AN: The sequel to Makin' Whoopee! Read at your own risk.
You should see yourself
When will you grow up?
Every knob you twist on that machine is like a crutch
The separation wasn't supposed to last forever. A month or two at most.
Then Aoko got sick – really sick – because adult life is a shitty game that everyone loses at some point. Personally, Aoko blamed her mom's genetics (and oh the nights she had, staring up at the ceiling wondering if she would be as lucky as her mother to just die in her sleep of a stray brain aneurysm on a random Friday morning instead of the fucking cancer that she had beaten five times in seven years). Shinju was five and old enough for school now, which worked out great since Aoko didn't have to worry about getting her a babysitter while she went to her chemotherapy appointments.
A simple greeting as she walked in the door, signed in, and sat in the waiting room for the longest hour. Perused the magazines without fear. He wouldn't be in them anyway.
The call of her name by the nurse pulled her nose out of the magazine, and she stood up and followed the nurse to the infusion room. A few hours on the drip per day to save her life. That's all this was.
No biggie.
Aoko sat in the chair and refused to flinch as the nurse hooked her up to the IV. Refused to flinch as the nurse's skilled fingers flew across the pump, dialing in some absurd rate for the chemicals to flow into her veins at. Cranking up the settings to high-flow, fast-flow, no-slow, just-go.
How had this become her life?
"Let me know if you start to feel any pain or nausea."
Aoko stared at the IV pump, dread setting in. What she wouldn't give for a hand to hold right now. But Kaito - of course - was unavailable.
Fucking bastard.
"Sure thing."
But I was just the fool
You've been waiting for
An elderly woman was sitting next to her, shaking like a leaf. Lightweight. She must be new; Aoko didn't quite recognize her. On her other side sat a bald man about her age, looking oddly familiar but in a way she couldn't quite place.
"Nice day, right?" she said to the man.
"Definitely," he sighed. "Summer's almost here."
Silence. The machines hummed a little longer.
"So what's your deal?" she asked, out of boredom. These sessions had become monotonous. She usually texted Keiko on these days, but Keiko had a big case in court this afternoon and Aoko didn't want to disturb her. So that left her alone – in more ways than one. Better not think about that.
"Skin cancer. You?"
"Lung cancer."
He whistled. "That sucks."
She almost laughed. "Sucks for you, too, then, right?"
"Not really," the man said. "I see it as a kind of karma."
"For what?" The question slips off her trained police tongue before her brain can remind her that prying too much isn't polite.
Luckily he isn't fazed. "Just for something really stupid I did when I was younger." He smiled at her, almost sadly. "Don't ever get plastic surgery."
She leaned back into the chair. "What, you didn't like your nose or something?"
"Nah," he laughed, despite himself. "The whole face. Here, see," he takes his wallet out and flicks a picture towards her. It's a young boy with dark spiky hair and thick glasses, and as Aoko flits her eyes from the picture to the gaunt man beside her, it's hard to pick out any similarity. But looking at his current face closer, it finally hits her and -
Oh hell.
"You look a lot like someone I know," she said cautiously. "You're not him, right?"
His face paled, and rather quickly he said, "You wouldn't be thinking of Kudo Shinichi, would you?"
"Kudo Shi – what? No," Aoko replied. "His name's Kuroba Kaito."
"Never heard of him," the man said, shaking his head. Then he extends a hand, leaning it on the armrest, IV tubing swaying in the gap between their chairs. "My name's Okuda Makoto."
She accepted his hand. "Nakamori Aoko."
Who says we can't touch
Ourselves to keep from getting bored?
Nothing else is touching that's for sure
Okuda turned out to be a super nice guy, unfortunately.
She wanted to forget him - wanted to pass him over as just another nobody at the chemo clinic. Wanted to keep waiting for Kaito, who she hated, but at the same time loved to pieces.
But Kaito was taking forever.
And Okuda knew some great restaurants.
"I'll pick you up around noon tomorrow, then, Nakamori-san?" Okuda asked, stretching as he stood up from the chair, finally unchained from his IV pole.
Aoko eyed her own chemo infusion. Half an hour more to go, it looked. She looked back at him and smiled. "Sounds like a plan."
"Then it's a date!"
