Words: 268 words
Prompt: asthmatic!Izaya, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation
Disclaimer: It's not mine. It all belongs to others who I am in no way associated with and I make nothing from writing this, got it?
He isn't breathing. But he can feel a pulse. It's weak but it's there.
There's something frantic in the way he pressed down on his chest, trying to keep the rhythm right, trying to keep him from breaking his ribs. He hadn't really thought about just how fragile Izaya is until this moment. Well, he'd thought about it before, but it had never really sunk in until now.
His eyes are blurring and burning with tears and he's shouting obscenities because this just can't be happening; it just shouldn't.
This is his fault, he tells himself even as he works, trying to remember what he'd learned all those years ago.
Compress the chest. Plug the nose and breathe. Repeat.
His breathing is coming in shallow. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears. But none of it matters. He takes a deep breath, squeezes Izaya's nostrils and presses their mouths together in a facsimile of a kiss, forces the breath into him. He absently watched as his chest rose.
He's just waiting for the crunch, the cracking noise, of ribs. But maybe he wouldn't hear that. If he crushes them, then he'd be crushing them inwards, puncturing his lungs and making him drown.
Shizuo is probably only making all of this worse, but there's nothing else he can do.
He can only pray and hope and just beg whatever being is out there that Izaya pulls through this. That help will arrive soon – he called, he called and he's trying, trying so hard. He just can't live with the blood on his hands.
He can't live knowing that this is all his fault.
He keeps going.
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