Hello hello! I know it's been a while since I posted, and that's because I've been busy writing this fic, which is over 46k words when complete, making it the longest thing I've ever written. :D

I've decided to split it into chunks, firstly to buy myself time to do a little more editing to the latter parts and secondly because it's a murder mystery and it'll be fun to see your theories and ideas about the case as things progress.

This fic contains shounen-ai, grammar mistakes / possible plot holes because I'm not accustomed to writing anything longer than 12k words and/or things that have an actual plot as well as semi-graphic depictions of murder, violence, and corpses, though nothing worse than what you can find in canon. I'm planning to update weekly if my schedule allows.

Enjoy! - Luna

day one.

The train station was violent with activity, the air heavy and tainted by the inexorable panic that rush hour never failed to induce. Shinichi dodged a harried-looking woman clutching at a macchiato as if it were her lifeblood and swiped through the gates as efficiently as he could while carrying his briefcase and a croissant. Not efficiently enough, judging from the irritated huff from the salaryman behind him.

Yawning widely, Shinichi stumbled towards his platform. Maybe staying up late last night for that Detective Samonji rerun had been a mistake. He crammed the croissant into his mouth, walked a few steps, realized the croissant was smothering him, and yanked it back out, yet again to the disgust of the salaryman, who was apparently also headed for the Touto line, judging by the way he was following at Shinichi's heels and muttering snide remarks about professionalism to himself.

Shinichi sighed.

He was standing behind the yellow line, halfway through his croissant, when his phone trilled in his pocket. It took some maneuvering, but Shinichi managed to wedge his briefcase under one arm and work his phone out of his pocket. It was Megure, apparently. Shinichi wrestled with his croissant for a moment longer before he hit the answer button.

"Hello, Inspector?" he said. The salaryman was now glaring darkly at him.

"Young people and their phones these days," he muttered, giving Shinichi a dark and nearly murderous look. Shinichi squinted at him.

"You're, like, twenty-four."

"Whatever." The salaryman sniffed and turned away.

"Kudou-kun?" Megure was saying when Shinichi turned his attention back to his phone. "Kudou-kun, is this a bad time?"

"Well, I'm at the station, about to get on my train," Shinichi told him just as the train pulled into the station, slowing a stop with a metallic screech and a pneumatic sigh. Around him, people began pouring into the car as if it were the last train out of hell, employing vicious use of their elbows to do so. In the distance, there was the sound of breaking glass. Someone screamed. All in all, a normal Tokyo rush hour.

"You're on the way to work? Don't get on," Shinichi heard Megure say urgently beneath the assorted noises of mayhem. He cradled his phone closer to his head, tipping his head to press his free ear into his shoulder. A man in a season-defying trench coat hurtled past him in a last-ditch effort to fit on the train, knocking the remains of Shinichi's croissant out of his hand as he went. Shinichi stared down at where the croissant had landed with an unimpressive soggy sound and thought morosely that it had to be some kind of metaphor for his life.

"Okay, it might be nice to know why I just missed my train," he said, holding back a sigh. He glanced into the depths of the car as the doors creaked jarringly shut and the train lurched rheumatically into motion. From behind a wall of people, the salaryman was glowering at him, looking a little as if he wished he'd pushed Shinichi onto the train tracks when he'd had the chance. Well. Maybe Shinichi didn't mind taking another train.

"Oh, good," Megure replied, at which Shinichi felt his face do something conflicted. It smoothed, though, when Megure added, "You'll have to take a different line, anyway. I need you in Ekoda as soon as possible." Shinichi felt his eyebrows lift.

"Ekoda? Isn't that kind of out of the way?" he asked into the phone even as he turned and made his way towards the nearest map of the train lines. Ekoda was about five stops away if he took the Sakaimachi line. "What case am I being put on?" At that, Megure heaved a sigh.

"You remember the case Hakuba-kun is working?"

Hakuba was an assistant inspector from the same department as Shinichi. Shinichi had a pretty good opinion of him, because they'd first met at a Sherlock Holmes convention a few years back and Hakuba's cosplay had been spot-on. His father was the superintendent general of the police force, which meant Hakuba insisted on holding a rank lower than inspector to avoid accusations of nepotism. (They happened anyway.) He was a little weird sometimes, and he had a punchable face made even more punchable by the fact that his natural state of being was patronizing arrogance, but Shinichi liked him well enough anyway.

"Uh," began Shinichi, trying to remember. The last he'd heard from Hakuba, Hakuba had been in the throes of an arson-murder case, but that had been at least two weeks ago. "No, I can't say that I do."

"Oh," Megure said. "In that case, how much do you know about Kuroba Kaito?"

"Kuroba Kaito?" Shinichi tried to figure out where he'd heard the name before, starting towards the Sakaimachi platform at a hurried jog. As if summoned into existence by his thoughts, a brightly saturated movie poster caught his eye as he turned a corner. It advertised some kind of action-filled thriller—complete with contrived romantic subplot, it seemed, judging from the gun-wielding actress wrapped up in the leading actor's muscled arms. Kuroba Kaito's arms, to be more exact. Shinichi frowned and ran a little faster.

"Are we talking about Kuroba Kaito, the actor?" Shinichi didn't watch many movies, other than the rom-coms that Ran insisted were a necessary part of his pop culture education and the made-for-TV Detective Samonji specials that aired every Golden Week, but even he knew who Kuroba Kaito was. Besides having the kind of charm that inspired sonnets, Kuroba Kaito was an actor of the highest caliber who'd been nominated for (and presumably won) a few Academy Awards and Golden Globes in the last several years of his career. Shinichi wondered when he'd gotten caught up in a police investigation.

"Magician and actor," Megure corrected. There was the sound of shuffling papers in the background. "But yes, it's that Kuroba Kaito."

"I wasn't aware Hakuba was working on a case that involved him," Shinichi remarked as the Sakaimachi train announced itself with a crescendo of rumbling.

"Apparently they were high school classmates or something. I'm not sure. I think there was some drama with Hakuba-kun's wife and Kuroba-san." Megure sounded vaguely uncomfortable, which Shinichi assumed was because he didn't want to think too hard about his subordinate's love life. "But anyway, Hakuba-kun was assigned to the case because of his connection to Kuroba-san. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the wrong idea, because Hakuba-kun is now claiming that unless he's taken off the case, he's going to 'snap and eviscerate Kuroba-kun himself.'" Megure paused. "That's a direct quote."

