01/04/20. i know i said tomorrow but i forgot my bad lmao happy april fools. hope you enjoy xoxo

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It starts when a neighborhood-wide game of hide & seek with the Junior Detective League leads them into a dead chemist's apartment. The culprit, who turns out to be the woman next door with a long-held grudge over several noise complaints, gets tricked into confessing, and Conan deems the case closed and dealt with—at least, until Haibara grabs his sleeve on the way home and says, "I remember where I know him from."

At her words, Conan flashes back to the metallic boxes and the pill bottles he'd noticed lying around without giving them much thought. Chemist suffering from heart disease, after all, but—new information!—one that had worked on the APTX alongside Sherry. It only made sense for him to have samples.

Unfortunately, Conan's too late. Silver lining: so are they. By the time the apartment complex catches fire—that same night—the police had already gone over the deceased's belongings. Evidence bagged, flat emptied… But Shinichi knows them, knows far too well the way they dealt with loose ends. It's only a matter of time before either a covert agent gets ahold of their dead coworker's possessions or the place gets blown up.

So if Shinichi wants to make a move, it has to happen tonight.

Coincidentally, it's a full moon, which means Kaitou KID's probably around. He confirms this over breakfast with a quick google search that briefs him in the latest chunk of bling that had caught the thief's attention: an eight-figure worth sapphire showcased in a Nobunaga-themed exhibition that had belonged to the warlord's favorite concubine.

An idea begins to sprout in his mind as he finishes reading the heist notice, staring pensively at the KID doodle.

It's not a good idea. It's neither noble nor ethical, and when he thinks about it more, his face scrunches up in a grimace, but then he remembers his last conversation with Ran, remembers cold eyes and one-word answers, and decides that he doesn't have to like the idea for it to work. The broader picture justifies the means, after all, right? As long as no one gets hurts…

So, with a half-baked plan in mind and one shot at getting it right, he swallows the temporary antidote he stole from Haibara's bag when she wasn't looking, last week.

No effort is required from Kudou Shinichi to work with the law. Despite the Inspector's reluctance, he's pretty much handed a police radio by a starry-eyed task force member as soon as he shows up. It's a little weird, and a lot refreshing, and it makes guilt churn in the pit of his stomach.

Surprisingly, it doesn't take him long to figure out KID's disguise—an art major girl in an oversized Tōdai sweatshirt and a Dr. Pepper can curled around her fingers in which Shinichi slips the tiny, yellow pill he'd gotten from Agasa yesterday. It's a newly-developed incapacitant—harmless, the Professor had reassured him. He'd originally started working on it with prank purposes in mind, his plan being to put them out the week leading to April Fools and get instantly rich.

He doesn't know what the drug's supposed to do, Agasa having been adamant on keeping the surprise ("you'll see. it's really funny.") but either the Professor had accidentally gotten something in the development process seriously wrong or he simply had a very dark sense of humor, because KID is incapacitated, alright, but not in the way he's supposed to be. Not in a funny way.

"Don't mistake this as a reaction at your sight, Detective," he says when Shinichi curses, and his voice is hoarse. Shinichi might as well have. He feels hideous.

Seeing him like that, scrunched over the toilet seat—it's a wake-up call, because when the thought this wasn't the plan crosses his mind it's quickly followed by what plan? He's only working with fragments of one he'd stitched together a few hours ago, and he's counting on Kaitou KID—of all people—to not tear it all apart by either pulling a disappearing act regardless of his bluff or via a simple, no.

Which—to Shinichi's utter relief and complete confusion—he doesn't. Instead, he jams four chips into his mouth at once and says, "Drive."

The plan is all kinds of crazy but it's fitting, really, because so is KID.

"Okay, let me be clear–"

"Seatbelt," Shinichi cuts off, only to get promptly ignored.

"–If we're doing this, I don't want any backseat driving going on. I'm serious," he insists even when Shinichi shows no sign of protesting. "You give me one order, I'm leaving you for dead and I'm going home. Just let me do my thang, okay? Do you have gum? I feel disgusting."

