Author's note: This oneshot is the example of what happens when you're so bored in class you'd be falling to sleep if you didn't write, and your Muse has been kicking you in the chin for far too long. Be warned. xD
Warning: Slight change of style here. I'm experimenting.
Disclaimer: Aoyama-sama owns it all. That's the way it is, sadly. Song 'Dark Road', by Annie Lennox.
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Never Let Go (title sucks…)
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No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…
It isn't supposed to be like this. It never was.
It never was supposed to be him.
Not him also…
He always proved wrong all the merest suspicions she had, and she believed him gladly, clutching to the lifesaver of his denial – but there is one hell of a difference between mere suspicions, and facing one unmasked, unmonocled Kaito KID. The difference – a hat rolling to the ground, wild black hair, and eyes too blue to be entirely genuine…
"Aoko…" the same voice as yesterday's – hell, as this morning's – but there are odder, sharper accents to it, as though furious, wild, yearning.
Desperate?
"Aoko…" And it's KID's voice again, not Kaito's any longer, just before his face closes and she stares into a frozen mask. The mask he only gave to others, never to her. Eyes cold – and so blank and impassive an expression she hardly recognizes him now.
She realizes she doesn't know this man.
She never knew him…
"Don't touch me," she hisses when he moves forwards; the skin of her arm burns under his trailing fingers. She staggers backwards, afraid not to be able to resist throwing herself in his arms and bursting into tears. "Don't you dare touch me."
She doesn't see the flicker of pain in the darkening blue eyes (the mask slipping a fraction of second and hastily snapping back into place because he can't allow himself to let it to fall, not here, not now) when she shakes off his hand and turns away.
She runs away, and she never looks back.
He doesn't try going after her.
He lets her go.
It's a dark road
And a dark way that leads to my house
And the word says
You're never going to find me there, oh no…
He gives her one last rose.
Leaves it on her doorstep at dawn. It's early yet: the streets are tainted in half-shades and the sun has not yet risen. The sky is a clear, fragile blue, with the dark spot of a blackbird soaring past the rooftop, and he thinks of the plane he's going to take in a few hours, the plane that will take him through that breakable blue.
He never thought it would be so easy, falling apart.
A rose on a doorstep…
A plane waiting…
Far to the east, above the roofs' horizon, a thin glimmer of red shines through the veil of rosy clouds assembled at the skyline. A cat meows and rapidly crosses the street. A bird trills cheerfully in a lemon tree. The paperboy's bicycle clinks as he passes whistling, scarf floating behind him.
He shrugs, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and walks away.
She finds the rose when she gets up, and swears to herself it's the last time she cries.
I've got an open door
It didn't get there by itself
It didn't get there by itself
Nothing changes.
Life goes on in its usual way, unperturbed, only a little slower, a little chillier, a little duller. Class-time seems to stretch in longer, unbroken by any doves or trumpets to amuse the public, and even though she sometimes fancies she feels the ghost of a hand making to flip up her skirt, her mop remains catching cobwebs in a corner.
She wonders where he is today, whom he's with, what he's doing, and hopes to see a dove through the class windows.
For a wee while her friends asked her where her fiancé has disappeared to, but now they revolve around her in cheerful circles, unmoved and unperturbed, and she talks and laughs with them as though nothing was wrong. Nothing is wrong – is it?
It's not something gone wrong. It's a hole in the world.
As the weeks wear on, she turns carefully around the hole, hoping against hope she won't fall into it eventually. People and situations, they walk through it without even stopping to look at it, but she just sits there with her legs dangling in emptiness.
Nothing changes.
There's a feeling…
But you're not feeling it at all
She goes on living.
She wakes. She walks. She works. She eats. She studies. She reads. She moves. She laughs. She talks. She writes. She drinks. She smiles. She sleeps. She dreams. She thinks. She watches. She speaks. She waits. She helps.
She breaks. She remembers. She tries hard not to cry. She…
… needs him.
There's a meaning…
But you're not listening anymore
She receives cards from time to time. Happy birthday, they say. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. They never are signed – not even an initial, nor even, yes, not even a KID caricature in a corner, with hat and monocle and all-knowing grin – but she would know that handwriting anywhere.
Wouldn't she?
Paris, Vienna, London, New York, L.A., Buenos Aires – the stamps come from all over the world, matching the regular KID heists in different countries. She never watches them on television, but she can't help seeing the newspapers' headlines and photos (the blue eyes behind the monocle's light-reflecting glass, under the brim of the hat, the crooning laugh or mischievous smirk), and she wonders it's the same man.