His words rang in her ears as she watched him leave the clinic. It was funny, though – it was hard for her to pick out what exactly was wrong with them.
A ring around the roses
She flopped onto her bed as soon as she got home from the clinic and stared into her pillow. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Sure, she didn't wear the ring anymore, but she was still goddamn married, for fuck's sake!
This was all Kaito's fault. He was a wreck ever since -
I will watch you play
I come here every night
The Blue Parrot was dark, but Kaito had told her he'd be there scrubbing the place clean of anything too incriminating. Aoko hurried up the stairs, eager to get in and out before the rain started. She called out as she stepped into the barroom, "Kaito? Where are you?"
She spotted him almost immediately, slouched over the bar counter. From the eight empty glasses beside him, she deemed it safe to assume he was completely and utterly wasted.
"I'm gonna haveta quit," Kaito pouted to the wall.
"Kaito?" Aoko approached. It'd been a while since she dealt with a drunk Kaito.
He pressed his cheek against the counter. "Ahh, icy."
She hovered next to him for a moment, before sitting on the stool beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Kaito, are you okay?"
"Yuh."
"You don't seem like it. Here, let's get you home."
"Gotta clean 'er up," Kaito mumbled, clinging to the counter. "KID's done."
"Kaito, you're drunk. Let's get you home," she repeated.
"I'm nuh drunk," Kaito stated rather adamantly. He sat up straight and looked her dead in the eyes, more serious than he'd ever been in his life. "I'm not drunk."
"Sure."
He stood up, wobbily, from the barstool and slunk (tripped) over to a crate of very obviously incriminating paraphernalia, covered in what Aoko immediately recognized as KID's white cape and top hat. He pulled the cape back and a dozen stuffed doves crumpled to the floor. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling at the strands, before loudly declaring, "FUCK!"
"I can carry that out to your car, Kaito," Aoko offered. "It's okay."
"I've gottit," he huffed, scooping the doves up and pouring them back into the crate. Then, with a heave, he lifted the crate and almost buckled under the weight.
"Let me -"
"I said I got it!" Kaito shouted. "Jeez, woman, can't you listen." He pushed past her and left the barroom, stumbling loudly down the stairs. Aoko stood in place, eyeing the empty glasses for a moment, before scooping up his jacket and following him down the stairs to the sidewalk outside.
"You forgot your jacket, idiot," she said as she stepped off the last step, just in time to get pelted with a torrential impact. The rain was here.
Kaito was just slamming the rear door of his car closed, an inscrutable, conflicted expression on his face. His lips were pressed together, willing him not to speak, but his foggy, fuzzy eyes betrayed him. He sighed. "I guess I am a little drunk."
"No shit."
He didn't meet her eyes. "Can you drive me home?"
"Kaito…" Aoko's face fell into a soft expression. Kaito never asked for anything from her anymore. Then her face hardened. "With all that KID shit in the back? Are you out of your mind? What if we get pulled over?"
"Then don't get pulled over. Jii never did."
He was already ducking into the passenger side of the car, tossing the keys over his shoulder. Too slow, Aoko could only flounder as they flew past and landed in a puddle dangerously close to a sewer drain.
"Bakaito!" she shouted, scooping the keys up and shaking them in an effort to get the dirty water off of them. "Don't just throw shit at me! I'm not your personal taxi driver!"
With a huff she hopped in the driver seat – ever thankful she'd taken a city bus to get here and wouldn't have to come back for her own car – and started the car. A blast of sound came out of the radio, tuned all the way up. She quickly spun the dial down to an audible level before her eardrums blew out, and pulled out from the curb.
Rain pelted at the windshield, sending the wipers back and forth at a racing rhythm. Kaito curled up against his seatbelt, eyes following the raindrops as they ran down the window and looking a thousand miles away. The radio crinkled as they faded in and out of signal, almost half alive for moments at a time: "Kaitou KID was shot and killed on January 11 – [static] - at the Beika Plaza. The police are not revealing any more information besides – [static] - at this time, although an anonymous source from – [static] - has identified KID as bar owner Konosuke Jii."
The wipers blinked back and forth, in tune with her heartbeat. With her left hand clenched stark white against the steering wheel, desperate to keep the car from skidding on the slick road, she moved her right hand to the radio dial, eager to change stations.
"Leave it." Kaito's voice cut through the cold air.
