Chapter Text
He runs, climbing the stairs as if he was running for his life. He can feel it flowing through his veins, the thrill of excitement, the anticipation, his brain screaming you can do it, this time.
He really wants to shine. For once, just for once, he wants to take the stage, he wants to be the one that steals people’s breath, the one who catches proud glances, and happy smiles. He wants to believe the Phantom Thief’s words, for once - he doesn’t really care if he’s his archenemy, at the moment, he doesn’t care if the aim of his life is to catch that man, and make the world see that he can do great things as well.
He wants to believe him.
But willpower is not enough to win against him, to win against a fate that seems to make fun of him each time he is almost there, each time his fingers brush that black cape and for a moment, just for a moment, he feels this story coming to an end, and victory laying on his head as a shiny, gold crown.
“See you next time, Little Rabbit.”
The thief’s eyes smile, bright like amethyst - Tomoya never sees mockery in them, just a glint of happiness that he can’t explain. Is he having fun, playing cat and mouse? Sometimes, it just feels like he wants to be caught.
He wonders if that day will ever come.
“Tomoya-kun, good morning!”
He has just left his flat and taken the first steps down the stairs, when the high-pitched voice belonging to his neighbour fills the stairwell. His ears burns, red with embarrassment - how many times must he tell him to stop yelling like that at eight in the morning? He turns and faces him, mentally repeating be collected, be collected, be kind, he has just greeted you.
“Good morning, Hibiki-san.”
Tomoya has always wondered how a person can smile that bright so early in the morning. The only thing he can think about at the moment is the bed he had to abandon less than a hour ago, but the man bringing to the door seems so refreshing that Tomoya sometimes doubts he is really human. He tries to answer the greeting, but he feels so tired that even raising his lips is a task way too strenuous at the moment.
“Off to work?”
“Yeah,” and his shoulders drop, at the thought of what is waiting him once he gets to the office.
He’s not sure he wants to go.
Maybe he should call in sick.
“You look tired.”
“I am,” and he doesn’t say anything more, because Wataru’s concern is sincere, and for once he doesn’t want to throw a tantrum at him just because he’s feeling nervous. Lack of sleep does the worst things on him.
“... why don’t you stop for a tea, after your shift? Tea solves anything, or so they say. A friend of mine always says that my tea is the best in the yard, and you should trust him, because he’s a tea addicted.”
“Addiction is never good,” he answers, a heavy sigh escaping his mouth, “but I’ll take your invite into consideration. Now, if you want to excuse me, I’m already late.”
“Of course, of course, I’m sorry I stole your time. Have a nice day, Tomoya-kun.”
Tomoya bends a bit, before he rushes down the rest of the stairs and leaves the building. He takes a few steps, before he stops and turns around just to see his neighbour waving at him from the balcony.
Sometimes he wonders why Wataru Hibiki seems so interested on his person. Why should someone like him, so odd, so extravagant, be so fond of a plain, ordinary man like him? He was the first to welcome him when he moved into that building a few years ago, and never got bored of him.
He wishes it could be the same for him. To be honest, Wataru is way too exuberant, often on the edge of being a pain in the ass. It’s okay, most of times Tomoya can endure it, but there are days in which he really tries his best not to yell at him to stop being such an hassle. He’s sure it would break his heart, though.
Well, he has not time to worry about that, now. He waves back, a crooked smile on his face, before he turns his back towards his house and walks down the street.
The day just started and he already feels tired.
“Report. On my desk. In a hour. And bring coffee, my head is hurting already too much, newbie.”
It doesn’t matter if he’s been working at this bureau for two years, now, detective Kunugi seems stuck in the past, like he really doesn’t want to acknowledge that Tomoya isn’t a newbie anymore. Or maybe that’s just a way to mock him, he doesn’t really know. Anyway, the clock is striking nine o’clock, and he has a job demanding to be done, so the only thing he can do is sitting at his desk and starting to move his fingers over his laptop’s keyboard.
Report. Ugh. He hates to write reports, especially when he must talk about his failure in catching that damned thief for the umpteenth time. And, considering how he’s running after him for a year now, Tomoya is well damned tired.
