CHAPTER 15: Cinnamon Soup

.-.-.-.-.-

Izaya thinks the sea air may have really gone to his head, because the moment he steps inside his apartment, he feels a wave of nausea wash over him. Everything seems to hit him all at once: the splintering headache, the stuffiness of his nose, the dryness in his throat.

"I'm back," he calls out lazily from the hallway, just loud enough for Namie to hear (hopefully?).

"And here I was hoping you died after all," she says sarcastically as she steps out to the hallway to greet him. She freezes upon studying his frame and inspects him thoroughly.

"Never mind, you do look dead," she remarks crassly. Izaya makes a disgruntled face as she walks up to him and places her hand against his forehead. Her palm feels ice cold against his skin and he shudders.

"You're burning up too," she adds as she retreats her hand. Izaya shrugs.

"It was cold out, I'm just tired. Finish up whatever work you have and go home, I'm going to lay down," he instructs as he slips out of his coat and hangs it up by the door right after. He doesn't spare her another thought as he trudges upstairs and collapses on his bed. He expects to rest for only a short while, but the moment he closes his eyes, he loses consciousness and drifts off to sleep.

.-.-.-.-.

When his eyes flutter open, his head still hurts. He feels more sluggish than before and it's cold, uncomfortable. He's alone in a dark room, shivering and freezing for what feels like hours, when suddenly he feels a source of heat behind him. It's a force that hovers over him. It pulls him back against a delightful warmth where he feels comfortable and safe. Yet at the same time, something is missing.

.-.-.-.-.

Suddenly Izaya jolts awake in his bed with beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. He takes in deep, shaky breaths, but finds it hard to breathe due to how stuffy his nose is. He sits up further in bed, trying to breathe better, only to notice the warm blankets draped over his body that hadn't been there before. Oh. Namie must have thrown them over him. Perhaps she does have a heart after all, he thinks as a tickle in his throat suddenly forces him to let out a cough.

His lungs burn as he coughs for what feels like hours, before he finally calms down and groggily reopens his eyes to look out the window. The clouds are gray and it's snowing again, but the light that shines through indicates it's still early. He doesn't know what time exactly, whether it's the same day or if he'd slept through the night. All he wants is to go back to sleep, just a few hours, and then he'll be good to go.

He closes his eyes and falls back asleep.

.-.-.-.-.-.

He feels that warmth encompassing him again, but it is different this time. The weight against his back is more prevalent and wraps around his waist like a hug from behind. He lets out a content sigh, sinking deeper into the depths of this warmth. More and more, he wishes he could stay like this forever, with the aches and pains from his body disappearing.

With another sigh, Izaya turns around and buries his nose into a crisp, freshly washed white dress shirt. His sinuses seem to clear up completely and he can smell traces of cheap laundry detergent and citrus, mixed in with a spicy undertone of cinnamon. The combination shouldn't smell good, but to Izaya it's the best thing in the world.

He wonders what could be the source of this warmth. What could possibly be making him feel this content? He looks up curiously, a light smile grazing his tired features, only to see…

RING RING.

His … phone?

RING RING RING RING.

.-.-.-.-.

"Fuck," Izaya groans as he rolls over in his bed and blindly searches for the source of the noise. His eyes hurt too much to look at the caller ID and he blindly accepts the call.

"What?" He grumbles rudely into the phone.

"Hello Orihara-kun, how are you feeling?" Shinra's voice comes from the other end. Izaya manages a small, curious 'hmm?'

"Just peachy. What do you want? Don't tell me you called me just because you're concerned about me," Izaya mumbles sarcastically in a scratchy voice.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing. Are you sick, by any chance. You don't sound so good."

If not for the fact that Izaya's skull is currently splitting open, he surely would have thought that Shinra had bonked his head or something, since it was very rare for the underground doctor to give house calls like this.

"Not sick, just feeling a bit under the weather. Why?"

