The next chapter will probably be the last. Thanks for reading!
Tsugaru didn't know what to do with this – this broken man, every inch of clothing and skin reeking of alcohol. He spoke nonsense, mostly – garbled words and little meaningless laughs – but Tsugaru did his best to listen, anyway. Because Izaya had said he missed him, and that meant that he was welcome. Even drunk, even half-conscious, the informant claimed to be happy that his Shizu-chan was there. He smiled and bit back tears and didn't the fact that he was this wasted this early say something right there?
Tsugaru shouldn't have been happy. He wasn't, because this was sort of his fault. That Izaya was hurting, that he was drowning himself in probably-not-cheap alcohol – that was Shizuo's fault. For relying on Izaya, for loving him and for being loved, and then for dying.
He didn't know what to do, but he thought it best to start with taking responsibility.
"Hold still," he commanded gently, and Izaya tried – perched on the edge of probably his bed, but it could have been a guest room for all Tsugaru knew. Wasn't exactly familiar with the layout of the informant's house, after all, and it was strangely un-personal. No pictures, not much in the way of memorabilia. Books, though. Lots of books.
He found some sweatpants – good old sweatpants, worn and sloppy-looking – in the dresser. A shirt – too big, but that had to have been because Izaya preferred it like that. He took these and helped the informant into them, then peeled back the covers and lifted him like a doll onto the swathe of white under white.
"Shizu-chan," Izaya whined. "Ne, Shizu-chan."
"Yeah, yeah," the blonde muttered, and the familiar nickname was nostalgic every time it rolled off of the other's lips. Probably in a good way, but the longing that came with it still felt a little wrong.
Izaya didn't follow up with anything in particular, and Tsugaru finally left him to search for – something…
Something wasn't much to go on, but Tsugaru didn't plan to stay, and he couldn't quite bring himself to leave Izaya with nothing to wake up to. He'd probably forget this encounter, the blonde reasoned, but maybe that was better for now. Best to leave a little hint. Something that would ease the hangover Izaya was sure to wake up to – yes, that sounded good, and there was a bottle of pills… It seemed like it might help, and a glass of water would certainly do him some good either way.
Tsugaru brought those items back – noted the long-past expiration date on the pills and decided that they should be fine, anyway – and left them on the little table beside Izaya's big, western-style bed.
No clocks anywhere, but there was a cell phone in the pocket of the discarded jeans. Tsugaru left that on the table, too – a clock, sort of, and maybe the informant would feel like calling someone. Shinra, he hoped, because that would mean the two of them meeting again. Of course, he might also need to call for help. That much alcohol could have some pretty ugly consequences…
…agh – he didn't want to think about that. He couldn't. Staying was impossible, so he'd just have to trust that Izaya would be okay on his own.
He didn't write a note, but he left the lamp on anyway. It would probably be dark out by the time the informant woke up, after all, and he'd probably be disoriented.
"Shizu-chan," Izaya called to the blonde's back. Tsugaru paused – missing Izaya more with every step but thinking that this was probably the best way to go about dealing with their reunion. "Come 'gain next time I drink, 'kay?"
Tsugaru frowned, then turned to let Izaya see his brow furrowed in frustration and concern. "Don't drink again."
Izaya woke up to an aching head and a cotton-coated mouth and throat. His stomach twisted a little in the first brief moments of consciousness, and his vision flagged before he blinked once – slowly, groggily – and hauled himself upright.
He had to wonder, at first, where the bar and the street had gone, but of far greater concern was the plight of his poor, hung-over body. His stomach ached and seemed to be twisting about inside of him, and his pounding head was busily providing him with a new definition for pain. It actually felt worse than it had after taking a few hits from Shizu-chan's vending machines.
Maybe he'd walked all the way back to his own place – for that was where he was, he realized – but he had a gut feeling that said something different.
Blonde hair tickling, little puffs of warm breath in the chilly air and the heat of a strong back rising and falling with Izaya's chest.
He tried to remember more – his face, hadn't he turned around even once? Had he said anything, and had his voice been gentle or had it been aloof like a stranger's?
Was it Shizuo?
No. No – he couldn't get ahead of himself, and he'd been drunk off his ass. He probably still was, unless – what time was it, anyway?
