For Poirot Cafe's Themed Competition #16- Survival
Warnings: Mystery Train/mild Scarlet arc spoilers, injury, some angst, language.
Starts from when Shiho tells Bourbon there are explosives in the railroad car.
Enjoy!
The explosives in the caboose threw a wrench straight through his plans.
Was she serious? He mentally groaned. Explosives meant he couldn't isolate Sherry from the rest. It meant he couldn't sneak her out of here.
To hell with Vermouth and her whim.
"Well, there's nothing you can do about it, why don't you just step aside with me?" He kept his voice calm and confident. There was no need to let her know his mind was brainstorming and scrapping dozens of plans as he spoke.
He supposed he could just knock her out, and hide in a room until the confusion died down. The helicopter would be too conspicuous; perhaps a suitcase would work...
Her piercing blue eyes stared at him without amusement. "If you don't mind, I'll turn down that offer." Her crisp voice quipped out before the door slammed shut.
He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. It was like dealing with a bratty teenager, which was sad, considering he wasn't nearly old enough to start thinking like a dad. He thought she would be more mature than this. Did she really trust her chances with a room of explosives more than with him?
"Hmph, you're as difficult as they say. I might have to get a little rough with you." He didn't want to mar her pretty face. It would be an insult to Hell Angel, and there's no way he could do such a thing.
He settled with a quick charge and knock-out tactic. There's no telling when Vermouth had set those bombs to go off. As he stepped forward, his instincts clawed at his mind. Danger.
The door behind him had creaked. His gun was trained on the shadow before he had even processed who it might be.
He saw a familiar hat, and his heart skipped a beat. The hand holding the gun trembled as he lost control for a brief moment. But then, he remembered.
Akai Shuichi was dead.
"Is that you, Vermouth? Sorry, but I'll be taking her with me." He spoke coldly, daring her to make a move. His plans were going more and more awry by the second. He still had to secure Sherry. His fingers twitched over the trigger, his pale eyes narrowing.
There was a clattering that had him tensing. He glanced down, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the object roll by.
A grenade.
His first thought was to run. The mission depended on his survival. He could not throw away everything that he's sacrificed-that everyone had sacrificed for. He had a few critical seconds.
"Who's there?!" He started backing away from the explosive. That hat, that figure, that- could it be-
Akai.
Vermouth wouldn't kill him without any consequences. But he. He would. After all, he did it to-
"Who are you?" His voice cracked, his mind not wanting to believe it. Scotch's face flashed through his mind like a mantra, making him furious.
It was too late, the critical seconds were up. He didn't have time. To get his revenge.
He started for the corridor to avoid the blast, and remembered.
Sherry.
"Shit." He cursed under his breath and turned around, running past the grenade and slamming the door open.
Not a moment later, he caught sight of the girl's burgundy shirt, and a lot of white.
Then the grenade exploded.
He was thrown forward towards the window by the sheer force of powerful blast. His back felt singed, and he hoped he wasn't burned. The rail car made a sudden stop, and he knew he was separated from the rest of the train. Wooden debris flew into his line of sight, and he shielded his eyes, a humming echoed in his mind.
"H-hey!"
Sherry's voice was clear through the confusion. He looked up with a grunt, noticing that she was making her way over to him. The white still flowing around her body gave her a chimerical glow. He thought he was looking at an angel.
A beeping different from the ringing in his ears caught his attention. His eyes found the source immediately. Glowing red numbers stared back at him. Five seconds.
Right, bombs.
Adrenaline rushing back into his system, he shot to his feet, and charged into the girl.
"Wha-" Her voice squeaked indignantly-her pitch a bit different? - when he barreled into her torso.
She hissed when her back hit the window edge, but he kept pushing. His legs had barely made it out of the caboose when everything melted into white with an eerie silence. The only sensation he felt was slender fingers tightening their grasp on his vest.
The vacuum-like space dissipated with the ephemeral silence, and the loudness of the explosion made itself known. Gritty dust stuck to his sticky back, making it sting. Smoke enveloped his senses, making him choke, and tear up. He felt weightless as the blast threw him further from the rail car.
"Hold...on." He gasped out, his eyes stinging too much for him to focus. Wood chips grazed past his cheeks, clinging to his blonde hair. He told himself to get a grip. This wasn't even the most dangerous mission he's been on. His newest persona was causing him to lose his touch.
He tensed when he heard Sherry chuckle, an odd sound coming from such a serious woman.
