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Kaito knows something is up when Shuichi comes to stand in his doorway, phone clutched in one hand and bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“Stop that,” he says, because he’s been friends with Kaede since high school and he knows her threats to rain hellfire upon him if he encourages Shuichi’s bad habits are one hundred percent true.
Shuichi continues to gnaw on his lip. It looks like he’s been at it for a while—the skin is so red Kaito can see it clear across the room.
Kaito sighs. He considers throwing a pillow, but decides to be merciful. “If you don’t cut that out, Ouma’s going to be upset with you.”
That gets a reaction. When it comes to Ouma, Shuichi is both an exhausted deterrent and absolutely whipped. It’s excruciating to witness, but helpful for gently bullying Shuichi into doing things. Kaito’s pretty sure that the only time Ouma’s ever made Kaito’s life easier is when Kaito namedrops him to convince Shuichi that four cups of coffee in two hours isn’t a good idea or that his case files won’t magically disappear if he takes a break.
Shuichi sighs. He stops chewing his lip and perches daintily on the edge of Kaito’s bed when he gestures for Shuichi to come in. He fiddles with his phone, snapping case on and off at one corner. His bottom lip is bloody.
“What’s eating at you?”
“Kokichi…” Shuichi shrugs, clicks the case back into place. Pops it off again, pushes it back over the corner.
Ouma’s been scarce at their apartment recently, which is unusual even when Shuichi’s workload keeps him in the office for days on end, tracking down leads and reviewing evidence. Usually Ouma spends so much time at their apartment that Kaito questions why he bothers paying rent for his own. He hangs around until Shuichi gets home three or four times a week, sometimes staying the night, sometimes not.
“Are you guys fighting?”
Shuichi considers this. “I wouldn’t say that. Things have been tense, though.”
That’s a bit surprising. Though immature, Ouma’s pretty devoted to making Shuichi happy. Still, Kaito’s seen him take his antics too far before. He’s standoffish, unpredictable, and a chronic pain in the ass. Kaito can see Shuichi’s patience wearing uncharacteristically thin, considering how much he’s been working recently.
Shuichi predicts Kaito’s next question before he can ask it. “Communication isn’t Kokichi’s strong suit, but I’m… pretty sure this is my fault.”
Shuichi says that being a detective is a mindset, that the urge to analyze everything isn’t something he can turn off at the end of the day. He'd probably sleep better at night if he could. It’d help get rid of his massive eye bags, at least.
Kaito is ninety percent sure that half of Shuichi’s analytical skills are rooted in his anxiety, especially when it comes to people. “Is that your self doubt talking, or you?”
Shuichi flushes. “I-It’s definitely me. I’ve been taking so many cases recently, I haven’t really had any time for him. He really… He hates being ignored.” His fidgeting gets faster, the plastic scraping against the side of his phone like a squeaky metronome. Kaito pushes down the urge to reach out and still Shuichi’s hands before he breaks another phone case.
“I feel really bad about it,” Shuichi says. The words are fast and shaky, less stilted as he works himself up. “I’m not trying to ignore him, but I’ve barely seen him in weeks. I promised I’d be there for him. I promised —” His voice breaks. Shuichi coughs, sounding like something’s caught in his throat, tears appearing at the corners of his eyes. “I promised him, Kaito, and he’s been so stressed recently but he won’t tell me about it.”
He doesn’t blurt out his first thought, which is that Ouma isn’t the only one who’s been stressed lately—Shuichi’s practically been a ghost. Kaito isn’t sure how he finds the time to shower and eat. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he only comes home when some higher up takes pity on him and kicks him out of the office. He can’t remember the last time he saw Shuichi without a case file or cup of coffee in hand.
He wants to tell Shuichi not to carry Ouma’s stress on top of his own. He wants to say that Shuichi doesn’t have to shunt his needs and desires to the side to make room for other people’s. He wants to shake Shuichi by the shoulders and demand that he take better care of himself.
But that’s not what Shuichi needs . Not right this second. That can come later, when Kaito’s had time to revise his intervention speech once again. Instead he moves to sit closer to Shuichi on the bed, putting an arm around his shoulders and reeling him in until his head rests on Kaito’s shoulder.
“You’re getting upset,” Kaito says into Shuichi’s hair. His heart clenches when he hears a shakily drawn breath. “You’re not gonna be able to tell me anything if you don’t calm down a little, bud.”
Shuichi drops his phone. One trembling hand comes up to cover his eyes as the other fists in Kaito’s comforter. His shoulders shake minutely, more of a shiver. Shuichi is quiet when he cries, all small movements and silent, catching breaths. Like his emotions are a burden to those around him, like it’d be rude to ask anyone to bear witness to them.
Kaito lets him cry. It’s been a long time coming; his caseload always increases around the holidays, when the darkness pulls all the worst qualities of people into the waning light. Shuichi winds himself up; a toy soldier teetering from case to case, advising the police on unsolved crimes and forgetting how to breathe under all that pressure. He’ll run himself into the ground, then blame himself for not making it farther before collapsing.