Her hand hovered above the dial for a moment before returning to the wheel.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. When, finally, Aoko pulled the car up to Kaito's apartment building, she put the car in park and looked at the man beside her, now pressing his face against the cool glass of the window.
"Kaito, where do you want me to park?"
"Here's fine."
"Do you need help carrying your box in?"
"What box?"
"You know…" Aoko threw a thumb to the backseat. "That box."
Kaito spared a glance at where she was referring, before rolling his eyes at her. "Again, what box?"
Aoko gaped at Kaito for a moment – that man's stupidity, honestly! – before her peripheral vision informed her that, no, she was wrong, there was no box in the backseat at all. Eyes wide with fear, she practically threw her body between the front seats to look at the backseats closer. "Where's the box, Kaito? Kaito?! Tell me you weren't too fucking drunk to remember to bring the fucking box with you?!"
"For a third time, what box?"
Rage seethed through her words now. "Oh, I don't know, how about the box with all that fucking KID evidence that can get you locked up for three thousand fucking years without a chance of fucking parole?!"
"Oh," Kaito leaned his head against the headrest. "Yeah, that's not here. I tossed it in the alley next to Jii's bar."
"Why?"
"You heard the radio, Aoko," Kaito said, stepping out of the car. When had he unbuckled his seatbelt? "KID is dead." He slammed the car door behind him, but she could still hear the faintest murmurs of his voice as he slunk away, sad and sullen. "What would I do with that stuff, anyway?"
I will watch you play
I come here every night
She showed up fifteen minutes early to the restaurant, ready to tell Okuda it was all a big mistake and that they'd both be better off pretending nothing had ever happened.
Of course, that was fifteen minutes ago, before the hostess had caught her loitering outside on the street corner and invited her inside to just at least sit at a booth. Heart pounding – the big ugly word CHEATER bouncing around her thick fucking skull – stomach tying itself over and over into knots - she busied herself with perusing the menu for food she knew she wasn't going to eat.
"Nakamori-san!" Okuda greeted as he slid into the seat in front of her, and suddenly her jump-roping intestines relaxed. After all, it wasn't like there was even a decision to make…
"I'm married," she laughed, sticking her hand out as she stood up from the booth. He accepted her hand slowly, shaking it with confusion as she rambled on. "I have a five-year-old daughter at home and I'm on my lunch break from a job I shouldn't even be working right now because of, well, you know about the lung cancer, so… bye!"
She turned to leave, happy to have tied up one messy mistake before it caused her any more trouble.
"Don't you still want to eat?" Okuda asked, and she realized she hadn't moved an inch from the table.
Aoko laughed. It might have sounded a little like a sob, though.
For his credit, he laughed too. "I mean, all you had to say was you weren't interested. But we can still eat, right?"
A heavy moment.
"Yeah, why not?" Aoko slid back into the booth. "What's the worst that can happen?"
It's just me, the bartender, the waitress, and the lights
Shining on you not getting it right
Night fell.
She found herself brushing against Okuda's coat too many times to be an accident. The restaurant had kicked them out hours ago, and now they were just walking up and down the riverside path, running each other's ears off. Somewhere along the way they had purchased a couple of six packs from a drug store down the way, but her eyes were seeing too many stars for her to remember who drank the last can.
"So – hic – you got plastic surgery to look like some guy named Kudo Shinichi?!" Aoko wheezed, doubling over with giggles as if that was the funniest idea she'd ever had to consider.
"Uh huh," Okuda said. "Ever heard of him?"
"Maybe? Aoko doesn't know," she said, the pavement pounding in her vision as she kicked a rock. She let one big raucous round of chuckles out. "All Aoko knows is you look exactly like her husband."
"Really?"
She bent her head to the side and smiled at him. "Yeah. But he's a big ass-cake. He cheated on Aoko. Well, actually, not really, but -" She let out a huge melodramatic sigh. "He just did a lot of really bad things. And so Aoko's trying to forgive him but it's been really really hard." She smiled again, bright and cheery and drunk. "He's doing a show at a bar nearby, wanna see him?"
Okuda shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, why not?"
