Merry Christmas (Eve), everyone!

AU: Set about seven years ahead of the current timeline, which makes Shinichi, Kaito, and the others all about twenty-three or twenty-four.

Pairings: Shinichi x Kaito / Kaito x Shinichi (reversible), Hakuba x Aoko

Warnings: Shounen-ai, some angst (!), grammar mistakes / errors (I have a feeling that if I force myself to proofread this, I'll probably cry myself to sleep for a week), kind of vague timeline (because I don't understand how time works, apparently), boys being overdramatic and generally stupid, really bad pacing and plot, fluctuations in writing style (due to the fact that I wrote this over the course of, like, fifteen days)

Notes: I have, like, an entire playlist of depressing break-up/get-back-together songs that I listened to while writing it, which may account for just how stupidly melodramatic this whole thing turned out. In case you case to listen to it, the playlist is accessible here: 8tracks (...dot...) com (slash) glassesandroses (slash) watch-me-fall-at-your-feet. (Obviously you need to replace the words, though.)

Anyway, uh, hope you enjoy? - Luna

Back To You

It had been a while since he was last here.

Shinichi glanced around the airport, watching scarf-wearing businesspeople and pink-cheeked family members mill about, rolling luggage and half-shouting into cell phones. Signs blinked in red letters above terminals, calling out things like JAL62 – Los Angeles and ANA10 – New York and AAR105 – Seoul.

He inhaled deeply. He hadn't come back to Japan, to Tokyo, for a little over – two years, now? It wasn't for any shortage of cases, if he was entirely honest with himself – he got quite a few requests asking him to come to Japan to investigate – but he always deferred those to Hattori.

("Why d'you keep pawning off your cases onto me, Kudou?" Hattori had demanded the last time they'd talked on the phone, as Shinichi had been crouching beside the body of forty-three-year-old Randy Walker.

"I just don't want to fly all the way into Japan from Las Vegas for a case. Is that so hard to believe?" Shinichi had answered, and he would deny to the grave and back that he sounded defensive.

Hattori had responded with a derisive snort that had crackled along the international connection like a tangible object, taunting Shinichi from a continent away. "Bullshit. This demon mask case looks so fun you'd probably need at least two days to figure it out. You're just avoiding Japan 'cause of shit that happened, like, two years ago," the Osakan had begun, but Shinichi had claimed the inspector was yelling at him to stop socializing – he hadn't been– and ended the call on Hattori's indignant squawk.)

Shinichi was pulled from his trance when he realized his phone was buzzing frantically at his hip and a curly-haired woman was tapping him on the shoulder, making quiet noises and choking out cut-off words as she tried to say Could you move, you're blocking the way. He sent her an apologetic smile – she flushed and nodded and scurried around him with her head bowed – before he strolled to the side of the walkway and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

The screen flashed Mouri Ran underneath an old photo of Ran after a karate tournament. Shinichi allowed himself three seconds for a sigh before he hit accept and pressed his phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"So you finally got off the plane?" Ran sounded elated. "You're finally back in Japan?"

"Uh, yes." Shinichi glanced uncomfortably around the airport. He was starting to feel as if someone was staring at him – sure enough, a group of girls were pointing at him and whispering behind their hands from across the way. They all simultaneously squealed when he made eye contact, blushing a wide spectrum of bright colors. Shinichi smiled as warmly as he could manage. While he loved his fans, sometimes he wished he didn't have to see them when he had just gotten off a twelve-hour flight and probably looked as attractive as a dropped pie.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, when Ran fairly shrieked, "Finally!" right into his ear.

Flinching, Shinichi yanked his phone away from his ear. "Damn it, Ran, what the hell is your problem?"

"I haven't seen you in person for two years, asshole! I'm allowed to be excited!" his childhood friend yelled, and Shinichi, frowning, held his phone at a distance.

After a few moments of winded breathing (and at a much more manageable volume), Ran asked, "Where are you? Where can we meet?"

"Well," Shinichi said stiffly, eyeing the girls across the pathway – they seemed to be debating whether they should approach him, and he needed to make a quick escape if that was their plan – "I'm still at the airport right now. I have to get my stuff from the luggage claim. And then I guess I'll be staying at the old house. Is it clean?"

"Of course it is," Ran huffed without real ire. "I cleaned it as soon as I heard you were finally coming back for the holidays. It's in perfect condition."

"Right." Shinichi located a sign that read Baggage Claim and began hurrying in the direction it pointed. Behind him, the girls let out a sound of disappointment that was audible even above the loud buzz of chatter. "We can meet there. I'll probably be home in an hour or two."

"You'd better." Despite her irate words, Shinichi could hear the smile in her voice.

"I've – I've missed you, you know," Shinichi intoned, lowly and somewhat clumsily. He wasn't good with displays of affection, as Ka – as many people could attest to.

"I know," Ran murmured. She was quiet for a moment – Shinichi passed several bathrooms and finally came upon the baggage carousel – before she hesitantly started, "Shinichi, I know you didn't want to come back to Japan because… well, you know, because of…"

"Yes," Shinichi answered. His stomach churned as he watched the carousel slowly begin to spin. He settled onto one hip, clutching his phone to his cheek with unnecessary strength. "I know why I haven't come back to Japan, Ran."

"Right." Apprehension was still evident in her voice, but regardless, Ran continued on. "I – I just… I wanted you to know that while I understand why you didn't want to come back to a place with such… ah… painful memories, I think you should try to forget about what happened. Move on, maybe?"

Move on. Was she aware of just how long and in how many places he'd been trying to do just that?

Probably not, Shinichi thought as he gave a dry, mirthless chuckle and let his head fall back. A muscle in his neck twitched. His mouth tightened. "I know. I should get over it. I really should. This is ridiculous."

It's always been ridiculous.

Ran sounded more concerned than anything, now, as she stammered, "Shinichi, I – I didn't mean that you're doing anything wrong; I'm just –"

"Mmhm," Shinichi cut her off shortly. "My luggage just came out. I have to get it, so," his voice almost roughened with the blatant lie, but he just barely managed to keep it sounding fairly even, "I'll see you soon, Ran." He hit end before Ran could even protest, dropping his phone back into his pocket.

She was right, of course. Shinichi ran a hand through his hair as he waited for his familiar red suitcase to come around the curve of the carousel. She was very, very right.

But how did one go about getting over a four-year relationship with someone like Kuroba Kaito?

"Really?" Aoko sighed, looking over at Kaito disdainfully. She tugged off the thick woolen scarf around her neck, set it on top of the heavy coat she'd just shucked, and crossed the room to stand over him accusingly. "You're being pathetic, Kaito."

From where he was sprawled out across the couch, Kaito lifted the magazine he'd been reading off of his face to blink owlishly at her. "Oh, Aoko? When did you get here?"

Ignoring him, Aoko nearly growled as she took in her surroundings. "My God." The look she shot down at Kaito was an impressive mixture of awestruck and horrified. "This place – and you, for that matter – look absolutely terrible."

