Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! Here, have a fic that has absolutely nothing to do with Valentine's Day. Yay.

Anyway, I'm actually surprised that I managed to get this done? I mean, the finished product is… eh, but hopefully it's not too horrible?

This fic takes place in a universe where Shinichi never became Conan and never got the character development that came with that experience. Kaito is not Kid (or, well, not really Kid).

Warnings include shounen-ai, grammar mistakes / possible errors, me completely misrepresenting and ruining Superintendent Matsumoto's character because I needed an antagonist and he was convenient, Kaito being the sweetest human to ever exist, Shinichi being depressing and idiotic, etc. I didn't mean for the title to be a reference to anything, but then I realized that the song "EASE" by Troye Sivan (and Broods) fits this fic pretty well, so, well, yeah. There's your soundtrack.

Enjoy! – Luna

Ease

Shinichi has always known what he wanted to be: a detective. It was a decision influenced by years spent reading his father's mystery novels and watching crime shows; a decision his parents wholeheartedly approved; a decision that he never thought he would regret, because what could be better than a life of avenging the murdered and bringing justice? What could be better than a life of piecing the truth together with scraps of information, a life of traveling to distant places to investigate mysterious disappearances and enigmatic killers? The answer is nothing. Nothing could be better.

It is for those reasons that Shinichi is going to become a police inspector. It is for those reasons, and for the people who laughed at him when he was sixteen and called himself a detective, for the people who said "high school detective" the same indifferent way they said "high school dropout" and for the people who called him "smart, but he's going to burn out sometime." It is for the people who said he was "riding on his father's coattails" when he solved a fourteen-person serial killing and the people who wrote on his report cards, "Intelligent, but arrogant. An attitude change is necessary before he can achieve lasting success."

Shinichi is twenty-four years old, and he is going to become a police inspector, even if it kills him. Shinichi is going to become a police inspector, and people will stop referring to him as "Kudou Yuusaku's son." Shinichi is going to become a police inspector, and nobody will patronize him when he introduces himself as a police detective. Shinichi is going to become a police inspector, and then maybe, just maybe, he'll let himself breathe.

There's a park across the street from Shinichi's apartment. It sits sandwiched between an ancient, redbrick library and a marginally newer café, providing a little paradise of peace and calm and grassy knolls. It has peeling-paint benches and oak trees and grimy picnic tables and a winding path that carves through it in a slow sine wave. It looks like something out of a Monet.

When he's going home, Shinichi likes to walk through that park – not to enjoy the scenery, but because it's a shortcut from the train station to his apartment and the main streets are usually filled with impatient drivers who don't care for pedestrians. He usually gets home around eleven or twelve, so the park is generally empty by the time he passes through.

On this particular Tuesday, Shinichi leaves work early. There are no new crime scenes to investigate and no real reason to stay at the police station. He has a briefcase full of cold cases tucked under one arm that he plans to work on for the rest of the afternoon and possibly the night as well.

He's halfway through the park, in the middle of contemplating possible motives for the murder of a CEO (inheritance, business rivalry, revenge for infidelity), when a dove lands on his head.

Shinichi freezes in the middle of the pathway. It's not that he isn't an animal person – he is; he feeds stray cats and takes care of Ran's dog when she goes out of town and has nursed the occasional injured bird back to health – but he's not completely sure that the dove isn't a hallucination. The last time he got a full night's sleep was five cases and two weeks ago. He's been subsisting on a diet of coffee and protein bars since then. If Shinichi flails around to get the dove off of him and it turns out not to exist, he'll never be able to show his face again in this park.

He's in the middle of deciding the best course of action when a man appears from behind a tree, hurrying towards Shinichi with a panicked expression. He's wearing a cornflower blue silk shirt, a red tie, and an inexplicable top hat; at first glance, he's the type of person Shinichi imagines has a mustache and a potbelly. Upon second glance, Shinichi notes that the man is actually slim and clean-shaven and – and good-looking, too, he realizes as the man comes to a stop in front of Shinichi and takes off his hat. His hair is messy, either from the hat or by default, and it catches in the sunlight, tea-golden at the tips and chestnut at the roots.

"Are you all right?" he asks, peering at the dove on Shinichi's head. Shinichi is reassured of the dove's existence.

"Is there a dove on my head," he says, in lieu of responding to the question. The man winces and extends one hand towards Shinichi's head. He's wearing spotless white gloves, Shinichi notices inanely, and they make his fingers look long and slender.

"Heart-chan, come here," the man coos at the bird. He makes a ridiculous pouty face. Shinichi feels the dove shift, claws scratching at his scalp, as it makes a snuffly noise and pecks at Shinichi's fringe with absolutely no intention of leaving.

The man settles backwards, looking half-amused and half-resigned. "Here I was thinking that I was your one and only," he remarks, apparently to the dove, as he isn't making eye contact with Shinichi, "and then you go and run off with the first hot guy you see." He winks charmingly at Shinichi. "Can't trust anyone these days."

Shinichi twitches uncomfortably as the dove grumbles, enraged, and sits down at the crown of his head. It's been so long since Shinichi's flirted with anyone – his last relationship, a year ago, ended with tears and accusations of him loving work more than his ex – and he isn't sure how he's supposed to respond. Does he even want to respond? Does he even have the time to follow through, if he does?

So instead of saying anything, Shinichi sets down his briefcase and lifts his hands tentatively to his head. He isn't well-versed in dove handling, but the dove just coos when he carefully disentangles its feet from his hair and cradles it awkwardly in his hands.

"Thank you," the man says, excessively pleased, when Shinichi extends the bird towards him. When he takes the dove from Shinichi, it hops up his wrist, clambers past the crook of his shoulder, and sits on his shoulder, watching Shinichi with beady eyes. The man grins. "You've saved my show."

"Show?" Shinichi asks, bewildered, and that's when he realizes that the whole spectacle was observed by a group of children of varying ages, all of whom are standing a ways behind the man. One girl turns away, blushing, when she realizes he's watching, but most of them stare unabashedly.

"Yes, show," the man nods. He reaches out, fingers curled into a careful shape, and, before Shinichi can express his growing bemusement, he does something too fast to catch with his hand and he's suddenly holding a white rose. When Shinichi blinks dumbly at him, he just grins and reaches up to tuck it behind Shinichi's ear. "I'm a magician, as you can see. Kuroba Kaito, at your service."

"Oh," Shinichi mumbles, studying the man more thoroughly for a moment. He abruptly feels idiotic – it should've been obvious, at least for him: the top hat, the doves, the piece of confetti stuck beneath his collar – and the bitter thought of I'll never make inspector at this rate creeps unbidden into his thoughts. He tamps it down quickly. "I… see."

"Does the pretty gentleman have a name?" Kuroba prompts after a polite pause, lifting his eyebrows when Shinichi stares, uncomprehending, at him. "I suppose I can continue calling you 'darling,' like I have been in my head, but I don't know if you'll appreciate that very much."

"I'd rather not say," Shinichi tells him, trying not to sound unkind but probably failing as he hurriedly snatches the rose out from behind his ear. He bends to pick up his briefcase instead of looking Kuroba in the face. "I don't think we'll be seeing each other again, after all." He doesn't need unnecessary attachments when he inevitably disappoints everyone with his lack of necessary relationship skills.

"Well," Kuroba replies, seemingly at a loss. He tilts his head at Shinichi as if he's contemplating a mystifying work of art, as if Shinichi is some enigmatic amalgam of geometric shapes hanging on a gallery wall. After a moment, he motions towards the group of children behind him. "Won't you stay for the rest of my show, darling?"

"I've got plans," Shinichi informs him, trying to edge away. "I have – things to do." He has to get through at least four cases today, six if he can manage it. He knows Hakuba is ahead of him in the cold case count.

"I see," Kuroba comments, pensive as he watches Shinichi. Shinichi can't decipher his expression – it's a well-crafted mask of polite disappointment and some other intangible emotion. "Well, I'm here every day, if you ever need a break and want to see some magic." He wiggles his eyebrows, and confetti and pink smoke explode from the top hat he's still holding in one hand. Behind him, the children cheer.

"Right," Shinichi answers slowly, nodding once before he hurries down the path. He's holding the rose in one hand and his briefcase in the other and he can feel both Kuroba's and the children's gazes heavy on his back. He doesn't need any distractions. He won't see Kuroba again.

Shinichi sees Kuroba again.

It's a Sunday evening, two weeks or so since the first time they ran into each other. Shinichi's half-forgotten about the entire encounter, and he's on his way to buy more coffee beans (he finally ran out), cutting through the mostly vacant park, when he's hit by a wave of nauseating dizziness that makes him stumble.

