Kudo Shinichi does, in fact, believe in magic.

Not that he would admit that to anyone. Ever. But a few too many vastly unlikely things have happened to him in the last few years – and a few specifically impossible ones – which have piled up into an amorphous shape that he tentatively labels 'outside the realm of physics and/or statistical probability.'

Which, really, is far too long a title for anything. So "magic" is as good as any other word.

It is not, however, his go-to explanation. If anything it is a last resort, oh-gods-please-no explanation. And he always takes a kind of vicious pleasure from deconstructing the methods some murderers use to try and pin their killings on the supernatural.

(Never mind that he has a sinking suspicion that his corpse-finding thing is more than a bit supernatural. He is choosing to ignore that. Low probabilities are not zero probability. Even if they are… well, really, really low. Like, the Mariana Trench low…)

So when Ki- Kuroba – when Kuroba does his magically appearing flower trick, Shinichi feels like he can be forgiven for freezing up a little.

The flower trick is not hard. The flower trick is one of the first things magicians learn. Shinichi could do the flower trick.

It's just that most magicians do it with fake flowers.

And, you know, while wearing shirts with sleeves. Or pants with pockets. Or a jacket. Or something other than swim trunks and a tank top that is the absolute antithesis of 'loose.'

"Umm… Kudo? You okay?"

Shinichi makes a noise that he hopes indicates that his brain is not actually melting right now, and carefully plucks the flower from the increasingly concerned looking th-magician's fingers.

Okay. Yes. It really is an actual, real flower. It is kind of disturbingly perfect. The kind of perfect that would probably win prizes in a show.

Kuroba takes a step back when Shinichi focuses on him instead of the flower. And... that… that might be fair enough, because Shinichi's pretty sure he probably looks at least a bit…off.

"You don't have a bag," Shinichi mutters.

"Um," K –Kuroba, dammit – says. "No?"

"We're on a beach. There is just sand here." Shinichi glances past him to where their collective friends are ignoring their little side show in favour of excited getting-to-know-each-other chatting.

None of them are close enough to have been used as places to hide the flower.

Shinichi looks at both the beach towels spread out around them and the haphazard pile of bags. The bags are also too far away. The beach towels… he contemplates the possibilities, then dismisses them because one: the flower has no sand on it, and two: they are both standing which means retrieval from there would have taken more than the split second in which it happened.

Shinichi breathes, carefully, through his nose for a moment.

He could, possibly, maybe, have had it in his swim trunks. Maybe. Shinichi ignores the squawking voice in the back of his head pointing out that the flower would definitely have gotten damaged. That voice always sounded a bit too much like Conan for Shinichi's tastes anyway.

"Did I- did I just break you with a flower?" Kuroba – success! – asks hesitantly.

Shinichi tilts his head, considering. And recalls disguises that really oughtn't be possible for someone of Kuroba's build, quick changes just the wrong side of physically possible, and an impossibly, impeccably clean white suit after long dragged out chases.

But he also remembers life-saving stunts, risky acts of kindness, and surprisingly seamless teamwork. He remembers light glinting off a monocle, a sharp grin, and a completely brilliant laugh.

Shinichi grins, tucking the flower behind his ear.

If he can accept magic then he can manage Kaitou Kid as a friend.

"I'm good."