Archive of Our Own

The small Interpol boat sailed through calm waters, waves folding apart behind it gently in a small wake. On its deck, policemen celebrated quietly, knowing their superior could walk in at any moment. The unmistakable clink of bottles being opened could be heard, were you to listen closely.

In the cabin, Inspector Zenigata and two other officers were standing over their nearest catch: an almost-complete Lupin III gang, tied up at their feet.

Their little motorboat had broken down, and it had been easy from there. They hardly resisted— in fact, they were irritatingly calm, defeated as they were.

Jigen had laid his head on Goemon’s shoulder, and Lupin III grinned up at Zenigata, as per usual.

“Finally, I’ve got you, Lupin,” said the inspector, a wide grin on his lips.

“Seems like it,” Lupin sighed theatrically, holding out his handcuffed hands in front of him. 

Same old routine.

“You got us too,” said Jigen, turning to Goemon. “Why doesn’t he ever mention us?”

Goemon shrugged, his eyes closed.

“It’s going to be hard to escape now, unless you’ve became an exceptionally good swimmer,” boasted Zenigata, puffing up his chest. “You’re all mine!”

“Oh, am I now?” laughed Lupin, extending his long legs in front of him to rest between Zenigata’s parted feet.

He opened his mouth to reply, brows furrowed, but a policeman next to him interrupted him swiftly:

“Inspector, shouldn’t we radio Interpol now? We should let them know we’ve captured Lupin and his accomplices.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” Zenigata said, his gaze still locked with Lupin’s. “You two, watch them. I’ll be right back.”

While Zenigata tried to project an air of confidence to intimidate Lupin and his partners, it sounded more like a father reassuring his children. The three thieves watched him exit the cabin to the radio room, and the two officers stiffened even more, glaring at them. They stood a good distance from their captives, but each put a hand on their baton. Were the criminals to try anything, they weren’t afraid to use force.

“Right,” Jigen whispered. “Now that you’re done flirting with Pops—”

“I wasn’t—”

Jigen pressed on, “—do you have a plan? Our boat’s completely busted. And I don’t know about you guys, but I am not an exceptionally good swimmer.”

Lupin chuckled and closed his eyes, his head hanging to the side. The man could have the world crumbling in his arms and he’d still be smiling.

“Let’s wait until we arrive on land. We can’t really do much as long as we’re still on the ocean.”

“So you don’t have a plan?”

“Do I ever?” he replied, laying down nonchalantly and settling his head on Goemon’s lap.

Goemon opened one eye and raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. Jigen rolled his eyes under his hat. 

Same old routine.

Their jail cell definitely wasn’t the worst one they had been forced to stay in. They even had their own bunks, though they had no clue why they were together — you’d think that maybe after years of running after them, Interpol would have understood that separating them was the best course of action. Apparently not. Maybe the place only had one cell.

Lupin and Goemon had slept through the rest of the boat ride, but Jigen had been restless, and now he was exhausted. Sitting on his bunk, his face in his hands, he struggled to stay awake. When had he last gotten a good night’s rest? Not since they had accompanied Laëtitia to Mexico, that was for sure.

“I’d really like your input on this plan, Jigen,” said Lupin loudly. When Jigen didn’t respond, Lupin snapped his fingers to grab his attention. “Jigen! ”

Jigen startled, and snapped to attention.

“Sorry, jeez,” he grunted. “I’m up, I’m up.”

“You can take a nap if you’d like. We’re just, you know, trying to figure out how to escape. No big deal.”

Jigen gave him the finger, rubbing his eyes. Flopping down next to them, he sighed as Goemon gave him a firm yet consoling pat on the shoulder.

The three of them had been stripped to their underwear, removing the option of all the weapons and gadgets they could’ve used to get out. They needed a rock-solid plan to get out of this one. They weren’t familiar with the facility at all, nor the city it was in, and they had no idea how much security they were going to have to go past. The cell didn’t have any video surveillance, or a guard at the door, but it would be stupid to assume other measures hadn’t been taken to keep them inside.

