Work Text:
Koichi Zenigata learns, from a young age, that there are certain things he can’t say.
He can’t say how pretty he thought people were, if they weren’t girls nor women.
He can’t say how much he’d like to try the nice skirts and dresses he sees the girls around the city wear. He especially can’t try them on.
He can’t wear nail polish (his little sister can’t either, but she’s a baby and he’s 12, so it’s different).
He’s told these things by his mother, who is the only one he mentions these things to. His father is present sometimes, but something in him says it’s not good to bother him. He’d always been closer to his mother anyway.
His mother had tears in her eyes, whenever she’d had to tell him things he couldn’t talk about nor do. She didn’t care personally, she’d always love him and she was sure to tell him that everyday, twice a day sometimes. But other people, she warned him, were not as understanding. They would care and there was a very real chance he’d be hurt. Later, she’d said, once he got older, once things changed, then he could try all those things. Then he could say all those things.
“How much older?” Was a question he found himself asking all the time. Each time she’d shake her head and say she didn’t know.
He gets older and even gets a job, one his father calls respectable. He tells him he’s proud of him, one of the few times he can ever remember him saying the phrase.
But as he gets older, he finds that there’s even more things he can’t say, especially in regards to his job.
He can’t talk about the injustices his co-workers commit. (He’s seen the examples they make of people like that, not all of them survive.) He can’t ask why money makes some people above the law. He can’t ask why certain crimes are treated more seriously than others, because of who the victims are (or aren’t).
There’s a lot more he can’t talk about and almost as much he can’t try, even though he’s older. In time (though sometimes he remembers to regret it) he gets used to it. He gets better at the work and he does well, as long as he remembers not to slip up.
But then Lupin happens.
And he can say almost anything if he’s talking about Lupin. He can get away with almost anything if he’s doing it in relation to chasing Lupin.
It puts him at ease and he’s so happy that Lupin exists. So the fact that he can’t say certain things to Lupin, that he thinks he’s a good man, that he likes him and feels more than he should, is a small price to pay.
Even still, he does say those things when Lupin dies. He never really dies and for that Zenigata thanks God. (He prayed a lot, one of those times Lupin “died”. He’d grown his hair back out and removed the grave stone, but he keeps that habit up. He’s not sure what would happen to him if Lupin really died. He tries not to think about it.) And he knows he always acts more upset than he should.
But that’s the beauty of being known as obsessed with the thief, people ask less questions. (He’d gotten a hold of his professional file once and traced the words he’d found there. Obsessed, it had said. Irrational, possessive, single-minded, the list went on. One person had noted he seemed “spellbound” and he thought it was a bit funny. If Lupin cast a spell on him, he’d done it by existing. (He doesn’t like to think about what would happen if the spell broke, if Lupin stopped existing. (He hopes he’ll die first. It’d be better than being left behind.)))
He wonders sometimes, what Lupin thinks. He wonders if he knows how much space he takes up in Zenigata’s life, even when he isn’t around. He wonders if Lupin knows how he feels about him.
Sometimes, in the rare moments of quiet they have together, it’s hard for him not to say the wrong things. Not to tell Lupin how much he valued him, how much he loves him. It’s harder to remember why that’s a bad idea, the longer they know each other. He slips sometimes, he knows, says things a little too close to how he feels. It’s harder to stop as he gets older and cares less about what other people think.
Lupin will look at him in those times, quiet and contemplative. But then he’ll hum and turn around to look at something, or else make an unrelated joke or comment. And Zenigata feels, if not accepted, at least acknowledged in a way. Like Lupin knows there’s something more the inspector wants to say, but that he’s fine waiting until he does say it. Until he feels like he can say it. It’s nice. It’s enough. (It has to be enough, for now.)
Zenigata smiled in a way that was almost sincere, as he made his way away from a large group of well-wishers. It was hard to be pleasant when you were being forced out. His 67th year had brought its own natural changes: his thickening waistline (a novelty after all these years, the only thing he hates about that is shopping for new clothes), his silvering hair and the lines around his eyes. All things he had expected. What he hadn’t expected was Victor Asherton.
Asherton was his new chief, ambitious and hungry at only 48. By all rights Zenigata should respect him more, 48 was young for such a high ranking position. And he would have respected him, if he hadn’t done his own sniffing around. The man had been from a wealthy background and he’d married into an even wealthier one. Scrubbed though they were, many of the records he’d gotten his hands on made the man out to be conniving, extremely petty and in possession of a nasty temper. He’d obviously only made it this far by knowing the right hands to shake and being more cut-throat than his competition.
After being in his new position for several months, Asherton had set his sights on trying to convince Zenigata to voluntarily leave Lupin’s case. Zenigata had made it very clear what he’d thought about that. Instead of giving up, the man had taken it as a personal slight and had started gathering support for the idea where he could. That Zenigata had sprained his ankle and damaged his wrist, during Lupin’s last heist, was the moment the other man had apparently been waiting for.
