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The sky was crying.
It was a lousy Wednesday morning. Everything was grey. Felt grey. The sky was deep dark. Not even a single ray of sunshine was getting through the heavy clouds. It knew, today was not such a day. As if it knew what had happened. Hiding the sun.
Cold drops fell down to earth, one after another. There wasn’t a storm, there was no wind at all, it wasn’t a heavy rain either. It was more like a drizzle, with heavy drops in between.
But it was a neverending cry.
While it was cold, it was not freezing either. There was no wind, as if the wind hadn't had anything to say, as if it was dead quiet to mourn alongside the sky. As if it wanted to say it’s sadness through a moment of silence.
The only voices throughout the silent world were the raindrops splitting on the asphalt and the steps of people going through the mud. Alongside them, the lonely bell of the tower rang its condolences hand in hand with the weather.
The loud bell echoed through the entire city, through everyone’s entire body.
It was deafening.
Conan stood there, feeling smaller than he was. Behind him, people were already leaving. From some he could hear sobs, from others calm voices, trying to soften the pain of others. As he just stood there. Looking down.
It felt odd, standing here. It felt unreal, completely false. As if he was in a dream, a nightmare. Everything was happening so fast yet so slow and still, he stood here. Feeling lost. Alone.
Left alone.
A week ago everything was as it had always been. The detective had been solving crimes disguised as the sleeping Kogoro, had been going on a field trip with the detective boys and had been on a Kid heist.
Where afterwards he had talked to him, just for a day later to -
It obviously was spread in the news. It was a feast for the media, everyone wanted a piece of this story. It shook the entire country, even the entire world. Headlines in every spec on this planet were broadcasting it. Telling the story.
Of Kaito Kid’s death.
Conan didn’t believe it at first, didn’t want to believe it. Due to his ties with the police he had to ask for more, for true evidence the thief had died. Because this stupid thief couldn’t have just died. He was like a cockroach, always somehow surviving no matter what.
They said the body had completely burned, but it could have been a dummy, a fake.
But it wasn’t, after some testing, they got his DNA, and connected it to a teen his age. Not an older guy like everyone thought. Only Conan knew he was younger, obviously, so it took his breath when he heard it. So the possibility of this body actually being the thief rising.
However, only when they investigated further, the teen going missing the same day as Kid died-
They inspected his house, finding a secret base which contained Kid's attire. Everything.
They found everything.
This burned body was by no doubt, Kid.
The Police decided to keep everything a secret to the public. Not wanting the family and friends to suffer under the pressure of the media and thousands of fans who were mourning. Due to the teen being underage it was simply put under youth law.
Still, most likely, it was due to the main inspector. He who had always chased after the thief. It was his life goal to catch him. But not like this. And especially not this teen.
Conan lifted his head to see the photo on the grave. When he saw his face on the photo for the first time the small detective knew. Knew this was the thief.
The teen had a bright grin, his eyes bright as the light. Messy hair and a deck of cards in his hand. Looking so lively, so full of excitement.
When listening around, the small detective found out who he was. An energetic, always happy individual. A prankster who annoyed his friends and consistently kept a smile on his lips no matter what. He was a mess, a jester, someone everyone liked, even if his tricks were a bit much sometimes.
He was a friend, a best friend, a classmate, a normal teen.
But for Conan he was a bit more.
Listening to his family and friends was cruel. Seeing a girl cry over her best friend since kindergarten was not only painful, but soul crushing. Her father, the head inspector of the theft division, was standing beside her, not processing the one he chased was the child he had raised alongside his daughter.
Almost his entire class was there, another teen detective Conan knew. Coming all the way from Britain to be here. Then there was a dark brunet looking girl, almost seeming to be some sort of witch, and plenty of others.
An elderly man, looking like some sort of uncle, also seemed close to the thief, while there also was a woman, dressed in all black with a vail. The detective could only guess she must be his mother. The phantom lady.
They all talked about him in their speech, talking about the teen who always gave them something to laugh about, even on a gloomy day. Crying he wasn’t there anymore and how they missed him.
Conan was just there, listening.
There was no speech of his, originally he wasn’t even invited, invited himself pretty much. It was only due to the inspector, he told the detective when and where the private ceremony would be. After he had begged to come along.
However, even if he had prepared a speech, he didn’t really know what to say, let alone if he could speak at all.
Everyone here knew the thief due to his private life. His personality as a student, as a friend, as a son. Conan was -
Different .
While sure, the inspector had encountered the thief too, but he also knew him privately. As the friend of his daughter.
Only Conan had met him after heists like no one else.
It was already a while back when they started meeting after them. The detective didn’t even know when and why it had started but it didn't matter. It was something he was looking forward to every single time. And there he got to know more of Kid’s sides than just the gentleman thief.
Sitting together on rooftops talking about the world.
And still he remained a mystery. It was as the more he got to know the other the less he knew. Sure he got to know his love for sweets, his excitement for magic but that was just the surface. He got to know his struggles in life, his beliefs and hopes, how he loves bringing smiles on people’s faces.
But there were so many aspects in his life he still did not know about. And Conan was egoistic, he wanted to know more, wanted to be the closest the thief ever was with anyone.
Wished the story about his first magic trick, the story about how he volunteered at a children’s hospital or how he broke his arm in 6th grade and couldn’t do any tricks for weeks, was only something he told Conan.
Wished whenever he grinned, teased him about his height or his presence bringing death, was only something he did with him.
Wished the long talks at night about troubles with dual identities were only preserved to him.
Or the simple silence and comfort they got by sitting next to each other on top of a skyscraper.
But in the end, all he brought to the thief was his curse. The curse the other joked about. The curse of -
Death .