He wishes he could forget how it started, and gain back his mental health. November was dying, the air cold and his head filled with the longing desire of a break. He had just entered the building of the agency and opened his locker when he found a letter - the letter: a white envelope enhanced with blue roses on its corners, and his name elegantly written in the middle.
For my beloved Mashiro Tomoya.
His first reaction, at the time, was to blush pretty hard - his face turned red so fast that Mitsuru, one of his colleagues, was afraid he was going to pass out at any moment. But it was silly on his part to think that it was some kind of a love letter - after all, only his family knew where he was working, and he didn’t think there were any female co-workers who could have possibly been interested in him. However, when he opened that letter he received quite a shock.
Well ok, he really wasn’t expecting a love letter, he knew that couldn’t be the case. The problem is that he didn’t expect something like that, too, because well, you don’t wake up every day knowing that some random criminal would write you a letter literally asking to be caught.
By you.
And just by you.
He was quite surprised, to be honest. And he doesn’t know if he can really describe that feeling that invaded his body like happiness, but he felt somehow special.
Chosen.
It’s been over a year now, and still Tomoya hasn’t grasped why the Phantom Thief - so that man calls himself - has got an interest on him. At first he thought it was just a prank, his colleagues mocking him because he doesn’t stand out, because nobody really notices his presence, nor acknowledges his work. But then he met him, he really did, and although he still doesn’t understand why, somehow Tomoya feels like he should thank him - even if he doesn’t really like him and his way to do things.
Well, he’s a thief after all.
But he’s a thief that will bring him to shine, at last.
He turns on his laptop with a soft sigh, Mitsuru on the other side of the room coming with coffee and a smile too bright to be bearable. Tomoya looks at him approaching and wonders if he will be able to be so vivacious in the morning as well, once in his life.
Maybe he should start to drink three coffees in the morning as Tenma does.
“Good morning, Tomo-chan! Coffee, coffee!” he says, cheerful, bright like the sun hiding somewhere behind dark clouds outside the office. Tomoya smiles, or at least he tried to. He’s already too tired.
“Good morning, Mitsuru,” he answers, reaching for his coffee, bitter as his soul. He gulps it down, feeling hotness spreading on his chest in an instant. He needed it. “Thank you.”
“Nevermind. How are you feeling-”
“Wasted,” and his answer is too immediate, the umpteenth failure weightening on his words. He lies down on his desk, letting his lungs empty out. He stares at the wall, hoping to find an answer to all his questions, wondering why he is still there if he won’t achieve anything. “I really thought I was going to catch him this time, but… he’s just like dust. Like sand, always slipping through my fingers. I’ll never catch him, Mitsuru.”
“You will!” Mitsuru slams his hand on his desk, attracting the attention of the whole office for the record time of five seconds. Then, anyone gets back to work, leaving Tomoya with some sort of second hand embarrassment he won’t get rid off soon. “You will, Tomo-chan, you must not lose hope! He wants you, you know? He wants to be caught by you!”
“What if he’s just playing around.”
“Of course he’s playing around,” and how in the world should that make him feel better, “but it doesn’t mean he won’t give you the chance to get him. I think he likes you, you know?”
“Like.”
“Like. Yes. Like a lot!”
“I’m not of the same idea, but thanks for trying to cheer me up, Mitsuru.”
He sighs again, raising his glare towards Mitsuru and pouting a bit, coffee running through his veins and feeding his nerves. He should have learnt his lesson by now, and still he forgets that he should not drink coffee after spending a night chasing the Phantom Thief.
It makes him nervous - well, more nervous that he already is on a daily basis anyway.
“Just think about it, why should he want you to be the one to catch him?”
“Because he’s bored, probably? I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it. Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got a report to write, and you stole me already ten minutes.”
Mitsuru laughs, scratching the back of his head and taking a step behind. “Right, right. You’re right. Don’t give up, Tomo-chan!”
And he nods, waving his hands as the other distances himself from his desk. He loses himself a bit, looking at the empty space before him, and then, eyes on the screen again, he starts to write a new chapter of that stupid story about how he couldn’t protect himself from the teasing of such a mischievous man.