"Ah well you see, Shizuo-kun came by earlier," Shinra explains. Izaya perks up slightly. Shizuo? The name always has him feeling on edge, but he doesn't understand why exactly Shinra would being him up now. Ever since the last stabbing incident, Izaya hadn't made another attempt at Shizuo's life, so any injuries the brute may have sustained would be due to his own stupidity and temper.

"Did he now? Well good for him," Izaya muses.

"Well, not exactly. He came by with a cold, you see."

And how is this my problem? Izaya thinks as Shinra goes on speaking.

"Which is quite strange, you know, because Shizuo-kun never gets sick."

"Mhmmm fascinating. Do you want my expert medical advice or something? Aren't you the doctor?" Izaya replies as he scrunches his nose to prevent a sneeze.

"Well, the thing is. He doesn't have any actual symptoms. His throat hurts, but it's not inflamed. His head hurts and he feels hot, but doesn't have a fever. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

Each nasal sound coming from Shinra's mouth is just another blow to Izaya's already sensitive head.

" to the point or I'm hanging up," he groans. Perhaps he should. It would be reminiscent of the time Shinra hung up on him when he was in the hospital.

"Alright, alright. The point is...Since you are sharing a lot of your emotions and physical ailments because of the whole soulmate thing-"

"Not soulmates, I told you that's false, but go on," Izaya cuts him off briefly. Shinra seems a bit annoyed, and not just due to Izaya's interruption, because soon after, Izaya hears some faint background noise that sounds like Shizuo's voice.

"Right. Well, he says if you are sick that you should, and I quote directly, 'Get better already, ya shitty louse. It's annoying and I want to go back to work already', end quote." Izaya scoffs. Of course. He should have expected this from his dear friend.

That explains why Shinra had called him in the first place. Because Shizuo is feeling bad. And if Shizuo is feeling bad, then his headless best friend is presumably oh so concerned about him. Ergo, his ailment just needs to be fixed. Does anyone really care about Izaya though?

"Did he tell you that now? Well you can tell him that if he wants these lovely shared moments of ours to end, then maybe next time he should just listen to me and do as I say so that we could return to our normal lives of hating and trying to kill each other, instead of acting like the moronic, single celled amoeba that he is!" Izaya screeches into the phone and feels his throat seize up in pain, his voice cracking and becoming more hoarse with each word he utters.

"Or you can tell him yourself. He's here, I'll pass the phone over," Shinra responds, completely unfazed by his outburst, and completely disinterested in the slow deterioration of his voice.

"I'm not talking to that beast," Izaya snaps back.

"And I'm not going to be the mediator between you two. I have better things to do with my time,"

"Drinking juice out of Celty's helmet doesn't count as having better things to do!"

But it's already too late. Izaya hears some shuffling and arguing in the background, then, just the sound of heavy breathing and slight sniffling. Izaya clears his throat.

"Shizu-chan," he states quietly.

"Flea," comes Shizuo's response.

"How are you? Shinra tells me you're feeling a bit under the weather. Shame that it's just a cold and you haven't dropped dead," Izaya teases, trying not to let on too much just how awful he feels.

"Apparently still better than you. You sound like shit," Shizuo responds, clearly seeing right through his facade.

"Thank you, Shizu-chan. I really do appreciate the compliment," Izaya groans, followed by a sharp cough. And then another, and another tearing at Izaya's lungs. Fuck, it's agony, with the pain being amplified as his headache starts acting up again.

"Cut the crap, I know what you're trying to do," Shizuo says after the coughing fit.

"Really? And what would that be, hmm?" Izaya asks as he buries his face into his pillow. It's kind of crazy but Shizuo's voice has a different effect on him than Shinra's. It feels almost comforting, with his headache seeming to subside ever so slightly as he listens to that low baritone.

"You're doing this on purpose. To mess with me, aren't you?"

Izaya can already imagine the pouting face Shizuo must be making. It's cute, he thinks. Maybe he just imagines it as being cute. What a silly thought. Shizuo being cute. He truly must be getting delirious.

