[IC by Hati3bunbun]

Your knuckles rap against the door to Shuichi's apartment, less of an ask to come in and more as an announcement of your arrival, not waiting for Shuichi to answer the door as you let yourself in.

Not that he would have anyways. As you walk through the small living space, you open the door towards the ex-detective's room, the only light source in pitch black the room being the embers flickering off the cigarette in his mouth and the glowing computer screen before him.

He doesn't even turn as you enter the impossibly messy room, stepping over aluminum cans and unkempt clothes strewn about across the floor.

An irritated frown pulls at your lips as you grumbles something about the mess. Honestly, you had hated how much of a wreck the room had become, but especially how the man before you had turned out.

You know the killing game had been weighing kn his mind since he had left. Every investigative case he'd been assigned to only grew messier and messier as he struggled ro reign in his symptoms until he was forced to take a temporary leave of absence to take care of himself.

He never returned to the agency.

No, instead he fell into a deep, long depression. You grew worried over the way he acted near-catatonic every day and decided to step in and do something.

However, when you motivated him to get a job... this was not what you had in mind. When you heard he got a job publishing for a newspaper, you were actually elated.

Shuichi child be well-apoken at times and he seemed to always have a genuine interest in literature.

It wasn't until you were roped into it that ypu realized what kind of 'articles' he eas exactly writing.

...And you could have said no. You could have told Shuichi you had no interest in digging up both your past friends' current lives and scandals.

And you had told yourself so many excuses... that you thought he'd grow out of it or that you were afraid he'd write a column on you if you pulled out, but the trith of the matter is that you're just as complicit as he is.

Every week you'd come back with new information, you'd tell him how immoral this is... he'd shrug you off, turn to you and tell you he's the onlying person he can trust anymore... maybe flirt with the idea of being romantically involved with you... only to pull away and tell you you did good and he'll wait for you next week.

You were addicted to his attention just as he was addicted to the misery.

He doesn't acknowledge your presence as you approach, tiread, dead eyes trained on the digital screen before him, white shirt half unbuttoned as he snuffs out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray. The tray that's already racking up a number of crinkled cigarettes in it.

*Hand me another one, will you? On the desk." He says bluntly despite the box of cigarettes being easily within his grasp.

You sigh, handing one of the sticks to him as he quickly lights it, lighter illuminating the matured yet exhausted and run-down features of his face. He takes a drag before coughing into the crook of his arm, a deep hacking that travels down to his lungs.

He turns in his chair, hazy golden eyes meeting your own. "What do you got for me?" He asks, voice coarse compared to his highschool days.