OH MY GOD HELLO EVERYONE. YES I KNOW IT'S BEEN EIGHTEEN THOUSAND YEARS SINCE I LAST POSTED. I AM VERY SORRY. HAVE A SHITTY NON-CHRISTMAS-RELATED FIC TO MAKE UP FOR IT.

I started this fic two months ago, and I've been working on it on and off again since then, so if there are any inconsistencies, that's probably why. This was supposed to be a fluffy 2,000-word fic, but then it got away from me, as the word count may make obvious.

Warnings include shounen-ai, grammar mistakes / general errors, so many plotholes (like... so many plotholes), the fact that it is very late and I only proofread this once, etc. Title from "Bloom" by The Paper Kites.

Enjoy! - Luna

Bloom

Kaito liked to think that he was pretty good at planning. He had nearly a hundred heists under his belt, after all, and he'd managed to get away pretty successfully each time, with minimal time spent in handcuffs and only one notable occasion of being staple-gunned into the backseat of a police car. Basically, he knew his way around blueprints and fire escapes and rooftop access doors, and he was generally pretty good about arranging his heist plans around them.

So when he ran full-tilt at an eighteenth-floor window with an annoyed Kudou Shinichi chasing after him, he fully expected there to be a balcony waiting. The blueprints had specified that there was a balcony. All the other floors had balconies. Balconies made sense.

Except when he smashed through the window, bruising his shoulder and probably guaranteeing himself at least a week of wincing whenever he lifted his arm, he discovered that there was no balcony.

"What," he managed after falling two and a half stories, mostly out of pure shock, and fumbled for the release on his hang glider.

Overhead, Kudou stuck his head out the window, cautiously maneuvering around the jagged teeth of broken glass. His eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline. "Was that part of your plan?" he called, his face doing something attractively judgy and very Kudou Shinichi, and Kaito rolled his eyes against the wind and yanked on the tab for his hang glider.

He gasped in pain when the glider snapped open and yanked sharply on his shoulder – definitely bruised, ow – and wheezed as he sailed aimlessly towards an expanse of forest. The heist has been set at Jirokichi's summer home, which was overcompensatingly gigantic (twenty-one floors) and isolated by forests as far as the eye could see, so at least there wasn't anyone around to point and laugh at him. Well, other than Kudou, but that was all Kudou ever seemed to do anyway, so.

Kaito was halfway to the ground when he got the feeling that several things were wrong. First, his hang glider was listing dangerously on one side, and when Kaito contorted (painfully, and not without some swearing), he found that one of the supports across the center of the glider had snapped in two. Second, Kudou was shouting something at him, and not the usual cattily pretentious detective bullshit – he was frantically yelling things like "Kid, your hang glider, look out, oh my God," which was a worrying deviation from their usual script –

And then Kaito crashed into a tree and he blacked out and yeah, okay, maybe his planning skills needed a little work.

Shinichi swore under his breath, shoving a tree branch out of his face as he stepped over a patch of sucking wet mud. He hadn't signed up for Kid Retrieval Duty when he'd come out here, yet here he was, trampling through a forest in search of Kid's corpse. A fly circled around his head for a moment before it landed on his neck, and he slapped it dead, possibly more vindictively than necessary.

There was a part of Shinichi that was half-convinced that this was some kind of complicated ruse to get Shinichi away from the mansion while Kid escaped in a patrol car or disguised as Jirokichi or something, but for the most part, Shinichi just wanted to make sure that Kid hadn't bashed his head in on a rock. The crash had looked pretty bad and believably unstaged, after all, and as much as Shinichi secretly thought Kid wasn't entirely human (no normal person could be that simultaneously hot and irritating), Kid still had a very breakable neck.

Another twenty minutes of wading through dead leaf litter and killing what felt like an entire genus of insects, and Shinichi was starting to consider leaving Kid for dead. (Except, well, he'd never actually do that. But he was considering it.) He shook a nettle off his pants leg and sighed, squinting into the shadowy abyss of trees sprawling before him. Was it just him, or was there a clearing up ahead?

He forged forward until he came to the edge of the – well, it wasn't exactly a clearing as much as a space that had been cleared by the forceful arrival of something large that had been traveling at a relatively high velocity.

A something that was Kid.

"Oh God," Shinichi mumbled beneath his breath as he hopped over one crooked edge of Kid's hang glider. Kid was stretched over a bed of cracked branches and crushed leaves, and even from a distance, Shinichi could see that he was bleeding from the head. His hat had disappeared into the underbrush, and his suit was no longer pristine, torn at the shoulders and elbows and knees, the material dirtied with a combination of chlorophyll and mud. He looked horribly reminiscent of a fallen angel, Shinichi thought nonsensically before he took a step back and mentally gave himself a judgy look.

Swallowing, Shinichi knelt beside Kid's head and fumbled at Kid's pulse in an attempt to find Kid's pulse. He exhaled hard when he felt it, thrumming away steady and strong and somehow almost smug, like aw, you were actually worried that I was going to die, I didn't know you cared so much, tantei-kun. Basically, Kid on any given day.

Shinichi sat back on his heels, considering. Kid's face was slack in unconsciousness, and his mouth was partway open. There was an ant crawling across his lip. In a fit of pettiness, Shinichi didn't brush it off.

He had a few options. First, he could leave Kid here, but even as he thought it, he shoved the idea aside. Judging from the circumstances, it was possible that Kid had some kind of concussion or brain injury, and Shinichi wasn't enough of an asshole to leave him in the middle of a forest like that. Second, he could call Nakamori and the others out here and have Kid treated before he was arrested, and yeah, that sounded good, that sounded like the thing Shinichi was supposed to do according to the two-hundred-and-seven-page Official Kid Task Force Handbook that Nakamori had magnanimously bestowed upon him when he'd first started coming to Kid's heists, but it also felt as if he was taking advantage of Kid's incapacitation, which just felt… wrong.

Third, he could help Kid get medical assistance while also hiding him from the police, which was obviously one of the worse things that he could do, as someone whom Nakamori and the task force trusted and an assistant police inspector of his own division. It would be a crime. It would be harboring a fugitive. It would be undeniably illegal.

Shinichi sighed, resigned, and reached for his phone.

Kaito came awake in stages as if waking from a dream. The first thing he became aware of was that something was crawling across his lip. The second thing he became aware of was that his head hurt as if someone had taken to it with a meat tenderizer.

The third thing he became aware of was that there was somebody taking off his clothes.

Jerking, Kaito lurched upwards – his head swam; his vision cartwheeled wildly – and turned to glare at whomever was unbuttoning his shirt. He was thrown for a loop when he discovered that it was a really hot guy, who was raising one neat eyebrow at him and generally looking destructively good, the kind of good that started wars and border skirmishes or whatever.

Oh. That sort of changed things.

"Nice to see you're awake." The guy sat back in the soft, leaf-strewn earth, crossing his arms across his chest. He had subtly defined biceps and cowlicky hair, and he didn't seem to care that his jeans were getting steadily muddier. Kaito stared, fascinated. He didn't know how he'd ended up in this situation, out in a forest with a bleeding head and a hot guy stripping him, but he kind of wasn't complaining.

"Hey?" The guy was now eyeing Kaito with something approaching concern. "Are you all right?" he asked warily.

"Are you my boyfriend?" Kaito said, instead of answering.

The guy went through a succession of colors – white, green, red, and Kaito thought he might've even seen purple somewhere in there. When he apparently regained the ability to form words, he choked out, "Kid, are you okay?"

"Kid?" Kaito squinted at him. "Who's Kid?"

"This isn't funny." Now the guy looked as if he was starting to get annoyed. "You're literally bleeding from the head in the middle of a forest. It's not time for stupid jokes."

"Jokes?" Kaito blinked at him. "I'm not joking. Are you?"

"I – what?" the guy sputtered before he pushed a hand through his hair and exhaled hard. His thumb left a streak of dirt across his forehead, which only served to make him look even hotter, somehow, juxtaposed with his ragged shirt and once-nice jeans. The guy really made the wilderness look work for him, even if Kaito got the feeling that he spent most of his time in double Windsor knots and pressed shirts. Kaito only realized he was staring when the guy cleared his throat in a passive-aggressive way that suggested he had been doing it for several minutes, and Kaito snapped out of it.

"Are you my boyfriend?" he repeated. This time the guy managed not to choke on his own tongue. His face did something twitchy and borderline annoyed.

"Why would you even ask that?" he demanded, scowling, and Kaito lifted his eyebrows.

"Um, why else would you be taking my shirt off in the middle of a forest?" he asked, pointed, and watched with rapturous attention as the guy went pink all the way down to the neckline of his shirt. Red complemented him, Kaito thought, so giddily that his head throbbed a little. The guy had the kind of porcelain perfect skin that looked good with color.

"Kid, this really isn't funny anymore," said the guy, sounding strained. He squinted at Kaito. "Cut it out. This really isn't the time."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Kaito asked, perturbed. The guy's eyebrows jerked upwards.

"Calling you… what?" he said, slow and unsure, as if he really had no idea what Kaito was talking about.

"Kid," Kaito replied. He could hear the duh in his own voice. "I'm not a kid. That's not my name. I'm Kaito. Kuroba Kaito." He stared, concerned, when the guy actually jerked backwards a little, looking as if someone had jammed a stun-gun into his neck and emptied several volts into him without warning. Unsurprisingly, he wore shock just as well as dirt and irritation.

"Okay," the guy said after a few moments of staring wide-eyed at Kaito, "this may be a problem."

