Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan, period.
Notes: To those who have read my previous works, the length and weight of this story might come as a surprise. I've always wanted to try a piece that isn't morally or psychologically driven, and then this concept came along sometime after I read File 894, even though it has very little connection to it whatsoever. Part of how the brain works, I guess...
I've tried writing several versions of this in my head, all of them deeper and broader in more ways than one, until I realized it was fine as it is. As far as the genre's concerned, either or both of them apply depending on the perspective it is read.
For more on the benefits and risks of sleeping upright, kindly look it up on your own discretion. As always, thank you for reading!
Finding Subaru Okiya asleep while sitting up isn't such a big surprise. If you ever catch him sleeping for real, that's the real spectacle.
One can argue that posture doesn't matter so long as you're comfortable, and there's nothing you can really do about it once your body has decided to shut itself off. Physicians and experts, as always, suggest otherwise, agreeing that a resting body should recline at a minimum of forty degrees when possible to avoid problems in the veins that are a potential catalyst of even worse illnesses, or more commonly, a bent spine. Not even able-bodied Sherlockians nor resolute FBI agents who can snipe an average distance of seven hundred and fifty yards are immune to these. People like monks and nuns who train specifically to sit and sleep upright, most especially those who started at the peak of their youth, are a different matter though, but at this point, it comes down to what works better for the sleeper.
Barring all medical or pragmatic practices and claims, if there is one strong vote backing Subaru's decision to keep this old habit alive, it's that sleeping upright generally allows the body to keep one foot off the land of Nod, remain aware of its surroundings and wake up faster without having to struggle against gravity and comfort so much compared to when lying flat on a cushion. And right now, at least three lives depended on his ability to stay alert and able at all times, including his own. The house has been compromised before, and there's no telling when or if its previous intruders will strike again. Add to that the chances of looters suddenly getting curious of the valuables an award-winning novelist's home may hold.
Danger is, from experience, a wily dealer who can and will produce whatever card is necessary to trip up someone's lucky streak.
With that much weighing on him, finding a comfortable sleeping position or spot is the least of Subaru's concerns. His body rests when it rests, like an emergency preservation system that automatically kicks in when ninety-five percent of the power is depleted. It doesn't matter whether he's in the middle of an engrossing chapter of a bestselling novel or a bottle of fine wine – pleasures he engage in through the feeble hours day in and day out. It doesn't matter where his consciousness slips, be it in Kudou-sensei's desk where he's presently ensconced, the couch or the driver's seat of his car, as long as he can respond swiftly to the situation at hand, come to her aid as soon as he can even if she scorns him for it.
Bodily pains and a crooked posture mean little compared to all the grief he caused her in their previous incarnation...
At around eight o'clock in the morning of a blue Sunday, Subaru was alarmed by the rattling sound of a mechanism he didn't recognize. In his first few days as a tenant in this manor, he had already learned and memorized every note and rhythm made by all available devices and appliances: the intercom, the phone, the television, even the oven. Since nothing was added during Yukiko-san's last visit, he deduced that the house has been infiltrated in his negligent dormancy.
The previous night's activities were not without precedence. He was quite immersed taking a crack at the mysterious Night Baron – the bestselling series of novels, not the computer virus, all in the company of Japanese whisky. Seems the nightcap had done a better job last night than it had in a while, granting him reprieve so sound, he actually did not sense the perpetrator moving about at all. For a second, he was actually taken aback by his inability to do so.
Lucky for him, the perpetrator had no intention of concealing its tracks.
As attached as he is to reality, Subaru rarely forgets about the things he does before his consciousness flickers. He's certain he left the books and the wine on the desk when he decided to rest his eyes a bit, which eventually led to his unwitting slumber, nor did he ever get up in a tranced state to put them away afterwards. Moreover, he's absolutely certain he did not prepare the omelet with salmon and watercress leaves, the pitcher of orange juice and the cup of rice served right in front of him on a plastic breakfast tray, taking the place of the missing effects. The ice on the glass provided for the juice hasn't melted to a puddle, and the omelet and the rice still emit a warm, pleasant steam, giving light to the theory that it was prepared only recently. Yukiko-san came to mind at first, but the bubbly madame would've woken him up to eat had she come back unannounced, and she didn't need to use the ladder to properly return the books; the ladder was left exactly by the space the Night Baron novels reside in.
Looking at the alarm clock conspicuously set beside his meal – apparently the source of the unfamiliar sound a moment ago, he found a folded slip underneath. Glancing upon what was written inside, he confirmed that he's right about the only other suspect he can think of after sternly filtering a list. One that fits the bill a lot better than the legendary Yukiko Fujimine herself.
"Because returning favors is well within my boundaries, and I really hate owing pesky neighbors. I'd love to straighten your back with a wooden stick though," it said.
Subaru curled up a wry smile, realizing that he must have welcomed this particular intrusion subconsciously, that's why he permitted himself to be vulnerable. Otherwise, it probably would've alerted him like that particular event inside his car...
Stretching his shoulders and back, he walks towards the ladder, and was about to roll it back to where it usually rested when he was piqued by yet another note protruding between Night Baron volumes. He quickly draws it out and unfolds it.
"Beds and futons were invented for a reason, you know..."
The fair-crowned bachelor couldn't hold back his laughter this time - the real one, not the ruse he puts up in front of other people. "Perhaps I should start digging in before Father Time spoils my meal," he thought audibly, wiping the sleep off his eyes as he tries to get ahold of his elation.
An hour after indulging on his surprise breakfast and washing the dishes, Subaru decides to give his prime suspect a call. There's still one question left unanswered, and the mystery lover that he is, he couldn't leave it unaccounted for.
The other line didn't pick up until five rings later. Even then, it refused to acknowledge his call. Not about to be discouraged by this, Subaru waited patiently until finally, about a minute and a half later, he had outlasted the person on the opposite end.
"I'd appreciate it if we stopped this ridiculous waiting game soon because I still have other things to do," complained the female voice that is pegged as at least a middle-schooler's.
"Oh, sorry. I felt anxious when I didn't hear you say 'hello' immediately," he said back in a feigned heavy-hearted manner.
A sigh from the other line. "...Can we just skip the nonsense for when you come over later for the professor's dinner?"
Clearing his throat, Subaru begins. "Well, do excuse my untimely call, but by any chance... Have you seen my bottle of whisky? I was wallowing on it just last night, but now I can't seem to find it anywhere around the house. I'm sure it still had some fight left in it before I turned in..."
"Hmm... Whisky, you say? Maybe someone didn't like the look of it and got rid of it... Or perhaps you were so confident of your skills that you let your guard down, just enough for a thief to break in and take it away. Either way, you only have yourself to blame."
"...Perhaps that had been the case. Quite regretful still... To think I spent a fortune on that particular brand."
"Oh well... You'll just have to thank whoever it was that took pity on your liver and remember not to waste any more money on such things...," she sallied. "Anyway, please don't forget to return my alarm clock later. I know it's practically obsolete nowadays, but I still use it to wake me up for school."
"But if I couldn't return it, will it be alright if I wake you up personally instead?" he asked in jest before she could hang up.
"Do that and I'll make sure to add truth serum next time, assuming I'll ever find the mood to cook for you again." Thus, the line was dropped on Subaru, leaving him stunned, but in good spirits nevertheless.
Meanwhile, just a door away from the mysterious Sherlockian's temporary home, a reflection of the intruder's inward smirk can be seen through the bottle of whisky as she takes hold of it one more time before returning to her own undertaking.
The End.
written by akaisherry47