Tag Archives: drabble

by

Black Bird

The Space Behind the Bin

There was a time, just once, when the detective returned to White Chapel Academy after the scandal and torn its reputation to shreds. He was sixteen, getting ready to leave for Japan to study abroad for a year or so, and made it a point to complete his patrol of the city one last time. Part of this included the Whitechapel District, which he usually avoided on principle, but that day, knowing that he might not ever come back, he forced himself to visit.

The roads were distantly familiar. He remembered running that night, barefoot and tired, through the woods and into the city, barely stopping for anything. He didn’t bother retracing his steps; he had no interest in entering the dark wood, or remembering the things that had happened there, and instead took the main road to the abbey-converted-school and entered through the front gate.

It was easy enough to gain access. The school was dependent on its beautiful building and polished appearance to stay in business. He nodded to the sisters who greeted him, and carried on his way, step after step over the stone floors. There were no children at this time of year, save for the few who were boarded over summer break. In any case, it was quiet, and the dorm rooms empty. Bunks stacked neatly in rows against the wall, each bed made with pressed sheets. 

He wondered if anyone would recognize him. The teachers would certainly know his name for how famous he was, then, but would they piece it together that he was that same frightened little boy from six years ago? That he was one of the old headmaster’s victims? He hoped not. 

What was he doing here? 

The detective worked his way up to the second level, careful as he took each step with relative ease. He was so much taller now. So much stronger. Everything looked so small compared to what he remembered. The classrooms, all open to air out with the summer breeze, looked beautiful in the natural, filtered light of the stained glass windows. It hardly seemed a place of horror and nightmare, and yet…

Up to the third level he went, the winding staircase twisting his stomach with anxiety like a corkscrew through an apple. Did he dare see the headmaster’s office? The new man in charge was reportedly very kind, very seasoned, and not at all what Father Ramson had been, but that office…

Closing his eyes, leaning against the railing, he could picture it so clearly. The large wooden desk, stained to look like wine; the high backed leather chair, dark cherry; the stone fireplace with the instruments of torture poised and waiting in an iron cage.

He shuddered, squeezing his arms with hands so much stronger than they’d been when he’d been a student there, and retreated back down the steps. Hakuba could not finish that journey. He could not bring himself to finish the last seven steps and into the shadows of that hallway. 

Instead, he found himself in the second floor bathroom, washing his hands, splashing cold water on his face. He looked pale in the mirror and vaguely ill. It didn’t surprise him, though. That’s how he’d always looked in that mirror, save that he was usually crying before. There were no tears as he dried his face, but his body ached all the same.

The area was exactly the way he’d remembered it, save for the installment of new soap dispensers and hand dryers. Modern convenience carved into the historic beauty of the ancient building. He pressed his back against the wall, then slid to the floor, leaned against the rubbish bin in the corner.

It was the safest place to hide in all of White Chapel, he knew, save only for the staff’s coat room. You couldn’t be seen from the door if you were small enough, though he was clearly too large for it now, and it was very seldom used at night as all of the students resided in the lower levels. How many nights had he curled up in this very spot, trying to concentrate on the scent of plastic and wet paper instead of the pain in his back or the blood seeping through his uniform?

Setting the pocket watch on his lap and looked at the time, his eyes could barely able to focus on the numbers that ticked in front of him. He knew he shouldn’t have come. Even after the years of change, just being there hollowed him with fresh pain. 

After a few more silent moments, he got to his feet and left, each step calm and deliberate. He offered no nods to the staff as he passed, ignored the children that ran by with their bibles, laughing, and barely made it to the steps outside before pulling out a cigarette. 

This he concentrated on as he walked over the front drive, out to the black iron gate. Drag after drag, it was only the smoke that he let himself think of as he simply walked away, turned from the school, the forest, and the fence, and he never looked back.

by

a happy hakuba story (for once)

“Hakuba-kun?”

“Ne, Hakuba-kun?”

