Philophobia 2 (Yandere! Sugawara X FemReader!)

| Part XXX: The Past Never Dies |

A couple years ago, I resigned from the Ninohe Police Department.

I felt like my words, actions and beliefs carried no real value. My peers constantly mocked me, my pay was subpar, but the amount of  mental distress it caused me was the worst.

"Your health comes first. If you are sick and miserable, then how can you continue to work hard?"

That's what my mother always told me. At least something stuck. ...forty-seven years later, anyway.

I pick at the lint clinging to my charcoal-colored, polyester coat. I could never afford anything nice, even when I had a decent job.

"Hey, shit-head; I'm home!" I shout. My voice reverberates through the gloomy halls, forcing me to turn on a couple lights to further this illusion of a happy family.

"Did you throw in the aluminum foil like I told you to? I know It sounds like bullshit, but it gets off all the lint!"

I continue talking to the void upstairs, hoping a voice would call back.

"Huh. He's usually home around now." I scoff, cracking my stiff neck. One of these days, I'm going to need a neck brace. I then turn towards the annex; knees buckling before I could even make it to the couch.

I'm a little too excited for a man who sits on his ass all day. Working in sales is taxing, but it's  a good thing I have this bottle to clutch.

My tumbler clinks against the whiskey glass. No ice. No refrigeration. Just the warm, hard stuff. Just how I like it. I then reach for my lighter, flicking it several times.

With a thin, pre-rolled bundle of ecstasy ignited, I carry my glass in the same hand. I toss my head back with a gulp, idling there. Theres nothing else for me to do besides stare at the dusted ceiling... and reflect on my day.

I click my teeth.

Could it be a coincidence?

A washed-up detective, running into the star of his last case?
The last I've heard of him, he was no longer with us.

I mean, it certainly seemed like him. Just with a different hairstyle and personality. A doughnut shaped puff of smoke pushes past my lips. I've always enjoyed the aesthetics of smoking.

Anyway, I was on my way to meet up with a colleague. As much as it surprises me that some people still invest time into me, I was there. He wanted some tips on a case and invited me for lunch. How else will he get that promotion?

It was the most peculiar thing, really.

I've never been the spiritual type, but for certain people there is always something behind them. For the good people, there are petals of vitality and harmony flattering the path paved.

But for the opposite, which is not many; lies something entirely different. Words isn't enough to describe this amalgamation. Something like... strings of carcasses.