Love and Justice Share a Blindfold - magumarashi (2024)

Chapter 1: A Chance Meeting

Chapter Text

Sometimes fate takes the form of something grandiose; a happening or outcome beyond the scope of human control. But sometimes “fate” just looks like a sleepy art student in a black cardigan, sitting alone in a little coffee shop along the Seine. At a glance, he was perfectly ordinary. A pile of art history books sat on the table in front of him, but behind his horn-rimmed glasses, his gaze was turned outward--as if he were waiting for someone to pass by.

Goro Akechi couldn’t have known that the boy at that table was anything special. Of course not. All Goro saw was a seat not yet taken in a crowded cafe.

“Is someone here?” he asked, indicating to the empty chair. His French was still far from perfect.

He had the boy’s attention nonetheless; he turned to meet Goro’s gaze.

“Go ahead,” said the boy, nodding. Goro gratefully sat down, placing his mug on a left-behind coaster. He gave his table mate a once-over now that he had a clear view. The boy was about his age, with Asian features. Is he French, or a foreign student? Goro found himself wondering; in this age of globalization, it was hard to tell one’s origins at a glance. His eyes wandered down to the pile of books and noticed that the one on top had been opened to a picture of an Impressionist painting. The text on the page was in a familiar script…

“Oh,” he said, “You’re… Japanese?”

The student looked up again.

“Hm? Ah, yeah,” he nodded, “And you?”

“I am,” Goro said, more comfortably this time, “It’s such a relief to find someone who speaks Japanese here…”

“Same to you!” the boy’s gloomy expression brightened, “I speak French alright myself, but it can get so exhausting…”

“I only just started learning,” Goro smiled, “It’s a difficult language.”

“Only just started, and you’re visiting France already?”

“Well, I’m here for business…” he decided not to elaborate. Not everyone needed to know that he was here as a detective. Actually, it was better not to go around broadcasting it.

“My name’s Akira. Akira Kurusu,” the student extended a hand. “And you?”

“Goro… Akechi,” said Goro, taking his hand. They shook briefly. “So, what brings you to France, Kurusu-kun?”

“Well,” Akira indicated to the books, “As you can see, I’m studying art here. Art history. I could probably have done that just as well in Japan, but I wanted to study Western oil painting in particular, so here I am.”

Goro nodded. Despite his sleepy disposition, this Akira was a good deal more talkative than he’d expected. It seemed he’d be easy to talk to, which was a relief. Goro could only keep small talk going as long as he could feign interest--which didn’t tend to be very long. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was talking to Akira at all. Some need of companionship in the isolation of a foreign city, perhaps?

“Do you have a favorite?” Goro offered. “Painter, I mean.”

“Oh, it’s gotta be Monet,” Akira nodded to himself, “The father of Impressionism himself. I can’t think of a single painting of his I don’t like, honestly. They’re all just incredible… he was amazingly talented. Did you know--they turned his house in Giverny into a museum!”

“I didn’t know that,” said Goro. He tried to think of a painting by Monet, but realized he couldn’t match that name to any paintings he knew. He would have to look into Monet the next time he was called to one of the museums for an investigation… mulling over this, he busied himself with his coffee.

“So,” Akira put his elbows on the table and propped his chin on his hands, “Business, huh? I hate to pry, but I’m curious…”

“Unfortunately, it’s not something I can talk about with the public yet,” Goro smiled over the rim of his mug, “You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course. Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m used to it. Anyway, tell me more about that museum in Giverny. You seemed excited about it.”

Their conversation percolated throughout the afternoon--both of them quickly lost track of time. Goro drained his mug, and Akira ordered another for him. Their topics wandered from current events, to art, to tourist spots, to hobbies; Akira even helped Goro brush up on some French. Goro didn’t think he’d ever talked to anyone for so long. He always had to worry about keeping up appearances, meeting his audience with what they wanted to hear--but Akira was different. Goro didn’t have to live up to Akira’s expectations; Akira didn’t have any. He was not someone Goro needed to placate or impress. He was just another stranger… though a stranger quickly becoming more familiar as the afternoon wore on.

As their conversation finally seemed to reach a lull, Akira pulled out his phone to check the time.

“Sheesh, is it really that late? I should probably be heading back…”

“Myself as well,” said Goro, “Much as I’ve enjoyed spending the afternoon here.”

Akira smiled warmly.

“Well, in that case,” Akira pulled a notebook from his book bag. He tore a corner from an empty page and scrawled something down on it before holding it out to Goro.

“Here… it’s my email, along with the number you can reach me at. Let’s stay in touch.”

Goro examined the paper briefly before tucking it into his breast pocket.

“Thank you,” he said, “I’ll send you an email when I return home.”

Akira’s smile widened.

“How long are you in town for?” he asked.

“I… you know, I’m not sure," Goro frowned slightly. "I suppose as long as it takes to finish my work. I’m here on a contract.”

“Ahh, gotcha,” said Akira. “I’ll be here for most of the next year. I’ll see you around, then… Akechi, right?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Let’s meet up again sometime,” said Akira, “Until then!”

“Yes, until then.”

Goro kept his eyes on Akira until the boy had disappeared out the cafe door, bells jingling. He took the piece of paper out of his pocket again for another look. Akira had written his name in kanji: “Kurusu” with the kanji for “coming” and “nest”, and “Akira” with the kanji for “dawn”. It wasn’t a terribly common spelling.

He took out his phone to add Akira’s information to his contacts, but noticed he’d missed a notification while they’d been chatting.

From Niijima: Please call when you get this. They found another.

Goro looked up from his phone, and his gaze wandered to the window. The sun was starting to dip behind the buildings in the west.

He left his empty mug at the table.

* * *

The Musee Adzak was not a particularly well-known museum, and Goro wondered why it had even been targeted at all. He’d certainly never heard of it before being summoned there for an investigation. It was small, housing only a few exhibits at a time, and seemed to have put more care into its event spaces than its exhibit halls. It was even between exhibits right now; there were plans to host a traveling exhibition of a private German collection.

This incoming collection seemed to be the source of the commotion. Goro arrived on the scene to find a flurry of harried officers, a panicked curator, and his partner-translator desperately trying to maintain some order among the chaos of the gallery.

“Akechi! There you are,” she said, “Where the hell have you been?”

“I’m sorry, Niijima-san, I was at a cafe and lost track of time…” Goro did his best to sound remorseful, “So there’s been another card…”

“That’s right,” said his partner, “This time the target is in the Hermann Collection, an exhibit set to open here soon. It’s the same style of construction and writing, so we believe it’s from the same perpetrator as the others.”

Niijima held out a plastic bag containing a single piece of red card stock. Black and white words had been cut from magazines and newspapers and pasted to the card to form new sentences. Goro doubted he could read it even if it were typed consistently: it was all in French.

“Would you like me to translate it for you?” Niijima asked, noticing Goro’s struggle to decode the note.

“Yes, thank you…”

“Let’s see… it says, ‘There is a work in the Amhold Hermann collection that does not belong to him. I will be by opening night to retrieve it, and I will see it returned it to its rightful owners--the Jewish descendants of the original painter. - A.’”

“Self-righteous as always,” Goro frowned, “That’s just like you, Arsene.”

Arsene was the name on the minds of every law enforcement officer in Paris these days--the pen name of a mysterious thief quickly rising in notoriety. He’d styled himself after the fictional gentleman thief Arsene Lupin, leaving calling cards for museums and wealthy collectors before taking what he pleased.

His activity had begun in the fall three months prior, when a Hindu idol disappeared from the collection of a wealthy Parisian antiquities dealer with just a red card left in its place. Since then he’d sent two more calling cards, one to another collector, and one to a museum--and most infuriatingly of all, his heists succeeded both times. He left no fingerprints, no sign of forced entry, and nothing on security tapes. The targets vanished from their displays and disappeared without a trace; no murmurs on the black market, nothing but shrugs from legitimate dealers. Each time, only a simple red card with a fancy letter A remained. It was almost as if they’d been spirited away.

Arsene always made his motives clear in the language of his calling card. He didn’t see himself as stealing, but reclaiming what had been taken. Because of this Goro considered the possibility that the stolen pieces had been returned to their “original” owners, but truthfully, he didn’t care what happened to them. His priority was taking down the culprit, regardless of motive. After all, that’s what the French government had gone through the trouble of hiring him to do. A prodigy detectivetaking down a cunning phantom thief… it sounded like a pulpy crime novel. If he was successful, Goro had no doubt his name would become known around the world.

“When does the Hermann exhibit open?” he asked.

“Two weeks--the 19th,” said Niijima, “That’s not a lot of time to prepare, especially for a museum with such a tight budget…”

“True…” Goro frowned. Not like preparation would do them much good against a thief with what appeared to be superhuman skills, “We’ll have to do what we can. I’m prepared to offer my services in assessing security vulnerabilities, at least.”

“I’ve told the curator as much already,” said Niijima, “We’ll be having a tour just as soon as he’s calmed down.”

“Understood.”

As Niijima walked off to go check on the curator, Goro found himself clenching his fists slightly.

No one is above the law. Even well-intentioned crimes are still crimes.

This time… I’ll make sure you go to prison, Arsene.

Chapter 2: Heist Night

Chapter Text

Slightly after midnight on the 19th, a shadow in a black coat and ghoulish, helmet-like mask crept into an air vent in the rear of the Musee Adzak.

You’d think they’d put locks over these, considering… he thought to himself.

The vent led to a dark, empty meeting room, and the shadow dropped down soundlessly. He took a quick look around--no security cameras here.

We rigged the cameras earlier, anyway. Gotta hand it to that Morgana--leaves no stone unturned.

He made his way into the hallway. Judging from what he’d seen of the museum maps, the exhibit would be in a nearby hall. Signs were already up advertising the new collection, showcasing various pieces. This traveling exhibit marked the first time the late Amhold Hermann’s extensive collection of pieces from pre-war Germany would be shown to the public. It had already opened in Berlin to raucous acclaim, yet it had trouble finding footing in France--perhaps due to some lingering animosity. While Hermann was known for his long tenure as a published and respected art historian, in his youth he’d served proudly in the German Army during the second World War. The Musee Adzak was the only museum in Paris willing to offer his collection exhibit space.

The shadow crept toward the exhibit entrance, taking cover behind a standing banner. The choice not to specify which piece he’d be taking was entirely deliberate. Security guards didn’t know which piece was at risk, so they had to spread their coverage evenly. They traversed the halls in pairs, shining flashlights into darkened corners.

Of course they’ve taken steps to prepare… what fun would it be if they hadn’t?

He made a note of their patrol patterns, and slipped into the exhibit when all eyes were elsewhere.

Inside, paintings hung on temporary display walls, while sculptures were stacked on plain white columns. The thief observed the wandering patrol of the one guard stationed inside. It looked like the guard was shorter than he was; all the easier to knock him off balance. The thief waited until he had an opening, then struck--he took the guard in a chokehold, covering his mouth with a gloved hand to muffle any noise. After a minute or so of struggling, the guard fell limp in his arms. He stowed the unconscious man behind a display of statues. He would only have five minutes at most before the guard regained consciousness; that or the other guards noticed something was wrong.

The target was a small framed landscape painting--only about eight by ten inches, frame included. It hung on a back wall, with a placard reading Rheinland, Yosef Ginzburg, circa 1922, watercolor. Ginzburg’s delicate watercolors made the idyllic hills of the German countryside look like something out of a fairy tale.

Yosef Ginzburg was a master of watercolor, and at the peak of his career had exhibits in museums in Berlin and Munich. He was sent to Buchenwald in 1939, where he was murdered. His paintings were confiscated by the Nazis and any that weren’t destroyed were scattered--those that remain are now floating around in private collections across Europe.

The thief removed the painting and wrapped it in a cloth shopping bag, slipping it into his satchel. He then took a red card from his pocket, on which was emblazoned a decorative letter A. He pinned it to the place Rheinland once hung.

His only living daughter lives in America now--along with her children and grandchildren. It’s important that she gets this back.

The guard would be waking soon. The thief made his way toward a window he’d made note of when he last visited the museum--just two weeks earlier, to scope out the exhibit space personally. The window opened inward, just wide enough for someone of his build to slip through. He tied a cord to the handle with a loose knot and climbed onto the sill. It was a short drop to the ground, and the grass below muffled the sound of his landing. With a yank of the cord, the window slid shut and the knot came undone. No one would be the wiser.

The thief smirked to himself under the mask. Another clean job. For someone who’d only just begun thieving in the last few months, he was doing pretty well for himself. But, he supposed he shouldn’t get too co*cky. One slip-up would mean game over.

A few minutes from now, that guard’ll wake up and tell his friends something happened. It’ll take them a bit to notice what’s missing. And by then I’ll be across town on the metro…

Keeping to the shadows, the thief snuck over to a construction site a few blocks away. A tall figure was waiting for him just outside the portable trailer that served as the site office--a place agreed upon in advance.

“Right on time,” said the tall figure, “You’re improving.”

“It helped that I didn’t have to sneak out of a fourth-floor apartment this time,” the thief quipped back in an accented French. “Here it is.”

He took the wrapped painting from his satchel and handed it to his accomplice, who tucked it away in a similarly unremarkable bag. The tall figure produced a pile of clothes in exchange--a black cardigan, white t-shirt, and some jeans.

“Get changed, Arsene. There’s a port-a-potty not far from here you can use.”

“Of course, of course. Wouldn’t want to be caught on the train with this getup. Why do you have me wear this stuff, anyway?”

“Style points,” the figure’s face was obscured in shadow, but there was a smile in his voice. “And something unbelievable for the security footage, in case something goes wrong. That mask has its practical uses as well.”

“Fair enough.”

“Get going. I’ll contact you with my next lead.”

“Let me know what Ms. Ginzburg has to say, will you, Morgana?”

“I’ll try. I probably won’t be the one to hand it off to her. Now get out of here.”

“I’m gone.”

Arsene entered the portable toilet carefully, keeping a watchful eye to ensure nobody could have seen him. After a few minutes, a sleepy-looking college student emerged, closing the door delicately behind himself. He took a pair of horn-rimmed glasses from his bag and slipped them on. As he left the construction site, he noticed that Morgana was nowhere to be seen--as it should be.

Let’s see… hopefully the trains are still running…

Akira Kurusu set off at a leisurely pace toward the train station, humming some song he’d heard on the radio recently. He passed the Musee Adzak on his way; a commotion could be heard from inside, and the lights were on. He stopped, briefly, before continuing on his way.

What’s happened here, boys? Another caper? Goodness… what is the world coming to?

He tried not to smile to himself all the way back to his dorm.

* * *

It had started with an email. No, perhaps it had started earlier than that--a paper he’d written his freshman year tracing the history of colonial powers looting art for their museums. His professor had recommended it for the school’s yearly writing honors, and he’d won a spot in a journal of student writing. Not too long after, he’d received an email that sounded like a hoax. This was Akira Kurusu’s first correspondence with the mysterious Morgana.

Morgana had addressed him personally. Monsieur Kurusu, he’d said--Akira admired his flair for the dramatic. Monsieur Kurusu, I recently came upon your treatise on the removal of artifacts from colonized countries. The email was in English, which was the only language they were likely to share. Akira still had to run many of the words through a dictionary, but he managed to get the gist of it. I believe that you and I are of a similar mind--that these removals were indeed crimes, and that the artifacts ought to be returned to their places of origin. Therefore, I have a proposition for you. An opportunity, if you will.

I would like to use the significant funds I have at my disposal to sponsor you for a year abroad in Paris. You would be studying Art History at the most prestigious fine arts university in Europe, and all your living expenses will be covered. If that sounds too good to be true, I assure you that you are correct: there will be a catch. In return for my generosity, I ask nothing more than your assistance in procuring stolen works. Yes, that is what it sounds like--you will be in my employ as a Phantom Thief.

Risky? Yes. Dangerous? As a matter of course. One misstep and you could find yourself facing a lengthy prison sentence. You’re probably hesitating as you read this, and that is understandable. But I am serious about my offer. I am prepared to facilitate your training and cover any costs you may incur, even before you arrive in Paris. I also have at my disposal certain “skills” which may prove useful in the work I have planned for you.

You may ask why I am not doing the thievery myself, if I’m so serious about it. The answer is that I am ill-suited to this type of work: my health is poor and always has been. I can do all of the research, the logistical coordination--even such things as complex hacking, if needed. But the physical act itself is unfortunately beyond my ability. That’s where you come in.

The decision is yours. I will not fault you for deleting this message and going on your way. But I hope, Monsieur Kurusu, that you will consider the grand opportunity presented to you: the opportunity to make a difference in the world of art. To bring justice, in other words, for pieces that were ripped from their owners.

I look forward to working with you.

Signed, Morgana

It had taken several days to formulate a reply.

At first he didn’t want to take the offer, just on principle--gallivanting off to a country he’d never been, just to throw himself into a life of crime? He’d had enough trouble with the law as it was. If he was caught, he’d likely never live a normal life again. And yet the more he thought about it, the more attractive it sounded. The thought of pulling off perfect heists, returning long-lost artworks to their native homes… It was like something out of a movie.

Well, he remembered thinking to himself, I suppose I’m not doing anything else with my life, am I?

And so, the aimless art student submitted his reply to the mysterious Morgana:

Count me in. What’s the next step?

Chapter 3: Over Coffee

Chapter Text

Goro decided to bring his work to the coffee shop that day--there was a large amount of footage to review, and he couldn’t stand the thought of sitting in some stuffy back room at the museum to review the tapes. He set up his laptop while he waited for his coffee to cool.

Arsene had succeeded. Again. A priceless watercolor vanished into the night, leaving only that blasted red card as a receipt. There was evidence that the culprit had entered through an air shaft on the far side; they’d found a grate on the ground outside below the vent. It was possible to track his movements from there; the problem was that Goro couldn’t be sure how Arsene had escaped. It was as if his trail of footprints ended in the exhibition hall.

