Yukiteru had awoken to the sunrise, which, to him, had appeared more scarlet than it had any other morning. It had been a certain ringing that had roused him, and hands already stricken with a slight tremor had fumbled for his phone, because something inside him knew that a teenager ought never receive a call from another teenager at the crack of dawn on a Saturday. The news was dire; he had known it would be before the shaky voice on the other end of the line had even uttered a sound.

The scene had been cleared long before he arrived. There are formalities to undergo, reports to be filed; her body will rest on an autopsy table long before it does in a casket. It should be less shocking to gander at the room in this state, desk untouched, bed a natural sort of messy, but his eyes can't help falling on that spot, that small square of carpet, closed off from the rest and seeped in vermilion. It's the only hint that anything outside of the ordinary happened here, but it's the most stomach-churning one he can think of anyone leaving. He doesn't need vivid recount or official photographs to have the imagery in his mind, to be aware beyond a shadow of a doubt that less than an hour ago she had been lying there, stone cold and stained in hues of red.

The detective leaning against the door frame has a pleasant countenance, an airy smirk and a confident voice that doesn't need a request to ring out in announcement of the fact that he's on the case. It's all very reassuring, but somehow it doesn't help Yukiteru shake the sickening feeling. Perhaps it's because, for his smug smile and evident sharp wit, it's disconcertingly obvious that this trusted investigator is no older than him, or perhaps because the crimson eyes, and the boy to which they belong, very well might be more focussed on Yukiteru than the crime scene.

He's still smiling, and Yukiteru tries, at least, to not return it with a grimace, forcibly, insincerely. He doubts he'll be able to hold back tears when gets home, but he doesn't want to shed any now, not while talking to a detective. This isn't the sort of thing that happens every day, and he can't bring himself to cry about it in front of a stranger because, realistically, he's not sure he'd stop.

The detective with the unsettlingly complacent grin and the amaranth eyes formally introduces himself. Yukiteru, so focussed on keeping a straight face in spite of his watery eyes, misses half of it, but catches his name.

Akise Aru.

"I… It's nice to meet you." he says, without much thought or conviction.

"I'm sorry about the circumstances." For condolences, they're expressed rather dully. Akise's tone of voice barely changes at all, but Yukiteru's already beginning to think that it likely rarely ever does.

"N-No! I mean, d-don't apologise! It's not your…"

"What's your name?"

"… My name? Right, uh, Yukiteru Amano." He's not sure why he stumbles through such a simple response, but he wishes he hadn't.

Akise's fallen into an odd silence, and a thoughtful one, at that, if his stance is anything to go by. Index finger at his chin, head tilted just a centimetre or two, gaze scrutinising.

"Huh?"

Then he frowns, slowly, without warning, but it has the impression that beaming might on anyone else in the world. It's determined, no less confident than that other curve his lips had taken; it lights up his features with a sombre but strong will, and the words he speaks— Yukiteru feels he can trust those words when accompanied by that look, seeped in self-importance as they were.

"Well, you can stop worrying, Yukiteru. Akise Aru, private detective, is on the case, and I promise I'll solve it."

—

Akise had said he'd uncovered a new development on the case, but all Yukiteru can pick up on is the smell of brewing coffee in the air and silken tones of his voice as he greets him. Good afternoon. How are you, Yukiteru? You know, you look even cuter when you're—

He's been talking like this since the second or third day of the investigation. Yukiteru still doesn't understand what it's about, but he's getting used to it.

"— not on the verge of tears." He laughs. It's not a mocking kind of laugh, not even patronising, but the pure sincerity of it snaps the brunet out of his dazed stare.

"Though, you do know that staring a cup of coffee down isn't going to give you answers, right?" He asks as he pulls up a seat across from Yukiteru.

"But it's hot chocolate, Detective." He sounds genuinely puzzled, blinking between the mug and the silver-haired youth. Akise just rests his cheek on the palm of his hand and laughs a little more, calmly, benevolently; Yukki forgets for a moment why he's here.

"There are no signs of anyone breaking in."

Then, in a most jolting and abrupt manner, he's reminded.

His expression drops, he sinks back into his seat, and the light flush his cheeks had taken to dissolved into the near permanent palor that's haunted his expression all week.

