Polaroids and Peonies; 🫀

Prologue; 🫀

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i-i cannot...

i cannot allow...

i don't want you to finish playing my game.
i spent all this time creating our perfect little world.

in fact;

i'm starting to wonder if you lied to me. i made perfect, but perhaps when you cried and complained and you wished for their downfall it was simply all an act?

or perhaps that shocked expression is truly your best dramatical masterpiece.

either way i-

i-i cannot let you.

i cannot let you go.

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The bitter taste of liquid red grazed [Y/n]'s taste buds. The pretty substance continued to gush right out of his nose and spilled all over his face. A fistful of hair being torn out his scalp, he bit down hard on the fingers that tried to pry their way into his bloodied flesh.

A crunch sooner satisfied him and he reached a hand up, tearing at the wrist of his attacker.
[Y/n] had simply just been attempting to talk to a witness and things went haywire, as they always do. He spat viciously at the ground, trying to rid his mouth of his and this other mans blood.

He regained his composure, standing as tall as he could with clenched fists. Reeling an arm back, [Y/n] forced as much power as he could into his swing.

He hit hard for sure, it's just that he ended up hitting the alleyway wall, consequently shattering his hand. And 1,2,3 seconds later he got socked his the face and ended up on the ground with a black eye forming.

The witness leaving without a word.

Ah the wonderful life of detective [Y/n]!

Ice pack glued to his face and cooped up in his tiny apartment;

not to mention the local 9 to 9 had run out of pot noodles...