I'm back with part two! Hope you all enjoy. - Luna
day two.
Shinichi was walking through the front doors of the studio the following day, yawning into his elbow, when his phone rang. He squinted down at the screen, holding the door for a vaguely familiar PA who treated him like a potted plant as she breezed past. It turned out to be Hakuba, likely returning the call Shinichi had left him the previous day.
"Hello?" Shinichi asked as he stepped inside the station. A cursory look around the lobby revealed that the receptionist had yet to make an appearance. He sighed and considered the five separate hallways branching out from the lobby.
Over the line, Hakuba cleared his throat.
"Kudou-kun. I see you're taking over the Kuroba case." There was a faint rustling before the sound of a woman's indistinct voice filtered into the background. Possibly the ex-girlfriend with questionable taste, Shinichi thought. "Have you looked through the case files?"
"The ones you left lying around the studio for random civilians to happen upon?" Hakuba huffed but didn't protest. Shinichi took that as an admission of guilt. "Yeah, I did look through them. I saw your notes, too."
"What are your thoughts?"
"Well, for now we're on the same page. I think I'm going to have a few officers stationed around places that might have been significant in Kaito-san's life." Shinichi started down what he hoped was the hall leading to Kaito's dressing room. "Other than that, both the motive and possible suspects are unclear. It's impossible to know how the killer feels about Kaito-san. Their actions and the circumstances don't point to any one obvious motive."
"It'll be hard to do anything if another body doesn't crop up," Hakuba agreed. For a moment, he didn't say anything, leaving the line to crackle with white noise, and Shinichi almost thought the call had been dropped, but then he added, "And I see you're suddenly on a first-name basis with Kuroba-kun. Interesting." His tone was knowing, as if Shinichi was an exponentially more primitive life form that he was dissecting in a petri dish.
Narrowing his eyes, Shinichi dodged a man in white face paint who was running full-tilt down the hallway, the badge around his neck flapping in the wind. He was becoming less and less sure he was going in the right direction.
"Kaito-san asked me to call him that," he told Hakuba primly as he turned and corner and came upon a completely unfamiliar string of doors. "I didn't ask if I could."
"I see." Hakuba had dropped all pretenses and now sounded amused. "Interestingly enough, I've known Kuroba-kun for over ten years, and he's never once asked me to call him by his first name." Shinichi wasn't sure what he was implying, but whatever it was, Shinichi didn't approve.
"Maybe it's because you hate each other," he replied, faux sweet. He was definitely lost now. Nothing looked familiar, from the names on the plates beside the doors to the color of the walls. With a sigh of resignation, he turned to head back to the lobby. "Maybe he isn't trying to make friends with you because of that."
"Wait—Inspector Kudou?"
Jumping, Shinichi turned to find Suzuhara standing in a now-open doorway, blinking and… not wearing a shirt, which made Shinichi abruptly and extremely uncomfortable. He was covered in a glossy sheen of sweat, which only served to accentuate the evidence that he most likely spent at least two hours a day working out, and he was smirking at Shinichi, looking far too entertained.
"Suzhara-san?" Shinichi stammered before he composed himself. "Good morning." Into the phone, he added, "I'll call you back, Hakuba," and hung up as Hakuba began to ask something that sounded a little too much like, "Already cheating on Kuroba, are we?" for his personal comfort.
"You didn't have to do that," Suzuhara laughed. Shinichi made a strong effort not to look below his collarbones. Apparently he wasn't very subtle about it, because Suzuhara grinned and ruffled his hair, which startled Shinichi into clamping his mouth shut. "I just finished filming a commercial for vitamin supplements."
"Oh." Shinichi wondered why someone needed to be half-naked to sell vitamins, but he decided not to press the issue. "They film commercials this early in the morning?"
"They wanted to get me before I'd eaten anything," Suzuhara explained. He moved as if to sling an arm over Shinichi's shoulders, then reconsidered, possibly realizing that he would undoubtedly wrinkle Shinichi's suit. Shinichi appreciated it, inching away from him as imperceptibly as possible. "You know, so the muscles would look better."
"Right," Shinichi answered, a beat too late. "Hey, if it's not too much to ask, could you walk me to Kaito-san's dressing room? I'm a little lost."
"Oh, sure," Suzuhara chirped. He looked as if he'd been waiting for Shinichi to ask. "Yeah, I get it. This this place is a literal maze. Took me days before I stopped getting lost on the way to the bathroom. Kuroba's place is across the station."
"Thanks," said Shinichi as Suzuhara wrapped one hand around his bicep—as if Shinichi needed to be leashed, Shinichi thought with a trace of sourness—and started to lead him down the hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied Suzuhara's profile as they strode past another series of doors. "By the way, is it all right if I ask you a few questions? Just to get a feel for the situation, I mean."
Suzuhara's eyebrows lowered, but otherwise he didn't seem surprised.
