The two detectives froze at the whimpering plea, and while Conan steeled himself for what was to come, it only took 1.37 seconds for Hakuba to know, without a doubt, who the voice belonged to. It was Kid. It was Kuroba Kaito. His Kaito. He’d never heard it like that before, though; not in any of the time he’d known him. It was so broken. And it hurt.
Taking in the scene didn’t help ease that pain, either. Both of them could smell the blood and sensed the fear, felt the tension in the air, but Hakuba recognized something else that Conan had very little experience with, and it twisted his stomach in knots. The odor of sweat and sex, though nearly impossible to describe, stirred with the evidence of torture and brought unbidden flashes to mind. But the blond detective didn’t stop breathing until he saw his moonlight thief.
Conan leveled his watch, body tense, muscles coiled and ready to spring, but narrowed his eyes at the figure shivering in the light. Was that figure, bent and bleeding, really Kaitou KID? Was that even possible? He stepped forward, listening for his companion’s actions to dictate his own, but stopped when Hakuba staggered forward. He’d expected a calm and cautious approach, soft words and authority, but this…
It was all wrong. All so wrong. Hakuba couldn’t see KID, all he could see was Kaito. None of his professionalism and training stood a chance against vivid images that overtook him, crashing through all of his protective walls like the raging sea against a crumbling dam. It was far too personal. It hurt too much.
All at once he was drowning, gasping a ragged breath of his own as he dropped the firearm uselessly to the floor. Numbly, his left hand made for his pocket, digging for the watch in a desperate and reflexive effort to salvage his sanity, but the trembling in his limbs was far too violent to even keep adequate hold. Knees giving way to the crushing emotions, Hakuba sank to the ground, face twisted in agony and horror. Kaito, oh god, Kaito, oh god!
He couldn’t speak. Could barely think. The shadow cast by his own body in the flashlight stretched over Kaito as the sheepdog over a lamb’s battered form, drawing close despite its resemblance to the offending wolf.
It was the perfect contrast; a tormented knight to the shattered joker, and it disturbed Conan to witness it. It also told him far more than he’d anticipated– Hakuba was no stranger to abuse and he probably knew who Kaitou Kid really was… or they were really close despite. There were very few alternative explanations for how quickly the foreign detective had become emotionally compromised.
In a way, it embarrassed him. Hakuba may care for the thief, but they had work to do. How was losing his shit going to help KID?
“Oi, Hakuba!” Conan barked, voice hard and scowl firm. “Pull yourself together!"
The harsh reprimand snapped Hakuba back just enough for him to give a strangled cry. "Kaito!” Reaching, half crawling through the bloody patches toward him, tears building and falling in desperation.
Fortunately, Conan dismissed the slip for a mistake on that foreign tongue, rolling his eyes as he impatiently collected the gun from the floor. Dammit, Hakuba!