Hi guys! I am indeed still alive and back with an actors!au. Yay.

This was written over the course of a few weeks in a sort of weirdly disjointed style. Apologies for that - hopefully the flow isn't too horrible. I just wanted to post this, to be honest.

Warnings include shounen-ai (Shinichi and Kaito), shoujo-ai (Ran and Sera), grammar mistakes / other errors because I'm exhausted at the moment, a bit more angst than usual, etc. The Japanese Academy Awards are technically known as the Japanese Academy Prize, but since "Academy Award" is the term used in the States, I just called it that for this fic. Also, I know absolutely nothing about actual filmmaking / the movie industry. This is all complete conjecture and should not be treated as how movies are actually made. Let's call it artistic license.

Enjoy! - Luna

Idyll

Shinichi breezed onto the set (or rather, the cordoned off section of street that served as the set) at seven thirty exactly. He was thirty minutes early for the shoot, but he wanted some time to get some form of caffeine and sit down to read over his lines a few times before he was bundled off to makeup.

Thankfully, the on-set personal assistant (a small girl with unimpressed eyes – Shinichi liked her already) that Ran had procured from somewhere was waiting for him with a cup of coffee roughly the size of his head. She bowed respectfully at him before trotting off into the chaotic mess of crew members, probably to go alert Hattori of Shinichi's arrival.

Most of the time, Shinichi reflected as he smiled vaguely at a harried-looking man running full tilt at a rack of clothes, Shinichi only enjoyed his work to a certain degree. Not that he disliked acting – it was both challenging and entertaining, generally speaking, and he wasn't bad at it, if his laundry list of awards and nominations was any indication – but sometimes he felt as if things were a little boring. In another life, he thought, he might have been a detective or a police officer, something with a little more action involved.

But this film – he was definitely interested. Hattori's films tended to toe the line between avant-garde and ridiculous, normally landing in the zone of "symbolic and psychological" that pseudo-intellectuals and movie critics gushed over (although Shinichi was never going to let him live down the horror that was Phantom Pains; that had been absolutely awful).

This one was no different, though it wasn't groundbreaking or thought-provoking in the way Hattori's films usually were. According to a conversation Shinichi had had with Hattori over drinks, it was supposed to be a love story – nothing monumental or particularly unusual but the sort of falling in love that everyday people did. The only unusual part about it was that both characters were male, Hattori had said over the rim of his glass, both average, ordinary men, and wouldn't Shinichi like to participate, y'know, considering?

And, well, yes, Shinichi had wanted to participate.

Humming tunelessly to himself under his breath, Shinichi started across the set towards where his trailer was loitering. He was in the middle of taking a sip of coffee, halfway up the steps, when the door flew open, making him trip backwards and spill scalding coffee down the front of his shirt. Swearing, Shinichi dropped the cup – the lid popped off, sending latte spraying in every direction – and yanked off his shirt, wincing as he rubbed at the burnt spot. It was red, but he didn't think he'd start blistering –

"Shinichi!" called a dreadfully familiar voice from overhead. Shinichi froze for a second before he lifted his gaze to find Kuroba Kaito standing in the doorway, smiling brightly. "Hey, Shinichi!"

Jaw slightly slack, Shinichi stared unblinkingly at him. He was suddenly very aware that he was currently standing in a puddle of coffee and holding his shirt in his hand while Kaito looked just as disgustingly good as he had in the exclusive photoshoot he'd done for GQ last fall. Not that Shinichi had seen it. Or owned a copy of it.

"Why," Shinichi began, after a doing a short yoga breathing exercise Ran had taught him at a filming in Los Angeles a few years back, "are you here?" He hadn't seen Kaito since – God, since Tokyo. Since the Academy Awards.

The Academy Awards, which he wasn't going to think about, ever.

"Because I'm costarring in this film," Kaito answered easily, doing his stupid perfect Best Smile of 2012 smirk at him. Shinichi felt the beginnings of a heart attack approaching and gripped his shirt tighter at his side.

"Excuse me," he managed, and turned to go find Hattori. Possibly to vivisect him, the traitor.

"Wait – hey, is your chest okay? How hot was that coffee?" Kaito called after him. Shinichi flinched and kept walking.

The director's trailer was all the way across the set. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the blatant pointing and staring he received (he was still shirtless, after all – in a far, distant sort of way, Shinichi hoped, likely in vain, that a picture wouldn't end up on the internet somewhere), Shinichi stalked towards it.

Hattori was in the middle of video chatting with Kazuha, the childhood friend and secret girlfriend he'd acquired some time ago, when Shinichi yanked the door to his trailer open. He jumped, whirling around and dropping his phone. "K-Kudou? You didn't see anything – I'm totally not talking to Kazuha – just hanging out by myself – also, why aren't you wearing a shirt –"

"Everyone's known you two have been dating for the past three months. I won the entire betting pool," Shinichi informed him dismissively and ignored the way Hattori went into what appeared to be an anaphylactic fit. He slammed a fist against the door, too enraged to even wince at the way the shock stung his skin and rang through the bones of his wrist. "Why the hell didn't you tell me Kaito was playing the other role?"

"Oh. That." Hattori rubbed at the back of his head. "Well, I decided on him playing Ryou after I'd already convinced you to play Keisuke. Every other actor I was looking at wasn't interested, and anyway, I thought he would fit the role best." When Shinichi just glared harder, he sighed and amended, "Okay, fine. Because I knew you'd –" He waved a hand at Shinichi expressively. "You know, get all weird about it."

"I'm going to quit now," Shinichi snapped, and Hattori rolled his eyes.

"You wouldn't do that," he said with confidence that made Shinichi's eye twitch. "This film means more than that to you. You've already gotten attached – I can tell. Dropping out now would screw up the schedule irreparably." He leaned back in his chair. "And you love me, because I'm your best friend, and you wouldn't do that to me."

Shinichi glared at him for a long moment.

"I really hate you," he muttered. Hattori grinned.

"Go to makeup and costuming," he sang, picking his phone back up. "Also, find a damn shirt, please. Kuroba might appreciate your manly, chiseled abs, but unfortunately, I don't."

"I despise you," Shinichi said with feeling as he whirled back around. He slammed the door shut on Hattori's evil laughter.

Contrary to media speculation (at least from the past six months), Shinichi didn't hate Kaito. How could he hate a person whose talent was lightyears beyond anyone else's and looked like someone designed to be the most attractive human to ever exist?

Actually, put that way, Kaito seemed easy to hate. But he wasn't.

Sure, he could be obnoxious and sometimes his cheeky flirting made Shinichi want to throw things at walls, but he also had his own charity foundation dedicated to fostering creativity and love for the arts in less fortunate areas and had this way of making everyone feel at ease. He always seemed to know whom he needed to be at any given moment. It was a talent that spilled over into his acting.

Shinichi had sort of fallen for him the moment he'd first locked eyes with him across the red carpet at some premiere several years ago: he, a nobody except maybe "Fujimine Yukiko's son who's been in some disappointing indie films," and Kaito, the incredible stage-magician-turned-award-winning-actor. And Kaito – Kaito had stopped his interview to grin at him, wave, and then go back to his interview. Despite that they'd never talked before and that by all accounts, Shinichi was below him in every way imaginable.

No one else had even noticed Shinichi, let alone acknowledged him in any way.

They met two months later, when Shinichi had been guest starring on Kaito's weekly drama. By the following month, Shinichi had been forced to upgrade his phone plan to include unlimited texting as a result of the sheer amount of texts Kaito had sent him. To speak in clichés, the rest had been history.