He’s doing it. He can’t still believe himself, but he’s doing it. His finger lingers for a while over Wataru’s name on the intercom, because he’s not sure he will be able to bear his neighbour’s company.
But he’s doing it. No steps back.
He pushes his digit on the button before his nose, holding his breath for a moment and wondering if it’s the right thing to do. It’s not like he doesn’t like Wataru - they have known for two whole years now, and that man he’s so chatty and friendly that anyone in the building has got to like him at least a bit. Tomoya is no exception. Though, and he still hasn’t figured out why, he always feels a bit uncomfortable around him - well, a bit is an euphemism.
“Tomoya-kun,” the voice of Wataru comes out of the intercom, cheerful. “Come, come.”
And the door opens with a mechanic sound, and Tomoya wonders again if he shouldn’t lead home and confine himself to bed instead of spending some time at his neighbour’s house.
The damage is already done.
He steps inside, Wataru on the door waving at him. His expression changes, though, when their eyes meet.
“You look tired, Tomoya-kun.”
“Because I am,” and he would like to sound less harsh, but how can he, when he has eight hours of real hell on the back of his shoulders? Wataru doesn’t seems to be affected by the tone of his voice: he just steps aside and makes him enter his apartment.
It is unexpectedly neat, just a few sheets of paper are laying on the sideboard on the threshold - a script, maybe? Wataru is an actor, after all.
Sometimes Tomoya wonders if he is not playing a part in the huge stage that’s his life. He guesses he’ll never know.
“Were you practicing?” Tomoya asks, and he suddenly feels a bit like an intruder, in that house: everything around him is peculiar, shiny - he reminds him of that bunch of pictures Mitsuru once showed him, of Venice and its wonderful Carnival. Wataru would fit that kind of environment so well.
“Aaah, yes. I was just taking a break before rehearsal, it will be a long night! Just take a sit, I’m fetching the tea.”
And he obeys, guided by Wataru into the dining room before he disappears behind the kitchen’s door. The air is filled with the nice aroma of matcha tea, mixed with the delicate scent of roses and white lilies. He relaxes against the chair, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing deep.
It’s okay, to be there. It’s okay if he spends a bit of time in Wataru’s company.
The tinkling of the tea cups calls him back to reality, Wataru suddenly so near that Tomoya can breathe is scent - does everything smell nice in that house?
Oh, God. He didn’t really thought that. He didn’t.
“You’re so stiff, Tomoya-kun. What happened?” he asks, and his voice is so sweet, so different from all those times when Wataru spots him leaving his flat and going to work and he feels the urge to shout his name out loud, apparently. Tomoya tightens his lips and breaths hard with his nose, before letting his shoulder raise a bit. “Are you having a hard time with your thief friend?”
“He’s not a friend, he’s a nightmare,”
“How long has it been now, since you’re chasing him?”
Wataru pours tea on Tomoya’s cup, the hot steam brushing his nose, his cheeks, and making him feel less tense. He wraps his hand around the cup, hotness spreading through his fingers and warming him up - the weather is becoming less inclement day by day, so that little cup between his hands is a blessing. “It’s over a year, now;” he sighs, and he doesn’t want to sound to desperate, but at the moment is too tired to even try to conceal his real feelings. He lifts the cup and takes his time to breathe his scent, and before he takes a sip he lets go another sigh. “And I’m starting to go mad. I feel like he’s just playing around.”
“Maybe he likes you.”
“Why is this the second time I have to hear these words.”
Wataru chuckles, a hand covering his mouth. “Maybe because it’s true. Isn’t it amazing? A man you know nothing about longing for your attention. It sounds like the beginning of a love novel.”
“He’s a criminal, Hibiki-san. A criminal with too much free time, if I can be honest.”
He sips his tea, closed eyes and every single muscle of his body way too tense. Scenes of the last time he and the Phantom Thief met keep repeating in loop in his mind.
He’s probably just being delusional.
“I hope you’ll catch him soon, Tomoya-kun. You deserve it.”
Tomoya doesn’t notice anything, around him, too lost into his thoughts, just a bit distracted by the taste of his matcha tea on his tongue. He doesn’t notice, at least until he feels two hands pressing gently over his shoulders, Wataru’s fingers sinking on his soft flesh.
