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One of many immutable facts of this world is this: it’s hard for Shuichi to go without knowing things.
Perhaps it’s his Ultimate talent speaking for him, but there’s a different sort of satisfaction when he’s fit all the puzzle pieces together to see the bigger picture. When all of the variables line up perfectly.
So when he and Kaede discover a letter in the dining hall addressed to no one in particular, Shuichi’s first instinct is to find out who wrote it.
“What’s this?” Kaede muses, picking up the sheet of paper on the table and unfolding it. Shuichi leans over her shoulder to peer at it.
To whoever finds this,
Well, aren’t you bored? Look at you, reading some random letter. Get a life!
I’m only kidding. (Am I?) But here’s a mystery. Come and find me. I promise I won’t make it too hard.
“Huh,” Shuichi says aloud, his brow furrowing as he reads the letter again. It certainly leaves a lot to be asked, he thinks.
“Do you have any idea?” Kaede asks him as she hands him the letter.
Shuichi hums when he takes it. “I… I think I’d need to investigate further,” he decides on. “There’s not much I can say as of now.”
Truth be told, there’s a small suspicion in his mind, of—
No, Shuichi doesn’t want to entertain that. The more he does, the more questions open up in his brain. But even so, it would make things interesting…
He pockets the letter for safe keeping.
“What’s that you got there?” Kaito squints at the paper Shuichi presents to him, tilting his head.
Shuichi had found Kaito on his way to the dining hall, humming a song Shuichi’s never heard before. As usual, Kaito had given him a solid pat on the shoulder when he’d caught sight of him.
“Akamatsu-san and I found this letter in the dining hall this morning,” Shuichi explains. “Did you see anyone place it there? Or know who wrote it?”
Kaito’s brow furrows. “The handwriting doesn’t look familiar at all to me. It’s not mine, if that’s what you’re asking — I write better than that, just so you know.”
“I… didn’t doubt that, Momota-kun.”
“Okay, but I’m making sure the record is straight. This person’s handwriting sucks, man.”
“Okay, Momota-kun.”
“And—” Kaito pauses to glance over at him. “This isn’t really constructive for your investigation, is it?”
“Ah, um- no, not really.” Shuichi looks down at the letter again. “You really don’t know who wrote it?” he asks.
Kaito shrugs. “Sorry, Shuichi, but I’m just as clueless as you are.” Then he holds out a hand, and Shuichi gives him the letter to examine more closely. “Hmm. I guess it kind of sounds like Iruma wrote it. But I don’t know why she’d be writing letters.”
“It’s less, um…” Shuichi hesitates, thinking for a moment before settling on: “…vulgar? Than she usually is.”
“That’s true,” Kaito concedes, handing Shuichi the letter again. “Maybe she wanted to tone it down a little? I guess your best bet would be to ask her. Last I saw her, she was headed to her Ultimate Lab.”
Shuichi nods. “Thanks, Momota-kun.”
Kaito claps him on the back good-naturedly. “Well, Shuichi, if you need any help with anything else, I’m your guy!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shuichi replies, a smile on his face.
Unfortunately, Shuichi’s interrogation of Miu doesn’t lead him anywhere either. He says a silent prayer on his way to her Ultimate Lab to whatever god may be out there that Kiibo isn’t around for her to do maintenance on. Thankfully, when he pushes open the door, Kiibo is nowhere to be found, only Miu hammering away at a piece of scrap metal.
“Iruma-san,” Shuichi calls out. Miu doesn’t bat an eye. He clears his throat, moving closer, and then, louder, “Iruma-san!”
Miu looks up at that, pulling off her goggles and glancing over at the entrance. “Hah? Who the fuck- Oh,” she mutters, once her gaze lands on Shuichi, “it’s you.” She says the last word with a sour distaste, as if the very idea of referring to Shuichi fills her with disgust.
“I just had something to ask you—”
“If it’s on a date, the answer is no.” Miu waves her hammer passively in his vague direction, and Shuichi watches it with caution. “Now, Hamehara, if you please, I’ve got some work to do.”
Shuichi resolves to ignore whatever the hell Miu had just called him. Coughing, he presses on, “I have a problem I wanted to bring up to you.”
“Yeah, no fuckin’ shit,” Miu says. Her eyes flick upwards, and her nose wrinkles. “Is it the hat? I think it’s the hat.”
“What’s wrong with my—” Shuichi shakes his head and fumbles for the letter in his jacket pocket to show it to her. “Never mind that. Did you write this? Or know who wrote it?”
Miu leans forward to squint at it. “Never seen it,” she concludes, but she takes it from his hands anyway, her eyes skimming over it. “It kinda sounds like something that lyin’ little shit would have written.”
“Lying little shit…?”
Miu looks up at him to roll her eyes. “Ouma, idiot. Who the fuck else?”
“Ah.” Shuichi really isn’t sure whether he should agree with her or not. “So you don’t kno—”
“You like him, don’t you?”
Shuichi’s eyes widen, whatever sentence he was about to say thoroughly evaporating from his brain. “I’m sorry?” he manages to say, reaching up to adjust the brim of his hat if only to have something to do with his hands.
Miu places her hammer down next to the sheet of metal on her worktable and crosses her arms. “Your reaction only confirms it,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact, “you like Ouma.” She eyes him, her lip curling. “Shit, Saihara. You really know how to pick ‘em.”