"Mhmm, yes. You caught me. Obviously. I just love getting myself sick on purpose all for the sole purpose of…" He'd meant to say something but somehow finds himself unable to find the words. He starts drifting off a little, as if suddenly hit with a heavy weight.

"Of…messing…with…" He shivers. Why is It suddenly so cold?

"Izaya? Oi, Izaya!" Shizuo's voice from the other end of the line is like a distant echo, lulling him to sleep. He can't keep himself conscious any longer.

"Yea, yea… Goodnight Shizu-chan, I love you too," he says. He means for his words to sound sarcastic but with so little strength, they end up sounding more genuine than he'd anticipated. He drops his phone and the line goes silent.

Or maybe Shizuo is just too stunned to say anything.

.-.-.-.-.

There it is again, that same warmth. It blends with that sweet, spicy smell from before: of cinnamon and laundry detergent. Izaya is shocked he can smell it in the first place. His previously stuffy and blocked nose has seemingly cleared entirely. He leans closer, enchanted by the enticing heat. His hands wrap around a strong bicep and he squeezes down on the flexing muscles.

"Is that for me?" Izaya asks as he watches a knife chopping down vegetables for a stew.

"Maybe," the figure responds and Izaya snuggles closer.

"You're not going to push me away, are you?" He mutters quietly. He feels a bit like a child, desperately clinging on to any source of love and attention he can latch onto. He feels the vibrations as the person next to him does a small chuckle.

"No, I don't want to push you away. I want you to stay by my side," is the response he receives. Izaya smiles and closes his eyes as he buries his face deeper into the arm he's holding onto. He's never felt more relaxed than this.

"Izaya." The sensual pronunciation of his name sends a shiver down his spine.

"Hm?" Izaya asks sleepily.

"Open up."

Huuhh? Open what?

Izaya's eyes flutter open and he furrows his brows. Open his mouth? To taste the soup?

Soup? What soup. Izaya can no longer see anything in front of him. The area is dark, devoid of light, and his one ray of sunshine has disappeared.

"Open up," the voice bellows again. Izaya takes in a few deep, exasperated breaths.

"Open what?" He calls out to the darkness.

"OPEN UP THE DAMN DOOR."

.-.-.-.-.

Izaya jolts awake, his breaths laboured and heavy. He feels a persistent pounding in his head, sending jolts of pain coursing through his body. Why is it throbbing so much?

Oh.

It's the door. Right. Someone's at the door.

With a groan, Izaya rolls out of his bed and opens his eyes to his dimly lit room. His body feels sore and starts shivering, so he throws a blanket over his shoulders and drags himself down the stairs, only to be greeted by Namie closing the front door.

"Namie-san? I thought I gave you today off," He says sleepily.

"I tried calling you a few times, you weren't picking up," she replies, her tone slightly concerned.

"You look awful," she adds.

"Thanks, noted," Izaya replies as his eyes shift to the little plastic bag in her hand.

"What's that?" He asks. She lifts the bag for him to see.

"Medicine. And soup."

Izaya's eyes grow wide.

"You made me soup? How nice…" He murmurs and steps off the stairs. Namie averts her gaze and walks to the kitchen.

"Actually, I didn't make it. I got it from your little blond monster."

Izaya stiffens.

"Shizu-chan?"

She nods her head.

"Here? Just now?"

Another nod.

Instantly, Izaya wobbles over to the door as fast as he can, clutching that blanket around his shoulders for dear life as his shaky hands swing open the door and he steps out to the hall. He whips his head towards the elevator and sees Shizuo just about to step inside. His voice hitches in his throat and he lets out a strangled sound just as the elevator doors begin to close.

"S-Shizuo."

Despite the weakness of his voice, Shizuo still hears him and spins around to look at Izaya's disappearing face between the elevator doors. Then, in the ultimate power move of utmost stupidity, Shizuo grabs the two doors and pulls them apart with ease.

Idiot, just use the open door button, Izaya thinks as Shizuo stomps toward his still shaking frame clinging to the doorframe.