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The young detective glanced up from his book, blinking, to see two girls standing in front of his desk. It was lunch time, and though an apple rested at the corner of his desk, it was untouched. How long had they been there? What time was it?

Hakuba glanced at his pocket watch before looking back to the girls, brow rising. "Ah… yes?“ 

"Could you do us a favor?”

“Yeah, could you say Valentine?”

More blinking. Hakuba bit his bottom lip, looking between the girls, then glanced around the room. No one was paying them any mind, so it didn’t appear to be some kind of a trick. An odd request, surely, but the girls did seem hopeful and his profile for them didn’t include malicious behavior. 

So, after another moment of hesitation, he offered a quiet, questioning “Valentine?" 

This was rewarded by giggling as the girls clung to each other, and though it took a moment, Hakuba realized that they weren’t laughing at him, they were genuinely pleased.

"What’s so special about Valentine?” he asked, a smile slowly spreading on his face, one corner of his lip slanting upward. “Come on, fess up. Is it the holiday itself, or…?”

“No!” The darker haired one said, then laughed again. “Well sort of!”

“You have more of an accent when you say English words.”

“It’s really cute!”

“She actually thinks it’s hot.”

“Stop that! Oh my god!" 

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He watched them bicker, elbowing each other, giggling, and leaned back in his seat. "So you like my English accent, do you?”

Blushing, they both nodded. 

“I’m more than happy to say a few more things for you, I suppose, before class starts… Do you have any requests~?”

The girls looked at each other and then shook their heads. “Sorry, we don’t really know much english…”

Hakuba pursed his lips, thoughtful as he considered something to tell them. He had his little black detective book on him, though he didn’t think that they would appreciate hearing all about murder and suspects. Not that they would understand it, but it didn’t seem terribly enchanting.

“You could read from your book?”

He glanced down at the volume in his hands and gave a small, helpless laugh. “I’m not…” Hakuba looked back to the girls, their large eyes full of hope, dark lashes batting, fingers clasped together as they waited, breaths held. He sighed. “Well, all right, I suppose a little reading couldn’t hurt…”

He waited for their squeals to die down before reading, using his best and most proper British accent. Posh. Refined.

“In the Ripper’s case the process of transference was, typically, ‘an outgrowth of fear and mystery. Fear inspires a search for meaning, while mystery virtually assures that none will be found.’ The principal mystery enshrouding Whitechapel Jack was how he contrived such uproarious violence within an encapsulating silence…”

With pauses for giggles and swooning sighs, Hakuba managed to get through three paragraphs before their sensei returned. He chuckled as they offered their thanks, bumping into each other as they retreated to their desks, and gave a contented sigh as he settled in for the rest of the day. 

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Perhaps things weren’t always so miserable…

–

[source]

by

Black Bird

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The Belt

It was 17:14:32 – just after 5pm on a Wednesday afternoon when they were caught. Hakuba – then known as James – remembered his face; wry smile stretched under freckled cheeks, brown eyes squinting in amusement. John Wells. The most perfect boy he’d ever met. Athletic, smart, tragic. They’d met at the academy three years before and, somehow, ended up in the same middle school.

Together, they explored a private world of experiments and experiences. Both of his parents worked, so it was easy to sneak in after school and huddle in the under-stairs playroom. No one needed to know that they shared an intense love, or dreams of running away to Paris, and the hope that, some day, they wouldn’t have to hide. Wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about what they did together, how they felt. 

He loved John. They needed each other. There was so much pain that needed to be erased. So many things to learn. John was safe. John was wonderful.

But… 

They didn’t hear the heavy footsteps, nearly forty-five minutes too early, until it was far too late. Their laughter masked  the closing of the front door and the door leading to the finished basement. The heat between them kept them from realizing that they were no longer alone. Really, it wasn’t until the door to their safe space was torn open, blinding them with light from the hall, that the panic fully set in. 

