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On a good day, Conan Edogawa was sharp.
On a good day, Conan-kun threw sarcastic quips at Ran’s father. On a good day, he watched the Detective Boys’ antics with a fond smile, he solved cases with a sort of excitement Ran had only ever seen from Shinichi, he sat off to the side with Ai-chan, watching Ayumi-chan and the others and exchanging joking jabs. (And Ran knew that these kids shouldn’t be able to differentiate between insults and jesting, because at that age nice was nice, and mean was mean, but it was only another chapter in the mystery of those two. Right next to why Conan-kun called Ai-chan an old lady, but Ran figured that was just some sort of inside joke.)
On a good day, Conan-kun’s smile was bright and a little childish and a little mature, but it was real, which was much more than Ran could say about his smile on a bad day.
On a bad day, Conan-kun was quiet, rarely speaking. On a bad day, Conan-kun and Ai-chan were almost inseparable. On a bad day, Ran didn’t see him for lunch, or dinner. He left the house early and came back late, tired and jaded, like he’d come home from war. On a bad day, Conan-kun solved cases numbly, exhaustedly, as if the adrenaline rush wasn’t enough to energize him. On a bad day, his smile hurt to look at, with his pained eyes and his faltering grin. On a bad day, Conan-kun didn’t stay calm with a gun at his head, but he didn’t freak out, either. His reactions were pronounced and wrong, like he was playing a part he didn’t care much for. On a bad day, Conan-kun was calculating and cold and quiet.
On a really bad day, however…
(Sharp looks paired with exhausted slumping, subtle glaring, throwing himself in front of danger again, and again, and again- )
On a really bad day, Conan-kun was too far to reach.
(Eyes closed, Conan won’t respond, he was reckless and angry and hurt, Ran could see it but she couldn’t do anything- )
On a really bad day, Conan-kun didn’t talk. His eyes spoke more than his tongue ever could. On a really bad day, Conan-kun was a silent statue.
(Shinichi didn’t move. Ran watched him, peering over the edge of her book, but Shinichi was across the couch from her, leaning back with his eyes closed, and Ran knew he wasn’t asleep, but she could barely see his chest rising and falling. For the twenty-first time today, she sighed quietly, cringing when he winced almost imperceptibly, shrinking back.)
(Shinichi never responded to her voice when he got like this.)
On a really bad day, Ai-chan was sitting right next to him, no matter how tight the squeeze was, and her fingers traced patterns on the back of his hands.
(Shinichi had never told her himself. His parents, on the rare occasion they visited him, had always been rubbing their thumbs in circles when they held his had, more often than not right after a case, when his eyes were duller and his breathing short, and Ran had picked up on it. Soon enough, his parents left for some new exotic trip, leaving Shinichi with Ran.)
(“He gets scared after cases, even if he doesn’t show.”)
(Ran took his hand the next day, and drew stars where his parents drew circles.)
On a really really bad day, Shinichi called.
(“I don’t think he knows how to ask for help, Ran.”)
(“I… I know, Sonoko. I know.”)
On a really, really bad day, Conan-kun was out and about, doing God-knows-what, and Shinichi was there to quell some of her worries.
Or, more accurately, add new ones.
On a really really bad day, Shinichi would call, sounding horrible, voice scratchy as if he’d spent the whole day crying. He wouldn’t say much, barely anything, really, but Ran didn’t mind filling the silence.
And that was what was happening today, she guessed, as she answered the phone.
“Hi, Ran.” His voice was scratchy and quiet.
(His voice was hurt, and Ran would be damned if she didn’t know the difference, escpecially when it came to her Shinichi.)
“Shinichi,” she said, like she always did. Hushed, awed, and questioning.
“R-Ran.”
(He always said her name like it was his secret, his most treasured possession. Like it was far more than he was worth.)
“C… Can you just… t-talk to me. Just for a l-little, and then I swear I’ll-”
(It always hurt when he acted like he was a burden, just like it hurt when he stumbled over his words, almost as if debating if it was even worth it. She wanted to fill in his blanks, she wanted to help him, but…)
(“He needs to learn to communicate, Ran. You both deserve better than what he was left with.)
(It always hurt. Ran didn’t think that would ever really change.)
“Its fine, Shinichi, you know I would love to.” I hope, I hope, I hope he knows that. “You know, a few days ago, Conan-kun had…”
And she told the story of their last case, relaying the details out of order at best, missing so many more than the ones she haphazardly shoved back into the timeline she drew, but Shinichi didn’t complain.
(Shinichi didn’t talk, though, so that wasn’t saying much.)
It wasn’t “just a little”, but Ran was secretly glad. Even though he hadn’t said a word since the beginning, she could feel him through the phone line, a steady, strong (if a little crumbling, but Ran didn’t mind) presence, and she hadn't seen her boyfriend in too long.
(Far, far too long.)
The story bled into another, and another, and another, and Shinichi's breath slowed down. (Ran didn't realize how his breathing was before until she realized how much slower it had gotten now)
Her voice tapered off, and she realized she had ran out of stories to tell.
(He told her he needed her to talk, so she was going to talk as long as he needed.)