And, if he were completely honest, Shinichi's opinion of Kaito hadn't changed, not even after Shinichi's breakthrough in APTX and all the subsequent awards and nominations he'd won and the offers that suddenly came pouring in. And now, he still adored Kaito more than he should. He still owned far too many copies of Kaito's films. Kaito still sent him an insane number of texts. The difference was that Shinichi didn't let himself reply to them anymore.

Because of what had happened at the Academy Awards.

Kaito was starting to get a little nervous (intellectually, he knew Shinichi wouldn't storm off set and abandon Hattori, but at the same time, Shinichi had seemed genuinely angry) as the time to begin shooting drew nearer and nearer, the coffee shop cleared and assistants making last minute lighting and wardrobe changes. But thankfully, Shinichi emerged from makeup a few minutes before the shoot was scheduled to start, wearing a scowl, too much matte powder, and a positively sinful red sweater that clung to his (well-muscled, Kaito's mind supplied unhelpfully as it flashed back to the image of Shinichi standing at the foot of the stairs with his shirt limp in one hand) torso. Kaito wanted, pitifully, to drag it off him with his teeth.

"You look good," he said when Shinichi had drawn close enough to hear. Shinichi scowled at him, jaw twitching. His eyelashes looked even more obscenely long and thick than usual. Some makeup artist had probably gotten a bit too creative with the mascara. Not that Kaito was complaining.

"Hattori didn't tell me you were playing Ryou," Shinichi was informing Kaito flatly when Kaito managed to stop staring at Shinichi's eyelashes long enough to adopt a contemplative expression. His eyes were carefully neutral and emotionless, his voice uninflected. "And since we didn't have a read-through, I didn't know."

"I figured as much," Kaito remarked, but his stomach dropped because even if he had realized that when Hattori had contacted him, he'd still been hoping that Shinichi had been willing to – willing to –

Batting away the thought, Kaito reached out a hand to grasp Shinichi's shoulder and ended up pretending that he'd just been brushing at the air when Shinichi flinched away visibly, expression mildly horrified. His stomach roiled. Yeah, he'd messed up that night in Tokyo, but he'd been hoping, naively, and now –

"Okay, everyone ready?" Hattori called as he breezed onto the set. He looked as un-put-together as he always did, Kaito thought fondly. He wasn't entirely sure Hattori's success as a director was the result of actual intelligent thought and not some odd form of abstract stupidity that somehow seemed deep, but whatever the cause, his films were always noteworthy in some aspect. "Kudou – Keisuke, I guess – we're going to start with your scene. You're going to order a cappuccino and then sit down in that corner of the café. We can film the texting scene too. Did you get the phone?"

Shinichi nodded, donning the expression of intense, sharp concentration that he always wore while listening to directors as he tugged a plain smartphone from his back pocket. "I've got it."

"Okay." Hattori turned towards Kaito. There was the ghost of a smile lurking in his eyes. "And then you, Kuroba, you come in while Keisuke's on the phone and order a cappuccino, too. Then we have the mistaken drink moment right after that." He paused. "For this moment, I want to get a sort of oh, this is the moment sort of feeling even though nothing major would appear to be happening to anyone else. This is the moment sparks fly. This is…"

He went on to give several more metaphors about fireworks and dynamite, complete with arm sweeping and emphatic hand jerking. Kaito politely tuned him out.

Once Shinichi, along with a good amount of the camera crew, had been ushered into the quaint little coffee shop Hattori had scouted for the scene, Kaito scuttled forward to watch from the doorway. Watching Shinichi act was always a treat.

See, Shinichi had something about him, Kaito reflected as he watched Shinichi walk up to the counter. He somehow managed to – to capture his character with every motion, even while doing something as inane as saying, "Large cappuccino. Thank you," and handing the extra behind the counter some change. Kaito knew actors who could go through the motions, speak perfectly, and act in character – perform, basically – but none of them had Shinichi's strange ability to become the person they were playing. When people watched Kudou Shinichi, they didn't see "Kudou Shinichi, Fujimine Yukiko's son, award-winning actor, ridiculously beautiful and perfect in every way"; they saw "beleaguered salaryman" and "fallen superhero" and "dirty cop." They saw characters, not him playing a part, and that was something incredible.

That had been what had drawn Kaito to Shinichi's early films, those bad-quality, low-budget indie films with ten-cent plots and choppy editing. Because Shinichi stood out even in those – he was always exactly who he was supposed to be, even when the lighting was shit and you couldn't make out half his face or when the camera angle swung too far and half of him was out of frame. That had been what made Kaito fall in love with him. That, and the fact that Shinichi was so – so good. Nobody was supposed to be that undeniably good, without any subterfuge or underhanded motives –

Somehow, Kaito was surprised when the scene was called and Hattori dragged him into the café. "Your scene, Kuroba," he reminded him, lifting his eyebrows impatiently when Kaito blinked and looked around a little. Across the coffee shop, Shinichi glanced up from the dummy phone he was using and smiled faintly, as if he were trying to be encouraging but felt too uncomfortable to manage it.

Kaito got through the beginnings of the scene easily; he exchanged a short, unscripted conversation with the barista, mostly because he couldn't quite remember what the script said, before he went to stand by the pickup area. Everything proceeded as planned: the barista called, "Large cappuccino!" and both Shinichi and Kaito swept in to take it.

Their fingers brushed. The paper cup was scalding beneath Kaito's fingertips, and Shinichi's skin was cool and dry. For a moment, their eyes met, and Kaito abruptly remembered the first time he'd seen Shinichi act – Mystery of the Tower, a horrible crime/thriller film that had had a painful runtime and too many Gaussian blur transitions, in which Shinichi had played an unfairly gorgeous police detective – and how he'd thought, five minutes in, Oh, he's perfect.

He thought the same thing now, his thumb lined up against Shinichi's and a camera crew surrounding them and extras surreptitiously watching. There was something cauterized in Shinichi's eyes, a gaping wound tempered into fleeting submission, and Kaito couldn't look away, trying to communicate everything he felt, that what had happened at the Academy Awards had been a mistake, all Kaito's fault, and he was –

Until Hattori yelled, "Cut!" and started clapping. Loudly.

"Good job, guys!" he shouted at a volume much more appropriate for a heavy metal concert. A few cameramen shied away from him, rubbing their ears disconcertedly. Kaito had the sudden and strong urge to strangle him with something, preferably barbed wire. Or anything spiky and likely to cause permanent damage.

Pulling his hand back, Shinichi turned and took a few steps away as Hattori babbled on about how they'd captured the tension perfectly, nicely done, this was why he'd chosen them for this film, wasn't he a genius. Kaito held the cup until he realized his fingertips were burnt.

There had been a time when Shinichi actively enjoyed going out with the cast after a day of filming. He'd been in a lot of Hattori's films in the past, and Hakuba Saguru, the producer Hattori worked with despite that they sort of despised each other beyond words, always knew where to find a covert, semi-private restaurant or bar. And, on the occasions that Shinichi had been working with him, drinking with Kaito was always an interesting, if not also traumatic and scarring, experience.

Now, though – it was just kind of… awkward.

Ran was in the corner, texting her girlfriend (Sera Masumi, an American action star whom she'd met when Shinichi had taken her with him to the Golden Globes a few years back), and Hattori was making snide comments about Hakuba's choice of shirt or something to that effect. There were a few extras sitting moony-eyed on one side of the table, goggling at everything. And Kaito was sitting next to Shinichi, smiling disarmingly and looking horrifically relaxed and perfect. The top three buttons on his shirt were popped. Shinichi was most definitely not sneaking glances at the muscled shape of his chest. Or he hadn't been until he'd gotten through his first drink.