Shinichi had expected a great many things from the heist: a chance to handcuff Kid to something, Kid taunting Nakamori as he swooped off into the sky, possibly figuring out Kid's trick before he pulled it off. Basically, the things that usually happened at Kid's heists. And then after that, Shinichi had been planning to go home, order takeout from the place down the street, catch up on the last few episodes of Detective Samonji that he'd missed, finally return the eighteen missed phone calls from Hattori that he'd accumulated. Go to sleep earlier than two, if he was really feeling crazy.

Unsurprisingly, Shinichi wasn't expecting the day to end with him driving home with an amnesiac, likely-concussed Kid who'd told him his actual civilian identity and seemed to be under the impression that they were dating sitting in his passenger seat.

Kid – Kuroba Kaito – had been easily convinced into shedding most of his fairly conspicuous Kid outfit, amicably agreeing to swap shirts with Shinichi. Shinichi half-suspected some kind of ulterior motive, and he was vindicated when he caught Kid glancing appreciatively at him as he tugged his shirt off. He felt equal parts disturbed and flattered by it – Kid was, after all, hotter than the sun and nearly as unreachable, but he was also Kid. So.

Needless to say, the whole situation was really, really disconcerting.

Now Kid – Kuroba – Kaito – what was Shinichi supposed to call him? – was staring at him with an intensity that made navigating mountainous roads slightly difficult. Shinichi flinched every time Kid batted his eyelashes (a very frequent event).

"You know, I don't think you ever introduced yourself. What's your name, gorgeous?" Kid asked after a long, wordless moment.

Gorgeous. Oh God. Shinichi felt something not dissimilar to panic rising in his stomach, expanding in his chest and clogging the back of his throat. The steering wheel creaked weakly in his hands, and he hastily loosened his grip. If Shinichi broke the car, then he'd be stranded on a mountain with this – this parody of Kid.

"I don't really think my name's all that important," Shinichi announced after a long moment, blinking rapidly and accidentally activating the windshield wipers when his arm twitched violently.

"I guess I can just call you Mr. Beautiful, the way I have been in my head," offered Kid. His smile was a solid nine out of ten on a scale of unadulterated charm.

"My name's Kudou Shinichi," Shinichi said so quickly he almost choked.

"Shinichi," Kid repeated, a little dreamily, and giggled. Giggled.

Oh my God, Shinichi thought. Oh my God. He pressed lightly on the gas pedal.

There was a part of Kaito that wondered why Shinichi had brought him to the residential part of Tokyo – Beika, he thought – but his head had started to ache again, pulsing with bursts of pain that made him clench his teeth, so he stowed his confusion away for later. He trusted Shinichi.

They came to a stop outside of a blocky house with a yellow Beetle parked in front. Kaito lifted his head away from the window just in time for Shinichi to open the car door and motion for Kaito to step out. Kaito smiled a little dreamily (Shinichi was a gentleman in addition to being the best-looking thing Kaito had ever seen) before he stumbled onto the driveway, tripping as the ground rippled beneath him.

"You okay?" At Kaito's feeble nod, Shinichi grasped him gently by the arm, gently closing the door behind him, and gently led him up the front walk towards the front door. Gently, gently, gently. Regardless of his prickly exterior, Shinichi was the opposite of harsh.

The front door opened before Shinichi had the chance to knock. For a moment, Kaito was sure that he was staring at an empty doorway, but then a sharp voice snapped, "I cannot believe you, Kudou-kun," and he looked down instinctively. There was a slender, petite girl standing there – probably about thirteen or fourteen, Kaito guessed – with blonde hair cut into a bob and a distinctly unimpressed curve to her mouth. She looked like the kind of person who had a taste for unpronounceable designer brands and read Les Misérables in the original French.

"Hi," Kaito offered meekly. The girl's gaze slid to him, somehow growing even more annoyed.

"Kid," she said flatly, as if the very word offended her, and Kaito squinted.

"Why is everyone calling me that? My name's –" Kuroba Kaito, he finished, but then he realized that Shinichi had slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling his name. He had very soft palms, Kaito noticed, and his skin smelled citrusy. Did he use hand cream?

The girl was now regarding him with something like interest. "You weren't joking about the whole amnesia thing, were you?" she remarked, glancing over at Shinichi with her eyebrows lifted.

"Why would I?" grumbled Shinichi, removing his hand. Kaito almost asked him to put it back, but he got the impression that neither Shinichi nor the girl would appreciate that, so he restrained himself. Shinichi exhaled hard, rubbing at the back of his neck. He looked faintly chastised. "His hang glider broke and he crashed into a bunch of trees. I found him afterwards. All he remembers is his name, I think."

"I see." The girl was managing to communicate levels of condescension that Kaito hadn't previously believed possible. "And so instead of turning him into the police or taking him to an actual hospital, you decided to frantically call me and insist that I prepare the tools necessary to check him for brain damage, despite that you know I'm a biochemist, not a doctor."

"You're a biochemist?" Kaito stared, narrowing his eyes. "Aren't you, like, fifteen?"

"Fourteen, but yes," the girl sighed. She gave no any further explanation.

Well, okay, Kaito thought, a little doubtfully, before he staggered a little and collapsed bodily onto Shinichi. Shinichi made a noise as if someone had stuck a needle somewhere fleshy, but he still caught Kaito around the waist. He smelled like pine needles and cologne.

"So," Haibara began after declaring that Kid was probably not concussed (the lucky bastard), clicking off the flashlight she'd used to check Kid's pupils. Her tone was the one she used when she said things like, "Kudou-kun, I hear you and Inspector Yamazaki went out for coffee," or "Kudou-kun, I see you're wearing your date shirt for the Kid heist." (That had been a complete coincidence, and Shinichi was sticking to his story.)

"No," Shinichi replied immediately, and Haibara gave him a Look that carried more meaning than a lot of pop songs. Over Haibara's shoulder, Kid beamed dopily at him and waved, uncoordinated enough that he knocked a mug off the kitchen table, barely catching it before it hit the ground. Shinichi winced. Haibara watched the two of them with the same kind of morbid interest that traffic accidents and forest fires garnered.

"Fascinating," she commented. "This is going to be an interesting addition to the usual sexual tension."

"Excuse me," Shinichi choked at the same time Kid announced, "I think I like her." Shinichi glared at him before he turned back to Haibara.

"Don't encourage him," he hissed. "He already thinks we're – kind of dating. Or something."

Haibara blinked at him for a moment. "I think I should stop paying for cable. Real life is far more interesting than anything fictional that anyone could come up with."

"Haibara," said Shinichi, strangled. He did a sort of flaily arm thing that he'd deny ever doing if anyone brought it up. "We're not" – he took one look at Kid, who was looking at Shinichi as if Shinichi had named an entire constellation after him, and felt a confusing combination of too-warm and horrified – "dating!"

"Oh?" Haibara tilted her head at him, pseudo-innocent. "I thought you were. Weren't all those heists part of Kid's mating ritual?"

"I hate you," Shinichi decided once he'd managed to get his tongue untangled from his tonsils. He was very aware of the fact that he was bright red and the way Kid was now watching him with half-lidded eyes. He jabbed a finger at Haibara, trying to ignore Kid with very little success. "You are not cute, and I hope that something unfortunate happens to you someday."

"That's not very nice," Haibara informed him, tucking her flashlight away. "And since that wasn't very nice, I'm going to leave now, and you're going to have to clean Kid up. First aid kit's in the bathroom, underneath the sink."

"What?" Shinichi scowled. "He can clean himself up, can't he?"

"Of course not. He's got a head wound, Kudou-kun," Haibara answered silkily. Shinichi wondered briefly how that much unadulterated viciousness had been compacted into someone so small. Haibara smirked at him before she sauntered towards the door, grabbing a jacket off the coatrack. "Anyway, I'm going out now."

"Now? Why?" Shinichi subdued a sudden upwelling of panic.

"Yoshida-san invited me to sleep over at her house," Haibara replied, sounding smug. She opened the front door. "Oh, and the professor won't be back for another three days. He's still at that convention in Nara." She was looking distinctly evil now. Shinichi half-expected sinister music to start pouring out of the sound system. "I'll see you later, Kudou-kun. Kuroba-kun." Kid waved cheerily when she closed the door. Shinichi just sat, frozen.

There was an awkward silence. Shinichi hazarded a glance over at Kid, only to find that Kid was smiling faintly at him, unnervingly fond. As if he knew enough about Shinichi to feel fond just looking at him.

Shinichi stood up so fast he nearly tripped. When Kid frowned, concerned, at him, he fumbled with his hands for a second before he got out, "I'm – I'll get the first aid kit." He motioned at Kid's multitude of scrapes and the wound on his head, which chose that moment to resume bleeding sluggishly.

"Oh. All right," Kid replied, easy and smiling hazily, the way he wasn't supposed to when he looked at Shinichi, and Shinichi barely felt it when he banged his knee against the coffee table on his way into the bathroom. The Shinichi that looked back at him in the mirror was wearing an expression of pure panic.

"Get it together," Shinichi mouthed at himself, annoyed, before he washed his hands and bent to rummage around under the sink until he located the first aid kit. It was gigantic and extensively stocked, including a lot of extra-strength painkillers and an alarming amount of empty syringes. Shinichi really didn't want to know.

Kid hadn't moved by the time Shinichi returned, lugging the first aid kit behind him. (It had wheels.) When Shinichi stopped beside him, his eyes flickered open, and he beamed up at Shinichi.

