Disclaimer: "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama, and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.
This is an alternative story to my other fanfic "Encounter in Venice" and one of the possibilities of what could have happened if Ai had taken the antidote before Shinichi brought down the Organization.
Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00) and SN1987a and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal, without whom I would never have started this fic.
FS
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Ghost at Twilight
(edited version)
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After a short spell of...
After a short spell of fine rain, the wind has picked up again, bringing new thick black rain clouds. Within only a few minutes, another thunderstorm blows up and the rain comes down again in torrents, lashing against the balustrade, where the two of you are standing. The moist air is heavy with the earthy smell of rain mingled with the scent of the stranger's shampoo and the fragrance of azalea and spring roses. Unconcerned about his white cardigan and his hair he has just washed, the stranger asserts in amusement that you seem to share a distinctive characteristic with the weather...
"... or with a cat that purrs but runs away the moment one begins to stroke it," he remarks while the wind is tearing at his hair and his clothes. "Odango once showed me a few alley cats like that. Some of them even scratch or bite even though—in Odango's words—they appeared 'perfectly cuddly'."
Startled by his statement, it takes you a second to digest that the disrespectful cheeky wretch has just compared you to a savage alley cat.
"It's your problem if you misinterpret the situation." You take a few steps back so that you don't get drenched. "I can't remember asking you to cuddle me."
"Would you have preferred a certain detective to cuddle you instead?" He obligingly pretends to be irritated.
"Maybe." You try to bruise his ego a bit because he apparently needs it. Deducing from his wounded gaze that you've succeeded, you generously add, "But since he won't ever do it, I'd have made do with you if it hadn't been for your phone ringing at the wrong moment. Your siblings are abnormally attached to you, by the way. Getting so much love all day must be a burden."
"I should be hurt but all I can hear is that you'd have made do with me..." He winks. "What about turning back time and continuing where we left off?"
Turning back time... The phrase triggers memories of other people who have used the same words in another context. Meioh-san, for example, told you once that one had to pay a price for messing with the Stream of Time when she learned from Tenoh-san that you were continuing your parents' research. And Kudo said he would be trying to "turn back time" when he told you he was going back to Ran...
"All right, let's go back and drape ourselves on your sofa again," you suggest without the slightest fear that he will take you literally. Just like you, he knows that it's futile to do the same thing again in a pathetic attempt to recreate a moment that has passed.
"No, thanks. Odango told me one should stop when cats show that they've had enough of petting." He gives an insolent smirk. "If one leaves them alone, they will come back the next time they want it."
Despite the rain, he is still leaning against the wet balustrade as if he enjoyed getting soaked.
"Besides, it wasn't really the phone since you could have ignored it. You said Kudo was the one who left, but it wouldn't surprise me if it was you who actually bailed, fleeing from Kudo just like you've fled from me." He furrows his brow in mock concentration. "That theory doesn't explain why you gave Kuroba a chance, though. Maybe you didn't like him enough to consider him a danger to your independence?"
You grimace, shivering slightly in the icy wind.
"Your theory is absurd! I told you I even accepted Kudo's proposal despite my fear of marriage, didn't I? I'd never have left him if he hadn't told me that we were so different we might as well have belonged to different galaxies. Also, the first thing he told me after we made up was that he was going to return to his childhood friend to make everyone happy. It was him who broke it up, not me."
Even the weather is the same as three years ago, you distractedly note. Nevertheless, you can no longer feel any guilt or sorrow. A part of you is still waiting for a punishment because you would have liked to believe in divine retribution for criminals who have evaded human justice. But after years of waiting, you no longer believe in it.
"I think there is much more to the story than the files you deleted," the stranger remarks. "All the things you've told me until now simply don't add up. According to Haruka-san, you tricked both Kudo and her and erased the files on the real Pandora's Box—I don't mean the main computer in Pandora's-Box-the-cabin, which only served as a decoy, but Pandora's-Box-the-tiny-laptop-like thing, where the seven crows kept their most important files... In that case, wouldn't it have been easier to leave it exactly where it was—on Pandora's-Box-the-ship, which was going to explode, anyway—instead of messing with it? Why did you activate it so that the only option for you to survive was to erase it completely?"
He is the first person you know who is actually making fun of Pandora's Box. And you wonder why it has never struck you as ridiculous that the ship, the cabin, and the "real" Pandora's Box all share the same name.