Staggering, Shinichi drops heavily onto a rust-devoured bench that groans underneath him but holds. He drops his head into his hands, trying to take deep breaths. It's been nearly six months since he last collapsed from fatigue, and with the way his vision is wavering and his head is pulsing angrily, he can't quite concentrate hard enough to recall if it feels like this.

This is how Kuroba finds him.

"Darling? What are you doing here? The show's already over, if that's why you came," Shinichi hears, and he manages to tear his gaze away from the ground long enough to make eye contact with Kuroba, who's standing in front of him with a concerned expression. He's wearing the same ensemble as the last time Shinichi saw him, though he's wearing the top hat rather than holding it. There are doves lining the broad width of his shoulders and one at the bend of each arm, and he smells a little like explosives. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Shinichi rasps. It feels a bit as if someone is repeatedly hitting him on the head with a jackhammer, trying to break his skull open. He discovers that he's already angled himself away from Kuroba, curling in on himself in shame. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry, but you clearly aren't," Kuroba says. He bends at the waist, eyebrows leaning towards each other as his eyes flicker minutely across Shinichi's face. Up close, his eyes turn liquidy and navy. Or maybe it's the fading light of the sunset reflecting in them, or maybe it's the way Shinichi's vision isn't cooperating with him. "I'd never try to insult you, darling, but you look horrible. When was the last time you slept?"

"I… last night," Shinichi lies (it was actually three days ago, as he'd been in the middle of an investigation that ended earlier today), but he either takes too long to respond or Kuroba is good at reading his expressions, because Kuroba makes a sound that implies he doesn't believe Shinichi for a second.

"Don't give me that," he murmurs, his gentle tone belying the harshness of his words. Shinichi curls up even more, feeling mortified. "Look, where do you live? I'll walk you home."

"I don't tell strangers where I live, generally," Shinichi mumbles, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. The whorls in his sight are receding, and he feels a little steadier, now, less woozy, as if maybe he could stand back up. "I like to keep the chances of getting burglarized as low as possible."

Kuroba snorts, but he doesn't seem offended. In fact, he seems delighted that Shinichi is talking to him.

"I would make an excellent thief," he agrees, straightening. "I've certainly got the hands for it." Shinichi reflexively glances at his hands, which are dangling loosely by his sides. He's not wearing gloves today, and Shinichi decides that maybe it wasn't the gloves that made his fingers look tapered and delicate, because they look the same now, although Shinichi spots a few scratches and chips on his nails. They're very nice hands.

"Anyway, darling," Kuroba continues, and Shinichi's gaze snaps back to his face. Kuroba gives no verbal indication that he caught Shinichi staring (and at his hands, of all things), but his eyes are twinkling when they meet Shinichi's. "If you won't let me walk you home, I hope you'll take my advice and sleep. You look like a reanimated corpse."

"If you're trying to pick me up, that wasn't the smoothest line," Shinichi says before he can stop himself. Kuroba grins widely. He has a slightly crooked smile, barely noticeable unless you're looking for imperfections.

"Darling, at any other time, I'd love to flirt and banter, but at the moment, I just want you to go to bed. I'll knock you out and drag you back to my place if I must."

"Threatening an officer? How daring of you," Shinichi mumbles, mostly to see Kuroba's eyebrows leap up his forehead. He recovers quickly, though, flashing a winning smile at Shinichi.

"Oh? You're a police officer, darling?"

"Assistant inspector," Shinichi confirms, climbing to his feet. He notes that Kuroba is watching him with narrowed eyes, as if he's waiting for Shinichi to swoon so he can catch him, and sighs. "And I'm not some fainting maiden. I'm capable of taking care of myself, Kuroba-san."

"You remembered my name," Kuroba says, sounding touched. He places a hand over his heart. "I knew you cared, beneath your adorable, prickly exterior."

"I'm leaving now," Shinichi informs him and manages to walk a few feet. When he peers back over his shoulder, Kuroba is smiling.

"Go to sleep!" he calls. Shinichi rolls his eyes and continues back towards his apartment building. He has to stop in the lobby to ward off another dizzy spell, but he does make it back to his apartment. The stack of cold cases sitting on his coffee table stares accusingly at him (Hakuba's still five cases ahead of you, they almost seem to whisper) but Shinichi thinks of Kuroba grinning at him and allows himself to clomp into the bedroom and collapse onto his bed.

He ends up sleeping for twenty hours straight. He misses work and the beginning of another case and Megure gives him a pitying look that feels more like a kitchen knife to the side, and Shinichi almost blames Kuroba, but he knows it won't do anything. It's Shinichi's own fault for listening to him.

Sometimes, when Shinichi gets sick of looking at his bare walls and plain furniture, he takes his case work and goes to the library across the street. The library is, in a word, old: the armchairs are tired and sagging, and the tiny miniature auditorium for book readings has cobwebs in every corner, and the water fountains by the bathrooms have been broken for ages. But it's comforting, somehow, because it's a little piece of the past that reminds Shinichi of going to the library and checking out Detective Samonji books as a child. Also, it's always quiet and the elderly librarians all recognize and love Shinichi (they think he's a lonely bachelor and love to tell him about their granddaughters), so he can always find a private, quiet place to curl up and remain undisturbed.

It's a rainy, drizzly Saturday, the kind of day that demands copious use of windshield wipers and is best spent with a warm afghan and a good Sherlock Holmes remake, when Shinichi trudges into the library. He's got the file for the suspect he's investigating (even though he's technically off work) and his laptop in his briefcase. Sachiko, the head librarian, smiles at him when he comes in.

Shinichi finds a quiet, unoccupied corner easily enough, a half-circle of armchairs clustered between the biographies and the little auditorium. He pulls out the manila folder and turns on his laptop. The suspect is Yoshimura Daiki, the victim's husband and the owner of a law firm. His alibi was corroborated by his secretary, a young woman named Wakayama Ruri. Apparently, they'd been going over arguments for an upcoming trial together at the time Yoshimura Erika was killed –

When he works a case, Shinichi tends to forget everything else. The case usually swallows him up, and he's dead to the world until he solves the mystery. But now, he keeps getting distracted, whether it's by the sound of rain hitting the roof or the low, near-inaudible susurration of people turning book pages in the distance. He can't get into the case, even though he thought he'd been excited to investigate it. The research he does on his laptop, looking into Yoshimura's law firm and its reputation, can't hold his interest. For lack of a better term, he's almost… bored.

There's something wrong with me, Shinichi thinks to himself when he catches himself staring at the splotchy carpet instead of his computer screen. He thinks he should be alarmed. Instead, he just feels tired.

Footsteps approach. Shinichi elects to ignore them, because the chances are it's someone looking for a biography, not a conversation with a scowling man on a laptop. So he's surprised when the footsteps come to a halt in front of him and a familiar voice says, "Darling?" directly overhead. Looking up, Shinichi discovers that – surprise, surprise – Kuroba is standing there in a soaked pea coat, looking ecstatic to see him.

"Oh, I was right. I'd recognize that frown anywhere," Kuroba coos, smiling crookedly, and Shinichi half-glares at him.

"I got behind on work because I listened to your advice," he tells him. Kuroba, both predictably and yet still irritatingly, looks thrilled.

"You actually slept? Thank God," he sighs. There's a raindrop suspended in the fan of his eyelashes, threatening to drip onto the damp curve of his cheekbone. "I was so worried about you, darling. I thought you were going to fall into a ditch on the way home and I'd never see your lovely face again."

"Well," Shinichi says after a moment. He doesn't know what else to do, so he clears his throat, shuffling some papers around for something to do with his hands. "Is there a reason you're here?"

"Of course," Kuroba purrs, spreading his arms. "I had to give my show, and it's too wet and cold outside to do it at the park. The kids might get sick." As if to accentuate the truth of his statement, there's a cinematic roll of thunder.

"Oh." Shinichi regards him carefully. "Why do you give the magic shows, anyway?" From what he's seen, Shinichi thinks they're free, and he's only performing to an audience of children, anyway. Is Kuroba just unemployed and bored?

Kuroba looks at him in a way that makes Shinichi feel small but somehow incredibly important. Shinichi doesn't understand how he does it.

"If you came to one of my shows, darling," Kaito drawls, "maybe you'd understand." Gesturing at the door to the auditorium, he makes a noise of indication. "It'll start in about twenty minutes, once everyone gets here. Why don't you come in?"

"I – I have work." Shinichi shakes his head, motioning down at the papers in his lap. "I have to get this done."

"I see." Kuroba nods. Once again, he's donned a polite expression, blank and unreadable. He pushes a handful of wet hair out of his face, producing his top hat out of nowhere and settling it on his head. "If you change your mind, feel free to come in." With that, he turns and walks into the auditorium, closing the door softly behind him.

