27/03/2020. cross-posting this from ao3 bc this site raised me and I wanted to give back, lmao. This work has a total of three (3) chapters and the second one is already written and will be up tomorrow (shinichi pov!), but the third one is,, in the works. Hope you like it!
warnings: it starts off with some throwing up & non-consensual drug administration, but nothing too malevolent or creepy.
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Kaito has faced the detective of the East exactly once, back when he first picked up his dad's mantle at what he likes to call a pro-bono heist, and that one showdown has ingrained itself in his memory as deeply traumatic and alarmingly formidable when it ended with him nearly shot and nearly caught (thrice).
When he finds himself fondly reminiscing about it, which seems to happen every time he catches a glance of the clock tower, he tells himself that it had been a series of rookie mistakes—lack of research, no backup plans, complete and utter underestimation of the opponent, etc., etc.—that had led to him dangling two hundred feet above the ground with basically nothing but hubris up his sleeves.
But it is only now, merely three and a half minutes after the official start of the heist, as he's crumpled to his knees on the floor of this feudal museum bathroom stall ralphing back up the peri-peri chicken he'd gorged himself with at lunch with Aoko, that he's realizing that, perhaps, the issue didn't lay in his oversized ego, but in a totally separate one that hadn't been and still isn't under his control.
Kudou Shinichi is terrifying.
"No one moves. He's cornered."
"But he's not anywhere in sight!"
The scoff, soft and smug, that blows in the earpiece he managed to borrow from an oblivious task force member only confirms his conclusion—which he comes to between two gags, with bile stinging his throat and bare knuckles clutching the toilet seat like a lifeline. The part of his mind that isn't busy running his options provides him with vague flashbacks of late night hangovers with friends, but it completely shuts down—all of it—when he hears a quiet fuck somewhere behind him.
Ah, shit. He hasn't locked the stall.
Sparing a glance behind him, he only catches a flash of red and black before his gag reflex makes him spin back around to empty the rest of his stomach.
A pause.
"Don't mistake this as a reaction at your sight, Detective," KID manages to say around his hoarse throat.
"Unbelievable. I'm going to kill him." Simple words, filled with disbelief and ire, whispered to himself as he moves closer and cups the thief's neck. Then, a bit louder, "I'm sorry about this."
"What?" Kaito scowls, wiping the corner of his mouth with the inside of his wrist. "Did you do something to me?"
"This wasn't what was supposed to happen," the detective explains, and there's something like a wince in his voice, "I...slipped something in your drink – it was really easy, by the way. You really should be more aware of your surroundings."
"Oh, screw you," Kaito utters. Yeah, he had let his guards down, but can you blame him? The only resistance he'd encountered these last months had been Nakamori.
He should do something, he knows that, but his stomach twists and turns in painful ways and acid is stinging his throat, so he just shoves the detective's hand off and reaches over to flush the regurgitated chicken along with KID's persona.
"I'm sorry," Kudou repeats. By no means discouraged by Kaito's cat-like hostility, he reaches towards the thief's shoulders and clicks off his cape. "I think it's harmless."
"After the severe nausea and the crippling dizziness passes, maybe."
Kudou winces. "It should wear off in a few minutes. It was just supposed to incapacitate you long enough for me to..."
"Hey!" Kaito protests when his wrists are handcuffed behind his back, cold metal pressed against bare skin. "Buy me dinner first, maybe?"
His hat follows, and suddenly Kudou's hands are all over him. On his shoulders, gently pushing him back against the wall; up his shirt, emptying his pockets and stripping him off stolen police equipment before dumping it all on the floor; on his cheeks, brushing the bangs off his forehead, and then he reaches up, up, up to his monocle, gaze burning with curiosity locked with his.
"Didn't know you played dirty, detective," Kaito whispers.
The monocle's off.
There's a pause, before Kudou breaks into a confused frown—which Kaito mirrors, ignoring the swing-beat against his ribcage.
"I have," Kudou is squinting at him, "I have no idea who you are," he sighs, shaking his head. "I have no idea who you're supposed to be."
Incredible. Kaito scoffs, offended. "We met."
By the blankness in his eyes, Kudou doesn't remember. Kaito knows he should be on his knees profusely thanking Lady Luck but he can't help the outrage welling up in him. "How can you not–did I make such little impact that you forgot about my existence the second I got out of your sight?"
Kudou looks a little thrown. "I–"
"... Wow," Kaito breathes out, looking away.
"Are you pouting?" The detective's voice is laced with disbelief. "Stop pouting. KID, stop pouting. You're handcuffed."