"Since thinking is not your forte, you should let it be." You laugh, watching the raindrops running down the balustrade with the absurd feeling that—if you commanded them to stop in the middle of their movement—they would actually obey you. Pandora's Box has never seemed as harmless as it looks to you now after it has been reduced to a "tiny laptop-like thing" not worth any sacrifice. If you were less inhibited, you'd already have smothered stranger-san with kisses, as he has just protected you from your own mind without knowing.
Noticing your good mood, he flashes you a spontaneous smile. And the wave of euphoria which has been undermining your ability to think clearly during this completely messed-up date is sweeping over you once again as you carelessly abandon yourself to the unaffected warmth of his startlingly blue eyes.
"Why do I have the feeling you're getting more abusive towards me with time?" he observes with a chuckle.
"What shall I say? You're asking for it."
"It's your way of showing affection, isn't it?"
"Don't flatter yourself! If I'm in the mood, I can be just as mean towards others as I'm towards you."
Contrary to your expectations, he doesn't respond with a joke but suddenly contemplates you with a troubled look similar to the ones he gave you a few hours ago when you two were sharing the boulder in the park.
"You're especially mean towards Kudo, aren't you?" he belatedly quips. "You're doing your best to keep him at a distance. But Kudo's behaviour seems odd to me as well... I certainly wouldn't have broken up an engagement so soon after the first serious disagreement. I think he'd have stayed if you had let him." Almost reluctantly, he adds, "This somehow reminds me of the misunderstanding between Mamoru-san and Odango when he went abroad. They almost split up because he is an idiot when it comes to communication."
"In our case, you are the idiot," you blurt out, trembling with anger at the realization of what he is trying to say. Despite the impetuous confessions on both sides, you two are still trapped in a web of mistrust and misunderstandings. But why "still" if you've only known each other for a few hours? Has it been really only three and a half hours since you met him for the second (or the third?) time since yesterday's sunset? It seems to you like three and a half years in an alternative timeline...
"Why me? It's Kudo who passed out on your sofa and you who ran away and locked him up in your apartment. I'm the only sensible person here. You should solve whatever problems Kudo and you have because you'll never forgive yourself if you let him go to Osaka like this!"
Since he apparently believes that you would immediately leap into Kudo's arms if only Kudo would take pity on you and dump his lovely girlfriend for your sake, you will have to nip the silly misunderstanding in the bud before it jeopardizes everything. To his credit, he doesn't seem particularly happy about what he has just suggested. Eight years ago, you might have been flattered by the thought that he has only suggested it because he thought it to be in your best interests. Now, however, it irks you that he (like all the other men you were once in love with) treats you like a princess who needs the noble knight to help her make the right decision.
"I don't need anyone's forgiveness," you sharply retort. "Neither mine, nor his, nor yours! Since you weren't there, you don't know anything about what really happened. And even if you did, you wouldn't have the right to tell me what to do."
Taken aback, he apologizes for his obnoxiousness. In return, you grudgingly admit that you've been absolutely insufferable.
"The most insufferable woman I know." He playfully bows as if he had just paid you a compliment by using the superlative. "I hope you won't mellow with age."
"If that's a compliment: Thank you."
The two of you smile at each other in silence, as if words have become redundant and ineffectual means to express what you both are feeling. Just like him, you know perfectly the direction in which this troublesome attraction is heading without knowing what to do about it. You've lived long enough to know how difficult it is to find true emotional connection and unconditional friendship. Exchanging such a bond for something as fragile as a romantic relationship will, if things go wrong, seem to both of you like a rather foolish act, especially since it won't be only destructive but also irreversible.
And yet it's futile to fight against this never-ending morning twilight, against the intoxicating scents and sounds which delight your senses and colour your world whenever you are with him. In retrospect, it seems to you as if the promise of love has been hiding in the first unsuspecting gaze and the first innocent touch—as if loneliness had forged a link between you and him the first time you met without either of you two noticing.
Behind him, the rain is still pelting down in streams, splashing against the balustrade and soaking through his cardigan. Noticing that he shows no inclination to move away from the wet balustrade, you extend a hand to pull him away from it. Your gesture must have caused a lucky misunderstanding, as he unexpectedly leans in and quickly brushes his lips against yours, drawing away just when you're about to return the first fleeting kiss that fills you with a sudden rush of excitement and pleasure.
For a moment, he pauses to gaze at you in silence, apparently unsure whether he is allowed to kiss you or not while you're still mute with amazement at the unfamiliar sensation. Trying to hide your confusion by avoiding his eyes, you wonder why all the other kisses in your life seem in retrospect completely harmless, charming you with their undeniable pleasantness without kindling desire.