"I see," Shinichi said after a moment, stepping onto the train. It was marginally less crowded—the Sakaimachi line must not have been as popular as the Touto. He hugged his briefcase closer to himself as a petite girl wearing headphones crowded him into the far set of doors. "In that case, I'm fine taking over for him."

"Great." Megure sighed, sounding relieved. He probably thought that having to arrest the superintendent general's son for murder would be bad form. "Call me back when you get to Ekoda. I'll tell you where to go."

The Nichiuri television station was an elegant, newly remodeled building, composed in glass, pale whites, and hints of chrome with a sleekly geometric design that was strangely satisfying to look at. Shinichi hurried up the front walk, flanked on either side by intensely rectangular hedges, before he reached the floor-to-ceiling glass front door.

The lobby was almost empty, the receptionist's desk lonely and abandoned, the circular armchairs uninhabited. Shinichi glanced around—Megure had assured him that someone would meet him in the lobby—before a woman dressed like a Michael Kors advert, leafing through a leather-bound book in a far corner, glanced up and caught his eye. Her expression turned slightly quizzical before she flipped the book shut, tucked it under one arm, and clacked over in her five-inch heels.

"Are you the new police officer?" she asked without pretense once she had come to a stop in front of him. Her eyes scanned Shinichi up and down in a clinically unimpressed way that made Shinichi suddenly insecure. He struggled with the urge to cross his arms over his chest and instead gave her a polite smile.

"Yes, I'm Inspector Kudou Shinichi of the homicide division," he announced and managed to extricate his badge from his pocket with as little fumbling as possible. The woman peered at his badge with wariness before she nodded, the tension around her eyes easing. Her skin was so clear it looked photoshopped.

"Motoyama Miho, Kuroba-san's manager," she introduced herself, offering him a perfunctory handshake before she turned on one stiletto heel with a grace that Shinichi would've thought impossible when wearing a skirt that form-fitting. "Kuroba-san is just getting ready to shoot a segment for Heartline—that's the drama's he's currently starring in; you've probably heard of it—but I believe we have just enough time to fit in some introductions before he's called on set." She was walking so briskly that Shinichi had to half-jog not to lose sight of her in the labyrinth of corridors, and she spared Shinichi barely half a glance as she whipped around a corner like a Ferrari drifting around the bend of a racetrack. "When Inspector Megure called earlier, he said that you hadn't yet been briefed. Inspector Hakuba left all relevant case files when he left yesterday—accidentally, I'm sure, but you can use them to catch up."

"Right," Shinichi agreed, trying not to sound overtly out of breath. Miho came to a sudden stop outside an unmarked door, and Shinichi nearly hurtled straight into her. He managed to pull back just as his nose brushed the bottom of her bun.

Miho didn't seem to notice. She cleared her throat and knocked on the doorjamb.

"Kuroba-san? I brought the inspector with me," she called before she opened the door and stepped inside. Shinichi edged in behind her, glancing around the room. It was spacious, with high ceilings and a fresh-paint gleam to the walls. Along one side of the room was a LED-lined counter paired with several chairs; along the other were racks of clothes, which appeared to have been sorted by someone Shinichi suspected was at least partly colorblind. Some invisible sound system was spilling out relaxing, uplifting music.

From within the racks, a voice came floating out, accompanied by rustling.

"I told you, Miho, another day with Hakuba and I will actually off myself before the killer does."

"Kuroba-san," Miho said, frowning, but it was then that Kuroba Kaito emerged from the racks.

Shinichi had seen him in movies and TV shows before (once, memorably, he had played the murderer in a Detective Samonji special), but that had always been with a camera and miles between them. Now, with nothing separating them but a scant few feet, Kuroba Kaito looked every part the movie star. His hair was a wild mass on top of his head, and he had on jeans that had seen better days (and, from the looks of them, better years as well) and he was rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. His face was basically perfect. Shinichi goggled.

Kuroba Kaito had been wearing a scowl when he first came out—in preparation to see Hakuba, Shinichi assumed—but when his gaze landed on Shinichi, his mouth went slack as he stared, eyebrows creeping upwards. Shinichi, a touch hysterically, wondered if there was something on his face and nobody had bothered to tell him.

"Well," Kuroba Kaito said after a moment, swallowing. His eyes were wide. "You're certainly not Hakuba."

"And you're not wrong," Shinichi agreed, trying on a smile. Kuroba continued to look at him as if he'd never seen another human before. Trying not to seem too bewildered, Shinichi extended a hand. "Inspector Kudou Shinichi of the homicide division. I'm taking over for Officer Hakuba."

Kuroba blinked, then shook himself. He put on a grin that did something strange to Shinichi's chest before he reached out with a fist. Shinichi stared. He was about to comment that that wasn't quite the usual handshake etiquette when Kuroba did something too fast to track with his fingers and, suddenly, he was holding a lavender rose.

"For you, Inspector," said Kuroba, and gestured for Shinichi to take it. Torn between confusion and surprise, Shinichi reached out and took it. The stem was thornless, clipped smooth. The color was faint at the tips of the petals, but bled into a dark, rich purple near the stem. Shinichi had never seen anything like it.

"Thank you, Kuroba-san," he managed after he spent a minute examining the rose, glancing up at Kuroba. Kuroba, who was wearing a hopeful smile as he watched, beamed at him.

"Oh, you can call me Kaito," he grinned. "Really, it's fine."

Before Shinichi could so much as open his mouth, the door behind them flew open. A young woman with a great deal of pink hair piled up on her head and her own perfume-laden troposphere came running in, lugging a bag that emitted suspicious clinks and thumps as she dragged it behind her.

"Kai-chan, I'm sorry I'm late!" she called as she tripped past Shinichi, headed for the vanity. Kuroba—Kaito, Shinichi supposed, and felt a little weird that he was abruptly on first-name basis with someone he'd mostly seen plastered across billboards up until now—sighed and gave Shinichi an apologetic look.

"Sorry, that's my makeup artist. I have to be on set in a little while," he told Shinichi. He smiled again, though, bright and cheerful, before he sauntered over to the vanity where the pink-haired girl was now assembling a complicated collection of cosmetics on the counter.

"Well," Miho commented from behind Shinichi, startling him. He'd forgotten she was there. "It looks like Kuroba-san likes you." She smiled wryly.

"Huh?" Shinichi said, displaying the amazing intellect that had gotten him to the rank of inspector at the age of twenty-six. Miho nodded at the rose he was still clutching before she drew herself up.

"I'll go locate the case files for you. Until then, you can keep Kuroba-san and Watanabe-san company." She nodded at where Kaito was now being slathered with foundation, gave him a last vague smile, and exited the room at a military-perfect, ankle-breaking pace.