"Hey," Kaito protested, shutting the magazine pointedly. The apartment was pretty clean, in Kaito's opinion – he'd cleaned the apartment from top to bottom a couple days ago, so the floor was free of grime and dirt, and there were only a couple newspapers strewn about the sofa. The rest of the rooms had also been tidied up. He'd done a pretty good job.

Aoko just exhaled with exasperation, spreading her arms out wide. "This place is dead, Kaito." She turned an annoyed glance on the kitchen, which was completely bare from disuse. "There aren't even dishes in the sink. You used to always have dishes in the sink." She dropped her arms, letting them flop against her sides as her expression turned pleading. "Please. I'm really worried about you, you know."

"I know." This was said as Kaito tossed the magazine onto the coffee table, reclining indifferently. He tucked his chin to his chest, avoiding Aoko's eyes.

There was a short pause, during which Aoko worried her bottom lip between her teeth before beginning uneasily, "You know, you really seemed as if you were less, ah, secluded. More like yourself. We – we thought you were… getting over it."

Kaito had frozen the moment she had begun to talk, but by the time she had finished, he was scowling irritably over at her. "Who's we?" he snapped. "We, meaning you and – and Hakuba? You guys talk about me?"

"Saguru is your friend, too, Kaito; we're allowed to be worried about you –"

"I'd kind of prefer if you two kept me out of your relationship. Oh, sorry, I meant your marriage," Kaito bit out, crossing his arms tightly across his chest and wrenching his head sharply to the side. To his side, he could hear Aoko inhaling deeply.

His grip on his upper arm tightened. He didn't like making Aoko like this, didn't like making her all concerned and upset over him. He really didn't. She didn't deserve to be saddled with someone as troublesome as him, not when she was fresh from her honeymoon and just entering the beginning of what was probably going to be marital bliss, but it was hard not to bite and claw and attack her when she was this happy and he was this broken.

For a long, long moment, neither of them said anything, just listened to the almost imperceptible sounds of their combined breathing and the far-off tick of the kitchen clock.

Finally, Aoko murmured, gentle and cautious, "You know, Kaito, I – and Saguru – just want to help. We really do. You're an important part of both of our lives, and not just because we're married and therefore have to share everything. You've always been my best friend, and you've always been Saguru's, even if neither of you will ever admit it."

Kaito made a noncommittal sound, dropping his head against the back of the couch with a clunk. "I got it," he mumbled, almost unintelligibly. "You guys… care, or something."

With a curve of her lips, Aoko reached out to pull a hand fondly through Kaito's hair. "I know you understand," she smiled, working through a tangle near his ear with deft fingers, "and I know you care about us, too. So I hope you can realize that when we say we want to see you getting over it –"

"Him."

Aoko's hand paused. "What?"

"Him. Not it." Kaito swallowed the suddenly-present lump that had risen in his throat. He forced himself to meet Aoko's surprised gaze. "You want to see me getting over him."

"Oh –" Aoko's breath caught; for a moment, she looked immeasurably sad. "That's right." She couldn't quite look Kaito straight in the eyes. "It's been a long time." Her voice was small.

"Two years. I know."

"And…"

"And I should have moved on by now. I know that too." Kaito shut his eyes tiredly. "Most people would have, after all this time."

But the thing was, Kaito just couldn't do it. None of it had felt real – more often than not, he'd have the terrifying I wonder when Shinichi will get home thought, replay the night Shinichi had thrown the front door shut with a bang, type out a "Where are you?" text to Kudou Shinichi on his phone before erasing everything.

He hadn't moved out of the apartment they'd once shared, and he hadn't even sat in that stupid oversized armchair Shinichi had insisted on bringing with him when they'd first moved in and hadn't bothered to take when he left for America. He hadn't opened the filing cabinet huddled in the corner of the living room, the one that held all of Shinichi's old case files; he hadn't touched the (empty) side of the closet that Shinichi had once used, he hadn't stopped making an extra four cups of French roast coffee in the morning. He hadn't stopped making curry on Tuesday nights (Shinichi's favorite food) or recording episodes of Detective Samonji (Shinichi's favorite show).

It was embarrassing, how helplessly stagnant Kaito was, and he was frightfully aware of how pitiable he was. Being trapped in this kind of useless love was beyond ridiculous, and if Kaito ever saw a character in a romance novel acting the way he did, he'd probably laugh and call them stupid, but being in this exact situation made everything so much more agonizing.

Aoko cleared her throat, and Kaito glanced wearily at her. "Well," she said awkwardly, after a long, painful pause, "I was just here to remind you that you've got your show tomorrow night and – and all. So."

"I know I've got the show." Kaito frowned at her. "I can manage my own shows, at least." He paused. "Oh, that's right. I got you the ticket you wanted. Sorry, but I couldn't get two, because apparently they're completely overbooked, but it seems that one of the idols was willing to give up her ticket for me."

"It's your own show," Aoko remarked under her breath, arching an eyebrow. "You can't even get a ticket to your own show?"

"Hey, you're talking about the special Christmas Eve show by the magician voted #1 Magician of the Year for the second year running." The smile Kaito turned on her was halfway amused. "I don't see why that's surprising."

Giving a low rumble in her throat that Kaito had come to know meant she didn't quite know what to say, Aoko crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine. Where is it?"

"It's on the kitchen counter, by the toaster." Kaito nodded in the direction of the kitchen. As Aoko went to retrieve it, he called, "Wait, why did you come here, again? Was there a reason?"

"Mmhm, I was going to tell you that Ku –" For some odd reason, Aoko froze, her sweater not hiding the suddenly stiff curves of her shoulders in the least. She stared down at the ticket in her hands for a heartbeat before she said, in a careful, measured voice that set off multiple alarms in Kaito's head, "Oh, never mind. It's nothing. Uh, well, I think Saguru's waiting for me back home, so I'll be going now." With uncharacteristically hurried footsteps, she hurried for the front door, tugging on her boots as she tucked the ticket into the pocket of her jeans.

"What, you're not staying for tea?" Kaito blinked in suspicious confusion. What was with her sudden change in attitude?

"Do you even have tea?" Aoko scoffed – Kaito resisted the urge to answer that yes, of course he did, he always bought matcha green tea because it was Shinichi's favorite – before yanking on her coat. "Bye, Kaito. See you at the show tomorrow." In a swirl of wool scarf and coat, Aoko was out the door. Before the door closed, Kaito heard her flip open her phone and begin to say something that sounded sort of like, "Hey, Ran-chan? Have you gone to see –"

Kaito stared as the door slammed shut, mouth slightly open. Something was definitely wrong with her, but he had no idea what it was.