Plus, it was cold as shit in their cell. They needed out, fast.

First things first, they had to get their belongings back. They were thieves, sure, that’s kind of their whole thing. But usually they had a bit more information, and prepped before going in on a job. Being left with only their brains and their briefs wasn’t exactly uncommon, but it certainly wasn't ideal. They weren’t too worried.

Well, maybe Lupin was a little worried. But it wasn’t like anyone needed to know.

“Maybe we should wait until dinner, see what we can do with our forks,” said Jigen.

“Just you watch, they’ll make us eat with our hands. We can’t risk anything,” grumbled Lupin. “We should have tried something on the way to the station.”

“With our weapons confiscated and a dozen pigs around us? No way, man.”

“This is a test of our patience. The opportunity will present itself, and we must seize it when it does,” said Goemon, stern as ever.

“Right, can’t wait for the ‘opportunity’ to open the door and give us our shit back,” snarled Jigen.

Already grumpy on a daily basis, Jigen just only got crankier when he was tired, and today was no exception. Lupin and Goemon could handle it most of the time, but they both also needed rest, not just a cat nap with their hands cuffed. So, now was not the time. Hell, a few hours ago, Lupin was still in a Hitler costume and almost got sucked into a black hole.

He may need medical care, actually.

Lupin snarked back at Jigen. “Listen, the opportunity isn’t going to open the door, but—”

The door opened.

Zenigata stood in the door frame, uncharacteristically calm.

Lupin started at once, jumping up and giving him the usual toothy grin, appearing as laid-back as one possibly could when absolutely itching to get out of a prison cell.

Same old routine.

“Have you come to interrogate us?” Lupin asked, beginning to ramble to stall for time. “Because I obviously know nothing about Bresson or his journal—”

“No,” said Zenigata, cutting him off firmly. “I’ve come to break you out.”

Lupin fell silent. Jigen stared at him with wide eyes. Goemon raised his brows and blinked, mouth falling open slightly. Zenigata stepped inside and dropped a large box on the ground, full to the brim with their belongings. He then handed Zantetsuken back to Goemon, a small smile forming.

It wasn’t often that he could make Lupin speechless.

“You’ll have to be quick,” Zenigata explained. “Everyone is distracted for now, but I don’t know how long that will last. You have ten minutes… optimistically.”

The three men continued to stare blankly at the inspector. Goemon held his sword as if he’d never seen it before.

Zenigata repressed a laugh. 

“Come on. Quickly, I said.”

Goemon was the first to snap out of it. With professional efficiency, he grabbed his kimono and hakama and started putting them on.

Jigen took his hat and put it back on his head, but didn’t move any further.

Lupin, on his part, was still paralyzed, mesmerized by Zenigata. Something warm in his chest had swollen up, and it would soon swallow his heart and lungs.

“But—” he finally croaked. “H— why?”

Zenigata shrugged a shoulder with pretend nonchalance, and crossed his arms on his chest, not able to hold back the wry smile on his lips. It wasn’t a very good act, but Lupin, gaping wide enough to catch flies, had fallen for it.

“Let’s say this is your... compensation, for what you did. Saving the world from the Nazis, and all that. Go put some clothes on, before I change my mind.”

Lupin grinned like a madman. Snapping out of his trance, he slipped into his clothes with graceful ease, quickly stuffing everything back into his numerous pockets and other little compartments, patting himself down to make sure everything was in its place.

Jigen, now dressed as well, took out his gun and checked it was still loaded. Satisfied, he spun it around his trigger finger in a show of skill, then let it fall back into its holster. Zenigata peered into the corridor, and nodded to them.

“All clear. You’ll have to make a run for it, though. I’m going to pretend you knocked me out. Is that alright with you?”

“It is truly an honor to know a man of such high morals,” said Goemon solemnly. “Might I add, however, for a policeman, this is... the stupidest idea I have ever seen.”

