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9 - Piqued Curiosity

A/N
I'm not sure if the pacing of this story is slow or fast. So, I'm gonna need honest feedbacks 🤗

Like constructive criticisms. Seriously. I may have written a lot of books, but that doesn't mean I'm a great author. I'm still learning :')

So yeah. Vote and comment!

KEITH

Weekends were supposed to be a day-off from all of the stress that the other days harboured, yet the mornings were basically a curfew for alcohol-induced adolescents, having spent the wee hours fueling themselves and possibly getting laid. Some bars were also still occupied with plastered individuals, each carrying a heart-rending story of their own that they'd washed off with an unsettling volume of tipple.

Keith had grown accustomed to this. The quite hours of dawn provided him with a full evocation of what the town's night owls were usually up to before passing out. He'd practically been mapping these habits as he jogged around the town every morning since the day he returned, noting who'd had a lucky night and who hadn't. He wouldn't be able to do it otherwise – the peace and quiet that ironically ensued from the obstreperous minglers were something that he would bask in.

He let his legs slow down to a walk as he neared a park, the pounding of his heart growing louder and drowning out the music that was currently plugged in his ears. He maintained his speed before a stitch could form on his side, circling water fountain before eventually slowing to a stop so he could take a swig of water.

Inhale ... exhale ... inhale ... exhale ...

He unplugged one of the earbuds and let it hang below his jaw as he continued to walk, trying to get some air into his tank top. His calves were already beginning to ache.

"Hello there, hot stuff!" someone wolf-whistled.

Keith glanced over his shoulder at this. A man – probably around his late twenties – winked at him as he reeled out of a bar, obviously hammered. The unkempt hair and disarrayed jacket confirmed his state just as much.

"You alone, boy?" he called again.

God, help him, Keith shivered, ignoring the man and proceeding with his jog. It wasn't the first time an inebriated man or woman tried to molest him when he was all by himself.

So maybe early morning jogs weren't always the best.

Keith returned to the apartment at a quarter to nine. The living room was still dark when he closed the door behind him, and he honestly couldn't blame the two grown men living with him. Shiro had stayed up almost all night, still working on the case (or solved it – Keith couldn't tell), and Adam – being the supportive boyfriend that he was – never left Shiro's side. Keith knew because he'd had difficulty with sleep himself, pacing his room at one in the morning, trying to wear himself out by sketching, and eventually dozing off on his desk at half-past three (the effect his drool had on his inscrutable sketches was quite astonishing). But even then, he'd roused by six to go jogging.

Shiro's "police junk" were still scattered all over the coffee table, and some of the documents had even made it to the floor due to the lack of space. Keith had long since learned to not lay a hand on those stuff, even if they appeared to be in a state of disarray. But he figured anything that landed on the floor had high chances of going missing.

Walking over, he gathered the documents and put them on top of the keyboard of Shiro's laptop. Before that, though, a slip of paper had slid out of the documents, and Keith caught it before it could touch the floor.

It wasn't a paper; it was a picture.

A picture of an Asian woman with a fairly stern gaze bordered by an angular face. Her hair was short and jet-black, and there was something about her indigo eyes that seemed to lock on Keith, almost as if she was trapping her within her unwavering gaze. Not that she didn't appear intimidating at all; it was just that something about this woman halted Keith. She was beautiful – no doubt about that. And Keith found himself already engraining her features into his head, saving it for his sketchbook later on.