"Wait… So, you mean it w-wasn't a burglar?"

"I've been trying to tell you for a while."

And it's true. Yukiteru has seemed intent on believing that the death of his friend was mere bad luck. In his mind, she had been home at the wrong time, and some petty thief had killed her to cover his tracks. It was cliché, rather boring, and, considering the orderly state of her room, unlikely to Akise, but he wouldn't hear any of it without proof, and he couldn't blame him; it's surely easier to accept that something was done in the heat of the moment as opposed to cold blood.

"But—"

"You're adorable when you're at a loss for words, but I'd like it if you could try to tell me a bit more about Nonosaka. Do you know who has keys to her house?" He presses, voice levelled enough that he might well be ordering a coffee for how concerned he sounds.

"H-Her parents, but they've been on holiday for a week now, so…" Despite how obvious this answer is, Akise nods as though it's the most important information in the world, which gives Yukiteru just enough confidence to continue, "And Hinata, I think."

"Hinata?" He raises an eyebrow in question, setting his arm lazily on the back of his chair.

"Akise! She wouldn't!" The table shakes a bit when Yukiteru jumps upright. Whether it's that he could tell immediately what he was getting at or how strongly he's opposed to it, Akise actually looks a bit surprised himself for once.

"Yukiteru—" And for once, it's him who's cut off.

"She's my friend… She was Mao's friend, too!"

"We have to consider all the possibilities."

"It's not a possibility! There's no way she'd…"

He finds his hands, which had been balled up into fists, covered by Akise's, and there's a sort of warmth from the action, entirely unlike that literal sort which he had found holding a warm drink. It's a hundred times more comforting. There's a person at the other side of that warmth, a person who he knows isn't to blame for any of this, and that thought is enough to absolve the frantic tone of his voice, to allow his words to drift off. He doesn't need to say any more.

"I trust you, Yukiteru. If you say it can't be her, I believe you."

Maybe it's a lie, because there's always a glint of curiosity in Akise's eyes, and Yukiteru doubts he could ever bring himself to drop something before he's looked into it, and yet—

Yet, he let's him ease his concern, and let's himself hold onto those hands for a bit longer than he had ever intended to.

—

The detective must never fall in love, so say the purists of mystery novella. There's a place for romance, but it ought not be criminal investigation, and, at the very least, it ought never be the detective's heart, because his heart must be devoted entirely to his case. Still, there are always outliers. Looked down upon as they might be by those purists, there are many novels, and even more movies, in which the detective is allowed to be both that and a human being, where he is allowed to feel love, where his lips are allowed to meet another's.

Akise has always been guilty of loving stories like that, and now he's guilty of living one.

He kisses Yukiteru, and, in spite of the thousand more important things that should be on his mind, every thought becomes about him. The theory behind the action is strange (to simply set one's lips on someone else's lips and somehow make it into a sign of affection sounds almost unbelievable when considered logically), but in practice it happens easily, and the only thing more pleasant is the reaction it elicits.

Like most other aspects of the young investigator's life, his notion of romantics seems to be, whether consciously or otherwise, blatantly derived from film noir. He has a way of making the very chaste, and his kisses always are, seem risqué, a way of stopping him at just the right moment, when his voice is strained and his words forced, a way of holding him just close enough; Yukiteru's face flushes without him trying much at all, and it's also the cutest thing he's ever seen.

He breaks the kiss with his laughter, but he doesn't break it really. He keeps his grin hovering just above Yukiteru's, well, whatever contortion it is that his expression's in, because it's not a grin but it's not a frown now either, keeps his fingers twined in his hair, his thumbs lightly tracing his cheek bones. Only when his flustered state normalises enough to speak does Akise even consider moving.

"S-Sorry, what were you saying?"

He takes a small step back, stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, and smiles serenely. He knows that he'll need a smile if he's going to answer him.

"I think you're right about it not being Hinata."

Yukiteru's eyebrows furrow, because this can only mean that he had suspected her at some point after all, but he nods all the same. Getting upset around someone who constantly aims to calm you down is no easy task.

"But it might have been her father."

And from the mist of an almost relieved look comes one of utter confusion. Wide eyes, tilted head; Akise can't help grinning. Aside from simply being cute, the expression also means that he has some explaining to do. There's nothing he loves to do more than talk about crime, and there's no one he'd prefer to do it with.

