A/N: So a few days ago, butterfly-chan sent me a ton of KID, Kaito, and/or Aoko pics. (Anybody a MK fanartist? there are some amazing pics around here.) And that got me into reading the manga all over again. And I realized that Aoko actually won those concert tickets Hakuba and Kaito battle over in volume three by winning a drawing contest. … aaaaand that led me to this.

So this fic being born pretty much thanks to you, it's dedicated to you, my dear friend. Hope it'll keep you in the partying mood. x3

Disclaimer–Obviously, I don't own a thing. This is not an AU, by the way.

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I– Night's Like Coffee To My Tongue

-

I put this battle in a box

With all my military thoughts

And the days where I was almost at my end

Seems to me quite clear now

Now that you are here how

Easily we could begin again…

-

"I won't be attending the meeting tonight," Aoko informed her desk-colleague as she put on her coat. The clock had just stricken the seventh hour, but in the office it was early leaving; she felt a little thrilled.

Chidori looked up from the pile of forms she was reading–or, more likely, the evening paper. The cubicle they shared was strewn with Chidori's magazines. "Why not?" she said, frowning. "You missed out on the last already. You're gonna be kicked out of this project if you do that too often."

"I've got a date," Aoko grinned darkly. "C'mon, Chi-chan, please? they're not taking attendance, and you can fill in my name and phone number and turn in the appliance form for me. Please?"

The date thing did it. Chidori lowered her newspaper and gave her friend a leer Keiko, in her worst fan-KID days, would have been proud of. "Oh, you've got yourself a date, have you? and who is it this time? last time I checked you were going out with Mori-kun from fourth–"

"He broke up with me two months ago," Aoko protested. "Well, kinda. We sorta broke up with each other at the same time. No, it's not him." She fastened her coat belt and grinned again from over the folders piled up on their desks. "Remember Yoshiro?"

"Who's Yoshi–" Chidori said, at a loss, and then acquired enlightenment in the same second. "Don't tell me it's that gorgeous blonde from the office party."

"It is the gorgeous blonde from the office party," Aoko said unsympathetically, and then ducked from the newspaper Chidori threw in her face. "Hey, Chi-chan, I can't help it if he fancied me! He was the one who called and suggested we have dinner–"

"This is completely unfair," her colleague huffed. "I'd spotted him first, you thief. Get out!" and laughter broke out in her voice as she skirted past the doubledesk to chuck the newspaper at her again. "Out!"

"Love you too, Chi-chan," Aoko chuckled, and fled.

She took the lifts down to the first floor, tiptoeing past her boss' office to avoid being called right back and dragged to the meeting. Management had been full of brag about their new project these last two weeks, but hardly anyone in the office knew what it was about and who were the surprise guests who were supposed to show up tonight.

The doors to the lift she had squeezed into swished shut, sandwiching a woman she thought was from third between two men from the printers in their blue overalls, and it plummeted down with the dozen people it held. It'd been thrilling at first, she thought, watching the lights from each story trickle by, a new, inventive project, carte blanche to drawing and imagination. But after two weeks of hearing Management boast and seeing nothing come out of it, it'd become wearying somewhat.

Tonight's meeting was supposed to clear everything out, but then Chidori could tell her come the morning. A few hours more of suspense wouldn't kill her, and she had a nice evening to look forward to instead of the cramped crowd in a reduced room her colleagues would be leaving their offices for in an hour.

Definitely more like it.

It was not dusk yet. June was a warm breeze blown around the street, childishly playing in Aoko's hair as she waited by the office door. Yoshiro had warned her he might be a few minutes late, due to some communication problems on his floor, but as Aoko leaned back against the wall, watching the blurry bustle of passers-by, she felt it was a good time to be still, enjoy the season, spring etching slowly toward summer.

It was a nice evening, not very different from those that had preceded it, but nice, and one she would never have appreciated so fully had it not been for those few minutes of stillness and calm after the angry hustle of work.

"You look dazzling tonight, Aoko-san," said the man who'd just come out of the office, stepping near her.

