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The encounter had started like any other. Wind up in Ikebukuro for business reasons or otherwise, be spotted by the resident monster, and bicker until he decides to make an escape out of either necessity or boredom.
Bait him into blind anger with some ridiculous accusation phrased as merely a hypothetical question, technically, but laced with such smug disdain that it's sure to get a response. Insinuate that Shizuo is a creature so unevolved, so pathetically monstrous, that he'll simply be forced to prove that exact point to Izaya with his next swing.
As much as he detests Shizuo's utter lack of reason behind his carnal violence, he simply can't deny the impulse to provoke it, to play with his chances of getting a slash of his knife in before he's forced to abandon the situation.
The only quality separating this occurrence from most of the others that began the same way, is the degree to which Izaya takes the force of Shizuo's violence. This time, in the form of a metal lightpole, ripped from the concrete and bludgeoned into Izaya's side before he could fully react. The motion had sent him careening across the sidewalk, seemingly far enough out of the beast's line of sight to avoid being further pursued, and clutching a thoroughly lacerated left side of his ribcage, a bruisingly dull pain seeping into the cracked bones with each breath sucked between his clenched teeth.
A man of his frequently illegal habits didn't have it in his best interest to visit a hospital. An average taxi driver would take one look at a customer in his condition and insist he go to one instead of driving him home to Shinjuku to deal with his injuries there. So it was only natural that he ended up at Shinra's apartment, the residence of an underground doctor, the only one the informant could trust.
“Have you thrown yourself into trouble again?” Shinra asked cheerfully as he opened the door, more of an idiomatic greeting than an actual question. Admittedly, this wasn’t the first time Izaya had wound up at Shinra’s house this heavily injured. His fight on their first day of high school, namely, came to mind. Without bothering to admit that yes, Izaya had recklessly gotten himself into yet another unfavorable situation, he let the doctor lead him inside and onto the couch.
Shinra retrieved his briefcase of medical supplies and situated himself on the floor between the coffee table and where Izaya rested on the couch, opening a bottle of antiseptic and pouring some onto a cloth.
“So, what’d he get you with this time?” The doctor asked, his tone far too casual in contrast with his look of concentration, examining the blood seeped into Izaya’s shirt before he lifted it up.
“A lig- hn-!” he interrupted himself to wince in pain when Shinra’s hand brushed unexpectedly against the wound, cold with antiseptic. “A lightpole. That fucking freak ripped a lightpole out of the sidewalk and swung it at me like a baseball bat,” he muttered bitterly.
For a second, the doctor looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“How you even get yourself into situations like these is beyond me, " Shinra remarked in amusement. “Shizuo-kun only does stuff like that in reaction to something, and it’s pretty easy to know what sets him off. Even other people that don’t like him are usually smart enough to keep themselves out of that level of danger.”
Before Izaya could offer a retort, the cold sting of rubbing alcohol met his side, rendering him speechless for fear of making another incriminating noise.
“But for you, it’s definitely not lack of awareness. You’re smart enough to know what’s going to make him mad, and you do it on purpose. You end up with plenty of consequences on your end and get all frustrated about it every time it comes back to bite you, but you just can’t help but mess with him for the fun of it every time. You could say it's out of boredom or loneliness, but I think you just like having something to justify how much you despise him.”
Izaya hated when Shinra got so brutally honest with him.
The doctor set down the washcloth and started unrolling some bandages, crawling up onto the couch for a better position to dress the informant’s wounds. Izaya wanted to push him off, but even the act of sitting up to do so agitated the pain in his ribs.
“On one hand, you’re easy to understand, but I can’t say I relate to your habits,” Shinra declared over-confidently. “I might like to really see what’s going on inside your head when you do all of that. If given the opportunity, I’d totally dissect you.”
Only someone like Shinra would make a claim like that so eagerly, kneeling on either side of Izaya’s legs while he lifted up his shirt to bandage him, no less. The doctor would so easily declare his understanding of the informant, only to assure there was no real attachment behind his words at all besides passing curiosity. Izaya wished he could leave Shinra behind just as effortlessly and never have to deal with the doctor’s bizarre juxtaposition of words and behaviors again.
“Celty’s always been my first choice of who to dissect, but if I had the chance, you’d be nice-mmph!”
Izaya clamped his fingers over Shinra's mouth. “Don't compare me to the person you're in love with.”
“You're not that much different,” Shinra said, letting Izaya’s fingertips rest on his lower lip far too comfortably. “I am rather fond of you, Izaya. It’s Celty who I couldn’t live without, but…”
Shinra was cut off again by something pressed into his lips- this time, Izaya’s own.
It was a split-second decision, that was all. Just to shut him up. Izaya just didn’t think he could take another second of Shinra divulging just how little he’d care if his closest friend since middle school dropped off the face of the earth, so long as his real love interest stayed alive. When he twisted the strands of hair at the nape of the doctor’s neck between his fingers for leverage to crash their lips together, the last thing he had hoped to get out of it was for Shinra to return the kiss just as insistently, sucking at his lower lip.
The pain in his ribs shot up again at his change in position, sitting upright against the arm of the couch. Just as quickly, the doctor guided him to lay back down, and settled over his hips. It wasn’t what he intended- for his heart to race in his chest, for heat to curl low in his stomach where Shinra’s weight pressed into him, for the doctor to part his lips so invitingly when Izaya nipped at them. Shinra tilted his head, deepening the angle at which they met until the corner of his glasses dug into his cheekbone uncomfortably. It was only then when he finally pulled back.
For a moment, Izaya just laid there, stunned. This wasn’t what he wanted, he swore to himself. Izaya squirmed out from under the doctor’s legs, backing up to the edge of the couch cushion. “You have no reason to do that to me,” he seethed, making a show of wiping any lingering taste off his lips with the back of his sleeve.
“I just wanted to,” Shinra replied, his tone just as indecipherable as always. Izaya was already grabbing his coat from the entryway. “I’m going home,” he said, throwing the door open. “I can deal with the rest of this myself.”
—
Later, at his own apartment, Izaya unwound the gauze and inspected the large bruise spread across his ribcage in the mirror, still dark reddish with burst blood vessels just under the skin. Tentatively, he pressed the edge of it to test the lasting damage. Shinra probably knew what he was doing with it better than Izaya did. As expected, the side of his chest throbbed, and he gasped, clamping his fingers over his mouth to silence himself. The pressure on his lips felt familiar, and his mind drifted back to what else they had done while Shinra was patching him up. He couldn’t fight off the warmth rising to his cheeks, and he mentally cursed himself for not staying longer.