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“No, no,” Conan said, crossing his arms very diligently over his undone homework, “Holmes is not addicted to drugs. He is just—”
“A practiced user,” Rei replied easily. “Do your homework, Conan-kun.”
Conan bit his lips. “The Victorian age didn’t have enough data on psychotic drugs for Holmes to realise that it’s potentially fatal.”
“I’m sure he knows plenty. He’s Holmes.”
“He’s not a doctor!” When Rei just looked at him with a raised eyebrow, Conan faltered. “Alright, I guess Watson warned him. But Holmes always had a reckless side. Still, he’s not addicted.”
Childish, Rei thought, and thought himself silly to even think so. “Sherlock Holmes is a perfect example of an imperfect hero, wouldn’t you agree?”
Conan picked up his pencil, mindless in poking holes to his homework. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess.”
Rei moved to the window, and glanced at the ever-moving cars. Lights were a blur to the night. “Ran-san hasn’t returned yet. Do you want me to prepare supper?”
A voice returned meekly, “I guess it’s your job as a babysitter, Amuro-san.”
“I’m a glorified babysitter,” Rei said, walking to the kitchen. “I came here as a friend.”
“To Mouri?”
Rei opened the fridge. So many beers. “To you, Conan-kun.”
Rei made a plate of sandwiches. Conan was scrolling through his phone when he brought them to the table.
“Finished your homework? I’m impressed.”
Conan looked up, and rolled his eyes at him. “Hardly anything impresses you.”
“You do,” replied Rei.
Conan huffed. “A lot of people are,” he said.
Rei gestured at him to eat. “It’s a surprise that the MPD hasn’t tried to recruit you yet.”
“They want to wait until I’m of age,” Conan said, “or when I am third grade, whichever they feel more morally compelled to do.”
Rei took a bite. It was pretty good. “Almost,” he said, “you’re almost of age. Your eighteen birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”
Conan glanced at him briefly, then snorted. “That’s two more years before twenty,” he said, munched over his sandwich, and added, “If you knew my identity, enough to casually point it out like that, you could at least have the decency to tell me, Rei-san. I wouldn’t try so hard around you, otherwise.“
“Maa,” Rei said, “I think lies are half of the charm in you.”
“The other half?”
“Your ability to change,” Rei said, “and stay true to yourself. The duality is very charming.”
Conan smiled. “Big words.”
“Of course.”
They ate in silence; Conan wiped his hands. “We’ll need your force in our fight,” he said. “Wholly. Entirely.”
Rei frowned. “I have been in this fight for longer than you have been alive.”
Conan shook his head. “I’m not talking about dedication,” he corrected. “I don’t doubt your professionalism. I know you have a grudge with the FBI, and I know how it doesn’t affect your collaboration when the fight is concerned.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
“I’m your friend,” Conan said.
Rei put his hands on his lap; his entire body stilling as he said, “I’m glad that you are. You’re dangerous as an enemy.”
“You’re reckless.”
“So are you.”
“I am a practiced user.”
Rei laughed. “Then what am I, mister Holmes?”
“An addict,” Conan said matter-of-factly. “You will die before you know it.”
“I know my limit.”
“Your limit,” said Conan, a little annoyed, “is death. Or somewhere beyond it.”
Rei shrugged. “I have things that I want to protect. So do you.”
“We are not the same, Amuro-san.”
Rei knew that. “There will be a time where this ends,” Rei said nonchalantly. “There will a time for everything. You have bigger concerns.”
“I want to take them down,” Conan said. “We have the same goal.”
“It will all end,” Rei said instead, “aren’t you scared?”
Because he was so young. Because he had his entire life before him where his entire life seemed to be lived beforehand. The boy lifted his head. So, so proud.
“I’m not afraid of change, Amuro-san.”
Because he was so young. “I have changed,” Conan continued, “I have changed for a lot of things.”
“Yes,” Rei said, though he felt like lying. He had felt like lying for a long time. “Yes, I suppose.”
His expression—wore down and thoughtful—was the oldest Rei had seen in a child. Rei wondered what he himself looked like, then, old and wore down as an adult.
“As a friend, then,” Conan said. “I want you to be careful.”
Rei had under the impression that he was, in fact, very careful. He was careful in all the ways that mattered. “You’re very charming,” he said. So, so careful. “Did anyone tell you that?”
Conan laughed. “Living with Mouri, Amuro-san?”
“Surely he knows a little how smart you are.”
“Not really,” Conan said. “People will see what they want to see.”
They had all looked at him like this, Rei had seen it in others, in himself—with wonder, with doubt. No one had made him wish for change as much as he did. Sherlock Holmes, Rei thought. But Holmes—eccentric, rational, genius Holmes— only observed. He partook in no change; he wouldn’t break anything that didn’t need breaking.
“Conan?”
Conan tilted his head to the door. “I’m here, Ran-neechan! Amuro-san is with me!”
The sandwiches were left cold on the table. It was late. Rei should go home.
His friend said, with voice as loud and clear as any friends of the past, like any passing ghost, “I will see you tomorrow, Amuro-san.”
“Of course,” he said. Tomorrow. Of course he will.