Chapter Text
Shinichi glared at the empty can noisily clattering into its equally dried up brethren on the concrete roof.
It had absolutely no excuse to be so goddamn loud, he thought. Especially not at it's the middle of the fucking night, I will call the cops if you don't shut the fuck up o'clock in the morning. Which Shinichi had found to be quite rude of the person that had informed him of this, given he was the cops, and he rather preferred not to be called at this time of night, thank you very much.
He grumbled to himself, and fiddled another can from the ripped-open box of cheap beer that was sitting next to him. It was mostly flavorless, but in an immensely gross kind of way. Admittedly, he didn't really like beer in general, so maybe it was fine, actually. It wasn't like he had gotten it for its exquisite taste.
The can opened with a weak fizzle, and he took another swig. Behind him, the plastic bag rustled, and heaved a heavy sigh as the empty cans were thrown into it.
Shinichi didn't really remember why he had bought the beer, actually, or what he had come to this random roof for. Which, he supposed, had been the entire point. Probably.
The bag settled down onto the ground somewhere further off, the cans clattering more now that they were collected together. He didn't think he'd had that many.
Shinichi paused, and stared at the beer in his hand.
He hadn't brought a plastic bag either, he thought.
“No, but I did.”
Shinichi whirled around. A white shape blurred into his view, and then disappeared again when the roof didn't stop moving the same time he did.
“Good morning, Shinichi.”
His head snapped back again, and this time, he managed to focus on the white blur; he stared at it for a second or three, and then recognized who was standing before him.
“Ah-HA!” Shinichi triumphantly shot to his feet, and his vision went entirely black for a moment. “I knew I'd find you here, KID!”
A hand grabbed his arm, strong enough to stop him from stumbling away; Shinichi blinked, hard, several times. When he could finally see again, KID was suddenly standing right in front of him.
KID, who didn't look even remotely as caught as Shinichi thought he'd ought to. KID, who was merely watching him, his eyebrow wearily raised above the arc of his monocle.
Shinichi felt his face heat up under his gaze.
“It's almost like you can find me here every year,” KID finally said, slowly, deliberately. He sounded... odd. Shinichi couldn't place it. He didn't sound like KID usually sounded, all grandiose and pompous and so pleasant to listen to.
Shinichi was, however, also very much distracted by the way the low lights from the streets far below made KID's eyes look unnaturally dark, while the dying light bulb above the roof's door did a tremendous job making his eyelashes look all long and gorgeous. So maybe Shinichi just hadn't heard him right.
KID had grown up unfairly handsome, Shinichi thought. It was far from the first time he'd noticed this, but he couldn't not notice, either.
“Come on,” said KID, then, and Shinichi had to tear his eyes off his mouth to focus on his words, “I'll get you home.”
Shinichi paused. This wasn't right.
“N-no,” he protested weakly, “No, you're arrested. I-” He glanced around. Tried to remember why he had come here. “I knew you'd escape from here!” Yes, he thought, that sounded right. “So I came here! To arrest you!”
He tried to raise the arm KID was still holding, and abandoned the attempt when KID didn't let go, so he used his other hand instead to accusingly poke a finger against KID's chest.
KID's broad chest, that was perfectly hugged by his expensive-looking shirt. Shinichi suddenly realized it wasn't actually silk. He'd thought it would be silk, because KID was the one wearing it. He seemed like someone who wore silk, he thought. It rather felt like cotton, though.
KID sighed again.
“Escape from what, Shinichi? There was no show tonight.”
Shinichi huffed. That wasn't right; he knew it wasn't right. He'd solved a riddle. Not long ago. A few days, maybe. For a heist KID was planning for a- for the-
He didn't remember what he was going to steal.
“It's a tiara, “ KID provided, and Shinichi hummed in agreement. “And the show isn't until next week.”
Shinichi frowned.
“Think, Shinichi,” KID continued. “What day is today?”
Shinichi looked up from the blue fabric under his fingers.
“Today?” he asked, trying not to falter under KID's impossibly dark eyes; under his stern, calm gaze. “It's- today is- it's-”
His mouth was feeling dry. He didn't know where his beer had gone.
“Today is what, Shinichi,” said KID, unnervingly firm. His hand was squeezing Shinichi's wrist; not hard, not hurting. Shinichi tried to focus on it, and got lost halfway there. His other hand curled into a fist against KID's chest instead.
Today was the heist, he was sure of it. That was why he'd followed KID here! Because he had known this is where KID would escape from! It was right by- where the-
It was-
Shinichi stopped. The roof around him didn't.
The color drained from his face.
Today was-
“Shinichi.”
Shinichi was going to be sick, he thought.
