A/N: So okay, I have a ton of requests to fill. B-but it's vacation for me, and this plunnie just begged to be written and my muse was sitting on the desklamp and kicking me and. Well.

Dedicated to foxglove-chan, because I was listening to that amv of yours non-stop while writing this and damnit I love it. *hugs*

Disclaimer–I wish Gosho-sensei would give us this one day.

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No Raining Stars

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She comes home to find Kaito's shoes sagely stored on the shelf and all the lights turned off.

She pauses, blinks, lets down her bag in the entry, and advances. "Kaito," she calls, softly, and pushes the living-room open. No light here either, but the blue-tinged light filtrating through the curtains shades the furniture, as bulky masses, with calligraphy strokes.

Kaito, a dark form on the couch, is lying on his side, one arm thrown sideways over his face. He does not stir, even when Aoko, having disposed of her coat on a helpful chair, crawls up onto the couch as well, making it creak under their combined weight.

His face in sleep is peaceful, underlined in greys and blues, and the dark lines of the nose, the jawline, the black crops of hair tumbling wildly over a relaxed, unworried forehead.

Kaito, she thinks, and trails her fingertips over a sharp cheekbone, traces the skin and the half-parted lips, fleetingly.

"Kaito," she murmurs, and this time he does stir, and eyelashes flutter under her hesitant touch. Eyes of blue, blue, even more so in the shaded, shuttered room, gaze up at her dazedly, and the smile she finds in them softens the corners of his mouth.

"Welcome home," he murmurs. His voice is thin, albeit pleasantly so; an exhaled breath. His eyes fall shut again.

She does not say what are you doing on the couch with all the lights turned off or how about dinner, but her fingers dance up to the stray locks of hair, and, leaning down, she presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. Their noses brush, and he nudges hers with his own, catches the tip with a peck of his lips.

Her one hand sets to run through his hair, relishing in the thin, part-soft part-rough feel, while the other cups his cheek and then settles in the warm crook of his neck, limp and easy. "Like that?"

"Hmm," he purrs, noncommittally, but presses up to rub back against her hand.

For a long time they do not move. His hand is resting in her lap, her fingers running in his hair, both equally warm and sharing that warmth; for once not caring about the daily routine of making dinner and watching TV, and content, to just acknowledge those small blessings that pass.

When Kaito's eyes blink open once more Aoko does not notice. She has rested her cheek against the cushions, still petting his hair, and therefore does not see the fond look that settles in the blue before, dislodging her fingers from the crook of his neck, he presses his lips to them.

"Hmmm?" Her head turns a little to look at him.

He smiles, soft and thankful, and closes his eyes again. "Marry me," he whispers.

Aoko's fingers still. Kaito's lips linger on the knuckles of her other hand, but he doesn't–he– "Really?" she stammers, her voice a little higher-pitched than usual, and when he gazes up at her again and speaks, his is lower in comparison.

"Yes, really–" His arms uncurl from around her waist, and he straightens, taking his warmth away. Aoko's hand falls down on the seat. He chuckles, "That isn't really how I meant this to happen."

His fingers, this time, find their way between two locks of her hair, tips grazing against the side of her cheek. "I'd planned impossible things–floating candles, a thousand doves, raining stars… 'had the ring since high school anyway…"

He opens his (empty) hand on a simple gold band nestling a gem as blue as his eyes, as blue as her name. "Well?" he asks–almost–she thinks–expectantly–fearfully.

–and then her arms are wrapped tight around his shoulders and her face is buried in the fabric of his shirt and she is shaking, helplessly happy and scared shitless because of it, mumbling incoherencies in his neck; and Kaito, stunned for the barest moment, embraces her in return, pressing their bodies flush against the other, and he is trembling too and oh, I love you, I love you, I love you she thinks, breathless and relieved, and doesn't quite know if she says it or not but one of his hands runs up her back to tangle with her hair, close and intimate and there.

No words are spoken (thank you, thank you, I love you, let's get married and fight and shout and laugh), and that makes it as close to perfection as they ever care to be.

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Short and fluffy all around. I feel rather warm. Next is teachers!AU, dun dun. Also, Happy Easter to those who do celebrate it out there!