"No problem. I've been expecting this since I first meet you, you know. I'm sure you're quite invested in getting this whole thing sorted out." He flashed the practiced smile of an oft-interviewed A-list actor at Shinichi. "So what would you like to know? I'll answer anything I can."
Shinichi smiled back.
"What do you think of Kaito-san? I hear you two are considered rivals," he asked, eyes on Suzhara. For a moment, Suzuhara's face froze, but he recovered without missing a step.
"He's not a bad person, but I can't say that I particularly like him," he answered. His expression went the slightest bit sardonic, the shift so minute that Shinichi might not have noticed if he hadn't been watching him. "Kuroba-san is an amazing actor. I don't doubt you've noticed yourself. There's something very magnetic about him. He inspires loyalty and affection from all corners." Suzuhara paused, regarding Shinichi with some apprehension as they entered the lobby and started for the opposing corridor. "I don't mean to sound bitter, or like I despise Kuroba-san. It's just that in this industry, jealousy and rivalries breed so easily." He shrugged. "Maybe that's where you got the impression that we hate each other. Just natural friction between actors occupying the same circles and roles."
"Makes sense," Shinichi agreed, noncommittal. The hallways were beginning to look marginally more familiar now, which was a relief. A few interns walking past goggled at Suzuhara. One of them walked into a wall. The other two gave Shinichi an envious look that he didn't know how to respond to. "What about the victims, Nishimura Mayuko and Sawada Yumi? Did you ever meet them?"
"I don't think I did." Suzuhara shrugged. "They were both fans of his, right? Fans of Kuroba-san, I mean."
"Right," Shinichi confirmed. "Kaito-san apparently met them both a few times at fan meetups and other events like that." He angled a glance at him. "But I assume you never went to those, right?"
"I don't really spend time with Kuroba-san outside of filming," said Suzuhara breezily. They had arrived at Kaito's dressing room door, which Suzuhara gestured at before he pushed it open and ushered Shinichi in, very unnecessarily.
The room was much the same as the previous day, though Shinichi thought the clothing on the racks might have been altered. Kaito was sitting at the vanity, scrolling through his phone with a furrowed brow while an unfamiliar, heavyset man in an ill-fitting navy suit talked at the side of his face, and Himari was sorting through a waist-high trunk full of makeup. Her hair color was bright blue today, which made Shinichi do a double take.
"Good morning," Suzuhara called, cheerful, and shut the door behind him. "I brought Shinichi-kun with me." Shinichi recoiled, about to demand when he had given Suzuhara the right to call him that, but he was distracted by the way Kaito jerked his head up, so quickly that Shinichi was mildly concerned for the integrity of his spine. He looked as if he were on the verge of an aneurysm, especially with the way he flinched back when confronted with Suzuhara's glistening musculature.
"Wow, I hate you. Like, a lot," Kaito announced pleasantly, as though that was a perfectly normal and socially acceptable way to greet someone. Suzuhara smirked. Shinichi made a strangled sound. The suited man coughed into one hand. Himari turned away from her makeup to ogle Suzuhara blatantly. Someone in the hallway outside sneezed as they walked by. It was, quite easily, one of the most awkward moments of Shinichi's existence.
"Suzuhara-san was kind enough to show me back to your room when I got lost," Shinichi announced over the sound of Kaito trying to laser Suzuhara's face off with the force of his stare. "Kaito-san, do you have a minute?"
"Yeah," Kaito said without looking away from Suzuhara. Shinichi cleared his throat, and Kaito finally looked over at him. "Yeah, I have a minute. For you, Inspector, I have at least thirty."
"Actually," the man beside him began, but Kaito shot him a look that Shinichi couldn't decipher, and he subsided, disgruntled.
"Generous of you." Shinichi twisted to look at Suzuhara, who was now posing against the doorjamb with a severe lack of subtlety. Everyone except Himari was averting their eyes. "Suzuhara-san, thank you for showing me to Kaito-san's room. You don't have to stay any longer." Honestly, he was becoming more and more concerned about Suzuhara's safety. Kaito was gripping his phone as if he were calculating the exact amount of force it would take to land Suzuhara in an ICU for a significant period of time.
Suzuhara laughed, oblivious.
"Oh, Shinichi-kun"—nobody missed how Kaito twitched—"I came all this way! I might as well catch up with Himari-san. It's been a while, after all." He cast a blinding smile at the aforementioned Himari-san, who giggled and wiped a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth with one manicured fingernail. Shinichi fought not to roll his eyes.
"Kaito-san," he began as he crossed the room, to where Kaito was waiting with a wrinkle of disapproval between his eyebrows, "do you—"
Kaito interrupted him by sticking one fist out. Shinichi blinked, mouth still partway open, before Kaito twisted his wrist, thumb swiping against his bent knuckles, and presented him with a bright orange rose, burnt red at the tips, soft coral at the base. Like the one from the day before, the stem was clipped smooth. Shinichi stared at it for a long moment before he heaved a sigh and took it.
