Archive of Our Own

of the secret:

There are three things in this world, Kaito remembers from some distant spot in his mind that whispers, that came from some distant man of distant times, that cannot long stay hidden.

The Sun, the Moon and the Truth.

It's a little funny and incredibly unnerving, how accurate that proverb applies to Kaito's current situation. Specifically, his current relationship with Kudō Shinichi.

The way the world dictates it is like this.

Kuroba Kaito is the part-timing, moonlighting phantom thief, who dances upon the whole world as his stage, in the white suit and top hat that make the boy the part of Kaitō KID, the living legacy of a dead man. He steals precious jewels, has committed likely hundreds of cases of identity fraud by now and mocks the law like it is his own runaround plaything. By the rules of this world and society, he is a criminal. Something dark and black and terribly dreary, despite how much white he wears or totes around. Although personally he prefers to style himself as a charismatic gentleman, he's under no illusion of the other facets of public perception of him.

Kudō Shinichi is the teen detective extraordinaire, who scours through the shadowy, shady parts of the world like a particularly ruthless ray of light. Without exception or prejudice, he hauls the truth to the surface by hook or by crook righteously, casts lies into doubt and brings wrongdoers to justice in where they belong: the slammer. By the rules of this world and society, he could be called a hero. Though the reality of it really just shows the other as the most petulant, smugly clever brat Kaito has the most contrary pleasure of meeting via Edogawa Conan.

It is thus subsequently surmised as such. According to the deemed natural order and common sense of this world, Kaito Kuroba and Kudō Shinichi are enemies or, at the very least, rivals. Thief and detective, criminal vs law enforcement; what else , people laugh and muddle surreptitiously, could they possibly be?

Well, something else apparently. Something more possibly. At least for this pair of detective and thief.

After all, Kaito doubts most thieves have hot make-out sessions together with the mouth of their so-called natural enemies.

Nipping teasingly at the edges of Shinichi's lips, Kaito delights in the broken moans that escape the usually snarky, cutting mouth. So terribly plush, it's ridiculously unfair how soft and well-maintained those pale pink lips are when his own requires copious lip care products to retain at the same level of softness. However, he supposed he can't complain too much — considering how much he's currently enjoys its suppleness.

And it is only me, Kaito thinks between gasps, who has done this to him.

Not Hattori Heiji, the trustworthy best buddy from Osaka who would do anything to ensure Shinichi's wellbeing and happiness — life, limb and potentially even morality too.

Not Haibara Ai, Edogawa Conan's partner-in-crime with the kind of bone-deep bond that is only possible to be crafted through trials and fire and a mutual, greater purpose that eclipses the two in its sheer impossibility and the stubborn willingness to go headfirst against it together regardless.

Not even Mōri Ran, the childhood sweetheart — Shinichi's Aoko — who is every primary reason and a half that Shinichi does what he does now, irreplaceable and understanding and so very, heartbreakingly kind that Kaito understands precisely just how special of an existence she is, in such a world like this, especially Shinichi's world that must see every ugly deed possible that humanity can commit. To know that such purity still exists must be both fulfilling and relieving in equal measures.

It is me , he thinks and revels . A peacock's preening, as Shinichi so often accuses Kaito of.

The possessiveness grips him. It tightens the clutch around his heart and chest. In response, Kaito's kiss deepens roughly. His black-clad arms encircle tighter around the other's waist. A mimicry of a cage.

"KID, KID ," Shinichi groans, then hisses. Ugh, no good, no good. Kaito's obviously failing if meitantei's still conscious enough to be rebutting. So, his hips grind down, hot and heavy and insistent, and it would be so easy from here to lead them both back down that path, the one of no return that intoxicates them both, leave them drunk and high and left wanting for more, more, more, yet with never enough at all.

"KID!"

Or maybe not.

Damn.

He peels his face away from Shinichi's and flashes a coyly sweet smile, knowing that's the only thing the detective can see from beneath the cap's brim's shadows, "Yes, dear?". The scowl he gets is magnificent.

"I have to go."

Ah. Right.

"So mean, Meitantei!" Kaito whines, feeling no shame in doing so if it means he can cajole Shinichi into extra rounds of kisses. "I've been worked so hard by you, you should be kinder to me! If I hadn't stolen that pen drive and magnanimously given it to you and also helped hide you away as you are right now, life would be a lot harder for you now, you know."

It rings truthful very much so. If Kaito hadn't whimsically decided to get involved, he suspects things may have gotten markedly messier, judging from the information he had been able to glimpse off that pendrive.

"I won't deny that." Shinichi admits. "However, your timing was extremely suspicious. Were you stalking me?"

"Not at all in fact." No lies in his words here, albeit plenty of contextual omissions.

It was through pure and honest circumstantial coincidence that had Kaito stumbling across this pendrive while out on a stakeout for his heist that was planned to occur later in the month. While making his rounds around the buildings, he had noticed a duo of shifty men meandering around the area.

Tension was subtly lining their faces and figures. There was an anxious caution in the way they handled the metal grey suitcase shared between them. Curiousity got the better of him and so, in its rousing, he had softened his steps, reddied his sleeping gas and trailed after them. Taking them out hadn't been hard, neither was cracking open their security measures and sending their accomplices on a wild-goose chase.

It was decrypting the acquired information from them that had Kaito wanting to throw hands with a computer and maybe a whole gallon worth of water at too. The entire damn process for the whole dataset had taken him a hefty three hours to complete! Three. Hours. Which he could've used to do literally anything else more productive. It's three hours of his life he's never getting back.

A quick skim through had him recognise its contents as pertinent information to an important operation he remembers Shinichi having mentioned before. Thus, he re-encrypted the pendrive, sanitised it of any and all his marks, packaged it neatly and delivered the thing himself straight to the doorsteps of the Mōri Detective Agency. That he just so happens to be here on the day of the operation itself is mere curiosity too really.

He's not going to mention any of that to Shinichi, of course.

"Really now," said aforementioned teen drawls.

"I'm telling the truth!"

"So you are."

"Really, detective!"

"Mmhmm."

"Really, really, really!"

"Gah — alright, alright, I believe you, thief. Now stop clinging so much. I'll fall otherwise!"

Kaito's heart brightens terribly at that admission of trust and has him attempting to swoop in for another kiss. Shinichi bats him off with the flat of his palm. It doesn't take them long to devolve into some weird kind of game that's a mixture of gay chicken and kiss or slap.

While Shinichi is holding off his face with one hand and squeezing his cheeks between the thumb and ring finger of the other, a voice cuts through the dark, "Conan-kun!"

The undercover tenant.

Just like that, their strange bubble pops. Reality comes rushing back over them and it has them leaping away from each other like some pair of startled cats. The high recedes.

It's the end of this imagination.

"I have to go," Shinichi says. He tugs away. He looks anxious. Of what exactly, Kaito isn't sure.

A hum, "So you do." Kaito doesn't leave. The voice beckons closer.

"Damnit, KID, you have to go." Shinichi hisses. "I can't be seen with you!"

Yeah. He knows.

As if Kaito needs the reminder.

Any sting he may feel is frosted over, like it is submerged under hundreds of dozens layers of ice, leaving behind a numbing calm that slows the world down and makes for it be a little more grayscale. His face does not reflect any ripples in his heart. He separates all emotions from the situation, and reopens his view blank from them, objective. Logic and reason take control. Poker Face.

Dictated rules cultivate a dictated logic, said logic embeds fact and thus, those facts become common sense.

The common sense is, they cannot be seen and that is especially true on Kaito's end. Any other outcome is unacceptable.

A compromising position like this endangers variables he can't afford to risk. For all he enjoys their dalliances and knows that Shinichi would turn a blind eye to Kaito's dubiosity, it doesn't mean he would stop anyone else from going after Kaito themselves.

Kūdo Shinichi's reliable like that.

Getting caught would mean getting exposed. Exposure will credit itself to disrepute and doubts, losses of trust on both sides they cannot afford — not with the big picture that needs to be considered. And there are always things bigger than them — two teenage boys forging on ahead in roles they have never forseen themselves in before.

