You're An Idiot - Now Kiss Me

Disclaimer: I do not own DC/MK. And that's Detective Conan/Magic Kaitou. Not Deranged Cat/Miraculous Kumquats. My neighbour already has one too many. (cat, I mean)

Chapter 2: The Lesser of Two Evils… Well, Close Enough

Aoko had always been a girl who embraced logic. Though somewhat of a romantic at heart - believing in Santa Claus all the way until the third grade – when the booger-eating, snot-snorting Hiroto desecrated her childlike innocence by shamelessly pointing out that one: their house didn't have a chimney, and two: Santa Claus doesn't stumble into the house through the front door, stinking of alcohol and slurring something about that "damned KID" before jabbing two red barrettes into the stockings. He had laughed in her face when she tried to protest, flushed and on the verge of tears. Truth was brutal. But he hadn't expected the consequences of upsetting the little sweet-faced Nakamori Aoko.

It was the first time she wielded The Mop.

And her idyllic dreams remained just that – dreams. With her Tousan clocking overtime practically every day, it was her who shouldered most of the household responsibility. Telephone bills, taxes, chores, groceries – there was nothing that Aoko couldn't – or didn't, do. She had a strong suspicious that without her, Nakamori Ginzo would overdose on instant ramen and beer.

Long story short, Aoko liked logic. Logic was paid bills and grocery lists and emergency telephone numbers. Logic separated everything nicely into black and white. Logic was safe.

And Kuroba Kaito defied logic in every sense, fibre, and soul of the word.

"I'm Kuroba Kaito, nice to meet you."

He was grinning, a nonchalant arc of the lips with poorly suppressed amusement. The grin quickly faltered, though, as she leaned in closer, breathing murder onto his face.

"Stop messing with me."

"I'm telling the truth." His tone was light. But whatever playfulness dancing in his eyes was gone.

"But..." she struggled to get the words out. "But - you - I - Shiori Kuroba - " It didn't make sense. None of it. She saw the kind-faced woman open the door, subtly wrinkled at the eyes and long black locks tumbling down the shoulders. And though there was definitely a physical resemblance to the boy trapped beneath her, there was no way the 30-something housewife could have suddenly morphed into a teenage boy. Insolent grin or not.

For a second they laid there, with her on top clamping down his wrists and threaded between his legs and glaring down into his eyes, and him looking up, his face completely unreadable except for the slightest tug of his lips in a lop-sided arc that could (Oh, God) be deciphered as interest.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he sighed. "Look, there is no Shiori Kuroba. It was me, all along. Believe it or not."

"Not."

He arched an eyebrow. Then, slowly, she saw his lips part and then -

"'Aoko-chan, lunch is ready now! Will you please come downstairs?'"

Aoko's eyes widened. The voice. Slightly raspy but utterly female - exactly the one that had greeted her and Tousan at the door earlier. Except that rather it coming from downstairs, where she could (almost) delude herself thinking that the woman was waiting with a pot of something good to eat, it was issuing from the lips of the boy under her. Flawlessly, the words matched with every contortion of his lips.

Every. Single. Word.

Her grip slackened. Kaito sat up from the ground, easing the shocked girls to her knees. He rubbed his sore wrists, now glowing an angry shade of red.

For a second Aoko just sat there, stunned. Then, suddenly, she got to her feet. (sending Kaito slid onto the ground with another unceremonious bam!) "I got to call Tousan."

"What - wait!" He reached for the girl, but Aoko was already gone, fleeing from the room and down into the hall. She ran down the stairs. Cursing under his breath, Kaito quickly slid down the banister (leaping over the last flight of stairs) and cut the girl off, agilely sliding his torso to block the air between her hand and the phone.

"Okay - so maybe we didn't get off on the right foot," he panted. "But... look, you can't call your father, okay?"

He could see the struggle in the girl's face: the lingering shock mixed with something like anger. Sensing another bout of yelling coming on, he quickly stepped forward, laying a finger to her lips, "I'm sorry if I upset you, but no one can know about this."

"About - "

"My mother. This." He gestured downward at his apron.

"Kuroba-san - she..." And there, her voice trailed off. "Is she...? "

"I don't know," he snapped sharply. Then, catching his curtness, he shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry. But I don't know. She's been missing for three months."

"Tousan's a policeman, he could help - "

"No." He was firm. "It's out of their hands." Seeing another protest rising to her lips, he shook his head again. "It's... it's a family business thing. The Kurobas... well, I guess you can say we have accumulated our fair of hostility. It's complicated."

There was another pause. Aoko's body stilled. The colour drained from her face as, tentatively, she peered up into his face and asked, in a strangled voice,

"You're a drug dealer?"

"What - ? NO! Nothing like that!"

"Money laundering?"

"No!"

"Child trafficking - "

"Look, it's nothing like that." He held up his hands. "It's... more of a personal grudge, okay? Nothing illegal." (He crossed his toes.)

He could practically see the gears in her mind churn with this new piece of information. For a second it seemed as though the scuttling doubts had finally settled. Her frown softened. Then, a new thought striking her, her shoulders squared once more and her eyes flicked back to the phone. She moved. His feet echoed hers, swiftly blocking her path.