“What? I don’t—” Shuichi falters for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing. “‘Pick ‘em’?”
“Although,” Miu continues, thoughtful, “it’s probably for the best that you have each other. I can’t really think of anybody else on this planet who’d ever date you, either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
Miu raises an eyebrow, glancing at him up and down as if evaluating him. Shuichi shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. “It means you’re fuckin’ ugly.”
Okay. There goes the rest of his self-esteem. “What makes you think I like him anyway?” he asks, frowning.
Miu gives him a flat look, like it’s obvious. “You look at him like a puzzle you can’t solve. It’s kinda gross. You get all wrinkly and shit.”
Shuichi heaves a sigh, his shoulders rising and falling with it. “If it wasn’t you, I’ll be going now,” he mutters.
Miu grins, shoving the letter into his chest and pulling her goggles down over her eyes again. “That took a while. See ya!” She picks up her hammer to salute him lazily as Shuichi turns, shutting the door behind him.
Kokichi is shockingly easy to find, for once. Shuichi discovers him in the library standing on top of a ladder in search of a book.
“I didn’t know you liked reading,” is what Shuichi starts with when he catches sight of him. Kokichi yelps in surprise at the sound of his voice, tumbling down the ladder and hitting the floor with a sizable thud. Shuichi’s eyes widen as he hurries to hover over him. “Ouma-kun!”
Kokichi rolls over on the dusty hardwood, groaning and rubbing at his head. “You gave me a scare, Saihara-chan. Don’t you know libraries are supposed to be silent?” Then he grins, sitting up. “Just kidding! It was all a lie!”
Shuichi blinks a few times, reeling. “…Are you okay?”
“No, that actually kinda hurt.” Kokichi jumps to his feet, still smiling. He points to the letter in Shuichi’s hands. “So what’s that you got there?”
Shuichi relays to him the same story he’d told Kaito and Miu. Kokichi lights up with every word, and Shuichi can’t help but notice the way his violet eyes shine with amusement.
“Aw man,” Kokichi laments when Shuichi’s done, “I wish I’d thought of that! That makes this school so not boring. So, Detective Saihara-chan, who do you think wrote it?”
“It’s still too early to tell anything,” Shuichi answers, his brow furrowing. “As of now, I’m starting to think it’s one of Monokuma’s little games.”
Kokichi makes a little disappointed noise, shoulders slouching. “I thought you’d have it down already! You work super slow.”
Shuichi reaches up to thumb at the brim of his hat. “Ouma-kun—”
Kokichi leans forward to swat Shuichi’s hand away, pulling Shuichi’s hat off of his head and waving it around. His eyes go wide with feigned surprise. “Does Saihara-chan really have no idea?”
“Hey, give that—” Shuichi stops himself there, shaking his head. “Forget it. That’s why I’m here, actually. I wanted to know if you wrote it? Or if you have any idea as to who did?”
Kokichi’s eyes train on the floor for a moment, a rare instance of quiet. Then he dramatically raises both his hands like he’s been caught, a sigh leaving his lips. “I’ll confess!” he declares. “It was me who wrote that letter, Saihara-chan. I had to stir up some drama, you know? Otherwise, my dear detective would get bored — and we can’t have that, right?”
Shuichi frowns, his gaze picking apart the crinkle of Kokichi’s eyes. “You’re lying to me.”
Kokichi gives him a lopsided grin, lowering his arms and tilting his head to the side. “Maybe,” he says, that sort of teasing lilt Shuichi has gotten used to hearing in his voice. “You’re a detective, aren’t you? Isn’t it your job to figure that out?”
Or you could make this easy for me, Shuichi wants to say, but he bites his tongue. “If that’s what you think of me,” he says instead.
“To be perfectly honest with you,” Kokichi continues, that same lofty smile on his lips, “I don’t know who wrote those letters. But when you find out, let me know, okay?”
Shuichi furrows his brow. “Okay,” he says. “I will, Ouma-kun. Now, um, could I maybe have my hat back?”
“Nope!” chirps Kokichi, placing Shuichi’s hat on his own head. Shuichi eyes it carefully, feeling his heart making itself known as it beats faster. “It’s all mine now, Shu-chan. Tell you what, I’ll give it back once you solve the mystery. So Saihara-chan should better get working!”
Kokichi waves him goodbye, and Shuichi watches him walk away without a word, his heartbeat pounding in his chest too fast to be normal. But what could—
Oh. Oh no.
Swallowing, Shuichi turns to leave, too, and desperately ignores whatever feelings had just decided to surface themselves. (Or maybe they’ve always been there…? No, he doesn’t even want to consider that possibility.)
Miu was right, Shuichi thinks to himself with a twinge of dismay. He really does know how to pick ‘em.
The sun is setting when Shuichi leaves the dormitories, the sky painted mellow oranges and reds against pale clouds.
Nighttime hasn’t fallen upon them just yet, and, with nothing to do, Shuichi finds his way into the main building to his Ultimate Lab to continue the novel he’d been in the middle of. He’s pretty sure he’s almost to the end of the book…
His train of thought is promptly disturbed by a strange clunking noise, almost metallic, by the stairway up to the fifth floor, accompanied by a familiar laugh. Shuichi holds his breath when he turns the corner, and is immediately met with—
“…Ouma-kun? Kiibo-kun?”