"If you do that every day, I'll figure out how you do it and I won't be impressed anymore," he felt compelled to say in an attempt to protect his dignity as he rubbed a fingertip against the silk-soft petals, admiring, and snapped the stem. He slid the rose into his buttonhole again. It matched the slate gray of his suit.
"But that means you're still impressed by me now," Kaito deduced, more smug than Hakuba the one time that time he'd beaten Shinichi's score on a four-hundred-question Sherlock Holmes quiz. Shinichi narrowed his eyes at him.
"Don't get used to it."
"Oh, Inspector, I would never." Kaito batted his eyelashes. Shinichi shook his head at him.
"Are you always this much of a playboy? I would've thought some tabloid would've picked up on those tendencies and made a fortune selling headlines."
Kaito was about to respond when the man, whom both of them had managed to forget, made a loud noise. He had his arms crossed over the considerable expanse of his chest and looked resentful, glowering at both of them. Upon closer inspection, he had the kind of entirely forgettable face that many men over fifty were in possession of, and he smelled like a strange combination of high-end cologne and toothpaste.
"I don't have time to stand around watching idiots flirt," he muttered before he jabbed a thick, cylindrical finger at Kaito. "Think about that contract extension, all right? Don't dedicate all your brain cells to fantasizing about Pretty Boy here." He cast a suspicious glance at Shinichi. "Who're you, anyway? Are we just letting unauthorized assholes into the station now?"
"I'm Inspector Kudou Shinichi with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department's homicide division, heading the investigation into the murders of several of Kaito-san's fans. I'm sure you're aware of them." Shinichi raised his eyebrows. The man did a satisfying double-take before he scanned Shinichi up and down.
"Well, I hope you're better than the last idiot," he mumbled. "Tachibana Daisuke. I own the Tachibana Talent Agency. Kuroba here is signed with us."
"Oh," Shinichi said. Catching Kaito's eye over Tachibana's shoulder, he tried to ask Is this the guy who forgot your name when he was managing you? with his face. Judging from the response he got, which was Kaito nodding and making a face like a dying goldfish, the answer was yes. "What's your opinion on the murders? From your perspective, I mean."
"They're generating shit publicity," responded Tachibana, blunt. He shrugged, his whole suit moving with the motion. "What're we gonna do if people get scared of being his fans because they think they're gonna get killed?" He squinted at Shinichi. "You police better fix this up before it gets worse." The look creasing his face suggested he thought Shinichi had a better chance of sprouting wings than solving the case.
"Interesting." Shinichi smiled as disarmingly as he could. "I always heard that any press is good press. Isn't it also possible that this focus on Kaito-san, despite its rather negative roots, could draw in more interest regarding his work, which would in turn increase the revenue generated by shows he features in and therefore benefit your agency? Are you sure these murders aren't helping your business?" When Tachibana did nothing but scowl deeply, he held up his hands in surrender, smile going faint. "I mean, I wouldn't know. I'm just a random pretty boy."
"That's exactly what you are," Tachibana mumbled before he stepped around Shinichi and stalked for the door. "Kuroba, lemme know when you decide."
"Of course, of course," agreed Kaito, sweetly enough that Shinichi doubted he'd contact Tachibana anytime soon.
"I'll be in contact, Tachibana-san," Shinichi called after him. "Just to clear up a few things about motives and alibis, of course." From across the room, Tachibana grunted and slammed out the door without another word.
Shinichi turned back to Kaito to find that Kaito was gawking at him as if he'd never seen Shinichi before. He was hit by a wave of self-consciousness.
"What?" he asked, edging away. Kaito shook himself visibly before he gave Shinichi a brilliant smile.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're terrifying?"
"No," Shinichi replied, dragging the syllable out. "Do you think I'm terrifying?"
"Slightly." Kaito nodded, leaning on one elbow as he beamed up at Shinichi. He didn't seem particularly terrified, in Shinichi's opinion. "Remind me never to call you pretty."
"I wouldn't mind it coming from you," said Shinichi before he realized how it sounded. Kaito's eyebrows jerked up his forehead as if hiked up by strings. Shinichi flushed. "I just didn't like how Tachibana-san was using it as an insult." When Kaito continued to smirk at him, he smacked him on the back of the head—not hard, of course, but enough that Kaito squeaked in surprise. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Terrifying," Kaito remarked as he straightened, one hand braced against his neck, but he was still smiling, so Shinichi decided to ignore him.
"Anyway," he started, composing himself, "I came over here to ask you about any possible other locations where someone might try to dispose of another—of someone else, so I could station officers there." Kaito's face drew into a mask of anxiety, taut around the mouth and eyes.