"Going to take care of me?" he asked, grinning lasciviously, and Shinichi sighed rather than think of a response and opened the kit. He pressed a clean square of gauze against the wound on Kid's head, watching blood seep into it. If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel Kid's pulse through the contact, steady and slow like a metronome.

They stood like that for a long time. When the bleeding stopped and Shinichi made to pull away, Kid caught his wrist gently. His eyes were soft when they met Shinichi's.

"Shinichi, why do you hate me so much?" he wondered, quiet and earnest. Shinichi felt his eyebrows go up.

"I don't," he said, setting the bloody piece of gauze on the table and digging around for a roll of bandages. He moved to fit one end against the edge of the wound, and Kid pulled away so they were face to face. Shinichi groaned, but Kid remained unmoved.

"Then why are you so disturbed by the idea of being with me?" he demanded, frowning, and Shinichi pressed his lips together, clutching at the roll of bandages.

"You don't remember, obviously, but we're not exactly… friends, usually. When you're not" – Shinichi tried to think of a synonym for banged up in the head and amnesiac, but came up short – "like this, I mean." When Kid's expression didn't change, he added, "We're rivals, you know. You're a, uh… you've broken the law a lot, and I'm a police officer. We don't… like each other." Or, well, Shinichi was about eighty percent certain that they didn't. No matter what Haibara said about "UST" or whatever.

"Even so," Kid began, slow as if he were thinking very carefully, "I can't see why I wouldn't like you." His gaze swept over Shinichi, and Shinichi resisted the urge to cross his arms over his chest self-consciously. He settled for scowling darkly at Kid.

"Not just because you're pretty," said Kid, laughing at Shinichi with his eyes when Shinichi flushed. His mouth quirked at one corner, a remnant of his usual smirk. "You're… kind. Good. Even when you don't want to seem like it. Well, especially then." He shook his head, wondering. "I can't imagine that I don't like someone like that."

"I guess you don't know yourself as well as you think you do right now," Shinichi murmured after a minute. The way Kid was gazing contemplatively at him made him feel strangely naked, and not in a sexy and/or fun way. In lieu of looking Kid in the face, he reached for the roll of bandages and set to work wrapping a strip around Kid's head. His fingers kept getting caught in Kid's hair, but Kid didn't seem to notice or care. "When you get your memories back, you're going to be embarrassed."

The certainty in Shinichi's tone made Kid lift an eyebrow. "You seem sure of that."

"Trust me," answered Shinichi, looping the roll around Kid's head for a third time. "I'm absolutely positive."

"Hm," Kid hummed. He relaxed back as Shinichi secured off the bandage and reached for the disinfectant. Shinichi was keenly aware of Kid's eyes following him as he pressed lightly at the cut on Kid's cheek with an antiseptic wipe. Shinichi pulled back a few minutes later, having slapped bandages on all the visible scrapes he could see on Kid's arms and face.

"There," he said, more to fill the silence than anything else, and busied himself with putting everything back into the first aid kit. He was tucking the gauze in beside a needle and thread (?) when a touch to the back of his hand made him jump.

Kid was looking at him with eyebrows raised. "Like I said, Shinichi. You're kind." He motioned at his bandages, and Shinichi flushed and dug around in the first aid kit.

"Take some painkillers, and then we're going to my place," he ordered, slapping a bottle of acetaminophen tablets down and wheeling the first aid kit away. Kid was always confusing, but he was just unnerving right now.

His memory was back. With a vengeance.

Kaito came awake in a rush, stifling a gasp as he flew into a sitting position. His head shouted with pain, but he ignored it in favor of frantically trying to recall the previous day. Oh God. What had he done? Had he actually told Kudou his real name? Had he actually hit on Kudou fifty-four times?

He was in Kudou's bed, because Kudou had gotten kind of red-faced and flustered when Kaito, practically dripping innuendoes, had inquired about sleeping arrangements, and then Kudou had (splutteringly) shunted Kaito into his room, shouted something about staying in the spare room down the hall because it was unfurnished and unsuitable for guests and don't get any ideas, Kid, it's not a come on, shut up, and then stalked off to do whatever detectives did during the night hours. Kaito hadn't minded at the time, because Kudou's room smelled like a combination of Shinichi's aftershave and fabric softener, and Kaito had apparently been very weak for that at the time.

"Oh my God," Kaito said aloud, staring down at the comforter still lying across his lap. He'd thrown himself at Kudou Shinichi. Multiple times. Relentlessly, like the kind of shady guy who skulked around bars sending anonymous mojitos to pretty girls. He'd actually done that. He was never going to be able to look himself in the mirror again, because he'd actually voiced all the things he'd been thinking about Kudou's many assets for longer than he could remember, and now he also knew about the way Kudou blushed and glared and pretended not to care while caring deeply, God –

Kaito put his head in his hands and groaned for a sustained amount of time. The only reason he'd survived around Kudou this long was because Kudou's good looks were mostly negated by the fact that Kudou was a prideful asshole, but now, knowing that Kudou was, in reality, a prideful asshole who was actually caring and sweet and kind underneath his many layers of asshole… Kaito was screwed. And that was without factoring in the fact that Kudou sort of hated him with the passion of several thousand suns and a few nuclear bombs, too.

Except, Kaito realized as he stared down at the blue comforter draped across his lap, it was also possible that he might… not. Because Kudou had found Kaito in the most optimally vulnerable situation anyone could've asked for, and yet he'd smuggled Kaito away from the heist location instead of escorting him to the nearest police station. Kudou knew Kaito's civilian identity, and he hadn't done anything with the information. Kudou had fixed Kaito up with antiseptic wipes and gauze and efficient, gentle hands. He'd done it all with a frown and no shortage of eye-rolling, but he'd done it.

He also thought Kaito despised him, Kaito reflected. He'd seem entirely convinced of it, certain that Kaito would be horrified at what he'd said and done when he came back to his senses because he hated Kudou just that much. Which was a little insulting – what had Kaito ever done to make Kudou think that Kaito hated him? Kaito had never hated him. Maybe he'd – okay, maybe he'd thought Kudou was a pretentious asshole whose good looks were mostly invalidated by his general annoyingness, but Kudou had never reached, like, Hakuba levels of dislike. Kaito had never actively disliked Kudou.

"Huh." Kaito lifted his head to glance around the room. Upon first glance, the composition of Kudou's room was mostly unsurprising, intellectual and nerdy in turns: on his bookshelf, a Japanese translation of The Sign of Four was stuck between something with a snobbishly English title and an encyclopedia about blood, and his desk was covered in manila folders that presumably were case files. But upon closer inspection, Kaito noticed things that made his eyebrows lift – the laptop abandoned by the foot of the bed had a Tokyo Spirits decal stuck on the half-closed lid; there was a framed photo of Big Ben hanging three degree crooked on the far wall. Kaito was abruptly and forcefully struck by the realization that he didn't know Kudou Shinichi, not really. Even thought they'd been drifting in and out of each other's sphere for years.

The thought scrambled away when there was a soft knock on the door before it swung open. Kaito jumped, feeling inexplicably guilty as he turned to find Kudou standing in the doorway. Kudou smiled faintly at him, sleep-soft and wrinkled around the edges as if he'd spent the night in a guest room with a lumpy mattress. Now that the idea had been planted, Kaito couldn't help but think that he looked delicate and lovely and a lot of other adjectives that he never would've thought to apply to Kudou Shinichi.

"How are you feeling? How's the head? Do you need more painkillers?" Kudou asked after a moment, his voice rumbling around the words. Kaito stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out an answer, before he just shrugged and looked down.

"I'm all right," he muttered, and Kudou inhaled slowly, exhaled quickly. He leaned against the doorframe, raising his eyebrows when Kaito met his eyes.

"Well, I can make breakfast, and then we can talk about what we want to do about your – situation," offered Kudou. He gave a little head-jerk towards the hall, smiling tentatively, and Kaito nodded wordlessly and watched him pad out of the room.

Okay. Okay. So Kaito probably needed to tell him that he'd gotten his memory back. But – and this was a fantastically selfish thought, and Kaito sort of hated himself for it – but when he did, Kudou wouldn't offer to cook him breakfast or ask him about his head, and that would be a shame.

So. Maybe Kaito would hold off on telling him, just for a little.

Shinichi was a fully functional adult, okay. He knew how to feed himself. He could cook breakfast without burning anything down. He wasn't completely useless. Usually. Whatever.

(One a complete unrelated note, he needed to replace his smoke detector with something less… sensitive.)

At least Kid seemed to find the whole thing amusing, though. They were now on the way to Poirot, and Kid was wearing one of Shinichi's Touto University sweatshirts and ridiculous bedhead and slowly graying bandages, looking fairly content with his life. He kept furtively glancing at Shinichi as if he'd never seen him before, which was kind of confusing, but he'd gone twenty minutes without breaking out a pickup line, so Shinichi was counting it as an improvement.

Azusa looked up when Shinichi came in, the bell over the door alerting her to his presence, and her face split into a wide smile when Kid cautiously trotted in after him. She looked as if someone had informed her of a deceased great-aunt leaving her the deed to a goldmine.

"Kudou-kun!" she chirped, hurrying over with her hands clasped before her and sunshine practically leaking from her pores. Shinichi smiled, trying not to look as disturbed as he felt. Azusa grinned back at him before her gaze zeroed in on Kid with the intensity of an eagle that had just spotted a prairie dog. "Who's this?"

