“Sorry there’s no tea.” Kaito inched closer to Hakuba until their shoulders were touching. He noted the expression at the news of lack of tea, a bit surprised by it. So Hakuba really loved his tea. It was something he stored in the back of his mind, next to “Let Nakamori occasionally win if he’s feeling too down due to heists.”
He rested his head on Hakuba’s shoulder. This was probably unwise, but sharing body heat is something he didn’t mind. It was preferable to that nipping low-level cold that bit into one’s body during prolonged exposure to the rain. It was the kind of cold that settled into one’s bones and didn’t take to leaving so easily.
Hakuba was British, after all, and they were built to operate on tea dispersed at specific intervals, with extra here and there. The tea was nearly forgotten, however, at the physical contact. The detective glanced down at Kaito, eyes fluttering in momentary confusion and surprise.
“Ah, it’s… really… all right…” he said, stumbling over his words. Hakuba averted his gaze, looking toward the chair with his suit jacket awkwardly, blushing ever so slightly over his pale cheeks. He was cold, though; and the other teen’s warmth permeated through his damp shirt quite effectively and reminded him just how cold he really was.
“Er, I suppose your heater’s out, then, isn’t it? It’s a bit cold out.”
There was a flash of light outside the window, and thunder roared only a couple of frantic heartbeats later. The more the storm progress, the darker it got, and Hakuba leaned back against Kaito, reluctantly.