#it will take 20+ years to write be 32098 thousand words a slowburn and their first kiss will be on chap 1004 sorry i don't make

[detectiveaesthetic]

Sometimes he finds himself almost forgetting. Finds himself fully in the mindset of an excitable elementary schooler. He’ll do thinks with a certain level of immaturity--a level of about a 1st grader. He’ll run and play games outside that he wouldn’t have played even when he was small the first time. Even let out a playful laugh as he falls or jumps off a swing.

The reminders that his situations is abnormal--that he needs to return to his proper age and identity were more jarring than any of his natural reactions and thoughts.

The reminders were in the way Ayumi would sometimes pause in her excitement about a game or a story as she realized how close she was to him. The pink that would brush her cheeks. How her smile would momentarily break only to recover--or rather, revive, all the stronger.

In how a stark contrast of color(black or red, mainly black), the mention of a fancy alcoholic beverage(gin being the worst), or even a second too long of a lingering glance would set Haibara entirely on edge. How she’d tuck behind him or hold her elbows as if trying to warm herself up.

It was in the deep, raspy, overly familiar callings of his name. His old name. A family name he was proud to carry, “Kudou”. Always said in such a think Osakan accent. In how Hattori would scratch the back of his head as he halfheartedly apologized or be repeatedly surprised that he still hadn’t been found out or told anyone else.

In how an agent would enter and leave his old home on a regular basis. Read from his family’s collections. How the house was more Subaru’s than his own now. The manor of the silver bullets.  In Agasa’s silly quizzes that were increasingly common the longer he was smaller. His size may have shrunk, but their difficulty hadn’t changed--as in they were over the top easy to a point where they were more buggy than fun. 

In his very own face. When Kaitou Kid was feeling annoying, familiar, or helpful enough to borrow it.

But, predominantly, it was apparent in Ran’s tears. The ones she’d hide behind her hands at night. The trust, patience, anger... The was she’d still perk up at the mention of him--the older him. How she’d get embarrassed or lost in thought. His own memories of being pulled in by his tie for a kiss on his cheek. How despite how close they were, that he couldn’t fluster her back. Couldn’t even hold her.

It was at these times--in these reminders... that he’d feel shame for getting caught up in his own childish illusion. Humiliated by a wave of implacable regret(loneliness).