With a long, drawn-out sigh, he reached for the magazine he'd put on the coffee table and flipped it back open to the article he'd been reading. The headline Kudou Shinichi Solves Yet Another Baffling Case! The Las Vegas Gambler Murders! stared at him from the top of the page. The blurry candid photo of Shinichi included beside several excited columns of text caught only a bit of his profile as he bent over a strip of crime scene tape, just the smooth crest of his cheekbone and the sharp, concentrated slant of his eyebrow, but even the tiny bit of Shinichi made Kaito want to bury his face in his hands and stop breathing for a little while.

Shinichi had to admit, Ran had kept his place pretty clean.

Setting down his suitcase with a heavy whump, Shinichi glanced around, admiring the rows and rows of books lining the walls of the library. He'd forgotten just how many books there were in the Kudou family library. Since he'd lived with Kaito for two years before he'd left Japan, he hadn't been back here for nearly – nearly four years, huh?

A sad smile stole its way across his lips. Four years.

The sound of his front door banging open and Ran's voice calling, "Shinichi…? Shinichi, are you here?" from the foyer interrupted Shinichi's thoughts, and he turned his head towards the library door instinctively.

"Ran? Ran, I'm in the li –"

He was cut off by Ran careening through the door and nearly tackling him to the ground with a yelp of his name. Choking in surprise as the air was knocked from his lungs, Shinichi teetered backwards on his heels for a long, terrifying moment before he (barely) managed to regain his balance.

Looking down in exasperation, he found that Ran had wrapped her arms tightly around him, clutching at the back of his shirt with such force that Shinichi felt the seams at the shoulders stretching with the strain. She had her face buried in his chest, damply muttering something into his collarbone, and Shinichi lifted a hand to run his fingers through her hair.

"You cut your hair," he commented softly, twisting the ends between his index finger and his thumb, before he patted the back of her head. "Hey, Ran, it's okay. You can let go."

"Will you promise not to go running off to the States again if I do?" Ran grumbled against his left pectoral, and Shinichi laughed awkwardly.

"Well, not until after Christmas, at least."

"Fine." Sniffling, Ran pulled back, retracting her arms as she took a few steps backwards. Shinichi sighed, glad he could breathe again, before he smiled fondly at her. Ran hadn't changed much, other than cutting her hair to just past her shoulder blades and winging her eyeliner up a little more than before, maybe, and the familiarity of her half-pout and pink cheeks, flushed with emotion, made him feel warm and comfortable.

Ran rubbed at her eyes, careful to avoid smudging her slightly-more-winged-up eyeliner, and scowled at Shinichi. "You look different."

"More cultured?" Shinichi tried for a smile.

Eyes narrowing, Ran shook her head slowly. "No…" She bit her bottom lip hard. "You look as if you've lost weight."

"Exercise regimen?" Insert shaky laugh. It didn't fool Shinichi. He doubted it would fool Ran.

"No, you look as if you haven't been eating," Ran said, accusingly, her expression darkening, and Shinichi flinched, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Look, it's not… it's not that I haven't been eating," he stammered, sounding more put-out than he'd expected. It was getting increasing hard to meet Ran's gaze. "I just – there are so many cases, and I don't have time to eat every meal."

The little sound Ran made was heavily disbelieving. She folded her arms across her chest, one eyebrow raised so high it disappeared behind her bangs. "I'm pretty sure when you were still investigating in Japan, there were a lot of cases, and you still managed to eat well enough." Try again, her eyes seemed to be saying.

For a moment, Shinichi despised the fact that even though Ran wasn't officially a detective, she was still incredibly perceptive whenever it really mattered.

He exhaled through his nose, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. "It's – lonely. Eating. When you're alone." The words came out stilted, halting, and Shinichi shut his eyes tightly.

Sure, he'd dated in America. There had been a female inspector with the NYPD he'd gone on a few dates with, a mystery author in Dallas he'd seen a couple movies with, even a fireman in Los Angeles he'd met at a bar.

But none of them – none of them were quite right. None of them had eyes the right shade of indigo, none of them had hair that curled haphazardly enough, none of them made roses and pink smoke and doves appear out of nowhere, none of them cooked curry for him every Tuesday and recorded episodes of Detective Samonji for him and made four extra cups of French roast coffee every morning and bought matcha green tea at every opportunity. None of them were Kaito, and none of them had lasted past a halfhearted, "I'm sorry, but this really isn't working."

"Oh, Shinichi," Ran said, softly, and Shinichi opened his eyes to find Ran smiling sadly at him. "I'm sorry."

"None of this is your fault," he instantly replied, waving a hand dismissively at her. "It's mine, mostly. It's my own problem. I have to live with the consequences."

Ran didn't speak for a moment, her mouth pulled into a taut line and her eyebrows angled downwards. Finally, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and started, "Shinichi, you know about Kuroba-kun's shows, right?"

"Uh…" Shinichi thought briefly about all the articles he had saved on his phone, all three hundred and sixteen that documented Kaito's ridiculously fast rise to national fame, and nodded. "I know."

"Right." Thankfully, Ran didn't press. Instead, she reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a piece of paper, edges boxed and a little tattered, and extended it towards Shinichi. It took Shinichi a moment to recognize it as a ticket. "This is for you."

"What are you…" The implications of what exactly Ran meant made Shinichi stumble a few steps backwards. His heart began pounding frantically. "You – can't possibly mean that he…" He'd read multiple articles praising Kuroba Kaito's special Christmas Eve show – apparently last year it had been sold out by August, and this year it was expected to be completely overbooked, but...

"Well, I…" Ran paused, lowering her arm. The ticket dangled at her side. "Kuroba-kun gave it to Aoko-chan earlier today, but Aoko-chan intercepted me on my way over here and gave it to me. She wanted me to give it to you."

Shinichi could feel his throat constrict as his heart tried to work its way into his mouth. "You… no," he choked out, shaking his head weakly. "No, that's…" He swallowed, trying to force himself to stop shaking. "Kaito wouldn't want me there. He wouldn't want me at his – at his show. Not like this."

"Shinichi." Ran's eyes were sad. "You don't know how hard Kuroba-kun has been taking all of this. He hasn't moved yet. He still lives at 221."

What was Shinichi supposed to say to that? The thought of Kaito sitting at the kitchen table they'd picked out together, lying on the couch that Kaito had insisted on buying when they'd first moved in, picking clothes out of his side of the closet, living at the apartment Shinichi had demanded they rent just for the room number – it was pathetic how hopeful that made Shinichi.

He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and mumbled, "The rent was cheap. That's probably why."

"With how much Kuroba-kun makes, he's not exactly pressed for money," Ran persisted, and there was a tangible edge of desperation in her voice now. "Both of you are tearing yourselves apart – have been tearing yourselves apart – for far too long, and it's unhealthy and painful and none of us want to see it anymore. None of us can stand to see it anymore. Not me, not Aoko-chan, not Hakuba-kun, not Hattori-kun. So please," she thrust the ticket at him, expression so beseeching that Shinichi flinched backwards, "please, just go to the show. Even if you don't talk to him. Even if you leave halfway through. Even if he doesn't see you. Just – just try to get some closure. Please."

