The first time Shuichi encountered Kokichi Ouma, it was something like a dream.

Cloaked in the shadows of midnight, undisturbed and unperturbed, there he sat, unabashed on a windowsill like he wasn't breaking into the grounds of a forbidden castle - somehow, despite that risk, he even looked downright gleeful. As if the satisfaction of escaping the guards and climbing into Shuichi's bedroom window was something to be proud of; nay, something to rejoice at.

Shuichi couldn't see his face. The visitor had a black, ragged cloak on, torn at the edges like he was reenacting the tale of Robin Hood in his flight. The hood was thrown on over his eyes and hair, permitting the only thing Shuichi to see as his grin, the edges of his mouth lifted as the shout of a guard in desperate search for the esteemed phantom thief filled the area. Perhaps he had been slacking; the drizzle of the rain and the ensuing storm might've led him to the false belief that no fool would dare breach the castle grounds. He was right. No fool would dare breach the castle grounds. Only a true master of his craft would.

Still half-asleep, Shuichi sat up, marvelling at the spectacle before him. In hindsight, that should've been the moment that he called for the guard. Despite that, as the raven crowed and the guard yelled for backup in desperation, Shuichi stared. He stared at those ashen, chapped lips, parched with probable thirst and hunger. If he was caught, he would be punished.

He would be executed.

The thief's grin slacked. Those lips parted, revealing an array of crooked, yellowed teeth, befitting of a peasant. The thief tilted his head just so, the ends of his hood falling in respite only to be pushed back up to the back of his skull by the force of the wind on his back. "Huh…" he murmured, and it was almost unheard in the brush of night. "Prince Shuichi."

For some odd, mystical reason, he felt compelled to reply.

"... yes?"

"You're a real dumbass."

And he was gone.

With those as his parting words, the thief escaped out of his ajar window. As he jumped, his hood flew back and Shuichi saw a flash of purple. A flash of purple unlike any he had seen before; close to royal purple, yet unlike it. Purple was sought after, rare and refined, so unfit for a mere thief that it bamboozled every single aspect of his royal, comfortable life that he could think of.

This man. Thief by night…

Ah, crap.

Shuichi tried and tried to rise up from his bed, but alas he was pinned by satin sheets, tangled around his legs like a cobra siphoning him of his life; finally, he did rise up - though it may be more appropriate to consider his fall a tumble more than anything. By the time that Shuichi had caught sight of the alabaster window once more, the thief was completely gone, as though he had never been there in the first place. The only evidence of his departure was Shuichi's still open window panel, swinging in the wind as gust after gust of wind hit it.

Of course, Shuichi was tentative about going near that window now. Maybe it was cursed - or if he was being completely truthful in his thoughts, maybe it was the last thing that thief ever touched. No one could survive a fall from this height; Shuichi lived on the third story of a castle. Sure, the phantom thief was renowned for his midnight escapades, but no one had ever spoken of him escaping out of a window, of all things. Perhaps he had grown tired of his criminal lifestyle, perhaps the last item on his bucket list was to call Prince Shuichi a dumbass, perhaps…

… perhaps he just was that stealthy.

Despite himself, Shuichi got fully up onto his knees, as opposed to the planking he had fondly adopted beforehand. He crawled on his rug and up to his windowsill like a kitten just learning how to use its little kitten legs for the first time, those tiny little Shuichi claws digging into the carpet and grasping onto it like a pirate who had just launched his anchor into the shore of a neighboring kingdom. Stealthily, sneakily, he peered over the top of the windowsill. In a fit of hysteria, for a brief moment, he saw a face, bespeckled by rubies and sapphires and adornments that matched that of the window frame; or in other words, his reflection.

He stifled his abrupt gasp and peered over the open window panel.

… yeah, he couldn't see anything.

It wasn't the fact that there was nothing to see; on the contrary, the single specks of lit torches and the frantic orders of knight templars seemed like a sight to behold. Rather, it was the fact that Shuichi literally couldn't see. His vision had been disappearing in recent years - it was a fear that doctors and local shamans had often contemplated over. King Shuichi the Second was renowned for his blind yet impeccable leadership and war strategy. How ironic was it for Prince Shuichi the Third to follow in his footsteps?

