Sukuna Remen

For almost the second month now, an old, undetected corpse has been lying there. The emergence of something new that has nothing in common with the past. Sleepless nights, tons of coffee cups, smoked cigarettes, an ashtray, surprisingly neatly stacked in a small tower, threatening to fall out from under the dilapidated building. It had been a few years since, thanks to her work as an investigator and now 'boss', y/n had completely forgotten about the difficulties of normally spending time in someone else's arms or having any kind of healthy interaction. Work doesn't allow it. This doesn't allow it at all. Bags under the eyes, disheveled hair, twitching pale fingers, protruding collarbones from how much weight the girl had lost and how little she ate as a result. There was no love, there was no family, there were no hugs and kisses - especially not. One could only dream of something like this with her work. But what does it even mean to be loved? She broke up with her ex bitterly, very bitterly, but his outlines still popped up in her head, which is why the girl abruptly threw her pen to the side, trying to forget, and took up alcohol to drink, forget, forget for the sake of the whole night. There was no energy at all to investigate.

• "y/n". - is heard sharply behind her and the girl tenses. The voice is damn familiar, the gaze is clouded, and the consciousness is almost dozing. It's hard for her to turn around, she just leans on her hand, waiting for his next action. Hard. It’s terribly hard to live like this, when after work you only have enough strength to sit at the table, move your pen and move your brain almost to the point of tired fainting.