"You still like gin and tonics, hm?" Kaito remarked, watching as Shinichi swallowed down too large of a mouthful. His eyes sparkled. That always seemed like a fanciful thought to Shinichi – that eyes could sparkle; eyes were a part of the body, not twenty-four carat diamonds – but Kaito, as was his wont, made it happen.

"Yes, I'm a boring, unchanging human, not worthy of your time. Feel free to go smolder at some pretty young thing, seeing as I'm so useless," Shinichi bit out, then immediately hated how bitter he sounded. He'd promised himself he'd try to retain some modicum of professionalism, but one drink in and he was already failing that goal.

For a long moment, Kaito didn't say anything. Then he murmured, quiet enough that only Shinichi could hear, "You know that's not what I think about you, Shinichi. You know I think you're amazing."

"Right," Shinichi agreed, staring fixedly at his hands. A lump rose at the back of his throat. He somehow refrained from adding, "Not amazing enough, though." That would only make it worse.

"Shinichi," Kaito began, toying with the salted rim of his margarita, "we should really talk about this." He said it delicately, handling the words as if they were made of hand-blown glass.

"No, we really shouldn't," Shinichi grumbled, reaching for his highball glass. On his other side, Hakuba launched into a cutting tirade about the state of Hattori's hair while Hattori interjected outraged, incoherent squawking noises at regular intervals. "I think we should never bring it up again. Better yet, we could act like it didn't even happen. We're professionals."

"Shinichi," Kaito half-whispered in a reverent, hurt sort of way. When Shinichi grit his teeth and met Kaito's eyes, Kaito's eyebrows, still filled and penciled from the shoot, were drawn together, and his mouth looked stitched too tight, stretched and thin and ready to snap. "I know you haven't wanted to talk about it, but we need to try to get back to normal." He paused. "I'll start, then. You startled me when you ki –"

Shinichi was on his feet before he was even fully aware of moving, nearly toppling his chair as he went. "You know," he choked out, aware that the extras were staring, Ran had looked up from her phone, and Hattori and Hakuba's conversation had met an abrupt end, "I don't appreciate you trying to embarrass me, Kaito. Kuroba." He felt his mouth twist into an ugly shape. "Pretty sure I've done a good enough job of that myself, I think. I really don't need you reminding me."

He was out the door in moments, ignoring Kaito's call behind him. The night air seeped through his clothes, making him exhale slowly as he fought to calm down. Blood rushed in his ears, and his stomach was turning as he made his way down the sidewalk. He was massively thankful that the street was mostly empty and nobody appeared to recognize him.

Six months ago, Moonlit, a psychological drama that Hattori had directed and Kaito and Shinichi had co-starred in, had been nominated for the Japanese Academy Awards – Picture of the Year, Director of the Year, and Shinichi for Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role. Shinichi had gone into it without much hope of winning, but he had. He still remembered the feeling of distracted disbelief as he'd stared up at the presenter, Kaito practically strangling him in a hug while Hattori had slapped him on the shoulder. He didn't quite remember his acceptance speech, although Hattori didn't tease him about it, which meant it probably hadn't been awful.

And afterwards, when Shinichi had been three flutes of champagne in and he'd lost his suit jacket somewhere in the afterparty, he'd stumbled into a hallway lined with art deco prints and angular potted plants and discovered Kaito leaning against one wall, presumably studying a particularly complex set of shapes on the wall opposite him. He had looked good as always, one heel pressed to the wall and a glass of champagne cradled between his fingers, and Shinichi had, unsurprisingly, been unable to resist.

He had tottered over, a little unsteady and nearly knocking over a fern as he'd gone. Kaito had glanced over and smiled, one of his rare, real smiles, not a leer or a smirk or the polite, bland curve of the mouth he adopted for paparazzi, but the one that pulled a little higher on the left and showed a bit of his teeth. The best one, in Shinichi's opinion.

"How much have you had to drink?" Kaito had asked affectionately, reaching out to anchor Shinichi against his side once Shinichi had been within reach. Shinichi remembered blinking at him, torn between abject adoration and his pride.

"Not that much," he had tried to enunciate, fighting against the tempting slur of the alcohol, and Kaito had laughed and pulled a bit of his hair out of his face. It had fallen out of place earlier, at some point during the awards ceremony and the party.

"Congratulations on winning," Kaito had murmured, his eyes soft and warm, and Shinichi had stared as his thumb had run little circles over the ridge of his cheekbone. His fingers had been hot and smooth, branding Shinichi where they touched him. "You deserve it, obviously. More than anyone else. You're incredible. Amazing."

And that had sounded so much like I love you, and Shinichi had just won an Academy Award, and he'd had three glasses of champagne, and they'd been flirting since they'd met, and Kaito had been so pretty in the lowlight, and – and Shinichi had leaned over and kissed him, pressed him against the wall and dove into his mouth until the paintings twitched where they hung on the walls.

Kaito had participated. Surprisingly. He'd dropped his glass and reciprocated, hands roving up and down Shinichi's back before finally settling at his hips, mouthing fervently at Shinichi's neck when they broke apart to breathe. Shinichi had made a low, desperate sound, holding Kaito's arms tighter as he had panted and let his eyes drop closed. Kaito's teeth had worried at his neck, and Shinichi had tried not to groan aloud –

Just as suddenly as it had started, it had ended. Kaito had pulled away before Shinichi had even opened his eyes, and once Shinichi had, he had been looking uncomfortable and shifty, running a hand through his hair.

"We should stop," he'd intoned while Shinichi had gazed unseeingly at him, trying to clear his head. "Someone – someone might see." He'd brushed his palms off against his pants, cleared his throat, and straightened his tie, erasing the evidence of what they'd just done, though his mouth had remained bitten and red. "We shouldn't do this."

It had hit Shinichi at that moment, watching Kaito tug his jacket straight. Shinichi had been willing to do anything for Kaito, willing to tell the whole world if only he could have Kaito. He had been prepared to face the hate, the disapproval, the decline in job offers, the thinly veiled insults in every future article about him. He hadn't wanted Kaito to be his dirty little secret. But Kaito hadn't felt the same way. Didn't. Shinichi had been utterly wrong, and he had completely humiliated himself.

Shinichi had shoveled a handful of hair out of his face, swallowed down the lump of horrified mortification that knotted up at the back of his throat, and left. He still had had his pride, after all.

One of the first things Kaito ever learned about Shinichi was how he liked his coffee. Namely, that Shinichi thought he liked black coffee, but also that he unconsciously preferred cream and two sugars. They had been on the set of Heisted, the TV drama that had propelled Kaito to fame, and Shinichi had been playing a straight-laced detective set on catching Kaito's phantom thief character.

It had been early – around five in the morning – and Shinichi had been looking like an underwatered flower, droopy and listing to one side as he had clutched at his coffee. He'd finished it in record time, looking confused and slightly betrayed when he had discovered the cup was empty.

"How do you take your coffee, Kudou-san?" Kaito had asked, watching Shinichi glare at his cup. Shinichi had unglued his jaw and mumbled something like black, I guess, oh my God, I'm so tired, and Kaito, lifting an eyebrow, had handed him his own half-full takeout cup.

Shinichi had taken it with an expression of tempted reluctance. "'re you sure it's okay?" he'd mumbled anxiously, rubbing at his eyes and fluttering his eyelashes at Kaito as he had made little sleepy kitten noises. Kaito had swooned a little, wondering how the man hadn't had hordes of fans knocking down his door when he had been that adorable, and nodded.

