Izaya is packing when Shizuo comes through the front door.

"I'm home!" Shizuo calls from the entryway, pausing only long enough to toe his shoes off and hang his coat up on the hook next to the dark soft of Izaya's usual jacket. The front hallway still looks normal, especially compared to the disarray that has descended upon the rest of the house, but Shizuo doesn't linger to appreciate the brief oasis of calm in the midst of chaos; he's heading down the hallway already, making for the two open doors and trying to guess where Izaya is most likely to be. "Izaya?"

"In here." Izaya's voice comes from Shizuo's room instead of his own; Shizuo isn't even particularly surprised by this evidence of the other's presence, under the circumstances. He turns around the corner to the doorway on the right rather than the one on the left and pauses in the entrance, leaning against the frame as he considers the devastation Izaya is sitting in the middle of.

"I thought it would be alright to leave you alone for an hour," he says, eying the array of boxes Izaya has arranged around him like the walls of a child's play fort and the pile of clothes the other is currently picking through. "I should have made you come with me to meet with the Headmaster after all."

"No way am I going outside today," Izaya declares without looking up from the shirt he's folding over on itself. "It's absolutely freezing, I'm not leaving the house for anything."

"It's not that cold," Shizuo tells him, swinging his foot out to toe idly against the side of one of the cardboard boxes half-full with what look and feel like bedsheets. "I can pack up my own room, you know, you don't need to worry about it."

"It's inefficient to have separate sets of boxes when we're moving into one bedroom," Izaya informs him. "I only half-filled most of mine, we might as well combine everything now rather than trying to do it when we're unpacking."

Shizuo looks over his shoulder at Izaya's room. It's no more tidy than his own; from the looks of things there's more than enough left to overfill the boxes Izaya is so assiduously working over now. "Looks like you missed a few things on your side."

"Shut up," Izaya says, and Shizuo looks back just in time to be hit in the face with the soft of one of his old t-shirts, the ones worn so thin they're useless for anything other than pajamas. He catches it as it falls, offering Izaya a scowl of response as he tosses it towards one of the open boxes, but Izaya doesn't so much as bat an eye at this evidence of Shizuo's disapproval. "I'm doing you a favor, you should be grateful." He looks away again, back down to the heap of shirts in front of him; but Shizuo's attention is already sliding across the curve of Izaya's shoulders, his focus drawn to the familiarity of the pale shirt fitting into loose comfort across the other's skin.

"Hey," he says, and steps forward into the room, kicking aside a box as he approaches. "Is that my shirt?"

Izaya's shoulders tense immediately. "No," he says, so quickly he gives up any hope of sincerity from his denial even before Shizuo has drawn close enough to make out the details of the faded text across the back of the fabric. "Why would I be wearing your shirt, Shizu-chan, don't be ridiculous. Your fashion sense is appalling enough to witness without actively participating in it myself."

"I don't know why you would," Shizuo tells him, and reaches out to push against the box closest to Izaya's hip so he can slide it backwards by a handful of inches and clear enough space for him to drop to a knee behind the other. He lifts a hand to touch against the loose curve of the collar just at the back of Izaya's neck; he can feel the tremor of reaction that runs through the other like it's electricity. "This is definitely mine, though."

"My mistake," Izaya says without lifting his head to meet Shizuo's gaze. "I must have mixed up our clothes while I was packing."

"Must be," Shizuo says, and tips back to sit on the floor so he can kick one leg out wide around Izaya's hip. "You also must be going completely blind, since my things look nothing like yours."

"Mm," Izaya says. "Yes, I've been meaning to mention something about that but there was never a good time to bring it up."

"To bring up the fact that you can't see?" Shizuo asks. He reaches out for Izaya's hip, touches his fingers just against the loose fall of his shirt over the other's skin; Izaya tenses again, his back arching in response to the glancing contact, and Shizuo smiles unseen. "You should have told me sooner, that's a hazard when we go out on missions."

"It doesn't make a difference," Izaya tells him. He hasn't turned around and hasn't let his hold on the shirt in his hands go, but he hasn't shifted at all since Shizuo stepped in behind him; when Shizuo slides his hand around Izaya's hip to press against the other's stomach and draw him backwards Izaya tips to the force without protest, letting Shizuo urge him back until the strained angle of his shoulders is flush against the other's chest. "You're the one who's in charge anyway, I just do whatever you want me to."

"We're partners," Shizuo tells him, tightening his hold around Izaya to punctuate the words. "You're just as important in fights as I am."

"Liar," Izaya says, dropping the shirt in his hands so he can reach up and shove roughly at the side of Shizuo's head instead. "You would be amazing with any weapon, it's not just me."

"It is just you," Shizuo tell him, catching at Izaya's wrist with his free hand so he can stall the other's attempted blows. "It has to be you."

"No it doesn't." Izaya angles his other arm in close against him, pushing back with his elbow to attempt to shove pressure in against Shizuo's side. Shizuo huffs at the impact and lets his hold on Izaya's waist go just long enough to loop his arm over the other's and pin it close against Izaya's side to prevent further action.

"It does," he says again, and leans forward to press his mouth just behind Izaya's ear, against the fall of dark hair. Izaya flinches at the contact, his body pushing against the restraint of Shizuo's hold; and then Shizuo draws down by a half-inch, pressing closer to kiss against the soft skin under Izaya's ear, and he can feel all the resistance drain out of the other's body, can hear the huff of an exhale Izaya gives as he goes slack against the support of Shizuo's arms around him. Shizuo hums against Izaya's hair, presses closer to fit another kiss just under the damp of the first, and Izaya lets his head cant sideways to make an offering of the line of his throat down to a pale shoulder left half-bare by the loose collar of Shizuo's shirt.

"It has to be you," Shizuo says again, fitting the words against warm skin; he can feel Izaya's fingers shift, can feel the flicker of answering tension in the other's body in the shift of muscle and tendon underneath his grip holding the other's arm still. "You're my weapon partner. No one else."

"Shut up," Izaya says, making a vague attempt at pulling free that somehow just leaves him pressed closer against Shizuo's chest than he was. "Maybe you just haven't met the right person yet."

"I have," Shizuo says. "You aren't listening to me."

"I am too." Izaya twists his wrist in Shizuo's hand, making a sincere bid for freedom this time that Shizuo capitulates to; but instead of shoving the other away his fingers come up to slide into Shizuo's hair instead, to settle into the weight of the locks like he has no intention of ever moving them again. "It's just hard to pay attention when you're not making any sense."

"Izaya," Shizuo says against the side of the other's neck. "Be quiet."

Izaya's mouth curves onto the start of a smile, Izaya's head turns like he's following the sound of Shizuo's voice. "What if I don't want to?"

"Then I'll make you be quiet," Shizuo says, and lifts his head so he can press his mouth to Izaya's before the other has a chance to offer the provocation Shizuo can see forming in the curve of his lips. Izaya hums against his mouth, his fingers tighten on Shizuo's hair, and Shizuo lets his arm fall over Izaya's shoulder to brace the other in place against the gentle weight of Shizuo's mouth on his.

Tomorrow they'll be moving to a new apartment, leaving behind the space that has taken on the familiarity of home over the months they've been living together as Shibusen students. Everything they own is in boxes or on the way there shortly; Shizuo's bedroom hardly feels like his anymore at all, with everything he recognizes stripped down and packed away. But he has Izaya turning in his hold to wind an arm around his shoulders, and Shizuo's fingers are sliding around to pin the weight of his shirt against the arch of Izaya's back, and right now he couldn't feel more at peace.

Under his touch, all Izaya's sharp edges smooth to gentle curves.