Hello everyone It's been a long time. So this fic is kind of a reimagining of Venom another fic I've written about this pairing. There may be three parts here as well if y'all want there to be. Enjoy!

The brick is unforgiving against her back; her gasp of surprise is swallowed by him. His lips are quick to claim hers, rough and wet and bruising. It's messy and uncoordinated, their teeth knocking.

She only tightens the hold she has on him, fingers digging into his arm. They're what's keeping her grounded, on Earth, on the wobbly legs she know sports.

Rain is beginning to pour and Shiho's a little ashamed at how unusual this is of them. Shinichi's practically breathing air into her, filling her lungs with what's left in his own. His thumb brushes her slick cheekbone, wipes a tendril of damp hair two shades darker from her face.

They break away both breathless.

"We have to get out of here Kudo kun," Shiho says with an air of concern.

"Working on it," he replies, biting his lip.

"So we're stuck out here and you're telling me that walking is the only option?" She sees her response in his face, in the way he's already starting to frown at her. Sometimes her accuracy at reading him scares her too.

Shinichi gives her a grin. The hopeless idiot.

Shiho takes the time to glance back at the building behind them, it's up in flames and there's debris raining down on them. Ash and fine dust scattering around their feet. Smoke is beginning to plume from the destroyed laboratory and she's more than certain there is no strain of APTX 4869 left in existence. She feels absolutely no regret for the others who may be trapped inside, perhaps she's freeing them in a way only she can. Freeing herself was hard as well.

Shinichi's hand curling around her wrist redirects her attention and before she can say much of anything, he's pulling her along, along and away from the ruins of what was the last three years of their lives.

They've been walking for about forty-five minutes now and Shiho's practically soaked to the bone, the downpour constant and relentless. Shinichi's windbreaker hangs from her shoulders, a little relief in the hell they've found themselves in. He'd made the right call when it came to getting out of the area as soon as possible.

Shinichi strides alongside her. Shiho observes the bruise on his cheek and knows there's more beneath the collar of his shirt. There's a certain awkwardness in his gait, the results of injury or the gain of his gangly limbs. His arms are crossed, the sleeves are pushed up around his forearms and he's staring dreamily into the distance like he sees an oasis.

"Should you really be taking this so lightly?" She gives him an expectant look, not that she doesn't want to smile into the distance either.

"It's hard not to after keeping it up for so long," Shinichi reasons.

And so she does.

The smoke in the room was already thick and heady, her hands were trembling as she knocked over regulators, incubators and burners, destroyed cultures anything she could get her hands on. Shiho had a moment in which the possibility of them not escaping seemed so real that she almost choked right there. Wiping all the data concerning the poison was their first order of business. It was done stealthily to allow them the maximum amount of time possible. Shinichi had pocketed the entire stock of antidote in his bag, they could destroy the rest later. They escaped with the antidote for a small hideaway they'd predetermined to ingest their respective portions away from prying eyes before ducking back in to finish the job.

Getting to the physical specimens and experiments would be much more difficult and it would only be to their benefit if chaos and destruction ensued. With the explosives having ignited on the floor above the laboratory, they both had enough time to run from the room before the ceiling caved in. His grip was vice-like on her wrist. The pain reminded her how much she wanted to survive this, to survive this with him.

She feels light almost, the only thing weighing down her shoulders is Shinichi's jacket. That alone is enough to spark a wave of relief that crawls over her skin and sweeps down her spine.

There's what looks like miles of rice paddy fields to one side of her, banks of lush green grass rising from the pools of navy blue water. The other side is farmland, yellows of stocks and dark greens of trees and un-harvested vegetables against the gloomy grey sky. Loose gravel crunches under their worn sneakers, hers are Ran's old pair Shinichi had commandeered when they realized they didn't have time to buy any. While Shinichi snuck back into his house to grab his own before they left.

"There was a possibility that we would die back there," she says, her heart doesn't thud, she doesn't feel a flicker of fear in her gut. It was just a fact now, nothing to be afraid of. Shiho pulls the windbreaker tighter around her body.

Shinichi knows they both felt it, he was even edging towards abandoning the mission and regrouping, but Shiho had already run down the hall with a straight expression, one that told him she was finishing this if it was the last thing she did.

There was nothing glamorous about what they did. Shinichi watched Shiho fight off a man from across the room, he was preoccupied with someone else too. The gun flew through the air like a propeller, Shiho had knocked it out of the man's hand, it landed at his feet.

Red emergency lights flicked on an off like a strobe light, the ear piercing alarm the thud of bass, the room appeared to shake, disoriented everyone. Three seconds went as slow as hours as Shinichi picked it up without hesitation and aimed it across the room. There was no mercy and it was him or her. Shinichi didn't have time to feel sick as he watched the man crumple to the floor, he spun on his heel and shot his own mark. He lay there, knees trembling and gun tossed from his own hand like it was heated.

"I know," he replies, the smile has worn off some as he realizes that they've been walking for over an hour now. His legs feel akin to jelly.

In the back of his mind, there are countless tracks running what the next possible option to do would be and he can't really seem to decide on one. Shinichi lets out a huff of breath, instantly regrets it when his bottom lip throbs from the cut, he wipes at it with the back of his hand.

They're shoulder to shoulder now. She smells of rain with an undercurrent of smoke and faded perfume.