"Yoshiro-san!" A startled smile. "Thank you. There are only my office clothes, however–"

"You would look dazzling in any clothes," was the flattering response. She could hardly think he meant it, but the thought was amusing. "Shall we be heading forward?" His formal mien was amusing also. He'd suggested a French restaurant not far-off, too expensive for her own possibilities, but quite innocuous as an invitation.

"Of course."

They started down the avenue through the crowd, and the black-clad, blue-eyed man who'd been watching them from the opposite pavement slowly engaged in crossing the street.

-o-

When she got to work the next morning her whole floor was bright with garlands and pink balloons. Soft music was playing in the interoffice, and the reception desk outside the lifts offered handmade cookies.

"Okay, so what is going on?" she laughed, entering her cubicle and tossing her coat over a chair. "I understand Management wants to celebrate its brand new project, but this is going a little over the top–"

"No, no," Chidori chirped from over her magazine. "It's to get in the mood."

"… right."

Her colleague lowered her paper and grinned at her. "Look, Ao-chan, usually I'm not much into Management's ultra-supra projects, but this? it's huge. It might be the greatest project we ever take part in–leaves almost everything to our originality and–" the uproar outside their booth cut her off mid-sentence.

"What's that?" Aoko frowned, inching closer the door to see.

Chidori grinned. "That, dear, is our project coming in." She sneaked over to see, cast a look over the panel, and retracted back, still giggling. "It is! C'mon, Ao-chan, let's go pay our respects!" –and with that Aoko found herself dragged right off her chair and out of their cubicle almost before she'd had time to breathe.

A small bustle of their co-workers was gathering, laughing, over by the lifts. As they got closer, overhyper-Chidori with amused-Aoko in tow, Shinji from the colouring turned and mentioned them enthusiastically closer, while exclaiming to whoever they were grouping around, "And here come our drawing fairies–give them any subject, they'll improvise on it–"

"We're not that good," Chidori said, blushing crimson, but Aoko's hands had gone limp in her friend's. Ironically enough, though it was what should be expected from someone in the drawing line, the first thing she thought was that his dark suit strikingly heightened his eyes.

"The petite one is Hamaya Chidori," Shinji was saying with a grin that ate half her face. "And this is Nakamori Aoko–"

"Excuse me," Aoko said, and escaped.

She walked briskly by her booth, made a sudden gesture as though to step into it, and then continued, going faster still as soon as she'd torn past a corner and was no longer in sight, her mind in a painful clasp. She made her way blindly toward the coffee machines, changed her mind halfway there, and turned back with the intention of going down to the printers'.

She nearly ran dry into him.

"Aoko," he said, and though he wasn't breathless in the least, there was a slightly flustered air to him that suggested he'd come after her.

"Kaito," she breathed out, and regretted it instantly. He gazed at her for an instant, glanced at the mop of co-workers watching them from the coffee machine corner, and looked back with the intent manner of the one used to having his way.

"Look–can we talk elsewhere?"

I don't want to talk at all, she thought lamely, but led the way to some more secluded quarter. Wrong move, she realized. If it wasn't obvious enough by his chasing after her, after that everyone in the office would think something was up between them.

"I–listen," she said quickly, as soon as they faced each other without somebody in the way to play eavesdropper. "I don't–I don't know where you're coming from, but–" she broke off, helplessly, and stared up at him for one second too long. He'd grown, she thought, her chest clenching. The banter-and-nonsense mood of the teenager he had been had somehow grown into more fixed features, though still sharp, more mature, more sad-looking also. "I don't–"

"I'm here for work," he said quietly. His eyes were not leaving her face, while she very pointedly did not look at him, not at him, not in the blue that had once been able to tear her breath from her. "You're part of this publicist agency?"

"Of course I am," she snapped. "I've been for over a year."

He frowned. "Then I'm surprised you don't know. We made a deal with this agency a month or two ago–only we had to decide the terms of the contract and my schedule is rather a busy one, so it took us longer than we thought–but technically, I'm employing you now."