Shinichi stood there, lost, before he snapped the stem off the rose and tucked the bloom into his buttonhole. When he made his way over to Kaito, Kaito took one look at him and started to beam, despite that his makeup artist made an annoyed noise and told him to "close your damn mouth, Kai-chan, or everything's gonna crease."

"I take it you like the rose," Kaito remarked. He was fishing for compliments so blatantly that only a literal fishing rod would've made it any more obvious. Vaguely unnerved, Shinichi gave him a narrow-eyed look.

"I wouldn't be wearing it if I didn't," he pointed out. Kaito looked at him with admiration. Shinichi wondered what he had done to deserve it.

The makeup artist, who had been shooting Shinichi inquisitive looks as she painted foundation across Kaito's cheekbones, finally gave in to curiosity.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Kai-chan?" she asked, pointed. Kaito rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sharing him with you, Himaricchi. You always try to steal the—" He cut himself off, glancing at Shinichi in a way that was likely intended to be furtive but came off as vaguely embarrassed. Shinichi watched, bemused. "You know."

"Ugh, Kai-chan, you're so mean! I'm not like that at all." The makeup artist pinched his nose with her half-inch nails, making Kaito squeak in pain, before she shook her head in disgust and turned to smile at Shinichi. Her eyelids were sparkly with some kind of fine glitter that blinded Shinichi if it caught the light at a bad angle. She stuck out one hand, smiling widely at him. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm Watanabe Himari."

"Inspector Kudou Shinichi." Shinichi shook her hand and released it as quickly as possible. She had on some kind of cream that made her palms slimy. "I'm taking over the investigation for Officer Hakuba."

"Thank God," Himari muttered as she set down her brush and picked up another. "That man was the worst." She cast a sly look at him, which made Kaito elbow her for some reason. "I'm sure you're nothing like him."

Shinichi elected not to mention that they were friends with similar interests. It didn't seem like the time.

With a sigh, he set his briefcase down beside a small mountain of powder compacts and leaned against the counter. He cleared his throat.

"I hate to ask this, but what can you tell me about the case? I've only been briefly, uh, briefed." Kaito smirked, which was—distracting. Shinichi soldiered on. "I know it's something about a few of your fans turning up…?" Turning up murdered was what he wanted to say, but by the way Kaito's face darkened the moment he spoke, he decided against it.

"Yeah." Kaito tilted his head back and closed his eyes so Himari could get at his eyelids with the brush she was holding. "There have been two so far. Sawada Yumi and Nishimura Mayuko. The only link between them is that they were both huge fans of mine. And the places they were found." He cleared his throat, cracking one eye open to look at Shinichi. "I remember seeing them at events and things, years back when I was just starting out. They were always so excited to be there." The line of his throat swelled as he swallowed. "I can't imagine why anyone would want them dead."

"Oh, Kai-chan, don't start crying. I didn't use waterproof mascara," Himari said with a wince as Kaito blinked rapidly and looked away. Shinichi, inspecting Kaito's eyelashes for purely professional reasons, didn't see why Kaito would even need mascara.

"I won't cry, Himaricchi," mumbled Kaito, though his eyes did look shiny before he composed himself. He tossed Shinichi a brittle smile. Shinichi was starting to see that there was a large range when it came to Kaito's expressions. "Sorry."

"You're fine," Shinichi murmured after a pause. Kaito angled a look at him as he sat up so Himari could get at his hair. Shinichi shrugged and lifted his eyebrows. "If you were completely unconcerned with the fact that people were dying because of you, I'd be more worried. So. Congratulations on proving that you're not a sociopath, I guess."

Kaito gave a strangled-sounding laugh.

"Inspector, you're too kind," he said, smiling faintly. Shinichi shrugged and ducked his head so Kaito wouldn't see that he was trying not to laugh.

"Oddly enough, I've never gotten that before. Mostly I get 'emotionally insensitive.'"

"You're that, too," Kaito acknowledged, shaking his head a little before Himari finished with his hair. Shinichi was mostly just glad that he wasn't on the brink of tears anymore.

"I think I can wait until Motoyama-san gets back with the files to hear more about the case," he decided, catching a raised eyebrow from Kaito. Shinichi grinned. "This is me trying to be emotionally sensitive. But also for the sake of your mascara, of course."

"Ah." Kaito nodded. His mouth curved into the kind of smirk that probably landed him in the upper halves of all the World's Sexiest Men lists. "Like I said. Too kind." Shinichi shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

"You're all good," Himari announced, taking a step back to admire her handiwork. Kaito stretched. He looked mostly the same, although his hair now resembled intentional bedhead, now, more than the efforts of a bird particularly unskilled in nest-making. Shinichi eyed the half-empty bottle of gel on the counter. He was pretty sure that had been full when he'd first sat down.

"I've got to be on set in about ten minutes," said Kaito after a moment of checking the clock on the opposite wall. He crossed his legs and leaned forward. Shinichi caught the scent of warm citrus and wondered what cologne he wore. Something a little spicy. "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Inspector? Since we'll be seeing so much of each other now."

"Will we, now?" Shinichi arched an eyebrow at Kaito's angelic expression, which didn't so much as flicker, even under the considerable force of Shinichi's glare. "Like I said, I'm Inspector Kudou Shinichi of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Force." Kaito looked expectant. Shinichi frowned. "I…like mysteries?" One of Kaito's eyebrows lifted. Shinichi tried again. "I'm a Detective Samonji fan?"

Kaito did something that would be considered a pout on anyone else.

"You're terrible at this, Inspector," he sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose (Himari squawked, "Concealer!" with an affronted glare from where she was cleaning up the cosmetics). "At least pretend that you watch my shows instead of Suzuhara's."

Shinichi blinked. If he wasn't mistaken, Kaito was referring to Suzuhara Akio, who played the latest iteration of Samonji, after Kenzaki Osamu left the show to pursue bigger and better roles. Personally, Shinichi found Suzuhara to be the inferior Samonji, but judging from how Kaito was glowering, he decided not to mention that.

"You know Suzuhara Akio?" he asked, trying not to smile at the way Kaito scowled even harder. "Could you introduce me? I'm such a huge fan, after all." The look on Kaito's face was a mix between horrified and pained until Shinichi snickered and it transformed into a full-blown sulk. Shinichi wondered if it was bad that he thought it was a little bit cute.

"I really thought you were serious," Kaito muttered, crossing his arms. "He's actually here, you know. At the station, I mean."

