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It’s no secret that Shinichi avoids being touched.
He can’t help but feel ridiculously babied when his mother or anyone else dotes on him, frustrated noises and embarrassed flushing par for the course as he nudges them away with griping complaints.
Ran’s fussing isn’t much better, even if it stems from a place of something closer to harried concern than straight up affection. She’d always been the more responsible one. Maybe most of his embarrassment comes from how much people used to tease them for it back when they were in the ‘will they won’t they’ stage of their friendship, but it’s hard to shake off the almost Pavlovian response he retains even now.
( They decided, ultimately, on ‘won’t they’, much to the disappointment of half their mutual friends. Shinichi doesn’t mind. She’s clearly a lot happier now, and her happiness makes him happy in its own roundabout way. )
He can’t help it, really. Public or otherwise, even the thought of being touched has him sweating before contact, skin heating up in reflexive anticipation. He finds himself cringing away when people make to touch him, shying away from prying hands. The worst is when it’s sudden; the quickest way to get a black eye is to spring something on him without warning.
( Hattori finds that out the hard way after attempting to pull him into a well-meaning headlock. Shinichi apologised, lowered his barriers a little, and it hasn’t happened since, but Hattori still makes sure to herald any contact with a “Heads up, Kudou!”
Shinichi appreciates it. )
He supposes that the natural consequence of having such a self-imposed rule is that someone would inevitably come along to break it.
He just hadn’t expected them to be quite so blatant about it.
“Shin-i-chi!” A hand, an arm, a marker of comfortable friendship swinging around his shoulders as the full weight of another person launches itself into his back with cheery glee.
He stiffens, flinching, and almost throws his assailant clean over his shoulder, but Kaito pulls back before he can even think twice about it. He’s got this smarmy grin on his lips, like he’d known what was coming.
Shinichi scowls.
“Kaito,” he starts, left hand gripping the inside of his right elbow with a long-suffering sigh, “I thought we talked about this.” He jostles his shoulder, as if to throw off the offending limb.
Kaito doesn’t even bat an eye. “Yep!” He falls into step, loosening his grip to more of a casual drape. “Doesn’t mean I listened. Anyway,” he says, trading the shoulder-perch to loop said arm around Shinichi’s own and promptly starting off in some direction, “you absolutely won’t believe the day I just had.”
Shinichi frowns, lets himself be tugged, and resigns himself to his rather unfortunate fate.
Kuroba Kaito is a strange, strange boy.
They’d met through their mutual friends – Hakuba had wanted to introduce them to his girlfriend, and Kaito had tagged along because he apparently didn’t trust the man who’d swept up his childhood friend to not have, in his own words, ‘exclusively lame buddies’.
Kaito’s arms were folded at his chest and his nose was tossed to the sky when Shinichi, Ran, Sonoko, Hattori, and Kazuha rocked up to the corner booth, not even moving a muscle when they all started settling in with vague chit-chat and friendly greetings.
“Thank you all for coming, Aoko is happy to meet everyone!” Nakamori (“Call me Aoko!”) said, chipper as ever. She was sunny, and sweet, and endearingly naïve – Shinichi could see why she offset Hakuba so well. “Also, this idiot,” she paused, stomping her foot under the table and earning herself a pained yelp in response, “is Kaito!” Her serene smile didn’t falter for a second, and Shinichi winced in sympathy.
Maybe not as sweet as he first thought.
Kaito, scowling as he rubbed at his bruised foot and likely bruised ego, finally turned his derisively judgemental gaze onto the rest of them. Blue-purple eyes inspected all five faces in turn, starting at Kazuha and making his way across with an expression settled into a sour scowl. It didn’t last long, though, face wiping clean into this intrigued and curious little thing as soon as his eyes landed on Shinichi – the last of the lot, nervously rolling at the corner of a napkin.
He straightened, cleared his throat with a theatrical ahem, and clapped one hand on Hakuba’s shoulder without breaking eye-contact.
“Never mind, Hakuba, you have great taste in friends,” he said, steam-rolling over Aoko’s introduction to immediately launch into a dramatic one of his own, complete with roses and no small amount of doves.
As Shinichi soon comes to learn, this is all very classically Kaito.