They stumbled down the road, somehow not causing a traffic accident, and wound up practically falling through the door of a dirty old pub on the corner of a back street. Straightening out, they walked themselves like a pair of marionettes to the front bar counter and claimed a couple of stools as their own. Okuda peered around the empty bar, commenting, "It's kind of quiet in here, isn't it?"
"Oh? I guess," Aoko said. "We might be a little early. But don't worry he's really good. Like really really good."
"So what does your husband do, anyway?" Okuda asked, flagging down the bartender for another drink. "Does he sing, or tell jokes, or something?"
"He is - " Aoko threw her hands in the air in a wide, grand gesture. "- an illusionist unparalleled by even physics itself!"
"Oh," Okuda sipped on his new glass of brandy. "Cool."
The bartender placed a glass of some amber liquid in front of her (when had she ordered? Shit, she was so fucking drunk) and she downed it in a second.
A light flickered on from a distant corner in the bar where a cheap stage was haphazardly set up, and a cheesy drum roll sounded off from a speaker nearby. At the crash of a cymbal, a cloud of smoke appeared on the stage. As it faded away, a messy-haired man in a dark black suit was revealed, standing not quite in the center of the spotlight.
"There he is!" Aoko pointed, tugging on Okuda's sleeve in an effort to tear him away from his evolving relationship with his second glass of brandy. She erupted into a loud applause.
We clap not for you, but for your kind
Her claps burned her hands as tears threatened to sting her eyes. Kaito averted his eyes, instead catching the attention of a stray waitress and flashing her one of his worn out fifteen-hundred-watt smiles before beginning his magic show.
Aoko elbowed Okuda once more, showering him with one last bruise. "See? That's my good for nothing husband!"
A ring around the roses, everybody poses
Threats and then backs down
The second you put clothes on
She woke up with a pounding headache, swimming in yellow sheets in a bedroom she didn't recognize. Sunlight was pouring in through the window, telling her it was way past whatever hour she had told the department she was going to be in at. Sitting bolt upright, she found to her utter horror that she was naked.
"Shit, shit, shit," she mumbled, scrambling out of the bed and peering around for something – anything – to cover herself up with. What time was it, for real? Where was Hakuba and his pocketwatch when you needed him?
She found a pile of what she recognized to be her clothes from yesterday folded up in a pile on the bedside table. Thanking whatever luck she had left in the universe, she grabbed the undergarments first to put them on, just as –
Thudplink.
What the hell was that? It sounded like something… fell, and like something else might have rolled under the bed. She found the first thing easily enough: her phone, chipped and broken anyway from years of wear and tear. She clicked it on out of habit, finding the time to be 10:27am (fuck) and –
A message from Okuda.
She tapped on it.
Okuda Makoto [09:18AM]: Last night was fun. Let's do it again sometime.
Her cheeks flushed as she eyed the bed. She'd really done it, hadn't she? Drunk or not, cheating was cheating. She never should have agreed to that stupid lunch.
Kaito and her once had a spark of hope – a spark that was always just out of reach, like a star shooting across the nighttime sky – a shooting star that they could grab onto one day, if they stood on their tip toes and stretched as far as their hands could reach. They were the couple that were always going to make it, no matter what. Nothing could stop them.
Now everything, in a single second - a single heartbeat - was absolutely shattered. No amount of apologies would fix this.
She leaned her back against the side of the bed and willed herself to cry. Cry the tears that she always shut away when Shinju asked where her dad was, when she got her cancer diagnosis, when she found out Kaito was KID. Every burning moment in her past when her life fell apart and she had to glue it back together again until it was nothing more than an artificial, warped, synthetic version of the life she was supposed to have. But even as she rubbed her swollen eyes, no tears came.
What a cruel joke.
She stood up, squaring her shoulders and locking her jaw. It was time to own up to her choices and deal with the consequences. She'd tell Kaito, today, that everything was over. It was time for the divorce. It was only fair to him.
But first she had to put her clothes on. She squirmed back into the underwear (acutely aware that they were a clean pair, somehow) and bra, and then stepped back into her dress. No comb or toothbrush; fine, whatever, she'd get to it when she got home. It was time for the walk of shame.
(Thudplink)
That was right! The other object! It – it rolled under the bed, right? She ducked down and peered under the bed frame, getting on her hands and knees to see at the best angle. Dust bunnies here and there, nothing immediately stood out. Except –
She held it up to the light, watching the light glimmer off its sharp edges.