"Who?" For a surreal moment, Shinichi almost thought he was referring to Samonji before his brain caught up. "Oh, Suzuhara Akio?"

"Yeah. He plays my character's best friend in Heartline." Kaito smiled, suddenly looking pleased with himself and the world in general. "Which you would've known if you were actually a big fan of him."

"I can't fault your deductive reasoning there, Kaito-san," Shinichi admitted with a shrug. Kaito looked inordinately smug at the appellation, a fact that made Shinichi roll his eyes. "But anyway. You wanted to know more about me, other than my apparently traitorous TV preferences? What, then?"

"Your age, for one," Kaito suggested. He tilted his head against one shoulder, peering at Shinichi through his hair. "Your blood type. If you're single." His grin sharpened. "And if you are, what kind of person you like."

"I'm twenty-seven, and my blood type is A. I'm not currently in a relationship," Shinichi began hesitantly when Kaito beamed eagerly at him. In an attempt to stall for time—how was he supposed to answer a question like what his type was?—he narrowed his eyes. "And what do you mean, what kind of person I like?"

Before Kaito could answer, there was a knock on the door. Miho appeared in the doorway, a heavy-looking bag slung over one shoulder and a tray of mismatched ceramic mugs held in front of her.

"I thought you might want something to drink," she said with a slight smile. Kaito grinned.

"Miho really is the best manager I've ever had," he remarked as Miho stopped to pass a mug to Himari, who smiled at her before wandering out of the room with the cup in hand. His smile turned faintly nostalgic, as if reminded of mildly traumatic memories. "I used to be managed by the agency owner, and he was the worst."

"He forgot Kuroba-san's name once," Miho sniffed, handing Kaito a mug painted with smiling cats, complete with a tiny ceramic cat balanced on the top handle. Shinichi blinked at the incongruous image of Kaito drinking from it before he looked up at Miho.

"How'd he manage that?"

"It was back when I went by KID. That was back in my early stage magician days before I really debuted as an actor," Kaito chimed in. He wiggled his eyebrows at Shinichi over the rim of his mug. "Honestly, the only good thing that guy ever did was hire Miho to oversee me."

"How sweet of you," said Miho dryly before she paused to set down the tray on the counter, the remaining cup perfectly steady as she did, and reached into her bag to pull out a two-inch thick stack of files. "Here are the case reports, Inspector Kudou." Turning and leaning against the counter, she gestured at the last mug, which was patterned with bold green chevrons that hurt Shinichi's eyes to look at. "Would you like something to drink?" Shinichi looked inside. It appeared to be full of steaming black tea.

"Oh, um, no, thank you." He reached for the files, flipping the top one open. "I'm more of a coffee person." Generally, tea didn't have enough caffeine in it to overcome Shinichi's tolerance.

"Really? We can swap, then," Kaito offered. "I have coffee here, and I'm good with either." He was giving Shinichi a hopeful look that was starting to become more and more familiar.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," Shinichi said, though it was kind of tempting. He glanced at Kaito's mug for apparently a little too long, because Kaito sat up straight and brandished his cup with force.

"No, really, it's no big deal," he insisted. He got to his feet and edged around Miho until he could pass Shinichi his mug, watching Shinichi like a dog waiting for approval. Shinichi felt a stirring of embarrassment beginning at the bottom of his spine even as he ducked his face into the steam rising off the coffee. If this was what Kuroba Kaito was like with annoying police inspectors he'd known for under an hour, he wondered what the man was like with people he actually cared about. Kaito didn't play squishy romance leads very often, but Shinichi got the feeling that it wasn't because he was lacking in romantic ability—

Shinichi was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of ceramic breaking and something splattering against his leg. He jumped, coffee sloshing, and looked down to see the green mug broken on the ground and tea spreading across the ground.

"I'm so sorry!" Miho gasped, looking uncharacteristically flustered as she pressed one manicured hand to her mouth. "I just—my hip brushed it, and—"

"It's fine. Don't worry about it, Miho. The mug was hideous, anyway," Kaito soothed her, crouching to start picking up the shards. The hems of his jeans were quickly soaking in tea, bleeding into dark brown, a fact that Miho and Shinichi seemed to realize at the same moment.

"Kaito-san, you might want to," Shinichi began, putting down the mug, just as Miho groaned, "Kuroba-san, go change your pants. You're supposed to be on set in a minute. The inspector and I will clean this up." Kaito set the pieces of the mug he'd already picked up on the counter, then sat back on his heels to look between Shinichi and Miho. Shinichi raised his eyebrows at him.

"If you don't even have enough faith in me to clean up some spilled tea, I think we'll have some issues collaborating on this investigation," he remarked. Kaito grinned.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to doubt your prowess."

"Then don't." Shinichi jabbed a finger at the racks and lifted his eyebrows. Kaito saluted him, smirking, before he skipped off, unbuttoning his jeans as he did. Shinichi looked away hastily.

"I apologize for this, Inspector," Miho sighed as she pulled a pressed handkerchief out of the inside pocket of her jacket and applied it to the puddle. Shinichi did the same, although his handkerchief was notably less pressed and also patterned with magnifying glasses and things, because his mother had a very warped sense of humor.

"It's no problem, really. Accidents happen," he assured her. In a minute the floor was mostly clean, at least as clean as before, and Shinichi folded his handkerchief up and moved to slide it back into his pocket. Miho looked visibly horrified.

"Please don't do that! You'll get your suit dirty." She looked as if she were witnessing a hit-and-run. Shinichi smiled as placatingly as he could.

"It's fine, it's fine. I carry around plastic bags in case I have to pick up evidence." Reaching over, he unlocked his briefcase and pulled out an evidence bag, into which he slid the dirty handkerchief. "See?" Miho bit her lip, looking conflicted.

"Still, I would feel bad if I didn't at least have your handkerchief cleaned myself." She motioned at the floor. "This was my fault, after all."

Shinichi suddenly had a vision of her washing his handkerchief and laughing at the magnifying glasses and little body outlines and footprints as she ironed it into a perfect square. He shook his head quickly.

"No, really, it's fine. Don't worry about it," he added when Miho looked as if she wanted to protest. Trying for a smile, he put his hands out in front of him. "I'm sure you're very busy with work and planning Kaito-san's schedule. I don't want to cause you any trouble."

"It's really no trouble at all—" Miho began, about to argue the point further, but at that moment Kaito came strutting out of the racks in a pair of trousers that were much more fitted than the last pair, and yes, strutting was the right word for the hip movements Kaito was doing. Shinichi averted his gaze immediately.