Had they more time, even just a minute, they could have hidden what they’d done. What they’d been doing. As it was, James stared in wide-eyed surprise as John’s father hesitated a full five seconds before he grabbed the dark-haired boy by the arm, dragging him from his grasp. Rug burns on naked skin would have been bad enough, bringing a whine of sympathy to the blonde’s throat. 

“Dad! No, it’s…”

“How could you do this to me? To your mum?! I thought we were PAST this!”

“Leave him alone!" It hurt. The yelling, the fear. It brought back too much too quickly. James pulled his trousers on and, heart in his throat, forced himself to step out and face the man. He’d seen too many people get hurt to stand by again. John didn’t deserve this.

However, as he looked between the two of them, his resolve faltered. There was pain in the man’s face. Anguish. John wore it, too. No one said anything for a moment as they let the outsider’s voice fade.

Then, without looking at him, the father gave a calm, simple command.”Get out.”

It was followed by one from John. “Do it, James… just go.” 

"But… no, you can’t do this! He’s not doing anything wrong! It’s okay!”

“JAMES, get OUT!”

To hear those words from his lover, said like that, brought heated color to his cheeks, eyes stinging from the feeling that was something between embarrassment and betrayal. He went back into the playroom, gathered his belongings, and left without another word, just as that man slipped the leather belt from the last loop of his trousers. 

The slap of it against skin and the subsequent cries reached him just before slamming the front door behind him on his way out for the last time. 

by

From kaitomagic: 

Because I’m not one to believe people can be described so simply… my answer is, as follows:
Tsundere – You’re sort of cold in a hostile way, sometimes… but you really are a softie.
Kuudere – I suppose the silent doesn’t quite fit, but you do act rather cool a lot of the time… seeming to warm up a bit more when people prove that they can be trusted?
Dandere – Quiet, but not quiet. I suppose what I mean here is more in regards to inner thoughts and feelings.
Dorodere – Very sweet, when you want to be. And I don’t mean to say that you’re disturbed, but there is definitely more behind that wall.
Deredere – I must admit, I’m quite fond of this side of you.

—

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“Kaito-kun… that’s… so very kind of you to say. I… I’m speechless. To think that you’ve… well…” He coughed. “…Ah, let’s… ah… your prompt, let’s see.”

—

Oh, and also… @$$.

—

@ – Smut

$ – Fluff

$ – Fluff

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“Aha… … haha… … I see what you did there… very well, then. Ah…”

—

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Hakuba rolled up into a sit, letting the covers slip into his lap and sighed, hand rubbing the side of his face tiredly. The night had been eventful. Dinner with the force, being denied drinks at the bar, dealing with the traffic – oh god the traffic – and the paparazzi at the scene. The heist itself had been fine, of course. Kaitou Kid did what he did best; dazzle the crowd, make the officers look utterly foolish, steal the gem, lead them on a merry chase…

In the end, he’d returned the jewel and escaped with only one or two minor mishaps, but it was still a harrowing affair. For the detective, who now kept a field bag of medical supplies in his car in the event of any grievous injuries, any time Kid got a clean getaway was a good night. So contrary to what he’d said to the press, of course, but he was relieved. It meant that, two or three hours later, he’d see one dark-haired, overly confident ass, complete with smrk, sneak into the window of his bedroom.

Whether it was Kaitou or Kuroba changed depending on how well things had gone, but he always showed up sooner or later. Unless something went wrong, that is; in which case he’d be getting a text, potentially with a location and summary of injuries and the supplies he needed. 

That night, Kaito had come as a normal teenager, complete with backpack full of homework. He’d still snuck in through the window, sure, but it meant that he could join him for breakfast in the morning instead of having to sneak out again afterward. Once Hakuba had gotten him undressed and assessed the damage, one kiss at a time, they’d gone to bed.

Bruises he could handle. Scratches were to be expected. Hell, sprains and the like he could treat and still make love to him without worry. But even as their hearts pounded, and hands desperately grasped at sheets and naked skin, he worried. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t stop. Fingers curled into his hair and that hazy look, the quiet cries of his name, urged him. Yet always, he wondered if this would be their last time together. Even when tension brought a startled cry in the back of his throat, there was just that one niggling fear that he couldn’t get rid of.