In a way, that was relieving because if the Phantom Thief had taken an untimely fall then Shuichi could see none of the aftermath. On the other hand, it was frightening because what if no one ever found him? Assuming he was dead in the first place. The guards would've heard a sound, wouldn't they? Yes, the boy must be fine…

"Shuichi!" At precisely that moment, as Shuichi was still on his knees and peering in dismay over the window sill, there was a knock on his door. Frantic, yet precise and clean. Despite the desperation of his name, there was still a cool, calm undertone to it - like the user of this voice knew there was nothing to fear. "It's Rantaro. Will you please open the door?"

Rantaro. In other words, his best friend since infantry. Rantaro had been a peasant of a typical large family and they often struggled for food; there had been a few times that Shuichi had found Rantaro starving in the streets, searching for scraps in the crooks of an alleyway like a damned rat. On his thirteenth birthday, his family had promised Shuichi any wish he so desired - even a neighboring kingdom if he wished (he does admit he was a bit spoilt; his parents were lucky that he never abused their generosity or there might've been several crusades on their hands) - but Shuichi had only one normal, simple wish: a personal guard. To specify, he wished for Rantaro as a personal guard. Four years later, here they are: Rantaro a beauteous knight, and Shuichi the esteemed prince in search of a princess.

Without a second thought, Shuichi hopped on to his two feet and scurried to his bed, twisting and turning quickly into the satin sheets like he had never been awoken in the first place.

A second set of knocks, this time more insistent. "Shuichi? Are you alright?" By this point, Rantaro's voice had lost that cool edge that made prepubescent girls in the kingdom swoon far and wide. Rather, now there was an edge that very few had ever been privy to: genuine concern, laced with just a droplet of apprehension.

Perfectly adjusted in a position that mimicked the facade of sleep, Shuichi turned and groaned. "Yes?" he beckoned, "come in." The torches outside were still lit, just enough so that is stinged Shuichi's eyes as Rantaro opened the door. The door squeaked on its hinges, Rantaro's voice flowing from the crack that he provided for himself smoothly, any trace of momentary panic gone. "I'm sorry to wake you. The Phantom Thief is on our premises again. We're checking everywhere in the castle. As your personal guard, it is my duty to ensure that you are safe." And with that, Rantaro swiftly entered the room, closed the door, and crossed over to Shuichi's bedside.

"I'm fine." Shuichi avoided Rantaro's intent gaze. It was almost supernatural how well he could read people; if Shuichi slipped up once or spoke even a whisper of a lie, he was toast. From the corner of his eye, Shuichi could see Rantaro's vibrant green eyes piercing into the crook of his neck. Shuichi turned around, putting his back to Rantaro and lifting his blanket to drape over his head. "Thank you, Rantaro. You can leave now."

"Huh?" Even though he couldn't actually see Rantaro, he just saw that carefree, condescending smile on his face. "I couldn't hear you. You have a blanket over your head. Your voice is muffled."

Shuichi didn't lower the blanket. Instead, he raised his volume. "Thank you, Rantaro! You can leave now!"

"What's that?"

"I know you heard me!"

"No I didn't."

"You heard that!"

"Listen, Shuichi, how about you just look at me? I know you're tired, but I just want to make sure…" his voice trailed off, his last words turning into a forgotten whisper. At that moment, a crack of lightning rippled the outside world. Despite a blanket still being draped over him, Shuichi saw a white flash of light decorate his room, dancing along his decorations and pottery like a trapezing ballerina. And in that moment, Shuichi spotted a figure crossing across that streak of light, putting his clay hands upon a concentrated spot of it, and suddenly the sound of rain wasn't quite as loud.

Shuichi lowered his blanket. Not all the way, but just enough so that his eyes could peak over the red rim. In the darkness of his room and his crappy vision, Shuichi couldn't see much, but he had spent enough time with Rantaro to know the very smallest, minute details of his movements. When his back was turned to anyone but Shuichi, his shoulders had a tendency to tense up and his legs had a tendency to be shoulder width apart. When he was apprehensive in his actions, his hands would shake and his head would tilt. Now, as Rantaro closed the open window panels of his room, he was doing both. He was tense like Shuichi was a stranger to him. He was tilting his head like he didn't know what to do.

"... Rantaro?"

At the sound of his name, Rantaro tilted his head backwards, the front of his body still facing the window. "You should know better by now than to leave the window open in this weather, Shuichi. You could catch a cold."

