Whizumi
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Short Story: K Overhears Rumors About the Detective and L's Relationship [Keira Version]
🕑 Added 2024-09-28 23:30:02 +0000 UTC
This story is set a year before the main events.
P.S. I apologize for the slight delay in the release, I fell asleep and forgot to schedule the post.
Keira notices many things. The good ones...
"You've been glowing lately. Spill!" the officer exclaimed, causing the other officer beside them to look away, almost shyly.
"It's nothing..." the other officer replied, absentmindedly fidgeting with the engagement ring on his finger.
The bad ones...
"What is this?" the officer asked the specialist, confusion evident in their tone. "How did you manage to bruise yourself like that?"
"I just got pinned by a door," the specialist replied with a faint smile, pulling down her sleeve to hide the bruise on her wrist. "It was an accident," she continued, flinching slightly when the officer abruptly lifted their hand to scratch the back of their head.
And things that aren't even worth noticing...
"Did you hear the news? Officer Conlan and the detective are dating!"
Keira freezes, turning sharply toward the two officers bantering near the exit of the administrative office.
"The detective's car is broken, and she just gave her friend a ride. That's hardly proof of dating," the other one replies, and the officer who spoke first clicks their tongue.
"But I heard the detective spent the night at her place! She even asked whether she should wait for them this evening, too. That's already enough to say," the officer continues, and Keira feels her fingernails dig painfully into the clipboard she's holding.
Fucking rumors…
Keira hates everything about them: how far-reaching they can be, how baseless they often are, and yet, at the same time, how there's usually a grain of truth buried somewhere within. Or… how they can eventually come true, sooner or later.
But all of this is compounded when it comes to the detective—a fact that Keira finds almost unbearably annoying.
Because for some reason, the detective is often the subject of discussion—both good and bad—and Keira always tries to nip these rumors in the bud whenever she encounters one.
As required by protocol, she tells herself, secretly hoping the detective never finds out, as there's no explanation for the sharp reaction it always manages to elicit—only a mess of emotions, similar to the way a single glance from the detective stirs within her.
Keira doesn't like it: the vulnerability it brings or the intensity with which it manifests.
She had noticed this about herself from the first day they met, from the moment their eyes locked: the barely perceptible jolt of electricity she felt that has since evolved into a suffocating tension, overwhelming her and begging to be released in any possible way—through words or actions.
And the closer they interact, the more it irritates her—the detective and everything associated with them, rumors included.
Reinforced by this fact, her body seems to march itself toward the two employees, whose snide expressions fade as soon as they see her approaching.
"Inspector Moreno!" They both straighten up, nodding in greeting. Keira doesn't return the gesture; her jaw tightens even more.
"I see you're very busy," Keira says, her tone cold and steely enough to make them look worried.
As they should be.
Before they can respond, she glances at their ID cards—a familiar gesture to all who work in the department, carrying an underlying meaning. "I can assure you that if this keeps up, you'll have plenty of time to relax on a permanent weekend."
Her gaze sweeps over them, daring them to speak, but they know better. At least something…
"Get to work. After your shift, make an effort to familiarize yourselves with the rules regarding disciplinary behavior in the workplace. If I hear that you've violated them again, there won't be a next time," Keira warns in a low tone, meaning every word.
"S-Sorry!"
"Of course!"
They hurry off before Keira can dismiss them, and her gaze follows until they disappear around the corner.
People like that make her sick—what they do and the consequences their words can have on others. Fucking morons…
Adjusting her shirt collar, Keira glances around at the rest of the employees, knowing they watched the interaction carefully. They immediately avert their eyes, suddenly engrossed in their work.
Good. She hopes everyone remembers what she said.
Without wasting another second, Keira walks out of the administrative area and heads toward her office. She knows she shouldn't believe the rumors and shouldn't care, but the words they said still haunt her despite every effort she makes to focus.
Why does she even bother, knowing it's futile? She knows all too well that when it comes to the detective—
No. Keira grinds her teeth. Don't think about it. It's none of your business. It's not—
But she freezes again as she turns into the corridor leading to the investigative division and sees the detective—not alone.
Something sharp and unpleasant pierces her chest as she takes in the scene, which appears blurry even with her eye contacts on: the detective and their former partner standing close, quietly talking to each other, their eyes never leaving one another, creating a warm, invincible bubble that even the most inattentive observer can perceive.
Though she can't see the detective's eyes, she can see the emotion in their friend's gaze—an adoration that far surpasses the usual boundaries of friendship. It's hard to ignore, even harder not to believe that there's some truth in the rumors she shouldn't care about.
And yet, here she is, watching them maintain eye contact as the former partner runs a hand down the detective's forearm before slowly taking their hand in hers.
