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The office was quiet, which meant that Takaaki could not stay — he could not stay next to all the traces of friends that had been ripped away like another piece of a puzzle already half empty. Her scent was still here, in the little tower of post-its with mindless doodles and important notes, a mug on the drying rack that nobody dared touch, their stash of sweets hidden in a compartment of his drawer for the most dire of times. The wedding is next month and you’re invited. He hadn’t gone, couldn’t bear to call her a Torada when that was a vile insult of her person, couldn’t bear to watch her foolishly grit her teeth and lie through the grief (he’d done the same, been his worst, knew that she hated this side of him). Every bit of her stuck in this lonely, empty room, but as Takaaki tried to remember her face he could only see her leaving.
The office was quiet. He could not stay.
He could, however, refuse the fate that had been handed to him. Refuse logic and order to keep searching, if only for a body (empty casket and Kansuke’s grandmother weeping against his shoulder; he’d refused to shed tears), something that would make it real, realer than he’s gone missing we’ve searched the mountains up and down that’s all there is. It felt ugly, searing. Days blurred into weeks blurred into months. Every breathing moment a new failure, the cold his new home.
Crrck.
Takaaki felt a crack underneath his soles. The snow was shoveled away with his foot; there, a phone.
His phone.
The world broke into parts and rushed past Takaaki to deliver a hallway stretched long, longer, steadily moving towards him. His backpack dropped in the genkan (souvenirs for each of them) and father, father, why aren’t you breathing your eyes are open your throat is open the blood the blood the carpet hurts the blood mother please say something please hold me please do anything but leave me here.
Small cries from the closet. Takaaki opened it to see Hiromitsu standing straight, freshly graduated from police academy, something guilty mixed into the usually kind smile. He should’ve known back then that it would be the last time, had brushed it off to the usual emotions that came with big changes in life. Gods, he’d even grown a beard. It proved difficult to find the small, carefree little brother if Hiromitsu wasn’t smiling—adulthood suited him well. Ready for what life would throw at him.
(Brother I’m quitting it’s okay I’m happy with my decision you don’t have to come over.)
Hiromitsu’s lips formed to speak and out came a cascade of blood, blooming on his chest and running down Takaaki’s forearms as he grabbed him and tried to stop it. No, he begged and begged and begged. Not you, too. The corpse sacked against him, slick and heavy and still warm.
It held him tight, kept him down no matter how much he fought and Takaaki was sure he would drown and suffocate in either the blood or under this weight, this pressure on his chest that was so hot and heavy and he could not breathe he could not—
Blink, Hiromitsu was gone, but the pressure stayed. In the dark, a blurry frozen ceiling fan, blurry mass of black hair and wide eyes, where was the blood? Her throat, Takaaki reached out and touched it, whole, her throat was whole, she had a pulse. She was talking.
“—an, it’s okay— I’m here, I’m here,” Yui said and worried on her lower lip between sentences. A moment of just observing him, then her hands slowly left his shoulders and took the pressure with them; a shuddering breath spilled from Takaaki’s chest. His own hand dropped from her throat and he looked away in (burning in his face) shame. The fear wrought out of him now that he knew, just another dream. Yui had returned, Kansuke was alive.
Click clack of Kansuke hobbling into the bedroom and smacking at the wall until the light switch was found. Too bright, they all squinted for a moment. This hotel suite was tiny, one bed, Kansuke had immediately made for the couch (not good for his leg but he hadn’t cared). Now the discomfort was written in his face; deep shadows and one too many wrinkles. His weary eyes were framed by open hair falling all the wrong directions, looking back and forth between Yui and him, trying to figure out why they were making a commotion at this hour. Takaaki gazed down at himself, his legs twisted in the clinical white blanket and his pyjama shirt drenched in sweat.
“I—” he started and swallowed around scratching in his throat, “nightmare. I had a nightmare. Apologies for waking you, I will just— a little water and I will be good to sleep again.” His tongue felt so heavy. He touched his arms, dry, no blood, no blood.
“Yeah, I’m not buying that shit,” said Kansuke and his voice sounded even more menacing this thick with sleep. The bed creaked as he sat down and blatantly started staring, as though he feared for him to shatter into a million pieces if not careful.