"I don't understand. Um, I mean, what does Hinata's father have to do with this?" He's not offended by this accusation as he had been by the detective's earlier one, but he's no less confused.

"I'm sure he'd be able to get the keys if he wanted to, wouldn't he?"

"Uh… yeah, I guess. But why would he?"

"That's the only thing I don't know yet." He sighs, tapping his index finger on his chin.

"I thought motive was the most important thing to know."

"How, when, why, where, who…" He shrugs, and flutters a bit. "As long as you get every detail, the order doesn't really matter. Not to me, anyway. And we already know when, and where, and how, and now we've got an idea of who."

"H-How?"

He's puzzled by this little titbit of information, as he hasn't been made aware of any development in this area.

"How else do you think I figured out who?" He blinks. "They think her injuries were caused by a dog."

Before he can respond to this rather unsettling notion, Akise clasps his hand.

"Anyway, why not come help me investigate?" And before Yukiteru can answer, he presses a kiss against his cheek. He's still not sure what to think of all this unwarranted affection, but he can't think to decline.

—

Akise says it's okay, but there are a lot of things Akise says it's okay to do that Yukiteru still has doubts about, and sneaking into someone's house at one in the morning is near the top of the list. Akise says it's not sneaking if they have the investigatory right to be there, and Akise is certainly a responsible, law-biding citizen, but it looks like sneaking and it feels like sneaking, so, he decides, for all its worth it's sneaking. Akise says he doesn't have to come along if he's not comfortable, he says it sincerely and considerately, and Yukiteru might have taken the chance while he could had it been anyone else offering it, but there's an inexplicable intrigue in following the boy, not for the mystery to which he's walking, but for the mystery that embodies him.

The front room is dim, and for lack of a more obnoxious light source, Akise switches on the flash-light he'd procured from the enigma that is his book bag. He sifts the light about, revealing silhouettes of objects, a sofa, an armchair, a dog… no, several dogs, all curled up and, thankfully, seemingly asleep. He doesn't let himself relax too much, though, and the hands clinging to his sleeve assure him that his companion hasn't considered calming down much either.

"Yukiteru?" When he glances over his shoulder, the boy immediately moves back, and smirking is all he can do to stifle laughter. "Don't worry. It'll be fine."

Fine, he says, but somehow Yukiteru can't help feeling a bit reluctant to move through a room full of vicious animals, resting or not. They do manage to move through it, though, and the forced quiet fades into small, daring whispers as they make their way through the halls.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Yukiteru eventually thinks to ask.

"Good question." Akise nods, but offers no answer until he's responded to with a look of utter incredulity.

"An office or study, maybe. Detectives in novels usually find clues in places like that."

"Uh, is it really a good idea to go by something fictional?"

"Truth is often stranger than fiction."

"But I don't think that means…"

"Aha!"

Something about a certain door strikes the detective's interest, and immediately he moves to open it.

"N-No, wait. Akise, that's not—"

He manages not only to open the door, but also stride into the room before he realises why Yukiteru's frantic whispering had urged him to do otherwise. He finds not desks and papers full of potential evidence, but a bed and what would appear to be a slumbering girl.

He's about to turn around, because this is not at all what he's been looking for, but a bark resounds from somewhere in the near distance, and instead he's dragging Yukiteru into the room and quietly shutting the door behind them. Apparently this is enough to rouse the teen, because within the moment she's sat up and staring at the two boys in understandable surprise.

"You must be Hinata. Yukiteru has told me all about you."

"I-I didn't! I mean I-I wasn't… I'm not…"

Rather than respond, the girl simply deflates back into her covers and turns resolutely in the opposite direction.

"Ugh, this is the weirdest nightmare I've had all week." she murmurs to herself. "I didn't think it was even possible for—"

"Um, Hinata, you're not actually dreaming." Yukiteru's hesitant to point it out, and rightfully so, because the second he does she jumps at him.

"You disgusting creep!"

"It's n-not like that! Please don't yell."

"You're the one yelling!"

"You are yelling, Yukiteru."