The one thing about marrying young that they hadn't been warned about was this: No one really knew who they were yet, so the person one had fallen in love with might be very different from the person one married.
People changed constantly, of course, but the step out of school and into adulthood was one of the biggest changes life had to offer. As was the step from a relationship into marriage.
It could work, of course. His parents were a prime example: They'd been high school sweethearts and were still going strong, more than a quarter of a century later.
But also, sometimes, it didn't work: Her parents had been high school sweethearts too, and while they definitely still had some feelings for one another, marriage had not been the right choice for them.
They had known both of these sides of the coin, but they had thought each other perfect, just like his parents, so they had married fresh out of high school, certain they would be with one another for the rest of eternity.
It had been perfect, and when their son was born a year later, it became even better.
They didn't notice the changes at first.
She didn't remember the first time she thought I wish he'd just be quiet when he went on another hour-long tangent on some novel he'd read, instead of I love his passion.
He didn't remember the first time he thought I wish she'd stop nagging when she asked him to stop studying and come to bed already, instead of I love how much she cares.
Neither of them knew when I'd do anything for you turned into I guess I'll have to.
It, of course, didn't help that neither of them were particularly adept at communicating their feelings until they became unbearable, and a careful we should talk about this became a shouting match full of unmeant accusations and ugly tears.
They didn't immediately give up. They talked. They made up. Several times. First for their sake. For the sake of their relationship. Then for the sake of their son.
But your dinner is in the microwave when you come home turned into just get yourself something from the conbini, and I left work early today so we can spend the evening together turned into just go to bed, I'll be late.
And eventually, I'll sleep on the couch, we'll talk in the morning turned into I'll stay at my mother's, do not contact me.
Eventually, they stopped making up.
And finally, they realized - they were better off this way. For their sake. For the sake of their relationship.
For the sake of their son.
Shinichi awoke in complete darkness. He was warm, and somewhere comfortable, and everything ached.
He was in his bedroom, he finally realized; his childhood bedroom he had started using again when Ran had moved out. A blanket was thrown over the window to help the curtains block out the rising sun's light, and the door was open. Downstairs, his dryer was running.
He didn't remember how he had gotten home. If the glass of water on his bedside table and the recently rinsed out bucket next to his bed were anything to go by though, he hadn't gotten here by himself.
His suspicions were confirmed when he managed to make his way down the stairs; taking one painfully slow step at the time, wrapped in his blanket best he could. The lights in the kitchen were on.
They almost blinded him when the not fully closed door suddenly opened.
“Shinichi?” he heard through the flaring pain in his head, and then hands were on him, gently guiding him until his legs found one of the kitchen chairs to all but fall onto. “You shouldn't have gotten up.”
Shinichi just breathed out a pained groan that felt like rubble in his throat, and sank forward until he could rest his forehead on the cool table.
A moment later, a glass was set down next to him.
“Drink,” said KID, calm, gentle, and then went back to the counter on the other side of the room to continue doing whatever he had been doing.
Shinichi wasn't even surprised KID was here. Somehow, for some reason, it was always KID who was there when he was at his most miserable. Always KID. Offering a drink, a snack. A shoulder to lean on.
A face to punch, once. Shinichi grimaced.
“...why are you doing this?” he managed to breathe out the first question that came to his muddled mind.
He wasn't sure why he had never asked this before.
Across from him, KID sighed. Not annoyed, not disappointed. Just a breath. It was unexpected.
“How do you want me to answer that?” KID then asked back, and glanced at him over his shoulder.
Shinichi suddenly realized KID wasn't wearing his suit; his shirt was still the same (cotton, he thought, and didn't know why) and his monocle, too, but his hat was sitting on the table next to Shinichi, and his jacket was just somewhere else entirely.
“If I lie and say I just pity you,” KID continued, and Shinichi looked up from the seam of his shirt that was loosely hanging over the too-small sweatpants KID was wearing, entirely mismatched, “you'd feel bad. If I kind of lie and say I'm just a nice guy, you'll laugh at me.” He paused; just looked at Shinichi for a moment, eyes soft and devoid of any discernible emotion. “And if I'm honest and tell you that I actually really like you and don't want you to drunkenly stumble off a roof and break your big pretty head on the sidewalk, you won't believe me. So.” He gestured vaguely, at nothing in particular. “Choose your own adventure.”
KID turned away again. From the way the muscles in his back worked and his rolled-up sleeves strained around his biceps, Shinichi could vaguely guess he was pressing every single drop of juice from one of the oranges Conan had brought home a few days ago.
Also the smell kind of gave it away, but Shinichi only very belatedly noticed that.
“...I own a juicer,” Shinichi muttered, slowly; the silence between them made him acutely uncomfortable.