Shinichi stared at her, stared at her quivering bottom lip and her huge eyes, and reached out to take the ticket from her.

"I'll go," he got out, barely above a whisper. "But only because you want me to."

Not because I want to see Kaito was left unspoken.

How had things gotten this bad? Kaito wondered to himself as he straightened the collar of his shirt and tugged on his tie until the knot sat squarely at the hollow of his throat. How had things gotten to the point that he could barely think without missing someone he hadn't even seen in two years?

It wasn't a particularly new thought, and it had never helped before. It didn't now, either.

With a sigh, Kaito fixed his collar one last time and met his own gaze in the vanity mirror in front of him. Both of them had been in the wrong, really. It had started out with some comment that one of them had made about how Shinichi didn't like it when Kaito kissed him in public, and then it had somehow spiraled into a heated discussion about how Shinichi didn't know how to express affection and how Kaito didn't know how to respect boundaries, and then Kaito had accused Shinichi of not loving him ("You get embarrassed when you're in public with me because you don't really love me, do you? You've just stayed with me because it's easy.") and Shinichi had accused him of being too possessive ("You never stop touching me when there are people around, as if you have to show everyone that I'm yours. It feels as if you don't trust me at all.").

Shinichi had stormed out of their apartment in a rage, and Kaito had thrown himself on their bed and refused to move.

And then Shinichi had called the following day and asked hesitantly, "I'm coming to get my things; is that okay?" and Kaito – Kaito had been so horrified and surprised and angry that Shinichi would even suggest moving out that he'd spat, "That's fine. I'll leave for a couple hours."

It hadn't hit him until after Shinichi's curt, "Great. Bye," and several hours spent at a coffee shop stewing into his latte that Kaito realized exactly what was happening.

It – was over. Four years together, and this was how they ended.

Even now, Kaito still couldn't believe that neither of them had tried to stop it from happening. It was pride, he knew now, stupid, immature pride and their mutual obsession with being right, that had led to this depressing situation.

After Shinichi had left, Kaito had thrown himself into his magic. After Kaito had graduated from college, he'd done a few well-received shows, but nothing major. He'd had Shinichi to perform for, Shinichi to impress and Shinichi to challenge, and that was all he'd wanted.

But with Shinichi gone, Kaito had begun to build a career, holding free shows in the park and at whatever theater would accept him, and he'd done well. The rise to fame had been jerky but undeniably fast, and soon Kaito had ended up at top of his profession, somehow even more famous than he'd ever been as Kid.

Shinichi had also immersed himself in work – internationally. He'd already been fairly well known in Japan, and so he started to broaden his horizons until he had made a name for himself as a private investigator. Though he spent most of his time in the States, traveling from state to state and city to city as necessary, he'd also accepted cases in parts of the United Kingdom and Australia. Even Korea and China and Taiwan.

Just never Japan.

A hard rap on the door made Kaito blink and look behind him. A stagehand was standing in the doorway, looking harried. "Kuroba-san, I just heard from the manager that we haven't chosen a seat to put the card under!"

"What?" Kaito blinked, then stop to actually consider the man's words. The card? "You mean the 'you've been chosen to be my assistant' card?" At the stagehand's terrified nod, Kaito arched an eyebrow, leaning against the table behind him. "What's the big deal? Why can't you just pick a random seat to put it under?"

The stagehand donned an expression of disbelief. "Because, Kuroba-san, some of the people who are coming won't want to be on stage! You have to respect their wishes!" he half-shrieked, as if that explained everything.

"Aren't half of them talents, anyway? Why does that matter?" Kaito muttered – the stagehand was positively glowering at this point – before he grinned mischievously. "Okay, okay. Pick seat number 304A."

"Huh? Why that seat in particular?"

"It belongs to a friend of mine," Kaito explained, smirking to himself. Sorry, Aoko. "I'm sure she's going to kill me for doing this, but hey, at least I actually know her."

"R… Right." The stagehand nodded slowly. "Seat 304A, you said? Thanks." He scurried off, footsteps ringing down the hall behind him.

Once he was alone, Kaito leaned against the table, resting his face in his hands. Well. He just needed to get through this show without thinking of Shinichi. That was all.

Self-consciously tugging his scarf a little tighter around his neck, Shinichi glanced around the finely furnished theater. Most of the rows were already at least half full, despite that there were still thirty minutes until the show started.

He exhaled hard, leaning back into the soft red velvet of the seat. The ticket Ran had given him was for a seat almost in the dead center of the audience, and Shinichi momentarily wondered if she had somehow done that on purpose. He wouldn't put it past her.

But no matter what Ran had planned, Shinichi thought dryly, he wasn't going to talk to Kaito. What was he supposed to say? "It's been a long time, and you've done well for yourself." Yes, he'd had to deal with exes before, but not exes like Kaito, not exes he actually still… still…

"Excuse me."

Starting, Shinichi turned to find a pretty blue-eyed brunette decked out in a gold and red dress smiling warmly, albeit slightly uncomfortably, at him. She pointed at the seat on his other side. "Can I get past you, please? That's my seat."

"Oh, of course." Shinichi adjusted himself to let her through, accidentally inhaling too much of her citrusy perfume as she squeezed past him.

"So," the girl chirped once she had sat down, beaming brightly at Shinichi, "is this your first time at one of Kuroba Kaito's magic shows?"

No, he used to show me all his new tricks the moment he completed them. "Well… yes." Shinichi rubbed at the back of his head in embarrassment. He gave a faint laugh. "Is it that obvious?"

"No." The girl shook her head, smile still stuck firmly in place. "I just wanted to know. It's my first time, too. But I've heard so much about his shows, especially his Christmas Eve shows, so I'm pretty excited about being here." She looked pensive for a moment before she asked, "Hey, what's your name?"

"Oh, I'm sorry about that. I'm Kudou Shinichi," Shinichi hurried to introduce himself, extending a hand, and the girl's hands flew to her face.

"I knew you looked familiar!" she exclaimed, bright-eyed and open-mouthed, and reached out to grasp his hand with both of hers. Her nails were painted red and gold to match her dress, Shinichi noted absently. "That's why! You're that great detective! I'm such a huge fan!"

Such a huge fan that you didn't recognize me, Shinichi thought with tired amusement, but outwardly, he just nodded and smiled as nicely as he could manage.

"Wow, I can't believe this," the girl went on, positively gushing as she clasped Shinichi's hand tightly. "Oh, I almost forgot! I'm Ennoshita Aiko. You may have heard of me – I'm an idol."

"Nice to meet you, Ennoshita-san," Shinichi replied politely. "I haven't heard of you, actually. It's probably just because I haven't spent much time in Japan recently."