She gaped at him. "You mean Management's big secret project is–"

"–advertising for the next season of my shows," he said. "Yes." He frowned at her again. "There was an office meeting for this yesterday evening. Everyone in this project was supposed to be there."

Oh. She breathed in cold air. "… I wasn't there. I asked my desk-neighbour to turn in the form for me." The evening flashed before her more pleasantly than it had really been; Yoshiro-san's smiles over fine wine and bouchées de poulet, his smooth voice and the gentle warmth in her chest as the dinner unfurled.

"You weren't there," Kaito repeated, eyes so blue among the dark it felt almost strange.

"… I had a date," she dropped snappily, and revelled in the sudden cold of his face.

"… indeed."

"Look, I thought we had a deal," she said desperately. "I wasn't to tell anyone about–about you, and who you are, and you were supposed to never–"

"–intrude in your life again," he supplied smoothly. "Yes. I know. What do you want me to do, Aoko?" She cringed at the familiar use of her name–the way he said it, easy and fine. "Back out of this project because my ex-childhood friend is part of it and she doesn't want to see me?"

"Of course not," she bit. "Don't be–of course not. Just don't–you don't have to–what are you doing here anyway?"

"That's the project's main thing," he said, and this time there was an edge to his voice she wasn't certain there was before. "I'm staying here to help. Direct communication between the advertising agency and the product they advertise–me." He paused, lips twitching quickly, perhaps not in a smile; how could she be certain of anything where he was involved? "In other words, I'll be here every day."

And that was just what she needed. Shit. "How long?" she heard herself say, voice distant and uninterested.

"Three months."

Shit, shit, shit. "Well, don't–try at least to respect the deal as closely as… possible," she hissed, looking back at him and then away. "You don't have to enter in contact me with more than is strictly necessary–"

He looked appalled at this. "Aoko­–"

"I don't want you back in my life, Kaito!" Her stomach lurched.

It had the necessary effect. His face closed up. "Fine. I will not… impose my presence over you. More than is strictly necessary." It was his turn to look away, at a pretty woman just stiletto'ing by. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes," she hissed again, and shouldered past him to make her way back into her cubicle.

Chidori looked up when she came in, and lowered decisively her newspaper. Aoko shot her a glance and sat heavily down, mind in a heavier turmoil than it had been in years. Yesterday at the same hour she'd been happily–quietly working on some sketch or other, never thinking, never–

"Well?"

Her head jerked up. "Well what?"

Chidori rolled her eyes. "Well–ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, ex-hidden brother? Kuroba-san went right after you after you left, you know–hardly the thing a just-met acquaintance would do. Did he find you, by the way?"

"Yes, he did–no, he's not! I mean–he's not–"

"He didn't knock you up, did he?"

"What­–no."

Chidori cocked her head to the side. "Then what is he to you? It's obvious you two know each other–and you never told me you were on more than speaking terms with Kuroba Kaito." She pouted. "It's bloody obvious you haven't disappeared together for twenty minutes simply to have a coffee."

"We didn't–Chi-chan!" Aoko huffed, looking away. "It isn't–what was I supposed to say to you–hey, Chi-chan, Kuroba Kaito was a high school classmate of mine and he was the most insufferable, smug, impossible jerk–"

Chidori arched an eyebrow. Aoko sighed.

"Listen–we didn't have an affair. We didn't–have anything. I couldn't stand him, we got into a mix-up, and I-I never really forgave him for it." Somewhere along her words her eyes had strayed to her hands, and locked there as she breathed in, out. "I never wanted to see him again," she said softly.

Chidori looked unconvinced–so similar to Keiko it hurt–but thankfully did not push the matter on, and neither did either of her other co-workers. Apparently Kaito had talked just enough to avoid curiosity and gossip.

She saw him again that day. Twice, three times, four. He was everywhere–talking to people, laughing with people Aoko had hardly ever said two words to in her one year in the office as well as with people she knew well. He was the same as ever–somehow, somewhat–amicable, friendly, stirring those who surrounded him out of their torpor and into a world of his own that was twice as fascinating. As always he was an attention magnet, as always a man of the show.