A quick glance around, again, and there was his phone – illuminated by the orange light of the lamp he rarely used. He wouldn't have left it on like that, and he didn't remember taking the thing out of his pocket – or undressing, for that matter. It was just after five in the morning, and there was a glass of water waiting for him.
"My, how – sentimental," Izaya rasped, surprised at just how much he felt like he needed that liquid on his throat.
He drank it all, then, in a just a few messy gulps. He ignored the medicine beside it; he wasn't about to trust the random thing of pills that some stranger had left around for him.
If it really had been a stranger.
After all, no mere bystander would have known where to take Izaya – probably, hopefully, because secrecy was supposed to be Izaya's strong suit. Maybe it had been a fellow informant, or something – but, no, no one like that cared enough for him to bother with anything as troublesome as this. No one he knew would ever be so sentimental as to take such good care of him – the water, the lamp, the phone and the clothes.
And no one he knew had hair like that, strength like that. No one felt the same – not even Shizuo, really, because that nearness had been too fleeting to leave a real impression upon Izaya's mind. He missed something he barely knew.
Still, it had felt right and familiar – like Shizuo probably would have, he thought.
Dammit. It wasn't his style, head hurting or not, to just let things like this slide for long. He had to do what he could when he felt motivated to do it, after all, and he was motivated now.
Speed dial, number 5. Two rings, and then a click and a sprightly 'hello.'
"Shinra."
A forced pause, then – "What's up, Orihara-kun?"
He'd obviously been up waiting for this call. That was promising.
"Let me talk to him," the informant demanded. He couldn't mince words with his head throbbing away like it was.
A short sigh. "Did it make you feel better?"
"What?"
"You've obviously had too much to drink. I imagine that a good deal of it is still in your system." A near-silent exhalation, almost a second sigh. "Go back to bed."
"Shinra," Izaya growled. "I'm not – "
"He's worried sick about you."
Oh. He was…
"Shizu… chan…?" He didn't dare to hope, didn't dare to feel. Just asked, because asking was his job. It was justifiable and just a little closer to being painless.
Shinra laughed. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Maybe I am," Izaya winced. That pain, just now – it wasn't only in his head.
The other line grew quiet, and then – "He's still asleep."
Izaya's breath caught painfully in his suddenly-too-tight chest. His eyes stung, but he bit that back, bit back the short, sharp exclamation that threatened at his lips. Shook his head – back and forth, back and forth – and finally mumbled, "He's alive…"
"He is." Another pause, and Izaya imagined a silent smile. "Not going to ask how?"
"I just assume that you have no idea."
"Well, you're not wrong…"
"Go wake him up, Shinra. Please."
Please wasn't something Izaya ever said with that level of sincerity, and he could hear Shinra hesitate on the other end.
"You can't talk to him like this," the doctor finally decided. Before Izaya could protest, he added, "Well, you have a lot to say to him, don't you? The two of you should meet in person. And you should be completely sober."
"Shinra," Izaya hissed.
"Alright, alright – look, I'll let him know you called. He'll probably want to go meet you right away, anyway."
"…Fine. Just know that I'll start calling you nonstop if Shizu-chan doesn't show up within a reasonable amount of time!"
He could practically hear Shinra cringing, then, but what the doctor said next did not relate to the informant's threat.
"Orihara-kun," he said, all suddenly grave and somber, and that just didn't sound good on Shinra. "What is he to you? You should think about it before you see him. You'd better know, because he's gone through a lot for your sake."
Click.
What the hell was that?
Shizuo was…
A thorn in his side. An interesting specimen – but not really, he'd be lying to himself if he insisted on something like that. A constant pressure, a chronic ache. A recurring thought, a persistent memory. Something he missed, something he'd thought he hated.
Important.
And, he finally dared to think, beloved. Yes, he loved him. Yes, he wanted to see him. He wanted to talk to him, to feel him warm and alive in his arms. He wanted to feel those strong arms wrapped around him, too. He'd known for a while that it was love, but that was a realization that didn't come easily. It ducked in and out, faded and reshaped itself and came back stronger than ever before growing faint again. Izaya's love was different – when it was the same, the normal kind, it felt so hard to grasp. It had hurt, so he'd hidden from it. Now he was facing it, though, and it was okay.
He'd say it, this time.