She made stuff up. Pretty quickly, her tales turned preposterous, (and thank God she had decided not to make up a case, because it would have been practically impossible to follow), and she was sure that he didn’t believe her at all, (Because Shinichi had always been smart like that), but she was talking .
At a particularly incredulous part (really, Ran had no clue how Conan was supposed to have ended up on top of the fridge with nothing around it to help him climb up there, and Shinichi knew the layout of the whole house so she was certain he knew she was lying), she heard a sudden exhale of air.
She paused, for a moment. Her first instinct was to ask if he was okay, (And Ran knew that kidnappings followed everyone she knew like a moth to a flame), but she heard his gentle breathing. Not quite a normal pace yet, but getting there.
He had laughed.
He had alughed in his weird, not-quite-meaning-to-but-not-quite-minding way, but he had laughed, and that was more progress than Ran had thought she would make on one call.
She kept talking.
Eventually, he interrupted her, whispering. “Ran?”
She tried to keep her voice cool, tried to seem calm, (And Ran wanted to know, desperately, what made him call her in such a state, but…) “Yeah?”
(That wasn’t her business, not until Shinichi decided it was.)
“C-can y…” He trailed off, and Ran was terrified he was going to dismiss the thought, (And Ran was sure she would have agreed. She would have agreed to anything he asked her for. She’d faced death before and had come out on top, nothing Shinichi would ask her could make her refuse.) “Can y-you h…”
“Yeah?” she breathed out, as softly as she could.
“Can you hug Conan for me?”
The words were rushed, as if he’d spit them out as fast as he could, (Like they burned, and-)
(“I don’t think he knows how to ask for help, Ran.”)
Her
Whole
World
Shattered.
(On a really bad day, Ai-chan was sitting right next to him, no matter how tight the squeeze was, and her fingers traced patterns on the back of his hands.)
(Ran took his hand the next day, and drew stars where his parents drew circles.)
Conan. He-
(On a really bad day, Conan-kun didn’t talk)
(Shinichi never responded to her voice when he got like this.)
Shinchi. He was-
(On a really bad day, Conan-kun was a silent statue.)
(Shinichi didn’t move.)
Conan and Shinichi.
(Eyes closed, Conan won’t respond, he was reckless and angry and hurt, Ran could see it but she couldn’t do anything- )
(Ran watched him, peering over the edge of her book, but Shinichi was across the couch from her, leaning back with his eyes closed,and Ran knew he wasn’t asleep, but she could barely see his chest rising and falling)
Her boys. Her two boys.
(Sharp looks paired with exhausted slumping, subtle glaring, throwing himself in front of danger again, and again, and again- )
The one boy.
The one crumbling, pained, deteriorating boy, the one with a sharp tongue and a shining smile, the one with fraying edges and a habit of hurting himself, the one who cried and laughed and went through the motions.
The one she loved.
No matter in what way, no matter in what form, she loved him.
(He was her brother, he was her boyfriend, and Ran ignored that thought. She would parse through it all later. )
(Right now…)
“Okay,” she said, voice low. “Alright.”
(He wouldn’t ask her this if he knew that she knew.)
“Thanks…”
(He sounded so guilty, like asking for a hug was wrong, somehow. Ran wanted to break things.)
(Not his heart, though. Never his heart.)
“No problem!” She forced cheer into her voice. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
(I hope, I hope, I hope he knows that.)
“I… I h-have to go.” his response came, and Ran could have cried.
(“I don’t think he knows how to ask for help, Ran.”)
(“I… I know, Sonoko. I know.”)
(He doesn’t know what a relationship should be like, either.)
“Okay,” she said, gently, instead of her normal ‘but whyyyyy?’ . “Talk to you soon?”
(And she held her breath, silly as it was.)
(She needed to know he was okay. )
“Maybe,” his voice cracked.
He hung up.
She tried to breathe.
Before she knew it, the five minute walk back from the park, and Conan was at her doorstep.
(She was sure there were tears in his eyes behind the glare on his glasses)
“Hey, kiddo,” She greeted, having already wiped her tears away. “How was the park?”
She guided him to the living room, and his only response was that oh-so-familiar sound, the one that said nothing and everything all at once, and she smiled at him softly.
(He was a child right now.)
(He had always been a child.)
(He never had the chance to truly be one.)
She sat down on the couch, pulling him onto her lap and curling up around him slightly, embracing him from behind. Ran flicked through the TV channels, settling on some kids show she knew neither of them would pay attention to, wrapped up in their own thoughts.
(And now, every odd thing Conan had done had Shinichi’s soul behind it, and Ran understood why he always seemed too distracted to be the child he was.)
A drop landed on her hand, almost as if in slow motion.
(This crumbling, pained, deteriorating boy, the one with a sharp tongue and a shining smile, the one with fraying edges and a habit of hurting himself, the one who cried and laughed and went through the motions.)
(The one she loved.)
She only hugged him closer.
(“I don’t think he knows how to ask for help, Ran.”)
(Neither of him do. Not the right way, anyway.)
His shoulders shook, but Ran didn’t bring any attention to it.
(he was reckless and angry and hurt, Ran could see it, and now…)
(Now she could do something about it.)