Both Kokichi and Kiibo stop where they are when they hear his voice, turning to look at him. There’s a cluster of wires in Kokichi’s hands, and Shuichi can’t even begin to guess what he was planning on using them for.
“Saihara-chan!” Kokichi exclaims, violet eyes glittering with mischief. It makes him look alive, and Shuichi catches himself staring for just a bit too long. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. You wanna hear about our little experiment here?”
”Saihara-kun,” comes Kiibo’s greeting, and Shuichi turns to look at him. His expression is sheepish. “Um, please save me?”
Kokichi laughs, grinning. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Saihara-chan! We’re having tons of fun. Right, Kiiboy?”
“I don’t—”
“Ah. Um.” Shuichi glances over at the stairwell and questions how the hell he even got into this situation. “Well, I have somewhere to be…?”
“At this hour? Come on, Saihara-chan, hang out with us for a little while!” Kokichi urges him, starting to frown. “What do you even have to do, anyway?”
“I… was just going to read upstairs, is all.”
Kokichi rolls his eyes, groaning. “Boring,” he complains, but he’s waving Shuichi goodbye nonetheless. “Have so much fun, Saihara-chan! Don’t miss me too much.”
“I’ll try my best,” Shuichi says dryly, turning to head up the stairs and shaking his head, a small laugh escaping him.
He never quite feels fully on his feet around Kokichi; this was no different. There’s something enticing about him, something that keeps him coming back no matter how much he tries to ignore it. It makes his heart race beneath his sternum and adrenaline zip through his bloodstream.
(If he could feel like that all the time, Shuichi thinks, he wouldn’t really mind it at all.)
When Shuichi arrives at his Ultimate Lab, he notices the door’s already open just a bit. He doesn’t recall ever keeping it open after leaving, so someone must have gone inside since he’d last been there. His brow furrows as he pushes the door open slowly, half-expecting there to be someone inside already.
Instead, everything is where he’d left it last.
The ashes in the fireplace have long been there; he hasn’t bothered to light it in quite a while. The bookshelves look the same: his case files chronologically and his novels alphabetically. There’s still a gap between two of the books on the bottom shelf for the one he was in the middle of reading. He glances over, and yes, it’s still sitting on the table by the rocking chair where he had left it.
Nothing has moved, everything is as it should be — so what is he missing?
The lamp is still off, like he’d left it. He reaches a hand out to touch it, fingertips skimming over the glass of the lightbulb.
How interesting. The bulb is warm. Not only was someone inside, but they were here within the hour. Whoever it was, they knew he’d be here soon.
Shuichi instinctually makes a new file in his brain for this information, his eyes dissecting everything he sees as his gaze rakes over the room. Nothing else seems to be out of place. Perhaps he’s just kidding himself, and he should just get back to reading. There was a cliffhanger in the last chapter and he’d really been looking forward to finding out what happens next…
The rocking chair sways when Shuichi sits down. He picks up his book and is about to continue reading when he notices what looks like the corner of a piece of paper peeking out of the pages — which is odd, because Shuichi doesn’t use bookmarks. He doesn’t have anything to mark what page he’s on, so usually he just dog-ears the corner of the page and calls it a day.
He tugs the paper out of his book, an eyebrow raised. Is this really all that person came in here to do in his Ultimate Lab?
If Kokichi were here, he’d probably call it lame, Shuichi thinks to himself with an amused smile. He immediately waves that thought out of his mind, a mild twinge of annoyance with himself that Kokichi had come to mind. He shakes his head and unfolds the piece of paper delicately.
Saihara,
Since you found the last one, I figured I’d make this one easier for you to find. Quite kind of me, no?
Your room is so organized. I guess I should’ve expected that from you, right? I’d check the bookshelf, if I were you. You might find something out of place.
P.S. What kind of person dog-ears the page? You can use this letter that I’ve so generously given to you as a bookmark. You’re welcome.
It’s another letter — of course it is, Shuichi thinks, how hadn’t he guessed sooner?
He sighs, getting up to inspect his bookshelf, stopping to place his book and the letter on the coffee table. All he wanted to do was read his book, but somehow, he can’t find it within himself to be annoyed about the interruption.
When Shuichi gets closer to the shelf, he notices a stray book on one of the shelves holding his case files, opened to one of the chapters. Huh. He didn’t think the culprit would be one for reading, he thinks to himself as he picks it up. It looks to be a collection of short stories about Sherlock Holmes, but Shuichi hasn’t gotten to reading this particular one. He peers down at the title.
“A Case of Identity.”
A smile finds its way onto Shuichi’s face as he closes the book and slides it back onto the shelf. This person, whoever it may be, certainly has a strange sense of humor.
Shuichi starts receiving more letters over the next week after that.
They’re left strategically where Shuichi would happen upon them, he’s noticed. There’s one in Kaede’s Ultimate Lab, tucked between the strings inside of her grand piano, and one left in Kaito’s Ultimate Lab, folded into a paper airplane. Shuichi’s name is written on the outside in the same messy penmanship he’s gotten used to seeing.
There’s even one hidden inside of one of his ballpoint pens on his desk in his bedroom (how far is this person going to go?), which Shuichi only discovers when he notices the ink cartridge is missing. It’s written on a rolled-up sticky note and Shuichi has to squint to read their already near unintelligible handwriting.
But the strangest part about it all is the… word choice.