"This is, uh –" Shinichi experienced a second of pure horror – how was he supposed to introduce Kid? – when Kid stepped forward and extended a hand.

"Kuroba Kaito at your service, ma'am," he said, so nonsensically charming there might have well as been a neon sign reading "I AM LOVEABLE" blinking over his head. Azusa's eyebrows rose, and she shot Shinichi an impressed look (?) before she reached out to shake his hand.

"Enomoto Azusa, at yours," she giggled before she gave Shinichi the kind of proud mother beam that made Shinichi frown and shift uncomfortably. "Sit anywhere, you two." She scuttled off to locate menus, and Shinichi gave Kid an apologetic look and directed him towards the nearest two-seater.

"Sorry, I don't know what that was about," he sighed, and Kid just shrugged, balancing his face in his hands.

"I don't mind."

"Still," Shinichi said, scowling down at the tabletop. "That was just… weird."

Kid opened his mouth, about to respond, when Azusa materialized beside them, brandishing menus.

"Here you go!" she sang, enthusiastically shoving the menus at them. Kid nearly lost an eye, but he still managed a valiant smile for her.

"Thanks," Shinichi muttered, flipping the menu open and deliberating on whether he wanted a traditional breakfast or pancakes. He was leaning towards the pancakes – Poirot had decent chocolate chip pancakes – when Azusa coughed and he realized she was still hovering beside them.

"Uh, did you need something?" Shinichi asked slowly, looking up at her guardedly. Azusa just sparkled at him. It was difficult to be angry with someone so sweet.

"No, no, I just wanted to talk. It's been so long since I last talked to you, Kudou-kun," Azusa insisted, even though that was a blatant lie. Shinichi had been to Poirot at least twice in the last two weeks. Her eyes flickered towards Kid before her smile turned suggestive. "So how long have you two been dating?"

Shinichi choked on nothing. When he recovered, wheezing as he met Kid's wide eyes, he turned on her. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't give me that," Azusa laughed, waving a hand dismissively at them. "It's eight in the morning, you know. It's too early to meet up, and you came together. And Kuroba-kun, you're wearing Kudou-kun's clothes. I recognize that sweatshirt. I can put two and two together."

Yeah, and end up with seventeen, Shinichi thought uncharitably before he shook his head at Azusa. "We're not dating, Azusa-san. Really."

"Oh, please," said Azusa, smiling sweetly and ignoring Shinichi entirely. "You wouldn't take a one night stand out for breakfast, Kudou-kun. I know you better than that. You'd just pretend to be asleep until they left."

Kid was giving Shinichi a slightly judgy look.

"That's not – Azusa-san," Shinichi began, very aware of the pathetic, imploring whine in his voice, "you're mistaken. I'm not dating Ki – Kuroba. This is a misunderstanding."

Azusa got a sympathetic, disappointed look on her face. "Oh, of course. You two haven't had your relationship talk yet, have you? I'm so sorry." Sighing dejectedly, she pulled her order pad out of the pocket of her apron. "Whenever you're ready, I can take your order." She paused. "I can get you candles if you want to have that relationship conversation now. It'll be more romantic that way."

Shinichi put his head down on the table and groaned.

Halfway through breakfast (Kaito had never seen anyone eat pancakes so sullenly), Kudou pushed his plate away and folded his hands in front of him, schoolteachery in his stare. Kaito paused in the middle of his miso soup.

"We should talk about if we want to find your family and friends and let them know about what's going on," Kudou announced, looking as if he'd mentally rehearsed what he was going to say all throughout the duration of his pancake consumption. "But I, uh, know that you wouldn't want me to know about any of that" – the if you weren't amnesiac and recovering from a head injury and all that goes unspoken – "so you'll have to do all the research and whatnot. I can help you, of course, but…" He waved his hands, helpless. "You know."

"Oh." Kaito had his legs swept out from under him by a weird wave of – affection? Some kind of feeling. It said something that Kudou had the opportunity to research Kaito and Kaito's family and friends and life, find something to lord over Kaito's head, yet there he was, trying to protect Kaito's privacy. Wonders never ceased. "I… yeah, I'm sure they're wondering about me. Wherever they are."

"Right." Kudou seemed to relax. Even under bad fluorescent lighting and with a veritable bird's nest on his head, he was somehow pretty when he smiled a little at Kaito. "In that case, I'll let you do the research, but I can give you some resources if you need them."

Kaito sort of doubted that he'd need them – he'd had Aoko's phone number and email memorized since he was twelve – but he nodded along. He should at least text Aoko; wherever she was, she was probably starting to get worried and make sounds to Hakuba about breaking into Kaito's house to search for clues.

He hazarded a glance at Kudou, who had gone back to cutting his pancakes into perfectly geometric shapes. Maybe he'd do that after breakfast, though.

Azusa drifted back over after a few minutes, taking longer than necessary to refill their cups of coffee. She was eyeing Kaito in a way that he wasn't sure how to interpret – she seemed charmed, but also slightly worried, as if she was picturing all the ways he could break Kudou's heart.

"Kudou-kun, I just wanted to say," she started, gripping the coffeepot a little nervously, and Kudou squeezed his eyes shut, apparently praying for patience.

"Bathroom," he said abruptly before getting up with a clatter and striding towards the corner where Kaito assumed the bathroom was. Azusa watched him go with a furrowed brow before she turned on Kaito.

"Uh, Kuroba-kun…" She hesitated, setting the coffeepot down on the corner of the table. Kaito geared himself up for a shovel talk, but instead Azusa just licked her lips uncomfortably and blurted out, "Please take good care of Kudou-kun." Kaito felt his eyebrows go up as she continued, twisting her apron in her hands and looking tragically worried. "He's been – different, ever since he came back from that really long investigation. He hasn't had anyone. We all thought that he'd end up with Ran-chan, but there was too much tension after he got back, and it just… didn't happen. And that's okay, but we've all been worried about Kudou-kun." She gave Kaito a plaintive, searching look, and Kaito hastily nodded.

"I – yeah, I'll try – I'll take care of him," he stammered, which was a phenomenally lacking response, but Azusa still looked relieved.

"Would you? It would mean the world to all of us," she beamed, and reached out to pat him on the hand. "Thank you, Kuroba-kun."

Kaito's mouth felt glued shut, but he managed to pry his lips apart and croak out a, "Yeah." Azusa smiled at him one last time before she grabbed the coffeepot and disappeared behind the counter, humming something tuneless and sweet. Kaito stared after her. Apparently Kudou was the kind of guy who commanded affection even from waitresses on the fringe of his social circle. Kaito wasn't sure if that said more about Kudou's friend group or Kudou himself. Probably Kudou.

Kudou returned after a minute, slinking out of the bathroom and looking around as if he was expecting Azusa to jump out at him from some dark corner. When she didn't and continued blithely brewing a new pot of coffee, he sat back down and resumed methodically slicing his pancakes.

"Did she say anything to you?" Kudou asked after a minute, pushing a perfectly trapezoidal piece of pancake around his plate.

"Nothing much," said Kaito. He stared down at his plate. "I hope you know how loved you are." Too late, Kaito realized how much like a come-on that sounded, and he winced, but when he glanced at Kudou, Kudou was watching Azusa's back with a faint smile. He looked like quiet fondness and warmth, and it was a startlingly good look on him.

"Yeah, I guess I am," he agreed, soft, before he met Kaito's eyes, flushed, and shoved a triangle and a dodecahedron into his mouth, looking a little embarrassed.

Huh.

Shinichi wasn't sure what had caused the change in Kuroba, but he wasn't complaining. Kuroba was quiet as they started back to Shinichi's house, conspicuously lacking pickup lines and glancing at Shinichi once every two minutes instead of two seconds.

They were halfway down the street when someone shouted, "Shinichi!" from behind them, accompanied by the sound of footsteps pattering towards them. Shinichi froze, a Pavlovian response to the tone of voice, and that was enough time for Ran to jump on him from behind. Because of course it was Ran. Of course. Azusa was the worst kind of traitor, and Shinichi was never going to tip her again.

"Shinichi!" Ran yelled, as if her mouth wasn't directly beside Shinichi's ear and she wasn't clinging to him like a koala with abandonment issues and Kuroba wasn't gaping at the two of them. Shinichi winced and made an (ultimately fruitless) effort to dislodge her. "You can't run! I heard from Azusa-san that you've picked up some hot guy!"

"I did nothing of the sort," Shinichi said, horrified, but Ran's attention had already swung towards Kuroba.

"Oh," she remarked, clambering off Shinichi as her gaze sweeping up and down Kuroba with critical intensity. To his credit, Kuroba didn't look intimidated, only raising an eyebrow when she nodded appreciatively. "I see what she meant." She squinted at Kuroba. "Why would you be interested in Shinichi, though?" Kuroba opened his mouth, scowling at her, and Shinichi winced.

"Ran," he interjected, feeling as if the situation was rapidly spinning out of his control. "This isn't anything… like what you're thinking." He wasn't sure what she was thinking, but he was about ninety percent sure that whatever it was, it was wrong. "I just… I found him, and he was hurt, so I… took him home. He's got memory loss. There's nothing untoward going on." He gestured at the bandages around Kuroba's head.

"Hm," Ran hummed, somehow managing to convey pages upon pages of disbelief while also ignoring most of everything Shinichi had just said. It was her special talent. "Yeah, sure. Well, Shinichi's boyfriend, it's nice to meet you. I'm Mouri Ran."

"Kuroba Kaito," Kuroba replied after a long pause, during which he looked at Shinichi as if asking for confirmation. Shinichi just shrugged at him, trying to explain that he was basically powerless when it came to Ran using only his eyes.