“H-Hibiki-san?”
“Drink your tea.”
It sounds like a order, more than a gentle request, but he stops worrying about it the moment Wataru starts to massage him, pushing his nerves; Tomoya feels a ball of warmth invading his stomach, and he puts the cup on the table as soon as he feels his arms being wobbly. He moans, just a bit, his voice low, soft as his eyes open - he’s glad Wataru is behind him now.
Because he’s pretty sure he’s blushing.
“You’re really too tense, it’s not good for your health. Relax.”
“It’s not that easy,” and Tomoya would like to sound bitter, but the massage is already taking an effect on him. “I just want a holiday.”
“Detectives never go on holiday, Tomoya-kun.”
He hates, how Wataru seems cheerful about anything, how he never bends, never stops smiling, never shows a weak side. Tomoya often wonders how he does it, how he keeps collected in every occasion, even if he works until late. He never seems tired, like he belonged to another dimension.
“How are you so good at this?” he asks, his guard down, his head hanging. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”
He hopes it doesn’t sound like a compliment.
“Ahah, Tomoya-kun, are you trying to flatter me? Because you do, you know. I’m an actor, after all. I can become everything you want.”
Ah. That’s bad.
Warmth is spreading through his body, but Tomoya doesn’t know if it’s because of the tea or because of Wataru’s hands still on his shoulders. He’ll never admit it, but it’s nice, the sweet shiver shaking his body each time Wataru rubs his fingers over his shoulders; he feels less tense, less nervous, maybe a bit too much.
He likes it, and at the same time, he doesn’t.
“It’d be better if you took off your shirt,” Wataru whispers, and maybe Tomoya is just imaging the teasing tone of his words, but that doesn’t prevent his stomach to tighten a bit. He shakes his head, unable to speak - he doesn’t trust himself, he doesn’t want to make Wataru think that he’s feeling weak to that touch. And Wataru laughs, a soft brush of air on his ear. “I’m joking. Well, I’m not, but it’s okay. Are you feeling better?”
He feels cornered. He feels better - he feels damn good, actually - but he’s scared that admitting him out loud might lead to disastrous consequences. So he nods, slowly, swallowing a knot of warmth that slips right into his stomach.
He’s nervous now, but in a different way. He’s too self-conscious, and Wataru’s hands are so good, so hot, so-
“I should go now,” he blabbers all of sudden, his neck burning, his hands moving frantically on his lap. Wataru stops as soon as he hears those words, brushing his hands against his shoulder and giving him a pat. “Thank you for the tea. And the-”
“Anytime.”
Wataru always smiles. Tomoya wonders if he’s wearing a mask.
“What the hell am I doing…” are the first words that leave his mouth once he gets home and buries his face on the pillow. Well, he didn’t do anything wrong, but the problem is a little bit… deeper.
He still feels Wataru’s fingers over his shoulders. There’s still warmth lingering on his skin, even if his neighbour didn’t touch it directly. He can feel the phantom of his touch, his digits pressing on the flesh, his nerves tensing and relaxing just at the thought of it.
He doesn’t feel comfortable around Wataru. He hasn’t realised yet why, but he can’t help feeling nervous when they are together - he can barely manage to talk normally to him when they’re divided by Wataru’s balcony, so being side by side makes things a little… awkward.
He’s too self-aware, when Wataru talks to him, waves at him, smiles at him - he feels like he’s being put on stage under a thousand spotlights. He’s not used to it, and that makes him feel strange, too warm and… and.
He touches his shoulders, sighing against the soft fabric of the pillow. He should talk about this with someone, because if he keeps it in his mind, he’s afraid it will just grow bigger. But how could he even try to speak about the feeling of anticipation that fills his stomach each time he and Wataru cross paths?
He can’t. He’ll be dead before even pronouncing a word.
“What the hell, what the hell…” he repeats, rolling on his bed. He opens his arms and stares at the ceiling, filling his cheeks with air before he lets it go with a hard sigh. His flat is buried in silence, and at some point he can clearly hear the sound of a lock filling the air, Wataru leaving his flat to go to the theatre, probably.