"I should be saying the same to you."
He didn't understand what she meant, but his sense of direction was suddenly jostled. She had changed their positions in mid-air, wind ravaging their clothes violently. He found himself below the scientist, her arms wrapped around his torso.
The white he had been seeing finally formed a comprehensible shape.
A hang-glider.
There was a click, and a gut-wrenching feeling filled his stomach as their weightless descent abruptly stopped. They swerved dangerously, tilting back and forth. For a moment, he thought they had done a back flip-which would've been so much cooler in a less threatening situation.
He heard a curse, and noticed the growing hole in the white fabric, burning away under the destructive inferno coming from a piece of wood that pierced through.
They started falling, albeit at a slower rate. The landscape below them melted into a canvas of blue and green as they spun out of control.
They were teetering closer towards the green than the blue. That wasn't good, he figured. With the little strength he had left, he nudged himself to the left, watching the blue get increasingly closer to his face.
SMACK
A sting of cold crept into every crevice of his body. His world was stuffed with cotton, the light distorted. The last thing he remembered is the feeling of cold fingers slipping away from his.
Bourbon allowed himself to fall asleep.
Thump
His eyes snapped open, a murderous intent in them. His hands clenched around nothing. Gun, where was his gun?
He picked up the next best thing-a jagged rock- and drove it down onto the offending creature.
There was a loud squawk and a flurry of feathers. Ruby stained feathers drifted onto his hands as the startled robin staggered into the air, a bleeding cut on its side.
His breathing evened out, his eyes tracing over his surroundings with caution. Whispering breeze, chirping birds, flowing water, it was a sight he hadn't seen in a long time. Peaceful. That was the only word he could think of to describe the scene before him. The clear water lapped at his feet, and he made a face at soggy mess inside his shoes. He pulled them off carefully, pouring the soup out before peeling his socks off, wriggling his prune-y toes.
It was a miracle that he hadn't drowned after he lost consciousness. He reached back with a wince, feeling around his back. The vest and dressed shirt was ragged and burnt, but his skin felt significantly better after the douse of cool water.
He had a chance of getting out of this forest alive.
He glanced up into the sky. Trees surrounded him at all sides, leaving him feeling like a caged rat. The bridge was no longer in sight, and he wondered how far he had drifted. His phone was ruined by the water; he'd need another way to contact his team. He considered using the LCD screen as a way to signal them, but he had no idea if they were still looking for him. He squinted up at the sun, only two hours had passed since then. Perhaps 3 or 4 in the afternoon?
He got to his feet gingerly, pleased to find the effects of the explosions subdued. He spotted a familiar black object and smirked.
He pulled the gun from the rock bed, congratulating it on going through thick and thin with him all these years. It was soaked, but it should work fine after drying.
The gun in his hand reminded him of another sensation that punched the breath out of him.
Cold fingers.
Sherry.
Or rather, it hadn't been Sherry. The angelic, white fabric had told him otherwise. It had been the last person in the world he thought would get involved in the business of the crows.
Crack
A clumsy sound had him on high alert. He spun around, gun raised. He wasn't sure if it would even work, but the other did not know that.
He found a knife trained on him as well, and that was enough to make his focus increase. His heart pounded with adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"You literally brought a knife to a gun fight." The line slipped out before his better judgment had a chance to smack him.
He watched the knife falter for a moment as lilac eyes-not blue like Sherry's- stared into his grey ones.
"An Untouchables reference seems inappropriate right now, don't you think?" It was the voice he had heard when he had lunged into her back at the caboose. It was very different from Sherry's, but it still held the same youthful tone.
"What's inappropriate is you still wearing those clothes." He retorted with a glare. He raised his gun warningly.
"Explain yourself, Kaitou Kid."
The thief smiled while shrugging one shoulder, the ragged burgundy shirt slipping to show some milky skin a shade darker than Sherry's. The makeup he had been wearing before was destroyed, mixing wet powder with his natural colors. To the agent's exasperation, the fake breasts were still in place. The left side of his body was hidden behind the tree he was using as a shield. The shredded white cape was fluttering in the breeze; most of the glider parts were destroyed or missing. He was barefoot just like Bourbon.
"It's cuter this way." The confident glint in his eyes annoyed the agent. One was hidden behind a glass that reflected sunlight.
He narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. To his hidden amusement, the thief took a step back, stumbling with some fallen branches. He heard the sound of water dripping to the soft ground, and wondered if the thief was as soaked as he was.
"I've got a few questions for you, how about we have a coffee over this?" The agent glided forward, confidence building with each step. In contrast, Kid seemed to falter every time Bourbon moved closer. However, his eyes were still steely and cautious, the knife raised.
"You're asking me out on a date with a gun pointed to my face? That's not very gentlemanly." He smirked, and pressed closer to the tree bark.
"I assure you that I only want answers, not to harm you." And he had many questions. Kid had seen too much. Hell, he knows too much. He had heard him admit to being Bourbon. And why the hell was he masquerading around as a wanted traitor of the organization?
"That's difficult to believe." The thief shot back, and he forced himself to refrain from rolling his eyes. He was starting to think it hadn't been Sherry's bratty princess attitude, but Kid's.
The dripping sound only got louder as he moved closer. That had Bourbon confused. His own clothes were on the verge of being dry. The thief had probably walked here, how was his clothes still soaking wet? He glanced down.
There were droplets of crimson on the thief's foot.
"Hey, are you injured?" He frowned, and moved forward at a quicker pace.
Kid swiped at him with the knife when he was within arm's length. It took all his will to stop himself from throwing the thief to the ground in defense. Instead, he grabbed his wrist, and forced him from behind the tree. The knife dropped to the ground.
"Ow!" He heard Kid hiss and struggle against his grip. But his focus was on the thief's left arm.
The shirt was mere rags hanging off his shoulder. His skin was a mess of wet ruby, concentrated around his bicep. A long metal rod stuck out of the trembling muscle, dripping blood from its end.
"Why the fuck didn't you say something earlier?" He swore, and tugged thief's right arm, pulling him towards the water.
"So you can kill me faster? Let. Go!" Kid growled, steeling his feet against the pebbles, refusing to move. Bourbon's grip grew tighter.
"Just be quiet, will you?" He was in no mood for stubborn brats. His day had gone downhill the moment he discovered the bombs. He faintly wondered if Vermouth was in trouble for losing a partner. Well, if he didn't get into contact with the organization soon, he would be under suspicion.
With a particularly strong yank, he pulled Kid to the ground-cursing and growling- gun trained on his forehead.
"This isn't even funny anymore. You're saying you want to help me with a gun pointed at my head." There was no humor in Kid's grin.
Bourbon exhaled deeply, and put his gun down, out of the thief's reach.
"Is that from the hang-glider?" He asked, holding his arm out expectantly. With great hesitation, Kid finally relented, shifting uncomfortably to show the agent the impaled object.
"Well, carrying another full sized human on a glider is not recommended. Especially when there's a burning hole in it." He gritted his teeth when Bourbon poked at the rod. The agent did respect the thief's pain tolerance. It was nearly organization level tolerance.
"You're awfully snappy for a supposed gentleman." He frowned, and scrutinized the rod. It was too long for safe travel. It needed to be shortened. Kid's flimsy little blade wouldn't be able to do the trick.
"Do you have anything that can cut through this?" He asked before Kid had a chance to make a snippy remark.
Kid seemed to consider for a moment before reaching into his white pants. Out of instinct, the agent reached for his own gun when Kid pulled out his silver one.
He watched as Kid struggled to get the cylinder open, but didn't offer any help. When the gun finally fell apart, cards fell to the ground with a flutter.
"They're probably strong enough." Kid offered, glancing at the agent's real gun with suspicion.
"Cards?" Bourbon muttered under his breath, and picked one up. Then, he understood. They were hard and sharp, the very opposite of a normal card.
"Lay down." He ordered, reaching forward to pull at the ends of the ripped cape, trying to salvage as much usable fabric as possible.
"On the first date? Scandalous!" But the thief did as he was told, careful not to jostle the rod.
"I'm going to cut it now." He ignored Kid's taunts. His patience was honestly Buddha-like today. Perhaps those meditation exercises Azusa suggested were really working.
Kid nodded, and watched his arms with the intense concentration, as if worried he would suddenly turn, and slit his throat with the card- which sounded pretty good to the agent.
He guided the card to a mere few centimeters away from where the rod met skin. He began cutting.
The thief tensed the moment the card touched the rod. He started taking huge, shuddering breaths through his mouth, all his muscles pulled tight. His right hand was clenched into a fist around pebbles.