Akise's interjection manages to bring about some unstable sort of silence, because it's enough to convince Yukiteru in itself, and enough to remind Hinata to puzzle over this stranger rather than the odd appearance of her friend.

"Who are you?"

—

It takes an awful lot of words, as one might expect, to explain that the genuinely innocent reason for breaking into someone's house in the middle of the night essentially boils down to trying to get their father arrested for the murder of their closest friend. Thankfully, words are a gift Akise's not lacking in, and after about thirty minutes of hushed but persuasive ones, Hinata's grasped a vague understanding of the situation. She's a bit quiet about it, though, fidgeting in silence until a question is begged of her directly.

"Can you think of anything that might help us?"

They're sat by the windowsill, the three of them, a couple of wannabe detectives and a sleepy, but no less fierce, girl sharing quiet, but no less dire, discussion in a house over which hush has fallen yet again.

The silver-haired boy had posed the question from his place leaning against the nearby bookshelf, and the young woman looks up from her thoughtful and sombre pose to scowl a little less and frown a little more.

"Why didn't you just ask me that in the first place?"

"That's a good point." The third of the youths admits, scratching his cheek and tilting his head to shoot a questioning glance up at Akise.

"You have to do things by the book." In this case, though, the book was clearly some low-brow crime novel. "A good detective is never straightforward."

The both of them give a look that begs just what this statement, so steadfastly held true, is actually supposed to mean, but either he doesn't notice the question or doesn't deem it worth an answer, because he doesn't offer one.

"It's really important, Hinata." The less eccentric of the two would-be investigators chimes in to break the silence, nothing short of ingenuous in sentiments.

"I know that!" The girl snaps in a flare of anger that soon sinks, downcast, into one of shame. She folds her arms over her chest as her thin eyebrows draw together, and keeps her voice levelled, though it's clear from the nails digging into her forearms that it would be easier on her to speak without restraint. "I mean, don't you think I know that? I've known… I… I knew Mao longer than you did. She was my best friend! I can't believe you can think for one second that I don't care about this—"

"I really didn't mean it like that! I j—"

"It's just I—"

"Just what?" Akise had refrained from interrupting the short-lived but heated outburst, but with a mind like his he can only refrain from interrupting anything for so long. He surveys Hinata with such a look of gravity that Yukiteru finds himself staring in turn, wide eyed, at the silver haired boy. "We'll never be able to put this to rest if you don't help us."

Even a voice like satin, mellifluous word choice, dulcet tones and all, isn't quite swaying enough on its own, and, perfectly aware, Akise made certain not to leave it on its own. A small tug of the lips, a softened gaze, confident poise, then a single, simple statement, sincere in a way only he could be.

"We need you."

—

A funeral is like the credits rolling on the movie of life; it's long, full of tribute and important people, and sometimes, regardless of how much one loved the movie or its actors and through no fault of one's own, it's difficult to sit through all of it.

He waits until the service itself is over, but once it is he steals away, to some back room, some nondescript place that he hadn't even bothered to note himself, somewhere he can finally, after a long couple weeks, sit down and think. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to express one more condolence, because he's done nothing but since the day she died; he's not sure if it's selfish, but even if it is, he wants a few quiet seconds to reflect on his own.

The seconds turn to minutes, and the quiet is disturbed by small sounds, sniffling, or perhaps sobbing, but in either case the tears he's been battling have finally won. He's always known they would. They always do.

He buries his head his arms, and it's too limp an action to be a concious one. It would have taken more effort to maintain his posture when every day since that day has been another weight on his shoulder, so naturally he deflates. He tries not to care, not about how ridiculous he would look to anyone who saw him crying so openly, not about the phone buzzing in his pocket, not about what comes after this, because he's never stuck around to see what comes after the credits before and he's not sure he wants to now.

—

If the credits are rolling, Akise's the sort of person who sticks around for them on the off-chance that some kind of extra follows.

It's a long wait, though, and really he needs to speak to Yukiteru, so, although it's frowned upon in both the figurative and literal situation, he's had his phone not only turned on but also in use for the past half hour. He's tried calling twice and sent an ungodly amount of texts, none of them particularly frantic in tone, but he's unused to not receiving an immediate response; he's never known the brunet to be without his cellphone.

