Mizaistom had been investigating, for a while. It mostly consisted of throwing discreet glances under the table, and it seemed that all his past missions and relationships didn't prepare him for such a task.
He wouldn't go as far as to call it theft. No. The person in question would be appalled at such a suggestion. Mizaistom preferred to think of it as an innocent mistake, a slight of hand, perhaps, a confusing similarity between objects.
It was natural to feel relief upon finding that no void had swallowed his socks (as it usually does) but the particular joy he felt –he had to admit– was a bit unsettling; that giddiness that permeated his heart when he found out exactly where they were, washed up, surprisingly enough, somewhere close to his shores.
That knowledge tinted his day with an odd sense of glee, but he was experienced enough to continue his work composed and unperturbed, even when his heart jumped at the mere thought of it. Granted, it was silly, and he was a grown ass man –two things he believed were mutually exclusive– but he felt no desire to settle the danger alarms jiggling ever so slightly in his head. In fact, he enjoyed their insistent ringing.
Knowing where they were, however, didn't stop him from taking just another tiny glance under his colleague's desk. This time he was purposefully less cautious, and a pair of dark brown eyes shifted lazily from the computer screen to him.
"Is something wrong, Mizaistom?"
He leaned back on his chair, offering the blond young man a cryptic smile. "They look good on you."
A soft crease adorned Kurapika's forehead. "What does?"
Mizaistom gestured down with his chin. "My socks. I was wondering where they went."
Kurapika simultaneously looked down and lifted his foot. He looked back up at Mizaistom, a hint of amusement in his face. "Those are yours?"
"I do believe so, yes."
After a moment of silence, as if Kurapika was searching for confirmation within himself, he nodded. "I must have mistook them for mine the last time I left your apartment. White socks are quite common."
Mizaistom waved his hand. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind. Feel free to get your hands on my entire closet."
"Your sense of fashion is hideous." Kurapika wrinkled his nose. "The only reason I'd get my hand on your closet is for a thorough upheaval."
Mizaistom laughed. "Well then, how about you come to my apartment tonight, I can make you dinner, and you can return my hideous socks to me. Right before you leave, of course." he pinned Kurapika with a meaningful look. "I'd like to see them on you, more clearly."
Kurapika stared at him, his expression unreadable, then slowly moved his eyes back to whatever was on his computer screen. "Fair enough."