Oneshot - White Night
Dec. 10th, 2009 12:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kooriiFandom: Detective Conan/Magic Kaito
Pairing: Sort of KaiShin, I guess.
Rating: Pg13
Warnings: Weird, dark.
Genre: Drama/Angst/Mystery
Words: 3184
A/N: Clearly I've been reading too much Labyrinthfic and Jareth has been infecting my Kids/Kaitos. It's bad enough he's totally infected the ones from my Wonderland fic, but then I wrote this last night...
Anyway, hope you enjoy this strange little oneshot.
The night is cold, and he is colder still. Shinichi walks the silent pathways of a winter stricken city, the worst it's seen in many years or so the reporters on the news say. It's a blizzard, really. The snow drifts down in twirling clusters, and the wind, sifting between the aloof canyons of steel and glass and stone, makes that which has already been deposited slide across the icy pavement in shiftless waves. He is reminded of a desert. Everything is silent, no one dares venture out unless they have truly taken leave of their minds. Like him, he supposes.
He is late, he knows, in getting home. The hour is steadily reaching toward two in the morning, but it is his own fault for staying behind well after school, clubs, and all the rest of his extracurricular activities have let out. Shinichi blames it on the fact that he has missed being a teenager, and missed having the responsibilities and challenges of this age group. He has missed his friends, people who can talk to him on nearly the same academic level, though he has not missed their petty little problems.
Shinichi does not care about who is dating who, or that Ran is dying a little every day as he ignores her and refuses her love. He does not deserve it and so will not take it for himself.
The night is long, perhaps the longest of the year. He doesn't know, has lost track of time, and keeps mostly to himself while being a part of things. Shinichi has learned to keep his own council now, has learned that the arrogant often fall prey to stupid ends. If he must fall at all he does not want it to be in a stupid way. He would like his end to mean something even if it meant so little as to die saving a child from a mad man with a gun. At least then he would be Protector rather than Foolish Nosy Boy.
All along the sidewalk and road the street lamps create circular pools. The snow swirls slowly through the light, dancing futilely until the wind blows it away again. The weight of his school satchel is heavy, the handle pressing into his gloved palm like a brand. His gloves seem too thin despite the high quality of them, and the fact that he's only bought them just a few weeks ago before winter settled in.
Perhaps, in truth, it is not this external cold that chills him so, but the one within him. Another murder, another case, and another life ruined by the taint of their rage. Shinichi has seen it all too many times, and now he is not moved by it at all. There is only rage, and pity, and sadness left in him.
Pausing in the middle of the empty sidewalk he unfolds his fingers though they don't want to bend. It's hard, pulling one after the other from their tight curl around the handle of his bag. He winces, teeth gritting together as his joints catch in the cold. Transferring his bag to his other hand he takes a moment to shift his scarf a little higher. It smells a bit musty like all of his things. It hasn't been long since Kudou Shinichi came crawling back with his tail between his legs, a defeated man, begging to be accepted by the world he'd left behind. Still it is warm, and as he nuzzles his nose down into the folds it takes a bit of the chill away.
He starts down the street again, his boots sounding loud in his ears with every step. His ears have gone numb by now, but he tries not to think about it with his face set into a stony, lazy eyed expression behind the masking fabric of his scarf. Shinichi bends his head to the wind as he walks, not looking across the street to the dark Kanji scripted windows of the Mouri Detective Agency. He is not welcome there: Mouri Kogoro has made that abundantly clear.
Shinichi does not think he could set foot within that place ever again anyway. It reminds him of fear, and death, and pain, and paranoia. Ran makes him think of failure and that is why he can not stand the look of her anymore. He hates himself for it quietly.
With the more brightly lit streets of the city falling away into the dark well kept lanes of the residential neighborhood in which he dwells, Shinichi sets his sights on getting home. The walls of each property are high around him, and the dark of the night with the clouds' underbelly bright with reflected city glow makes them seem even higher. He feels small again. Fear and discomfort hurry his steps.
There is no escaping the images of countless faces frozen in time with blood and brain matter spattered around them in his mind no matter how fast he walks. At least, he tries to tell himself, it puts a little warmth back in his bones if not his heart.