Other than that, no clues. No witnesses, either--clearly the increased security presence meant nothing. One guard had been knocked unconscious, and the entire crime transpired in the five minutes he’d been out. What remained was to go through the security footage, but he doubted that Arsene would make such an obvious slip. Cameras at the previous three locations had been disabled remotely just before the start of the crime.

Goro made a note to lock down air shafts at the next target, at least. He would have to call that progress for now.

As he prepared for a long and dull afternoon of fast forwarding through grainy footage, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped, hastily lowering the lid of his laptop. He looked up to see a familiar face looking back at him from behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

“Hey! Long time no see,” said Akira.

“Indeed,” said Goro, “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch… something came up right after you left, and it slipped my mind.”

“It’s fine. Mind if I sit with you?”

“Go ahead,” said Goro, “I’m trying to get some work done, though…”

“I won’t bother you. I have to study for a test on Friday anyway.” Akira held up his bookbag, which looked heavier than usual.

“Art history?” Goro asked as Akira took a seat across from him.

“No, French. Ugh,” Akira sighed, “I wouldn’t be studying this hard if it were art history…”

“Well, good luck,” said Goro, “I’d offer to help, but French isn’t my strong suit.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I appreciate the thought, though.”

There was some silence between the two boys as they settled in to work. An hour or so passed in relative quiet, with only the chatter of the cafe around them. Akira was hard at work making flashcards, while Goro skimmed the security footage in five minute increments. He was able to estimate the time of the crime from the guards’ testimonies. The crime was noticed at about 12:30 AM on the 20th. The guard who’d been assaulted had been unconscious for about five minutes prior to that point. So somewhere between 12:25 and 12:30, Goro should be seeing something happen…

He reached that timestamp and watched the footage the whole way through at normal speed. Nothing. In fact, Goro noticed, those five minutes passed by too normally. The guard patrolling the exhibit never stopped his patrol. In other words--the assault that should have happened never did. Had he opened up the wrong file? The timestamp read 12:30 AM on the 20th….

Just to be sure, he pulled footage from the previous day--maybe he’d gotten the date wrong. 12:20 AM on the 19th. The guard continued his patrol uninterrupted for ten minutes.

And yet something did seem odd. It wasn’t that there was something out of place--the opposite, actually. The officer seemed to follow an identical path around the exhibit. Goro took a few screencaps from both days just to compare. The guard was in the exact same position at the exact same time, two days in a row. Unless the guard was incredibly precise in his patrol, this should have been impossible.

“I see…” said Goro.

This is duplicate footage with a different timestamp. Clever, Arsene… or perhaps this is the work of a confidant?

The why’s and how’s, he would leave to the others on the investigation. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t captured Arsene on film. What came next was more valuable: ensuring that security cameras at the next target couldn’t be so easily exploited.

“What do you see?” asked Akira, a second time. This time Goro snapped to attention.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Confidential,” Goro answered quickly.

“Gotcha.”

Akira put his cards in a stack, heaving a sigh.

“Time for a break,” he announced. He pulled a beat up-looking laptop from his bag, “Hey, Akechi-san, did you see the news the other day?”

“Hm?”

“The news about that Phantom Thief guy.”

“I did,” Goro lied, “Why…?”

“Just wondering. Everyone at my school’s been talking about it.”

“Not surprising,” said Goro, taking a sip of coffee, “Considering the garish spectacle he makes whenever he steals something, it’s no wonder people are talking.”

“I dunno. I admire the guy’s style,” Akira admitted, “Gotta love a guy who commits to a bit.”

“I guess,” said Goro, “I’m not sure I see the appeal of someone who’s made a name with thievery. He’s not really my type, I suppose.”

“Hm? Who is your type, might I ask?”

Goro froze.

“T-that’s a loaded question,” he responded.

“Sure is,” said Akira, grinning. Goro frowned.

“It’s really none of your business,” he said.

“Alright,” Akira rested his chin on one hand, “I’ll save it for another time, then.”

Goro looked away furtively, occupying himself with drafting a report of his findings. He didn’t like that his heart started beating faster the second Akira had looked at him like that… There was something about the look in his friend’s eyes that bothered him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know why.

“My type…” said Akira quietly, “I guess I like guys my height with nice hair.”

Goro looked back up at him.

“Guys…”

“And girls,” said Akira, “I’m not picky. Oh--but I like girls who are shorter than me.”

“Don’t you have a test to be studying for?”

Akira snorted.

“You’re right, you’re right. Break time’s over.”

Akira replaced his laptop in his bag and took up his stack of flashcards. Goro sighed and settled back into his report...

“Oh, and Akechi-san,” Akira looked over at Goro again, “Let me know if I’m ever making you uncomfortable, alright? I can’t always tell…”

Goro smiled--that million-dollar smile he’d practiced to perfection.

“You’re fine, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Akira held his gaze for a long time before finally busying himself with his flashcards. The look on his face gave Goro the same feeling as before--a tingling in his cheeks and a racing heart. It was strange, but… not unpleasant. Nor was it particularly unwelcome. If he could see Akira’s face light up like that again…

Ah. I should get back to work.

Chapter 4: Impressionism

Chapter Text

Of all the myriad museums in Paris, only one could claim to be the authority on Impressionism. That was, unquestionably, the Musee d’Orsay. It seemed to host events celebrating Impressionist painters every other month, and the coming month’s feature would be the Monet collection. Thus read a cleanly-designed brochure on a rack at the station where Goro Akechi changed trains each day.

Normally, Goro wouldn’t care about such things. If he saw a flyer for an art museum, he was unlikely to give it a second glance. Yet something compelled him to pick up the Monet brochure and tuck it into his briefcase to read on the train. Then he absentmindedly blocked out some time on his schedule. Finally, on the first Sunday of the month, he found himself standing at the front entrance of the Musee d’Orsay, joining a crowd of tourists taking advantage of the day’s free admission.

The museum had guidebooks in a plethora of languages, and Goro was relieved to find one in Japanese. He made his way to the exhibit hall, head on a swivel--the museum featured an open main hall with soaring ceilings. The architecture was just as impressive as the art lining the walls. The guidebook explained that the museum had originally been a train station.

The Monet exhibition was in a narrower side hall, with windows facing the Seine. Goro picked up a pamphlet on his way in. Many of these Monet works were on loan from the Musee Marmottan Monet in Paris and the Fondation Monet in Giverny, along with some from the Musee d’Orsay’s permanent collection. In particular, works from the same series would be displayed together to show Monet’s talent with color and lighting.

Goro lingered a little at each piece, admiring them as best he could--he wasn’t particularly artistically inclined. Even so, there was something appealing about Monet’s simple yet detailed style. Some of the paintings were as clear as photographs, while others reminded Goro of hazy dreamscapes. Monet seemed to breathe life into the mundane; he could make the same two stacks of hay look completely different in different pieces.

I think I see why Kurusu chose Monet as his favorite…

The two of them had become somewhat close in the time since that first meeting in the cafe. They communicated frequently enough over email, and once or twice spent an afternoon together at some tourist destination or other. It had been a few weeks since they’d last spoken in person. Goro, at least, had the excuse that work had been keeping him busy: Arsene had sent another calling card in the last week, this time to a private collector. Goro had been practically losing sleep trying to plan around the man’s security vulnerabilities. A visit to the museum was a welcome distraction from his detective work, but… for some reason, he found himself wishing he had someone to share it with.

“Ah,” said a voice, as if on cue. Goro turned.

“Kurusu-kun?”

He was there, wearing his familiar black cardigan and jeans, hair as messy as usual. To complete his sleepy art student look, he even carried a sketchbook today.

Speak of the devil…

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Akira regained his cool air fairly quickly, “You should have told me you were coming.”

“Well, not that it matters now,” said Goro, “It’s strange… I was actually just thinking how much I would have liked to have you here to explain the paintings to me.”

“Hah, really?” Akira smiled, “I wonder if it’s fate?”

This was not the first time Goro had wondered the same thing himself--loath as he was to believe in such things.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Akira offered, indicating to the leather benches in the center of the room. Goro nodded, and the two of them took their seats. The painting across from them featured a woman standing on a hill. Her white dress billowed gracefully in an invisible wind. The movement was so perfectly captured that Goro half-expected the oils to begin moving at any moment.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Akira noticed Goro had been staring at the woman for some time, “That’s his wife, Camille. He made a bunch of paintings of her. Actually, if there’s a woman in a Monet painting, you can bet it’s probably his wife.”

“He must have really loved her…” said Goro distantly.

“Yeah,” said Akira, “Must be nice, being married to an artist… you’ll be immortalized in their work.”

Goro couldn’t help smiling.

“It’s funny…” said Akira, “I’ve seen these paintings hundreds of times, but every time I see them in person, it’s like seeing them for the first time again.”

Akira got out his sketchbook, and Goro peered over at it curiously.

“You draw, then?”

“I’m not very good,” said Akira, “I’ve only been doing it for a few years. It’s relaxing, though.”

“May I…?”

Surprisingly, Akira handed him the sketchbook; Goro had expected a bit more resistance. He opened it up and leafed through it, lingering briefly on each page. It was mostly pen drawings, sketches of landmarks around Paris. Some were more detailed than others, and some seemed simply abandoned after a few strokes.

“You’re not bad,” said Goro, “Not that I’m one to judge… this is certainly more than I could do.”

“Not an artist?”

“No,” Goro laughed, “I’m fairly left-brained, so things like art aren’t my strong suit. Logic and math come much easier to me.”

“Hm? You don’t think you could be good at art, too?”

“Probably not…”

“They don’t have to be mutually exclusive,” said Akira, “Logic and art, I mean. There’s actually a lot of math in art, and in music. Why should being good at one or the other stop you from trying both?”

Goro looked away, grimacing.

“I tend to give up on things I’m not good at.”

“Ah.”

Goro handed him back the sketchbook. They sat there for a few more minutes before Akira stood, tucking the sketchbook into his bag.

“Have you seen the Water Lilies yet?” he asked.

“Hm? No, I don’t think so.”

“They’re one of Monet’s most famous works,” said Akira, “Come on--this is a good chance to see them in person!”

Goro stood up and followed Akira through the exhibit. As they walked, Akira pointed out several paintings and tossed off a fact or two about their production. “This one was influenced by Dutch maritime painting,” or, “The man in this picture is actually Edouard Manet, a friend of his. The two of them painted each other a few times.” Goro was surprised at the amount of trivia Akira had stored in his head about each painting. It didn’t seem like any of this information was particularly useful, but he could tell that for some reason, Akira found it important. Why else would he bother remembering all this?

As they walked, one painting caught Goro’s eye in particular: the familiar arc of a Japanese-style bridge over a forested pond. He stopped to look at it, and Akira followed his gaze.

“Ah. ‘Water Lilies and Japanese Bridge.’ You have a good eye, Akechi.”

“So it is a Japanese bridge…” Goro murmured.

“That’s right,” said Akira, “Monet and his wife were fascinated by Japan. He actually collected ukiyo-e prints, and his house in Giverny has hundreds of them on display. He even had that bridge built in his garden. And now here we are, fascinated by him. Funny, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. How the tables turn,” said Goro, smiling.

I think I’m beginning to understand why people spend so much time in art museums, he found himself thinking. Or maybe it was just the way Akira talked about the art that made it that much easier to connect with it. He wouldn’t have minded having Akira guide him through every museum in Paris…

Suddenly a tinny sound rang out, and the two of them jumped. It took Goro longer than it should have to realize that the noise was his phone. Museum goers around them shot him dirty looks, and he made to silence it as quickly as he could. The caller ID read Niijima.

“Sorry…” said Goro, “It’s work, I’m afraid. I have to call them back.”

“On a Sunday?” Akira frowned.

“My job can be somewhat demanding,” said Goro apologetically, “I’ll likely have to leave right away…”

“You’re sure you can’t stay a little longer…?”

“I’m sure,” Goro replied, “But… thank you for showing me around the exhibit. It was nice, like having a private tour guide.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Akira winked at him, “I’ll be your private tour guide anytime you like.”

Suddenly Goro was very glad for the fact that nobody around them could understand what Akira was saying. He could practically feel himself flushing.

“I… yes, well, I should be going…”

“I mean it, though,” said Akira, more seriously this time, “Name a time, name a museum. I’ll be more than happy to show you around.”

“Oh… thank you.” Goro wasn’t sure how to respond.

Akira smiled at him warmly.

“I’m only here in Paris for a year,” he said, “It might sound selfish, but… I want to spend as much of that time with you as I can.”

Hearing those earnest words, with the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows and the vaulting ceilings of the museum as a backdrop… The City of Love cast her spell.

Chapter 5: Interlude

Chapter Text

Looking back, Goro couldn’t really pinpoint the exact moment their relationship began, but if he had to pick a turning point, he might have picked that day in the museum. After that, the two of them just sort of slid into a romance without a clear boundary between "friend" and "lover". They would walk closely when they walked together, Akira twining his fingers with Goro’s without even thinking about it. They spent long hours at their favorite cafe, sometimes working, sometimes just passing the time together. They shared their first kiss under a bridge by the Seine (It was raining. Akira had removed his rain-streaked glasses, and Goro thought he looked much more handsome without them).

Akira, of course, had been head over heels for Goro from the start. He revealed as much that day under the bridge, brushing wet strands of hair from his partner's face.

“The moment you sat down across from me, I was a goner,” he said quietly. It was hard to hear him over the pattering rain. “I’d never seen anyone so beautiful. The way you’re always so calm and collected, that charming smile… The fact that you’re just my type didn’t help either. What can I say? I fell pretty hard.”

Somehow, Goro had charmed him effortlessly. He found that the hardest to believe of all. He’d always been particular about his attitude and appearance, but not because he enjoyed such things. It was more from a need to be taken seriously--the knowledge that a disheveled, aloof young adult wouldn’t be given a second glance, no matter how brilliant their mind. To be taken seriously as a detective, he needed to look professional. He didn’t care about whether his looks might attract a partner--and yet here he was, kissing his doting boyfriend in the rain.

It was hard to believe he even had a partner in the first place; that someone might think him attractive. Worth being around for himself, and not for what could be exploited. Worthy of love, even. It was a somewhat alien concept to him, growing up the way he did…The more praise left that boy’s lips, the needier it made him feel. At the same time, he didn’t want Akira to stop.

“Oh, and the gloves.” Akira’s voice snapped Goro out of his thoughts, “I’m weak for stuff like that.”

“Huh?”

“Those leather gloves you wear all the time. They’re really hot. I keep thinking about all the things you could do to me wearing those…”

Akira smiled like a Cheshire cat, and seeing the color rushing to Goro’s face only served to widen his grin.

“I-I just wear them for practicality’s sake,” Goro struggled to string the words together now that he was thinking of the possibilities, “I have poor circulation, and--!”

Akira laughed.

“It’s alright. You could be wearing them to cover your tracks in a murder, and I’d still think they’re hot.”

He winked coyly.

“Kidding. At least--I hope you’re not a murderer.”

Goro scoffed.

“I’m not, thank you very much.”

The rain was beginning to let up now. Goro glanced at his watch; the sudden shower hadn’t taken too much of their time. They would have a fairly soggy walk home, though--his jacket and shoes were soaked through.

“Shall we?” asked Akira, “Looks like it’s slowing down out there…”

Goro lifted a gloved hand to his partner’s face.

“I don’t know… I kind of like this. Being here with you.”

“Under a bridge?”

“Yeah…” his other hand found its way to Akira’s cheek, and he rubbed his thumb over it absentmindedly, “It’s out of the way…”

“Hm?” Akira smiled, “If you wanted to go somewhere private, you could have said something. My place isn’t far from here.”

“No,” Goro closed his eyes, bringing Akira’s face close to his, “This is fine… just…”

Can’t I be a little selfish?

Akira took the hint.

He reached up and closed what little gap remained between them.

Chapter 6: A First Time for Everything

Chapter Text

“You’re drunk.”

“I only had the one glass. You can’t get drunk from one glass of--”

“Then why on earth would you ask me if I want to have sex?”

Akira raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Because I want to have sex with you, and I figured it’d be polite to ask.”

Goro flushed in spite of himself.

“You don’t just say to someone, point blank, ‘Wanna have sex?’ like it’s a conversation about the weather--!”

“But why not?”

To his credit, Akira had only had the one glass of wine. Goro knew; he’d paid for it. Also to his credit, he’d had the decency to wait until they were back at his dormroom. If he’d dropped a bombshell like that at the restaurant, Goro might have died on the spot. So, he supposed he had a few blessings worthy of counting.

“It’s just…” Goro swallowed nervously, “I’ve never… done anything like that before. With anyone.”

“Ah.” Akira smirked, “So I have a virgin on my hands….”

“Don’t rub it in.”

Goro folded his arms and looked away. His heart was beating so loudly, he felt certain Akira could hear it from across the couch.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t be open to trying it,” he said finally. “To be honest, you’re the only person I’d be comfortable trying it with. I just… didn’t think I’d ever get to this point with anyone, so when you asked so casually like that…”

Akira couldn’t help laughing quietly.

“Don’t laugh!”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” said Akira, “You’re just so adorable when you’re like this, I couldn’t help it.”

Goro sighed in exasperation. He certainly isn’t making this any easier.

“Well,” said Akira, “Let me ask this way, then. Would you like to try doing it with me tonight?”

“That’s hardly better…” Goro shifted in his seat, “But... Yes. I think I’m willing to try. I don’t really know how it works, so--ugh, I’m so nervous I can hardly think straight…”

“You’re thinking too hard about it.”

Akira slid closer, his fingers dancing along Goro’s thigh.

“Let me guide you through it, just like in the museums.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing Goro’s ear.

“With our bodies as a canvas… why don’t we paint something together?”

