The thick manila folder that was suddenly and quite loudly dropped onto the impeccably clean and organized surface of the metallic desk caused its respective worker to look up from the scribblings on an otherwise neat sheet of paper with a frown ultimately claiming the shaped lips of the man and twisting the corners downward.
"Detective Shiroyama," the formal introductions and greetings began, much to Yuu's visible and fairly obvious dismay. "This is all that we have on the Takashima Kouyou case. The higher ups want me to let you know that the parents are still mildly hopeful."
Yuu leaned forward in his seat and placed a hand along the more than broken spine of the rather dismal folder that had been selected to store anything related to the yet unfound Kouyou; in fact, standard print bold letters stating the subject of topic and concern that were surely perfect length from one another stared up at Yuu as his eyes grazed over the slightly inclined object with great interest.
Yuu lifted his chin slightly, dark strands of silky hair framing his face perfectly for the briefest of fleeting moments before he cocked and once again shifted the angle of his head and allowed his averted gaze to now settle upon the shorter male that had, without Yuu's knowledge, picked up the pen that Yuu had intended to use and idly entertained himself. "Takanori, will you do me a favor?"
At this, the man known only to his colleagues as Matsumoto Takanori, the most trusted underling of the head detective, emitted a soft hum of consideration and pressed the pen in his grasp to the desktop. He released it after a moment of silence and nodded. "Alright. What is it?"
"Could you bring me a mocha? I'm dying of dehydration." Yuu snorted quietly to himself at the erratic display of Takanori's displeasure- which consisted of the slightly younger man indignantly stomping his shoe against the recently waxed tile floor and closing his eyes to a point where it seemed as if he hadn't any from which to see.
"I thought this would be serious!" Takanori lifted a hand and waved it to signify his annoyed dismissal of Yuu's accused lack of seriousness and determination to finally solve this gruesome and unsettling crime.
Yuu raised a perfectly plucked brow to show that he was about to retort with a most highly likely audacious question of his own. "My dehydration isn't serious?"
As soon as the words left the lips of the detective, his collective thought process grudgingly moved from the minor dryness of his tongue and throat to the situation that Kouyou must have been experiencing at the very moment that Yuu had so carelessly declared his time of death from no liquid intake. Yuu fell speechless, his lips parted in protest to the self hate that had gathered and accumulated and welled at the deepest part of his heart and forced its despicable way up toward his throat.
"Yuu? Hey, it's fine, I'll go get your mocha. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were that thirsty."
Yuu shook his head, the sorrow that he felt rise up within him more than suffocating. "No, just forget it. What I really need is my line open for potential leads as to where Takashima Kouyou might be."
"Sure, I'll go talk to Yutaka and clear it up with him. It shouldn't take more than five minutes. Try not to give yourself an anxiety attack while I'm gone. Bye, Yuu." Takanori once again lifted a hand, but this time, he waved in an informal manner, his recently manicured and painted nails practically capturing the undivided and scattered attention of all the other people in the building that were so unfairly worried and plagued by such rudimentary things as promotions or possible leads or large stacks and mounds of papers and folders.
Yuu sucked in a light breath of air through puckered lips and gritted teeth as if one single movement in the wrong direction of angle at the incorrect time would mean a certain scenario of irreversible life and death. Slender fingers hesitantly slipped under the folder, dragging it closer and opening it within seconds of having brought the pale object to directly under Yuu's fearful line of vision.
"Oh, fuck."
A stale air of deep hostility had automatically been formed between Kouyou's handsome captor and Yuu. The detective was more than certain that he, despite the wise and aged words of Yutaka, would surely beat the man that had taken Kouyou prisoner so violently that some unfortunate reporter or colleague would have to pry and peel him away from the man's overly bloodied and broken and limp body. Yuu simply couldn't come to even consider or understand why someone would want to hurt anyone as beautiful and innocent as Kouyou seemed to be in the lone photograph atop the pile of papers for Yuu's awaiting inspection that showed the captive smiling happily while enjoying the warm, long rays and vibrant colors of the setting sun. From that mere image, Yuu made a vow to himself and Kouyou that the detective would put all of his effort and will into searching for and finding Kouyou, and thus rescuing him from the awful unpleasantness of his nightmare.