"You don't say," Aiko remarked, smirking. "Well, I'm glad you're here now." Before Shinichi could ward her off, she glued herself to his arm, looking at him with admiration. "Tell me aaaall about your cases, would you? I'm dying to hear about your travels."

Internally, Shinichi resisted the urge to forcibly remove his arm from her grasp. Had girls become clingier since he'd left Japan?

"Well, I'm –" he began, but was interrupted by the overhead lights dimming and the deep red curtains beginning to recede on the stage. At his side, Aiko squealed with excitement, the tightening of her grip around Shinichi's bicep causing him to wonder if there was still blood flowing through his arm. Probably not.

For a moment, there was only a hushed silence. And all of a sudden, the world seemed to explode with color – bright, bright golden light filled the previously dark stage, illuminating the red and green backdrop and the gloss of the floorboards – and the audience exploded into cheers. Shinichi sat, transfixed, as spotlights began to play over the stage, flitting lightly from side to side. His pulse stuttered – Kaito wasn't on stage yet, but –

Before Shinichi could suck in another breath, Kaito was standing there, surrounded by stage lights and the audience's shrieks of approval, in person, right in front of Shinichi's eyes, and Shinichi swore his heart stopped in his chest, right then and there, as he stared and stared and stared.

Physically, Kaito hadn't changed much, the still functioning part of Shinichi's brain told him. The dark suit he wore clung to him just tight enough to accentuate the narrowness of his waist, the slight outward flare of his hips, the sleek line of his torso. His hair was still chestnut brown and more cowlick than actual style, his eyes were still dark indigo and somehow able to hold more stars than entire universes could, and his smile was so painfully cheerful that Shinichi had to swallow as he looked away.

"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to my show!" Kaito called, spreading his arms wide as doves burst from his sleeves, flying in graceful, looping circles overhead, and the crowd screamed with delight.

Shinichi just sat frozen and watched. He could barely breathe. This was Kaito – precious, beautiful Kaito, whom he'd abandoned for two years – this was Kaito, and the way he hadn't changed, not in the slightest, made Shinichi's stomach feel so knotted-up he could hardly bring himself to move.

Oh, Kaito.

"Isn't he good-looking?" Aiko cooed, nails digging into Shinichi's jacket. Shinichi didn't reply. He was too busy trying to stop the lump in his throat from congealing further.

Onstage, Kaito was continuing on, all smiles and supernovas, making miniature fireworks go off with every move he made and sending doves to bring roses to every person in the audience. A small, familiar white dove landed on Shinichi's shoulder, tucking a red rose behind his ear, and Shinichi struggled to look at it.

"Heart?" he murmured, feeling a pang of some too-sharp emotion – Heart had been Kaito's favorite dove, one he'd had for nearly eight years now – and Heart nuzzled his cheek with the top of her head before flying back towards the stage to disappear in a puff of pink smoke.

Shinichi redirected his attention back to the stage. Kaito was now flying effortlessly about the stage, doing complicated flips and spins, and Shinichi let himself smile. It was… it was good, he decided. Good to see Kaito looking so alive, so normal, so himself. He could leave satisfied. He could ignore the way his lungs felt as if he'd breathed in ashes, he could ignore the way his fingertips burned with the urge to touch Kaito's skin, he could ignore all the drums beating in his ears and the swell of longing surfacing in his heart. He could ignore all that and go back to the States and spend another two years hating himself for what he'd done.

He could do that. He would do that.

Kaito landed softly on his feet, dropping into a smooth bow that elicited a huge wave of shrieking from those sitting in the theater. He held up a hand for silence – the masses instantly calmed – and saluted them playfully. "Well, everyone," he called, "I hope you've enjoyed the show so far. But this is the part of the show," he interrupted himself with a seductive smirk, "where I need an assistant."

Instantly the crowd roared to life. Kaito shook his head. "I'm sorry to tell you all this," – and he really did sound apologetic, Shinichi thought with amusement – "but we've already chosen our assistant. Everyone, please welcome our beautiful assistant, the lovely lady sitting in seat 304A!"

It took Shinichi approximately three seconds to realize seat 304A sounds familiar and then wait I'm sitting in 304A and then oh shit, and by the time he had, there was a spotlight on him and Kaito was looking directly at him.

Kaito was frozen.

He knew he was staring, yes, and that the audience was waiting in confusion for him to smile and laugh and welcome the assistant up to the stage, but he couldn't look away. Not when Shinichi was sitting there, with a scarf double-looped around his neck just the way he always wore them, with his mouth halfway open in a soft pink circle, with a girl clinging to his arm like some kind of oversized koala.

Shinichi – Shinichi hadn't changed in the least, Kaito thought numbly. His hair was still cut in the same short, neatly arranged hairstyle, his skin was still so light and dewy that it appeared almost porcelain, and his eyes were the same dark azure that always seemed to bring to mind tanzanite and sapphire and lapis lazuli.

A thousand questions were running through Kaito's mind – why was Shinichi here, in Japan, why was Shinichi here, at his show, why was Shinichi here, with a girl, why was Shinichi here – but he abruptly recalled that he wasn't alone with Shinichi, that there was a crowd of his fans watching him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms apologetically. "I was just so surprised to see who our assistant will be – it's Kudou Shinichi, the Heisei Holmes!"

There was a roar of approval from the audience, and Kaito let his eyes catch Shinichi's yet again. The detective's expression was positively unreadable from this distance, and he was motionless, sitting far more calmly than Kaito would have expected.

For some odd reason, Kaito almost smiled at that. That's my Shinichi, he wanted to think, that's my detective, but he couldn't. He couldn't let himself do that.

"So let us give a warm welcome to the former Great Detective of the East!" Kaito announced. Amid the whirl of clapping and cheering, Shinichi stood, pulling his arm free of the girl's clutch, and strolled smoothly to the stage, all beauty and grace.

Kaito felt his breath snag on something in his throat as Shinichi climbed the stairwell to the stage, coming to stand beside him. Almost surreally, it struck him that Shinichi smelled a little different – more like pine and melon than the familiar mint and chocolate he seemed to remember.

As the applause began to die down, Kaito leaned in close – close enough that he felt rather than heard Shinichi stop breathing as Kaito's lips brushed the shell of his ear – and whispered, "Stay after the show." When Shinichi didn't move, he added, "Please." If his voice broke, he'd never admit it.

And Shinichi – Shinichi still didn't move, but his gaze dropped to fall on Kaito's hands and he murmured, almost imperceptibly, "Okay." The quivering twitch of his bottom lip was equally subtle, but to Kaito, it was as obvious as if Shinichi had outright said I don't know what to say, and that made Kaito's chest contract.

"Thank you." Resisting the urge to just reach out and take Shinichi's hand (he doubted Shinichi would appreciate that much), Kaito took a step back before facing the audience once again. "Now, everyone, are you ready?"

A resounding yes rang out throughout the theater, and Kaito grinned broadly. "Well, let's begin, then!" He glanced at Shinichi, and to his surprise, the detective was smiling faintly.

