the world tries to drag itself out from under him. "Whatever you say." He pulls his hand from his pockets, loosens his fingers from their fist as he reaches out to take the soul from Shizuo's open palm; and his vision tunnels into darkness without warning, the whirl of dizzy sound in his ears swelling to a roar that drowns out even his awareness of his own body. His eyes are open, he thinks, but he's not seeing anything, not thinking anything, not feeling-and then he gasps an inhale, and his vision clears in a rush, and Shizuo is saying his name in a tone Izaya's never heard from him before, "Izaya" sharp and bright like glass, like daybreak, like the glint of sunshine blinding and hot. "Izaya." There's pressure at Izaya's shoulder, a weight digging in against his collarbone, and Izaya realizes Shizuo is holding onto him just as the other shakes him through a tiny arc of movement. "Izaya!"
"I'm fine," Izaya says, even though Shizuo didn't ask. His lips are numb. He missed the soul completely; his fingers are bracing hard at Shizuo's arm instead, his grip as tight as he can make it against the support of the other's forearm. "Shut up, Shizu-chan."
"What's wrong?" Shizuo asks, still in that same strange, crystalline tone. His hold at Izaya's shoulder gives way, his palm catches under the other's elbow instead; it feels like the world is rising up to meet Izaya personally, as if the stability of the earth itself is seeking him out to strip away the dizzy whirl of his awareness. "You're freezing. Are you hurt?" His other arm shifts, the one Izaya is bracing himself against; Izaya reaches out desperately for another point of stability beyond the hand at his elbow and catches his fingers into a fist of Shizuo's shirtfront. The fabric drags under his touch, pulling lopsided off Shizuo's shoulder, but the other doesn't protest; he's reaching out instead, catching the off-balance angle of Izaya's weight against the inside of his arm. "Izaya, are you hurt, answer me."
"I'm not hurt," Izaya says at once, the words spilling from him more in answer to Shizuo's command than his own desire. He grimaces and ducks his head forward; the movement makes his sight blur again, but more importantly it lets his hair fall in front of his face and gives him some cover for the focus of Shizuo's gaze on him. "I'm a little lightheaded. It's fine." He takes a breath, shifts his footing underneath him; when he blinks his vision clears, steadying into focus as he remembers how to fit into the space of a human body instead of his weapon form. "Don't you know how to fight without using Soul Force?"
"What?" Shizuo's voice is easing, edging back from the tension of panic that was so caught in his throat originally, but his hold on Izaya's arm is still unshakably tight. Izaya leans against the resistance, trusting his weight to it so he can draw his fingers back from Shizuo's shoulder and reach out for the Kishin soul instead; Shizuo lets it go as soon as Izaya pulls, opening his fingers to the other's urging, but Izaya's very sure Shizuo's not thinking about the soul anymore at all. "I don't know. I don't usually think about it."
"I know," Izaya says, tipping his head back so he can swallow the soft glow of the soul as fast as possible, like a shot of alcohol that has to be downed before his body has a chance to recognize poison on his tongue. It takes him a moment to work through the movement, but the action of swallowing helps too, reminds him of the details of his body and the function of the processes within it. By the time he tips his chin back down to meet Shizuo's focused gaze with a flat stare he feels almost himself again, definitely enough to muster a bite of mockery on the back of his tongue for his next statement. "There's not a thought in your head when you're fighting. Do you just let your muscles do the thinking for you?"
"Shut up," Shizuo says, but there's still no force on it; he's frowning at Izaya still, his forehead creased in a way that makes the expression concern instead of anger. "Is Soul Force that hard for you to handle?"
"No," Izaya says. "No, Shizu-chan, I'm perfectly able to have someone else's soul wavelength forcibly run through me like a lightning rod. There's no problem here at all, I could keep this up all day."
Shizuo blinks. "Oh." His fingers tighten against Izaya's arm; it would be painful if Izaya weren't leaning so hard against the support. As it is it's embarrassingly close to comfort. "I didn't realize it was that hard for you." He ducks his head; his mouth shifts into something almost soft. "Sorry."
Izaya's whole skin prickles, running itself to heat as if Shizuo's fingertips are carrying the same force they did while he was in weapon form, as if the connection to the other's soul persists even now that he's in his own mind instead of occupying a corner of the meister's. He wants to pull his arm away, wants to wrench free of Shizuo's hold and reclaim the distance between them that he wants there to be, that he needs there to be for his own self-preservation; but he can't trust his shaky legs to support him, and he suspects collapsing at Shizuo's feet would only make his situation worse. So he swallows the tension from his throat, and pushes away his awareness of the heat of Shizuo's touch at his skin, and says "It's fine" because it's the easiest lie to offer, under the circumstances. "It's only for another few months anyway."
Shizuo huffs an exhale as if he's been shocked, or as if Izaya has reached out to slam the weight of a punch low under his ribcage. "Right," he says, and his voice is back to normal, now, that soft, bright warmth on it given over to distance once more. He loosens his hold on Izaya's arm fractionally, enough to pull back from the painful tension while still giving support, and when he moves it's to take a step forward and draw Izaya around to move in the direction of their apartment. "Let's go home."
Shizuo doesn't say anything else for the fifteen minutes it takes them to make their slow way back to the apartment, and Izaya doesn't try to offer even teasing conversation. But Shizuo doesn't let his hold go either, and even if all Izaya's skin is tingling with near-painful electricity by the time they get inside, he's more grateful for the support than he will ever admit aloud.