April 28th 2020 / Requested by HideIsJustAlseep / 600 Words
✧ ｡ﾟ✐.*ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* ✎｡:*ﾟ
The office was a mess.
Piles of paper and notes, files, photographs all littered the desk. The filing cabinets were almost all open, their contents stroud around the room. But the mess of the office was nowhere near to the mess of the owner, who had passed out on the desk.
Ayatsuji Yukito, the detective known for his near demonic ability and calm composure was a mess. There were bags under his eyes, his clothes were that of Monday's (it was Thursday) and his mind felt as though it was in tatters. Like someone had reached into his brain and cut out all the parts that knew happiness, wrapping memories of warmth and euphoria into nightmares, taunting him of his greatest failure.
Because he had failed you.
You who were now dead, the killer yet to be caught and he was nowhere close to finding them. And the worst part was that it was far from a murder in cold blood, the crime scene was enough to prove that. The obvious message for the detective, the sheer brutality of the murder - the funeral had to be a closed casket as there was so little left of you.
It made him sick.
That he felt bile rise up in his throat, threatening to spill out as his tears joined what little food he managed to eat for he had yet to cry. No, he had not cried once since this ordeal happened, so hell-bent on finding the perpetrator to say he was neglecting his very being would be an understatement. But he knew he need not wish for revenge as once he found the criminal he would die, accidental death from his hand.
But that wouldn't be enough, because death was too sweet of a release for the monster who stole away his beloved.
His beloved... that person who made him feel elated and joyful, who brought smiles and warmth into his life despite all he was. Despite his work, his gift, his personality, someone who brought out the best in him, dragging away his mask and persona as you did so your own. Someone who he could confide in and who could confide in him, the only person who truly knew him and who he truly knew just for who they are.
And some wretched soul thought it wise to put them beyond his reach. In a place where he could not go less, he wished to embrace the sweet release of death. And for that, he did not wish. Not yet, because in truth? He was scared. Scared to atone for the sins he had caused on the criminals, that deep-seated fear lodged in the back of his brain that he shoved away time and time again.
And still, he did not cry.
For when morning light shone through the window and he would arise from his slumber, he would simply awake only to continue his work, not batting an eye at the mess of both himself and his office.
Although, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how skilled he was, no matter how many more crimes he solved, it never drove the sickness that had seemingly lodged itself in his stomach. That horrible feeling, that would never leave him, not once, since your departure.