Shuichi Saihara was entirely out of his element.

It wouldn't be the first time his job has brought him to unfamiliar territory, but it was the first he found himself staying longer than needed.

It should have been a one-and-done deal. A pit stop, a mere footnote in his investigation. You had been a key witness to a possible murder after seeing a truck drive through your property a week or two ago.

He had interviewed you, asked you a few questions and searched your property with your permission.

It should have ended there.

Emphasis on should have.

But if Shuichi Saihara had one flaw, it was that he tended to give into his own impulses when he gravitated towards someone.

It started with a small comment from you. "You've got a sturdy body there. You know, you wouldn't be have bad at farm work."

He had laughed it off at first. Mentioning he used to work out, but that he loved his line of work and that it would never change.

Another laugh, this one almost harmonic to his ears, and another quips from you about how the oppurtunity was always there. If he ever wanted to lend a helping hand.

And somehow, despite his own job and despite his brain yelling at him that he might actually not be all that great at that type of work, he found himself on your property on one of his days off.

Carrying buckets full of crops in both hands wasn't much of a challenge to him. His muscles ached to an extent, but it wasn't something he hadn't already worked on back when he had trained with Kaito and Maki.

However, the terrain of mud certainly was, and within an instant he finds himself slipping, arms clumsily flying out to stop himself only to remember he was carrying metal pails in both hands.

He hits the ground with an "ooph!" chest and chin hitting the ground as he feels mud splattered across his white button-up.

He instantly hears the sound of your roaring with laughter, and despite the way his cheeks flush red, he can't help but think how he wants to keep hearing that sound forever.

"H-Hey! Don't laugh..." He mutters out in embarrassment, sitting up as he attempts to wipe the mud off his shirt, only succeeding in smearing it further.

The sound of a softly muttered apology reaches his ears as he looks up, seeing your hand outstretched to him, offering to help him stand.