Chapter Text
It’s been two years since she’d le—since he’s last seen her.
Dammit, Shinichi, you’ve been telling yourself for years you’re over this. You’re over that little something that happened in the past.
It’s been over two years. Kudo Shinichi can tell you just how much time has passed since Haibara Ai, as Miyano Shiho, left hi—Beika, down to the minute. But he wouldn’t. Because timekeeping is a Hakuba thing. And him knowing that fact is evidence he hasn’t gotten over it. Yet. Argh—he swears he’s over it! It’s not like he finds himself wondering where she is or what she’s doing every now and then when he’s got no case to solve!
Not that he’d need to wonder about it right now. Since he knows exactly where she is and what she’s doing at this moment.
There she is, at the left corner of the room, holding up her sleek black mask matching her sleek black gown, clutching in her other hand a plain silver clutch. Just standing. Observing.
The mask does nothing to hide her from him. He can map out her features in his mind, superimpose the her from two years ago onto the mask—and the mask disappears. It’s her. He’s sure it’s her.
Does he approach her? What would he say? Will she even talk to him? Does she even remember him?
The passing time he’s been so aware of since two years ago, has stopped.
He only notices now that he’s gripped his mask too tight, his fingers digging in to his palm.
He estimates she’s around 18 meters away from him, the closest they’ve been in years, when they used to be— She’s around 18 meters away from him, but he’s sure, he can see it as clear as day, her disinterested eyes—still in that blue-green shade he never did identify but would always, always trace back to her—staring blankly in front of her. He knows she’s wondering why she even went, why she’s still there, and how she can leave without anyone noticing. He knows, because he’d wonder the same, if he didn’t see her tonight.
He watches her watch nothing in particular.
And, of course, she notices.The moment her eyes fell on him, he felt it, felt something start, even though the world is still and he can’t see anything but those eyes, and her.
He only realizes he’s crossed the 18-meter distance between them when she touches his wrist. He looks at her hand on his, and he sees: his mask has broken. Her touch relaxes his grip. As soon as she senses his calm, she draws back her hand, her clutch slightly swaying on its wrist strap.
Then he looks at her. Her blue-green eyes pierce through the plain black mask. Her permed blonde hair grown a bit longer, frame her face. Her soft, glossed lips press together in a tight line as if to stop her from saying… from saying what?
Always a mystery. He can read her one moment, and then, nothing. He can almost laugh—it’s been so long since he’d felt this familiar confusion.
He can almost laugh. But he couldn’t. Of all the questions in his mind, all the things he has wanted to say for the past two years, there wasn’t a single thing he could think of to say at this moment.
And so he just looked at her.
And her, she can almost laugh too. Because if there’s anything she had learnt in the past two years she had left him, it’s that when it comes to Kudo Shinichi, Miyano Shiho will always give.
And so she puts down her mask.
And she offers her hand.
And she saves him.
“Hello,” she says.