He'd expected Shinichi to down Kaito's sugary, half-and-half-y coffee with horror, but Shinichi had smiled dreamily to himself and cradled the Starbucks so preciously Kaito had felt sort of jealous until someone dragged him away to get made up. It was noticeably different from how Shinichi had thrown back the black coffee as if it were some necessary evil. Shinichi, Kaito had surmised, secretly liked his coffee sugared and creamed.

So that was why Kaito showed up at Shinichi's trailer the following day with coffee to those exact specifications. He even knocked on the door this time.

Unsurprisingly, Shinichi didn't look amused when he opened the door and found Kaito standing there. He got a twitchy look in his eyes, as he were considering shoving Kaito down the stairs and making a break for it, and squinted at Kaito with some suspicion. "What do you want?" he asked, not unkindly, but not as warmly as he had in the past. Kaito shoved down the pang he felt at the thought.

"I'm here to apologize," he informed him baldly, sticking out the coffee in a hopefully placating manner. "I shouldn't have brought up the… incident. Knowing how you… felt about it." Knowing how I screwed everything up, he added privately. Knowing how I – ugh.

The doubtful look in Shinichi's eyes didn't fade, but he did take the coffee from Kaito. He popped the lid, arching an eyebrow at what he found. "This isn't black."

"I know," Kaito agreed, trying not to feel too encouraged. Just because Shinichi wasn't throwing things at him or outright rejecting him, it wouldn't do to get his hopes up only for Shinichi to crush them under the heel of his Armani dress shoe (he'd done a photoshoot for Armani that Kaito still thought about sometimes). He took a step forward and tried not to notice the way Shinichi instantly moved backwards. "I'm sorry, Shinichi. Believe me."

"Hm." Shinichi traced the rim of the cup before he smiled. It was a tentative, shadowy thing, half there and half not, but it was much more than Kaito was expecting. "It's all right. But let's not bring it up again."

"Right," Kaito agreed, relieved. "Right, thanks."

"I know things might be uncomfortable between us," Shinichi continued slowly, suddenly very fascinated with the shoulder seam of Kaito's button-down, "and it's mostly my fault. But I want us to be able to work together on this film as professionals. It's – important to me. The message, especially. It's something I think people really need to understand."

"Yeah," Kaito murmured, entranced by the shapes Shinichi's mouth made. God, but he had missed seeing Shinichi in person rather than in glossy magazine photospreads and billboards. There was nothing quite like the real Kudou Shinichi. "I agree. It's important to me, too."

Shinichi gave him a sharp, assessing look. The warmth had drained from his eyes. "I'm sure it is," he remarked, abruptly and startlingly icy. He shut the door in Kaito's face.

Kaito stood there for another minute, confused and feeling a little as if he'd stumbled blindly onto a mine. It was sad that someone he adored more than anyone else basically despised him, he thought without emotion, and went to go find a makeup artist.

"So no girlfriend?" Kaito asked lightly. His pinky brushed against Shinichi's as he leaned over the edge of the balcony railing, staring down into the darkened, taillight-brightened street. A car gave a long, bleating honk as the light changed.

At his side, Shinichi exhaled slowly, his breath steaming the air white. "No. Girlfriends aren't exactly my… area." He glanced at Kaito's profile with what he hoped was veiled longing. The dim light from the apartment behind them cast shadows in the spaces beneath his cheekbones, carved his jawline and highlighted the softly curling hair at the nape of his neck.

"So there's nobody?" Kaito wondered, turning to face Shinichi. He was more devastating like this, when Shinichi could see the full intensity of his dilated pupils and the pretty, shallow curve of his bottom lip. His breath fogged the distance between them. "You don't have anyone?"

Shinichi swallowed, feeling his throat work as he nodded minutely. "I don't."

There was a moment of silence, punctuated by the sound of a helicopter flying overhead in the far distance. Shinichi almost forgot to breathe, taking a slow, shuddery inhale when Kaito took another step forward, one hand lifting towards Shinichi's face –

"And cut! Good job, guys," Hattori called loudly, and Shinichi huffed as he stumbled back into the apartment, avoiding Kaito's gaze as he shoved past Hattori. This was actually a nightmare. Shinichi hated Hattori. He never should've introduced himself at that gala eight years ago; he would've saved himself a boatload of heartbreak.

"Hey! Hey, Kudou," Hattori sputtered, hurrying to catch him before he stormed out of the apartment they'd procured to use as Ryou's for the duration of the shoot.. He grabbed Shinichi by the arm, pulling insistently at him until Shinichi slowed.

"You are the worst person to ever exist," Shinichi grumbled petulantly. He shook his arm pointedly, glaring down at where Hattori's hand was clamped around his bicep.

"Yeah, tell that to my four Golden Globes and two Academy Awards." Hattori rolled his eyes, but he let go of Shinichi's arm and shoved his hands into his pockets. His expression was apologetic when he met Shinichi's eyes again. "Look, I didn't realize how bad the whole thing was."

"Oh, now you realize my pain," Shinichi mumbled. Hattori sighed.

"No, Kudou, despite what you may think, not everything is about you. Have you seen the way Kuroba's been looking?" He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. Shinichi could just make out Kaito turning away from where he'd been watching them. "He's miserable. He's staring after you like he's trying to convince you to talk to him using only brainwaves and puppy dog eyes." Hattori eyed him speculatively. "It doesn't seem to be working. Maybe it's because you don't have a brain and hate puppies."

"I," Shinichi began, but couldn't finish. He snuck another glance at Kaito, who was still drooping over the railing. Now that Hattori had mentioned it, Shinichi could see the exhaustion in the slope of his shoulders. He cleared his throat. "I don't hate puppies."

Hattori's expression had gone accusatory. "He doesn't give anyone flowers anymore. He hasn't flirted with anyone. He's started making sad tweets."

Shinichi blinked. "What?"

Digging his phone out of his pocket, Hattori read, eyebrows lifted, "'What am I supposed to do when all I want is you?', 'I wish you would look at me the way you used to', 'One more smile, just one, that's all I want' –"

"Oh God," Shinichi muttered and buried his face in his hands. "Okay. Fine. I'll go – talk to him. Or something." Kaito was a melodramatic asshole who knew how to exploit everyone around him. There was no other reason he'd tweet that.

"That's the spirit," Hattori grinned, patting him on the back affectionately. "I already made reservations for seven o'clock at the Italian place next to the train station. The one with the candles and the oysters. You're welcome."

One day, Shinichi would get better friends.

(Although maybe not anytime too soon, because when Shinichi uncomfortably asked Kaito if he wanted to get some dinner, Kaito's entire face lit up and he didn't stop smiling all the way to the restaurant. It made Shinichi feel both guilty and affectionate, a very odd combination of emotions to feel.)

"I got you a fruit basket," Kaito announced when Shinichi opened the door to his trailer. He pointed at an ornate wicker basket filled with fruit cut into curly, delicate shapes that he'd left in the middle of the room. "I didn't know which ones you'd want, so I bought the biggest one they had."

Shinichi, who had frozen in the doorway, blinked slowly. He was holding a cup of coffee, and his hair looked a bit as if a raccoon had scavenged through it. It was adorable. "Is that a pear in the shape of the Taj Mahal?" he asked after a pause, setting his cup down on his dresser table.

Kaito squinted at it. It just looked like a blob to him. "Maybe? I don't know."