Twenty minutes later, Shinichi manages to flag down an old farmer heading to Haido for supplies. They look like irresponsible kids walking home after a night of trouble making and so Shinichi uses that to their advantage. He speaks formally, slipping in a little hint of regret in his words, like he's repenting just by asking for help. Shiho's too cold and exhausted to do anything but back up his story.

Riding in the back of a truck was not as freeing an experience as Shiho previously anticipated, especially not when the bed is covered in a blanket of hay and smells of livestock.

"We need to find shelter," Shiho closes her eyes and half hopes the roar of the wind drowns her out. She feels Shinichi shift next to her, their knees knock together.

"That's a logical next step," he says, "very reasonable," he sounds like he's trying to keep the situation light, but it is hard work. Instead he leans back and rests his head against the back of the cab. "We should think about recovery when we find someplace." Shinichi sighs heavily. Heavy enough Shiho practically feels all the responsibility crowding around them already. "…Let things settle then we make our entrance back into society." It sounds like some dream that they'd thought they'd never achieve and really he's glad that the goal has been reached. Part of him just feels like neither of them is out of the woods yet.

He's wedged up against her, so close she can feel his breaths on her temple. Shinichi rubs a tuft of hay into the rumbling floor beneath them with the sole of his foot while Shiho rubs at her temples willing the headache away.

"We'll start there and figure out the rest as we go," Shiho replies at last, the poorly maintained road jostles them. Her hand grips the side of the truck for purchase, the other a fist in her lap. "That's the best we could hope for."

They reach Haido thirty minutes later, both in a thoughtful silence, without further incident. Shinichi gives the farmer the rest of the change in his pocket when the man refuses to take any of Shiho's share of the cost.

The sounds of endless chatter and the passing of cars and barking of dogs suddenly fills the silence, the abrupt addition of stimulus surrounds them both like thick smoke as they navigate the streets in a tense quiet. Shiho wrapped in Shinichi's jacket and Shinichi himself at her heels. He's checking behind them every time they switch streets and she's not completely sure whether or not he's timing his glances to when he doesn't think she's looking, but she can't blame him for being paranoid.

As each over cautious look and step yields no relief or fruits, other needs begin to set in. Her stomach has begun to growl now that the adrenaline has died down. The distinct throb in all of her muscles has also made itself known. However, she keeps walking, Shiho can't find it in herself to just stop and let them, anyone find her. Her eyes are also shifting across every face she sees, praying she doesn't recognize anyone. They must have been drowning in the high of survival, the weightlessness buzzing in their chests when they walked away like it was nothing. It was in each other's lips that they found an ill placed reprieve. They don't acknowledge it, but they've already revealed that they don't know if all of them are actually dead.

"This is ridiculous," Shiho mumbles, Shinichi's attention is snapped to her immediately.

"What?"

"The fact we've escaped. We've escaped with the antidote and our bodies, but nothing feels any better." Having merged with a crowd, Shiho draws them both towards the edge.

"If we're lucky, whoever's left thinks we died in that fire too," Shinichi nods in understanding, "We've both been thinking it, it's not safe to let our guard down right away. Perhaps ever."

The truth is scathing; Shiho swallows around the block in her throat. She sidesteps into a shallow alleyway, it's shallow enough to get them out of the throngs of people and potential eavesdroppers, but close enough they could step back and disappear into the crowd if they had to.

"You think there's other's out there," She states.

"Well," Shinichi crosses his arms, "it would be stupid to think otherwise." He watches her lips thin, her jaw tense and he wants to reach out and smooth it over. But it may be out of bounds for him, they'd never kissed before that moment and he's still confused about what that means among all the other concerns he currently has.

Shiho's already known that she may never be completely free of them. How could one more nightmare be any different?

"Things will get better…hopefully, not healed or anything, but better." Shinichi settles, even he's willing to admit that it may be impossible to truly forget all of this. For starters they'd been kids for years. He kicks an empty beer can at his feet, the tins rolls across uneven concrete, lightly knocks against the toe of Shiho's trainer.

"I have a place we could go," Shiho says suddenly. "If things aren't going our way, your house is probably being watched." And just like that, she's accepted that the Black Organization may never truly die.

Shinichi nods mutely and reaches a hand across the space and lets his palm rest on the side of her face, his thumb against her cheek bone. Her hair is dark and damp from the rain miles back and her skin is cold from the wind chill. He doesn't remember her lips being quite so chapped when he kissed her. He wants to ask her about that, but she's already walked past him back out of the alley.

They reach the edge of town another twenty minutes later, a stone's throw from Beika District. Shiho's holding a paper bag of food. Shinichi, after listening to her half mumble about food for the past fifteen minutes, convinced her to buy some.

Shiho leads him to a decent part of town, the buildings are close and neat looking. He's been here multiple times with the police; it's quite close to his own house. Shinichi can see trees peeking out from backyards and lining sidewalks. The apartment building is looming and grey, a shark's fin in an ocean of off-whites and tans. The lobby is mostly empty, a teenage boy sits in a seat sucking on a frozen treat, there's an older woman speaking quietly on her cellphone across the room. They board the elevator and Shiho presses the '5' button and immediately follows with the one that says 'close door'. With the lack of background music, there are no funny little tunes to cover the shuffling of Shiho's feet when she anxiously shifts her weight back and forth or the crumple of the bag in her arms.