He should go to one of his play, once in a while. Maybe it could help him relax.
Maybe not.
He takes his phone, glad to see no notifications on the screen. He scrolls the address book, looking for a friend’s name, wondering if he’s being an idiot, right now.
Is he worrying too much over a stupid paranoia?
I need to talk with someone. Breakfast tomorrow y/n? he types, faster than light so that he can’t reconsider. He sends the mail and awaits an answer that comes in a few seconds.
Of course, Tomoya-kun.
Hajime Shino is an angel incarnate, Tomoya is sure of this. He wouldn’t explain why he accepted to have breakfast with him at seven in the morning, otherwise. They sit at the table of a cute bakery near their agency, filled with the sweet, first rays of sunshine. Tomoya likes that place: the tinkling of spoons over the cups’ ceramic, the smell of muffins and cakes, all those sounds and scents soothe his heart, and makes him calmer.
He might even manage to talk.
“So, Tomoya-kun,” Hajime starts, a sweet smile bending on his face. He’s soothing, too. “What did you want to talk about?”
Maybe not.
“Ah. Uhm… it’s not really important… it’s so stupid that… maybe I shouldn’t have called you-”
“Tomoya-kun.”
Damn.
“You would have never asked me to talk if it wasn’t something serious. What happened?”
“I think I’m having a breakdown,” he decides to start, leaving his tea on its cup and burying his face on his hands. “I have a hard time sleeping at night, my sleep schedule is absolutely fucked. I live with my phone next to the pillow because I might get a call from the police and I wake up every. Single. Hour. I’m even trying to avoid coffee because they say it doesn’t help anxiety but well, let me tell you, it’s a lie. I’m anxious, and I don’t sleep. And each time I fall asleep I dream about him, and he laughs at me, and he runs away and I wake up before yelling at him that he’s a jerk. And then there’s my neighbour and he’s way too eccentric and I never know how to deal with his damned displays of affection. Because he-”
“Breathe, Tomoya-kun.”
And he does as Hajime says, taking his time to fill his lungs with air again. He takes the cup on his hands, and he’s about to take a sip when Hajime talks again.
“Is your neighbour… harassing you?”
Thank God he didn’t take it. He coughs, though, his ears reddening as he feels his body getting hotter, and all of sudden he regrets all his life choices.
“He’s not;” and his voice is pitch high, so much that someone turns to look at them - just to add embarrassment over embarrassment, how cute. “He’s not harassing me. He’s just… too demonstrative?”
“And you don’t like that.”
“... that’s not it.”
“... oh.”
He doesn’t like the little smile that blooms on Hajime’s lips - he knows he would never make fun of him, not when he’s so desperate, at least, but still he reads too much, in that look that Tomoya wished he could just become fog and disappear.
“Don’t oh me, Hajime-kun, please, this is being embarrassing enough without your help.”
“I’m sorry,” and he hides a little chuckle behind his hand, before he dunks a cookie on his caffellatte. “It was indelicate. But I don’t understand. If you enjoy it, what’s the problem?”
Will this torture ever end.
“I don’t enjoy it, stop assuming the wrong.” He tries to stay collected, he really does, but it’s hard when the eyes of the individual in front of you looks at you with shiny eyes and expectation. “It’s just… distracting. I can’t focus when he’s around, and at the moment I’ve to think about that thief, I just can’t… manage two freaks at once.”
“You should sort your problems one by one, Tomoya-kun. If you worry too much about too many things at once, your head will explode. You can count on me, if you need help catching the thief. You can count on Mitsuru-kun as well, even if he looks like he’s good just at bringing coffee.” Hajime blushes as his own words as soon as he realises what he has said. “I mean. He’s actually good at others things. Not just coffee.”
“Yes, I got what you mean, don’t worry. And… thank you. But he threw me a challenge and I can’t refuse. But… I’ll ask for help, if I’ll be in need.”
“And what about your neighbour?”
“... I’ll think about him later.”