Shinichi doesn't bother answering because the thief is already rummaging around the glove compartment where he finds an open pack of mint-flavored black-black chewing-gum, missing a stick—the one Shinichi had anxiously chewed in his car before the heist.

KID unwraps a piece of gum and pops it into his mouth. "You still haven't told me where we're going, by the way."

"The MPD building," Shinichi says, because while he can't exactly be forthcoming with the what and the why, he figures this information at least is on a need-to-know basis. He chances a glance at his side when he's met by stiff silence. "Relax, I'm not turning you in."

KID meets his gaze, and Shinichi can see an interested glint in his eyes. Museful silence, then, not stiff.

"That's not what I was thinking. You're looking for something that's been collected as evidence in a case?"

"Found property," Shinichi corrects, before grimacing. "Well, belongings of a victim, more specifically. He's dead. I closed his case yesterday."

Nope, he can't ignore it. It's definitely bothering him. With his eyes on the road and an annoyed click of the tongue, he reaches over to buckle KID in.

"... So, the filing room," KID resumes, a slight crack in his voice that earns him a curious glance. He clears his throat. "Yeah, sure, that's easy. Never went that far in so this should be interesting. What?" he asks when Shinichi shoots him a cutting look. "I like a challenge."

That is not what the look meant. "You've been to the Metropolitan Police offices?"

A shrug. "Yeah, a couple times. It's fun to leave jewels on Nakamori's desk and imagine the fits of rage he must have. Plus, they have a mean coffee machine on the tenth floor. You know the one."

He does. Shinichi bites back the amused smile that threatens to surface. "So, what do you have in mind?"

"Oh, dude," KID says, and then he excitedly starts talking about hiding in plain sight and blind camera angles and emergency exits and he somehow makes it all seem like art instead of the crime it is. He doesn't stop until Shinichi parks a street away from the police precinct they're planning to break into.

This is fine.

"I'm surprised you asked for help and didn't just... do it yourself," KID says when Shinichi not only manages to keep up with his rambling but also chimes in with additional information.

"I tried," he grimaces.

KID's face splits into a far too-pleased grin. "What? Elaborate! Oh my god."

Shinichi rolls his eyes. "I couldn't sneak in. It's swarming with agents. They just come and go so there's basically no time of the day where the corridors are empty, and I'm nowhere near familiar enough with the building layout to be smooth about it. And even if I could get around all of them, there's a card system. Every officer has a keycard, you can't unlock the door without it."

KID hums, two fingers around his chin.

"What're you thinking?" Shinichi asks.

He's a detective, at heart, but Conan had taught him to think less in deconstruction and unraveling and more in terms of how can I get around this? It happened progressively, over time, so he didn't really notice the shift in his approaches until now, as he's staring at KID with narrowed eyes and one hand on the steering wheel. "The windows?" he tries to guess. "You better not. It looks like a painful and difficult climb, and it's not really the discretion I was hoping for. By the way, I'm okay with disguises, but I draw the line at having to squeeze into a dusty air vent with you. Are we knocking someone out?"

"Detective," KID exclaims, and it looks like he's aiming for dismayed but it comes out as delighted.

Shinichi barely holds back his eye roll. "So?"

Of course, KID can't really be guessed—Shinichi comes to fully understanding that when the thief grins and says, "Everything you suggested is just so rude. Let's take the front door."

.

.

KID surprises Shinichi once, and then keeps doing it.

It's not that he's not aware that KID's essentially a patchwork of skills, but there's this reality to their interactions that makes it near-impossible to conciliate the guy covering the passenger seat in dorito dust to the phantom thief wanted in six different countries. It's not Shinichi's fault; KID's just got this dimension to him that makes it so easy to forget that, right, he's the guy who walked mid-air amidst a swarm of police helicopters with his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face.

It boils down to this: KID's skilled to the point of terrifying, and Shinichi keeps getting reminded of that in little moments.

