Work Text:
In the three years of Shiho's absence, Shinichi would later learn that life had somewhat lost its colour. Some days were duller, longer. And sometimes, when left in the quarters of his own home, alone and thinking, there were moments when life seemed impossibly monotonous.
Shinichi hasn’t touched the books in his home library in a while. He’s read most of them, but he doesn’t linger around as much as he used to. Agasa’s own library, on the other hand, is smaller and less grand in comparison, but Shinichi frequents there whenever he visits next door almost every day of the week, pulling out the chemistry books, flipping through the pages to mind only the elegant scripts of chemical formulae and shorthand on the margins, pieces of paper stuck in between and remnants of dog-eared corners that Shiho would soothe after use.
So three years later when Shiho comes home, Shinichi's heartbeat is thumping in his ears that he barely registers Ran calling after him when he slips into the crowd in a rush, bearing the eagerness of a lost child who found his mother as he weaves his way towards her.
“Kudo-kun,” Shiho says the moment her eyes meet his, widening a fraction as Shinichi narrows down the distance between them to an arm's length.
“Haibara,” Shinichi croaks, heart in his throat, and watches how Shiho raises a dainty eyebrow at him and then, “Miyano,” when he catches on.
They plainly stare at each other for a while, both dressed for the occasion. Shinichi admires the modern cut of Shiho's halter dress, the colour matching the midnight blue of Shinichi's tuxedo.
Shinichi swallows the first question that threatens to spill: 'Why did you leave?' and tones it down to the futility of 'Where have you been?' that he never asks because he knew at least that much after he pestered Agasa on the details of her whereabouts.
“I tried looking for you,” Shinichi says instead, trying hard not to wince when the words tumble out like an accusation. The memory of booking a ticket to Chicago on the same night Agasa had given up one of Shiho's several secrets, still clear as day.
“I know,” Shiho replies coolly. “I told you not to.”
Shinichi remembers the note she left for him among the many mails, a simple white card without an envelope, words scribbled down to: “Don't look for me.” There hadn't been a signature then, but he's memorised her handwriting to know it was hers.
“I know,” Shinichi sighs, figures he won't tell her about the single stem of white carnation he bought that same day she left him. Before the note.
Shiho breaks eye contact, eyes momentarily falling on his mouth before settling on a point below his chin.
Shinichi swallows while he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“Your tie is crooked.”
Shinichi blinks and slightly startles when a pair of delicate hands wrap around the small piece of fabric.
“Here,” Shiho sighs, “let me.”
The instant Shinichi realises how Shiho had closed the gap between them to mere centimetres, his face starts to flush, heart racing and hammering against his rib cage as he stares right at the crown of Shiho's head. The distinct notes of mint and lavender subtly invade Shinichi's sense of smell. He idly files away brand names of shampoo that he recalls having the same scent.
Once Shiho finishes fixing his tie, she pulls away from him, admiring her work for a minute before looking him up in the eye expectantly.
“Thank you,” Shinichi says, eyes locking again with Shiho's sharp gaze. “You look good.”
“I called.”
“Hm?”
“After the professor told me you got back from your… trip,” she explains, folding her arms together, “I called.”
When Shinichi had flown to Chicago in his grand attempt to bring Shiho back home, Shiho had never shown up, not even once, successfully evading the detective in the week that he had been in America.
Shinichi stares at her. “I wasn't feeling well.”
It wasn't a complete lie. He was bedridden that entire day from his utter frustration with her, accompanied by the feeling of defeat and lingering resentment.
Shiho doesn't comment nor does she care to tell him that she called the day after as well, which Shinichi felt justified to ignore. Instead, she turns away from him, choosing to face the wide window panes that decorated the banquet hall. Forty-two floors down, a blanket of ginkgo leaves cover the vast Shinjuku Park and Kumano Shrine, the scenery swathed in the colours of an evening twilight.
Shinichi joins her a moment later, sneaking a glance now and then to trace her eloquent profile, taken in by the gentle air that she usually wore around Ayumi and the other kids or small animals, but never around him until today.
When it seemed obvious that Shiho would be making no move to call him out on his lie, not once doubting her ability to see right through him, he lets her be and leaves the matter up for discussion for a more appropriate setting.
At the sudden round of applause and cheer, the two of them turn towards the entrance. The sight of Agasa in his pristine white suit and, accompanying him arm-in-arm in a glamorous white gown, Fusae, inspires a feeling of warmth and a touch of pride.
“We should head to our table,” Shiho says, wearing a sincere and happy smile as she watches Agasa and his bride walk up to the platform, clapping her hands along with the crowd.
Shinichi smiles as well, mood lifting from the sombre tone brought on from their earlier conversation.
And Agasa, discovering that Shiho and Shinichi were within each other's close vicinity, beams and waves at them both.