Touch Me Not || Chūya × Fem!Reader

--3

At about 2:30PM, (y/n) stepped on the apartment of a man who went by the name of Jose Rizal - which was his brief name. Twenty-four of age, nationality being Filipino, and a brilliant opthalmologist. Furthermore, he was an ability user, and was quite open about it.

Rizal was short in stature and welcoming in appearance. Citizens next door claimed him to be a kind, charismatic man. He arrived in Japan on the 1st of February, and had gone missing five days ago, which was April 13.

He was last seen returning to his apartment with an unidentified girl.

"Is that all?" (Y/n) asked the police accompanying her. She looked at the CCTV on the ceiling, which showed the front door of the apartment. "How about a CCTV footage?"

"We're still gaining intel. Apparently since it's the latest model, we will need assistance from the CCTV's company." The officer explained.

"The latest model... Eyes of God, is it?"

"Yes."

(Y/n) kept her gaze on the police for a small while, resulting him to waver slightly due to how undiluting her eyes seemed to be. He adjusted his uniform in case she was staring at him because of a lack of formality in his appearance, though somewhere in the back of his mind told that she was suspecting even him in this investigation - which he took little offense in. Then, she disclosed a saccharine smile.

"That will certainly make the job way easier." She then proceeded to enter the apartment.

The temperature dropped quite suddenly, and she recoiled one step back due to the spine-chilling second. She touched the walls for a light switch, which she turned on after being able to find one.

The procedure of searching potential evidences led her to Rizal's bedroom: it appeared to be completely tidy, with the walls barren of any hideous spots that may trigger suspicion. There was a large painting hung on the wall adjacent to the bed. (Y/n) opened the drawer of his nightstand, and her eyes widened in surprise upon seeing various papers formatted in handwritten letters. None of them in Japanese - instead, the English alphabet. But the words didn't seem to be in English. The Filipino language, perhaps?

There was this perturbing sensation that crawled from the bottom of her spine the moment she entered the bedroom, and she couldn't quite shake it off. It was absolutely sickening that she found herself wanting to immediately leave the place, but even the feeling rendered her paralyzed. Her body faced the nightstand and she was too afraid to move her head to the painting - from which she felt the unsettling stare. With an anxious sigh, she forced herself to look at it.

It was simply an abstract painting of a doctor - an opthalmologist - checking the eye of her male patient. And although the patient's face was the tiniest bit unnerving, it was hard for (y/n) to believe that his features were what made her waver.

So, with the both of her hands on each edge of the bottom of the painting, she lifted it up and rested it down on the ground. She also caught sight of the price tag still attached. Her head lifted to face the wall once covered by the painting, and soon her eyes narrowed in utter confusion.

What?

Plasters were wrapped on that spot, poorly resembling the wall's white hue. It was then when she started to smell the repugnant stench of something rotting. She contracted her nose in disgust, but her heart beated so loudly that her ears ached at the pounding vibration. She didn't want her assumption to be correct.

She grabbed the edge of the plaster on the lowermost part of the wall, and pulled it off with reluctancy.

Her breath hitched, and her heart dropped to her stomach.

There were splatters of red liquid on the surface, and an amount even started to drip down at the instant she removed the plaster. The gross smell soon turned nauseating, therefore reducing her intakes of air.

She dropped the plaster and took a few steps back, recollecting her mind for a moment. If this had proved her thoughts correct, then either the investigation would turn into a murder case and not of a missing person, or an additional murder case will proceed. In any case, neither is ideal.

She went back to the wall. With her breath held, she took the top edge of the rest of the plaster, wishing the least of the worst to what she was bound to see.

"HOLY SHIT!"

The officer came rushing into the room the second he heard her loud, nerve-wracking curse. There he saw the detective on the ground, staring with wide eyes at the wall by the bed. His gaze trailed to the floor, to the painting leaning against the wall, and finally he toppled back upon looking at the horrific view.

What was this? It looked nothing close to humane - it looked very outlandish, nonetheless they knew very well what it was in spite of refusing to believe the fact. It was a corpse, a disgraced corpse deformed into a compromising position. Its body was pushed too deeply into the small hole of the wall with an inextricable force she was certain no human strength could rival. But if so, then whose or what tenacity had done to push it into the wall so much so that even the skull had gone misshapen? The arms bent the wrong direction, and the ankles reached up to the head in a way that wasn't supposed to.

(Y/n) felt a hyperventilation commencing. She struggled to catch the breaths she failed to catch when she was avoiding the disgusting stench, and with the horror displayed in front of her, it was rendered impossible to breathe. The room was spinning immensely. Her senses numbed profoundly. She looked at the police, and found him in a disposition no far from hers.

The suspect was clearly demented.