AN: This story takes place in an AU verse where Shinichi hasn't been turned into Conan and he's in a pre-existing relationship with Kaito.

Please heed the warnings as this story will become very dark starting with the next chapter.

Trigger warnings for: dark, blackmail, sexual harassment/ rape/ non-con, underage.

Note: I highly recommend reading this with a smaller (8-9) pt size font (just zoom out on to 90%) with the line spacing/ line expanse at it's max. Just if you like, since I don't really like the appeal of squished and large text. xD

.

.

.

When he pulls open his shoe locker, there is a crisp blank envelope sitting above his black dress shoes.

Faintly textured, beige, and smells heavy of a familiar musk—

He shreds it open, fingers wedging through the torn space and feels the edge of a paper. This is—

What he pulls out is a lazy scrawl across torn notebook paper.

"Shinichi, are you all right?"

A hand pats his shoulder. He shrugs it away, crushing the note and shoving it deep into his pockets.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Ran."

When she gives him an unsure smile, he returns a toothy grin. With a bounce, she steps before him, piping up about the latest gossip concerning a famous actor Shinichi doesn't care for—

Crumpled paper heavy in his pocket, Shinichi pretends to listen.

.

.

.

Lunch break, Office 231. Don't be late.

.

.

.

Shinichi drops his bag near the door and stays close to the wall.

"What is it?"

The man regards him, and leans against his office desk, black suit stretching around the girth of his midsection. He breathes in, a ragged sound in the silence.

Shinichi feels eyes tracing the curve of his neck and slithering down—

"I hope I'm not in trouble," Shinichi starts, a half smile on his lips. A shiver climbs up his spine and he teeters back, lifting his hand to rub away the shiver in his arm. "…Sensei?"

He swallows rid of the bitter taste in the back of his throat.

(The overpowering fruity odor in the air smothers the air he's breathing.)

The teacher takes in a slow breath and holds it for a few seconds. "No, not at all—" he breathes, a relaxed smile curls into a sneer. "I just want to chat, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi stares past him and at the bookshelf. A glint catches his eye—video cameras.

(A video camera tucked right up in the top corner of a shelf, it's so obvious—why is it there?)

"About my scores? Last I checked, I've been getting perfect marks on all your tests." Shinichi shifts on the balls of his feet as he crosses his arms.

"You do surprisingly well on them, I'm rather impressed."

A second passes as a cold chill skates down his side.

Shinichi ignores it.

"Don't you think that's funny, Yamada-sensei?" He asks, leaning back against the wall. "Answers with no real…probable mathematical solution. After a while, one will wonder…"

Yamada smiles— (smiles…?), eyes hiding behind the fat of his cheeks. He brushes a meaty finger over the space on his chin and hums, "Oh? Enlighten me with your findings, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi falters.

(It's only a front. Most criminals usually have a front before they crash—)

"I've noticed something odd, sensei. When the tests are returned, answers differ among each student. But a majority of the class receives average results despite what they wrote. Most people are content with mediocre results and don't bother to question how they ever passed."

(After all, it's only been Shinichi who had the class' highest scores—for writing actual answers.)

His voice cracks and Shinichi swallows—or tries to. His tongue sticks to the roof his mouth. He pauses and starts again, and ignores Yamada's self-assured smile.

"But there's a select few who aren't so lucky, and they are to attend mandatory after school tutoring sessions. Taught by you, personally."

Yamada is still, knuckles scraping against the beige of his teeth. And then he smiles, the amiable grin that he shows in the classroom— "Well, yes, of course, Kudou-kun. I do care for my students. Many graduates wouldn't have made it into their ideal universities if it wasn't for my help."

(Wrap up a dark splotch of ink in beige paper and it becomes everything but unnatural.)

"A sin covered with a pile of good deeds," Shinichi mutters, tilting his head, eyes slanting. "With your private office located at the end of an abandoned hall, no one can hear anything. No one can say anything."

Shinichi stills but something in his gut twists when Yamada just stares and says nothing.

He doesn't like it.

"What happened to my classmates, sensei?"

He pushes his hands into his pockets, the flat of his finger sliding against the smooth surface of the recorder. Three minutes have passed since he walked in, the tape can only hold ten.

Shinichi waits for him to laugh and confess like every other criminal did—

He doesn't.

There's a gleam in his eyes as he watches Shinichi breathe. With a sudden inhale, Yamada drags his finger across the bottom of his lip, and smiles.

