Archive of Our Own

“Why do you want this job?”

Kaito blinks at the frowny woman—the hiring manager, presumably—sitting across the desk from him. He suspects that she would not appreciate his honest answer, which is “I like having money to feed myself because I’m a starving grad student.”

“I’m local to this area and I love the shop, and when I saw that you were hiring, I had to apply,” Kaito elects to say. The manager’s frown deepens.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” she says.

“I recently got plastic surgery,” Kaito answers.

They engage in a blinking contest for several long moments.

“Right,” the manager says, clearing her throat. She stares down at the copy of Kaito’s resume, which she’s pinching between lacquered fingernails as though she expects it might be carrying disease. “Well. This says that you’ve had five jobs in the last eight months.” Her expression telegraphs that this number of job changes is an offense only second to war crimes as ordained by the Geneva Conventions or, perhaps, more generously, first-degree murder.

Kaito tries on his most charming smile, the one that used to get him extra cookies from his kindergarten teacher. The manager’s frown deepens. To be fair, Kaito realizes, he only recalls the smile working in that one particular situation. Maybe that kindergarten teacher just liked him.

“I’m just so interested in trying out vastly different areas of the customer service field,” he tells the manager winningly. He thinks it’s a decent spin on the truth, which is “I get bored of these jobs pretty quickly.”

“I can see that,” the manager says. Her mouth is getting more and more scrunched as she peruses his resume more closely. “It says here that you worked at a flower shop for three weeks, and then a sex store for a month.”

“Oh, those two were actually pretty similar,” Kaito says. At the manager’s blank stare, he explains, “The clientele had a lot of overlap. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a bouquet of roses and a new vibr…” The manager’s blank stare begins to look a bit bug-eyed. Kaito pivots. “A new… vibrating… body massager?”

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence. Kaito looks around the little managerial office they’re in. It’s decorated with faded posters. Some of the newer, less washed-out ones catch Kaito’s eye. There’s one titled “Conflict Management and Resolution: A Guide to Reducing Workplace Violence” accompanied by a series of infographics, and another with a graphic of a cartoon dog striking a cartoon cat, with a big red X drawn over the entire image.

“Well,” the manager says eventually. She sets down the resume and gives Kaito a flat smile, looking as though she’s going through a root canal sans anesthetic. “We’re incredibly short-staffed right now after the riot”—Riot? Kaito thinks, peering at the workplace violence prevention posters more closely—“so I suppose you’ll do.”

Kaito beams at her. She visibly scoots her chair backwards a few inches.

Anyway, that’s how Kaito gets hired at La Bonne Boulangerie.

He’s not allowed in the kitchen, which he can’t necessarily question, considering how the one time he set foot in the kitchen, he somehow managed to deflate an entire tray of fresh-out-the-oven souffles with the volume of his voice or the force of his steps or his oppressively souffle-phobic vibes or something. He looked it up afterwards and apparently deflating out of the oven is normal for souffles, but the narrow-eyed look that Shizuka—the manager—had given him was enough that he didn’t push the issue when she ordered him out of the kitchen.

So Kaito works the counter and makes the drinks, which he’s at least good at, thanks to a stint as a barista early on in his part-time job journey. He settles into a routine, gets to know his coworkers, and attempts to start thawing the ice around Shizuka’s heart (with little to no success). He learns the quirks of the espresso machine; begins to recognize the bakery regulars by name, face, and coffee order; and tries every daily pastry special (and determines that the strawberry creampuffs are his favorite).

In short, he starts getting bored.

It’s midmorning on a Wednesday at La Bonne Boulangerie, three weeks in, and things are slow. Kaito is starting to think about how he’s going to give his notice to Shizuka. He’s contemplating whether he needs to do it with pepper spray in hand—he’s gotten the sense that she was much more involved in the riot situation than she implied—when his attention happens upon one of the few occupied tables in the corner. He’s not sure what draws his focus there in the first place, but what grabs and holds him is the guy that’s sitting there.

Kaito is shallow enough to admit that the first thing he notices about the guy is that he’s hot. He’s got bone structure that’s simultaneously fine-china delicate and distinctly masculine, and his hair is casual and cowlicked and falls over his forehead in an effortless swoop. He’s wearing a deep green sweater that makes his skin look ethereal and edible, and he’s got an ankle propped up on his opposite knee, his leanly muscled leg forming a tantalizing trouser-clad triangle.

The second thing Kaito notices is that the guy is two seconds from falling asleep. It’s not immediately apparent, and wouldn’t be noticeable to someone who isn’t intently checking him out. But Kaito, master of body language that he is, can see the way the guy’s eyelids are drooping and how he keeps shifting in his seat as he listens to his companion, a stunning woman who looks as though she walked off the cover of a Vogue photoshoot (one of the classically styled ones, not an editorial one with a ton of prints or feathers anything—she’s wearing an expensive-looking all-silk ensemble).

The woman doesn’t seem to have noticed that the guy is a few slow blinks away from REM sleep. Kaito can’t hear what she’s saying from where he stands, but she’s doing some very specific hand motions (she keeps doing air quotes, throwing her arms up in the air, and then slamming both fists against the table) that make him wonder what she’s talking about.

The guy’s head dips dangerously low, the woman’s steady stream of speech slows as her eyes narrow with burgeoning suspicion, and before Kaito can stop himself, he finds himself swerving around the counter to hustle up to their table.

“Hi,” he says in a bright tone, loud enough that the guy jerks a little in his chair as he straightens up. “I noticed that you two were almost done with your drinks and was wondering if you would be interested in refills.” He smiles at both of them in turn. “Free of charge, of course.”

“Oh, how lovely! Such amazing customer service,” the woman says, successfully distracted as she pushes her empty cup towards Kaito and offers him a cheerful smile. “I’ll take another of the same, if you don’t mind.”

“Same for me too. Thanks.” The guy gives Kaito a wide-eyed look of gratitude as Kaito picks their mugs up off the table and heads back to the counter. He starts making the woman another green tea, but pauses when he gets to the man’s order. He had a decaf black tea; there’s still half of it in the mug. He doesn’t remember the guy coming up to the register to order, and he thinks that the woman must’ve ordered it for him. Kaito peers over at the man—he's slowly listing sideways in his chair in a way that brings to mind the Titanic moments before abject tragedy—and fires up the espresso machine.

“Here you go,” Kaito says a minute later when he returns with their drinks. The man visibly perks up he smells coffee; he sits up straight, dramatic disappearance into the Atlantic Ocean postponed, and looks gratefully up at Kaito as he reaches for the mug. It reminds Kaito of an enthusiastic dog hearing the word “walk.” The woman raises an eyebrow at Kaito, but doesn’t comment on the change as she thanks him.

It's then that the second rush of customers hit—early bird salarypeople who are going into caffeine withdrawal four hours out from their six a.m. americanos, university students with afternoon classes and a lack of faith in the “don’t buy coffee and you’ll be a millionaire by thirty” rhetoric—and Kaito is summarily buried under a mountain of latte orders. By the time the dust and muffin crumbs settle an hour or so later, the store is once again empty.

Except, Kaito notes as he wipes down the counter around the register, for the tired hot guy. He’s still sitting at that same table, now sans his previous companion, and seems to be engrossed in his phone. Kaito frowns, trying to come up with a plausible excuse to approach (he can only think of opening lines that sound as though he’s going to try to pitch a MLM scheme, e.g. “You seem like you’re working hard—what do you currently do for a living?”). before he notices the empty mugs on the table and feels himself light up.

“Can I get you a refill?” Kaito asks once he’s arrived at the guy’s table. The guy starts a little, but relaxes when he sees Kaito standing over him.

“No, thank you,” he says politely, then grins. “Whatever you put in the last one could’ve resurrected a cadaver. And I would know.” Kaito blinks at that comment, momentarily concerned that he’s conversing with a serial killer. “How many espresso shots were in that?”

“I’m not sure if there’s a limit to how much caffeine I’m allowed to serve, so for legal reasons, I don’t think I should tell you. But I will say the number of shots was a prime number,” Kaito says, taking a bit too much enjoyment in how the guy’s brow furrows as he visibly tries to decide if it was two, three, five, or seven. “Can I ask what you meant by knowing what would resurrect a cadaver? I got nothing against serial killers, but management…” He seesaws a hand back and forth to indicate that management is iffy on serial killers.

“Ah,” the guy says, sounding as though he just realized how his comment might have been interpreted. “I’m a homicide detective with the police. Nothing untoward, I can assure you.” He frowns. “You should have something against serial killers, though. Also, if I was a serial killer, why would I know how to resurrect a cadaver? You’d think that would be antithesis to my mission of murder.”

“Maybe you bring back your victims to kill them again?” suggests Kaito.

