Disclaimer: "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama, and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

This is an alternative story to my other fanfic "Encounter in Venice" and one of the possibilities of what could have happened if Ai had taken the antidote before Shinichi brought down the Organization.

Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00) and SN1987a and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal, without whom I would never have started this fic.

FS

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Ghost at Twilight

(edited version)

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I can't hear anything…

I can't hear anything the moderator says afterwards, for his comments are drowned out by a flood of protests, squeals, laughter, sobs, cries, shouts, and even screams—most of which come from the Crown game centre below although I can discern strangled sobs from the people around us as well. Seiya's loyal cult following is larger than I thought, I absently register, wondering whether they're more thrilled by his imminent comeback or devastated by his plans to abandon them so soon afterwards. Tears, sobs, swollen eyes, and red faces can be testimonies of either joy or grief—and it occurs to me for the first time that it can be extraordinarily difficult to distinguish the expressions of extreme feelings on the opposite sides of the emotional spectrum from each other.

Numbed by the unexpected news, I'm struggling to make sense of the situation and its implications. Pestered by his brothers, Seiya has reluctantly informed me about the (extremely lucrative and tempting) job offers he has received (a result of Hollywood's current derivative tendencies, fascination with superheroes, and penchant for serialization). Some Hollywood studios have bought the rights to remake the two dramas Three Lights did. Customarily, they would cast famous Caucasian actors in potential blockbuster series, but this time they're so taken in with Taiki, Yaten, and him that they're going out of their way to keep the original cast—a decision further strengthened by the knowledge that Three Lights have grown up bilingual.

As a matter of course, I don't expect him to waste such a unique opportunity for my sake now that we've separated. Neither did I expect him to pass it up for me when we were still together. He could shuttle back and forth between Los Angeles and Tokyo in his breaks while I can visit him whenever possible on the set, I suggested while he only looked at me aghast, asking, "Do you really want that?"

In all honesty, I didn't. Even in our delirious state, we both knew that in life, you can't do everything, have everything. If you get something, you will always lose something else—a simple rule of the otherwise impenetrable game of life, in which the cards are never distributed equally and never lie openly on the table.

In my head, my voice of reason took pains to apprise me that it was impossible to maintain a long-distance relationship over a long period of time without losing focus on either the partner or the work. It might be possible to do it for one, two, or even three years. But, as the number of the long-distance relationships that started with the best of intentions and ended for the best of reasons prove, love is a delicate hybrid whose emotional side can seldom thrive without its physical one.

Only a few hours ago, Seiya was adamant that—unless I was sure I could move in with him after finishing my studies—he wouldn't accept the offer. Now the public announcement has made it clear that he is trying to cut ties. Since I've told him not to write or call me, he has given me up. He might as well have chosen the media to deliver his message: I'm not going to pursue a woman who has ditched me after a few hours! Since you've left me with no plausible reason as to why we had to break it up, I'm going to abandon you.

The fantasy I've been nurturing since Tenoh-san's call (I only need to turn up on his doorstep with an apology for my fickleness and he will welcome me back with open arms) thus quashed, the only thing I can do is to stare into my glass and try not to do anything outrageous—sobbing into Kudo's shirt, stabbing the fish, smashing the vase—which could land me in hospital. The overwhelming sense of loss and betrayal is, admittedly, irrational but impossible to suppress. Drunk with love (no other phrase could have captured the mood), we've planned to search for a new apartment, to elope to wherever his agent couldn't follow, to stay with each other for all eternity or at least until death parted us… To be fair, I've left him in such an abrupt way that it's only natural for him to drown his sorrows in work (Yaten-san aka Shortie has told me about Seiya's workaholic tendencies whenever Seiya was immersed in a project or suffering from a new Odango-induced heartache). Still, it's staggering how he has organized his comeback within only four hours, even changing the date on impulse to put as much distance between him and me as fast as possible.

"How are you two going to stay in touch if he'll be juggling so many tasks and living half the world away from you?" Kudo's voice interrupts my train of thought. "Or do you seriously consider going with him?"

Coming from Kudo, the news acquires the air of finality it needed to enter the realm of reality and to put out my last flicker of hope. Crushed, I murmur that we still don't know how to proceed with our relationship—a half-hearted lie Kudo immediately sees through—while dropping my forehead into my palm. In a strange twist of fate, time has rewound, presenting me with the same dilemma I faced three years ago. At that time, Kudo and his honourable talk of "turning back time" triggered the same sense of loss, illuminating what I had craved beyond all reason. Secretly, I had hoped to receive a pledge of acceptance—an unequivocal "I'm going to stick by you despite whatever things you've done"—while what I got was the equivalent of the biblical "an eye for an eye", a decision I was forced to accept.

Kudo's decision, as it turned out, was partly triggered by a misunderstanding I didn't notice. Stranger-san's misunderstanding, however, was deliberately created by me.

All the things you've told me until now simply don't add up…

Azabu Juuban's streetlights were sparkling like a glittering carpet in the distance, their lustre dissolving into the purple dawn. He was contemplating me with his curious eyes, calling Pandora's Box a "tiny laptop-like thing". I felt like I'd just been freed from it for the first time in years. How wrong I've been…

As fond as I am of it, the memory reinforces my conviction that it would have been torture to live with Seiya while trying to hide the truth. Accustomed to observing other people and empathizing with them so that he can imitate them afterwards, he is too fast at sensing the incongruities and discrepancies between my words and my behaviour.

Kudo, who must be weary of my catatonic trance, has left for the bar to pick up the tab in a surprisingly thoughtful attempt to spare me another of Furuhata-san's sermons. As luck would have it, the latter is presently distracted by his girlfriend: an attractive, tall brunette with long curls, who has just entered the restaurant and sidled up to him. Nishimura Reika, shy and polite, is pleasantly different from her mother in both looks and manners. She only flashes me a smile, bows before Kudo, and turns her attention to her boyfriend after thanking Kudo again for helping her mother.

Furuhata-san, on the other hand, has instantly morphed from "dedicated waiter" to "clumsy fool in love". His customers forgotten and the new flow of customers at the door ignored, he has scooped the woman as tall as himself into his arms and whirled her round, barely missing the vase at the counter. Love—or at least romantic love—is a curious sentiment. The price it costs is sometimes so high that the fleeting elation it causes doesn't seem worth the suffering in the long run. It's scary how an unreasonable infatuation can take over one's life, and I can't help but resent my stranger for the shackles of dependency he has put on me. After experiencing the dizzying highs of a requited love, it's difficult to live without it—for the daily life, without the generally derided but secretly coveted romance, can feel unbearably insipid.

Around me, everyone else seems to be discussing Seiya's comeback, waxing lyrical about his acting skills and his voice, speculating about his rumoured scandals, criticizing his decision to leave Japan for LA, or even ascribing improbable patriotic motives to his planned expatriation (Seiya-sama has set out with the aim of showing the world that Japanese talents can easily outdo the overpaid but mediocre wannabe-artists in Hollywood—why else should he want to leave a country where he is so adored by his fans that he can't go anywhere without them tailing him?)…

No matter where you look, no matter what you do—Sherry, whose voice I can still hear in my head, defiantly remarks—people will always moralize, judging you for every action you take. Sometimes I'm guilty of moralizing myself, and usually I don't mind others preaching to me. Today, however, I'm tired of the world with its arbitrary morals and its invisible manacles. And I begin to appreciate Seiya with his contagious laugh and his tendency to throw himself into everything with wild abandon (a trait which might have exasperated me under different circumstances), recalling that despite his many attempts to change my mind, he hasn't preached at all.

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