She had been his audience too many times not to recognise the aloof looks onto his current audience's faces–rapture, wonder, marvel when he poof'ed doves out of sheer nowhere and, to their eyes, all but conjured garlands and trumpets for everyone to see.

"That's not all of it," Chidori said to her in a fierce whisper as they passed him for the umpteenth time that afternoon. "I mean, look at the man. He's gorgeous. Half the girls in the office are giving him bedroom eyes, and the other half aren't just because they're busy breaking up with their current dates."

"Hush, you," Aoko said, with a not-too heartfelt smile and a swat at her friend, but Chidori was right.

Kuroba Kaito had been cute as a boy; he was stunning as a man. The six years they had spent away from each other, never catching more of the other than passing, accidental glimpses in the street, had fixed his figure in adulthood. His features were sharper, more definitely ascertained; he stood slender and tall, and though his hair was still bed-tousled as it had ever been, and his grins still held the boyish quality they had to them in high school, he looked distinctly twenty-five, not seventeen.

As for this black suit he was wearing, probably to mock the office's regulations by observing them to the letter, well–it was an invitation to abandon if she had ever seen one.

-o-

The first week went off surprisingly well, despite Jii-chan's manipulations with his manager. He had never thought his old friend, his father's assistant, possibly the man he trusted more than he trusted anyone, would do such a thing to him.

He'd said so.

"It's for the best, young master," the old assistant had replied as he dealt with Kaito's fanmail. The eyes that had turned to him had been twinkling with amusement. "You need the distraction, and your next shows won't begin until another month."

"And your idea of distraction is to send me over to a publicist's agency to make the campaign of my own shows? Jii-chan, please, tell me you're joking."

"I am sure you will find your three months there very entertaining, young master."

Thinking back on it, maybe Jii-chan had done it on purpose. Thinking back on it, he probably had. The old man's personality was growing to be more and more similar to his father's, and seeing that Aoko worked in this particular agency, he had not hesitated a second, thus forcing Kaito to break his word, meet her everyday, and send his carefully built balance of a world into a stunning freefall.

He had been startled enough to see her waiting outside the building he was supposed to attend that meeting in, and slightly disappointed when she had left with a man she apparently knew well. Slightly, for it meant she worked in that office, even though she wasn't part of the advertising project–she wasn't, or she would have attended the meeting also.

And then the next day–learning she was part of the project after all, she had not attended the meeting because she had a date, talking to her again, her eyes flashing and hands clawing and mouth biting in anger–it had given the freefall a weightless edge that made it as unpredictable as an off-axis spinning top.

He had not seen her in over one year–a stranger in the street, quickly passing by in a crowd of other faceless strangers, eyes in front of her, never noticing him. Grown, in a hurry, but still Aoko in the way she walked, Aoko in the way she watched forward with the same set determination. He had nearly gone after her.

He hadn't.

When they had stood face to face in that corridor, he had been shocked by how adult she had looked. Gone was the seventeen-years-old he had known once; gone also the carelessly chosen clothes and messy hair. She dressed as the businesswoman she was supposed to be, in a tight skirt and ironed blouse, jacket, most often black, and her brown hair was pulled back in a knot on her nape. She looked stunning, but he missed the casual air she used to pull genuinely off, never even aware of it.

He had no doubt she still didn't give a damn about what clothes she wore when she was at home, and that gave her a slightly more familiar, endearing secret dimension only he was aware of.

It'd been a week, and they'd talked about four times, directly, face to face. He was reminded of the Spanish Armada, the way she turned and her body turned with it–or, maybe, the tense poise of the bowstring right before lashing out. She had never said two sentences together to him.

Today, though, it was getting unnerving. He had missed Aoko–missed her like hell. His best friend, his first crush, first love, once-everything. Everything. The first year had been kinda empty, simply the weird feel of cold within his chest, and the sometimes-thought that someone absent had been calling him. He had done silly things.

Now, though, it was getting ridiculous. It was six-years old and not worth dwelling upon. He cornered her after yet another office meeting.

