Sleep

My Love Has Gone Away, It's Okay, I Know Someday I'm Gonna Be With You

Bungou Stray Dogs - Oguri Mushitarou & Ranpo Edogawa

Ice Age = The solution to all life's problems

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Oguri was cold.

It was of his own doing though, so Oguri couldn't complain. Nor could he fix the problem if he valued his sanity.

The problem that was Oguri himself.

Oguri was on his living room floor, constantly changing from a fetal position to staring at the ceiling and back again every few minutes. Currently, he was lying down on his back, silent tears falling down his face and into his earlobes.

It had been a rough few weeks, and instead of reaching out to someone for help like a sensible person, Oguri chose to stay at home and try and solve his problems on his own. Obviously, it hadn't worked.

Oguri had skipped work most days, and didn't bother cooking himself anything but microwavable ramen when he got hungry (which wasn't often). He tried but failed to sleep at acceptable times in the night, leading to the eye bags that were prominent as ever on his face.

Oguri couldn't remember the last time the windows of his house were closed, as he left them open and brought in harsh mid-March wind. Oguri had often sat on the window ledges the nights he couldn't sleep, and was honestly surprised he hadn't caught hypothermia yet.

Oguri knew what all those together would look like to anyone else: he wasn't taking care of himself.

Oguri knew he was practically starving himself, and depriving himself of sleep even though he desperately needed it. Skipping breakfast and lunch, and only eating a weak dinner once every few days couldn't be good for him. He also doubted lying on the floor in a fetal position, sobbing his heart out, was a healthy substitute to sleep.

Oguri's dress shirt hung looser on his frame than usual, and he'd already accepted that his jacket would forever be wrinkled and his hair disheveled from lying on the floor. None of that was growth though, just not bothering to do anything about them.

Apathy, Oguri thought it was called. A loss of motivation for the mundane, ritual, things in life. He didn't think he could muster up enough energy to pick up a pen and write, or even to read a book. So, he spent his time on his hardwood floor, alone with his memories.

Oguri's memories weren't good ones, riddled with all his mistakes. The memories constantly replayed in his head, leaving him to think of everything he could've done differently. Everything that could have had a different outcome.

Everything being Yokomizo's death.

It was selfish: Oguri wanting Yokomizo to still be with him, if only for a little while longer. It was cruel how doctors could strip the life away from a person, estimating how much time they had left and leaving them with that knowledge but no condolences.

Death made people do irrational things, Yokomizo spending all of his remaining life writing his best mystery novel. Oguri was roped into it, the looming thought of Yokomizo's inevitable death keeping him by his side whenever possible. Nowadays, Oguri rarely left his house to see anyone.

If Oguri had just refused Yokomizo's request, or been smart enough to share a better ending, then maybe Yokomizo would still be with him. Maybe he'd still be the one cooking them breakfast since Oguri was a terrible chef, the one who always read mystery novels despite Oguri dislike of them, the one Oguri trusted more than anyone in his life.

But Yokomizo was gone, and there wasn't anything Oguri could do about it. He wouldn't ever get to hear his voice again, see the way his eyes kissed in the corners when he laughed, or write another novel with him.