Things would go so terribly wrong if they were caught by those bigger than them. As it is now, they can barely keep ahead of their own great evils — nevermind being able to get involved with the other's. Secrecy is the foundation by which their contemporary lives are established upon. Should that foundation crumble, so will everything that was built upon, and with it will go free the casualties and collateral and important and guilty. 

They cannot go free, especially the guilty.

He knows this logically, progression of rules to logic to common sense, internalises it as rational development. Thus, let it out precisely as such.

In one smooth movement, he retrieves the child-sized jumper, jeans and shoes and tosses over the ensemble to Shinichi, spinning around to give the other some illusion of privacy for the upcoming change to come. The watch and belt and glasses, Kaito leaves aside an appropriate distance from himself for Shinichi to pick up.

"Onii-san!" He shrills over the cacophony of breaking bones and undone musculature. "I'm coming. Don't move!"

"Don't do that, it's creepy — hearing Conan out of you," Shinichi grumbles, "and I do not sound like that."

"Not like it's the first time you've heard me use your voice anyways." Kaito scoffs. "Also this is exactly how you sound, you lil brat."

He pivots back once Shinichi's body's morbid orchestra finishes, but the other is already running past him.

In the time it takes to reach the exit of their alleyway, every step turning a thump lighter, every stride shortening, it is Edogawa Conan who emerges from the mouth of the dark, leaving behind the temporary husk of Kudō Shinichi in the presence of borrowed clothes and a lingering heat on lips and cheek. He heads towards the light and rejoins the crowd. Every sound follows him accordingly, allowed to touch, allowed to hold onto and talk with and prod at him under daylight, conspicuous and free. The privileges of Hattori Heiji, and Haibara Ai, and Mōri Ran.

Left behind in that same spot, Kaito can only watch the sea swallow him.

Left behind, Kaito wants to drag him back .

Come into the night, something in Kaito hisses, urges, croons temptingly to the phantom figure of Kudō Shinichi in his mind.

Come into the night with me, come into it to me. Don't you like our games, detective? Our tag and chase, and codes and puzzles, and hide-and-seek parts? I thrill you like no other; I know I do. The only one able to give as good as gotten in trading wit and chit with you that does not end in a terribly dead body. I've seen you for you, even before I had any reason or evidence to. It is me seeing past your lies and bearing witness to your truth. Me with the life that eerily parallel yours.

It is me, me, me.

He curls his fingers tight into nail-biting fists, physical measures to prevent himself from actually carrying out such impulsivity. The heat on his hands, lips and cheek don't feel so sweet anymore, more burn than warmth.

It is me , comes his reassurance.

Only it doesn't feel much like one now, does it.

( And it is because it is me , that same distant part of Kaito's mind — that whispers distant truths and innocuous wisdoms and instinctively just knows before the rest of Kaito has caught up with the system — remembers and reminds. The truth, the reality of this magic show's indulgent illusion. Perhaps because it is me, that such things are even allowed to happen.

That this — this whatever it is, name or state or being or memories and meetings — shall forever be what it should thus be, as surmised by the world and law and common sense.

There is no conceivable relationship between Kaitō KID and Kudō Shinichi. Everyone knows Kudō was a homicide detective before disappearing, a good and busy one at that. What need does a homicide detective have to be involved in Division Two's affairs that specialised Burglary and Theft? Much less the KID Task Force.

Inspector Nakamori never did like interloping outsiders.

When Edogawa Conan goes, there ends them.

A tenuous bridge, easy ashes to bury and forget.

A secret. )

He flits away. Under the cover of breaking evening into tumultuous dusk, he merges back with its beckoning darkness.

Later, he will don the cape and monocle and top hat, and become again the living ghost of a more spectacular man. The once misfitting suit to be his camouflage, the card-gun and tricks his most routine misdirection as all magics are. A calling card will go out. The stage prepped to its fullest. Backing out was never an option. And thus, the illusion must go on.

For now, Kaito exists in the in-between and dives in to straddle those lines once more.

of the sun:

The skirt he picks today happens to be one of his favourites.

A flowy, long and multilayered chiffon skirt whose length stretches until it nibbles at his ankles, the wispy underskirts to his heels. The layers float a gauzy, sweet lavender under his manicured hands. This skirt had been a birthday gift from his mother, a part of a collection of young adult women disguises that Chiikage had handpicked herself for both its beauty and covert functionality.

For that reason alone, Kaito is quite fond of it, but those aren't the only supports to his favouritism of it. For one, because it allows him more breathing room leg-wise for his stunts. For another, the shape of the skirt and the swishy way it flows ensures extra workable space to hide his equipment, significantly more convenient to do so and maintain that streamlined image of sleekness, of normality. Additionally, its bodice ensured it to be an easy, tearaway piece for facilitation of quicker swapping between disguises.

Most importantly though? He quite likes the way it shows off his smooth, hairless legs whenever he props up a few upper layers. Those pair of beauties had been a real pain to get waxed, thanks.

Neatly coiffed black hair let loose over shoulders to mid-back. Artfully done yet modest make-up with apple-red lipstick and softer blush. A carefully arranged, commercially attractive face, just enough to be regarded as pretty but not enough to be considered outstandingly so. There is no latex on his face today.

Today is not a job that necessitates Kuroba Kaito.

Shirano Hatomi is twenty-one years old this year, a Business-major undergraduate about to enter the real world soon. She's simple but not quite plain, raised polite and meek and eager to please as all good conservative Japanese daughters are raised. She would like a family in the future, preferably with one son, one daughter and a loving, handsome and brilliantly clever husband. There will be a house and she hopes that one day, it can be made a home.

The role is immensely easy to fall into.

Kaito goes under. 

Above, the sun blazes.

And oh, how it blazes! Blast it! Early noon does not bode well for her makeup with the amount of sweat that drips down her neck and face, though it does hopefully indicate nice, dry laundry once she gets back. 

Clicking her heels, Hatomi can't help the despairing noise that escaped her lips.

She shouldn't have worn long sleeves today. Yes, it pairs beautifully but it's white and thick, and Hatomi is sweating through her armpits right now. She doesn't want public sweat spots!

Ah, mother always did scold Hatomi about this sort of thing. Head too high up in clouds, much too shortsighted; girl, when are you going to make me stop worrying so much over you? Be more responsible!

Sweeping a tired gaze around the area, she brightens upon seeing the cafe that she'd planned a meeting at. The blog had praised it as a cosy little hole-in-the-wall with a short menu of the conventional coffees and teas that were exquisitely brewed, and a selection of flaky pastries and simple dishes. She hopes it lives up to expectations. She's working up quite the appetite in this heat.

Bell chimes signal Hatomi's entrance in. She sweeps her hair over one side of her shoulder and steps up to the cashier. 

"Welcome to Café Poirot! What would you like today?"

She eyes the menu, "A caramel macchiato please. Which of your cakes would you recommend?"

"The matcha mille crepe is a popular choice of ours. It's creamy and not too sweet and is full of strawberries since it's strawberry season!"

"Perfect, I'll take that."

The lady — Azusa, she reads off the nametag — smiles and heads to the coffee machine. She's the only employee here from what Hatomi can see, but surely not? One employee can't be enough for a cafe of this size; the place can hold up to about fifteen customers, give or take. Hatomi can't imagine how stressful it would be to serve customers alone! Order-taking and drink-making and cooking and oh dear, oh my! Too much, it's far too much!

She says as such to Azusa, and the waitress assures her, saying, "My co-worker, Amuro-san, is out fetching a delivery right now, but he'll be back soon. So it's okay, I'm not alone." She sounds fine so it must be fine.

Hatomi drifts to the window seat, appreciating the scenery now that there's cool air-conditioning to subside the mugginess. A moment passes and the waitress serves Hatomi her order. 

Another moment and a man slides into the seat across her.

He's tall and handsome with a very charming grin that excels in coming off as neatly suave and not sleazy. He dresses in swathes of monochromatic colours that make him look very sleek and outline many curves of muscles that makes Hatomi blush just imagining what's underneath all that cloth. There's a kindly intelligence to his eyes and Hatomi can't help the shiver that runs down her spine at it. 