She looked off-guard, almost, when he caught up with her and her friend and asked if they could talk. Hamaya had actually the nerve to grin in a way that reminded him annoyingly of Momoi, and said in a saccharine voice–"Of course–Ao-chan will be delighted–" and left her friend to her fate.

Aoko fidgeted for a second, not looking at him, and then made a swift movement, as though to bolt, hastily checked. Her eyes lifted to his with wavering determination. "I don't want to talk." The words came out childish and softly choked.

"I do," he said, and led to the way to the coffee machines, trusting she wouldn't make a run for it now that people could watch them. She didn't. He heard her hesitate behind him, in one angry huff, and she came after him.

"So–Ao-chan, uh?" he said, mostly to make conversation. He didn't want to tackle the subject that needed tackling so long as she hadn't had at least two sips of coffee down.

She glared at him. "Shut up."

He chuckled softly. She was still temperamental. Though at times her annoyance would show more in the cold manners she seemed to adopt now, and in the dark glances her eyes had learnt to cast, the irritability inside was the same, better controlled, a little on the extreme side. It felt very strange to be on the receiving end of it again, but somehow the feeling had something right to it, that talked of long-formed habit and familiarity.

Only one man stood in the coffee machines' corner. He stood a few minutes with them, confronted with the goofy, silent smile of Kaito's, whom he liked, attempted a conversation with Aoko, whom he didn't, failed, said something that was probably 'well, gotta go back to work' or possibly 'I'll see you two later' but rather resembled a mix between the gargle of a seagull and a ceiling fan going the wrong way, and bolted to everyone's relief.

Kaito started punching on buttons and feeding the machine with coins.

"So, hum. How've you been doing?"

She stared at him disbelievingly. "Kuroba Kaito, you have not dragged me all the way to here to ask me how my life is."

"Yes I did." He tapped a plastic goblet to let it fill with the ordered beverage, sighed, and turned back to her. "Aoko, I know we have an agreement. I'm not trying to slither out of it. Can't we just–stop, call a truce, or something, because we'll end up shredding each other to bits if we continue in that way. You ignore me everytime you can–"

"I'm being civil!" she protested, "You just don't–"

"I don't want to fight." His voice was soft and quiet, and that was probably what hushed her up. She stared up at him with wide eyes, biting her lip in nervousness. "Let us just call up a peace for those two months and a half, or whatever, we have left. We'll both be better that way, believe me." He handed her her coffee. "One cream, no sugar. Right?"

She looked at him, and at the drink, and then took it with gentle hands. "You'll be having hot chocolate, of course," she said, watching him insert more change in the machine. The corner of his mouth softened where laughing lines were beginning to show.

"Always the sweetest stuff for me."

"Right." And he studied her in the corner of his eyes, the familiar way she stood with her hands clasped around her drink, pouring deliberate amounts of thought in it before drinking, until she looked up with words that cornered him better than her silent glares had. "And how have you been doing?"

He shrugged. "Shows. You know." He took a thoughtful sip of cocoa. "It's great actually–always loved an audience–" he offered it a smile and a toast, neither of which she responded to; she was quiet. He asked softly, "What about you?"

She shrugged, also. It struck him then, how similar they acted. "I'm fine. Successful workline and all–"

"Successful love life also?"

She looked stricken. "Kaito–"

"Aoko-san," said a blonde man coming in from the parallel corridor. He was smiling, his face in a pleasant beam, and Aoko looked surprised and glad enough at the sight of him for Kaito to recognise the man whom she'd left with that first day. He had talked to him several times since his arrival–long enough to know it was a serious, respectful young man, probably one of the best choices Aoko could make.

"Yoshiro-kun–ah–hm, I think you know Kuroba Kaito–"

"Of course," Yoshiro said, stopping to kiss her cheek. "Have you been seducing my girlfriend, Kuroba-kun?"

"I wouldn't dare," said Kaito gravely. His mouth was twitching before he could help it, and he knew Aoko had seen it. She wasn't looking at him, but her hands were clasped tighter around her drink, and she wasn't looking up at her boyfriend either.