Zenigata smiled at that. “Always a pleasure, Goemon.”

Lupin readjusted his tie, shot a quick glance around the room, then gave a nod to Jigen. The latter extended his hand to the inspector who shook it briefly, then exited the cell, Goemon at his heel. “Lupin, let’s go.”

“Give me a minute,” he called back.

Stepping closer to Zenigata, Lupin gave him a small smile — not his usual insufferable smirk. This one looked warm. Intimate. So much, in fact, that Zenigata felt as if he should have looked away.

“I don’t know how to thank you. You’ll be alright with taking the blame of us escaping?”

“You mean, for the hundredth time? I think I’ll be fine,” he said, matching Lupin’s low, intimate tone.

These were words meant for their ears only. Louder than a sigh, quieter than their smiles.

“Be safe,” Lupin breathed. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to catch me. See you soon, Pops.”

And with that, Lupin got on the tip of his toes and pressed a kiss to Zenigata’s cheek.

In a blink, Lupin and his companions were gone, leaving Zenigata alone in the deserted cell, with only the ghost of lips on his cheek and the desperate thumping of his heart.

Heavy drops of rain hit the windowpane, drumming their own peculiar rhythm. Dense clouds covered the entirety of the sky, not even a glimpse of sunshine peeking through, making it almost as dark as night. 

Their hide-out was shabby at best. Cold and humidity seeped through the slightly moldy walls, but they had a small heater and hot food, and that was more than enough for now. Jigen had tended to Lupin, bandaging him up and applying ointment to his bruises. This had become something of a habit — Jigen’s calloused hands had to learn tenderness to take care of the wounds, the black eyes, the testosterone shots, and the occasional rough hangover. Lupin, in turn, mastered boundaries and consent to nurse Jigen back to health when needed. Goemon took charge sometimes, but he didn’t quite understand the two’s needs as well as they could each other.

Lupin the Third, huddled up in a blanket on the decrepit couch, had been staring at the ceiling for the past fifteen minutes. His head was thrown back in what had to be a profoundly uncomfortable position, brows furrowed, lips pressed tightly, his answer to any of Jigen’s or Goemon’s solicitations limited to hums and grunts.

Best to leave him to it, they decided. Talking in low voices to themselves, sharing a quilt, their main concern was finding a way to get out of Brazil safely, and get back into their usual heists and schemes as quickly as possible. They had already made plans to go to China in the upcoming month, but helping Laëtitia had taken them a lot of time for no compensation. They had to get money quickly, before moving on to greater schemes. Even thieves needed funding.

Their conversation was abruptly cut by the sound of the door opening. Jigen reached to his gun, but relaxed at once when Fujiko walked in. She closed her umbrella, mildly annoyed, kicking off her wet shoes and taking off her coat. She shot a dirty look to Lupin, who hadn’t even as moved his head when she entered.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you guys. You couldn’t have given me any better clues to where you were besides ‘we’re in Bragança?’ ”

“Sometimes the journey is more important than its end,” Goemon supplied.

“Okay, I can never really tell whether you’re serious or making fun of me,” she groaned.

Goemon turned his head so she couldn’t see his small smile.

Jigen gestured to the pitiful kitchen.

“Help yourself if you’re hungry. Don’t make a fuss,” he said when Fujiko cringed at the mess. “I know you’ve been to worse places before. Be glad the food is edible.”

“It’s in the bag,” Goemon added.

Fujiko, though not without complaints and sighs, made herself some cup noodles, and joined them in the living room — if it could even be called that. Lupin had gone from watching the ceiling to his own knees, still so deep in thought he may very well have been drowning in it.

“What’s the matter with him this time?” Fujiko asked, laying a clean blanket on the floor and sitting on it.

“He’s having Pops issues,” came Jigen’s reply, unbothered but with a hint of a smile.

Fujiko raised her eyebrows. She softly blew on the steaming hot noodles, watching Lupin from the corner of her eyes.

