So cold. The kid was so, so cold.

word count: 1123

Kogoro, as much as he just wanted to collapse into his bed the second he entered his home, realized that his desire for food was much stronger than his desire to rest his sleep deprived body. His stomach made it clear, as well, to prioritize getting it something to feast upon instead of hitting the hay early.

With Ran out for the night and it being too late to order anything, the sleuth starting digging in the refrigerator for some leftovers to nuke in the microwave. He eventually found something, and peeled off the aluminum foil wrapping the plate, separating the portions onto two separate plates (putting more food on his plate, of course - the brat didn't eat much, anyway).

He set the first dish for a minute (maybe it should've been heated up for longer). Kogoro leaned against the kitchen's counter, grimacing slightly at how sticky the surface was. He'd have to remind Ran to clean that later.

Once both plates finished and he started honing his plate-balancing skills from his waiter days, Kogoro crushed his lit cigarette in the ash tray after he set the food down (hoping the smell wouldn't linger. Ran would kill him if she found out he was smoking in the house again).

He went back to the kitchen to retrieve two pairs of eating utensils, tossing them onto the table and admiring his work. Honestly, it didn't look as nice as the way Ran usually set it (when did it ever?), but he was proud of his handiwork.

"Oi, brat," he called, his voice gruff from hours of disuse. "Dinner's ready."

If he heard him then he didn't make it known. The brat was just in one of his moods again. He'd come out when he'd realize that he was starving.

He lowered himself to the floor, slightly huffing from the ache that made itself apparent in his back (damn, he wished he didn't have to sit on the floor). He picked up his newspaper, going between casually reading the paper and taking a bite of his food.

He grimaced. It was still unheated near the center, which made the food disgustingly lukewarm against his tongue. Deciding that he was too lazy to get back up and reheat his food, he powered through it, trying to ignore the strange texture the half-cold food had.

Minutes passed, and Kogoro became slightly agitated that the boy still hadn't shown up. He wasn't going to have Ran punch a hole in his head if she found out the boy didn't eat.

Irritated, he set his newspaper down on the table, looking towards the direction of his bedroom.

"Oi," he called again, eyelids drooping into annoyance as he did so. "Did you hear me? Dinner's ready. Come eat before it gets cold."

A waited a few moments. Still nothing.

Harshly sighing, Kogoro readied his back and knees for the ache they were about to endure as he lifted himself up from the floor, making his way down the hall to the bedroom. He was going to be pissed if the brat was just being defiant and he had to get up for nothing.

He opened the door to his bedroom, the nearest light source in the main room being the only thing to flood into the room. Still, with that room being down the hall, and the hall he was in remaining lightless, Kogoro had a hard time making out what was in his room.

He squinted. The boy lay still in his futon on the floor, a heavy cover over him.

"Oi, brat." Kogoro took a step into the room, hand still resting on the doorknob. "I'm gonna put your food back in the fridge if you don't eat it now. You're short as all hell, so don't come crying to me when you have to reheat your food and can't reach the microwave."

He didn't even shift. Kogoro huffed, his irritation only growing when he remembered that the boy was a fairly light sleeper, who arose if one were even to breathe too loudly. Was he being ignored?

"Brat," the sleuth grumbled, covering the rest of the distance between him and the futon. He knelt down next to it, readying to rouse the kid back into the land of the awake so he could get some dinner and sleep for real.

He set his hand on the boy's shoulder.

Cold. He was cold.

He was icy to the touch, despite being kept warm under the thick comforter. Kogoro's brow furrowed slightly. "Conan?"

He meant it as a question, but with the rising amounts of concern seeping into his voice, it came out more like a command.

Almost immediately did an alarm go off inside his head. He saw the blue lips.

Then he saw the tinted fingernails. The slightly stiff joints. The glassy eyes.

Oh God, his eyes.

"Conan!"

An unsettling, icy feeling was settling itself in the deepest parts of his stomach. His throat was closing up. Why were his eyes like that?

"Conan!" he shouted again, shaking the boy near violently in an attempt to wake him up (but he wasn't going to). He wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. He was just so cold cold cold.

He shot up from his spot on the ground, nearly colliding into the wall as he scrambled to find his phone. Where was it when he needed it?

He eventually found it lying under an open magazine, and wasted no time in running back to the bedroom.

He tucked two fingers under the small boy's neck as he lifted the phone to his ear, desperately searching for a pulse. Where was it? Where was it?

He was acting on autopilot. His mouth was moving, and his ear heard the words coming from the other side of the call, but nothing was really registering with him. All he was focusing on was finding a pulse. Anything at all.

When did the paramedics enter? Why was he now left with empty arms? Where did his (cold) body go?

Somehow, he was downstairs, the cool breeze of the night whipping against his face. The noise and the lights from the ambulances caused quite a commotion, leading to a small gather of people on the sidewalk, despite the time of the night. A stretcher was rolled towards the entrance of the vehicle.

Kogoro stood out on the sidewalk in front of the cafe, hardly believing what he was witnessing. There was someone trying to speak to him, but he couldn't really hear them. Everything was muffled, far away.

He couldn't move from his spot. All he could think about was how cold cold cold the child was.