The first letter in the dining room hadn’t seemed to be addressed to anyone in particular, but the ones following had specifically been written to him, Shuichi had noted. On top of that, well—
“You have really pretty eyelashes. Has anyone ever told you that, Saihara?” was how it started. The unexpected compliment had made Shuichi flush a mortifying shade of scarlet.
Then, “You have a nice smile, Saihara — that is, if I could see it more often. You’re always frowning; you’ll get wrinkles, don’t you know that?”
Shuichi really has no idea what this person’s deal is. What are they getting at with the flattery?
Nonetheless, he keeps all of them in a little pile to the side of his desk, still no closer to figuring out who had written them. It’s a bit frustrating, admittedly, but Shuichi would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying the chase at least a little bit…
“—Hey, how’s your investigation going, by the way? I forgot to ask you earlier.”
Kaito’s voice interrupts Shuichi’s train of thought. He walks next to Shuichi back to the dormitories after their daily training in the school courtyard. Shuichi’s jacket is draped over his arm, leaving him in just the white button-up he usually wears underneath, and he fiddles with one of the clasps on his jacket as he answers.
“It’s… going,” Shuichi tells him, shrugging. “I still don’t have any clue who could have written them. They’ve gotten increasingly more… interesting.”
Kaito raises an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”
Shuichi flounders for a moment, unsure of how to describe it. “They’re, um. Starting to sound like love letters,” he admits, feeling his ears burn with scarlet.
“Oh, so you’ve got a secret admirer!” Kaito pumps a triumphant fist into the air, and Shuichi laughs a little. “Hey, I always had faith in you. You know, ever since you lost the hat and started training with me, I knew the ladies would start flocking to you.”
Shuichi winces before he can stop himself, and Kaito cocks his head at him in confusion.
“What, do you not want the ladies flocking to you?”
Shuichi squints. “Well, ah, that’s not exactly it…?”
There’s a flicker of understanding across Kaito’s gaze and he blinks once, twice. “Oh. Oh!”
Shuichi nods, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah,” he says, his voice choosing this as an excellent time to die in his throat.
Kaito’s eyes widen, stopping in his tracks. “Oh, shit, wait, you don’t think I’d be upset about it, do you?” he asks in a rush, very obviously panicking. It would be kind of funny if Shuichi wasn’t doing the exact same thing. “I’m not. I wouldn’t. I just…” Kaito grows pensive for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Huh. I guess it’s for the best that you’re the detective out of the two of us.”
Shuichi laughs at that, despite himself. He can almost feel the tension melting off of his shoulders. “Yeah, I suppose so.” Then his smile turns wry. “Although, you’ve got a long way to go. Twenty push-ups? I’d expect more from you.”
“Hey, okay, that was one time—” Kaito shakes his head as Shuichi looks at him skeptically. “I’ll have you know I did my allotted fifty today, like I’m supposed to.”
Shuichi shrugs. “Yeah, but tomorrow, who knows?”
“We’ll do a hundred tomorrow, if that helps your conscience.”
Shuichi goes a little pale. He decides to mourn his sore muscles in advance. “…That works for me,” he says, a bit strained.
“Hey, who do you think your little secret admirer is?” Kaito bumps him gently with his elbow as they start walking again, and Shuichi feels himself turn bright pink. “Or better yet,” Kaito continues with a grin, “who are you hoping it is?”
Shuichi hums as noncommittally as he can possibly manage. “I don’t know. I still need more information.”
Kaito shrugs, splaying his palms out. “Sorry to break it to you, but it’s not me.”
A smile tugs at Shuichi’s lips. He places a hand on his heart and feigns relief. (Kokichi must be rubbing off on him, he thinks, and then immediately shakes the thought out of his head.) “Thank God,” he sighs.
“Okay, what the hell, I’m a catch, I’ll have you know—” Kaito holds up a finger at him, to which Shuichi just raises an eyebrow. “That’s not the point. Who do you want it to be then? Akamatsu? I swear you guys used to have a thing for each other or something.”
“Ah. Well.” Shuichi hesitates for a moment, his blush deepening. “I guess I did? It was a while ago,” he tacks on quickly before he dies of embarrassment. “Nothing really came of it.”
Kaito groans. “Man. I owe Harukawa some money. Okay, who else? Amami?”
Shuichi is struck by the image of Rantaro sitting at his desk and writing love letters, and he can’t help but laugh a little. “No,” he says. “He’s a great guy, but no.”
Kaito thinks for a minute, humming. He snaps his fingers. “It’s not Kiibo, is it?”
“I think Iruma-san has that covered.”
“Ah, yeah, you’re right.” Kaito brows furrow. “Huh. Who else even is ther-” His expression then turns horrified, his voice low. “Wait. No. Shuichi, no. It’s not…”
Shuichi blinks. “Who?”
“Ouma?”
The way Shuichi flushes scarlet seems to be answer enough, and Kaito’s expression grows more horrified, if that’s even possible.
“Shuichi, no,” Kaito says, mournful, his head dropping. “No. Oh my God. No.”
“What’s so bad about him?” Shuichi asks, which — okay, maybe he could name a few reasons, but that isn’t the point here.
Kaito looks up to level him with a flat look. “I think a better question is what’s not bad about him.”
Shuichi swats at Kaito’s arm weakly. “Momota-kun.”
“Hey! It’s a valid point!” Kaito defends. “Do you hear the things he says about Iruma? And Kiibo?”