Her wedding ring.
A ring around the roses, everybody knows it
I will sing your fears
If you sing my neurosis
"So sleeping beauty's finally awake."
Aoko twisted the ring onto her finger and threw her hand behind her back as she stood back up in an instant, a familiar feeling seeping through her body as irritation etched across her face, hiding the immense relief she felt. "You know, you could've woken me up for work."
"You called out sick today."
"No, I didn't -" Suddenly she remembered the warm plastic of the phone in her hand. "Oh." A grimace. "I can't believe I still keep underestimating you after all these years."
Kaito beamed back at her from where he stood in the doorway. "What can I say? Your voice is almost easier to use than my own."
"Where's Shinju? I was supposed to pick her up after my – um…" Don't say date. "After I got home last night."
"Your dad has her. I called him."
"Oh. Thanks." A moment. She eyed the bedside table where her clothes had been so neatly folded mere moments ago. "So…"
"We didn't do anything, if that's what you were asking. You were super drunk and I couldn't convince you to take a cab home so I let you crash here. Also you threw up all over yourself on the sidewalk so I did your laundry for you. You're welcome."
"That's why I was naked when I woke up?" She rolled her eyes. "Creep."
"I figured you didn't want me touching you more than necessary. No need to thank me, jeez." Annoyance laced his words. No good deed goes unpunished.
They stood in awkward silence for a beat or two, contemplating unsaid things still wedging the gap between them. Aoko finally found her resolve and took a steadying breath: inhale, exhale. This needed to be said. "Kaito, I need to tell you something."
She could have sworn a dark look passed over Kaito's face for a moment, but she had just blinked and really she could never tell with him anymore. "About that guy?"
"Yeah." Here goes nothing. "Kaito, I've been really thinking -"
"Do we have to do this right now?" Kaito interrupted.
"What?"
Kaito stepped backwards, out of the doorway. "I made breakfast." He nodded his head down the hallway. "Can we just eat? And then I can give you a tour of the place?"
"Kaito, I -" She needed to tell him. The date. The cancer. The divorce.
"Can we just be us for a little bit?" Kaito asked. "Please? And then we can talk, but, for right now, just – please?"
She searched his eyes, begging him to reconsider. She needed him to know. It wouldn't be right to lead him on any longer. Not when she knew. "I really need to -"
"I'm not stupid, Aoko."
Kaito…
"Please, Aoko."
You should back out now
Not a night too soon
"I just couldn't bring myself to actually say it," Aoko muttered, boring holes into the bar counter with her eyes.
Okuda took a sip of his brandy. "Why not?"
"He just – I don't think I'm ready to let go yet. Or maybe I am." She shook her head. "No, I definitely am. It's just – it's a hard thing to say, you know?"
Okuda shrugged. "So why exactly do you want a divorce, anyway? I mean, I know you said he did some bad things, but that's pretty vague. Not gonna lie, I've done 'a lot of bad things,' too, you know." His eyes tracked to the brick lining the back wall, transporting him far away until he shook himself out of his reverie. "Was his 'bad things' unspeakably evil or something?"
Aoko poured her drink (she still couldn't figure out what she ordered) into her mouth and sucked it down with a gulp. Her tongue buzzed. "So you know how I'm a cop, right? And my dad's a cop. The law means a lot to me." She nodded her head to wear Kaito was performing, juggling rings of fire in his hands just like he did every night in his ratty corner of the bar. "It means nothing to him."
"Like marital laws? I thought you said he didn't cheat." Another sip.
"No, he didn't. Not literally, anyway. He just – committed some crimes. Like, he didn't kill anyone but he's still a criminal." She barked out a laugh. "I mean, understatement of the fucking century, but I don't hate him enough to say more."
Okuda swirled his brandy thoughtfully, before leaning back and drinking it in one go. Careful not to meet Aoko's eyes, he placed the glass back down. "You know, I almost killed someone a few years ago."
A beat. "Like self-defense?"