"Got tired of trying to bust down my d-" Izaya doesn't get to finish his sentence because of how quickly his head begins to spin and how fast his eyesight goes blurry. His knees lock and he begins falling forward. Dammit, why now? Why out of all times does it have to happen now?

He collides face first with a wall of muscle before his legs can give in completely. Shizuo's arms wrap around him and hold him steady while stopping the blanket from falling off his shoulders. Izaya instinctively leans into him.

It's so…warm. And soft. And comfortable and Izaya feels like he's melting. He takes in a deep breath and feels his nasal passages start to clear. Instantly, he's struck with a familiar smell. Laundry detergent with a hint of spicy cinnamon, as well as a distinct smell that is lacking from Shizuo's clothes.

Cigarettes.

"Shit, you really are that sick, aren't you?" Shizuo mutters, snapping Izaya out of his daze.

"Quite the genius, as usual Shizu-chan. Now if you could be so kind as to let me go. I can stand on my own," Izaya spits back as he struggles to regain his balance by clutching the fabric of Shizuo's coat and attempting to pull himself up. He wants to push himself away but his body disagrees. His arms refuse to cooperate and he ends up falling right back against the blond.

Shizuo's arms wrap around his waist. And then, in an unexpected turn of events, slide down to his butt. Izaya's face starts burning up, and it's definitely not from his fever.

" What the fuck?" He yelps and jumps up slightly, allowing Shizuo to grab a hold of his thighs and hoist him up. Izaya does the only thing he can do, and that is to desperately grab a hold of Shizuo's shirt so as to not fall off.

"What the hell are you doing? Put me down this instant!" Izaya whines and struggles against his iron grip, but to no avail. Shizuo doesn't let go and instead drags him back into the apartment.

"Sure, I'll let you down alright," he huffs and unceremoniously throws Izaya on the couch, knocking the air out of his lungs as he collides with the cushions.

"You brute, you absolute moronic single celled organism! I wish you would just go away" Izaya wheezes and sits up, only to have his whole body start shivering, as if suddenly hit with an icy gust of air.

Cold.

Much colder than before.

"After helping you, this is how you treat me? Tsk," Shizuo scoffs, followed by a small cough.

"Whatever, I don't have the patience to deal with you today," he says and turns to leave. Izaya, in fear of losing his one source of warmth, quickly stretches out his hand and grabs onto the fabric of Shizuo's white shirt.

"Wait, don't go," he whispers with a small sniffle, a little shy and embarrassed. It's only because he feels so sick and needs something from Shizuo. Shizuo stops and looks down at him.

"First you tell me to go, now you ask me to stay. Make up your damn mind already," he huffs. Izaya pauses for a moment. His mind tells him to kick the protozoan out. He's already sick, he doesn't need any more complications. And it's exactly for that same reason his body wants him to stay.

"Stay," he says finally and tugs on Shizuo's arm a little more desperately.

Shizuo hesitates, his sunken eyes switching between the doorway and Izaya's pathetic display. With each second, Izaya's gaze grows more intense and his fingers squeeze down harder.

"I have work," he replies flatly. Just a monotone statement.

The dealbreaker is Izaya's coughing. A tickle in his throat soon turns into guttural hacking as he lurches forward and coughs his lungs out. Shizuo reaches towards him and awkwardly pats his back, each pat seemingly taking some of the pain away. The last pat turns into gentle rubbing, and Izaya gives a soft hum.

"I want you... to stay by my side," he says quietly. Shizuo licks over his dry lips.

"...Please." The word coming out of Izaya's mouth is hardly audible but Shizuo hears him.

"Alr-"

"For fucks sake, can you just entertain him for five minutes? Just five minutes so I can actually heat this soup up without having to deal with his whiny ass," Namie's sharp tongue abruptly cuts them off as she calls out from the kitchen. Izaya groans and glares in her direction.

"My ass is not whiny, thank you very much," the sick informant grumbles and turns back to Shizuo, as if looking for validation. Shizuo looks back at him and Izaya has to do a double take because he seems to be hallucinating and imagining Shizuo with a small smile upon his lips.