“Iruma-san did call him an abortion once,” Shuichi points out.
“Right. Uh, point taken.”
Kaito opens his mouth to continue, reaching a hand to open the door to the dormitories, when Shuichi notices a little white corner sticking out of the door.
“What’s this?” Shuichi tugs it from between the gap, unfolding it delicately. Is it really…?
Dear Saihara,
It’s me again! Are you enjoying our little chase? I’m going to assume you are, because why else would you still be reading these letters? A little suspicious, if you ask me.
But if I’m being honest with you, I’m having fun, too. You’re a hard guy to catch sometimes, Saihara. Did I get you this time?
P.S. By the way, you look nice with your jacket off.
Shuichi goes bright pink, and he’s pretty sure his ears have spontaneously caught on fire. There’s a cheeky little smiley face drawn in following the end of the letter, almost mocking him. Shuichi glares at it, and Kaito tilts his head in confusion.
“So I’m assuming that’s another letter…?”
Shuichi pockets it quickly and desperately tries to return his complexion to a normal color. It’s not working. “Yeah, it is,” he tells Kaito, finding no use in denying the obvious.
Kaito opens the door, turning to look at him as they both enter the dormitories. “Do you think it sounds like something Ouma would write?”
“Momota-kun.”
“What? You’re the one who likes him, man,” Kaito tells him, making a face. “Even though I don’t get why, like, at all. What do you see in him, anyway? Be honest.”
“I…” Shuichi pauses, trying to think of what to say. Of how to put it into words. “I want to figure him out. I think that’s part of it,” he says eventually. He thinks of the letter in his pocket, of the ones stacked on his desk. “And I want to figure this person out, too.”
Kaito sighs. “Good luck, dude. With both of them.”
Shuichi just laughs.
“Have you figured it out yet?”
Kokichi lays splayed out on Shuichi’s bed as if it were his own, his upper half hanging off the side to watch him upside down. Shuichi had let him in after Kokichi rang the doorbell seventeen times, unable to take the constant ringing anymore.
In the meanwhile, Shuichi sits at his desk, letters fanned out in order of when he’d found them. “Not quite,” he answers, his eyebrows furrowed. He traces his index finger along one of the kanji. “I just… There’s so many discrepancies between all the letters. If the handwriting wasn’t so similar, I’d think they were all written by different people.”
Kokichi hums, mimicking Shuichi’s expression and furrowing his own brow. “Quite the dilemma you’ve got there.”
Shuichi glances at him. There’s now a wide grin on Kokichi’s face. “Are you ever going to help me,” asks Shuichi, “or are you just going to sit there and stare at me?”
Kokichi sits up and rolls over onto his stomach so he’s facing Shuichi, resting his head in his palm. “Mm, but you’re so fun to look at, Shu-chan.”
Shuichi chooses to ignore that statement, his ears burning. “Um,” he starts eloquently. Damn it all. He looks back at the letters, which stare back at him unflinchingly. “I don’t know. Every time I think I might have an idea, the next letter completely contradicts it.”
”You wanna know what I think, Saihara-chan?” Kokichi asks with a tilt of his head.
Shuichi sighs, placing his pen down and turning to look at him. “Enlighten me.”
“I think you should just do something else and come back to it,” Kokichi says, shrugging. “Maybe you just need to look at it with fresh eyes, or something.”
Huh. “That might be the first useful thing you’ve ever said to me, Ouma-kun.”
Kokichi scowls, and Shuichi has a feeling he doesn’t really mean it. “I say plenty of useful things,” Kokichi protests. “You’re just not paying enough attention to me.”
Shuichi raises an eyebrow. “You get enough attention as it is. You don’t need me fueling the flame.”
“You’re no fun sometimes.”
“Because I don’t enable you?” Shuichi asks him, deadpan. He gets up to sit at the foot of his bed next to Kokichi, and the mattress dips beneath him. Kokichi turns over onto his back to squint up at him, his violet eyes set alight with mirth.
Shuichi lets himself look at him for a moment. It’s not often he gets the opportunity to. His gaze follows the curve of Kokichi’s grin, the gentle slope of his nose and how the corners of his eyes crinkle just slightly when he smiles. There’s a freckle right under his cheekbone, Shuichi notices. He’s never seen it before.
“You’re staring, Saihara-chan,” Kokichi says lightly, visibly amused. Shuichi’s eyes widen and he clears his throat, his eyes quickly darting around for something else to look at. Ah. His desk. How interesting.
Shuichi is still conducting his thorough investigation of his desk when he realizes with a start that Kokichi is talking again.
“—working?”
Shuichi looks over at him, effectively snapped out of whatever train of thought was running around in his mind. “Ah, sorry, what did you say?”
Kokichi rolls his eyes, long and dramatic. “I said,” he huffs, “do you think it’s working? The whole ‘taking a break’ thing? Foreign concept, I know.”
Shuichi brushes past his last sentence. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see later.”
Kokichi scrutinizes him for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You work yourself too hard sometimes, Saihara-chan,” he informs him. “It’s part of why you’re no fun.”
“That’s not true,” Shuichi says with a frown. “I work a normal amount.”
“Please.” Kokichi waves him off blithely. “I can practically hear the gears turning in your brain.”
“I don’t think—”
Shuichi watches in mild amusement as Kokichi makes a show of thinking really hard, his brows furrowing deeply and the corners of his mouth turning down in feigned concentration.