Goro didn’t think he’d ever flushed so deeply in his life.

“…. Alright,” he said, “Just… I might get overwhelmed…”

He already was overwhelmed. The sound of Akira’s voice so close to him, the delicate touch of his fingers (He’d left them dangerously close to his hips, the bastard) coupled with his own racing heart…

“We can stop whenever you like. I won’t make you go any further than you’re comfortable.”

“Thank you…”

Akira brought his hands up to Goro’s face.

“Relax,” he said, “Leave all the heavy lifting to me.”

Their lips came together gently at first, but it was all too clear that “gentle” wouldn’t be enough tonight. Something warm and wet brushed against Goro’s lower lip, and he jumped--it took him a second to realize it was his partner’s tongue.

“It’s cute how naive you are,” Akira whispered, “Always acting so mature in public… but I’ll reveal your true form.”

Goro could hardly believe his own ears. He wanted to shoot back a clever response, but Akira’s tongue jumped back into his mouth and he couldn’t get a word out.

There’s no way he doesn’t have a list of these somewhere. He can’t be conjuring all these smooth lines on the spot with a straight face! If he is…. He’s more terrifying than I imagined.

As they exchanged several particularly sloppy kisses, Goro found it harder and harder to string coherent thoughts together--much less breathe. He finally pulled away, gasping like he’d run a marathon. Akira watched him catch his breath, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

“This worked up already?” he asked teasingly, “The night is young, my friend.”

“It’s a lot…” Goro panted, “It’s hard to…”

Akira brushed a thumb over his lips.

“Catch your breath,” he whispered, “This is just the warm-up sketch.”

Goro’s breath hitched, eliciting a satisfied laugh from his partner.

“Good,” said Akira, “You’re doing well.”

“I’m not doing anything, though.”

“Not yet, you aren’t.”

Akira’s lust was almost palpable. His lips traveled down to Goro’s jawline, then to his neck--Goro wanted to scream. If he was already this hot and bothered, he couldn’t even fathom what might be waiting for him five, ten minutes from now--!

“Your tie’s in the way,” Akira murmured, fumbling with the knot. Goro reached up to help him undo it. Leaving the tie to him, Akira busied himself with the top button on his partner’s shirt.

“.... I take it you’ve done this before.”

“Mm,” Akira hummed as he unfastened the next few buttons. He lingered an agonizingly long time at each one.

“May I ask….”

“Junior year of high school. Kid on the volleyball team. He was the kind of guy who could’ve used a good kiss on the mouth, and I was feeling generous.”

“Oh…”

“He was alright in bed, I guess. We only did it two or three times before we broke up.”

“I see…”

“Well, you asked.”

The final button slipped from its holdings, and the shirt came undone. Goro felt a bit chilly, exposed like this--no, that wasn’t the right word. Vulnerable was what he felt, showing more skin than he’d ever shown to anyone. Akira could pick any point on his skin and have a field day. That was what was causing the chills along his spine--the knowledge that Akira was in control now.

“Doing alright?” Akira seemed to notice his trepidation, “We can stop if you need to.”

“No, please… keep going.”

“In that case…” Akira guided Goro’s hand to the bottom of his shirt, “I’ll let you do the honors.”

Goro kept his eyes on his partner’s as he lifted the shirt up and over his head, but the second it was out of the way, he couldn’t help glancing downward. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t the sculpted set of abs that was waiting for him. Goro could only stare at them for a few minutes in awe.

“Hm?” Akira noticed him staring, “Like what you see?”

“I thought you were an art student…” Goro murmured vaguely.

“Well, I work out,” said Akira, just as vaguely, “Go on. You want to touch them, don’t you?”

He was right, of course--Goro grudgingly reached out to brush his fingers over Akira’s skin. There wasn’t a lot he could feel with his gloves in the way, but he could at least tell that his partner’s muscles were… considerably tough.

“Here.”

Akira took hold of Goro’s wrist, bringing it to his lips. His grip tightened as Goro tried to flinch away.

“What--?”

Akira held Goro’s gaze as he took the edge of his glove in his teeth. With a gentle upward tug, the glove slipped off his hand. Goro quivered as Akira’s lower lip brushed maddeningly close along the inside of his palm.

“There you go,” said Akira, voice low, “Now try.”

It was just a glove--it was stupid to get this worked up over a glove. He’d taken his gloves off in front of people plenty of times, but for some reason, right now Goro felt as though Akira had just stripped him naked.

How can he make me feel so goddamn vulnerable so easily…??

“Would you like me to get the other one too?” Akira asked.

“I-I’ll get it.” Goro slipped off his other glove with decidedly less fanfare than the first. “How do you want to do this…?”

“Hm. Why don’t you come sit on my lap?”

Akira shifted slightly to sit normally on the couch, and Goro crawled over to join him. As he swung a leg over his partner’s thighs, Akira reached up and grasped him firmly by the waist.

“That’s hardly fair--” he began, but Akira met his protest with a kiss.

“I don’t play fair,” he said, something dark in his tone. (He’s going to drive me crazy the more he talks like that, Goro found himself thinking--) “Here. Let me teach you a trick.”

Before Goro could ask just what kind of trick, Akira’s lips were at his neck. At first it was just a soft kiss, but as his lips parted, Goro realized that his partner had something more sensual in mind--!

“Ack! N-not so high up, I--!”

“Hm?”

“I have work tomorrow, people will see--!”

“Ah.” There was a light smack as Akira released him, “In that case…”

He traveled downward, lips brushing the length of Goro’s neck, before latching on to his collarbone. A pitiful sound escaped Goro’s throat, and he threw a hand over his mouth. Akira couldn’t help laughing a little.

“Oh? What was that sound…?”

It took Goro a few seconds to catch his breath, and even then, he refused to gratify his partner’s sh*t-eating grin with a response.

“Much as I’d like to continue making you squeak,” said Akira, “I’ll offer you an opportunity for revenge. Come on.” He leaned back, turning his head to the side just slightly, “Do your worst.”

For a second, Goro only stared at him.

“H…..how….”

“Make like you’re going to kiss me, and then just… suck on it. Sorry, there isn’t really a good way to describe it. You’re just going to have to try it for yourself.”

Goro steeled himself and leaned forward, planting a kiss just below Akira’s ear. He wasn’t sure how exactly the other boy had done it, but he tried his best to replicate what he’d felt--and from the sound of Akira’s breathing, it seemed like he was hitting the mark.

“Oh…” Akira purred, “That’s good… Go lower…”

Goro complied, sneaking down his neck and planting another kiss. It was nice, having something soft and warm between his lips like this. Feeling Akira shudder in his grip was a reward in itself, too.

“You’re doing well,” said Akira languidly, “Go on, try lower--!” He twitched as Goro’s lips met his collarbone, “There’s a good boy…”

Normally, Goro would have found that sort of thing demeaning. He wasn’t a dog, nor a slave, and didn’t particularly like the thought of being treated like either. But for some reason, in this setting, hearing Akira’s praise only made him want to work that much harder. As he tugged on Akira’s skin with somewhat renewed enthusiasm, he felt his partner’s hands migrating over to his fly--!

“May I?” Akira whispered. Goro released him with a gasp.

“G….go ahead…”

It’s… getting pretty tight, after all…

A slight relief flooded over him as Akira undid the snap and zipper, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more--so much more. He’d never wanted anything this badly in his life, even if he wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted Akira to do to him. Something. Anything. It didn’t matter what.

As if answering his wordless pleas, Akira slipped a hand inside his open fly. Goro inhaled sharply as he felt fingers around his--!

“Ah,” Akira smirked, “You are horny, aren’t you?”

The question was so stupid that Goro didn’t know how to respond.

Of course I’m horny, you jerk--!

Akira moved his hand upwards just slightly, slipping a finger beneath the elastic of Goro’s briefs. He tugged outward a little to get a good look, and whistled playfully.

“I’ve certainly got you worked up.”

“Are you going to…. or not…” Goro could hardly bring himself to say the words for what he wanted Akira to do. Overwhelmed, embarrassed, and horny almost out of his mind--it was a wonder he could get a word out at all.

“You’ll get your turn,” said Akira, “I’d like a favor first. How about you take mine out too?”

Goro didn’t hesitate; his hands darted down to Akira’s crotch and fumbled awkwardly with the button on his jeans. Then came the zipper, and then--Goro hadn’t expected silk boxers, but then again, he seemed to be learning quite a bit about Akira tonight.

“You didn’t waste any time,” said Akira, “Good. I like that in a man.”

He yanked downwards, and Goro’s underwear slipped over the head of his co*ck. Goro jumped, glancing down--Jesus, he didn’t think he’d ever seen his own erection get that big. He didn’t need Akira to tell him what to do this time; his fingers made their way to the waistband on the boxers. They easily slid out of the way, revealing the very eager co*ck beneath.

“You’re a quick learner,” Akira smiled, “Before long, you’ll be f*cking me breathless on your own.”

Goro was beginning to hate that Akira could say such outlandish things so easily.

“Alright, now we have a bit of a choice,” Akira continued, “I want you to answer honestly, alright?”

Goro nodded.

“How far would you like to go tonight?”

“H… huh?!”

“Well…” Akira shrugged, “I figure you’re not the type to go straight to anal on the first date.”

“This isn’t our first--nevermind.” Goro sighed. “And, you’re correct, I’m not sure I’d like to have anything up… there… tonight.”

Akira tried to contain a laugh.

“God, you won’t even say butt! I almost feel bad now…”

“S-shush!!” Goro hissed, “Anyway, to answer your question… I don’t want to go all the way tonight. I’m not ready.”

“And that’s fine.”

“But I will…” he glanced down at his erection before meeting Akira’s gaze, “Need to take care of this.”

“What a coincidence. I also have something that needs a little attention. Why don’t we help each other out?”

Akira wrapped his fingers around Goro’s co*ck. The latter let out a squeak and bucked a little in his grip.

“A--Akira--!”

“Hoo,” Akira whistled again, “Hearing you moan my name like that…!”

He dragged his thumb along the length of his partner’s shaft, eliciting a series of embarrassing noises.

“We’ll take this nice and slow.”

Goro tentatively reached out, taking Akira’s co*ck in his hand. Akira inhaled slightly; it seemed he was trying hard not to lose his cool.

And then…

Akira’s hand began to move first, rubbing up from tip to base with a firm grip. Goro imitated him, matching his rhythm--though he found it hard to concentrate fully, what with Akira’s hand distracting him--!

“Good, good,” said Akira, “Let’s see…”

He pressed his thumb against the head of Goro’s co*ck, dragging it in languid circles around the tip. Goro let out an undignified yelp.

“Ooh, that was a good sound.”

“A--Ah! Akira--!”

“Mm, just like that.”

Goro was quickly losing the ability to focus on anything other than his own pulsing co*ck. He’d masturbat*d a few times before--what young boy doesn’t?--but this was a different beast entirely. Akira’s grip was much stronger than his, or perhaps it only seemed that way because it was another person’s hand doing the work. As if that wasn’t distracting enough, the sound of Akira’s breathing mingling with his own desperate gasps was enough to drive him mad. Goro tried his best to keep pace, but Akira was very quickly overtaking him. He felt his own grip loosening gradually…

“You’re slowing down a little.”

“I… I know, sorry…”

“Don’t apologize. Getting tired?”

“No… just… overwhelmed…”

“Hm… Well, in that case, why don’t I give you a little break? I’ll have you focus on me for a bit, and then…”

Akira’s voice dropped dangerously low.

“I’ll go to town on you.”

“Okay,” Goro’s ability to care was fading about as fast as his ability to focus, “Then… tell me what to do.”

“Just keep jacking me off,” Akira grinned, “I’m confident you can--agh!”

Goro decided not to let him finish; he tightened his grip and set to work with renewed fervor.

If he’s going to make me work for it…. I’d better give it my best.

Akira seemed to be dissolving in his hands. His breaths came more ragged, and his hips began to buck just slightly in time to Goro’s movement.

“Oh, that’s good… Just like that…” Akira’s voice came in full-on moans now; he didn’t seem particularly concerned that anyone would hear. “Goro…”

God!! Goro flushed a brilliant shade of crimson, just hearing his name in that voice…!!

“Goro…!”

Don’t say it so desperately!!

“You’re really--!” Akira jumped as Goro squeezed the head of his co*ck, “You’re better at this than I… agh… gave you credit for!”

Goro’s arm was starting to cramp up, but he soldiered through. He could tell Akira was getting close; it was getting harder for him to string coherent sentences together. Before long he stopped trying entirely, nothing but pitiful moans leaving his lips.

“Goro, I--! I’m coming!”

“Oh, god, okay--!”

Goro withdrew his hand as quickly as he could, and not a moment too soon: Akira came messily all over his boxers with a languished groan. It took a few minutes for his breathing to slow; Goro watched him tensely, unsure what to do. He felt almost… powerful, knowing that he’d managed to get Akira off like this.

“Haaaah…” Akira breathed a heavy sigh, “That was good, Goro. Really good… I’d never guess it was your first time.”

“T-thank you…”

“So…” Akira grinned cheekily, “Ready for your reward?”

Goro gave a vigorous nod in reply.

“Excellent. Have a seat on the couch.”

Goro climbed back off of Akira and sat down, stretching his stiff legs. The other boy took a bit to get moving, but once the strength had returned to his legs he got down on his knees on the floor.

“Let’s see… these are in the way.”

Akira reached up and grabbed Goro’s pants at the waist, tugging them down, over his knees, and off.

“Akira--!”

“Underwear too.”

“Let me, then.”

Goro hooked his thumbs beneath his waistband and worked his briefs down his thighs. Akira took the reins at his knees and pulled them the rest of the way off. Sitting on the couch with nothing but an unbuttoned shirt between him and his partner… Goro shivered slightly, though he wasn’t sure if it was from chill or anticipation.

Akira delicately spread Goro’s knees apart and scooted forward.

“Is this alright?” he asked, “You, um. You know what I’m about to do, right?”

“I think I can figure it out,” said Goro with a weak smile. “It’s fine. But--are you comfortable like that? Do you need a pillow, or--!”

“You’re thinking about it too hard again,” Akira tapped Goro’s thighs scoldingly, “Just relax.”

His eyes flicked downward.

“In a minute you’ll have bigger things to worry about.”

Goro had little time to imagine what he could have meant by that--Akira bent down and took his co*ck as deep into his mouth as it would go.

“Ohhhgh--!” the moan that escaped Goro’s lips this time was considerably deeper than before. The handjob had been one thing, but this--this was something else entirely. Everywhere was warm and wet and damnably tight; he hadn’t realized how large his erection was until he noticed the shape of Akira’s mouth around it.

Oh god. Oh my god he’s--!

“Akira…!”

“Mm?”

“D-don’t force yourself if it feels like you’re going to choke--!”

Akira’s only response was to drag his tongue in circles over the head. Goro let out a yelp; sensation shot through his body like lightning.

“Aki--! A-Akira--!”

Goro’s voice tumbled from his mouth; the only thing he could find the coherence to say was his partner’s name. He couldn’t even try to keep up appearances anymore--what was the point, with his co*ck halfway down Akira’s throat--?

There was a slight pop of air as Akira released him, licking his lips. He took a moment to admire his handiwork.

“Even like this, you’re so beautiful… It almost feels like I’m making off with something priceless.”

“God…” Goro covered his mouth with the back of his hand, “Just… Just finish me off already…!”

“Hm? You’re impatient all the sudden.” Akira kissed the tip gently, “But alright, if you insist…”

Akira went down a second time, and Goro was once again at his utter mercy. He moved from base to tip in an almost practiced rhythm--one moment he’d be sucking Goro like black hole sucks a star: totally, mercilessly, never giving him a chance to catch his breath. The next he was drawing maddeningly gentle circles with his tongue, tickling the tip just right--!

“I don’t think I can take much more…!”

Goro was practically seeing stars.

“That’s--! I’m coming--!!”

Akira released him as he came, emptying himself completely. Goro had no idea where any of it had landed, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to care at the moment. His head lolled back, and he stared blankly at the ceiling while he attempted to catch his breath again. He was conscious of little other than the surge of endorphins rushing through his veins; it was completely, entirely overwhelming.

Gradually, his heart rate came back down. When he sat up again, he noticed Akira was still sitting on the floor--and to his horror, his partner’s face was covered in cum. His cum.

“O-oh dear,” Goro stammered, raising a hand to his lips, “I didn’t realize I’d… Let me get you a tissue…”

Akira shook his head and smiled. He reached up, delicately removing his cum-streaked glasses.

“It’s not a problem,” he said quietly, licking a bit of sem*n from the corner of his mouth, “As long as it’s your cum all over me… I’ll take it as many times as you want.”

For a moment, Goro could only stare at him in disbelief. Somehow, Akira looked even more attractive than usual like this--glasses gone, flecks of cum on his nose and cheeks, a sly look in his eyes. Was it the natural beauty of his face, or the slightly frazzled post-coital look that was more charming?

Finally, Goro laughed weakly.

“Why are you like this…?”

“It’s just how I am.” Akira stood up. “I’m going to wipe this off now.”

“Please do. I’m embarrassed looking at you…”

Akira disappeared into the bathroom, and Goro heard the sound of water running. The capacity for complex thought processes was beginning to return to him, and the rushing in his veins was now all but a murmur. A glow, almost.

“Well? Feeling satisfied?”

Akira returned with a clean face and clean glasses. He took a seat on the couch.

“More than satisfied,” Goro echoed, “And… largely spent. I don’t know if I can move…”

“Sex does that to you, it turns out.”

Akira shifted a little closer to him, nuzzling Goro’s cheek.

“Thank you for trying that with me. It meant a lot.”

“Mm,” Goro nodded, leaning on him a little, “It was nice… a memorable first time.”

“Heh. I hope we can have many more firsts together from here on, too.”