“Why? Is he tracking us?”

“Oh, no. Different kind of Pops issues.”

Fujiko’s mouth opened in an understanding oh. She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. It had ought to happen at some point — truthfully, she was honestly surprised it took him this long. The rest of the gang had figured it out years ago. Then again, Lupin was always a bit slow when it came to his own feelings. He had the annoying habit of bottling everything down until it (sometimes literally) exploded in his face — and often in others’, too.

“So you’re letting him simmer on it?” she asked.

“We’ve tried talking to him, but he’s doing that weird thing. Not acknowledging the outside world at all. Too deep inside his own head.”

“Best to leave him to it, then,” she conceded.

They resumed their conversation, Fujiko joining in with her own inputs and resources, talking and talking until the rain stopped and the clouds parted. Twilight settled over them, warm and known.

It was then that Lupin finally moved. He jumped up suddenly, a resigned look on his face. The blanket slid off his shoulders as he stretched.

“Alright!” He paused, finally noticing his company. “Oh, hi, Fujiko!”

“Hello,” she smiled gently.

“How are you guys doing? Great,” he said, not waiting for a reply. He scurried to the door, gave them a wild grin and a wave. “I’m gonna set out for the night. You three keep doing whatever you’re doing. Love you bye—” and in a second, he was gone.

Jigen, Goemon and Fujiko stared at the door for a moment, then looked back at each other.

“Should we follow him? You know, make sure he doesn’t get in any trouble?”

“Oh, he totally will. But he’ll be fine,” said Jigen. “We’ll hear from him if he needs anything.”

“Right then,” said Goemon while getting up. “I’ll make tea.”

Zenigata threw his drenched coat on the small chair of the hotel room. Droplets of rain splattered the floor as he shook his hat, lips tightened in a small pout. He flicked the switch and the lightbulb flickered a few times before turning on, basking the place in a warm, dim glow. After the pounding of heavy rain and shadow of dense clouds all afternoon, the coziness was more than welcome. The inspector felt as though he had been soaked to the bone. Hours spent outside looking for the man he purposefully let go under pressure and rainfall had annihilated him, so the second-rate hotel room seemed like a palace at this point. The sheets were clean, the heat was on, and that was more than he could have asked for.

The sound of water boiling relaxed him as he changed into comfier, drier clothes. Drained as he was, he didn’t feel like going to sleep just yet. Unrest had crept into his chest the night before, when he had opened the door to that damned prison cell, and he had not been able to shut up his thoughts since.

He poured the water into the cup noodles and watched them blankly. The noodles spun around slowly; steam humidified his palm as he held it on top of the cup. So deep in his thoughts time had ceased to matter, Zenigata stood in his little hotel room, hand hovering above his cup noodles, long enough for them to grow cold.

When he snapped back into reality, minutes passed by hastily to make up for lost time. He barely remembered picking up his chopsticks, but when he looked down again, there were no noodles left.

The trash can lid closed with a clack. Zenigata suddenly felt very tiny. The hotel room was very narrow, and yet it was swallowing him. Walls stretched on forever and the darkness behind the window had begun to bleed through.

He closed the curtains swiftly.

Someone knocked at the door.

Unsure he had heard correctly, Zenigata stayed still by the window, listening attentively. Who would need to see him? This late?

They knocked again.

Put-off and slightly nervous, Zenigata crossed his small hotel room and swung the door open.

Lupin the Third put a hand on his waist and gave the inspector a most charming smile, a bouquet of roses resting against his shoulder, his hair disheveled, jacket still ripped in some places from the fight on the Eclipse.

“Good evening, Pops!” he sang. “May I come in?”

“Lupin—” Zenigata stammered. “What — why — how did you find me?”

“Come on now,” Lupin hummed. “All those years, and you still ask that question?”

With a wink, he squeezed past Zenigata, entering the hotel room as if it were his own home. Bewildered, the inspector closed the door behind them, still spluttering.