Miho was less impressed.

"Kuroba-san, you should've been on set a minute ago," she reminded him, crossing her arms over her chest. Kaito flapped a hand at her.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wanted to say goodbye to the inspector." He winked. "Goodbye, inspector. I'll see you soon."

Shinichi stared after him, feeling not unlike the protagonist of a shoujo manga.

Miho clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough that Shinichi jumped. She was looking at him with pursed lips, her eyes searching his for something Shinichi wasn't sure she'd find.

"Kuroba-san really likes you," she told him, solemn, before she clip-clopped out of the room after Kaito and left Shinichi clutching the back of his too-warm neck and trying not to smile dopily at the ground.

Four months ago, Sawada Yumi, twenty-nine, had been found on the baseball diamond of Ekoda High. Her throat had been slit with what seemed to be a small knife, though the weapon had yet to be found. She had been discovered by an early-arriving teacher, who had no discoverable connections to her. Her time of death was estimated to have been around six the previous evening, though from the amount of blood found at the scene, it had been determined that she had been transported from elsewhere during the night. She had been an office worker in a large corporation, entirely without enemies, debts, or secrets of any kind. Her hobbies had been crocheting and managing a Kuroba Kaito forum. Her family and friends described her as sweet and kind and wholly unhatable, usually through racking sobs and endless tears.

Two months ago, Nishimura Mayuko, thirty-two, had been found in a rose garden behind a certain home in Ekoda. The long, fatal cut in her neck had been made by the same weapon. The homeowner, an elderly woman who relied heavily on a cane and had little to no hearing left, had gone into the shed to find a watering can, intent on caring for the rose garden, only to find the victim. Once again, the victim appeared to have been killed the previous evening before being moved. She had worked as a hostess in a bar, and while she had had a few incidents with patrons overstepping, everyone who had a problem with her either had an alibi for her murder or Sawada Yumi's. Her hobbies had been running a Kuroba Kaito fanclub and wine-tasting. Her parents, grief-stricken and blaming each other, filed for divorce a month later.

Sawada Yumi had been found at Kuroba Kaito's old high school. Nishimura Mayuko had been found at Kuroba Kaito's old family home. Both had been avid Kuroba Kaito fans.

Shinichi would've suspected someone trying to frame Kaito, but Kaito had appeared on live television showings during both of suspected times of the murders. Once had been a prescheduled appearance on a talk show to promote the upcoming season of Heartline, and the other had been a last-minute surprise substitution on a well-known quiz show for an artist who had caught the stomach flu the previous day.

The motive, according to the neatly printed notes left in Hakuba's handwriting on the back of a printout, was still unclear. There were too many conflicting narratives. Shinichi had to agree. If it was the work of someone who hated Kaito, why would they have picked times during which he would have an alibi for the murders? And if it was someone who loved Kaito, then why would they target his fans, thereby sullying his name?

"Oh, are those the case files?"

Startling, Shinichi looked up to find Himari standing in front of him, holding a small bag and gesturing at the papers and photographs spread open in front of him. Shinichi winced, gathered them up quickly, and slid them back into the folders. He wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been engrossed in the files, but from the way his back ached when he straightened, it had been over an hour. Maybe even two. He sighed and sat back.

"Yes, and I probably shouldn't show them to a civilian who might be involved in the case." Shinichi raised his eyebrows. Himari grinned. Her lipstick, fuchsia with a bluish sheen, made her teeth look starkly white.

"You think I could be the murderer, Shin-chan?" She sounded far more enthusiastic about the idea than Shinichi had been inspecting expecting.

"Please don't call me that," Shinichi said, pained. Himari laughed and pulled out the stool beside him at the counter. Her eyes caught white light from the vanity mirror, glowing ice blue. It was undoubtedly the work of her color contacts, but it was still unearthly.

"Kai-chan lets me call him Kai-chan. He doesn't have a problem with it," she pointed out as she unzipped the bag she was holding and began pulling out nail paraphernalia.

"Sure, but I'm not Kaito-san." Shinichi goggled, watching her emerge with a glass nail file that tapered to a swordlike point and begin to file her nails with it as if she wasn't holding something that wouldn't be allowed on most airplanes. She appeared to be going for a blocky, squared-off shape (?). Shinichi didn't know much about nails.

"Can you tell me about the case?" he asked after a minute of watching her work. Himari glanced at him with one eyebrow raised, so he elaborated, "You understand the context better than I do, having worked with Kaito-san for so long. Did you ever meet either of the victims?"

"I think I probably did at some point," Himari said, looking contemplative. "Both of them were, like, diehard fans, with their own clubs and forums and stuff, so they always showed up to the fan meet-ups. Oh! I think I met the fanclub president one, once." Nishimura Mayuko, then. "She won one of those private 'an hour with your celebrity' deals, and they hung out here." She gestured at the room around them. "So I did meet her, I guess. Kai-chan introduced us."

"What did you think of her?"

"Uh…" Himari was suddenly very focused on her nails. Shinichi cleared his throat, and she sighed. "Well, she kinda…threw herself at Kai-chan? She grabbed him around the arms and, like, wouldn't let go. It was really awkward. Uh, Kai-chan handled it well, just so we're clear. He obviously didn't take advantage of her or anything—he's too much of a gentleman for that, you know that—so he just kind of… pushed her away." She shrugged. "Like I said. It was mostly just awkward."

"Yeah?" Shinichi rubbed at his chin. "What about Kaito-san? What do you think of him?"

"Kai-chan is amazing and everyone he's ever met has liked him, and I'm not just saying that because I'm his fangirl," Himari answered without hesitation. She paused to blow dust off her nails, inspected them for a moment, and went back to filing. "Or at least, no one who's met him hates him." Shinichi must've looked disbelieving, because she frowned at him. "No, really. Not even that other inspector—Hakuda or whatever?—really hates him." She got a sly look on her face. "Have you ever seen him on set? Kai-chan, I mean, not Hakuda?"

"I met Kaito-san for the first time today," Shinichi felt obligated to mention. "So that's a no." He decided it might not be a good idea to admit he hadn't intentionally watched any of Kaito's movies either.

"Well, now might be a good time to change that," Himari announced. Without any warning, she tossed the nail file at the table and grabbed Shinichi by the hand. Shinichi barely had time to shove the case folders into his briefcase and click the lock shut before Himari yanked him out of the room with strength disproportionate to her willowy frame. She dragged him down the hallway, veering sharply left and right to avoid a terrified-looking intern and a man carrying a stack of boxes.