Impossible.

Izaya blinks twice. The smile is gone.

Of course, who is he kidding, thinking Shizuo- whoa whoa whoa.

Suddenly Shizuo is in Izaya's personal space, their thighs touching as Shizuo sits back against the backrest of the couch. Izaya stiffens, his face feeling a little bit warmer than before. Awkwardly, he shifts his body and presses his arm against Shizuo's sturdy bicep, only for the taller man to grab his arm and pull him over, thereby making Izaya's face crash into his chest again.

His first instinct is to protest, but that quickly gets snubbed out by the overwhelming warmth he feels. It's not an uncomfortable prickle, like the feeling of sickness or embarassment. It's a comfortable warmth that has him leaning closer and closer, desperate for more because of how light and good it makes him feel.

It's not weird , he tells himself. It's just a cold remedy.

"Hmm, so now that you have me in your grasp, what are you going to do? Suffocate me? Snap my spine in half?" Izaya badgers. What a great way to ruin the mood. As if the mood even existed to begin with.

Shizuo purses his lips.

"How's that gonna help me? I'd just be hurting myself," he mutters back against Izaya's dark hair. Izaya starts laughing at that. A laugh that quickly turns into another coughing fit that Shizuo has to subdue by rubbing his back again.

"Don't tell me you actually feel everything I do with your impenetrable, monstrous skin and abnormally high pain tolerance. Ah, but it would make sense why you came to check up on me, ne? You're just concerned about yourself," Izaya says as he lifts his head and pulls away from Shizuo. The blond, in turn, grips Izaya's waist tighter and pulls him back in, this time suffocating him a little while his arms squeeze down on Izaya's back, forcing it to crack.

"Hiyaaa!" Izaya cries out with tears prickling at his eyes as he struggles to break free. A low groan resonates in Shizuo's chest and Izaya can feel the vibration against his face.

"Damn flea, so fucking annoying," Shizuo mumbles under his breath as he releases his hold on Izaya who takes in a big breath of air after being deprived of it.

"That hurt!" Izaya exclaims as he rubs at his aching back.

"You're telling me," Shizuo grumbles as he mimics Izaya's action and stretches out his back. Izaya's dark eyes hover over Shizuo's well built frame, inspecting his every move.

"Don't tell me that affected you that much. What, do you actually feel all my pain?" Izaya asks. Shizuo narrows his eyes.

"Yea, I do. Is that what you want me to say? Because I do. I feel all of your fucking pain and it pisses me the hell off," Shizuo snaps, his voice a lot louder than before. So loud, that Izaya has to shy away from him.

"I felt it when you broke your hand, I felt it when you stubbed your stupid toe, I feel how your eyes hurt from staring at your dumb computer and how hungry you are during the day because apparently you don't fucking eat. I even feel how fucking sad you are and how fucking tired you are all the time and how fucking sick you are right now," Shizuo finishes with a huff, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes.

Izaya is too shocked to respond immediately. He hadn't been expecting such an outburst from Shizuo, and what's more, he hadn't been expecting such a confession. Instead of facing the issue directly, he evades the topic of his own well-being.

"What does it feel like?" He pesters. Shizuo clicks his tongue and sighs.

"Like fucking pain. What, do you think I don't feel any pain whatsoever?"

Izaya is about to respond with a hard "yes" but Shizuo doesn't give him a chance to speak and continues talking.

"Yea, I can tolerate it, but it still fucking hurts. I feel it when someone hits me, I feel it when someone shoots me , and I feel it when someone stabs me in the gut!" He finishes.

"I said I'm sorry for that…" Izaya trails as he winces away from Shizuo.

"Are you? Are you sorry because you hurt me or are you sorry because you hurt yourself?"

Izaya doesn't know how to answer that question. In fact, he doesn't know the answer, period.

"I-"

"Even now, you want me near you because it makes you feel better."

Izaya freezes.

"Don't act like it doesn't make you feel good too. Even if you don't want to be here…" Izaya mumbles back quietly. Shizuo shifts in his seat.

