Izaya slumped back down onto his chair, placing the phone on the desk in front of him. He brought his hand up to his face and massaged the bridge of his nose. This situation was getting worse and worse. Usually, he loved when things like this happened in his dear city. He loved how gangs could shake things up; loved how tragic events brought out the best and the worst in his precious humans. It was all so fascinating. However, he wasn't one to get his hands dirty. Watching from afar, he involved himself in as much as he could, but very rarely placed himself in harm's way. That is why he had always hated dealing with Shizuo. With him, everything was so physical. Anonymity was impossible when a monstrous man wielding a street sign or vending machine was chasing him. This was a similar situation. Vicariously watching things unfold was no longer an option. It hadn't been for a while. He either needed to put a stop to these gangs or get them under his control. Considering how strongly they opposed his interference, the latter option seemed unlikely.

"Goddamnit," me muttered, under his breath.

"Who was that?" Shizuo asked, now standing at his side.

"Shiki. Three Awakusu were murdered last night. In his own office."

Izaya looked up at him. Shizuo was still wearing the concerned expression that he had developed moments before. One of his hands was reaching out to him at a curious angle, as if had been planning to place it on Izaya's shoulder before Izaya had looked up at him. He pulled it back down to his side.

"What now?"

"I told Shiki that we would meet him as soon as possible," he paused, turning his attention back to his computer, "Before that, however, I need to add this to our report."

Shizuo merely nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. The wrinkles in his face faded and gave way to a more neutral expression. Izaya resumed his work, adding the new murders to the timeline and finishing up the paragraphs concerning his current theories. After a moment of consideration, he typed exactly two words and two numbers at the bottom of the page:

Injured: 3

Murdered: 5

Although he didn't dwell on it for too long, he knew that those numbers were likely to go up. Very likely.

Wary of his computer, he saved the document to an external hard drive and printed it out. It wasn't a very long report, but it was currently all they had. Izaya hoped that the murders had been carried out messily. He hoped that some clues had been left behind. However, he knew that the odds of that were relatively slim. The previous attacks had been done cleanly, efficiently. Very little had been left behind. Although they now knew that WG was a gang called the "White Gloves," they still couldn't be sure what BH meant. What were their motivations? Izaya couldn't be sure, but he was determined to find out.

He stood up and strode to the coatrack in the corner of his living room. Sliding his one free arm through a sleeve, he could feel that one of the pockets had a weight to it. His knife. He pulled it out and inspected it. The last time he had seen his trusty knife was during his and Akito's fight. He had sliced into the skin of his chest. It was a clumsy move. However, it had drawn blood, none of which remained on its clean, shiny blade. Akito must have scrubbed it meticulously. Izaya could see his own, frowning face reflecting in its cold, metallic surface. He slid it back into his pocket.

When he pulled the other side of the coat over his tender shoulder, Shizuo spoke up.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Shiki's. Were you listening, or could your tiny brain not process what I said?"

"I just put my clothes in the dryer. We're gonna have to wait," said Shizuo, ignoring Izaya's insult.

"You can just meet me there later. We can't afford to wait any longer, Shizu-chan. I need to tell Shiki what I know, and I need him to tell me what happened last night."

Shizuo, who had been sitting on the couch, rose and walked purposefully over to the door. Izaya had been reaching for the knob, but stopped when he felt a warm presence on his good shoulder. Turning his head slightly, he saw that Shizuo had placed his hand on his shoulder and was looking at him in a way that he never had before. His hair was still damp, but was now sticking up here and there. His dark eyes were filled with something that Izaya could not describe.

"You are going to wait for me."

It was a demand, not a request.

"I just told you that we can't afford to wait. Either of these gangs could make a move at any time."

He reached for the knob again, but Shizuo grabbed his wrist. His grasp was surprisingly gentle, but also firm. Izaya spun on his heel and looked him in the eye.

"Just let me go, okay? What's the big deal?"