It is so cold it stings and makes his skin prickle as if his every pore would rather just freeze over and give it up. He breathes through his mouth as much as his nose. His scarf is damp from the warmth of his breathe, and Shinichi fears it will freeze if he is not careful.
Almost home now, the park just there. He walks passed the entrance, ignoring the curved sculpture of the benches, and stops when something catches his attention from the corner of his eye. It is something white and swirling, like every other turn of the snow. His mind, however, tells him that this is not snow, this is solid and real and beckoning.
He lingers, torn between one course and the other. Common sense tells him to go home, who else is foolish enough to be out on a night like this? Shinichi hesitates a moment longer, fingers squeezing the handle of his school bag a little tighter. Then, like he always does, because Shinichi is weak and ruled by his curiosity and ill luck, he gives in.
His steps direct him into the park and along the pathway. It hasn't been touched since the snow began to fall. The white that his steps mar is innocence and softness. It crunches beneath his feet like the bones of small animals. They are a thousand intricate snowflakes built up one on top of the other dying an innocuous death. He thinks this is what humanity is really about.
The park is small like most in such a city, but it is well kept and the path is gently winding. Shinichi has often come here in the past just to stroll along and clear his mind where he can escape the busy life of the ant hill city he lives in. Sometimes he hates living here and wishes his parent's had cared enough to take him somewhere else, but then he wonders if he'd hate living there too. Shinichi is fairly sure at this point that happiness is impossible, so he mires in what he has: Bitterness and failure and self hate.
There are lights lining the path at intervals and ahead of him one is flickering on and off as if it is about to die completely. Shinichi feels that this is the story of his life: Always present for another light to be snuffed. Beneath his scarf his lips twist up in cynicism.
Between one flicker and the another the snow swirls harder making Shinichi raise his hand to keep the flakes from flowing into his eyes. When next he looks up he is no longer alone on this cold night. A figure is there, leaning against the post of the dying lamp. He is as white as the fresh fallen snow, and the fade and burst of the lamp makes him seem more like a phantom than ever before.
Kid's top hat is tipped forward at a jaunty angle, and sits on his head like a crown. He holds himself like a king and Shinichi hates him for it. Kid is like a representation of his every failure, because he is one of his greatest. Kid's cape is blown out, snapping in the wind with sharp crisp sounds and looking like it's falling apart into snow itself. Kid is made of snow, Shinichi thinks, and then the irony makes him want to be sick.
How could a criminal be snow and a detective the world's refuse?
Snow is piling up around Kid's feet, thick and heavy, until he looks like a statue. Shinichi wonders, for a moment, how long he has been standing there before temper boils up and over. Reaching up he rips his scarf away from his face, and ignores the flat sound of his bag falling to the cold ground as he snarls, “Aren't you supposed to be gone?”
Kid looks at him then, the string and charm of his monocle snapping out just as wildly as his cape. He grins a slow wide grin. It is as if Kid can see everything Shinichi is, and was, and finds him sadly lacking. Shinichi sucks in gasps of cold air, feeling it bite his tongue and throat and lungs even as vapor mists from his ragged exhales. Like he rules the world and has all the time in it, Kid unfolds himself from his repose. His arms uncross, he steps forward, one hand pulling his hat more securely in place. The grin on his face makes Shinichi shiver.
“What's the matter, Tantei?” he croons. “Afraid?”
Shinichi juts his chin out, something warm and fiery, like determination and challenge, settling within him. “Of you? Never,” he retorts, and doesn't even have to think about it.
It does not escape him that he has no title. He is not even special in Kid's world anymore. He is just a detective. How far has he fallen to be seen as nothing by a mere thief? The disrespect tugs at him, it makes something dangerous turn over in his stomach, but he knows that that has been there and building for awhile now. It has had to be for him to survive. Life made him change, and yet he still clings to the life he once had. It is slipping through his fingers slowly but surely. He hates it, and he hates himself for letting it.
“You forget so many things,” Kid is saying. He is looking at Shinichi contemplatively and it makes him want to take a step back, to turn away. There is something in Kid's eyes that he can see even at this distance, but can not understand. He does not want to admit it scares him. “But not all of us want to forget, Tantei. And sometimes we don't want to be forgotten.”