“A fair point,” the guy concedes.

There’s a moment of silence, wherein Kaito and the guy nod knowingly each other.

“I feel like it’s weird that we’re having this conversation when I don’t even know your name,” Kaito remarks.

“Another fair point,” the guy agrees. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, draped over the back of his chair, to pull out a business card. “I’m Kudou Shinichi, detective inspector with division one of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.” His business card is printed on nice quality paper, the information printed in standard black lettering, and would be boringly standard if not for the little graphic of a cat wearing a bowtie and a pair of glasses printed beside his name. Kaito points at it questioningly, and Kudou Shinichi—Shinichi—goes pink. “Sometimes I assist at community outreach events, and one time a little kid told me that my card was boring and that I should add a cat.”

“That may be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Kaito says gravely, before he extends a hand. “I’m Kuroba Kaito, barista extraordinaire here at La Bonne Boulangerie.”

“Enchanted to meet you,” Shinichi says with equal seriousness as he shakes Kaito’s hand. His hands are big and warm. Kaito has never been one of those people who are freakishly obsessed with hands, but he’s starting to get the appeal. “Thank you for the exceptional service. Keep up the good work.”

“You’re most welcome,” Kaito says. He motions at the two mugs still sitting on the table. “Should I clear these away for you, then? Unless your friend is returning?”

“She won’t be,” Shinichi says with a visible grimace. Kaito, sensing an opening, pounces.

“What’s the story there, anyway?” he asks, faux-casual, as he picks up the empty mugs. Shinichi gives him a narrow-eyed look.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, because from the fact that she didn’t even notice you were falling asleep, I have to assume that you don’t know each other very well. You still decided to meet her even though you were obviously really tired, which makes me think that your meeting was something that was preplanned and that you didn’t want to reschedule, which is another point in the ‘don’t know each other well, trying to impress’ column. You both were dressed pretty nice. I figured it was a first date,” Kaito says with a shrug. Shinichi’s gaze turns speculative.

“Have you considered going into police work? That was impressive.”

“Nah, you guys just radiated such intense ‘awkward first date’ energy that I couldn’t help but notice.” Also, given his hatred for authority and his “career” trajectory thus far, Kaito would make a terrible detective.

“That’s fair.” Shinichi blows out a long breath. “I just came from a forty-eight-hour stakeout. I barely had time to go home, shower, and change. I would’ve rescheduled, but Nanase-san is a flight attendant, so her schedule is sporadic, and we weren’t sure when we would both be around. She was very nice, but I don’t think we had much chemistry.” He rubs circles on his temples. “The backstory here is that everyone in my friend group is happily paired off except for me, which means that they’re all desperate to match me up with any single adult human who can put on a convincing appearance of mental stability. Everyone gets to set me up on a blind date with someone. I think there’s some kind of betting pool going on.”

“That’s… overbearingly thoughtful of them?” Kaito offers. Shinichi’s expression is forlorn. Kaito winces. “That’s rough, buddy.”

“Thanks for your understanding.” Shinichi gives him a wan smile. “And thanks for the rescue, earlier. I was most certainly about to faceplant into the table. Even if there’s no chance of me seeing her again, she is a friend of a friend, and I would definitely get an earful if I fell asleep on her in the middle of our date.” His eyes take on a haunted, distant gleam. “And honestly, who knows if it would’ve ended with just an earful. I could see it escalating to actual, physical violence.”

Kaito, alarmed, opens his mouth to raise his concerns, but Shinichi glances down at his phone and winces.

“I have a meeting in fifteen minutes at the station,” he groans, pushing himself up to his feet. He grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and fumbles in the pocket for a minute before he gets his wallet out and drops a bill on the table. “Thanks for the coffee and the listening ear. You’ve really gone above and beyond.”

“Wait, what? You’re going back to work?” Kaito says, taken aback. “Didn’t you just come from a super long stakeout, literally hours ago?”

“Yep,” Shinichi agrees, as though returning to work hours after a forty-eight-hour shift is normal and he’s never heard of labor laws. He claps Kaito on the shoulder, smiles one last charmingly disarming smile, and strides out of the café. Kaito watches him go in a normal, friendly manner. He certainly doesn’t spend a moment appreciating the way Shinichi’s thighs move as he walks.

When Kaito looks down at the table, he discovers that Shinichi has left him a ten-thousand-yen bill, which is enough to pay for about fifteen lattes. With some alarm, he sends out a plea that whatever police work Shinichi ran off to do doesn’t involve basic arithmetic.

“Here’s your money,” are the first words out of Kaito’s mouth the next time Kaito sees Shinichi. Shinichi, who’s just finished articulating his order in a sleepy slur of syllables, blinks at Kaito, caught off guard. He peers down at his wallet, then at where Kaito is sliding ninety thousand yen and some change, across the counter towards him, with a perplexed wrinkle forming between his eyebrows.

“Am I so impaired by caffeine deficiency that I’ve forgotten how capitalism works?” he says wonderingly. “I thought I was supposed to pay you for the good that I’m purchasing.”

It’s early on a Saturday morning a week later, and Shinichi is dressed like a college student at a professional career fair (i.e. business casual with a dash of discomfort). It’s somehow working for him, though Kaito suspects that most aesthetics would, based solely on Shinichi’s oblivious good looks.

“Normally you would, but last time you way overpaid,” Kaito informs him. “I guess I could subtract out your total for today?” He plucks a couple bills out of the stack, enough to cover Shinichi’s order (a nitro cold brew and a matcha madeleine). “There. That’s how much we owe you, for real.”

“Oh,” Shinichi says, blinking. “I see.” He inspects the pile of money, thoughtful, and then drops another twenty thousand yen on top. “There we go.” Before Kaito can stop him, he turns and wanders off towards a table. Kaito watches him go, gaping, until the next customer in line (an older woman wearing a top in an eye-searing shade of orange), clears her throat with a hint of irritation and he’s forced to do his actual job.

“Seriously,” Kaito says when he brings Shinichi’s order over (he had to elbow his coworker out of the way for the honor; it’s understandable that she wanted to be the one to serve him, seeing as he’s in at least the ninety-fifth percentile of customer hotness, but, as Kaito informed her, he has dibs). “There actually isn’t any need to overpay for your coffee. I don’t think we’re in the red. And though I work here as a pitiful part-time employee despite my advanced age, I’m actually not that close to living on the streets.”

Shinichi, who fell upon the coffee the second it departed Kaito’s hands, looks up at him and swallows, which is a highly compelling visual.

“I’m not overpaying for my coffee,” he says. “I’m paying for the pleasure of your company.” Kaito gives him a scandalized look.

“I’m not that kind of girl, Inspector,” he gasps. Shinichi rolls his eyes, although he does go a little pink in the cheeks and sink down in his seat.

“I just meant that you go above and beyond,” he mutters into his cup. “Last time I was here, you gave us free refills, which is definitely not standard service.” Kaito opens his mouth, about to point out that Shinichi more than covered those additional drinks with the amount that he left, when Shinichi adds, “Anyway, I’m meeting someone else here anyway. You can deduct whatever she orders out of my credit too.”

“Ah.” Kaito nods knowingly. “I see we’re becoming your go-to spot for all your dates, then.”

“I’m thinking that if I can keep as many external variables constant as possible, then I’ll be able to most fairly judge my compatibility with my date,” Shinichi says. He sounds serious enough that Kaito squints at him, unsure if he’s joking. “So I’m planning to bring them all here, so that the date location is the same. Ideally, I would meet all of them at the same time on the same day of the week, but unfortunately that’s less in my control.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “I’ve started an Excel spreadsheet to note all people I’m meeting, all the environmental variables, and any additional thoughts or observations. I’m hoping to draw some conclusions from the data at the end of this experience.”

“Sounds romantic and not at all neurotic or insane,” Kaito says. It’s Shinichi’s turn to squint at him.

“Thank you,” he says primly, and then Kaito’s coworker yells his name loudly in what Kaito has to assume is some kind of unprofessional cockblocking attempt, seeing as there’s a grand total of one customer at the counter and he doubts that she needs his help. Still, he goes to see what she wants (which is for him to deep clean the frothing wand, apparently).

Shinichi’s date turns out to be a girl with an adorable smile and a bubbly personality that can be heard halfway across the café and, possibly, across the street as well. Every now and again Kaito catches snatches of conversation topics that seem so disparate that Kaito can guess at how they’re connected (money laundering schemes, salad dressing recipes, NASCAR?). He glances over a few times to see her waving her arms animatedly, almost knocking over Shinichi’s coffee, while Shinichi watches, offers single sentence commentary, and nods with the quizzical, increasingly alarmed expression of someone watching footage of a multi-car pileup. A solid hour passes in this manner, with Kaito observing an inverse relationship between Shinichi and his date’s respective enthusiasm levels—as she gets more and more excited, Shinichi looks more and more as though he’s considering faking a medical emergency.