Shinichi does try to work on the case. He does. But Kuroba has a tendency to get underneath his skin, and thirty minutes later, he's still on the same webpage, mindlessly reading and rereading the same line over and over again. He can tell the magic show has already started – he can smell rose-scented smoke and there's muffled shouts of excitement every now and again – and he can't stop wondering about what Kuroba's shows are like. Is Kuroba even good at stage magic?

When the digital clock on his laptop informs him that another five minutes has passed and he still hasn't gotten anything done, Shinichi gives up. He shuts his laptop and the manila folder, tucks them both back into his briefcase, and hesitantly approaches the door to the auditorium.

He enters the room in the middle of what appears to be a card trick and kneels quickly amongst the back rows of entranced children. Kuroba is at the front of the room, pulling a card out of the inside of his pea coat – and then playing cards suddenly begin to pour out of his sleeves and from underneath his jacket. Shinichi stares in bewilderment as Kuroba frantically tries to gather the cards back up, a look of overblown horror on his face. The children all shriek with delight. The small girl beside Shinichi claps her hands excitedly. She didn't notice his arrival in the least, too busy watching Kuroba.

As Kuroba finishes gathering up the last of the cards, something at the back of his shirt begins to squirm wildly. Shinichi squints. He has a moment of complete confusion before a dove bursts out from underneath Kuroba's coat, flies across the room, and lands solidly on Shinichi's head, cooing all the while. Feeling a sense of déjà vu, Shinichi freezes.

All the children turn to gape at him. Kuroba straightens so quickly he drops half the cards he just picked up, his jaw slack before he beams. It's like watching the sun rise, Shinichi thinks idiotically, seeing the way he lights up, and then immediately feels stupid.

"Everyone, welcome my darling tantei-kun," Kuroba announces, grinning widely. "This is his first show."

The girl beside Shinichi gapes up at him, flushing a little. Shinichi vaguely recognizes her from the first time he met Kuroba.

"Heart-chan likes you," she says in a reverent, hushed tone, and Shinichi blinks down at her.

"Is that… unusual?" he asks, perplexed, and she nods so hard he worries for a moment that she might hurt herself.

"Heart-chan doesn't like anyone except Kaito-oniisan," she informs him, a grave look on her face. She twists her fingers in the hem of her pink pinafore dress. "Heart-chan tries to bite everyone who touches her."

"Maybe Heart-chan is a little like you in that respect, darling," Kuroba remarks from the front of the room, sounding smug. When Shinichi turns to glare at him, he smiles cheekily and claps his hands, reclaiming everyone's attention. "Let's continue, shall we?" He snaps his fingers. There's a pop before flowers of all shapes and colors fall from the ceiling, one landing in the lap of each audience member.

Amid the yells of surprise and amazement, Shinichi blinks at the yellow rose that drops onto his knee before he peers suspiciously up at the ceiling, which looks bare and unadorned as always. There's no sign of any net or contraption that could've been suspending the flowers overhead. Heart, still perched on his head, squawks and digs her feet into his scalp when he tips his head back too far, so Shinichi is forced to straighten and watch Kuroba levitate half a meter off the ground.

Kuroba, as it turns out, is an excellent magician. Shinichi can't figure out half of his tricks, and the other half he only has vague ideas about. He feels distressingly like one of the children sitting around him, watching in awe as Kuroba disappears in an explosion of smoke and miniature fireworks only to reappear at the back of the room.

It should grate on his nerves, not knowing how Kuroba is doing what he does, but somehow, Shinichi doesn't mind. He feels as if he might be content just to watch Kuroba do his magic and never fully comprehend how. Maybe it's a sign of character growth, or maybe Shinichi is losing his edge. Shinichi doesn't know what to do with the information.

After the show, when they're all sitting around, the children waiting for their parents and Shinichi finally extricating Heart from his hair, Kuroba sits down beside him. He's got glitter on his face and a scrap of tinsel in his hair, and his grin is overtaking most of his face.

"So? What did you think?" he asks. Shinichi knows Kaito caught him openmouthed at least once – they made eye contact before Shinichi tried to pretend he hadn't been gaping – and he narrows his eyes at him.

"It was… passable," he sniffs, smoothing down Heart's feathers with a fingertip, and Kuroba looks faintly amused as he feigns grieved offense.

"I broke out the glitter for you, and I don't even get a 'good'?" Kuroba sighs heavily, resting his face in a hand. He has a very nice jawline. "I don't cover myself in glitter for just anyone, darling. I'm never getting any of it off."

"You didn't have to try to impress me," Shinichi says, lifting an eyebrow at him.

He expects Kuroba to laugh, to maybe give a self-deprecating shrug. Instead, Kuroba looks at him square in the face and murmurs, uncharacteristically serious, "Didn't I?"

"Of course you didn't," Shinichi begins, but then he realizes that he's spent their whole acquaintance practically running away from Kuroba and stops. Considering the evidence, he thinks with a hint of shame, of course Kuroba would think Shinichi looks down on him. Of course Kuroba would think he has to prove himself.

Kuroba is watching Shinichi, mouth soft and peaceful, when Shinichi glances back at him. He smiles when he notices Shinichi's looking at him.

"Care for a coffee, darling?" he asks, casual. But one fingertip taps against the crest of his cheekbone, and one corner of his mouth twitches nervously, and Shinichi knows he's expecting Shinichi to run. Shinichi expects Shinichi to run.

"I'll pay. You did, after all, just cover yourself in glitter for me," he says, getting to his feet. Heart makes a sound of protest, flapping out of his lap to land on his shoulder. Her feet dig into the wool of his sweater. She pecks at the hair curling behind his ear.

The look on Kuroba's face makes Shinichi smirk, finally feeling as if he's got the upper hand. He looks as if someone has emptied the contents of a stun-gun into him without any warning.

"Darling, are you…" He trails off.

"Am I what?" Shinichi demands as he looks pointedly towards the door. Seeming to sense that Shinichi is leaving, Heart squawks and flutters towards Kuroba, disappearing back to wherever she first came from. "Are you coming or not?"

"I – of course I'm coming." Kuroba jerks upright, a smile blooming across his face. It remains all the way to the coffee shop and only grows when Shinichi tells the barista, "Shinichi," when she asks for his name, and Kuroba looks as if all his Christmases have come early.

"Shinichi?" he says as they huddle down at a corner table, rolling the syllables around in his mouth as if he's trying to taste them, memorize their texture. Shinichi tries not to flush at the sound of his given name in Kuroba's voice and mostly fails, going an unflattering shade of pink. He ends up staring blankly down at the tabletop, trying to hide his face behind his hands. His embarrassment is only compounded when Kuroba blithely remarks, "Oh, don't hide your gorgeous face from me, Shinichi."

"Stop it with the – the flattery," Shinichi groans into his hands. "It's so unnecessary." He knows he's said the wrong thing when Kuroba leans forward, his eyes sparkling.

"It's not flattery if it's the truth," he sings, as if they've been transported into a cheesy rom-com musical, and Shinichi wants to melt into his seat. He's saved by the barista calling their names as she slides Kuroba's three-pump caramel latte and Shinichi's double-shot espresso across the counter.

It's only when he's arrived back home an hour later that Shinichi remembers the Yoshimura case. He stares into the murky depths of his unlit apartment, takes a deep breath, flicks on the lights, and sits down on his couch. He works through the night and most of Sunday and thinks about Kuroba too many times for comfort. On Monday, when his work only receives an absent nod from Megure, Shinichi has the heartstopping thought of Why do I even bother? before he corrals himself and returns to his desk to slog through another series of cases.

The sun has long since set, leaving the street bathed in the dim light of streetlamps and faded stars. Shinichi drags his feet as he walks towards his apartment building, rubbing at his eyes. He finally closed the Yoshimura case (the murderer was the victim's sister, not her husband or her husband's secretary, and he finally got the necessary evidence to arrest her), but instead of feeling accomplished, all he can remember is the artificial smile Senior Superintendent Matsumoto had given him, the quiet way he'd rumbled, "Don't you usually clean these things up sooner, Kudou-kun?" and laughed jovially before strolling off.

His eyes hadn't been laughing. They had been flatly unimpressed.

Shinichi clenches his jaw. He's shaking a little with every wavery step he takes, and he can't recall the last time he slept in his bed for longer than four hours. He thinks he might be out of energy drinks and coffee beans, an unprecedented horror. The streetlights and traffic signals have all blurred in starbursts of color that mix like oil and water in his vision.

There's the sound of footsteps pattering behind him, increasing in frequency as if their owner is running towards him. Shinichi prays it's not a mugger, because he doesn't have the strength to ward them off. Although, now that he thinks about it, it's not as if he has anything of value with him – his wallet, maybe, but other than that, he's only got a few empty manila folders in his briefcase. Maybe if he got mugged, he'd have a valid excuse not to go to work – oh, wait, that doesn't make sense when he's shown up to work with badly-bound gunshot wounds and fevers of nearly forty degrees.

