Chapter Text
He's sure this is a dream.
Warmth lingers on his waist, his cheek, inside his veins. As shadows move from gold-filled glasses to the rooftops, where they take the shape of a man, tinted by the navy sky.
There isn't a star to be seen. But he knows, if he can catch up to the man who moves like water, he will see them hiding under the man's soft fringe,
deep in those blue, blue eyes.
And so, like the myriad of other times September knows his dream's only a dream, he gives chase. Because, as dreams go, there are rules that must be followed. Because there really is nothing else to do but follow that slight, retreating figure.
Because he's sure he knows that man beyond just his name and face, like the echo of a friend long gone —
"All units report," his radio crackles insistently on the desk. "Robbery at Pewter Mall. Suspect is not armed but backup is imperative…”
Sunlight streams into his apartment. He's covered in sweat. Breathless and disoriented.
Ah, it's Monday.
And just a dream, as it has been for the past few months.
September's first instinct is to sigh and go back to sleep because his team's never been good on foot. But the alternative? — being haunted by the figure through a thankless, mind-numbing day pushing papers down at the precinct.
He grabs his badge and gun, his radio and the brown coat from the couch, and hurries.
When the team gets there the whole store is gutted. And amidst the empty shelves and overturned counters, the apparent thief is sitting pretty right next to the cash register,
stars shining deep in his blue, blue eyes.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes."
The remark must be directed at none other than Officer September Redmond. The officer’s normally the first to strike back at insolent thieves who mouth off for no good reason, but this time he’s well and truly tongue tied.
It’s him. It’s him, but this isn’t a dream.
Is it?
It takes a nudge from one of his squadmates before September says, "Put your hands on your head or we will use force. You’re surrounded."
“Am I?"
The thief raises his arms above his head, snapping his fingers —
— everyone’s gazes follow in expectation, with bated breath, for the next trick of a thief who’d made a fool of the sophisticated security systems and magicked away three million in gold and sparkling things —
— and he slides right under September’s legs, darting down the mall corridor.
September’s the only one looking down. The only one who sees the thief’s grin widen as he makes his escape.
"Stop!"
The chase is on.
Members of the public scatter across the mall, thronging against other officers from another team stationed around the exits. This thief has no way out.
Or so the squad thinks, because the thief is still tearing towards the escalator to the second floor, clearing the crowd below in one death-defying leap off the railing. September catches the faintest sight of him just before he vanishes into the stores beyond.
And so it goes, appearing and disappearing in the most impossible way until his chasers thin out, slowly but surely, and there’s only September left.
The thief’s standing in front of a large window with no latch — no, it actually feels like the thief’s waiting for him — sunlight streaming in, his whole figure in shadow.
A dead end.
“This will be my last warning. Hands up where I can see them, or I'll shoot."
"Okay, okay. Here they are, in plain sight."
The thief casually raises his arms. His smile widens.
"Could I have the pleasure of your name, good officer?"
No more funny business. September’s hand drops to the cuffs at his belt.
"Hey, hey, hey, no need to rush. I just like to know the name of who's tying me up in the back of a car, that's all." He giggles around his eyemask. "Ahh, what am I thinking, it's on your nametag. Redmond? Mr. Redmond. May I call you Mr. Red?"
The cop doesn’t slow his approach. "Where did you hide the stolen goods?"
"Oh, you'll find them, Mr. Red, don't worry. I couldn't possibly wear all of them myself. But I'm afraid I must be going now."
"You're not going anywhere —"
And suddenly, the thief's right up in September's face. Breathing his air, staring right into his eyes.
Still smiling, bright as a summer afternoon.
"September Red, hmm?" His mouth is so close, September can feel his every word. "Call me Monday. Monday Blue."
He kisses the cop quick on the lips. And before September can even react he launches himself at the window —
— which falls away in one solid piece, carefully lasered the day before and propped back into place —
— and Monday rolls down the sloped roof of the next building, disappearing behind its walls.
September leans out of the window, face heated, teeth gritted, searching vainly.
He'd played them, completely played them all.
Monday Blue.
He shoots a message to his team, quickly instructing them to find the jewellery — which they’ll find in due time, draped around the bewildered customers and store owners in Monday’s wake and on the passersby outside the mall — all the while wondering where he's heard the name before.
And as Monday Blue walks through the crowd, removing his eyemask, turning his jacket inside out, pulling a beanie from his waistband (all those good disguise things) a breathless smile grows on his face once again.
September Red and Monday Blue.
And so the game begins.