So I did this based on a small comic I drew here: http: / silentscribearchives . deviantart . com / gallery / ?catpath= / # / d4xwt16

Just take out the spaces where you see em.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of my breath. And his.

I don't like it. It's driving me crazy. I want to leave, to go out and get back onto the streets of my beloved city, with its strange inhabitants and its idiots who don't know when to pay back their debts on time.

Ha.

But no. I'm bound to this room. Of my own free will, in fact. And it's pissing me off, because as wrong as this feels, I'm stuck here, looking at his sleeping face because I want to.

I just don't get it though.

He's always been a pain. A thorn in my side. The bane of my existence. It sucks, having to see his face, really. He's a bastard. A flea.

Izaya Orihara.

He never knew when to quit. Always getting my way, ruining whatever chance I have at being minimally happy for one day, one hour, one fucking minute! Words cannot even begin to express how much I hated—

…Hate him.

Yeah, hate him. Not hated. I still do. Yeah. I hate seeing his smug face in Ikebukuro. I hate that he always taunts me, jabs me, screws with my head to the extent that I see the color red and chase after him. I hate violence, and I hate him, because he brings out my violence when I really don't want it to be seen.

Which is why I revel in causing him pain. Hurting him feels so fucking good. Natural, even. And the best part is, he deserves it! Yeah, I love hurting him, and he sure loves hurting me right back, the damn louse.

And we hate each other. Yeah.

So…why?

I stare at his lifeless form now, lying still and pale on Shinra's spare bed.

I took it too far this time. He really didn't get up after that last blow. I chuckle a bit, dragging a hand through my blond locks. All those times he got hit with what I threw at him and still stood, yet it took one simple punch to the face to take him down. Why didn't I do that before? Then again, I never got close enough for proper hand-to-hand combat. And he never stood still enough for it.

…He looks so frail.

They took the tubes and wires out of him two days ago. He's been asleep for a week.

Damn it.

My smile fades and the original question circles my head. Why?

Why do I want him to wake up so badly right now?

I glance about the room, even though I know I'm alone. Celty's out on a job, and Shinra left after he made sure the flea was squared away for the day as usual. I guess he took one look at my face when I showed up this morning and figured I wouldn't try to kill the bastard even if we were alone. Risky move. But he was right.

So I lean forward a bit in the chair and hesitantly murmur, "Oi."

He doesn't stir.

I turn my eyes heavenwards and silently curse whatever deity is watching over this dark city. Why me?

The, haltingly, my face inches closer until my lips brush the outer shell of his ear. "Flea."

By this point, I should be wondering what's possessing me to do this. But I'm not. My heartbeat is steady and calm. Surprise, surprise.

I grit my teeth. "Quit it."

Is that command directed towards the louse? Or myself?

My sigh ruffles his hair, and I move to hover over his face. "Just wake up already." I pause and consider my words for a minute, then tack on, "Now." Because I really don't want to be here, feeling strange and stupid.

And then my mouth moves on its own accord. "…Please?"

Another moment of consideration.

"…Izaya?"

I flinch at the broken tone I've accumulated. Rage builds. Where the hell is this shit coming from? Then the rage is gone in a flash. Screw it. It's only for the moment.

So I press my lips to his, which are still warm despite how cold he looks. And suddenly I don't want to stop, even though he's unresponsive, so my hand comes up to cup the curve of his jaw, and I press against his mouth harder, moving my lips, trying to convey my desperate thoughts to him through these two points of contact.

My thumb brushes the bandage on his cheek where I hit him.

And he flinches.

I should rip away from him now, fall back, retreat, go outside, have a smoke, and forget this entire thing.

But no. I just pause and pull back minimally, my lips hovering over his as I stare intensely at his face, hope blooming like a fucking flower in my chest. See how he brings out the worst in me? This girly shit is ridiculous.

His eyelids twitch once. Twice. Then they flutter and open just a bit. I can see red just barely peaking out at me, and his lips move. I can feel a slight puff of air as he weakly speaks.

"…Shizu?"

I'm too thrilled to care about the nickname, because he doesn't even stammer or stutter when he says it. That's good. He'll recover quickly.

And I'm kissing him again; this needs to stop, dammit, but I don't feel him pushing me away – but maybe that's just because he's too tired to move. Either way, I don't care. All those times he's taken advantage of me are coming back to bite him in the ass. Or on the lip. Huh. Doesn't quite seem like a fair trade.

I don't care though. I'll get back to hating him later.

But right now? I just want to love him.

Just for now.