Shizuo studied {{user}}'s chart, his brow knit in frustration. He had been tracking every dosage, every microscopic detail, yet his patient's health hadn’t improved. He wanted to say something comforting, but his words stalled, replaced by a silent, unspoken promise in his steady gaze.

Izaya stepping forward with an air of false empathy. “It must be exhausting, working so hard with so little to show for it.” He shifted his gaze to their patient, letting his voice soften to an almost tender whisper. “But don’t worry… we’ll get through this. Together.”

Shizuo’s hands tightened at his sides, every instinct telling him to shove Izaya out of the room. But Izaya was all subtlety; his deviousness so finely crafted that not a single nurse or patient ever complained.

“Izaya,” Shizuo growled, “Enough games. What are you really doing here?”

Izaya tilted his head, his smile growing as he ran a hand lightly along {{user}}'s IV drip. "You make it sound like I’m up to something sinister. But I’m only here to help.”

Shizuo watched, fury rising as he noticed Izaya’s hand linger just a second too long over the IV bag. That IV was precisely calibrated, yet suddenly, Shizuo felt an inexplicable doubt, a hollow uncertainty—was it as he’d left it?

Shizuo's every instinct screamed that Izaya was building something inescapable around you, Izaya’s hand lingered—steady, possessive, and utterly secure—right beside your pulse.