Conan stared at the corpse that lay before him with an impassive expression. He straightened his back and poised himself with professional air, and began to circle the tattered body like a lithe feline, cataloging every winkle and smudge that looked out of place. The little detective felt his mind vibrating, as it punched out relevant words, facts, and premature theories as he circumference the body. The boy continued this until he was satisfied. His eyes did a quick once over , and finished scanning for superficial clues. He then crouched down and proceeded to poke and prod, looking for clues that were invisible to the average. While doing so, he felt something nagging at him at the back of his mind, as if he forgot something very importa—

"What happened?"

His little fingers paused its meticulous inquiry as he registered the familiar voice that mumbled behind him.

Oh.

That.

Conan felt his jaw clench, eliciting a dull pain at the side of his temples.

He hated this part.

But he reminded himself that he had to treat this like every other case—

With cold hard logic.

Emotions were to be voided, because emotions clouded reasoning.

That would be unprofessional and that just wouldn't do for his pride—

Or the victim.

So It shouldn't matter who the corpse was, or was to him, because such sentiments weren't going to help him solve the case.

Right?

Conan turned around and saw the renown Phantom Thief, staring with his jaw slightly ajar, eyes fixed on the blood battered body.

His body.

"What happens to people when they die?" His mother looked down to meet his own innocently curious eyes, layered with youth.

He remembered how her brilliant blue eyes soften and lips dipped into a delicate crescent in response. She knelt down and engulfed his small hands with her warm, soft ones and said:

"They go a nice and sunny place in the clouds, where they live happily with others."

"Are they always happy there?"

He remembered how her hands gently squeezed his.

"Always."

If only her words were true.

The little detective scrutinized every movement the thief made—or the lack there of—to the untrained eyes, that is. All those years of observation and his natural thirst for knowledge, consequently sharpened his senses. This enabled him notice even the slightest shift in the air—to reading every twitch a person made and translate them into a silent language. This intensified more so, after that certain… incident. He was now more wary, more cautious—whole lot less flamboyant with his flippant attitude, lathered in child like narcissism.

Some would call it paranoia, but he preferred the term sixth sense.

And currently, he sensed an unnatural thickness in the air, brewing around the silent thief. The tangent rays of the moonlight, obscured the mans face with angular shadows, created by his sharp and matured features, courtesy of puberty. His absent-minded observation was disrupted by a soft laughter from his counterpart.

The thief finally drew his gaze to match his silent and analytical ones. He watched the man stretch into his trademark smirk and forced an air of playfulness and flippancy.

"Tantei-kun, practical jokes are suppose to be funny for both parties." He saw that infuriating poise of self-confidence establish over the older man's body " I know how your sense of humor has a bit of a morbid undertone, but really, you need to expose yourself to the lighter."

Oh he's good.

Really good.

There were virtually no signs, of his previous fleet of chaotic emotions from before.

Virtually.

Conan's keen eyes, spotted little contradictions on thief's projection of nonchalance, that told him that the man was indeed, in the process on a mental break down. The tightly held reins on his emotions subsequently made his movement stiff and unnatural. But it seemed to be the only thing that kept him grounded.

Now how to break the news to him without sending him into a spiraling frenzy?

But then he reminded himself to keep it professional, no matter what. The thief wasn't the only one dying in the world; plenty of people were.

So why should he be treated any different?

"Sorry, Kid." Conan offered a wry smile. "This time I'm not joking."

"You're dead."

The air stilled along with his mind.

Denial had its charm, but not much for long term, and Kid knew that. He wished upon Lady Luck, that what he was seeing was merely a hallucination, brought on by a misfire of his hallucinogenic smoke bomb.

But alas, his wish went unheard.

He was aware that he was playing with fire—no, an inferno with steel plated bombs filled with hydrochloric acid— when he decided to continue his fathers legacy and taunt an underground an organization, that could bring Japan's government down to their knees. If they hadn't already. So he was aware that he would die sooner or later.

Fire burned

But acids burned longer.

In amidst of his whirl wind of thoughts, he noticed something a little different about his hand.

For a moment he thought the light from the moon was playing ticks on his eyes, because last time he checked, his hand was most certainly not transparent. He pulled his hand up towards the moon.

