Written: December 2006

Disclaimer: If he had done this in the canon, you'd know about it.

Author's note: Just a theory of mine.

Dedication: To She Wants Revenge for writing such a nifty song.

Out of Control
by Pedal

Blinking, swirling rainbows of color dotted the otherwise dim room. The lights were hardly of concern compared to the music. The beats and vibrations that drowned out any comprehensible thought let alone all of the other people there. But she didn't notice them. She could only see him. As she closed her eyes, Ran tried to forget about everyone else's worries and eventually her own. When he told her he was Conan, she'd tell him she already knew.

Conan couldn't move like this. Shinichi's body was lithe, sculpted, and lank. Long and agile enough to turn so far and quickly. By the time he twisted enough to have shifted his mesh shirt, the shimmer of perspiration glued it to his body. The polyester fishnet long-sleeved shirt was no longer baggy but clung to his skin, leaving the hem at his waistline to flair slightly.

His hair no longer stuck in every direction, save for the cowlicks on his crown. His bangs appeared stretched as they ran slick across his forehead and hung down over one eye. The wisps at the back of his neck were pasted down as well. As his head swung to a side, the top layers of his hair slapped to another part of his head, flinging small droplets of more perspiration. She didn't even want to think of how uncomfortable his pants must have become, not able to keep up with his movements. Their tight black denim was practically soaked with sweat.

One arm curled up and back behind his head while the other ran from his chest to his stomach to his hip to his thigh and bounced off at his knee to circle his waist. The wrist about his head fell down his back, beating in time with the same music that violently shook the building. Both arms rejoined and passed each other, keeping straight and crossing. They pulled back with a jerk, and he turned his center at the same time, elbows bent at the same height as his shoulders. And he was lost in himself.

He turned and curved his body too much for anyone to notice his condition. Sure, his breathing came a little short and sweat glistened on his skin, but they didn't notice how badly. His chest rapidly and desperately did its best to keep up with him. From his throat, the breaths came his ragged wheezes. The sweat poured off him, constantly bringing his hands to his eyes to rid it from them, the movements being passed off as dancing. The deep black rings under his eyes went unnoticed, one usually hid at a time.

Ran tried to think through Shinichi's condition, calculate how much longer he'd be himself. His form would stay for about another hour and half or two, Ran estimated with a glance at the wall clock. Pushing past several others, Ran made her way to her friend and began dancing with him. She would never move as well as Shinichi, but at least she could sing. But maybe that was why Shinichi was the best at dancing.