The next two days are somehow empty, too quiet: the Phantom Thief is disappeared in the dark, on board of that huge balloon that sometimes Tomoya wonders where is hidden. Maybe he has got tired to be chased, maybe he’s just giving him a break - Tomoya likes to think that the Thief has some special consideration of him, but he’s sure it’s just a coincidence, the fact that he complained about his mental state and suddenly he stopped demanding his attention.
He’s resting on his bed, now, the mattress filled with sheets of paper, press clipping scattered before him. Not a picture, not a frame of the Phantom Thief’s face - the only evidence that he’s real, that he exists, are the journalists’ picture of his balloon in the air, so striking that he really wonders if the thief isn’t too sure of himself, to travel with something like that.
Tomoya brushes the clipping papers, sighing, his heart feeling somehow empty, now that he has nothing to do, now that his only worry is investigating on a man who’s apparently cheating on his wife.
Why people can’t take care of their loved ones, anyway?
It’s not his business, anyway. Oh well, it is, since he’s working on that case and he’s paid for it, but he now finds those kind of tasks rather boring. It’s hard to admit it, but he misses chasing him. Or better, he misses the thrill, he misses the adrenaline. Has he become a junkie?
He’s confused. By him, by the whole situation. It’s been a year since the chase has begun, and still Tomoya hasn’t get the reason behind the Thief’s job. The objects he steals are precious, rare, diamond jewels and relics belonging to a time so far in the past to be even imagined. He puts his life at stake, jumping on roofs and flying away in a balloon nobody seems able to trace despite its size, and someone would think he holds the items he steals dear, hidden somewhere out of reach.
But he doesn’t. Tomoya has figured out that the Thief acts like a sort of Robin Hood, a man that reinstates a lost balance through robbing- he acts like a lost and found, because the items he takes away from those rich houses find their place somewhere else, in the hands of those that Tomoya always finds out to be their real owners. Nobody gets under arrest because there’s no evidence that those items were stolen, and that’s the part Tomoya hates the most, because he didn’t become a detective to let crimes unpunished, but that’s not his field so he has to leave everything in the hands of the police. Which is good, thinking about it, because he wouldn’t be able to deal with the extra stress.
Tomoya wonders if he will be able to catch him, he wonders what he’ll do once he frees himself for that burden. In his head, the Phantom Thief has taken the shape of a bird, impossible to cage. Should he be the one to cut his wings?
Why does the Thief want to be caught by him? Sometimes, Tomoya wishes they could sit in a cafè, so that he might ask all those question filling his head - the thought of it makes him laugh, though.
“Where are you,” he whispers, and in the moment he picks up one of the news clipping his phone rings, and his heart loses a beat.
Tomoya’s fingers tremble while he holds the envelope, blue ink elegantly writing his name, a blue rose like a seal, his own peculiarity.
“I’m sorry, it was your day off and-” Nazuna Nito apologises, bending way too much. Tomoya is fond of Nazuna, he’s his mentor inside that office, somehow, so he doesn’t really like to see him like that.
“Please, there’s nothing to apologise for,” and he smiles, or at least he tries to, while his eyes are glued to that letter, to the address written in a beautiful writing - too beautiful to belong to an ordinary man. “When did you get this?”
“Half an hour ago,” and Nazuna voice is apologetic, like it was his fault for not noticing. “I was taking a break when I saw the envelope on your locker.”
“Did you warn the police?”
“It’s on the way.”
Tomoya swallows hard, while his hands start sweating a bit. He can feel it, his heart racing in his rib cage, his muscle tensing, yearning to move on their own. He tries to breathe slowly, to calm down - two days without any notice from him and now here they are, to the starting point.
“Let’s catch him, tonight,” he whispers more to himself than to Nazuna, but the other nods, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulders.
“You can do it, Tomoya-kun.”
He wishes he was right.
Red lights are surrounding the manor, twenty men ready to shot at that damned balloon if it gets into sight. Tomoya looks around, searching for a sign that the Thief is already here - he probably is, hiding somewhere in the dark. Is he a magician, making his means of transportation disappear like that without anybody noticing? He imagines him for a moment, tapping a wand on his hat and making it appear and disappear to his liking. He would laugh, if it wasn’t for the situation he’s in.
