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She is an anomaly.
It’s not the first time he’s ever thought this. It’s part of the reason why he’s so captivated by her. A curious concept all on its own. Shiraishi does not remember the last time he’s been curious about anything. Above all else, he is a creature of whimsy, much like the cats of Shinjuku that roam the dark lonely alleyways and eventually disappear without a trace. Such is the nature of freedom.
He remembers her being sad about that, and feeling something in him resonate with the weight of it. No. 14 would have liked her, he thinks. Maybe would’ve even followed her home, if she offered it food and the warmth she seems to radiate from inside out.
She probably would’ve let it inside her home.
That’s what his observations tell him. Because beyond all else, he is a statistician, a scientist, a profiler that builds a repertoire of information to come to some undeniable truth. He takes comfort in it. He likes the way numbers and facts tell a story. He likes digging to the root of what makes things the way they are. He likes to claw that root out of the ground and examine it until it no longer interests him.
Beyond his mission, he wants to learn her. It took him awhile to realize that. That his own agenda was one of simple curiosity and a need to figure her out. He tries to remember a comment Mukai once made about his smile, one he’s having trouble grasping now--he’s never good with extraneous details--and ah, yes. Scalpel-like. Sharp enough to cut someone open.
And with Shiraishi-like precision, he had simply flashed that scalpel-like smile and casually said he would be sure to throw it her way more often.
Maybe it’s a good description. He does like getting under peoples’ skin.
Hence why he spends so much time trying to understand her. The September and October cases have been a good excuse to get close to her; while she wades through the clues and evidence, he examines her. Practically takes her in his hands and tries to break her apart to see what makes her tick with an almost fervent abandonment. But much to his astonishment and occasional frustration, pulling back one layer only reveals another for him to find. Such should not be the case for a simple girl like her.
Then again, he knows she is special. It’s why Adonis chose her.
It’s why he was originally curious. Why he found her so utterly fascinating. But he can’t deny he’s crossed some invisible line a long time ago. What once was an exercise in covert malice became an exercise in futility to get her out of his system. Yet the more time he spent with her, the more he found himself wanting to be near her. Like a moth to a flame, she drew him in more and more, with her kindness and warm generosity and strange tendency of getting mad at him for the most incomprehensible things before turning around and giving him macaroons.
Charming, he finally settles on. She is utterly charming in her own girlish, simple way, but strangely strong for holding the weight of the secret around her neck. He admires her for that, for wearing death like it were a simple piece of jewelry.
She’s wearing it now, of course, while they do something as mundane as eat dinner together. He’s become fond of the time they spend together, something even he can place as affection blooming in his chest whenever he looks at her. She emanates an almost unearthly flood of color into the bland black and white of the booth, her bright floral clothing and expressive eyes a diamond in the lifeless background hum of other hollow-eyed patrons and dull snow of night.
He watches her wordlessly, his eyes drawn to the way her hair falls like a curtain across her face. The way her tiny hands hold her chopsticks before lifting food to her lightly glossed lips. She really does like that color, he thinks, inadvertently licking his own lips.
It takes him a moment to realize Ichika has stopped eating, a small frown suddenly marring the face he’d just been admiring. “It’s rude to stare, Shiraishi-san,” she quips easily, and he smiles at her, charmed by her candor. It may not be as fun to tease her anymore, but she sure does present a challenge.
“Ooh?” Shiraishi hums, leaning forward just a tad. “Is it against the law for me to look where I want, Officer Ichika-chan?”
She rolls her eyes, placing her chopsticks down next to her bowl and-- yes, she’s pouting now. Something like a chuckle bubbles in his chest, but he resists letting it out. He’s too interested in what she’ll say next, without his reaction coloring her behavior. “Of course it’s not, but staring someone down while they eat will make them feel like they’re some zoo animal, you know. It’s unnerving.”
“Ah, sorry, sorry. I was just wondering how long it would take you realize you’ve got something stuck between your teeth.”
“What?” she stutters, mouth suddenly closing shut as her tongue rolls over her teeth. He can’t help the amused rumble that escapes him this time, something like delight flitting across his face that she catches onto within milliseconds and looks at him with exasperation. “Next time I ever decide to do hot pot, I’m leaving you behind.”
“You say that as if you have a say in where I go and when. Are you keeping an RO hidden under that coat of yours?”
“Hmm. Now there’s an idea,” Ichika says.
“And here I thought you didn’t hate me, Ichika-chan,” Shiraishi replies, one hand drifting to cover his heart, which was doing all kinds of strange acrobatics right now. “I’m wounded.”
“Of course I don’t hate you, Shiraishi-san. That doesn’t mean I have to approve when you misbehave.”
Ah, there it is again. That hard hammering of his heart. He covers up that pesky feeling with another smile, something genuine and small he recognizes belongs solely to her. “It’s not my fault I like to watch you, Ichika-san,” he says quietly, a wave of some bald-faced honesty washing over him. “Next time, try to be less interesting.”
“You stare at me because I’m interesting --?”
“Ah, your hands are shaking. Are you cold? Here.” He reaches out and places his hands on top of hers, listening for the slightly choked noise she makes when he does so. He smiles up at hers, her little ice cube fingers wrapped up in his palm, and delights in the rosy red color that rises to her cheeks. Her bashful look matches the slight pink tint to her nose. How cute. “Better?”
“Shiraishi-san! Someone’s going to see,” she mutters, embarrassed, burying her face further into her scarf. But to his pleasure, she doesn’t move her hand away.