"'We.'"

"What was that?"

"Before. You said 'we.' You said that we would meet Shiki at his office, not just you. Why are you so determined to go alone?"

"That's a pretty arbitrary detail to focus on, don't you think? Now that I think about it, weren't you about to take a nap? You're overtired. In fact, it would probably be for the best if you just stayed here."

Izaya had not meant to say "we" so many times over the past few hours, but he had. The word had never held that much importance, but now it did. They were partners. He didn't regret or even dislike this fact, but that didn't mean that he didn't want his space. Shizuo had been of great help while compiling their report, but that didn't mean that Izaya needed him.

"You need me. Have you forgotten that you can't defend yourself right now?"

Suddenly, Shizuo's attention turned to the carpet below him. Izaya followed suit and saw that a small piece of paper was sitting on the floor, slightly crumpled. His eyes widened when he realized what it was. Tearing his arm out of Shizuo's grasp, he bent at the waist and picked it up. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but it must have fallen out of his pants' pocket while he and Shizuo had been arguing. He immediately regretted picking it up, cursing at himself mentally for doing it in such an urgent way

"What's that?"

"What? Oh, this paper? Uh," he paused and shoved the paper back into his pocket, "who knows? I just don't like mess."

Shizuo stared at him, one eyebrow raised. He clearly didn't buy it.

That's why I keep Namie around, you know? She really helps keep the place tidy."

"Don't change the subject. Sit."

"Sit? What am I, a dog?" Izaya felt a surge of anger and slight embarrassment flow through him.

"You can't leave."

"Forgive me, master, but I can. This is my own apartment. This is my own job. This is my own life. We may have teamed up, but that doesn't mean you own me," he swallowed, "you stupid monster."

Shizuo's face hardened, but showed no signs of anger.

"No, I don't own you. But," he surprised Izaya by reaching out and taking his hand, "you can't go out there and get yourself hurt again."

There was no softness in the tone of his voice. He was serious. Izaya's hand felt warmth that it had never felt before. His skin felt light, almost tingly. So many thoughts ran through his mind at that moment that he was at a loss for words. Half of him wanted to tear his hand away, half of him wanted to remain perfectly still and let this newfound warmth overtake him, devour him, until he didn't have to think anymore. About gangs, about Shiki, about Shizuo, about himself. It had been less than 24 hours since Akito had attacked him and left that paper in his pocket, but it felt like it had been way longer. Something had changed. Perhaps, many things had changed.

"Why do you care?" Izaya eventually asked.

After he spoke, it occurred to him that ever since they had teamed up, many of their conversations had consisted of questions. Questions that neither of them really seemed comfortable answering honestly, or questions that neither of them actually knew the answer to. As naturally as their partnership had formed, they were lying to themselves and to each other. Many of their exchanges seemed superficial or rigid. They were cooperating, but not comfortably. Izaya assumed that this was due to their violent history of hatred, but deep down he knew that there was something else. There were things that neither of them had acknowledged, things that relentlessly took hold of their hearts and minds and refused to let go. Izaya reminded himself over and over again that he didn't have feelings. He was above feelings and therefore, above humanity itself. He reminded himself that Shizuo was a monster that was incapable of logic, incapable of understanding the genius of his schemes, incapable of humanity itself.

The seconds that had passed after Izaya spoke felt like hours. Despite the silent tension that had formed between them, Izaya wasn't expecting Shizuo's response to be of any actual importance. He expected him to direct the conversation back to the argument at hand. Maybe he'd say something like, "taking such a risk won't solve this case," or even just a simple, "I don't." However, his response didn't involve any words at all.

Shizuo brought his free hand up to Izaya's face and gently cradled his cheek in his palm. Before Izaya could react, Shizuo, the man who he had assumed would always be his enemy; the man who he had assumed he would kill or be killed by someday, leaned down and pressed their lips together in a soft, warm kiss.