Ran was surveying Kuroba with a furrowed brow. "Shinichi, did you put him in your gross Touto sweatshirt?" she said, in the tone of someone who had just discovered their friend enjoyed throwing puppies into traffic.

"What's wrong with my Touto sweatshirt?" Shinichi demanded, stung. "I love that sweatshirt. It's a great sweatshirt. My mom got me that sweatshirt."

"You've had that thing for years! Why would you lend him that?"

"I – it – he didn't have any clothes," tried Shinichi, and then immediately felt stupid when Ran gave him a Look that could've melted steel.

"Ignoring the fact that you're trying to convince me that you found a naked hot guy with amnesia and took him home instead of to a hospital, that's something that we're going to fix, so help me God," she announced with a definitive nod. Shinichi had three seconds for what the hell to cross his mind before Ran grabbed him by the bicep and began to drag him bodily down the street. Kuroba trailed after them, looking alarmed and also sort of confused, and Shinichi tried to express just how sorry he was via apologetic smiles.

Somehow, Kaito had ended up clothes shopping with Kudou Shinichi and Kudou Shinichi's sort-of ex-girlfriend. Somehow that was a thing that was happening to him.

They were in a department store, skulking around the menswear section. Mouri looked perfectly in her element, flitting between trousers and cardigans and shirts with ease, while Kudou looked a bit as if he'd rather be suffering through anesthetic-free open-heart surgery than remain sandwiched between a rack of sweaters and a blank-faced mannequin for any longer.

Kaito wasn't sure how to feel. On one hand, he got the opportunity to witness the (incredibly weird) dynamic between Mouri and Kudou, which he hadn't had the chance to do for at least two years, but on the other, Mouri was accumulating a stack of clothes that looked as though it would require a forklift to be moved, which did not bode well for Kaito.

Still, Kaito decided, casting a sidelong glance at Kudou, who was pointedly staring down at his feet, maybe it wasn't so bad. Kudou was always nice to look at, even when he looked as if he wanted to hang himself with the ties to his left.

Mouri bounded up to him after a few more minutes. She appeared to have strongarmed several salesclerks into carrying the clothes, and some of them looked close to passing out. "Kuroba-kun! Here, try some of this on!" Before Kaito could open his mouth to protest, she was dragging him towards the changing rooms. Kaito glanced over his shoulder, a little panicky, and was relieved to find that Kudou was sullenly following behind a woman who was being slowly strangled to death by a pair of slacks.

The first outfit Mouri threw at him was a pair of jeans and a sweater. The second was a sweatshirt and shorts, the third was a pair of sweatpants and a jersey made of weird material, and the fourth was a suit. Kaito was starting to forget what the world outside of the changing room looked like. What did the sky look like, again?

The only redeeming thing about the whole experience was that every time Kaito came out in a new outfit, Kudou made a production of not looking at him. Mouri's face was stuck in a triumphant smirk, and she kept elbowing Kudou in the side. From the way Kudou looked as if he'd been shanked in the kidney every single time, Kaito guessed that Mouri had very sharp elbows.

Kaito was halfway into outfit number five, a shirt, necktie, and dark-wash jean combination that made him feel vaguely like an accountant, when Mouri pushed the change room curtain open and stepped inside, as if it was completely normal. Kaito froze, abruptly aware that he wasn't wearing pants. It made him feel terrifyingly vulnerable.

"Excuse me, but have you ever heard of privacy…?" he stammered, tripping into his jeans with a lot less grace than he'd admit. Mouri rolled her eyes at him before she stuck her head back out of the stall. Over her shoulder, Kaito caught a glimpse of a Kudou who was turning steadily redder, shrinking slowly in the chair he was poised on.

"Shinichi, could you get a shirt in a different size? This one doesn't fit him," Mouri said sweetly. Kaito blinked. The shirt was the exact same size as the last four he'd tried.

Kudou squinted at her. He clearly knew what was up, but all he said was, "Do you want one that's bigger or smaller?"

"Figure it out," Mouri told him, waving a hand, and Kudou got a kind of pinched look on his face. He tried to mouth something at Kaito – possibly I am so sorry – but Mouri yanked the curtain shut and turned to smile at him. Kaito tried to take a surreptitious step backwards, but alas, the dressing room wasn't big enough.

"Shinichi has been my best friend since I was six," Mouri announced, apropos of nothing. Her eyes were intense when they met Kaito's, dark and earnestly forceful, as if what she was saying was of the utmost importance. "I know him better than he knows himself. He thinks he's good at pretending, but he's not. And I can tell he really likes you, no matter what he says or how he acts."

"Uh," Kaito began, blinking rapidly, but Mouri just forged on without stopping.

"I know Shinichi can be frustrating sometimes, probably better than anyone," she continued. "I know he can say things that come across as – insensitive, or that he can be too sarcastic, or that he's not the greatest at communicating his feelings. But. He's a really good person, and he deserves the best. So if you can't offer him that, then I'm going to have to ask you to step aside and let him find someone else."

"I…" Kaito flinched when Mouri's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch more. He swallowed. "I don't know if I can… give him everything he deserves, when you put it like that."

"If you're not sure, that's fine. I just want to know that you're willing to try. Because Shinichi doesn't deserve to have someone half-assed idiot pretending to care about him, okay?" Mouri squinted at him. "Don't mess this up."

Kaito nodded, trying not to look too relieved when she stepped back. He was about to make a weak comment about the lack of threats before Mouri added, cracking her knuckles with a sound like gunfire as she smirked viciously at him, "Also, if you break his heart, I'll break your kneecaps, ribs, and fingers, in that order," and his mouth snapped shut with an audible click. He briefly recalled that Mouri had won multiple karate tournaments in her lifetime.

There was a knock on the side of the changing room. Mouri shoved the curtain aside to find Kudou standing there with two different shirts, one in each hand. He was looking at them with speculation in his gaze and nervousness in his body language.

"I got one in one size up and another in one size down," he announced. He cast a nervous glance at Kaito and cleared his throat. "I hope she didn't say anything… weird."

"I would never," Mouri said, perfectly sincere. Kudou looked entirely unimpressed as he thrust the shirts at them and resumed sulking across the way. Mouri gave Kaito a single last smile, patted him on the shoulder in a way that felt more like a warning than anything approaching a friendly mannerism, and skipped back out.

Kaito yanked the curtain shut and turned to look at himself in the mirror. Even he couldn't read the expression on his face.

Shinichi was feeling pretty weirded out by the time he and Kuroba made it home (Shinichi several thousand yen poorer, Kuroba now in possession of a much nicer wardrobe than Shinichi himself). He wasn't sure what Azusa and Ran had said to Kuroba, but he doubted he'd appreciate whatever it had been. He got the feeling that Kuroba was sort of freaked out, too, by the way he was quiet and more contemplative when he stared at Shinichi, rather than dopey or moony-eyed. Shinichi wasn't sure whether it was an improvement or not.

Shinichi flicked on the lights when they got inside, grabbing a pair of guest slippers out of the shoerack for Kuroba. He ran a hand through his hair as he stood on the genkan. What was he supposed to do now?

Kuroba brushed past him, his hand grazing Shinichi's as he went. Shinichi wasn't sure if it was intentional or not, but he felt himself flush regardless. He forced himself to move away, starting for the kitchen. It was nearly dinnertime, and they hadn't eaten since breakfast. Kuroba was doubtless getting hungry.

Switching the lights on, Shinichi took a second to observe the kitchen. He'd cleaned up after the… event in the morning, and Ran kept his refrigerator and pantry well-stocked because she was always trying to get him to be a fully functioning adult, but Shinichi was hesitant about trying to make anything now. Two fire alarm incidents in one day would just be pathetic.

"Don't worry about it," Kuroba said from behind him, and Shinichi jumped a little. He hadn't actually heard Kuroba come up behind him. "I can make dinner."

"You sure?" Shinichi frowned. He was pretty sure somewhere, Ran was screaming about proper etiquette and not making his amnesiac houseguest cook dinner or something. "You don't have to do that. I can order takeout or something."

Kuroba just patted him on the shoulder and smirked. It was eerily reminiscent of his Kid grin, the one that either stole a heartbeat or ignited strong annoyance. For Shinichi, it was a mix of both. "Have a little faith, Kudou. I've got this."

Shinichi frowned. "Have a little…" He stared, trying not to gawk too openly, when Kuroba opened the refrigerator, gave its contents a cursory look, and started to pull out vegetables and tofu and bottles of sauce without pause. He sank into a seat at the kitchen table, watching as Kuroba located the knife drawer and a chopping board and set about cutting everything. This was maybe the strangest thing that had ever happened to him.

As it turned out, Kuroba was a solid B+ cook, not quite restaurant-good but definitely as good as (if not a little better than) Ran. His yakisoba was good, at least, and Shinichi stared down at his plate with something that felt like confusion but was more likely fondness. He glanced up at Kuroba, who caught his gaze and beamed, and looked away. Something had to give.

After dinner, Shinichi cleared the table while Kuroba sat at the table and watched with that stupidly intense expression. After two minutes of this, Shinichi cracked.

"Why don't you go start looking up your information?" he asked, rubbing a sponge over the same plate for the fourth time. "You can use my laptop. I'll unlock it for you."

"Right, right." Kuroba didn't move, though. In the end, Shinichi had to put the dishes down, dry off his hands, go find his laptop, and give it to Kuroba at the kitchen table, where Kuroba started clacking around and making the occasional humming noise.