“So?” he drawls. “It’s just the two of us here from the station. Unless you’re worried about the Shiraishi Bashing Coalition spying on us from another booth, in which case, maybe we could invite them over--”
“Shiraishi-san,” Ichika warns, her voice going up in pitch at the end of his name in a way that makes him feel almost proud to have riled her.
“Let them watch,” Shiraishi says, not acknowledging her protest. “I like holding your hand. And you do too, last I checked. Ah, unless I was mistaken?” He begins to pull his hand away.
But she stops him, just as he thought--no, hoped--she would. Funny how she can still knock him so off-kilter, even when he thinks he’s come to some kind of understanding with her. Ichika sighs, shaking her head at him in something like exasperation, but it’s warmer. Almost fond. “You weren’t mistaken,” she admits. “Us, this--I like spending time with you. I want to keep doing it. I don’t really feel like going home yet, either.”
There she goes again. Disarming him. Maybe she’s the more cunning out of the two of them. Or maybe she is just that unwaveringly kind and honest. He worries it’ll get her killed one of these days. In fact, it’s likely. Almost guaranteed, despite Adonis’ wish to bring her into the fold. This, he knows, has to end.
Yet he can’t bring himself to cut her loose. She practically choked him with his own tie last time he tried.
“What would you suggest, then?” he asks, a considering look on his face. “It’s a little too cold to go searching for the cats right now. Ah, or maybe we could go back to my place.”
“Mmm.” She bites her lower lip in a thoughtful look, her lip gloss smearing just the tiniest bit. He almost leans over to try and clean it up, wondering what the feel of her there would be like on his calloused hands. It’d be indirect kiss number three. “How about we stay here for now? I want ice cream.”
“Pffft,” he snorts. “Ice cream? Now? You want ice cream right after hot pot? It’s winter time, you know.”
“I know that! It’s just something I’m used to doing. Whenever Kazuki and I were out to dinner with mom and dad as kids, they’d let us get a small treat. We never had the money to go out very often, so it was a silly little tradition we had. Besides, it’s a good excuse to stay longer, isn’t it?”
He always liked listening to her stories. It helped fill in some of the cracks and pieces of who she was. How she became the person she is today, a person with a history and identity and people who would miss her if she left this world. It’s what makes him realize he has absolutely nothing to give her; no backstory, no family, no identity or life to share aside from the attachment borne out of the cold, artificial cog in the machine that is No. 14.
But she does not know him as a number. She knows him as Shiraishi Kageyuki. A man she says she can trust, a man she says she needs, who she can trade cute cat keychains with and cook dinner for and walk with through the dying light of the Shinjuku streets. And for now, that is enough.
This is enough, he thinks, squeezing her hand tighter. It has to be. “I’m beginning to realize you like cute, childish things. That’s good information to know for the future.”
“Hey! Just because I like ice cream doesn’t mean I’m childish.”
“And children’s keychains, and pudding cups, and a handmade bento box with the food arranged in a smiley-face--”
“Says the guy who wears a cat hair clip to work everyday!”
Shiraishi shrugs. “I never said it was a bad thing. I like the way you are. Besides, it makes it easier for me to figure out what kind of things you like. Now, tell me, what flavor should I get?”
That red color still hasn’t left her cheeks, and he ponders what he said to bring about such a reaction. He’d like to know for future occasions. “I don’t know. What are your favorites?”
He shrugs in mild disinterest. “Don’t know. Never tried it before.”
He knows he’s said something extraordinary to her before the words even fully leave his lips, if her open-mouthed expression is anything to go by. It was the same look she gave him when he asked her about getting Santa Claus to come for their Christmas party.
“You’ve never tried ice cream? Not once?” she says incredulously.
“My caregiver was strict, remember? There was never any use for frivolous things like that. Food was for sustenance, not enjoyment. I never thought to try it once I became an adult. Why? Is it that good?”
“Oh.” Ichika frowns, but understanding seems to dawn on her face. They’ve talked about his extreme lack of knowledge when it came to common social niceties and experiences alike, though the extent of it still seems to catch her off-guard. He can’t help but notice that she seems particularly affected by this revelation, though, but he can’t place the look on her face. Pity? Hurt, maybe? He’s never seen any such emotion directed his way before, so he can’t place it. One more thing on his list to look further into. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorite desserts. Um… why don’t you try chocolate? That’s a pretty common flavor that a lot of people like.”
“Do you like it?”
“Sure, it’s okay. My favorite is strawberry, though.”
“I’ll have that, then,” he says instantly.
“Wait, are you sure? You don’t have to get it just because I’m having it.”
He waves her off. “I trust your judgment, Ichika-chan. I want to know what strawberry ice cream tastes like.”
She clears her throat, looking bashful before glancing away. “If you say so. Here, let me call the waiter over...”
He watches her motion for the waiter and lets the sound of her voice giving their order wash over him, feeling something inside him loosen. He knows this has to end soon. But tonight, with her, with her pink nose and strawberry ice cream and cold hands and unshakeable conviction beckoning him to be something close to human, he can almost pretend this can continue. That he can become the persona he’s taken on.
Quite cruel of her, really. To shake him up so badly he doesn’t know right from left or how to be anymore. Or how to get rid of this feeling of wanting, needing her so badly it almost breaks him. She is a danger he never anticipated.
But he’s always been fond of anomalies.