His words make no sense. He is speaking in riddles, but that's what Kid does. He always speaks in riddle notes, and riddle clues, and riddle action. Shinichi thinks he even lives in a riddle to protect himself. “I don't know what you're talking about,” Shinichi replies mulishly. His voices sounds reedy and petulant even to himself.
Kid catches at his cape, tugging the edges around himself until he is more white than ever. Then he begins to walk toward him, and with a flick of his wrist releases his cape again. When the wind drops a little it drags over the snowy ground leaving trailing marks in the top layer. The closer he comes the more of his face Shinichi can see. It is pale and cold and the gleam of his monocle is all the more wicked for the shadow of his hat brim. There is even a small layer of snow clinging up against the side of the ribbon around his top hat that hasn't quite managed to melt yet.
Then he is here, standing right in front of him. Kid leans in and Shinichi shies away, wanting to put some distance between them. He is unnerved and unsure how to respond. This is not like any encounter he has had with the thief before: Not even when he was attacked and left unconscious by Kid's own hand did he feel like this. Kid's eyes glitter with something that is just this side of malice. Shinichi can not read it, can not fathom it, and it scares him. He does not like not knowing.
“Don't you?” Kid asks, and his voice is thick with something as unidentifiable as that nameless something in his eyes. His breath is as vaporous as Shinichi's own. Kid's eyelids lower and he gives him a half lidded look of amusement as if Shinichi is something small and silly. “You are afraid.” Shinichi opens his mouth to protest but Kid's finger alights on his lips. His gloves are soft and smooth, neither silk nor linen nor polyester. It is not a material he can identify. Kid's smile is indulgent as if he is a foolish child who refuses to learn his lesson. “I didn't ask if you are afraid of me, though perhaps you should be.”
He presses his lips together, not sure how to respond. His gaze searches the edges of Kid's face, and everything and anything but actually looking at him. He is scared, he realizes, and Kid is right on both accounts. He will not, does not, show it. He can't. Kid's hand moves, his glove sliding over to cup Shinichi's cheek. The material is cold, and there is barely any warmth seeping through from Kid's hand underneath. Shinichi winces and wants to pull away. He is cold enough without Kid adding to his discomfort.
Shinichi averts his eyes, refuses to look closer than he already has. He does not want the burden of knowing who Kid is, because then Kid will have something from him. Shinichi has given enough away. “What do you want?”
Kid's laugh is low and melodious, it hangs in the bitterly cold air like a half forgotten memory. “Oh, poor foolish Tantei...” Kid half sings. His voice is almost hypnotic. “Can't even see what's right in front of your face.”
Then Kid has hold of him and is pulling him in. His arm is almost painfully tight around Shinichi's waist, and his palm presses against Shinichi's lower back. His other hand has slid around to grip the back of Shinichi's neck and hold him still. He finds himself looking through monocle and shadow into blue-violet eyes.
He feels like the fool look into a well and wondering what's at the bottom, the one who doesn't think about the bucket or anything and instead just jumps in and falls to his inevitable doom.
His lips are on his then, possessive and owning, and devouring. There isn't passion, not really, and it isn't anything like Shinichi thinks a kiss ought to be. It hurts a little, with the way Kid conquers him wholly, and makes it so that Shinichi can only hold on, fingers clenched at his side and eyes twisted shut. Kid's cold damp glove rests against the back of his skull, his fingers curled into the fine hairs at Shinichi's nape. It hurts to kiss him, and yet the thought of pulling away feels like a choice he does not have.
Kid's hand roams, and Shinichi thinks nothing of it until he pulls away a bright glow in his eyes that both scares and entices him. Shinichi is torn between leaning closer and fleeing. Kid lifts his hand and Shinichi goes colder still. The dark gunmetal gray of the gun glints in the light as Kid absently pulls out the cartridge and hefts it as if testing its weight. Shinichi knows that it isn't nearly full. The faint smell of gunpowder is quickly being whipped away on the wind.
With a soft tsk Kid tucks the cartridge into his pocket. He pats his pocket as if to make sure it's safe and real and truly there. Then he spirits the gun away too. “You're not allowed to have such things,” Kid scolds him sweetly. Shinichi trembles and wonders what he knows. Kid's grin is indulgent again, but also demanding. “Do you understand now?”