By the time the rod was nearly severed, his forehead was soaked with sweat, the remnants of makeup dripping off. His grip on the ground was the only thing keeping him steady. Still, he made no noise. Bourbon was impressed.
When the rod was finally severed, Kid let out a stuttered breath, curling in on himself, breath shallow and soft.
"Stay down, flat on your back. You might go into shock." The agent ordered, and the thief gave him a glare but returned to his supine form.
He gathered the scraps of cape fabric, wrapping it around the remaining rod tightly. He wondered if this would suffice in keeping the thief out of shock. His ragged clothes were hopefully dry enough. They had no way of getting warm clothes.
"Why are you helping me, anyways?" Kid muttered after a few moments. His arm was over his eyes, shielding any potential distress from Bourbon's sight.
"I rather you not die before you answer my questions." He ran a hand through his hair, biting back a yawn.
"You're pretty kind, for all your talk." A smile crept onto the thief's face.
"Pardon?"
"You weren't going to let 'Hell Angel's daughter' get killed in the explosion. You even risked your own life to save her. That's pretty sweet of you."
The agent didn't mention how much he had sacrificed for this mission. So many years of personas and murders...he wasn't going to give up the only lead he's had in ages. But now...his fists clenched, that plan was ruined.
"Why were you disguised as her?" He asked sharply.
"Wasn't it a great disguise? It had you fooled, right?"
"Stop avoiding the question." He snapped back, his eyes trailing to the gun at his side.
"Ohh, am I being difficult again? Are you going to get rough with me?" Kid removed his arm, showing coy eyes. His right arm trailed down to rub at the fake breasts enticingly.
The agent was on top of the thief within seconds. Kid tensed, hissing as his injured arm was suddenly shifted. He glared up into his grey eyes, refusing to back down.
"You do not want to test me, thief. You've cost me more than you could ever imagine." Bourbon spat, gun pressed against his clammy forehead.
"I almost died saving you. How about a thank you?" The sunlight glinted off Kid's monocle.
"I could've gotten out just fine, if I didn't have to account for you." He hissed, his patience wearing thin.
"Hubris is unbecoming, Bourbon-san." It was weird hearing his codename leave the thief's mouth.
"Don't call me that."
"Ahaa, you don't like that persona? How about this one, Amuro-san?"
His heart stopped for a moment. How the hell did he know so much? Amuro Tooru. His most recent alias. Dorky yet charismatic. Open yet mysterious. A barista at Poirot Cafe. A face with no past, just working a job to survive another day. Another mask to hide the real him. To hide Furuya Rei. Buried under so many facades, he wondered where Furuya was.
"Which one is the real you? Or have you put on too many personalities for you to kno-"
He pulled the trigger.
BANG
The barrel was smoking, his arm was completely still. Birds were bursting from treetops, startled by the sudden noise. Even the water seemed to stop.
He stared down into Kid's widen eyes without emotion. The bullet hole on the ground next to them hissed with smoke. The thief's mouth was agape for a second, before it clicked shut.
Furious, he got off the thief, and stumbled into the forest. Fuck the thief, he wasn't his responsibility. He was an outlier in this mission. The only way to handle an outlier was to ignore it. Kaitou Kid could die from an infection for all he cared.
His fist slammed into a tree trunk once he was far enough.
"God damn it!" He swore, and slammed it again. Sherry, his one lead, was a dead end. It had all been one big trap. She hadn't been on the train. The only one that could've helped answer all his questions about the organization. About Hell Angel's research, about Akemi's death, about Akai Shuichi's whereabouts, about his fucking purpose.
He let out another deep breath and sank to the ground, hands pressed against his forehead.
He thought about the good things. Before everything went to hell. Elena's gentle touch, Akemi's laughter, and Scotch's stupid jokes.
The sun was starting to retreat when he finally collected himself. He looked back towards the clearing where he had left the thief.
Anger aside, Kid was still important. For some reason, he knew about Sherry and the organization, he knew about Akai. For all he knew, he could be the one sheltering her. Maybe everything hasn't been in vain, maybe there was still hope.
He made his way back towards the water, noticing the soft glow as he drew closer.
The thief had made a small fire with a lighter. The agent wondered how many more miscellaneous objects the thief had on his body.
The magician was lying on his back again, and Bourbon heard the shallow breaths escaping his lips.
"Hey..." Concern leaked into his voice as he knelt down. Kid's skin was glistening with cold sweat. One eye peeked open, glassy with fever.