Something about that sentence made Goro’s heart tremble a little. Truthfully he hadn’t given much thought to where this fling was headed--would they stay together after their time in France came to a close? Was Akira as serious about him as he was about Akira…?”

“Akira,” he said carefully.

“Hm?”

“I…. I love you.”

It was the first time he’d put it in those words, and he almost felt stupid afterward. For going so long without saying it clearly…

Akira held his gaze for a long time, his expression unreadable. Finally, it softened into a smile.

“I love you too, Goro. From day one, remember?”

Goro did remember. Their conversation under the bridge--his first kiss--how could he ever forget?

“I’m glad…”

He was so happy he felt his heart might burst.

To have someone who loved him, doted on him, gave him attention. Someone who he could turn to when he needed support. There was comfort, gratitude, intimacy… The weight of it hit him all at once, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying.

It was the first time in his life he’d felt this way: that he’d found somewhere he belonged.

He still wasn't entirely convinced he deserved it.

Chapter 7: Giverny

Chapter Text

After another failed brush with Arsene, Goro was beginning to wonder how much longer the French government would continue to invest in him.

He’d been on this job for about three months now, and had covered three separate heists--all of which marked failures for the police. There had also been a fourth incident, where a calling card was sent to a collector but Arsene failed to show. Niijima suspected that it might have been the work of a copycat, or a teen’s prank, and Goro had been inclined to believe her at first. However, he was bothered by the possibility that Arsene had changed his mind. Something about that piece made him abandon the job.

Goro asked the collector more about the targeted piece--a painting from the Mughal Dynasty in India--and the collector revealed that it was a forgery he’d unwittingly purchased from a shady dealer. He’d spent the years since then claiming it was authentic, too proud to admit he’d been fooled by a fake. The real piece was still adrift somewhere on the black market.

If even Arsene can be fooled by forgeries, then that means that he must not have much experience as an art conservator. In fact, I’d say it’s likely he’s a student--he knows just enough about the history of each piece to select his targets, but he doesn’t have the tools to test for whether his target is fake.

We may have a chance… but if he notices his mistake in time, he’ll be out of our reach.

A plan began to form in his mind. It would take time--months, perhaps--but if he was successful….

Ruminating on this, Goro almost didn’t notice his phone ringing. He hastily checked the caller ID--to his surprise, it read “Kurusu”.

“Akira?”

“Goro! Listen, I found something amazing just now.”

“Hm?”

“There’s a tour agency around here that’s running special day trips to Giverny for a Monet tour!” Akira’s excitement could be felt even over the phone, “It’s not that expensive, and it includes both Monet'shouse and the Museum of Impressionism. They give you plenty of free time in the gardens, too!”

“And….?”

“And I was wondering if you wanted to go with me this weekend.”

Goro took a moment to recall if he needed to be anywhere during the weekend. The investigation team was still awaiting the next calling card from Arsene, and until then, there would be little for him to do. Perhaps an outing to the countryside would be good for him…

He smiled, even though Akira couldn’t see it.

“We’ll make it a date.”

“Really? Yay!! I’ll go buy the tickets right now!”

“O-oh, you don’t have to pay for mine, I’ll--!”

“Oh hush, you. I’m the one who invited you, after all.”

“Alright,” Goro sighed in defeat, “Just let me know what time and where to meet you.”

“Will do!”

* * *

The drive to Giverny that Saturday was only about an hour and change; the two of them sat in the back of a 15-passenger van with a few other tourists. Accompanying them was a family of Americans, a couple from southeast Asia, and a trio of German students carrying sketchbooks. The tour was given in English, and Goro had a littletrouble following along as the guide gave them a bit of background on Monet’s life before coming to Giverny.

Monet’s house was the first stop on their tour. The tour guide showed them around the house, a long and narrow building that was decidedly luxurious for the time. Monet had expanded from the original building, adding two wings, and gave each room its own color theme. Looking at each of the colorful, elegantly decorated rooms, Goro got the sense that Monet had been considerably well-off for an artist. What caught his eye in particular was the dining room, painted in a sunny yellow, with framed ukiyo-e prints adorning much of the walls.

Have any Japanese artists filled their houses with Impressionist paintings? Goro found himself wondering.

After the house tour, their guide gave them a meeting time and set them loose in the gardens. Hand in hand, Akira and Goro walked through carefully groomed rows of flowers: roses, irises, tulips, poppies, snapdragons, and all manner of blooms Goro didn’t know the names of blanketed the ground in color. Arches covered in vines lined the main path, providing some welcome shade on the hot day.

“I worked as a florist for a bit in high school,” said Akira as they walked, “My boss would’ve flipped if she came here…”

“A florist?” Goro couldn’t help smiling. “That’s kind of cute.”

“Well, the pay was good,” said Akira. “I got to learn some flower language, too.”

“Flower language, hm? Let’s see…” Goro pointed to a yellow flower almost at random, “How about this one?”

“A yellow tulip?” Akira smiled. “Hopeless love.”

Goro flushed.

“You’re making that up!!”

“It’s true! Google it!”

“W-well, how about this one?!” Goro trotted down the path a bit and indicated to a fragrant bush with tiny purple flowers.

“Lavender… hah, that means distrust!” Akira laughed. “Had to think about it for a minute. It’s been a while.”

“What?” Goro furrowed his brow, “I didn’t know flowers could have negative meanings.”

“Not every flower means something nice,” said Akira. “Some mean stuff like mourning, betrayal, or loneliness. They were an elegant way to declare revenge, too.”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it…” Goro was still a bit miffed. “What kind of flower do you like best, Akira?”

Akira paused to think about it, scanning the rows to see if he could spot one as an example. Finally his eyes caught a splash of pink near the end of the row, and he strode over to point it out.

“This one,” he said. “Pink carnation. Carnations meant a lot of things, but the pink ones mean ‘I’ll never forget you’. I think that’s beautiful.”

“Kind of sad, too, don’t you think?” said Goro, “After all… wouldn’t you only give that to someone after you’ve said goodbye to them?”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

Akira looked distant for a second, but he brightened again soon after.

“Actually, I mostly just like them from an aesthetic standpoint. They’re very cute flowers--like little wads of tissue paper.”

“You have surprisingly ladylike tastes,” Goro commented, half-jokingly.

“I get that a lot.”

The two of them crossed a back road to get to the other half of the grounds, which were arranged with a more natural look in mind. This section had a sizable pond, framed with weeping willows and wisteria, on which grew Monet’s famous water lilies. Akira came to a stop on a sort of peninsula, where water from the nearby creek flowed into the pond. Here a bench had been set up facing the water, and Goro could easily see why: from this point, there was a picture-perfect view of the Japanese bridge.

Seeing the trees, the bridge, and the lilies in person… for some reason, a swell of emotion bubbled up in Goro’s chest.

“I think I’m beginning to understand how Monet felt,” he murmured.

When Akira didn’t respond, Goro glanced over to check on him. The look on the boy’s face at that moment was hard to describe. He was smiling, but his eyes were full of something much more complex than happiness.

“Akira? Are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh,” Akira looked over at him, wiping his eyes a little. The complex thing Goro had seen in his eyes--was it just his tears? “I’m fine. It’s just… standing where Monet stood, and seeing what he saw, or something like it…”

Goro nodded.

“Take your time. I’m going to have a seat.”

Goro sat down on the bench, leaving some room for Akira just in case. The boy came to join him a minute or so later, digging his sketchbook and pen case out of his bag. He flipped to an open page and took out a green colored pencil.

“Colored pencils this time,” Goro commented.

“Yeah. I’m trying something new.”

Goro watched as the outlines of scenery came into place. There was the drooping of the willows, the structure of the bridge, and small circular clusters for the lilies. Akira worked with a mix of care and improvisation, changing colors almost at random, and adding new hues that at first didn’t seem to belong. Goro had never seen an artist work before; it was almost mesmerizing.

This is nice. It’s so quiet here--there isn’t anywhere like this in Tokyo or Paris.

Goro rested his head on Akira’s shoulder and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the birds and bugs and Akira's pencils fill his ears.

I wouldn’t mind having a peaceful life like this…

“Arm,” said Akira gently.

“Hm? Oh!”

Goro sat up, freeing Akira’s drawing arm. He returned his gaze to the bridge, watching its reflection dance on the surface of the pond.

The two of them sat together until Akira finished his drawing. It took up most of their allotted time for the gardens, but neither of them really minded just sitting. Being in each other’s presence amid such beautiful scenery… Goro found himself wishing that time would stop like this; that this peaceful moment could last forever.

Of course, he knew it was selfish to wish for “forever”. Not long after Akira laid down the final stroke, it was time to meet back up with the rest of the tour.

Chapter 8: Interlude, Another

Chapter Text

Goro had never really had an easy time sleeping through the night. Insomnia had plagued him from a young age; when he wasn't waking up automatically at all hours, his sleep was fraughtwith horrible nightmares. He’d grown used to them. He knew what caused them, anyway: the stress that came with growing up the way he did, trembling on the edge of the unknown. That any moment the illusion would shatter, and he’d be back to nothing again.

The first time he spent the night in Akira’s bed, nothing changed. It took him ages to fall asleep, and he still woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, a vivid dream still flashing before his eyes. But this time, instead of having to lie awake and hope sleep would find him again, he was able to turn and see that Akira was still by his side. He wasn’t going anywhere. Goro cuddled up to him, putting his cheek on his partner’s back. Having someone there made all the difference--before too long, sleep took hold of him.

After that first night, Goro slept peacefully whenever he was with Akira. In fact, he even began finding it hard to fall asleep without him. After he voiced this concern to his partner, Akira insisted on having Goro stay over as much as possible. Akira’s dorm had a limit to how many nights an overnight guest could stay in a row, but the two of them managed to work around it as best they could. Goro even invited Akira back to his own flat a few times (though he had to meticulously prepare beforehand, hiding any evidence of his work).

It wasn’t uncommon for a Saturday morning to dawn with the two of them resting in each other’s arms at Akira’s dorm, especially after a particularly wild Friday night fling. Today was one such morning; as sunlight streamed in through the windows, Goro drew closer to his boyfriend and let out a blissful sigh. He’d never before seen the appeal of sleeping naked, but in recent weeks he’d grown fond of sleeping naked with another person. The warm, soft touch of skin on skin…

“You’ve got morning wood,” Akira mumbled playfully, shifting so that his forehead touched Goro’s.

“Heh. So do you,” Goro shot back. He gave Akira a light kiss, “After last night, I’m surprised you have any more in you.”

“Mm.”

As Goro contemplated what shenanigans they might get up to this morning, a tinny sound jerked him from his thoughts. Akira jumped, letting out a grunt.

“What’s that…?”

“Sorry, it’s my phone.”

Goro fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. He’d never felt more loath to take a call, but the caller ID said Niijima, so he had no choice but to answer. He stood up and walked across the room before taking the call.

“Hello? Niijima-san, good morning…”

Akira watched him curiously as he talked--or was he simply admiring Goro’s naked form in the morning light? Goro hoped he was far enough away that his associate’s voice wouldn’t carry.

“Yes, I’m with someone right now… It wouldn’t be wise to discuss details. I’ll give you a call back as soon as I can.”

Goro hung up unceremoniously, then heaved a sigh.

“Work again…”

“It sounded important.”

“It is. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to leave soon. Something came up.”

“I understand.” Akira took a deep breath before continuing. “What is it that you do, anyway? You’re always so secretive about it.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you.” Goro went to find his underwear, which had been abandoned somewhere in the heat of the moment the night before.

“We’ve been together for months, and I still don’t know what you’re doing for a living.” Akira tried not to let his frustration show in his voice, “Can’t you give me a hint?”

“… I work for the government,” Goro said finally, putting on his shirt, “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you any more than that, for reasons of personal safety.”

“Ohhh, I see,” said Akira with a smirk, “So you’re like a top-secret spy!”

“Something like that…”

“So if you’re a spy, then that means I must be your Bond Girl…”

“My what?”

“Nothing,” said Akira with a laugh, “You’ve never seen a James Bond movie?”

“I don’t watch many movies, generally…”

“I see. Well, we’ll just have to watch one together, then!”

Goro smiled back at him warmly.

“Yes. I’ll look forward to it.”

Goro finished getting dressed, and before long he was on his way. He managed to get back in touch with Niijima on his way to the train station, though he’d already had a hunch what she was calling him about.

They had found another calling card.

Chapter 9: Infiltration

Chapter Text

If anything could be said about the French police, it’s that they seemed to be getting smarter. Arsene and Morgana had to reroute their next job no less than three times as the investigation team sealed off possible entrances, closed any possibility for the cameras to be accessed remotely, and tightly secured windows and doors. Within a week, the third-floor apartment of renowned conservator Pierre Bourbeau was one of the most secure flats in Paris.

Unless, of course, your name was Arsene, and you thought of things nobody else would.

Like the fact that the nearby sewer main had a long-abandoned maintenance shaft connecting to the building’s boiler room.

I’ll have to get a little smelly, but it’s better than nothing.

The shaft led to a trapdoor, upon which currently sat a box of files. Arsene had to push the box over to open the door, but he carefully replaced the files. He spritzed a little deodorizer on his outfit so that any lingering smell wouldn’t alert anyone on patrol. Finally, he took a small device from his pocket and clipped it to the cords leading into the fuse box. He set the timer for an amount he and Morgana had agreed upon in advance.

From here, Arsene had to calculate his next move. Normally, a thief would call his accomplices off-site for advice--but Morgana feared the airwaves would be monitored. Without communications or camera access, Arsene would have to go in virtually blind.

Let’s see…

Arsene took a couple of folded printouts from his pocket, on which were the plans to the building. His next task was to find a vent leading to the elevator shaft. The boiler room had several such vents, all leading to different parts of the building. Arsene found the one he wanted: it was just above some tall bookshelves. With a few skilled leaps, he was there.

Unlike many of the vents leading out, which had been secured first thing, the grate over this air shaft came undone easily. (The boiler room was locked, accessible only with a janitor’s key, so there wouldn’t be a need to lock the grates there--Arsene thanked his lucky stars that Morgana’s hunch had been right). It was a tight fit, but the vent allowed Arsene to sneak up and over the first floor rooms, finally reaching his goal: the elevator shaft.

He waited for several minutes as the elevator returned to the ground floor, then carefully jumped on top of it. He quietly undid the latch on the emergency exit, took a quick peek to see if anyone was inside--it was empty--and then used a telescoping rod to push the button for the third floor. He held on tightly as the elevator moved upward at a leisurely pace.

The third floor ventilation shaft was just above the elevator doors; Arsene quickly slipped inside before the elevator could move again.

So far so good.

If they’d secured the shafts from the outside, would they have secured them from the inside too? Arsene wondered if he would be able to remove the grate in the ceiling once he reached the right apartment…

And, he found it: the immaculately decorated home of Pierre Bourbeau. He could see through the grate that it was a luxurious three-bedroom apartment, with bay windows and crown molding. The walls were covered floor to ceiling with priceless artifacts on display. And, to Arsene’s disappointment, it was crawling in police.

They’re not messing around this time.

Luckily, he and Morgana had a twofold plan. The two of them had calculated about how much time it would take him to reach the third floor--it turned out he’d been a little early. As he sat and waited in the air shaft, there was a sudden click, and the room went dark. The device he’d planted in the boiler room had been set to overload the fuses for the entire building.

“What’s going on!?”

The guards’ radios crackled. A woman’s voice came over the airwaves:

“This is the ground team; we’ve gone dark in the leasing office. What’s your status--?!”

Arsene lifted the grate just slightly and dropped down a thin round disc. The disc opened soundlessly, and not a single guard noticed it… but all the while it was releasing an invisible sleep-inducing gas. The guards dropped to the ground one by one. Arsene counted as they hit the ground: one, two, three, four… it took a minute for the final guard to collapse.

I’d always wondered why this mask Morgana gave mewas so complex. Then again, I didn’t think I’d need to use the air filtering feature before now.

He figured he had about a minute and a half before the ground team sent someone up to investigate--less time than that, probably. The elevators were out, but it would only be a few flights of stairs. He located the statue he was to steal: an ancient, six-inch sculpture of some Hellenistic goddess or other, sitting on a pedestal in one corner. It had been looted from Italy, likely the work of the well-known plunderer Giacomo Medici. He stole thousands of Italian artworks and artifacts over the course of his career as a dealer. Collectors who dealt with him either didn’t know of his notorious looting, or didn’t care. Arsene and Morgana would see to it that this statue was returned to Italy, where it belonged.

Arsene wrapped the statue in several cloths before slipping it into his bag. He then took out his usual trademark card, and was about to place it on the pedestal when the door to the apartment banged open.

“Freeze! This is the police!”

The voice shouting at him spoke French with a heavy accent. Arsene cursed; he’d taken too much time preparing the statue for transport. It would take time for the gas to take out the newcomer. He likely had about a minute, during which he would probably be shot. Thinking quickly, he dove behind a nearby couch--anything to bide time for the gas to kick in…

“Damn, where’d he go…?”

Wait a second… Japanese?

A plainclothes detective leaped into the room, both hands on his gun. He stepped carefully over the fallen guards, but didn’t seem to know what had downed them.

“Come out, Arsene…” he said, “Hands where I can see them.”

I know that voice…! No, it can’t be--!

The detective was between him and the air vent now. If that gas didn’t kick in soon, Arsene was facing a leap out the window as his only course of escape.

The detective finally made it across the room, and took a look around the back of the couch. Arsene’s eyes widened beneath the mask as he recognized the face peering back at him.

Goro Akechi?!?

He had to fight with all his strength to keep from blurting it out loud.

He’s a detective!? Well, I guess that explains a lot… But still--it had to be here? It had to be NOW?!

Now wasn’t the time for such thoughts--Arsene had many bigger things to worry about. Not the least of which was that he was cornered.

