Chapter Text
There is a stark difference between detective work in Hollywood blockbusters, and that of real life. Crime dramas on TV always portray detective work as that of a thrilling job packed with action, adventure, (light romance if you're into that kinda thing) and general ass kicking all around. You know, sticking it to criminals, thieves, murderers, and general bad guys who've done society wrong and making it home before dinner. Such tales were so fantastical even the “famous” detective Rodger couldn't help but be encapsulated by them whenever they appeared on late night TV. No matter how embarrassing it is to admit said fascination to himself.
Now, if only those same dramas portrayed how little people nowadays still utilized private detectives to solve their problems. Sure, it makes for far less entertaining television, but at least it'd maybe make Rodger feel less dissatisfied with his rather miserable career prospects.
Rodger knew it was incredibly foolish to expect everyone and their mother to have a mystery in dire need of solving, but the sheer lack of any valuable work was getting to his psyche, and his wallet. While being one’s own boss has a long list of benefits, there are also some catastrophic downsides. One of the biggest ones being that Rodger doesn’t have an annual salary. His cash flow is entirely dependent on who hires him and how much they’re willing to pay for his work. And in a market where the aforementioned gig work is few, and as such the financial compensation is fewer, it leads to many dreary days in his office. All of his suffering within a suffocating workspace was for practically nothing. He still had no actual case to prove that sitting down here was even worth it.
Suddenly, like the divine beings above new he needed work, a knock echoed from the front door, and the detective's head snapped to the vicinity of the noise. So quickly that his neck protested in a quick yet dastardly sharp pain. But Rodger couldn't be deterred by the consequences of being a man in his mid to late 30s, he had a possible job on his hands. He rose from his seat, and opened the door from his office out into the hallway.
Rodger was fortunate enough to be able to afford a building that had both a small office space on it's ground level, and a functional apartment on its second floor, which he shared with his daughter. It wasn't glamorous, or even that comfortable, but it was a place to call their own. And it just so happens that necessity of a place to be has plagued the detective for quite some time.
He approached the front door. A dark oak barrier from the outside with a large frosted window on its upper half, printed with the title, "Rodger Magnum - Private Eye" on its surface in faded golden print. The glass prevented Rodger from identifying the client any earlier than him actually opening the door.
Which might've actually worked in said client's favor, judging on who was on the other side. Because if he knew, Rodger would've never opened the door.
Why?
Because he stood on the other side.
Rodger's breath hitched. He tightly gripped the door knob as if it had personally brought the offender to his doorstep. He glared daggers to the other man, but the visitor didn't return the same hostility. In fact, he stood there rather sweetly, innocently even, with a tragic expression and silhouette akin to the damsels in detective shows.
But Rodger knew better than that. He knew his offender's poised innocence was as pure as a manipulative siren beckoning desperate forlorn sailors to the ocean's murky depths. And Rodger was the only surviving victim gasping for air and coughing up water, barely alive enough to tell the tale.
The man's oh so perfect face pursed into a look of careful despair, the kind that signaled something was clearly bothering him, but not enough to not have his outward appearance a top priority. The man was devilishly handsome after all. And he knew it.
And that is the worst thing an ex can be after all these years.
Rodger cleared his throat, brushing off his initial disbelief as he readjusted his posture to that of a put-together man. Despite knowing this caricature was extremely unlikely to work on his visitor.
"What do you want, Glisten?" He muttered gruffly, spitting out Glisten's name like a slur. The other man gulped in response, scrambling to think of an appropriate excuse in order to enter in a place he was clearly not welcome in.
"Look-." He started, immediately backtracking. "I-…I get how this looks."
"Yes, it certainly does." Rodger interjects. "I told you never to come back here again, and I still stand by it. Good evening."
The detective begins to shut the door, but he quickly finds an expensive leather boot lodged in its way. Rodger looks up at its owner, who stared into him with clear intentions of not moving until he was heard. Eventually, Rodger gave up, allowing the door to be pried open. Glisten smoothed out his hair and adjusted his posture, knowing he now had Rodger trapped.
"I know how we last ended things, Rodger. That's not why I'm here." Glisten then bit back the next sentence, as if the admission was hurting him. "I…I need your help."
"You? You need my help?" Rodger couldn't contain a cold chuckle at the audacity, although his laugh was as bitter as a lemon. And stung like having said lemon rubbed coarsely into the meat of a fresh open wound.
"Yes, I do. Can we talk inside?" Glisten nodded with the upmost certainty, attempting to appear unbothered as he tried to maneuver his way inside. His efforts, of course, were in vain. Rodger quickly blocked him. Despite Rodger giving him that initial lick of leniency by not immediately shutting him out, it was clear he wasn't quite ready to allow him in.
"Hold on just a minute." Rodger further positions himself in the doorway. "And just what makes you think you’re welcome back here? Just because you ‘need my help’?" The detective inquired, interrogating Glisten as though he was the perpetrator of one of his investigations.
"Do you think I want to be on your doorstep begging for help, Rodger? No! This is embarrassing as hell. I'm not here for you. I’m here for your services.”
“My services?”
“Mhm, that’s right. I’ve got a case that needs solving.”
"Your-…a case?" Rodger bit his tongue when he accidentally let too much intrigue regarding the temptation of a case. Holy shit, an actual job? As in something to do at his desk instead of sit on his ass and twiddle his thumbs?
Just that word had a taboo, almost sensual, effect on him, like a rabid street dog beckoned out of the alleyway with the promise of a juicy 16oz sirloin. Glisten grinned, ready to take full advantage of Rodger's interest. Despite how much Rodger despised it, Glisten knew far too well how this man operated.
"My case, yes. Those damn police won't take me seriously enough to reopen the case. I understand this is awkward for the both of us, but what other choice do I have?"
"Okay, I suppose…" Rodger starts. Glisten attempts to enter the building once again, thinking his has Rodger completely convinced. Rodger, in a sudden bout of hesitation, stops him once more. Sure, a case was an interesting prospect, but was he really the only guy available for the job? "Hold on. What makes you so sure I'm willing to take your ‘case’? Can't you string along some other poor bastard who’s not me?"
"Well…I could, probably. But, I know you, Rodger." Glisten looks to the ground, tugging at a blonde curl near his ear. "I know you do good work, and I don't know, I kinda need someone to be that for me right now. Regardless if that someone is my ex.”
Glisten looked back up to Rodger. The two stood in an incredibly awkward silence at the admission. The two did in fact did know each other. Quite intimately, as a matter of fact. Clearly, however, one of the men clearly had more gull than the other. Glisten actually had the audacity to show up. What has Rodger done these past few years other than wish his ex would just disappear?
Once again, Glisten backtracked, clearing his throat as if to reset the conversation to a position previous to his last plea.
"Please Rodger, at least hear me out? That's all I'm asking."
Rodger processed the offer. Sure, hearing out the case implies at least some interest in accepting it, and accepting it means closely working with his ex. Although, just the thought of investigating and working on a case made him consider it. He was in desperate need of work, after all.
"Fine. I'll hear you out." "BUT. That doesn't guarantee I'm ready to work with you."
Rodger stepped out of the way, allowing just enough room for Glisten to squeeze past into the hallway. He couldn't help but scoff as he watched the man move into the building, flabbergasted by how successfully Glisten had manipulated him into accepting him back into his home.
"You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?"
Glisten turned his head back around to face Rodger, a small yet devilish smirk danced on his face as his smooth voice graced Rodger with a response.
"A man needs some nerve in this world, Detective. Otherwise, how would have I convinced you to let me in?"