He's beginning to get worried. He doesn't consider it worry, rather, curiosity, but it's worry. It's worry, because Yukiteru isn't some kind of mystery (for one thing, he seems a bit to straightforward for that), he's just… Yukiteru, and he cares about Yukiteru. He wouldn't hesitate to shout that much from the rooftops if he was asked to.

But as it is no one's asking, and he's left with the significantly harder task of keeping his strongly worded feelings and beliefs in his mind, which has the unfortunate effect of making them more prominent there. His impatience transfers to the physical act of drumming steadily against his knee with the fingers that aren't still furled around the phone in his pocket. He sets himself a time limit, tells himself that he'll go looking if he doesn't respond in ten minutes, but every time he checks his watch those ten minutes seem longer, and by the end of five he's already left the room.

By the end of seven he's navigating through the halls, and by the end of ten he's found the room, less discreet than it might have been for the distinct lack of silence emanating from it. He doesn't knock, but neither does he enter loudly. For a good few minutes, he does nothing but lean against the door frame and survey Yukiteru, his usual expression steadfast but his demeanour a tad more thoughtful.

Though, considering the amount of time he spends standing back and watching, he's really not very good at it. It's not long at all before his feet lead him over to where he's sat, not much longer before he sets a hand on his shoulder, which might be strangely standoffish an act of reassurance for a boy who would gladly steal a kiss or two in any less grave moment, but even Akise has some understanding of times and places and their correlations.

"Yukiteru, I went down to the station yesterday. They said they'd look into what we were talking about the other day." It's meant to be comforting, but he doesn't need to be told that it's not what Yukiteru wants to hear right now. He barely looks up, maybe because he's grown accustomed to Akise showing up at what was always simultaneously the best and worst time, maybe because he can't will himself to be too surprised right now.

The detective sits down beside him, and in a reflective few minutes racks his brain for a more sensitive topic of conversation.

"What was she like?" For lack of one, he settles for something more engaging.

"S-sorry, what?" Yukiteru rubs his eye with his sleeve, turning a confused look to Akise.

"Nonosaka." He smiles faintly, taps his chin with his index finger, ponders a more specific question, and asks the most abrupt one. "Was she cute?"

The brunet turns so bright a red for a moment that he may very well have morphed into a tomato, and he's mumbling something before Akise can fawn over the fact.

"N-No! Er, wait, yes… N-No?" He stammers, shaking his head. He calms down a bit when it dawns on him that the embarrassing inquiry was more a ploy to get him talking, but it's with a sad smile. "She was nice. Anyone willing to be friends with me would have to be."

There's a lot more to any and all of his friends than simply being nice, but Yukiteru doesn't have much of a way with words, not like the boy staring at him expectantly as he speaks. He averts his gaze to the palms of his hands and tries to say more.

"Hinata and her were really close. They were always together, and they were really cheerful. Sometimes she'd…" He trails off, chewing at his lip when he recalls the bleaker side of these memories. "I wonder if Hinata's okay."

He's spent all morning worrying about his own emotions that he's overlooked hers completely. He supposes she's probably suffering more than anyone else, supposes he ought to have cared about that sooner, but somehow also supposes that he might not have been able to. There's some sort of freedom when Akise's here beside him; although his sadness doesn't fade away, it becomes something he can cope with, something he can see beyond, and had he not arrived and granted that freedom, Yukiteru may well have remained wallowing in self pity all day.

In spite of his wobbly knees, he gets to his feet.

"I'm going to go look for her."

As he stands in response, Akise offers his own suggestion.

"Could you come over to my place with her when you find her? I'd like you two to be there when I solve this once and for all."

—

If Hinata's been crying, she's much better at keeping it to herself than the puffy-eyed Yukiteru who approaches her. It's about noon, and it's already been a long day, but she's a bit too full of resent to fully embrace grief. If what Akise said had been true, and maybe she's always suspected it would be, because the way her father's been talking these past few weeks has been nothing short of disconcerting, if it's true she's not sure what she'll do.

"Hinata!"

But now's not the time to think about that. Now's the time to put on a brave face and mourn the death of her friend by acting as though she's not actually morning anyone at all. So prim and proper are funerals that it's impossible to act any other way.

"Oh, hey Yukiteru." She pushes back her seat and walks over to him, setting her hands on her hips. "What's up?"