Yoshiro smiled. "I hope you haven't forgotten we had a date tonight, Aoko-san."

"Of course not." Suddenly the businesswoman was back among them, instead of the young woman she had allowed herself to be one moment, and she finished her coffee in one determinate gulp. "I will fetch my things."

She left quickly. Yoshiro started punching buttons for a coffee also.

"I understand you and Aoko-san were classmates in high school."

Kaito bowed his head slightly. "You understand well."

"Then you are the best man to talk to," the older man said, fishing in his pocket for change. "Aoko-san can be very cold, you know–I daresay she was that way in high school as well–but deep inside she is but shy and gentle, craving for protection."

"I would never have guessed," said Kaito softly.

-o-

June slowly crept into July. While summer settled in the office's A/C broke down like every year, and as the days lengthened, as the heat increased, the reception to both increased also, making the staff rather moody and sour after a full ten-hour's worth of work. These were generally the worst months of the year, and many a worker usually chose to leave in vacation then, but this year's project made it quite impossible.

One Friday morning Aoko entered her cubicle with alarming brusqueness, dropped her coat and herself on her chair, and slumped down on her desk, head pillowed in her arms, apparently disinclined to moving ever again.

Chidori gingerly nudged a lock of brown hair from her forehead. "What's going on." The rustle of her magazine as she put it down. "Didn't yesterday's date with Yoshiro-kun go well?"

Aoko's head shifted neatly so that one blue eye pinned her desk-neighbour. "… we broke up."

"… oh." The creaking of Chidori's chair. "I'm sorry, Aoko. I know you liked him."

She heaved a sigh. "Yes." Straightened up. "And no. It wasn't meant to be very serious–we both knew it would end quickly, somehow." She ran a hand through her hair, the brown locks tumbling down on her shoulders the way they hadn't since high school.

"Then why the depressed mood?"

Aoko shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. The old 'I've just been dumped' feeling, you know?" and then Chidori promptly smacked her across the forehead with her newspaper. "­–Ow! What was that for?"

"We've all been dumped someday," her colleague informed her tartly. "Have a coffee and get over it." She perched herself atop Aoko's desk. "Besides, you know what this means."

She did. "Chi-chan," she groaned. "Let's make an exception, we've got so much work…"

"Tradition's tradition," was the swift rebuke. "It'll do us no end good to have a breather, and besides it's Friday," and with that Aoko was hauled clear off her chair and outside the cubicle and into the neighbouring one in two seconds straight.

Shinji-kun and Kazaya-kun were both there, with Kaito and a man Aoko vaguely recognised from up on sixth. They were all drinking coffee, though it was more likely to be cocoa in Kaito's case; and she wondered when they ever came to work.

"Office's Singles' Party tonight!" exclaimed Chidori brightly, her petite head bobbing up and down with excitement as she dragged her very reluctant friend into the booth. "Anyone interested?"

"Count me in," said Kazaya, and then, "Who got dumped?"

"I did," Aoko said, very much not meeting Kaito's eyes.

"Welcome back. Count me in, too," said Shinji. "Care to come, Kuroba? We'll accept you if you're single and free tonight. These are the terms." He grinned at him. "Then again, someone like you probably has three different dates scheduled per week."

"Not really, no," Kaito said. Laughter bubbled up in his voice Aoko did her best to ignore. "I am single, as a matter of fact."

"Then you can join in–for now," Chidori slurred, giving him exaggeratedly bedroom eyes, and Aoko felt forced to join in the laughs.

They ended up being eight to go and neatly crammed in a box of a bar nearby. Reluctant as she had been as the evening began, the second round of drinks eased Aoko's mind somewhat, and she was able to nod calmly at Kaito when his eyes landed upon hers for the sixth or seventh time.

It's okay. I'm okay. Stop staring.

He turned away with a slight smile which did not flop her heart over.

"Okay, people!" bellowed Chidori, who could never keep her liquor, slamming both hands on the table and upsetting everybody's glass. "Time for the traditional recounting of everybody's first love!"