“Heh. You were easier to catch than I expected, Arsene.” Goro gestured with his gun. “Now stand up. No sudden movements, or I shoot.”

Arsene stood, gloved hands in the air.

“You’re hereby under arrest,” said Goro, “You have the right to remain silent, to talk to an attorney… Agh, wait, you don’t understand Japanese, do you…”

Goro started over, this time in a sort of bumbling French. It was clear he’d been practicing for this scenario, but he still didn’t have a great grasp of the language. As he recited the lines, his words began to slur; finally he staggered, and collapsed unconscious on the ground. The gas had finally taken hold.

Arsene scoffed.

Idiot.

“Detective Akechi? Did you come up here?”

Voices from the hallway. Arsene cursed again. By now he wouldn’t have time to climb back into the air vent--he should have just pocketed the statue and done the wrapping in the boiler room.

No use getting hung up. Just get out of there while you still can.

He surveyed his options. The front window led to the street--a third-floor jump from here would mean suicide. There was a smaller side window which opened to a view of the roof of the adjacent building. A guard stood watch down below; clearly the authorities hadn’t taken any chances here.

Time to go!

Arsene lifted the window and punched the screen loose, startling the guard below. He followed it soon after, landing directly on top of the guard and rolling to deflect the rest of the impact. Arsene left the unconscious officer behind and took off running toward something that looked vaguely like a fire escape. He leaped over the edge and slid down the ladder, his gloves staving off what would otherwise have been a nasty friction burn. The ladder deposited him directly into a dumpster--for better or for worse. Arsene slammed the lid shut and huddled in a ball among the bags of garbage. The filter on his mask did little for the smell.

How long should I wait? he wondered. Sirens sounded nearby, Shoot… I really screwed the pooch on this one…

He looked into his bag, feeling the statue for major damage--it thankfully seemed to be in one piece. If he’d bungled the escape and broken the target, he had no doubt Morgana would end their relationship. He wasn’t sure he could even face Morgana now. Every heist until now had been perfect, seamless--not a single piece of evidence that could implicate him. Now he’d left the gas canister, the timer, the screen on the window… he hoped to god the police wouldn’t try to triangulate his escape from the open window and find him here.

And then there was Goro…

God… does he know? He can’t know. I didn’t say anything to him, I’m covered head to toe, there’s no way he knows it’s me. There’s no way…

Why did it have to be him? Why NOW…?

Arsene began to tremble, eyes filling with tears. He felt even more stupid for crying, but he was also beyond the point of caring about appearances right now. He tried hard to keep his voice down, and the mask helped muffle any sound--but for the most part, he let his terrified sobs come and go freely.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting in that dumpster--the sirens had stopped some time ago, but the streets were abuzz with voices. Eventually his tears dried, and he took out his phone. He considered texting Goro something, but whenever he started writing goodbye messages, he ended up just erasing them.

If I text him ‘goodbye’ now, he’ll know it’s me for sure.

Suddenly the dumpster lid lifted, and dim light poured in. Arsene jumped, letting out a soft yelp. A face he didn’t recognize was peering down at him: a European man about ten years older than he was, with messy black hair and blue eyes.

“There you are.” The man’s voice was Morgana’s.

“Morgana…?” Arsene’s voice came out more broken than he would have liked, “How did you find me in here?”

“You think I wouldn’t put a GPS tracker on a $12,000 mask?” Morgana smirked, “Come on, Arsene, let’s get you out of here. I have your clothes in my car.”

Morgana took Arsene’s hand and lifted him out of the dumpster.

“The cops…?” said Arsene.

“They’re all mostly around the apartment building,” said Morgana, “They won’t see us.”

Arsene nodded. He let Morgana lead him back to his car, keeping to the shadows the whole way. He changed back into his regular clothes in the back seat as Morgana took them down several poorly-lit streets and away.

Akira sat quietly in the back seat, trembling, for much of the ride back to his dorm. He was still trying to process what he’d seen that night. The memory of the barrel of Goro’s gun seemed almost imprinted on his eyelids.

“Did you get the statue, at least?” asked Morgana after a time.

“I did…”

“Good. That’s all I can ask of you at this point,” said Morgana.

“Um!” said Akira suddenly, “I’m… I’m sorry… I really f*cked this one up…”

“Kid, it’s fine,” said Morgana, “Some heists don’t go as planned. It’s fine.”

“But they’ll find out about the gas, and--!”

“That gas trick was probably only going to work once anyway. It works better in close-quarters spaces like apartments; there really wasn’t going to be a better opportunity.”

Akira nodded quietly.

“What happened back there, anyway?” asked Morgana.

“I took too long wrapping it… a detective showed up.”

His throat tightened around the word “detective”.

“Rookie mistake,” Morgana shook his head, “You’ve been doing pretty well, so I’ll let it slide this time. Eat the mistake and keep going. Just don’t let it happen again, alright?”

Morgana’s words were comforting, but Akira couldn’t help but think there was a threatening layer embedded in his tone.

“Thank you…”

The car pulled up in front of Akira’s dorm. He wasn’t even going to ask how Morgana knew where he lived. Actually, considering Akira kept the Arsene outfit with him, he’d probably just watched where the tracker seemed to be most often.

“Statue?” said Morgana.

“O-oh, right.”

Akira fished the statue out of his bag and gave it to Morgana, who put it snugly in the glove compartment.

“Take it easy, alright?” said Morgana, “I’ll contact you for your next assignment, but… I’ll give you a couple of weeks to recover. Fair?”

“Yeah…” Akira nodded, “Thank you…”

Akira stuffed the costume into his bag and got out of the car. Morgana drove off soon after, leaving Akira alone on the curb. He found himself wishing there were a bar nearby, because a stiff drink might have done him some good. Instead, he quietly headed back into the dorm.

Chapter 10: Unease

Chapter Text

“Akechi-kun?”

A voice reached Goro’s ears, though he wasn’t quite sure where it was coming from.

“Akechi-kun? Can you hear me?”

Goro groaned, slowly peeling his eyes open. The room around him gradually came into focus. He was lying on his back on a couch in a well-lit room. Niijima was standing over him, as well as another officer whose name he didn’t know.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” said Niijima, “Here, sit up when you’re ready.”

Goro pulled himself upward, and Niijima handed him a bottle of water. For some reason he was considerably thirsty, and he took a couple of grateful swigs.

“Side effect of the gas,” said Niijima, “It apparently makes you thirsty.”

“Gas…” said Goro. Details were slowly flooding back to him. The power had gone out for the main building. The security cameras still ran off their backup batteries, but they had poor resolution in infrared. While Niijima worked with the French techs to restore power, Goro had run upstairs, gun in hand. He’d made it all the way to the man’s apartment, where guards were on patrol--or should have been, but they’d all been knocked out. That’s what should have tipped him off: that the guards were out with no signs of a struggle. After that, he remembered speaking to the thief, but not what the man looked like. The details were hazy.

“What happened…?” he asked.

“You ran onto the scene without taking proper precautions,” said Niijima, “So you got a nice dose of sleeping gas and went down for a nap.”

“How long have I been out for?”

“About an hour.”

“And Arsene…?” Goro dreaded the answer.

“Got away,” said Niijima.

“Of course he did,” Goro muttered bitterly.

“He was careless this time, though,” said Niijima, “We’ve found a couple of his infiltration tools in the building, not to mention he had a clear path out.”

“How did he escape?”

“He kicked the screen out of the side window and took out the guard below. We’re not sure where he went after that, though.”

Goro frowned.

It’s not like him to be so sloppy. Something must have happened to distract him. Though, I suppose facing down the barrel of a gun might have had something to do with it…

He vaguely remembered aiming at the thief before passing out. It had been hard to make out details of the man’s face--or perhaps there was something covering it?

“Are you feeling alright?” Niijima looked at him with concern. “We should get you home, Akechi-kun. You’ve had a rough night.”

“Thank you,” said Goro. “Actually, don’t worry about it. I’ll get myself home.”

“Are you sure?”

Goro nodded, taking out his phone. He opened up a new text and wrote to the most recent contact on the list.

“You awake? Bad night at work. Need to get my mind off things.”

* * *

What the fresh hell am I supposed to do now?

Akira sat on the edge of the bed, holding the Arsene mask in his hands. It had saved his life in more ways than one tonight--at the same time, it almost seemed to be the source of his problems.

Or, well, one of them.

The biggest problem glaring him in the face was the fact that he’d been unwittingly dating the detective pursuing him.

Akira wondered if he ought to break it off with Goro now, just to get it over with. Save them both the heartbreak if he were discovered. Even if--by some miracle--he managed to go the whole year without getting caught, could he really keep lying to his friend like this? He’d craft some elaborate story for why they had to break up and block Goro’s number. Oh, but he knows where the dorm is, too…

He loathed the thought of having to undo everything he’d built with Goro to this point. Goro seemed to relax most when he was with Akira, smiling genuinely and speaking freely. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but thinking back, Akira realized that the boy he was dating now had changed gradually from the person he’d first met at that cafe. Perhaps “changed” wasn’t so much the word as “opened up”. When they’d first met, Goro was friendly enough, but seemed to be keeping himself distant--like a bud stubbornly refusing to bloom. That day, Akira had wondered what that bud of his might bloom into. Now, of course, he knew: Goro’s true self was a rare, beautiful bloom. Something he showed only to Akira.

If he broke it off now, maybe he could put some distance between himself and that bloom; he could forget its radiance. Maybe Goro could find it in himself to forgive him someday…

Actually, it probably didn’t matter. If Goro found out, no amount of post-relationship distance would change the fact that he’d been f*cking Arsene at the peak of his career.

Somehow, there was something actually… thrilling about that thought. To think that he was caught in the thralls of love with the very detective who’d been assigned to his case. It was the ultimate irony.

I wonder if I can use this to my advantage. I could plant a calling card, then go grab Goro for a convenient alibi… “Where were you the night of the 19th, Monsieur Kurusu?” “I was at home, shagging Detective Akechi’s socks off. Don’t believe me? Just ask him.”

Wait--what am I thinking?! That’s a horrible idea!

As Akira scolded himself for thinking something so outlandish, even by his standards, his phone buzzed suddenly. Akira jumped and snatched it from his pocket. He had a new text from Goro.

“You awake? Bad night at work. Need to get my mind off things.”

Akira spent a long time debating what to say in response. Finally, after stowing his Arsene helmet back in a box in the closet, he put together a reply:

“Yeah. Come on over.”

* * *

Akira didn’t ask what had happened that night - he knew, for one thing, but he also knew that Goro wouldn’t want to talk about it. He greeted his boyfriend with a long, slow kiss, and that was enough. Akira comforted him into the wee hours of the morning, all the while trying to push his own fears to the back of his mind.

And somehow, they continued seeing each other.

The weeks passed leisurely as summer dragged on. Akira got permission from his school to take another semester in France--extra work that would eventually lay the groundwork for his thesis. This was all a front, of course. Morgana had requested to extend his contract until the end of the calendar year, and Akira had accepted. Morgana hadn’t said it outright, but there had definitely been the implication that backing out of the contract now would not end in his favor.

With classes out for the summer and not a peep from Morgana after the extension, Akira decided to give Goro his full attention. The two of them spent the bulk of their time together, and Akira practically spoiled his boyfriend rotten: buying him gifts, taking him on dates, and, on occasion, f*cking him silly. Now that he knew their relationship couldn’t last--was doomed to fail spectacularly, actually--he wanted to take advantage of the time they did have.

At the very least… I want him to have happy memories of our time together. Even if….

Chapter 11: Thief's Game

Chapter Text

One evening, when he was over at Goro’s apartment with plans to stay the night, Akira suddenly came upon the most diabolical idea he’d ever had.

“Goro?”

“Hm?” Goro looked up from his book.

“Have you ever thought about roleplaying?”

“Roleplaying…” Goro furrowed his brow, “Like the games with dice? I can’t say I have.”

“No, not that kind,” Akira grinned. Yet another new frontier for them to explore together. “Bedroom roleplaying.”

“Oh.” Goro’s face turned pink, “No, no I have not. Um… what does it entail, exactly?”

“You and I both pick a role, and then act out a scene together. It’s like acting, only… fruitier.”

“And what kind of roles would we pick…?”

“Well, there’s all kinds of scenarios to choose from--the only limit’s our imagination. You could be a teacher, and I could be a student failing your class. Or I could be a butler, and you my selfish, demanding master. That kind of thing.”

“I see.”

“Or…” Akira’s smile widened, “I could be a wily phantom thief. And you--the detective who’s only just succeeded in catching me.”

Goro stared at him for a good long time. Akira could almost tell he was parsing it out in his head--wondering if Akira knew what he was asking, and whom he was talking to. Wondering if that scenario would be something he’d be into.

“Just think,” Akira continued, “You could have me in custody, tied up, ready to force a confession out of me by any means necessary.”

From the deepening flush on Goro’s face, Akira surmised that he was hitting a chord.

“We can pick whatever story you like,” he said, “Personally, I like the phantom thief one best, but--!”

“I’ll do it,” said Goro suddenly.

“Do what?”

“The thief one. But on one condition: you have to play the thief.”

“More than happy to,” said Akira. This was going better than he’d expected. “Do we have anything we can use to tie me up with? Maybe a spare tie, or a belt, or--?”

“Actually,” said Goro. He walked over to his dresser and opened the top drawer. From somewhere inside he produced what appeared to be a very real pair of handcuffs. “Why not these?”

Akira’s mouth fell open.

That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever f*cking seen holy sh*t--!

He ran over to Goro and hurriedly presented his wrists.

“Cuff me, officer! I’m guilty as charged!”

“N-not yet!” Goro held the handcuffs out of Akira’s reach, “Is there anything else we need to do to prepare, or--?”

“Oh, um. We should probably establish a safeword.”

“A what?”

“Something either of us can say when things are too much, or if something hurts, or if we’re pushed too far outside our comfort zone. We can get pretty far into character here, but if either of us says that word, the sex stops. Period.”

“Oh, I see.” Goro put a hand to his chin, thinking about the options. “How about ‘water lilies’?”

Akira shot an adoring glance at his partner.

“I love you, you know that?”

“I thought you would like that,” Goro smiled, “Well… should we get to it?”

“Yeah… let’s.”

Akira’s heart was pounding. It was rare for Goro to take the lead--normally, he seemed to prefer having Akira top him, or tell him what to do. Akira wasn’t sure what he was getting into, but as Goro clipped the handcuffs snugly around his wrists, he found himself growing far too excited to care.

“Bed?” he asked, tilting his head slightly toward Goro’s bed. The detective yanked on the handcuffs’ chain, bringing Akira closer to him.

“I believe I’m the one in charge here.”

Holy sh*t…. This is going to be a night.

Goro guided him over to the bed, and Akira lay down obediently. It was a twin, just barely enough space for both of them side by side--but with Goro kneeling over him, there was plenty of room. Akira glanced up at the wrought-iron headboard, decorated with curling vines and a fleur-de-lis ornament at the top. Goro seemed to have the same idea Akira did; he hooked the handcuff chain over the fleur-de-lis, leaving Akira with his arms over his head.

Akira was now completely, utterly at his mercy.

“Look at you,” said Goro, “The notorious phantom thief, reduced to this… Do you understand the situation you’re in?”

Akira nodded, trying to ignore the growing want between his legs.

“You have two choices, phantom thief,” said Goro, holding up a gloved hand with two fingers showing, “You can confess everything here, and your sentence might be lightened. Or you can say nothing, and the law will punish you to the fullest extent of its power.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Akira quipped.

“I wonder about that,” said Goro, “I wonder if there’s anything I could do to make you confess your crimes to me.”

“Aren’t there laws about confessions produced under duress--?” Akira began, but he felt a knee press into his groin and the rest of the sentence was lost.

“In this room, I am the law,” said Goro. “Whether you confess or remain silent, the outcome will be the same. I will draw that testimony from your lips, even if I have to force it out of you.”

There’s no way. There’s no f*cking way he’s never roleplayed before.

Either that, or… he’s had fantasies about this before?

The thought of Goro fantasizing about arresting Arsene--about arresting him, essentially--was deeply unsettling and deeply arousing in equal measure. He supposed he wouldn’t mind a real interrogation if Goro was the one in charge of it… ah, what was he thinking?

“Go on, then,” Akira beckoned, “I’d like to see you try, detective.”

Goro reached down, starting in on the buttons on Akira’s shirt.

“This seems to be in my way,” he said.

“Hm? Planning something nasty, are we?”

Goro’s response was a kiss--a hungry, sloppy thing that took Akira completely by surprise. He answered by kissing back just as feverishly, slipping his tongue into his partner’s mouth. It was all he could do to keep Goro from jumping down his throat.

It was a few minutes before Goro released him. There was an audible smack as they parted, and the sound of Akira’s ragged breathing filled the space between them.

“Nasty,” said Goro quietly, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove, “Isn’t going to begin to cover it.”

Akira looked on in elated horror as Goro undid the buttons of his shirt one by one. Akira was seeing an entirely new side of him tonight, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d had to teach Goro how to make love to him, and now the boy was going and hitting every single one of his kinks without even trying.

I think… I’ve created a monster.

The final button came undone, but Goro didn’t stop: he made sure to get the button and zipper of Akira’s fly too. This was hardly new territory for them, but the overwhelming vulnerability he felt with his hands bound, Goro practically sitting on him, was a fresh experience. Akira was so horny he could hardly think straight; he willed Goro to do something to him--anything, it didn’t matter what, as long as he--!

“I can stop at any time,” said Goro, jerking Akira from his thoughts. His hands traced down his partner’s abdomen, ghosting over every muscle, “All I need from you is that confession.”

Akira co*cked his head to the side slyly.

“No way,” he said, “You’ll have to drag it out of me.”

Goro shrugged.