Kaito is an evil, nosy bastard at heart, so when there finally seems to be a natural lull in the conversation (also known as when the woman pauses to take a sip of her tea and catch her breath), he takes the opportunity to lunge in with a plate of linzer cookies and a five-star customer service smile.

“Excuse me, but we made too many of these in our last batch, and I thought the two of you might enjoy them,” he explains as he deposits the cookies between the two of them. Just for Shinichi, he got the baking crew to make them heart-shaped by bribing them with Shinichi’s overpayments. He savors this irony deeply when Shinichi’s expression of forced calm slips for a second and he directs a look of sheer betrayal at Kaito.

“Oh, they’re adorable!” the girl coos, hands clasped in front of her. She thanks Kaito profusely before she picks a cookie up and extends it towards Shinichi, beaming at him with stars in her eyes. “Say ‘ah’!”

Kaito has to full-on sprint to make it to the kitchen before he starts laughing. He can feel Shinichi’s murderous gaze on his back the whole way there.

It’s another hour before Shinichi finally manages to end the date, citing that he needs to pay and head out as it’s “crime time”—Kaito isn’t sure if this means Shinichi is going to commit a crime or stop one, but his date appears to accept the excuse and bids him farewell with a bright smile as she sails out the door. Kaito can’t hide his smirk when Shinichi stalks up to the counter, where Kaito has been wiping down the espresso machine for the last forty-five minutes (also known as watching the trainwreck from afar).

“I thought we were friends,” Shinichi declares, in the tones of a bride discovering that she’s being left at the altar. Kaito cackles loud enough that a couple of the remaining patrons turn to glare at him.

“We’ve met one time. I don’t even know your favorite color or your star sign or what your first word was as a baby,” he points out. Shinichi blinks, momentarily deterred.

“Is that what constitutes friendship these days? Those specific facts?”

“Yeah,” Kaito says, decisive. “The point is that you shouldn’t have trusted me. Thought you would’ve known better, Inspector.” This comment rekindles the fire in Shinichi’s eyes, and he glares at Kaito.

“She fed me three of those cookies,” he says, accusing. His eyes take on an unhinged gleam to them. His knuckles are whitening where he’s clutching at the edge of the counter. “She implied that she wanted me to lick powdered sugar off her entire body.” That makes Kaito draw up short. He eyes Shinichi speculatively.

“And you… said no to that?” he asks. She was very pretty, despite the lack of conversational chemistry. The thought sits in his stomach oddly. It’s not as though he’s jealous, considering he hardly has a claim on Shinichi, but it still makes him feel… strange.

“I hardly think it would be a good idea to have some kind of fling with a girl from my friend's girlfriend’s yoga class,” Shinichi reminds him, which, oh right, Kaito forgot that the dates were being arranged by Shinichi’s friends. “I smiled politely and opened my mouth to change the topic, and she shoved another cookie in my mouth. I nearly choked on the powdered sugar I inhaled.” The strangeness in Kaito’s stomach dissolves (like powdered sugar, appropriately). He offers a commiserating nod.

“So she’s not going to get a repeat performance, then? Or a good rating in your not-at-all-psychopathic spreadsheet?” Shinichi gives him a look for the last comment, but hums in agreement.

“Yes, I doubt we’ll meet again,” he says, rubbing at his temple. “She seems like a nice person, but probably not for me. Our personality compatibility will be low in the spreadsheet.” Contemplatively, he adds, “I think she needs someone who likes being hand-fed confectionary and is willing to get extremely invested in the work drama of a tiny marketing firm, considering that’s the only topic she covered in that entire conversation.”

“Wait. First of all, I love secondhand work drama, so that actually sounds amazing,” Kaito feels compelled to mention. “Second of all, is that really what she was talking about the whole time? Even when she was going on and on about gun recoils?”

“Yes,” Shinichi says. He tilts his head slowly to one side, his face unreadable. “Do you… want her number?”

“No!” It comes out of Kaito in a yelp, sharp enough that Shinichi skitters back a couple of inches. He recovers hastily. “Sorry. No, that would be weird.” He leans against the counter and gives Shinichi his sweetest smile. “If anything, I’d rather have your number. So that we can cement that we’re friends and all.” Shinichi’s expression is guarded, even as he pulls out his phone.

“If I give you my number, will you promise not to graffiti it on the wall of a train station bathroom or anything, are you? Or sign me up for a bunch of hard-to-unsubscribe-from mailing lists?”

Kaito gasps.

“I would never,” he says, hand pressed to his heart as he gives Shinichi his best “who, me?” expression. Shinichi snorts.

“I would believe your scandalized act if I hadn’t seen your evil grin when you gave us those heart-shaped cookies,” he points out. “I’ve come here often enough over the years I’ve worked at the police station to know that you guys don’t make them heart-shaped except for Valentine’s Day. So I know that was all your doing, and you’re a horrible person whom I will never trust again.” Even though the words are harsh, his eyes are smiling. It’s horrific how charming Kaito finds him.

“Understandable, though still heartbreaking,” Kaito says sadly, batting his eyelashes. “Can I still get your number? I promise I won’t do it again. I’m nice to my friends, I promise.”

Shinichi does not look convinced. But Kaito still ends the day with Shinichi’s number in his phone and the newfound knowledge that Shinichi’s favorite color is red, he’s a Taurus, and his first word as a baby, somehow, was “murder.” Based on how he finds that cute instead of concerning, Kaito gets the feeling that he may be in deeper than he would like to admit.

The next time Shinichi has a date, Kaito isn’t scheduled to work. He only ends up going in because halfway through their shift, one of his coworkers claims to have come down with a severe case of avian flu and departs for the ER. Based on various unsubtle comments in the work group chat, their departure is more likely tied to a limited stock Miffy collection that’s dropping two train stops away.

At first Kaito resents getting called in mid-afternoon, especially at a time that he knows is usually slow—he had plans for his day off, even if they were to go grocery shopping, catch up on some of the readings he’s behind on, and then take an extremely valid five-hour afternoon nap. But that disappointment fades the second he comes out to relieve his coworker at the register to see Shinichi sitting at his customary table across from literal movie star Okino Yoko, looking as though he’s facing a starved lion instead of a world-renowned singer and actress.

It's only been about a week since Shinichi’s last date, during which they texted almost every day, mostly to send each other memes and animal videos. Shinichi didn’t mention he was coming in for another date, Kaito thinks as he squats down to hide behind the counter and watch surreptitiously (much to the displeasure of his colleague), let alone with Okino Yoko. It’s obvious that she attempted some kind of disguise—she’s wearing a baseball cap and dark clothes—so the majority of the patrons look as though they’re trying to grant her some kind of privacy. However, Kaito still sees at least three phone cameras pointed at her and Shinichi’s table at any given moment.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice from overhead. Kaito looks up to see his manager standing over him, hands on her hips and an unimpressed expression on her face.

“Oh hey,” Kaito says, waving up at her from where he’s crouching. He’s surprised to see her out in the open, considering that she basically never leaves her office for anything less than a severe kitchen fire. “I didn’t know you were in today. Is there something wrong with your office?”

“Were you aware that when I asked you to come in, I was expecting you to work and not gawk at celebrities from behind the counter?” she asks, which feels a bit unfair, considering that he got here less than five minutes ago and isn’t gawking at Okino Yoko so much as he’s gawking at Shinichi. But since Kaito does actually want to keep his job, he apologizes, stands up, and takes over the register, apologizing to his coworker as he goes. The manager watches him with narrowed eyes until there’s an ominous clang from the kitchen, which has her straightening and darting off like a sniffer dog scenting illicit substances in an airport security line.

Kaito’s coworker leans over towards him once their manager has disappeared.

“Shizuka-san accidentally locked herself out of her office. She’s waiting on the locksmith to come in,” she says in an undertone. Kaito mentally awards himself a point for his deductive reasoning.

The date doesn’t last for much longer; much to his disappointment, Kaito only gets to the enjoy the sight of Shinichi’s tortured mask of politeness for maybe fifteen minutes longer. Okino Yoko must have some kind of prior commitment, because she checks the time on her phone, makes a surprised noise, and jumps up to give Shinichi an apologetic side hug before she leaves, camera phones swiveling to watch her go like seagulls tracking a stray French fry in the wind. The second she’s gone, Kaito saunters over to where Shinichi is slumped over his seat, pile-of-unfolded-laundry style.

“You look like a renaissance painting of a distressed noble. Sorry about your crop yields, Viscount Kudou,” he says cheerfully, setting down a plate with a conciliatory croissant on it. He delights in the way that Shinichi makes a startled noise, sort of like the trill a cat will make when they’re touched unexpectedly, before he realizes that it’s Kaito speaking to him and adopts a thoughtful frown instead.