"Now you can tell Kudo that we've kissed, can't you?" he chuckles, his low voice barely audible due to the sound of rain in the background. "That will wake him up if nothing else will."
Startled out of your stupor with a vengeance, you could have kicked him for ruining the mood with his inappropriate joke when the thought hits you that the inveterate flirt only regards the peck as an element of casual flirting. After Kaito and Gin, you should have known better than to read too much into a simple kiss. In order to save your pride, you pull yourself together and defiantly meet his eyes. But your anger evaporates as you discover genuine sadness in them and realize that he has mistaken your silence for a rejection.
"Come on," he gently says, removing his hand from your cheek. "Let's go inside since you're frozen."
You would have liked to tell him that he is the one you, for purely selfish reasons, really want. Does it really matter that you've known him for less than a day if the attraction is mutual? For once you feel like abandoning yourself to what might be blind passion because you feel with certainty that love is finally within your grasp. But you don't tell him, as words always fail you in the face of strong feelings. And as you remain silent, he hesitantly turns away and the moment passes...
Or at least this is what would have happened if something in you hadn't snapped at that very moment because you were thoroughly fed up with the never-ending vicious circle of reticence, self-denial, missed chances, and unfulfilled yearning. No sooner had your fingertips touched his lips than he impulsively swept you into his arms... And now—uncountable kisses and caresses later—after you two have stumbled blindly through his corridor, barely sidestepping the vases of roses with the restlessness of lovers who haven't met for months, you have to laugh at your own sentimental impulse to run your fingers through his hair and to whisper his name as he lets the bathrobe join the guitar on the floor and you two proceed to remove the last barrier between strangers in a yet unknown dance.
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"Unknown" is, of course...
"Unknown" is, of course, a complete lie, just as "dance" is a rather unfitting and ridiculously tame euphemism for what you two have been doing in the last two hours. But is there any word in your vocabulary which could describe it without stirring unwanted emotions or conjure up offensive images? And as for your choice of word when it comes to the adjective: if one doesn't take things too literally, "unknown" is actually a perfectly fitting word, for the things which just happened between the two of you on this much too small bed do not in the least resemble the bothersome and sometimes painful physical stuff you always dreaded when you were with Gin.
Some people would call it love while others would classify it as fascination or contemptuously label it lust, considering that he and you have known each other for such an outrageously short time. But in this world where any single word one utters can have sordid connotations and where the most sincere statements can be mistaken for platitudes and lies, giving the thing a superfluous name wouldn't do justice to its essential purity. Between him and you, a kiss is still a kiss, and caresses are only meant to give pleasure without being part of any power games. Not even once has he tried to dominate you or take possession of you except for the few mad moments in which you wanted it. And waking up from the hazy mist of exhausting yet exquisite sensations, you're almost surprised to discover that you do not in the least regret the past two hours because you're still filled with indescribable feelings of tenderness for him.
Laughing about your futile attempt to free yourself from your intertwined limbs without falling off his narrow bed, he slightly shifts his position to make space for you so that you two can look into each other's eyes now, amazed and bewildered by what has happened. Meanwhile, the storm outside has abated, leaving a moment of perfect stillness, which seems even calmer in the soft changing light of the rising sun.
"For someone who had never been kissed until two hours ago, you surely catch up fast," you say at last and lean in to kiss him again, trying to etch the feeling of his lips on yours into your memory as if you feared that he could disappear at any moment.
In response, he only smiles against your lips and sleepily runs his fingers through your hair before he wordlessly places your head on his shoulder.
"Does this count as a kiss in a romantic context?" you jokingly ask, raising your head to peck him on his chin. It seems perfectly natural to you now that he will stir up all the irrational and embarrassingly sentimental feelings you believed to have successfully expunged from your mind. Ayumi-chan, the hopeless romantic, would proclaim that in contrast to the one true love in normal fairy tales, true love has given you a second chance when it entered your life for the second time.
"Any kiss with you counts." He smiles. "I have the feeling I've known you all my life although we've known each other for how long?" He turns your wrist around to check your watch and announces in disbelief, "Only fourteen hours."
"Only eight if the hours during which we didn't see each other don't count."
But of course they do count, he asserts and closes his eyes again before he grins and slips your watch off your wrist with the effortless proficiency of an experienced thief. If they didn't count, couples wouldn't know when to celebrate their anniversaries, would they? With his eyes still closed, he slowly extends his right arm over your body and lets the watch drop onto the carpet in a gesture you like so much that you would have liked to film it.
