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Tsukumoya doesn't look right.
Izaya isn't sure how he knows this. Physically Tsukumoya doesn't change at all so being able to take a look at the way he's huddled on floor, rolled into a tight ball, and think "that isn't right" feels a bit strange. Like he knows too much about this thing that shouldn't interest him at all.
But it is strange and he can't unsee the strangeness now that he's noticed it, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he strolls up to Tsukumoya's side. Crouching next to the huddled, naked, form (and that's another part of the strangeness, usually Tsukumoya wears pants at the very least, hiding the fact that he's effectively a sexless doll) and resting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to get his attention.
Tsukumoya's synthetic skin is surprisingly warm to the touch, the sensation unusual enough that Izaya jerks his hand back. He's used to dealing with something cool and entirely unnatural, to the point where even the slightest bit of warmth is strange and mildly disturbing.
"O- Orihara?"
Tsukumoya's lips don't move. In fact, nothing moves. His entire body perfectly still, eyes glassily staring straight ahead, while his voice comes from some hidden speaker. The effect coming off as something entirely unnerving. Izaya may be well aware that Tsukumoya is an inhuman thing. He may even make a point of mocking the creature about it. But even still there is something unsettling about it being made plainly obvious in this way, perhaps because it's obvious that Tsukumoya is not doing it on purpose.
"What's wrong with you, Tsukumoya? You're acting even more unnatural than what could be considered 'normal' for you."
"I can't...." There's a faint hitch to his voice, the click of missing data in the necessary files. "Ran into t-rouble. Ba- bad code. I-i-isolated it to purge it."
"Someone managed to slip you a virus? I don't know if I should be impressed or worried about my own system."
"Th- the processor's running hot. Trying to... keep up with... min- minimal sensors and...."
"You're babbling, Tsukumoya." Like he's delirious with a fever, which, Izaya supposes, makes its own kind of sense. If the processor inside that thing is strained to the edge of burning out between keeping up basic functions and working through whatever anti-viral procedures Tsukumoya has devised it's not surprising that it would adversely affect him at his most basic level. Izaya has seen what happens to Tsukumoya when he doesn't have access to a basic minimum of processing power. Has seen him degraded into a helpless ball of barely aware digital noise....
(he won't admit it out loud, but he honestly never wants to see it again)
"You're babbling and only barely making sense. Shut down a few things before you talk if it'll help."
"No- no one slipped me anything. I knew what I was deal-ing with and made a mistake. Didn't wa-nt it spreading to- to my servers so I j- jumped in he-re and dis- dis-connected. Real nasty p- piece of work."
"Apparently," Izaya murmurs, not even thinking when he smoothes Tsukumoya's hair back from his forehead. The false skin there hot to the touch and a small hiss escapes from between Izaya's lips as he pulls his hand away. "I'm surprised you haven't caught fire."
"Funny."
Things fall silent for a moment. Izaya's fingers brushing over Tsukumoya's brow every so often, feeling the unnatural heat and he ultimately sighs.
"Just focus on taking care of the bad code, Tsukumoya. I'll keep an eye on things in here. I'll assume that's what you're most worried about, isn't it? Why you're still trying to run basic observational functions even when you're practically burning out from it."
"I- I- I'm fine. I can tak-e care o-f...."
"And stop arguing before you overheat."
Another strained silence, then a response that Izaya is positive sounds almost embarrassed somewhere behind the hitching distortion. "It's... un- unsettl-ing running with- without outside inp-ut. Li-ke I'm d- dead."
"Leave only one on then. Something simple that won't take much to monitor." His fingers curl around Tsukumoya's but he doesn't think about it, doesn't say a word about it. Positive that the monster will understand what he's aiming for here and hoping that he won't twist it around obnoxiously when all is said and done. He simply tries to make himself as comfortable as he can while sitting on a bare floor with his fingers threaded through Tsukumoya's.
There's another beat of silence. One that stretches on just a little bit too long, hanging thick in the air before Tsukumoya's stuttering voice finally breaks it. "I- I'll let you kn-ow when I'm d- done."
"Do that. It's not like this is particularly comfortable."
There's no response and Izaya doesn't bother saying anything further either. If Tsukumoya took his advice he's only dealing with one source of input at the moment and Izaya find himself running a thumb across the smooth (unusually warm) "skin" of Tsukumoya's knuckles.
This isn't precisely what he had in mind when he showed up.
He isn't exactly sure what to think of it either.