What happened to us?

▪︎Chapter 17▪︎

•It takes two to create a whole•

~

What a gentle and mindful offer? Coming from highly socially anxious writer and autistic-coded Sherlock Holmes copy to a psychotic murderer.
Offer of living in the same mansion alongside with one another.
Perhaps to go through some wacky shenanigans on the way.
Perhaps to prevent such and rather look after one another, though it was like getting advice as a crazy person from someone equally mad but in slightly different way.

No matter to which effect, Oguri won't have to be alone. He could have place to feel secure at again. Something he was in desperate need of.

Though... It wasn't complete truth. He wasn't completely alone, he was in someone else's presence at that very moment.
Not his old neighbor that had TV turned on full volume all the time.
Not the detective, since he was currently at the Agency headquarters.
Not the writer, since he was supposed to arrive in ten full minutes.
Not at all someone alive.

"Boo!"
"Jesus-" Oguri's heart skipped few beats as silhouette of his passed friend creeped up behind him to get a scare out of him. "Can you stop?!" Oguri scolded him.
"Am I a bother? Stop carrying image of me in your head then, I'm not here after all." the silhouette shrugged. "Or put out the alcohol, it surely wouldn't feel so disgusting in here and so in your head itself." Yokomizo stated as if nothing in the world could change his mind.
"Bla, bla, bla... I'm talking to a wall. Walls don't have rights to tell me how to live." Oguri shook Yokomizo's; or silhouette's; words off as he took a sip from half empty bottle of liquor. Though he had to admit that he had a point.
He was also glad to 'see' his friend again, but... Seeing him all the time, hearing his nagging all the time and knowing no one else did... Even worse, knowing that it wasn't even him, but just his subconscious, trauma and hallucination from liquor combined only taking his form.

"Walls maybe don't, but your friend surely does and he will notice when he arrives." Yokomizo recalled "Speaking of which, when do you expect him?"
"In 10:30..." Oguri muttered.
"Really? Not twenty?"
"Yeah really, ten minutes-" Oguri pointed at the digital watch - probably the only device that still worked properly in this house -.
"Are you actually sure or too drunk to tell time?"
"Fuck off. I liked you better when you were alive. I could at least have option of slapping you across the face." Oguri gritted his teeth, forcing himself to clean his tiny flat a little.
Yokomizo shrugged, pretending that he didn't hear anything.

"At least open the window... If I could smell, I would get a headache from all the liquor." Yokomizo stated after a while of silence. Oguri glanced to the corner of the room where he saw the silhouette sitting on his knees as he so often did.
"Last time I've tried, the window frame fell off." Oguri noted, looking at the decaying wood held together with duct tape, recalling the equally awkward as irritating moment as if it only happened yesterday.
"Seriously, getting out of this hellhole would do you only good. Make sure not to waste the opportunity by scaring that guy away." silhouette reminded with serious tone.
"Sure, sure... I still don't want to seek hope tho. I couldn't stand it being taken away." Oguri muttered, knowing that his faith in people surrounding would completely vanish in that case scenario.
"Then make sure it's not."

__

As expected, the writer showed up later that day with visible consern in his look when he entered Oguri's apartment, yet decided to keep quiet. He was there to help Oguri gather his stuff and pack his belongings up to get everything ready to be moved to his mansion by the end of the week.
Quite some time has passed from the first day they met, it would soon close to second month. It seemed pretty rushed to move into someone's house without knowing them well beforehand, yet given situation had only two opinions: take or leave.
Oguri had too much pride in himself to stay in shack like this for longer than necessary and on top of that, both the writer and his detective companion seemed like decent people with solid reputation - or at least no red flags that could go noticed on the first glance, surprisingly -.