"Other than my childhood home and my high school, I guess there are my elementary and middle schools and the park where I used to do informal magic shows. That's Ekoda Elementary, Ekoda Intermediate, and Ekoda Park. And then there's my current apartment, I guess." A gleam of amusement reentered his eyes. "Why don't you guard that for me, Inspector? You could come home with me."
"I sort of doubt that the culprit would try to put a body in your living room," Shinichi pointed out doubtfully. Kaito grinned.
"You never know. Wouldn't you regret it if they tried, and you didn't catch them because you didn't believe me?"
"I don't think so." Shinichi eyed Kaito as Kaito sighed and dropped his face on the counter. "You're ridiculous. How has no one else caught on to the fact that you're a complete womanizer?"
"Maybe it's because I haven't dated anyone in three years," Kaito mumbled into the counter. "Contrary to what people on the internet seem to think, I'm not dating Okino Yoko, Himaricchi, Miho, or, God forbid, Suzuhara."
"I really think you're too hard on him," Shinichi commented. He was not prepared for the manic glint that entered Kaito's eyes.
"Did you say he could call you by your first name, or did he just take liberties because he's a jerk?" he demanded. Shinichi hesitated, and that was apparently enough to cement Kaito's belief in Suzuhara's irredeemable assholery, because he huffed and sat back in his chair, as if his point had been proven. "That guy is only slightly less horrible than Hakuba, and that's saying something."
They both turned to look over at Suzuhara, who was still shirtless and doing a remarkable impression of the subject of a Calvin Klein advert. He was acting something out with his hands, miming a complicated serious of actions while wearing an earnest expression, and Himari was watching with a smile equal parts amused and quizzical.
"He doesn't seem that bad," Shinichi ventured, tentative. Kaito just shook his head.
"He's like one of those really colorful spiders," he said. "Pretty from afar, but poisonous once you get within stinging distance."
"Poetic," said Shinichi. Kaito grinned.
"Why, thank you, Inspector."
The door to the dressing room opened, then, and Miho stuck her head in, surveying the room, before she stormed inside, frowning. Shinichi would never understand how she managed to walk in shoes that looked like some kind of medieval ankle-breaking device, but she did it, even with the additional challenge of a skintight skirt.
"Kuroba-san, you were supposed to be on set at eight-thirty sharp." Miho's perfectly lined eyes narrowed. "That was five minutes ago."
"Blame Himaricchi!" Kaito insisted, spinning around in his chair so he wasn't facing her. "She's the one who slacked off to canoodle with Suzuhara!"
"I've never heard anyone say 'canoodle' in real life," Shinichi muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes at Kaito's reflection in the vanity mirror. Kaito winked at him.
"Watanabe-san." There was about half a millimeter of room left for argument in Miho's tone.
Himari quickly disengaged from Suzuhara and skidded across the room to Kaito, snatching up a brush as she went. Suzuhara stared after her with an eyebrow lifted before he ran a hand through his hair and trudged towards the door. Shinichi waved, awkwardly, and was offered a brief smile before Suzuhara disappeared.
"Zero canoodling is happening, I'm a professional working adult, nothing to see here," Himari babbled, swiping the brush across Kaito's cheeks. Miho looked sufficiently appeased when she actually got out a bottle of foundation and started applying it to his face, relaxing into a stance not dissimilar to parade rest. She met Shinichi's eyes, her gaze flickering to the rose in his buttonhole, and gave a brief nod.
"Good to see you again, Inspector. I trust that the investigation is going well."
"Yes, of course." Shinichi nodded hastily. "If possible, I'd like to have a word with you as soon as possible, Motoyama-san. For the investigation's sake, I mean."
"I'm sure that can be arranged." Miho reached into her shoulder bag to pull out a slim notebook. She flipped it open, eyes darting back and forth for a moment, before she told him, "Kuroba-san has a shoot from now until one o'clock and another from one-fifteen to five, both of which I will be overseeing, but after that I should be free to speak with you."
"Understood," said Shinichi, bowing his head. "Thank you, Motoyama-san."
Miho smiled faintly before she redirected her attention to Kaito and Himari, who was patting Kaito's eyebrows into place before she went at them with a pencil.
"Not too strong on the makeup," Miho called after a moment of observation. "They want a natural look for this advert." After Himari gave a sound of agreement and continued drawing, Miho gave Shinichi a last nod before she turned, a crisp one hundred and eighty degrees, and exited the room. Shinichi stared after her, even after the door swung shut.
Shinichi got back to the television station around five-fifteen, rubbing at his eyes with one hand and dodging a man carting a tripod out with singleminded focus. Crime scenes always took something out of him, despite how many he'd seen.
The crime scene at the high school hadn't been well preserved, likely due to the sheer number of curious, rule-flouting teenagers milling around and the upcoming baseball season. Shinichi had stood there and looked down at the remnants of the scene—a few darker spots of blood and kicked-up dust, the sound of bright voices in the background, and the sun beating incessant and relentless—before he had run a hand down his face, breathed for a long moment, and gone to find the first discoverer, a cooking teacher who had been attentive but largely unhelpful.
