DISCLAIMER: Magic Kaito is the respective creation and property of Gosho Aoyama.

AUTHOR: Melpomene-the-Tragic-Parody

MAIN CHARACTERS: Kaito Kuroba, Aoko Nakamori

CHAPTER: #3

TITLE: No Light, No Light

INSPIRED BY:~ No Light, No Light, by Florence and the Machine ~

~M.K~

Aoko held onto her father's hand as they waited on the doorstep of the Kuroba household. She tugged lightly at one of her messy pigtails, bobbing anxiously on her toes. Finally, the lock clicked and the tall door swung open to reveal the familiar, pretty face of a young woman whose weary eyes blinked in surprise at the sight of the Nakamori family on her doorstep.

"Ginzo-san!" she said. "And Aoko-chan! I didn't know you'd be stopping by."

Ginzo rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "I could have sworn I called," he muttered with embarrassment. "If it's a bad time—"

"Oh, no, no, it's not," she said, opening the door widely. "Please, come in."

Little Aoko immediately ran into the woman's arms and hugged her as tightly with all the strength she could muster.

"Chikage-obasan!" she said. "It's okay to cry!"

Ginzo's ears turned red. "Eh, Aoko, maybe—"

But Chikage laughed lightly, returning the hug and kissing her forehead. "I see. Thank you, Aoko-chan."

The little girl nodded, her pigtails bouncing.

"We would have been over sooner, but Aoko had an appointment with her the pediatrician…" Ginzo continued while his daughter quietly discarded her shoes and skirted around their legs to the staircase leading to the upper floor. "How's Kaito-kun?

Chikage sighed. "He hasn't spoken too much since the funeral," she said, her eyes misting. "Ginzo-san, he's heartbroken and I don't know what to do…"

Aoko's feet pattered on the wooden floor and she hurried to her destination. It was a familiar route she had grown familiar with over the past few years, but it had been over a week since she had been allowed to visit.

The door to Kaito's bedroom was open. Tiptoeing as quietly as she could, Aoko peeped into the room. Past the toys and the manga books on the ground, she recognized the lone figure sitting at the edge of his bed, staring down at a rectangular object in his hands.

"Kaito-kun," she said, walking up to him with worried eyes.

The boy stared at her blankly. "Oh. Morning, Aoko-chan."

Aoko clasped her hands in a nervous ball near her tummy and took a tentative step forward. Kaito's eyes reverted back to the object in his hands, quietly pulling it apart and snapping it back together again. It didn't take long for her to identify it as one of the many packs of cards that his father used in his performances.

Used to use, anyway…

"What are you doing?" she asked curiously, taking the chance to approach him. He didn't move when she sat down beside him.

"Nothing," he replied shortly. He withdrew a random card from the deck, the King of Spades. He stared at it for a while and then tossed it away. He pulled another, the Seven of Diamonds. It joined the king on the rug. Aoko frowned as he withdrew more cards and discarded them carelessly. Kaito never did that. He loved playing cards.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked hesitantly.

Kaito shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing to talk about."

Aoko pouted and bent forward to pick up a random card, turning it over to reveal the Ace of Hearts. The edges were crinkled from Kaito's careless grip. With a short sigh, Aoko took up the task of collecting every card he threw until his hands were empty of them and her hands were full.

"Just leave them," Kaito said. "They're not important."

But they were important. Aoko knew that. For as long as she had known him, Kaito had been fascinated with playing cards, sitting on his father's lap and learning to play poker, or watching his father use them for his magic show, or even using them to build towers with his father's help.

With a gentle hand, she tucked the pack in his hand and said, "It's okay to be sad, Kaito-kun. I was sad with Okaa-san died, too. Tou-san said it's okay to cry when your sad and you miss someone you love."

The two little children stared at each other in silence.

Kaito scoffed and turned his head, his eyes concealed beneath his bangs. "Why would I do something like that? I'm not a crybaby like you!"