"Thank you, thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed the show," Kaito hurried to assure another fawning fan, hurriedly scrawling his signature on the piece of paper that the woman thrust at him. He smiled as professionally as he could before he moved on to the next ecstatic fan, wondering exactly how many more people could fit in the lobby.

The show had gone well, of course. Kaito's shows always went well. But having Shinichi by his side for an entire hour and a half hadn't been all too helpful. Kaito had kept accidentally looking at Shinichi for a little too long, getting too caught up and too distracted by the sharp elegance he hadn't seen in person for so long, and that was awkward for everyone around.

There were too many conflicting emotions battling for dominance in his mind, Kaito thought resignedly as he added a little curl to the end of the Thanks for coming out tonight! – Kuroba Kaito he was scribbling on someone's poster. Relief, anger, happiness, pain – all of them were stuck in his head.

But the most prevalent feeling was depression. Because the moment Kaito had caught sight of Shinichi, Kaito had been long gone. He'd instantly tipped right back over the edge of the chasm he'd just barely managed to begin to convince himself he'd already climbed out of, fallen straight back into the pointless love he'd been trying to conquer and move past. The desire to monopolize, to take and hold and never let go, had abruptly returned, stronger than ever.

And wasn't that just pathetic?

As the lobby finally began to clear out, Kaito glanced around, scanning the plush, well-decorated room. Shinichi was nowhere in sight, and to be entirely honest, Kaito wasn't surprised. Even though Shinichi had never been the type to break his promises, he could understand where Shinichi was coming from. The detective probably wanted to spend as little time as possible with Kaito, after being forced to stand on stage with him for almost the entire magic show.

Once the last fan had left, bowing and blushing and backing away with her signed postcard clasped tightly to her chest, Kaito sighed, running a hand through his hair. Outside the windows, the world loomed dark and inky, with the occasional interruption of a snowflake or two fluttering weakly down to the ground. He would be spending Christmas Eve alone, wouldn't he?

It only took Kaito a few minutes to go back to his dressing room, change into more comfortable street clothes, say a quick thank you to the manager and crew, and then leave out the back door, which opened out into a narrow alleyway. He was just buttoning up his jacket – he had underestimated the night chill – and was just about to begin crunching through the shallow snowfall when a voice (familiar unruffled quiet careful), called, "It was a good show. I couldn't figure out some of the tricks, even though I was on stage with you."

As Kaito jumped and whirled around, his first thought was Shit, I'm losing my touch, I totally didn't realize he was there.

His second was Oh.

Kicking off from where he'd been leaning against the wall of the theater, Shinichi smiled faintly at Kaito. His cheeks were bright red, and his arms were knit tightly over his chest. His breath left him in wispy puffs, staining the air feathery white. He was pretty and perfect and probably had been waiting outside in the cold since the show had ended nearly thirty minutes ago, and Kaito groaned, because his heart couldn't take Shinichi doing agonizingly adorable things like this.

At the expression on Kaito's face, Shinichi laughed lightly. Kaito reveled silently in the sound. "Didn't expect me to keep my promise, did you?"

"No, not really," Kaito conceded, shot through with remorse, but Shinichi just shook his head. A snowflake drifted down to land on his shoulder.

"I can understand why. You don't have to apologize." I've broken promises, Shinichi's eyes seemed to say, I've run from you when I promised I'd stay, and I didn't call when I promised I would.

It took all of Kaito's willpower to unglue the words from the back of his throat and choke out, "But I – I did the same."

Shinichi's expression didn't change, save for the upwards curve of his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, the motion absent and more out of a need for motion than any real desire to fix his hair. "I see you can read me just as easily as before." His shoe scraped against the snow-slick concrete, loud in the stillness.

"It's only because you haven't changed," Kaito murmured in response, and he lifted his gaze to look Shinichi in the face.

The detective's lips parted, then fell back together as he shut his eyes, shaking his head in a way Kaito could almost call fond if he tried hard enough. "Are you sure you're the one who hasn't changed?"

A short pause, during which Kaito breathed steadily and Shinichi smiled self-deprecatingly, and then Kaito rolled his shoulders back and offered, quietly, "Do you want to go back to the apartment?" He didn't dare call it my or our apartment.

"Trying to take me home with you already, Kuroba-san?" Shinichi remarked lightly, and the Kuroba-san hurt more than anything else, even more than the polite, uncomfortable joke.

Kaito hitched his jacket a little higher on his shoulders, turning towards the mouth of the alley. "Yes, I am, Shinichi," he replied decisively, and he reveled in the soft little sigh that Shinichi gave before his footsteps pattered closer.

"Then lead the way, Kaito."

And there were fireworks going off behind Kaito's ribcage and sparks igniting in his blood and Kaito felt so ridiculous at how happy one word made him, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he walked slowly, carefully down the street with Shinichi back at his side. No, they weren't holding hands, they weren't talking, they weren't teasing each other or exchanging kisses or arguing about what to have for dinner as they used to, but Shinichi was right in step beside Kaito and his scarf was sticking up in the back and there were snowflakes caught on the ends of his hair and they were going home.

And as they passed a streetlamp and the dim light hit Shinichi's eyes just right, Kaito had the rather cliché thought that he wouldn't trade this for the world.

The first thing Shinichi said when he walked into the apartment was, "Wow, it really hasn't changed." And it was true – nothing appeared to have changed, from the huge armchair Shinichi had brought when they'd first moved in to the filing cabinet half-hidden in one corner, and it sent a prickling sensation skittering down Shinichi's spine.

Kaito gave an odd, strangled sort of laugh as he drew to a halt behind Shinichi. "I know, I couldn't really…" He exhaled, warm air tickling the back of Shinichi's neck and making goosebumps rise on Shinichi's skin. "I couldn't really bring myself to change anything."

That left Shinichi at a loss for words. He stammered a weak, "I… see," before crossing the room to sit clumsily on the couch. Ever since he'd caught Kaito outside the theater (he still didn't understand what had possessed him to actually wait for the magician; he doubted he'd ever know), his throat had felt closed off and his stomach too tight. The tension between them was unbelievable; how had they ever been in a relationship?

Because you used to adore him, and he used to worship you, and the only reason it's so awkward right now is because neither of you will admit you're still stupidly in love with each other, a very irritating voice that sounded suspiciously like a certain former karate champion whispered at the back of Shinichi's mind, and Shinichi rubbed at his collarbone, willing the voice to shut up.

But to be honest, what was holding him back from trying to restore their relationship? Shinichi wondered. Why wouldn't he let himself try again?

Shinichi resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Two years later, and his pride was still getting in the way of everything.

From the kitchen, Kaito called, "Hey, do you want anything to drink?" There was the sound of cabinet doors opening and cups being arranged.

"Mm…" Shinichi paused to think about it. "What do you have?"

