It’s a curious thing.

Short, permed, layered auburn locks. Curled mascara-laden lashes. Red lips drenched in heavy gloss. A lingering scent of expensive perfume. Perfectly manicured hands swirling a flute of absinthe—Death in the Afternoon.

Miyano Shiho is, as she has been the past weeks, spending her evening getting wasted. She’d argue that she isn’t getting wasted, she’s just inebriating herself, and there’s no problem, is there? After all, she has the freedom to choose how she can spend her evenings now, can’t she? And, no, she knows herself better than anyone, and she can take of herself without the help of a silly detective who has seemingly caught her paranoia, (which she would just like to stress, he got belatedly,) thank you very much. Any other replies are met with a dial tone, a seen or read flag, or a door in the face as she leaves, whichever is applicable.

This time though, the silly paranoid detective opened the door she slammed on his face and followed after her, slipping into the passenger’s seat to ride shotgun. She raised one brow at him as she started the engine. She told herself she’s too tired for arguments to make him leave.

Now, as she’s sitting at her usual place at the bar, the bartender approaches her for the seventh time that night. Instead of giving her the usual glass, he asks her if something’s wrong with the mix, since she isn’t downing the glass quite as fast today. Even slower, he notes, than when she was brought here first weeks ago. She replies everything’s fine, just wanted to take it a little bit slower tonight, then smiles. He’s obviously disarmed as he stutters that she’s in a different mood today. She’s about to reply, but his face contorts in obvious discomfort as he squeaks, “I’ll be right by if you need me!” and moves to the opposite side of the bar.

Confused at the sudden end to their conversation, she’s about to call him back and ask him. But, as soon as a familiar blue moves into her periphery, she chides herself, of course, of course, the detective is here to save the damsel.

“Yes, especially if it’s from herself,” he continues. She inwardly cringes, and this time aware that she’s speaking softly, “Yes, the great Kudo Shinichi now playing as a babysitter—or is it a chaperone?—and, what is this, he’s using his honed senses to eavesdrop on a lady’s musings this fine evening? Why would he ever—oh, of course, for truth and justice!”

She drinks whatever is left of her drink in one gulp and gestures for another. He’s visibly conflicted whether to give her one or not, and she turns to her part—no, an acquaintance who happens to be at the same bar who’s currently sending death glares to the bartender.

“What, is he one of your suspects?” she asks.

“No, but he might soon be, if he gives you that seventh glass.”

“I won’t die from alcohol, Kudo-kun. Not from this kind.” She wryly smiles, looking down at her empty glass.

“Oh, but he will. Hmm, that makes him the victim then, won’t he?”

“Kudo Shinichi, the Detective of the East, savior of the police force and the Heisei Holmes, threatening someone over a glass of alcohol?! Wow, this is a fine evening indeed.”

“We’re going.”

“You’re going. I’m not.”

“You’re drunk. You’re all smiley a while ago, didn’t you know? This is enough for tonight, we’re going.”

“Huh, is smiling a crime now, detective? Jealous? No, don’t answer that. And yes, I was happy before you went and practically killed the poor guy in a staring match.”

“He was leering, you’re drunk, we’re going home.”

“Oh, was he? What about you, Mr. Stalker, watching me like a maniac from the side table? Shouldn’t you be arrested for that, pervert!”

“Yes, so arrest me. Let’s go. Now.”

“…later, then. I’m busy.”

“Haibara, this is not what you call busy.”

“Edogawa-kun, that’s not for you to decide. If you’re busy, then go. I’m not stopping you.”

“Miyano, I can’t let you do this. If Hakase—”

“Kudo Shinichi. Go back to your girlfriend.”

“Miyano Shiho. Go home with me.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking this since a while ago, but why are you even here? It’s a curious, curious thing: wouldn’t Ran-san be all worried her fiancé’s wandering this late at night? Now you’re even asking me to go home with you. I’ll have to turn you down, I’m not a fan of affairs: they’re messy and they never end well.”