"Hey...look who came crawling back, no one can avoid the great Kaitou Kid's allure, right?" The sarcastic comment made Bourbon snort.
"I guess you're alright enough to sass. I think you have a fever." He pressed a hand against the thief's forehead. It felt warm, but not dangerous.
"Yay." Kid muttered, and rolled to his side, turning away from the agent.
Bourbon counted to ten, feeling grey hairs springing up with each second.
"Look, obviously we got off on the wrong foot." He heard the snort of laughter-wrong foot? Try wrong explosion- and ignored it. "But we're going to have to work together if we want to get out of here."
"...Yeah, that would be beneficial." Kid considered, tracing a smoother pebble with his finger.
"Do you have any way to signal for help?"
"I have a phone but it was soaked. Most of my equipment was destroyed by the water too." Kid turned to face him, swaying slightly. His injured arm had soaked through the make-shift bandages, but not enough for it to be a pressing concern.
"We could probably use the phone screen to made contact with someone. But there are too many trees here. We'll need to get to a clearing." The thief suggested, and Bourbon nodded.
"My comrades would probably still be out there tomorrow. They'll have a helicopter, so it'd be easier for them to spot us. We can start looking for a clearing tomorrow." He'd like to think he was important enough to warrant a two day search. The organization would probably be on the move to look for his body and any loose ends if he doesn't make it back soon.
Kid doesn't answer, and Bourbon saw that he had nodded off mid-conversation, the strain of the injury overwhelming him. He sympathized, remembering the last time he had gotten injured similarly. In some ways, it was worse than a bullet wound.
He chuckled at the sight of knife gripped tightly in the thief's hands. He held up his gun, and leveled it at Kid's head.
It stayed in that position for several minutes, the only sounds were of waking crickets and Kid's soft breathing.
With a sigh, he lowered it. He shrugged off his vest, careful not to agitate the minor burns on his back. He dropped the burnt fabric on top of Kid's trembling torso before shifting to lie on his stomach.
He was asleep within minutes, the stress of the day leaving him no other choice.
They set out the moment they woke up the next morning. Kid's minor fever had gone down overnight. He didn't say anything about the vest, and Bourbon didn't mention it either. After a breakfast of bird eggs, they began to tread through the forest.
"I saw those feathers yesterday. You totally killed a bird, didn't you?" Kid scolded, gripping his injured arm tightly as he avoided sharp branches. He hadn't been wearing any shoes when he was disguised as Sherry. And they weren't close enough to offer each other piggy back rides.
"I couldn't find my gun; a rock was the next best thing. And I didn't kill it." He protested with an annoyed sigh.
"A gun? You were going to shoot it? That's even worse, Amuro-san!" Kid gave a mock gasp.
And there it was. His fake name. He had neither confirmed nor denied that it was one of his aliases. He refrained from reacting to it...for now.
"Can you please remove those fake breasts? They're a distraction."
"Is Amuro-san embarrassed~?" He bounced them again, and Bourbon started to feel more like an exasperated older brother.
He had climbed up a tree, attempting to find the right way. To his surprise, he could see the bridge a few miles away. They hadn't drifted too far, there was still hope.
Kid was surprisingly talkative when he was not stealing. He chattered incessantly, only stopping when his injury got too strenuous, and they had to stop for him to catch his breath. It made the agent wonder how much of the thief he saw on TV was the real him...whoever he was. But the agent enjoyed it. He didn't get to have heated discussions with anyone that often. It was a welcomed change.
"Why do you call me Amuro?" He finally asked after debating with Kid on whether or not the American Congress should be allowed to vote on laws while tripping balls, or if there was a difference anyways.
Kid paused to think, before turning to him with a smile.
"I always remember people who give me a good dose of chocolate. You make one mean chocolate frappé."
The agent searched his mind. He remembered all the customers he had served the drink to before. An old karate master, a high school girl, a business man, a middle aged teacher. Different faces popped up the more he remembered. Yet they all had one distinct feature.
Lilac eyes.
"Have you been stalking me?" His eyes grew cautious again. Did he do something to blow his cover? Did anyone else know?
"Oh? Oh no, not you." Kid quickly hummed, brushing a leaf off his hair. That didn't make the agent feel any better.
"So...it was just coincidence that you know me from Poirot?" He brightened when he saw a clearing up ahead.
"Yup! And who would've thought? My handsome barista was actually a spy at night, just like a movie!"