Exhibit A: the keycard that materializes between his index and middle finger when Shinichi points out the only hole in the let's just walk to the place plan. Shinichi's poker face is shitty, always has been, which is why he reaches up to clasp KID's wrist in disbelief to make sure his eyes aren't deceiving him.

He looks up at KID. "When? " Shinichi doesn't leave him any time to answer before he goes on, letting go of KID's arm to curl his fingers around his chin. "You couldn't have swiped it from the officer we talked to on the way here as there hadn't been any physical contact, and we didn't bump into anyone, even for a brief moment. The elevator… ? No, the only person with us was a receptionist and they don't have master keys. Plus you were chewing your hangnail the entire time. When could you have…?"

Shinichi tunes back in to the sound of KID's snickers. "Woah, Meitantei's aura is scary."

He scowls. "Do not tell me."

"I wasn't planning to," he grins, walking into the room. While Shinichi was muttering to himself, he'd swiped the card through the reader and had pushed the door open. The lights flicker for a faltering second before plunging the room in electrical white lighting.

Shinichi decides to let it go for now as he eyes the shelves and shelves of boxes holding gathered evidence and found property. He steps up next to KID. "I can't believe they just let us walk in here."

"The secret is walking with a purpose. No one's going to stop you if you look confident enough." That checks out. KID saunters about like he owns the place, all raised chin and slumped shoulders and bright smile blinding whoever passed them. "You think there's a chance I find some of my stuff in here? So many of my cards have been taken."

"You fired them at police officers," Shinichi reminds him, moving to study the closest cabinet. The room is messy, boxes stacked on each other unevenly. "I doubt it. Only recently collected items end up here, and it's a temporary thing. Everything's eventually moved to a guarded storage facility. It doesn't seem to be organized alphabetically here."

KID throws his head back and lets out a groan that Shinichi would have called dramatic if he didn't share the sentiment.

"Look for Fujinuma Hiroto," he instructs, reaching for the nearest box. For the first time in a long time, he feels success within his grasp, and he really wants to grab hold of it, just once, just for this. "I solved his case yesterday morning so his stuff shouldn't be that far in–"

Shinichi jumps at the sudden poof of smoke and cautiously freezes, not knowing what to expect. When it clears, he stares down at his now-gloved hands before looking up at KID, who's leaning against the door with his arms and ankles crossed.

"I'm already going to have to doctor security tapes. I don't wanna have to wipe this entire room clean, too."

Shinichi nods. "Good call." He flexes his fingers around the fabric of the familiar, white gloves. "Are these yours? They're really soft."

"Oh! Thanks, it's hypoallergenic satin." He pushes off the wall and moves across the room, out of sight. "Fujinuma, you said? There was something about him on the news, this afternoon. He got stabbed to death, right? Then his place caught fire? Lucky for him, in that order."

"Don't joke about something like that," Shinichi reprimands. There's a pfft somewhere to his left before they fall into silence.

Shinichi's in the middle of trawling through one of the lower shelves when KID pipes up, "Hey, what time is it? I still need to write a paper for tomorrow."

Shinichi sighs. "Why did you put it off until the last possible minute? You know you had a thing tonight."

He's not looking, but he hears a grimace in the thief's voice when he says, "It's a history paper."

"Not a fan of past events?"

"Eh, I'm just not interested. I've tried, I really did! I went to class once."

He scoffs. "Obviously, you've tried everything you could."

"It doesn't matter, I got my plan. This paper's worth half my grade, right? The deadline's tomorrow at six PM, so I'll just submit it, like, five minutes before that, and hopefully score high enough to afford to skip next semester, too."

"Sounds like a foolproof plan to me. Where's the paper, KID?"

"Fuck you, Kudou," KID replies, to which Shinichi snorts. "It's your fault, okay? I wasn't exactly planning on this side trip, now was I? I'd be knocking down some Red Bulls in front of a Word doc right now if it weren't for you."