“You — I could arrest you right now!” he chided, though they both knew it was nothing but an empty threat.

Lupin snorted. “Okay, sure.”

Zenigata didn’t have it in him to pretend to be offended. The handcuffs he always kept on him would stay in his coat’s pockets tonight. They could yell and kick, but he’d pay them no mind.

“Are those for me?” he asked, gesturing to the roses.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Lupin replied, handing them to him. “But you should keep them, and, you know, put them in water. Just for good measure.”

Zenigata took the bouquet, pretty and delicate, contrasting against his rough hands worn out by years of police work. They smelled good, too. It was the first time anyone had ever gifted him flowers. His heart softened at the thought — he felt very deeply that life had led him exactly where he needed to be in that moment. In this cramped hotel room, smiling at the man he had swore to put in jail, roses in his arms and butterflies in his stomach.

“If I may ask…” he began. “Why did you — sorry, did not — buy me flowers?”

“Bold of you to assume I bought them,” Lupin replied, dropping his red jacket on top of Zenigata’s still wet coat.

“Right, of course. My mistake. The question still stands, however.”

The thief kicked off his shoes and flopped down on the creaky bed, wincing at the uncomfortably hard mattress. Hands behind his head, he crossed his legs, the very incarnation of cool and collected.

“Let’s say this is... compensation, for what you did. Allowed us to escape, and all that,” he said.

Zenigata chuckled and turned around so Lupin couldn’t see the tenderness in his smile. He scoured the kitchenette drawers until he found a pot big enough to put the roses in.

“While we’re still on that topic,” Lupin went on, “I’m curious why you did that. Not that it’s not appreciated! I mean, you really didn’t need to, obviously we would have broken out anyway — I just don’t quite understand your logic. One second you’d do anything to catch me, going to the end of the world to put me behind bars, and the next you’re just… letting me go? What next, you’re gonna just hand me the key to a safe I’m trynna break into?”

Lupin rolled on his back and let his head hang off the side of the bed, watching his dear Pops fill the pot with water before very carefully placing the flowers in. He caressed a petal, with only the tip of his fingers, as if it was the most precious thing he had ever touched, more so than all the money and jewelry and gems and treasures he had wrestled from Lupin’s grip.

Lupin gulped.

“It just felt like the right thing to do. It might not sound like much,” Zenigata admitted, “but I try to always trust my gut.”

Instead of all the snarky comments and teases that came to Lupin’s mind, he decided to express his sincere curiosity.

“Even when that makes you a criminal?”

“Lupin,” said Zenigata, placing the flowers on the bedside table. “You know as well as I do that in our little cat-and-mouse game, I’ve ended up breaking at least as many laws as you. I thought it was pretty clear that I value my own morality over written rules. Especially when they change every time we cross a border.”

The thief hauled himself up. He sat cross-legged on the bed, watching Zenigata intensely, and mindlessly rummaging through his pockets.

“And you don’t — that never put you in danger of being arrested?”

He finally laid his hand on a pack of cigarettes. He took out one between two fingers, holding it between his teeth while he looked for his lighter.

“Since when are cops held to the same law-abiding standards as civilians? I could do whatever I wanted and nobody would blink. Please smoke by the window,” he added as an afterthought.

“You’re right,” said Lupin. “My bad.”

He opened the curtains then the window, and sat on its sill, silhouette standing out against the black sky. The flame illuminated his face as he lit his cigarette. Zenigata looked away.

“I’m very lucky to have you,” the thief declared, smoke escaping his lips.

Zenigata choked on his own spit. He coughed. Lupin smiled around his cigarette.

“Huh?”

“I’m very lucky you’re the one assigned to my case,” Lupin clarified. “I could have a total piece of shit following me around, trying to shoot me down at every chance they got. But you’re a good man. And that makes me very lucky.”

Zenigata sat on the bed, where Lupin was just moments earlier. Dumbfounded, he stared at the thief’s figure partially hidden behind the roses. The curtains, blown by the gentle evening breeze, fluttered at his sides. Smoke curled and danced around his head, surrounded him in a pale halo of sin and vice.