—

"There's one thing I don't get."

"Huh?"

It's a long walk, but still preferable by far to taking any kind of public transportation; on a day like this, they need tedious moments of silence, need too much time to think, need the opportunity to say things that, under any lesser pressure than quiet, they wouldn't think to say. Yukiteru has his hands hanging limply at his sides, as though not quite able to adjust to the lack of adequate pockets in formal wear, and Hinata's walking barefoot, having discarded what she had fondly called hellishly uncomfortable high heels about a block back. They stick out like a couple of sore thumbs, but that's nothing new.

"What you said last night, about how your dad—"

"Yeah, I guess I've known for a while now." She answers quickly, and, though there's nothing humorous about it, takes the chance to laugh at herself. "He was saying a lot of stuff about how Mao had something he needed, and then she… Of course it was him."

Yukiteru's not the most empathetic person in the world, but even he can pick up on the strain in her voice. He doesn't want to ask further if it makes her uncomfortable, but he can't help being curious.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner? Er, not that I'm blaming you."

"You can blame me." She shrugs her shoulders in a fallaciously flippant gesture. "I didn't want to cause him trouble. Even if I thought that he'd done something like that. Maybe it makes me a bad person, but I guess no matter what he does he's still my dad."

It's easier for him to understand this than he would have expected it to be (though his own father had never killed anyone, he hadn't exactly been the best role model either, and still he held much the same view), which left only one question.

"Then… why did you say anything at all?" He hopes she understands what he's asking, because he's not sure he does. He keeps walking, keeps his head down, expects an outburst, and doesn't receive one.

"Mao's always been there for me. She's been there for me when he wasn't." Only the calm but bitter-sweet tones of her voice are there to respond to him. "So have you. That's more important, and I should have realised that sooner."

If Hinata sounds angry at all, it's at herself. Yukiteru stops for a moment, frowns deeply, and states simply:

"It's not your fault, Hinata."

Maybe he's been spending too much time around Akise, because she just smiles weakly and keeps walking.

—

Akise's got it all figured out, and the way he's talking when the two teens catch up with him, having been led into the main room by his guardians, one might suspect that he'd had it all figured it from the very beginning. Of course, he hasn't, and Yukiteru knows this, but how one can weave words with such confidence when they're speaking on a fact that they're scarcely sure of is as much a mystery to him as these past few weeks have been.

"In conclusion, I believe Karyuudo Tsukishima is the most likely suspect."

It seems like they've missed all but the dramatic reveal, which is quite a shame, but nothing too serious; they already know everything he's got to say, because he's been saying it non-stop. The police he had invited over seem impressed, nay surprised that such a youthful detective had actually managed the job he had promised, but suffice to say they're unwilling to show either for fear of paling in comparison. Instead they utter a plain assurance that they'll "look into it" and stride past Hinata and Yukiteru on their way out.

He thinks this must be disappointing, but Akise turns to them with a grin.

"Well, now that that's sorted out—"

"W-What do you mean sorted out? They didn't do anything!"

"They will." The detective answers simply, slipping his hands into his pocket.

"How do you know that?" Hinata demands, furrowing her brow.

"It's my job to know."

Both of them look a bit fed up with this answer by now, but—

"You can trust me."

But somehow they do, all the same.

—

The curtains close on a kiss, but rarely do the curtains close after the credits roll. The metaphor is, Akise thinks, not as perfect a fit as he would like, but perhaps that's the way it ought to be. Imperfect, not quite complete, not quite conclusive; this is neither novel nor film nor pantomime, and if the opportunity arises, should he have the chance, the gracious chance, to kiss Yukiteru once all is said and done, he's always known he would take it, regardless of whether it's the end or not.

There is no sunset to fade off into, but at least their work is done, and there is no real closure, there never could be on a person's life, but at least there are other things in the world; school, work, kisses, and Yukiteru doesn't forget, but he can't find the time to fall apart.

He owes that much to Akise, owes to him the fact that Hinata seems to be scraping by as well, and the fact that the case is making its way through the legal system. Something as abstract as this curtain-closing stuff Akise's mentioned is beyond him, but he thinks, for all he owes, he can spare a kiss.

And to Akise, it's payment enough.