“What would a criminal like you know?!” Shinichi finds himself screaming, muscles taunt with tension. His throat aches from the abuse of cold air and violent words.
Now Kid is close again, leaning in so close that he's nearly kissing him again. Shinichi wants to shove him away, but can't. He is weak and trembling once more. Stupid foolish boy, with bad luck and curiosity. “Isn't that just it?” Kid asks, and his voice is sweet and promising. “We're all criminals here.” Kid reaches up, his thumb sliding under the lapel of Shinichi's coat. His finger caresses the dark stains there though they are more black than red. The cold weather has already made the stains freeze and stiffen.
Finally he gets the strength, he reaches up and shoves Kid away. Kid doesn't stumble back, it's more like he sways back. He's too graceful for anything else. His smile is haunting and Shinichi retches drily. He feels nothing. His eyes are watering, and snowflakes are clinging to his hair and eyelashes. He is lost, and doesn't know what to do. The fingers of his hand open and close restlessly as he looks up, half bent over, and pleads with his eyes and the tremble of his voice as he speaks, “What do you want from me?”
“A choice.” He still makes no sense, but Shinichi waits because he said the word so oddly, as if he were getting the feel of it and didn't think it right or true, but could find no other word to fit. “Come away with me,” he offers, grin widening just a little further. “Or I'll take you away.”
“That's no choice at all,” Shinichi rasps. Because it isn't. It's like telling someone to answer a yes or no question then offering them only yes to answer with.
“It is,” Kid assures him, and his tone is just a bit dark. Shinichi feels scared again. “Three days hence. Make your choice, it's not like you have anything else.”
And then he is gone and Shinichi is left with the cold, and the snow, and the hurt that sits in him at those words, because they are true. He has nothing left.
Shinichi falls to his knees, his hands curling into the snow as the wind howls in his ears and tugs at his hair. The world is otherwise silent, and he is alone in it except for the snow and the feeling as if he is being watched. He is too tired and weak to run, and the inevitable has come and gone.
He has failed again and he knows it.
Pairing: Sort of KaiShin, I guess.
Rating: Pg13
Warnings: Weird, dark.
Genre: Drama/Angst/Mystery
Words: 3184
A/N: Clearly I've been reading too much Labyrinthfic and Jareth has been infecting my Kids/Kaitos. It's bad enough he's totally infected the ones from my Wonderland fic, but then I wrote this last night...
Anyway, hope you enjoy this strange little oneshot.
The night is cold, and he is colder still. Shinichi walks the silent pathways of a winter stricken city, the worst it's seen in many years or so the reporters on the news say. It's a blizzard, really. The snow drifts down in twirling clusters, and the wind, sifting between the aloof canyons of steel and glass and stone, makes that which has already been deposited slide across the icy pavement in shiftless waves. He is reminded of a desert. Everything is silent, no one dares venture out unless they have truly taken leave of their minds. Like him, he supposes.
He is late, he knows, in getting home. The hour is steadily reaching toward two in the morning, but it is his own fault for staying behind well after school, clubs, and all the rest of his extracurricular activities have let out. Shinichi blames it on the fact that he has missed being a teenager, and missed having the responsibilities and challenges of this age group. He has missed his friends, people who can talk to him on nearly the same academic level, though he has not missed their petty little problems.
Shinichi does not care about who is dating who, or that Ran is dying a little every day as he ignores her and refuses her love. He does not deserve it and so will not take it for himself.
The night is long, perhaps the longest of the year. He doesn't know, has lost track of time, and keeps mostly to himself while being a part of things. Shinichi has learned to keep his own council now, has learned that the arrogant often fall prey to stupid ends. If he must fall at all he does not want it to be in a stupid way. He would like his end to mean something even if it meant so little as to die saving a child from a mad man with a gun. At least then he would be Protector rather than Foolish Nosy Boy.
All along the sidewalk and road the street lamps create circular pools. The snow swirls slowly through the light, dancing futilely until the wind blows it away again. The weight of his school satchel is heavy, the handle pressing into his gloved palm like a brand. His gloves seem too thin despite the high quality of them, and the fact that he's only bought them just a few weeks ago before winter settled in.