"Who said I don't."

"You did, when you were trying to leave, or did your simple brain already for-" Before Izaya has time to finish that thought, Shizuo brings his palm over his mouth and cuts him off. Izaya's eyes grow wide as Shizuo leans in closer to him. Their eyes lock and Izaya feels his cheeks heat up again.

"If I didn't want to be here I wouldn't be here," Shizuo growls and releases his hold on Izaya's mouth.

"Okay," is all Izaya can say. The tension between them is a little awkward and they stay in the same position for a while: Izaya with his arms crossed over his chest and looking away and Shizuo with his arm against the backrest. Then Shizuo slides his hand down and over Izaya's shoulder, and pulls him back in against his chest. Izaya does a little whimper but ultimately relaxes as he inhales the smell of Shizuo's shirt.

"Why do you smell like cinnamon?" He suddenly asks. He feels Shizuo stiffen under him.

"Spilled some makin soup," he answers somewhat nonchalantly. Izaya scoffs and shifts his head to press against Shizuo's chest to listen in on his rhythmic heartbeat.

"The soup you made for me?" He asks quietly. He hears Shizuo's heart rate speed up.

"That's not-" he sighs. "I didn't make it for you specifically, I just...had some left over."

Izaya lets out a hum.

"Mhm, and I'm sure it tastes positively awful ," he proceeds to tease, prompting Shizuo to raise his voice again.

"You haven't even tasted it, asshole!" He snaps.

"I don't need to. You eat cup ramen on a daily basis. It's only natural to assume you lack any culinary skills," Izaya muses as he closes his eyes and snuggles against Shizuo's warmth; the warmth that is quickly taken away from him as Shizuo abruptly stands up.

"You're such an ungrateful shit. Don't eat the soup for all I care. I'm leaving."

With his source of warmth so quickly pried away from him, Izaya starts to panic. He leans forward, wraps his arms around Shizuo's waist and presses his face against his lower back.

"No, no, don't leave, I'll eat it," he whines as Shizuo takes a few steps forward and drags Izaya off the couch until he's half falling off. Before Izaya can fall completely, Shizuo grabs him by the arms, lifts him up, and helps him back on the couch.

"Yes, you will. You will eat it and enjoy it and stop being an ass about it."

As if on cue, Namie walks in with a bowl of piping hot soup and sets it on the coffee table in front of Izaya.

"Thank you, Namie-san," he says politely and sits up to eat the soup. Namie stares at him with a blank expression as she places a pack of pills next to the soup.

"Take one after you finish," she states plainly and goes over to his desk to look over a stack of documents. He'd have to remember to pay her a little extra for what was technically overtime at this point.

Izaya then looks back to the soup and breathes in the steamy aroma. The heat helps to clear his sinuses a little bit more, and with his nasal passages opening up, he has to admit the soup doesn't smell half bad. Tentatively, he picks up a spoonful and blows on it before taking an experimental sip. He instantly makes a disgusted face, his nose scrunching at the spiciness level.

"What's your problem now?" Shizuo asks, irritated by his grimace.

"It...tastes like cinnamon."

" What?"

"Yea, I guess you must have spilled it on yourself and in the soup while making it. Tut tut, as expected from the clumsy, brainless Shizu-chan."

Shizuo does a low growl.

"It does not taste like cinnamon."

"I'm telling you it does. Just...try it," Izaya says and lifts up the spoon for Shizuo to try while holding his other hand underneath to stop any spills. Shizuo opens his mouth and Izaya feeds him the soup.

"You asshole, it does not taste like cinnamon."

And if Izaya wasn't too busy laughing in between dry hacks, he would have surely realized by now that they had just shared an indirect kiss.

"Asshole, are you trying to get me sick for real?" Shizuo accuses and Izaya holds his hand against his mouth to stop himself from laughing (and coughing) any further.

"Wow Shizu-chan, I'm impressed you even know how germs are transmitted. I admit, it certainly was not my intention, but who knows what will happen, ne?" Izaya teases with a smile spread across his lips. It's at this point, Namie decides to interject herself into the conversation.