Somehow (and Zenigata certainly had his suspicions on how) a sleazy reporter had gotten into his hospital room and taken pictures while he’d been sleeping. The hospital had only wanted him to stay overnight for observation and he’d been tired enough to go along with it. A day later the pictures came out and a salacious article along with it. It had pointed out how old the inspector was, how mixed his record was and asked its readers if they thought this person was the right man to chase the most successful thief in modern history.
While his lawyers had gone after the original publication, other news organizations smelled blood in the water and released their own, slightly more tempered, articles. Some pointed out that he’d be better as a mentor, others asked why I.C.P.O. had him still working in his “advanced age”. Whatever their tone or angle was, it was clear that they all wanted the public to think the same thing: Inspector Zenigata shouldn’t be on the Lupin case.
When Asherton had come to him that second time, he’d had the backing to force him off of the case and he had. Zenigata had put in for his retirement that same week.
Today had been his last day and this party was thrown as a parting gift. It was bittersweet and for the most part he’d let the planning committee handle it, asking only for a few invitations to pass out personally. He’d trashed two of them, sending out only one in a spur of the moment gesture that he was starting to regret.
Zenigata was so busy staring into the distance, that he didn’t notice the waiter coming a bit too close to him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t get anything on you did I?” The young man was extremely apologetic as he checked the drinks he had on his tray. His hair was brown and slightly curly. Zenigata could just make out a hint of braces as he continued apologizing.
“It’s fine, I don’t think anything got on me.” Even if it had, the tiny stain would be hard to see on his black suit jacket. Besides, it wasn’t as though he intended to wear this suit again, in fact he’d probably donate it. He didn’t want to interact with anything that reminded him of tonight.
Of course, trouble never comes alone. “Is there a problem here?” The real man of the hour had made his way over. Victor looked just the right amount of severe in his blue suit. His dirty blond hair was slicked back and he was wearing a cologne that smelled almost too spicy. He’d evidently found time to come over after spending the night gloating and making jokes with some of Zenigata’s former coworkers and bosses.
“Everything is fine.” Earlier the former inspector had done his best to keep his irritation out of his voice (it wasn’t the young man’s fault he was in an increasingly bad mood), now he did no such thing. Asherton didn’t seem to mind his tone, in fact he smiled. The smile reminded Zenigata of a well fed predator. He had no intention of staying around the man any longer.
Zenigata turned to the waiter. “Would you mind asking someone to bring me some water? I’ll be out on the terrace, thank you.” Without a word to his former employer, he turned and made his way over to the doors leading outside.
The place the planning committee had booked was gigantic. It was a former castle and looked the part. The party was contained between the first and second floors, with a large garden for guests to walk around in. The terrace wasn’t empty, but it was quiet, with the few people there in small groups, not taking notice of anyone else. As he came out, several people went back in, it was starting to get cooler outside.
Zenigata was thankful for the fresh air and the cool temperature. It was good for his hot head. He was trying so hard not to be angry. It wasn’t like he didn’t have his own revenge brewing. He’d finally compiled everything he could find on Asherton and anonymously sent flash drives to several reporters who were well known for investigating corruption. He knew they’d find more than he had, they just needed a push in the right direction and he’d done what he could.
But part of that anger was hurt. His singular, personally addressed, invitation hadn’t been answered. Lupin wasn’t obligated to come. Just because he had developed the feelings he had, didn’t mean the thief felt the same way. Honestly he didn’t expect him to, but he still would have liked to see him. Not for the first time he regretted the hastily added note he’d scribbled on the invitation before passing it on to Fujiko.
A breeze swept through the air and sent the last group on the terrace inside. He shivered slightly, but stayed put. Though it was earlier than poliet, he considered leaving. It was his party wasn’t it? Shouldn’t he be able to come and go as he pleased? It wasn’t like there was anyone here he wanted to impress, quite the contrary. The one person he really wanted to see hadn’t come. What was the point in staying?
“Your water, sir.” Zenigata didn’t jump, he was too old for random movements like that to be good for his knees. But he flinched slightly at the sudden noise. He was frowning slightly as he turned around and saw the same young man from before. Though, now that he looked closer, he might not be as young as he had originally thought. Which was fine, work was work and everyone needed money.
With that in mind, he quickly pulled out his wallet and took out some money. He handed it over as he accepted the bottle from the server. “Thank you.” He set the bottle on the railing next to him and looked back over the gardens, trying to decide his next move. However, he couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t heard the other man leave. He sighed internally and waited to see what the man wanted to say.
Of course very little could prepare him for what was said next. “That boss of yours is a real piece of work. Do you know he tipped me for bumping into you? He said not to do it again, but then he slid me a 20. What a dick.” Zenigata was smiling before the first sentence was complete. He’d made it after all.
Lupin came to stand next to him, leaning against the railing and looking out at the garden. A quick glance to the side let him know the thief had kept the wig on, but looked to have ditched the braces and waistcoat. He looked good. The silence between them was a warm and easy one and Zenigata no longer felt cold, nor angry.