Perhaps, in truth, it is not this external cold that chills him so, but the one within him. Another murder, another case, and another life ruined by the taint of their rage. Shinichi has seen it all too many times, and now he is not moved by it at all. There is only rage, and pity, and sadness left in him.
Pausing in the middle of the empty sidewalk he unfolds his fingers though they don't want to bend. It's hard, pulling one after the other from their tight curl around the handle of his bag. He winces, teeth gritting together as his joints catch in the cold. Transferring his bag to his other hand he takes a moment to shift his scarf a little higher. It smells a bit musty like all of his things. It hasn't been long since Kudou Shinichi came crawling back with his tail between his legs, a defeated man, begging to be accepted by the world he'd left behind. Still it is warm, and as he nuzzles his nose down into the folds it takes a bit of the chill away.
He starts down the street again, his boots sounding loud in his ears with every step. His ears have gone numb by now, but he tries not to think about it with his face set into a stony, lazy eyed expression behind the masking fabric of his scarf. Shinichi bends his head to the wind as he walks, not looking across the street to the dark Kanji scripted windows of the Mouri Detective Agency. He is not welcome there: Mouri Kogoro has made that abundantly clear.
Shinichi does not think he could set foot within that place ever again anyway. It reminds him of fear, and death, and pain, and paranoia. Ran makes him think of failure and that is why he can not stand the look of her anymore. He hates himself for it quietly.
With the more brightly lit streets of the city falling away into the dark well kept lanes of the residential neighborhood in which he dwells, Shinichi sets his sights on getting home. The walls of each property are high around him, and the dark of the night with the clouds' underbelly bright with reflected city glow makes them seem even higher. He feels small again. Fear and discomfort hurry his steps.
There is no escaping the images of countless faces frozen in time with blood and brain matter spattered around them in his mind no matter how fast he walks. At least, he tries to tell himself, it puts a little warmth back in his bones if not his heart.
It is so cold it stings and makes his skin prickle as if his every pore would rather just freeze over and give it up. He breathes through his mouth as much as his nose. His scarf is damp from the warmth of his breathe, and Shinichi fears it will freeze if he is not careful.
Almost home now, the park just there. He walks passed the entrance, ignoring the curved sculpture of the benches, and stops when something catches his attention from the corner of his eye. It is something white and swirling, like every other turn of the snow. His mind, however, tells him that this is not snow, this is solid and real and beckoning.
He lingers, torn between one course and the other. Common sense tells him to go home, who else is foolish enough to be out on a night like this? Shinichi hesitates a moment longer, fingers squeezing the handle of his school bag a little tighter. Then, like he always does, because Shinichi is weak and ruled by his curiosity and ill luck, he gives in.
His steps direct him into the park and along the pathway. It hasn't been touched since the snow began to fall. The white that his steps mar is innocence and softness. It crunches beneath his feet like the bones of small animals. They are a thousand intricate snowflakes built up one on top of the other dying an innocuous death. He thinks this is what humanity is really about.
The park is small like most in such a city, but it is well kept and the path is gently winding. Shinichi has often come here in the past just to stroll along and clear his mind where he can escape the busy life of the ant hill city he lives in. Sometimes he hates living here and wishes his parent's had cared enough to take him somewhere else, but then he wonders if he'd hate living there too. Shinichi is fairly sure at this point that happiness is impossible, so he mires in what he has: Bitterness and failure and self hate.
There are lights lining the path at intervals and ahead of him one is flickering on and off as if it is about to die completely. Shinichi feels that this is the story of his life: Always present for another light to be snuffed. Beneath his scarf his lips twist up in cynicism.
Between one flicker and the another the snow swirls harder making Shinichi raise his hand to keep the flakes from flowing into his eyes. When next he looks up he is no longer alone on this cold night. A figure is there, leaning against the post of the dying lamp. He is as white as the fresh fallen snow, and the fade and burst of the lamp makes him seem more like a phantom than ever before.