Aoko's cute pout was blotched by a slight puff in her cheeks. "I'm not a crybaby, you jerk!" she said, miffed. Her hands clenched into fists by her sides until she realized that Kaito's lower lip was trembling.

"I hate him."

Taken aback, Aoko stared at him. "Hate who?"

"Oyaji," Kaito said hoarsely, his hands shaking. "He left us. Me and Kaa-san. He was supposed to be the greatest magician in the world and he failed! He failed and he left us!"

Aoko jumped in alarm at Kaito's sudden yell. Her heart stammered with fear; she had never seen that sort of anger in Kaito before. Not ever. His bright blue eyes glared at the playing cards so fiercely that she was amazed that they did not burst into flames in his hands. There was none of his usual light on his face and that scared her. Aoko had never been scared of Kaito before.

"Kaito-kun," she said weakly.

But Kaito didn't listen. With a cry of frustration, Kaito threw the entire deck of cards on the ground, scattering them in all directions. Aoko stumbled backward as he stood up and began stomping on them with all his little might.

"I hate him!" he cried, snatching up the nearest ones and ripping them to pieces. "I hate him! I hate him!"

Tears welled in Aoko's eyes as she watched her friend's fury. "Kaito-kun, stop it!" she wailed, so loudly that in harmony with his tantrum, their parents heard them from downstairs. "Kaito-kun, stop it! You're scaring me!"

"I don't care!" Kaito yelled at her. His wavering voice broken as his eyes began to glisten. "Leave me alone!"

"Kaito-kun!" Aoko exclaimed as the boy kept tearing the cards to shreds and crying out inaudibly. "Kaito-kun, stop! Kaito!"

Without thinking about it, Aoko bounded forward, wrapping her little arms around Kaito's shoulders. Taken aback by her sudden gesture, Kaito fell silent, bright eyes staring over her shoulder at the portrait beside his bed, the only thing he had refused to watch since the funeral.

His father's portrait, a colorful display of Toichi Kuroba in the midst of a magical performance, as lifelike as a portrait could be.

"Oyaji," Kaito whispered, his throat constricting and his eyes welling with tears. "Oyaji!"

Aoko found herself sobbing quietly as Kaito wept for his father who would never return, like her mother. They had gone somewhere far away and they wouldn't come back. Kaito's body shook, his tears seeping into the fabric of her dress. His arms hung limply at his side, empty of the remaining cards scattered around their feet.

Kaito's tears slowly subsided as his watery eyes peered up once more at his father's portrait, ever cool and composed. Why did he have to leave? Why did something have to go wrong? Nothing ever went wrong for his father before. He had too many questions on his lips and not enough answers to quell the hurt.

'What do I do, Oyaji?' he lamented to himself. What would his father have said to him to make everything better?

Kaito, always remember your poker face.

In a heartbeat, the tears stopped, the sound of his father's voice echoing in his ears. He had forgotten his poker face, one of the many lessons his father had taught him when playing card games. Kaito pulled away from Aoko and numbly stared down at the ruined deck of cards on the floor. He had lost control of his poker face; that was not something Kuroba men did. Shame welled up inside him.

"Sorry, Aoko," he said, clumsily wiping the wetness off his face and bending down to pick up the torn cards, determinedly avoiding her gaze. "That never happened."

Aoko sniffled and knelt down to help him. "It's okay to cry sometimes, Kaito," she said waveringly.

Neither of them had noticed the slip of the tongue address, a habit they would cultivate for another decade, or the arrival of their startled parents in the doorway. Unbeknownst to Aoko, and in eventual hindsight to Kaito, that very memory had turned into the pivotal moment in which he knew he could never cry again. Especially in front of her.

~M.K~

FURTHER NOTES:

I think in grief, anyone can be a little OOC, and I might have garnered a bit of inspiration from a tearful boy from one of my favorite Korean dramas. Kaito's reaction is sort of a reflection of that.

Reviews and criticisms are welcome.

—MELPOMENE-THE-TRAGIC-PARODY, signing out.