A hand descends on Shinichi's shoulder, and he desperately wants to close his eyes and collapse on the sidewalk. He fights off the urge, though, and turns to look at the person. Surprisingly – or perhaps unsurprisingly – it's Kuroba. He has a tendency to show up when Shinichi's feeling his worst, after all.

"Kuroba-san," Shinichi says.

"Darling, you don't look very well," Kuroba comments, his eyebrows drawn together. His hand remains on Shinichi's shoulder, a solid, heavy weight that Shinichi sags beneath. He isn't wearing his usual ridiculous top hat ensemble – instead, he's got on dark jeans and t-shirt that looks as if it would be soft to the touch. Shinichi has the sleep-deprivation-caused urge to bury his face in Kuroba's neck and stop breathing.

Instead of doing that, Shinichi swallows and straightens as much as he can. "I'm fine. What are you doing here so late at night?"

Kuroba hooks his free thumb over his shoulder at where the library lurks across the street. "Helping the librarians with some filing and rearranging. It's the only reason they let me hold magic shows there, considering the fire hazards and all of that."

"I can picture that." Shinichi can, too; he can imagine Kuroba shuffling around the stacks in his jeans and unstyled hair, helping Sachiko reorganize the French art section. Kuroba does have the sort of charm that little old ladies and children find enthralling. "How many roses did you give them?"

"Don't worry, Shinichi, you'll always be first in my heart, no matter how many roses I give Sachiko and Eri," Kuroba assures him, his hand shifting so he can rest his thumb lightly against Shinichi's pulse point. Shinichi shivers inadvertently. "What about you?"

"I'm on my way home," Shinichi tells him, trying not to lean into his touch. People don't touch him for long, usually, and he doesn't know how to react. "Just got off work. I'm on my way home."

"Just?" A wrinkle appears between Kuroba's eyebrows. "Shinichi, it's nearly eleven thirty."

"It's not twelve yet?" Shinichi feels a hint of relief. Maybe he'll get an extra ten minutes of sleep in – wait, he's got to go restock on coffee and energy drinks, which means he'll have to get up earlier to go to the supermarket. Never mind. "I'm early, then."

"Shinichi." Kuroba says his name as if he's disappointed in Shinichi, as if Shinichi has done him a personal affront, and Shinichi jerks away, offended. He doesn't need Kuroba's disappointment, on top of the disdain of every other person he's somehow let down.

"Don't act like you understand my situation," he grumbles, brushing Kuroba's hand off of his shoulder. "Work is important to me." Work is all I have, he almost adds, but stops himself when he realizes how pathetic that sounds. How pathetic it is.

"All right," Kuroba replies after a short pause, and then he puts his hand on Shinichi's bicep, this time hesitant and butterfly light, ready to remove it if Shinichi tries to shrug him off again. Shinichi feels awful – he didn't mean to make Kuroba feel as if he's on thin ice around Shinichi; he didn't want to stifle Kuroba's personality. "Let me walk you home, at least."

"So much for you not knowing where I live," Shinichi mutters, but he starts walking down the sidewalk towards his building.

"I think we're past the strangers phase, don't you? You bought me coffee, my dove likes you better than she likes me, some of the kids have started calling you the Dove Prince," Kuroba reminds him conversationally, his grip tightening when he realizes Shinichi isn't protesting. A second passes before he lets go to sling his entire arm around Shinichi's shoulders. He smells like old books and white tea, probably from spending the evening in the library. The scent is comforting, as is the warm stripe of his arm across Shinichi's back.

"The Dove Prince, hm?" Shinichi murmurs as he brings them to a stop in front of his apartment building. He turns to look Kuroba in the face. "Am I a dove who's been turned into a human or the other way around?"

"A dove in a human's body, of course," Kuroba informs him. His eyes are hooded, since his back is to the streetlight, and his mouth is a serious, dark curve. "I think you want to be free, secretly. I think you've convinced yourself that you like where you are, but you want to leave this all and fly away."

Shinichi blinks at him before he can't help but smile. He's not sure what Kuroba is trying to convey, but he does appreciate the attempt. Nobody's ever tried to write poetry about you, a voice reminds him in the back of his head. Nobody's ever cared enough.

"How poetic, Kuroba-san," he says, a bit dryly, before he turns and enters his apartment building. Five minutes later, when he looks out the front-facing window of his apartment, down towards the street, he can make out Kuroba's silhouette still standing on the sidewalk, right where Shinichi left him. Kuroba remains there for another minute before he disappears down the street. Shinichi pulls his blinds shut and goes to brush his teeth.

Serial killings are always the most tedious. At some point in time, Shinichi actively enjoyed working on them, mostly because figuring out the serial killer's pattern was a good challenge. Now he hates them, because there are so many more victims to investigate and so many different threads to tie together and so many more possible suspects that he has to work around.

He's been working the same case – a series of quiet poisonings stretching from Fukuoka to Tokyo, seemingly at random, by a murderer the rest of the division has named the Cross Killer – for nearly a week now, and every time he thinks he's found the prime suspect, another murder happens and that suspect has an alibi and no motive. It's frustrating, because the longer he takes to solve it, the more information and possibilities there are to wade through. It's like trying to light a fire underwater.

Shinichi glares down at the peaceful corpse of Ashitaka Kimie. At least she looks at rest, even if she's surrounded by crime scene tape and forensics officers. When he leans in to inspect her, he grimaces at the delicately scrawled cross carved into the back of her hand. He doesn't doubt that once forensics looks into it, they'll discover it was done with the same serrated knife as all the other murders. Ashitaka Kimie is yet another tally mark for the Cross Killer.

Yet another disappointment for Shinichi.

He's about to kneel beside her, mindful not to disturb the shag carpet too much, when a voice booms out from behind him.

"Another victim, Kudou-kun?" it says, and Shinichi hastily turns to look at the newcomer. It's Senior Superintendent Matsumoto standing in the doorway to Ashitaka Kimie's house. He cuts a sharp, bulky figure in his pressed gray suit, and blue-clad officers make quick detours around him as they scurry about the house. He exudes an air of disdain, wearing the sort of expression that a disappointed father gives a misbehaving child. Shinichi shrinks back. "I put you on this case to keep the body count to a minimum, and look what's happening."

"The killer's doing a good job of cleaning up after themselves, Superintendent," Shinichi tries, brushing down the front of his shirt and hoping he looks someone professional. He shouldn't have taken off his suit jacket, he thinks wryly, and hurries to roll down his sleeves from where they've been cuffed up his forearms. "I'm doing my best, but it's a difficult case."

"Hm," The superintendent hums. He doesn't look impressed, leveling a look of derision at Shinichi before he angles himself towards something out of view. A rock drops heavily into the bottom of Shinichi's stomach as he continues, "Well, whatever the… reason is," he pauses pointedly, sounding as if he'd much rather prefer excuse to reason, "I think it's time we took you off this case."

Shinichi abruptly feels as if he's been dunked into a bathtub full of ice cubes. He goes cold all over. He can feel his expression freezing into place.

"What?" he manages in a nearly inaudible voice.

"Yes, I think it may be for the best, since you haven't had much progress with this case. There's even been another victim since you started." Matsumoto nods once. He's still looking away from Shinichi, which is why he doesn't seem to notice that Shinichi is choking. "I've decided that we'll be putting Assistant Inspector Hakuba in charge of these murders. You're released." As he speaks, Hakuba appears beside him in the doorway, his expression so pitying and guilty that Shinichi feels a wave of sickening vertigo roll over him.

"You…" Shinichi stumbles to the side a little. Hakuba is watching him with apologetic eyes. "You're taking me off this case."

"That's correct," Matsumoto agrees. He eyes Shinichi, the contempt blatant in the downturn of his mouth and the pinched look on his face. "Did you misunderstand me somehow, Kudou-kun? You're free to leave." It's not a request, not the way he says it; it's clearly a command.

And suddenly Shinichi is furious. He's spent sleepless nights researching this case, looking for possible motives – he's got every suspect's background memorized down to birthday, and there are nearly eighteen of them – trying his hardest, and he's losing the case? He's never lost a case before, not even when he was working around a stab wound and high on painkillers, not even when his mother was in the hospital and he was half out of his mind with worry, and now, when he's working the hardest he's ever worked – now –

"I understand, Superintendent," Shinichi spits, the words tasting acidic as he does. "Sorry I didn't work hard enough on the case. Sorry I can't prevent every goddamn murder that happens. What do you want next? Should I arrest killers even before they've done anything? Would that be good enough for you?" The superintendent's eyebrows are lifted; he looks a little taken aback, and Shinichi spitefully, foolishly, childishly thinks, Good.

Shinichi turns to Hakuba next – Hakuba, who's looking at him with a combination of horror and confusion. "Have fun, Hakuba. Try not to let anyone else die, all right?" he bites out before he stomps past them, accidentally bumping into Matsumoto and just not caring.