Kid's top hat is tipped forward at a jaunty angle, and sits on his head like a crown. He holds himself like a king and Shinichi hates him for it. Kid is like a representation of his every failure, because he is one of his greatest. Kid's cape is blown out, snapping in the wind with sharp crisp sounds and looking like it's falling apart into snow itself. Kid is made of snow, Shinichi thinks, and then the irony makes him want to be sick.
How could a criminal be snow and a detective the world's refuse?
Snow is piling up around Kid's feet, thick and heavy, until he looks like a statue. Shinichi wonders, for a moment, how long he has been standing there before temper boils up and over. Reaching up he rips his scarf away from his face, and ignores the flat sound of his bag falling to the cold ground as he snarls, “Aren't you supposed to be gone?”
Kid looks at him then, the string and charm of his monocle snapping out just as wildly as his cape. He grins a slow wide grin. It is as if Kid can see everything Shinichi is, and was, and finds him sadly lacking. Shinichi sucks in gasps of cold air, feeling it bite his tongue and throat and lungs even as vapor mists from his ragged exhales. Like he rules the world and has all the time in it, Kid unfolds himself from his repose. His arms uncross, he steps forward, one hand pulling his hat more securely in place. The grin on his face makes Shinichi shiver.
“What's the matter, Tantei?” he croons. “Afraid?”
Shinichi juts his chin out, something warm and fiery, like determination and challenge, settling within him. “Of you? Never,” he retorts, and doesn't even have to think about it.
It does not escape him that he has no title. He is not even special in Kid's world anymore. He is just a detective. How far has he fallen to be seen as nothing by a mere thief? The disrespect tugs at him, it makes something dangerous turn over in his stomach, but he knows that that has been there and building for awhile now. It has had to be for him to survive. Life made him change, and yet he still clings to the life he once had. It is slipping through his fingers slowly but surely. He hates it, and he hates himself for letting it.
“You forget so many things,” Kid is saying. He is looking at Shinichi contemplatively and it makes him want to take a step back, to turn away. There is something in Kid's eyes that he can see even at this distance, but can not understand. He does not want to admit it scares him. “But not all of us want to forget, Tantei. And sometimes we don't want to be forgotten.”
His words make no sense. He is speaking in riddles, but that's what Kid does. He always speaks in riddle notes, and riddle clues, and riddle action. Shinichi thinks he even lives in a riddle to protect himself. “I don't know what you're talking about,” Shinichi replies mulishly. His voices sounds reedy and petulant even to himself.
Kid catches at his cape, tugging the edges around himself until he is more white than ever. Then he begins to walk toward him, and with a flick of his wrist releases his cape again. When the wind drops a little it drags over the snowy ground leaving trailing marks in the top layer. The closer he comes the more of his face Shinichi can see. It is pale and cold and the gleam of his monocle is all the more wicked for the shadow of his hat brim. There is even a small layer of snow clinging up against the side of the ribbon around his top hat that hasn't quite managed to melt yet.
Then he is here, standing right in front of him. Kid leans in and Shinichi shies away, wanting to put some distance between them. He is unnerved and unsure how to respond. This is not like any encounter he has had with the thief before: Not even when he was attacked and left unconscious by Kid's own hand did he feel like this. Kid's eyes glitter with something that is just this side of malice. Shinichi can not read it, can not fathom it, and it scares him. He does not like not knowing.
“Don't you?” Kid asks, and his voice is thick with something as unidentifiable as that nameless something in his eyes. His breath is as vaporous as Shinichi's own. Kid's eyelids lower and he gives him a half lidded look of amusement as if Shinichi is something small and silly. “You are afraid.” Shinichi opens his mouth to protest but Kid's finger alights on his lips. His gloves are soft and smooth, neither silk nor linen nor polyester. It is not a material he can identify. Kid's smile is indulgent as if he is a foolish child who refuses to learn his lesson. “I didn't ask if you are afraid of me, though perhaps you should be.”
He presses his lips together, not sure how to respond. His gaze searches the edges of Kid's face, and everything and anything but actually looking at him. He is scared, he realizes, and Kid is right on both accounts. He will not, does not, show it. He can't. Kid's hand moves, his glove sliding over to cup Shinichi's cheek. The material is cold, and there is barely any warmth seeping through from Kid's hand underneath. Shinichi winces and wants to pull away. He is cold enough without Kid adding to his discomfort.
