Kaito liked keeping broken things.
Broken didn't mean bad. Broken didn't mean trash.
Broken wasn't a permanent state of existence, and it wasn't in Kaito's nature to give up.
Sometimes, broken things could be repaired. Sometimes, they worked better than before.
Sometimes, broken things could only be patched up. His first card gun still had a hitch in it, but even if it didn't have the response time of his main card gun, it was still a handy backup.
People were the same way. They started out functional and got damaged along the way.
It was daily process. When a person got scared, their system would become damaged, but release from that stimulus would result in their system patching itself up, though they might remain jumpy. People spent all day and night exhausting and replenishing their energy. Their lifetimes were a constant cycle of hurt, heal, hurt, heal.
Sometimes, people stopped working, but usually, they could be patched up. There came an age when one could rightfully assumed it had happened to everyone around them. It was a simple fact of life. It was taken for granted.
People were impatient by nature, though. They wanted instant gratification. If something didn't work, they just threw it away and didn't look back.
The average person would get nowhere near guessing what Kaito's entertainment suite had cost simply on the principle of fixing broken things. "But you have money," they might argue, "You don't have to put up with it. You can get something shiny and new."
They wouldn't consider that it had been his choice. They wouldn't consider that there was a choice. All they saw was inferiority.
The Kuroba household was different in multiple senses of the word. Kaito took after his mom in patience.
"Mom!" he called out, "Me and Aoko are going to my room!"
One arm around her shoulders, another under her arm. One step at a time.
His room had been cleaned out of everything remotely KID-like (and by proxy, Kaito-like). It looked a bit empty. It felt the same way.
He flopped down next to her and opened his mouth. Akako had tried to kill him again. Hakuba still wasn't talking to him, not like he cared. The teacher wanted a meeting with his mom. It was a secret though; he hadn't told her yet. He'd dyed the entire soccer team's uniforms purple and nobody had noticed before game time. He'd forgotten his lunch, so all he'd had was bread; he was starving. After school, exactly three girls had asked him out.
Things were getting back to normal. It'd been two and a half months since the heist, after all.
There was a knock on the door before it creaked opened. "Aoko-chan?"
Chikage scurried in holding a plate of cookies. "I made too many cookies for the bake sale," she said, looking embarrassed. "Would you like one?" She held one out and waited.
And waited, holding contact with glazed blue eyes.
Kaito was halfway through the batch when the girl's fingers closed around the extra-small chocolate chip cookie.
Chikage smiled and patted her shoulder. "Aoko-chan, let's go take a bath and then we can have some girl time! Kaito's a bad influence; you shouldn't be around him too often."
Kaito scowled at the comment as he waved goodbye, shoving the largest cookie in his mouth.
The Kurobas were more patient than most; they were well-versed in dealing with the aftermath of "accidents."
I feel wrong posting something with no humor content here, so let's just laugh at me instead. You can skip this if you just wanted the angst. I was looking over my stories and I had this super cool idea for a follow-up to one of my Detective Conan fics. But it was a little straight-laced; I wanted Kaito to be either more annoying and wacky or more creepy and wacky. So I brought up a word generator and got cicatrose (full of scars). Originally, I tried incorporating it into my original idea (pretty much the beginning of this story), but I quickly realized it didn't work and ta-da, completely the opposite of what I had intended to write. I guess prompts do work as long as you don't have a goal in mind.