Shuichi’s pretty sure it’s meant to be an impression of him. A bad one, at that. “I don’t look like that,” he tells him so, exasperated.
Kokichi pauses his mediocre impersonation to raise an eyebrow at him. “Who said it was supposed to be you?” He laughs at Shuichi’s surprised expression. “Got you there, Shumai!” Kokichi teases, poking at his shoulder, and Shuichi smiles.
Kokichi fills the rest of their time together with stories, mostly about his supposed evil organization (which, for the record, Shuichi really doesn’t take his word for) and some odd prank he’d played on Himiko the other week. Shuichi tries his best to listen, distracted by the violet of Kokichi’s eyes.
At some point, Kokichi had shifted from laying on the mattress to resting his head in Shuichi’s lap, and — well, Shuichi hadn’t made any move to stop him, so he guesses it’s partially his fault anyway.
It’s languid, unusually so, but Shuichi thinks he wouldn’t mind getting used to it.
“Good morning, Shu-chan!”
Shuichi’s eyes flutter open, his eyelids still heavy with sleep, and nearly jumps out of his skin with shock. He’s greeted by Kokichi leaning over him, so close their noses are nearly brushing, and there’s a wide grin across his face.
Well. He’s definitely awake now.
“What the hell is going on?”
Kokichi makes a face at him, leaning back to sit on his heels. “You could act a little happier to see me,” he complains. Then he smiles cheekily. “Ooh, check out Detective Saihara-chan, caught in such a compromising position. Look at you, you’re blushing.”
Shuichi decides to ignore everything that had just come out of Kokichi’s mouth. “What time is it right now?” he asks instead.
“It’s nine o’clock in the morning,” Kokichi tells him. “I was surprised. You never wake up this late.”
Shuichi sits up straight to stretch his limbs. He yawns. “How did you even get in here?”
Kokichi produces a bobby pin out of his pocket and waves it around. “I picked the lock.” He hums, holding it up to his face to inspect it. “You know, these locks are really easy to pick. You’d think there’d be better security.”
Shuichi stands up, combing a hand through his unkempt hair. He’s a little embarrassed that Kokichi had caught him so early in the morning. Couldn’t he have at least broken in after Shuichi had gotten himself together?
There’s nothing he can do about it now, he resolves as he opens his closet to get his jacket.
“Anyway,” Kokichi continues, still sitting on Shuichi’s bed, ”the reason I’m here is because Tojo-chan sent me to tell you that if you don’t wake up now, breakfast will get cold and Momota-chan will eat all of it. Can’t work on an empty stomach, right?”
Shuichi’s brow furrows. He’s pretty sure Kokichi’s not telling him the whole truth. Well, what else is new. “Thanks, Ouma-kun. I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay! Don’t be late, or I’ll miss you.” Kokichi frowns at him, tilting his head before hopping off Shuichi’s bed and heading to the door. “See you soon, Saihara-chan!”
Shuichi watches as the door shuts behind him with a soft click. That can’t be all that Kokichi came here to do, he’s sure of it. But if that’s true, then what is he missing?
Shuichi shakes the thought out of his head as he pulls on his jacket. It’s too early for this, he thinks to himself resignedly.
It’s then that he notices a folded piece of paper on his desk. A letter. It’s not in the pile of the other letters that Shuichi had made the previous day, so it must be a new one. But when would—
Oh.
Shuichi unfolds it quickly, his eyes skimming over the words as his heart pounds in his throat. It can’t be…
Dear Saihara,
Have you figured me out yet? It has been a while — at least, to me, it feels like it. I had no idea detectives worked so slow.
I’m thinking this will be the last letter. I’ve given you enough clues by now, don’t you agree? Once you think you’ve got the answer, come and find me. I promise I won’t be too difficult to find.
Shall I flatter you one last time? You’re so clever, Saihara-kun. I kind of wish you’d believe that about yourself more often. And if you’re as smart as they say, you won’t need another letter to figure me out.
Heat crawls up the back of Shuichi’s neck, despite himself. He swallows as he turns over the letter, scanning it and then his desk for any further clues. It’s not him, it can’t be—
On his desk sits a bobby pin, right where the letter had been.
Everything clicks.
Shuichi barely manages to pull his shoes on before he’s hurrying out the door and out of the dormitories into the courtyard, his mind racing nearly as fast as his heartbeat. What made Kokichi write all of that? It’s not like he…
Shuichi brushes that thought out of his mind. He doesn’t even want to begin to consider that theory, or what comes after.
When Shuichi reaches the dining hall, his eyes immediately dart around, looking for Kokichi. Kaede gives him an odd look from her spot at the table.
“What’s got you all frazzled?” she asks him, a brow raised.
Shuichi takes a second to catch his breath. “Did you see Ouma-kun at all today?”
Kaede thinks for a moment. “Well, he was here in the dining hall earlier. But then he said he had ’something to take care of’.” She makes air-quotes with her fingers. Then she looks at him again, concern written all over her features. “Why? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” he assures her. Then he sighs, pulling a chair to sit next to her. “I… Akamatsu-san, I figured out who wrote those letters.”