Shinichi averts his eyes, refuses to look closer than he already has. He does not want the burden of knowing who Kid is, because then Kid will have something from him. Shinichi has given enough away. “What do you want?”
Kid's laugh is low and melodious, it hangs in the bitterly cold air like a half forgotten memory. “Oh, poor foolish Tantei...” Kid half sings. His voice is almost hypnotic. “Can't even see what's right in front of your face.”
Then Kid has hold of him and is pulling him in. His arm is almost painfully tight around Shinichi's waist, and his palm presses against Shinichi's lower back. His other hand has slid around to grip the back of Shinichi's neck and hold him still. He finds himself looking through monocle and shadow into blue-violet eyes.
He feels like the fool look into a well and wondering what's at the bottom, the one who doesn't think about the bucket or anything and instead just jumps in and falls to his inevitable doom.
His lips are on his then, possessive and owning, and devouring. There isn't passion, not really, and it isn't anything like Shinichi thinks a kiss ought to be. It hurts a little, with the way Kid conquers him wholly, and makes it so that Shinichi can only hold on, fingers clenched at his side and eyes twisted shut. Kid's cold damp glove rests against the back of his skull, his fingers curled into the fine hairs at Shinichi's nape. It hurts to kiss him, and yet the thought of pulling away feels like a choice he does not have.
Kid's hand roams, and Shinichi thinks nothing of it until he pulls away a bright glow in his eyes that both scares and entices him. Shinichi is torn between leaning closer and fleeing. Kid lifts his hand and Shinichi goes colder still. The dark gunmetal gray of the gun glints in the light as Kid absently pulls out the cartridge and hefts it as if testing its weight. Shinichi knows that it isn't nearly full. The faint smell of gunpowder is quickly being whipped away on the wind.
With a soft tsk Kid tucks the cartridge into his pocket. He pats his pocket as if to make sure it's safe and real and truly there. Then he spirits the gun away too. “You're not allowed to have such things,” Kid scolds him sweetly. Shinichi trembles and wonders what he knows. Kid's grin is indulgent again, but also demanding. “Do you understand now?”
“What would a criminal like you know?!” Shinichi finds himself screaming, muscles taunt with tension. His throat aches from the abuse of cold air and violent words.
Now Kid is close again, leaning in so close that he's nearly kissing him again. Shinichi wants to shove him away, but can't. He is weak and trembling once more. Stupid foolish boy, with bad luck and curiosity. “Isn't that just it?” Kid asks, and his voice is sweet and promising. “We're all criminals here.” Kid reaches up, his thumb sliding under the lapel of Shinichi's coat. His finger caresses the dark stains there though they are more black than red. The cold weather has already made the stains freeze and stiffen.
Finally he gets the strength, he reaches up and shoves Kid away. Kid doesn't stumble back, it's more like he sways back. He's too graceful for anything else. His smile is haunting and Shinichi retches drily. He feels nothing. His eyes are watering, and snowflakes are clinging to his hair and eyelashes. He is lost, and doesn't know what to do. The fingers of his hand open and close restlessly as he looks up, half bent over, and pleads with his eyes and the tremble of his voice as he speaks, “What do you want from me?”
“A choice.” He still makes no sense, but Shinichi waits because he said the word so oddly, as if he were getting the feel of it and didn't think it right or true, but could find no other word to fit. “Come away with me,” he offers, grin widening just a little further. “Or I'll take you away.”
“That's no choice at all,” Shinichi rasps. Because it isn't. It's like telling someone to answer a yes or no question then offering them only yes to answer with.
“It is,” Kid assures him, and his tone is just a bit dark. Shinichi feels scared again. “Three days hence. Make your choice, it's not like you have anything else.”
And then he is gone and Shinichi is left with the cold, and the snow, and the hurt that sits in him at those words, because they are true. He has nothing left.
Shinichi falls to his knees, his hands curling into the snow as the wind howls in his ears and tugs at his hair. The world is otherwise silent, and he is alone in it except for the snow and the feeling as if he is being watched. He is too tired and weak to run, and the inevitable has come and gone.
He has failed again and he knows it.
