Rk900 One-Shots

perfect | sequel to lack

A/N: This one was requested by @Sweet-Like-PeachTree and I've finally done this correctly. Hope you enjoy it bestie ❤️.

It had been weeks since she hung up on him, she didn't know the specifics. What she did know was that she missed the consistency their meetings gave her. Everything else was an unstable variable, especially the people around her. Nothing came crashing in on her once the arrangement stopped. The questions about her late nights did stop because she didn't want another like it. She didn't want any secret arrangements. No hiding.

She had tried dating, one first date with some random guy and she stopped. The decision was made, she was going to focus on her work and figure it out later. Anderson might've noticed, but had said nothing. Nobody did. Things were moving smoothly, why change it? She stayed later and later, burying herself in work. She asked for extra paperwork, more tasks, signing up for longer patrol hours.

The questions about her rough night were replaced with: how much did you sleep?

She was fine. She enjoyed the time she had left over from where their hook-ups were. No more bending over backwards. Sure, there were sleepless nights, but she was fine.

Having longer shifts, she could get herself alone more at the station. For less than she thought, though. There was someone else working late almost every night, taking patrol shifts, doing overtime. And it was the person she didn't want to talk to. Conan. Good thing she never needed to. Or when she did, she sent Anderson to act as messenger. Work life was good for her. Although, she always left the station when it was only the two of them. When everyone had left. She wasn't taking any risks of some slip-ups.

Maybe he had felt the same way. Or she hadn't noticed how he stayed late before. She didn't care which one it was or if it was neither.

But of course, one night she was about up to her neck in paperwork, that she had voluntarily requested. So she did care. She did care that the only person left at the precinct, besides her, was the man she loved. Past and present. She could never say it out-loud or admit it and she hated herself for still loving him.

The overhead lights had been shut off for about a half an hour, the custodial staff leaving around that time as well. When they did, he looked over to her desk, waiting for her to sigh and begin to pack up her things. But she never did. Her computer screen stayed on and she was still sitting. What had changed? he thought. He said nothing, continuing to work on case files from the previous day. He desperately wanted to say something to her. Do something. It was killing him every day.

Yet, the pair remained silent, only the sound of shuffling papers and typing filled the unbearable silence. Once lovers—at least something close to it—now essentially strangers.

It was becoming close to eleven o'clock, usually the time Conan had began packing up. He glanced over to her again, used to not seeing her at this hour at the station. Did she need help? He thought bitterly, Like she'd want help from you. Brushing away the thought, he grabbed his suit jacket and powered down his computer. He hated how much he missed her. They were miles away, but only yards.

Walking past her desk, he mumbled a "Goodnight," making her head jerk up, but say nothing. It had been weeks and she had stayed true to her word, no contact. So did he. Not willingly. He couldn't count the amount of times he had caught himself hovering over her number, it had happened at least once a day. It hadn't been the sex. It was the ability to hold her, even if it been for seconds. The woman he couldn't get out of his mind was the only one he had let in his bed, let alone his house. Believe him, he had tried.

One date, no matter how well it went, and he was done. It just wasn't her. Nothing felt authentic. He had even tried flings on a couple occasions, imagining it was her. He knew it was wrong, hell, it even felt wrong. He was at a dead end and there was no way out.