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overdose 'til you make me sick.

Running a hand over his face, Kazuya leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the screen in front of him.
It had gotten late again and with the screen being the only light in the room aside from the fleeting headlights drifting across the ceiling, like ghosts passing through, his eyes had grown tired.

He closed them, just for a second.

There was this faint smell of coffee that had gone cold already, mixed with the scent of raining coming from the open window next to his desk.

The photographer liked nights like these, because they made working just a tad bit more enjoyable, even when he was sitting there for hours, working through unknown faces and fragments of other people's stories, trying to meet deadlines he swore he'd already met.

When he opened them again, his gaze flickered across the small, neatly wrapped box, that had gotten pushed just to the side of his keyboard. He had picked it up at work earlier that day, the tiny tag attached to it reading "happy birthday". There was no signature again, but it didn't take a genius to figure out from whom it came.

Maybe he wouldn't open it after all; not because he was angry or because his persistence had turned from flattering to faintly exhausting, but because Kazuya didn't want to feed a hope he didn't share.

"Why won't you just give him a chance?", Chiharu had asked, her gaze giving away her lack of understanding once again. They had gone through this over and over again over the past couple of weeks, but the answer had remained the same.

Sometimes people were all the green flags in the world, but your heart still didn't choose them.

He turned off his screen and got up, his eyes lingering on one of the photos attached to the wall behind his desk just for a little longer.

Maybe it was time to sleep.

---

𝙱𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚜, 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚎.