Work Text
“What’s on your mind, little detective?” asked KID the Phantom Thief as he sat next to Edogawa Conan on the edge of the Haido City Hotel rooftop. It was past midnight, the sky a murky, hazy hue and the full moon gleaming brightly above like a beacon, encasing the two boys in a natural spotlight. There had just been a KID heist, and the thief in question had successfully made his getaway while his task force, in midst of pursuing him, had the adversity of running into KID’s traps. KID had known that his intellectual rival would be waiting for him at the rooftop, but at this point, he did not expect anything less. A chilly breeze brushed by and Conan shivered. Instinctively, KID wrapped his cape around the pseudo-child’s small form like a quilt, the detective leaning into the heat and KID’s embrace. Their friendship was a secret kept from the authorities—it was in such fleeting times during heists when they were free to act as their true selves, their identities and hindrances regarding their alter egos’ predicaments shared between each other as they remained unseen from prying eyes. “I was thinking about the sky,” Conan answered, his keen gaze on the firmament resolute as the moonlight cast glowing, white freckle-like diamonds on his irises shielded by his glasses, as if he were attempting to expose the stars veiled by the urban light pollution. “The sky, hm?” KID echoed. “What about it?” “Well,” mused Conan, “I was supposing that the clear sky, despite its apparent beauty, is so far from reach and potentially unattainable and a door to the unknown—like unrealistic dreams, or missed opportunities, or opportunities that we haven’t discovered yet.” He and KID reflected on those meditations—on tragedies that ruined their lives, on new bonds forged from the choices that they made in reaction to such tragedies, on shattered trust and amities forever changed either for the better or worse. KID could recall a few times that he caught Conan absentmindedly reaching a hand toward the heavens, like he wanted to catch a shooting star so that he could make a wish to be restored to his real age, only to drop his arm like dead weight, knowing that only people or nature (or perhaps a touch of magic) could create their own miracles and that simply wishing was naught but foolish. Likewise, Conan could recount every instance when KID would hold a jewel in front of the moonlight, only to sigh in disappointment and ever mounting despair upon ascertaining that his prize was not the legendary Pandora that he sought after and coveted to destroy. KID rubbed small circles on Conan’s frail shoulders with gloved fingers. “You’re being quite philosophical tonight,” he commented half-teasingly. Conan smiled at him wryly. “Your presence makes me comfortable enough to prattle about my deepest deliberations,” he admitted somewhat drolly. A Cheshire grin spread across KID’s face as the hellion shoved his head towards his comrade (Too close! Too close! Conan screamed internally whilst desperately trying not to flush as red as poppies) and crowed, “Oho? Do I actually make you feel comfortable around me, little detective?”
That darn thief.
Conan rapidly dropped his smile to blankly stare anywhere besides KID’s egotistical expression. “You know what? Never mind. Don’t let that get through your thick head.” KID gasped theatrically and threw his unoccupied hand to his heart, his mouth agape in an ersatz offended countenance. “You wound me! How dare you question my intelligence?” he warbled. “I do, actually—every day,” Conan deadpanned, “given your strange sadistic fixation on ignominiously tormenting your task force before jumping off of skyscrapers for fun and amplifying Inspector Nakamori’s volume past ‘roar’.” (Or any Nakamori’s volume for the matter, KID opted not to point out, mentally shuddering at the thought of an irascible Aoko and her banshee-like shrieks as she swung her mop to practically decapitate him.) Had anyone been eavesdropping on the duo’s conversation, it would have been scrupulously palpable from the little boy’s sonorous tone and sardonic word choice that he was no average elementary school student. “And driving Hakuba mad,” KID added way too gleefully, preening like a peacock as he fondly reminisced the myriad maelstroms that he coined in his high school, mostly at said blond sleuth’s expense. Conan rolled his eyes, copiously informed of KID’s personal vendetta against a certain classmate heck-bent on harassing the recalcitrant magician due to the former’s (unproven) theories regarding KID’s civilian persona. “Yes, and driving Hakuba mad,” he agreed, sporting a frayed rictus that heralded to curl into a smirk. (Was it evil of him to admit that watching the British detective squirm was entertaining? Probably. No, not even that—incontrovertibly so. Gosh, he was abetting KID now, wasn’t he?) As if he read Conan’s mind, KID tossed his head back to guffaw heartily, and a paltry simper formed on the smaller boy’s lips before Conan released a chuckle of his own, resting his head on KID’s chest. The two sat there for a minute in companionable silence, observing the whizzing cars and dazzling streetlights below—an amalgamation of flickering luminescent streaks and sparkles—plus wondering what instigated people to stay up so late driving at night. Then again, Conan and KID were technically awake past their bedtime, so it would have been hypocritical of them to judge others for doing the same. KID broke the stillness by saying: “You know, Shin’ichi…” Conan perked up at the sound of the phantom thief enunciating the former’s real name, an enigma between them and the moon alone. He turned to KID, a noiseless question forming on his lips. “…Your eyes are the same color as the noon sky.” A beat. Then a massive cherry rouge blossomed across Conan’s entire visage as the comment’s abruptness rendered the youngster speechless.
Was that meant to be interpreted as a compliment?!
“H-how can you say that w-with a straight face?” the detective eventually sputtered, his skin burning hot. One could almost witness steam bursting from his ears. “It’s the truth, though!” KID unabashedly bolstered, blinking innocuously and supposedly ignorant of his chum’s emotional turmoil as he flung his arms up in surrender. “They’re the same, just as beautiful and mysterious. And I got your attention, didn’t I?” Conan wanted to crawl into a hole in mortification. Did that stupid thief know how much his words affected Conan’s heart, especially with the manner that he uttered Conan’s true alias? The smaller lad needed to concoct a witty comeback, and fast, if only for the sake of his pride. “If that’s the case,” he countered, restraining any chances of stammering, “I could say something similar to you. Your eyes are the color of the evening sky. A different shade, but no less striking.” This time, it was KID’s turn to blush, and Conan resisted the urge to imitate KID’s infamous snicker. It was an image to be forever committed to Conan’s memory. “Trying to upstage me, aren’t you?” KID muttered petulantly with a pout. “I thought that I was the sweet talker here.” “It’s the truth, though!” Conan parroted mockingly, relishing his associate’s grimace at the saccharine, falsetto pitch oozing from the shrunken teen’s mouth. How anyone could tolerate that phony shrill, KID might never know. “Besides, who says that you’re the only one among us with charisma? I can be just as flamboyantly charming as you, you know.” “Not with that childish tone, you can,” KID retorted with a full-body quake, and Conan cackled obnoxiously, satisfied that his faux puerility had its uses (particularly in flurrying people and making them cringe). Despite his annoyance, the phantom thief could not help but smile from Conan’s carefree laughter, a rare occurrence from someone who constantly lied through his teeth and masked his genuine sentiments about his quandary. It was a feeling that KID wholly understood on a personal level. “On a more serious note,” KID continued after Conan recovered from his dose of the other’s sulkiness, “someday, when everything is over and we’ve taken down our enemies, I want to take you to the beach as our true selves, just the two of us.” Conan cocked a thin eyebrow, tactfully not mentioning how far in the future that could be and the miniscule possibility of such a declaration to even transpire. “Oh? Something tells me that we won’t go there to scuba-dive,” he drawled alternatively. KID winced, refusing to envisage any aquatic triggers for his ichthyophobia. “Heck, no. You can’t make me do so even if you paid me.” Pity. Perhaps Conan would have to reconsider the likelihood of KID accompanying him to the aquarium to see the sharks. “But…?” the spectacled boy prompted, raising his head to regard KID gently. “But,” KID resumed grandly, his eyes glazing as he focused on the full moon above, “we can go there when it’s deserted to scream at the top of our lungs toward the sky—which harbors all of our obscurities without snitching them—ergo relieving ourselves of our troubles and venting our frustrations apropos our current entanglements.” Conan mulled over the idea—him in his full height and KID together at the beach, walking side by side, laughing and chatting and shouting to their hearts’ content with no one else around to berate them. It seemed like a wonderful dream. He considered letting Haibara Ai (officially Miyano Shiho), Furuya Rei and Akai Shūichi tag along on their imaginary trip, too—some other allies who could emphasize with him and KID to a substantial degree—but thought better of it. One day, when they all finally put their succors behind them, the pair could usher the others to someplace private as well to celebrate the freedom from their burdens; however, a viscerally selfish part of Conan wished to keep KID to himself during such vulnerable moments, at least for once. “That would be nice,” he murmured poignantly. He could almost taste the salt of the seawater in his imagination. Then he could hear it—the telltale thumping of footsteps marching upward to the adolescents’ sanctuary. Both boys fought back the impulse to sigh despondently. Their time together, like Cinderella and her prince at the ball, was once again at an end, their forbidden fairytale during the heist put on hold. “Well, it looks like I must take my leave before I revert back into a pumpkin,” declared KID as he stood up and pulled Conan to his feet. He thenceforth lifted Conan’s tiny hand to press a chaste kiss on it. “For now, I must bid you adieu.” Leaning downward, he whispered in Conan’s ear in a voice filled with promise: “I’ll see you later, okay?” I’ll see you at home, was left tacit yet heavily implied, the furtive message resonating acutely in the petit gumshoe’s mind. “Yeah,” breathed Conan with a nod, his cheeks rosy either due to the chill or KID’s kiss—he dared not guess which. KID beamed at him beatifically, and afterward launched himself off from the rooftop, his glider carrying him away until his figure shrank into an indistinct speck amid the dim sky. As Nakamori Ginzō stomped toward the roof edge to bellow another