“If you insist…” he shifted so that he could pull Akira’s pants off, “I’ll strip you down to nothing, and then have my way with what’s left.”

Holy sh*t, just f*ck me, Akira thought to himself. He wanted to scream it, to buck his hips and beg; he had to try extremely hard not to break character to satisfy his personal wants. He bit his lip to keep from blurting anything too early.

“D-do what you will…” he said finally.

Goro smirked.

“Gladly. Ah, but first.”

He reached up and delicately pulled Akira’s glasses off by the edge of the frames.

“Let’s get these out of the way as well, shall we?”

To Akira, it didn’t matter whether he was wearing glasses or not--truthfully, he didn’t need them to see. Somehow, though, he felt all the more exposed without them.

After leaving Akira’s glasses on the nightstand, Goro turned his attention back to his partner. He reached out, taking Akira’s chin between his index finger and thumb.

“To think a notorious thief could be so handsome…”

He brushed his thumb over Akira’s lips a few times before going in for another kiss, this one more restrained. Akira groaned feebly; he was getting a little impatient waiting for Goro to make good on all his threats. Goro responded to his disappointment with a gentle tug on his lower lip.

“Patience,” he whispered, “Rest assured… Justice will be served.”

Akira swore under his breath.

Just f*ck me, please--!

This time, Goro didn’t keep him waiting long. The boy was at his neck in an instant, sucking hungrily on his skin. Akira let out a yelp and swore out loud this time, struggling against his restraints.

“Goro--!”

“That’s Detective Akechi to you.”

Akira gasped sharply as Goro latched on to his collarbone.

How the hell is he this good at staying in character?!?

“D-detec--tive Ake--chi--!”

Goro seemed to get a rise out of Akira addressing him with his title; he doubled down on his efforts to cover his partner in kiss marks. Akira could do little more than whimper and squirm as Goro roved around his body, stopping briefly every so often to stake his claim on a fresh patch of skin and leaving a trail of bright bruises in his wake.

“Well,” said Goro finally, releasing a bit of skin just below Akira’s navel, “Are you ready to confess your crimes?”

Akira gathered what was left of his self-control and shook his head, smiling.

“You’ll have to do better than that, detective.”

Goro hooked a thumb below Akira’s waistband.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not done with you yet.”

Goro slipped Akira’s underwear off, tossing it unceremoniously behind him. Akira shuddered in anticipation as Goro glanced him over, seemingly sizing him up. He wondered if Goro could tell just how badly Akira wanted him; it should have been pretty obvious from the size of his co*ck--!

“Let’s see,” said Goro, “There’s quite a bit I have in mind, but, I will require your assistance with something first.”

He held his right hand up to Akira’s lips, teasing the boy’s co*ck with his left. Akira let out a pitiful whine, burying his face into his arm.

“Oh, no you don’t,” said Goro. He grabbed Akira’s chin again and turned his head to face him, “I need those lips of yours for something. You see, things are about to get messy, and, well, these are fairly expensive leather gloves. I’d hate for them to be soiled. Won't you help me take them off?”

Akira saw what he was getting at. His lips parted slightly, allowing Goro to place his index finger between them.

“There’s a good boy.”

Akira gave a gentle bite, and Goro slipped his hand out of the glove. They repeated this little ritual for his left hand, and Goro tossed the gloves onto the nightstand.

“Now then.”

Goro repositioned himself, scooting back on the bed to have a better vantage point. Akira could do little more than watch, shivering in anticipation--he knew, instinctively, what his partner was planning to do next.

His suspicions were confirmed: Goro’s lips closed around the tip of his co*ck. Akira’s head lolled backwards, a moan escaping his throat.

“Hmm?” Goro took Akira a little deeper into his mouth, and Akira writhed helplessly, desperately trying to leverage what little he could. He wanted so badly to beg Goro to f*ck him properly, to moan it over and over until the words lost meaning.

To his utter disappointment, Goro released him, a silver thread dangling between his lips and the head of Akira’s co*ck.

“You know what I’m going to ask,” he said darkly.

Akira could barely breathe, much less string words together.

“Just…!” He was no longer sure he cared about staying in character. “Just f*ck me already…!”

“Hm? How badly do you want it?” Even as he said this, Goro’s fingers traveled down between Akira’s legs, “How badly do you want me to f*ck you?”

“I-I’ll--!” Akira gasped as he felt something push against his ass, “I’ll do anything, just, Jesus god, please--!”

“You’ll confess?”

Akira bit his lip, then nodded in defeat. Goro smiled triumphantly.

“Good. I’m glad to see we’ve reached an agreement.”

Goro quickly moved to the nightstand, where he procured a small bottle of lube and a condom. Before too long he was back between Akira’s legs, making a particular show of smearing lube on his fingers. Akira could barely watch; he was already imagining how deep those fingers might go--!

“Ah!”

Goro’s fingers felt cold and wet on his skin. And then… Akira gasped as Goro’s index finger slipped inside him. It almost seemed as though Goro was deliberately taking his time now, wanting to savor every moment of Akira’s desperation. Akira rocked his hips eagerly, pushing Goro’s finger that much deeper--!

“Now there’s a sight,” Goro smirked, “The cunning phantom thief who had eluded capture for months, now helplessly begging to be f*cked in custody… You’ll forgive me for wanting to enjoy this, won’t you?”

He didn’t give Akira a chance to answer; a second finger slid in beside the first. Akira could have screamed. His voice tumbled from his mouth in incoherent moans as Goro moved his hand back and forth, widening him up--!

“I think you’re good and ready now,” said Goro, giving Akira few last meaning thrusts before removing his hand. Akira watched hazily as Goro undid his fly and produced his own pulsing co*ck. He could barely even see for his lust; his partner slipping on a condom and lubing up only barely registered in his mind.

And then--there was only the feeling of Goro’s co*ck pushing into him.

“A-ah!” Akira arched his back, pulling at his restraints.The handcuffs were starting to dig into his wrists, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore; all that mattered was that Goro was moving, thrusting, and he couldn’t spare a coherent thought for anything else.

“Let’s see… Why don’t I tell you what you’re being charged with?” Goro’s voice was steady, but it seemed like it was only with great effort on his part. He listed off the charges between thrusts. “Burglary--ngh; trespassing, conspiracy--agh; resisting arrest…”

Akira could only answer him with broken moans; he was far past forming words in any capacity. Head lolled back, mouth hanging open, he let his voice escape his throat without any concern for who might hear him.

“And, of course, the most--heinous of all,” said Goro, “Stealing an officer’s heart.”

f*ck, that’s clever. He’s so clever. He’s so--!

Akira was beginning to wish his hands weren’t bound; he wanted to wrap his arms around Goro and hold him tightly. Goro seemed to sense this; he leaned forward and buried his face into Akira’s shoulder, slipping his arms under Akira’s back. Akira brought his legs up around his partner’s waist, trapping him there. Spurred by this, Goro started thrusting even harder. Before too long their voices mingled in desperate, incoherent gasps.

Akira was nearing his limit; if things carried on like this, he’d--!

“How--do you--plead?” asked Goro finally.

Akira gasped; the climax hit him like fireworks.

“I-it was me--!” he stammered, “I did it! I’m--I’m guilty--!”

Akira came messily between them; cum splattered all over his chest and Goro’s shirt. Goro sucked in a ragged breath and kept thrusting with renewed fervor; each movement so desperate that the bed was beginning to creak beneath them.

“There! I’m--about to--agh!”

Goro emptied himself completely into Akira before collapsing, spent, on his chest. For a while the two of them were quiet, save only for their gasping attempts to catch their breath. Akira managed to unhook the chain from the fleur-de-lis, and he put his hands gratefully on Goro’s back.

It was a while before the power of speech returned to them. Goro lifted his head, looking his partner in the eyes.

“That…” he said finally, “Was incredible.”

“Sooo…” said Akira, “Do I get a lighter sentence?”

Goro stared at him, snorted, then dissolved into a fit of giggles. Akira couldn’t help joining in, and it was a while before either of them could stop.

“After that incredible evening,” said Goro once he’d gotten ahold of himself, “I’m prepared to drop all charges.”

“Oh good.” Akira gave him a squeeze.

Ah, if only a good f*ck could get me out of criminal charges in real life…

“Here--why don’t I get those off of you?” Goro shifted, and Akira lifted his arms so that the boy could sit back up. He carefully pulled himself out--there was a slight squelching sound, and Akira jumped as Goro’s co*ck left him--and went to go get the keys from the dresser. Akira watched him, smiling contentedly in the afterglow of a night well spent.

Ah, his ass looks really good in those pants. Shame he kept his clothes on this time, though…

Suddenly Goro stopped, hand in the dresser drawer.

“Oh.”

“Something wrong?”

“Well, I just remembered…” Goro turned to him, grimacing. “It’s… department policy to keep the keys to all our handcuffs at the station. Just to prevent people from making off with them. So. I don’t actually have them with me.”

Chapter 12: At the Station

Chapter Text

“Ah… quiet as usual.”

The secretary at the front entrance sipped from his coffee cup lazily, feet up on the desk. He’d answered the evening’s swath of emails and filed what he needed to file. It was just after 10 PM, and in this corner of the city, the neighborhood tended to be quiet at night. It was looking to be a regular--boring--grave shift.

So, it stands to reason that the ping of the door unlocking made him jump, nearly spilling his coffee. He hastily took his legs off the desk and tried to look like he hadn’t been slacking off while the door opened. In strode that new Japanese hire, towing a handcuffed boy about his height behind him.

“Oh!” the secretary stood up, “Detective Akechi! What brings you out here so late? And, uh--who’s that? Don’t tell me--you caught the phantom thief??”

“Ah, no…” Goro responded, waving the secretary’s comments away, “This is embarrassing, but… this is my boyfriend, Akira Kurusu.”

“Ah…” said the secretary.

“Sorry, but can I bother you to grab the keys for these? Number 43.”

“Sure can. I’ll be right back.”

As the secretary left his desk, he shot an understanding grin in Goro’s direction.

“Don’t worry, I won’t write you up or anything--stuff like this happens all the time. Sounds like you two had fun.”

Goro was glad the secretary turned back around before he could see hisface turning a delightful shade of burgundy.

Akira couldn’t help laughing a little.

“Happens all the time, huh…?”

“It’s not funny,” Goro grumbled.

“C’mon, it’s a little funny.”

Goro was about to reprimand him, but by that point the officer had returned with the keys, and Goro really just wanted to be out of the station as soon as possible.

* * *

After freeing Akira from the handcuffs, the two of them sat down on a bench just outside the station. Akira massaged his wrists, admiring the raw red marks left behind. He sort of liked them, as a memento to an evening well spent. All the same, he was beginning to see why it was common for kinky handcuffs to come covered in fur: these marks would likely last a few days. People would ask--not that he minded bragging.

“Your wrists…” Goro began, “Are they alright?”

“Hm? They’re fine,” Akira held one out to show him, “They don’t hurt that much. For how much fun we had, it was totally worth it.”

“I’m glad…” Goro smiled apologetically, “I kept worrying I was going too far…”

“Nah, you did great,” said Akira, “If you’d really gone too far, I would’ve said something. Water lilies, remember?”

“Yeah…”

“Besides,” Akira grinned, “Being all tied up while you just had your way with me… it was totally hot. I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Really…?”

“Yeah dude. When you got out those handcuffs, I went from zero to a hundred,” Akira laughed, “And then you mercilessly topped the sh*t out of me. I loved it so much, I was practically halfway to the moon by the time you finally let me come.”

“N-not so loud…” Goro looked around quickly; Akira could tell he was flushing even in the dimness of the night. Even so, he smiled. “I’m… glad you liked it.”

“How about you?” Akira asked, “How’d it feel, being on top this time?”

“I… was more into it than I expected to be, I guess…” Goro looked at his hands in embarrassment, “Seeing you like that was… arousing, to say the least. I may have gotten a bit carried away…”

“No kidding,” Akira grinned, “We should do this again sometime. The Continuing Sexcapades of Wily Phantom Thief Akira and Detective Akechi. Maybe next time I’ll have you tied up and begging.”

“Please keep your voice down, we’re in public--!” Goro was a second away from throwing his hands over Akira’s mouth. “But, I agree. More roleplaying would be fun.”

“Yeah. I had no idea you were so good at acting, either.”

“Oh, um. Neither did I, honestly. I just sort of did what felt right for the situation.”

“Well, you seem to have some experience as a detective, so that probably helped,” said Akira with a smirk.

“H-how did you--?” Goro blurted, but Akira indicated to the police station behind them with his thumb. “Right… I suppose there’s no reason to keep it from you anymore.”

Goro shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“Here’s the truth,” he continued, “I was brought here by the French government to assist with a… challenging case. You probably don’t know this, but back in Japan I’m something of a legend in the world of criminal justice. I’m responsible for solving hundreds of previously unsolvable cases--including some that had made headlines around the world when their stories first broke. So when France had a seemingly unsolvable problem on their hands, they reached out to me… I’m sorry, I can’t really give out more details about what I’m working on now.”

“It’s fine, I get it,” said Akira, “I’m surprised, though… you seem young for a hotshot detective.”

“Well,” Goro smiled, “I did join the force as a teenager.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not! I know it sounds hard to believe, but I’ve been doing this since high school. It was more of a side gig until I graduated, though.”

Goro’s face fell a little, and he looked away.

“In a lot of ways, it’s the only thing I’m good at…”

“Come on, that’s not true,” Akira put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re pretty good at sex!”

Goro couldn’t help laughing at that.

“Fair enough… come on, we should head home. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

“Oh, no way am I going home tonight,” said Akira, “I believe you owe me some post-coital cuddles now that the handcuffs are off. Besides, your apartment’s closer.”

Goro, who had by this point given up trying to make his boyfriend speak more quietly, sighed in defeat.

“Alright, alright.”

He stood up, holding a hand out to Akira.

“We can take a nice, warm bath, and then cuddle up with a book…”

“Ahh, you’re really spoiling me tonight~!”

The two of them laughed and bantered the whole walk back to Goro’s apartment.

Chapter 13: Doubt

Chapter Text

“When you got out those handcuffs, I went from zero to a hundred.”

There was something nagging at the back of Goro’s mind, even a few days after Akira had returned home. In the heat of the moment he’d been able to forget about it, but as the days went on, it began to bother him more and more.

When he’d first revealed the handcuffs in his dresser drawer, Akira didn’t ask where he’d gotten them.

Any normal person, seeing a very real pair of handcuffs, would ask where they came from, or even if they were real at all. It was an alarming thing for a civilian to have. If Goro had at any point advertised a love of kinky sex, that would have been one thing. The fact of the matter was that Akira had had no reason to believe a pair of police-grade handcuffs was something Goro would just have lying around.

But at no point did Akira ask any questions about this--not even during their walk to the station.

Goro supposed it was possible that Akira had put two and two together. He’d mentioned working for the government, after all. As far as he knew, the handcuffs issued to officers were very different from those made for sex. Akira was a smart boy; he likely inferred Goro was working with the police and decided not to ask about something so obvious.

Goro wished he could leave it at that, but an alternate scenario continued to bother him: that Akira didn’t ask because he already knew.

You’re just overthinking this, Goro. Sometimes that detective’s intuition of yours makes you see patterns that aren’t there.

Why would Akira already know Goro was a detective? He wasn’t easily searchable on the internet--for his safety, the Tokyo police force had kept his name out of any press releases. He hadn’t made any media appearances, and he didn’t even have any social media accounts. Akira would have had to find out about Goro’s job in person--but as far as he knew, he’d never mentioned it to him before tonight.

Unless…

Unless I’ve crossed paths with him on the job somewhere without knowing it.

Was it possible he’d seen Goro working before they met? No, that couldn’t be; their first meeting at the cafe had been only a few days after his arrival in France. And even if he had, that seems like something that would have come up in their conversations--unless Akira had a reason to hide it. Unless they’d come face to face at a time when Akira needed Goro not to recognize him.

Ugh… he hated that he was getting so swept up in his thoughts, but when he got like this, it was difficult to stop.

“Goro?”

Goro looked up. Akira was watching him, concern in his eyes. That’s right--they were together at their usual cafe, Akira with a book he’d been working through, and Goro with one of his reports.

“You alright?” Akira asked, “You had this scary look on your face…”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Goro smiled, just like he’d always practiced--a smile that could dispel others’ suspicions. “I just got lost in thought, that’s all…”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Oh, no… not this time, sorry. Maybe another time, though. When I’m ready.”

He almost regretted saying something like that--in truth, he didn’t think he would ever be ready to address this particular concern.

There was a nonzero possibility that Akira was his target.

The fact that he couldn’t remember anything about his encounter with Arsene had bothered him ever since that night. All he could remember was that the thief was about his height, and had wornsome kind of mask to conceal his features. He knew it was a long shot, but if Akira really was the one beneath that mask, it would explain how he’d already known Goro was a detective.

There were a few more coincidences he couldn’t shake. Akira had mentioned to him once that he’d come to France in September. He’d thought nothing of it at the time; the French school year began in September, and Akira was here to study abroad. But Arsene’s first calling card had been sent in mid-September. His first heist, September 30th. And Akira fit Goro’s hypothesis that Arsene was a student--a student of art history, no less. He even had the sculpted body of someone who might do physically demanding activities: jumping, climbing, strength to overpower guards… Looking back, even his suggestion of a phantom thief roleplay now seemed uncanny.

He didn’t want to believe it, but it was scary how well Akira fit the profile of someone he’d be looking for. The chances that Akira was involved in all this were no longer zero. Even if that chance was only a fraction of a percent, Goro had to investigate--it was his duty as a detective to discern the truth and uphold the law. Even if that meant...

Chapter 14: Investigation

Chapter Text

“Niijima-san?”

“Hm? What is it, Akechi?”

“There’s a team in charge of tracking down the stolen artworks, correct?”