"Er," said Shinji.

"That's not a tradition," said Aoko.

"I just invented it," wound up Chidori. 'It's a tradition from now on. Come on, stir up, people! Mai-chan, you go first!"

Much to everyone's dismay, Mai–a colourist from down on third–counted without restraint the story of the first boy she had fallen for, the middle-school romance that had ensued and then withered out due to their going to different high schools. It was sweet, and she told it with the tender remembrance of many years gone.

"Aw," said Chidori, now very drunk. "Next! Hazaya-kun!" and it turned on.

Aoko only half-listened. She liked it here; the bar was swathed in dark, soft hues and tuned down music. It wasn't crowded, and the gentle hush of conversations going on in other boxes pillowed her into the banquette where she sat, sandwiched between Shinji-kun and Isumi-san from third, like the warm blanket of a winter fireside–

"Ao-chan! your turn!" hollered Chidori, and she came to with a start.

"…a-ah, what?"

"Ao-chan! Your turn!" bellowed her friend again, and with Shinji's fierce whisper reminding her of the situation in her ear, the peaceful atmosphere was broken. She found irritation in her chest, squeezing as it seeped past her throat to coat her words.

"My first love–oh, I don't know," she bit out. "Some guy–back in middle school–does it matter?" she drained her glass dry.

Chidori didn't seem to notice, though Isumi-san certainly cringed beside her. "Next! Kuroba-kun!"

"What, who, me?" she could hear the grin in his voice, the way it morphed around the words he spoke, the familiar tilt of the sentence as it unfurled lazily. "Some girl–back in middle school–probably."

There was a pregnant pause.

After a minute of this Chidori thumped back down on her seat and found in her the strength to speak in a tolerable level of voice. "It was Ao-chan, wasn't it?" the smirk she sent her friend set Aoko's insides ablaze.

"Of course not," she snapped. "Don't be stupid. Mai-chan–come with me–let's get another round of drinks." She dragged the other woman right off her seat and stomped towards the barcounter, leaving the circle to dwell on another embarrassed silence.

"It is though, isn't it," Shinji said quietly.

"Of course it is," Kaito said.

"Does she know?" Chidori's voice was muffled and pained.

"Of course she knows."

-o-

The party broke up at eleven and jammed itself in two cabs. Aoko lived closest–she generally walked to work when the weather was fine enough–and they dropped her off after a few minutes and a few yens' worth of driving.

"I'll be fine," she laughed, stumbling over the car door. "And no, I don't need any of you three, much less all of you three, coming up to tuck me in. Shoo." She staggered slightly, holding tight onto the car door.

"Are you sure?" Chidori asked, in her alcohol-induced hazy worry. "I don't want you to not be able to open your door and freeze to death on the stairs."

"It's summer," Aoko retorted. "And besides, I'm not drunk."

"It only feels like it," Kaito said, one arm slung over Hazaya's shoulders and trying to peek at her over Chidori's.

"Shut up," Aoko suggested.

"Give the girl a breather," said Hazaya, shrugging Kaito away. "She's a grown girl. She can go home on her own. Not fall over in the lift and everything. Even unlock her door. I doubt you won't pass out elsewhere than on the living-room couch, though."

"How can you even make elaborate sentences like this?" Kaito muttered in the back of the car, while Aoko grinned and said, "Why, Hazaya-kun, I believe I like you best of the lot." She popped the car door shut.

Hazaya laughed, Chidori waved; and the car drove off, leaving Aoko to watch it tear past the corner.

She didn't fall over in the lifts and actually got her door unlocked before the evening's worth of alcohol got the better of her and she collapsed on the living-room couch. She'd only managed to switch on one tiny lamp in a corner as she came in, and the shadows stretched and lengthened over the walls with each flutter of her eyelashes.

It was very late, her brain registered slowly. But it was Friday, and though she was sleepy, and her head was likely to throb like hell in the morning–good, she was conscious enough to know that–there was something she felt she should be doing first.