“Kuroba Kaito,” he whispered as he read the name on the gravestone. It was engraved neatly, sitting right above the picture. Everything was so nicely decorated with flowers. Everyone had brought some with them.
“Who are you?”
Silence, drops of rain splashed onto the cold stone in front of him. Drops jumping back and forth. As if they were alive.
Obviously, he expected no answer. The detective felt dumb even speaking something out loud like this. A tombstone couldn’t speak. There were no answers he would ever get now.
And suddenly all those talks in the past felt irrelevant, because he couldn’t look for any answers there either. Every question he made there was already answered, every word spoken already one with the wind.
Conan regretted everything. Regretted not asking more. Regretted not getting even closer. Regretted to putting this curse onto him.
Regretted never breaking this barrier of thief and detective.
Even though his heart ached, his mind screamed at him, how many things he remorse, somehow the idea of never being able to see the thief hadn’t fully materialized. It just felt so odd.
Him being simply gone.
It was like a bad dream. Just that Conan wasn’t waking up. Wasn’t waking up for an entire week. No matter how many times he pinched himself, he wasn’t opening his eyes.
The little detective hoped one second or another he would finally flutter his eyes open and be in the arms of the thief. Something he had been more often than he would like to admit.
But his wishes never were granted.
He remembered the days before he lost him. They were just watching the night sky, exchanging stories. Conan would call him a stupid thief, the other would tease him and they would sit close to each other. Kid’s cape like a protective wing would be put around him as he breathed in the scent of roses and cards.
Being completely surrounded by the other.
Not only once did he fall asleep like this. Always blaming it on his small form, on how his body needed the sleep. How the other played with his hair as he fell into the world of dreams.
But if Conan was honest, it was due to the comfort, the warmth. The trust he held into the thief. If he was with him, he could relax. No matter what, the other would protect him.
Now this was no more.
The little detective’s yaw clenched and he pressed his lips together.
Not once had he shed a tear. Not once had he cried since that day. Maybe it was because he still couldn’t grasp it. But maybe it was because he truly rarely cries.
Conan didn’t feel sorrow when he was poisoned and shrunken. He never cried when Ran called out his name on the phone, screaming at him to come back.
Not once did he cry when people died right in front of him, even if they were people he knew. If only barely or for years. The detective was always collected, and knew it wouldn’t change a thing if he would cry.
It would only give him a headache.
Creating one more problem than there already were.
Suddenly the little detective felt a sharp pain, breaking him out of his sorrowful thoughts. It wasn’t that hurtful, more like a nit. Looking down at his hands, he already suspected what the culprit was.
In his hands he held a single flower. A rose.
A red rose.
Twisting it unknowingly in his hands, his index finger got caught with one of the thorns. It stung just a bit and there was not much blood. It was easily washed away with the rain. Thinning the scarlet drop away.
Conan was not into flower language. Not at all.
But the red rose, being the most iconic, he knew. But this was not the reason why he brought it here. Even if his heart thought it fit what it meant.
No, there was another reason.
Every time he and the thief met on their nightly hours, the other brought him a sapphire rose. It never had any thorns and was neatly kept. A perfect little rose.
And Conan always took it back home, putting it into a small glass and setting it on his table. Whenever he missed the other, he looked at it and was reminded the next meeting would be soon.
Now, the one on his table had withered.
Originally, the detective wanted to give a blue rose for today. However, there were none. Obviously. The detective knew the trick of the sapphire rose. It was just a white one, put into blue tinted water. The florist wouldn’t have one.
Only Kid would put in the effort.
Tinting a white rose blue.
“Stupid thief,” he mumbled. His voice shaky.
His glasses started to blur. All the rain must have put an effect on it.
Just how the rain had suddenly turned hot. His cheeks burning as two warm drops flowed down to his chin, dropping onto the cold, muddy floor.
Conan wasn’t crying.
It was all the rain.
Suddenly he felt a pull on his rose in his hands. It made the detective blink as he focused back on it. A hand was just leaving his view, coming from behind. The little detective wanted to complain.
This was his rose, meant for the thief.
However, as he wanted to do, already opened his mouth to protest, he heard a whisper. A wind barely brushing his ears, giving his goosebumps.
“ I never thought you would cry for me, Meitantei~”
With a gasp he froze into place. But only for a second, before he turned around abruptly, expecting a certain figure standing behind him.
But there was nothing .
The muddy path was completely empty. No footsteps being left in the mud, the rain already washing it away. Looking left and right, only black figures leaving the cemetery were noticeable.
But they were too far away.
Conan was all alone .
There was no one who could have said anything to him. There was only one sound, the last echo of the last bell from the church next to him.
Those words must have been the wind.
“I must have gone crazy,” the detective mumbled to himself. His mind played a trick on him. There was no way death would turn into the living. Conan must have dropped the rose when he scratched his finger.
There was always a logical explanation.
Conan turned an entire circle, looking for his rose. But wherever he looked he never spotted the scarlet rose. As if it just disappeared into thin air. As if it was gone.
However, when another spec of color in this gloomy day caught his attention, the detective took another halt.
On the muddy path, just a half a step away from him laid a single sapphire rose. It was as it repelled any dirt or rain, as it sparkled on this dark day. Shining brighter than anything else today. Being completely pure.
It took his breath.
Carefully, as if this was just an illusion, he made a step forward and crouched down. With hesitation he stretched out his arm and gently touched the stem of the rose. No thorns to poke him, everything was neatly kept as it shone with life.
When he picked it up, the detective inspected it. Twisting it in between his fingers. Turning it.
The stem was still warm.
And finally, after such a long time,a warm feeling settled in his chest. One he almost completely forgot how it felt. As once more warm rain was falling from the sky. But this time it was accompanied with a careful smile.
Maybe those words were really - Just the wind .