Chapter Text
|Polymorphic|
(Random Idea 1)
Five years ago, Kaito made a vow.
He made a vow of mutual agreement, trust, and protection.
Both of them had unnerving parallel lives, living a lie while trying to force the truth and justice that has been obscured in darkness. No matter the cost it would tax from them. Both aiming to defend and seize from opposite sides of each other—even if their end goal was the same, surrounded by the spiked shadowy webs of Their hands.
(He wanted to offer a join of forces, he didn’t have the chance.)
-
He made a vow as the crowd dressed in black dispersed around him one sunny morning, all of them faceless as his eyes would only lay on that piece of cemented tomb, a pair of incense sticks lit and making a steady, soft stream of smoke rise and dissipated.
…
That day had haunted and imprinted itself on his mind, an unforgiving memory that refused to be buried with its source. Always clawing up like a desperate entity that mulled and loomed knowing as if he forgot, he would make the same mistake again.
Any memory of him—would be tainted in that crimson red as it beamed and painted the skies with it’s bright, and angry color. Ruthlessly, and relentlessly consuming everything in its path as it raged on, starved to lick upon soft, fragile flesh. Tainted with a dull tall building caving in on itself, giving in to the destructive machinations of man. Tainted with the loud horrified screams, shrieks of metal and concrete, the shattering glass, and the horrible sound of loud explosions that shook the ground. Tainted with the memory of hearing his voice in a state so out of place—so vulnerable that he wished he never heard it. Tainted with the memory of adrenaline followed by disappointment.
—Tainted with grief, and regret.
Too late…
…
When the last of the crowd disappeared, he and his own group were about to retreat when they come in, and with them came a legacy.
(Disappointment, rage, and pity…)
The moment he laid his eyes on him—that familiar shade of dark, sapphire blues—he knew he wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t.
(Hope, attachment, protective, and promise…)
So, he made a vow on that afternoon as the sun was about to set behind his back, illuminating the grieving family in front of him.
He would protect that legacy.
-
(Though he didn’t actually expect that he would be given a chance to constantly do so.)
…
He made a vow on the detective’s grave.
He swore…
Retribution…
Justice…
Protection…
To never be too late.
(And he damned as hell will make sure that he can keep that promise.)
-
But of course, much like his predecessor, the legacy is as much of a trouble-maker and trouble-magnet.
He’s blaming the detective if any of them got hurt in the process—because it should be illegal for charges to disappear out of blue, and the measly second it took for the boy to pull a disappearing act. It was also so like his detective, and so like himself that Kaito would be proud if he wasn’t too worried and paranoid when his thoughts plummet to the worse of things.
So, here he was; running through the late night streets, with his friends somewhere split up as they all conducted their search for the boy that has been with them for almost five years—not to mention today is…
He shakes his head, he’ll do that later, he needed to find him first.
-
It was only with the last resort of convincing himself to think much like his detective that he finally had a clue to his charge’s whereabouts. And immediately he rushes off to plow after the new lead, not even bothering to stop for a second to inform his friends of this development. No, he was too busy scaling a building to get to the top.
If his deductions and intuition were right, the boy should be there.
And he was. The seven-year-old’s back was turned to him; dark brown hair whipped with the breeze, making it look like a curly mess—but he wouldn’t be Kaito if he couldn’t recognize his charge anywhere.
“There you are…” he breathes. “You had me worried sick…” he doesn’t care if he had practically abandoned all pretense of his Poker Face, sagging in relief.
“Now, that isn’t your script, Kaitou 1412.” Kaito stops just a few steps away from the boy, sure him being Kid wasn’t news to the boy. But the way he spoke tugged at something inside him, something achingly familiar, a feeling associated to—No, that wasn’t possible. So he slams on that hopeful idea and buries it.
“You…” he trails off, uncertain—what could he say in this situation anyway? “Now’s not the time for that, we need to go back now.” Kaito really expected it when the boy ignored him, simply moving to set something down, a can? Did he buy a drink while—not now, Kaito!
“Just… what are you doing?” it almost pained him to say it here, on this night, and almost the same circumstance. Because there was no way he could recreate—
A spark, a lighter? What was he doing with—his breath hitches.
The boy had turned to face him, a familiar pair of spectacles glinting on his face, accompanied by an equally familiar tilt of a smirk and the sharp calculative blue eyes behind those frames.
And Kaito tunes out the wind when his ear latches on to the ever familiar whistling noise. There’s a small explosion of the ever familiar color combination behind the boy. Even if he has only seen such combination once, but his brain short-circuited, once more tunneling to his charge. About to speak, demand—what was he thinking? Why was he doing this?
But the boy beat him to it, his eyes softened losing the sharp edge usually directed on criminals they both put behind bars. The boy smiles.
“Fireworks!”
|To Be Continued…|