Kaito stubbornly stays silent even when Kudou's hand around his biceps lifts him on his feet. He feels like shit, heavy head and throbbing temples, but he doesn't falter. He rolls the lockpick he'd discreetly retrieved between his fingers and manages to slot it in but stops short, brows furrowed in confusion, when Kudou puts his own police radio down amidst the plethora of random items he'd found in KID's pockets.
"You're not turning me in?"
Kudou doesn't reply. Instead, he drops a sports bag on top of the toilet's lowered lid before taking out an abhorrent, horrid, repulsive weapon of social suicide in the form of a leopard-printed khaki sweater with one hand, and stuffing KID's jacket, tie, hat, monocle and cape in it with the other. "Why do you have so many accessories," he fusses, struggling to zip the bag closed.
"It's called having style," Kaito retorts, vexed. "Clearly, you should take some notes."
He eyes him up and down for emphasis, from the worn-out red sneakers and boring, black straight-cut jeans to the cherry red sweatshirt a size too big and the Big Osaka cap he takes off to shove over Kaito's disheveled locks.
It shields his eyes and he breathes in the scent of cologne for a split-second before Kudou lifts the tip a bit so Kaito could actually see. He comes face to face with eyes similar to the sapphire abandoned on the floor.
"Hi," Kaito says.
"Hi," Kudou replies.
He's staring at him like he's still trying hard to remember their so-called encounter. Kaito stares back as he fiddles with the pick between his fingers—so easy, it'd take him only a second, but something in Kudou's expression stops him from making a move, an undercurrent of tired and life-weary and dangerously on edge. It pokes at his sick curiosity, the exhaustion that seems beyond physical. The odd, out-of-character behavior.
"Listen," Kudou says. "I'm going to take off the handcuffs, because we need to get out of here unnoticed, and I need you to put this on."
Kaito raises his eyebrows. "Oh, I'm not putting that on."
Kudou looks at the sweater he's brandishing with confusion. "What's wrong with it?"
"Um, its mere existence is an affront to God herself," Kaito's nose scrunches up in disgust. "Under what hallucinogenic drug were you when you bought this… this cursed bane of mankind?"
"I just grabbed the first thing," Kudou replies, patience visibly growing thin, "regardless of it being a reflection of my insufficient fear of a potential higher power or not."
"–I'm sorry you don't have any sense of self-respect or a reputation to maintain but I do," Kaito concludes, talking over him.
"A reputation to–nobody knows who you are!"
"And that includes you, apparently."
"We never met!" Kudou snaps, lowering the sweater to shoot him a dark glare. "I would have remembered, if we did!"
Kaito falls silent with a scowl and looks away, blatantly ignoring the sweater Kudou's waving under his nose.
"Don't make me use force."
"Ha!" he scoffs. "I'd like to see you try."
"Oh, for God' s sake," Kudou grouses, trying to force the collar down Kaito's head. "Just! Put it! On!"
Kaito stumbles back onto the closed toilet lid with a surprised squawk, and the metal of his handcuffs clinks loudly as he tries and fails to raise his arms, only succeeding in dropping the lockpick. He pushes his legs up between the two of them, keeping a fumbling Kudou at a distance.
"Just–"
"NO."
He freezes when he accidentally shoves his left knee up Kudou's chin and the detective stumbles back with an ow, hand around his jaw.
Kaito doesn't apologize. "See what happens when you try to force me into what is literally my anathema?" he says, staring with a concerned frown.
Kudou sighs and pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Okay, ok. How about–"
Kaito blinks as Kudou pulls his own sweatshirt over his head, the black t-shirt underneath sliding up revealing skin for a split-second before falling back in place. He re-emerges with messy hair and an annoyed expression and Kaito looks at the hoodie dropped on his lap, plain, cherry red, 'CASUAL' embroidered across the chest with bold white english letters.
"I'll wear it myself," Kudou finishes, proceeding to do exactly that.
Kaito can't help but let out a snicker when Kudou pulls down the hems of the calamity with an exhale. The detective glares daggers at him. "Not. A word."
"Actually, you're really pulling it off," Kaito nods, lips twitching upwards. "I'm dazzled, truly. Flabbergasted."
Kudou looks blasé, but let it go, glancing at the watch around his wrist. "Alright. You wasted us enough time. I'm going to remove the handcuffs. Put the hoodie on, gather your stuff and meet me in the parking lot. Leave the gem. Don't disappear."
"And why, pray tell, do you seem to be laboring under the impression that I'm going to happily comply?"
"Because I know what you look like," Kudou replies without hesitation, leveling his gaze. "And I can easily find you and turn you in, this time."
Kaito narrows his eyes, but lets him lean over to unlock the cuffs. His nose and lips brush Kudou's shoulder as he breathes in perfume. "Why aren't you turning me in now? What are you doing, Kudou?"