Something cold and heavy squeezes Keira's chest, making it hard to breathe.
Not wanting to witness this for reasons she cannot comprehend, she abruptly turns away, heading down the opposite hallway that leads the longest way to her destination.
Her hand aches from the tension of the force she uses to grip the clipboard, as the sickeningly tender gesture carves itself into her memory before she can even stop it, only to torment her with no fucking reason behind it.
Burying her hand in her hair, Keira quickens her stride, but it doesn't help her escape the intrusive thoughts reminding her that it's going to be a long, stressful day.
.
.
.
Later that evening…
Keira rubs the corners of her eyes wearily, but the gesture does nothing to relieve the tension that makes every muscle in her back ache. But today, it's not just the work that leaves her feeling so drained…
Ugh! Before her thoughts can begin to torment her again, a knock on the door abruptly silences her every internal struggle.
Keira's heart skips a heavy beat of recognition: she can always tell it's the detective just by the way they knock—a seemingly useless perception that somehow makes her react this way every time the detective shows up in her office, even when she expects them.
Why is this so fucking hard?
Pursing her lips, she lowers her head to the report and says, "Come in."
The quiet creak of the door fills the room, followed by the detective's voice that cuts through the silence of her dim office.
"Keira." The sound of her name, the tone of their voice, their very presence, and the weight of their gaze—all of it strangely replaces the tension with a different kind, compelling her to look up. "Do you have a moment? I need to clarify the order of procedures listed in this morning's report."
As the detective speaks, Keira takes a moment to briefly absorb their appearance. The outerwear casually draped over the detective's shoulders suggests that they were about to leave, but since they're here, this matter must be important, and saying 'no' isn't an option.
When her eyes meet the detective's again, a shiver runs down her spine. The tension that filled her as soon as the detective stepped over her threshold ignites a heat that spreads through her veins like poison.
Keira scowls harder. "How long are you going to stand in the doorway? Let's get this over with."
Her words come out sharper than she intended, and she quickly lowers her eyes back to the report in front of her that has long been forgotten, trying to avoid seeing the detective's reaction.
Pull yourself together, idiot.
After what feels like an eternity, the muffled sound of her pounding heart finally merges with the quiet tread of their footsteps. The tension in her posture begins to ease as, out of the corner of her eye, she sees the detective take a seat, holding out a folder filled with files.
Accepting the folder, Keira can't help but meet the detective's gaze again. She feels her shoulders completely relax when she notices there are no signs of irritation or disappointment—only the calm tiredness that a part of her knows she is responsible for.
I need to finish this quickly and make Surname leave. For more than one reason…
As Keira tries to concentrate on the report, the detective begins to explain, "I wasn't sure if I should have come to you, but Klemens insisted." The detective sighs, their tone uncertain as they continue, "Because the interrogation procedure was mishandled, we had to expend extra effort to catch the suspect and re-interview them."
The detective's words instantly sharpen her focus. Flipping to the relevant paragraph, she quickly scans its content before following the detective's pencil notes on the stamped report.
Surname remains cautious, even after a year on the job. Smart...
It takes Keira a moment to finish reading everything the detective brought her, and then she closes the folder and tosses it onto her desk. Fucking idiots…
For as long as Keira has worked as an inspector, she has never ceased to be amazed by how negligent most employees are about their jobs and how much extra work it creates—not just for her but for others as well.
Following this thought, she shifts her full attention to the detective. They've been working together for a year now, and Keira had expected... worse. Much worse.
But seeing their dedication, how quickly they're catching on, and the progress they're making—she lowers her eyes back to the report before the detective can read those thoughts in her gaze.
Because Keira isn't the only one who can notice things.
"You did the right thing by letting me know," Keira finally says, surprised by the calmness of her own voice.
But the moment of peace fades quickly as the events of this afternoon resurface in her mind, reminding her of the protocol violation she encountered and everything that came with it—from the rumors to the unpleasant emotions they caused her to experience—intensifying her earlier annoyance even more.
"For the future," she adds before the detective can respond, her voice turning sharp and raspy under the weight of the moment, "always let me know if there's a breach. Protocol. Disciplinary. Anything you think is worth reporting."
Her words hang between them, enveloped in a heavy silence. For a moment, the detective holds her gaze, and Keira understands their intent almost immediately.
This happens more often than she can count—the detective trying to read her eyes and expression—and it irritates her even more. She feels her brow furrow deeper, and just as the silence becomes unbearable, the detective finally breaks it.
"If I report every disciplinary issue I notice, half the office will have to hear that there won't be a next time for them," the detective responds calmly, their eyes never leaving hers. "That seems a bit too harsh, don't you think?"