The woman living at the house had been concerned and solicitous when he showed up. She had offered him ginger tea and homemade cookies—which he had declined—before ushering him to the shed. The chalk outline delineating where Nishimura Mayuko's body had lain had faded to a faint ashy gray. The lock on the door to the shed hadn't yet been replaced, broken and twisted from being forced by a rough hand. Shinichi had looked around, but the only items of note had been a pair of rusty pliers and a half-empty bag of fertilizer. He had thanked the woman (four times, at increasing volumes until she understood) and quietly returned to the studio. Overall, he hadn't learned anything new.
As always, the receptionist area was empty, though there was a lipstick-printed coffee cup that suggested someone had been there up until recently. Shinichi made his way towards Kaito's dressing room. He probably shouldn't have felt as proud as he did when he made it without incident.
He knocked on the door before he stuck his head in. A quick survey of the room revealed no one.
"Kaito-san?" Shinichi called. For a second, there was nothing but stillness. Then the top of Kaito's fuzzy head stuck up from the depths of the racks.
"Inspector!" Kaito came trotting out, grinning as he sauntered into sight with a lot more hip-swaying than necessary. Shinichi felt his eye twitch violently upon the realization that Kaito wasn't wearing a shirt, just a pair of low-rise jeans that clung to his hips like a child with separation anxiety. There was a flush bleeding down the planes of his abdomen, feathering out just above the sharp twin cuts of his Apollo's belt. His hairline sparkled with pinprick beads of sweat.
Shinichi only realized he was goggling when Kaito coughed delicately, though when Shinichi's gaze snapped guiltily back to his face, he didn't look offended. Rather, he looked immensely pleased with himself. He leaned against a rack of jackets in various colors and lifted one hand to either push his hair away from his face or display the bulk of his biceps, which made Shinichi scowl and shut the door behind him.
"Please tell me you're not doing this because of what happened with Suzuhara earlier." Kaito was silent. His shit-eating grin didn't change. Shinichi sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples, wondering, not for the first time, how he had gone from knowing who Kuroba Kaito was in the broadest sense to being personally showboated at by the man himself.
"I'm not going to tell you that your abs are more defined than Suzuhara's or that your collarbones are nicer," he informed Kaito primly, even as his traitorous eyes strayed down towards aforementioned collarbones, which were, in Shinichi's opinion, much better than Suzuhara's. Kaito definitely noticed, because he smirked and didn't even pretend that he believed Shinichi.
"Like what you see, Inspector?"
Shinichi fixed him with a glare, determined not to even think about Kaito's angular hipbones or his impressive stomach or the elegant curves of his biceps or the challenging, charming tilt of his mouth—well. He may have failed that goal, but nobody had to know.
"Put on a shirt, Kaito-san."
"As you wish. You're no fun at all." Kaito sighed and reached for the nearest shirt, which happened to be a checked button-down dangling beside a gray t-shirt. "Just so you know, I didn't just oil up and lie here waiting for you, Inspector." Shinichi tried to stuff the thoughts that immediately arose at that comment back into the dark corner of his brain they had spilled free of. "I had a shoot. Some ad thing."
"What was yours for? Suzuhara's was vitamins, improbably enough," said Shinichi, drier than sand. Kaito flashed him a grin as he buttoned up the shirt. A small, tiny, insignificant part of Shinichi was disappointed to see his abs disappear behind the cotton.
"Gym membership. See, at least mine makes more sense." Kaito finished buttoning up the shirt and reached for a jacket. "They had me on a treadmill for nearly an hour. I'm exhausted."
"Only an hour?" Shinichi asked innocently. Kaito shot him a dark, unimpressed look as he fitted his arms into the hoodie, and Shinichi grinned before he glanced around the room. Other than Kaito and him, it was empty and quiet, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only other sound. "Hey, I was supposed to talk to Motoyama-san about the investigation. Do you know where she is?"
"If it's Miho, Tachibana-san called her to discuss my contract. She had to leave really suddenly." Kaito made a face. "It probably doesn't surprise you, but Miho and I are hoping to split away from the agency, but if Tachibana-san's somehow figured it out, he'll definitely either try to persuade her to stay or threaten her." He winced. "Probably both. Tachibana-san isn't the nicest of people."
"Hm." Shinichi ran a hand over the back of his neck. Maybe he could catch her tomorrow. Kaito caught the look on his face and put his hands on his hips, adopting an offended expression.
"Don't tell me you only came back to see Miho." A hint of a pout made itself known. Shinichi rolled his eyes at him.
"Who else could I possibly be here to see?" he asked, and Kaito squawked and clutched at his chest.
"You're such a cold man, Inspector. I can't believe you would play with my feelings like this."
Shinichi snorted.