He needs someone else to get the key turning for him again. Kaito can do that. Other people’s problems are easy. He’s always been good with advice.
“You guys don’t fight all that much, huh.” He squeezes Shuichi’s shoulder when he thinks he’s done crying. It’s hard to tell with Shuichi’s hand still over his face. Kaito jostles him a bit to encourage him to lift his head.
Shuichi laughs, audibly congested. “I guess not.” He drags his hand down his face, smearing what little of his eyeliner had survived his tears across his cheek.
Shuichi and Ouma have only had one real fight, when Ouma drank so much that Shuichi nearly took him to the hospital a couple months back. It was a blowout. Watching the two of them go at it, Kaito had been a voyeur in his own living room. He hopes, for both their sakes, they never have to argue like that again. He hopes, selfishly, that if they do he doesn’t have to see it.
He’s not convinced that’ll happen, but if there’s one thing Kaito’s good at it’s sticking his faith where it doesn’t necessarily belong and refusing to give up on it.
“You know, since you and Ouma have been dating, you’ve been looking people in the eye more.” Kaito smiles and uses his leverage to sway Shuichi side to side. Another small laugh works its way out of his mouth. “You’re a solid couple.”
He hadn’t known what to make of Ouma for a long time. Kaito’s never met anyone like him: capricious, almost intangible—as impossible to catch as smoke and twice as frustrating. Ouma motivates Shuichi to come out of his shell, prods at him until he takes the next few steps on his own, makes him stand taller and more at ease.
Shuichi sniffles. Kaito lets the quietude sit undisrupted and waits for Shuichi to compose himself. He’s been learning, lately, not to cram his optimism down other people’s throats.
“I’m not used to him being mad at me,” Shuichi eventually admits. “Usually I’m the one asking him to stop antagonizing people, or take his pranks down a notch, or—or calm down .”
Kaito raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Did he say he was mad at you?”
“No, but I can tell.”
Oh, he can tell . Kaito loves him, he truly does, but Shuichi is so quick to assume the blame for things that it’s almost exhausting to keep telling him otherwise. Did they teach him to jump to the same conclusion over and over in detective school or something?
The day Shuichi has an emotionally charged conversation with his boyfriend without one or both of them freaking the fuck out during or after will be the day Kaito looks back on that time he walked in on Kaede and Rantaro comparing dirty-talk while painting their nails without feeling the urge to find the nearest blunt object and bludgeon himself with it. That is: not happening anytime soon.
He gestures for Shuichi to go on. Present your evidence, oh completely unbiased detective.
“It’s like… He’s been really closed off. He knows I know something’s wrong, but he’s trying really hard to keep me from finding out what it is.” Shuichi’s lip finds its way back into his mouth as he thinks. Kaito pinches his side and Shuichi flinches away, relocating to the other end of the bed, out of Kaito’s reach. Kaito very maturely doesn’t kick him when Shuichi’s shuffling propels the discarded phone into his shin with surprising force.
“I know he loves me, and I know he does trust me, so I don’t know why he’s doing this.” Shuichi collapses across the foot of the bed, staring at the ceiling.
He thinks back to high school. Coughing up blood in the sink between classes. All the cough drops he went through just to rid his breath of the smell of blood. The horror on Kaede’s face when she caught him literally red-handed. His grandmother crying in the hospital waiting room while Kaito was poked and prodded at by what felt like a million doctors and nurses. Wishing fervently, guiltily, that he hadn’t been found out, that he could still pretend his world hadn’t been shaken to its core—if only for a little while longer.
“I don’t think it’s about trusting you ,” Kaito says, rubbing his shin with one hand and tossing Shuichi’s phone to the side with the other. Shuichi makes a noise of protest that Kaito ignores. A minor slap fight ensues, from which Kaito emerges victorious. The phone is dutifully placed on the bedside table behind him while Shuichi looks on grumpily.
Kaito leans back against the headboard. “I think he’s afraid of trusting people as a concept, yeah, but mostly of trusting himself to be vulnerable without hurting anybody.”
Silence. Shuichi turns his face away from the ceiling, contemplative. With his mascara running like that he looks like a startled racoon. Kaito coughs awkwardly. He probably should have given him some tissues by now. Well, better late than never.
Shuichi finally blinks when a box of tissues is shoved in his face. He deflates a little and takes one. “He’s trying not to inconvenience me. With his feelings. My boyfriend, who lets me cry on him like, every day. Thinks I think his feelings are a burden.” He groans loudly. “Why is he so stupid? I love him so much.”
“Trust isn’t something you can force, but trusting you isn’t the problem. You have to get him to realize he can trust himself.”
Shuichi grumbles into his hands, pressed against his face in frustration. Kaito can’t help but smile at his exasperation. He reaches out with one foot to tap Shuichi’s side. “Feel better?”
Shuichi bats at Kaito’s foot until he retracts it. “I would feel even better if you kept your feet off me, but yes. Thank you, Kaito.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Good. Now please , go wash your face. You look like the girl from The Grudge.”
The resulting squawk is highly rewarding.