[There's a flinch, just briefly – he's no different than anyone else here, tally marks and all. Shuichi's fingers press a little too close to the tender scratches, but it's less the pain and more the touch that has Kokichi wincing away. And then less the touch and more the stare, intense and searching.
A part of him thrills at it, stupidly. Shuichi is only looking at him in this moment. But the sane part of him stomps that part back into a dark corner where it can be ignored. The sane part wants to hide away from that gaze, more capable of actually picking him apart than anyone else. The flinch is quickly controlled and banished, replaced with that completely blank, unreadable expression he sometimes wears. The one he uses when he doesn't know what kind of face to make, but something impenetrable is preferable to something honest.
It's like the harder Shuichi tries to understand, the closer he comes to doing so, the more Kokichi retreats from it. Shuichi reaches out, but Kokichi still won't take his hand.
Well. Shuichi sorta skipped the need for reciprocation here anyway, huh?
His hand twitches, like he's deciding whether or not to pull free of Shuichi's grip, but then it loosens anyway. Shuichi moves to type, and it's a brief reprieve from that touch and that stare. Good. Kokichi needed the chance to put himself together anyway. He reads the resulting message dispassionately, deciding how he wants to play this. Would douvling down even work? If Kaito gave everything away, can he actually expect Shuichi to believe the whole ruthlessly evil schtick?
Hand freed, he picks his PDA back up to respond.]
would that really surprise you? coming from *me*??
[It's a non-answer, admittedly. He's stalling, digging for clues about how he should handle this and what Shuichi thinks. Shuichi seemed...angry, almost. But can he trust that reaction? Did he draw something real out of the detective? Or can a person really be this good an actor – no, improviser? The latter is hard to believe, but the former feels foolishly optimistic.]
no subject
A part of him thrills at it, stupidly. Shuichi is only looking at him in this moment. But the sane part of him stomps that part back into a dark corner where it can be ignored. The sane part wants to hide away from that gaze, more capable of actually picking him apart than anyone else. The flinch is quickly controlled and banished, replaced with that completely blank, unreadable expression he sometimes wears. The one he uses when he doesn't know what kind of face to make, but something impenetrable is preferable to something honest.
It's like the harder Shuichi tries to understand, the closer he comes to doing so, the more Kokichi retreats from it. Shuichi reaches out, but Kokichi still won't take his hand.
Well. Shuichi sorta skipped the need for reciprocation here anyway, huh?
His hand twitches, like he's deciding whether or not to pull free of Shuichi's grip, but then it loosens anyway. Shuichi moves to type, and it's a brief reprieve from that touch and that stare. Good. Kokichi needed the chance to put himself together anyway. He reads the resulting message dispassionately, deciding how he wants to play this. Would douvling down even work? If Kaito gave everything away, can he actually expect Shuichi to believe the whole ruthlessly evil schtick?
Hand freed, he picks his PDA back up to respond.]
would that really surprise you?
coming from *me*??
[It's a non-answer, admittedly. He's stalling, digging for clues about how he should handle this and what Shuichi thinks. Shuichi seemed...angry, almost. But can he trust that reaction? Did he draw something real out of the detective? Or can a person really be this good an actor – no, improviser? The latter is hard to believe, but the former feels foolishly optimistic.]