"Beautiful miss," the man says and that voice — oh gosh, it's so deep and husky and, "may I have the pleasure of sitting with you?"

Mother , she thinks, suddenly incredibly thirsty, your daughter may be bringing home a son-in-law soon.

"You may sit," she says instead, because she has propriety and also, she wouldn't want to scare him away. If she suddenly smooths down her skirt under the table and very subtly checks her reflection in the glass, it's no one's business but hers.

It is very much a meet-cute from there. Definitely the sort of great first meeting kids would like to hear of their parents. They introduce themselves to each other. Riho , he says, a girl's name, I know, but my parents were expecting one instead of me , but she thinks it's a pretty name regardless and tells him as such, requesting him to trace out the characters on paper she produces.

梨葡, uncommon characters. Perhaps his parents were wine connoisseurs?

She doesn't ask about it though.

"Do you have any hobbies," she says instead.

They chat for a while, trading anecdotes about their lives. Dancing around each other in likes, dislikes, life goals and wishes that are nothing honestly substantial.

Mid-way, she fiddles too much with her bracelet that it un-clapses loose and drops to the floor. Mortified, she pitches below the table to retrieve it and accidentally runs her face and hands all over the man's leg in her haste to get it.

Oh god, Hatomi . 

The man chuckles, bends down and picks it up. He hands it back to her, fingers slow to trace heat across the lines of her veins and it's maddening. 

She's swooning, she thinks.

"Nee-san!" Oh, that voice — 

Blinking, Hatomi looks down. There, to the table's side, is an elementary school boy. He cuts a funny figure, in his little suit. Red bowtie, blue vest and a backpack, very cute and nerdy. He’s smiling pleasantly but underneath the smile, there lingers an intense irritation.

( Ah, Kaito resurfaces for a second to purr, took you long enough, Meitantei.)

"Nee-san, what are you doing? Don't you remember you called me here to do homework with me?" Without a preamble, the boy slides into the seat next to her, leaning in close, before giving a cold scan of Riho. His gaze lasers in onto the man who seems taken aback by the interruption.

“Hi, nii-san,” Conan aims sugar-sweet at Riho, more condescending than genuine, “You look very handsome! As handsome as Amuro-niichan!”

“Amuro…?” Riho mutters before rapidly paling. 

He stands up so fast that the chair is sent falling over, “I – I'm sorry, I must get going now.” After which, he fixes back up the chair and scurries away so fast it gives Hatomi the image of fleeing prey.

Once the man's out of sight around the corner, Conan relocates to opposite her in the man's original seat, stares her straight in the eyes and curls his lips in a slightly derisive manner. The backpack is dumped onto the floor.

For some reason, Hatomi has the vague feeling that she just got caught cheating.

"You're very beautiful like this, KID," Shinichi says suddenly, in a whisper, "but I like your usual face better."

Hatomi — no, Kaito chokes.

Unaware, or more likely unheeding, of the sudden dilemma he has catapulted Kaito into, Shinichi continues, "You're lucky Amuro-san is out right now — seriously, what sort of message even was that, idiot thief. Come down to Poirot at 3pm sharp. I can't tell if you're just that confident or needlessly reckless…”

He pauses. The tone of his next words come out softer. "Do you... do you need help with something?"

He suddenly looks so concerned that Kaito can't help the deeper laugh that racks up his throat.

Shinichi scowls, cheeks red, all the more pronounced on a child's face. Kaito just laughs a tiny bit harder.

"It's," he thumbs the corner of his eye. Can't risk any mascara smudging now, "it's nothing, you just look hella cute like this is all, haha. And also, your acting is shit."

"I'll tell on you," Shinichi says menacingly, "right now."

"Sure, sure," Kaito smirks, "but you're not wrong. I need help."

It's amazing to see the changes those words bring about. Immediately, the air itself turns heavier and significantly more sombre, though physically nothing has changed at all.

Edogawa Conan's face funnels Kūdo Shinichi's focus to an intensity that is frighteningly awe-inspiring like concentrated lightning, alighting those blues to become something otherworldly. The sight takes his breath away, elicits a part of Kaito speechless and anticipatory. It's always a delight to see that brilliant mind put to work, at least when it isn't to Kaito's detriment. 

Shinichi's lips twist in realisation, "You sent Amuro-san away on purpose."

The thought of the sheer inconvenience that man must be experiencing currently makes Kaito want to cackle like Akako. "He should be chasing down a very important package through Shibuya by now."

"Tch. Petty."

"Never claimed I was otherwise."

The exasperated, wrong-footed sigh Shinichi gives does make Kaito cackle a little, albeit mimicked purposely light and airy to pass off as a giggle instead.

He picks at his skirt, checks the surroundings. Good, the noise scrambler is working fine. Enomoto-san has drifted to the back to take stock of inventory. “There’s been an annoying bug on my tail these days that has been taking far too much interest in me. No matter how much I reject it or throw it off, it keeps coming back. “ He drawls. “I thought he was one of mine, but then… I realised he was one of yours too.”

Silence for a while to allow digestion and dissection. Condensation leaks past glass into wood. The ice in his macchiato has melted partially through now. Kaito forks another bite of cake into his mouth and frowns; it's really not sweet enough for him. 

Shinichi’s eyes flick to the written characters on the paper. Pear wine, says its meaning of a man that Kaito has seen conversing with Snake.

It changes things, this revelation. Whereas before there existed a scorched line between the two of them, the clear divide that they both carefully utilised as their reason for their careful non-involvement with each other’s demons, there's no such excuse now anymore. Every reason rendered moot in the dawning what they chased after to drag to the limelight, was actually one and the same. That the great demon they individually pursued could instead be hunted together to drag down it and its fellow sinners all into a karmic punishment of their own making.

Shinichi exhales a shaky, deep breath.

"... It seems we're more connected than we thought, via proof of that bug…” Shinichi spits out the last word as if it were poison he's trying not to swallow. "So, you tipped him off that KID was going to show up prancing around in the area and stopped here for me to catch him or use him – whichever of them, because there's no way he could've seen through your disguises.”

He hums affirmatively, “My heartfelt gift to you! He's got trackers in his sleeves, pants and shoes, slipped into their seams so catch him anytime.” He slips a burner phone, currently turned on and showcasing a red dot steadily blinking its way further and further from Café Poirot, from his handbag into Shinichi's limp hands. 

“From when you both got all handsy, I see,” is Shinichi's strangely chilly deadpan and Kaito feels his brows furrowed in bemusement at the strange mood the other is in all of a sudden.

What's got him all like this, Kaito wonders before it hits him like one of Meitantei’s hellish footballs.

The Mōri Detective Agency is here, right above Café Poirot literal steps away, of which its front doorstep Kaito has practically invited danger to. No wonder Shinichi is pissed — it's a small miracle that he hasn't attempted to murder Kaito yet. While Kaito knows he'd taken great precautions to protect the Mōri family, it may not look like such in Shinichi's eyes.

Ugh, did the excitement of possible cooperation with Meitantei really scramble his brain so much?

“Don't worry about him getting far with or knowing anything about the Mōri’s,” he voices instead amidst sudden self-recrimination, “I made sure to plant a commissioned device on him that hypnotises his brain into selectively forgetting anything and anyone that has to do with either of our identities, so please don't be mad!”

Shinichi just stares. And stares even longer. 

So long that the silence stretches into awkwardness and Kaito polishes off every drop of his caramel macchiato. He resists the reflexive urge to twitch at being stared at for this long.

Kaito really doesn't appreciate this sudden inability to parse out Shinichi's emotions. 

Finally, Conan’s mouth moves, “What? No, KID, I'm not angry.”

He blinks, “You aren't?”

“Okay, well, I'm a little angry,” Shinichi admits, “but I know you and trust you. You would never needlessly endanger innocents or other people without some sort of precaution or contingency plan. So while I am somewhat mad that you did this without more warning, I trust that you would've made sure no one would get caught in the crossfire or get dangerously hurt. Besides…”

Here, those blue eyes peer hauntingly, eerily deep into something of Kaito. What it pries out of those depths, Kaito isn't sure he wants to know.