Shinichi tries to ignore it and instead focuses on his reflection in the surface of the sliding doors. He's blurred, like he's seeing himself through frosted glass, all he can take note of is the dark blue shirt he's wearing and the smear of dirt on his jeans. It would be embarrassing if he didn't want to get somewhere safe so badly. What the distortion does hide is his sheer exhaustion, the remnants of adrenaline raising and falling like waves in his veins. His sympathetic nervous system left to teeter on an ever crumbling precipice.

"Professor Agasa has been keeping it for me," Shiho says when the door slides open and relief rushes in with the open air. Shiho's one-handedly digging for something in one of the many plant pots that line the hall and Shinichi has reason to believe it's the key to the apartment. She finds it in one that looks about to keel over, leaves dry and bland barely hanging on above the layer of crumbly soil.

The lock turns with a satisfying click. Shinichi reaches back to make sure it's locked behind them once they're both inside. Shiho reaches around a corner for a light switch. They kick off their shoes with some hassle, limbs sluggish and strained.

It's small and simple, not to mention barely lived in with its eggshell walls that surround the kitchen and main room and if Shinichi cranes his head he can see a bedroom and bathroom through an open doorway.

"It's nice," Shinichi says to fill the silence. One glance is an easy indication that no one's been there lately. There's a canister of instant coffee on the counter, the kind Agasa always uses; surely there to serve as a comfort.

"First aid kit," Shiho mumbles like the thought had just occurred to her, she heads into the bathroom.

"Have you been here before?" Shinichi says out loud, wanders into the kitchen and occupies himself with washing the grime off his hands.

"Only once," Shiho emerges from the bathroom, a dark blue duffle slung on her shoulder. She drops the duffle and the food onto the circular table. "Agasa consulted me on specifics," Shiho sheds the windbreaker and tosses it into an empty chair.

Shinichi sits in the other available seat as she unzips the duffle and pulls out a first aid kid and some bottles of water. Under the neatly lit bulbs, Shinichi can better see the bruises on her arms, the darkness under her eyes almost hidden behind unkempt hair. The skin is already beginning to purple, Shiho winces when she gently pokes at one on her shoulder experimentally with a finger.

"Anything broken?" He says as the thought comes to mind. Shinichi's eyes follow Shiho's movements as she pulls various ointments, painkillers and different sized bandages from the kit and places them onto the table in front of them both.

"I don't think so," She straightens briefly to run a hand across her ribs. When she doesn't feel anything out of the ordinary, she looks back up at him, "you?"

"Fortunately, just minor injuries," Shinichi spreads his palms across the table for something to do, eyes still watching Shiho like she'll disappear at any moment as she unrolls the seemingly endless spiral of bandage and compresses a certain spot on her arm.

They clean their wounds in silence, thought they don't voice it, they don't stray too far from the table and stay near each other as often as possible. Shinichi laments their unpreparedness in their lack of clean clothes and scratches his head before attempting to brush off some of the dirt with a damp washcloth. Shiho follows his lead a moment later. Exhaustion has begun to set, real and evident in the increasingly sluggish movements, Shinichi dropping the washcloths, Shiho's yawning at what appears to be at every lull in conversation.

Shiho stares down the bottle of painkillers like it's about to attack her before she reaches for the bag of food instead, figures they should have something in their stomach before they introduce medication.

Shinichi's working on a particularly stubborn smudge on his forearm when Shiho slips to the floor. Thinking she may have passed out, he drops the washcloth for the fifth time and shifts his eyes to her face.

"You should eat." Her reaction is nothing if not minimal, the simple rise of a questioning eyebrow. She appeared to have decided to simply sit where she stood, shifting to her bottom abruptly enough it came off as falling.

"Alright," Shinichi joins her cross-legged at the base of the kitchen cabinets. They're so close their shoulders rest together, warm and comfortable.

"It feels safe…" Shiho murmurs, half hopes Shinichi doesn't catch it. But he does.

Shinichi spares her and takes a rather large bite of his pork bun, it's only slightly warm now but there's practically sparks bursting behind his eyes, he hasn't eaten in so long.

They eat in silence, not counting time; the sun has long set, casting a blanket of thick heat insulated by residences and businesses like fog. Two water bottles already lay empty at their feet like fallen enemies.

A small crumb is visible on her cheek and Shinichi has an overwhelming urge to brush it away with his thumb, he furrows his brow, nonplussed. It's her absolute apparent nonchalance towards the subject that is them that has him questioning whether or not it's even okay to do something like that. Was relief all it was?

He swallows rather comically.

And there it is.

A drop of guilt that fills his stomach faster than the food in his hands did. Wasn't there a reason he was fighting so relentlessly for his body? And yet when he turns his head, some of those reasons morph into a different entity altogether.

Shinichi couldn't care less.

It's just them under those cheap looking kitchen lights, eating and popping pills. They look like junkies sitting there in dirty clothes, pill bottles at their feet. For the first time that day he feels like the young adult he should have been ; one with the impractical wants and the world at his feet. He looks at Shiho and she embodies those things, the realization makes him breathless.

He breathes deeply and rests his head against hers. She makes no move to push him away; in fact she curls more into him when the warmth seeps from him to her and vice versa. He can feel puffs of breath on his cheek where they rest together. Shiho gazes up at him through her eyelashes, a tender sort of stare that makes Shinichi's stomach suddenly weightless. He presses his palm against her cheek then kisses her.