She could throw the letters away, but she keeps them in a locked drawer, safe and sound, where her father won't find them. Sometimes she goes through them, reads the much-repeated words all over again, and imagines she hears his voice pronouncing them.
She stares at the sky, and wonders what it's like to fly.
I look at that open door
I'm gonna walk there by myself
It's spring again. The sakura trees' branches in the school yard bend and sway in the wind, charged with blooming May flowers; their perfume swirls under the breeze around the bench where she's sitting by herself. Her graduation diploma lies beside her hands.
It's been one year.
And this is it. Time didn't freeze. The world didn't stop turning because Kaito's gone. She's leaving high school now, heading for college and grown-up life – leaving behind her teenage years, childhood friendships, without looking back, without regrets. And she's happy that way, isn't she?
Isn't she?
The sakura blossoms whirl in endless dances in the air, surrounding her.
She thinks she has always dreamt of graduating with him.
And if you catch me,
I might try to run away
"Dad, I'm thinking of moving out."
Her father looks up at her from above his morning coffee, and keeps silent. She goes on. "I've found a small place in third district. It's small and cramped, but it'll be closer to college than here. I'm tired of having three quarters of an hour's train every morning. This place's ten minutes' walk from the campus, and it's–"
Blank stare.
"It's not very expensive, and if you help me out with it at first, I'll find a part-time job to pay the rent…"
Still no reaction.
"I'm leaving, Tousan."
That gets a reaction. Nakamori Ginzo finishes his coffee. "Very well," he says. "That's only fair," and comes forwards to his daughter, arms open wide. She hugs him, and he hugs her back, long and hard.
And lets her go.
You know I can't be here too long
Two months after they've entered college, Hakuba asks her out.
She says, No.
He closes his eyes briefly – he was expecting that answer, she knows. He shakes his head, "Kuroba…"
She tenses – like always – and looks away. "Well, what about him?" But he doesn't answer, not does he need to, for they both know what's unsaid. She looks down, wishing she could allow herself to cry, just this once. Just this once…
Saguru is a nice, polite, caring, gentleman-like guy. She could learn to love him. He could make her happy.
But he could also make forget.
She can't allow herself to forget. For no good reason, her whole boy rebels against the idea of forgetting the wild-haired magician jerk whom she detests so very much. Who lied to her, who used her, who left her behind without a word of explanation…
"You need to move on, Aoko-san," Hakuba says. "I've watched you since we entered college – you're not your usual self, Aoko-san. You don't smile like you used to do." He leans forward and takes her hand. "I want to help you, so much. Let me. Let me help."
He can't help.
"It's been more than a year, Aoko-san. Let go."
"No." Golden eyes flicker with surprise as they focus onto her. "You let go." She sees the pain on his face, and she wishes she could say something else, she could feel something else, she could be what he needs her to be. "I'm sorry," she whispers, as much for him as for herself.
Even with her eyes closed, she feels him letting go.
And if you let me,
I might try to make you stay
"I don't recognise you anymore, Aoko," Keiko says. "You're not yourself, who you used to be. Ever since Kuroba-kun's gone–" she cuts herself off, abruptly. "You're just not my best friend anymore."
"Sorry," she says, sitting down calmly.
"I can't take it in any longer. I just can't–"
"You can always go away if you want, you know." And though she looks cool and unconcerned, it hurts to say that, because this is Keiko for crying out loud, but what's going on here is bigger than herself, let alone her friend. What always mattered most to her were boys and clothes and KID anyway…
Keiko takes a long, hard, -last- look down at her, then turns on her heels without a second's warning. She hears the door slide shut behind her other best friend and she holds on tight to the desk, knowing it's best to let her go.
Seems you never realise a good thing
Till it's gone…
The good thing with college is that it's easy to lose oneself in the crowd. It's easy to be nondescript, easy to let one's personality fade into the appearance everyone else sees. Expects to see. Wants to see.
So she walks on through the corridors, goes to classes, talks with other students, laughs with them even, and shows them what's for them to see. It's easier for her – and it's what they want anyway. That way everyone's contented.
They laugh at her oh-so-messy hair, go shopping with her, listen to the words that flow effortlessly out of her mouth, but they never take a look to look at her right in the eyes – blue eyes unscathed and beautiful, but restless, meaningless, lifeless.
Soulless?
It doesn't do to think that way, she tells herself, and tries something else, and something else after that, but they always bring her back to it in the end.
Maybe I'm still searching
But I don't know what it means
She sees him sometimes. He's always sitting in the same position – leaning forward on his elbows, hands together – and he looks up at her with this small tired smile and eyes so blue that were always able to turn her world into turmoil. She speaks her heart out then.