"No," Okuda shook his head. "I stabbed a woman. On purpose. She was a journalist. She – it's complicated. It has to do with why I got the plastic surgery. You remember that guy I said I wanted to look like, Kudo Shinichi, right? I really - just hated his guts. Enough to go under the knife and literally become him so I could ruin his life. It was – I was in a dark place. And then I found out it was all due to a big misunderstanding, and I was so thankful she didn't end up dying because I don't think I could've lived with myself if she did. I went to jail for a few years. Just got out a few months ago, just in time to find the cancer."
Aoko stayed quiet. What could she even say to that?
"Shit, did I really just tell you that? I must be really wasted." Okuda pressed his fist to his forehead as he slouched away from Aoko, giving her a tired glance. "You probably think I'm this evil, horrible person now, don't you?"
"N-no, not at all…" Aoko stammered.
"Good. Because all I really wanted to say is that I think you should cut your husband a little slack. Especially because he didn't kill anyone." He laughed darkly. "The bar's pretty low, huh?"
Aoko's ears picked up the sound of Kaito's voice asking for a coin from an audience member. Any audience member. Doesn't have to be a coin. Anything will do. The waitress (she looked familiar, did she work yesterday?) finally put him out of his misery and handed him a napkin.
The clinking of coins on the counter brought Aoko back to the conversation. Okuda was standing up, shrugging his jacket on. "Just consider it. I don't know what he did exactly, but I'm just speaking from experience. People make big mistakes when they're scared, angry, or hurt. Don't hold it against them."
I'll still be here when the last poor soul has left the room
The frigid breeze wrapped itself around Aoko as the bar door swung shut behind Okuda. She was alone now, at the bar counter, shivering in her loose blouse. Kaito's satanic voice was attacking her eardrums, beating her throbbing head with an iron shovel again and again and dammit she needed to leave. Or have another drink. She thought for a moment.
She flagged down the bartender and ordered a neat whiskey. Finally, some control over what she was putting in her body. No sooner than the bartender put the glass down than it was bottoms up.
The warmth blossomed from her mouth to her heart to her hands – left first, then right – before sliding down her legs to her feet. Far from buzzed, the clouds in her mind turned a few shades greyer.
Oh, look, Aoko thought numbly, my headache's gone.
Kaito was still talking, droning on like a typical magician. At least his voice didn't sound like nails on a chalkboard to her anymore. She listened to him paint a picture in her mind with words that were only meant to steer her wrong. "Now if you will pay close attention to the napkin in my left hand, make sure to watch closely or you'll miss it…"
He'd become a cliché of himself. Every movement was so obviously calculated, every speech so obviously practiced, every joke so obviously rehearsed. Every trick that would have earned him a standing ovation five years ago only garnered him a whistle or two now. The public had seen it all, under the glittery, ethereal shine of the moon. Kaito's magic was impressive but the spirit was sucked dry, shot twice in the heart on a rainy Saturday night. His biggest problem was that KID had done it all first, and better.
No wonder the room was empty.
KID was ten times the magician he'd ever be.
Standing round just like a good friend should
Smiling as if your songs were good
"You were great," she said at the end of the show.
A white lie wouldn't hurt.
He walked past her and unplugged the mic with a quick tug, careful not to meet her eye.
A ring around the roses, everybody poses
Threats and then backs down
The second you get clothes on
For the second time that week, she woke up with a pounding hangover. Groggy, heavy eyelids slowly blinking the sleep away from her bleary, sore eyes, she caught a glimpse of where she was.
An unfamiliar bed.
What a familiar situation.
The sheets this time were dark blue – like she was in a rowboat in the center of the ocean, water stretching out for miles and miles and miles without a glimpse of land to be seen. Almost drowning, she pushed the sheets back and took a breath. Air. Looked down and saw her exposed breasts. Dammit, not again. She stared at her naked stomach, a roll of flesh peering back at her. She blinked some more to chase the fogginess away and –
Oh. That wasn't her stomach.
It was an arm, flopped against her bare stomach but pointedly not a part of her own body. Her wide eyes slowly followed the arm to a naked body lying next to her. Her heart sunk.
If she just stared at his face, she could pretend. She could go home and stir her coffee and say, "At least it was just Kaito." And she could have a big laugh about it with Keiko, and maybe Kaito himself after enough time had passed that he mixed up the days in his head…
She could pretend. But make believe was for children.
A ring around the roses, everybody knows it
I will sing your fears
If you sing my neurosis
"I've got to go."