Nazuna and Kunugi are talking to Otogari, one of the policemen working with them that night. He likes that man: his attitude is so placid that sometimes Tomoya wishes he could take Akiomi’s place - something that, sadly enough, will never happen. He shakes his head, focusing on the manor before his eyes, looking for evidences. The owner of the building is outside, absolutely pissed by the whole situation. He would say him he’s not alone, but at the moment the only thing he can think about is the Thief, so he lets Hajime and Mitsuru deal with him. He just asks if he can go in, and when the man gives him permission, he leaves everyone behind and steps into the house.
It’s huge.
And a bit scary, if he must be totally honest. Every light in the house is turned on because of safety reasons. The hall is spacious, a checkered floor in dark blue and cream opening before his feet. He’s starting to feel nervous; everything in that room is way too quiet to trust the sudden, peaceful atmosphere. He sighs, heavy as the weight on his chest, looking around while he enters the room, the voices coming from outside fainting and being swallowed by thick silence.
The room where the most valuable item in the house is on the second floor - Kunugi has described it as a tantou that dates back to the Kamakura period, a relic of historical relevance and impossible to evaluate. He climbs the stairs, his eyes focused as much as his ears, ready to catch any glimpse of that man, ready to hear any single sound. His heart is jumping in his chest, and as he takes another step he can’t help to hope to get a sign soon.
And the Phantom Thief grants his wish.
It’s when Tomoya reaches the second floor that the lights suddenly turn off, leaving him in the dark. He can hear the panicked voices of his co-workers outside the building, and he probably recognizes Hajime’s one among them, but he can’t step back now. That’s clearly an invite and he should accept it.
He doesn’t realise he’s holding his lower lip between his teeth until it starts to hurt. He brushes it with his tongue, feeling the metallic taste of blood where the skin is chapped. Ah. He’s nervous. Once again, he can feel his ears ringing, blood running through his veins like crazy.
He wants to catch him, he wants to take off that damned mask and look at his face, know who’s behind a year of struggles, a year spent trying to reach his hand, and get the credit he deserves. He clenches his fists, while he walks through the hallway, holding his breath as if he could get distracted just by inhaling air.
Where should he go? He looks around, and there’s a door every three steps - for a moment, Tomoya feels like he is in a hotel, with all those rooms next to each other. Some of them are closed, others are just empty bedrooms, a bathroom, an utility room. And he starts to wonder if he misunderstood, when he heard about the relic, maybe it’s not on that floor, maybe…
“Come, Little Rabbit.”
That voice, so soft and at the same time tantalizing, shakes his chest and makes his legs wobbly. He follows it, like a mouse with the sound of the Hamelin’s pipe, ready to throw himself in cold water. The Phantom Thief is humming, attracting him into his alluring trap, and Tomoya is sure that he’s the only one being that anxious, now. For that man, this is just a play.
And then, when he opens the door, their eyes meet, and he feels paralysed.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Little Rabbit.”
He hates his voice, he hates the way he pronounces that nickname like his whole tongue was covered in sugar, honey dripping from his lips. It twists his stomach, making him feel hot, a discomfort that tenses up his nerves, and makes him grit his teeth.
“Stop calling me like that,” he says, his voice echoing in the room. The Phantom Thief sits on the empty showcase in the middle of the room, the shiny relic already in his hands. “The building is surrounded. You won’t get it this time.”
“Innocent, little Rabbit. I’ve already won this round.” He plays with the tantou, turning it around his hands without interrupting their eye contact. Tomoya swallows, taking a step further into the room.
He’s majestic, with half of his body covered by his black cape, his face partially hidden behind a golden mask, adorned with little shiny jewels. Tomoya wants to tear it off and find out what hides behind him, he wants to know, he wants to know. The Phantom Thief has no face in his dreams, and he can’t stand it.
He deserves to know.
“Give it back,” he says, hands clutched in fists. He doesn’t want to rush things, he must understand how to play his cards, how to catch the bird and put it on a cage. The window behind the Thief is still open - how he wishes he could make the others know where he is…
“I won’t,” the Thief smiles, brushing that long braid resting on his shoulder. “This relic doesn’t belong here.”