He’s aggressively friendly with almost everyone he meets, smile sparkling in how contagious it is. A charmer to the core, he has this attitude that’s simultaneously as explosively blasé and roguish as it is loyal and brilliantly kind. He likes magic, and he likes doves, and, apparently, he likes hanging off of Shinichi like a suspiciously Kaito-shaped jacket. It’s easy to attribute his whims to friendship – it does, after all, fit his devil-may-care lifestyle to a T.
Shinichi snaps at him initially, pushing him back and rolling his eyes as he flicks off his too-warm hands. Kaito remains undeterred, an apparent master at winning wars through attrition and stubbornness alone. He never lets up on his insistence to link their arms, or nudge their shoulders together, or just generally exist in the same physical space that is Shinichi’s personal bubble, and there’s only so long that Shinichi can hold out before he inevitably caves.
It doesn’t help, either, that Kaito always looks so wounded in the face of refusal, lip jutting out in a childish pout. Shinichi’s heart whimpers pathetically every time before tripping over itself to fix it, which— Well, of course it does. He’s not the type of person who likes seeing his friends sad.
( He blatantly ignores how Kaito’s unique brand of skinship isn’t altogether unpleasant, and, inexplicably, feels starkly different to the way anyone else ever has ever tried to hold him. )
He still groans and complains and gets pissy, but he can never actually find it in himself to outright say no. He concedes, begrudgingly letting Kaito do whatever he wants, but—
But—
But.
No matter where or when they are, Shinichi always flinches away from holding hands.
Kaito frowns at him the first time, and Shinichi has to clear his throat as he shoves his hand firmly into his pocket after whipping it out of Kaito’s fingers and away from his grip, cheeks red and throat dry. “S. Sorry,” he says, and Kaito smiles this soft thing as he shakes his head and settles instead for walking next to him, hands tucked behind his own back.
“Don’t worry about it.”
He doesn’t try again after that.
Good thing, too.
It’s so strangely vulnerable, hand in hand and fingers at pulse-points, and altogether too much for Shinichi’s poor heart to bear.
It becomes normal, somehow, as unimaginable as that sounds.
Kaito’s as consistent with his chaos as the cycle of the sun, to the point where Shinichi even starts anticipating it and bracing for impact as soon as he hears a certain someone call his name.
Kaito notices. He seems absolutely delighted by the prospect, and, if anything, only renews his efforts with reckless abandon.
“I always knew you were a softie!” They’re sitting at a table in some non-descript cafe, grabbing an afternoon snack between classes, and the seats are just close enough together that their knees knock every now and then. Kaito’s got this triple chocolate cake in front of him, doused with chocolate sauce, and he’s sipping at some sweet abomination of milk and syrup.
The thought of both in combination is enough to make Shinichi’s stomach turn. He takes a drink from his own much more respectable espresso and rolls his eyes. “Don’t push your luck.”
Kaito grins around his spoon, and Shinichi shoves a bite of his own tiramisu into his mouth to swallow down his smile.
Their fingers brush when Kaito goes in to steal another spoonful of whipped cream (“I told you to order your own.” “Yeah, but I don’t like coffee, and it tastes better when you’re stealing it!”). Shinichi almost drops his spoon in surprise.
Kaito makes this curious noise, eyes widening, and Shinichi hastily adjusts his grip on his cutlery to cover up his shock.
It’s quiet for a couple of seconds. Shinichi resolutely stares at the plate as Kaito’s gaze bores into the crown of his head.
Kaito shuffles around. Shinichi opens his mouth to apologise.
“Here.”
Shinichi looks up, brow furrowing in confusion, only to see that Kaito had, at some point, put down his spoon, the soft plaid scarf he’d been wearing undone with practiced ease and now held out in a hand. He blinks at the soft navy-white fabric, anxiety trading out for shock.
Kaito waves it back and forth a little, rubbing at his nose with a finger, and coughs into a fist. “Take it. Your hands are freezing.”
Shinichi glances down at his fingers and experimentally presses them to his own cheek. Oh. They are cold. He wraps them around his coffee mug, shaking his head. “As if you won’t be cold without it.”
Kaito rolls his eyes, and before Shinichi can protest he’s already reaching out to tuck the still-warm material around Shinichi’s neck. “I’ve got a turtleneck, I’ll be fine. You’re under-dressed.” The scarf is even softer than it looks, a little fuzzy and pilly from use, and it really is warm.
Shinichi closes a hand in it, adjusting how it sits and fluffing it up to burrow chin into it ever-so-slightly. “... Thanks.”
