(no subject)
So here is a random Kaito/Aoko for illeistic
Your heart leaps into your throat as a familiar figure strides gracefully across the sidewalk. Instinctively, you duck behind the curtain, afraid. Kaitou Kid, off on another heist. Fury bubbles in your chest, threatening to overflow. What right does he have to play with the law the way he does?
From your vantage point at the window, it’s easy to mistake him for someone else. The familiar curve of his jaw, the slope of his broad shoulders, his long legs, stepping purposefully on the ground. You swallow. But it’s not. It can’t be.
Abruptly, he raises his eyes to meet yours and you drop to your knees haphazardly. He can’t have seen you. You’re on the thirteenth story, and he’s all the way down there. Fear grips you roughly. If he - if he did see, what difference would that make?
You stand back up on shaky knees, peering gingerly through the frosted window. But he’s gone. The curtain falls back into place, and you remain blind, oblivious for one more day.
---
“I will never understand how you manage to get straight A’s even without studying,” you grumble at him after angrily cramming in your latest Japanese history test in your bag. All all-nighter, and still, barely a C. “Do you cheat? Do you hide your answers somewhere? Do you use magic tricks?”
And he faces you with an unreadable expression in his face. “Magic’s not real, Aoko,” he says quietly. “You know that.”
The serious quality of his voice throws you. You hate this side of him. You almost wish he would flip your skirt, or something. “For some people, it is,” you say, trying to inject confidence into your voice. “If they believe hard enough.”
“Really?” He smiles at you, and there’s a patronizing aspect to it that makes you want to throttle him. You hate being patronized. “I guess I’m lucky you believe, then.” And reaches out behind your ear and pulls a brilliant red rose from seemingly nowhere.
“Oh - I - thank you,” you say, clutching the rose - and holding back a startled gasp when skin meets thorns and blood oozes out.
“But what about when the illusion shatters?” he asks you, eyes glued to the cut on your finger. “What then?”
You don’t have an answer.
---
You’re off on one of your midnight strolls, gazing up at the full moon when someone stumbles out of the bushes and collapses, face-down. Your heart freezes, but only for a second as you identify crimson liquid staining the figure’s button-down shirt.
“Oh, god -” You force back the nausea. “Are you -”
A trembling hand reaches up and wraps around yours. Your eyes widen and the blood rushes to your head. You know this touch, this hand.
“Aoko.” He cautiously raises his head, staring out at you through one eye. The monocle has shattered, creating the illusion of a million ice-blue eyes. Idly, you wonder which one is real.
You can’t find it in your heart to answer. What do you say? All the angry words that seem to come so easily in the day are stuck in your throat. You can’t cry. You can’t do anything.
The curtain has risen, you realize, and the show has just begun.
---
“Kaitou Kid has disappeared -”
“With the damned jewel, too -”
“Find him or you’re fired!”
You try to keep the bile rising in your throat as you hear your father’s unending screams. You see the stress this is taking on him and you choke on your guilt.
“I don’t know what to do,” your father says to you, head in his hands. “My entire - entire life - has been about - and he’s never gotten away. What do I -”
“Maybe you should just let him go,” you venture timidly. “After all, it’s not like he hurt anyone, right?”
He fixes you with a deadly stare. “He broke the law and stole a jewel worth millions. He may not have taken a life, but he has broken the law, which goes against everything I stand for.”
You bow your head. “I see.”
---
“I can’t keep lying,” you say, torn.
“And I don’t want you to,” he replies. He reaches out, as if he’s about to touch your face, but draws back at the last second. He disappears into the night, leaving you yearning for more.
---
In the end, he’s the one that leaves.
It’s a quiet October day and you’re on your way home from the university. You stop by the mailbox, as is your routine, and check the mail. There are bills, magazines, advertisements - and there, slipped surreptitiously in between the pages of a grocery ad, is a cream-colored envelope. There is no address, no stamp, but you know who the sender is.
You sit on the edge of the couch, eyes scanning the words.
Maybe someday.
You force back the hysterical laugh that’s hovering at your throat. How very, very Kaito of him, you think.
The curtain has fallen on your little play. You don’t know if you’ll ever see him again, and your heart simply hurts.
---
“Kaitou Kid has disappeared without a trace -”
“Gone, like he was never there in the first place -”
“Aoko,” your father says, eyes wide, and you know that the puzzle pieces have finally slid into place. “Where has Kaito-kun been? I haven’t seen - not since -”
You bow your head. “I’m sorry.”
---
You’re off in France for a study-abroad program, and you wish you’d paid better attention in French. The words come stumbling clumsily out of your mouth, and you can feel the derisive stares of the natives on your throat.
“I believe mademoiselle wanted a blueberry muffin,” a deeper, but still, achingly familiar voice says from behind you in perfect French.
The vendor - a teenage girl working an after-school job - blushes, and reaches for the requested snack. Aoko suddenly finds it very interesting, and she reaches for it. She stands there for what seems like forever, afraid to turn around and see what - who - is there.
A hand twines itself with hers, and she feels like she’s seventeen again.
“There you are,” he says, smiling. “I’ve been waiting for quite a while, you know.”
And although you know there are so many unresolved issues, so much more that needs to be said, you find yourself impulsively throwing it all out the window. You give his hand a squeeze, and follow him down the crowded streets of Paris.