"Right, your feelings for me." He shook his head as he turned towards the door. "Well, if Motoyama-san's not here, I guess I'll just head home. I can't see how I could progress the investigation right now." He glanced over his shoulder at Kaito. "By the way, I stationed some officers around your old schools and the park. They should be pretty well covered if someone suspicious tries to make a move on them."
"But there's still my apartment, isn't there?" Kaito grinned when Shinichi grimaced. He sidled up beside Shinichi, so smoothly that Shinichi almost didn't realize how close he was until Kaito pressed one forearm to the wall beside Shinichi's head, nearly caging Shinichi in. Shinichi could count the watercolor-faint freckles smattered across his nose. "Look. Why don't you come home with me?"
"Uh." Shinichi wasn't sure what his face was doing, most of his cerebral cortex stalling, but he was sure it wasn't flattering either of them. Kaito's smile faltered the longer he looked at Shinichi.
"Sorry, I took it too far. Sorry. I don't mean it—however you're thinking," he said, taking half a step back and dropping his arm. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I just meant that we could hang out together. We could—we could talk about the case, if you want. It doesn't have to be anything, uh. That you don't… want it to be." He laughed self-deprecatingly, raking his hair out of his face. "Wow. I'm—I'm really bad at this. Sorry."
"Don't apologize," Shinichi groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. That was the only thing that could make the situation worse.
"Sorry," Kaito immediately replied, and then winced so hard he got a cramp in his neck and had to spend a second massaging it out and avoiding eye contact. Shinichi eyed him and his reddening cheeks with some confusion. He had to wonder how someone like Kaito could have his confidence shaken that easily. Was Shinichi that intimidating?
"Fine, fine. I'll put you out of your misery." Shinichi clapped Kaito on the shoulder and twisted to get at the doorknob. Kaito made a bemused noise when Shinichi pushed out of the room and hurried after him, shoes squeaking against the tile.
"What—what does that mean?" he asked. Shinichi peered at him over his shoulder and smirked.
"It means take me home, Mr. Famous Actor," he said, and Kaito tripped over nothing in his haste to get the door for Shinichi.
Kaito's apartment, from the outside, was nothing spectacular. The building, checkered with spotted windows and balconies populated by wilting houseplants, was tall and looked hazily gray, either due to the shade of paint chosen or the subtle effects of air pollution, in the dimming sunlight. An older woman checking her mail at the bank of boxes beside the entrance waved at Kaito as they entered the building.
On the inside, Kaito's apartment was somehow both what Shinichi had been expecting and not. It wasn't spacious, but Kaito had arranged the rooms to give the impression that it was, furniture positioned near the perimeters and the ceiling painted a cool light blue. The walls were decorated by prints of things with seemingly no relation—a lunarscape, a close-up of a four-leaf clover, a wide shot of a skyline at night—but they seemed to match regardless. From the genkan, Shinichi could catch just a glimpse of Kaito's bedroom, which seemed to be done in muted blues and greens.
"Well, this is it." Kaito pulled off his shoes, reaching around in the shoe closet until he unearthed a pair of slippers for each of them. The ones he passed to Shinichi had little hedgehogs on them. Shinichi decided not to ask.
"Nice place," he said instead. He shucked his suit jacket and folded it over one arm, careful to not crush the rose still nestled in his buttonhole. Kaito hummed and flicked on the overhead lights, heading towards the kitchen.
"I try. My best friend helped me with the decorating, though." He pulled the refrigerator door open and stared into it for a second before he pulled out a bottle of ketchup with a thoughtful frown. "Are you okay with omurice? I don't have ingredients for anything else." Kaito turned to look at Shinichi just as Shinichi finished loosening his tie and ran a hand through his hair.
Kaito dropped the ketchup with a thunk. Shinichi jumped at the sound. He shot Kaito a suspicious look.
"Omurice is fine," he offered after a moment, and flicked the top few buttons of his shirt open to free his throat. "Do you need any help?" He started rolling his sleeves up. Kaito blinked at him once, twice, thrice, owl-like, before he shook his head and cleared his throat, fumbling for the ketchup bottle.
"Uh… no, no, that's fine. You can just make yourself at home." He dropped the bottle two more times on the way to the counter. Shinichi observed with some bewilderment, slinging his jacket over the back of the couch. Even with a technically unrepresentative sample size of two, he was starting to think that all famous actors were a few standard deviations from the norm, at least in certain areas.
A walk around the living room revealed a large, long planter box full of roses in various states of growth sitting on the veranda. There was a full rainbow of colors, from a pale pearl to an orange-soaked coral to a deep burgundy like a spill of wine. Shinichi marveled at the sheer selection, squinting at them through the glass sliding door.
"There are so many colors. Do they take a lot of water?" he asked over the low sizzle of oil heating. Kaito, in the process of tipping a container of chicken into the pan, glanced over from the stove to look at where Shinichi was indicating.