“... Besides, it's not like it's the first time we've worked together before.”

On the Ritz Carlton. Off a zeppelin. Into danger. Out of their pretenses and the second skins they wore.

Brick by brick of a foundation settling for a building that rationale would decry, the trust has learnt to be steady and strong too. Through secrecy that mingles with an unusual transparency, it has learned to withstand blowing storms and thunderous quakes.

For it must be. To put, not only your life, but the lives and matters of those beloved to you, into another's hands and plead with them, help me. Even when the world wonders at the insanity of such belief.

The sun is warm on his skin but Kaito knows it has nothing to do with what's bubbling in his chest.

“So, detective,” he asks and in his heart, it presses ahead a gritty, terribly strange hope that Kaito never knew he even had, much less could put much stock into, “do you think we can work together for this?”

(Do you think, that distanced part rephrases more truthfully, always more honest than whatever Kaito was made out of and to be on even Kaito's most genuine days, something of us could come to light?

Something conceivable?)

“I'll have to contact the others and ask their opinions first,” Shinichi replies in lieu of a proper answer, “but… I think we can work something out.”

Hope is nothing new to Kaito whether to give or receive. It is fundamentally synonymous to belief. Not idealistic but optimistic, it's what drives many of Kaito's actions.

His heart still flies giddily at the sensation of it anyways.

The conversation naturally dissolves from there into a strange, untenable yet comfortable silence.

In the end, it is Kaito who leaves first this time.

He cleans up his cake, calls for the bill and slips an inconspicuous card into Shinichi's jean’s pocket. He pitches his voice purposefully airy when the waiter comes and he says his please and thank you and how lovely it was! I simply must know your recipe , and is politely regarded and rebuked in turn. He steps past the boundary and it is no hard task to disappear into the shifting sea.

When Shinichi goes home, it is with a teasing puzzle of the next Kaitō KID heist happening next week, talking of the sun captured in a diamond.

of the moon:

The Cora Sun-Drop diamond is a brilliant work of art of a Big Jewel. Weighing a whopping 110.3 carats, it boasts both illustrious value and a stunning appearance in its reputation as one of the most spectacular fancy vivid yellow diamonds ever graded by GIA's standards.

Having it in his grasp now, Kaito can understand where those critics were coming from. The carat weight is unreal . GIA must've had a heyday when this gem came under their perusal.

This is a gemstone Kaito would've found hard-pressed to touch in his life even as KID. Lady Luck definitely pulled through with that public exhibition announcement. God bless your sudden exhibitionistic generosity, anonymous collector.

He remembers researching this gem. Compared to many other gems, its history was incredibly short. It doesn't line up well as a prospective Pandora candidate since it was only recently dug out in 2010.

The Sotheby's had auctioned the Cora Sun-Drop to an anonymous buyer for a staggering hundred-thousand dollars per carat. Altogether, including taxes and commission, the final price added up to a mind-blowing total of 12.36 million USD dollars. Before Sotheby's, Geneva’s auction managed to sell it at a slightly lower price of 10.9 million USD. Before auctioning at all, it stayed in the Vault of the London Natural History Museum, companion to other such priceless jewels, like the Duke of Devonshire Emerald and the Aurora Pyramid of Hope.

He really hopes he gets the chance to steal those one day. Maybe once he's got a bit more freedom in his calendar that isn't confined to an education system.

Leaning back, he twiddles with the gem between casual sleight of hands. Far below from Kaito's window, the Task Force runs amok where Inspector Nakamori and his band are once more carefully sent on a merry chase around the hotel.

Soon, Jii-chan will set off an advanced, remote-controlled KID dummy and lead the Force away towards the city centre, hopefully succeeding in taking the tails with him. Or at the very least, some of them. Not all of them are that stupid unfortunately.

Pity, would've made Kaito's life significantly easier but still, he'll take what he can get. Thankfully, the plan is going off with only predicted hitches.

His dearest surveilling audience, away from danger just as planned.

Haido City Hotel, sufficiently divested to more manageable levels of Black Organization agents and carefully cleared out of civilians in advance.

Himself – Kaitō KID – at this very spot in full view, fruit to the flies, water to a dying man, air to those drowning.

Perhaps it comes off as too obvious, but it doesn't matter what the prey believes or perceives of the ploy. All that matters is that at the end of the day, the mouse is still willing to walk itself into the trap’s maws and believes it as easily conquerable to leap out, so long as the maws hold promises of victory, rewards and acclaim.

The purpose today is bait and record, intel-gathering.

No rush though. The second actor of this play has yet to arrive after all.

Thump-thump-thump.

Ah, speak of the devil – here is protagonist number two.

To the rhythm of Kaito's own heart. There comes the steady footfall and the door crashes open. It is swung open so hard that the metal door bounces back upon collision with the back wall.

“Took you long enough, Tantei-kun!”

“I didn't take that long,” Shinichi retorts with a disgruntled air around him, “your traps today are just especially annoying. Non-washable glitter? Chicken feathers? And where did that much duct tape even come from?”

“It's all in the name of imagination! Which you lack, unimaginative little boy.”

“I'll duct-tape you into a straitjacket and then, we'll see how much you like your imagination.”

“Like it'd hold me!”

Their banter peters off when Shinichi catches sight of the Cora Sun-Drop. His gaze follows every movement of the gem through the air and between Kaito's hands.

“Don’t you need to check that?”

“What makes you think I haven't checked it?”

“Do you take me for someone stupid?”

“Touché,” Kaito sighs and casts the jewel above.

Held up to the moon's gaze, they overlap.

From afar in the mind's eye, it almost looks like the moon trying to engulf the sun whole in its embrace, even if it is only a drop of the whole treasure it's allowed to hold and touch and prod, at the only moment it can — in the crevices of shadows and moonlight with no other witnesses than those.

What a pitiful size difference.

No red glow shines through. The pear-shaped gem remains an ebullient sunbeam. 

This fails to be Pandora.

However, to others, it may not appear so.

He tosses the gemstone over. It's of no use to him now. But in the greater, grander scheme, it'll serve as a catalyst.

Shinichi fumbles with it between fingers when he catches the Cora Sun-drop before pocketing the jewel, taken back by the sudden careless movement. 

“Alright, I'm done here,” he straightens the lapels of the KID suit, “so let's get this show on the road, shall we?” He sweeps out an inviting hand to his partner in the trap.

Shinichi gives it a pointed look, “No.”

“Tsk, perverted prude.”

“Excuse me–!”

And just like a prepared setlist, gunshots.

As if snapping into the roles of actors on stage or marionettes under a puppetmaster’s strings, Kaito lunges for Shinichi. He tackles both of them to the ground and snatches him into the shadows, careful to keep to them to reduce visibility of the duo. Like this while dodging sniper fire, they escape to the more covered areas of the Haido City Hotel's penthouse and merge back into the corridors’ darkness.

“KID!”

“On it.” 

Kicking off, Kaito weaves his way around the luxurious furniture in the room. He's careful to form a pattern, giving enough stopgap time alternatively to be seen by the snipers and to allow himself breathing room to plan his next route.

In the corner, Shinichi uses Conan's tiny, first grader body to better hide himself away from sight. He's curled up, one hand braced around his knees and one continuously clicking away at the side of his glasses. Light glows from the panes, compiling a steady flow of information into lists, collected from its connection to the custom monocle Kaito sported just for this occasion.

He knows the other has finished once the gleam shutters out.

Move out, baby hands gesture, short stocky fingers still full of baby fat, reconvene on a lower floor. Stairs.

He wonders how many they'll find covered in glitter and itchy feathers.

Cautiously, they make their way out the suite and down the wide staircase. On the way to a more secure location, Shinichi takes precise care to capture every unconscious, trap-bounded agent’s face in full, highlighting every slope and slant of their features. He does it quickly and lets Kaito handle the sprint down as he's held firmly to the larger figure's chest. 

Kaito himself doesn't take long. Soon, he locates an acceptable hiding place: a toilet with plenty of hard, defensible covering, equipped with a vent primed for an escape route and a small rectangular window just large enough to allow a teenager’s body through, that shines through only the thinnest cascades of moonlight. He pulls them both in before jamming the door lock close.