“I certainly wasn’t expecting this from you,” said Zenigata. “And I’m not sure whether I should be flattered as a regulate man or offended as a police officer.”

“It’s the highest praise you could get as a cop,” argued Lupin, waving his cigarette around as he talked. “And I guess — I guess I also like working hand-in-hand with you. You’re… you’re actually pretty damn competent when you’re not trying to catch me.”

Zenigata raised his eyebrows.

“Okay. You know I still could go back on my decision to not arrest you tonight?” he said, trying very hard not to smile.

Lupin wriggled on the sill, hoping for a more comfortable position. He crossed his long legs. His tight pants hugged his thighs. Sparkles danced in his eyes as he breathed.

“You could try.”

Zenigata gulped.

“Doesn’t make much sense now,” he admitted with a sigh. “Might as well hand in my resignation.”

“Come on now. What happens in Bragança stays in Bragança, ash they say, right?”

They smiled at each other. In the intimacy of the hotel room, hidden from prying eyes and ears, it felt like much more than a smile. With a simple twist of the lips, they gave entire speeches. Lupin took a drag on his cigarette to drown out any silent word he wasn’t ready to say.

“Nobody says that.”

“I did, so that makes at least one.”

Zenigata pulled his legs to himself, sat cross-legged on the bed, stifled a yawn on the back of his hand.

“It’s weird seeing you like this,” said Lupin. “Casual. Not yelling.”

“Okay, I’m not constantly yelling.”

“Yeah? I’d beg to differ,” he snickered. “Really wondering how come your voice isn’t hoarse, like, all the time.”

Zenigata blinked.

“I put honey in my tea.”

Lupin hollered with laughter as Zenigata beamed.

“Well, it’s also nice to see you like this,” Zenigata conceded. “Casual.”

“I’m always casual,” Lupin objected.

“No, you’re not. You’re constantly putting on a show. Don’t think I can’t see right through it.”

The thief put out his cigarette on the window sill, the side of his mouth twitching slightly.

“And how can you tell I’m not putting on an act right now?”

“I guess I can’t. But I think I’m fine with assuming blindly. I’ll take that leap of faith.”

Lupin laughed quietly as he slid off the sill. Without taking his eyes off Zenigata, he closed the window behind his back. With the sounds of the city muffled by the glass, he could hear his own heartbeat thump in his eardrums. His breath catching up in his throat. A slight rustle of fabric.

“Hey, Pops. You know why I came to see you tonight?”

Zenigata shrugged.

“So you could not give me flowers?”

Lupin took a deep breath. 

“That’s only part of it. I wanted — I needed to talk to you. I really came close to dying back there. On the Eclipse. Near-death experiences make you see a lot of things differently, right? I wanted you to know… I really enjoy our cat-and-mouse game. ‘Cause that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s only a game. The chase hasn’t been real for a while now. None of us really want to admit it, but, you– well, you let us out, didn’t you?”

Lupin paced around the room, gesturing wildly as he spoke, as though he was trying to move attention from what he was saying to what he was doing. Meticulously avoiding making eye contact with Zenigata, he went to touch each and every thing in the room, keeping his hands occupied.

“I guess you were braver than me, in a way. You stopped pretending first. You stopped pretending that — that we don’t care about each other. For each other. And, I’m, I want to be brave too, and, admit— out loud— that my life is better with you in it. Stealing wouldn’t be half as fun without you chasing after me. When I hear you yell my name, rather than feeling afraid or annoyed, I’m just… happy. You make me happy,” he whispered.

With great care, too much care, he picked up Zenigata’s hat from the dresser it was laying on. His fingers glided along its brim, battered yet somehow still smooth.

“I’m not afraid of death. Never have been. You can’t be, when you do what I do. But… up there, on the Eclipse,” he looked up at the ceiling, “for a moment, I thought it was really over. And I thought about you.”