Keira freezes, and it takes her a moment to realize that the detective is already aware of what happened this afternoon.
Of course, they are. Fucking rumors.
There's nothing wrong with the detective knowing about it, but for some reason, heat rushes to Keira's face and neck as a mix of emotions washes over her. She runs a hand through her hair, trying to calm herself.
"This is unacceptable," she mutters angrily, unable to suppress the rising emotion in her chest. "Spreading rumors not only undermines the department's professionalism but also poses a risk to our operational security. The more people discuss internal matters, the greater the chance that sensitive information could be unintentionally exposed or exploited."
"I know, but—"
"No 'buts', Surname," she cuts the detective off sternly. "If this happens again, report it to me. I'll handle it personally. As I should."
Once again, silence fills her gloomy office. It's always this way with the detective, but this time, something feels different—and it's hard to ignore that difference.
Even though Keira knows she hasn't said anything that would cross professional boundaries, something heavy and unspoken in the detective's gaze quickly reinforces the earlier tension, making her pulse quicken.
It would be so easy to break this moment by simply looking away, but Keira finds herself unable to do so, greedily absorbing the emotions this shift has evoked and wanting more.
More to say, more to be, more to do—everything she knows she shouldn't indulge in.
The thought instantly taints every pleasant and fulfilling sensation stirred by a single look they exchanged with a bitter heaviness.
Sensing the sudden change within her, the detective's gaze becomes carefully guarded once more, the detachment in their expression piercing Keira's heart like needles.
"I'll keep that in mind," the detective finally says, slowly rising from the chair.
As the detective turns away and takes a couple of steps toward the door, preparing to leave her office, something inside Keira snaps.
"Surname." The words spill out before she can stop them. The detective glances back, and Keira rises from her seat, trying to make the movement appear less abrupt. "I'll give you a ride." Fuck! What am I doing? "Unless your… friend is already waiting for you."
There are no words to express the embarrassment Keira feels, fully aware that words can't be taken back. Still, while part of her wishes she could erase what she just said, another part needs to know if—
"Are you sure?" the detective asks carefully. "You still have a lot of work to do…" Their voice trails off as their eyes drift over the mountain of folders on her desk before meeting her gaze again.
Keira huffs, shortening the distance between them. "I asked, didn't I?" she replies, stopping beside them to grab the jacket hanging on the rack behind them. "I need a break, and I'll be back at the department after I drop you off."
The detective doesn't respond, holding her gaze in silence. Neither of them moves, and Keira suddenly becomes aware that the space between them feels closer than necessary.
But she's the one who caused this…
Yet, the detective doesn't step back, and neither does she, pulling on her jacket before the detective can say 'yes'—a word she desperately needs to hear, more than she's willing to admit.
"I'd really appreciate it if you did. My car broke down... as you probably already know," the detective says after a moment, tilting their head slightly.
Keira doesn't respond, overwhelmed by the relief that washes over her at the knowledge that this… friend is no longer the issue, at least for today.
The farther she stays away from Surname, the fewer rumors there will be, Keira tells herself, feeling oddly… lighter.
"Thank you," the detective adds. Keira nods, her gaze still fixed on them as she opens the door. She knows that if she speaks, the hoarseness in her voice will betray the vulnerability she feels being so close to them and the unsettling memory of another woman's hand touching the detective so affectionately—a touch that will never be allowed by her or to her.
Because someone like her just… doesn't need this; she's not worth it, and everything she says and does only proves that.
As the detective turns away, waiting for her to fully open the door, Keira's hand involuntarily reaches out toward their upper back, intending to offer a gentle nudge—an impulse ignited by the memory that haunts her and the urge to understand what the detective's friend felt when she touched them.
Would it... Would it be as good as it made their friend's eyes reflect?
The opportunity to understand this is so perfect, especially with such a small, unnecessary gesture—one that many would disregard or overlook entirely.
And yet, at the last moment, Keira clenches her fist, forcing her hand down. The ghost of their warmth lingers on her fingertips, serving as a reminder of the relief that leaves a bitter aftertaste.
When the detective finally exits the office, Keira closes the door behind her and quickly heads to the parking lot, hyper-aware of the distance the detective keeps behind her—farther than respectful, yet close enough to be palpable, making her thoughts wander and her heart race.
Does she regret what she suggested and how close she came to giving in to the aching need to reach out? Yes... and no.
But there's only one thing Keira knows for sure: this is the first time she is giving the detective a ride, and the escalating tension between them won't make it any easier.
While one part of her still berates her about her words and actions, another part tells her that maybe it's just a small step—something good and simple she can experience before she fucks everything up again.
Just as she always does...