"Is this really a good idea," said Shinichi after the fourth time they nearly crashed into a wall. Himari just laughed and pulled him all the harder.

"We have to hurry if we want to make it!" she yelled back at him. Shinichi resigned himself to his fate.

After what felt like half a marathon, they came to a stop in front of a pair of heavy double doors, designated as RECORDING by the glowing sign over the doorway. Himari pressed a finger to her lips, a sign for him to stay quiet, before she carefully opened the door and motioned for him to slip inside.

Shinichi had never seen an episode of Heartline. All he really knew about it was that involved some kind of vague, stylized palmistry meant to suit the protagonist's love endeavors and that Kaito played that protagonist.

The set before him brought to mind a neatly-arranged living room in a suburb, with the suggestion of a white picket fence and well-watered lawn just out of sight. Kaito was sitting on a corner of a rectangular couch, staring at a framed painting hung a whisper crooked on the wall opposite him. The look on his face couldn't quite be described as dark—it wasn't quite tired, or emotional, or torn or heartbroken or dejected or any single adjective; it was all of them put together, layered together onto one face. Shinichi wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything like it. There was so much expression there, in Kaito's unseeing eyes and the tight slouch of his shoulders and the slow speed of his breathing.

There was a rustling in the silence that made Shinichi jerk before Himari placed a hand on his shoulder to still him. Suzuhara Akio entered the scene, his hair styled up around his temples and his body language imploring. He was an odd contrast to Kaito—Shinichi had never once thought he was a bad actor, but next to Kaito, he took on a strangely obvious quality, as if everything about him was labeled. This facial expression was supposed to mean pleading, that low sigh was resignation, the slow movement as he sat beside Kaito was comfort.

Shinichi wondered if he was the only one who saw it.

"Kenji," Suzuhara began in quiet tones. Kaito didn't move. Suzuhara sighed and laid a hand on Kaito's sagging shoulder. "Kenji, you know it's not your fault."

"I should've known," Kaito whispered, and his voice was nothing like it normally was. It was dark and low and sad, rough and guilty and exhausted. He sounded like a different person. "I should've known from the moment I met her. I should've known. But I was too… too proud to admit that I couldn't take care of it. And now I'll never see Naomi again."

"You need to stop acting like you can protect everyone you meet. It's just not possible."

"No, I know I can't," Kaito responded with a broken laugh. His bottom lip shook with the slightest tremor. "I know. It's obvious. Nobody can save everyone. But I would've been fine just saving her." He glanced over at Suzuhara. "Don't act like you can understand, Komaeda. You don't know what I'm feeling. You'll never know."

"I don't have to understand to know that you shouldn't be beating yourself up like this," Suzuhara said, his face tightening. "Anyone could see that, you know—"

"You weren't there," Kaito retorted, and his voice was suddenly cracked, spiderwebbed with stress fractures. "You didn't—you didn't see. You didn't see her."

"Kenji," murmured Suzuhara. Kaito finally turned to look at him. His eyes were shining.

"It's my fault," he said, in a dark, hushed voice more suited for a confessional than a living room. "I did that. I did that to her, Komaeda." The tension hung in the air like a palpable object, tied to the rafters, spilling into the air they breathed. Shinichi swallowed.

"Cut! All right, that's it for today. Good work, everyone," called a loud voice from somewhere behind the cameras, breaking the moment. Kaito blinked, and suddenly he was himself again. Shinichi couldn't quite tell what it was that made him sure he was looking at Kuroba Kaito and not a character wearing Kuroba Kaito's face. Maybe it was in the way he rolled his eyes at Suzuhara? Maybe it was in the way the tightness dripped out of him with every movement? Maybe it was in the way he breathed. Shinichi couldn't decide.

Kaito glanced up, and his gaze immediately landed on Shinichi. Shinichi felt a tiny shiver spill down his spine, and he waved, awkward. Kaito's face lit up as though someone had plugged in a Christmas tree behind his eyes.

"Inspector!" he said, loudly enough that the staff, who were cleaning up the lights and set, all turned to give him bewildered looks before they all followed his gaze to peer over at Shinichi in curiosity. Shinichi felt a flush work its way up the back of his neck. He had the distinct feeling that beside him, Himari was smirking in sadistic glee.

A second later, Kaito bounded towards him, smiling. There was no trace left of the soul-shattered man he'd been just a moment ago. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet even as he came to a stop in front of Shinichi and Himari. For a weird moment, Shinichi felt certain that if Kaito had a tail, it would've been wagging.

"I didn't see you come in," he remarked. His hair was already starting to break free of its gelled style, congregating in rebellious curls at the base of his neck and around his ears. "What part were you watching from?"

"Oh, uh, just that last part," Shinichi replied. He glared at Himari, who he could tell was laughing at him from the morbidly fascinated look in her eyes. "Watanabe-san was the one who dragged me out here. And I mean that literally." He rubbed at his ulna, which felt alarmingly sore.

"Himaricchi lifts," Kaito said absently, raising an eyebrow at Himari. Shinichi wondered, briefly, if she lifted baby elephants, before Kaito turned his attention back to him. He had started to wipe his hands against the front of his jeans, his tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip. If Shinichi didn't know better, he would've thought that he was nervous, but that was an impossibility. Kaito cleared his throat once, then twice, and asked, in a low tone that brought to mind someone nervously entreating a loan shark with a request, "So? What did you think?"

Shinichi exchanged a disbelieving look with Himari. Himari, if her unimpressed stare was any indication, felt similarly.

"Fishing for compliments," she muttered, shaking her head. Shinichi nodded in agreement. The man had to know that he was an incredible actor. Nobody got to be that good without anyone telling them.

"I don't think your ego needs any more stroking," he informed Kaito primly. Kaito looked so hurt that he instantly felt bad.

"Maybe not his ego, but something needs stroking. You're certainly looking thirsty, Kuroba-san," interjected an unfamiliar voice. Like compass needles swiveling towards north, Kaito, Shinichi, and Himari all turned to gape as Suzuhara Akio approached them, coming to a stop beside Shinichi. Up close and in person, it was understandable that he'd been picked to play a character as rough as Samonji, Shinichi couldn't help but think. He had a smile that was crooked by half an inch and the vaguely stubbled jawline of someone who enthusiastically enjoyed IPA and violent movies about hitmen.

Kaito scowled at him.

"Don't you have another scene to film, Suzuhara?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Suzuhara smiled at him. It was not a smile Shinichi would describe as friendly, mostly because it resembled the sort of teeth-baring a shark did before biting into a school of fish.