It isn't until he's almost home, staggering through the park, that he realizes the magnitude of what he just did. When he does, he has to sit down on the nearest bench, startling a few pigeons away.

There's no way he's going to make inspector now. There's no way. He'll be lucky if Matsumoto doesn't try to get him demoted; his outburst could probably be stretched into insubordination, maybe even threatening a superior officer, if Matsumoto embellishes. He's screwed beyond belief.

"Oh God," Shinichi says aloud. He feels as if his lungs are collapsing. His chest heaves as he tries to breathe; the air seems to go burnt and acrid the moment it enters him, eating away at the lining of his throat like so much caustic acid. He's so stupid, how could he do this to himself, he's worked so hard, why –

The worst part is that he doesn't have anyone to talk to, because Ran is overseas and doesn't care for his "work theatrics," and Hattori has already made inspector and Shinichi has too much pride to talk to him about it, and obviously Hakuba isn't an option, and there's no one – except –

Shinichi is half-running down the path before he's even fully aware that he's stood up. It's early afternoon, so maybe – maybe –

He comes to a rough, shuddering stop when he spots Kuroba, wearing his stupid top hat and silk shirt and surrounded by awed children, sunlight caught in the scraps of hair peeking out from underneath the hat, smile mischievous and perfect. Kuroba is sitting beneath the shade of a tree, and he looks up when he hears Shinichi arrive.

Kuroba's eyes instantly go wide – what do I look like, Shinichi wonders briefly, if he gets that expression so quickly – and he climbs to his feet. He says something in curt, clipped words to the children (it sounds a little like "Wait just a second") before he hurries over, abandoning his hat as he goes. The children turn to stare at Shinichi, but Shinichi couldn't care less at this moment.

"Shinichi," Kuroba says in a hushed tone the moment he's close enough to grab Shinichi's shoulders. "Darling, what's wrong?"

"I – I messed up," Shinichi gasps out. He feels crazy and light-headed. "I – I messed everything up, Kuroba, I've ruined it all, I ran away from the crime scene, I insulted the superintendent, I'm never going to make inspector, it's all ruined –"

"No, of course not," Kuroba reassures him, his tone the soothing cadence one generally uses around crying babies and startled animals. Shinichi wants to shake him off, because what does he know? He doesn't know anything, he's doesn't even have a job of his own, and yet he's trying to tell Shinichi –

And then Shinichi is being wrestled to the ground. Blades of grass collapse underneath Shinichi's weight; Shinichi's face is pressed into the fabric of Kuroba's shirt until he can't see anything, and then overhead, Kuroba's voice says, "Breathe, Shinichi. Breathe." When Shinichi struggles, Kuroba just holds him closer. It should be stifling; the proximity should be making everything worse – but Shinichi inhales the scent of laundry detergent and Kuroba's cologne-shampoo scent and feels Kuroba's hands roaming up and down his back, and he drags down as much air as he can, trying to assuage the tight knot of panic behind his sternum.

Shinichi doesn't know how long they sit on the grass, but when Kuroba finally lets him go, he can breathe again, drawing in slow, deep inhales. Kuroba doesn't let him go far, his hands cupping Shinichi's cheeks as he inspects Shinichi's face.

"You know," he begins in a careful tone, "I've been trying not to ask about it, since I didn't think you'd appreciate it, but why do you even work so hard?" His gaze flits across Shinichi's face before they come to rest on his eyes once again. "You're killing yourself, darling. You look worse every time I see you. You don't sleep, and I doubt you're eating. You're always working. I just want to know that it's worth it."

"I have to make inspector," Shinichi mumbles. There's pressure behind his eyes and a sticky dryness in his throat that refuses to dampen. His next breath rattles as he sucks it down. "I have to. It's what I've been working towards ever since I joined the police force."

"But why do you want to be inspector?" Kuroba asks, his thumb trailing back and forth across Shinichi's cheekbones in perfect periodic motion. "Why is it important to you? Why is it going to make you happy?"

"Because –" Shinichi bites off a frustrated sound and tries to look away, but Kuroba's grip tightens to the point of gentle firmness and he tips Shinichi's face back. Shinichi averts his eyes, peering down at his wrinkled and probably grass-stained pants.

For a long time, Kuroba doesn't say anything. Then, "I don't want to push you, Shinichi. But if work is stressing you out to the point that you're having panic attacks –"

"That wasn't a panic attack, it was just me being stupid," Shinichi attempts to say, even though he gets the disgusted feeling that he's lying to himself, but Kuroba steamrolls on without listening.

"– then you should reconsider what you're doing. You love mysteries, don't you? But this isn't the way it should be. You're not going to live to thirty if you keep this up." Kuroba lets go of Shinichi's face. It's only now that Shinichi realizes how close they are, Kuroba's legs framing the crumpled mess of Shinichi's. Kuroba has beautiful eyelashes, long and thick, and his mouth is pink and pretty, bottom lip plush and curved, and Shinichi has the unbalancing, insane urge to kiss him.

He tamps it down, though, and scoots away to climb to his feet. There's a time and place for these thoughts, and it's not now, five minutes after a – a panic attack, fine, when he's – when he's vulnerable or whatever and having ridiculous thoughts. He doesn't need this on top of work.

"Sorry about this," Shinichi mutters. Kuroba makes a half-amused, half-offended sound as he stands up as well.

"Darling, I live to please you," he tells Shinichi, affectionate as he reaches out to ruffle Shinichi's hair, and Shinichi pretends he isn't hot under his skin as he ducks away from Kuroba's hand. Kuroba doesn't seem bothered as he smiles at Shinichi, rolling his shoulders back. "And since you so rudely interrupted my magic show, you can be my glamorous assistant for the rest of the show. It's only fair."

There's a twinkle in his eye, even though Shinichi can see he doesn't think Shinichi will agree. By all rights, Shinichi shouldn't agree – he should go back to headquarters and prepare to grovel for the next year, he should double his workload, he shouldn't even be entertaining the idea, but… but.

"As long as I don't have to wear any ridiculous outfits, I don't mind," Shinichi says archly, and can't help but smirk when Kuroba, already walking back towards where the children are goggling at them, nearly trips before he whips around, eyes wide.

"You don't – darling," he gasps, delighted as he hurries back over to Shinichi. "Are you serious? Because I'll be heartbroken if you're not."

"Am I ever not serious?" Shinichi deadpans.

"Well," Kuroba breathes, grinning manically at Shinichi, "I suppose not." His bottom lip catches between his teeth as he tries and fails to stifle his smile. "I don't know what I'll do with all the custom sequined outfits I ordered for the day you'd be my assistant."

"Do I want to know?" Shinichi grumbles. But even he can't stop smiling faintly to himself as Kuroba laughs with exhilaration, as if Shinichi has singlehandedly made his life by offering to be his assistant for an hour-long free magic show for neighborhood children. He wishes everything could be this easy.

Shinichi didn't think he would be good with children. He doesn't know how to talk to them – do they want to be treated like children, or do they want to be treated like adults? – but for some reason the children love him. When Shinichi grudgingly shows up to Saturday's show, the dark circles underneath his eyes nearly spreading past his cheekbones and feeling as if his internal organs have gone hollow (making amends with Matsumoto isn't going well, and Shinichi's slept at the station twice in the past four days), Ayumi, the little girl with the pinafore and headband whom he'd sat next to at the library, has made him a flower crown. Her two friends, Mitsuhiko and Genta, demand to know about his latest case.

It's unexpected and a little terrifying, but Shinichi ends up telling a group of six-year-olds about a fictitious case (he can't very well tell them the details of the actual investigation he's currently working) while wearing a flower crown and sitting cross-legged in a park on a Saturday afternoon. While in the middle of describing a completely imaginary suspect, Shinichi glances over at where Kuroba is preparing for the show and catches him watching them with a soft expression. When he notices that Shinichi's spotted him, he grins crookedly and waves.

"Kaito-oniisan really likes you," Ayumi remarks, sounding a little wistful. "He talks about you a lot." Taken aback, Shinichi blinks at her in abject confusion.

"We don't know each other that well," he says slowly. He doesn't know anything about Kuroba, really: not his actual job (if he has one), not his favorite color, not his favorite book or movie or TV show. "What could he even say?"

"Sometimes he asks us if we've seen you around, which none of us ever have," Mitsuhiko pipes up from where he's sprawling out on his stomach. "Most of us don't live in this area." Shinichi silently adds that he doesn't go home until one or two in the morning, at least not as of late, and he goes to work around five, so it would be odd if any of the children have seen him around.

"And sometimes he just goes, 'I wonder if Shinichi is doing all right,' out of nowhere. It's annoying, especially when he does it while he's doing a trick," Genta tacks on impatiently. "Now would you tell us more about the suspect? Did he do it? I bed he did. He sounds suspicious."