In between steps, he slips out of the suit into more unobtrusive attire. At the succeeding moment, he sets Shinichi on the sink counter, hissing at the bony elbow that jabs his ribs.

“You're all pointy and sharp. I pity whoever hugs you.” Kaito scoffs, fishing out a makeup kit. “Not cute or cuddly at all – do you not eat enough? Do the Mōri's not feed you your weight's worth in rice or something?”

“I'm perfectly fine. You're just being nitpicky, barō.” 

“Shit – don't smack me in the face! I need to finish this.”

Within minutes, Edogawa Conan’s face is warped completely under the care of Kaito’s skills. Contouring impressed upon the image of a softer jawline and slimmer nose bridge, lip tint to add shine and illusory plumpness. Each component is carefully blended to ensure the most perfect apparition. In no time at all, the face that sits across Kaito appears a distorted familiarity akin to viewing one’s reflection in water. 

A little girl Edogawa Conan certainly won’t be something Kaito will ever see again, if Shinichi has his way of things. Luckily, Kaito does have his way with things this time, what with his argument for precautionary disguises to aid their eventual exit of this place.

Once every effaceable flaw was eliminated, uneasy silence settled over the atmosphere. Kaito tilts up his head, considering.

Their part in the show is done. What it thus leaves behind is only the wait. How long would be left up to the jurisdictions of those above them.

It is this line of thought that inevitably leads Kaito back to the memory of their conversation at Poirot. Of his very last question and the promised attempt given in return.

Have they given their answer yet?

No point puttering around. There is no telling when exactly they’ll next meet after this. 

“Meitantei,” he breaks the taut tensity and the abrupt acknowledgement has Shinichi bearing gazes at him curiously.

“Do they accept me?” Kaito asks lightly. It is clear to them both the context behind Kaito’s question. 

Shinichi’s face crumples.

Ah.

Well, that's no surprise. He'd seriously question their objectivity if they did.

It is a little upsetting that Kaito won't get to work with Shinichi on an official basis, but far from something that'll stop him. In the grand scheme of things, it's a desire that Kaito can easily put aside.

People saying no have never stopped him before. Why should it now?

“No,” Shinichi admits in the silence as if confessing something strangely shameful to say, “they don’t. They know I do and are willing to trust my word on you, but I can tell they are still suspicious.”

“I never expected them to, Shinichi,” he shrugs, “but that isn’t what’s important to me.”

The tautness returns. It is a different kind however. What suffuses the air at present was not the discomfited tension for a prolonged, unknown fate, but the intense undercurrent of a milestone, a choice hanging in the balance to decide the 

The other purses his lips, casting his sight downwards, “They doubt if my trust is reciprocated in full on your part too, what with the disparity of personal information we know of each other between us.”

“Is that so.” And here, something bubbles. Something boils. It sears Kaito’s awareness. The efferverse poured out in full. 

It could be called recklessness, maybe deemed calculated high risk. But with high risks comes high rewards, and Kaito has never been the best at playing it safe anyways. 

“Then, we’ll just have to prove them wrong, shall we?”

Thus, under the detective’s astonished gaping, Kaito tips off his tophat, shakes off his monocle and meets Shinichi’s eyes head-on, looking straight into electric eyes unhindered for once, exposing his own face in full view for the first time to the world as KID.

The words tumble out surprisingly easy, as if they have been waiting for a very, very long time to be let out.

“Nice to meet you, my name is Kaito. I’m Kaitō KID the second.”

“You didn’t - ” Shinichi chokes, “I - what? ”

“As you can see, I'm just an ordinary guy your age, with a little extra pizzazz.” He makes jazz hands. “My goal is to take down the organization that murdered my predecessor and track down a magical gem called Pandora that supposedly cries tears of immortality. Apparently, it glows red under moonlight.”

His lips curl cheerily, “And there you go! Now no one can claim I don't trust you.”

Shinichi is still gaping, wide-eyed.

“You – you! What the heck! What did you do?!” he near-screeches like an offended cat. This cat's a whole lot more complicated though. 

“I revealed personal information about myself to you.”

“You didn't have to tell me this,” Shinichi hisses, “I would've trusted you regardless.”

“And I trust you too,” Kaito answers, “so why shouldn't I tell this?”

That strikes Shinichi silent quickly.

It feels strange, mould-breaking. The pair of them have never been so upfront with the strange bond between them before. The novelty of such vulnerability leaves one speechless.

Kaito finds he quite likes this feeling.

“They won't turn you away. They know a disguise and saboteur expert at your level is precious.” Shinichi says suddenly. His mouth is raised stubbornly in that way Kaito has seen when he's about to form a promise that'll never break even on his life, even when it could be to his detriment. That beautiful electric intensity has returned.

“I won't let them catch you or arrest you.”

Kaito’s chest is so warm, “Mhmm, I'll let you know what I think once you send me the terms, yeah?” He kneels down. After gifting a number into the other's hands, he plants a tender kiss onto that tiny forehead.

It's so cute how fast Shinichi's whole face bursts red. It makes Kaito giggle a little.

A clamour of noise abruptly cuts through the amicability. The stampede of footsteps coming their way would set Kaito on edge, if he didn't see the way Shinichi's shoulders relaxed.

Here already? How sprightly.

“Farewell, Meitantei,” he lets the words drop before disappearing himself. 

Cruising through the air, Kaito looks upon the horizon.

It calls for a new tomorrow. And it tells him that for that new tomorrow to come, it must be beckoned by eager hands. 

Those eager hands must be of righteous ones. It must be in the hands of good people. He has no delusions that he would be the necessarily best one to help decide as such whose hands exactly would chart the course through the crusade and beyond, but at the very least, he trusts that Shinichi could be part of it and will do the right thing.

Kaito will accept no other option. 

He tips forward, is folded into the welcoming night and leaves behind another legend worthy of the legacy of Kaitō KID.

Days later, the bystanding Moon watches a dove make a trip towards Beika, and with it, an important answer.

of the truth:

Shit hits the fan unfairly and efficiently fast.

Swinging around a corner with a grappling gun, Kaito skid, using the momentum from the action to kick two men into a wall and knock out cold another to the floor with a chop strike to the neck. Simultaneously, in one swift motion, steel-tipped cards embed themselves into multiple elevators’ opening doors, forcefully wedging them to maintain the miniscule gaps where Kaito can spy whole hoards of lackeys packing around.

He sprints past all of it, alternatively dropping sleeping gas bombs and smoke bombs along the way. And only once he reaches the exit, does he make a grand show of disappearing that to the eyes of the grand masses, will give the impression that he ran to the floors below. In reality though, Kaito remains skulking around on this same floor, quickly disguised as a nondescript grunt collapsed in the corner.

Right on cue, he hears a new rush of low-levelled henchmen rush past and he takes it as his own cue to let out a shaky, inaudible sigh of relief.

Finally, with some small period of reprieve, Kaito takes this chance to assess his own condition.

He's not doing too horribly, he tests. No major injuries or inadvisable consumption of anything untowards. There are muscle strains in what feels like everywhere but he doesn't perceive any tears, so it’s manageable. He's exhausted but that's no surprise. He's been running on adrenaline for the entirety of this operation by now. His supplies are running low though – Kaito can't manage being bait for much longer.

“Fuck…” he hisses, pulling out a small roll of bandages. While he dresses whatever wounds he can reach, his mind runs.

Until approximately 3 hours ago, the operation had been running so well that it had led some to hope that maybe, just maybe this could be pulled off without any major hitches. Weeks to months of preparations had led to that steadfast belief. The possibility of the most optimistic outcome that lingers so horribly close.

And then, life pulls out a massive fuck you.

A spy? No even worse than that. 

Their plans all derailed because mid-way, some cowardly, snivelling traitor of a dog had snitched on them. Exchanging for his own life in the trade of others. How lucky then, that the snitch had only known so much.

Kaito almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. This turn of events doesn't feel like luck one bit.

If Kaito ever saw this bastard, he'd do shit, alright.

He breathes. The smell of ash lingers in the air and on his tongue. Everything aches.

All of a sudden, the comms crackle to life.

