Uncompromising Need (WIP)
The prosecutor sat in his office wearing a stare that almost burned a hole in the clock—12:34 p.m. Only the tic-toc of the second hand on the wall was the co-star in this silent skit.
"...hmph."
Eyes to the soba noodles then to the clock; the chopsticks in hand circled and circled; soba stirred and twisted into a disturbing face. A burning taste brimmed in his throat as an unidentified irritation made him scoff and set down the chopsticks.
But everything else seemed fine here, at least.
The only unusual event in this office was his detective's absence, not because of work, or his "justice junket"—which was just hanging around the precinct to see if anyone needed help.—Simon's face shrank like a Java apple, realizing not even his favorite food could help him through this already dry day.
Another sigh highlighted the silence of the office, from a modern samurai's mouth. He tapped on the phone once in a while, but only the notifications from his colleagues.
"Hell...is he asleep?"
Simon murmured as if the man was there with him—Of course he should. The memory of that early morning flooded back, Bobby was whining in bed with his hoarse voice about his "justice streak", "Justitia has abandoned him", and the sight of Bobby taking the medicines from Simon"s palm. Not that he was distressed about the detective's health, he was surprised. That a foolish fool like him could come down with a foolish cold.
When he came back to his mind, a text was already typed out.
"Fulbright, are you awake? Take meds. Now."
Sent.
"...why am I his pill alarm now?"
A notification hung on Bobby's screen as his mind finally went silent for a moment. The fact that Simon ordered him to stay in bed and treated him like a toddler was a little annoying, but he didn't object. The chilling air from the AC brushed over his back and arm, and a realization flickered through his mind.
—Peep—
"Caugh caugh...no wonder I get cold..."
The bitter taste of pills lingered on his tongue, since he had taken them before Simon texted; and since he couldn't do anything besides curling up in comforter. He rolled back to lie face up, snuggled deeper into the mattress.
Catching a cold during summer was one thing, he could imagine the worst was that he couldn't serve justice under the righteous cause when his headache was beating him to the ground, stuck in this big bed. Dizziness and stuffy nose? More like silliness and starting a war. Bobby furrowed and was perplexed by his own comedy attempt, or whatever that was. He could have gotten up and done literally anything, but he just lay there, coexisting with sickness, to wind down for a bit, or to never wake up again. But then...Simon would be pissed at the last part. The idea of Simon's piercing glare could bore into the afterlife and penetrate him brought a nasally chuckle out of him. "Aw..." He really can't be left in solitude.
But he checked the phone again in the hope it was just his eyes deceiving him.
"And don't forget to eat."
Okay, okay. Don't eat...? No-
His heart—he couldn't tell whether it was feelings or sickness—palpitated as his brain tried to work a lunch, it would be chaos if he tried to cook in this state. His thoughts stumbled through foods and other things: cases at hand, reports, paintings, and Simon. Bobby's eyelids flickered heavily and hazy—I swear that bird is gonna pluck out my eyes...
Simon was already back to writing indictments on his laptop, it wasn't a kid he had to look out for for gods' sake. 1:26p.m.—The time on the screen was almost as irritating as the feelings dangling from his chest like a heavy chain, obstructed each sentence.
A knock on the floor made him miss a heartbeat and shifted his attention to the doorway, he watched as it slowly opened a crack. "Erm..." A young man with a sheepish smile walked in with a document bag, a brown leather blazer covered the logo on his black t-shirt. "Prosecutor Blackquill, nice to meet you...I-I'm the detective to substitute for Fulbright today." He snapped a salute, trying to look confident as his colleague. "Iskha Meleon, reporting for duty!" His clutch tightened on the document. To Simon's eye, it was like a kid playing pretend, even sounded like one.
"Detective Fulbright sent you?" His fingers hovered on the keyboard, eyes stayed on the young lad's expression. "Yes, just for today. He's informed me about his sickness and briefed me on today's procedures." He handed over the yellow document bag, Simon noticed a slight tremble in the detective's hands. "Here are the witness testimonies from Ms. Phelonie and Dr. Gune!" —About time.—The prosecutor had waited for this for a couple of days now, he sighed inside and grabbed the document. "Thank you...Detective Meleon. It's going to be a long afternoon, so bear with me."
Until the man's eyes snapped open, throat felt like smeared with charcoal powder. He needed some water.
"Kha-! Oh...have mercy..." It was not that hard to reach the lamp, but Bobby just couldn't seem to find it this time. "...what the-" A few grasp in the air, the tired man grumbled and held himself up from the mattress, the room was darker than before. "...food, right."
A thump from the front door clicked on the frame and shut as Bobby got his buns in the fridge, he turned and noticed the gloaming sky outside the French windows. "Welcome back...kh!" he forgot his throat was swollen like an apple. "Just about to make some porridge, join?" The ingredients lay on the countertops, the other man dropped his bag on the sofa and glanced at the kitchen. "...Fool bright, did you see my message?" Bobby's hands didn't stop, the water kept washing over his hands and tomatoes. "Yeah! I did, and I went back to sleep." "...Okay." Simon moved to Bobby's back, noted his tired contour, amiss his usual energy, and the itchy throat that was limiting his words.