"You can't let your father know."

"But we can't live together!"

He cocked his head. "Why not?"

"Well, because..." She was suddenly aware of how little space was between them. Kaito was leaning towards her, his eyes staring unapologetically. And despite the apron and the dress and its ridiculous splotches, she could almost feel the heat radiating off the body underneath – the body of a living, breathing teenage boy. She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. "Well… you're a boy!" She sputtered.

"Very insightful." And the smirk returned. His eyes swept down her body in matter of 0.3 seconds. "And I assume that you're a girl?"

Whatever coyness that might have tinted her cheeks pink died in that instant. Her cheeks flushed redder. "Well," she hissed through gritted teeth. "We don't exactly know each other."

"'Strangers are friends you have yet to meet,'" he shrugged.

Aoko opened her mouth, but no argument poured forth. Catching her hesitation, he pressed on, "Besides, your father is leaving for Europe in..." his eyes flicked to the clock hanging on the wall. "Two hours. He can't possibly make it back now. I don't think we have much choice."

And it was true - literally. Nakamori Ginzo was an only child. The only relative that she could think of who wouldn't squint their eyes in confusion at her showing up at the door was Ojjisan - an ill-tempered old man whose only passion was bemoaning his daily ailments. All too eager to share the details of his hay-coloured stools and the new mole found between his wrinkled buttocks, she had long learned that an innocuous "How are you?" was a trigger for the verbal diarrhoea. The discussion became especially spirited after a few cups of sake at dinner – prompting Aoko to excuse herself from the table several times and Ginzo altogether abandoning his daughter to answer yet another KID-related matter midway through dinner. Thus leaving her, all alone, to suffer through the glory of hacking phlegm and the three generations of shame her knee-length skirt brought upon the Nakamoris.

She hated the family holidays.

Aoko sighed. "I supposed so."

"Great!" His face lit up. Aoko blinked, a little taken back by the almost child-like delight in his smile. "I'll go get changed and fix us lunch."

Before she could reply, he was gone. Slightly awed at the nimbleness at which the boy moved, Aoko felt a small, weary smile tug at her own lips. With nothing better to do, she drifted into the living room.

Upon first glance it was organized, innocent in its simplicity. There were armchairs that beckoned with its puffy pillows and the coffee table happily cleared of clutter. There were also books, not so-neatly-aligned in the bookcase engraved into the wall. From their frayed edges she could tell they were much loved – either by inquiring eyes and loving hands or - just plain weather. But with a closer look Aoko found that, saved for the armchair and the bookcase, everything was coated with a delicious layer of dust. Dust bunnies galore under the chairs and behind the sofa. She even found a bird feather behind one cushion.

And that was, perhaps, why she was a little taken back by the fireplace. Though it looked unused for years, the mantle glowed a pristine white. There was only picture resting on top - unspoiled by dust, unlike the rest of the house. Carefully, she picked it up.

A man and a woman, cradling a cooing child in their arms. She instantly recognized the woman as Kuroba-san (or whom Kaito had disguised as earlier, anyway) with tousled dark locks and a softly angled face. She looked young - perhaps only in her twenties. The man had his hair parted carelessly at the side, the faint shadow of a moustache budding above his smiling lips. The boy was laughing at the camera - a picture of pure delight. A thin line of spit dribbled down his chin.

"Lunch is ready!"

Jostled, Aoko hastily placed the picture frame back onto the mantle just as the wild-haired boy poked his head into the room.

"Lunch is ready," he repeated.

"Um, yeah, okay." She flustered. She could feel the heat coming onto her cheeks again, and she knew that it was one of guilt. Stupid, of course - she hadn't done anything wrong, just glanced at a picture. And yet for some reason she felt like as if she had intruded on something private - even sacred. Kaito was looking at her, head tilted to one side. She smoothed down her skirt, intent on the tiny fold on the hem.

"You okay?"

"Um, yeah, of course." She looked up. His eyes, so blue, unnerved her. "Coming."

She followed him into the kitchen. A pitcher of milk was sitting in the middle of the table, surrounded by two immaculate china bowls of -

"Is this cereal?" She found herself staring at the sizable mound of dark brown chunks lying at the bottom of the bowl.

Kaito bit back a laugh. "Of course not - I wouldn't serve cereal for lunch!"

She lifted a spoonful to her nose and stared. There was a fine dusting of powdered sugar on the coffee-coloured pieces. Her eyes widened. "Are they- "

"Crushed cookies!" the boy offered helpfully. "Oh, and you can have orange juice if you want, too." He reached to pull open the refrigerator door.

Without a word Aoko marched right up to him and glanced in. She had to stifle a cry - the ice box was completely barren - saved for a half head of wilted cabbage, a block of fur that might have resembled a dairy product during a point in its life - and a carton of orange juice, dwarfed by its giant 4-litre colleague of chocolate milk by its side.

"Or maybe you prefer chocolate milk?" He glanced back at her.

179 days to go.

A/n: Oh, dear, the weather's been horrid for the past week. Thunder and lightening just now, actually. Though I have grown to like the rain - pouring, as it is. I guess you can get used to anything after a while.

Please review ~ it would make this penguin, oh, so happy! ^^