How long would their luck hold out? 

Lying together in the still quiet was the detective’s most protected moments. Lazy kisses along his neck and cheek, gentle hand combing over bare skin as it cooled. Hakuba listened to Kaito’s breath, felt the beating of his heart, and allowed himself a contented sigh. It was a dangerous game that they played. Surely, it would be noticed eventually. Whether it would be Kaitou’s doing – too much of a longing gaze here, giving the heist up a little too easily there – or Hakuba’s, with his lulling aggression for the chase… it was bound to end.

These thoughts, ever present, plagued him until he sat up. Kaito watched him, lying on his side. One hand rested on his hip, the other held his head, brow curiously raised. The detective glanced down at the thief and pushed a small smile, though he knew that the thief could see right through it. 

“Kuroba-kun…” Hakuba said, then laughed at himself, quietly. He was so prone to slipping into the formalities that they’d kept up in their daily lives; it was almost ridiculous. “Apologies. Kaito. I just…” He sighed, and let his smile quirk slanted, more genuine. “Shall I make us some tea? I don’t know that I’ll ever get to sleep otherwise." 

Truthfully, he longed for the liquor cabinet or his pack of cigarettes, but he’d never get away with that with his lover there. Which was probably a good thing, really, given that it was a school night. But still, the headache that settled in begged for sleep, and Hakuba wanted nothing more than to slip  back into the covers and hold him.

It was just so difficult to do when the nightmares lurked so close at hand.

by

Kill me.

Leave a “Kill Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character killing yours.

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It had to be done. There was no other way.

Hakuba watched as the man checked the windows and cursed about the approach of the additional squad cars. They’d been trapped in the warehouse. Set up. Everything was in place to expose the truth, to tell the world what they really were. But what were they? Assassins? Sheep? The Organization saw them as pawns in a dangerous game of blood and greed and nothing more. But what would the Osakan’s family think? Hattori Heiji had been an upstanding individual. Someone who believed in justice, not cold-blooded murder.  Oh, how things had changed. For both of them.

The gloves took little time to slip over his hands.  He didn’t worry about traces of gunpowder – his sleeves would be covered by ash from the fire and the blood from dragging the once detective out of the burning building soon enough. Ignoring the loudspeaker threats from outside, Hakuba considered his plan. He already knew that they were surrounded. That there was no other way out beside the front entrance. It would be so simple, so easy.

The gun belonged to one of the dead men on the floor. One of the people that Janus had killed. It was already loaded, safety already off.  Blaring sirens would cover the sound of the subtle click and the discharge of the gun. He’d fire three shots into his partner’s back  – carefully aimed to hit his lungs and his heart. He knew that Kevlar jacket like the back of his hand; knew exactly where to aim to puncture right through. It had been worn over the years of use. He’d wait for Janus to stiffen and fall before putting the gun back in the dead owner’s hands, then crouch at his lover’s side slip the ring from his finger for safe-keeping, then drench his hands in his blood.

Then it would be the matter of carrying him from the building, pleading for help from the officers. Man down. Hattori Heiji, son of Hattori Heizo, had been killed by those men… he’d fought to defend the Superintendent General’s son. He’d died a hero, not like a dog in the gutter. Not shot in the back by someone who loved him.

Hakuba hadn’t been connected to those crimes. No one had known what he had done. What his part in all of the madness had been. They would believe him. The courts would trust in Hakuba’s testimony that the accusations were false. That Hattori had been framed. Had not, in fact, been part of a criminal organization. Had not slaughtered men and women by their request. Hakuba’s word would afford Hattori an honorable funeral.

His family would grieve over Heiji’s sacrifice. Everyone would mourn the loss of such great potential. They’d give him the respect that Janus had always deserved but never received.

No one would know what they had meant to each other. What they had been through together. It would remain secret, just as Janus had asked. Request finally fulfilled. 