I hate you, she says.
You lied to me and used me as a pawn, she says.
I still love you, she says. I don't know why.
He stands up and pulls her against him. She feels his hair brushing her cheek when his arms encircle her waist and hold her, tight. She hears his slow breathing in rhythm with hers. She feels his heart. And she burrows deeper against him, trying to take in his body, his scent, his warmth.
Hoping he'd never let her go.
"I'm here," he whispers, his voice vibrating low against her hair where his mouth moves. He holds her close, one arms around her waist, the other around her shoulders, warm. He breathes in her neck. "I'm here."
"You're gone," she sobs. "You're gone."
"I'm here." Insisting. Demanding. "I'm right here."
And just when she starts to believe him, she wakes up.
All the fires of destructions are still
Burning in my dreams
She still receives cards from time to time, when it's that period of the year again. They come in with cheerful words, wishes for New Year and on and on. They're trying to make her believe something, and she's not very sure what.
Not sure she doesn't want to believe it, or that she doesn't already.
She leaves them on top of the telephone stand for everyone to see, where her eyes fall on them a thousand times a day. She can't help letting them a part of her life.
She looks outside, through the saturated window, onto the coloured streets and animated people down there. Couples, walking hand in hand and looking happy on the spur of the moment. Families with bags and gift-wrapped presents, and their youngest running in their parents' legs.
She rests her forehead against the cool glass and closes her eyes, hands clutching around the latest letter he sent her.
So cold…
So cold…
There's no water that can wash away
This longing to come clean
Hey yea yea…
It's a chance she picks the phone that evening. It's because she's just out of the shower really, and the phone is right beside the bathroom door, and she picks up instinctively just before it stops ringing. She speaks vaguely, towelling her wet hair dry.
"Hello?"
"Hey Aoko."
Beat. Her hands in the towel stop their rubbing motion, and she curses her heart for starting again, so hard, so fast. Three years ago she would've slammed the receiver down, but this is now – him. Him. Him.
And she's tired of always pushing away reality.
So tired…
"Hey," she says softly, and hears him breathe out in silence.
"So… how're you doing?" His voice is nonchalant and careless as always – so close – behind her shoulder, blue eyes sparkling with innocent mischief, he's going to flip up her skirt like old days, and everything will be perfect again – but tired too, somehow just on the edge of fatigue, on the thin line between wake and sleep.
"Pretty good," she says, yet knowing she's not and so does he. A lit may be easily told but not so easily believed – and he's told too many lies himself to be lured to hers. "You?"
"Same," he says cheerfully, and there's this half-second hesitation – then suddenly, huskily, as though his thoughts were just a little too much to bear and he has to get them out of his system, "I miss you."
And the words flow right past her lips before she has time to catch them back.
"When are you coming back to Japan?"
I can't find the joy within my soul
It's just sadness taking hold
He calls her often after that. Most times she isn't even there to answer the phone, and even when she is she doesn't always pick up, but he leaves messages. And she listens to them with all the lights out, if only to let his voice invade the grey and blue shades of the living room.
BEEP "Aoko, hi, it's me. Thought I'd call you. I wish you could be there right now. This place's so beautiful. Hope you'll get to see it one day." BEEP
BEEP "Hey, it's me. I saw your father at the heist tonight. What'd he come and do, help the local police?" BEEP
BEEP "Merry Christmas, Aoko!" BEEP
BEEP "Aoko? I wanted to speak to you… Oh, hell! I know it's no good saying that, but – I miss you. I miss you like hell." BEEP
BEEP "Hey, it's me. So… you're twenty-two. Congratulations. I sent you something – but I'm in Canada right now, so it'll probably take a few days. Sorry I couldn't be there to celebrate. Guess that'll have to wait another year, ne?" BEEP
She loses herself to that voice.
Becomes sensation.
I wanna come in from the cold
And make myself renewed again
When she sees Hakuba again, she's in her third year and it's summer vacation. He calls out at her in the street, runs up to her and invites her in an ice-cream shop – and she accepts and smiles, because she can now.
Really?
"I hear you're getting married," she says. "Congratulations. I'm so glad for Akako-chan and you."
"Thank you," he replies with his usual composed voice, and a flush of embarrassment she never saw on his cheeks ever before. "We plan to have a winter wedding in December. Six months is enough for the arrangements… you'll come, won't you?"
"Me? yes, of course."
They eat ice cream. "He still isn't back, is he," Saguru says matter-of-factly.
She shakes her head – barely a jerk – and pinches the end of her straw in silence.
"Maybe," he adds prudently, "he won't ever come back."