"You think I'm sexy?" He snorted, and kicked aside some branches.
"Oh, well no one ever said that, Amuro-san! Jumping to conclusions now, are we?"
He didn't rise to Kid's taunt, instead he held up a hand.
"Sh, did you hear that?"
Kid stopped moving to listen, his eyes growing serious as he focused.
A buzzing spread through the clearing, accompanied with a strong breeze.
"It's them! The helicopter!" Bourbon grinned, and pulled out his phone. Kid did the same. Catching the sunlight, the screens glinted, and they waited.
Several anxious minutes later, the chopper came into sight. They gave each other excited glances as a ladder dropped down.
Several bulky men in suits slid down, and Kid backed away with guarded eyes. One stepped forward, a relieved look on his face.
"Furuya-sa-" The man paused when he noticed the thief. His gun was in his hand a moment later, causing the thief to tense.
"It's okay, he's an asset." Bourbon raised a hand quickly, and the men relaxed.
Bourbon turned to face Kid.
"Come with me, we can help fix your arm."
Kid didn't move.
"….We're not the bad guys." He pleaded, biting his lip after revealing the information so directly.
Kid stared at the offered hand intently before looking up to gaze into his eyes.
He shook his head.
"Kid-"
"I can't trust you, Amuro-san. I helped you, and you helped me. Our debt is settled already." He seemed adamant, and Bourbon deflated a bit.
"You're my only lead right now." He confessed, feeling decades older than his actual age.
"I know...and I'm sorry. But I can't." Kid backed away some more.
The agent took a deep breath.
"Cell phone." He ordered, and a phone was immediately placed into his hand. He flipped through the contents hastily. After confirming that there was nothing confidential in it, he handed it to the thief.
"There's signal and a GPS function, at least call someone for help. And last resort, if you can't get anyone...call me. My number's the only one in there."
Kid stared at the phone for a moment before looking up with a grin.
"You really are kind."
Bourbon snorted, and signaled for his men to start going up back. He turned to leave as well.
"I have a question."
He paused, and waited.
"Was the one I talked to today...Bourbon or Amuro Tooru?"
.
.
He laughed and turned with a smirk.
"Furuya. Furuya Rei."
He climbed up the ladder without looking back. He pondered the cool and mysterious Kid he saw on TV, and the Kid that talked about the differences between good potatoes and shitty ones. He wondered which one was the real one.
Perhaps that's how Kid knew. How he saw through Amuro and Bourbon's personas. Maybe Kid was living one too many masks as well.
"You're a bit mean!" He turned, and yelled down. He could see Kid's confused expression from where he was.
"You didn't even answer any of my questions!"
He saw Kid smirk.
"I only answer such personal questions on the second date, you pervert!"
He felt a smile tug onto his face.
"There's going to be a second date?!"
Kid's dimpled grin was enough confirmation for him.
It had been a week after the whole fiasco. It had taken an hour of ad-libbing to keep Gin from blowing his head off. That person seemed content with letting him continue his investigation on Akai. Miyano Shiho was marked as dead. Vermouth still looked at him with questioning eyes, but he returned it with icy glares. No one could blame him; he did almost die at her hands.
He had tracked the cell phone, watching the dot move closer and closer back to civilization. The dot disappeared after it stopped at highway. He assumed he wouldn't be getting the phone back.
"Amuro-kun, you seem a bit tense. Have you been doing those exercises I gave you? It's not good to be stressed all the time." Azusa took the ordered drinks from his booth, and placed them onto her tray.
"No worries, Azusa-san. Actually, I have to thank you. They've been really helpful." He smiled, wiping down a glass.
"Really?! I'm so glad, keep up the good work!" She grinned, and rushed to deliver the drinks.
He let out a sigh, and turned to place the cleaned glass on the shelf. The door opened with a ring.
"Welcome to Poirot!" He yelled with a chipper voice, his back still turned.
"Hey Mr. Sexy Barista! One chocolate frappe to go please!"
He froze, eyes wide before a smile graced his face. He grabbed a Styrofoam cup and a marker.
He turned around to meet playful lilac eyes.
"I'm going to need a name and number to go with that."
Yeah, I ended with a cheesy pick up line, fight me.
Well, I think Rei and Kaito would have more of a sibling relationship, and that they're just teasing here ;)
I hope you enjoyed! I sure did. Reviews are treasured and appreciated!