Going Through the Motions — Lost and Found


He looked back once more, eyes for a moment lingering on the face of the girl he cherished so much before leaving her behind, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft noise. What he felt was guilt. Guilt when looking at her smiling face. Guilt when lying. Guilt when leaving. Guilt when seeing the tears on her cheeks. Guilt when failing his loved ones once again. His mistakes, they piled up, one after another and with no end in sight. And he was tired. No— tired did not even begin to cover what he felt at the moment. However, whatever he felt, it didn't matter. He would be back. Ready to fight. Ready to struggle forward in this ridiculously small body that currently held him captive. He would be back, as always. And he would bring Them down. Without a doubt.

Unconsciously, he balled his hands into fists, nails digging into his skin, before he opened them again, his arms hanging limp against his side.

However...

He stared at the grey wall without even noticing it.

But...

His mind was roaming.

But for now, for just only a little while... he needed some space—some time to breathe—a moment to charge.

Yeah, right...

The alcohol had burned in his throat on the way down, but soon that feeling had faded. Vanished with everything else, until the only thing that was left was a gaping void. And it hurt. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, he would feel better, even if it was only for a little while. Just for a moment. But of course, he should have known better.

'Hey, Shinichi...'

'Hey...'

'How much longer?'

He swayed, mind spinning, throwing out a hand to steady himself, the ground underneath his feet wobbling dangerously, his legs trembling.

God, he was just so stupid. What had he been thinking? Had he really thought—had he really...

No... no, that was not right. Don't lie!

'How pathetic.'

He had not been thinking at all this time.


'Hey, Shinichi?'

'Shinichi...?'

From somewhere far away, someone was calling out to him—calling his name. His real name. Not some fake one. Therefore this was a dream, right? He had to be envisaging this and—

"Kudo-kun!"

Eh?

"Wha—?" He awoke with a startle, lurching forward and nearly toppling over in the process. He groaned. His head was killing him, and the taste in his mouth didn't help his nausea. God, what had happened? Wha—

"Kudo-kun!"

A voice, a voice was calling out his name.

He slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the bright light. Was it morning already? A redheaded girl came into view. He had to blink a few times. "Haibara?" His voice sounded like someone had sandpapered his vocal cords. He cringed. Not good.

The girl folded her arms across her chest and frowned. No. Certainly not good.

She finally spoke. "So here where you. Ran was worried, you know. With you disappearing like that."

Ah. Right. He was—

He lowered his gaze, his eyes resting on the dusty carpet beneath him, fingers gripping into the material.

He remembered. He remembered and—

'It's pathetic. Really.'

'How pitiful.'

'Right.'

"You look awful."

That made him look back up. And they stared at each other in silence before Haibara suddenly bent down, stretching out a hand, offering him the help to get up. Maybe in more ways than one. He shivered. He was cold. And he probably not only looked beyond awful. He felt it too.

Damn.

With a firm grip on his shoulder, she steered him into the kitchen and onto a chair. He was glad to be able to sit down again. His legs felt like they were ready to give out at any moment, even from that short walk to the kitchen. He grimaced. The hangover was real. Not that he could complain. He had known full well what he would get himself into beforehand.

Suddenly a blanket was pulled over his shoulders. He shivered again, clutching the soft material. He was freezing.

Shinichi watched as Haibara strolled through the kitchen, rummaging through various cupboards. He didn't try to think about anything. Just watching her was enough for his hurting brain. It was comforting, somehow.

"Here you go." Haibara's sudden voice jostled him from his daze. "Eh?" A steaming mug was placed before him on the table. And Haibara sat down across him, her own mug in her hand. "I've made you tea. Drink up."

Oh.

He nodded carefully. His head just hurt too much to do anything more. "Thanks. Haibara."

She didn't ask. He didn't speak.

They drank their tea in silence. Each lost to their own thoughts.


He winced and shifted, feeling the carpet underneath him, and trying and yet failing to find a somewhat comfortable position to sit in. Even the idea of getting up was simply too tiring. So he stayed as he was. He doubted his legs would work, anyway.

He took a long breath, his lungs expanding, the slightly musty scent that hovered in the air prickling his nose, the chilly temperature covering his flesh in tiny goosebumps. He was alone right now. All alone in the dark and empty place that was his home. And his home? Ha, what a joke. No— this was Shinichi's house. Not his. Because of course right now he was— he was—

He let his head fall back against the wall, eyes wandering up to the shadowy ceiling that did not want to stay into focus.

He only was pretending. Playing. Acting. Deceiving. Whatever you wanted to call it.

He was running, even in his nightmares—trying with all his might. Trying to keep everyone protected. Protected, and far away. From Them.

However, even the best athletes could run out of breath sometimes.

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, white spots dancing on his closed eyelids. He hated this. He fucking hated it all.

He abruptly moved, leaning forward, letting his forehead rest on his bent knees. He sighed.

And most of all—deep down—he loathed the person that was currently sitting on a filthy carpet in the lonely dark. His pride couldn't face it. Would normally not allow it. This.

'Ha.'

'How pitiful.'

'How laughable.'

'How pathetic. Really.'

He didn't know how long he sat there, hunched over and silent, and feeling throughout miserable—utterly lost. Maybe it was the alcohol. Perhaps it was something else. No— it was certainly the latter for the most part, the alcohol only had lowered his defenses—the careful wall that he had put up for so long, and he would have to continue to do so—once he had reined everything back in.

'For how long, Shinichi?'

'How much further?'

He shook his head, feeling the world spin around him, tasting the bitter tang of bile at the back of his throat. He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about anything right now. He sniffled and brought up a hand to wipe his nose. He was just miserable. Miserable, tired, and very, very drunk.

God, he was just so pathetic, wasn't he?


A/N: I know this chapter isn't really Christmassy, but Happy Holidays, everyone!