It occurs to him, out of blue, that this is the first time KID's actively volunteering personal information—it's completely irrelevant, nothing he can use to put a name on his face, and Shinichi finds that he prefers it that way. He gave up the right to play the game when he slipped that pill in KID's soda can.

"What's it about?" he ventures, uncertainly. "The paper."

The reply is almost instant. "Historical negationism. We're supposed to write about a method that's been used to distort the record. I know what you're gonna say, that practically writes itself–" Shinichi closes his mouth, "–but I feel like everyone's gonna go for the obvious topics like Japanese war crimes or the holocaust denial, and I don't wanna write six pages that'll say the same stuff as nine other essays, you know?"

His voice gets closer and closer until Shinichi bumps into him as they round the same corner.

"Oh, hi," KID says, messy locks tucked under the Big Osaka cap tucked under the hoodie of Shinichi's sweatshirt. Shinichi doesn't know why that's the first thing he notices, followed by the fact that his hands are buried in the pockets of his pants. It's the white KID pants, hems rolled over his ankles.

"Hi," he replies, a sense of déjà-vu washing over him.

KID tilts his head to the right. "Found your guy."

Fujinuma, reads the cardboard box in front of which Shinichi squats. He doesn't have to dig in far before he comes across a bottle with a laminated label that says 4869.

"Sherlock?" KID reads over his shoulder. "How fitting. What is it, some kind of new drug? Didn't know you were into that sort of thing, Meitantei. Should I be worried? Stage an intervention?"

"It's not a drug," Shinichi says, before backtracking, "Well, it is, but it's not what you think it is."

"What is it?"

"The poison that caused the, you know," he glances up at KID, "the Conan predicament."

Who nods. "Right. Of course, yeah, the Conan predicament," he says. Then, softer, "The predicament of Conan. Conan's… predicament."

Shinichi stares down at the bottle in his hand. "Yeah…" A year and a half of searching for it, and now it's right there—

Wait, no it isn't. Shinichi jerks his head around to see KID holding it up to his face, examining the contents. "If I swallow one–"

"Don't joke," he hisses, falling to his knees as he reaches for it. "Give it back, KID."

But the thief holds it out of reach, right arm stretched far and left hand mashed against Shinichi's face. "If I swallow one," he repeats, "would it affect my brain?"

The question makes Shinichi so perplexed he stops flailing. "Wh–no? It doesn't work that way." And thank God for that. He doesn't want to think about the way things would have gone if the APTX reverted the mind back to its seven year old's state as well as the body, like KID seems to assume. He frowns, half-amusedly. Did KID think he'd been some kind of child genius? That he'd been thinking like an actual, albeit smart, seven-year old? "The compound doesn't touch your intellect. Or memories, for that matter."

"Huh."

"Now give it back," Shinichi demands, holding his hand out. He's having separation anxiety with the damn thing, and he has a feeling he'd be paranoid until the moment he hands the pills over to Haibara. "You'd probably die anyway, if you take one. Chances are against you."

KID looks up at him, seemingly perturbed. "Death is a potential side effect?"

"Death is the intended purpose," Shinichi grumbles, snatching the bottle back. "The, er, other thing, is the potential side effect."

KID falls quiet.

Shinichi's surprised he didn't know the specifics around the toxin, but it makes sense. The thief had figured his identity out but they'd never actually talked about the what and the how , because KID doesn't ask nosey questions. It's something Shinichi likes about him. He'd said, "I need help stealing a dead man's medication," and KID had met him with, "where?"

But he also finds that he doesn't mind answering his questions, in the rare occasions he does ask.

It's just KID.

"Is that really necessary?" the thief inquires when Shinichi takes out the orange ibuprofen bottle he'd swiped from the Professor and starts swapping out the pills. He'd crouched in front of him, watching thoughtfully.

"They'd notice if it was gone."

"The police? No, they wouldn't. I doubt inventory checks entail counting each pill of this random dead guy."