"Don't ruin it," Ayumi scolds. Genta sulks.

"Right," Shinichi stammers, and gets back to the fake case. But he can't stop looking over at Kuroba, trying to figure out if the kids are lying. He can't imagine that Kuroba even cares about him that much, considering all he knows about Shinichi is that Shinichi is a workaholic police officer who's trying to make inspector and has panic attacks and nearly passes out in public parks. It's cringe worthy and pathetic.

"So I hear you talk about me a lot," Shinichi comments after the show, when all the children have been sent home with new flowers. Kuroba, busily sweeping up confetti, doesn't even look up.

"Of course I do, darling," he answers absently, dumping a handful of tinsel bits into the nearest trash can. He lifts his head to meet Shinichi's eyes now, beaming a little. The sun is just beginning to set, the sky going blood orange and ginger, and he looks gorgeous and doused in fireplace warmth. "You're an integral part of my life."

He sounds as if he's joking, and he probably is joking, but Shinichi still smiles dopily and says, "Kaito, I didn't know you cared," just to see Kaito's face light up. Kaito slings an arm around Shinichi's shoulders and demands Shinichi go out to dinner with him to celebrate his departure from being a stiff, too-serious killjoy, and Shinichi whacks him on the head. Not hard, of course, but Kaito still complains all the way to the Italian place two blocks away.

God, why is it so easy, he wonders? Shinichi knows better than most that nothing worth having is easy, but this – Kaito makes everything so simple. Shinichi doesn't know what to do with that.

Because Shinichi was born under an inauspicious star or he angered some god at some point in his life or the universe enjoys his suffering, good things don't last in his life, and now is no exception.

It's three weeks after the Incident, and while Shinichi hasn't exactly gotten slapped with an insubordination charge, Matsumoto has him under a microscope. Shinichi hasn't gotten a good night's sleep for the past month, and he's mostly subsisting on coffee and the odd piece of fruit one of his officers leaves on his desk out of pity, but his casework is flawless. He's wrapped up more cases in these three weeks than he has in three months, and he's two ahead in the cold case count he has going with Hakuba. Of course, he sometimes passes out at his desk or gets migraines or forgets what he's doing, but what matters is that maybe he's okay, maybe he can still make inspector.

And then it happens.

On the weekends, Shinichi has been working as Kaito's assistant. He can't help it; he knows he shouldn't, because taking a few hours off during the weekend means he has to work even more during the week to catch up, but it's worth it. He likes having the break, the little distraction for a few hours. And Kaito always seems so happy to see him, and Ayumi, Genta, and Mitsuhiko like hearing his stories, and Heart still sits on his head every now again, and Shinichi needs to get out of his head every now and again, or else he'll start thinking about what Kaito said, start thinking about why do you even want to make inspector, why will it make you happy?.

It's a Sunday afternoon, and Shinichi is standing beside Kaito, who's counting his stack of playing cards with exaggerated concentration, oblivious as fireworks go off out of his sleeves and doves land on his shoulders. The children are laughing, Shinichi is smiling, Kaito is looking at him out of the corner of his eye, the sun is shining –

And then a loud, horrible voice cuts in, cuts to the bone. "You look like you're having fun, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi once thought the worst moment of his life was when Ran rejected him at age sixteen. It had stung, the dismissive way she'd laughed at him and patted him on the shoulder before she'd said with careless condescension, "Sorry, Shinichi, but I don't think so." He'd been depressed for months. He's been stabbed, three separate times. Once by a carjacker who reacted badly when Shinichi tried to question him about a case, once by a panicking culprit who was trying to escape arrest, and once by a kidnapper who was attempting to torture him for information.

None of that compares to the bullet-in-the-stomach shock Shinichi feels when he looks up and sees Superintendent Matsumoto staring at him from the path. For a staggering few seconds, all he feels is bewildered confusion, and then it hits him.

"I was wondering why you don't come to work on the weekends," Matsumoto remarks. There's a sadistic curl to his mouth. He's enjoying this, Shinichi realizes, and his stomach lurches sickeningly. Matsumoto continues, "It's because you're off entertaining children with… people of questionable character." Kaito makes a quiet, slightly affronted noise beside Shinichi, and Shinichi clenches his jaw tight. Questionable character, he thinks, enraged, and his fingers curl into fists at his sides.

"This isn't what I expect for someone who could be an inspector," Matsumoto adds conversationally. "Someone who could've been an inspector, I mean." The bottom of Shinichi's stomach dissolves. He feels as if he's gone skydiving without a parachute, openmouthed as Matsumoto adopts a reprimanding air. "We expect full devotion from our higher ranked officers. There are cases you could be working right now, but you're off playing with children. We don't need inspectors with that kind of work ethic in our police force. In fact, we don't need officers like that."

There are so many things Shinichi wants to say, so many things he wants to do. He wants to shout at Matsumoto, he wants to punch Matsumoto for implying whatever the hell he implied about Kaito, he wants to brutally maim him for insulting Shinichi's work ethic when Shinichi singlehandedly solves over half the cases that come through the division and blacks out if he stands up too quickly because he doesn't sleep anymore. He wants to – he wants to –

Instead, he shuts his mouth, he pastes on a smile, and he says, "I'm sorry, Superintendent." He bows his head. He tries to look contrite. He feels Kaito go frozen and still beside him.

"Sorry? I'm sorry we wasted our time on someone like you," Matsumoto sniffs. His mouth twitches as he looks Shinichi up and down contemptuously. "You seemed like you had potential when you were younger. It's too bad we were wrong about you." And then he leaves. Just like that.

Shinichi doesn't move for a second, staring at Matsumoto's back until he's out of sight. Distantly, he's aware of Kaito telling the kids that the show's over, sorry, next time the show will be longer to make up for the lost time. He's mostly trying not to throw up anywhere, not make an even more undignified mess of himself. Everything feels empty, drained. How is it possible to be this pathetic?

"Shinichi?" Kaito prompts once the park is mostly cleared of children. His tone is unexpectedly cool. "Could you please explain what just happened?"

When Shinichi looks at him, Kaito isn't smiling. His jaw is set, and someone he looks sharp and foreign, nothing like the Kaito that Shinichi's accustomed to.

"That was me losing any chance at inspector," Shinichi responds. His voice is muffled and stilted to his own ears, as if he's hearing it underwater.

"No, that was him blatantly looking for reasons to demote you!" Kaito shouts, red up to his temples, and it occurs to Shinichi that he's genuinely angry. "It's the weekend! You're off work! He's not even at work, for the love of God! Why does it matter that you help out at a magic show for kids?"

"It's my work ethic," Shinichi chokes out. His throat is sealed tight. He's having trouble breathing. "I'm not – I'm not devoted enough." Kaito looks at him as if he's never seen him before.

"Shinichi, you collapsed in a park once because you were so exhausted," he grits out. "Your work ethic shouldn't be under fire; someone should be getting you to a hospital." Something tightens in his face. "Why didn't you defend yourself?"

A flare of irritation sparks in Shinichi's stomach. "Maybe this is something you wouldn't understand, seeing as you're not exactly a career man," he snaps, and for one moment, he bitterly relishes the flash of surprise on Kaito's face. "But one generally doesn't defend themselves to their superior officer when they're trying to be promoted."

The horrified, infuriated expression on Kaito's face when Shinichi finishes makes Shinichi burn behind the eyes. Not with tears, but indignation and incredulity.

"So what you're telling me," Kaito begins (and his voice is terrible and quiet and completely void of warmth, and it scares Shinichi a little), "is that you're a coward."

Shinichi reels. He – what? "Excuse me?"

"You're a coward," Kaito reiterates, his eyes hard and his mouth a carved line. "You're scared. You won't let go of a worthless dream because you're scared of trying to do anything new. You've convinced yourself that making inspector is the only thing that will make you happy, even when it's clearly going to do the opposite. What's after inspector? Superintendent? And then superintendent general? All you're going to do is make yourself miserable."

There's something like betrayal crawling up Shinichi's throat, because Shinichi was naïve enough to think Kaito would always be on his side, because Kaito was always there to comfort him. He trusted Kaito, ridiculously, and look where's it's gotten him now.

"You don't understand anything about me," he hisses, taking a step backwards. "You don't know me. Don't pretend that you do. And don't act like you know what it's like, trying to be successful. If you had never come along, I would've been fine. None of this would've happened. This is your fault. Thanks for ruining my life." Thanks for acting like you cared, he adds on mentally.

It's almost as if Kaito hears the thought, because his face has gone suddenly lost and panicked. "Shinichi, I didn't – you know that's not what I meant. I lo – you're important to me, all right? And I know for a fact that Hakuba is trying to make inspector too, and he at least sleeps –"

Shinichi is so startled to hear Hakuba's name that he forgets his anger for a moment. "You know Hakuba?"