"Do you think I could be a professional wrestler?" he asked at one point. Shinichi eyed his biceps. Kuroba was built, but not that built.

"I don't think so," he answered, putting a cup on the drying rack. Kuroba gave him a wounded look, but went back to clicking around. Shinichi drifted out of the room after a few minutes of watching Kuroba type, retreating into the library to grab the remaining stack of case files he'd taken home in an effort to hopefully fill his case quota until he no longer had an amnesiac Kid hanging around and could go back to work. He'd finished all the homicide cases the night before, when he'd been too wired to sleep, but he'd gotten three robberies from the theft division that they'd wanted him to work out and two from the arson department. Shinichi probably needed to start soon.

He paused at the desk, wondering if he should stay in the library and work or go back out into the kitchen, since it would be easier to spread out the files on the kitchen table. Would Kuroba mind…?

Apparently he didn't, because when Shinichi showed up in the doorway, hesitantly holding an armful of manila folders, Kuroba just glanced up at him and grinned, making grabby hands at him until Shinichi scowled, trying not to blush, and sat down beside him.

He got a little too engrossed in a department store robbery, and when he remerged, it was nearly one in the morning. Kuroba was looking tired beside him, his drooping head propped up by one hand and his eyelids drooping, and when Shinichi poked him gently (avoiding his many cuts and bruises), he just grunted.

"We should probably go to bed," Shinichi murmured quietly. Kuroba managed a shit-eating grin at that, turning so he could give Shinichi a smarmy look.

"Is this your way of getting me into your bed, Kudou?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows and leering. Unfortunately for him, Shinichi had no qualms about hitting an exhausted, amnesiac, injured man.

As Kuroba groaned dramatically and said something theatrical about being slain and how dare Shinichi, an officer of the law, hurt an innocent, law-abiding citizen, Shinichi carefully tucked his files back into order and closed his laptop on a website of Kuuroba Kaitou the heart surgeon.

Huh. Kudou.

Kaito woke up to the smell of coffee and the feeling of soft blankets against his cheek. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in Kudou's bed for the second morning in a row, midday sun worming through the blinds to splatter in murky goldish patches on the bedspread. The difference, this time, was that Kudou was sitting at the desk, running a finger around the rim of a mug by his left hand and pretending not to watch Kaito sleep out of the corner of his eye.

When Kudou realized Kaito was blinking blearily up at him, he swiveled back around and flipped open a few files, making an attempt at an appearance of solving a case. It may have worked better if his ears hadn't been practically glowing bright red. It was stupidly – and there was no other word for it – cute. Kaito was starting to think he might have problems beyond the obvious.

"So nice seeing such a pretty face first thing in the morning," he said, voice sleep-rough. Kudou visibly jumped before he spun back around, expression schooled.

"It's noon, actually."

"First thing when I wake up, then." Kaito grinned. Kudou coughed in a display of awkwardness.

"That aside, I never got to ask," he began, looking determined not to acknowledge Kaito's line, "but did you find any leads about where you're from or anything like that?" His eyebrows were raised innocently, and he tapped a finger against the handle of his mug before he brought it to his lips.

Kaito stilled. He eyed Kudou carefully for a second – last night, when Kudou had let Kaito use his laptop, Kaito had shot off a quick email to Aoko to let her know that he was safe and not lying dismembered in a ditch somewhere, but had Kudou seen him do that? Was he trying to bait Kaito into admitting that he had his memory? Kudou's face gave nothing away. Was this what murderers felt like when Kudou cornered them with his uncanny deductions and pieces of circumstantial evidence?

"Not really," Kaito shrugged after a moment. "There are a lot of different kanji for my name, after all. It's been hard to figure out which one is mine."

Kudou's expression didn't change, and he just nodded as he set down his coffee cup. Kaito was now about eighty percent sure that he was completely oblivious to Kaito's whole… situation. "That's too bad. I was thinking you might want to go investigate some of the leads."

"I… yeah, I probably should do that, actually. It might jog my memory, being in a familiar place." Kaito rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully. He hazarded a smirk at Kudou, who instantly looked suspicious. "Would you come with me?" Now he was picturing it, the two of them wandering around Tokyo as if Kaito didn't know exactly where he belonged. They could do the touristy things that Kaito had never bothered with, like going to the top of Bell Tree Tower or sharing a crepe in Harajuku. It was a weirdly appealing mental image. Briefly, Kaito wondered when he'd become the protagonist of a shoujo manga. He was, strangely enough, okay with that.

"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of me not helping you search? Since if I was with you when you got your memory back, then I'd know roughly where you're from?" Kudou was frowning when Kaito returned to reality. Kaito shrugged, fiddling with a loose thread on Shinichi's comforter.

"At this point, Kudou, you already know basically everything about me," he remarked, trying not to feel too embarrassed when Kudou's eyebrows shot up. "I get that we're not – friends, or whatever, when I'm not like this, but I – I wouldn't mind you knowing, I guess. I don't think I would."

"Kuroba," Kudou said, sounding equal parts firm and uncomfortable, "we've talked about this. You don't know what our relationship is like when you fully understand the situation." There was something a little wistful about his tone, something a little sad. "I don't think you'd want me to know. I'm already pretty sure you're going to be, uh, unhappy when you get your memories back and find out that you told me your real name."

It was a little alarming, frankly, the upsurge of annoyance that filled Kaito from the stomach up. He clenched his fists in the blankets. "Why are you so certain that I hate you so much? Are you sure you're not misunderstanding something?" Because Kaito had gotten his memories back, and he had been a little panicked about the whole secret identity thing, but he didn't hate Kudou. At no point in his life had Kaito hated Kudou.

Looking a little taken aback, Kudou blinked and glanced down at his feet. He was wearing striped socks underneath his slippers, disconcertingly enough.

"That's just the way it's always been, okay?" he mumbled after a minute. "You're always – I don't know, looking down on me. Which is fine, I guess, I'm sure I did that to you too, but that's never really made me think you like me, if you know what I mean." He lifted his head to squint at Kaito, a little accusingly. "You certainly never acted like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like…" Kudou waved a hand kind of spastically. He had a slightly manic look in his eyes. "You've never – flirted with me before, or hit on me, or used stupid lines. So. You know. It was kind of confusing when you banged your head and suddenly –" He waves a hand, apparently unwilling to finish the sentence.

"Wanted to bang you?" Kaito offered. Kudou blushed and abruptly found the square of wall over Kaito's right shoulder to be the most fascinating object in existence, even as he jerked his head in some semblance of acquiescence.

"Well," Kaito hummed, after a pause (during which he watched Kudou turn steadily and steadily redder with great interest), "I still think you're wrong." He was, of course. Kaito had always thought Kudou was ridiculously intelligent and hotter than the sun. He just hadn't realized that Kudou was also the softest person to ever exist underneath his hard-candy, rose-thorn exterior.

"Agree to disagree," said Kudou, looking relieved to have been given an out from the conversation. "Well, uh, if you want coffee, there's some in the kitchen, and then we can maybe, uh, look for the first place you might want to visit?" He looked at Kaito shyly from beneath his lashes, and Kaito tried not to gape too openly.

"Uh – I – we – yeah, sure, let's – we should do that," he stammered, extremely eloquently, and Kudou cracked a grin that made Kaito way happier than it should have. Granted, it was at Kaito's expense, and it also probably qualified as a smirk, but Kaito was still going to count it as a success.

Their first stop was, inexplicably, the museum.

Shinichi stared up at the gleaming glass sign – Tokyo Museum of Fine Art – before he turned to level a look at Kuroba. "If you're going to try to tell me you think you're actually a museum curator, I'm going to have to point out that you're, like, twenty-four and not, you know, eighty-seven."

Kuroba grinned at him even as he waved a hand dismissively. "No, no. I picked this place because you said that I was actually Kaitou Kid, right?"

"Um," Shinichi said, pointedly eyeing the many passersby, but Kuroba just waved a hand, nonchalant.

"And apparently Kid's come to this museum three times in the course of his career. So I thought it might spark something." Kuroba gestured at the museum, beaming. "Come along, Kudou." He patted Shinichi on the arm, flashed him a wide smile, and started up from the front steps. Shinichi stared after him for a moment before a powersuited woman shouting about stock prices into her cell phone bumped into him, jarring him into motion.

There was a part of Shinichi that liked to think that this Kuroba was how his Kid always was, or how his Kid would be if Shinichi actually interacted with him outside of snarky posturing during heists, but a much larger portion of him refused to believe it. As convinced as Kuroba seemed to be that he actually liked Shinichi and that Shinichi was the one with the skewed perspective who was imagining years of being actively detested, Shinichi knew better. Kid had never felt anything but condescension for him. And no matter what Ran and Haibara said, that wasn't a turn on for Shinichi. Well, not much of one. Or – yeah. No. Totally wasn't.

Whatever. Shinichi was going to do the emotionally immature thing and not think about it, okay.

Predictably, the first exhibit that drew Kuroba's attention was a diamond-studded tiara that was apparently on loan from a tiny European country that Shinichi had never heard of. Shinichi stood behind Kuroba with lifted eyebrows as Kuroba stared at the exhibit, eyes slightly narrowed.

