When Shizuo mentioned needing to dye his hair, the last thing he expected was for Izaya to say, "Let me do it."

He must have gaped at Izaya like a normal person seeing Celty without her helmet for the first time; bewildered, but with a sense of fascination (or, in some cases, fear) underlying the glint in their eyes. "Huh?"

Izaya was almost offended. Almost. "What, you can't indulge me?"

"You've never dyed anyone's hair before."

"How hard can it be?" Izaya shrugged nonchalantly. "You've managed for most of your life."

Shizuo wouldn't indulge him with that comment, at least. Sighing, he said, "Fine. Why not. I'll stop at the store tomorrow."

"Why don't we go now?"

"At midnight?" He was awfully insistent. Then again, when something caught his attention, it was impossible to tell him no, whether that something be the next poor unfortunate soul on the long list of people he'd pissed off, or, apparently, dyeing his partner's hair.

Izaya offered, "There won't be a line."

Out of any further arguments, Shizuo reached for his wallet, keys, and Izaya's hand. Just like that, they were off.

Naturally, Izaya had been right, and the convenience store was nearly abandoned; not that it was a surprise. Ikebukuro might have been more active at night, though that activity was seldom found in legal, or at the very least, appropriate places. There was only one box of Shizuo's shade left, though considering the store's selection, that wasn't saying much. He'd been using the same brand ever since he moved to this side of town after high school, and it was a miracle it hadn't been discontinued. He and all of the local gyarus and teenage delinquents must have been good enough business.

As Izaya grabbed the box, Shizuo said quietly, "I think this is gonna be the last time." Izaya was silent, meeting him only with a curiously raised brow. "I don't think I ever told you why I started dyeing it in the first place. Basically I wanted people to stay away from me. I wanted to be a walking warning sign, so I wouldn't have to deal with people picking fights all the time. It never really worked, so I don't know why I kept doing it, but, you know."

Izaya nodded before reaching out for Shizuo's hair and ruffling it. Strands curled and poked out in every direction; at least he was pleased with his work. "It's a shame you couldn't keep your hair like this. The pudding look suits you."

Shizuo halfheartedly nudged his hand away. "I dunno. I'm kinda tired of standing out. Sometimes I almost want to move somewhere no one knows who I am, but I know I could never leave."

"It's weird. Craving normalcy," Izaya said. Shizuo wasn't quite sure if he was imagining things or not, but his voice seemed more subdued. "As someone who left and came back...you'd never make it. Sorry to disappoint, Heiwajima Shizuo-san." With that said, Izaya threw the box of hair dye up in the air, the top of it just barely poking out over the aisle, and caught it with both hands. Making his way down the aisle, he called back, "How about this? I'll dye it one last time for you. Take the burden off of your shoulders."

Smiling, Shizuo replied, "Alright. Seriously, I don't know why you want to do this so badly."

"Who knows? Some things exist without reason."

"Okay, Socrates."

"Brownie points for knowing who Socrates is, but no. I think you mean—"

Heading towards the opposite end of the aisle, Shizuo said, "Alright, you can pay for that. I'm gonna head back."

"Shizu-chan."

. . .

"Ah, the sweet, sweet smell of chemicals."

Izaya made a gagging noise, earning a futile glare from Shizuo, who couldn't even turn to face him. One wrong move and Izaya might end up getting dye somewhere it wasn't supposed to be. In the almost two decades that he had been coloring his hair, he had never made such a mistake, and he hardly wanted to end with one. Izaya would blame it on him if something did happen, and he hardly wanted that, either, even if it would just be him (mostly) joking.

"Would you prefer smoke?" Shizuo asked, to which Izaya responded by tugging on the hair he had in his hand. With a snort, Shizuo said, "Asshole. You're the one who signed yourself up for this."

"Watch it. I hold the fate of your hair in my hands."

Shizuo sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head forward so Izaya could cover all the ground he needed to, hunting down the little stray strands that didn't want to cooperate. Aside from that tug, Izaya was actually rather gentle and particular with his movements. As much as Shizuo didn't want any mistakes, Izaya seemed even more cautious. Considering the amount of time he spent playing with Shizuo's hair, Shizuo thought it was safe to say it was one of Izaya's favorite parts of him, which probably only made this more serious. He had asked Izaya about it years ago once he had realized just how much he would mess with Shizuo's hair, and Izaya told him, "It shouldn't be as soft as it is, considering how much damage you've probably done to it."

God, he was going to have a field day once it was all natural again. Not that Shizuo minded.

It was comforting, being taken care of like this. After years of thinking he'd end up spending his life alone, Izaya had managed to worm his way into his heart. He was the last person on this earth Shizuo would have ever expected to fall for, but after almost eight years together, all that time spent hating him seemed light years away. Suffice to say, it was a nice change of pace for him to not be alone during this, even if it was just something as simple as dyeing his hair. Being able to close his eyes and have complete trust in another person still shocked him to his core.

He was almost disappointed when Izaya finished, his soft caress lost to time.

The roar of the blow dryer cut out, and Izaya circled around Shizuo before sitting back down in front of him, fluffing his hair up one last time. "There. How did I do?" Instead of having him walk all the way to the bathroom to investigate, Izaya unlocked his phone and handed it to Shizuo, who accepted it warily. As soothing as the gesture had been, this was Izaya he was dealing with, and when presented with the opportunity to be an asshole, he often took it—

—though Shizuo found himself pleasantly surprised that Izaya didn't take 1000 embarrassing pictures of him.

"Not bad, for a rookie."

Izaya, still seated, did a half-bow. "Thank you, thank you. So, what do you think? Should I go blond next?"

"Hell no." Shizuo's response was instant, accompanied by laughter. "You'd be an ugly blond."

Taking his phone back, Izaya took a quick look at himself in his camera and nodded. "I can't even pretend to be upset. You're right." Yawning, he added, "Blond's always been your color, anyway. I'll be looking forward to you looking like pudding again, though."

"Damn, I kinda want some now."

Izaya rose to his feet, arms outstretched as he let out another yawn. "Knock yourself out. I kind of want to get some sleep." Not waiting for a response, he headed down the hall, only for Shizuo to shuffle after him. Shizuo reached his hand out and put it on Izaya's shoulder, and when Izaya stopped, Shizuo embraced him from behind.

"Thank you."

Softly, Izaya murmured, "Just go to bed, Shizu-chan."

. . .

When Shizuo awoke the next morning, a lone pudding cup sat on the kitchen counter.

author's note

It's not the 3rd for me yet, though Shizaya Week has officially begun, so I couldn't resist posting as soon as possible! It's my goal to write for as many days as I can this week, though this is unfortunately the only one I was able to finish early. Though it's short and sweet, this became a sort of comfort fic of mine. There's just something so cathartic about writing fluff for these two.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!