“Yes… why do you ask?”

“No particular reason,” Goro lied, “I just found myself becoming curious about what happened to them. If they’d been recovered, I mean.”

“You’ve never expressed interest in this before…” Niijima frowned, “What changed? Don’t tell me… you have a lead?”

“I don’t know…” Goro chose his words carefully, “I still have a few things I want to confirm before I jump to conclusions.”

For now, there was nothing else he could do. Even if he did have a hunch that the culprit was Akira, he didn’t have a shred of proof. He had to see if there was any possibility of finding the damning evidence he needed. His logic for this particular path was simple: if the pieces were never returned to their home countries, then Goro might have probable cause to show up to Akira’s dorm with a search warrant.

Niijima put him in touch with the recovery team--which, it turned out, was a small group of interns working in the basem*nt at one of France’s security agencies. He had them forward him what they’d found, which was mostly newspaper articles and social media postings. There weren’t very many; most of the stolen works had yet to resurface, and only Arsene’s oldest targets had been found.

Goro took his laptop to the usual cafe to sift through them. (He was a little disappointed that Akira wasn’t sitting at their usual table by the window, but at the same time, he was relieved.) Though there weren’t many articles, they were all in English. While he had prided himself on his English skills in school, it still took him a while to parse out adult-level readings.

The first article he looked at was from an American newspaper with a Jewish focus. The Ginzburg watercolor had turned up in America, at the home of one Ursula Cohen--neé Ginzburg.

A Purim Miracle? Stolen Painting Returned

Ursula Cohen, the only surviving daughter of German-Jewish painter Yosef Ginzburg, received a surprising package in the mail one morning this past March. In it was one of her father’s lost paintings--a small watercolor titled “Rhineland”. The octogenarian knew immediately that the painting had once belonged to her father, but she had it examined by a team of conservators to determine that it was, in fact, authentic. The sender of the package is not known.

Yosef Ginzburg was murdered in the Holocaust in 1939. His paintings were plundered by the Nazis, and the large majority of them have never been recovered. Ursula managed to escape Europe as a child, carrying a precious few of her father’s paintings rolled in a cardboard tube. She now keeps the paintings in her home, where they are often admired by her children and grandchildren. However, Ursula has decided to donate “Rhineland” to the local Jewish Community Center in Los Angeles, where she lives, in the hopes that it will bring joy to the entire community for years to come.

“Rhineland” sparked controversy in France at the beginning of the year, following its disappearance from a traveling exhibit. The disappearance was attributed to the notorious phantom thief Arsene, who has been purloining artwork and artifacts from Paris about once a month since early autumn. When we asked if she knew that Arsene had stolen her father’s painting from a private collection, Ursula scoffed. “No, that painting was stolen from my father,” she responded. “If Arsene is responsible for getting it back to my family, then he is a mensch, and I owe him a great debt.”

Goro had to read the article a few times to really get the gist of it. He supposed he couldn’t fault Ursula Cohen for being happy; after all, the painting had originally been taken from her in brutal circ*mstances. He put the article away, bringing up another: this one a Facebook post from a temple in India, dated November of the previous year.

“Today our long-lost bronze statue of Sarasvati was returned to us under mysterious circ*mstances. This statue has been missing since the 1800s, when she was stolen by looters posing as British tourists. We do not know how she found her way to us, but we are very glad to have Sarasvati back, and express our utmost thanks to whomever was involved in her return.”

The statue of Sarasvati had been Arsene’s first heist. It was an obscure artifact, one not likely to be known even to a student, and had come from a private collection. That it had been returned to this tiny temple in India seemed nothing short of a miracle; one student could not possibly have facilitated all this alone. This presented fairly strong evidence against Akira--or strong evidence for his having co-conspirators to identify and repatriate targets for him.

Next up was another Facebook posting, this one from a Buddhist temple in Thailand, and dated early February. The head of an ancient stone Buddha statue had been another of Arsene’s autumn targets, stolen from the Paris Asian Art Museum. Arsene had hinted at its provenance in his calling card, but the Facebook post went into a little more detail: It had been brought to France by the explorer Louise Delaporte after traveling Southeast Asia. However, it had been acquired under somewhat dubious circ*mstances--namely, that anti-Buddhist looters had beheaded the statue and sold the head to the explorer under the guise of a garden decoration. The Facebook post announced its miraculous return to their temple, and their plans to re-attach it to the body of the original statue.

It seems that so far, his earlier heists have all been making their way back to their original owners. I suppose we could still search Akira’s dorm for the later pieces, but somehow I doubt that would produce results.

Goro had been to Akira’s room so many times now, he’d practically memorized it. Some of the pieces Arsene had stolen were fairly large, and would have posed a challenge to hide in Akira’s small dorm room. Goro might have noticed if anything were significantly out of place.

Mulling over this, he turned to the last article the team had sent him. This one had appeared in an international journal of art history, and didn’t seem to pertain to any one object in particular. It was titled “Arsene--International Hero, or Petty Thief?”

Goro skimmed it a few times; the academic writing was tough to read. As far as he could tell, it was a debate about whether Arsene’s actions had merit. It often referenced talking points from a much larger debate: whether cultural artifacts ought to be returned to their countries, or kept in international museums.

There were an equal number of assenting and dissenting opinions represented. Those arguing against repatriations cited the ideal that museums help foster curiosity and international community, and thus ought to represent cultures from around the world. Even beyond that ideal, museums serve a more practical purpose in conservation--they keep artifacts safe from looters or turmoil in their home countries. (A footnote conceded that Arsene had not yet targeted any works from countries where this would be a risk, and Goro found that interesting.)

However, the arguments for repatriation were just as convincing. Art historians pointed to Arsene’s peculiar pattern in selecting works: his targets were all items that had been looted, stolen, or otherwise procured by dubious means. A widely-published French art historian, Geoffrey Monmouth, argued that returning artifacts to their original countries is justified precisely in situations where they were first obtained illegally. Museums and private collectors had no right to own or display those works. Monmouth did admit that he believes that Arsene would have done better by a diplomatic approach, negotiating between museums and origin countries--but he couldn’t help but understand the frustration Arsene might feel when such methods go nowhere.

Geoffrey Monmouth… he seems like a big name.

Goro opened up Google for a quick search, and the first result was the website for the Avalon Foundation: an organization that raises funds to return looted art to its home countries, and provides grants to help build and maintain museums to house those works when needed. Monmouth was listed as President of the Board.

Seems like he’s something of an authority on this “repatriation” business… I wonder if we should have someone investigate to see if Avalon or Monmouth were involved in repatriating any of these artifacts…

Goro drafted an email containing this general line of thinking and sent it off to the interns. It was a long shot, but at this point, all of his shots were just as long. He closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

The months of fruitless investigation were starting to wear on him. He wasn’t used to cases taking this long--usually, he could get to the truth of the matter in only a few weeks. There was always something the culprit overlooked, some missed detail or unforeseen circ*mstance. People are only human, and no crime was truly perfect. That’s what Goro had come to believe.

But Arsene seemed almost impossibly good at his job. Each time they tightened security, Arsene inevitably found his way in anyway. None of the items they’d retrieved at the previous heist had left any clues--no prints, the gas canister had no manufacturing information, and the fuse timer was apparently handmade. There wasn’t even anything remotely like a lead to follow.

Has this all just been a waste of time? Clearly Arsene will go to any lengths to avoid capture. He doesn’t even seem to be profiting from what he steals; the artifacts are being returned to their original owners anonymously. Is this all a game to him? Is he trying to see how long he can go, how much “good” he can do, without being caught?

His heart is in the right place, he’s just… going about it all wrong.

Goro’s phone began to ring, yanking him from his thoughts. He hurriedly answered it, not thinking to check the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Akechi-kun.” It was Niijima’s voice on the other end. “We’ve heard back from the museum in Berlin.”

“And?”

“They’ve agreed to do it.”

“Excellent. I’ll inform the Louvre that we intend to go through with our proposal.”

“Thank you. I’ll call you if anything else comes up.”

Chapter 15: Detective Prodigy

Chapter Text

Summer melted into fall; balmy winds made way for crisp breezes. Arsene’s activity had slowed to a trickle: he’d only had one heist all summer, and Goro began to wonder if he was losing interest--or running out of suitable targets. In the absence of fresh incidents, Goro spent a lot of time working closely with the Louvre to implement his proposed security measures. He was taking a huge gamble, as Arsene hadn’t yet shown interest in anything on display at the Louvre--but at the same time, he felt confident that before long they’d be receiving a calling card. Once advertising began for the new exhibit, that is…

With Akira’s classes starting up again and Goro’s increased workload, the two had fewer chances to spend time together. In a way Goro was almost glad for this; his worry that Akira was secretly Arsene had begun to seep into their interactions, and he found himself overanalyzing every little thing the boy said. But, as they say, “absence makes the heart grow fonder;” Goro found that the nights they spent apart were more unbearable than what little time they had together.

In mid-September they finally found an afternoon they could set aside for themselves.

Akira had recently received a parcel from his parents: a box crammed with so many Japanese snacks he didn’t think he would be able to finish them all before they went bad. And so, he invited Goro to share in his spoils. The two boys sat on the floor in Akira’s room that Saturday, making their way through bags of chips and pocky sticks and chatting about this and that. (Akira tried to get Goro to play the pocky game with him, multiple times, unsuccessfully. By now Goro could see through his little schemes like glass.)

“Why did they send you so many?” Goro asked as he dug through the box, examining the remaining snacks, “Do they think you’re not eating anything in the fine dining capitol of the world?”

“Ah, nah,” Akira crunched through another pocky stick. “My birthday’s coming up, so I guess they wanted to send me something.”

“Oh? When’s your birthday?”

“Next week,” said Akira, vaguely, “I’m not really one to make a big deal about birthdays, though.”

“Well, I’ll treat you to dinner anyway,” Goro smiled, “It’s nice that your parents sent you gifts so early. Do you get packages from them a lot?”

“Eh, not really…” Akira shrugged, “We’re actually not all that close anymore, to tell you the truth. This is the first thing they’ve sent me all year.”

“Hm? Just don’t get along well?”

“Well… we’ve been on shaky terms since I was in high school.” Akira scratched the back of his head, “My freshman year I tried to stop a guy sexually assaulting someone, and ended up getting sued over it. Somehow I got charged with assault, and the judge sent me to Tokyo on probation. My parents were noooot super happy about that.”

“No, I can imagine not…”

“I survived probation just fine and went back home after a year without any issues, but we’ve never been on great terms ever since. I’m from a small town, and rumors get around fast. They kinda became known as the parents of a kid with a criminal record.”

“I see. Still, though… it’s nice that they still remember your birthday.”

Akira frowned.

“That… kinda makes it sound like yours don’t.”

Goro shook his head.

“No, unfortunately. My parents aren’t really part of my life.”

“Ah… I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” said Goro, “I’m used to it by now. Besides, it’s thanks to them that I became a detective in the first place, and was able to meet you here…”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s thanks to them’? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Er, well,” Goro grimaced, “It’s not really a story I like telling, and I don’t want to spoil your good spirits.”

“I wanna know,” said Akira, in a voice so earnest it made Goro’s heart jump, “It’s fine if you really don’t want to share, but… I feel like I still don’t know that much about you, despite how much time we’ve spent together. It would mean a lot to me if you told me.”

“… alright,” said Goro finally, “You’ll… be the first person I’ve told about this.”

Akira scooted closer to him, nodding for him to continue.

\\

Goro remembered the sound of the rain that day, more than anything else--returning home after a school trip, the reds and blues of police lights scattering like fractals between raindrops. The men in uniform who wouldn’t tell him anything, not at first, not while they shuttled him off to the station to wait while they cleared the scene.

They later told him it was suicide. A handgun (that she couldn’t possibly have owned) and a shot to the forehead (that was far too precise for someone who’d never held a gun before). Goro knew the story was suspicious from the beginning. Even if she’d been considering suicide--he wouldn’t have put it past her, to be frank--the method was so unlike her, so unbelievable, that he couldn’t help but suspect that there was something else going on.

His mother had raised him alone. Well, "raised"was generous; for the most part, they merely shared the same house. His father was a public servant with an image to uphold, and outside of the support checks he wrote for them in secret, he had little interest in the growth of his illegitimate son. His motherworked nights, and Gorowalked himself to school. They only spent about half an hour together in the mornings and evenings. Even when they were together, she didn’t seem to want to be around him. In that way, Goro learned to be self-sufficient from a young age.

He also learned that while nature favors chaos, society preferred order. A child with no father and almost absent mother was an anomaly to be swept out of sight. If he came to school in a rumpled uniform or didn’t keep his hair neat, people noticed, and commented as much. Their words stung. He learned to keep himself presentable out of necessity; a tool for survival in a society that wanted desperately for him to fail. He learned to read verbal ticks, subtle facial expressions--to guess whether someone was lying or trustworthy, hostile or benign, at a glance.

It was these skills of professionalism and analysis that gave his words the weight they needed. When he calmly told the officers, “I don’t believe my mother had the means to purchase a gun,” they were somehow inclined to believe him. Still, they laid the burden of proof on him--and he diligently took up the work, outlining leads for the police to follow. Of course the gun wasn’t acquired legally (it was illegal for civilians to even own a handgun), but its serial number could be tracked: it had last traded hands when it was issued to an officer in the Chiyoda Ward of Tokyo. That officer regularly patrolled near the Diet and other government offices. One such office that he frequented on patrol was that of a prominent member of the Diet, Masayoshi Shido. After some digging on Goro’s recommendation, it came to light that the the paper trail between this officer and Shido’s bank account was already worth millions of yen.

The police were at first confused why the seemingly unrelated Shido would be a suspect, but Goro knew. He’d known that name his entire life; a name like a curse on his mother’s lips. Goro needed only point to his mother’s bank account, where years of transactions were recorded--once a month, a hefty transfer from an account under the name Masayoshi Shido. The payments had stopped coming earlier that year.

The pieces fell into place. Goro remembered a night when he’d come home to find his mother in tears, screaming and begging over the phone--threatening to reveal their presence to the world if her demands weren’t met. That had been the night just before his high school’s three-day trip to Yokohama. She’d been murdered in his absence, discovered by her boss after she’d failed to show up for work. It occurred to him, darkly, that if he hadn’t been on that trip, he would have met the same fate.

Thanks to Goro’s testimony, the police had all the probable cause they needed. Shido was taken in for an interrogation. He held up valiantly at first, but the more solid evidence presented against him, the less he was able to keep his cool. Eventually, he spat out a confession: yes, he’d ordered the hit on his former lover. He was moving up in the political world, and wanted to cut ties with her to protect his image. She’d called him that night, demanding to know where the last few payments were, and threatening to come forward to the media if he didn’t continue supporting them. Shido ordered the hit, instructing his conspirator to make it look like a murder-suicide--but for some reason, the little teenage boy who should have been there wasn’t home…

After that, after Shido was stripped of his office and booked into prison, Goro was once again approached by the police. His skills were exemplary, they said: someone of his talent was sorely needed on the force. (No, he remembered thinking, Shido was just sloppy. An amateur could have seen that it was impossible for a civilian to get access to that kind of gun.) They offered him a part-time position as a consultant. “Just like Detective Conan!” he remembered them joking. He didn’t find it funny, but he didn’t find his sudden lack of financial support any laughing matter either.

And so, Goro Akechi became a consulting detective at the tender age of fourteen…

//

“The rest is history, I’m afraid,” said Goro finally, “I started my new job the same month I began my second year of high school, and I’ve been working for the force ever since.”

Akira had been watching him quietly, absorbing everything from behind those horn-rimmed glasses. Goro couldn’t help feeling vulnerable, having bared his heart to him like this. For some reason, he hated it; feeling this way.

“I’m sorry for going on and on,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Akira smiled, “I appreciate you being honest with me. So… thank you.”

“It’s…” Goro paused, “It’s not fine, not really. That you’re the only person I’ve ever told. That I’ve ever trusted enough to tell…”

Goro’s grimace warped into a scowl.

“As you can imagine, an illegitimate child spending all his free time with the police doesn’t make a lot of friends…”

“Hey…”

Akira took Goro into his arms, holding him tight.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said quietly.

“I just…” Goro took a deep breath, “Sometimes, I regret taking them up on their offer. Even though I didn’t really have any other options…”

Akira nodded into his shoulder, wordlessly inviting him to continue.

“I’ll admit that my work for the police made me feel needed at first--valued, even,” said Goro, “Succeeding even in spite of my upbringing and my father was rewarding in its own way. But at the same time… I was still very much alone. I was too young to connect with my much-older coworkers, but I never really learned how to relate to people my age, either. With my work being what it was, I had little time to socialize. Sometimes I feel like I was funneled into the detective path without a lot of say--or, really, any full understanding of what that would mean for my life. I’ve always just been doing what adults tell me to, taking the cases they handed me…”

Goro sighed.

“Sometimes, I really envy you, Akira,” he admitted, “You’re here in France studying your passion, free to choose your own path… Paris is nice, but sometimes, it just feels like a prison.”

Akira gave his boyfriend a squeeze.

“You’re not as much of a prisoner as you think you are,” he said quietly. “You’re seeing me right now, aren’t you? That’s a choice you made for yourself.”

Goro was silent for a long time. His eyes filled with tears--warm, angry tears that rolled down his cheeks before he could stop them. He buried his face into Akira’s shoulder, struggling to keep himself together.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice shaking, “I shouldn’t have told you all that…”

“No, no,” Akira shook his head, “I’m glad you did. Really. I can’t totally understand what you went through, but… I know how it feels to slip through the social cracks. To go around feeling like you don’t belong anywhere. That’s how I felt in Tokyo, drifting through high school feeling like an outsider. So… I want you to know that you can confide in me, alright? I may not always understand, but at the very least I’ll listen.”