The clattering ceased unexpectedly, causing Shinichi to glance over at the kitchen in concern. When Kaito spoke again, his tone was hard to read. "Water, French roast coffee, and matcha green tea."

And for a moment, Shinichi didn't quite comprehend what that meant. Frowning in bemusement, he turned to look fully at where Kaito was staring resolutely down at the assortment of mugs in front of him. "Wait, I thought that you don't like…"

"But you did. Do." Exhaling slowly, Kaito ran a hand through his hair and averted his eyes. His fingers drummed nervously against the countertop. The silence sagged heavily over them.

"Oh." Shinichi's gaze dropped to his lap, and he clamped his bottom lip between his teeth. He was an idiot, through and through – a tactless, insensitive idiot.

Clearing his throat (but not managing to meet Kaito's eyes – not yet), Shinichi said in a small voice, "I'll have tea, thank you."

Kaito only hummed in understanding.

The rustling of Kaito preparing the tea was the only sound in the apartment, other than maybe the ticking of the kitchen clock. Feeling out of place (ironic considering how he used to call this place home), Shinichi scanned the room to find something to occupy his hands.

His eyes alighted on the coffee table in front of him. He couldn't quite recall if it had been there before he'd left, but that wasn't why it had snagged his attention. The stacks of magazines sitting on it were – more specifically, the one worn copy of some trashy tabloid advertising an article headlined Kudou Shinichi Solves Yet Another Baffling Case! The Las Vegas Gambler Murders! at the very top of the pile was the reason.

Reaching out, Shinichi picked up the magazine and flipped to the article written on him, an eyebrow crawling up his forehead. The article written about him was short and only included a blurry, unfocused candid shot of him crouching over a strip of crime scene tape – why would Kaito waste his money buying this kind of terrible magazine? It was ridiculous.

He was about to toss the magazine back onto the coffee table and forget about it when he noticed the rest of the magazines. With the exception of the one in Shinichi's hand, the magazines were all expensive, printed on glossy paper and in overbright, oversaturated colors, and all of them mentioned something about Shinichi.

An Inside Look at Tokyo's Great Detective, one promoted (Shinichi remembered that one – there had been an accompanying photoshoot, if he remembered correctly); Thirteen Things about Kudou Shinichi that You Didn't Know (almost all thirteen of them had been flat-out lies) another announced. And those were only the beginning – there were others dating all the way back to right after Shinichi had left, various interviews and specials that Shinichi almost didn't remember participating in.

Shinichi thought of the three hundred and sixteen articles saved to his phone, and it was difficult not to smile.

"I see you've found my collection."

Starting at Kaito's suddenly close voice, Shinichi set the tattered magazine he was still holding back down onto the table. "I have."

"Hmm." Leaning over to place a cup of tea in front of Shinichi, right on top of From Japan to New Jersey – Kudou Shinichi's Journey Across the Map, Kaito offered a reserved smile. He kneaded at the back of his neck with one hand, the other coming to hover at his mouth. "I didn't have much choice, you know. If I wanted to – keep up with what you were doing."

"You had to stalk me through magazines?" Shinichi grinned despite himself, suddenly feeling warm all over as Kaito flushed.

"Shut up."

"Wow, rude. Here I was thinking that the great Magician of the Year would have better manners."

"And here I was thinking the great Heisei Holmes would be above stupid comments."

"That's just mean. Don't you know me by now?"

Both of them seemed to realize what was happening at the exact same second. They froze.

Because for a moment, they had been how they used to be, bantering and making snarky remarks and poking fun at each other. They hadn't felt the tension or the awkwardness or the silence. They had been normal.

Shinichi couldn't pry his jaw open, couldn't get his tongue to stop feeling like lead. He just stared at Kaito, and Kaito just stared back. Steam floated off the surface of Shinichi's untouched tea. Far off in the distance, a dog barked. The clock ticked weakly in the background.

Kaito's eyes softened, half-lidded and faded indigo, and then he murmured, "You never called."

Something was sizzling in Shinichi's veins, something halfway between dampened exhilaration and terrified longing, as he swallowed hard and answered, "You didn't either."

A beat. Kaito's eyes didn't leave Shinichi's. "You didn't come back."

"You didn't come looking."

They were leaving so much unsaid, Shinichi knew. So many important things that they should admit – needed to admit – but at the same time, neither could.

"We're older now," Kaito said, simply. "Different. Everything's changed."

Shinichi nodded stiffly. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"But," Kaito continued on, and his eyes were positively scalding at this point, a far cry from the cotton-cloud softness he'd displayed earlier, "but it still feels the same. I still – we still…" He broke off there, pleading with his eyes and the downturn of his lips and the clench of his hands.

And if there had ever been a moment Shinichi wanted to reach out and touch someone any more than now, he couldn't remember, because his hands were trembling in his lap with the effort of not stretching out to hold Kaito's face, to hold Kaito's indigo-ember eyes and the shaking line of his lips and the slant of his eyebrows and admit how wrong both of them had been. How wrong both of them were.

Instead, Shinichi just opened his mouth and asked, "Do you?"

Do you want to wake up next to me every morning? he was asking, do you want to wait long nights for me when I'm at crime scenes, do you want to keep buying drinks you don't even like, do you want to walk home on snowy days late at night, do you want to deal with my inability to admit I'm wrong, do you want to fight over how we display our affection, do you want to give it another try?

Do you want me again?

Kaito didn't move for a long, long time, statue-still and blank-eyed. Air refused to fill Shinichi's lungs, leaving him breathless and dizzy and maybe he shouldn't have asked, maybe he'd misunderstood everything about Kaito, maybe this had all been a mistake.

Maybe he should run again.

But then Kaito was beaming, suddenly, and not his oversized Poker Face grin but his warm, vanilla and cinnamon smile, the one he saved for early Sunday mornings and Shinichi's occasional bad puns, and he answered, "I do," in a voice that made Shinichi's stomach turn in relief.

Oh.

Both of them moved at the same time, Shinichi launching himself off the couch and Kaito stepping forward. They crashed into each other, Shinichi's hands flying up to finally cup Kaito's face and Kaito's arms sweeping in to clutch at the back of Shinichi's shirt.

Their mouths met forcefully, slotting together messily, and Shinichi bit back a groan as he leaned further into the slick, almost painful contact. This wasn't anything like their first kiss – that had been tentative and faltering and restrained, while this was frantic and sloppy and lacking finesse in every way – but at the same time, he could taste the same desperation he'd felt that time, underlying the feeling of Kaito's tongue sliding against his and Kaito's fingers digging his shoulder blades. Shinichi's grip on Kaito's jaw tightened as Kaito's teeth tightened on his bottom lip, and Shinichi gave a strangled whimper. "Kaito –"

Kaito pulled back, their lips parting audibly in a frankly sinful way, and bent to nip sharply at the side of Shinichi's neck, teeth worrying the same spot over and over. Shinichi winced, flushing as his hands scooped around to clutch uselessly at the back of Kaito's head. His fingers twisted sharply in Kaito's hair as Kaito's teeth sank a little deeper; that was definitely going to leave a mark. "Hey –"

Relinquishing his hold on Shinichi's neck, Kaito dragged back to meet Shinichi's eyes. "Is this… okay?"