"Anything coming back?" Shinichi asked after a minute, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

"It's been less than a minute." Kuroba snickered, turning around to look at Shinichi. He was wearing his new clothes, a pair of jeans that fit him unfairly well and a sweater that made his eyes sparkle. Or maybe that was all Kuroba. Shinichi couldn't really tell. He brushed a hand down the front of Shinichi's cardigan, an action that was entirely unnecessary and made Shinichi a little warm under the collar, before he smirked and poked Shinichi on the nose. "Not yet, Kudou. Give me a little time."

"You're not the one who's taking off work to walk around a museum with a known criminal," grumbled Shinichi, rubbing a hand over his face as he trailed after Kuroba towards an abstract statue made of something metallic and twisty. He eyed it skeptically.

"You took off work for this?" Kuroba looked strangely touched. "Will the corpses be fine without you?"

"Shut up." Shinichi scowled at him. Although he had to wonder – he'd already gotten several harried texts from Takagi, beginning with one that read two new cases. when r u coming back? and ending ominously with kudou-kun im trapped in a bathroom with a serial killer he has bombs strapped 2 him pls come back to headquarters!. (Shinichi figured that since Megure hadn't called him, the situation had been resolved.)

"Aw, so you do care, Kudou," beamed Kuroba, knocking into Shinichi's shoulder companionably, and Shinichi made a point of staring straight ahead at an oil painting of a farmhouse instead of meeting his eyes. He didn't trust himself not to make a stupid expression if he did.

After two hours of wandering around the museum, during which Shinichi entertained himself by making snarky comments under his breath about the "modern" art and Kuroba entertained himself by hitting on Shinichi with art-related pickup lines every ten minutes (if he called Shinichi a masterpiece one more time, Shinichi was going to commit mass homicide), Kuroba announced that they were going to Beika Center Building's observation restaurant (which he'd apparently looked up yesterday) for lunch and merrily dragged Shinichi out the door.

"I'm not about to drop thirty thousand yen on one meal. Especially not one with you," Shinichi said, even as Kuroba lugged him down the street towards the restaurant by the elbow. He sighed and tried to be more upset. "And anyway, why are we going to a restaurant that nice?"

"I'm the type of guy who woos his intended with fine dining." Kuroba sniffed pretentiously, patting Shinichi on the head as they rounded a corner. Shinichi resisted the very juvenile urge to try to bite his hand. "I wouldn't be surprised if I've been to the observation restaurant many a time. Going there with someone as lovely as you" – Shinichi rolled his eyes – "might bring back memories."

"Right." Shinichi winced. Like he needed the reminder that Kuroba was probably a notorious playboy when he was in his right mind. And wait a second, what if Kuroba had a girlfriend waiting back home? The thought made Shinichi go cold inside. How could Shinichi not have realized? As if it wasn't enough that he couldn't shake the feeling that he was taking advantage of Kuroba like this. Shinichi tugged out of Kuroba's grip, wrapping his arms around himself.

Kuroba, probably sensing something was wrong, reached out to touch Shinichi's forearm. He had big, warm hands, and Shinichi hated himself a little for noticing.

"Don't worry, Kudou," Kuroba hummed as they crossed a street and the Beika Center Building came into view beyond a few apartment complexes. "Forget everyone else. You're the man of my dreams."

"Yeah, I'm sure you tell all the pretty girls that," Shinichi muttered dryly, and ignored Kuroba's laugh through sheer force of will.

Considering that it was three thirty on a Tuesday afternoon, they were seated fairly quickly by the perky, bright-eyed hostess, delegated to a two-person table by the windows. The view was dismal, cloud cover making a patchy gray mess of the skyline, but Shinichi almost didn't mind. Anything more romantic would've made him feel even guiltier than he already did. He sent a silent apology to the possible Mrs. Kuroba when Kuroba pulled his chair out for him, grinning all the while.

"This is romantic," Kuroba remarked once the hostess had disappeared back to her podium and left them with menus. He met Shinichi's eyes, balancing his chin in his hand, and it was incredibly unfair that he looked as good as he did with a bandage wrapped around his head and a shit-eating grin firmly in place. Shinichi was disgusted with himself; he clearly had awful taste. "Don't you think, Kudou?"

"I think I want you to get your memory back," answered Shinichi, rubbing at his temples. He angled a glare at Kuroba. "Are you sure you don't remember anything?"

"Nothing but you," Kuroba sang cheerily. He patted Shinichi on the hand. "Don't worry, Kudou, you're my one and only."

Shinichi put his head down on the tablecloth and groaned until the waiter hesitatingly approached to take their order.

Kaito had long operated under the assumption that Kudou Shinichi was good at everything. It was a pretty reasonable assumption, considering Kaito had seen him do things like land a helicopter and construct an emergency tourniquet out of tent poles. Kudou, as far as Kaito could tell, knew basic phrases in at least eighteen languages and was fluent in English. It made sense to extrapolate from those data points and assume that Kudou was the kind of person who was good at basically every life skill.

However.

Kudou Shinichi could not sing to save his life.

That was what Kaito was discovering, at least. Maybe karaoke hadn't been the greatest thing to suggest, but Kaito had looked at Kudou across the table, expression content as he set down his fork and the midafternoon glow spilling through the windows onto his face, and decided that he didn't quite want to go back to Kudou's place.

It had taken substantial cajoling and a lot of inappropriate winking before Kaito had gotten Kudou into the karaoke box, and then even more prodding and poking before Kudou had been willing to sing, and then Kaito had discovered for himself exactly why Kudou had been so reticent. The man sounded as if someone was forcefully strumming his vocal chords to produce noise.

Kaito took it as a sign that he was in too deep when he found a sound reminiscent of cats being skinned alive endearing rather than migraine-inducing.

Kudou set down the microphone as the track faded away. He looked grimly triumphant. "I told you I sucked at singing."

"Yes, you did," Kaito agreed, hiding a smile as Kudou sat down beside him on the couch with arms folded and eyebrows lowered. "Well, nothing a little practice won't fix." The look on Kudou's face was stuck somewhere between murderous and bewildered.

"I definitely believe you."

"Of course you do." Kaito ruffled his hair – Kudou emitted a sound not unlike his attempt at a high note – and reached for the microphone and keypad. He programmed in his request, glancing at Kudou all the while. "Now, how do you feel about a little Elvis?"

"Oh God, of course you would." Kudou buried his face in his hands. "Is it going to be 'Love Me Tender' or 'Are You Lonesome Tonight'?"

"I guess you'll have to find out," Kaito grinned, and raised the microphone to his mouth.

Kaito had never been particularly glad that he knew the lyrics to "Can't Help Falling in Love" by heart until now, because it let him watch Kudou's face instead of reading the words off the screen. It was dark in the room, the TV screen the only real source of light, and Kudou's face was in shadow, dark shapes cutting across his profile. But even so, Kaito could see the half-smile clinging to the corner of Kudou's mouth as he watched Kaito sing take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can't help falling in love with you.

The song ended. Kaito's voice faded out on the last you, leaving them in a stillness that probably should've been awkward. Instead, Kudou was regarding Kaito with something like affection, uncharacteristically open on his unshuttered face, and Kaito couldn't help but grin at him.

"Let's sing a duet next!" he suggested, mostly just because he wanted to see Kudou roll his eyes as he laughed. The longer Kaito saw him laugh, the less of a Kudou he looked like. Kudou felt too impersonal, too – not. "You look like a man who appreciates some good One Direction."

"You are the actual worst," Kudou – Shinichi said around a reluctant smile, pushing a hand through his hair, and Kaito adopted an affronted expression.

"Oh what, you're saying you don't have all five albums?"

Shinichi looked at him askance. "No, do you?"

"Uh…" Kaito paused, and Shinichi shook his head, laughing incredulously as he hurled a spare microphone at Kaito's head.

"So," Kuroba began as they came to a stop in the hallway outside Shinichi's room. Shinichi didn't know why he felt as nervous as he did – they were literally just going to bed, Kuroba in Shinichi's room and Shinichi in the spare (his mother would have a fit if she heard that Shinichi had forced a guest to sleep in the unfurnished spare room, after all), the way they had for the past two nights. Granted, the last two nights they hadn't spent the day frolicking around town like a pair of newlyweds, but. Not the point. The point was that nothing was going to happen.

"I, uh…" Shinichi tried, then gave up. He hazarded a glance at Kuroba, who was smiling so softly at Shinichi, with the weirdest kind of affection, that Shinichi had to look away, swallowing dryly.

"Normally I don't put out on the first date," Kuroba said, and Shinichi's head jerked up just in time to see Kuroba's smile go smirky and Kid-esque, "but, well, I'll make an exception for you."

And then Kuroba leaned in and kissed him. His mouth was warm and soft against Shinichi's, a firm but undemanding pressure as he teased Shinichi's lips apart for just the barest of moments, and he pulled away before Shinichi could so much as figure out if he wanted to reciprocate. Shinichi gaped at him, feeling a little as if someone had unplugged him without warning.

"If you call that putting out," he managed, trying not to sound as out of breath as he felt, "then I worry for your future dates."

"Hopefully, you'll only have to worry about yourself, then," grinned Kaito – Kaito, because you couldn't just refer to someone by the last name when you knew what they tasted like – before he disappeared into Shinichi's room, the door swinging shut quietly.

Shinichi stood in the hallway for a long time.

Kaito woke up the next morning, determined. He was going to have to tell Shinichi that he had his memories back. Other than the fact that it was incredibly unfair of him to lie to him, he also needed to clear away any and all insecurities Shinichi appeared to still have over Kaito liking him. Because Kaito really did like him. And he didn't want this to screw things up.

He spent the next fifteen minutes trying to think of how he'd break it to Shinichi. Probably coming out and saying "I've had my memory for the past two days. Also, I love you," would not be the best idea.

