DNF/Karlnap oneshots

Blue -DNF

TW/CW knives, blood, death (tell me if I missed any)

-------3 person P.O.V.-------

In the early morning, the nightclub was no longer beautiful. Clay was sitting on a stool by himself, a small glass of vodka in his hand. He knew nothing good would come from that glass of vodka, but whatever. Three hours ago he had to tell a mother that her only daughter was dead. He put the glass down and ran his hand through his blond hair, ruffling it a bit.

“Clay! What are you doing here?!” his best friend walked into the bar, his brown eyes burning with anger. The blond said nothing, he quickly drank the glass of vodka, feeling the liquid burning his throat. It did nothing to ease the pain.

“My god Clay! We already talked about this!” the dark-haired young man said to him, anger shining in his voice.

"I know I know. I'm sorry, George. But to be fair, I did try to call you,” Clay said, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry, did you check your phone?" George asked, changing the subject of the conversation with ease.

"No, why? Quackity found someone, for once?” Clay asked indifferently.

"Ugh, so you didn’t hear? The tenth person was killed and they want you. Apparently by Blue the killer,” George explained, annoyed at his best friend.

"Ok, let’s go, look I can even walk in a straight line," he said, and to prove it he got up and walked with a steady step, as he stood up the young man looked like a tree and his hair was falling over his eyes . The confident steps were surprising, considering he had just downed a whole glass of vodka. George raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced.

“No way that you work like that! I'll take you to your apartment,” George said, grabbing Clay's hand, pulling him along with no worries. To George's surprise, the young man did not object, but followed his best friend.

"George, I'm not drunk," the young detective said and George replied with a wary look.

After a half-hour walk, the two detectives found themselves in front of a corpse. She had simple clothes, a large bloodstain on her chest. The hole in her hoodie indicated a stab wound. The body was lying between two buildings, a garbage bag in hand. On the opposite wall there was graffiti depicting blue glasses.

“Oneiro, you came,” George and Clay's boss Mark Smith said, a bit surprised.

"Of course, Smith," Clay said, in a calm and composed voice. He put on plastic gloves and crouched down in front of the corpse, studying the stab wound.

"Davidson, will you stop fidgeting?" Clay asked, without turning to George, who at the words stopped moving his foot.

"Are you finding anything?" Smith asked, leaning towards Clay.

“Almost...I think I recognize the style of the knife, but I'm not sure...” Clay said, biting his lip unsure of himself, “I can tell you it's done by a throwing knife, we can see the trace from where he had to remove the knife.”

“I see why they call you the best, Oneiro,” said a policeman, who had stood next to Smith.

"Mmm, he must be very good if he managed to kill someone with a knife," Clay muttered, deep in thought.

The detective got up and walked around the crime scene, trying to find clues. But nothing, absolutely no clues, as if nothing had happened.

"Why are you here, Davidson?" Smith asked, turning to George. When their attention wasn't on Clay, he slipped something into his pocket.