Polaroids and Peonies; 🫀

Detective [Y/n] [L/n]

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It wasn't anything special to be honest. Sat in his grey little office, [Y/n] pulled the petals off the tragic looking bouquet that sat on his desk.
Every first day of the month, a stupid arrangement of hydrangeas blessed the exhausted detective's eyes. Displeased each month, the guy would've much preferred it if the gift-giver could at least send some flowers he actually liked.

It was enough already, the cases and the social responsibility it brought, but for months on end this secret admirer wouldn't give in.
[Y/n]'s eyebrow furrowed. He twirled the pretty little petal between his index finger and thumb, exhaling sharply.

He chucked the bouquet into the mesh bin by his feet. [Y/n] rubbed his temples, gazing down at the case files bellow him. Three new murders in the city centre just over the course of the past two nights.

God it was getting unbearable.

Each morning, having to arrive at each crime scene, you'd think you'd get use to the mangled bodies and lifeless eyes; and maybe just a little he accepted the sight but the smell-

The smell;

Why oh why had the bodies been decaying already?? The culprit killed the victims much earlier and then... dumped the bodies in the centre of town?? Sick. That's what it was. 

Totally revolting. What kinda sadistic bastard would...

"Do such a thing"

[Y/n] rolled his eyes at the cliche thought. His body felt filthy. He had to dig through each corpse in order to find some sort of identity. Find each bruise and twisted piece of cartilage, each shredded patch of flesh and each bulging, swollen mess of a face. To be frank, the man hadn't slept in days.

This overwhelming sense of dread seemed to never wane. And it got right under [Y/n]'s skin.

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The man had spent the previous night wiping blood off his face and sulking about his promised bruises. The delegation to treat all witnesses with kindness ended up falling out the window and moving to Alaska as [Y/n] had never wanted to dropkick somebody more in his life.

The guy was skittish and obviously shaken. He didn't want to talk and [Y/n] supposed he probably shouldn't of pressed him but why the fuck did that man swing so hard?!

The trash can in his apartment overflowed and spilled out it's insides on the floor. The dishes were never clean and the bed was just a mattress on the floor. So despite the professional appearance, on the inside [Y/n] was quite a slob.

This meant searching for something like an ice pack took round an hour. His face persisting in its aching the entire time. Honestly [Y/n] couldn't quite place it, but more and more things seemed to go lost in his apartment. Unnoticeable things sure, but he was built to notice and so he did.

So far he was sure someone kept nicking his cutlery. Not the "clean" stuff, the ones he used each night and then was too lazy to put away.
Supposed the high salt contents of a pot noodle could've dissolved them, promising not to leave his fork in the pot - not that he ever kept that promise.

There was a variety of odd little mishaps and missing objects but the eye bags underneath [Y/n]'s eyes was a telltale sign...

He did not care.

There were many more pressing matter on hand at the moment.
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Every square in of the city centre was crammed with police. They were assigned the simple job of deterring the killer from dumping the corpses in public facilities - restrooms, alleyways, dodgy looking corners;

The risk off disease was high in this area, even without the building amount of decay. It was a trash filled and junky place, no funding for cleaning or repairs.

Huge shiny sky scrapers with glass bridges all between and dazzlingly clean architecture and yet the lower levels were filthy. Graffiti, litter,jumbled mess of posters no one pays attention to everywhere.

What's known by [Y/n] as the upper level, it's for the smartest group. You know, the people who were in top set in maths or never failed an english assignment. Science and questioning, above all else.

The only reason police were involved to begin with was because it was upper level people going missing; the geniuses in need.

That's what was so strange about [Y/n]. He dwelled on the lower level, quite happily so, but was somehow contacted to be an additional investigator.

Besides the "on watch" police, no sophisticated higher level investigation was occurring from what he could tell. As a result a huge weight eagerly attached itself to him, eyes constantly on him, relying on him.

[Y/n] wasn't sure if he'd even gotten a single step closer these past weeks.

But that sinking feeling in his gut definitely got a whole lot worse.

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I wrote this in the dark and it's unedited, apologies for any mistakes;