Kaito beams. “Don’t worry about it. Now, back to what I was doing,” he murmurs, fingers wiggling as he snatches up the rest of the cream with one fell swoop of his spoon.
Shinichi snorts, and Kaito laughs,
and the scarf around his neck smells just like him.
Everyone else notices, too.
“Nice scarf,” Hattori says, later, as he drops into his designated seat next to Shinichi’s at the library study tables.
Shinichi startles, hand coming up to his neck in silent question. Ah. He’d entirely forgotten to hand it back before they’d parted ways, and Kaito hadn’t asked for it either. Hattori’s got this thoughtful look on his face, and Shinichi knows he knows where the scarf had come from without him even saying anything.
“Um. Yeah,” he says, eloquent as ever, and rapidly undoes it to shove it into his bag.
Hattori starts pulling out all his sheets and scattered pens (which: he really should just bite the bullet and get a pencil case), and Shinichi is just beginning to think he’s escaped further questioning when he speaks up again. "You're getting awfully close with Kuroba lately, aren'tcha?” There’s this tilt to his brow, a smile taking shape on the tip of his tongue, and Shinichi realises it must be worse than he thought if their resident romantic disaster has actually noticed something about interpersonal relationships.
Noticed what, though? There’s nothing to notice.
He shrugs, and attempts to play it off. "He's just like that."
Both of Hattori’s brows go up, now, and he nods nice and slow. "Riiight." He definitely doesn't believe him.
Shinichi glowers into his laptop screen.
Hattori’s over-thinking it, surely, because as far as Shinichi’s concerned Kaito really is like that with everyone.
As if to prove a point, he starts paying more attention.
He makes sure to note his interactions with Kaito over the span of a week. They mostly spend time together one on one, but that’s true of all his friends - organising time to meet around two peoples’ busy schedules is hard enough as is, let alone more.
Still - they end up hanging out as a collective group eventually, their friend circles having overlapped to the point that they’d sort of amalgamated into one large squad of socialisation. It’s maybe Shinichi’s worst nightmare, but everyone else seems to be having fun.
He decides to gather more evidence to compare with his mental catalogue of Kaito Events during their next karaoke get-together. Luckily, with his track-record, nobody makes him get up to sing at the mic, so he has plenty of time to study every little moment as people flock around their resident magician. His brow creases in concentration, broken only by the occasional chorus of a song that he vaguely hums along to. What he sees is this:
Kaito high-fives Hattori when they land a particularly smarmy joke together, and he sticks his arms out in elbowing preparation whenever Hakuba’s in the vicinity. He twirls Sonoko to her delighted laughter and the cheers of the room, dipping her during a silly love song that he’s singing (why’s he making so much eye-contact with Shinichi, anyway?). He even tries to do that with Ran, too, before she warns him off with a well-aimed chop to the back of his neck that has him spluttering into the mic and everyone else bursting into laughter.
Even with Aoko, he's somehow simultaneously more reserved and infinitely more aggressive with every bit of contact they share. He drags her up into an atrocious serenade, on the nose with his snarky affection and practically fishing for a smackdown every time he goads her into swinging at him with the mic stand.
Shinichi spots Sonoko shooting him a knowing look once or twice, making sure to usher people out of the way while Kaito’s singing and leaving no-one between them to buffer the magnetism that is his stage presence. Ran follows his gaze, her expression all too knowing, and he doesn’t miss the way her and Kazuha whisper back and forth to each other. Even Hakuba seems to know something he doesn’t, raising a glass to him in silent toast of... Something.
Shinichi can’t, for the life of him, grasp what it is that they all seem to be hinting at.
“Is this seat taken?” Kaito asks, dabbing at his forehead with the back of his hand. He’s made his way over to Shinichi’s corner, just a little out of breath after spending the greater part of a duet ducking and weaving to dodge some well-timed smacks.
Shinichi blinks, so wrapped up in his own head that he hadn’t even realised they'd finished, and shakes his head as he awkwardly shuffles to one side. Kaito grins, blinding, and drops into the newly freed cushions to fish under the table for a water bottle.
After spending the better part of an evening noting how much he touches everyone else, the polite space between them is suddenly even more obvious.