"Not them," Shinichi mumbles, and then promptly busies himself with peeling the gloves off his fingers to stop his mind from spiraling as it always did whenever he thought of the black syndicate and the constant, looming threat they posed. Difficult feat, lately, in light of recent developments that had exposed exactly how widespread the crows were and how deep this thing ran. Shinichi had known that, in theory, had never let his optimism lead to underestimation, but there's knowing and there's knowing, and the latter brought in its own share of night terrors and forgotten dreams that left a bitter taste in his throat.

He fails at not spiraling, clearly, because he doesn't notice KID standing up until an extended hand pops up under his nose.

Shinichi stares at it for a second, before looking up at KID. He's not smiling, but even though half his face is obscured by a baseball cap, there's something relaxed to his expression as he says, "C'mon, let's get out of here."

"Yeah," Shinichi replies after a beat, and takes his hand.

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On their way down, the elevator doors slide open somewhere between the tenth and seventh floor and a disheveled, tired-looking woman steps in, still crammed in her KID task force gear. She takes one look at KID and drops her slows blinks in favour of a delighted grin. "Kuroba! Wow, long time no see. What're you doing here?"

Shinichi stills.

and

slowly

turns to look at KID.

"Momo-chan! How did the heist go?"

He wouldn't suspect a damn thing, if he didn't have a grasp on what's happening, but he knows how utterly fucked Kuroba (?) must feel right now, knows what to look for—and yeah, both KID's friendly smile and his posture, hands buried deep in his pockets, had a subtle crisp edge to them—or maybe he's imagining it? The thief's good.

Little moments.

"Deemed shortest KID heist so far," the woman, Momo, sighs. "Still terrible for us, no doubt, no doubt, but it happened, like, so fast, like four minutes, I'm not even kidding. In and out. We lost the rock."

KID lets out an impressed whistle. "That's KID-sama for you. The Inspector must be fuming."

"Is that why you're here?" she frowns disapprovingly. "Don't worry about him, he's a grown man. You should be in bed! It's a school night, you know."

Shinichi coughs to cover his laugh and looks the other side when KID glares in his direction.

The gesture effectively catches Momo's attention, who first blinks at his sweater and then at him. "Friend of yours?"

"Right, yeah, sorry. Momo-chan, Kudou Shinichi. We're friends. Feel free to ignore the leopard print, I'm planning to burn it first chance I get, don't worry, I'm on it."

Momo chuckles as Shinichi rolls his eyes—he's done that a lot, tonight. "Is the Inspector okay?" he asks.

"Sure," she shrugs. "It's just that we all expected KID to, like, immediately return the gem, right? Like he usually does on full moons. But he didn't though, for some reason, so Inspector Nakamori spent half an hour fighting with the curator trying to convince him that they'll get it back eventually. Which, they will. And then he was moping in his office doing insurance paperwork. You missed him, though, he went home ten minutes ago, like you should be doing," she adds, shooting a pointed look at KID.

"Probably frustrated he got beaten in under four minutes," KID says, ignoring her last remark. "That has to be a record, right?"

"Whatever," she sulks. "We'll get him next time!"

"That's the spirit," KID agrees.

Shinichi pauses, frowns at the weird sensation of déjà-vu that hazily washes over him, but then the elevator's dinging open on the third floor and he snaps out of it.

"I'm gonna go get changed," Momo says, backing out as she gives Shinichi a warm smile. "It was nice to meet you, Kudou-kun." She shoots a stern glare and a pointed finger at KID. "Kuroba Kaito, you better go home, young man, and no detours!"

Shinichi winces.

He doesn't chance a glance at KID until the chrome doors slide completely shut, and even then, gaze jumping from the ceiling to somewhere on his left— not his right, where KID fell dead silent after the sheepish laugh he'd given Momo. Shinichi had expected the thief to be all over him the second the doors closed, talking himself out of the corner he'd been backed into with threats or blackmail or something. He hadn't expected the silence. He doesn't know what the silence means—an invitation to break the ice, perhaps, a tensed wait for his reaction, maybe KID's having a genuine holy fuck moment. All of the above, most likely.

