Detective Of The East [Kaishin/Shinkai]

Chapter Two | Magicians Can't Be Thieves!

SHINICHI POV

The detective had quite the energetic day yesterday, and he's not sure if getting up and ready for the day is viable. He throws the large duvet off his body, feeling the positively warm embrace vanish with the morning dew outside his window, and now he feels wide awake. Tenderly he swipes the crusties away from his aching eyelids and drags his legs over the bedsheets. Quickly he makes a beeline for the bathroom right of his bedroom.

A hot shower sounds really good right now—a bath might even die him some good.

By the time he's out, with his teeth brushed, and he's fully clothed, there's a gentle knock at his door. He makes one more effort to fix his tie in the mirror before it becomes insistently annoying throughout the day from tugging and readjustments. Part of his job warrants moments of frustration or hair tugging.

He sets himself in a quick jog before slowly pulling the door close to his chest.
"Oh, good morning dad." He certainly didn't expect to see the man of the hour from yesterday's conversation. It didn't feel that way.

Shinichi gives full view of the bed hasn't finished making, and the foggy mirror in the bathroom. He's already thrown his dirty clothes into a hamper, before he leaves he'll have to make his bed. Shinichi places a hand over his hip as he does the room a once over before blinking up at his father, still standing in silence.
"I heard about yesterday." Yusaku was the first to bring it up, and it looks like he's made it easier for his son. Shinichi tenses his lips in a thin line, making the bed will have to wait.

The detective leaves the bedroom door semi open before silently asking his father to follow close behind his heels. He needs coffee. "I'm still hung up on the fact that you liked a thief. I mean, what was going on through your head?" Shinichi saunters into the kitchen, eyeing the empty small island chairs and heading straight for the coffee maker already brewing a batch. Shinichi inhales in the nutty scent, and exhales out a shuddering breath as the chills passed over.

"I feel like that goes against what a detective is.. we, find out the truth, sympathize with the truth, but.. I can't understand that level of.. How?" Shinichi clenches his fists up over the cool granite he's been leaning on, and slowly he presses the lower back of his hips onto it as support. I—Perhaps criminals aren't much different from murderers, but I beg to differ.

Murderers vary in Shinichi's category. There are those who don't ask for sympathy, who don't want it, and strangers who don't expect it. They're heartless, but he wants to listen to what those who have to something to say because, no one would have listened at the time they wanted to talk to someone.

Most of the time, murder occurs when there is a fued, or it's to hush, which can lead to a bigger case to unravel. Those are very tedious, and meticulous if not all the clues are compiled around oneself. Sometimes it's not intentional, but thievery isn't like murder. Thieves steal—and maybe, just maybe he's angry for his father. He should've never let a thief steal his heart. How poetic, Shinichi drawls inwardly, not making a peep as he makes his way next to his father, on a kitchen stool.

"Why?" The question is less harsh than his accusation when he was sauntering down the stairs, leading towards the foyer and downstairs hallway. It's very much an open concept, and Shinichi has had no problem navigating the house without looking up or whilst stuck in his own thoughts.
"At the time, they—He was a friend before he became a thief. I can't explain why. He never gave me a solid answer, but he didn't deny me the choice to figure it out for myself. He willingly clued me in whenever I attended his heists..

"But, we'd have moments that were daringly vulnerable outside of heists and whenever I caught up with the thief. Thief or not, I chose to look at him as a man, an individual I saw myself reflected in. He had ambitions, and dreams. He wanted a son, and I wanted my own kids as well. At the time, when magick was fickle and wild, we were not given that option." He folded his hands over the table, as his head dipped down just slightly.