Lupin yawned and stretched, wincing slightly as his arms came back down. “Ya know Pops, sometimes, when I wake up sore and aching in places, I almost can’t believe you’ve chased me as long as you have. Must have been hard for you, running around all those years. Maybe retirement will suit you. You’ll never know unless you try.”
Zenigata shrugged, still facing forward. “You’ve always helped me surpass my limits and I’ve never really regretted working as long as I have.” And if this were one of those times before, he’d leave it there. But it was his last night and Lupin had come here to see him. If he didn’t take the chance to say anything now, he’d have to take his regrets to his grave.
“Lupin you have to know, by now that I’m not normal about you. Sometimes I don’t even know myself when I’m around you. I become possessive, obsessive and jealous.” He sighed. “But I also know you’ve helped make me more contemplative, focused and considerate. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you. Even though I haven’t always acted my best around nor towards you, I don’t regret any of the time we’ve had together and I would have gladly done this until we physically couldn’t have. My life won’t be the same without you in it, so no, I can’t say that I think retirement will do me any good.”
He felt lighter after saying that. It wasn’t everything, but it was more than he'd ever said before. It was quiet again and even the few people down on the first floor had made their way indoors, eager to escape the cold.
“Is that why you sent me this?” Zenigata didn’t have to look to know Lupin was holding up the invitation he’d sent him, the words “come steal me” written haphazardly on it. In all fairness he hadn’t been very sober when he’d written it, but that just meant he’d been more honest, more direct than usual.
He could come up with something correct to say, something less revealing, but he was tired. He was old and if he didn’t say the rest of everything, when would he? “I guess you could say that. Really I sent it because I love you and I missed you. If I didn’t see you tonight, I was pretty sure I never would again. At least not in person, I’m sure you’ll still make the news.”
Lupin put his head on one of his hands, elbow on the railing and looked at him a moment. A small smile on his face, something softer than his usual. “Well, that felt like it was a long time coming. That wasn’t so hard to say in the end, now was it?”
In a way it had been, the waiting part had worn away at him considerably over time. But finally saying it? “No, I guess it wasn’t.” He didn’t ask Lupin how he felt, not being rejected outright was already enough for him. Besides, Lupin had his own ways of showing he’d cared over the years and Zenigata cherished all of them.
Lupin slapped the railing and stepped closer, leaning into his personal space. “Well Pops, now we can get on to the fun stuff! Like what you want me to do with you after I’ve stolen you.”
Zenigata shivered and not because of the cold. He hadn’t really thought about it much, he’d just figured they’d do something. He shrugged, trying for nonchalant. “As little, or as much as you want.”
Lupin’s gray eyes got darker and his smile had a hint of sharpness to it. “Giving a man like me a blank check is awfully dangerous.”
Zenigata looked back at him, resolute. “I’m not worried. I’m sturdier than I look, I can take it.”
Lupin hummed and looked him up and down, slow in the way he’d only seen him do to beautiful women. Then he smiled again, all sharpness gone. “Maybe we’ll leave the rough stuff in the past. I don’t mind being nice to you, Pops.”
Zenigata felt himself start blushing. “Yeah?”
Lupin’s smile turned teasing. “Yeah. I can be really sweet too and patient, especially with virgins.”
Zenigata rolled his eyes and huffed. “I’m not a virgin Lupin.” Contrary to what some people thought, he had had sex before, just not very often. Less since he’d realized his feelings for a certain world famous thief.
Lupin huffed right back at him, then rolled his eyes, still smiling.“Pops, if someone has done half of the things I’m planning to do to you, I’ll eat Jigen’s hat.”
“There’s no need for that.” He coughed, then sighed a bit sheepishly. “I should remind you though, I’m not as young as I once was. I’m not sure I’ll be up for everything you have planned. Is that okay?” Will you still keep me, even if I can’t be all that you want me to be? Will you be satisfied with the way I am now? These questions and more sat heavy on Zenigata’s tongue.
It was Lupin's turn to sigh now, though he still sounded more teasing than anything when he spoke. “Pops, even if you didn’t want to, or couldn’t, do any of the things I have planned, I’m sure we’ll still find things to do together. I don’t plan on returning you.”
And that was enough for Zenigata to feel settled. All he’d wanted, for some time now, was to be Lupin’s. As Lupin came closer and leaned in to kiss him, gently at first and then harder, Zenigata had an absurd thought. His smile was lost to Lupin’s lips.
Victor Asherton may have indirectly given him just what he wanted. He almost felt like thanking the man. Almost. That thought and several others were lost as Lupin soon had him pressed up against the railing, fingers laced through his.
They’d have to leave soon, if only to avoid violating public decency laws. But for now he enjoyed the moment. It was his party after all, he could do whatever he wanted. Even if that meant getting a little hot and heavy with his former rival outside of his forced retirement party.