Shinichi has no intention of weaponizing the new information, but he doesn't know how to express that in a way that would convey exactly what he wants to say.

He looks over at KID before he can overthink it.

What comes out, with a quirked eyebrow, is, "KID-sama?"

"Yes, my son?" KID replies without missing a beat, lifting his head from where he'd been looking down.

Shinichi sputters, red filling his cheeks. "I wasn't calling—you're the one who referred to yourself as—nevermind," he scowls when KID confirms that he's just fucking with him with a smirk. "Forget it."

He laughs. "Are you pouting? People think I'm a Kaitou KID fan. It's a good cover, since I'm always defending myself against them haters," he explains, throwing up a reverse peace sign.

Shinichi hums. He doesn't want to think about and extrapolate from the conversation with Momo, but making deductions is an automatic process at this point and his brain runs them faster than he can process. "So it's not an occasional thing, then. You hang around the Inspector quite often. Keep your enemies closer, I guess."

KID snorts. "I got enemies, it's not these guys. I'm fond of them."

"And they, of you, apparently," Shinichi points out, soft disbelief in his voice.

"What, having trouble picturing a phantom like me living a normal life?"

"Not really," Shinichi says, and means it: KID has felt nothing but real, tonight.

Not just tonight, actually, now that Shinichi thinks about it. Even with the lack of a name, he's never had a problem picturing KID doing something as ordinary as laughing himself to tears or burning his tongue with hot noodles or being scolded by an adult for staying out late on a school night. Outside of his performances—where he feels surreal to the point of intangible—KID's this figure of wit and talent and dimension, whether he's playing with a goat in Sakushima or getting kicked in the face by Sera or complaining to him through the phone about Bourbon.

KID doesn't get it. "Well," he shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. "I guess that won't be too difficult to imagine, since you know my name now and all."

ding

"I don't know what you're talking about," Shinichi replies and then walks out.

He keeps walking even when KID doesn't immediately follow, a smirk stretching the corner of his lips at the sound of shuffling feet behind him.

Night air and autumnal wind whistle through his hair as he spills out the building and onto the sidewalk. The car is parked a street away; that's an eight minute walk and Shinichi wonders if it's going to be a quiet one.

That's, obviously, when KID decides to stop hovering behind. "I think I really like you, Detective," he says blithely, falling back into steps with him. "You keep surprising me."

Ha. "Coming from you."

KID beams triumphantly, hands crossed behind his head. "I bet you don't regret passing up on that overrated friend thief of yours."

"Actually, Lupin does live up to his reputation," Shinichi replies, biting back a smile. KID's jealous reaction earlier had been funny. "He's kind of incredible."

Instead of an indignant scoff, he gets a huffed, "Please. Come to my heists, I'll show you incredible."

Shinichi snorts, amused.

"For real, though," KID adds, voice toned down to something more serious. Shinichi shoots him a curious side glance and does a double-take when he sees the thief looking at him with excitement in his eyes, head tilted back onto his hands. "You should come. More often. I meant what I said, about how good you are. That little display of skill back at the museum—did you hear what Momo said? Four minutes, that was all you."

Shinichi brushes the compliment off like lint on black clothing, with frustrated annoyance. "It wasn't fair play."

"But it will be next time, right?" KID chirps, and he really shouldn't be going around forgiving people that caused him harm so easily. When Shinichi tells him just that, he shrugs it off. "I've forgiven worse. Besides, what you did—you used a prop, right? That's not so different from my sleeping gas."

Shinichi ponders that as he leaves KID's side to round the car.

It's still not okay, and he's still going to have words with the Professor, but, while it doesn't exactly quash the shitty feeling in his chest, it subdues it, just a little.

"Hey," he calls out, and KID peers at him over the car roof. "I might take you up on your offer, come to your..." he begins, figures he's not being clear at all, and adds, "As, er, me." A fair showdown with KID in his original body, while thrilling to consider, is not worth the risk of building up resistance to the antidote—he'd started with twenty-four hours the first intake, he's down to five—but he has a bottle full of APTX samples in his pocket and the kind of anticipation-filled hope that comes hand-in-hand with the sight of blinding light at the end of a tunnel. For the first time in a year, he's feeling confident enough to make a promise. "Soon."