“You weren’t working earlier,” he says with conviction. Kaito grins.

“I heard that you were here,” he says, clasping his hands in front of himself and batting his eyelashes. He has to stop and rub at his eye when he manages to accidentally blink something into it. Shinichi watches judgily. “And I just had to come in and see you.”

Shinichi continues to watch him judgily.

“One of my coworkers felt sick in the middle of their shift and had to leave, so I got called in,” Kaito admits in the face of Shinichi’s oppressive silence. “But if I had known you would be here on a date with Okino Yoko, I would’ve traded shifts so I could see everything go down. Why did you look like someone was waterboarding you? I’m pretty sure you were living out the fantasy of eighty percent of the population.”

“Do you have some kind of trustworthy polling source for that statistic?” Shinichi says primly, picking up the croissant that Kaito brought him. He somehow manages to look down his nose at Kaito, even though Kaito is standing and Shinichi is sitting. Leave it to him to break the laws of physics, Kaito thinks admiringly. “I like Yoko-san, of course. She’s an amazing person. But we’ve actually known each other casually for a long time, and that’s enough for me to know that I can’t see any kind of romantic future with her.” At Kaito’s quirked eyebrow, he sighs. “We ran in the same circles growing up because my mother is famous.”

“Oh, that’s right. Because you’re a nepo baby,” Kaito agrees. Shinichi slants him a displeased look, but elects to stuff half the croissant into his mouth instead of replying. He looks like a well-fed chipmunk, which, despite how unflattering most comparisons with rodents are, works for him, although Kaito grows concerned when he crams the second half of the croissant into his mouth before he’s even done with the first bit. “Are they not feeding you at the police station?”

“No,” Shinichi says thirty seconds later, after he’s managed to chew and swallow with what appears to be a gold star effort from his temporomandibular joint. “I’m actually in the middle of an investigation right now and I can’t remember that last time I ate. I barely surfaced from the case file long enough to go home and change before meeting Yoko-san here.” While Kaito is digesting (ha) this horrifying statement, Shinichi continues, “I got a madeleine earlier, but I forgot that when you’re not here, nobody feels the need to drop by to make trouble and give me free pastries. Nobody else feels the need to bother me like you do, I suppose.” Kaito gasps, clutching at his chest.

“What a thing to say,” he says, and throws in a dramatic little stumble backwards as though Shinichi has dealt him some mortal blow. The judgy look returns to Shinichi’s face. “This is a travesty! I can’t believe you would say such a thing! How could you misunderstand so terribly?” When Shinichi opens his mouth to point out that Kaito was responsible for the heart-shaped cookie debacle on his last date, Kaito tilts over just enough to place his hands on Shinichi’s shoulders, startling him into silence. “Shinichi, darling. The pastries aren’t free. Don’t you remember giving me all the money when we first met? I would never give you free pastries.”

Shinichi gapes at him for half a second before his brain catches up. It’s delightful to watch the amusement blossom on his face, then shrivel when he tries to school his expression.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Shinichi says, shaking his head in a parental secretly-amused-but-trying-to-be-stern manner. He leans back in his seat, far enough that Kaito lets go of his shoulders so as not to seem weird (although it may be a bit late for that, as he was feeling up Shinichi’s shoulder muscles a little bit).

“I think you think I’m funny,” Kaito replies. Shinichi shakes his head slowly. He’s looking at Kaito when he finally cracks a wry smile, his eyes twinkling. The sight produces such a staggering rush of neurotransmitters in Kaito’s brain that Kaito feels mildly dizzy. So this is why people do drugs, he thinks with dawning understanding. He feels like a rat in one of those motivation studies, except the dopamine-dispensing lever is Shinichi’s smile.

“Not in the slightest,” Shinichi says. He checks his watch and makes a face, getting to his feet to brush croissant crumbs off his shirt. Kaito does not stare when he stretches his arms over his head. It’s not like his shirt rides up or anything, but the movement does emphasize the lean contours of his body. “I should really get back to the station. But I think I’ve learned something today.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I’ve learned that dates here are a lot less fun when you’re not around,” Shinichi says, with casual nonchalance even though the words make Kaito feel like the dopamine lever is being mashed once again. Maybe it’s not just Shinichi’s smile; maybe it’s Shinichi in general. “I think you’re my free pastry dealer, and I should try to schedule dates when you’re working so that even if the dates are a bust, I get fed.”

“Like I said, the pastries aren’t free,” Kaito says, even though he’s grinning a little helplessly at the compliment. “Your prepayment will run out sooner or later.”

“Hm.” Shinichi gives him an undecipherable look. “I’m sure you can think of a way for me to pay you back.”

Kaito does think of a way—in fact, multiple ways—at home, later that night.

The next time Kaito sees Shinichi, he isn’t working at all. He’s actually grocery shopping a few streets from La Bonne Boulangerie, staring contemplatively at a display of boxed curries—should he be brave and try a new brand that’s on sale, or stick with the one he knows? Is this a pivotal moment of character development?—when his phone buzzes in his hand. He looks down to see a message from Shinichi pop up.

SOS, it says, which is enough for Kaito’s heart rate to spike. It’s then followed by three more texts in quick succession:

At LBB

Need help

She’s touching my hair???

Kaito, gentleman that he is, decides to save his curry quandary for another time.

When he arrives at La Bonne Boulangerie fifteen minutes later, breathless and a little sweaty from running over, he isn’t sure what to think of the sight that awaits him. Shinichi is sitting at his usual table, wearing his usual business casual suit attire and drinking his usual overcaffeinated coffee. What’s unusual is that there’s a petite blonde woman, dressed head to toe in athleisure, standing beside him. She seems blissfully unaware of the sidelong glances that she’s eliciting from everyone else in the shop as she strokes up and down Shinichi’s bicep with a rapturous expression and coos something in his ear.

Shinichi meets Kaito’s eyes over the crown of her head. Kaito has never seen someone look so haunted. He wonders what happened in the fifteen minutes it took him to sprint over, and how it appears to have been more traumatizing than all the serial killers Shinichi has faced off against. He mouths, What should I do? Shinichi opens his mouth, but the woman chooses that moment to run a hand over his jaw and his mouth snaps shut.

Kaito takes a moment to center himself. It's the sort of thing he does before any big performance. Then he strides across the café and throws himself at Shinichi as dramatically as he can. He meant to land at Shinichi’s feet, but he misjudges the distance and ends up with his hands braced on Shinichi’s thighs. For a horrible moment, he feels as though he’s just as bad as Shinichi’s date because the thought Someone doesn’t skip leg day does cross through his mind before he manages to draw his hands back.

“Shinichi, my sun, my moon, my stars,” he cries, theatrical. “I’m so sorry that I cheated on you with your sister! Please understand, it was in a moment of weakness. I’ll do anything to prove my devotion to you.”

Shinichi and his date blink down at him, the sound audible. Maybe that's because the entire store has gone silent.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Shinichi’s date says. Shinichi opens his mouth, then shuts it.

“I… definitely do,” he says, wooden. “I can't believe this. I knew you cheated on me, Kaito, but I didn’t know it was with… her.” Kaito takes a moment to marvel at his lack of acting ability. Somehow, though, his date seems to be buying it, considering that she’s begun to retract her hands from Shinichi’s person, a frown stealing across her face.

“My angel, my buttercup, my pumpkin,” Kaito says, hands clasped in front of his chest as he peers up at Shinichi. (He’s trying not to look at or think about the floor he’s sprawled across; the more he thinks about it, the less sure he is that it’s been mopped anytime recently.) “It was a grievous error on my part. You know how I get around too much mango soju; I should’ve never gone to that Korean barbecue night with your sister when you weren’t around. I was a fool, an idiot of the highest order.” Shinichi’s eyebrow goes up as he visibly tries to figure out what Kaito is implying. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“Of course,” Shinichi answers, still frowning as he tries to work out the narrative. “But no more soju bombs for you, Kaito.”

“I’ve never been happier in my entire life!” Kaito coos, and hugs Shinichi’s calf to his chest. Shinichi squirms when his hands brush the back of his knee, which, apparently, he’s ticklish. Kaito will do his best not to use that information for evil. “Thank you, my breakfast muffin, my matcha madeleine, my pain au chocolat, my special of the day: brioche bun.” He feels Shinichi’s entire body twitch with suppressed laughter. He must have realized that Kaito started reading off the menu.

“I’m so sorry, Kanzaki-san,” Shinichi says, not quite managing to sound apologetic. He reaches one hand down to pat Kaito on the head, which actually feels quite nice. Kaito pushes up into his touch. “I can’t lead you on. I’m actually still in love with my ex.”