Shinichi watches him, the way his throat bobs as he takes three long swallows from his water (but really, who’s counting?). The glow from the changing display casts funny melty shadows over the rest of his silhouette, lighting up the fringes of his hair, the edges of his skin, and the sides of his smile as he laughs at something Hattori says, eyes squinting shut with the force of his happiness. His leg shifts as he snickers, bumping up against Shinichi’s almost as an after-thought; it’s warm and obvious where they’re now pressed thigh to thigh but Kaito doesn’t make to move it either, apparently content to just be and confident that Shinichi will let him do just that, and—
Shinichi's mouth goes completely and utterly dry.
Oh.
Hattori was right.
Kaito barely touches anyone else in any way that matters.
He’s only ever so insistent and so present with Shinichi, constantly nudging into his space and making a home for himself in whatever little begrudging concessions he gets. He never needs a reason, a situation, or a scenario to pull close, leaning over his shoulder, walking just close enough that their elbows brush, and greeting him with some kind of fond pat to wherever he can reach.
Kaito’s always reaching for him, he realises, every chance he gets,
and Shinichi’s starting to wonder if it would be all that bad to maybe reach back.
He ends up finding out barely two weeks later.
Kaito ropes him into Christmas shopping for a gift exchange with their friend group. Good thing, too, because Shinichi has absolutely no clue what kind of present Aoko would like. An offer to pool gifts is a godsend, as far as he’s concerned.
In hindsight, he maybe should have considered the timing.
It’s cold, and wintery, and every little bit as frost-bitten as Christmas-time tends to be. They’ll have a white Christmas, probably, at the rate the weather is going, and it might be a little childish but the prospect is kind of exciting.
The biting chill is seemingly far from enough to deter any of the other shoppers, though, a veritable throng of people out roaming the streets and ducking into and out of stores like an army of very determined and very coordinated gift-hunters.
Shinichi’s already lost Kaito once when he stopped to eye up some rather glittery pendants.
( “You think Sonoko would like this?” He lifts a particularly blue one, and it sparkles in the light.
Shinichi hums, leaning closer to take a better look. His hands tuck into his coat pockets, breath misting in white puffs under the display lights. “Probably. I think Makoto wouldn’t, though.”
Kaito frowns, lowering it to nestle back among the others in the crushed velvet display box. “Why not?”
Shinichi levels him with a blank stare. “It’s Sonoko. She’d probably ask you to marry her on the spot if you gave her that.”
Kaito winces, and steps away from the stall. “... Good point.” )
He isn’t even sure why he’s the one leading the way when Kaito clearly has more ideas, even for people who were originally Shinichi’s friends. Kaito vanishes into a florist, then into a card shop, and it’s only when Shinichi practically gets swept up by a group of mothers pushing into a department store (much to Kaito’s bemusement, the asshole), that he makes up his mind.
This is ridiculous, he thinks, and darts out a hand behind him with a glance over his shoulder to make sure that the hand he’s closing his fingers around is, in fact, Kaito’s.
Shinichi’s fingers are clammy from the cold. Kaito’s are stiff with surprise.
Shinichi hangs on anyway.
It’s warm.
“Come on. We’ll get separated, otherwise.” He clears his throat. His voice is gruff and maybe more than a little snappy, but he’s doing his best. He keeps his gaze forward, praying that his earmuffs are enough to hide his blazing ears, and turns his collar higher to cover up his neck.
Kaito’s silent for another couple of nervous seconds, shocked into stillness, before his fingers spark back to life and quietly rearrange to fit themselves against Shinichi’s own. The pads of his fingers slot into the grooves between Shinichi’s knuckles, a single squeeze against the soft valleys between hard bone: “This okay?” He asks, voice soft as he steps a little closer. A smile is audible in the way his mouth shapes syllables, his surprise having melted into an oozy grin.
It’s obvious enough that Shinichi swears he can feel it radiating all over his back, even through his many layers.
His chest cinches at the feeling. He still doesn’t turn around. “Yeah, it’s... Fine.”
Kaito’s grin bursts open, unpackaging itself into bright, cheerful, and overwhelmingly happy peals of laughter. He uses their newly joined hands to tug Shinichi back a step or two, bounding up and casually tucking himself close. He hums, content, a line of warmth up Shinichi’s whole left side.
Shinichi doesn't pull away, this time.
Instead he pulls Kaito closer still, a goofy grin on his own lips as they line up shoulder to shoulder,
and neither of them say anything
but neither of them let go.