"Yeah. My water bill is pretty steep because of them, but the different colors are entirely necessary, I assure you." He grinned and moved for a sieve full of vegetables. Picking up an unnecessarily large knife, he cut into a mushroom without looking, which gave Shinichi mild heart palpitations. "They're worth it, though. They got you here, didn't they?"
"I'm not here to steal your rose garden," Shinichi informed him, wrinkling his nose. He jabbed a finger at the knife still clutched in Kaito's hand. "Pay attention when you're using that, please. I'm not reattaching your thumb when you cut it off."
"Yes, sir," Kaito agreed, looking down at the chopping board as he resumed dicing. He was still smiling to himself, softer now. "And it really warms my heart to hear that you're not just after my rose collection." He glanced up, shaking his head with perfectly affected anguish. "So many people are, you see. They just see me as a free supply of roses."
"Oh, right, because when people meet you, the first thing they're thinking of is how they can infiltrate your rose garden and not your pants," scoffed Shinichi before he could think better of it. The knife clattered alarmingly, and for a heartstopping moment Shinichi was positive Kaito had cut a limb off, but when he looked over, Kaito was watching him with an overjoyed, shit-eating grin, hands clasped to his chest and mushrooms lying forlorn and forgotten in various states of evisceration.
"Is that what you were thinking when you first met me, Inspector?" he asked, eyes shining. Shinichi grappled with the urge to flush and lost, horribly.
"I didn't say that," he muttered. His cheeks felt scalding. When Kaito's expression didn't change—growing smugger and more amused, if anything—he added, "The chicken's burning." It wasn't, but Kaito still swore and ran for the pan. Shinichi leaned against the wall beside the door and breathed out.
The omurice was better than Shinichi was expecting, although Kaito drew an obnoxious heart on Shinichi's with the ketchup and wiggled his eyebrows when Shinichi glared at him for it. Shinichi made a point to cut the omurice down the middle of the heart. Kaito didn't even pout, which probably meant he was still thinking about what Shinichi had said.
They were halfway through dinner, sitting on cushions around the low table in the living room, when Shinichi caught sight of the clock hanging above the kitchen sink and sat up straight in his seat. It was nearing six o'clock.
"Hey, is it okay if we turn the TV on?" He gestured at the moderately sized TV hanging above a squat bookshelf across the room. Kaito, spoon in his mouth, nodded and got up to turn the TV on. He pulled the spoon out of his mouth when Shinichi crawled over to flip through the channels, jabbing past a baseball game and several variety shows with canned laughter.
"It's fine, but why are we…" Kaito trailed off when Shinichi sat back in triumph and the Detective Samonji logo faded in on the screen. Suzuhara's face swelled large in one corner, complete with scar and dashingly mussed hair, as his name scrolled by in a blocky font. Kaito scowled. "Wow. Okay."
"There's a new episode on tonight," insisted Shinichi, although he knew he could catch a rerun later. He mostly just wanted to see Kaito's reaction. Maybe it was bad, but he was beginning to develop the strangest desire to uncover every one of Kaito's expressions.
"I can't believe you would do this to me in my own home," Kaito griped. He scrubbed a hand down his face. "Why couldn't you be one of my fans instead? I would literally rather watch the whole pilot episode of Heartline than this, and that was filmed back when I didn't know how to act better than a teen idol in a summer horror movie."
"I doubt you were ever that bad," Shinichi said before he reached over and poked Kaito firmly in the cheek. Kaito froze. "Sit back and enjoy the show. This one's supposed to be based on one of the novels, so it's going to be good." With a sigh of relief, Shinichi dragged himself back over to the table and picked up his spoon, eyes intent on the TV.
"Have you read that novel?" Kaito demanded, hands on his hips.
"Yeah. Got it the day it was released," Shinichi answered, watching as the scene opened on a stylized bird's eye shot of a crime scene. Kaito looked mystified as he plopped back down at the table and cast a suspicious glance at the screen.
"Then don't you know what's going to happen anyway?" he muttered, scowling.
"Shhh, it's starting," hissed Shinichi, threatening him with his spoon, and Kaito surrendered.
The episode was good, one of the better ones of the season. Shinichi didn't hate the TV originals, but the book-based ones always had more engaging plots. It was a little surreal to watch the episode knowing what Suzuhara looked like under all the makeup, though. Especially when Samonji's top got torn in an action scene, likely for fanservice reasons, and Shinichi thought, a little hysterical, that he'd seen those abs in person.
Throughout the whole thing, Kaito was mostly quiet. He kept making comments under his breath, quiet enough that Shinichi couldn't hear unless he paid attention, but they mostly seemed to be about Suzuhara and the plot of the case. At one point, he announced, "The maid did it."
Pausing in his efforts to scrape up the last bit of rice, Shinichi glanced over at him. He was right, but the whole episode had been structured to make it seem as if the eldest son was the murderer. Shinichi himself hadn't realized that the maid was the real murderer until almost a hundred pages in.