"No, Kuroba-san, I'm done for today," Suzuhara told him. His eyes kept skipping back and forth between Shinichi and Kaito, as if he couldn't decide which of them was the more interesting target. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your… friend?" When Kaito made no move, choosing instead to glare at Suzuhara as if the man routinely tortured small woodland creatures, Shinichi coughed and offered Suzuhara one hand.

"I'm Inspector Kudou Shinichi with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Force's homicide division," he said. "I'm here to oversee the investigation involving Kaito-san." Suzuhara's eyebrows lifted as he took Shinichi's hand. His palms were cool and dry, almost unnervingly so, as if his skin was made of paper.

"Oh? What happened to that Hakuda guy?" he wondered.

"Officer Hakuba was reassigned," Shinichi answered, dropping Suzuhara's hand as quickly as he could without looking impolite. He cleared his throat and pasted on a smile. "You're Suzuhara Akio, right? I'm a big fan of the Detective Samonji series."

Kaito made a strange, huffing sound like an angry bull. Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Is that so," commented Suzuhara after a painful moment filled only by the sound of discomfort and Kaito looking annoyed at the world in general. He smiled at Shinichi, dark eyes tracking Shinichi's, and swept a loose strand of hair out of his face. Shinichi was forced at admit that he was at least lukewarm, if not actually hot. "I'd love to sign something later, if you're interested."

"I… uh, sure, that would be great," Shinichi agreed after a moment. He'd gotten all his Samonji merchandise signed by Kenzaki Osamu a while back, when he'd worked a case for Okino Yoko, and he had little to no desire to get Suzuhara's signature on any of it, but he decided it wasn't the best time to admit that.

"Of course." Suzuhara bowed his head, keeping his eyes locked on Shinichi's. "Anything for a fan. Especially one as lovely as—"

"Well, thanks for that. Great talking to you, Suzuhara," Kaito interrupted at a volume that made Shinichi wince and lift an eyebrow at him. He was frowning at Suzuhara with unconcealed disgust, and Suzuhara was smirking back at him. Shinichi glanced between them, confused, before Kaito put a hand on his elbow and hauled him away.

"I hate that guy," he muttered as they stumbled towards the double doors. Shinichi was starting to get tired of people pulling him places without his consent. He twisted around in Kaito's hold to wave goodbye at Suzuhara, more to get at Kaito than anything else. Suzuhara waved back, unaccountably amused. Himari, still standing beside him, was grinning as she turned and said something to him, which he laughed at. Kaito made a sound like a stabbed parrot and pulled Shinichi harder.

"I think you're taking this a little more personally than you should be," Shinichi felt the need to point out when they swung around a corner and nearly collided with a stressed-out PA who glared at them over the rim of her brightly-colored coffee mug and scuttled out of their way. With a burst of strength, he managed to extricate himself from Kaito's grip. Kaito heaved a sigh, sulking, and stopped storming down the hallway.

"Suzuhara is annoying and I don't like him," he announced.

"So I've gathered," Shinichi drawled. He tried to convey his skepticism with his face and took Kaito's reaction, which was to scowl deeply, as a sign of comprehension.

"He's clearly angling for you! Suzuhara never tries to be that slick with anyone. That asshole," Kaito huffed. He stared down at the floor as if it had done him a personal affront, or, more likely, as if he was imagining it was Suzuhara's face. Shinichi blinked at him, trying to figure out if he'd somehow been transported into an alternate dimension wherein celebrity magicians were under the impression that Shinichi was routinely mobbed by attractive actors.

"Oh, yeah, because I'm the type who would attract an award-winning actor less than ten minutes after meeting him," he said, incredulous. Kaito's head snapped up.

"Of course you are. You're exactly that type. You could attract an award-winning actor less than ten seconds after meeting him," he insisted, sounding scandalized, and gave Shinichi a disbelieving look, as if Shinichi was the one spewing nonsense. Shinichi rubbed at his eyes. This was shaping up to be one of the most surreal investigations he'd ever headed, and that was still counting the time he'd gone undercover as an exotic dancer.

"Okay, Kaito-san," he sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. The one cup of coffee he'd had felt like years ago. "If that's all, I'm going to get back to those case files. Maybe do some interviewing." He hadn't finished going through the reports, and he was contemplating giving Hakuba a call to see what he'd been thinking.

Kaito, in an unexpected twist, perked up.

"Why don't we go out for lunch, then?" he suggested, beaming. Shinichi eyed him with suspicion. He was starting to think that some part of Kaito's brain translated things into what he wanted to hear rather than what was being said.

"I just said—" he started, but Kaito dropped his hands on Shinichi's shoulders, which was sufficient enough distraction to render Shinichi speechless for a moment. Kaito was very close. His cologne made Shinichi's stomach forget where, exactly, it belonged.

"You could interview me. I'm at the center of the investigation, after all. I know everyone who's possibly involved." The hopeful gleam had been restored to Kaito's eyes. Deflating, Shinichi sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He really shouldn't be going somewhere alone with him, but Kaito wasn't technically a suspect, and he was looking more and more convincing the longer they stood there—

"I know a place with good coffee," Kaito added, knowing, and looked inordinately smug when Shinichi straightened.

"This isn't a concession," Shinichi felt obliged to inform him as Kaito led him out of the station with a bounce and a half in his step. "You didn't, like, win anything."

"That's what you think," sing-songed Kaito in return, which was mildly ominous, but Shinichi let it slide. He liked Kaito better when he was being confusing and cheerful rather than whatever it was Suzuhara made him.

The place Kaito took him did, in fact, have good coffee, if "good" could be defined as "darker than a black hole and containing amounts of caffeine that flirted with the legal limit." Shinichi clutched his mug to his chest, only relinquishing it when their waitress wandered over with a new pot for refills. Kaito watched with a mixture of amusement and slight concern.

"So," Kaito began as the waitress set down their plates (yakisoba for Kaito; curry rice for Shinichi) and ambled off. The restaurant, a matchbox of a place with sunny yellow walls and tall, rectangular windows, was more occupied by sunlight than customers. "Did you want to talk about the investigation?"

Shinichi nodded, laying down his spoon, and thought for a second.

"Let's start with Motoyama-san," he decided. "What do you think of her?"

"Miho's been my manager for nearly four years now," Kaito answered, twirling his chopsticks in his yakisoba. "As a manager, she's efficient and good at time management. My schedule is always arranged to maximize productivity without burning me out. As a person, she's not really the sentimental type, but I like to think that she likes me, underneath all the Dior and judgment. I consider us friends, at least."