All that Hakuba had to do was pull the trigger. 

by

Playing Games

meitanteiosaka:

The match had come and gone as agreed, and Heiji had lost. Abysmally. Well, he figured he would, anyway. He wasn’t that great at the game, and Hakuba was obviously pro at it. A shake of the hand as the Osakan gracefully admitted his defeat, and a promise for another match, this time in a game he was more familiar with.

Heiji thoroughly trounced Hakuba at igo, even though he’d played a teaching game. A bit disappointed, he promised to teach the Brit more, so that he could be a proper challenging opponent.

It became a regular thing, their matches. Not just chess and go, but shogi, checkers, backgammon, Risk. They went through numerous board games, and even a few card games, trumping the other as they went and keeping the score wonderfully even between them.

When board games lost their favor, Hakuba suggested that they move to billiards. Each week when they met for game night (usually Thursdays), the foreign detective dragged Hattori to a different pool hall or bar to try their luck. Hakuba was, as with chess, thoroughly good at the game and at first had absolutely no trouble beating the Osakan. But Hattori, for all of his brash decisions and lack of control for physical strength, did seem to have a potential that Hakuba couldn’t quite place.

So, as they’d done for other activities, Hakuba taught him the ropes. How to hold the cue, what angles were most effective for more elaborate trajectories and thus interesting and creative wins, and of course, how to hit the damn ball without sending it flying off of the table and rolling underneath the pachinko machine. 

This, unfortunately, required the two to get close at times. With a clear goal firmly in mind, Hakuba didn’t take the contact too personally. After all, if he wanted Hattori to feel how one was supposed to handle the cue, he would have to guide him. And guide him he did, hand on his, standing close behind him, pulling it back, adjusting the angle, and then the hit, arm gliding smoothly forward with just the right amount of strength to send the ball spinning just the way he wanted it to. 

Hakuba wasn’t certain if Hattori would ever have quite the finesse that he’d hoped, but at least he was well on his way to becoming someone fun to play against After each practice session, he suggested returning to the cards for poker and black jack – complete with chips, cash, and betting dares. Given the setting, it seemed appropriate and, yet again, evenly matched between the pair of them. 

by

Love Me

Speaking of roses…

The front step of the Kuroba home seems to have accumulated quite a few. One hundred and forty four, to be precise. Two dozen for each color:  red, orange, yellow, white, pink, and lavender, carefully arranged in that order. Sticking up from them is an envelope marked ‘Kuroba K’ on the outside, in English romaji. Inside is a small, silver key and a folded note, which read:

Kuroba-kun-

  • Lavender- Interest, Enchantment
  • Pink- Gratitude, Appreciation
  • White- Innocence, Sympathy
  • Yellow- Friendship, Joy
  • Orange- Desire, Passion
  • Red- Romance, Love
I’m terribly sorry: I couldn’t resist. Please confirm receipt.

-White Knight

by

Saturday Night (The Usual)

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Saturday morning greeted Hakuba with an uneasy feeling of loss. His bed was empty next to him, sheets cold to his searching hand. He got up, got dressed, and unlocked the door for the weekly cleaning crew. They came while he was reorganizing the contents of his dresser drawer, and somehow found things to clean in the already spotless room. 

He ate with the staff in the dining hall, went for a jog, hit the country club for tennis, and then returned to his room to get ready for that evening’s event. He showered. Shaved. Dressed. Combed his hair. And when he looked in the mirror he saw that he was as he should be. 

Spotless and empty.

The evening’s event was a birthday party for a rich and powerful socialite’s son. Hakuba hadn’t wanted to go, but his father couldn’t attend and the detective, admittedly, had nothing else to occupy his time. He went, made a good impression for the Hakuba family, and drank. More than he should have, really, though he was far from the slavering idiots that he watched from the ballroom floor. It was when enough inhibitions were gone that he, with some reluctance, went through his usual routine of selecting a conquest and wooing them to bed with him.

