Shinra opened the door that day to find unlikely visitors standing at his threshold.

"He's not here."

"We know."

Sighing defeatedly, Shinra moved out of their way as they stepped inside and let them into Shizuo's room. The blond was, for the most part, awake– he hadn't been able to sleep through the pain of fever and aching that made him shiver uncontrollably. There were dark shadows under his fragile, ethereal eyes, now so subdued and dim. They brightened with the pair that came in to sit down, one right on the bed and the other on the stool.

Shizuo blinked slowly, wondering if he was still hallucinating. The red string was still bright around his finger, leading his gaze to meet theirs.

"What are you doing here?"

"Visit (we came to visit)."

"Since we heard Nii-sama's being a total stickler! We've come in his place."

Shizuo frowned at the mention of Izaya. For days he'd been plagued by dreams of the informant, whether he liked it or not. They'd been incoherent, strange and cryptic – if they were trying to tell something, why couldn't dreams just spell it out for him? He didn't think of himself as all that smart.

"Bad (you don't look so good)."

Shizuo coughed suddenly as if to accidentally prove their point. A few drops of blood lined the corners of his lips, and Mairu had to hold back a yelp. Kururi's eyes widened slightly. He swallowed, tasting iron.

"Did Izaya send you here?"

"Well, no. But we figured, being the ass he is, he wouldn't want to see you!"

Shizuo tried to shake his head but his neck felt tense. "Him."

"Him (you want him)?"

The blond gulped, glanced over, and stiffened. Tears were welling up in Mairu's eyes behind her glasses, a few droplets beginning to run down her cheeks. She touched him lightly over the sheets.

"Please don't die, Heiwajima-san…"

"What…?" Shizuo shifted in a halfhearted attempt to sit up. "I'm not going to die…"

"Yuuhei," Kururi whispered.

Mairu nodded vigorously. "We still need you to introduce us to Yuuhei-kun! So don't die, okay?"

Shizuo wasn't sure what to do in such a situation; he'd never had to comfort Kasuka because Kasuka had never cried, and on principle he never placed himself around small children for fear of hurting them. Tears and the comfort that came with them was a mystery. "I won't die, please stop crying."

"Promise (do you promise)?"

"Please, Heiwajima-san, how are we going to meet Yuuhei-kun if you–"

"I won't." Shizuo closed his eyes through a small wave of pain. His headache was tapping away in the back of his mind. The heart monitor gave a couple different beeps. "I promise. So stop crying."

Shinra rushed in to change the gauge on the IV as Mairu hopped off the bed. "Did we do something wrong?"

"Nothing at all." Shinra smiled down at them. "This is actually a bit of a good sign. His fever's starting to break."

Mairu bounced on her toes. "Really? So he's not going to die?"

"What? Of course not! Shizuo's nowhere close to dying, so calm down."

"Promised (right. he promised.)"

"Yup!~" Mairu took Kururi's hand and led her towards the door. "Heiwajima-san promised to let us meet Yuuhei-kun once he's better!"

"I did no such thing!"

"Tissues are in the bathroom if you need them!" he called after them on their way out. Shinra's grey eyes softened again when he turned back to Shizuo, who was now staring at the primrose on the window sill in heavy thought. "Why do you need to see him so badly?"

After a long pause, sun setting over the cityscape as the night line turned dismally overcast, Shizuo shrugged.

"Venti café latte, no sweetener, espresso triple shot, one part low-fat milk and one-part almond soy, and a blueberry syrup drizzle over a single dot of whipped cream."

Shiori was still there the next day, smiling her usual off-the-conveyer-belt mass-produced smile brainwashed into all the employees sometime during the job interview, he mused. Today, it was somehow almost comforting to find a sense of normalcy; no matter how many times he came to this café, he was met with the same woman. Normalcy in his coffee, however, was unwelcome, and after each strange yet fascinating combination he ordered (which they neither refused nor questioned), he'd grown bored and tried something new.

The only thing constant was the triple shot of espresso.

Namie had kept warning him to stay indoors and rest up with the medication until he got better, but as usual he ignored her advice and took his near-daily stroll through Ikebukuro; because he had no current jobs, his walks had been aimless in the first day until he found a routine. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he waited for his drink.

Izaya coughed. "Yeah?"

"He's getting a little better."

"Oya?" He watched Shiori pull the lever to dispense the black coffee. "Tell him I say congrats."

"Tell him yourself."

Izaya sighed. Somehow, as if by magic, Shiori had managed to find blueberry syrup even though it was included in none of the items on the overhead menu. She'd found a carton of almond soy milk, too: also not on the menu. Maybe they have a secret stash of random ingredients especially for customers like me. "I told you, I'm not coming to see him."

There were some sounds in the background of the other end. On Izaya's own end, Shiori was carefully measuring out the two different milks together like a scientist mixing toxic chemicals. As if Izaya would care if there were a single drop more of one than the other – even so, he would probably call her out on it.

"You don't have to. I'm putting you on with Shizuo."

"What? Wait, Shinra—"

"Hello?"

Izaya didn't respond when the barista called his alias. The voice was weak and almost ghostlike, only a faint remnant of Ikebukuro's Legend. There was no anger, no strength. Izaya's throat choked up with indecision, but before he could answer, Shizuo was wracked with a terrible cough that made it seem like Izaya was only mildly bothered by the sniffles.

"Hello? Shinra, who is this, why did you–"

"Shizu-chan…?"