Shiho chuckles when he pulls away, his face tinges pink. What little of their adult hood they've had was spent acting like children with the responsibilities of someone twice their age; finally being able to experience something as trivial as kissing was something of a release between them. Her hands find his face and her lips find his this time.

Her mouth moves hungrily against his now, his jaw drops further open and her tongue slips in, wet and warm. Shinichi tries and fails to match her intensity and curiosity. In her kisses he can feel the burden she carries, in the bud of her lower lip, in the care with which they move together. He wants to simultaneously relieve her of and have her share it with him. She's breathing hard, the room seems to have risen a handful of degrees, when she pulls away breathless.

Shinichi keeps his mouth shut, too afraid to ruin the tender balance that they've forged in only five minutes. His eyes take note of the blush on her cheeks, her hands that still frame his face. Shiho leans back in and kisses his brow; just a gentle quick touch of lips that perhaps meant more than their lips crashing together. She reroutes to his mouth soon enough though.

They kiss so long Shinichi starts getting dizzy, if not a tad handsy. His head is spinning with possibilities that he'd never so much as entertained for years. She's already lying down under him, there against the cool tile of the kitchen, when it occurs to him how fast they're both going.

Despite his total and utter lack of experience, Shinichi revels in the spark in that drops down his spine, the thud of his heart and the heat of her hands. He swallows and chooses to let Shiho see the conflict that's pinching his face; she'd read it off him sooner or later anyway.

Her eyes search his, she possesses the uncanny ability to spot his insecurities on sight and either chooses to nurture them or crack them wide open. She smooths over the blemishes with her fingers, with the slow drag of her lips. These choices easily represent the amount of control they've suddenly gained. They seek to take full advantage of it regardless. That's what she discovers in his eyes and now holds in her hands.

His knee nudges his bag when he shifts above her, a few sealed packets labeled: COUNTERAGENT -APOPTOXIN in bold lettering, each one stamped with 'prototype' in red slip from the open flap. He stares wide eyed at them for a moment, having momentarily forgotten why they were even there. Perhaps burning them would be the most effective way to destroy them. Shiho suggests that she take them apart when she has the access first. There's always the possibility that they'll still need it. That reality frustrates him too.

The hands curling affectionately at his nape turn his head back towards the current situation. He kisses her and he doesn't want to stop. Her breaths are hot and wet against his lips when she inhales sharply, the spread of her thighs easy and steady, his hands covering the expanse of skin at her hip as the skirt rides up.

Foreheads pressed together, she's once again breathing his air, the tether that keeps him where he is, in limbo between two worlds.

"I don't regret you," Shinichi's voice is breathy, barely there. He says it like it's a secret and like it's some grand admission, a confession simultaneously. This is what he wants he decides on impulse, pressed against her, steeped in euphoria and affection.
Shiho meets his eyes and kisses him, pulls at his lower lip with her teeth, slips her tongue back inside when he relaxes his jaw and his lips open. Her breaths catch the air like a spark on gasoline. His hands feel the skin beneath her shirt, fingers still at her ribcage where he's sure he feels a bruise. Shinichi presses his thumb against the center of it, water her mouth fall open, choked breath beneath the whine she releases. He licks into her mouth and rubs against the bud of her breast. Her inhales arcs into a sharp moan, unknown where pain ends and pleasure begins.

"Shin—" Shiho gasps, his name two syllables too many in the face of her addled brain. That alone has Shinichi stifling a groan into her collarbone. He nips at the skin there, licks over the reddened marks to sooth. Shinichi kisses her once more before pulling back, simply stares at her with darkened eyes.

Hair splayed across the tile like sections of an insect's wing. Her lips are red and bitten, sweat beads at her brow that he wants to lick away. He can see her pebbled nipples through the thin tanktop, the hem pushed up her ribcage, reveals half of a purpling bruise. Her legs spread, thighs resting against his own, bare skin on rough denim.

Shinichi sees the glimpse of white under her skirt. Red douses his cheeks as he stares straight into her eyes and brushes a thumb across the triangle of cotton. She inhales, rests a hand on his wrist. He continues when she doesn't tell him to stop. Becomes increasingly bold with the pressure of his thumb and fingers with each moment that passes.

Her heart is stuttering, breaths skittering up her throat, blistering as they force their way out. Her hips shift to counter his movements, even and steady. He mouths at her throat, too embarrassed to keep looking at her when he slips a hand beneath the material.

The change is wonderful and immediate. Her body rises to mold against his, flush and trembling like he's managed to harness an electric current and pass it across the plane of her skin, the skip of smooth pebbles on a lake surface. Shiho can't stop the way her stomach flips and her gut tightens and catches fire. She doesn't want it to stop, she wants Shinichi to keep nurturing the flames that burn beneath her ribcage, consume her heart like acid.

She goes taut against him a moment later, white-hot is all there is when her eyes squeeze shut. Perhaps she's manages to reach oblivion in those seconds, cold hard nothingness. Except his heat is what brings her back to him, there to the confines of this kitchen.

His eyes are lidded and blown, face relaxed and rosy. The hard line of his cock is visible through his jeans, adjacent to the seam.

