Disclaimer: I don't own Magic Kaito or Detective Conan.

This is quite possibly the saddest thing I will ever write that isn't a death scene, and even then I think I might not even come close. Considering that I came up with this in the shower while thinking about ways to write a friendship fic between Ran and Aoko and humming Free Magic (the eighth ending), it's disturbingly depressing.

She smiled softly at her sleeping lover in the pre-dawn light. Reaching over, she lightly ruffled his hair in a nostalgic way. Disgusted at the sight she saw, and herself (it could have been), she gently straightened it with her fingers. He slept on through her small battle with doubt.

Unable to sleep (now that she had started thinking about him again), she slipped quietly from the bed. Her bare feet padded over to the window seat and she looked out. She was on the second floor of a large mansion. First there was the expansive front lawn, and beyond that the street. If she craned her neck to the side, she would be able to see just barely a modern monstrosity, standing empty as it had for quite a few years now. And right in front of her, illuminating all was a beautiful (ugly, always ugly) full moon. It lit up the tree to the left of the window, and the nest with the sleeping albino pigeon (white dove). She had been contemplating evicting it for quite some time now, but had yet to get around to it (stupid white dove, he had no place in her life now).

Not bearing the sight of the moon and pigeon (white dove, always white), she looked back to the bed. Her lover continued to sleep on, breaths counting down the minutes until the alarm clock would go off and the radio announcer would exclaim about how beautiful it was today (not without him). And he would get up and take a shower (his ruffled hair would make him look so much like him) and brush his teeth and pull his clothes on. Then he would go downstairs and pour himself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. Their eyes would meet but they wouldn't utter a sound (I hate you). As he pulled his coat on to go to work, she would tell him to have a nice day (I hate you too), and that would be the first thing she said that day. Then as soon as he was gone she would clean up the kitchen and go into the back yard and trim the orchids (orchids for her). Then she would clean the house, making especially sure to leave the shelf with the photo albums (photos of her) to the dust bunnies. And when the chores were done she would sit in the big, wing-backed chair (flying away on white wings, laughing at her) and stare into space until he got home from work (how could he stand it after all it had taken from him).

Usually during those times she kept her mind blissfully blank (blank like a poker face), but sometimes she thought. She thought about her and him, she thought and him and her (her smile forever lost), and rarely, ever so rarely (it hurt too much to do it more often) she thought about her and him (stupid thief, stupid magician). And sometimes she wondered whether he was taking advantage of her, or she was taking advantage of him.

When she first met him he was broken inside, just returned from an invisible war that had taken her from him. When he first met her she was broken inside, having been lied to and strung along by a villain (her best friend, the person she loved, the person who loved her). He needed someone to fill the hole left by her (a giant, gaping stab wound, why was he still alive). She needed someone with which to rub it in his face (someone to pretend with, someone to look at and think that it is him). They filled a need for each other, a need as necessary as breathing (she's not breathing).

Her father thought she was being hasty (she wanted to forget how she'd been lied to). Her father said she should go visit him, try to diffuse some of the hot air (make it hotter, proclaim undying love). She hadn't talked to her father for nearly a year now, even though he worked with her father. She had heard that her father was courting his mother, and wondered if the situation was at all the same.

It was Friday so when he got home he would present her with a single red rose (hello, my name is Kuroba Kaito) filched from the bouquet he placed on her grave once a week. And she would take it upstairs and replace last week's rose with it and refill the crystal vase with water (rain cascading down, soaking the two of them). And then she would go downstairs where he would be curled up in the wing-backed armchair (flying in with the moon at his back) reading one of his precious mystery books (that one was a gift from her). She would kiss him softly and he would kiss her back, and they would smile gently at each other (gentle so as not to break). She would curl up at his feet with a book of her own (a fairytale, a happily ever after) and read with him. And so she would go through the day, barely saying a thing, losing her voice (losing her love).

As she sat there, the moon moved closer to the horizon (crash landing, capture by the police) preparing to disappear as the sun (burning, burning, everything's burning) moved closer. It wouldn't show though. Even as she watched clouds moved to obscure the sky (he pulled a blindfold over her, lied to her), promising rain later (I'm sorry) (I hate you!) (I'm sorry).

She felt her ice-covered heart shatter and her own twisted poker face slip ever so slightly. A single tear escaped her iron grasp and slid down her cheek, not caring that it wasn't going to be acknowledged, ever.

(Love you, Ahoko)

She hated him.

(Love you too, Bakaito)

Sad, ne? Aoko has a traitorous mind. In case it wasn't clear, "She" is Aoko, "He" is Shinichi, "She" is Ran, and "He" is Kaito. What I imagined happening was Shinichi gets his body back and there's a big secret war with the Organization, over the course of which Ran dies and Kaito Kid is captured and unmasked. Both Shinichi and Aoko are heartbroken and run into each other, striking something up. Neither are sure what it is though. Leading to this. How did I come up with this again? Reviews please.