"Yeah, he's an old classmate," Kaito answers, the slightest edge of desperation entering his tone. "Look –"

"Did you know who I was?" Shinichi demands, horror filling his stomach like lead. He takes another step backwards. "Even before I told you my name, did you know who I was? Have you been talking to Hakuba about me?"

"I knew who you were because you're always in the papers," Kaito replies, eyes wide. His hands are extended forward in a placating manner, as if he's trying to calm a spooked horse. "And yeah, I did talk to Hakuba about you, but only because I –"

"Get away from me," Shinichi snaps. How pathetic, he thinks as he backpedals again. Is that why Hakuba looks at him pityingly every time they cross paths? Have the two of them been making fun of Shinichi, about how stupid he is for trying so hard? Has all of this been Kaito laughing at him? He glares at Kaito, unable to keep his voice from breaking when he chokes out, "And I thought I –" He breaks off, because it doesn't matter that Shinichi may have been thinking maybe, maybe he was in love with –

"Shinichi," Kaito says, looking absolutely crestfallen, and Shinichi turns and leaves.

Hakuba Saguru is, unfortunately, perfect. He has good relations with both the English and Japanese police forces, although for the past several years, he's been living and working from Tokyo. He loves Sherlock Holmes and owns an inverness and a first-edition copy of A Study in Scarlet. He has an incredible, admirable meticulousness and has never given up on a case and he's one of Shinichi's closest friends.

His father is also the superintendent general of the police force, and he's going to make inspector instead of Shinichi.

Shinichi isn't surprised to get a call from him Tuesday evening. They hang out – or used to hang out, before Shinichi's time was eaten by work.

"Want to go out for a drink?" Hakuba asks. There's a hint of nervousness to his tone, uncharacteristic of him and a little jarring. "It's on me."

"If it's on you," Shinichi agrees, uncomfortable.

They end up meeting at a bar down the street from where Shinichi lives. It's not very high class, with sticky tabletops and seats cushions torn at the seams, but Shinichi isn't sure he'd want to deal with Hakuba somewhere rampant with minimalist paintings and potted ferns. He can barely meet Hakuba's eyes as is.

"So," Hakuba starts in a tone crafted with care, "I heard about what happened from Kuroba-kun. Is that why you haven't come to work?"

The word work fills Shinichi with some kind of undefinable dread. He doesn't know how Kaito did it, but now Shinichi can't stop thinking about what he said, how Shinichi is going to make himself miserable and how Shinichi is a coward and how Shinichi is afraid. Everything runs through Shinichi's head on a loop.

"Yes," he tells Hakuba and takes a drink of his lukewarm beer. "That's why."

"To be honest," Hakuba remarks, running a fingertip around the rim of his glass, "I sort of agree with him." When Shinichi looks at him sharply, he's donned an apologetic but firm expression. "You're running yourself into the ground with no reason. Making inspector isn't the be-all and end-all of life, you realize."

"But it was my goal," Shinichi murmurs. He balances his face in his hands, staring down at the grainy wood of the table. There's a half-wiped stain of something next to Hakuba's elbow, smeared into a careless arc. "I was working towards it for so long."

"In the end, though," Hakuba says, "it's just a job. You can't take it with you after you die. And," he adds, leaning forward, "I can see that you don't enjoy the cases anymore, do you? You used to get so excited every time you heard about a new case, when we were teenagers. And now you just look tired. What happened to that excitement, Kudou-kun?"

"It's hard to get excited about the same thing over and over again. There's a murder, there's suspects, there's a culprit. Rinse and repeat," Shinichi grunts, pushing his beer away from him. His stomach feels too unsettled to drink.

"So leave all of that," Hakuba comments baldly. "Nobody's forcing you to stay except for you."

"But," Shinichi begins, but he can't finish. People will say that he couldn't make it in the police force. People will say he burnt out. People will say he was a fraud all along.

"People are going to talk no matter what you do," Hakuba reminds him, as if he can hear exactly what Shinichi's thinking. "People are always going to say things. When I'm made inspector, people are going to say it was nepotism because my father's the superintendent general. People are going to say there's a conspiracy of English taking over the government."

"Oh," Shinichi mumbles in a small voice. He never even thought about that, and how selfish is he? He looks away. "I didn't realize. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Hakuba waves a hand dismissively. "Or, if you insist on it, you can apologize by fixing everything with Kuroba-kun. He was insufferable when he was mooning over you, and it's not much better when he's heartbroken. He thinks you hate him, by the way."

"Mooning?" Shinichi blinks. He thinks he might be flushing.

"Yes, mooning, pining, waxing lyrical, all of that." Hakuba rolls his eyes. "Are you going to make up with him or what?"

"I'm – yeah," Shinichi nods, biting his bottom lip. There's a plan forming in the back of his head, but – "Do you know where I could find Kaito tomorrow night?"

Hakuba tells him.

"I…" Shinichi gapes. He feels like he's been dropped into a tank full of electric eels. Hakuba is wearing an annoyingly amused smile, but Shinichi can't even find it in himself to get upset. "I shouldn't have accused him of not knowing what being a careerist entails."

"His situation is different, though," Hakuba shrugs. He narrows his eyes at him for a moment. "What are you going to do, then?"

Shinichi tells him.

"I'm proud of you, Kudou-kun," Hakuba says, looking at Shinichi with something approaching admiration. He pats Shinichi on the hand. "Good luck."

"What can I say, I have a goal again," Shinichi reminds him, and downs half his beer in one go.

According to Shinichi's understanding of Matsumoto's schedule, Matsumoto is due to be in his office in about two minutes. Shinichi checks his watch one more time before he hefts the last stack onto Matsumoto's desk, flipping open the top file to check that he's got the right cases. He does.

Shinichi has just finished rearranging the towers of boxes lining the walls when Matsumoto opens the office door. His eyes go dinner plate wide before he zeros in on Shinichi, expression instantly furious.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demands, trying to stalk angrily towards Shinichi but failing when he discovers that his path is obstructed by the piles. He settles for glaring at Shinichi over the ragged top of a box.

"Do you see those?" Shinichi motions at the boxes surrounding him. When Matsumoto gives him a furiously unimpressed look, he shakes his head. "Open that one." He motions at a random box.

Seething, Matsumoto flips the top off of the indicated box. He stares down at its contents. "This is a case file from two years ago," he says. "What's your point?"

"Look at who the officer in charge was," Shinichi tells him, rolling his eyes. Matsumoto clenches his jaw visibly.

"It's you. Kudou Shinichi."

"That's right," Shinichi agrees amiably. He motions at the boxes. "All of these boxes are filled with reports of cases that I solved. Personally. You will note that there are over fifty boxes in here, and that each box contains roughly twenty files. These boxes are from the last four years and do not include any of the cases I solved while still in high school."

"I see what you're trying to say, Kudou," Matsumoto grits out. "Tell me what you mean." The you bastard is heavily implied.

"I'm getting there," Shinichi answers. He points at the stack of files on Matsumoto's desk. "These are the cases you have solved in the past four years. As you can see, it's a little lacking in comparison to mine." He shrugs. "There are... how many, do you think? Maybe a couple hundred?"

"This is blatant disrespect," Matsumoto snarls, ugly color suffusing his cheeks. He shoves past a tower of boxes, undeterred when it wobbles and falls over, sending manila folders everywhere. "Get out of my office."

"Not till I've finished saying what I came here to say," Shinichi returns. He doesn't back down as Matsumoto, red-faced, shoves closer; he meets Matsumoto's glare without flinching. "I don't know what I did to make you hate me, but whatever it was, I'm not even sorry. I've solved more cases than anyone in this entire division. I've given up everything for this job. And you still don't think I deserve to make inspector for whatever reason. You know what? You're the one who needs to clean up their shitty work ethic and be more goddamn devoted. Because this?" He jabs a finger at the sad pile of folders still sitting on the desk. "This is pathetic, Superintendent."

"I've been looking for a good reason to demote you, Kudou-kun," Matsumoto growls, looming over Shinichi threateningly. "And this is the best one I'm ever going to get. You're demoted. I think we can transfer you to the traffic division, sergeant."

"That's fine," Shinichi says calmly. He enjoys the look of surprise that flits across Matsumoto's face before he adds, "Because I quit."

He leaves feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

The Coronation Theater is a large, hulking building covered in dazzlingly bright lights and swarming with women in cocktail dresses and men in suits. The glowing, rectangular sign over the entrance reads KID in solid, blocky lettering. Underneath that, in smaller print, THREE-TIME MAGICIAN OF THE YEAR; TONIGHT AT EIGHT is written.

Shinichi brushes down the front of his suit, takes a deep breath, and enters the theater.

