A/N: Oh wow, it's FINALLY UP. -fail- I honestly underestimated my schedule...and my procrastination powers. XD The rating will probably go up, this might not stay AU, and I'm not sure if I genre'd this right. o.o But anyhows, I commend you guys for putting up with the waiting! That takes some skill.
Chapter dedicated to Jun-chan for being so patient with my random poofing over the last couple weeks. -smorfs-
DISCLAIMER: Gosho Aoyama is actually the name of my pet squid. I write the series under his alias as a tribute to him.
Prologue; the heart of the gallows bird
His blue tie's still at the dry cleaners' eleven blocks from his apartment, so he's substituted for the red one tonight. It peeks neatly through the white of his suit, but they wouldn't notice anyway – they never did. He'd worn a plaid one of green and yellow several years ago, when he was still performing in Japan, but none of them had ever called on it save for the detective. The man could, of course, try experimenting again in this new city three oceans away, but with Japan he had also left behind the whimsicality of his spirit.
Along with several other things – including a certain person. That had become a small thought, though, tucked away to tremble in a corner of his mind.
It is all a routine now, mechanical and so terribly lonely. (But he doesn't think about it like that.) As he unfolds himself from the edge of the skyscraper, white loafers scuffing the metal rails, all that he can think of is that the heat is smothering him like a giant, invisible pillow. Not much of an articulate analogy, but he saves his eloquence for empty words. For strangers, who are really his sole acquaintances these days. Years.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"
They will not notice the whitewashed corners of his eyes nor the tight edges straining his blossom of a grin, since he's alighted too high over the city. In all actuality there really is no reason to keep the grin on in the first place because of that, but he has long realized that the only way to fool others is to fool his own self first.
And so he flings apart his snowy arms, bright and beaming under the light of helicopters and buildings that – in the darkness – wink like stars. There comes a deep, shuddering breath, and then his eyelids flutter as he plunges down into the roaring city, losing himself in the rush and moment. The windows rattle as he flies past.
His heist is very routinely. Smoke bombs set off all over the museum to mislead the officers, and a show of laughter that cracks so subtly – hahaha ---! – before stealing off into the black labyrinth of the sleepless city.
Back in his apartment – not home: apartment – he falls apart, tired and life-weary. Kaito cannot bear looking in the mirror as he rolls up his sleeves. And through the night, the faucet of the six-year-old sink leaks steadily all the while, with water – water, water – that seeps from the crevices.
He lies in bed for five hours to stare at the ceiling.
In the morning, all he remembers - and even then, only fleetingly - is an unsettling dream.