It was transparent.

Not only his hand—his whole body. The thief was suddenly hit with morbid curiosity. Fascination be inappropriate, but if it quelled his bubble of hysteria, no one was arguing. He reveled his new form of in-between. Though he was transparent, the details of his previous form was visible—even the seams of his adorable white suite.

It was by sure the first highlight of his day.

Kid was suddenly reminded that he wasn't alone by the sound of movement. He flickered his eyes down to the tiny detective and saw the child hold a steady gaze with his piercing blue eyes. He suddenly felt his insides quiver. The chilling sensation of fear crept up his back with its icy claws.

They say that eyes are the windows to one's soul, but what people don't know, is that it also reflect the onlookers soul.

What he saw in the child's eyes didn't terrify him, it was what he didn't see.

Himself.

Just by silence he understood the gaze the detective leveled on him wasn't just cold observation. He was waiting.

The act was remarkably empathetic

—And perhaps a bit cold.

It was tantei-kun after all.

Although the idea of his death was appalling, Kid decided to file that away into the deepest, darkest unmarked corner oh his mind.

For now.

He watched the thief go through a succession of emotions and expressions. It was oddly fascinating to see, especially from a man who prided himself with his so called "poker face". The thief finally flickered his eyes back to him, with a dim light of resignation spreading across his face, and maybe curiosity.

"Have you finally accepted your death, or do I have to ride this out for another hour?"

The man feigned a look of hurt. " How cold tantei-kun, I just died. You should at least commiserate my loss."

"Unfortunately for you, you're a bit late on your collection." Conan pocketed his hands as he usually did around the thief. It was comfortable—perhaps a habit." I gave every last ounce of my sympathy towards society."

"My apologies, I forgot about your misanthropic nature." The thief made his way towards him, still a little tense around the shoulders. " Speaking of nature…you seem oddly adept to this situation. I'm assuming this isn't your first case of this particularity?"

A reflexive smirk made it's way up his lips. "Oddly enough, you're the first to ask—and yes, this isn't my first."

He watched curiosity deepen more so, as he quickly flickered back to his transparent form. "What exactly am I?"

"You're now a floating mass of your former self—a spirit if you will. "

The thief looked rather thoughtful than shocked. He did seemed to sway more toward the fantastical side than the scientific, so his reaction—or the lack of— wasn't too surprising.

"If I'm a spirit, as you say, how are you able too see me—and I'm just going off by the cultural definition of spirits, so please do correct me if I'm wrong."

"Oh you're not, humans shouldn't be able to see you." He saw the oncoming question in the thief's eyes. "I'm only able to see you because I'm not human."

Silence again.

The older man furrowed his brow, encouraging him to elaborate his claim.

See, if this were any other person, it would have been easier for him to explain everything up front. But this man had special relation with him, so cold professionalism wasn't going to work well. It wasn't his sentiment towards this man that made him so hesitant, it's that fact that he knew the thief knew him on a personal level like his friends and family.

Sometimes he wished he never got involved with this man.

Conan cleared his throat, attempting to hide his discomfort on the topic." I'm something one might call a harbinger of death, collector of souls or…" he watched the thief's face go completely blank. He could tell that the man was mentally rewinding their previous conversation, picking up key clues that led him to a two word conclusion.

"A Shinigami."

"Laughter is the best medicine!" his mother once told him.

"For everything?"

"Everything!"

An innocent question fleeted his mind. "Then why don't we give some to Daddy?"

Her pretty eyes widened and then slowly fell back, but this time veiled by sadness. She knelt down and drew him close to her bosom. "There aren't enough of those to bring him back, sweet heart."

"Then I'll make more! I'll make the whole world laugh and be happy." He listened to his mothers heart beat as he continued. "Daddy will surely come back if I do, right?"

He remembered her trembling as she whispered in his ears.

"Of course sweety, of course."

First time in a long time, he felt at a loss. He was used to handling the distraught and the angry, but this—this was something completely unexpected.

The man was laughing.

Laughing.

Okay, he was aware that telling someone, who just died, that he was the messenger of death, would probably punch him in the face—or attempt to. The thief was doing none of the sort.

So obviously something was at amiss.

