Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's not that he's heartless (what the hell!) or that he doesn’t want to stay, but see, it’s Christmas, and he’s come all the way from Tokyo just to see her, and she’s here, yes, looking as beautiful as ever with her sun kissed skin and her strawberry blonde hair covered in falling snowflakes that he wishes he could brush off with the warmth of his fingers — but she’s here with him , and the mere idea of enduring a week under the same roof, watching them kiss under mistletoes and cuddling on the cozy lover’s couch in front of the only fireplace in the house, is frankly distressing enough to make him want to eat his own entire hat. 

Like he would literally rather choke on his shoe than be subjected to that, thank you very much. 

Then she frowns at him and gives him that look, that mix of hurt and total disappointment that feels way too familiar, and he knows right then and there that he’s utterly fucked . Because she, Shiho Miyano, with her icy-cold stares and snide remarks savage enough to bring heroes tumbling down to their knees, holds a piece of his heart so tightly in her hands that he can hear it crush into a million tiny pieces when she catches his sleeve.

“You just got here.” 

"I know.” He almost whispers, and suddenly the soft Christmas lights glowing happily on Fusae’s porch seem like the perfect thing to fixate his gaze upon.“I can’t stay, though. I’m sorry.”

“Is something the matter?” Intuitive as always, the scientist leans forward, trying to meet his eyes and making it just that much harder for him to focus on the festive decoration when her face is literally inches apart from his. Her fingers dig deeper into his down jacket, warmth spreading over him in ways that shouldn’t bother him like it does — but it does, God, it does. To him, she might as well be made of sun and starlight. 

“No.” He says hastily, snapping out of his reverie before she can see through him, and ventures a crooked smile that somehow feels disingenuous. “I have to go.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kudo.”

The accusation takes him by surprise, and his poor excuse of a smile immediately turns into a wince. 

“I’m not lying!” He insists, so frantic in his effort to sound convincing that he accidentally knocks his own beanie sideways. 

She tilts her head and looks at him, incredulous. Her deadpan glare manages to make him feel more like a kicked puppy than any ill-willed reproach he’s ever heard. Slowly, she lets go of his sleeve, and he hates how the warmth of her touch still lingers on his sleeve, making every cell of his body scream baby, come back .

“You should stay." Shiho presses, so matter-of-factly it comes out as almost demanding. “Come on, you just got off the plane. Aren’t you tired?”

Tired is an understatement: He’s drained, empty, positively done and out of fucks to give. 

Ah, but he can’t tell her that. He can’t tell her that he flew across to globe to expressly shove a Christmas present he haphazardly picked up from the airport into her hands, because he needed an excuse to see her and the golden box sitting in his drawer since July is a bit out of season and too much of a giveaway of just how freaking bad he’s got it for her. There’s a line, you see — an invisible wall that keeps him on his side of the scale, and he can’t cross it lest he’d ruin the balance of whatever is left of their friendship. Losing his pride, his heart, he can deal with. Losing her... not so much.

“I’m fine.” He tries to laugh it off, and his eyes seem fonder now he’s gathered the courage to actually look at her. “Tell Hakase I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for him to come back.”

Shiho wrinkles her nose disapprovingly, her lips jutting out in a pout. “Hey, you tell him that yourself! I’m not your errand girl anymore. ”

This time he actually does chuckle in good faith, fighting back the urge to either ruffle her hair or sweep the loose strands of strawberry blonde away from her face. He curls his fists into balls instead, burying them deep into his pockets. It’s not his place. Really.

“Come on, don’t be like that. Help me out.”

Just as she’s about to protest, the front door opens and the object of his affliction walks out with the most punchable smile he’s ever seen on anyone’s face.

“ Babe ,” Higo calls her softly, and Shinichi has to refrain himself from barfing right then and there. The soccer star nods politely at him, and the detective’s lips twist into a weird grimace as he jerks back his head in a pathetic attempt of a greeting. Her boyfriend doesn’t seem to notice or care, promptly switching her attention back to Shiho. “Can we talk for a second?”

He takes her hand and walks her under the silver maple tree, leaving Shinichi awkwardly standing on the porch like an absolute mofo. There’s just the barest amount of self control left in him that keeps him from scurrying away like a trash panda in the dead of the night, but the chilly night wind carries snippets of their conversation, and his interest piques when he catches hushed words that sound like promised and sorry spoken in a rush. The couple seem to argue for a bit longer, until Shiho finally throws her hands in the air and takes a step back. Higo tries to reach out to her, but she turns around and starts walking back to the house. He calls her name a few times to no avail, before shaking his head and heading in the opposite direction.