A Cheshire grin stretches KID's lips. "I'll keep an eye out for you, then." He points down at the passenger door. "Lemme in."

Shinichi fumbles in his pockets for the keys. "Stop pulling the handle for a sec."

"Lemme innnnnn!"

"You're a child," he rolls his eyes, unlocking the car.

He's fully expecting a smug comeback, something along the lines of bit ironic dontcha think mmMMh or no, tantei-kun, that's you but KID just flips him off over the roof as he gets in the car.

Shinichi follows suit. He doesn't immediately turn the engine on, easing back into his seat instead with a sigh. "Am I dropping you off?"

"Sure, and then I'll just give you my social security number, why not?"

"Well, what do you wanna do?" Shinichi asks, glancing down at his phone. A little before 3AM. "The last train left ages ago."

There's an absent-minded hum to his right, and he looks up just in time to see KID fiddling with something Shinichi had last seen on the floor of a bathroom stall.

"You took that with you?" he scowls, half at the thief, half at himself for not making that connection sooner, when the task force agent had complained about it. "I thought I said—"

"I don't care what you said," KID snorts. "Besides, it's fitting." He brings the bright sapphire up to eye-level between them. It's a small thing, fifty million yen that fit between his thumb and middle finger. "You know what these meant, in the Middles Ages?"

He doesn't have to fish far in the obscure trivia part of his brain to reply. "Vatican elite wore them on their rings, as they believed sapphires symbolized—"

"Purity of purpose."

Shinichi blinks up into indigo eyes watching him intently. "Fitting," he agrees.

For the both of them? is left unasked.

"Right?" KID smiles. "Here, the moon is on your side. Check it for me."

Their fingers brush, linger for a second, before Shinichi holds the jewel up the same way he'd seen KID do, on multiple occasions. "What am I looking for?"

He starts to understand why: the stone is way more impressive under natural moonlight than electrical washroom lighting. It's stunning, with its intricate details enhanced like this. Shinichi takes in the perfect symmetry in the way it's been carefully cut, the different hues of sparkling blues dancing around the central, flaring glow of blood red. It's a pretty surprise.

"A light trick, you think?" He squints. "Or, wait. A smaller gem inside?"

"What?"

KID's gaze snaps to the gem.

Shinichi shrugs, handing it back to the thief. "Either way—impressive, considering it dates back to the feudal era. She must've been a favorite, I gue–woah, hey," he starts when he suddenly finds himself with KID half over his lap.

His arm instinctively shoots up to curl around KID's chest, stopping him from toppling face-first into the driver's window.

The slivers of moonlight streaming into the car turn scarlet again, but Shinichi's more focused on the close view he's getting of KID's face beneath the hoodie and the cap and the bangs, his haunted look as he holds the gem up to the moon and red light flashes over his features. "Holy shit," KID murmurs, the hand that's digging into Shinichi's right thigh clenching around the denim. "Holy shit."

Oh.

"Seems like we both got to cross something off our to-do list, tonight," Shinichi smiles, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

KID huffs out a short laugh, bafflement and elation mixed in one breath, and then a second. It's hard not to be happy for the stupid thief, when he turns to look at him like that.

"Kudou," he says, a bit shakily, "what the fuck."

Right before he lunges for him and that's all it takes for them to be kissing.

Shinichi stills, eyes open, but not wide.

It takes only a couple seconds for him to decide, what the hell, and melt into the kiss, eyelids fluttering shut. KID feels that moment, too, shifts to fully straddle his lap. Shinichi registers the faint thud of the stone falling onto carpeted floor, the way his neck tucks back into the crook of KID's elbow when he tilts his head, the fingers through his hair, not raking but just. there.

This isn't how he pictured his first kiss.

