Work Text:
The collar on Leorio’s tuxedo is too damn tight.
The collar is too tight, the styling gel in his hair has an unpleasant chemical odor, and he’s doing his utmost not to squint too obviously without his glasses. A fish out of water, a sore thumb, a square peg to a round hole — whatever he calls it, the reality of the situation comes down to the same basic truth: trying to infiltrate a donors-only gala at the city’s largest, most well-endowed art museum has Leorio painfully out of his depth.
And the fact that he’s conducting an… independent investigation rather than working on officially sanctioned department business certainly doesn’t help. If word ever gets back to any of his superiors that he went rogue like this, he’ll get fired so fast it’ll make his head spin.
Leorio grabs a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing server, hardly giving it a glance before downing it in one gulp. Then he does it again, draining this glass even faster than the first. And again.
Liquid courage, he thinks grimly, don’t fail me now.
And then, right as the warmth of the alcohol starts spreading through his chest and pooling in his stomach, Leorio spots him.
He’s small and slight, neither too confident nor obviously uncomfortable. Almost entirely nondescript, just another young, wealthy donor at the gala, save for the traditional Kurta tabard he’s wearing. The looping gold pattern is unmistakable; after all, Leorio filed the report regarding its theft just two weeks ago.
So he was right; the famed Yorknew thief, the Scarlet Eye, made his appearance. And this gala must be his next target.
Leorio smooths out his tuxedo jacket one last time and crosses the dancefloor, confident as anything, or at least trying to appear that way. He keeps the Scarlet Eye in his sights, but ensures his gaze seems pleasantly intrigued rather than scrutinizing. This next phase of the operation has to go smoothly; if he spooks his suspect before he gathers any valuable information, the entire evening will be wasted. He’ll be just another rookie detective with too little experience and too much imagination, like his supervisors keep telling him.
“Good evening,” Leorio says. Up close, the suspect looks even smaller, and perhaps even younger than Leorio himself. His features are delicate, and his eyes are large and warm. Leorio swallows down hard; he’d accounted for plenty of variables in his plans for this evening. He hadn’t accounted for the feared Scarlet Eye being adorable .
“Hello,” the man responds coolly. “Have we met?”
“Unfortunately not. But I’d like to rectify that.” Leorio puts on what he hopes is a charming, roguish smirk and extends a hand. “Could I have the next dance?”
The man blinks, shock registering on his face for only a moment. Whatever he was expecting Leorio to say, it certainly wasn’t that. Good — if the Scarlet Eye is off-guard, then Leorio, even momentarily, has the upper hand.
“You may,” the man says at last, his tone and expression schooled back into careful neutrality.
Leorio takes him by the hand and leads him to the dance floor just as the swell of a waltz begins. Leorio reaches out towards the man’s waist only to find that a hand has already settled on his own.
“I really should be the one to lead,” Leorio says, surprised just enough for the suave facade to falter, a note of petulance in his tone.
“But I always lead,” the man counters.
“But I’m nearly a foot taller than you. It’ll be awkward that way.”
“Not if you keep up, it won’t be.”
Leorio takes a step closer, forcing the suspect to crane his neck to look him in the eye.
“Come on, you know this will be much easier for the both of us.”
The man clenches his jaw, gaze hardening as he thinks it over, before wordlessly placing his hand on Leorio’s shoulder.
Leorio smiles and takes the opportunity to lean in close and murmur, hardly above a whisper, into the man’s ear.
“Thank you. I’ll take care of you, alright?”
When he pulls back, the man’s cheeks are flushed and his pupils are blown wide. And Leorio is willing to admit that the satisfaction he feels at that sight isn’t solely related to the progress of the investigation.
Leorio is nothing if not a man of his word, so he maintains a firm pressure on the suspect’s waist and keeps his footwork impeccably smooth. Thief or not, he won’t let his partner falter for even a moment.
“By the way,” the man says, and Leorio can’t help but appreciate the way he once again has to tilt his head up to meet Leorio’s gaze with them standing so close. The angle makes his eyes look even larger and more expressive. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Leorio. And yours?”
“Kurapika.”
“Enjoying the gala so far, Kurapika?”
Something sharp flashes in his eyes before he responds, and when he does, his tone is too even for it to be natural.
“It’s fine, I suppose.”
“What, are the canapés not to your liking? Or no, let me guess — was the champagne not actually sourced from France? God, I hate it when they do that.”
Kurapika shoots Leorio a look.
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Maybe.”
Leorio shrugs, and it must be a combination of the alcohol starting to flood his veins and the irresistible crinkle of Kurapika’s nose when he’s frowning, because before he can stop himself, he veers the conversation wildly off course.
“That’s a very interesting outfit you’re wearing, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Kurapika says coolly, a new, far more pronounced sharpness in his tone.
“The pattern is especially unique,” Leorio prompts, as he sways Kurapika dramatically to the right. “You don’t see that sort of thing around very often.”