Maybe he'd take Shinichi to the clocktower where they'd first met. That was romantic, right?

Fifteen minutes later, Kaito was in the middle of cracking an egg into a bowl, deliberating over which way Shinichi would like his omelet, when Shinichi stumbled into the room. His hair was flat on one side and an absolute mess on the other, and his shirt was on backwards. He looked as if he must've been lured in by the siren song of the coffeemaker, which Kaito had turned on a few minutes ago.

Generously, Kaito refrained from commenting as Shinichi fumbled a cupboard open, pulled out a mug with flowers haphazardly painted on it, and spilled half the contents of the coffeepot on the counter in his efforts to fill his cup. Then he zombie-walked across the kitchen and literally tripped into a chair at the kitchen table, coffee sloshing dangeorusly. Kaito stared, enthralled.

"Good morning," he chirped when Shinichi managed to open his eyes all the way and direct a look of thinly veiled loathing at him. "How do you like your eggs?"

"It's too early for this," mumbled Shinichi in return, dropping his head on the table and narrowly missing his mug. "I'm going back to bed." After a minute, he glanced balefully at Kaito and said, "Over easy."

"Coming right up," Kaito grinned, and dropped a dollop of butter into the pan.

Shinichi barely moved when Kaito put a plate down in front of him a few minutes later, instead grunting something resembling thanks into his arm before painstakingly lifting his head. Kaito watched as he fumbled his chopsticks, almost dropping one, before he stabbed vindictively at the yolk. Kaito, for his sins, found it more cute than alarming.

"What's the plan for today?" Shinichi asked as yellow bled slowly out of the egg, pooling at the center of the plate. Kaito pretended to think about it.

"I thought we could go to the old clocktower to look around," he said, watching as Shinichi's eyebrows went up and he licked nervously at his lips, setting down his chopsticks. Clearly Kaito wasn't the only one who remembered the first time they met. The thought made Kaito irrationally happy.

"I, uh… is there any particular reason why you want to?" wondered Shinichi, blinking rapidly. "Did you remember anything about it?" Kaito told himself not to interpret the little shudder in his voice as hope.

"Not really," Kaito answered lightly, resting his face in his hands. "I don't know. It just seems like a pretty big landmark around these areas, so I thought it might be a good trigger for my memory."

"Huh." Shinichi stared down at his plate, which was a mess of spilled yolk and dissected egg whites. "Well, all right. We'll leave in thirty minutes, then." Kaito grinned at him, and before he could lose his nerve, leaned across the table, tipped Shinichi's face up, and kissed him. It was just as good as the night before: Shinichi's mouth was warm and softer than expected, as if he used lip balm, and he tasted like toothpaste layered under coffee, and when Kaito pulled away, it took a second for Shinichi's eyes to open again and focus on Kaito's. Kaito thought he may have never seen anything so pretty before.

"Good morning," Kaito murmured, knowing that he was smirking, and Shinichi sighed and rolled his eyes and pushed him away, gentle all the while.

"You're such a sap," he muttered, but he was smiling a little as he turned his attention back to his eggs.

They left thirty minutes later, mostly because Shinichi couldn't find a matching pair of socks. Kaito stared down at Shinichi's hand, trying to figure out if Shinichi would let him hold it, as they crossed a street. He got the feeling that Shinichi wasn't big on public displays of affection, but at the same time, Shinichi never did anything by halves; if he really was all in like Kaito was hoping, he wouldn't be ashamed to have Kaito as a boyfriend. Kaito was still mulling it over when, four blocks later, Shinichi groaned, glanced around the mostly empty street, and picked up his hand.

"Stop thinking before you hurt yourself," he ordered, even as Kaito watched a blush progress up his neck to his cheeks.

"Right," Kaito agreed, probably a little too dreamily if the sharp look Shinichi gave him was any indication, but he found it hard to care when he now knew what Kudou Shinichi's hands were like – slender-fingered, musical, cool to the touch, weirdly pretty. That was basically how Kaito had started thinking of Shinichi, weirdly pretty.

The clocktower was the same as ever when they finally arrived. It stood proudly over the surrounding buildings, tall and imposing. Shinichi came to a stop a few feet away from the entrance, leaning his head back so he could see the clock face. He was still holding Kaito's hand, even though there were people streaming past them from every direction.

"Anything coming back?" he asked, gesturing at the clock with his free hand, and Kaito forced himself to look away from Shinichi. He hadn't realized he was staring.

"Maybe," he shrugged, and Shinichi gave him an inquisitive look. Kaito opened his mouth, about to say what he'd been planning –

– predictably, that was when everything went wrong.

There was a familiar (?) inarticulate shriek from behind Kaito, and when Kaito turned instinctively, he found that Aoko, clad in running shorts and a jersey, was storming towards him, looking furious and clearly working herself into a rage capable of leveling cities as she yanked her earbuds out. Kaito's blood ran cold.

"Kuroba Kaito!" she shouted as she advanced. "I am going to flay you and wear your skin as a coat!" Beside Kaito, Shinichi made an alarmed sound and let go of Kaito's hand, possibly out of surprise, but Kaito flinched anyway, because it felt like a rejection.

"I will eviscerate you!" Aoko shrilled.

Well, this was officially Not Good.

The second Aoko was close enough, she jabbed him in the chest. "You are so lucky that I go this way for my morning run. What the hell was that email you sent me?" she demanded in a whisper. Kaito resisted the urge to give Shinichi a panicked look. "What did you mean, 'I'm safe, don't worry about me, don't call the police'? Obviously I'm going to worry about you when you send me something like that without any warning!" She punched Kaito in the arm. "I've been freaking out about where you were! I think I deserve an explanation, asshole."

"Aoko, now's really not the best time," Kaito got out from behind gritted teeth. Aoko opened her mouth, probably about to protest, when she caught sight of who was standing next to him.

"Oh." She took half a step back. "I…" She glanced between them, nodding slowly. Kaito didn't know what expression Shinichi was making, but whatever it was, it was clearly unnerving Aoko. "Yeah, I'm just going to, uh…" She gestured over her shoulder.

"Go," Kaito snapped.

"Yeah, that," agreed Aoko, edging around them very cautiously. "Uh, call me when you get the chance, Kaito?" And then she jogged off. Kaito felt her watching them the whole way.

Oh God. Kaito had to close his eyes to gather himself. Shinichi was not stupid. Shinichi was, in fact, terrifying intelligent. He was, if he hadn't, going to figure out that Kaito had his memories, and then he'd hate Kaito, and then – swallowing hard, Kaito turned to look at Shinichi, expecting stony silence and a glare, but Shinichi just looked sad, sort of… as if he'd just…. had his fears confirmed?

"You knew," Kaito blurted out, recoiling the second Shinichi sighed at him. "You knew. You didn't say anything."

"I wasn't sure about it," Shinichi admitted, folding his arms over his chest. He looked disappointed, more than anything, which tore at something in Kaito's chest, stuck in his lungs like a fishhook. "I suspected, I guess. But I was hoping I was wrong."

"How'd you know?" Kaito asked. It was the strangest sort of masochism – he wanted to know, but he also felt as if the answer he didn't want to hear the answer.

"The first day, you called me Shinichi," Shinichi reminded him, adjusting his jacket against an invisible wind. "But every day after that, you called me Kudou. At first I just thought it was because you thought you were coming on too strong, but then you started mentioning things that you couldn't know if you didn't remember. You knew I was a detective, specifically a homicide detective – you said something about 'corpses missing me' when I talked about taking work off, for example." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't want to believe it, though. Because that means that you've just been laughing at me this whole time." Shinichi shut his eyes. "I bet it was funny, watching me fall all over you."

"What?" Kaito tried not to flail too much as he grabbed Shinichi by the shoulders. "I don't know why you're under the impression that I look down on you or that I don't like you, because none of that is true. I – this – I didn't tell you I got my memory back because I wanted – I wanted –" He let out a groan of annoyance. He was supposed to be suave and smooth, and yet he just couldn't get the words out right. Shinichi was watching him guardedly, unconvinced. "Please, you've got to believe me. I swear I wasn't stringing you along. I just…" He exhaled. "I thought that if I told you, you'd just push me away. Tell me to go back to where I belong. You're not exactly the most welcoming person to me when I'm Kid, you know. And after I saw how you treated me when I had amnesia, and seeing how much everyone cares about you, I just – I wanted to know you. Better. Because I knew I'd misjudged you."

Shinichi pressed his lips together, looking the most vulnerable Kaito had ever seen him. He didn't say anything, just looked down at his feet, and Kaito felt a hot flush of panic swell up within him.

"I wasn't laughing at you. I was falling for you," he said, pressing his hands to Shinichi's face, and Shinichi made a pained sound as he met Kaito's eyes. There was longing in his expression; longing, and a little sadness, and hope, all mixed together.

"If you're lying to me, I'll sic Ran on you," Shinichi finally announced, after a long moment, and Kaito laughed. He couldn't help it. The relief was so strong he felt his knees go weak.

"And we can't have that," he agreed as he ducked down to press his smile directly to Shinichi's. "I do like my kneecaps, after all."

Shinichi was adorable when he frowned, especially from up close. "What?"

"Nothing. I just hope you know how loved you are," Kaito hummed, and leaned in to kiss him.

Merry Christmas (Eve) and happy holidays! :D If you enjoyed this fic, please consider dropping me a review, and I'll hopefully see you within the next two months! - Luna