He'd imagined it proper, soft and slow; he'd imagined it spontaneous in a hotel corridor wearing matching tracksuits, meticulously planned outside a Kyoto temple standing in a pool of dead orange leaves and their friends teasing them after, a speck on the lips on the train back between two hushed sentences as his fingers run through long, silky hair and a hand calloused from breaking boards cradles his cheek; he'd been sure it would be timid and awkward as Ran and him both try to figure it out.

But the real thing is nothing like that. The real thing is neither soft nor clumsy—except, maybe, on Shinichi's part, but it doesn't even seem to matter. "Move your mouth," KID instructs without pulling away, voice a breathless sough between two kisses. Fingers ghost over his jawline, tilt his chin up. "Here."

He slows down and Shinichi mirrors his movement, tentatively at first, with a frown of concentration. Hands he remembers when he starts getting the hang of it, they're hovering.

He settles an arm around KID's waist, right hand around the back of a white-clad thigh. They're pressed together so tightly, but KID doesn't ever seem satisfied, moving against him with the same rhythm his lips capture Shinichi's, again and again and again.

Shinichi doesn't know how, didn't know he had it in him, but he manages the same fervor, matches the hunger and then some more. He dredges up a year worth of bottled up frustration and repressed anger and puts it all into kissing Kaitou KID back.

Why not? It's not like he'll get the other one.

The grip around him tightens and KID sighs a breathless fuck against his mouth that turns into a moan and a tongue pressing to the seam of his lips, working them open, slow. And Shinichi's heart, he hadn't noticed, it's beating a fucking bruise into his ribcage—

badum

"...Kudou?" KID whispers, having felt him freeze into the kiss.

He draws back a little, their lips coming apart with a loud pop that the silence swallows.

Shinichi stares back with wide eyes and lips parted open, immobile as he tries to determine if he'd only imagined the—

"Kudou!" KID startles when he doubles over at the second, painfully familiar pang and takes a nosedive straight into the thief's shoulder. "Shit, these are withdrawal symptoms, right?"

"I'm not a fucking addict," Shinichi hisses, words muffled by sweatshirt fleece. "I'm transforming back."

"Into–what?" KID asks, genuine distress in his voice.

Hands manhandle him into a sitting position and Shinichi pants back into the car seat. The third pulsation clutches a tight fist around his throat and stomps on his chest, knocking the air out of him even as he registers, faintly, the weight on his lap vanishing. KID crawling over the gear shift and into the passenger seat. His pockets getting rummaged through.

Vivid panic steals a heartbeat and he reaches out to grip KID's wrist before he could draw it back. "Don't–tha's mine–"

"Is this it?" The pill bottle gets dangled in front of his face. "Is this what you need? Kudou, hey, stay with me. Do you need me to–"

"Switch seats with me," Shinichi cuts off. He closes his eyes, just for a second, the sticky feeling of sweat-drenched bangs against his forehead enough to cause a bout of dizziness that clears as soon as it comes, leaving him hyper aware of his escalating fever. He tilts his head back against the seat with a shaky sigh, rolls it around to look at KID through half-lidded eyes. "Come on, move."

"Right, ok. Hold on."

The sound of a car door that clicks open and slams shut, then he's alone, nails digging into the steering wheel leather.

It hurts all over, but the sting in his eyes still manages to stand out. Shinichi digs his face in his forearm and thinks, it'll pass, and then all thoughts blend into a mix of heat and pain and he burns—

He doesn't scream when it happens; he sobs. A small, ugly sound that tears into his throat and drowns in the folds of his sleeve.

It hurts all over.

.

.

The driver's door clicks open, but he's too busy frowning down at his oversized clothes with newly dried eyes to bother paying any attention to KID as he slips into the empty seat.

It isn't until the silence wells up into deafening, and why hasn't that idiot cracked one of his jokes already? that he looks up and dives into stunned indigo.

KID is staring at him.

Conan scowls back as he finishes rolling his sleeves up. "What?"