Warning : This is a deathfic, nothing else. Someone dies, no, actually kills himself, so you are aware of what you're getting yourself into.

I'm still crying.

You do nothing. You're just here, alone. You've got everything sorted out. You're finally done with everything. You've got your life back. And what a life, right?

You lie down, as a bitter smile finds it way on your lips. Your eyes are not closed. Not yet. You just let them stare aimlessly at the ceiling of your bedroom. You don't even notice the little stains of mold in the top right, just a few inches away from the ceiling light. Or maybe you do, because that's just a thing you cannot change. It's in your blood to notice things, however small they are. You don't call yourself a detective for no valid reason. But that's not important right now. Nothing is, really. Not anymore.

And you keep staring at the ceiling. You can feel yours eyes shifting from one side to the other, top left corner to bottom right. All of it without even moving your head. You find it somewhat entertaining, so you keep doing it, moving them to opposite directions again and again. When it gets too easy, too boring, you just increase your speed. You try harder, faster, to see whether they could pop out of their sockets and run away like everything else in your life. They don't, and you end up with a headache. You close them, defeated by your own stupidity.

You sigh, a silent one at first. Then you inhale slowly, and you let a heavier one out. Deep, frustrated, and painful. You're hurting right now. You've been hurting since you came back, and no one really noticed. No, they've been too busy being happy for it. For you. Or so they say.

You're back, so everything should be fine, right? Your life should just resume to where it initially stopped, right? They all assume that. You did too. Except it didn't.

As much as they- you would have liked it to be true, you can't just have it back. You can't just press play after holding it on pause for so long. Your life left you four years ago, and you know it.

You're alive yes, but you're not living. Because you don't know how to anymore. You don't even care anymore. You just gave up.

Your headache is gone now, so you open your eyes again. You blink a few times. You try to block the ceiling light from blinding you, so you put your arms around your head. You can feel tears in the corner of your eyes. You wiped them with the sleeve of your shirt, maybe a bit harder than necessary.

You've never cried once in your life before. Because you never had to. Your parents taught you to be strong, and your mind refused to allow useless feelings to bubble up into salted water on your face. Now though, you cry all the time. In the comfort of your bedroom, you let it out. Every day, every night, every time. Sometimes just a silent sob, sometimes so loud your voice becomes hoarse. Sometimes more than once. Just like today. You're alone anyway. Nobody to watch, nobody to hear.

So you cry. For hours, you break down, until you have no energy left in you. You think you'll fall asleep now. But you don't. You just feel sick. Your face is damp, a mix of tears and sweat. Your eyes are heavy and swelled up. Your nose is almost leaking. You wipe it with the back of your sleeve again. You're a mess, and you just want to die.

You know it's a terrible thought. A bad idea spreading in your head like a cancer. But you cannot stop it. You just want to die.

You've lost everything already. At least, you think, you're allowed to choose how you end.

So you get up slowly. You straighten yourself a bit before walking to your bathroom. You dare yourself to glance at your reflection, and you laugh, one of those insane- deranged laughs, when you see your image in it. You look so miserable, it makes you sick. Or is it because you know you're about to do it soon?

You rush to the toilet and lift up the seat. You only have two seconds to position yourself, knees on the floor, hands on the seat, before you feel all of it coming out. You empty yourself completely. It hurts your throat, and your eyes are crying again. You let one of your crazy laughs out again as you see red on your shirt. It's not the first time, and you don't care anymore.

You get up slowly again, and you give yourself a second to find your balance. You're all empty, and completely dizzy. If you weren't feeling so sick right now, you could have enjoyed it.

Once you feel more stable- safer to move, you do so. One step at a time, you lead yourself to the bathroom sink. You wash your face a bit, letting the cold water soothe your heated face. You don't bother cleaning the blood on your shirt, there'll be plenty of it soon anyway.

You straighten yourself once again, and stare at your reflection in the mirror. Soon it'll be over, you think, as you grab the razor blade near your toothpaste.

You give yourself one last glance, and almost nod at your broken image before exiting the bathroom. You close the door behind you, and press yourself against it to take a deep breath. You're getting closer to the end now. A few more steps, and you can drift yourself to an endless sleep.

At the thought of it, a small smile finds its way on your lips. You think it's genuine. At this point, you don't really know anymore.

You move to your bed almost eager this time. You're already holding the blade tight in your right hand, and you can feel it going warm and wet. You hear drops of liquid on the floor, and you know it's already started.

You sigh one last time, almost content with yourself. Your end is soon, and you chose it.

You lie on your bed, holding the blade tighter and tighter as you close your eyes. It hurts much more than you thought it would. You can feel yourself dizzy again, and your body is responding to the pain. You don't know how long it has been already. But you feel you'll be in shock soon. So you take deep breaths, slow intakes, to calm yourself. It works for a while, until it doesn't. You open your eyes with a scream, and you start panicking. It's too painful, too real. The last part of you that can still reason shouts in your head. You don't want to die. You don't want this end. You want to live.

But you know it's too late. You can no longer move. And you cry, and you scream again. You wish someone was here with you. Before you even decided to do this. You wish someone was there to stop you. Even in the end, nobody is. They all left you behind. Or so you think.

You're too far gone now. Your eyes are no longer open. Your heart is slowing down, and you can't hear a sound anymore.

So you don't hear it, when someone breaks the window glass. You don't hear it, when a scream of panic- utter fear, the loudest "Tantei-kun!" you could have heard if you were still awake, fills your empty, silent room. You don't see it, when the white-cladded figure comes rushing to you with a poker face long forgotten. You don't feel it, when his gloved fingers circle your wrist in an attempt to find your pulse, and taint themselves in your blood.

You chose your end, and he came too late.

...

I... Just... I don't know what to say.

...

I can't even ask you to leave a review or anything else, cuz... cuz... Omg, I killed Shinichi! *goes look for the blade he used to follow him in hell*

PS: didn't have it in my heart to have my beta review it, sorry for the mistakes, and if it's...you know...rough.