There was a letter in the whatnot. Yes. That was it. Why exactly she remembered it through her alcoholic daze, she couldn't have said, but there was. A letter.

She extracted it from the second drawer with shaky hands. The handwriting was familiar; she'd seen it only a few days earlier in a funding form back at the office, with the formal Kuroba Kaito signature. This was several pages long.

She could remember now, the letter she'd stuffed under a sack of folders to try and forget all about it. It was dated back to four years past.

'Aoko–

'I was thinking of you yesterday.

'Or at least it was today a few minutes ago. I was thinking of you. I was thinking of us–if there was an us, and while I'm certain there was one when I look at old pictures, sometimes I'm just not so sure. Sometimes it feels like part of a dream. I know I was there beside you, I know we talked and we laughed, but there's nothing beyond the simple knowledge of it at times.

'You asked me once, I think you won't remember but I do, picture-bright, you asked me if I would miss you if we were apart. It was in high school. I think before the whole KID business even commenced.

'Our classmates always said it would be that way, didn't they? it was all about love, and sex, and teenage hormones, all of it primal and somewhat brutal deep down. We didn't see it like that back then, but it was; we were children, and then we were adults, and we had to work out whatever was in between.

'You know what really got me bothered for, say, half a term? your hair. It was always so messy and wild, but somehow it looked so soft, and I really wanted to touch it at times. I wanted to kiss you and hold your hand and hug you in the back of movie theatres, and I know for a fact that you had quite the fixation on my hands for a while. We may have pulled it off as sheer curiosity, and maybe it was. I don't know.

'You asked if I miss you. I don't know. Even after eleven years, I still miss my dad, and this is nothing like. I miss times with dad, memories, things we had in common. You–

'–you just happen to invite yourself back in my life from time to time. I walk by an ice cream vendor and I remember you telling me I'm both cold and sweet. I hear the hour on a clock while passing by and I'm swapped back to being seven in front of the clock tower. I see carnations in a shopwindow…

'If missing you means I can see you every moment, and then choke on it and realize you're not here at all, then I do miss you, Aoko. Because sometimes the sky's a little too blue and the noise's a little too loud and the sun's a little too bright, and I can turn everywhere and everywhere all I can see is you.

'You're in everything I see and everything I say and everything I drink and everything I taste,–you're just there, you're a constant, and you're not leaving.

'Maybe I love you. If you had asked me five years ago, I would probably have said yes and proclaimed it to the starts and defied anyone to speak up; five years ago I was a kid. Two years ago I would have said no, to spare your feelings and revel in my own selflessness, make separation, if painful, a little quicker on both sides. I was still a kid two years ago; I had a little grown. So maybe I love you. I don't know. I've been asking myself. I don't know.

'What I do know is that I need you at times–need you so hard it hurts. Need to take you, need to hold you, to feel your skin and kiss you and breathe you and swallow every whimper from you. It can happen anytime anyplace–I look at my coffee in the morning and I need you and it hurts and it hurts like hell because you're not here and you're not going to be.

'I'm sorry. I'm not clearly making sense.

'This is me like I'm not supposed to be, me at my worst, with all my masks and lies and Poker Faces to hide myself behind–confused and stupid and self-deprecating. If you ever read this–and if you ever do it will be because I've sealed it in an envelope and haven't had the guts to not leave it that way–

'If you ever read this, you will probably dismiss it for a stack of lies to make me feel better. Maybe you will be right. So while I'm at it, here's a truth: It's late, and I'm tired, and I really wish you could be here right now.

'And here's a lie: I do need you–and I do miss you–and I do love you, as I've always had. It's just getting harder to breathe without you anymore.

'Kaito.'

-o-

… I'm still bloody from last year's war

With liars and lovers untrue

And hey you with your stars out

I have no angry words for you…

–Sara Slean, Last Year's War

-o-

Yes, this is a two-parter. Second and last chapter should be up sometime next week–it's almost already written out as it is. Also, if anyone notices how much re-reading Fyliwion-sama's fics was helpful when I lacked inspiration for this… well, kudos to you.

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