"Maybe," she says, trying to look unconcerned. She knows exactly what he thinks, but it's not that easy for everyone just to move on. He did, so much the better for him. She can't. It would be so easy, she thinks, If every heart was the same.
"You should be more careful, Aoko-san," he sounds seriously concerned. "Before you get trapped."
She looks up at him, and says nothing.
It takes strength to live that way
Let go, she thinks. You can't go on with this relationship forever. Come on, it's time to move on. He won't come back, and you're not eighteen anymore. You know that. You're twenty-two for goodness' sake and you never dated one single guy.
Grow up.
If only it could come down to that. If only it were so simple…. then it would be easy to forget. But there are too many memories, too many red threads winding around her like ribbons of silk, entangling her in the same life over and over again, keeping her from forgetting what she still remembers. Blue eyes. And a smile.
His smile…
"You're getting trapped," Hakuba repeats over and over again, but it's too late.
She's already trapped. In him.
She never lets go.
The same old madness every day
In the street she is stricken by black hair and eyes the very shade of blue she always remembered. She runs after him, heart throbbing in her throat and feeling foolish because even after all this time she can't get enough of him, she grabs his arm and he turns around…
"Kaito!"
Not. The eyes have the same sharp blue, but the hair – deep black and silky – is too tame, not wild enough. The features differ as well – but slightly, like a brother to a brother.
"Sorry, miss, this must be a mistake," he begins, and the voice is wrong, too. It has some accents, but it's too serious, too firm, not flippant enough. Too surprised. Her hand lingers on the sleeve she grabbed.
"Miss? I'm afraid you mistook me for someone else," he apologizes. "My name is Kudo Shin–"
"Sorry," she says, and lets go.
I wanna kick those blues away
I wanna learn to live again
Fall, she thinks, is a labyrinth season.
It's the same scheme over and over again – full circles of dreams and ideals all revolving, collapsing, turning short into dead-ends. Patterns endlessly repeating themselves like echoes reflecting ripples onto water, the same and the same and the same and the same again.
In fall her world is slowly crumbling, like fallen leaves of red and brown withering and shrivelling.
Breaking.
Shattering…
Leaves, night, sun, warmth, rain, light, sky – they all are falling around her, and she is falling along.
With them.
Oh, it's a dark road
And a dark way that lead to my house…
BEEP "Aoko, it's me. Just calling to tell you to watch tonight's heist. Love you. Bye." BEEP
She watches the heist. (When, when, when was she ever able to resist him?) She watches as KID makes his apparition amongst the assembled policemen, snatches the jewel under its owner's nose, and soars high in the dark sky, laughing madly. She watches as the gunshot breaks him in mid-laughter, and the camera skips through the frames to focus on the black silhouette of a sniper on a rooftop.
She watches as KID's white figure arches bird-like before falling, falling, falling, falling down.
The coppers' spotlights circle uselessly on the black surface of the water.
She cries herself to sleep.
And the word says
You're never gonna find me there, oh no
She stays at home all day. Forget college, forget work, forget duties, she huddles on the living-room couch, going over memories and infinite mop chases, and stares at the ceiling for hours. The sun rises and sets unnoticed. On the wall-clock, the hours pass in the slow ticking by of seconds, stretching in time. Stretching time…
The ringing of the doorbell echoes from wall to wall twice before she gets up. On her way to the hall she notices vaguely that the night has fallen: through the window there are only shadows of grey and dark blue, and touches of blurred light at people's windows.
When she opens the door, her eyes meet blue halfway through.
He's four years older. Black hair wilder than ever. Figure taller, slightly broader than before. Features sharper but really hardly changed. Two fingers holding a jacket over his shoulder. Soft grin, mocking and flipping as usual, albeit a bit tired. She hangs on the doorstep, eyes red-rimmed from crying, mouth parted, staring.
She doesn't feel anything.
"Tadaima," he says – so, so softly, in a muffled voice.
The tiniest tug at the corner of her lips, the smallest smile fleeing on her face. "Welcome back," she says, and suddenly, she feels. Feels so strong, so hard, that tears come up to her eyes again, and the only thing she wants are his arms around her.
"Can I come in?" he asks, and as this voice makes its way to her heart she knows that what she's been looking for all those years, a place safe and warm – home, home, home – where to belong to, at last, is right here right now.
In his arms.
She says, Yes.
I've got an open door
It didn't get there by itself
It didn't get there by itself
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(author having had way too much chocolate again today, jumps around the bedroom and shares cookies with everyone who reads this)
Hope you liked this! Many hugs and thanks to the readers who took the time to review last chapter!
Ja!