Notes

Detective Duo

"Saihara, you've been relieved from duty. Please collect your things, we will send your final payment next week... I believe. I'm very sorry."

Shuichi felt his stomach cave in on itself as Makoto gave him an empathic, but awkward look. Most likely pity. His dismal self esteem clawed at its eyes and any improvement to his mental health evaporated. Makoto was an intern for the police station, and he was the one to tell him this, as if his actual captain hadn't cared enough to tell him face to face, or the reason.

He bided time before responding by gluing his eyes to his watch, blinking away tears. The rookie didn't really need a drawn out explanation, he already had a pretty clear image of why he was being fired. Showing up late, not doing his fair share of work while with his partner, taking paid leave due to severe mental health issues. He wasn't even worthy of the title detective, his attempts at being successful were pathetic.

"S-Saihara?" Makoto asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"I heard you, I was just thinking about something." Shuichi paused, the thought he had suppressed since Makoto's first words blossomed into an indescribable pain so powerful he thought he'd faint. "W-w-what about her..?"

"Excuse me, I couldn't make out what you said at the end?" The corners of the intern's mouth twitched, like he was anxious too. He got to stay here. With Shuichi's partner. HIS partner, the woman who had taught him so much. Images of Makoto being her new apprentice gave him unsettling emotions.

"I'm asking about Kyoko, we have been partners ever since middle school." He looked down at his clammy, pale hands. "And professionally for two years."

"Oh... I'm not sure about that. You should ask her." Makoto answered, less concern in his voice. The man stared intently into Makoto's greenish brown eyes, searching for any hint. If he understood the drastic actions Shuichi was known to take.

Shuichi knew Kyoko was aware of his clinical depression, on top of his various anxieties. She had known since eighth grade. They were sitting together in a coffee shop, the determined girl was glancing over a notebook sketched with a case about a missing cat, presumably stolen from his family, while Shuichi was mixing sugar into a teacup with a cheap plastic spoon. The boy really couldn't take the isolation of having no support, and although the girl was stoic and expressionless, he somehow knew it would be okay to tell her. So he did, he stammered it out under his breath in a jumbled, incoherent mess. And she had looked at him, purple hair obscuring the view of her face, and stayed there in silence for what seemed forever, just side eyeing him. Shuichi had turned away meekly, shaking. She had placed her hand atop his arm gently and kept it there, with only the chattering of the shop costumer filling their ears.

Kyoko never treated him any differently, not like he was fragile or weak, instead expecting the best from him the same way she had ever since the beginning. Like he was a normal person.

Shuichi stopped himself from unconsciously staring down the intern with hostile, pale eyes. Admitting to himself she would never share personal information or be so unprofessional with anybody in the first place. He thanked Makoto for telling him and creeped toward his cozy little cubby in the corner, sliding into the worn swivel seat. He clasped his hands neatly on his desk, overflowing folders squeaking as he did. The detective stayed in place patiently, awaiting Kyoko's return from her short lunch break.

Soon enough, a curt figure approached the rookie's station, they stopped right beside his file cabinet and a waft of vanilla perfume filled his dripping nose. Shuichi looked up at Kyoko, and with an unreadable expression, she extended a gloved hand. She was offering a tissue, and he muttered a soft "Thank you" before snatching up the gift and burying his face in it.

The detective shifted her stance, crossing her arms under her breasts, and stole a gaze away from her sniffling partner. Was this her way of giving him privacy from both herself and the others?

"I've been... fired." Shuichi breathed out finally, clutching the wadded up paper in his lap with clasped fingers.

"I was told." Kyoko responded chastely, switching her eyes to his own. They were serious, more so than usual.

The dark haired man fidgeted, racking his mind for reasons to justify her nonchalance, anything to prove she actually cared. Obviously she had to care, right? They had been friends for about ten years, solving cases together, playing chess, traveling, watching old timey movies (A passion they both shared).

"I just- I just don't know what to do now." He admitted without hesitance.

She closed her eyes in response, but said nothing.

Shuichi sighed, and let his shoulders droop and disappointment overtake him. He scanned over the few personal belongings littering his desk, while his shaky fingers absentminded wrapped around a backpack strap.

When Kaede had moved to another city to pursue her career, she had left him her old backpack, which held a lot of sentimental value to her. She had told him with shining, determined eyes that if he ever felt alone, she was always there. Then she pecked his cheek and they shared a long, endearing hug. The pianist promised she would return in a few months and they'd go out somewhere nice to eat and catch up.