She pulled her pants on, hopping out of the bedroom on one foot. She heard scrambling behind her.
"Can I call you a taxi at least?" Okuda asked, following after her as she stumbled through the apartment, looking for the front door.
"Thanks, but I've got it," she said quickly. "I've just really got to go or I'll be late for work."
She found the door by the time her shirt was fully buttoned. In the doorway, finally, she spun to face him. Her eyes searched his for an answer.
"Did we…?"
"I was pretty drunk last night, I don't really remember," he said.
Fuck. "How'd I end up here?"
"You called me."
Of course she did. She walked away silently, mechanically. The elevator at the end of the hall chimed and she stepped on, pressing the button for the ground floor. Through some stroke of bad luck, the elevator stopped on every floor on the way down.
And I sat there for hours waiting on the curb
Thinking you might like a flower from a pretty girl
It was night again. She approached the same pub as the last few nights, hesitant to step any further. She couldn't shake the feeling like she was intruding.
Well, it wasn't like she had to go inside. She'd catch him on his way in, or on his way out, or whatever. They'd finally have their unfinished conversation from three years ago and she'd tell him everything. Okuda. The cancer. Everything.
She sat down on the curb and began to wait. And wait. And wait. Her hands plucked a white daisy from the grass beside her and she rolled the stem around in her palms a few times as she tried to distract herself from the waiting.
Finally she caved and started scrolling through her phone. It turned out to be a good enough distraction. Until it wasn't.
A picture of him showed up on the top of her feed. Not posted by him (of course not, he wouldn't be that cruel), but by a friend of a friend. A pretty friend of a friend.
That bitch was kissing him.
Not on the mouth, sure, but on the cheek. That was close enough.
She peered closer at the woman, recognition filling in the invisible nametag that floated above her head.
Nakamura Aiko. A waitress. At a bar. This –
Aoko swung her head up to stare at the bar behind her. No fucking way.
A ring around the waitress from the verse
Through the window she could see the waitress clapping her hands with a big stupid smile on her face.
Kaito making a scarlet rose appear in his hand.
Kaito handing the rose to the waitress.
Kaito planting a soft kiss on her lips.
A ring of fire around the roses' door
Kaito smiling as he turned back to the empty bar with a soft pink blush on his face.
Kaito reciting some nonsense history about Houdini as he absently poured gasoline over a hula hoop – no, three hula hoops.
Kaito striking a match, eyes focused for the first time on the burning flame in front of him.
Kaito lighting said hula hoops on fire.
Kaito juggling three rings of fire with calloused hands that she knew had been scorched far too many times to count.
Kaito smiling desperately at the waitress, distracted and busy with something with the register, willing her to please just clap.
Kaito bowing to an empty bar and no applause.
Put it on before you lose your nerve
Aoko sprang up from the curb as the bar door shut behind her and Kaito came walking out. She called out, "Kaito!"
He stopped, and turned to her. His face fell as tired recognition swam through his eyes.
"I saw some of your show," Aoko said quickly, before handing the white daisy to him. He accepted it with careful fingers, cautious not to break the stem of the fragile thing. "You were amazing."
Put your hands together and they'll hurt
She noticed the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window before she noticed him standing by the fridge. And then she noticed the dark stains on his uniform – oil? Paint? It was too hard to be sure in this lighting – and she felt a question bubble out of her throat.
"What are you doing here." Okay, it didn't come out as a question. More like a threat. (Get the hell away from me)
"Something went wrong at the, uh, at the heist tonight," Kaito said. His voice shook. And had his face always been that pale? He blinked, as if to try to center himself on a rug that was halfway up the wall. "Um. Shinju can't sleep so I was going to get her some milk."
Aoko stormed closer, rage filling her steps. "You let her see you dressed like that?!"
"No, it's my – uhh – my fatherly intuition. I can just tell," Kaito said. He raised his arm and pulled back his sleeve. "Look, I've got goosebumps. Aoko, I can always tell when she needs me. Let me get the milk for her and then we can talk."
He pulled the fridge door open mechanically, eyes glazed over with something like panic. With the light of the fridge illuminating him, it was too easy to see the bright red glove reaching around the milk carton.
"Fuck, Kaito, is that blood?"
His dropped the milk. "Uhh."
"What the hell happened?"