"I could never regret you," she repeats back to him.

Shiho watches with slow breath as he unzips his jeans with glistening fingers. He's already shaking his head like he won't make it that far. She doesn't blame him if he can't; neither of them have barely any experience much less a pension for stamina. Shiho reaches for him, pulls the waistband of his briefs down far enough so for her hand to encircle his cock.

He goes rigid when she does, line of his body suspended like time has frozen. Shiho runs her thumb through the precome, spreads it across the head and squeezes gently, Shinichi groans, low and almost wild. She strokes him slow, she can practically feel the ardency simmering in him. His brows have drawn together, a bid for control, as his eyes shift between her own and her hand.

Shiho gestures for him to come closer, her thigh tremble in anticipation, face burning and heart beating hard enough to ache in her chest when he follows her lead.

Everything is raw swollen heat as he begins to slides in. Her muscles hold firm around him, slick and sensitive via post orgasm. It's overwhelming but she knows she needs to relax if they want to get anywhere. As far as she's concerned they are there already. She swallows audibly and kisses him, lips lingering wet and open and his hips shift forward, fill her, choke her.

Shiho stills, grips his wrist to stall him, arcs her back to adjust and accommodate him. Little sparks of pleasure begin to shoot up her nerves like faulty fireworks. Shinichi has a distinct expression of a gone man, clutching her hips hard enough to bruise. She finally rotates her own hips in response. His answering moan scratches up his throat like sandpaper, like he's breaching the surface after being pulled under a riptide.

"Shin—Shinichi—" Shiho tries for his name again, it passes from her lips like bubbles bursting.

"Shi—Shiho?" His voice is remarkably steady, he presses his fingers into her skin and gazes at her like she's a whole new entity. With eyes that flicker closed he thrusts once, shallow and quick.

"Nn," Shiho inhales, "keep going," she encourages him, squeezes his shoulder where she's holding onto him.

He answers slow, unsure and un-rhythmic. She doesn't expect much from him, they're making it up as they go at this point. The foreplay was perhaps a lucky guess to lessen and even avoid the pain of penetration. It felt good when he entered her. She felt full, she felt alive, she felt numb.

Shinichi continues for another two minutes before he slows to a stop, chest heaving, huffs of breath warm on her skin. He pulls away from her grasp, holds fast to her hips as he pulls out, strokes his cock a few times before promptly coming on her thigh with a shuddering groan. He buries his head against her shoulder, presses kisses and groans against damp skin.

He smells like smoke and street food, a curious mix of both spontaneity and severity. It's over within ten minutes and they're back to eating two minutes later. The kitchen feels more warmly lit, Shiho more so, sitting in his lap and seemingly more relaxed than he's ever seen her. They're lips meet between bites of food and his hands on her hips stave the nightmares, the panic. His hands, her lips are what's holding them together until they can begin to seam the gaping wounds.

…

"Are you planning on telling her?" Shiho says suddenly an hour later.

Shinichi just sits there in the bathroom with her, leaning against the frosted glass and for a moment pretends that her voice is swallowed up by the sound of the shower torrent. He figures she's either referring to the sex or the uncomfortable big lie that could break Ran's and his relationship into pieces if he goes about it wrong. Shinichi willing to bet it's the latter, but that doesn't stop him from avoiding it while he can. The former definitely seems the less painful of the two.

"She doesn't have to know," he begins quietly, for either situation he's willing to admit it's a rather pitiful compromise. He's afraid to specify.

"She's in university now," Shiho continues, clearly aware of his diversion tactics. Shinichi knows that, Shiho was at the going away party; Ran had relocated to Tokyo six months ago. There were more opportunities for karate and judo for her. Shiho's trying to get at something but Shinichi feels exceedingly slow minded right then.

"I'm worth more than your lack of courage Shinichi," she drives home rather scathingly, however she still manages to sound casual about it, unhesitant, unbidden.

Shinichi frowns into his lap, the steam is tacky on his skin. Of course she's worth more than his lack of nerve. But he doesn't know how exactly to tell her that.

Just the thought of wiping Ran's and his relationship back to a primitive stage scares him. He'd always valued Ran's safety above whatever relationship they have or could've had. He'd been gone so long he already knows one of her first responses may be anger. Anger out of concern it may be but he's doesn't know if he could make it up to her. This fact of his life that he's hidden for years now is large enough it could consume everything. He loves her too much to let something like that happen.

"Is it even possible anymore?" Shinichi mumbles in his hands. He's too wrapped up in himself to notice the water had been turned off, Shiho hears him without obstruction.

"Yes," is all she says from somewhere above him, he lifts his head just in time to see her wrap a towel around herself. "If it's Ran, she'll listen to you," she turns to him, tucking the corner of the towel in against her chest. She steps right up to him and squats down to his level. "Ran deserves the truth."

The tile is pink and rosy, condensation welled across the surface. Her skin is colored from the heat, hair shades darker from the shower.

Shinichi can barely respond, lips parted and eager to despite the roiling in his belly, the unease weighing him down. Of course she deserves the truth. If Ran didn't deserve to know then why was he fighting so hard to get his body back? Why was he fighting so hard for her? He wants to curl his hands in her shirt, that stupid blue uniform blazer that seems worlds away and never let go. Ran would understand right?