Humming quietly, Shinichi sat down at the vanity. Kaito watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying not to be too obvious about it. Sure, Shinichi was talking to him now – albeit superficial conversation with no real depth – and they'd gone to dinner a few times. He'd stopped getting worried tweets from his followers after he'd assured them that his mental state had improved.

But now – Kaito didn't know what he was supposed to do. With anyone else, he would've just returned to his normal rose-giving, innuendo-making self, but he couldn't run the risk of scaring Shinichi off again. And to be perfectly honest, if Shinichi had been anyone else, Kaito would've already given up on them.

"You know," Shinichi remarked after a moment, "you don't have to – do this. You don't need to sedu – buy me back into being friends with you."

"That wasn't my intent," Kaito insisted, but he knew that Shinichi didn't believe him when Shinichi made a flat sound. He sighed. "Look, I just don't want things to be awkward between us because of the… misunderstanding. I don't want you to ignore me like you did before."

"I'm not going to," Shinichi said, not quite meeting Kaito's eyes as he angled himself towards him. "Before, I just – I wasn't expecting to see you. And I – we left things on a, a – a bad note, and I didn't want to have to talk about it. Because it was my mistake. You know how I am about those."

"I do," Kaito agreed. "But it wasn't your –"

"But now, I've come to terms with it. I've realized that this is how things are going to be." Shinichi finally looked directly at Kaito. His eyes were heartwrenchingly sincere. Kaito resisted the urge to demand what this meant. Did it mean "we're never going to be the same again, we're always going to be a little wrong," or did it mean "you're going to continue to be embarrassingly obvious about how much you care and I'm going to keep reminding you that you were a mistake and an embarrassment"? Kaito didn't like either interpretation.

Shinichi was watching Kaito carefully when Kaito looked back at him. "And anyway," he added, sounding uncharacteristically bitter as his mouth twitched, "it's pretty clear that it's hard for me not to care about you."

Before Kaito could ask what that meant – why was Shinichi so full of ambiguity today? – the door to the trailer flew open, spilling light across the floor. Hattori glared at them from the doorway, hands on hips and eyebrows slanting unpleasantly. "I hope you two realize that it's hard to film a love story when the two main characters aren't present…" He trailed off, momentarily derailed as he squinted at the fruit basket on the floor. "Is that an apple cut into the Eiffel Tower?"

"Yeah," Kaito answered hurriedly, getting to his feet. "Apparently I got the architecture basket. Not important."

Hattori stared for a second longer before he nodded sharply. "All right. We're shooting the park jogging scene, as you know, and – Kudou, you're not even in costume, I am going to eviscerate you, you are my least favorite person ever –"

As Hattori's threats grew more and more Hannibal-esque and Shinichi's silence turned sulkier and sulkier, Kaito allowed himself the chance to release a shaky breath, clutching at the doorframe and trying to regulate his breathing. Maybe he had a chance. Maybe he could make this better.

Ran was waiting inside Shinichi's apartment when he got back from a (somewhat normal) dinner with Kaito. Shinichi wasn't sure how she did it – his building had a doorman whom he'd told to never let Ran in, and he'd never given her a key – but when he flicked on the lights, there she was, sitting on his couch with her legs crossed primly and tapping away on her cell phone as if she wasn't trespassing on private property. Shinichi tried not to have a minor heart attack and succeeded, mostly.

"So," Ran said without looking up, manicured nails clicking against the screen of her phone. "Are you and Kuroba-kun all good again?"

One hand still pressed to his heart, Shinichi made a spluttering sound reminiscent of a dying engine and fumbled his keys into the bowl by the door. "I – we're – yes?"

"That's good to know." Ran tucked her phone into the pocket of her pencil skirt (and Shinichi hadn't been aware pencil skirts had pockets, but apparently he'd just be clueless). She looked at Shinichi with eyebrows raised, head slanted slightly as she studied him. "So are you guys together now?"

"What – no," Shinichi choked, flailing a little. "We went over this, okay. He – he doesn't feel the same way."

"Mmhm," Ran nodded, her expression reading unimpressed in several languages. "Because that time I watched him stare at you for literally an hour straight during an interview meant that he's completely averse to the idea."

"You're exaggerating," Shinichi snapped, turning to yank off his coat and try to hide his flush. "It was definitely less than an hour." He'd watched the interview in question a few times through, and while he generally got distracted by the fit of Kaito's suit, he was fairly certain Kaito had only looked at him a few times.

Ran hummed thoughtfully. She was wearing her dubious, pressed-lips-and-arched-eyebrows face, the one she pulled out whenever she thought Shinichi was being daft (which was, admittedly, fairly often). "There was also that time he sent you a bouquet of flowers. At the Golden Globes."

"That was – I –"

"Do you know how many times he tweeted about you?"

"It – he –" Shinichi threw his hands in the air, spinning around to glare at where Ran was exuding an air of smugness. "You're wrong, okay? I know for sure that he doesn't care about me that way. I embarrassed myself when I tried to… you know."

For a long moment, Ran just watched him before she sighed. "I didn't think you'd be able to fix it all on your own, since both of you are idiots, but I've been hoping for that ever since Hattori-kun told me you two would be working together."

Shinichi squinted at her. "Are you saying you knew we'd be working together beforehand and you didn't warn me?"

Ignoring him, Ran adopted a contemplative frown. "Are you sure you won't listen to what he has to say? What if it's a misunderstanding?"

"Trust me." Shinichi sighed, thinking back to someone might see and we shouldn't do this. "It's not a misunderstanding."

"Well, all right, then," Ran shrugged and tugged her phone back out of her pocket. "Do you think Masumi would look better in red or black?"

"Uh, I don't know. Black?" Shinichi offered. "Why?"

Ran made a considering noise and flicked her thumb a few times. "I'm buying lingerie for her right now. Do you think she'd like garters?"

Shinichi choked.

Kaito stared aggressively down at the table. It was either he did that or watch the way Shinichi orally assaulted his fork. Kaito hadn't been aware that one could fellate a fork, but apparently it was a thing. That Shinichi did while eating spaghetti alla carbonara. God, Kaito hated his life.

Not that he didn't appreciate Shinichi's making an effort to defuse the situation between them. Of course he did; they were leagues better than before. Shinichi even joked with him sometimes, smirk and sarcasm and everything. Kaito lived for that.

"Are you all right?" Kaito's head jerked up when Shinichi asked. He was just in time to see Shinichi practically caress the stem of his wine glass as he lifted his eyebrows across the table at Kaito. The red of the wine stained his mouth pink even after Shinichi set the glass back down. Kaito nearly choked on nothing. "You're not eating."

"I'm fine," Kaito managed after a second, attempting a smile. By the way the corners of Shinichi's eyes crinkled, he didn't seem convinced. Kaito tried again. "I was just thinking about how lovely you look in the candlelight." The moment the words were out of his mouth, he winced. Bad, that was bad, Shinichi was definitely going to take that the wrong way and they'd be back to step one –

"What a flatterer you are," Shinichi remarked dryly, dabbing at his mouth with his cloth napkin. There was a touch of acidity to his tone when he added, "I'm sure you say that to all the nice actors."

"Only you, Shinichi," Kaito promised. He was horrified to realize that he was being honest – he couldn't remember the last time he'd said anything like that to anyone else. It only made sense – he hadn't felt like this about anyone for a long, long time. Picking up his fork, he tried to communicate that to Shinichi (futilely, it seemed; Shinichi was looking at him as he always did, one eyebrow quirked and his eyes unreadable)."Only you."

"Hm," Shinichi hummed and licked the tines of his fork with far more tongue than necessary. Kaito knocked over his glass of wine.