-- FIN
Your heart leaps into your throat as a familiar figure strides gracefully across the sidewalk. Instinctively, you duck behind the curtain, afraid. Kaitou Kid, off on another heist. Fury bubbles in your chest, threatening to overflow. What right does he have to play with the law the way he does?
From your vantage point at the window, it’s easy to mistake him for someone else. The familiar curve of his jaw, the slope of his broad shoulders, his long legs, stepping purposefully on the ground. You swallow. But it’s not. It can’t be.
Abruptly, he raises his eyes to meet yours and you drop to your knees haphazardly. He can’t have seen you. You’re on the thirteenth story, and he’s all the way down there. Fear grips you roughly. If he - if he did see, what difference would that make?
You stand back up on shaky knees, peering gingerly through the frosted window. But he’s gone. The curtain falls back into place, and you remain blind, oblivious for one more day.
---
“I will never understand how you manage to get straight A’s even without studying,” you grumble at him after angrily cramming in your latest Japanese history test in your bag. All all-nighter, and still, barely a C. “Do you cheat? Do you hide your answers somewhere? Do you use magic tricks?”
And he faces you with an unreadable expression in his face. “Magic’s not real, Aoko,” he says quietly. “You know that.”
The serious quality of his voice throws you. You hate this side of him. You almost wish he would flip your skirt, or something. “For some people, it is,” you say, trying to inject confidence into your voice. “If they believe hard enough.”
“Really?” He smiles at you, and there’s a patronizing aspect to it that makes you want to throttle him. You hate being patronized. “I guess I’m lucky you believe, then.” And reaches out behind your ear and pulls a brilliant red rose from seemingly nowhere.
“Oh - I - thank you,” you say, clutching the rose - and holding back a startled gasp when skin meets thorns and blood oozes out.
“But what about when the illusion shatters?” he asks you, eyes glued to the cut on your finger. “What then?”
You don’t have an answer.
---
You’re off on one of your midnight strolls, gazing up at the full moon when someone stumbles out of the bushes and collapses, face-down. Your heart freezes, but only for a second as you identify crimson liquid staining the figure’s button-down shirt.
“Oh, god -” You force back the nausea. “Are you -”
A trembling hand reaches up and wraps around yours. Your eyes widen and the blood rushes to your head. You know this touch, this hand.
“Aoko.” He cautiously raises his head, staring out at you through one eye. The monocle has shattered, creating the illusion of a million ice-blue eyes. Idly, you wonder which one is real.
You can’t find it in your heart to answer. What do you say? All the angry words that seem to come so easily in the day are stuck in your throat. You can’t cry. You can’t do anything.
The curtain has risen, you realize, and the show has just begun.
---
“Kaitou Kid has disappeared -”
“With the damned jewel, too -”
“Find him or you’re fired!”
You try to keep the bile rising in your throat as you hear your father’s unending screams. You see the stress this is taking on him and you choke on your guilt.
“I don’t know what to do,” your father says to you, head in his hands. “My entire - entire life - has been about - and he’s never gotten away. What do I -”
“Maybe you should just let him go,” you venture timidly. “After all, it’s not like he hurt anyone, right?”
He fixes you with a deadly stare. “He broke the law and stole a jewel worth millions. He may not have taken a life, but he has broken the law, which goes against everything I stand for.”
You bow your head. “I see.”
---
“I can’t keep lying,” you say, torn.
“And I don’t want you to,” he replies. He reaches out, as if he’s about to touch your face, but draws back at the last second. He disappears into the night, leaving you yearning for more.
---
In the end, he’s the one that leaves.
It’s a quiet October day and you’re on your way home from the university. You stop by the mailbox, as is your routine, and check the mail. There are bills, magazines, advertisements - and there, slipped surreptitiously in between the pages of a grocery ad, is a cream-colored envelope. There is no address, no stamp, but you know who the sender is.
You sit on the edge of the couch, eyes scanning the words.
Maybe someday.
You force back the hysterical laugh that’s hovering at your throat. How very, very Kaito of him, you think.
The curtain has fallen on your little play. You don’t know if you’ll ever see him again, and your heart simply hurts.
---
“Kaitou Kid has disappeared without a trace -”
“Gone, like he was never there in the first place -”
“Aoko,” your father says, eyes wide, and you know that the puzzle pieces have finally slid into place. “Where has Kaito-kun been? I haven’t seen - not since -”
You bow your head. “I’m sorry.”
---
You’re off in France for a study-abroad program, and you wish you’d paid better attention in French. The words come stumbling clumsily out of your mouth, and you can feel the derisive stares of the natives on your throat.
“I believe mademoiselle wanted a blueberry muffin,” a deeper, but still, achingly familiar voice says from behind you in perfect French.
The vendor - a teenage girl working an after-school job - blushes, and reaches for the requested snack. Aoko suddenly finds it very interesting, and she reaches for it. She stands there for what seems like forever, afraid to turn around and see what - who - is there.
A hand twines itself with hers, and she feels like she’s seventeen again.
“There you are,” he says, smiling. “I’ve been waiting for quite a while, you know.”
And although you know there are so many unresolved issues, so much more that needs to be said, you find yourself impulsively throwing it all out the window. You give his hand a squeeze, and follow him down the crowded streets of Paris.
-- FIN