"Maybe we should celebrate our anniversary, too," he murmurs, breathing deeply as if he were drifting into sleep, all the while gently tracing the outline of the scar on your side with one finger before distractedly tapping a slow rhythm on your skin.
Hearing him talk about anniversaries, you realize you two haven't yet agreed on how to continue. Now that the harmless flirt which started this has got out of hand and developed into something neither of you two have anticipated, it dawns on you that—due to his tendency to flirt and to joke without a break—you can't know for sure whether he really intends to commit or whether this has been only an outburst of long suppressed passion originally meant for another woman.
"You know you've just broken a promise?" you tentatively address the subject. "I only wonder which one."
He snaps his eyes open at once to cast you a worried look and you inwardly sigh, scolding yourself for ruining the mood by asking the right thing at the wrong time when you see in his gaze that he has grasped what your question implied.
"But I already told you I'm not into things with no strings attached!" He teasingly pokes at your cheek. "Will you take care of my paperwork from now on?"
"No, but I will rip up any love letter addressed to you into tiny bits as long as you clean the apartment and do the laundry for me."
"Why not cooking?" He looks genuinely bewildered. "You said cooking was the thing which really mattered."
"Because you can't cook! Chicken congee and omelette are like ramen. That's not 'cooking' in my dictionary."
"You mean you have to lower your standards because of me?"
"Exactly. I always end up kissing the wrong men, so it seems. I should have waited until I met your perfect flower-loving brother."
"My place or yours?" he asks after kissing you again to make it up to you for your eternal bad luck.
"Your place or mine?" you echo, wondering whether he is being serious.
"Who is going to move in with whom?" he rephrases his question. "You can't seriously expect me to clean two apartments regularly for the rest of my life—"
He can't continue, as you've already assaulted him with a series of ardent kisses in a new fit of euphoria.
"My landlady is the nosy type," you tell him later, after you two have abandoned his bed for the more spacious carpet, where he and you can stretch out next to each other. "Hence it can't be my apartment. But I really don't want to live with you in your apartment either."
"Because Taiki and Yaten are directly above us?"
Because this is the apartment where Kakyuu was living with him, you explain. Curiously enough, you feel slightly guilty about kissing the man she loved in the same apartment she had chosen for them although she has already been dead for two years.
"What about searching for another apartment we both like?" he suggests.
"Was that a proposal?" you joke, falling into the old pattern with ease.
"No, it wasn't." He smirks. "Since I know how much you despise the word 'marriage', I'm never going to ask you to marry me."
"All right," you accept with fake nonchalance, wondering whether you would have preferred rejecting a marriage proposal to not getting one at all.
"I will definitely say yes if you propose to me, though," he suggests in a fit of mischievousness.
"Maybe I should," you think aloud, not really meaning it because there is no way you're going to swallow your pride and propose to a man. "It's only a piece of paper, after all."
It is, he agrees. As long as you are with him, he couldn't care less about the bureaucratic stuff. He will sign it if you want and make do without it if you don't want him to. He must warn you that he has a terrible memory, though.
"What's that supposed to mean?" you darkly inquire. "Have you already forgotten who I am?"
"I meant I need a lot of practice because I'm so forgetful," he brazenly smiles, grabs you by your waist, and kisses you again.
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Afterwards, when he has fallen asleep and you are listening to his regular breathing and the wind rustling the leaves of the spring roses and azalea shrubs outside, you realize that—just like three years ago—you want to follow a special person around forever, share his life and endure all his annoying little quirks until either (or both?) of you die. Smiling at the thought that yesterday's sunset has propelled you into a parallel universe where lovers can meet as strangers without the shadows of the past, you decide that no matter what the future brings, you will definitely make it last this time.
And yet a growing sense of unease creeps up on you when you drift into sleep and dream of his bike, of Three Lights' roses and of the warm fragrance of kinmokusei, which simultaneously captivates and saddens you. You can see Kudo's silhouette dissolving into the night and Tenoh-san's blonde hair flying in the wind as she is racing through the wet streets of Paris. How many pills did you make, Kudo asks you one more time, whereupon you confess in resignation that you've made twenty-six. And there is an almost indiscernible, peculiar, repetitive beep in the background when you run through Ueno-koen, searching in vain for your stranger at twilight while, on Kaito's card in your hand, the Queen of Spades smiles...
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