"We shouldn't do this," Shinichi murmured, one forearm bracketing Kaito's face as he leaned heavily against the door. He leaned in, his forehead brushing the damp lapel of Kaito's pea coat. Kaito smelled like petrichor and crushed flowers and that musty, unfathomable smell that accompanied all clothing from the costuming department.

One of Kaito's hands lifted to press against the back of his neck. Shinichi fought off a shiver as Kaito replied, low and directly into his ear, "We should."

"We shouldn't."

"What's wrong with it?" Kaito demanded. His fingertips slid down the line of Shinichi's spine, counting vertebrae –

And then Shinichi had to take a step backwards, scrubbing a hand up and down his face and likely ruining his makeup, in addition to the scene. "Shit," he mumbled into his palms as Hattori yelled, "Cut!" in a tone that was beginning to sound peeved.

"Kudou," Hattori shouted, marching towards him with an expression of irritation, "that was your fifth take. You've never needed five takes, not even when you were acting in that Pride and Prejudice parody we all try to pretend never existed."

"You said we weren't going to mention that," Shinichi muttered into his hands. There had been hair dye involved. It was definitely one of the low points in his life.

"Well, at this point I think I might have to. What's wrong with you? Where's the Academy Award winner I thought I cast? Act the damn scene!" Hattori threw his hands in the air before he stormed off set, grumbling to himself and waving his hands violently and generally looking psychopathic.

Clenching his jaw, Shinichi stood in the entryway of "Keisuke's" house. He rubbed at his eyes with frustration, painfully aware of the camera crew still watching and Kaito propped up against the door behind him, but he – this wasn't a scene he'd prepared for. When he'd first read through the script, he'd gotten to this scene and wondered, paranoid, if Hattori had overheard his and Kaito's exchange at the Academy Awards, seeing as it was so similar. But he'd figured he'd get through it anyway, seeing as he'd be working with a random actor he didn't know.

But no, it was Kaito he had to say this all to, and, even more horribly, it was Kaito saying everything Shinichi would've much rather preferred he'd said when they'd had this conversation, and just – no. He was allowed not to like this scene, because Ryou and Keisuke got to have their happy wall sex and a relationship at the end of this conversation, whereas Shinichi had gone home and lain in bed alone while Kaito probably ended up sharing a hotel room with Okino Yoko or something.

"Hey." Shinichi almost jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. He let Kaito tug him around until they were facing each other.

"What?" Shinichi grunted, swallowing down against the swell of panic that rose in his stomach. "I'm sorry, okay? I just – I'm tired." It was a weak lie – Kaito had the uncanny ability to know when Shinichi had or hadn't gotten enough sleep – but Kaito didn't call him out on it, thankfully.

"I know this scene might be difficult for you," he said instead, eyes earnest as he studied Shinichi's face, "because you have to – pretend with me, and that's clearly something you're not comfortable with –"

"What?" Shinichi stared, because if he was joking, that was needlessly cruel, but Kaito barreled on, unheeding.

"– but I just want you to know that no matter what's happened between us, I think you're amazing. I'll always think you're amazing. And you can do anything, including act this scene, because you're the most professional, most incredible person I've ever worked with." He grinned, the uneven grin that showed his teeth. It was Shinichi's favorite look on him. "Got it?"

You're amazing. Shinichi bit his bottom lip. That had gotten Shinichi through a lot, remembering Kaito saying that when they'd met on the set of Heisted, when he'd still been slaving away at no-name films and taking every part he could manage. It still surprised him how effusive Kaito had been from day one.

"Okay," he got out, shutting his eyes for a long moment. Kaito patted him on the shoulder.

"One more take!" he called, and Shinichi prepared to throw Kaito up against the door for the sixth time.

"We shouldn't do this," he managed once he had Kaito pinned, and this time it didn't feel as forced, because Kaito was somehow communicating that's good, you're doing well without doing anything but looking into his eyes. He forced himself to drop his head against Kaito's shoulder, taking a stuttering breath.

"We should," Kaito whispered into his ear, lips grazing the outer edge of Shinichi's ear, and Shinichi let himself shudder loose, tension unfurling from his arms. His lips brushed the hollow of Kaito's throat when he turned his head.

"We shouldn't," he tried again, sounding breathy and weak. He could imagine Hattori nodding in satisfaction.

"What's wrong with it?" Kaito asked softly, reaching out to lift Shinichi's face until they were eye to eye. His gaze flickered down to Shinichi's mouth, Shinichi swallowed nervously, and then they were kissing.

Shinichi was abruptly back in that hallway, biting hungry kisses out of Kaito and clutching at him like a drowning man. It felt alarmingly the same, minus the undertone of champagne and the smooth press of Kaito's suit jacket. He gasped, yanked back to the now, when Kaito's hands snuck up the back of the sweater someone in costuming had picked for him, hands hot against Shinichi's skin.

"Take this off," Kaito insisted in a low, rough tone when he pulled back long enough to suck a line of biting kisses along the side of Shinichi's neck, making Shinichi whine and clutch at him, but Shinichi managed to get the sweater over his head. He watched Kaito's expression turn hungry as his eyes swept over Shinichi's torso, and he let out a hungry sound, clutching at the flare of Shinichi's waist. "You're so hot, oh my God –"

"You too, you too, take this off," Shinichi murmured, yanking at the coat Kaito was wearing. Kaito did as he was told, tossing it over Shinichi's shoulder, and then he was nipping at Shinichi's mouth again and reeling Shinichi back in. Shinichi was panting into his mouth, leaking small, needy sounds as Kaito's hands traveled slowly up his sides and he felt the warmth of Kaito's bare skin beneath his. God –

"Cut!" Hattori yelled, sounding somewhat strangled. "Cut, cut, good take, nicely done, someone find me brain bleach, why did I decide to cast two of my friends in this movie, I did not think this through –"

Kaito had frozen at Hattori's voice. Now, he let go of Shinichi and gave him an apologetic look. "I – may have gone a little overboard," he admitted, scratching at the side of his neck. His eyes were fixed on a point over Shinichi's shoulder, probably the camera crew averting their gazes uncomfortably and politely. "I'm sorry."

"That's… Don't worry. It's okay." Shinichi cleared his throat, rubbing at the side of his neck. He was aware that it was stinging, now, and he sighed in resignation as he realized that he would probably look as if he'd been mauled, if Kaito had bit him as many times as Shinichi was beginning to remember he had. Fantastic. Every time he looked in the mirror, he was going to remember this, which was going to be inconvenient in a multitude of ways.

"So." Kaito coughed. He was still shirtless and – and flushed all the way down his chest, Shinichi thought with slightly hysterical despair. That was not conducive to his thinking capacities.

"Do you want to something to eat?" he blurted out instead of saying anything like can I touch you please and was gratified when Kaito went wide eyed and nodded enthusiastically.

By now, Shinichi should've been used to finding strange people in his trailer – the lock appeared to be completely useless at keeping people out – but when he finally finished filming some solo scenes for the beginning of the movie and went back to his trailer to relax, he was completely unnerved to find Sera Masumi waiting for him.

"Kudou!" she sang, throwing her arms out wide. Shinichi took an instinctive step backwards.

"Sera," he intoned, on guard, and Sera laughed, enveloping him in a hug anyway. Shinichi endured it with stoicism.

"This is nonconsensual," he choked out when the hug grew both too long and too tight. "Sera. I can't breathe. You are crushing my ribcage. My lungs are punctured. I am going to die." He momentarily worried that she actually was breaking some of his bones. She was Ran's girlfriend, after all, and Shinichi had seen Ran crack concrete barehanded multiple times.

