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Ai had always known that it was never the things she agonized over that caused real devastation. It was the things that happened suddenly at the most unexpected moments, the things that blindsided her— those were the things that would bring her to her knees on some unassuming morning.
Just like her parents’ unexplained accident. Just like Akemi’s unanticipated passing. Just like him being gone.
Deep down, she knew that there would always be light at the end of the tunnel—she had suffered through it more than once. Despite the times she had experienced the sea of emotions that had almost drowned her, she had always fought tooth and nail to claw her way out.
And yet…
Her fingers clenched tightly, her nails digging painfully into her own palms as she fought to control the deep aching in her chest. Her lungs heaved, her head throbbed and her eyes burned—it was hard to breathe. She heard the faint sounds of the front door opening and closing before his footsteps approached slowly, lightly, carefully.
Nothing felt real. It wasn’t fair.
“Hey…” Conan’s gentle, soothing voice was a sharp contrast to the cacophony of her merciless and unrelenting thoughts.
Why was she still here?
Against her better judgement, her eyes wandered around the house she had grown up in during her second childhood. Without meaning to, it landed on the pair of nude heels that were sitting inconspicuously on the shoe rack—a location tracker was embedded into the inside of the sole. It had been somewhat of a prank gift that the professor had made for her for her twentieth birthday and he had jokingly said that it was in case she ever got kidnapped again.
And then her eyes caught sight of his blue mug that he had refused to throw out despite the small chips on the handle and rim—he had always been a sentimental old man. It explained the amount of failed inventions that littered the tables, the shelves, the drawers, the walls...
Standing in the empty kitchen without his loud, rumbling laughter, his corny jokes and his little quizzes—everything felt a little duller, a little greyer. Nothing had been moved since he had left, but even so, she half expected him to hobble towards the kitchen with his bright smile and crinkling eyes as greeting as he asked what was for breakfast.
Except she would never hear his voice again, never feel his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the house, never smell the occasional burning of breakfast being cooked by him. More importantly, she would miss his warm, welcoming eyes and big, affectionate hugs.
There, in the corner, was where they had spent countless hours testing out video games he had created. Or in the foyer, where they often spent the evenings packing up any camp equipment that they would need the following day. Or in the kitchen, where she was often cooking and where he would sit with a cup of tea to keep her company as he waited for the next meal. Or even on the computer where he had spent hours doing his research or playing card and dice games.
What was she supposed to do with a house that she had inherited that was much too big for her—one that was filled with too many treasured trinkets and too many unforgettable but painful memories?
A firm arm wrapped around her shoulders and she felt the calm stroke of his hand rubbing her arm as his lips brushed against the side of her head. “You okay?”
She didn’t feel like she would ever be okay—didn’t feel like anything would be okay again.
Instead, she nodded slowly, her gaze focused on the little blue mug wondering if she would ever gather the courage to throw it out. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she drew a hard breath and tried to ignore the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her—if she could pretend that they didn’t exist, perhaps they could go away.
His fingers tightened around her arm before they relaxed. She knew that he must also be feeling the devastating loss. He had known the professor since he was a child—since his first childhood—and the professor had been one of the only people that he had trusted in implicitly.
“Yeah,” she finally responded with a whisper after what seemed like hours.
Very gently, he turned her around to face him and she tried to duck her head. Instead, he held her face softly in his hands before pressing his lips against her forehead tenderly. She made the mistake of looking up into his gaze—seeing the way his eyes welling up with tears caused her breath to catch.
It was the closest she had ever come to seeing him cry.
“It’s okay not to be,” he said supportively, eyes bright. “It’s okay to cry.” His barely audible murmur was in her ear as his voice cracked with grief.
With his solemn words, reality suddenly sank in and she felt the floodgates open as all the emotions she had tried holding off came rushing in. Her vision blurred and before he could truly see the look of anguish on her face, she grasped the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer as she tucked her face into the hollow of his neck.
He held her gently and rocked her in his arms—his hushed reassurances the only thing keeping her from drowning.