It takes a moment for the realization to fall on Kaede. Shuichi can pinpoint the exact moment it does. Her eyes widen. “You don’t mean…”
Shuichi drags a hand down the side of his face in exasperation, mostly with himself. “I should have known it from the start,” he groans. Kaede pats him on the arm sympathetically. “I just… I can’t believe he wrote all of that. All of those love letters. It was him.”
“But you wanted it to be him,” she says matter-of-factly. It’s not a question.
Shuichi swallows, the words catching in his throat. “I did,” he admits.
Kaede smiles at him. Then she pushes his shoulder gently. “So go, Saihara-kun. He can’t have gone far.”
Unfortunately for Shuichi, Kokichi has hidden himself away, nowhere to be found. Shuichi swears he’s checked everywhere, from Kokichi’s Ultimate Lab to the library, where he’d found him that day he’d found that first letter.
And doesn’t that feel like a while ago? Shuichi remembers finding that first letter in the dining hall, unaware of where it would land him, of the feelings it would bring about. (Perhaps they really were always there…?)
(Shuichi doesn’t ignore it this time.)
With nowhere else left to search, Shuichi heads back to the dormitories. Where could Kokichi have gone?
His question is promptly answered when he opens his bedroom door only to be greeted by the sight of Kokichi sitting on his bed, unbothered.
“…Ouma-kun?”
Kokichi lights up when he sees him, his violet eyes brightening. “You’re back! I’ve been waiting here forever, you know.”
“When did you—”
“I caught word that you were looking for me, so I figured I’d make things easier for you.” Kokichi tilts his head, gesturing to himself. “I’m here now, so what did you have to tell me?”
Shuichi swallows hard. He fiddles with the bobby pin that he’d found on his desk, his gaze still trained on Kokichi. “It was you,” he says softly. “Those letters.”
Kokichi hums, but his expression betrays nothing of what he’s really thinking. “An interesting deduction, Saihara-chan. And how’d you come to that conclusion?”
Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking questions here? Shuichi thinks to himself, pained. He holds up the bobby pin. “This. It’s yours.”
Kokichi’s eyes flash with recognition, narrowing for a fraction of a second. If Shuichi wasn’t able to read him as well as he can, he might not have been able to catch it.
“What makes you think it’s mine?” Kokichi asks him. “It could be Akamatsu-chan’s — she wears clips sometimes, no? Or Iruma-chan’s.” Then he wrinkles his nose. “Although, I wouldn’t touch any of her stuff if I were you.”
Shuichi tries not to think about the implications of that statement. He clears his throat. “So?” he presses.
“Is that all the evidence you have? Pretty flimsy argument, if you ask me.” Kokichi lifts a hand to examine his fingernails. He glances back at Shuichi, frowning. “I expected better from the Ultimate Detective.”
Shuichi takes a breath, and then, before he can regret it, walks forward to reach a hand into Kokichi’s pocket and hold up an identical bobby pin.
“Here,” Shuichi says, offering both pins back to Kokichi. He smiles wryly. “Is there anything else, Ouma-kun?”
Kokichi doesn’t say anything as he takes the bobby pins back from Shuichi. Then he raises his hands as if he’s about to be arrested and grins. (Shuichi really, really hopes Kokichi doesn’t want him to put him in handcuffs.)
“You got me, Saihara-chan,” Kokichi says, that familiar lilt in his voice. He stands up and prods his index finger at Shuichi’s chest, their faces so impossibly close that Shuichi swears their noses brush for a fraction of a second. “So what does the lucky detective want? My treat — after all, you did solve my little mystery.”
Shuichi hesitates. What does he want? It’s not really a laundry list, but if he had to ask for one thing…
“I’d… like to kiss you,” he ends up saying, his heart thrumming in his throat. Belatedly, he feels his face flood with warmth at his own words. “Ah, that is- if you’d have me.”
Kokichi looks remarkably unimpressed, and Shuichi frowns. “You don’t have to ask for that, y’know. Most people just do it.”
Shuichi bristles at that. Maybe he should have asked Kokichi to shut his mouth permanently instead. “I don’t—”
He’s cut off by Kokichi laughing and shaking his head. “You’re so odd, Saihara-chan,” Kokichi tells him.
Shuichi can’t find it within himself to be offended, not when every word out of Kokichi’s mouth is laced with honeyed fondness. He blinks and points to himself. “I’m the odd one?”
Kokichi’s eyebrows knit together as he feigns hurt. He crosses his arms petulantly. “Okay, that was mean. Maybe I won’t kiss you anymore.”
“So… you wanted to?”
Kokichi observes him for a moment. “…Eh, I think you need the ego boost.” Then he shrugs. “I guess I’ve wanted to for a while now,” he tells him, as plainly as he would comment on the weather outside that day, and Shuichi furrows his brow. Kokichi grins up at him. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Shu-chan?”
Shuichi swallows. “Are you lying to me?” he asks, his heart racing wildly in his chest, impossible to ignore. He braces himself for the answer.
Kokichi tilts his head, pretending to think. “Mm, it's up to you to find out.”
Shuichi’s gaze flicks down to Kokichi’s lips, curved up into a familiar smile. Kokichi raises an eyebrow, as if judging him for hesitating, and, with his heartbeat racing in his ribcage, Shuichi leans forward to close what little space remains between them.
Kissing Kokichi is certainly unlike anything Shuichi’s ever done before.
It sort of feels like he’s been set alight, like Kokichi had lit a match and left it to burn in Shuichi’s ribcage. It’s all-encompassing, this kind of want, and Shuichi doesn’t quite know what to do with all of it except hold it in his palm and keep it close.