For the second time that night, Shinichi was struck by the way that neither of them were saying what they really needed to say – I'm sorry, forgive me, I missed you so much I was going out of my mind – dancing around anything that might scare the other off.

And as he gazed into Kaito's hesitant, concerned eyes, Shinichi decided that just wasn't right. They couldn't continue like this. It would end in ruin again, in another two years of separation and misery.

His thumbs brushed a trail through Kaito's hair as he swallowed hard. "It's fine, because," Shinichi began, then paused to breathe in. Kaito was watching him with an expression akin to bewilderment, eyebrows angled towards each other in confusion. Shinichi swallowed down his nerves before he started again. "It's – it's fine, because I love you."

Kaito's eyes widened, his kiss-bitten mouth dropping open, and then he was clutching Shinichi so tightly to his chest that Shinichi couldn't breathe. He could feel Kaito's heart pounding away in his chest, and he noted absently to himself that Kaito's heart was beating at exactly the same pace as his, a steady tap-tap-taptaptap that thrummed through both of them in sync.

"Shinichi," Kaito said, muffled against Shinichi's shoulder, "I love you, too."

It may have been two years, Shinichi thought to himself as he gently pulled Kaito off of him so he could lean forward and kiss the magician again, but love didn't seem to understand the concept of time.

It really was Christmas.

Kaito stared out the window, leaning back against the pillows behind him. The sky was still a sleepy dark navy as the world began to wake up, glittery white snow spiraling down in curling paths.

From where his face was buried in Kaito's right thigh, Shinichi mumbled something incoherent as he nuzzled deeper. His cowlick was standing up even more than usual, Kaito noticed with amusement as he reached over to smooth a hand through the familiar dark brown hair.

His fingertips lingered at the nape of Shinichi's neck, drawing faint shapes over the top bump of vertebrae. It was hard to resist the urge to cling to Shinichi and never let go, gather him up in his arms and refuse to allow him to escape.

With a sigh, Kaito removed his hand from Shinichi to rub at the inner corners of his eyes. These were the very same monopolistic feelings that had led to him being labeled as "too clingy" when they'd argued all those years ago, and if he wanted to preserve what he and Shinichi had just barely begun to rebuild, it would be best to control himself.

"Mm?"

Starting, Kaito glanced down to find Shinichi drowsily lifting his head to squint blearily at him. "Kaito? What time is it?" he mumbled, one hand rising to scrub at his mouth as his eyelashes shivered.

Smirking, Kaito leaned down to kiss Shinichi right between the eyebrows, laughing when Shinichi scowled in mystification and scrambled to sit up. "It's only about five in the morning."

"Why are you awake, then?" Shinichi groaned, letting his head drop until it was resting on Kaito's bare collarbone. His cheek felt warm and velvety against Kaito's skin, and Kaito pressed his mouth to the exposed part of Shinichi's neck to drop a feathery kiss amidst the angry red marks he'd left the previous night. Shinichi mewled, his breath skimming Kaito's chest.

"It's Christmas, you know," Kaito reminded him, and Shinichi muttered something that sounded kind of like But it's five in the morning, you imbecile.

Kaito dragged a hand through Shinichi's hair, tugging lightly until Shinichi met his eyes. "Merry Christmas, Shinichi," he said quietly, and Shinichi stared at him, mouth slightly open, before he shook his head fondly and straightened.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," he answered, and Kaito couldn't help but lean forward and kiss him on the corner of the mouth.

"I… didn't get you anything," he added, suddenly realizing his lack of gifts and feeling a wave of embarrassment roll over him, but Shinichi just shook his head, maneuvering to meet Kaito's gaze.

"I didn't get you anything, either." It would've been impossible to predict this outcome, his eyes seemed to read.

"I guess that's true." Kaito snuggled a little closer. He didn't say You're more than enough of a Christmas present, despite the urge to. He sort of doubted Shinichi would find the line anything other than cheesy and cause for a smack on the head.

Shinichi hummed before extricating himself from Kaito's grasp and standing, stretching his arms over his head as he yawned. Kaito admired the view until Shinichi opened the closet door to dig around for clothes, at which point Kaito felt his stomach contort.

Wait -

Even though Shinichi's back was to Kaito, Kaito could imagine his eyebrows-raised expression. "Why are your clothes on only one side of the closet?"

"Well, I didn't want to… put my clothes on your side," Kaito stammered, feeling a little of their old awkwardness return to him. Oh, great. "I just… couldn't do it, I guess."

The lines of Shinichi's back curved as he settled onto one hip, staring into the depths of the closet, and for a moment Kaito was scared that Shinichi was reconsidering their still-fragile arrangement. He swallowed down the thought – it wouldn't do him any good to focus on the negative – and was about to open his mouth when Shinichi heaved a loud sigh and reached for one of Kaito's oversized t-shirts.

"I suppose that was for the best," Shinichi started carefully, and was that a note of embarrassment Kaito heard in his voice, "seeing as it'll make moving back in easier."

Kaito's heart was suddenly in his throat. His grip on the sheet tightened. "What?"

Shinichi just sniffed as he pulled on the shirt, though Kaito could see that the back of his ears were bright red. "You heard me perfectly well."

And suddenly Kaito was across the room, scooping a flustered and squawking Shinichi to his chest and kissing every part of Shinichi he could reach, from his hairline to his nose to his bicep. "I love you," he got out between every kiss, and Shinichi flailed all the louder.

"I know, I know! Let go of me!"

Finally Kaito stepped back, flushed but with an uncontrollable smile on his face, and Shinichi eyed him warily.

"You're certainly enthusiastic about this."

"Of course I am," Kaito huffed, grinning all the wider. "I've been waiting for you to come back ever since you left. Why wouldn't I be happy about you finally coming back?"

Something affectionate entered Shinichi's gaze, and he reached out to touch Kaito on the cheek. "I'm happy, too," he admitted, eyes flitting away from Kaito's, "about coming back. I…" He took a deep breath, and then stepped forward and pressed a quick, fleeting kiss to Kaito's lips. "I missed you."

With that, he turned and nearly fled from the room. Kaito remained rooted to the spot for a good two seconds – had that really just happened? – before he beamed, "Shinichi, wait for me!" and ran after him.

"I-Idiot, don't tackle me in the hall!"

Some things never changed.

*nervous laughter* WELL that was an adventure from start to finish. A very – bad adventure. The kind you try to forget three seconds after it happens. Yeah.

A-Anyway, I hope you… uh… liked this, maybe? If you did, please consider leaving me a review, and I'll see you all soon with a (hopefully) much less terrible fic!

Merry Christmas, everyone! – Luna