"I've missed you," Sera announced once she'd decided she'd tortured Shinichi long enough. She took a step backwards, throwing herself down on the tiny, bright red loveseat someone had procured and left after the Sex Scene Incident (Shinichi was fairly certain it was Hattori, but there was no way to prove it). "I mean, obviously I've missed Ran more, but seeing as she's busy, you'll do."

"I feel so loved and appreciated," Shinichi grumbled, rubbing at his bruised arms and scratching his neck absently, where concealer and foundation were flaking off in itchy clumps. The makeup team had been forced to try to conceal the sprawling mess of hickeys all along the side of Shinichi's neck, but none of them had seemed all that put out, to Shinichi's resignation. One had even said something horrifying about how excited she was to watch that scene as she overpowdered Shinichi's neck.

"You know it." Sera batted her eyelashes at him, motioning for him to join her. He did, knowing she would physically drag him over if he refused. Once he had sat down hesitantly next to her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, limpet-like, and Shinichi winced a little. How Ran could stand her, he'd never know.

"You have sharp elbows," he complained, a little pettily.

"How's your Kuroba?" Sera asked instead of rising to the bait, patting him on the head with a patronizing smile. "Have you two finally realized how much you adore each other?"

"No," Shinichi scowled, ducking away from her hands. "Why does everyone always ask about him? We're not a matched set or anything. Stop lumping us together."

"Your defense mechanism, while entertaining and amusing, is not helpful," Sera informed him, tugging him closer. She smelled faintly of motorcycle oil and citrus. "I heard you two are doing better, even though there was that whole Academy Awards thingy."

"Does Ran tell you everything?" Shinichi huffed, unhooking his leg from hers. "Not fair."

"You're just jealous that we're mature enough to set aside our pride and be happy together, unlike you two," Sera laughed, pawing at his shoulder and accidentally shifting his shirt away from his neck. One of her eyebrows lifted, and she tugged the collar of his shirt down as her eyes widened. Shinichi braced himself. "Whoa, Ran didn't say anything about you two getting it on. Kuroba's a biter."

"It's from a scene," Shinichi snapped, trying to pull away. He could feel himself going pink and tried to fight her off. "You know this movie's about a gay couple. They – you know, have a… scene. We didn't… do anything."

"Still." Sera whistled, leaning in closer. "Really got you bad, didn't he? I sort of thought he'd be all sweet about it, you know, since he's always staring at you like you're a paragon of innocence that he's afraid of defiling, but. Well. I was very wrong."

"Sera," Shinichi hissed as he flushed red and tried to push her away. Sera laughed, yanking him closer, and of course that was the moment the door to the trailer opened and Kaito walked in.

For a moment nobody moved. Shinichi swore the world stopped spinning for a second.

"Oh," Kaito said after a long moment. Shinichi thought his voice sounded a little off, too flat and vacant, but Kaito's face was completely void of emotion. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to know if Shinichi wanted to get something to eat, but I'll just…" His gaze flickered from Sera's face to Shinichi's, and for a moment, Shinichi glimpsed something like hurt in his expression, but it was gone within a heartbeat. "I'll just leave you two alone, then."

He turned and shut the door.

"Shit," Sera breathed after his footsteps had disappeared off into the distance. She winced, running a hand down her face as she exhaled forcefully. "That was – wow. Shit."

"Yeah," Shinichi agreed emphatically, pushing to his feet. He probably shouldn't feel this bad, he tried to convince himself as he walked the length of the trailer and then back to the loveseat. Kaito didn't care about him, and that was just the reaction of a friend who felt uncomfortable. It was irrational for him to feel so – guilty.

"He – knows who I am, right? And that I'm dating Ran?" Sera asked hesitantly.

"He knows your name," Shinichi told her grimly. He forced himself to stop pacing and meet Sera's eyes. "He knows Sera Masumi is female and that she's dating Ran. He doesn't know what she looks like. And he's probably not going to guess that you're her." He cast a pointed look at Sera's attire (a leather jacket and jeans) and then her hair, which had been slicked back.

Sera's eyes widened. "Oh." She winced. "I – think I'll just go wait for Ran at her place, okay?"

"That might be for the best," Shinichi concurred and pushed a hand through his hair.

You have no reason to feel so guilty, he reminded himself, and then sighed. Whom was he even trying to convince?

Kaito wasn't sure how he'd gotten to the bar in the first place, but here he was and there were his shots. Well. His shots were gone, now, actually, he realized upon discovering his line of empty shot glasses. Maybe he could get someone to buy them for him.

If Shinichi were here, that motorcycle guy could probably buy them for him. He'd probably buy him tons of shots and feel him up on couches and give him hickeys all over his neck, his mind whispered traitorously, and Kaito made a pathetic dying animal noise and dropped his head against the sticky countertop. Wasn't he sad, drinking his problems while the love of his life was off cuddling with some hot guy with gelled hair and a leather jacket who probably lifted and drank manly draft beer and – and went hunting in South Africa or something.

"Maybe if I got a leather jacket Shinichi would love me," Kaito commented to the empty glasses. They didn't respond. They were the least helpful glasses Kaito had ever encountered.

He was seriously considering getting up and finding some more alcohol when someone slid into the seat across from him. It took Kaito a long moment to orient his head correctly, but his eyebrows lifted when he found that Shinichi was sitting across from him, scowling a little and removing the sunglasses he'd been wearing. Even in the lowlight, he was astounding and perfect, his hair curling over his forehead and ears. Kaito wanted to hug him forever.

"What are you doing? What are you going to do if you get papped? This is going to look really bad. Did you even think?" Shinichi demanded in a hiss, and Kaito smiled dreamily at him. He reached out to take one of Shinichi's hands between both of his.

"I'm so glad you're not having sex with a motorcyclist in your trailer," he said somberly and watched, entranced, as Shinichi went abruptly, gorgeously red.

"Wh – Kaito!" he squawked.

"I'm just being honest," Kaito insisted, tightening his grip when Shinichi tried to draw his hand back. He waited until Shinichi met his eyes. "Would you love me if I got a leather jacket?"

"Okay, I'm cutting you off," Shinichi announced, jerking free of Kaito's grasp. He was red all the way past the collar of his shirt, the bruises that Kaito could see dark and flushed. Even the tips of his ears were pink as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and counted out several bills, which he dropped on the counter. "I'm taking you home."

"I've always wanted you to take me home," Kaito mumbled as Shinichi dragged him off the stool. He draped one arm around Shinichi's shoulders and leaned into him, smiling vaguely when he felt Shinichi's hand settle on his waist. "But I messed it up. 'm sorry."

"I thought we agreed we weren't going to mention that," Shinichi reminded him, but he sounded less prickly than he had when Kaito had brought up the subject before. Absently, Shinichi reached up with his free hand to brush a stray curl out of Kaito's eyes as the night wind ruffled their hair. Kaito hummed, pushing into his touch.

"You did, but I just – I think about it, y'know?" He made a sound of disappointment when Shinichi withdrew his hand, electing to drop his head onto Shinichi's shoulder in retribution and nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk as he did. "And the scene from the movie, God, I don't understand how you can be that hot, Shinichi –"

"You still live in the same house as – before, right?" Shinichi cut in. His voice had gone up in pitch the way it did whenever Kaito made a particularly unsubtle innuendo. Or the way it used to go up, at least, when Kaito still let himself make innuendoes around Shinichi.