He gaped at the milk on the ground, leaking rapidly out of the carton into a pool partially hidden by the fridge.
"Kaito?" Aoko pressed again.
He blinked up at her, shaken out of his enigmatic reverie. "Jii's dead, Aoko."
Put your hands together and they'll hurt
She dialed his number seventeen times the day after she found him in the kitchen.
"The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable…"
Put your hands together and they'll hurt
It was in the grocery market that she finally found him, four days later, weighing two avocados with both hands. She abandoned her cart and crept up to him, scared that if she made too much noise she'd startle him and he'd disappear again.
Act natural. "Kaito! Hi!"
"Oh," he stared at her, face neutral. "Hi Aoko."
"I've been looking all over for you, what's up?" Try not to seem to clingy. He hates that, remember? "Are you okay?"
His eyes glistened with an unspoken answer (no, of course not). "Sorry, yeah. Work's just been kicking my ass lately. Everything's harder now without -" He swallowed. "Now that I'm working alone." He averted his eyes, brows furrowing. "I actually need to stop by the Blue Parrot tonight and clean some of the mess up." It was obvious he didn't mean to say that part out loud.
He made a move to leave the vegetable aisle, avocadoes still occupying his hands, but Aoko quickly positioned herself to obstruct his path (not that she could stop him if he really wanted to leave). "The news has been quiet."
"Is that a problem?" (Isn't this what you wanted, you selfish bitch?)
"I just thought there'd be something by now." (Don't you have important international jewel thievery to do? You know – the thievery that was apparently more important than our goddamn marriage?!)
"Why?" (KID is dead, remember? Shot twice on top of the Beika Hotel? Fell over the side of the building and down thirty stories before landing right smack on your father's police-car? Any of that ring a bell?)
"Not sure. I guess I was mistaken about the situation." (Are you really going to let them pin this all on Jii?)
Kaito finally set the two avocadoes on the shelf before breezing past Aoko's petite frame. She guessed she struck a nerve - he was done with this conversation. The poker face had fallen. Victory, at last. His voice, thick with defeat, whispered in her ear as he passed by and trailed in her ears long after he was gone: "You don't have a clue about what you're talking about."
Put your hands together and they'll hurt
Kaito's behavior became much more erratic in the following months.
"You were late picking up Shinju," Aoko seethed as soon as she opened the door. "The school called me. I had to leave work four hours early to pick her up. Four hours, Kaito!"
"Sorry, sorry," he said, only half meaning it. "So, where is she?"
"She's just grabbing her books. We started her homework because her deadbeat father took so goddamn long to show up. Where the hell were you, anyway?"
She spotted the lipstick on his collar. Oh. Stupid question, then.
He pointedly ignored the question, opting to change topics entirely. "What's up with the wig? Hack-job haircut?"
Her mouth went dry. Of course he'd make a comment. Of course she wouldn't be able to keep it a secret.
"Yup," she replied quickly, because it was easier to just lie. No need to say she was actually completely bald under the wig (goddamn chemotherapy).
"Aw, well, hair grows back," he said, clueless as ever. "At least it's not like you ever had pretty hair to begin with. Maybe now you can start over and actually comb it."
Shinju chose that moment to make her appearance, cutting her parents' conversation short as Kaito promptly swept her into his arms and carried her to his car.
It was better this way.
Put your hands together and they'll hurt
"It's not the end of us. Hopefully. We'll try again. If we both want it."
"I do."
Did he still?
Did she?
Make your sound that no one's ever heard
They're still standing on the street corner.
He's looking at the flower with eyes full of broken promises. She's trying not to book it and run far, far away from him.
"Well, it's late and I should get going -" Kaito began.
"I need to tell you something." Aoko shut her eyes as she started her confession. Time to rip off the bandaid. "Kaito, I'm sorry -"
Make your sound that no one's ever heard
"I want a divorce."
And I hope we get what we deserve
Aoko felt her world stop in an instant.
It was Kaito who had dared to speak. Not her.
It was a simple sentence - a simple declaration of a simple desire that shouldn't have blindsided her this much. After all, they both had three years to think about this.
"It's what you want too, right?" Kaito added, after some time.
His question should have been easy to answer. And it was. "Yes."
It'd been three years after all.
"Goodbye, Kaito."