"Someone has been playing detective…" he growls, a deep-throated sound that makes Shinichi's lungs clench. "It makes for a—…cute deduction…hn?"

Yamada purrs, the sound crawls under his skin. Beady eyes drift to his fingernails—stubby, brown, sharp.

Shinichi forces a grin, "There were three deaths. Anybody would be curious as to why."

He laughs and it startles Shinichi to trip back. Yamada inspects his fingers with a disinterested look. "You're well acquainted with the police, am I right?"

Shinichi's finger hovers over the button of the pocket recorder and he's just waiting for it.

"…Somewhat. I've worked with them for years."

Yamada snorts and his lips stretch into a wide smile, showing gum and tobacco stained teeth. He lets his hand drop wipes his fingers on suede black pants.

"They had a pet-name for you, I remember. It appeared in the papers a few times—ah…what was it again?"

Shinichi takes in a breath of the air reeking with a floral spike and subtle tang.

"Detective of the East?"

Shinichi raises his chin and glares, "And what of it?"

Yamada throws his head back and barks in laughter, light and wistful.

Shinichi swallows, mouth gone dry.

The laugh stops short in Yamada's throat as he brings his eyes down and fixes them on Shinichi.

He turns his hand and shows Shinichi his palm, red and moist.

"Come here. There is something I want to tell you, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi doesn't budge.

"I can hear perfectly from here, Yamada-sensei."

Yamada's smile drops and Shinichi can hear his pulse thrum in his ears. A heartbeat and Yamada's eyes widen, head shifting a bit and exposing a throat wrapped up in a damp collar.

He curls his finger, in, out, and in again, beckoning Shinichi closer—

"If I were you," he takes a long drag of the stench in the air. "I wouldn't want to chance it. We can't have people hearing things."

He pauses.

(Hearing things… hearing what?)

Shinichi puts his weight on his toes and shifts forward. With each step forward, he thinks to take five steps back and out of the room, just out—

But curiosity has Shinichi standing three steps away from him.

"Good boy."

Yamada turns on his desk, wood groaning under his weight. He gathers up a manila folder, beige and speckled with damp spots of grease.

Shinichi catches his stare and Yamada laughs, easy and smooth. "Let's see this, why don't we?"

(What is in there—?)

"Kaitou Kid."

Silence closes him in and a blink later, he finds himself thrown back into the stifling room.

Kid—?

What about Kid—?

"He's quite the interesting man, isn't he? I heard he has a heavy amount of charges over his head: theft, attempt of theft, resisting arrest, unlicensed use of aerial vehicle, disobeying authority. It's such a shame."

Shinichi's voice turns flat. "What is."

Yamada picks through papers, eyes peering at them underneath short lashes. Shinichi hears him sigh, emphatic. "That Japan's famed detective of the East…is hiding him."

Shinichi glares at the bookcase behind Yamada, jaw taut and tense. "I…don't know what you're talking about," he says, voice flat.

"Oh? Shall I jar your memory?" he asks but doesn't wait for an answer. "Registered residence in Ekoda…"

Shinichi clenches the fabric on the side of his pants, breath growing short as panic piles in his throat and he can't breathe—

"Occupation: high school student at Ekoda High, class 3-B—"

"No, I don't—" Shinichi whispers, voice dry and quiet. Yamada spares him a glance without batting an eye, there's a sickening smirk pulling his lips—

"Known by many as the prankster, magician, thief—"

Shinichi shoots out an arm and tears at the papers—stop, stop, stop.

A flutter and the papers spill into the air, creating a cascade of white. Shinichi stares, eyes wide and unbelieving, as they float to his feet—blank papers, all blank— how did he know—

(How did he know about Kid?)

He blinks and then fingers slither around his wrist and tug him close. Plump lips and the prickle of a beard graze the shell of his ear.

"Kuroba—"

"Stop—!"

Shinichi shoves himself back, arms out and knees shaking.

Yamada tilts his hand, letting the rest of the blank papers tumble from his hand.

All blank papers.

"You see, I've been noticing you."

A palm cradles the expanse of his cheek. Warm, moist, suffocating—the pad of his thumb traces the curve under his eye.

"You've become something like an interest to me," Yamada whispers. "You see, it's too easy finding the weak points in children these days. Mention their friends and family and they shrivel up. Won't say a word, so weak, so fragile—the lot of them."

He pulls Shinichi closer, fingers twirling into the hairs on the back of his head. He sees a wall of black cloth as the hand moves to stroke between his shoulder blades.