Takaaki quite hated that.
“I will be fine, I assure you,” he began assorting his legs and tried to stand up. Yui pushed against him with a gentle but firm determination.
“So you have them often?” She asked, turned him into a cornered animal with that single question. Kansuke used to have night terrors for the first month after waking up, he knew.
It’s been two decades.
“No,” he spoke and the lie immediately churned in his gut (how dare you they’re your friends they trust you). It had been the truth before Tokyo, Tokyo with Suzuki and Kaitou Kid and the phone, his phone. It wasn’t here, not in a crammy hotel on the outskirts of Nagano but back in his apartment, envelope tucked away safely, never opened again but stared at all night long and when would sense return to him? When would grief start being like people said it was; when would he start being like people said people were?
“Yes,” Takaaki couldn’t bear the weight on his tongue. “Which makes me used to them, and perfectly capable of—“
“I’m sure you’re most capable,” Yui chided in. “Capabilities don’t make necessity. Now come on, I’ll get you some water and you’ll change into new clothes.” The bed singsonging again as she climbed off, quiet steps in what had to be the middle of the night.
“…was I loud?”
“Very,” Kansuke said and inched closer, held his hands out. “Come on, shirt off.”
“Bending when one must,” Takaaki mumbled and raised his arms. His nose wrinkled at the feel of wet cotton gliding up sweat-sticky skin; Kansuke’s hands a furnace.
“Pants,” was the order as Kansuke threw the shirt on the ground and made way to Takaaki’s suitcase neatly tucked into a corner. His hands hovered over a new set of pyjamas and daytime clothes. “Do you really want to sleep or do you want to stay up?”
“Sleep is favorable, please,” Takaaki said, with knees to his chest so he could take off his pants without having to get up, and he wondered how often Kansuke had chosen—had been succumbed to—sleepless nights. If it still happened on more days than once a month, whenever he called in sick for work and Yui followed to chase as much pain out of his leg as possible.
Kansuke threw a fresh pair of sleepwear on the bed and followed it up with a towel. His hand came up to Takaaki’s side, scalding, pushing his body away from where he’d slept to lay the towel over the sweat drenched top sheet. Yui returned with water and a damp cloth, turned off the overhead light and flicked on a warm night lamp next to their bed instead. Creak.
“Thank you,” he took the water out of her hands, icy and balm for his throat (with every swallow: they were watching you look weak you look expendable).
“What did you dream of?” Yui, soft.
“My family,” Takaaki answered, because he could admit as much; could bear the lie less than this obvious truth. Her eyes avoided his for a moment and he knew why. Everything from that fateful day had been told to her through Kansuke, and Kansuke had been told nothing from him, could only speak through experience.
(Funeral, Kansuke sitting in a back row, fists on his lap and posture as straight as an arrow. Everybody staring at them. Takaaki’s aunt weeping into his shoulder and holding it so tightly it hurt a little if he touched the spot for the next three days.
Hallways had always felt so crowded, but now they emptied as though the people were erased in splotches of ink, transforming into pain in his feet and merciless iron smell. Bump into his side, Kansuke and be careful, Kansuke and should we go to my place today, Kansuke and silence that made the world feel less empty.)
“I’m sorry for what happened,” Yui spoke carefully. She guided the cloth over his salty skin, brushed away the worst of it before grabbing the new pyjamas and gesturing Takaaki to let himself get dressed. He let her, like a petulant child that was unable to care for itself. “If you want to talk about it…”
A huff from Kansuke, half regret half impatience on his face and not smoothened into something more sensible under Takaaki’s gaze. Because he was still standing and too far away for a kick at his good shin, Yui could merely mouth silent words (not yet you promised), and Takaaki knew that they knew he was on his limit these days. He had noticed their stares since Tokyo, had foolishly hoped it to be coincidence.
“I don’t,” came the answer and that much was true — he could not talk about his parents without it bleeding into Hiromitsu, without it bleeding into them. That vulnerability felt much too terrifying, because realistically, what they had was still fragile; it had only been a few months since things had returned to normalcy, little enough for Takaaki to flinch and ask, will this last? He could not burden them with this, especially not if he was going to follow Hiromitsu’s trail.