He put down the hat.

“How you’d go to the end of the world to find me. How you did. How you followed me, blindly, into this whole ordeal, and so many times before, and I wondered… I wondered why. Why were you—”

“Because I love you,” said Zenigata.

Lupin stopped.

He slowly turned to Zenigata, mouth ever-so-slightly agape, eyes wide and staring.

Zenigata stared back. His expression appeared calm, but his hands were shaking at his sides.

“Wha— No!” Lupin suddenly yelped. “I was the one doing that! I was in the middle of the whole love confession thing!”

Zenigata exhaled through his nose.

“Oh, is that what you were doing?”

“Yes! Obviously! Was it that bad? I’m not used to this sort of thing!”

“Aren’t you proclaiming your love to someone new every few days?”

“Not for real though!”

Breath caught short, standing there feeling very much like an idiot, Lupin lifted his arms in fake desperation. Zenigata laughed quietly, but it sounded wrong. Bitter. Sad.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lupin.

“You claim you’re serious, but I’ve heard you say this kind of thing before. How do I know you’re not trying to manipulate me, or… or that it’s not just a fling, a spur of a moment thing? That you’re not using me to have a bit of fun? That you’re not going to throw me and my heart away as soon as you’re bored?” Zenigata breathed.

Lupin sighed, speechless. His brows furrowed in a graver, more earnest expression. He stepped to the bed and got down on his knees in front of Zenigata. Gently, he took the officer’s trembling hands in his own and squeezed them gently.

“Pops. I know I’ve done a lot of fucked up shit, but I wouldn’t do that. Not to you. I’m in love with you. For real. Shit–for you, I’d, I’d go steal the whole damn moon! Well,” he winced, “admittedly, if the moon actually belonged to anybody and therefore could be stolen, I’d probably do it anyway, but… you get what I mean.”

Zenigata blinked, lips parted, gaze timid and true.

“For you, I’d burn all of my jackets,” said Lupin, “I’d get hurt, and poisoned, and killed, I’d fade into anonymity, I’d—”

He took a deep breath.

“For you, I’d never steal anything again.”

Tears welled up in Zenigata’s eyes as he gave a weak, loving, beautiful smile.

“Don’t,” he sniffled. “I think it’s hot.”

“I knew you’d say that,” lied Lupin.

Zenigata laughed, soft and quiet and perfect.

“Right,” he said. “Bad look for a police officer, isn’t it?”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Lupin informed him.

“Please.”

Kissing Lupin felt very different to what Zenigata had thought.

(And he had thought about it. A lot.)

He had imagined it hungry and fierce and ravenous and lewd. Life-ruining. Short and brutal, the sweetest punch to the guts, the most delectable of clawing. Lips and tongue reaching in and breaking the heart in a million different sharp pieces that cut when you pick them up.

Instead it was soft. Caring. Hands cupped his cheeks, stroked his hair, he gripped Lupin’s shirt, deepened the kiss, hummed against his mouth. It didn’t hurt and it didn’t ache. It felt like wounds healing, like plants growing, like sunshine on bare skin, like birthday cake, like loud laughter and whispered secrets and fondness and adoration and love. It felt like love. Raw, deep, kind love. Infinite love.

They parted after what felt like both forever and a split second all at once. They looked at each other in silence, both barely believing what had just happened. Afraid that if they talked, the illusion would crumble and all of it would disappear. They quietly worshiped the other’s eyes. Lupin finally remembered to breathe.

“Lupin—”

“Oh, God. We just made out. Please call me Arsène,” he implored, smiling.

Zenigata caressed the thief’s waist with only the tip of his fingers, in the same way he had stroked the rose petal.

“Okay,” he said. “Arsène—”

“Say that again?”

He chuckled.

“Why? Is my accent that bad?” he asked.

“It’s adorable,” objected Arsène. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was going to ask you, uh… how long have you– have you known you were–”

“In love with my sworn enemy, a police officer?” Lupin guessed.