"I want to tell her…I know I need to," Shinichi buries his head in his hands again. He doesn't understand the pain this is causing him. The decision was so ironclad before. He'd almost told her countless times, but now that the possibility was there, was ultimately real; why were his knees buckling? Now of all times?

"You will," her fingers curl warmly at his nape again. He sinks into the touch. "In due time. Think on it, you deserve that much. Do it and do it right." She leans forwards and kisses his forehead.

Shinichi shifts to meet her eyes, "thank you." he replies, kisses her temple. They stare at each other for a moment. Everything and nothing thrumming between them like light reflected off mirrors.

"I don't want to hurt her," Shiho says thoughtfully, sincerely. It's two different conversations weaving together like stripes of reed to wicker. She's speaking his words like her own.

Shinichi knows enough to notice the way Shiho looks at Ran, like she would a sister.

"I know," he can't find it in himself to promise that she won't get hurt, the worst case scenario is so possible that Shinichi's chest cinches ever tighter each time the thought renews.

Shinichi understands that he may have already lost Ran. The thought offers little comfort, strengthens the unease in his belly. Ran deserves someone that will be there for her all the time. But won't that be Shinichi himself soon?

Shiho stands and heads for the bedroom, the hot air is displaced as cool air rushes in in an instant, his skin rising in gooseflesh.

…

Shiho pulls on her old clothes, feeling marginally cleaner however still a bit uncomfortable about it. Having contemplated sleeping in the nude or in the towel, the thought was quickly discarded after convenience in case of emergency short circuited any other potential pros.

She grips the towel in her hands, slowly wrings it like a stress reliever. She does not fully understand what they are if just a cluster fuck of painful confusion and infatuation. Feelings that are burning and boiling inside them both, clawing for any way out. Shiho isn't lying when she says she doesn't want to hurt Ran; Ran is part of the family she's found herself in, the sister Shiho no longer has. Shinichi made certain promises to her and the last thing Shiho wants is to render them null. Simultaneously, Shiho is willing to accept that Shinichi can change, evolve even, some things can only hope to stay the same. Shinichi's been with her almost every step of the way ever since she turned into a child. There's hardly much they can keep each other when they've lived in the same boat for years now, the lives they embodied for all intents and purposes a lie.

Shinichi's killed for her.

Shiho stifles a cry with her hand. Maybe they're made for each other; crooked and practically destroyed at the seams, the only thing keeping them from bursting is sheer will and mutual camaraderie. She falls asleep restless.

Shinichi explores the small apartment while she sleeps, still on edge from the day's events to lie down. He finds some burner phones in a lower kitchen drawer, they're out of date models, but they should work just fine. He closes it and makes note to bring it up later; any external contact should be made in agreement. Shinichi stands up and shifts from foot to foot, mentally and physically exhausted but unable to just fall asleep. He alternates between nibbling at leftovers and checking the sparsely filled fridge over and over like it will refill with his favorite foods if he checks often enough. Sweat is baked against his skin like sunburn, douses his body like a thick heat.

He finds himself tempering the shower a moment later; the need to be clean overwhelming him in a matter of seconds. The blood beneath his fingernails is suddenly apparent, the dried brown against his almost sickly looking pallor. Smoke and what is unmistakably gun powder weaves through his strong musk. It's a wonder Shiho managed to stick that close to him for so long. He wants to wash away what he can, let the thick copper smell of blood and the sharp acidic scent of chemicals flow down the drain; the memories he honestly wants gone as soon possible.

Did he, even for a second, feel the bloodlust that surged through his veins when he fired a gun at nearly point blank range into a body the same as so many instigators of the same crime? Did he find any pleasure in it? Shinichi could feel the bile rising in his throat when he used that gun, he fought the urge to vomit simply because getting out alive mattered so much more. Because Shiho mattered so much more.

Shinichi scrubs at his skin harder than he needs to, until his skin feels raw and looks red. Even then he can still see the blood that stains his hands. The hint of semen in the tuft of hair at the base of his cock calms him down. Sleeping with her was an almost surreal experience. He barely remembers it and yet he can bring back the heat of her, the sounds she made like a saved snapshot. He doesn't regret doing that, he'd said as such. Falling closer to her was perhaps inevitable at that point in time, it was always going to happen and he can only dream of a version of him that didn't want it.

Shiho was a driving force in getting both their bodies back. He cares about her more than he'd like her to know, more than she'd probably accept.

Shinichi dries off and redresses only to find himself back at that dining table. He stays up a bit longer, fiddles with the first aid kit, takes everything out and organizes it by use, then name and finally chemical components. He falls asleep staring at the bag of antidote on the floor of the kitchen.

….

Shiho's own heavy breathing is what wakes her, thick and too labored to resemble that of a sleeping person. In fact, she can barely breathe at all, her skin is clammy and damp from sweat; clothes sticking to her like vacuum packaging. Her heart's ramming against her chest as if trying to end itself and tunnel vision blurs the dark room, makes the glow of the street light outside apparent past the stripes of blinds. Her eyes dart around the room for signs of intrusion, despite seeing none, her pulse refuses to slow down. Shiho sticks her head between her knees and shuts her eyes tight, her breaths come in gasps, slow shudders until she can grasp better control of faculties that refuse to listen.

She needs air now.

Panic comes in waves as she practically flies out of bed, half the bedclothes fall to the floor in her haste to escape the room that appears like a solid black box, ever shrinking.