The girl looks between them, a crease between her eyebrows. Kaito blinks expectantly up at her in a clear dismissal.

“I’m not sure what just happened,” she says eventually. “But I think I’m just going to go now.” She gives Shinichi a disdainful look. “You weren’t hot enough for the role anyway.” With that, she picks her purse up off the table and flounces out of the café. The whole place seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

“That was fun,” Kaito says, getting up off the floor to take her seat. He’s suddenly all too aware that he’s wearing a pair of ripped-up cargo pants and a shirt with a pun on it when Shinichi’s gaze dips down. He clears his throat. “What did she mean by ‘role’?”

“She’s trying to be a fitness influencer, and she wanted a photogenic boyfriend who would suit her brand image and look good on her Instagram,” Shinichi says. Kaito is impressed at how neutral his tone is. “Apparently Hattori—the friend who chose her—happened to have one of her posts cross his feed, and he reached out to see if she would want to interview me as a potential boyfriend. Apparently she really wanted someone who was ‘fit enough to keep up with her,’ which is why she felt the need to measure my limbs. I didn’t know what I was getting into until I showed up.” Shinichi pauses. “Does your shirt really say ‘Geometry keeps me in shape’?”

“Yeah,” Kaito says.

“How oddly appropriate,” Shinichi muses, thoughtful. “Anyway, thank you for the save. I hope you weren’t busy with anything else.”

“Nah, just grocery shopping a couple of blocks away,” Kaito says with a shrug. “It was no big deal to come over. You can ask me to be your boyfriend any day, and I’d drop everything to come do it, darling.” He winks for good measure. For some reason, Shinichi goes bright red at that. Maybe the implication that he likes men is enough to fluster him, Kaito thinks fondly.

“I’ll make a note of that,” Shinichi says after he downs the last of his coffee. The color clears from his face a little as he glances at his wristwatch. “If you’re going back to the store now, I’d be happy to come along. This date ended sooner than I anticipated, so I have some time. I’d be more than happy to help pay for your groceries.” When Kaito immediately opens his mouth, he holds up a hand. “I’m not doing it out of pity or anything. It’s as thanks for your services, like I said.”

“Damn, and I didn’t even put out,” Kaito can’t help but say. The red makes a reappearance in Shinichi’s cheeks.

In the end, Shinichi does come with Kaito back to the grocery store. He helps Kaito solve his curry issue by informing him that the unfamiliar curry is on sale because it’s expiring in two days, and unless Kaito is planning to eat it immediately, he should go with the other one. It’s unfair that Shinichi is beauty, brains, and brawn all in one package.

The next time Shinichi comes in for a date, Kaito is prepared. Shinichi gave him a heads up several days in advance, a fact which makes Kaito suspect that he may be a closet masochist, because why would he willingly give Kaito the time to prepare ways to torture him? Once Kaito approaches the baking team and lays on the charm and explains the situation and bats his eyelashes (and slides over several hundred thousand yen, but let’s ignore that part), they’re kind enough to prepare a miniature wedding cake.

It’s got three perfect tiers, cloaked in a layer of pristine snow-white buttercream, with candy pearls and pale pink frosting rosebuds ringing each layer and (the pièce de résistance) a cake topper featuring an adorable bride and groom in a loving embrace. It’s, in a word, perfect.

“Thank you so much,” Kaito gushes when he comes in on the big day. He has to hold back a maniacal giggle. The nearest baker on duty—a girl with giant noise-canceling headphones around her neck and enough piercings that going through an airport metal detector must be a tribulation—side-eyes him with the sort of judgment usually reserved for politicians and arsonists.

“This is the weirdest way I’ve ever seen anyone flirt,” she says. “Well, hope it gets you laid, dude.” She punctuates this statement by putting on her headphones and turning her back on him to work on a batch of creampuffs, which is a fair response to the way Kaito starts spluttering and flailing hard enough to knock over a can of baking powder.

Ten o’clock, the appointed meeting time for Shinichi’s date, is slow to come around. Kaito takes many orders for coffee and sneaks an éclair when he thinks nobody is looking (Shizuka materializes from nowhere and informs him that the cost will be deducted from his paycheck. He's lucky that she hasn't clocked his free pastry situation with Shinichi). At nine fifty-five, he’s mildly confused to find that neither Shinichi nor his date have shown up. The only people seated in the café area are a trio of teenage girls that he thinks may have cut class in favor of giggling over k-pop idols at a corner table and a thirtysomething man who looks as though he could explain hedge funds.

Kaito is internally deliberating whether that’s a compliment or not when Shinichi comes through the front door. Fall has finally stopped digging its heels in and admitted defeat to winter, so he strolls in wearing a scarf and a tailored coat and pink in his cheeks from the outdoor chill. He scans the room, tugging off his scarf and sweeping a hand through his hair to push his hair off his forehead. He looks like he’s posing for a menswear campaign photoshoot. The teenage girls’ giggling crescendos.

To Kaito’s surprise, Shinichi immediately makes a beeline for the thirtysomething man. Kaito watches in bewilderment as they exchange polite smiles, shake hands, and then do an awkward side-hug. Does Shinichi know him? But the way they greeted each other didn’t give the impression that they were acquaintances of any kind.

He schools his expression when Shinichi finishes depositing his coat and scarf at the table with the man and walks over to the counter.

“Morning, Kaito,” he says. “Do you think you can give me something with five espresso shots in it, or will your conscience be a problem when I leave here and jitter into traffic?”

“It’s sweet that you think I still have a conscience. I’ll give you six shots,” Kaito says, punching it into the register. He glances over Shinichi’s shoulder at where the guy is waiting patiently at the table. “Who’s that guy, by the way?” Shinichi blinks at him and tilts his head to one side in confused dog fashion.

“Should you know, considering that you responded to my message earlier?” he says slowly. “Coherently, even. Well, aside from all the emojis.”

Kaito stares back at him. It’s becoming clear that they’re having some kind of miscommunication.

 “I told you I was going on another date here,” Shinichi says slowly.

“Right,” Kaito agrees.

“Today, at this exact time.”

“Right.”

“So who do you think that guy might be?”

Kaito stares at him mutely.

“He’s my date,” Shinichi says.

“Oh.” Kaito blinks at him, then, “Oh.” The look on Shinichi’s face is difficult to parse. Every time Kaito thinks he might be able to identify something in it, an even more opaque emotion shutters closed over it. It’s like nesting dolls, he thinks with detached panic.

“Is that… a problem?” Shinichi hazards after the world’s most awkward silence.

“What?” Kaito jumps. Literally jumps; he gets a foot into the air and everything. An empty disposable cup falls off the counter a few feet away from the way the ground shakes at his landing. “No! It’s not a problem. Not in the slightest. I’m—no. It’s not a problem at all.” Except that he sort of feels as though the world has done a massive cartwheel.

“Okay,” Shinichi says. He still looks guarded as he pulls out his wallet to pay for his coffee. “Well. I’ll talk to you in a bit, then?” Before Kaito can reply, he drops another ten thousand yen bill on the counter and turns to head back to the table, where the guy—his date—has been watching their exchange with an eyebrow lifted. Kaito grips the sides of the register for strength.

It was one thing to think that Shinichi was hot and awesome but unattainable. Now Kaito knows that Shinichi is hot and awesome and into men. The hamster that mans the wheel in his brain that generates Overthinking Thoughts—he can feel it starting to come out of hibernation. He can feel his carefully enclosed “crush on a straight guy” attraction escaping containment. He can feel himself wondering what kind of pet names Shinichi likes. He can feel himself mentally creating playlists of love songs.

Despairingly, Kaito wonders if he can find a medical professional willing to perform a lobotomy on him.

From Kaito’s vantage point, it seems as though the date goes… okay. Shinichi and the presumed financial analyst are sitting at their table for a solid hour and a half, chatting politely. There’s a few discernible lapses into awkward silence, but nothing extraordinary. In a panicked haze, Kaito makes four more shots of espresso and three cappuccinos and two café au laits and manages to restrain himself enough to only one occasion of skulking up and exchanging their drinks, to Shinichi and his date’s paused conversation and well-mannered gratitude.

Eventually, one of them must call it, because they get up together and—Kaito squints—exchange a lingering handshake before the guy gives Shinichi a last smile and heads for the door. The second he’s out of sight, Kaito scurries over quickly enough that Shinichi looks a bit taken aback, maybe even a little concerned.

“I’m not homophobic,” Kaito says. The concern in Shinichi’s expression dials up.

“Okay,” he says, wary. Kaito winces.

“I know it sounds bad when I say it like that.”

Shinichi tilts his head to one side, folding his arms across his chest. Kaito suddenly has a very good idea of what suspects feel like when Shinichi is grilling them in the investigation room.

