Chapter Text
Shinichi sat at his desk, eyes scanning the case files in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere—on her. Every day that passed felt like a day without air, a day without the quiet comfort of Shiho’s presence in his life. He hadn’t realized it before, but now that she was gone, the weight of her absence was suffocating.
He had told himself it was temporary. She would return, and everything would go back to normal. He had been wrong.
The apartment , which had always felt so full with the noise of their late-night discussions, the shared silences, and the occasional laughter, felt hauntingly still. The dishes piled up in the sink, the cups they used every morning left half-full on the counter, a subtle reminder of the space she had filled. But now—nothing. Just the overwhelming quiet that seeped into every corner.
Shinichi had tried to fill the void. He buried himself in work. There were cases to solve, studies to learn, and meetings to attend, but none of it made a difference. He would get halfway through a case report, and then his thoughts would wander—his gaze drifting to the empty chair across from him. He could almost hear her voice, soft and calculating, the way she would point out flaws in his reasoning or give him that skeptical look that always made him laugh, even when he didn’t want to.
But now... now it was just the dull hum of his thoughts.
He rubbed his temples, pushing the thoughts aside. "Focus, Shinichi," he muttered to himself. He picked up his phone again, scrolling through messages that didn’t matter, until he landed on her name. His thumb hovered over her contact, but for a brief moment, he froze. He hadn’t reached out after she left. He had let her go without a word, without a fight, without an explanation, or more like; he respected her wishes as his mother advised him to-. Part of him wanted no thought that he should have followed her.
“Shinichi?” Ran’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. She was standing in the doorway, her face full of concern.
He straightened up quickly, hiding the momentary vulnerability he had let slip. "Yeah? What’s up?"
"I haven’t seen you around much. You okay?" she asked, her voice soft but heavy with the unspoken tension between them.
Shinichi hesitated, glancing at her. There was so much he wanted to say, so many things that weighed on him. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He had no right to burden Ran with the mess of his emotions. Not when she was already carrying her own weight.
"I’m fine," he said, forcing a smile. "Just... tired. Been busy with the agency."
Ran looked unconvinced but didn’t press. "Okay. Just remember to take care of yourself, alright?"
As she left, Shinichi slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. His thoughts returned to Shiho. He hadn’t been able to tell her that he wasn’t in love with Ran. That he had never truly been. And now, Shiho was gone, and Shinichi had no idea where that left him—caught between a past he couldn’t fix and a future that seemed uncertain.
Days passed, and each one felt heavier than the last. Shinichi had gone through the motions: meetings with the Detective Boys, collage lessons, even dinner with his friends. But all of it felt like a distraction, a way to fill the hours until the next empty night when he returned to a house that wasn’t quite his anymore.
One evening, he found himself standing in front of the doctor’s door. He had promised himself he would give her space, that he would respect her need to be alone. But what if she was waiting for him to come? What if she had expected him to chase after her sooner?
His hand hovered over the doorknob , but he pulled back.
Shinichi let out a breath, stepping away. It was a painful realization,
He was the one who had messed things up by not seeing what was right in front of him. Now, it was his turn to be patient.
But that didn’t make it any easier.
Nights were the worst. That’s when it hit hardest—the silence pressing in from all sides. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to shut out the emptiness. Her soft delicate touch, her sweet scent and her delicious taste.
He reached for his phone again, scrolling through old messages—photos of them together, a shared text conversation. She had always been so distant, so calculated in her words, but the underlying warmth in her texts was something he had never truly appreciated until now.
There was one picture of them, a candid moment during a late-night case where they had shared a quiet laugh. He smiled bitterly at it. That version of them felt so far away now.
When had it gone wrong? When had he started losing her? Was it when they first slept together, or was it even before that, when he hadn’t fully acknowledged how much she meant to him? He had been selfish, unable to see beyond his own feelings, and now the space she had left behind was something he couldn’t fill.
And so he lay there, staring into the darkness, thinking of her—her absence now louder than any of the chaos he had lived through. He was alone, and it hurt in a way he couldn’t explain.
He didn’t know how to fix things, didn’t know where to begin. All he knew was that he couldn’t live without knowing that he had tried to make things right. And somehow, he would.
But first, he needed to find her. He couldn’t keep pretending this empty space didn’t exist.