Shiho's too preoccupied with finding relief she doesn't leave a note, assuring herself that she'll be back shortly. She's surprised Shinichi hasn't woken from the racket she thinks she's making. Shiho grabs his windbreaker and dons her shoes, the door still quiet when it clicks shut.

….

The heat is unbearable.

His bones deconstructing, bursting apart like the pressure point in a pane of glass of ice, only to reconstruct like molten ore poured into a mold. Shinichi looks down at small hands and terror swells in the pit of his belly. Was it all for nothing? Was the antidote ultimately useless? The weight inside him doubles the small stature with which he's become. He's filled to the brim with confusion and frustration, amplified and saturated in a condensed form of anger and heart ache. Sometimes he wishes the poison had been deadly, had killed him instead. He would have reveled in the heady smell of dirt behind that building where the authorities would have found his limp body. Sometimes he doesn't want to fight it. Shinichi's exhausted and dying just seems so much easier. Shinichi closes his eyes and succumbs.

The heat is unbearable.

He looks down at grimy skin and the dirt beneath her fingernails. The heat is tolerable, pleasurable even as it swallows him whole. He's melding into one with the body beneath him. Sinews and bone melting together likes some macabre concoction. She holds firm and cradles his hips with thighs, he can't see her face, though no panic rises in him. Her skin, usually cool counteracts the thick heat between them. Her breaths light the room like smoldering coals, glowing brightly then ebbing away. Shinichi recognizes the ragged breaths, the swollen gasps and hitched moans that break apart like porcelain on concrete. They give him comfort, salvation.

The heat is unbearable.

Smoke smothers his lungs and clouds the room. His hands feel the warmth of the metal, the smell of gunpowder. The gun shot repeats, a chisel pounded into marble with no delicacy, thrums painfully through the bone of his scalp. His stomach splits open, tears like soggy parchment and bullets spill forward coated in blood. His hands sport broken stitches, beads of blood where the cuts are the deepest. The sharp burn smell of chemicals make his eyes water, widen in horror as the man in front of him crumples to the ground, nestles like a sleeping child in a puddle of his own blood. Shinichi shuts his eyes tightly, hopes it won't be there when he opens them. His lids flicker open and it's no longer the man lying there. It's her. Blue blazer soaked with bile and blood, Shinichi's blood, there's no visible wound on her. Her own breath lost, gone.

Shinichi wakes up in a cold sweat, hands trembling. His skin cool and clammy, uncomfortable.

He's immediately aware of the early hour, the sun hasn't risen yet, cool air suspends the room, dunks it into a purgatory between night and day. His eyes skate across the room, look for signs of disturbance. The familiarity that comes with identifying and deducing comforts him and slows the anxiety bubbling in his stomach, squeezing his chest.

However, he feels strangely alone.

His legs burst into action as he heads through the doorway, a sharp heat itches and claws at his throat, mouth dry and stomach fastened in knots when he sees the bed empty. Shinichi runs his fingers over the bed sheet to find it cold. The covers on the floor only serve to feed the panic he's trying so hard to keep hampered down.

Two whole minute pass in which he's practically wearing down the carpet as he paces, tossing the pros and cons of staying to wait or going out there after her back and forth in his head. Just the idea of following his gut (staying there) and following the logical step (leaving to look for her) makes his breath shallow, constricts his windpipe. He can feel bile rising in his throat, blistering like scalding water on skin. He's in the middle of a heaving fit, knees dug into the carpet, hands clutching at it like a tether when the door opens.

He freezes mid breath, too afraid to shift his gaze or say anything.

"Shinichi?" Her voice is quiet, concerned. When he hears her voice, his breaths loosen up and he shifts onto his ass to look at her. She's framed in the doorway, a hand outstretched towards him, a bag that smells of food in her other hand and his windbreaker in the crook of her elbow, despite the cold air that rushes in.

"It's fine—I'm fine," he says, breathing deeply. Shiho closes and locks the door behind her and he continues, "where were you?" he can't stop the apprehension that eases into his tone like it was meant to be there. He asks even when he does value her right to privacy, however the elephant in the room is too big to effectively ignore.

"I needed air," Shiho places the food onto the table, "—but I'm fine now," She adds quickly as if she didn't sound exactly like Shinichi did when he was denying the unease in his belly.

He chooses not to press, after all, she let him get away with it.

The food is almost tasteless when he starts eating, there's the bite of salt on his tongue but not much else. Judging from Shiho's expression she's not tasting much else either. Though he'd like for the warmth of miso broth to spread beneath his skin, all it does is emphasize how numb and exhausted he suddenly feels. Shiho swallows audibly from across the table, sets her chopsticks down on the rest. The lights are off but the sun is beginning to filter in, a pale yellow through the blinds. He gets up without another word and heads into the bedroom. Leaving her alone doesn't bother him necessarily; it's her choice after all. He lies down, and closes his eyes like the full night of restless sleep meant nothing and perhaps it didn't.

He doesn't know how long he lies there, too tired to think but awake enough that he doesn't drift off when he feels the mattress dip next to him.

"Shinichi." She murmurs. Shinichi stares blearily up at her.

It sounds like a search for something. Similarity. Sameness. Comfort.

He doesn't know which to answer to so he doesn't.