“I’m not sure it sounds much better when you say you’re not homophobic and then backtrack into saying that statement sounds bad. So does that mean you think it would sound better to say that you are homophobic?”

This is not how Kaito pictured this conversation going.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, putting his face in his hands. Shinichi hums noncommittally. “No, my point is that I like men. Sexually.” He peeks at Shinichi through his fingers. Even in that view, Shinichi looks unimpressed. “And romantically! It’s not just a sexual thing for me.”

“Right,” Shinichi intones. Kaito wonders if it’s too late for him to change his major, learn quantum physics, and build a time machine to go back and avoid this particular moment in time. He might damn the universe with some kind of space-time continuum paradox, but it would be worth it if he didn’t have to be here, seeing Shinichi’s judgy face and knowing every ounce of that judgment is deservedly meant for him. He contemplates this line of thinking for another five seconds, until Shinichi grins unexpectedly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just messing with you, Kaito. It’s pretty obvious that you’re into men. Sexually.” He pauses. “And romantically.”

“Any chance that I’ll ever live that down?” Kaito asks hopefully. Shinichi’s smile goes even brighter. It’s like seeing sunbeams after a hurricane.

“Absolutely not,” he says. It’s the most cheerful Kaito has ever heard Shinichi sound. “Now, I find it hard to believe that I gave you days of advance notice, and you didn’t come up with some horrible way to embarrass me. So what is it?”

“Well,” Kaito says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It only worked when I thought you were exclusively into women. I felt like it might look kind of homophobic if I brought it out today, and my track record already isn’t looking great at this point.” He winces. “I promise I don’t think marriage should only be between a man and a woman.”

Shinichi is understandably confused until he sees the wedding cake, at which point his confusion switches to a mix of amusement and evil glee at the thought of getting to make fun of Kaito forever. He does, at least, stay a little while longer to eat some cake. Kaito does not stare at his mouth when he licks frosting off his lips.

Kaito doesn’t understand time zones and at this point he’s given up on learning. In his opinion, this is a charming, adorable quirk that should be tolerated endlessly, and not at all a toxic trait. He suspects that Aoko might have a different opinion when he calls her on a Tuesday morning after one of his lectures, sprawled across his couch like a Victorian lady with the vapors.

“Kaito,” comes Aoko’s voice. She sounds as though she’s been gargling with gravel. “I’ve explained to you how the time difference between Japan and London before. I made you a table with the good times to call written in green and the bad times to call written in red. I set ‘do not call Aoko’ times in your Google calendar. I specifically told you not to call me when it’s midmorning over there. So please tell me why you’re calling me right now, when it’s one a.m. over here.”

“You could always not pick up,” Kaito points out.

“Sorry for being a good friend,” Aoko says tartly. “If that’s all you had to say, I’m hanging up.”

“No, you won’t. You’re too curious about why I would call,” Kaito says confidently.

Aoko hangs up. Kaito has to call her back another three times before she picks up again.

“Fine. What is it,” is how she answers the phone on the fourth call. She sounds a little more awake now, which means that she’s probably gotten up and taken her phone with her into the living room, so as not to bother Hakuba. (Kaito disapproves—he thinks Hakuba should be bothered at any and every opportunity, but he’s learned to keep those thoughts to himself after Aoko sat him down and told him that he had to accept her relationship with him or risk losing her friendship.)

“There’s a guy,” Kaito says.

“Oh,” Aoko says, unimpressed.

“I might be in love with him,” Kaito adds.

“Oh,” Aoko says, impressed.

“But probably not. Definitely not. It’s a tiny crush,” Kaito finishes.

“Oh,” Aoko says, back to unimpressed.

The whole story comes tumbling out in a similar fashion, starts and stops and a lot of discussion about Shinichi and Shinichi’s adorable expressions and Shinichi’s hilariously dry sense of humor and the taper of Shinichi’s waist in his suit jacket and how much Kaito would like to get his hands on that, as well as the rest of Shinichi.

“I’m going to have to look up photos of this man,” Aoko says after Kaito finishes detailing the bits of Shinichi’s ankles that he’s caught. To be honest, he’s surprised she listened in silence for as long as she did. She’s a good friend. “From that description, I have no idea what he looks like. I feel like all I really got is that you’re irrepressibly horny for this man. In both the standard physical way and somehow, weirdly, also an emotional way.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Hakuba,” Kaito says, disapproving. “Pre-England, pre-Hakuba-cohabitation Aoko would never have used a word like ‘irrepressibly.’”

“Says the guy that I always beat at Scrabble,” Aoko says. Kaito opens his mouth to dispute that statement—he’s got a note on his phone that tracks their respective wins and losses, and they’re even right now—which Aoko must be able to sense, because she hurries on. “Anyway, that’s not the point. It sounds like you’re really into this guy, beyond just a crush.” Kaito opens his mouth again, this time to reiterate that it really just is an infatuation on someone hot and around his age. “And from what you described, I think there’s a decent chance that he’s into you too.” Kaito bites his bottom lip, picks at a stray thread on the couch cover beside him, and tries not to let his internal organs do any celebratory acrobatics.

“You don’t have to lie to me just because you’re my friend,” he says after a minute of trying and failing to keep his heart from flipping in his chest.

“I would be a terrible friend if I did that.” Aoko snorts. “Anyway, think of it this way. What’s the worst that could happen if you ask him out?”

“I ask him out. He gets so offended that I would ever think that I have a chance with him that he arrests me for harassing a police officer and obstructing justice. I then do jail time because our criminal justice system is broken and we have a conviction rate over ninety-nine percent. While I’m in prison, my mother passes away out of heartbreak and shame for having a criminal for a son. Hearing that news causes me to hold a massive grudge against Shinichi, and once I’m released, I hunt him down and commit a murder-suicide,” Kaito reels off. In the ensuing judgmental silence, he concludes, “So basically, the worst that could happen would be both of us and my mother dying tragically.”

“Okay, well, judging from that plot, I can see why none of your scripts get accepted when you send them in to those TV stations that make police procedurals,” Aoko says with the cruelty that only a best friend can manage. Above Kaito’s offended squawking, she says, “Keep in mind that you just spent thirty minutes talking to me about how cool Kudou-kun is. Give me a realistic scenario.” Kaito makes a face. “I heard that. I’m trying to be serious here, you know.” Kaito deflates.

“I know,” he says, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “Fine. I ask him out and he says no, and then I have to find another job.”

“Which would be fine, wouldn’t it?” Aoko pauses, then, with a hint of meaning in her tone, “How long have you been at that bakery, anyway? I’m surprised you haven’t gotten bored and left yet. I feel like usually you’d be long gone by now.” Kaito squints, counting back.

“I think it’s been a couple months?” He’s been there just a little over two months now. He does have a vague recollection of that familiar restless itch stirring up—but that had been right before he met Shinichi. Now he has something to look forward to, something to make the job interesting, and he hasn’t thought about quitting since. The promise of a potential Shinichi sighting has been enough to keep him at La Bonne Boulangerie, which as a job is no different from any of the many other uninspiring, nondescript customer service jobs he’s worked in the last year.

Somehow this revelation is what makes Kaito realize.

“Aoko,” he says, grave, “it’s not just a crush. I think I’m in love with him.”

“Thank God you figured it out on your own,” Aoko says in tones of great relief. “So you’re going to ask him out, right? Can I go back to sleep now?”

Shinichi is kind enough to give Kaito a day’s notice before his next date at La Bonne Boulangerie. Not that Kaito prepares anything outrageous for it; he’s decided, uncharacteristically, to act like an adult for once. The only thing he’s really thinking is that he’s going to wait until after the date to ask Shinichi out, because it seems a bit tactless and rude to do it before.

Or at least, that’s what he was thinking until Shinichi’s date showed up and turned out to be Shinichi’s soulmate.

“Whoa,” one of Kaito’s coworkers says when they step out of the kitchen to the register. They’re the one who called out sick for the Miffy collab, Kaito thinks, but he’s not able to turn his head and confirm their identity because he can’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him. “The vibes out here are rancid, dude. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kaito gets out behind gritted teeth.

“You’re ruining that pitcher,” his coworker points out reasonably. Kaito looks down to see that the metal milk frothing pitcher he was polishing with a rag has been turned into some kind of crumpled-up modern art sculpture. Internally, Kaito titles it “Despair.”

“Oops.” He sets his artwork on the counter beside the espresso machine—it topples over immediately; Kaito really bent the shit out of it—and flashes a wan smile at his coworker. “Do you think Shizuka-san will take it out of my paycheck?”

“Absolutely,” his coworker agrees, patting him on the shoulder. “But I’ll go confirm for you.”