At some point he entertained the thought that the man broke with reality, sending him into a spiraling mess of giggles. The thief always did have an insane edge to his laugh, so it was a bit hard to tell.

Again, he had no idea what was going on.

His detective pride became a little sore.

He then notion that perhaps, the man wasn't taking him seriously. But this wouldn't surprise him, because not a lot of people did in the beginning. He was in a child's body after all.

"I understand your dubiety towards my claim, Kid, but I assure you—"

The thief spared him a glance in his euphoric haze and managed to force out a breathy, but coherent response. "My apologies, tantei-kun, It's not that I don't believe you—but of all things!" He saw a bubble of horribly disguised laughter pushing through the man's lips. "The appropriateness of what you claim to be is unbelievably ironic. It just adds to the hilarity of it all." He threw back his head, placing one hand over his eyes and an arm around his sore abdomen. " Haha! A Shinigami!"

Conan pursed his lips in annoyance ."Are you quite done?"

The man abruptly grew silent and stilled his previous shudders from his incessant laughter. Suddenly there was a shift, and the thief changed his demeanor and tone. The hands that covered his eyes, slipped slightly, revealing his violet eyes that held an eerie glow, caused by the moonlights rays. Conan watched those very same eyes, slowly steer down and lock on to his own .That odd thickness in the air came back again.

"Explains a lot, actually." His hand slipped away from his face, then proceeded to flash a foreboding smirk. "I always suspected something off about you, seeing how a disturbing amount of bodies always lined up on the grounds you walked."

A twisted kink formed on the corner of his lips . " Why am I surprised? I was bound to die, seeing how we crossed path multiple times—"

The spell broke.

He saw the thief screeched to a halt, realizing what he just said .The man's eyes grew wide with regret as his harsh implication sent his rational back in to order.

"Look tantei-kun I didn't mean—"

But his eyes were already dark.

"Remember, words are like roses." His father said and made a red rose appear out of no where. " They can be beautiful, but also hurt."

The flower was handed to him. "So you have to be careful."

He was a little hesitant on taking it, but realized there was no reason to be.

"Why doesn't this rose have any? "He asked.

His father smiled.

"Why would I give my son a rose full of thorns?"

There were many times in his life where he neglected to reinforce his father's teaching. The poker face. But all in all, he managed to keep a good grip on it.

But this time his vice came through in the most unfavorable time.

He let go of his rein all at once, subsequently consuming his rational and unleashing a barrage of wild emotions. It was horrifyingly uncharacteristic and unprofessional in his book. He could practically feel his father turn in his grave. Sure, he may be entitled to go on emotional rampage, like everyone else would in his situation, but he wasn't just anyone ,and neither was tantei-kun.

He tensely watched the little boy, noting any movement that might reveal the impact of his words. He felt a swell of shame and disgust, bubble in the pits of his stomach as milliseconds—seconds flew by in silence.

And there it was, a movement. The boy's lips curved into a dull crescent, but his eyes were stilled shadowed by his curved fringes.

"To be honest." Conan started. "I was expecting that to last another hour or two, until you hit rock bottom." He pulled up his down casted face, revealing cold and apathetic eyes that would put his poker face to shame. "But then again, I'm not dealing with an ordinary person, now am I?"

He literally felt the barrier his little counter part pulled down between them.

The comfort of familiarity was gone.

Kid knew at this point that his words of regret were deemed deaf to the boy's ears. The again, what did he expect? Assuming the boy viewed their relationship same as he did—beyond rivals, but a nice indefinable form of friendship—He just left a nasty dent.

"Seeing how that's over with…" The boy's voice brought him back from his thoughts. "The first order of business would be to find your murderer."

Kid heard the sound of Nakamori-keibu and his men finally running up the stair case to the rooftop. As the thundering sound of police boots grew louder, he felt his throat constrict, silencing any pending words.

The little detective squared his feet towards the body and turned his gaze up to the inky black sky, littered by bright freckles and the ambient glow from the bustling city below. He closed his eyes and took in the sensation of the breeze softly caressing his skin, and then opened them again. He was greeted by the dull moon that hung silently, observing the scene that was unraveling below.

"Shall we?"

The rooftop door slammed open.