When he doesn't, he feels the heat of her when she settles down next to him. She's curled towards him, her head resting on her arms.

"I found burner phones in the kitchen," he begins, now is as good a time as any really.

"You want to call someone?" She asks like she doesn't know his answer already.

"Ran," he says, expects it to fracture the fragile push and pull of affectionate ache between them but she nods instead. "I figured we should consult together before making any external contact."

"Yeah, you can." Shiho replies, "of course,"

They don't really speak after that.

They fall asleep curled in towards each other like a barrier to the rest of the world. Her hand rests above his outstretched wrist between them. A loose grip he could easily slip out of. But he doesn't.

Shinichi wakes an hour later, surprisingly more relaxed and better rested. Her chest gently rises and falls as she stirs. Buttery skin that's warm from their combined body heat. It's smoother now that the dirt is long gone. Her lips are pink and slightly parted, cracked from lack of chapstick.

He shifts closer, close enough she's up against his body, head resting beneath his chin.

"Better?" he sounds amused.

Shiho chuckles into his shirt, digs her fingers into the fabric. He doesn't want to bring it up but if they continue to suffer severe side effects as a result of taking down the Black Organization, from the mere thought that they might still be out there, he wants to offer an alternative. Even if it means leaving Japan for a while he'll do it if it means they can find a way to move on from this.

They munch on leftovers and chat about what their lives might be when they decide to leave this apartment.

Shinichi sincerely mourns their retirement from the Detective Boys club and they discuss what the best way to inform the others of Conan's and Haibara's departure. Shiho thinks about going back to school for a real degree, a credential that she can actually show people. And even though so much has happened she's still considering pharmaceuticals. Shinichi tells her he's actually considering taking a break from casework if only to cultivate all the relationships he's neglected while he was away. Shiho gives him a tender look at that. It only takes him a moment to realize that his family is now hers as well.

Her only family.

He rubs thumb across her cheekbone and promises to bring her along when he visits his mother in America.

Shiho wakes the next morning in the throes of a nightmare; she's shuddering as she curls in towards him, murmurs about seeing her sister's dead body, handcuffs tight around her wrists, Gin chasing her through tight empty halls. She relives the gun shot, the explosion, what if they hadn't made it out.

Shinichi's seen those same things as he's slept, the red of the clock telling him that it's two in the morning. He's breathing hard and gasping. He's able to hide it much better, quiet himself before she begins to stir, in the middle of her own haunting.

He wants her to rest, not to bother with his problems. He's done that for her and having not given her the chance to reciprocate makes him feel slightly guilty. It's then he does tell her, relays to her the same frightening experiences. The gunshot wounds that feel so horrifyingly real, he doubles over in pain before his eyes snap open. He sees bodies, countless bodies, perhaps the cases have finally seeped beneath his skin, infiltrated his mind with thoughts of revenge and anger.

She doesn't cry, simply listens and nods and sympathizes. They become closer then.

He doesn't really see himself sharing these thoughts with anyone else.

In the dim of the morning he tells her that perhaps they should leave Japan. If Ran has waited this long, she can wait just a bit longer. She doesn't deserve this broken mess that lies in the heap of blankets facing his other half. He suggests this because their mental health is suffering here, they can't go on the way they are. Shiho listens to him, considers then asks him to give her time to actually decide.

She leaves again an hour later.

Shinichi watched her go, skin still sweaty and chest partially heaving. She gave him a look as she stood up, an expression that'll haunt him for perhaps years. Light eyes that looked lackluster and dull, completely wrecked. He understood then that she needed to do it alone.

And he let her, he trusts her.

He trusts her with his life.

She comes back with new set of clothes for them and news that Agasa knows that they are for all intents and purposes okay. When she does, she joins him back in bed, as relaxed as she can be, eyes droopy and exhausted looking, she falls asleep in minutes.

Shiho wakes up an half an hour later to the sound of Shinichi speaking to someone out in the main room. Judging from the one-sided conversation, Shinichi's on the phone.

It must Ran.

She expects jealousy maybe even anger to course through her, but neither do. In fact she feels closer to normalcy just listening to them talk than she has in awhile.

Shinichi sounds like he's comforting her, Shiho can still her hear the hesitation in his tone. The way he deliberately withholds any information pertaining to exactly when he'll show back up. Other than that, he sounds comforted himself, content even just speaking to her. Shiho smiles at that then heads to the bathroom to give them privacy.

As the week progresses, Shinichi can no longer look himself in the mirror. He lets Shiho trace the dark circles beneath his eyes, brushes her fingers through his hair, makes him presentable, as if she isn't the only one that'll see him that day.

He speaks to Ran again, she appears to sound happier and happier with each phone call like he's leading up to something. He hates to bring her hopes up, but he doesn't think he's coming home any time soon.

It's Thursday, they've spent almost a week crammed in a small apartment. Shinichi hasn't left it once. He found his escape in each phonecall, in Shiho's skin. Shiho found hers among the biting air and empty convenience stores at three in the morning. She left again that morning and as if her decision had solidified brought their passports.

I wanted to show this in a more realistic light, there's no way Shinichi could just drop Ran, he loves her. However there is certainly the possibility of it morphing into a different love. I wanted a confused, frustrated Shinichi that didn't know what he was doing for once.

Reviews and feedback are appreciated