"It was hot when I went to bed. I wanted some fresh air."

Actually, it had been freezing. Even with his blankets, Shuichi had been struggling for warmth. Winter was starting to creep up and the storm had been raging for the entire day, so the castle had been in a state of frigidity. Even the greatest fool could see through such a lie. It was idiotic to expect Rantaro not to.

Rantaro met his eyes, green clashing violently with blue in a fierce battle of wits. Shuichi felt the indescribable urge to back down, for he knew he was fighting a losing battle (and in all honestly Shuichi had never been one for eye contact). Eventually, as the burning of his eyes set in and he started seeing stars, Rantaro closed his eyes, nodded, and let the faintest of a smile grace his lips. "Right. You always found colder temperatures to be a bit warmer than average, didn't you?"

Another lie.

"Well, I need to get back to my patrol." His eyes opened and he began crossing Shuichi's bedroom. "As long as you're safe, sir, my job here is done." And like that (like a thief in the night) he was gone.

That night, as Shuichi failed to fall back to sleep and contemplated, he wondered what Rantaro was playing at. Furthermore, what he was playing at? He had no business lying to Rantaro - why on earth was he protecting a petty thief; much less a thief who insulted him?

Despite his lies and denials, Shuichi knew the answer. And he had never hated himself more.

Kokichi Ouma was a thief. Plain and simple. Nothing more, nothing less.

Since a young age, he had always been a kleptomaniac; he supposed that being on the streets did that to you, though he preferred not to think of the implications that would bring. No, he was more than just a simple street rat - he was a criminal mastermind! The likes of which stole people's hearts, shredded them in two, and skipped off scot free at the end of the day. The likes of which was so damn sneaky that everyone in the kingdom knew his alias, but no one in the kingdom knew his face.

Except one.

Yes, that had been a terrible misstep on his part. A mistake. An absolute disaster. Such an idiotic move, in fact, that he had spent the next week scouring the entire kingdom for any possible wanted posters. He had even gotten to the point of practically turning himself in once. Sometimes the royal family was known to hold wanted posters for a select amount of time, only letting a select amount of people see the face in the hopes that one of them would find the culprit and the royal family could keep the reward money before opening the investigation to the public. On one overcast, Tuesday morning, Kokichi went straight to the castle and asked the two outside guards if there were any dangerous, wanted criminals that had been undisclosed to stay on the lookout for. The guards said no, of course, as they were supposed to, but the fact that they didn't immediately arrest him proved one thing and one thing only.

Shuichi Saihara really was a dumbass.

Who the hell in their right mind sees the infamous, notorious phantom thief and doesn't immediately call for a sketch artist? In any other circumstance Kokichi would be a bit offended, but in truth Shuichi had saved his ass from an execution so he couldn't complain!

Which led to another question.

Why the hell hadn't he immediately called for a sketch artist?

Why was Kokichi a free man?

Why did Kokichi want to go see Shuichi again?

No. No, no no no no. That'd be suicide. Perhaps Shuichi just hadn't caught a good enough look of his face to create a viable sketch. Perhaps Shuichi was too tired to remember that that encounter even happened and dismissed it as a dream. Perhaps…

Goddammit.

And that's how, one week and three days after their first encounter, Kokichi ended up on Shuichi's windowsill once more.

It wasn't raining. The sky was as clear as the day that Kokichi first remembers. The air was brisk and the first speckles of snow were beginning to fall from the heavens, but today didn't feel quite as cold as it might've in years past. Rather, today felt particularly warm - Kokichi had this awful, gross feeling in his stomach that just lit up his insides (he must be getting a bug), but it kept him warm.

He must've been sitting on Shuichi's windowsill for at least an hour, watching the prince as he read over different scrolls and scriptures. Shuichi was completely oblivious to his presence, reaffirming the fact that either Kokichi was supernaturally sneaky or that Shuichi was in fact the reincarnation of a mute donkey. Kokichi had to admit that the prince was a little bit too fun to observe, but he was getting bored.

Too bored.

So he threw caution to the wind, placed a single foot onto the prince's bedroom floor, and began sneaking along the lines of tile. By the end of it, Kokichi was right next to Shuichi, practically breathing on him as he read… gibberish. Or whatever those symbols were. Ah whatever, Kokichi was too busy to spend time reading of all things.