They drop to the floor in a resounding clink and Kudou turns his head to look at him, face inches away. "Don't disappear," he repeats, mint-scented breath blowing onto Kaito's nose.
He straightens and shoulders the sports bag before shooting him a look, lips pursued. Kaito stares back while rubbing his wrists, eyebrows raised as he waits for the detective's next move.
It's not what he expects, because Kudou's traits soften and his shoulders slump and his lips mouth a quiet, "Please."
He leaves before Kaito can even react.
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It's not as much the fact that his identity is in jeopardy as it is that Kudou Shinichi is the one holding him by the balls.
Kaito can handle Hakuba or Nakamori because he knows them, he knows how they work, what they want and he can act accordingly. But Kudou? What he knows about the guy is limited to the little he dug out during a research spree the morning after the clock tower heist—not much, weirdly : a few shots on the newspapers' front page, couple mentions in headlines, and that's about it. Kaito distinctly recalls feeling a little thrown by the lack of digital information, as if the height of the detective's fame had taken place in the nineties and not merely a year and a half ago.
He thought he'd grasped a general idea of Kudou's personality from their brief, out-of costume encounter. A well-intentioned detective with a self-destructive tendency of caring more about other people than himself—lawful good, Kaito had concluded after two minutes of interaction.
He'd misdiagnosed.
"You're chaotic," he concludes as soon as he gets in the car, slamming shut the passenger door. "I don't know in which category yet, but you are an agent of chaos."
Kudou's face is lit by the screen of his iPhone, thumbs hovering over the tactile keyboard as he shoots him a look and clicks his tongue, the sound blending in with that of the lock screen when he presses the power button. It resounds in the car, loud amid the thick silence of the parking lot. "What're you talking about?"
"Um, the alignment chart? ...Dungeons and Dragons? No?" Kaito blinks in front of his blank stare. "Wow. It's like I'm talking to a second Hakuba." He tilts his head on an afterthought. "Well, one with a penchant for aiding and abetting."
Kudou's head spins around to look at him, and Kaito crosses his arms, tongue grinding against his teeth. "What, thought I wouldn't notice how surprisingly easy it was to get through security? Didn't bump into anyone, which is weird, to say the least. Doesn't take a genius to figure out you placed the officers strategically so I could get out. No one moves," he mimics with a smirk, voice lowered a shade to match the detective's. "Truly some fine work. Have you ever considered a change in career? I could always use a sexy assistant."
Kudou's tone is ice. "I'm not here to take compliments from a criminal."
Kaito scoffs. "I'd be offended if it weren't for the fact that you're as neck-deep into this as I am, Detective." He pretends to count on his fingers. "Blackmail, non-consensual administration of drugs, complicity in a crime, obstruction of justice–"
He stops short when Kudou reaches over, fingers trapping his in a balled up fist. He releases them almost immediately, though. "I couldn't risk..." he trails off, bringing a hand over his face, whispery voice gaining volume as he adds, "There's a... a broader picture to take in."
"By all means," Kaito prompts him into elaborating with a hand gesture reminiscent of a reverence.
Kudou shifts in his seat to face him. He doesn't respond immediately, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He's an open book with bleeding ink.
He feels invasive, for some reason, like he's trespassing, so he breaks eye contact and glances over his shoulder. Notices the sports bag on the backseat. Checks out the dashboard. Handcuffs. Orange pills bottle. iPhone. Incredibly ugly hula dancer figurine. Glasses. "Faulty vision runs in the family?" he inquires on a random thought.
"Very funny. How's your stomach?"
"Fucked up, by the way," Kaito hisses, still bitter, before intertwining his fingers behind his neck. "But let's get to the point. You need my help, right? Talk."
Even in the semi-dark only cleared by the fluorescent red & blue dash lights, Kaito can pinpoint the exact moment he shuts down, at the tightness of his lips and the edge of reluctance in the jut of his jaw; he can read the hesitation preceding it from the quick, quarter-of-a-second way he narrows his eyes and sticks out his tongue, words stuck on the tip of it but not quite out, like a glass filled to the brink menacing to brim over at the slightest touch.
Kaito tucks a lock behind his ear, all slow and haughty and mock-seductive. Cheek propped on his left palm, he leans deep in Kudo's space and reaches over to trace his jawline with two fingers. "How can I help, Detective?"
It spills.
"I need you." The words catch Kaito off-guard, but not as much as his tone does, fractured and absolutely miserable. He doesn't get to react beyond a concerned frown before Kudou clears his throat and follows it up with, "I need you to help me steal something."
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Kaito has dropped the KID persona the moment Kudou encircled his neck back in the bathroom stall, but it's only now, as he jams four cheese-flavored tortilla chips in his mouth at once and Kudou's staring at him with owlish, horror-filled eyes, that he's realizing it.