Shinichi’s heartbeat inexplicably starts picking up pace as he feels hopeful, and he kinda feels bad, but he kinda doesn’t.

(Is everything really fair in love and war?)

She makes her way back to him, a frown on her face and her arms tightly wrapped around her chest. A new flock of fresh snowflakes nest merrily between her reddish-brown curls, adamant not to fall even when she tries to brush them off under the warm-lit porch. Seeing her struggle, Shinichi helps.

“Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah. Anyway — ”

“No, hey — ” Shinichi’s hand, now tangled in her hair, moves to cup her cheek so she can face him. “Tell me what’s going on. Is he leaving?”

“Mhm… he, um — he has to be somewhere else.”

“Right before Christmas Eve?” 

Shiho throws him a pointed look that reads look who’s talking!

“Oi, that’s different!” Shinichi protests, feeling defensive and frankly a bit offended by her silent accusation. It’s not as if he ever had a choice, after all. She had been the one with that kind of privilege and she chose Higo instead, and he’s honestly still very much bitter about it, but whatever. “I’m not— he’s your boyfriend. He’s supposed to be here.”

Her face does a little grimace at his remark, looking somewhat apologetic. “Ah, about that…”

“What about it?”

“Eh, it’s nothing important.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Shiho.” He throws her words right back at her, and that effectively pisses her off in return.

“It’s none of your business!”

“Fine.” 

He turns around, and takes one step off the porch. 

“Hey!” She reaches out in haste, grasping his shoulder, his scarf, his arm. Her grip so tight it presses through the many layers of his winter coat and warms his entire being. “Don’t you be a jerk too!”

“Tell me what’s going on, then.” He demands while holding her indignant stare.

She huffs, but gives in. Her voice is barely a peep, but he swears he hears her say, “We’re not … together anymore.”.

Okay, maybe he’s just hallucinating or something.

“Pardon?”

“We broke up. Ryuu and I broke up. Are you happy now?”

Yes is the obvious answer but honestly there are more pressing matters he needs to address, for example asking, “S-Since when!?”

“Uh… a few weeks ago, actually.”

And then it hits him that this is actually happening. It’s Christmas and they’ve come all the way to find each other on Fusae’s doorway. And she wants him to stay, and for once he doesn’t have a reason to hold himself back, for once he might actually have a chance.

Holy shit.

“Wait, but why did you bring him along, then?”

Shiho lets out a soft groan as she looks absolutely mortified. “Hakase thinks we’re getting married.” She explains, “I think he’s at that age where he wants grandchildren. I just ... I don’t know how to break the news to him. Not on Christmas. I was hoping to tell him after New Year’s so he wouldn’t be mopping for the end of the year.”

“That sucks.” Shinichi says, his smile so bright he couldn’t look more insincere. 

“Don’t laugh! Seriously, you’re an idiot.”

“I’m not — I’m sorry. Heh .” Ah, but the truth is that he isn’t sorry. Not one bit. “He wasn’t good enough for you anyway.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smirk on her lips that tells him she’s in much better spirits than she was a few minutes ago. 

“Kudo, by your standards, nobody’s ever good enough.”

“That’s not true, there’s… people you just haven’t considered yet.”

And at this point he’s like dropping hints that he’s single, but whatever, the news is fantastic and his serotonin levels sky high.

She snorts a bit incredulously, “I’d like to see that list, If you have one.”

He pretends to check his pockets, and looks disappointed when they come out empty. “Sorry, I must have sent it to Santa by mistake.”

“Oh?” Shiho’s brow arch, “That should make quite an interesting gift this year, then.”

“Oh. Ah, well. Since Higo is gone now, do you — erm,” Shinichi bites on his lower lip, heat crawling up his cheeks as he’s feeling both incredibly stupid and positively hopeful. He starts over again, “Do you need a Christmas boyfriend?”

She blinks at him, then proceeds to curl her fist against her mouth, muffling a soft chuckle. “It depends, um,” Her eyes roll to the side, and he marvels when her cheeks turn the loveliest shade of pink,  “Does he come with an expiry date?”

Shinichi’s smile widens at her question. He’s overcome with a sense of joy he hasn’t felt in so long, it almost prompts him to laugh. He clears his throat instead.  “Not if you scratch the Christmas part.”

Shiho hums in acknowledgment, her lips curling into a cheeky smirk. She takes a step closer as she lets her fingers entangle in his blue checkered scarf. With her best impression of innocence and a doe-eyed gaze, she cues, “Return policies?”

Shinichi’s gloved hand closes around hers, gone any intention of ever letting go. He brings her fingers to brush against his lips.

“Life warranty. No returns.”