A/N: Sorry for disappearing for a couple months! My new job has been consuming much of my time, and I experienced pretty bad writer's block with this particular chapter. This one's rather slow, but the next few will definitely be more plot-heavy! Hopefully it won't take me this long to post the next chapter. Thank you for your patience. Happy holidays!

Izaya awoke the next morning with an aching shoulder and hazy mind. His bed sheets stuck to his clammy skin, and it felt like all the moisture had been sucked out of his eyes. Even without looking at the clock, he could tell that he had slept much later than usual. Sunlight seeped in under the curtains. His stomach growled. Slowly, using his one, functional elbow, he rose to a sitting position. Breathing was difficult. His mouth tasted horrible. He couldn't recall if he had brushed his teeth last night. The last thing he remembered was boarding the train with Shizuo. After that, nothing. He blinked a few times, trying to focus his arid eyes. Eventually, he noticed that someone had placed a tall glass of water and two small, white pills on his nightstand. After setting the pills on his tongue, he gulped down the water greedily, draining the glass in mere seconds.

Thanks, Namie, he thought, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Before standing, he mentally constructed a list of tasks that he needed to accomplish today. Izaya was in desperate need of both a bodily and mental cleaning. He needed to clear the fog from his brain and inspect his wounds.

He turned the knob on the shower and undressed while he waited for the water to heat up. Tossing the sling aside, he carefully peeled off the stained bandages on his shoulder. After taking the bandages off of his head, he gingerly tapped at his skull and winced when he came in contact with a bump that had sprouted up on his crown. Sighing, and returning his arm to the position it held while in the sling, he stepped into the shower. Steam filled his nostrils and water immediately began washing the grime off of his skin. He gritted his teeth when he realized that he would have to ask Namie to bandage him up again.

After a successful shower, he pulled on a white bathrobe, unable to dress himself properly until he was newly bandaged. He brushed his teeth, and ran a comb through his damp, slightly tangled hair. As he set out into his living room, he gulped. It was time to swallow his pride. It was time to ask his secretary for help.

However, the person sitting in a chair in his living room was not Namie Yagiri. It was a man with blonde hair, tinted glasses, and an askew bowtie. Shizuo Heiwajima was calmly sitting, an ankle propped up on a knee, in Izaya's living room. It seemed like a dream, or more accurately, a nightmare. Yet, there was no doubt in Izaya's mind that this was really happening, because the memories of the previous night had suddenly, unexpectedly, returned to him. He saw them flash before his eyes, as if he were watching a movie. He had fallen asleep on the train. Shizuo shook him awake when they reached Shinjuku. After that, he had guided him to his apartment and had made sure that he had gotten into bed safely. In one fragment, Izaya watched as Shizuo pulled the covers up to his chin, tucking him in.

Was that real? He wondered as he stood in the doorway of his bedroom, not daring to take another step until he could answer his own question. He couldn't, however, and ended up moving forward when Shizuo called out to him:

"Finally awake? I made breakfast."

"What time is it?"

Izaya knew it was exactly 10:52 in the morning. He had looked at the clock on his nightstand seconds before he had opened the door, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"It's almost eleven," Shizuo stood and walked toward the kitchen, "have a seat."

This was surreal. Although he had been gradually getting used to working with Shizuo over the past couple days, this just seemed too strange. He never thought he would be sitting at his own dinning room table, dressed in a bathrobe as his sworn enemy prepared his breakfast for him.

After a few moments, Shizuo placed a bowl of rice, a bowl of miso soup, and a cup of green tea in front of him.

"I did my best with what you had. Namie told me that she had planned to go shopping today, but I sent her home."

"You what?"

"She showed up around eight, but I figured that she wouldn't be needed today, so I told her she could have the day off."

"What gives you the authority to order my secretary around?"

Shizuo shrugged and massaged a spot on the back of his neck. Izaya suddenly realized that Shizuo must have spent the night on his couch.

"And I don't remember saying that you could spend the night, Shizu-chan."

"But you did. Last night, before you fell asleep."

Izaya was pretty sure he wasn't lying. Why had his memory failed him so badly? This was unusual. Had his exhaustion really impacted his mind this badly? He didn't know what else to say, so he began to eat.

Despite it's simplicity, the meal had been cooked very nicely. The rice, soup, and tea were all piping hot. The rice was neither too hard nor too squishy. The soup was flavorful and consisted of soft tofu, cooked carrots, and pleasantly crunchy scallions. The tea was slightly weak, but satisfying. It warmed his stomach as he sipped it.

"Thanks," Izaya said, and then reluctantly added, "your cooking's not half-bad."

"It was nothing," Shizuo muttered, "it gave me something to do while I was waiting for your lazy ass to get out of bed."

Izaya ignored him, and finished the rest of his breakfast. Shizuo remained silent, but spoke up again as soon as Izaya placed his chopsticks on the table.

"What's the plan?"

"Hm?"

"Last night, you said that you needed to organize your thoughts so that you could solve this damn thing. How do we start doing that?"

We? Izaya, thought. How oddly natural that word had sounded as it slipped out of his mouth. He brought a napkin up to his lips and smirked.

"Well, I have come to the realization that I have not been as meticulous as I usually am. There are many things I haven't done yet. I need to create a timeline of everything that has happened so far. I need to call Shiki, and set up an appointment. But first, I need you to help me with something."

Shizuo cocked his head to the side.

"Since you decided to dismiss my secretary for the day, you'll have to help me change my bandages."

The corners of Shizuo's mouth turned downward slightly, but he did not appear angry. Izaya wouldn't admit it, but he was slightly relieved that this was the case. His arm had begun to ache without the support of the sling, and the sooner he was bandaged, the sooner he could get to work.

"Fine."

Shizuo somehow already knew that Izaya kept his bandages under the kitchen sink. It was a good spot. Close to the front door, they were quick and easy to find. Plus, it was always good to have a first aid kit in the kitchen in case of accidental cuts or burns. The stash under the sink, however, was more than just a first aid kit. Izaya always made sure to keep a surplus of bandages and disinfectant at his disposal. He always thought it better to be safe than sorry.

As Shizuo slowly cleaned the wound on his head and wrapped bandages around his skull, Izaya had a thought. He was naked under his bathrobe. the garment went down to his shins, so he didn't see the point in putting underwear on, but he was now regretting that decision. He felt exposed. As Shizuo pulled the shoulder of the robe down in order to bandage his arm, Izaya felt his heart rate increase. He knew he shouldn't be feeling so worried about this, but as Shizuo gingerly wound the bandages over Izaya's skin, he felt a warmth spread across his face. Forcing his eyes to look at the floor beneath him, he waited. As soon as he felt Shizuo's hands leave his skin, he shot up out of the chair, stammered that he was going to go change, and briskly walked to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. His heartbeat hammered in his ears. A warmth had blossomed in his stomach. He took a deep breath and began to dress himself in his usual jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt. It took quite some time, considering he only had one arm to work with. After pulling his sling on, he stood in the quiet, dark safety of his bedroom, trying to calm himself down.

You're being an idiot, he thought. But the truth was, he didn't quite know what to think or what to feel.

You're being an idiot, his mind repeated, you don't have feelings.

He twisted the doorknob and stepped back into the living room.