"I do," Kaito told him. Shinichi steered him around a corner, tucking Kaito's head down into his collarbone as they passed a group of giggling office ladies. Shinichi smelled warm and elegant, like white tea and pine needles. Kaito wondered what kind of cologne he wore and spent the next few blocks mouthing words into Shinichi's skin. He wondered if he was imagining the way Shinichi seemed to shudder.

"Y'know," he muttered as they turned onto his street and approached his unlit house, "I really – I wish we were still the same. Like how we were before the whole – hallway thing."

Shinichi was quiet for a moment. They stood on Kaito's doormat for a moment while Kaito fumbled the keys out of his pocket. When Kaito had finally gotten them out, he remarked, quiet, "I do, too."

Kaito promptly dropped the keys. Shinichi bent to pick them up, working them effortlessly into the lock and ignoring the way Kaito was gaping at him. Everything was starting to swim before his eyes, his front door and the dark, gaping interior of the house blurry and undulating like something just beyond a heat haze, but Shinichi was breathtakingly clear, the cut of his jaw and the way his shirt clung to his shoulders in sharp focus as he tugged Kaito inside, dropping the keys on the hook by the door.

"Let's get you to bed," Shinichi told him, gently steering him towards the bedroom. He toed off his shoes, motioning for Kaito to do the same.

"I," Kaito began, but he was forced to cut himself off when he nearly fell over. Shinichi caught him by the elbows, easing him down onto the genkan so he could remove his shoes. Shinichi had the hands of an artist, all long, tapering fingers and pale, smooth skin.

"Come on," he said once he'd gotten Kaito's shoes off. He motioned for Kaito to stand, and Kaito complied, wobbly and clutching at him for balance. Maybe the last three shots had been a mistake, he decided when he nearly knocked over the decorative vase Aoko had given him a few years ago. Shinichi, of course, steadied him, righting the vase with his foot.

"I'm sorry about what happened," Kaito managed when they were standing in Kaito's bedroom. "I think I – ruined everything."

"It wasn't your fault," Shinichi assured him, uncharacteristically gentle as he helped Kaito into bed. In the moonlight streaming through the window behind Kaito, he looked ethereal, otherworldly, a figment of Kaito's imagination that Kaito was destined to chase forever. "I was the one who messed it up by assuming you were interested."

Kaito stared, frowning. He felt woozy and sleepy and more than a little sick, but he knew that was definitely not right. "I was interested. I was very interested. Wasn't that obvious?"

Shinichi laughed. It sounded emptied out and hollow, void of real amusement. "Kaito, you stopped me because you thought someone would see. I know neither of us are – out, or whatever you want to call it, but I know what a rejection is."

"What?" Kaito clutched at his bedspread. "What – I kissed you back, didn't I?"

"Right before you pushed me away, yes." There was no mistaking the defensive sarcasm in Shinichi's voice. "Look, this is why I didn't want to talk about it."

"You – wait, wait, wait. I told you to stop because I thought you were, like, drunk!" Kaito felt horror rise in his stomach. Shinichi's eyes were wide. "When you kissed me, I thought – I tasted alcohol, and I thought you were making a – a drunk decision, and I, I thought you wouldn't want anyone to see you with me, since I'm – me."

"You're saying…" Shinichi was pale, mouth drawn into a confused curve. He was twisting the bottom of his shirt between his fingertips, eyebrows slowly slanting downwards. "Kaito, why would I be ashamed to be seen with you?"

"Because – because I'm a guy, and people say I'm a womanizer, and – and you're you." Kaito buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his temples. He was too drunk for this. He couldn't think of proper adjectives to describe what Shinichi was like. Or maybe he never could. Either way, this was… he didn't know what it was, and he didn't know what to make of it.

"Kaito, I thought you pushed me away because you didn't want to come out," Shinichi said, and his voice was directly overhead. His fingers were cool when they coaxed Kaito's hands away from his face. When Kaito looked up at him, he was smiling widely, gorgeously, as if he couldn't help himself. "I thought – I thought I'd been wrong to think you cared about me like that, I thought I completely humiliated myself by throwing myself at you –"

"Shinichi," Kaito groaned, half adoring and half exasperated, trying to convey just how wrong that was, and Shinichi giggled – giggled! – before he bent down to kiss Kaito. By all accounts, it should've been sloppy and awful, since Kaito wasn't exactly at his most coherent or coordinated, but it wasn't, somehow – unlike their previous two kisses, this time it was slow and adoring, worshipful, almost, and Shinichi sighed into it and melted into Kaito's touch, pliant and soft and warm.

"Don't get me wrong this time," Kaito commanded against his mouth, wrapping his arms around Shinichi, and Shinichi hummed approvingly and gently pressed Kaito down to the bed.

Shinichi was still there in the morning, hair damp from a shower and still a little sleep-worn around the edges as he stumbled around Kaito's kitchen, trying to work Kaito's espresso machine and wearing one of Kaito's sweatshirts and, temptingly enough, nothing else. Kaito had the worst hangover he'd ever experienced, and he knew with some certainty that nothing had happened because apparently Shinichi was too much of a gentleman to "take advantage" of someone "inebriated", but he stood in the doorway and smiled dopily until Shinichi noticed and practically tackled him.

They arrived on set together, Shinichi dressed in one of Kaito's button-downs and Kaito grinning smugly with one arm wrapped around Shinichi's waist. Hattori raged at them for twenty minutes because apparently Hakuba had won the entire betting pool and couldn't they have waited until next week, God, but he did clap them both on the shoulder.

"You have my blessing," he said gruffly, sounding alarmingly close to tears, before he turned and practically ran.

Sera was waiting in Shinichi's trailer, looking shifty and uncomfortable. Shinichi felt Kaito go tense beside him, his arm turning cagelike around him, and Shinichi groaned.

"Kaito, this is Sera Masumi, Ran's girlfriend," he announced loudly. Sera waved, sheepish, and Kaito made a spluttery, choking sound.

"That's… her?"

"Yeah." Sera cleared her throat. "You don't have to worry about me trying to steal Kudou, I swear."

Kaito was blinking quickly. His gaze slid to the collar of Shinichi's (or rather, his) shirt. "But the hickeys?"

"Those are from you, you idiot," Shinichi snapped.

"But – I only gave you those this morning, and they were on the inside of your thigh –"

"The ones from the scene in the film," Shinichi shouted as Sera wiggled her eyebrows. Kaito smirked.

"I didn't realize they'd be so dark," he murmured, one hand lifting to press idly against the mess of bruises. Shinichi gasped, going a little weak-kneed, and Kaito looked at him with consideration dark in his eyes as his gaze dropped down to Shinichi's mouth –

"Please don't forget that I'm standing right here," Sera said loudly.

The premiere of Idyll was a red-carpet affair of flashing lights and interviewers wearing too much makeup. Shinichi stared out the window of the limo, spotting Hattori and Kazuha already struggling to make their way across the carpet, Hakuba and Aoko not far behind.

"You ready?" Kaito asked from his other side, grinning. He looked incredible in his bespoke suit, hair (for once) tamed and his crooked smile firmly in place. Shinichi reached over to rub his cheek.

"Of course."

He opened the door, sliding out into a cacophony of sounds and flashbulbs. He could feel Kaito behind him, hear the sound of photographers making surprised noises and the click of shutters increasing.

Kaito slammed the door shut, tugging Shinichi's arm until Shinichi turned around to face him. He was grinning fondly, and it was even more blinding than the flash of cameras. "Shinichi," he said affectionately, and Shinichi beamed and leaned in and kissed him. He doubted he'd ever see or hear ever again, seeing as the world had exploded into bright white lights and earsplitting, confused shouting, but it was worth it. Kaito was worth it.