What comes through next makes Kaito's blood run cold.

“Code Black! Code Black! Engagement with Target ‘Boss’ has commenced! Operative Conan Edogawa has been taken by Vermouth to there and we need backup there stat! I repeat, Code Black! The location is the roof of Building Delta, requesting backup!”

Immediately, Kaito's memorised mental map of the entire lair’s layout is traced throughout his mind, even as he's already up and running, back on his feet.

Building Delta – the laboratories, where Kaito is now. He’s even only a few floors before the top. From what Kaito knows from their agreed plans and allocated directives, he's the only available operative in this section currently. The next closest ones saturate the several floors down, tasked with handling the waves of grunts that Kaito was to send down to them for capture and surely unprepared to handle Organization Executives.

He knows Control has this realisation too, when they ping him directly.

“Operative KID,” Jodie Starling says and hah, that will never stop being so weird to hear, “we can only rely on you.”

He barely hears anything else beyond that. His heart batters to the beat of war drums in his chest and his muscles feel as if they've been set on fire. In his core, a roiling dread makes its chill known and it sets off the strange contrarian sensations of a body both burning alive and freezing dead. Any fatigue he felt before dies a quick death in the face of this crisis.

Because, this. This was not in any of the plans – what the hell, Shinichi!

(Be safe, be safe, come pleading.

Don't go somewhere I can't follow.)

When he emerges from the last flight of stairs, all that greets him are the night’s choppy gales, a looming helicopter and three people: a child and a woman. There's no adult male figure though.

Shinichi – ! 

Relief rushes through Kaito at the sight of Edogawa Conan's stature. However, panicked caution swiftly overtakes his senses once he registered the identities of the other one. 

Vermouth.

Immediately, Kaito slinks into the shadows. 

Fortunately, it doesn't seem like any of them have noticed Kaito. The barraging mess of surrounding noises must have unintentionally aided him in his endeavour to stay hidden, and even luckier, none of them are facing him directly, backs turned away to peer towards the open door of the helicopter itself.

Unfortunately, this collage of people includes Shinichi himself.

Taking in a calming breath, Kaito furtively attempts to skirt around the rooftop’s perimeters for an improved grasp of the situation. From what he can see, Shinichi’s arguing. Conan's face is twisted painfully into a fearful grimace. The expression twists Kaito's own heart painfully too.

The situation seems a little absurd though. For some reason, they all seemed to be involved in some sort of… discussion about philosophies and morals and stuff. It keeps them distracted well enough so Kaito can't really complain about the strange timing of this discussion. He sure can complain about the participants though.

Still… it doesn't look like they're going to do anything to him thus far.

A stray idea occurs to him. Is Shinichi purposefully acting as a distraction right now?

Seriously, Shinichi! The heart attacks you give! Kaito’s respect for Mōri Ran is jumping by leaps and bounds by the second. If this sheer lack of self-preservation is what she had to deal with for the entirety of their mutual childhood, adolescence and Shinichi's time as Conan together, it's a miracle that she hadn't just bought a child leash yet.

While maintaining a portion of his attention to monitor the three-way conversation, Kaito refocuses, pulling his mind back to instead analyse the bigger picture being presented to him.

The helicopter is noteworthy.

He hadn't known there still remained a helicopter in the vicinity. All of them should have been handily incapacitated and accounted for, by CIA agents to ensure no escapes out of the area. 

Seems they had missed one anyway.

But this one… he eyes it carefully, taking in the model and comparing it to the versions marketed in the aircraft industry, in both the white market and black market.

It's different from the others. A custom-made helicopter? The materials appear studier, is every part of it bulletproof entirely? No, can’t be. Too heavy and the balance will be off or the thing will fail to fly at all.

He frowns, I've never seen this model in the catalogues before. So it has to be, but where was it put away before this? 

This far, Kaito can't conclude any confirmations for any of his conjectures. However, its purpose remains clear as day.

He doesn't see Renya Karasuma. It must mean the man is the passenger inside the helicopter then. 

(How dare you, the part of him roars. The part that dived off into criminality with nary much hesitation, that dances everyday with the finicky and stringent lines of legality and morality.

That to this day, still doubts to some extent the supposed cleanliness of society’s public law enforcement and justice.

How dare you try not pay for your sins!)

Every target is preoccupied: the man, the child and the woman. The rolling engine spins and spins beats. In this sea of noise that permeates the area and the distraction Shinichi gives him, whether knowingly or not, Kaito has a chance. 

And like any good opportunistic Phantom Thief worth his cape, he takes it.

He cocks up his card gun.

Aims.

And fires three shots exactly.

Several things happen at once.

First: the trio of steel-woven cards embed themselves into three places exactly: the rotor mast, the tail rotor and the stabiliser bar.

Second: the three participants of the grand showdown have finally taken notice of a fourth presence joining their midst, the appearance of cards all they need to know of the identity of their newest partaker. Subsequently, this leads to the duo outside the helicopter to leap away out of surprise. In reaction to this cognizance, Shinichi leaps behind to the direction of the only entryway to the rooftop, markedly further than Vermouth despite being in a significantly more petite body, likely sensing rapidly that he now has allies on the roof with him.

Last and not least: the door itself bangs open, almost flying off its hinges from the strength pushed into it, to reveal a heavily wounded, berserking Gin.

It all happens so quickly that no one has time to compute it.

In a twisted display of united concurrent motions, Shinichi jumps one big leap back another time, just as Gin reaches out his hand and grabs the body of Edogawa Conan by the scruff of his neck.

And then, Gin throws Shinichi off the roof.

NO - !   

He’s not entirely conscious of his next actions. Years later in the future, it will be Shinichi who recounts to him the full, consequent sequence of events.

But it goes like this.

Upon seeing the boy he loves get thrown off a rooftop, Kaito lurches into action. 

He abandons the shadows and enters the light, his body concomitantly helping and resisting him for his efforts. He whips out his card gun and pistol-whips Gin in the jaw, sending him into unconsciousness. Then, he proceeds to sweep the man right off his feet with a swipe of his own leg. As a final measure, he slaps multiple zip ties around the man’s limbs.

The man howls as he goes down. Kaito moves on past him.

He dashes across the remaining expanse of the rooftop and throws himself right off as well.

Let me make it, let me make it, let me make it!

With whatever strength left in the pulses of his body that Kaito can manage and the muscle memory attained from years of acrobatic training, Kaito catches Shinichi’s hand and swaps around their positions, throwing Shinichi back onto the rooftop and tossing Kaito into the skies.  

“KID!”

It’s white noise all around him. In the sky, there’s no one but him and it. It should be a comfort. It is a comfort. The stretch of blues have acted as his second stage and trusty escape route for him for as long as he has been KID. So, he readies his posture and deploys the KID glider. He lets himself minutely relax.

He doesn’t realise he’s making a mistake until the consequences are flung back at him.

Of course, it is at this precise moment that the sound of a bullet ricochets around the area.

Kaito barely reacts on time. The bullet shoots straight towards him and he barely manages to pivot his own body away so that it would only leave a deep graze.

To his horror though, the bullet only fails to pierce him.

My engine’s been shot, Kaito thinks before an even more horrifying realisation dawns on him.

The glider’s frame is broken.

Someone’s bullet had torn through both. There is nothing stopping Kaito’s fall now.

As if finally comprehending these two factors itself, Kaito’s body plunges.

Somewhere far away, he thinks someone is screaming.

(Ah, something in him still manages to say, this is the end.

Don’t cry, Shinichi.)

He blacks out just as the pain registers.

and what of after that ?

Life in Fontainebleau is peaceably content.

In this scenic, idyllic commune only an hour away from the hustle and bustle of central Parisian lives, Kaito lives the kind of life that the Kaito of seven years ago would've never thought of, much less imagined for himself, not even in his wildest and most faraway daydreams.

Here, in this life, there is no stage or adoring audience to dance upon or for tonight. The props and magic tricks are gone. The stage lights set down, it is the end of an era, the show, the magic of it all. His legs ache these days when he stands too long and on rainy days, the aches burn even worse, sending phantom pains that revisit him back to that single stormy day where the consequences all flowered full-bloom from the accumulation of every past decision on his part.