"Hey, if you're going to make out, go take it outside, because that is something I do not need to see. Otherwise, shut up and eat your soup," she yells from the desk. One last giggle and Izaya turns back to his soup. As he eats more, he has to admit that it's not bad at all. A little bit spicy, but it helps clear up his nasal congestion.

He remains silent while eating while imagining the scenario of Shizuo cooking the soup and carefully chopping up vegetables, only to clumsily spill cinnamon over himself. He imagines Shizuo getting angry and breaking half of his culinary equipment. Here and there, Izaya even finds himself sneaking glances at Shizuo, who persists in watching him intently.

Finally, Izaya finishes the rest of the soup and swallows his medicine. Shizuo doesn't have any comments for him, and Izaya just does what his body is telling him to do. He moves closer to the blond and settles against him again, closing his eyes and breathing softly as the intoxicating heat lulls him into a state of reverie.

He alters between states of consciousness, wondering if what he hears is a dream or reality. Words swim around his head. He swears he can hear Shizuo's voice, but he's not sure if it's really him or just a very vivid dream.

"You know, when he's not constantly running his mouth, he's almost… cute."

He hears Namie make a gagging sound on repeat.

"If you're going to say such disgusting things, you might as well leave right now."

"Is he going to be alright?"

Visions mingle in with reality. Images of Shizuo holding him tenderly, looking down at him with kind brown eyes and a loving expression. That's how Izaya knows it's a dream, because Shizuo doesn't ever look at him like that. They don't see each other as human, as people capable of love and of being loved.

"Yes, I'll take care of him," Namie's voice says.

Then nothing. His mind goes blank, slipping into a comfortable, numbing darkness.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Izaya wakes up to an icy cold towel pressed against his forehead.

"Namie-san?" He asks, voice horse as his eyes adjust to the lights of the living room. Her hunched figure is sitting on a chair next to the couch.

"Go back to sleep Izaya," she murmurs and dabs his head with the towel. It hurts a little bit, but the pain is not as bad as before.

"No, I'm fine. What- What time is it?" He asks groggily as he sits up.

"A little past nine," she answers. Izaya groans. How long had he been sleeping for? How long had she been at his apartment for? Admittedly, he doesn't remember much. His mind is still clouded and hazy.

"You've been here this entire time?" He asks.

"Yes. I was working. I was already here, so I may as well. Be sure to pay me well for overtime," she sniffs and holds up her nose in contempt.

"F-fine," he responds and tries to sit up.

"As long as you're awake, you might as well eat. I made some food for you."

She stands up and goes to the kitchen to reheat whatever meal she'd prepared. Before she gets there, Izaya calls out to her.

"It's fine, I'm not hungry."

She spins on her heel and comes marching right back to him.

"Don't be a fussy baby. Eat. It will make you feel better. Or should I call back Heiwajima-san to feed you?"

Izaya looks at her in confusion.

"Shizu-chan was here?" He asks, and as soon as he does, a little bit of his memory starts coming back to him. Namie rolls her eyes but still answers. She's used to it at this point.

"He was here. You cuddled on the couch," she replies and makes a gagging sound.

"What a gross thing to say," Izaya snorts.

"Yes, it was very gross. I had to watch you."

Despite the pounding in his head, Izaya manages to recall the events that had transpired a few hours ago. He looks away from her.

"Go home, you've done enough for me," he says. She pauses and doesn't move, and Izaya rolls his eyes.

"I'll eat your food, don't worry," he says. She nods her head and starts to gather her things. Once she gets to the door, Izaya stops her for one last second.

"Oh and Namie-san?"

She freezes, but doesn't turn around.

"Thank you."

She shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

"You're welcome," she says, and Izaya swears he can hear a faint trace of a small smile in her words as she says them and leaves out the door, leaving Izaya to lay back down against the couch. A light smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he closes his eyes and breathes in.

The smell of cinnamon still lingers in the air.