Kaito lay on his back, staring up at the faded white paint on his ceiling through the murky darkness. He was looking so hard that he could almost distinguish the shallow lines of the paint strokes with the concentration he was putting in.
However, he wasn't quite registering it, being far too occupied with the army of thoughts running laps around in his head. And Edogawa Conan was present in almost all of those thoughts.
First off, he still hadn't resigned himself to believing in Conan's story. The two conflicting ideas that the the story was almost too simple yet still realistic were recycling through his his mind like a broken record, refusing to take a break.
And secondly, that familiarity that the kid seemed to own. It was like Kaito had seen him in a crowd, vowed not to forget his face, and then forgotten it. It was that kind of out-of-reach almost remembrance, there one moment and gone the next.
The third thought was less centered on Conan. He had his next heist tomorrow, but what if the kid hadn't left by the time he needed to leave? Even if Kaito forced himself to believe Conan, he could still tell Conan was much, much smarter than your average six-year-old. It wouldn't take him long to chisel away at the mystery of Kid's identity and end up with a perfect depiction of one Kuroba Kaito.
Kaito turned onto his side, his eyes latching onto the wall. Well, he had time to think about it.
To foreverandeveralone: Me too XD. I'm kind of regretting this ficlet thing.