It's not rare, the transition—on the contrary. But unthinkingly? That never happens. He's startled by how natural it had been to drop the act, swipe the glitz of the moonlight thief in favor of fumbling with a family-sized bag of nacho cheese Doritos in a 7/11 parking lot at nearly 1AM. Kudou stares at him, eyes narrowed and chin tucked in and nose scrunched up in barely veiled disgust.
"What, want some?" Kaito asks, shaking the packet at him.
"No, thank you. I'm really just trying to not," he flexes his fingers and eyes the three empty chocolate bar wrappers on the dash, "catch something."
Kaito chuckles, tipping the bag over his mouth. "Look," he says, turning to him completely and ignoring the detective's wince when his cheetle-covered fingers brush against the seat's leather. "You've been a good guy buying me all of this massively unhealthy junk food, thank you, but you also kind of drugged me? So... you can see how those two cancel each other out."
"About that," Kudou says, lips pursed. "I really didn't know–the drug was made for pranks."
Kaito stares, dragging the silence for two beats to convey exactly how utterly ridiculous— "Yeah, I figured. The part where I ralphed my lunch back up? Comedic genius."
"It wasn't supposed to do that. Or, if it was, I didn't know. The person who'd developed it didn't actually… tell me the effects. If I knew, I wouldn't have–"
"You come into my house, you lie to my face–"
"We're not in your house, this is my car," Kudou says, actually looking confused, and despite everything Kaito wants to laugh.
"Whatever," he sulks instead. "Don't talk to me."
The detective rolls his eyes. He's mirrored Kaito's position and he's leaning over, palms joined together, "Look, you hate me. That's fair. But I need this one favour from you, and then you can just go. We part ways, I won't seek you out–I promise–and you never have to see me again."
"Never?" Kaito asks around crisp crumbs. "Never seems kind of extreme."
That gets a frown to Kudou's face. "I mean you'll probably see Conan around, I guess," he says, straightening. "Though if you get the job done..."
Kaito licks the powder off the tip of his fingers while maintaining eye contact.
"Is this the part where I beg for your edification? 'Cuz I'm not gonna do that," he clarifies when the silence stretches out. "I'm pissed, if you couldn't tell."
The detective's brows furrow, as if he actually couldn't tell. And, okay, maybe Kaito has been sending mixed signals, but his way of being has always been veneered by a layer of it's fine. It doesn't help that he thinks Kudou's hot.
"So..." Kudou's face drops, looking like a goddamn kicked puppy. "That's a no?"
The corner of Kaito's lips twitch upwards at the question and he makes a show of looking around. "I thought this was blackmail?"
"We have a system," the detective replies, and he sounds dog-tired.
"Nu-uh, I have a system with the tiny tantei. You? Not so much."
Kudou looks like he wants to punch him. "This is not the time for technicalities, KID."
"What?" he laughs. "It's the truth. And let me add, last time that little shit invoked it, I almost died–I'm sorry," he adds, hopping on a new train of thoughts without leaving him a chance to answer. "I don't get it. If you're leaving me the choice, why the fuck did you put in place this whole bastard scheme?"
"I wanted to see if you were hot," Kudou deadpans.
Kaito rarely loses control of his poker face; right now, though, he's gaping and he can't stop, face contorted into a mix of amusement and disbelief. "... Was that a joke? Are you secretly funny?"
Kudou simply rolls his eyes. "Can I count on you or should I ask Lupin instead?"
Kaito blinks dramatically and lets out a scoff in incredulous astonishment. "Woah, okay. Hold on a second." It's jealousy that washes over him, blindsiding possessiveness laced with irritation at the mention of the gun-armed thief. He takes a second to acknowledge that he's being manipulated—easily, in this state—but he lets it happen anyway. "Let's not make any rash decisions that we'll regret later on."
"I hate to break this to you," Kudou says, and it looks like he really does, "but everything about this is going to be rash. It's kind of a time-sensitive thing."
He frowns. "Meaning?"
"Five hours, that's all I have."
"Are you dying?" Kaito asks, genuinely.
"No," Kudou drawls, looking at him like he's an idiot.
He doesn't follow it up with a clarification and Kaito doesn't want to ask so, instead, he says, "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay," Kaito repeats, tucking a leg underneath him. "I'm not exactly sure what kinda crap you're involved in, but it looks like you're in dire need of a friend right now and I have a paper due tomorrow that I don't wanna start on just yet, so yeah, let's go steal your rock."
A tentative smile lifts the corner of Kudou's lips. It doesn't quite reach his eyes but… "It's not a rock."
He's really pretty.
Kaito rolls his eyes and reaches back into the Doritos bag on his lap. "Fine, let's go steal your illicit drugs, whatever. Drive."