“Miyano, I hate repeating myself, but you’re drunk, and if you’d actually kept in touch instead of burying yourself in work, and now, worse, in alcohol, you’d know what Ran would actually think.”

“So this is not keeping in touch, when you’re basically living at my flat less than a week after I moved to it.”

“That’s different! You didn’t move, you left! Without telling anyone, without telling me!”

“And justice had to chase the prodigal child, bringing potatoes, carrots…”

“Shut up, I thought you’d like some stew.”

“Not yours.”

“Hah, I’ll make you eat those words someday.”

“How about you make something decent first?”

“Huh, I cook eggs just fine!”

“Oh, wow, gee. I wouldn’t know.”

“You would, if you actually woke up before I leave when I do visit!”

“As I said, you’re practically living at my flat.”

“…I barely see you. We don’t talk anymore, Haibara. Not like before.”

“It’s not like before.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“But it is.”

“…I just… don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I don’t like seeing me either, but here we are.”

“Haibara.”

“Kudo-kun, I played my part: I gave you your life back. Is that not enough? Now leave me alone.”

“It’s not. I can’t.”

What else do you want me to do?

Her unasked question which she’s sure he can read from her eyes is answered by a resolute stare. She knows what he wants. She knows, but she can’t. She can’t tell him. She can’t tell him how she really feels. How much she wants to latch onto him. How much she wants to keep him. She knows, she can’t be a part of his life without putting hers in order. So she can set him free.

She turns away. “Get me one more glass and I’ll think about it.”

“Deal.” He smiles.

She’s a bit unstable as she walks, refusing his offers to help her since, as she puts it, she doesn’t want Ran-nee-chan worried.

“You say you want me to keep in touch, but you didn’t even drink with me. What kind of bullshit companionship is that?”

“I did drink, but I needed to stay sober since I’ll drive us home, miss genius.”

“We can just get a cab, mister genius.”

“I’ve had enough with cabs and criminals.”

“Paranoid.”

They’re walking to the parking lot. As they wait for the pedestrian signal to turn green, his phone rings. She signals for him to pick it up, and he does. From what she can hear, it’s the inspector, and he says he doesn’t have leads yet, but he’s getting there. And that of course he’s read the file, and what, how many pages, c'mon, inspector, he’s just going to contact you first thing in the morning.

While he’s talking, a car zooms past. And another. And a thought enters her mind: she can end everything, right here, right now. Hopefully, she’ll get to see her sister. Another car zooms past, and she takes a step—

“HAIBARA!!!”

Shinichi yanks her violently towards him, away from the street and the cars, and firmly, almost painfully, grabs her by the shoulders.

He’s angry. That’s all that registers in her mind. She tilts her head, silently asking why and hoping he’ll explain it simply because she doesn’t think her brain can handle it right now.

He releases her shoulders as the light turns green, and he holds her, almost drags her, by the hand, towards the parking lot.

As soon as both of them are in the car, he slams his fists on the wheel. He turns and glares at her, then shouts, “Don’t you ever, ever do that again!”

She curls up on her seat and turns her head towards the window, a little bit perplexed with the situation—Why’s he so angry?—and woozy still, the former mostly caused by the latter.

Surprisingly for her, his voice turns gentle at this, as she hears him say softly, “I’ll take you home.”

She feels and hears some kind of movement, and a second later she sees his arm stretched across her. Curious, she sits up and looks at him. “Seatbelt,” he explains.

He adjusts the belt and pulls it towards the buckle. She’s frozen, tempted to thaw in his warmth—But no, no, no, that wouldn’t be right… For her, the moment feels like forever, and she hopes it lasts forever, and she’s unable to shake off an irrational voice in her head saying that this is all a dream, this isn’t real, and she should just let go.

Snap.

Shiho grabs his tie and pulls him, placing her lips on his.

He doesn’t move away.

She moves her lips.

She can feel his hand cupping her face and she almost, almost cries as she expects him to push her away.

He doesn’t.

His right hand moves to her nape, his left roaming from her thigh to her waist, as he deepens the kiss.