Kaitō KID was the dream come alive, the untouchable Magician Under the Moonlight. The legend remains intact, even more grander than before possibly, but the person behind it who enforced such greatness, has broken into pieces of himself in sacrifice, for his desperate bid for revengeful justice and disallowed closure.

(He's lucky, was the doctor's diagnosis. 

Once his mother had succeeded in squirrelling him out of the danger zone and away from the crash landing altogether, she and Jii-chan had proceeded to break every traffic law known to mankind to rush him to the nearest hospital, all while carefully maintaining a smooth drive that allowed persuaded gang doctors to keep him in stable condition.

When they'd arrived, he had been instantly transported straight into surgery. Days later, this was where they were now.

Lucky, his mother deadpanned. She doesn't sound convinced.

His spinal cord was injured but it is only the lower part. Thus, it has only led your son to be paraplegic, the doctor continued. Given time and rehabilitation and effort, he may never be as limber as he once was, but he can walk again one day. Hand-eye coordination has been affected as well, but that will also recover.

I see, mother said and her eyes were dark, dark, dark. With hate, with horror, with resentment-drenched guilt, all directed to faraway and very close by. The doctor, mistaken, gave a reassuring smile.

It'll simply take time. 

It sounded absolute. 

Kaito almost wished the fall had killed him instead.)

Kuroba Kaito's body will not allow for such wonders anymore, pushed to the limits too young, too fast and too recklessly. He will live with that reminder forever.

He doesn't regret them, his decisions then.

( That's a lie, the distant part grieves. There's a little boy staring up at a mourning picture of a spectacular man who is no more spectacular because he is dead and in the gaping spot between father and son, there lays the pieces of a promise of which is only one-half fulfilled.

But I'm sorry, father. 

Kaito can't chase after fairytales anymore.)

Sometimes still though, he wonders.

Kaito can't help it. In the slants of his heart, the beating muscle itself desires for things. There are holes in Kaito now whereas there was only a hole before, and they have engraved themselves in names and wishes, unsaid words and begotten regrets. They are people and memories and places and feelings. Whatever he has lost will be what he unavoidably keeps forever close to his heart.

He yearns, so.

So, his home is a cosy three-bedroom unit specifically picked to be on the highest floor of the tallest apartment building in town. He can no longer take flight and sail amongst stars and moon and clouds, but he can admire the sky that was once his greatest freedom, and it will have to be enough.

In his apartment, one bedroom is his. The second is his mother's whenever she deigns to visit. She often does now, as much as she can bear to. To this day, the sight of his lame legs pains her. The last is usually empty, since Kaito rarely receives guests into his apartment for long these days — its most frequent guest being Jii-chan whose visits come less often too, due to increasing infirmity.

The glass skyscrapers he once dived hundreds of feets off the air of, he can only stand on the roofs’ edge and bask in now. The fall has not killed the love, but it has taught him a new wariness.

He yearns, so.

So, no more can Kaito give foolhardy chase for an abstract goal anymore nor can he build back up collapsed ambitions. 

What he can and must do now is instead scavenge from the death, the rubbles and the ruins. He must try to see instead if there is anything underneath that destruction that can still be remade and has survived the fall’s impact.

What’s broken can be fixed, and what’s fixed doesn’t necessarily have to be fixed into the same shape and colour as before. Gold can cement the pieces and something new, something still beautiful can be crafted again.

And find them he does.

His hands still remain his greatest, most viable tools and for that, Kaito will thank every god out there and more for the small miracle that came out of that haunting day. Their coordination has been shot to shit a little, but at least they move right.

He can still do magic but he cannot practise it. The dream to be the best magician of all his father's stages, has turned to ashes with the wind. This much though, Kaito is already grateful – he doesn't know what he'd do if he had lost another piece of his father from himself. 

It depressed him initially, that this goal was something taken from him as well.

But humans are a race meant to move forward, not back. And Kaito may not have been necessarily good at doing so before, but these seven years have taught him if nothing else.

He had moved forward through necessity in the beginning, focusing on the needs and musts first. He listens to the nurses’ and doctor’s instructions and obediently does not do anything that could put stress on his injuries. He lies in a hospital bed all day and does his best to entertain himself with whatever conjured means he could, that either his mother, Jii-chan or the hospital had provided him. He eats whatever they feed him, and does not argue when the taste gets repetitively bland and his tongue is complaining.

He does not move his hands. He does not attempt tricks. Kaito does not think he could handle it if he saw his hands failing a sleight of hand.

For three months, that is Kaito’s life. From having the freedom of the entire world and society laid below and rolled out ahead of his feet as his stage and audience and limelight, to the confining cage of his four white walls, the drastic and fundamental change in his life embodied that of a dying bird falling to the ground. Falling and falling, until you hit concrete and it finishes you off. The last, dying struggle for freedom - for a way back up - from its way to the abyss, futilely flapping wings.

But Kaito is not dead. He has hit concrete and survived. He comes out of it the other side and finds that he does not like death or stillness or its loneliness at all.

For Kaito, that alone is reason enough to continue.

He takes to rehabilitation as eagerly as a once athletically gifted but now abruptly disabled boy could. His legs war with his mind. His brain remembers dozens upon dozens of different acrobatic and gymnastic techniques - front roll, backflip, butterfly twist, planche - but his spine crackles and his legs cry whenever he tries to even move them. The physical therapist and physiotherapist both recommend either a brace, and a cane or crutches. His mother buys him the best that money can offer of all three, but sometimes, Kaito cannot stand the sight of them. Rehabilitation is a chore .

And if he cries in the middle of the night, cursing and sobbing uglily in turn, because his feet just aren’t working the way he remembers or rehabilitation is just progressing too slow…

Then, that’s a secret that only he and the night skies need to know.

It is slow-going. The recovery is tiring. For every one step Kaito takes, it sometimes feels like he has ended up three steps back instead.

Nonetheless, he perseveres and one day, after months of constant, attentive care and rehabilitation, Kaito stands on shaky legs and manages to walk one whole kilometre alone, without the aid of anything but his brace.

His achievement sits fulfillingly heavy in his chest. 

To see the progress of his hard work, bearing fruit at long last and blooming beautifully - it is a feeling that Kaito knows he will cherish for a long time ahead. 

Right after he gets the green light medically with the reminder to check in twice weekly for both his physical and mental therapy sessions, he then proceeds to move forward through distractions. Overwhelming his schedule to the brim, he starts attending university again and gets his hands metaphorically and literally on every variety of venture that catches even his passing interest.

He tries his hands at baking and discovers following the precise directives a familiar routine. He indulges in reading and finds himself polishing up his French to scour through the mother tongue versions of this nation’s novels. He takes on a part-time job at a flower shop and learns flower arranging, learning that while he is quite fond of blue and purple hydrangeas, he doesn’t like black dahlias.

He attempts magic and cries happily when a faro shuffle is pulled off perfectly. This was when the realisation he could still at least do magic was finally recognised.

Not all of these hold his attention. What does is the most unusual activity.

Instead these days, in companion with the tricks and magic that Kaito has been taught to wield since he could toddle, Kaito paints.

He realises he likes painting. Which is strange. Because he remembers having abhorred art classes in high school, for all the forced self-introspection it gave him to drum through. Turns out though, that helps.

It is good for you , Ruby Jones had said approvingly when he'd told her about the unintentional new hobby he'd seemed to have picked up, new, relaxing. You are learning to be outside the shadows of someone else. You are stepping forward and taking initiative to take those steps yourself.

She had clasped his hands in hers and smiled, you are healing, Kuroba Kaito.

Those were the words she had told him in one of their last therapy sessions. 

Now, six years later after that year-long immediate recovery period, he thinks he understands what she meant.

Six years later, he has learned to love the current life that he has created for himself.

As of now, Kuroba Kaito is a twenty-six years old man with legs that walk a little funny but the most extraordinary hands. He is an up and coming artist making waves in the French art scene, well-known for his style of contrarily romantic yet morbidly true-to-life portrayals and the stories his art tells. He is also well-known for the fantastic magic shows that his art shows hosts that are usually performed personally by the artist himself, another form of art that dazzles the audience in its entirety.

