Murphy's Law

Chapter 4 — Alarm

By Crystal Snowflakes

"Both methanol and ethylene glycol compounds—more commonly known as antifreeze substances—can be easily administered in beverages that have a sweet or alcoholic taste. The onset of time for symptoms, however, differ, with methanol starting any time between a few hours to up to thirty hours, and ethylene glycol starting between four to twelve hours after consumption. The symptoms—"

Conan let out a yawn before placing down his tablet, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders as he worked out a kink. His spine made a muffled crackle, and he had to wince at the sound. Who knew that this would be how his body felt like in his mid-twenties. Maybe it had to do with all the death-defying hobbies that he tended to get himself in—he honestly couldn't count the amount of bullets that had ripped through his body, nor could he count the amount of times his skin had been slit open somehow.

It was a little ridiculous.

He stood up and extended his arm over his head before reaching down to nab his now-empty mug from the coffee table; it was time for another refill. Shuffling a couple steps to his right, he leaned down to grab the other empty mug that was sitting on the side table on the opposite end.

Ai didn't even bother looking up from her usual spot on the couch, so enthralled she was in the pages of her magazine. That, or she was deliberately ignoring him so that he would be forced to refill their cups. Unwittingly, the corners of his lips quirked up at the sight of her. She looked so comfortable and content in her set of cotton pyjamas while curled up on her side of the couch—she reminded him of a cat nestling deep into the comfort of a cat bed.

He would never get used to the way she sat—so relaxed and so perfectly at peace with life—that he felt his chest tighten and his heart skip. Despite the years of hardship they had suffered, looking back, it all seemed so miniscule now; everything he—they—had gone through had been worth it.

Removing the pot the warmer, he poured the steaming brew into both of their cups—a small dash of milk added to his own mug—before walking back. Wordlessly, he handed her the drink, and she took it in her hands before taking a thankful sip with her eyes closed.

"Thanks," she murmured as she cast him a small smile. Before he could respond, the corners of her eyes crinkled in that familiar way, and he noticed the glint of mischief in her gaze. A small groan threatened to escape him, because the sight of that could never be good news for him—he was always at the butt end of her sarcasm. "What would I ever do without my coffee slave?"

"Tch." Taking a sip of his own cup before placing it down on the coffee table, he settled back on the couch as his body sagged into the cushions; he let out a satisfied sigh and closed his eyes. "You might die from caffeine withdrawal."

The sound of the pages flapping could be heard, and he opened his eyes a slit as he watched her put her reading material to the side before sitting up and leaning towards him.

"Are you tired?" she asked as she pulled him towards her and adjusted his position so that his head laid on her lap; he studied the way her softened gaze rested on him. Her hand brushed a few loose strands away from his face before her fingers slid into his hair, massaging his scalp.

He suppressed the contented grunt that threatened to bubble up within him. "A little."

"You did get home pretty late last night," she said under her breath, her fingertips drawing circles around his temple before they lowered to the hinges of his jaw, pushing down gently on the pressure point; this time, a groan of satisfaction left his lips before he could hold it back. "Why didn't you sleep in?"

His eyelids suddenly felt heavy as they fluttered shut, and he stifled a yawn before mumbling quietly, "I enjoy the weekend mornings with you."

Her fingers stilled for a mere moment before continuing back up towards his forehead. "Ara ara," she whispered, and even with his eyes closed, he could hear the smile in her voice. "You really know what to say to a girl, huh, Tantei-san."

He felt a blush flood his cheeks, and his eyes snapped open. It hadn't been his intention to be romantic, but now that the opportunity had fallen on his lap, he couldn't let it slip through his fingers—not again. The faint pinkish hue that coloured her face made his heart thud loudly against his chest, and he found it suddenly difficult to look away. His gaze studied the way her loose strands flowed over her shoulders, the way her eyes shone with tenderness, and the way she lips curled—he liked to think that she reserved this particular smile just for him.

Boldly, he reached up and ran his fingers through the soft cascade of her hair before pulling her face down towards him, and their lips met.

"I have a question to ask," he said, his mouth brushing lightly against hers.

Instantly, a half-suppressed laugh could be heard as she pulled back slightly, and her amused eyes looked at him good naturedly. "Is this the one question you've been unable to ask for the past six—"

"Four!" he interrupted with his eyebrows furrowed, though a small smile formed on his lips as he stared into her eyes. "It was four months!"

"Five, technically." Her head tilted slightly before she tucked her hair behind her ears, that infuriatingly beautiful and mocking smile still on her face. "So? Are you finally going to ask?"

With a huff, he grazed her cheek with the back of his fingers before sitting up and turning towards her, one of his legs folding under him. With a shy grin, he threaded his fingers through hers. "The ring's still in the bedroom, but, uh..." he trailed off with a chuckle before clearing his throat. His hold on her hand tightened, and he felt his palms sweat. It was incredible that even after three times, he could still be apprehensive about asking a question he knew the answer to. "Ai," he continued, the corners of his lips lifting as he looked at her. "Will you—"

Before he could finish his proposal, the abrupt sound of the fire alarm blared in his ears, startling the both of them; he felt his chest lurch, his pulse race and his muscles tense up, ready at a moment's notice to flee. Except when he realized just what was happening, his heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach.

How could he possibly have such bad luck?

With a grunt of exasperation, he cursed—loudly.

In response, she let out a snicker.

"No," he groaned, his hand running through his hair in irritation. "No, no, no, no, no. I refuse to believe that this is happening right now."

"And while you might want to believe it's not happening, I'd like to not become deaf anytime soon—thank you very much," she responded, though it was clear to him she was barely able to keep herself from laughing. Squeezing his hand in a comforting manner, she uncurled her legs before standing up from the couch, dragging him along. "Come along, Meitantei. With your luck, this might actually be a real fire."

"Ai," he whined, almost childishly. "That's not funny."

"But I'm right?"

A sigh before he followed—grudgingly. "Probably."

Author's Notes: Because it's fun to torture Conan, and it's even funnier when his bad luck gets progressively more ridiculous. Any guesses as to what happens on the fifth attempt? :)

Completed: May 14, 2020