Remarkably enough, Shuichi still hadn't noticed him. Wow. Guess there was only one thing to do…

Kokichi leaned down next to Shuichi, moved to his ear, and whispered as huskily as physically possible, "hey."

And Shuichi screamed.

"Shit! Hey, shut up!"

Shuichi fell out of his chair, pointed up at Kokichi, and actually did shut up.

Though his mouth was still hanging open, which just looked downright ridiculous. Even more ridiculous than that, Shuichi didn't move from that position.

Tapping his foot, Kokichi whistled and looked around the room. Satin, silk, granite floors - this prince really was living in the lab of luxury. He probably was a brat, too. He wondered how much the boy had to his name - he was about to be eighteen, he was sure to find a bride soon… plus, his father is getting pretty old and he's next in line to the throne. Maybe in just a year's time Shuichi would be his king.

"Wow. Nice place you have here. I've never seen anywhere more insufferable."

Still pointing.

He chanced his luck with the scrolls. Leaning over them, he rubbed his chin and groaned. "Ugh, the Bible, seriously? What a prude!"

Shuichi was still pointing, but his mouth had closed and his head had tilted. Crap, now he just looked downright confused. Abort, abort!

"Just kidding! Duh! These are definitely not Bible scriptures, they're-" he pawed through them with his free hand. "Documents!" Kokichi looked at his still outstretched pointer finger. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it was rude to point? Wow, for a prince-sama you sure lack etiquette."

Shuichi finally lowered his hand. "... prince-sama?"

"Uh-huh! Since you're so important, being a prince and all! Wow, I swoon!"

"Swoon? That's…"

"A lie! Of course! Nehehe~!"

"... jesus. Alright." Shuichi finally got up of his own accord, holding onto his chair for support as he stood. Kokichi took notice of just how shaky his legs were and had the urge to mention it, but he resisted… almost.

"Oh, Shuichi, you look like you're about to fall again! Am I that handsome? I never knew you were into the bad boy type, ooo la la~!" Kokichi rocked back and force on the balls of his feet, a sing-songy tune slipping out from between his lips. "Quick, I might tell your mother! Imagine the look of horror on her face! Ah no, homosexual and the lover of a phantom thief? For shame!"

"I'm not…" Shuichi squeezed the gap in between his eyebrows, massaging it with his fingers and his thumb. "Okay. What are you doing here? Do you have any idea what would happen to you if you were caught?"

"If I was caught? Ah, poor Succi dear, I've already been caught! My wanted posters are all over the city! It's only a matter of time…"

Shuichi's eyes snapped open and for the first time Kokichi caught what a lovely shade of blue they were. "What? That's impossible."

Checkmate.

"Oh? Is it? You mean you didn't disclose that you saw me?"

Shuichi stilled. "Well… you haven't hurt anyone."

"Ah ha!" And now it was Kokichi's turn to point. "I knew it! I knew it! Prince Shuichi, a traitor to the kingdom! Nehehe, imagine what the papers will say! If I just go to the authorities, you're toast!"

Of course, that was another lie. No one would believe him. Besides, he would just be giving himself up in the process and that'd make him the true dumbass.

Shuichi looked at him yet not at him. He looked to the side of him, just below where his eyes would be. "You're lying again." He swallowed and Kokichi watched as his Adam's apple bobbed. "Aren't you? You wouldn't risk it. I don't think you want to die. That's why you came here. You already knew I didn't tell anyone. I don't think you came here to gloat. I think you came here to thank me." For the briefest of moments, Shuichi looked him in the eyes. "Right? Or am I wrong?" And with that, his gaze dropped again - a long moment of passivity in the wake of a short moment of assertiveness.

Despite his conviction, Shuichi had never been further from the truth.

Kokichi was silent. Analyzing. His face dropped into that blank stare that he preferred to adopt when he was attempting to frighten someone; to that blank, unseeing, condescending look of utter condemnation. "... you really are a dumbass."

And with that, Kokichi was running and out the window, flying high and landing on the ground with all of his bones intact. He heard a shout of surprise even from three stories down, and saw a little, blue Shuichi head swiveling outside of his window in desperate search of a phantom thief. Yes, Shuichi Saihara really was about the stupidest person he's ever had the displeasure of meeting.

… but he was also the most interesting.

And when he went back the next night, he knew how much of a dumbass he was himself.