He lets Kokichi take the lead, pliant in his hands when Kokichi’s curious hands reach up to cup his cheek and pull him impossibly closer. Shuichi’s own find themselves by Kokichi’s waist, unsure of where else to place them, and Kokichi makes a little surprised noise in the back of his throat.
They find themselves sitting on the bed; Shuichi’s too caught up in other things to realize when. He feels the mattress dip beneath them and the press of Kokichi’s mouth, and it’s good, it’s really good, Shuichi decides. That same sort of want fizzles underneath his skin as one of Kokichi’s hands moves to tangle in Shuichi’s hair.
Kokichi moves off of his lips, Shuichi’s eyes fluttering open at the loss, and there’s a trail of chaste kisses tracing his jawline and down the column of his throat. Shuichi thumbs at the sliver of pale skin by his hips where Kokichi’s shirt had ridden up, earning him that smile against his neck. Kokichi then nips gently at the skin right above his pulse point, and Shuichi feels his entire face turn pink.
Kokichi pulls away to look at him, a cheeky smile on his face that Shuichi would be affronted by if not for the light flush painted across the bridge of Kokichi’s nose. “You’re blushing, Shu-chan,” he teases.
“So are you,” Shuichi points out with an embarrassed frown.
Kokichi hums in lieu of a response. Then his violet eyes sweep over him, and Shuichi lets him, saying nothing as Kokichi just looks at him for a little while.
“Your kissing needs some work,” Kokichi tells him eventually.
Shuichi manages a smile. “Maybe I need more practice.”
Kokichi lights up, eyes bright with excitement. “Hey, was that a line?” he exclaims. “Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you!”
Shuichi shrugs, splaying his hands out. “Sorry, Ouma-kun, but that’s the most you’ll ever get out of me.”
“Come on, Saihara-chan!” Kokichi pokes at Shuichi’s temple. “I know you’ve got some more up there in that brain of yours. Say another one! Tell me how pretty my eyes are, or how much you like my smile, or—”
Shuichi pulls him into another kiss, mostly just to shut him up, his fingers curling around the back of Kokichi’s neck. It’s not very long, it wasn’t meant to be, but Kokichi still chases his lips when he pulls away.
Shuichi raises an eyebrow, and Kokichi blinks. “…I mean, that was nice, too.”
“An astute observation,” Shuichi says dryly. “And I thought I was the detective.”
Kokichi rolls his eyes, his prior fluster fading, and he glances away. There’s still remnants of embarrassment dusted across his face. “Don’t get all witty on me.”
“Why not?”
“Because you get all annoying,” Kokichi complains, “and that’s supposed to be my job.”
There’s a smile tugging at Shuichi’s lips. One of his hands comes up to hold Kokichi’s face, and his thumb skims over the freckle underneath his cheekbone.
“You’re so gentle,” Kokichi huffs, and Shuichi would have thought his words were contemptuous if not for the smile Kokichi’s clearly trying to fight off. “I’m not fragile! I won’t shatter if you play too rough, y’know.”
“I know,” Shuichi says, smiling slightly. His hand drops back down to his lap. “Won’t you let me, though?”
Kokichi makes a face. “I never thought you’d be a romantic. And I was the one writing love letters.”
“You did write a lot of love letters,” Shuichi remarks, glancing at the sizable stack sitting on top of his desk. “…A lot of love letters.”
”They weren’t supposed to be love letters at first. They weren’t even supposed to be for you.” Kokichi waves a hand at him vaguely. “But then you started finding them and ruined everything.”
Shuichi raises an eyebrow and, before he can regret it, reaches forward to take Kokichi’s hand. “You’d consider this—” He gestures with their hands, fingers intertwined. “—ruining everything?”
Kokichi raises his free hand to his forehead and pretends to faint, leaning against Shuichi’s shoulder. ”You’ve ruined my life, Shu-chan,” he laments. “I don’t know how I’ll possibly go on.”
Shuichi frowns at him, but makes no move to shove him off. He watches Kokichi grin. “Dramatic,” he says.
“Mm, is it though?”
“Kind of is.”
Kokichi laughs as he fully sprawls out onto Shuichi’s bed. There’s then the weight of Kokichi’s head in his lap, his dark hair fanning out like a halo. They’ve done this once before, but it’s different now, Shuichi supposes. He runs a hand through Kokichi’s hair gently, brushing a strand of violet out of his face, and his eyes linger on the stack of letters sitting on his desk.
He doesn’t mind it, Shuichi decides. He doesn’t mind it at all.
The next morning, there’s one last letter, slipped under the gap beneath his bedroom door. Shuichi smiles as he picks it up and unfolds it.
Dearest Shu-chan,
I’ll admit, I’m a little disappointed by your performance here. Some detective you are. It took you forever to figure out it was me.
By now I‘d wager you’ve cracked the case. Tell me, Saihara-chan, did you enjoy our little chase? It was pretty entertaining to watch you run around in circles for a while. I guess I’m pretty good at this whole mystery thing, huh?
What else is there to say? I guess all that’s left is to tell you I like you, but where’s the fun in that? And besides, you’ve probably figured that out already. Otherwise, what kind of Ultimate Detective would that make you?
This was fun, Saihara-chan. Let’s do it again sometime!