oath about catching KID at the next heist, Conan tilted his head to stare at the celestial body that inspired KID’s namesake. “See you later, Kaito,” Conan mouthed, his words lost in Ginzō’s vexed caterwauling and the wuthering wind.One gusty, temperate afternoon, shortly after the takedown of the Black Organization and the Heisei Holmes’s return to the public eye, a messy-haired boy named Kuroba Kaito kept his promise to his beloved and took Kudō Shin’ichi for a promenade at an uninhabited beach. It was too cool and cloudy for them to take off their shoes and wade in the water, but for now, this weather would do. Both were swathed in thin coats to counteract the wind as they shuffled across the sand and listened to the waves splash against the shore, though Shin’ichi still trembled a bit when a small draft blew past. Observant as always, Kaito inquired, “Are you cold?” Shin’ichi shrugged, wrapping his arms around his own midriff. “It was just the wind—nothing to fret over.” “If you say so.” Nonetheless, the detective did not pull away when Kaito draped an arm around Shin’ichi’s shoulders, pulling the cowlicked boy closer to the magician’s warmth. Humming contentedly, Shin’ichi burrowed his head under Kaito’s neckline, and Kaito placed a brief peck on Shin’ichi’s temple. The overt augmentation of the hitherto insurmountable affection shared between them after the APTX-4869’s antidote took effect was rather foreign to them, yet they did not mind in the least. It was instead a congenial welcome to the commencement of their renaissance. Tucking his arm securely around Kaito’s, Shin’ichi felt a sense of déjà vu. “It was windy that day, too—when you proposed that we come here,” he piped up softly. “You remember that?” Kaito chortled before rescinding, “Actually, I wouldn’t put it past you, with your eidetic memory and all.” “Oh, hush,” said Shin’ichi, using his free hand to slap Kaito’s arm playfully. “Anyway, you also said that we could scream our grievances to the sky. Today’s weather is perfect for that—raucous wind, but not strong enough to blow us over.” “Blow us over?” wheezed Kaito, quirking an eyebrow so highly that it nearly disappeared under his bangs. “Are you insinuating that we’re too light? Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if that applied to you—you’re so skinny; are you even eating enough?” To prove his point, he prodded a finger on Shin’ichi’s slim waist. Shin’ichi squawked indignantly like a parrot at the jabs—both figurative and literal—and bristled like an irate cat. (Maybe he was hanging out with animals too often, Kaito contemplated. Shin’ichi was definitely assorting with Rei’s dog Haro and Kaito’s doves frequently; it was as if he were an animal whisperer or—goodness forbid—a Disney Princess.) “I eat plenty; thank you very much! And I don’t want to hear that from someone who cross-dresses for some of his disguises.” “Right… If you insist.” Frankly, Kaito was prepared to say something more patronizing in relation to the other’s food intake quantity, but he refrained lest he incurred Shin’ichi’s wrath and had the detective contravene his vow on not kicking Kaito exempting heists; thus, he dropped the subject. (Those kicks could smash concrete for goodness’ sake; Shin’ichi was excessively formidable to join a professional football team. He would utterly destroy everyone else during matches otherwise.) To divert Shin’ichi from entering a hypothetically foul mood, Kaito suggested: “…Want to do what we exactly came here for?” Shin’ichi blinked, then smiled faintly. “Sure. That was the purpose of our visit, wasn’t it?” Thus, they stood side by side in front of the ocean, the waves crashing and the wind howling in their ears, crashing and howling turbulently like the bitter memories of their past—all of the heartbreak and suffering, the falsehoods that they spat out every day, the lives that they failed to save, the traumatic sights that induced the nightmares distressing them in their sleep when they slept in separate beds. All of that pain bottled inside them fizzled like soda until it finally absconded from their throats and collided with the silent sky. “AHHHHHHH!” Their screams reverberated in the air, startling nearby seagulls who cawed in response to the sudden disturbance. The boys continued to holler at empty space, pouring out their bleeding anger and sorrow until there was nothing left to milk out and their throats were raw, their anguish substituted for a dull hollowness settled in their hearts. Once they had had enough, Shin’ichi rasped hoarsely, “That was cathartic.” Kaito chuckled soundlessly, his voice nearly gone from overuse, and managed to susurrate: “Feeling better?” “So much better.” Subsequently, Shin’ichi supplemented diffidently, “…Thanks.”
Thank you for bringing me here, for understanding me, for being by my side.
Having grasped the words clandestine in Shin’ichi’s requital, Kaito smiled and replied, “Anytime.” Shin’ichi proffered his hand, and Kaito took it, entangling their fingers tightly. Then, they resumed their stroll along the shore, content and safe and very much alive, with the sky and sun as their solitary spectators, the sunlight beginning to shine through the cracks in the parting clouds.