Zenigata’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he nodded. Arsène kissed his lips once more before replying. 

“For an embarrassingly long time. It’s already a hard enough time figuring out my gender, and then my sexuality, accepting the whole I’m-a-guy-who-likes-guys thing, and then I meet you, right? And, obviously, you’re attractive,” Zenigata raised his eyebrows at that but Lupin ignored him, “but you’re also a police officer, and you’re trying very hard to catch me. So for a while I really though you hated me, but also I high-key wanted to smash that, so it’s messy all over– not in a gross way– well, maybe a little in a gross way–  Anyway, I’d have laid all of that out for you if you hadn’t interrupted me in the middle of my damn love confession!”

“Yeah, well, you were taking too long,” said Zenigata.

“I agree, a few years too many.”

Zenigata laughed — his usual hearty, loud laughter, that illuminated the dimly lit room with the force of a thousand suns. Arsène eagerly burned his hands and lips on them.

He sat on the inspector’s lap, basking in his warmth and love. He felt safe. He pondered at the thought. This might have been the first time he ever felt safe.

He kissed him again.

“Nothing’s gonna be the same anymore, is it?” muttered Zenigata, his fingers tracing Arsène’s spine slowly.

“Well, I’d sure hope so!” he laughed. “I mean, we did just confess our love to each other.”

Zenigata buried his face in his neck, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him with both the greatest care and the most ravaging of passions.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah, don’t worry, Pops—”

“We just made out,” Zenigata grimaced. “Please call me Koichi,” he said.

His breath tickled the skin of Arsène’s skin in a way that made him shudder all over. Temporarily losing any semblance of coherent thought or cool facade he may have had, a blush crept across Lupin’s chest and neck, and then his entire face. Glad Koichi wasn’t looking at him, he inhaled deeply, struggling to remember what he was going to say.

“Koichi,” he tried, shivering at the sound coming out his own mouth. “Koichi. Sure. I could get used to that.”

Koichi looked up. If he noticed Lupin blushing, he didn’t comment on it, and instead smiled with so much fondness it hurt. Arsène heard himself giggle. He could hardly believe it. If anyone else knew, how easily Lupin the Third had been reduced to a giggling mess…

“So what are we going to do now?” Koichi asked, hugging Lupin a bit tighter.

“Well… I guess that’s up for you to figure out. I’m fine with the status quo as-is– but slightly tweaked. You chase me around, try and fail to arrest me, and whenever we can, we meet each other in private and…” Arsène gestured between them. “Enjoy this thing we have. This relationship. Secret boyfriends, all that stuff.”

“That’d be fine – more than fine, but... I’m worried people will notice I’m not really trying to catch you.”

“Koichi,” he said, “when was the last time you actually tried to arrest me?”

He winced.

“Okay, good point.”

“And when you’re tired of that,” Arsène went on, “you can always become a private detective and distance yourself from the police. Since you don’t help us out with our heists, they can’t lock you up for just being romantically involved with a criminal, can they?”

“They definitely can, because there’s no way I wouldn’t know what you’re doing,” he replied. “I could easily get convicted as an accomplice. Anyway, if you do get caught… I’d rather be in jail with you than free but alone.”

Arsène’s eyes grew wide. Words stuck in his throat, he stared at Koichi’s smiling, gentle, perfect face.

“I'm going to kiss you very hard," he warned.

“Wha– You don’t have to tell me every time you’re going to– “

Their lips crashed together and Arsène decided he could die right there and then and not care. In fact, he’d come back to life instantly to kiss him harder. He had become invisible, untouchable, immortal in his lover’s arms. And when dawn would come, he’d kiss him again to stay alive. And he’d do it every morning after that.

“Arsène,” Koichi hummed. “Where are your hands going?”

“Don’t worry,” he sighed, his lips moving to trace his jawline. “I’m just pick-pocketing you.”

“Well,” Koichi laughed gently, “I don’t think it counts as theft if there’s consent.”