"You seem pretty sure of yourself," he remarked, lifting one eyebrow. Kaito shrugged and slid a sly smile at him.
"Because I'm right." He bit into a mushroom with finality.
Shinichi couldn't argue with that reasoning.
When the maid ended up attacking Samonji with a butter knife after he revealed her as the killer, Kaito gave him a self-satisfied look and leaned back on his hands. Shinichi shook his head at him and went to take their plates to the kitchen, washing them and ignoring Kaito when he made noise about guests doing housework and unnecessary work and Inspector, really, you don't need to do that.
"It's getting late," Shinichi remarked as he came back out to the living room. The episode had ended, and now there was a procedural police drama chattering in the background. Kaito had migrated to the couch and was lying across the cushions, one hand draped over his forehead like someone from a regency film. He cracked one eye open, first to read the clock, then to look at Shinichi, and sat up, stretching. His shirt rode up, exposing the dips of his stomach. Shinichi stared fixedly at a spot over the top of his head until Kaito's arms dropped back down.
"Want me to walk you home?" Kaito got to his feet, regarding Shinichi with slight concern.
"You want to walk all the way to Beika? I'll take the train, thanks." Shinichi laughed at the unimpressed look on Kaito's face, waving him off as he headed for the front door. "It's fine, Kaito-san. I can take care of myself. I'm a police officer, remember? I face down murderers and arsonists and kidnappers all the time. It's part of the job." Kaito made a face.
"Let me walk you to the station anyway. For the sake of my mental wellbeing," he said, employing puppy eyes as he followed Shinichi to the genkan. Stepping out of the slippers, Shinichi squinted at him.
"I did survive for twenty-seven years before you came along." And wasn't that a strange thought, Shinichi couldn't help but think. He'd known Kaito for a few days, and yet it seemed strange to remember a time before that. Shinichi chalked it up to spending hours on end with the man.
"Still." The beginnings of a pout settled on Kaito's face.
"I literally have a gun." Shinichi patted his hip holster, which Kaito had somehow managed to miss.
Kaito paused. Shinichi raised his eyebrows, daring him to argue, and he made a face but subsided, leaning against the wall to watch Shinichi pull on his shoes.
"You've made your case." Kaito sighed with dramatism that was both endearing and embarrassing. "It's just so hard to see you go, Inspector."
Shinichi, halfway done lacing his shoes back up, paused. The thought had been percolating at the back of his mind since earlier, with Suzuhara, but he hadn't acted on it, feeling as though it might make things awkward. But looking up into Kaito's earnest, teasing face, in the quiet of Kaito's apartment, with his tie loosened and his inhibition eaten away along with the meal Kaito had actually cooked for him, he didn't know why he hadn't.
"You know," Shinichi began, slowly, "I wouldn't really mind if you called me by my name. Shinichi, I mean."
The look on Kaito's face—Shinichi had never seen anything like it. He looked ecstatic, as if Shinichi had shot down the sun for him, or offered him a universe and a half instead of the right to call him by his name. It felt strange, being this powerful, having the ability to make Kaito this happy with something so insignificant. Shinichi felt a strange feeling swell behind his sternum.
"Really?" Kaito asked around his smile. "Are you sure?"
Shinichi shrugged. He could feel the tips of his ears going red and turned towards the door.
"You might as well. You've been letting me call you by your first name, after all," he pointed out. "It's only fair." He hazarded a glance back at Kaito and almost wished he hadn't, because he didn't know what to do with the soft, affectionate look Kaito gave him in return. "Thanks for dinner. It was great. And thanks for watching the show with me."
"No problem." Kaito was still beaming at him. If fond was a verb, it would perfectly encapsulate what he was doing, the way he was looking at Shinichi. "Thanks for coming, Shinichi."
It was official. Shinichi was bright red, like a sunburned lobster. He cleared his throat, nodded, cast a last, awkward look back at Kaito, and managed to get the door open. All the way back down to the street, he felt strangely warm. Not even the night chill bothered him.
A few issues that I wanted to clear up:
Kaito was never Kaitou Kid in this universe; his stage name was KID at the beginning of his career. I totally didn't make that clear, which I apologize for.
The second thing I wanted to address was Shinichi's blood type. I couldn't find a definitive answer about what blood type Shinichi and Ran are (yes, I do actually recall the Desperate Revival arc and how their rare, shared blood type was a plot point) so I looked up some Japanese blood type horoscopes and picked the one I thought was most applicable to Shinichi, and that turned out to be type A. I know it's not ~canon-compliant~ because type A blood isn't rare, but I'm too lazy to fix it now, so.
As for the other mistakes that you all pointed out... yeah, those are all valid. Sorry.
Anyway, hope you're enjoying this fic (if you are, please consider dropping me a review)! Special shoutout to Eve, who's my first Patron :D Thank you so much, darling :D
See you all soon! - Luna