Somehow, he has started making a living out of his art along the way. And he has learned to enjoy this. Although now, at five o’clock in the early morning, he could be said to have some doubts about that enjoyment.

Groaning, Kaito pulls himself out from his bed, finding his mind too active to even consider pursuing sleep. At times like this, it really is just best to wear himself out until he crashes. A painting spree could work.

He doesn't usually have concrete topics or ideas when he paints. More often than not, they just come to him.

Right now though, for some reason, he wants to do landscape painting. Simple watercolour will do; if anything strikes up any inspiration, he’ll develop further upon that initial conception.

Today, his legs feel good. When he straightens them out, there is only a slight numb throbbing pulsating in their veins. At most, he’ll only need his brace.

He tilts his head out a window and smiles at what he sees and feels. The weather is nice this morning. A gentle breeze that is overcasted by a dark night sky. Peering through the clouds, Kaito can spy the moon itself.

It’s spring in April in France. The seasonal timing remains unchanged. Only the scenery outside his windows are different. There are no cherry blossoms susurrating overhead in France, but the multitude of fruit trees blossom in full, wafting the aroma of cherries, lemons and oranges in the thick air. None of the festivities are ones he is familiar with. Celebrating Easter is not the same as celebrating the flower viewing festival or the Jindaji Daruma Doll Fair, but he has grown to love the holiday all the same

Deep in thought, he enters his workshop.

When his mother had first realised his new hobby, she took the largest balcony in the apartment and overhauled it into a makeshift sort of art studio.

Every design she put in was done with his preferences in mind. The workshop was complete with large pane, floor-to-ceiling windows and a few shorter ones that could be opened and closed, that replaced the formerly open-aired layout the metal fencing allowed.. Instead of a proper ceiling, an arching skylight roof stretches to connect to the walls. In a way, it very much resembles the arch of a birdcage. In addition, the studio was loaded chock-full with secret compartments and drawers for maximum storage capacity.

From the bottom of his heart, he can say he loves this place as dearly as he loved the KID cave.

In a quick survey around his workshop, Kaito collects his needed equipment and packs them all into an art bag. He changes out of his pyjamas and bundles up in sufficiently warm clothes, draping himself in a dark peacoat and wrapping a beautifully patterned scarf around his neck.

Outside, the cool breeze stings his face full force. Even at this time, the town’s streets are well-lit. Very few shops are bright and open - there aren’t many 24 hour shops in France, the few that do stay open around the clock being pharmacies and convenience stores.

Without any real destination in mind, he ambles a route around wherever his feet deign to take him and can handle doing so. Sunrise will only arrive in two hours anyways; Kaito has time.

His feet first decide to make their way towards the Château de Fontainebleau. At six o’clock, it is not open to the public yet. When he reaches the grand gates, he considers for a moment just trying to sneak in for a more high-up sceneric vantage for a sunrise painting over the mansion’s blanket of land. He discards that idea just as fast as it came. He doesn’t really have the patience or time for that endeavour today. So instead, he just meanders around its perimeters.

Next, his feet take him on  a journey through small streets that carve their ways through the buildings and shop lofts akin to rivers charting their course through stone and land. Every step of the journey, he ends up making leisurely small conversations with old grandmothers also out on walks and early-rising shopkeepers who prep for their shops. One of the bakers he stops momentarily for is charmed enough by the blue rose he pulls out of their ear that they hand him a freshly baked croissant for his breakfast. As thanks, he sketches out a quick drawing of the bakery in slanting side-shot view through inking and line art techniques.

Later, his feet lead him away again. This time, they take him for a walk by the river Loing, moving slowly with the pace of the lazy rushing waters by the lampposts and hanging trees. Here, the scent of fresh air is stronger and he takes more occasional rests on benches. A flock of ducks waddle their general direction towards Kaito and Kaito figures he might as well use the rest of his leftover croissant to bait these ducks into a death match, gorge fat and full.

Shame he can’t take one home for plucking and roasting.

It’s as he is mockingly dangling the final piece of itty-bitty croissant over the squabbling ducks’ heads that it happens.

Suddenly - a hand. Striking out. Snatching back his arm. Holding onto his wrist, tight and suffocating.

He flinches, surprised, barely resisting the urge to strike out at this sudden intruder.

Immediately on command, all of Kaito’s muscles relax. His facial muscles lighten into an imitation of something softer, drawing on old skills that were once polished to by diamonds of the best.

He spins around, intent on giving this rude dude a chilly and polite dress-down.

Any words on his lips die instantly.

He gapes.

“Shinichi?” Kaito whispers, unable to believe his own eyes.

In front of him, there stands one of his holes that has engraved upon his name, being and memory deeply into Kaito and helped shape him in its own way. The man who stands before him, grasping onto his wrist as if he might disappear, has grown from his reminiscence. He has changed.

Of course he has changed. It’s been seven years.

Kudō Shinichi is broader now, more solidly built and filled out but still overall very much lean. There are more calluses on his knuckles and palms, and his arms themselves swell a little bigger than from Kaito’s memory. His hair is combed down neatly and his eyes remain the most enchanting pair that Kaito has ever seen in his life, electrifying blue brilliance.

He dresses in a way that is both oddly evocative of yet dissimilar from the past. Shinichi’s body still dons a suit but it is not the school uniform of Teitan High School nor is it the elementary school kid fit that Kaito is more familiar with. Instead, the suit is an immaculately tailored piece primed for a dynamic workforce. From the corner, the logo of Burberry peeks out. There are other notable features equipped on him: a belt that he is sure is the same one Conan used and a watch that Kaito definitely remembers from the amount of tranquiliser darts he has seen it shot.

The most notable though , he stares, frozen as if paused in time, tongue unable to leave the roof of his mouth and words refusing to chatter past locked teeth, is his face.

Kudō Shinichi’s face is complicated, for lack of a better word. His mouth twists and he looks just as astonished as Kaito does to see him. But unlike Kaito, that astonishment is mixed with tinges of others: a broken relief that seeps akin to a man who has seen the light, a strangling anger that seems to fight with itself on whether it should show or not, a tremulous hope and vulnerability that is barely holding itself together.

Shinichi grasps onto him desperately as if he is grasping sand, or more accurately, as if he is grasping a ghost who could disappear as soon as a blink of an eye.

Kaito very abruptly remembers that for all intents and purposes, his mother had wiped his existence off the face of the earth for the last seven years or so, after his fall.

Uh oh, is his first thought and then, he must have thought I was dead.

“KID,” Shinichi gasps, coming closer and Kaito finds himself following - always drawn to the North Star that is this brilliant boy of a man, “ Kaito.”

Like two magnets, opposite poles of similar make, they draw to each other.

Underneath this reunion, there are still many things to be said. Undoubtedly, Shinichi will have questions soon. They will likely argue and break into each other once more. The many unsaid words and worries and confessions will need to be addressed.

Overhead, finally, the sun rises. It breaks over the dawn and greets the world cheerfully. The ever-shifting shades of pink, blue and yellow give birth to a feeling that tremulously resembles a second chance.

This would make such a beautiful painting, such a beautiful memory, no matter how it ends later on.

Kaito extends his other hand and smiles, gratifying in the way Shinichi immediately draws closer. Tenderly, he presses his forehead against the other’s, and breathes his breath onto lips that were once so familiar.

“Let’s take this,” Kaito says softly, “back to my home, shall we?”

Later, they will exchange stories of their lives of the seven years past. Shinichi and he will settle on the couches across from each other in the living room. They will be cradling mugs of coffee or hot chocolate and try to collect their words eloquently in a manner that could possibly convey the sheer amount and weight of all that needs and wants to be said. They will talk, they will laugh, they will cry and they will carefully relearn the other and their new scars and hurts and hopes. Much, much later than all that, Shinichi will present Pandora to him and Kaito will somehow cry even harder.

There is no need to rebuild anything, simply renovate and extend upon what is already there.

For now, Kaito curls into Shinichi’s neck, smells the sun and smiles at the possibility of something conceivable and known.