Stop—

"But Kudou-kun… Kudou-kun is different." Fingers drum in rhythms, trailing down to the small of his back and up.

Stop this—

"So clever, so smart that nothing shakes him up. With his legion of police, why would Kudou-kun worry about parents and friends?"

"Stop—" He lifts his arms to shove— meaty fingers dig into his scalp and tighten. Shinichi feels his words slide back down his throat and he chokes.

"But I wondered—what would make Kudou-kun scared? What is that one thing that Kudou-kun can't protect with the law he has wrapped around his little finger? What secret is he hiding in that heart? Or rather, who—?"

Shinichi's arms fall limp to his sides, and he growls to the side. "How did you know—"

Satisfied, Yamada loosens the hold on his hair and cards his fingers down the back of his head, drumming lightly on the nape of his neck "A bit of research always helps."

The hands leave his neck and trails to Shinichi's front, thumbs tracing the uniform's lapels. Shinichi doesn't blink when fingers slide down his suit, peeling away the blue and revealing white fabric.

"You'd be surprised, Kudou-kun."

The pale jacket is left hanging on his shoulders and with a light pull, it tumbles off and joins the white pile on the floor.

"Being a teacher has a lot of privileges." Yamada presses closer, lips mumbling into the side of Shinichi's head.

He feels hands ghost up his chest, fingers flat and drawing circles into the skin under his dress shirt. "Offering private tutoring sessions to the students doing poorly in school. Making house visits."

Shinichi turns his head away from the hand fingering his chin.

"We have access to files, information, places. I know you visit the station twice a week, so excited to join the murder parties that I think sometimes you've forgotten to lock up." He pauses at the visible twitch in Shinichi's shoulder. His breathing quickens. "So tired with by the end of the day, you never noticed them."

"Noticed what?" Shinichi growls, his voice unsteady.

"The cameras, Kudou-kun. I always have been…"

A finger hooks into the knot of Shinichi's tie and tugs.

"…watching you."

Shinichi's breath hitches when hands feel down his waist—the tape.

Yamada draws back, the wires of the pocket recorder looped around and hanging from his fingers.

"I've watched you dance around your classmates' suicides. You were convinced that it was something much more than pre-university stress, relationship problems, trivial, little things. "

"I like you, Kudou-kun." Shinichi watches him run fingers over the gray buttons. "So curious, confident…arrogant. But this dirty secret of yours…mm, it certainly doesn't help."

He smiles, and drags the small recorder across his lower lip, teeth baring and ready to bite. "Kudou Shinichi is in association with the Phantom Thief Kid—as a romantic partner and even going so far as to live with him."

Shinichi pales as he watches the tape drop to the floor, a large shoe comes to crush it under its heel. Yamada laughs, deep and rough, a sound that leaves a tightening clasp on Shinichi's throat.

"Wouldn't that make the headline news?"

"…Why would you—"

Shinichi doesn't watch how Yamada pulls himself off his desk walks around it, or how there is a jingle of his keys as he twists it into the lock of his desk drawer.

"Hm…no reason."

Wood scrapes against wood, and there are heavy clunks against the bottom of the drawer. Shinichi closes his eyes and he knows what's coming, because that's what he's been deducing all this time—

"Just a tad bit bored. You know how it ended for the three classmates of yours." He hears a half-hearted sigh. "Suicide, suicide… suicide."

He jolts when a hum sputters loud in front of him and he knows the sound, can recognize the drone of hard plastic against sweaty palms.

"I hope you're a bit different from the rest."

The voice comes from his left and Shinichi breathes, has to tell himself to breathe—

Three paces closer and there's a moist mouth on his temple. He exhales and thinks himself away from the office, thinks himself back in his home sipping hot coffee and reading files that weren't the suicides of his classmates—

This will be fine, he'll be okay, is what he tells himself when something like bile snakes up his throat with his meager lunch in tow.

He is pulled close to a black suit, reeking of sweat and cheap cologne, and he lets him.

Eyes hollow, mind distant, Shinichi stares at the manila folders swimming on the wooden desk.

"What do you say, Kudou-kun?"

Under a worn cover of the folder, he sees Kaito, his house, his name, his secret.

"Please don't disappoint me."

It all looks so very beige.

.

.

.

AN: So this has been something we've always had in the back of my mind, and it's finally being written! We hope you've enjoyed the chapters and look forward to more in the future! :)

Reviews are always appreciated!

-Yoyoboyo Inc.