“I know,” replied KID, almost immediately, and gestured to the side, where the juicer stood, unused.
Shinichi didn't know what else to say.
Awkwardly, he fumbled a hand free from his blanket to pick up the glass of water KID had provided. At least his headache was dulling down. The lights weren't hurting his eyes too badly anymore, and the water somewhat soothed his sore throat. It was just enough to mull over the words KID had said.
He couldn't make sense of them. KID couldn't possibly like him, he thought.
KID didn't even know him.
“Oh, not this again,” KID huffed, incredulous, and all but slammed down the knife he'd used to cut another orange with. “Yeah, Shinichi, obviously I don't know you at all.”
Shinichi flinched, entirely too late.
“It's not like we've known each other for more than ten years now or something,” KID continued; his calm voice growing more exasperated with every word he said. “It's not like I know most of your favorite books without ever having read them. Or that you really like that sweet tea the vending machine down the street has. Or that you never wanted to be a police officer, but decided to be one anyway because it seemed more secure than trying to establish yourself as a private detective. Or that you'd actually really like to publish your own novels, but don't want to stand in your father's shadow.”
He tossed one of the squeezed-out orange peels into the growing pile of them to the side. Shinichi shrunk further into himself.
“And I especially don't know that you like to pretend you don't care about anything or anyone at all, because being considered a heartless asshole is somehow more comfortable than admitting to yourself that you actually care so much that every goddamn year on the same day, you get absolutely wasted out of your mind because it makes you forget for just a little while that for some godforsaken reason you got into your head that your wife leaving you was your fault.”
The glass of water slipped from Shinichi's hand. It rolled across the table through its spilled contents, and then off it with no resistance at all.
It didn't shatter. It didn't even hit the floor.
Shinichi squeezed his eyes shut. They stung.
When KID spoke again, he sounded closer. Calmer, too; like he was forcibly pulling his patience back together.
Shinichi refused to look at him.
“You know,” he said, apropos nothing, and set the glass back down on the table. “I used to have a girlfriend. Loved her more than anything in the world.”
He sighed, and went to pick up a towel.
“But when the time came to figure out what we wanted to actually do with our lives, we found that we had very different ideas of what our future should look like. Ideas that weren't compatible.”
KID paused, for just a moment; when he continued, he was quieter than before.
“We tried. We looked for a compromise that would work for both of us, but the simple truth is that there wasn't one. So in the end, we broke up. And it sucked. It hurt. It still does, sometimes. But it wasn't anyone's fault. We just don't belong together.
“She's married now. To a guy I despise for entirely unrelated reasons. And they're happy. They're both working on their dream careers, together. They're traveling a lot. Neither of them want children. They just fit together. Better than she and I ever could have.”
KID wiped away the last of the spilled water, and went to wring the towel out over the sink.
“I'm not saying you're not allowed to grieve, Shinichi. I spent months just being angry at the world while I tried to figure out how to go on. I can't begin to imagine how much harder an entire marriage makes it. But it's been four years. It's about time you stop blaming yourself for something that wasn't a fault in the first place.”
Down the hallway, the drying machine started playing its cheery pop tune to signal it was one.
Shinichi couldn't bring himself to wonder why KID had done his laundry of all things.
“I know that for some reason you don't want to believe this,” said KID, unperturbed, “but you're allowed to look for happiness again, you know. It's not like your wife died or something. And you should look for it again.”
There was a sound Shinichi couldn't place, and, out of reflex, he opened his eyes again.
“Because, I mean.” It was a chuckle in KID's voice, he realized. “I'm right here, you know. And even though I know better, I do, actually, really like you.”
Shinichi glanced up, despite himself. He found KID smiling at him; it was so bright, and so gorgeous, and so achingly honest, and Shinichi didn't understand.
“...I don't even know your name,” he mumbled just to say something, and he knew it wasn't an argument, not even a weak one.
KID seemed to think the same. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, and with a shrug of his shoulder, he said, “You never asked”. And Shinichi didn't know what to say to that, either.
“And it's not like you don't think I'm hot,” KID offered to his lack of reaction; his playful tone almost gave Shinichi whiplash.
He felt his face fall.
“You keep telling me, you know,” KID said, teased, and Shinichi couldn't bring himself to protest, “When you're drunk enough to do all your thinking out loud. Usually right before you throw up on me.”
“Oh, God.” Shinichi groaned. He unceremoniously dropped his head back onto the table, as memories of the previous night slowly crept back up on him. “Not again.”
He heard KID laugh, and it sounded much fonder than Shinichi thought he deserved. He didn't care to look back up, even when KID continued to busy himself around his kitchen.
There was a dull ache still throbbing in his head, but somehow, he felt lighter than he had in a long time.