(An old church bending and groaning underneath heavy snow, post-storm clarity fresh in the air. Mouri, the child, an old sushi chef that had stared at him as much as Furuya Rei Amuro Tooru Zero had. Be normal don’t make eye contact too soon he knows shake his hand stay polite he knows you, what had Hiromitsu told his friend about him, did his tactical reputation exceed even in Tokyo or had he barely been spoken of at all? Had Zero seen his last moments? Must have, how else would he get ahold of the phone on such a risky mission? Kuroda’s voice ringing in his ears, urgent and intimidating like it was when he ran on too much caffeine and the workload drew shadows on his face, changed him from a patient man to a terrifying one, must have known from the start that his brother was dead but confidentiality was never personal in this profession.
Zero, the obvious first point of investigation, but when would Takaaki ever have an opening that wasn’t at risk of jeopardizing their whole operation? The price of closure could be ruining what Hiromitsu had lost his life for. Kuroda had marginally let him in on it, but that phone call was likely as much as he was going to get on that front. The sushi chef, Mouri’s second apprentice, oh and what were the odds of two agents sticking close to that unfortunate detective? There had to be a reason and it was Edogawa Conan, somehow, is what Takaaki’s gut told him. Reconsidered his line of thought, because the sushi chef had stared and stared as though Takaaki was familiar and Hiromitsu and him shared their mother’s eyes. Anyone who had worked with his brother could recognize him, so anyone who recognized him could be an enemy; Kuroda’s voice urgent and intimidating. Takaaki’s own face a liability. The consequences if he got caught? To investigate, he’d have to isolate himself from everyone for their safety.
Not even a year since normalcy.)
“Okay,” Yui spoke and he’d forgotten for a moment, where and with who he was, thought the alternative (home and alone) much more pleasant. Looked at them to see different expressions than before, Kansuke hesitant, Yui determined. He must have missed out on their silent conversation. “It’s cuddle time!”
Takaaki blinked and was slowly pushed to lay again, new warmth soft skin sweet scent of plum against his side. Her hair tickled against his jaw, her head rested against his shoulder, her arm around his waist. It was— Takaaki had grown more than acquainted with physical touch in recent times, but this felt foreign, was much different than their occasional hugs and passing touches.
“Kan-chan and I sometimes do this after the pain gets really bad. Helps him sleep, and I think it’ll help you too,” Yui hummed, her breath against his collarbones. Every inch of her alive and choosing to be like this with him, choosing to have her thumb brush over his side in a steady motion. “Is that okay?” The question sounded sheepish, as if she regretted not asking beforehand.
Against his better judgement, Takaaki turned and curled into her. Hands buried in her hair and to the small of her back, one leg intertwined with hers. He had never experienced vulnerability in such a way; usually saw it in family, loved his aunt and uncle dearly but they were not the kind of people to hold him; usually saw it in friends, had never fully been able to overcome this invisible barrier of what would bare too much of himself. More casual touch he had no qualms with, but how could he possibly hold them? Hold Kansuke? With all that he tainted their relationship with, his feelings and the—
“Don’t complain later,” Kansuke said and shifted the weight of the bed with another creak, had Yui fall more against him and he felt the upward curve of her lips against his skin, heard her smile in the way she breathed. Kansuke iron hot and a giant with his back straightened, his entire body fitted against Takaaki and some more, must be hitting the headboard a bit.
He counted five uniform breaths of the two in the span of seven of his own, chest steadily tightening, didn’t know if it felt good or was too much and his mind went back to what was safe: The Empire, long divided, must unite; long united, must divide.
Yui adjusting the blanket so all of them were covered, some back and forth because neither of them wanted to draw the short end, or maybe neither of them wanted to other to draw it? Takaaki would look, but looking meant opening his eyes and he didn’t want to do that, hadn’t noticed until now that he’d closed them.
“Night,” Kansuke mumbled with his gravelly voice.
“Good night, Kan-chan. Kou-chan.”
It felt good.
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