Various One Shots

Professor Layton x Depressed! Reader

Video: Cover of La Vie En Rose by Daniela Andrade. Her voice is super soft and calming. My idea of 'calming music.' Tell me what your's is. 

I got another request! Woo! I think it was meant to say Layton. So, this is the story I'm going with. I don't have much of a background on this one besides that you're Layton's friend. Yes, look at me, the most creative. (Joking, of course.) Furthermore, this is vent-y and the mini-mental breakdown is similar to one that I had yesterday, except for, you know, reader-chan does the more responsible thing. 

"I... I dunno. It's not very... interesting, in my opinion." You try to deflect his question.

"Well, I'm interested. A gentleman always listens to a Lady's troubles." Layton insists.

You rub at your wrists and crack your knuckles unconsciously. You think about it a bit before you give in, "It-It's not really a... it's like being sad so often that you just... sort of, get used to it? I-I'm not sure how to describe it." You stammer as you search for the right words, "Like, er, you either feel completely empty or so full of negative emotion that you feel as if you're about to burst." That wasn't quite it, "B-But somehow it's both more and less than that. You know, in that it's less of a feeling and more of a mindset. L-Like..." You're about to give an example when you begin to feel self conscious. This wasn't really something you opened up about. You open your mouth again, "Nevermind." 

Although he was concerned, he couldn't really find in himself to pry. It felt rude, but he still gave you a little push, "Are you sure?"

Your thoughts contradict your words, "Yeah, I'm sure. It's getting late, anyway." You glance out the window, looking at the peach-tinted clouds against the darkening sky, "I should get home." You look around the messy study, searching for your coat. "God bless Rosa." You commend the cleaning lady with a murmur. As you pick up your discarded coat and your messenger bag, you turn to the oddly alert Professor, "Are you going home tonight?" He usually sleeps here instead of his flat. It makes me wonder why he ever even pays for the place.

Without hesitation he says, "No. Probably not."

"You should stop paying rent."

He smiles, "Maybe."

You step out and walk home. There's a gentle breeze that pushes your hair back as you take brisk steps towards your flat. 

In a way, you were kind of proud of yourself. You had been doing well, keeping it together mentally all week. Showering every day, hell, even finding the will to get out of bed was a win. You felt as if you were finally pulling together and just beginning to get better, taking hold of this thing in your brain. 

However.

At the same time, it felt as if things were going too well. Like things were bound to go down, down, down. You open the door to see your cozy apartment. A stove-top oven in one corner, next to that a fridge. In the opposite corner sits your bed, at the very end of that, a desk where you do all of your work and eat. A door to the left holds your bathroom. And... that's it. Like I said. Cozy.

You don't have a TV. But you do have Netflix. And YouTube. You decide to listen to music on your bed and turn in early. 

As you lay down and play some calming music, you close your eyes. Then you shift in your bed ever so slightly, causing your year-old earbuds to glitch out and bring your music to a halt, into a completely different app. The sudden stop in music yanks you out of your half-dreaming state and back into irritating reality. You roll your eyes at your phone, then go back to your music.

The same thing happens about two songs later.

Then one song after that. 

Then again two seconds after that.