Coworker successfully dispatched, Kaito returns his attention to Shinichi’s table. His date today is a handsome man with kind eyes and a crooked smile. He looks older than Shinichi, maybe in his mid-thirties, but the slight lines in his face, combined with the beat-up trench coat he’s wearing, make him look approachable and unpretentious. He’s in the middle of relaying some story, the intensity and seriousness in his voice belied by the warmth in his eyes. Shinichi is leaning towards him with interest evident in his face, hanging on his every word. Kaito overhears “found strangled” and “no obvious connection” and hopes Shinichi isn’t falling in love with a murderer.

And, well. Hopes Shinichi isn’t falling in love, period, but that feels like an unfair sentiment.

Kaito learns a lot about himself over the course of the next two hours. Mainly, he learns that he’s a selfish, horrible bastard who deserves no happiness in life, because he spends the majority of the hour praying that Shinichi’s date does something extremely unattractive (for example, start shilling cryptocurrency or announce that his hobbies are stepping on kittens’ tails and using a leafblower before nine a.m. on a weekend).

As karmic retribution for his ill wishes, Kaito gets to watch Shinichi gradually lean in towards the man, like a daisy tipping its face towards the sun, his body language growing more and more open and relaxed as the conversation progresses. At one point, Shinichi throws his head back and laughs, uninhibited and lovely, while his date smiles at him, affectionate and intrigued. Kaito has to excuse himself to the bathroom and run a finger over his molars afterwards to make sure he didn’t crack a tooth with how hard he clenched his jaw.

Suffice to say that Kaito does not have a good time for the duration of the date.

It’s even worse afterwards. Kaito has the singular pleasure of watching as the date ends with obvious reluctance from both parties. Shinichi and the guy exchange a slow, lingering hug that somehow makes Kaito feel hot under the collar, even though it’s fully chaste and there’s an elderly couple splitting a muffin less than five feet away. Shinichi hovers at the table for a minute after his date leaves, looking almost wistful as he stares after him, then seems to collect himself as he comes up to the counter. His expression changes as he walks over, the pieces of it sliding into a different configuration. Kaito isn’t sure what to make of that.

With a start, he realizes that for the first time, he doesn’t want to talk to Shinichi. He doesn’t want to be here. The inside of his throat feels sticky with jealousy. He’s cold-sweating with nerves. His breathing is uneven. He comes to the realization too late, though, because Shinichi is leaning against the counter, GQ model-esque, by the time he starts thinking of pretending to hear someone calling his name and fleeing into the back.

“I’m surprised you didn’t interrupt this one,” Shinichi remarks, oblivious to Kaito’s burgeoning medical emergency. He angles his face to one side, an eyebrow lifting. “I thought you would sweep in with an extra drink or two at least. Maybe a latte with a heart drawn in milk froth.”

“I thought about it, but I’m not that good at latte art,” Kaito says, and then runs out of words to say, so he doesn’t continue and instead chooses to stare at Shinichi in silence. Shinichi stares back at him.

“Well,” he says after a pause. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Not really,” Kaito answers. A crease begins to form in Shinichi’s brow, but before he can say anything else, Kaito blurts out, “Did you have a good time on the date? It seemed like it went well. You guys really hit it off, huh?”

“We did,” Shinichi agrees, without a hint of hesitation. A small smile steals across his face. Kaito feels as though several kindergarteners have taken turns punching him in the stomach: in more pain than he’d like to admit and embarrassed about it. “His name is Kaga. He’s an inspector that just transferred to our division. I haven’t really worked with him professionally yet, but my friend Sera has, and she thought we might get along, so she set us up on the date.”

“The date,” Kaito agrees. Shinichi regards him for a long moment.

“Right,” he says. “Anyway, he’s really cool.”

“He’s really cool,” Kaito echoes.

“Yes.” Shinichi pauses. There’s concern written all over his face in bold script. His gaze darts across Kaito’s face. “Yes, he’s cool. I like him.”

“You like him,” Kaito repeats.

“That’s what I said,” Shinichi agrees, slow. He’s straightened out of his lean against the counter, hands outstretched as though he’s about to start giving Kaito a physical examination. On any other day, under any other circumstances, Kaito would more than welcome some doctor roleplay with Shinichi, but right now, he has to fight the urge to take a step back. Unaware, Shinichi asks, “Hey, are you feeling okay? I’ve seen cadavers looking healthier than you. Cadavers that are multiple days old and have been pulled up out of the bottom of a river, even.”

“I think I’m coming down with something,” Kaito blurts out, instead of rising to the obvious bait. “Something very contagious. I think it’s a new coronavirus. I think I should go and get tested. Immediately.” He gestures over his shoulder towards the kitchen. Shinichi follows the motion with his eyes, visibly bewildered.

“So you think you’re sick with a new COVID variant and you want to go into the kitchen, where you guys prepare the pastries that people eat?” he says, incredulous, but Kaito just nods, gives him finger guns, and flees.

Good to know, he thinks as he goes. In addition to being a miserable, jealous bastard, he’s also a coward. What a journey of self-discovery this day has been so far.

Things get… suboptimal… after that. Kaito starts taking shifts at the most off hours he can, like later in the afternoon up until closing when he knows that Shinichi tends to be deep into paperwork or investigating. It sort of messes with his course schedule, but the faculty are understanding when he explains it’s because he’s trying to avoid his unrequited crush at his workplace. (Apparently the performing arts department at Touto University is staffed by emotionally unavailable people who are more than happy to help him avoid confrontation, which tracks.)

Shinichi still texts him, and Kaito does his best to be extremely normal and not weird at all, which is, admittedly, quite the feat for him. Somehow, Shinichi still picks up on things being off, because his texts take on a worried edge. Kaito pretends not to notice when he sends things like, “Thank you for the capybara video. Hope all is well with you. I stopped by the bakery today and your coworker told me that you did not, in fact, contract a new COVID variant. However, they did imply that you were mentally unwell. I’m including a link to an online mental health provider that specializes in avoidant attachment styles.”

Kaito is scared to poke at what he’s trying to imply with that. He sends back a gif of Snoopy giving a thumbs up.

He also starts trying to figure out his next move, in terms of his job. Sympathetic thesis advisors aside, he can’t keep this schedule forever, so the only course of action is to move on to a different job, where Kudou Shinichi won’t come around flaunting his inevitable new relationship. The thought is both horrifying and mortifying. How is it that Kaito is this down bad?

It’s a week and a half later when it finally happens. La Bonne Boulangerie is empty, considering it’s just past four p.m., less than an hour to closing. Kaito has the dubious honor of closing up; the rest of the kitchen staff is long gone, and Shizuka left twenty minutes ago, citing a “very important appointment” (she was holding a flyer for a hair salon two blocks away). Left unsupervised, Kaito is on his phone, looking into potential parttime jobs. There’s a bowling alley hiring in the area. Kaito is debating whether he should apply—on the plus side, he’s good at bowling, but on the minus side, he’s not sure he hates himself enough to sign up to organize sweaty rental shoes and wipe down bowling balls—when someone clears their throat in front of him. Kaito jumps, shoving his phone out of sight and pasting on a customer service smile.

The throat-clearer is a woman his age, pretty, with long hair and an outfit that looks painfully coordinated. (Her nail polish matches her lip color which complements the plaid pattern of her coat which matches the bow in her hair. Kaito is impressed.) She’s looking at him narrowly, her eyebrows pulled together in a calculating frown, but when their eyes meet, her expression flattens out into something neutral. Kaito blinks at her. Maybe she’s intense about people not being on their phone during work hours, although that feels like an old person opinion that she should be too young to have.

“Welcome to La Bonne Boulangerie,” he says, for lack of anything more intelligent to say.

“Thanks,” she replies, smiling sweetly. Kaito smiles back, tentative. Maybe he was imagining the way that she was sizing him up as though determining whether she could take him in a fight. The girl’s gaze drifts up to the menu over the counter. “It’s my first time here. What do you recommend?” Kaito pauses to think about it.

“If you like tea, I can recommend the London fog. But if you’re more of a coffee person, I’d recommend the vanilla latte. I can even do some latte art for you if you’d like to choose between a cloud and an amoeba,” he offers.

“So either way, I’ll get a shapeless blob,” the girl surmises. Kaito nods.

“I knew you’d catch on.”

“I’m glad I didn’t disappoint,” she says. “I’ll take a vanilla latte with a cloud, please.” She reaches into her bag for her wallet. Her smile this time is a little more genuine. Kaito feels himself relaxing; somehow, she kind of reminds him of Aoko. “And a hazelnut croissant, if you have any left. Thank you!”

“I’ll see if I can scrounge one up for you,” Kaito says, mock-saluting her as he adds the croissant to her order and finishes ringing her up. With a last polite laugh, the girl takes a seat at a nearby two-person table, shedding her coat to reveal a sweater and skirt combo that perfectly matches the rest of her outfit. Kaito gets to work on her latte and is proud to say that his cloud latte art comes out perfectly cumulonimbus.

