[1]

Shizuo wakes to the smell of salt, the whisper of the sea.

In that first perfect moment of awakening, he knows nothing but the white of his ceiling. Craning his head, Shizuo sleepily tries to decipher the numbers on his clock.

This doesn't look like… Ah. Right.

Existence seeps back into his bones; he knows he is in exile, but even after three years, he can still see Ikebukuro clearly, with its stark skyscrapers and rain-dappled streets. It fills his chest with a strange sort of aching, but he's learned to ignore it. Or maybe it's just so overpowering that it's blended into the background, making him numb.

Gravel crunches under his feet as he makes his way down to the docks. The sun warms his shoulders, yet he still finds himself thinking about 'bukuro. Something must have happened on this day, something that's making the nostalgia stronger than ever. Not one memory floats to mind, but several - a jumbled mess of colors and faces makes him scowl. Still, he tries to fix his distorted face. It's different now, without -

Izaya

- distractions.

Shit. He's snapped the cigarette he'd been smoking. With a sigh, Shizuo fishes out another one.

He lights up the cigarette, briefly closing his eyes. It shouldn't matter now. It's over. But no matter how many times he repeats those words to himself, the mantra only opens up his wounds further. It hurts, he thinks plaintively, almost like a child would.

Somehow, the pain feels distant. Like it happened to someone else, a different Shizuo Heiwajima.

Maybe in another world, Shizu-chan would've been with me!

Three cigarettes in the span of two minutes.

The wind is beginning to pick up. Pushing his hair out of his face, he eyes the waves.

Definitely not the right kind of day for fishing.

He can see the other men grumbling, heading back home. Back home to families, Shizuo thinks gloomily, crushing his cigarette under his foot. His eyes follow the last fisherman to the waves again, when he freezes.

It's a body.

It's a body, and it looks small and still. Shizuo shrugs off his coat, thinking what if I hurt them what if they're dead what if what if but his body, uncontrollable as always, is moving.

The water is freezing, splashing him mercilessly as the wind laughs above. The body is still bobbing ahead, and desperately, he reaches out for it.

What's that sound? It's coughing. It's alive, and it turns to him with shocking, recognizable dark eyes and speaks hoarsely.

"Ah… Shizu… Shizu-chan?"

Shizuo opens his mouth, and gets a faceful of salt water. Small, pruned fingers are gripping into his shoulders. These hands used to hold his, a knife, a gun covered in blood - they're holding his shoulders, and he wants nothing more than to knock them off.

But there's a strange power over him. Izaya's breathing heavily, staring at him wide-eyed, and all he can do is stare back, salt water spilling over his lips. What can he say? I thought I'd never hear your voice again?

"It's you, isn't it?" Izaya rasps. "Shizu-chan."

Don't think, don't think now - did I wish myself into an alternate world? After three years, how is Izaya here? Don't think.

"Fuck," is all he hisses in return. Izaya's fingers are turning slack, and Shizuo slings an arm around the informant's waist. He can feel bones.

"I should leave you," Shizuo says even as he hauls them both back to shore. "Of course a cockroach like you wouldn't die," Shizuo says as he unlocks the door to his house, carrying Izaya - Izaya missing his signature fur coat, now wearing Shizuo's - inside.

"Shizu-chan -"

"Just shut up and let me make you tea, and then get out of here," Shizuo snaps, already having to stop himself from saying Didn't I tell you to get out of 'bukuro? That habit of theirs - it was supposed to have ended years ago.

Deep breaths, Shizuo.

For once, Izaya doesn't speak. The informant silently heads into the bathroom, where Shizuo hears the shower begin to run.

"Fuck," Shizuo says again, thumps his head against the wall.

This has got to be a dream. He's not real. Hell, maybe I'm not real - that would be just perfect.

He thumps his head against the wall once more, but doesn't wake up. "This is real," he says loudly, and thumps his head again. "Fuck."

The shower stops running. He averts his eyes until Izaya slinks into the room, dressed in Shizuo's clothes.

"Shizu-chan isn't what he used to be," Izaya says quietly. This, Shizuo thinks, could mean a number of things, but might be a thank-you.

… Is Izaya different, too? Shizuo thinks of a younger Izaya, the laugh lines in his face lacking cruelty. Could Izaya have found some of that kindness?

The kettle shrieks.

"Tea," Shizuo says, and Izaya nods, a quick, sharp movement that causes his wet hair to stick to his forehead. He's pale, almost like the fish Shizuo has in his freezer.

Izaya's here Izaya's here Izaya's here, right in front of me in my kitchen wearing my clothes and shit, I want to hold him

(the thought comes almost explosively and he struggles to stop himself from turning red)

He watches Izaya blow on the tea carefully, before demanding, "Did you follow me here?"

First things first.

"Actually, Shizu-chan, fate must've brought us together - I was tracking someone and, ah, you could say we had a disagreement. The kind where someone throws you into the ocean to die, you know? But it seems I've been led straight to you. Isn't that exciting?"

"Can't swim?" is all Shizuo can manage.

"I did," Izaya smiled faintly.

They sit facing each other in silence, until Izaya says, "So you're isolated even here, huh? Nothing's changed, but it feels like you're different from Ikebukuro's Shizu-chan."

"It's been three years, flea." Shizuo says softly. "Three years without you in my life." Flea rolls off his tongue surprisingly easily. Shizuo bites the inside of his cheek. He has a feeling Izaya's trying to provoke him, but the air between them feels different - still as charged as it used to be, but subtler.

"You sound almost sad," Izaya smiles. It looks wobbly, almost like water is running Izaya's features together. Shizuo shakes his head, trying to get Izaya Izaya Izaya Izaya out of his head. Maybe if he didn't look at him - like not looking at the sun -

"As if. Three years without trouble was good for me." Shizuo grabs a blanket off the couch and drapes it over Izaya's shoulders, eyes averted the whole time. "Stop shaking, flea."

"Side effect of turning into a sea creature," Izaya says, sounding far too amused. Then the flea looks down, hands gripping the tea cup. Shizuo looks at the curve of Izaya's neck, the wet black hair sticking to his neck, and sees the streets of Ikebukuro.

This is too much.

"You can take the couch," Shizuo says abruptly. "I'm going to my room."

Thankfully, Izaya says nothing. With a sharp exhale, Shizuo leaves him.

He can't handle this today - or any other day.