“It was my grandfather’s,” Kurapika replies curtly.
“Oh, was it, now?”
“It was. It was stolen, actually. I only recently recovered it.”
“Recovered?” Leorio echoes, stepping back from Kurapika with their hands still joined in a dramatic flourish. “Is that so?”
“Are you trying to get at something in particular? There’s no need to talk in riddles.”
Leorio takes that moment to twirl Kurapika in close again, his back to Leorio’s chest as Leorio murmurs in his ear.
“I find it hard to believe that that tabard belonged to your grandfather. It’s a traditional Kurta design, and that particular clan was wiped out nearly a decade ago.”
Kurapika spins himself out of Leorio’s grasp, holding him at a forceful but elegant arm’s length.
“They were massacred, yes. All but one.”
“All but one… ?”
Leorio gasps and stops dancing mid-step, the realization halting him in his tracks.
“No,” he whispers. “That explains everything .”
“What are you talking about?” Kurapika demands.
Leorio pulls Kurapika closer by the waist, his grip as commanding as it is tender.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Kurapika? About the Kurta clan.”
“I wouldn’t dream of lying about that sort of claim. Not when it comes to my people. What they suffered.”
“I figured. Shit . Look, we need to get somewhere quiet. I have to talk to you.”
And with that, Leorio takes Kurapika by the hand and leads him through the crowd and off of the dance floor. Kurapika, to Leorio’s immense satisfaction, never once loosens his grasp as they weave around caterers and past chattering guests.
They arrive at last on an empty balcony. The night air is cool and fragrant with the scent of turning leaves, and the moon is nearly full, casting them both in a cool glow.
“Alright, I followed you out here. Now I expect you to explain yourself.”
Leorio runs a hand through his hair, sighing.
“Look, I’m going to be completely honest with you, but you need to hear me out to the end, okay? You can’t just bolt until I’ve said my piece.”
Kurapika thinks the matter over for a moment, and then nods, settling on a bench on the balcony. Leorio sits beside him, leans back, and takes a deep breath.
And tells him everything.
He starts with his recent promotion to detective. And then the immediate underestimation of his coworkers, who thought of him as nothing but a naive do-gooder. He tells him about his assignment to the theft and fraud department, and the nights spent searching for something, anything to connect the Scarlet Eye’s crimes over the past several months. How seemingly unrelated and unpredictable the targets, and how elusive the suspect.
And then he recalls the night, well into his twentieth hour of overtime and on his sixth cup of coffee, that he realized, like a bolt of lightning, that the stolen objects were all of Kurta provenance. Then, how the web of thefts grew; the department had only been aware of the large, expensive ones. Only listened to the people with the resources and influence to bring a major complaint. But if Leorio broadened his criteria, Kurta objects were disappearing all over the city — from estate sales and flea markets just as often as museums and auctions. And how that led him to tonight’s gala; the museum was opening a new wing, featuring several Kurta artifacts, and so the Scarlet Eye was bound to appear.
“But you just wanted to get back what was taken from your clan,” Leorio concludes. “Without, of course, revealing yourself to be the only survivor. I feel like an idiot for not coming to the conclusion myself. Who else would care about a chipped teapot from some flea market stall? And why weren’t any of the goods being resold, even under the table? It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.”
Kurapika sits quietly for a moment, giving Leorio an appraising look.
“I’ll admit that you conducted a very thorough investigation, Detective.”
Leorio finds himself swallowing against a swell of heat spreading up his throat at Kurapika addressing him by that title. He is overcome with a sudden need to hear him say it again, but with his voice lower and softer and rough at the edges.
“But,” Kurapika continues, “what are you going to do now? Arrest me?”
Leorio sighs.
“I mean, I’m a detective, Kurapika. It’s my duty to return stolen items to their rightful owners.”
Kurapika blinks, as if that weren’t the answer he was expecting.
“I suppose it is,” he replies at last, voice heavy with disappointment.
“Right, we agree. So, obviously, I’m going to help you reclaim what was taken from your clan. Returning things to their rightful owners and all that.”
It’s the first smile Leorio has seen from Kurapika all night, and it’s a thousand times more intoxicating than those three flutes of champagne.
“What about your job?” Kurapika asks. “Surely an up and coming detective couldn’t be caught aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. His career would be destroyed.”
“Well, then I guess I just won’t get caught. I’m working with one of the most prolific and elusive thieves this city has seen in nearly a century. He’s led the police on a wild goose chase for months. I’d like to think I’m in good hands.”
“Are you saying you intend to let me lead?”
Leorio grins.
“I got to lead in the ballroom, so you get to lead here. It only seems fair, doesn’t it?”
Leorio has hardly gotten the words out when Kurapika is standing up from the bench and taking Leorio by the hand.
“Right, then follow me.” He shoots Leorio a playful grin. “You’re going to make the perfect decoy.”
“Wait, hang on, decoy ?”