He's just about to go deliver the latte to her when the door to the café opens again and none other than Kudou Shinichi walks in. Kaito promptly drops the latte all over his own shoes.

Well, he thinks as Shinichi strides to the counter, shit.

“Good to see you again,” Shinichi says, calm. Kaito feels his neck creak when he looks up to meet Shinichi’s gaze. His hair is windswept and he looks devastating in his double-breasted trench coat. Kaito really wishes he wasn’t wearing a latte on his pants. Shinichi nods at the puddle Kaito is standing in, his mild expression belying the extreme judgment Kaito can feel radiating off him. “Do you need help with that?”

“I think I’ll manage,” Kaito says, without moving. He can feel coffee seeping into his socks, which is an altogether unpleasant feeling. “What can I get for you?”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Shinichi says. “I’m meeting someone, but I don’t expect that it’ll be a long meeting.” Before Kaito can parse that sentence, he turns and heads for the table where the girl from earlier is sitting. She was watching the proceedings with visible interest, and as Shinichi approaches, the look on her face turns teasing and amused. She grabs his arm as he sits and leans in to say something in an excited undertone.

Kaito sighs. He’s not sure what he did wrong in this life or the last, but he’s apparently somehow doomed himself to a fate of watching Kudou Shinichi go on dates with increasingly spectacular chemistry. Maybe he needs to get exorcised or something. Are there temples that specialize in unrequited love, he wonders?

He takes as long as he dares cleaning up the spilled latte. There is a lot of aimless mopping and bleach and even a squeegee involved. Throughout the whole process, Shinichi and the girl have gravitated closer and closer, talking quietly enough that they can’t be heard over the soft instrumental background music. They seem comfortable with each other in a way that Kaito isn’t sure how to place. He’s not sure they’re on a first date, but he also can’t decide why they’re acting the way that they are.

A small, evil part of Kaito is tempted to just never deliver the girl’s latte and croissant to her and then refund her credit card. Kaito, however, is determined not to be ruled by that part of himself, so he makes her latte again (the latte art comes out sadly cirrus this time, possibly from the nerves) and grabs one of the last hazelnut croissants out of the display case. Once there’s a slight lull in the conversation, Kaito steels himself and approaches the table.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says, placing the latte and the croissant in front of the girl. He has to keep his neck at an unnatural angle to avoid looking at Shinichi, and he can feel Shinichi’s gaze on the back of his head. The girl is looking at him with something that appears to share a large portion of its DNA with pity. Kaito presses on valiantly. “Also, I’m very sorry, but we close in thirty minutes.”

“No worries, we’re finishing up here,” the girl says, unperturbed. Picking up her croissant, she leans back in her chair, somehow making it look graceful instead of sloppy. “Actually, now that you’re here, Kuroba-kun”—Kaito startles at being addressed by name; Shinichi makes a choked noise—“could you clear something up for me?” She doesn’t wait for Kaito to answer before she says, “Do you have a crush on Shinichi?”

Kaito stares at her. He’s suddenly reminded of how the brain can survive for minutes after death as blood flow slows, and how apparently this can result in some trippy final moments. He wonders if that’s what’s happening now. It would explain a lot if he died minutes ago and his brain is just playing catch up via insane daymares.

“How are we defining crush, in this context?” Kaito asks, trying to buy time for the remaining blood to finish circulating in his brain and deliver him to a peaceful afterlife.

“Ran,” Shinichi hisses at the same time. Kaito turns just enough to look over at him—there are far worse sights to have as the last thing he ever sees, after all—and is glad he does, because Shinichi is bright red, his eyes ping-ponging between the girl (Ran?) to Kaito. It’s certainly a sight to see. Kaito’s heart, traitorous dying organ that it is, gives a hopeful clench. “I told you I was going to handle it.”

“Sure, but this way is more fun,” Ran says, taking a bite out of her croissant, then a sip of her latte. Her posture brings to mind a matinee goer watching an anticipated new release. “So? Kuroba-kun, what do you think?”

Kaito tries to remember how long the “brain activity after death” thing lasts. This seems to be going on for a little too long for that theory to hold water. He clears his throat, taking a deep, stabilizing breath. Centers himself. He feels strangely calm despite everything, the way he did before the very first time his dad took him hang gliding.

“Shinichi, could I talk to you for a minute? Alone, maybe?” he asks. Shinichi pauses. His gaze flicks up to Kaito’s for a split-second before he nods, seeming determined.

“Of course,” he says, standing and pushing in his chair after him. Ran takes another bite out of her croissant. Her chewing seems smug, as does the single-handed wave she gives as they walk away.

Kaito is hyperaware of Shinichi following him into the kitchen. (He's definitely not supposed to bring anyone back there, but the only other option is the bathroom or Shizuka's office, and neither of them seem like a good idea.) Shinichi is following him close enough that Kaito almost feels as if he can feel his body heat, the citrusy body wash scent of him. It’s enough to make his palms sweat.

“Okay,” Kaito says once they’re out of earshot of Ran. He leans against the edge of the counter and forces himself to look Shinichi in the face. “I think there’s a conversation we’re supposed to have, but I’m going to be honest, I don’t really want to do it.”

“Before you start,” Shinichi starts, “can I say something?” When Kaito nods, he straightens up, inhales slowly, and then says, “Do you want to go on a date with me? Not here, obviously, but somewhere else, maybe?” in the tones of someone making a final request before facing the firing squad.

Kaito pauses. Rewinds that sentence in his head.

“That’s all I wanted to say,” Shinichi says after a beat of silence. He smiles, but it’s grim. His hands are tightened into fists at his side, the tendons in his wrists visible. “Feel free to tell me get lost, of course. Ran might think differently, but I know it’s insane to think that someone who works in customer service is interested in me when I’m sure you’ve just been being polite, but I just wanted to get that out that out th—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Kaito is launching himself at him, nearly knocking him backwards into the sink with the force of his tackle. He’s still trying to say something when Kaito takes him by the jaw and kisses the words right out of his mouth, at which point he finally goes quiet, although Kaito is pleased to note that his hands start doing the talking instead.

Personally, Kaito would be perfectly content to make out in the kitchen forever, health codes be damned, but his elbow bumps into a stray colander and sends it rattling to the ground, which startles both him and Shinichi enough that they jump apart. (Not too far apart, though. Kaito still has a firm grip on Shinichi’s waist.) Shinichi has a flush riding high on his cheeks, and his hair is almost as messy as Kaito suspects that his own is. Kaito thinks he’s the most edible thing to ever grace this kitchen, which is saying something, considering how good the strawberry creampuffs are.

He blames the fact that a good portion of his brain cells have been fried by proximity to Kudou Shinichi, who’s hotter than several suns, for the fact that the next words out of his mouth are not “Yes, I would love to go on a date with you, and also, how would you feel about potentially marrying me at some point in the future?” and are instead, “What about that Kaga guy?”

“Huh?” Shinichi blinks at him, visibly distracted by his lips (Kaito preens), until clarity starts to return to his eyes. “What about Kaga-san?”

“You guys had chemistry,” Kaito points out. He feels like a used car salesman pointing out an obvious flaw in the lemon he’s trying to sell, as in maybe he should stop talking and just let Shinichi accept the deal. “What happened with him?” Shinichi studies his face for a moment. He must be able to understand what he sees there, because a flicker of understanding gleams in his eyes. Kaito suddenly gets the sense that he’s just witnessed what Shinichi looks like when he solves a case.

“You’re right, we did have chemistry,” Shinichi agrees, resting his hands on Kaito’s forearms. Kaito almost shivers at the feeling of his fingertips against the sensitive skin. “We went on a second date, even. He invited me out for a third date.” Kaito’s face must do something at that statement, because Shinichi’s grip on his arms tightens slightly, as though concerned Kaito will pull away. “And under any other circumstances, I would’ve been happy to go out with him again. But unfortunately, I had to turn him down because I somehow caught feelings for someone much less cool.” The sappy way he smiles at Kaito is more than enough confirmation that Kaito is indeed the less cool person he’s referring to.

“You say the sweetest things,” Kaito says, legitimately choked up, and can’t stop himself from kissing Shinichi again.

Their first date is at La Bonne Boulangerie. No one is amused by this except for Kaito, who loads up their table with stolen pastries and makes Shinichi a latte topped by a lopsided heart made of milk foam.

Well, Kaito thinks as Shinichi tries to hide his smile at the sight of the latte, maybe he’s not the only one who’s a little amused. His theory is confirmed when he makes Shinichi show him his Excel spreadsheet. Kaito is ranked first.