“You must stop,” and his voice raises, while he takes a step more. He can feel his fists trembling, while his mind starts racing too fast - don’t rush, don’t rush, he repeats on his mind.
He can’t lose the chance. “Why do you put yourself in danger like that? It’s useless, it’s-”
“Are you worried about me, Little Rabbit?”
“I’m not,” and even if he’s aware that the Thief is just mocking him, he can’t really stay calm. “But let me tell you that you’re an idiot.”
“You’re so right,” and it’s annoying, the way he puts a hand before his mouth, laughing softly at his words, “I’m an idiot. Yours. Remember that my only purpose is to make you shine.”
And he never gets what that means, because Tomoya is still sure that the Thief is playing around, having fun, seeing a man like him struggling to achieve his aim.
“Come closer.”
It’s not the Thief, the idiot one. He holds his breath as he takes another step, feeling like he is falling right into the Wolf’s trap.
“Are you going to let me catch you?”
“Maybe.”
He hates that smile, so bright, so wide. Tomoya wants to rip it off, to delete it from the world and live in peace again, and still, somewhere inside his chest, he knows that he’s just lying to himself.
And he hates this more than that smile.
He can smell his scent, the aroma of roses coming from that slender, tall body in front of him. The thief bends towards him, his legs still crossed on the showcase and an arm reaching him up.
This is not going to end well. Tomoya stops a few steps from the Thief, looking at that hand, an offer that he should refuse because he won’t bring nothing good. He raises his eyes and looks at the Thief, that smile still painted on his thin lips, too much happiness hiding his beautiful eyes.
Can he live with the illusion to reach for that hand? Can he hold it tight, straighten his grasp around that wrist, and think to be the winner, just for a few seconds? His arm raises on his own, his fingers brushing the back of the Thief’s hand, covered in black gloves, but still warm.
He doesn’t know when he stopped breathing.
He can hear the Thief’s chuckling on his ear, soft, warm breath gently brushing his face. Tomoya is glad the lights are off, because he’s starting to feel hot and he wouldn’t ever want to give that man the chance to make fun of it because of his cheeks turning red. He swallows, torturing his lower lip again, eyes locked on his own hand around that wrist - so thin, almost bony.
He wants to look at him, look at his face, get a hint, a distinguishing feature that will help him find the Thief outside of this manor, there in the real world. And he’s scared, because he thinks that the magic will vanish soon, and he doesn’t want to, and still his mind reprimands him and tells him he should call for help.
He’s under a spell.
He meets his eyes, so close, full of a life that Tomoya wonders if it’s just a lie. He can’t distinguish their colour in the dark of the room, but Tomoya knows that shade of violet way too well by now. His grasp tightens, as he can feel his lungs filling with air again, and adrenaline rushing through his veins and making him feel dizzy, as if he was living in a dream.
“Does it feels good?”
Tomoya inhales too fast, so fast that his lungs hurt for a moment. He doesn’t answer, too busy holding him, his muscles shivering with the pleasure of adrenaline. He feels it. He knows that the moment is coming, the moment in which he will feel victory disappearing in a cloud of dust.
“I wish I could stay with you forever, Little Rabbit, but I must go.”
And his smile is so soft, almost apologetic as he pronounces those words, that Tomoya almost believes them. He knows he’s losing again, and tightening his grasp another more won’t help, because his range of vision is suddenly covered in smoke, and the moment he starts to cough is the moment he knows everything has come to an end.
He shakes the air with his free hand, while the other one suddenly grasps the air for a moment. Behind him, the sound of hurried steps fills the room, and in a moment he is surrounded by the police, by his co-workers who try to help him clear the air. Something takes the place of the Thief’s wrist, and as the smoke clears he sees the outline of a flower between his fingers.
A blue rose.
“Until next time,” he can hear through his colleagues’ voices, while he runs at the window and sticks his head out of it. He can’t see his face anymore, too far from him to distinguish his features, but he’s sure the Thief is winking at him as he waves his hand. His balloon is flying already too far from the police to get him by shooting at it, and as Tomoya feels the rush of adrenaline running out, all the frustration he feels is expressed through Kunugi’s voice thundering in the room.
Until next time.