"Do you think she would have a motive for either of the murders?"

Kaito's face scrunched up.

"I think she would be more likely to kill me for missing a shoot than anyone else."

"Right." Shinichi dragged his spoon through the rice, carving a canal for the curry. "Then how about Watanabe-san?"

"Himaricchi? I've been working with her for about sixth months, I think. She's friendly. Outgoing. I think she's a fan of mine, but she's not weird about it, which I appreciate. Uh… if there's something about her that bothers me, it's that she's always late. Oh! And that her nails are always really pointy. She almost took out my eye once when she was trying to put concealer on me. She didn't even apologize." Kaito shook his head. "Rude."

"I'm sure you could pull off an eyepatch, anyway," Shinichi offered dryly, though he doubted Kaito really needed the consolation. Kaito grinned, appearing to take that as some kind of compliment, and leaned forward, balancing his face in one hand.

"Is that what you're into, Inspector? The pirate look?"

"Let's talk about Suzuhara," Shinichi said. Kaito deflated, as if someone had taken a pin to him. He squinted at Shinichi.

"I don't like Suzuhara."

"Thank you for the comprehensive report." Shinichi just looked at him when he pouted. "I'm not asking for a lot here, Kaito-san. Just tell me about the guy. What's your opinion of him, beyond not liking him?" Kaito blew out a breath and stabbed at a piece of lettuce.

"He's a good actor," he admitted, grudging. "I've worked with him on Heartline for a reasonably long time now. Maybe about two years? We got along okay until a little while ago, probably around five months ago, if I had to guess. Now he's an asshole who hates me for no particular reason."

"How much do you think he hates you?" Shinichi had to ask. Kaito angled his head at him for a moment before he looked down, suddenly preoccupied with his food.

"If you're asking if he hates me enough to kill two people," he began, then stopped. He hazarded a look at Shinichi through his hair, which had broken completely free of its gel prison at some point during lunch. "No. Suzuhara—he wouldn't do that. We have a rivalry, maybe, but it's nothing to kill someone over it."

"Understood," Shinichi murmured after a minute. He shoved a bite of rice into his mouth to give himself time to think. "I—well, I hate to bring this up again, but…"

"You want to talk about the victims." Kaito suppressed a sigh. Shinichi watched him carefully as he swallowed and balanced his chopsticks across the width of his plate. "Sawada Yumi… I don't think I ever met her personally. I know she ran one of my bigger fan forums online. Like I said before, she came to all my live events and meet-ups, even back when I went by KID, so I did recognize her when I saw her. As far as I could tell, she was pretty normal." The she didn't deserve what happened to her went unsaid, but Shinichi could see it in his eyes.

"And Nishimura Mayuko?" Shinichi tried to smile. "I heard you had an interesting encounter with her."

"There was that." Kaito rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip. "She was the president of one of my fanclubs. I'm not sure which. She won a meeting with me once. Uh, she was pretty aggressive with her… affections." He cast Shinichi an apprehensive glance. Shinichi wondered if he was worried of what Shinichi might think. "I didn't, ah, encourage her in any way."

"Watanabe-san said the same."

"Good." Kaito paused, a quarter of a smile curving his mouth. "I wouldn't want you to think I'm that kind of guy. But anyway. She did settle down when I told her I wasn't interested. Overall, she wasn't a bad person. Just outspoken and maybe used to getting what she wanted." He exhaled heavily, gaze focused on something just beyond the tabletop.

The air felt sticky with cheerlessness. Shinichi carved another trench in his rice.

"So tell me about Hakuba," he said. Kaito's head jerked upwards as if he'd stuck a fork into an electrical outlet. When he looked at Shinichi, he was wearing an expression of burgeoning horror.

"What?"

"I've known Hakuba for a few years. We're reasonably good friends." Shinichi shrugged, waving his spoon in an effort at casualness. Kaito looked massively nauseated.

"You're friends with Hakuba? Do you like Sherlock Holmes and being a condescending elitist?" he demanded.

"Yes to Sherlock Holmes, and I'm only a condescending elitist in my free time," Shinichi told him, innocently, and watched as he recoiled in horror.

"This whole thing was a mistake." Kaito scooted his chair back by several inches. "Sorry, Inspector, I don't think I can do this anymore. You're not the man I thought you were." Shinichi arched an eyebrow at him.

"Hey, now, no need for the break-up speech just yet," he said, which made Kaito inexplicably flustered to the point that he choked on nothing and knocked his chopsticks off his plate while fumbling around for his water glass. Shinichi tried not to smile too obviously. He swirled a bit of curry into his rice. "And anyway, why do you hate Hakuba so much? Yeah, he has a really annoying face, but so do I."

"No you don't, your face is perfect," Kaito sputtered, sounding grossly insulted on Shinichi's behalf, which didn't quite make sense, but Shinichi had come to the revelation that Kaito didn't make sense a lot of the time. Case in point: he seemed to be under the impression that between the two of them, Shinichi was the one with the perfect face. "And Hakuba and I were classmates in high school. He stole my girlfriend."

"Really?" Shinichi found that hard to believe. Hakuba wasn't ugly—in fact, he was a particular favorite target to stalk among the traffic division back at the station—and he could set aside his natural condescension and turn on the charm when the occasion called for it, but even he fell short when compared to Kaito. Shinichi wondered if the girl had a thing for being talked down at and blonde hair, because those were the only areas where Hakuba notably surpassed Kaito.

"Yeah, and they're still together now. Expecting their first kid in a few months or so." Kaito sighed. "I can't believe that guy settled down and got married before I did. I really need to get a move on that." He looked at Shinichi expectantly. Shinichi forced down the urge to flush.

"You're, what, thirty-five? You still have time," he assured Kaito, mostly just to see him press a hand to his chest in indignation.

"Excuse me, Inspector, I am not a day over twenty-seven."

"Unless today's your birthday, that's not true," Shinichi pointed out.

Kaito thought about it.

"Well, technically, I'm not a day over twenty-seven; I'm a few months over twenty-seven. But that's not the point." He shook his head at Shinichi, picking up his chopsticks. "No social graces. I would've expected you at least know how old I am."

"It's because I only care about Suzuhara-san's birthday. I know he's twenty-five," replied Shinichi. He only knew that because there had been a special announcement running underneath a Samonji episode on Suzuhara's birthday a few months back, but it was more fun to keep that to himself and watch Kaito splutter in abject dismay.

If you're enjoying this fic even the slightest bit, please consider dropping me a review! Thank you for reading, and I'll see you all soon! - Luna