The girl he’d chosen was intelligent but cruel. Dark brown hair, striking blue eyes. A smile that was wicked and mischievous. She was a player in the game and knew it well. Their courtship was a section of evening spent with banter, witty remarks, too-close touches, near kisses, dancing with other partners. And then, as if they had come to the party with the events pre-planned, left together in the same cab. 

Hakuba didn’t take her back to his father’s house. Not for evening, certainly not for the weekend. He took her to the Hyatt, booking a room via his mobile phone with the ease of just a few subtle button presses. 

She was impressed when they’d arrived and the accommodations were already set. Sarcastic remarks and kisses were exchanged in the elevator. He couldn’t keep his hands off of her in the hallway. They barely managed to get the requested bottle of scotch open in the room before they were breathless on the couch. Hands slipped off pieces of clothing which littered the room to the bed. They spent the night together. Heated. Passionate. Meaningless. 

When Hakuba looked into the eyes of that evening’s lover, he didn’t see what he wanted to see. They were the wrong shade of blue. They held none of the genuine warmth and charm. Her gaze was too harsh. And it hurt. It ached inside of him like a memory he’d long since buried. He kissed her harder, chasing that pain with a fiery rain that washed him to shores of exhaustion. With this came temporary reprieve… but it was only temporary.

Sunday morning came and went, just as the two went their separate ways with nothing more than a ‘nice to see you’ and the empty promise of ‘perhaps next venue’ and ‘we should get dinner some time.’ Both knew that the other wouldn’t call. Really, aside from awkward glances at future events, they would have no interactions with each other. 

Hakuba returned to his father’s house and showered for the second time that morning. Got dressed, spent time with the staff asking trivial questions and making ridiculous requests. An awkward, business-passing-for-conversation over dinner with his father, and then back to his room.  Hakuba did his homework in silence. Then it was cross-examining case files and more scotch, waiting for sleep to beg for him as that woman had. 

He looked to his bed, sheets and blankets tucked, pillows arranged just so. Everything neatly pressed and folded. Spotless. Empty. 

Hakuba worked until he fell asleep at his desk. Working too late was at least better than knowing that there would be nothing but loneliness to greet you in bed.

by

A “Talk”

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“Saguru, could you come here for a moment?”

“Yes, Papa?”

“We’re not French, Saguru. It’s ‘tousan,’ ‘dad,’ or ‘sir.’”

“Ah right… Dad..”

“I’ve been getting a few comments lately about your investigations around the office…”

Shit. “Oh?”

“Please close the door. …Thank you. Yes, comments about the level of detail in… well, in the… How shall I put this?”

“I’m not sure. Am I in trouble..?”

“No, no… Nothing like that. It’s just that a couple of the staff have raised concerns…”

“Concerns about what?”

“That you might be taking things a little too… seriously. Now, now, Saguru, don’t make that face. They’re worried that you’re working too hard. That you’re wasting your time pulling up records that you don’t really need…”

“They have no idea what my investigations are. The information I pull is always strictly necessary.”

A heavy sigh from the senior Hakuba. “Their not knowing is part of the problem, Saguru. I give you a lot of freedom and a lot more unrestricted access to things than I really should, but I do it because I trust you and I don’t want you to be hindered. Especially with the language barrier, I-”

“I’m getting better, Dad. I’m working very hard.”

“I know you are. I know. I can see it in your face. You look tired, son.”

“…I’m fine.”

“Look, I just want you to relax for a while. Lay off all of the research and cut back on your cases. Exams are coming up, aren’t they? Some term thing?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Well, your friends, then.”

“I don’t have any.”

“You certainly seem interested in the lives of your classmates, or so I’ve been told.”

“I… just want to be prepared.”

“Stop it. Just lay off. You remember the conversation we had about the Kuroba boy?”

“Yes.”

“Take a break. Get some air. You’re going to ruin your eyes pouring over that paperwork at all hours of the night and day.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true.”

“…Saguru.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do as you’re told. I don’t want to hear any more ‘comments.’ You’re excused.”

“Yes, sir."