He's a few minutes early, but the audience is nearly full already. Shinichi finds his seat easily enough – it's front and center, thanks to Hakuba's pulling of strings – and sits down. He makes stilted conversation with the girl next to him, who touches his arm too much and smells strongly of department store perfume.

"I've heard so many good things about this magician," she gushes, tapping one manicured nail against the inside of Shinichi's forearm. "Nobody knows what his real name is, but apparently he's incredible."

"I've seen him before," Shinichi admits. The girl's eyes go wide. "He's the best magician I've ever seen."

The lights dim right as the girl launches into an analysis of what the show will be like; she instantly goes silent and clutches at her necklace, eyes shining as she looks up at the stage. Shinichi follows suit, watching with rapt attention as a spotlight flickers on and Kaito is standing in the center of the stage, wearing his familiar top hat. He's wearing a spotless white suit over his usual silk shirt and tie. He has a monocle settled over one eye. There's even a cape attached to his shoulders. The bits of his hair that peek out from underneath the top hat are golden and gossamer underneath the stage lights, and his suit fits him in all the right places, accentuating the flare of his waist and the tapering of his legs. The smile he wears is infectious and the right amount of roguish. He looks like someone out of a fairytale, the prince who charms the dragon away from the princess, the mysterious sorcerer from a far-off land. Shinichi is a little bit in love with that, even if he wishes he could see Kaito's face, laugh at his horrible bedhead, touch his cheek and know he's real.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Kaito says in perfect English, throwing his arms out wide, "welcome." A shower of roses falls from the dark, domed ceiling of the theater, startling everyone into laughter. The rose that lands in Shinichi's lap is deep red. Shinichi picks it up and can't help but smile to himself.

The show, as expected, is incredible. Shinichi recognizes a lot of the tricks, though these are performed on a much larger scale, intended for a theater of people instead of a group of children. Shinichi watches Kaito move fluidly across the stage, making the audience laugh in between levitation and disappearing and fireworks that smell like baking cinnamon rolls, and thinks that it shouldn't surprise him that Kaito makes him feel this warm.

Unsurprisingly, the finale is spectacular. Confetti pours out of Kaito's sleeves, cards scuttle through the air like living creatures, the audience is cheering so loudly Shinichi doesn't think he'll ever hear again, and Kaito stands in the center of it all as doves explode from underneath his hat. The doves cut intricate shapes through the air and perform steep dives, and Shinichi marvels at how well Kaito has them trained.

And then a dove veers out of its course, swooping towards Shinichi. Shinichi doesn't have time to think before the dove lands on his head, cooing softly. The girl beside him is gaping, hands over her mouth. Shinichi is grinning as he reaches up to pet Heart.

"Hello, Heart," he murmurs, and Heart hops into his wrist, making quiet, pleased noises.

When Shinichi looks up, one finger smoothing the feathers along Heart's back, he discovers Kaito is staring at him with a stricken expression as pink smoke gathers around his feet and a tornado of glitter envelops him. Shinichi doesn't have time to smile at him before he flips his cape and is gone, to the audience's delight. Shinichi clutches Heart to his chest.

The security guards don't let Shinichi go to the dressing rooms until he shows them Heart, and even then, Shinichi can feel their suspicious gazes on his back as he walks down the corridor, searching for Kaito's dressing room. He finally finds a door labeled KID near the end of the hallway.

Swallowing hard, Shinichi knocks once on the door before he pushes it open.

Unexpectedly, Kaito's dressing room is neat and almost empty, with a distinct lack of personality. It contains mostly props for his performance and most of Kaito's Kid outfit hanging on a rack in one corner. Kaito, shirt sleeves rolled up and tie loosened, is sitting with his back towards Shinichi at a vanity pushed up against the far wall. He gets to his feet the instant he sees Shinichi's reflection in the vanity mirror. His eyes are wide and nervous.

"Shinichi," he begins. The line of his throat twitches as he swallows. "I… didn't expect to see you here." He coughs. "I thought I imagined you in the audience, but..."

"Hakuba told me about you being KID," Shinichi informs him. He crosses the room – Kaito stiffens – to set Heart down on the vanity. When he looks up, he realizes that Kaito is watching him with his bottom lip pressed between his teeth, distinctly nervous. "I came here to apologize."

"You… want to apologize?" Kaito gapes, taking a step back. "Shinichi, I'm the one who called you – who said –"

"You were right," Shinichi says without pretense. He takes a deep, settling breath. Kaito stares at him blankly. "I was a coward. I was afraid of change, and I'd convinced myself that becoming an inspector was the only thing I needed when it was really only making me hate myself."

"Shinichi," Kaito murmurs brokenly, as if it's the only thing he knows how to say. One of his hands – ungloved – reaches up, almost touching Shinichi's arm, but then drops back to his side.

"And I said some things I didn't mean to you as well," Shinichi continues, placing his hand soundly on Kaito's shoulder. Kaito blinks at it, his lips parting, but he doesn't speak, just continues to watch Shinichi. "I accused you of ruining my life, which you didn't. You've done more for me than anyone else, and you understand me better than I did, even though we're hardly friends." He inhales slowly. "Which I would like to change, if possible. I don't want to be just friends. I want – I want to be everything with you."

For the longest moment, Kaito just looks at Shinichi, and Shinichi has the horrifying, stomach-turning thought that he's ruined everything, that Kaito is going to laugh and say, "Sorry, I don't feel the same way," and Shinichi will have lost everything.

Instead, Kaito takes both of Shinichi's hands in his. His eyes are solemn as he looks into Shinichi's.

"Darling," he says, voice trembling so slightly that Shinichi might've missed it had he not been listening so intently. "I can't believe I ever called you a coward when that was the bravest thing I've ever witnessed." He lets go of Shinichi's left hand, but only to cup one side of Shinichi's face. His thumb brushes back and forth over Shinichi's cheekbone.

Shinichi smiles, leaning into the touch. "Braver than telling off the superintendent and quitting my job?" he asks, knowing he sounds cheeky, but relishing the way Kaito's eyes go wide and wondering, as if Shinichi is some rare, previously undiscovered gem.

"Darling," he sighs, and leans in to kiss Shinichi warmly, his hands warm on Shinichi's waist.

"THIS IS THE HAPPIEST I'VE EVER BEEN" – EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH RISING PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR KUDOU SHINICHI

Kudou Shinichi, who departed from the Tokyo Police Department nearly two years ago despite being one of the youngest assistant police inspectors in police history, recently agreed to an interview with our correspondent. Kudou is the most highly sought after private investigator in Japan due to his one hundred percent success rate, and regardless of his young age (twenty-six), he has some words of wisdom for anyone with far-reaching ambitions.

"You need to sit down and really think about why you're trying to do whatever you're trying to do," Kudou advises. "For the longest time, I thought the only thing that mattered in life was making inspector. I had my reasons – or at least I thought I did. But someone came along and made me realize that I was only running myself into the ground and making myself miserable…Now, I've abandoned that idea, as you can see, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm glad I did. This is the happiest I've ever been."

When asked about his upcoming wedding to Kuroba Kaito (also known as KID, a stage magician who has been Magician of the Year for four years running), Kudou refused to give details, but hinted that it would take place in February of the coming year.

Kaito, pleasantly sweaty and squinting at his phone screen in the dark, realizes that he's smiling the exact moment Shinichi rolls over to glare at him. He's gorgeous like this, all sticky, pale skin and pouty mouth. Kaito would like to do many unholy things to him (again, as they've just finished said holy things).

"Kaito, I think there are laws against being on your phone during post-coital cuddling. And if there aren't, there should be," Shinichi grumbles in a gravelly voice, dropping his head heavily on Kaito's chest. Kaito chokes a little, but grins when Shinichi makes a snuffly noise and wiggles around, as if he's trying to burrow his head in Kaito's chest. He thinks he may have sacrificed his entire lifetime of luck just to have Shinichi, and he doesn't even regret it.

"I'm just looking at this interview of yours, darling," he tells Shinichi, absently reaching up with his left hand to pet Shinichi's head. Shinichi intercepts him, though, lacing their hands together, and Kaito beams uncontrollably when their rings clink together. "Are you really the happiest you've ever been?"

"Of course I am," Shinichi mumbles, contorting to look Kaito in the face. He has a familiar wrinkle between his eyebrows, the same adorably confused one he'd worn that first day when Heart had landed on his head, and Kaito wants desperately to kiss him. So he does. Shinichi is glassy-eyed when he pulls back.

"I love you, darling," Kaito tells him, lacing one hand through Shinichi's tousled hair, and Shinichi rolls his eyes.

"I suppose you can stick around," he says dryly, but he lets Kaito kiss him again. Kaito counts it as a win.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

Hope you enjoyed that fic even a little (if you did, please consider dropping me a review!) and I'll see you all soon! - Luna