Goro nodded, sniffling.

“I’m here for you,” said Akira gently. “Even if it feels like you don’t belong anywhere, there’s always a spot for you next to me.”

He couldn’t hold his tears back anymore. Goro leaned into Akira and wept, trembling, without restraint. Each of those tears contained a world of worries, of stress, all the things he’d held back for god knows how many years. It no longer mattered that the French were losing faith in him, or that his boyfriend might be the culprit he was after--none of that mattered. Right now, Akira’s embrace was the only thing in the world.

After a while Goro’s sobs began to slow. Akira rubbed his back affectionately, swaying a bit from side to side.

“Thank you,” said Goro finally. “I… I feel a bit better now…”

“Good.” Akira loosened his grip. “Here, why don’t you have some chocolate? That always helps me feel less like sh*t.”

Akira reached for a box of Meiji almonds and poured a few into his hand. Goro gratefully accepted them. Akira was right--the chocolate did improve his mood.

“You know,” he said, “I suppose I have to thank you.”

“Hm?”

“The past few months we’ve been together have really been… eye-opening, in more ways than one.” Goro looked away, “I don’t think I truly knew what happiness was before I met you.”

Akira smiled.

“Don’t stroke my ego too much,” he said teasingly.

“It’s true… I’m not sure what I did to deserve you.”

“Don’t say that.”

Akira leaned forward and kissed him, slowly, savoring the lingering taste of chocolate on his partner’s lips.

“I’m here for you whether you deserve me or not.”

Goro bit his lip, fighting a second round of tears with all his strength.

“Nobody’s ever said that to me before…”

Akira kissed him again, briefly this time.

“Then I’ll say it as many times as you need.”

Akira kissed Goro’s nose, then his forehead, brushing his bangs out of the way.

“I’m here for you.”

Goro brought his hands up as Akira’s lips met his a third time; he curled his fingers into his partner’s hair.

Please, god, let me just have this… Let this one thing go right, for once…

Akira pulled away, smiling, and nodded toward the bed. They abandoned the snacks on the floor, wrappers and all. Goro wasn’t sure what Akira was planning, inviting him to bed so early in the afternoon--but the second they sat down, it was clear that Akira had no intention of getting up to anything. He took Goro’s hand gently, lifting it to his lips.

“I love you.”

He repeated it between kisses, cradling Goro’s head in his hands. Once would have been enough--more than enough--but Akira persisted. Each time, the words lodged deeper into Goro’s heart.

You were the first person to ever say those words to me.

Akira leaned backward, lying down on the bed. He eyed Goro expectantly, with something like admiration in his gaze.

“You know,” said Akira, “I said there’s always a spot for you next to me, but there’s prime real estate on top of me, too.”

Goro snorted. He crawled forward and lay his head on Akira’s chest, listening to the faint sound of his heartbeat beneath his shirt. Akira brought his arms up around him.

“This is nice…” Akira murmured, “Just laying here with my brilliant, funny, amazing, super sexy boyfriend…”

“H-hey…”

“It’s true! I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that…?”

Even as they laughed together, a certain sleepiness began to take hold. A warm embrace, a familiar scent, and the calming rhythm of a heartbeat… Goro felt his eyelids growing heavy.

They napped together well into the evening, their worries far away…

Chapter 16: The Louvre

Chapter Text

The exhibit opened to the public in early October: Queen Nefertiti’s Bust was visiting the Louvre on an exclusive visit through the winter holidays. It would be a rare opportunity to see the bust outside of its Berlin home, and visitors flocked to the Louvre from all over France. Goro and Akira had trouble securing tickets at first; the Louvre’s off-season free admission days didn’t apply to temporary exhibits.

Akira had been the one who suggested they go. He seemed keen to see the famed bust (“It’s only one of the most well-known statues in the world!” he’d said. Goro told him he’d never heard of it). Goro wasn’t particularly interested in Egyptian antiquities, but, as always, he left himself open to changing his mind. If he’d learned anything from his time in Paris, it was that the right teacher can make any topic interesting.

For their date to the Louvre--Goro’s first real visit--they blocked out a few areas of interest. It would be impossible to see the entire museum in just one day, but Akira wanted to make sure Goro got the highlights while they were there. They snuck into the French paintings collection to see works by the older French masters, then skipped over to the Greek antiquities wing to see the Venus de Milo and Winged Victory. Along the way Akira pointed out other paintings and sculptures of particular interest, accompanying each with a fact or two about their history. Through Akira’s eyes, the artwork seemed to come to life--each one had a story of its own, or seemed to ask questions of its viewers. Goro found himself wondering about pieces long after they’d left the halls and moved on to something else.

As Akira walked backwards through the exhibits, pointing out pieces of interest, he didn’t notice an elderly janitor ambling into his path.

“Akira, look out--!”

Goro’s cry came just a second too late. Akira and the janitor knocked into each other, the janitor’s broom and dustpan falling to the floor. Akira bent to pick them up for him, offering a profuse apology in French. The janitor, though visibly miffed, waved him off anyway.

“Please be more careful,” said Goro as the two of them moved on.

“Sorry,” Akira rubbed the back of his head, “I just got so distracted looking at you, I didn’t think to watch where I was going…”

Goro sighed.

“Why do I put up with you…?”

In the Italian and Spanish paintings wing, they joined a throng of tourists ogling a relatively small painting behind a sheet of protective glass. As they got closer, Goro was surprised to see that the object of everyone’s attention was, in fact, the Mona Lisa.

“I thought it would be bigger,” Goro admitted, once they’d gotten close enough for a good look. Its frame made it look larger than it was, and compared to the wall-sized canvases it shared the room with, it seemed almost miniscule.

“That’s what I thought too, when I first saw it,” said Akira, smiling knowingly.

It was strange to see such a famous painting up close; for Goro, this was the first painting he’d seen in the museum that he actually recognized. The Mona Lisa’s enigmatic gaze seemed to follow them as they moved aside to let other tourists have a look. Rope barriers prevented anyone from getting too close--the floor was clear for about twelvefeet around the painting itself.

“I’m impressed by the level of security…” said Goro. “It makes sense, considering this is one of the world’s most famous paintings, but it almost seems excessive.”

“Well, the Mona Lisa has been stolen before,” said Akira.

“Really? When?”

“In 1911,” Akira answered, “A Louvre employee hid in a broom closet until closing time, then walked out with the painting under his coat.”

“That’s almost too mundane to believe,” said Goro. “Though, I suppose it would have been hard to prepare for something like this in 1911… They must have caught, him, then.”

“They did. Two years later he tried to sell it to a gallery in Italy, and they alerted the police,” said Akira. “It came out that the thief was originally from Italy, and wanted the painting returned to its native home for display.”

“Hah,” Goro smiled, “He could almost be Arsene’s predecessor.”

“A little, yeah.”

“It makes me wonder…” Goro put a hand to his chin thoughtfully, “Do you think Arsene has his eye on the Mona Lisa, too?”

Akira snorted.

“No way,” he said, “In this day and age, you’d have to be stupid to try to steal the Mona Lisa.”

“Haha, of course, you’re right…”

* * *

Leaving the Mona Lisa behind, the two of them made their way over to the underground wing housing the new exhibit. The room was relatively open and decorated in black and gold, with various antiquities on display from other parts of the museum. In the center of the room, behind a plexiglass case and rope barriers, was the famous Bust of Nefertiti. Akira wasted no time on the other items on display; he walked right up and joined the crowd of people milling around the bust itself. Goro followed, glancing at exhibit signs along the way.

Looking at the bust up close, it was hard to believe that it hadn’t been made yesterday. The plaster was so smoothly sculpted, the paint so exact, it almost seemed to have been made by a machine. Nefertiti was almost hauntingly beautiful--her high cheekbones, lidded eyes and gentle smile brought to mind a Western actress he’d seen somewhere, though Goro couldn’t quite remember her name.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” said Akira reverently. Goro had to agree. “It’s amazing that something like this was made so long ago. I wonder if the real woman was just as beautiful… I would have liked to see her in person.”

Akira turned to his partner and smiled.

“Of course, you’re the most beautiful thing in this room, Goro.”

“Oh my god, stop.” Goro smiled in spite of himself, flushing brightly. “We’re in public, you jerk.”

“They can’t tell we’re flirting,” Akira motioned to the other museum guests, all of whom seemed to have vastly different national origins. “Can’t I tell my boyfriend how attractive he is?”

“You’re going to kill me one of these days…”

“Here lies Goro Akechi. He died as he lived--embarrassed in public by his hot, shameless boyfriend.”

“Stoppppp--!”

They made their way around the exhibit, stopping to read signs now and then. Akira appeared to know markedly less about Egyptian antiquities--which, Goro supposed, was to be expected for someone who studied Western painting. As they passed from display to display, Akira seemed to be learning just as much as Goro was.

“Can I ask you something?” asked Goro.

“Hm?” Akira had been staring at the ceiling while he waited for Goro to finish reading a plaque. He brought his head back down to answer. “Sure, go for it.”

“What drew you to this exhibit in particular?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re studying Western painters, are you not?” said Goro, “I’m surprised you were interested in this kind of exhibit.”

“Just because I’m not studying it doesn’t mean it’s not interesting,” said Akira, “Besides… I actually wrote a paper about Nefertiti once, so I’ve been wanting to see her in person.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. It was my first year of college.” Akira nodded to himself, “I took an art history seminar class on a whim, and ended up getting really invested in it. One of the things we talked about was the debate about ethics and art museums--whether art should be displayed in its home country, or should be made accessible to people around the world. For the last assignment, we had to write a paper picking one side of an art world debate and arguing for it.”

“And you chose…”

“I decided to write about the repatriation vs global museum debacle,” said Akira, “I chose repatriation--especially in cases where items were taken from their home countries illegally, or were scammed out of them. One of the examples I used was Nefertiti. The German excavators who found her lied about her value to the Egyptians so that they could keep her for themselves. Egypt is still mad about it, and they’ve been asking to get the bust back for years…”

“I see.”

“It’s funny, actually,” said Akira, “In a lot of ways, that paper is one of the reasons I’m here. That class is what sparked my interest in art history, and now here I am, building the foundations of my thesis here in France…”

“What are you going to write about?”

“Oh--I’m going to look at the influences of Eastern art and aesthetics on Western painting, particularly around the mid 1800s when Europe was going crazy for Japan.” Akira smiled. “The repatriation debate has been done to death, so I decided to pick something else.”

“Understandable.” Goro nodded.

“Oh, right,” said Akira, “I keep meaning to ask--how much longer are you going to be in town?”

“I don’t know,” said Goro, “Hopefully not too much longer. But as long as this case remains open, I may have to stay on the team…”

“I see,” said Akira, “I’m leaving here around the end of December, right before the holidays. That’s when the semester ends.”

“Makes sense,” said Goro. He smiled up at Akira, “That’s still a ways away. We’ll just have to get as much time in together as possible before then.”

“And then we’ll have to get in touch when you return to Japan,” said Akira, smiling, “We’re both based in Tokyo, aren’t we? I know this great little coffee shop in Sangen-Jaya that I bet you’d love.”

“Sangen-Jaya? I don’t think I’ve ever been there.”

“It’s close to Shibuya.”

“I see. We’ll have to go there together.”

“Yeah…”

Akira twined his fingers with his boyfriend’s absentmindedly.

“Is it silly that I’m already looking forward to it?”

Goro leaned on him a little as they walked to the next display.

“Not at all. I am too…”

He tried not to think about the possibility--the high likelihood--that their plans might not come to pass.

Chapter 17: Cupid Painted Blind

Chapter Text

The Bust of Nefertiti was wrongly taken from Egypt, and they have asked for it back politely for decades with no response from Europe. I will use this opportunity to take justice into my own hands. You have until the exhibit’s last day to prepare for me - A.

Goro held the calling card delicately in its ziploc bag, smiling to himself. He still didn’t quite have enough grasp of French to understand it in detail, but he could guess what it said.

They’d discovered the card on a Tuesday afternoon in late November, when the museum was closed; a janitor had found it lodged between the front doors. It was constructed in the same style as the others: red cardstock, cut-out words, and a fancy letter A emblazoned on the back. There was no mistaking it.

“Akechi-kun?”

“Hm?” Goro turned to see Niijima approaching, a file folder in hand.

“I have to hand it to you,” she said, “When you first pitched the idea, I didn’t think it was going to work…”

“Well, that’s understandable,” Goro smiled disarmingly, “Trying to lure Arsene to the highest-security museum in France isn’t exactly anyone’s first choice.”

“I’m surprised he went for it, honestly…” said Niijima, putting a hand to her chin, “Arsene doesn’t usually seem like this much of a risk-taker.”

“Well, this is the perfect opportunity for him,” said Goro, “If nothing else can be said about him, Arsene has a flair for the dramatic. He was likely attracted to the prospect of pilfering the world’s most famous looted artifact from the world’s most famous museum.”

“And that hubris will be his downfall,” said Niijima. Goro nodded. “Oh, by the way. I did some digging on that lead you asked me to look into.”

“And?”

“It came up positive. The Avalon Foundation has awarded conservation grants to several persons and organizations that later received artifacts stolen by Arsene.”

“I thought as much… anything else you can tell me?”

“Not that it helps, but the co-signer on those grants was listed as ‘Morgana’.”

“No mention of Monmouth, then?”

“None at all.”

“That’s disappointing…” Goro frowned, “Still, though, I believe we have a lead in the Avalon Foundation. They and Arsene seem to share similar interests, and the paper trail is too perfect to be a coincidence.”

“Is it enough to warrant a search?”

“Not yet,” said Goro, “I don’t want to jump to conclusions too quickly. Besides…”

He smiled.

“I think I’d like to have Arsene in custody before we start barking up other trees.”

“You seem pretty confident that we’ll catch him this time.”

“Well, with all the arrangements we’ve made, I can’t really see us not catching him,” said Goro.

Niijima returned his smile.

“The confidence is refreshing, but don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “We haven’t caught him yet.”

“Of course, of course.” Goro got out his phone, “If there’s anything else you need, let me know. Otherwise, I have dinner plans.”

“I think you’re fine to go for today, Akechi,” said Niijima, “Got a hot date tonight?”

Goro laughed.

“Something like that…”

“Well, have a good time,” said Niijima, “I’ll meet you here tomorrow to start planning our next steps.”

“Understood.”

Goro waited to make the call until he’d left the building. The courtyard at the Louvre was empty, save for a few unlucky tourists who’d picked today to try to visit. Goro walked briskly, holding the phone to his ear.

“Hello? Akira, it’s me. Are you free tonight, by any chance?”

* * *

They ate dinner at Goro’s apartment that night; the two of them put together a simple meal with pasta and chicken instead of going out to eat. After dinner, they washed the dishes together--Goro washing, and Akira drying. It was a picture of domestic simplicity that neither of them had imagined themselves enjoying. Yet, somehow, when they were together, even the most mundane things seemed less ordinary.

Goro was just finishing up the last piece of silverware when he felt his boyfriend’s hands on his cheeks; he looked up just in time to see Akira lean in for a kiss.

“Akira--?”

Akira kissed him slowly, pinning him against the sink. Goro had little choice other than to return his kiss, hands reaching around his partner’s back. It was a while before they parted; when Akira finally released him, Goro was practically gasping for breath.

“A… Akira…” Dazed--and, to be frank, a little aroused--Goro had a hard time putting words together. “What was that all about?”

“I’m just feeling friendly all the sudden,” Akira replied. He was smiling, but there was a complicated look in his eyes. “I was thinking, you know… we don’t have a whole lot of time left together.”

Goro shut off the still-running water.

“That’s true,” he said. “Is there anything else you’d like to do together? A museum we haven’t been to yet, or maybe a restaurant you’d like to try…?”

Akira shook his head.

“I just… want to be with you. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy.”

“Hm? Feeling a little needy today?” Goro asked. Akira nodded, giving his boyfriend a squeeze. “It’s alright. I am too.”

Goro kissed Akira lightly.

I always feel this way when I’m with you. Well, moreso than usual lately, but…

“Come on.”

Goro took Akira’s hand and led him out of the kitchen, abandoning the rest of the dishes. They made their way to the bed and sat down together. Goro eyed his boyfriend searchingly, trying to discern what Akira was thinking just from the look on his face. He normally considered himself good at reading others’ intentions, but now he was coming up blank.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“I… kind of want to try something new,” Akira admitted.

“Hm? Like what?”

“I want to try blindfolding one of us.”

Goro stared at him incredulously.

“Blindfolding!? That’s…!” Goro struggled to find the word he was looking for: hot, sexy, kinky-- “… new. Where did you come up with that idea?”

Akira smiled bashfully.

“I thought of it a few days ago, and I’ve been thinking about it nonstop ever since.” He rubbed the back of his head nervously, “Would you be willing to try that with me? I could be the one to wear it, unless you want to go first…”

“Hm…” Goro considered this. He’d thoroughly enjoyed the last time he’d had Akira completely at his mercy, vulnerable and wanting. At the same time, the thought of waiting helplessly while Akira surprised him with every touch was arousing in its own way. To give Akira complete control…

“I’ll… try it,” he said finally.

Akira’s eyes lit up.

“Great!” he said. “What should we use…? Maybe a t-shirt, or--?”

Goro pointed to his tie, smiling.

“Would this work?”

“Yeah… yeah, I think it would.”

Goro undid his tie, fingers stumbling over the knot in his haste to get it off.

“Would you mind tying it?” Goro asked.

“Of course.” Akira leaned in, kissing him gently. “I’d be happy to do the honors.”

Akira wrapped Goro’s tie over his eyes, tying it in a simple knot in the back. It was a little disorienting, not being able to see anything (he was glad Akira had waited until they’d sat down to pitch the idea). Goro closed his eyes and let his other senses take the wheel: he could feel Akira shifting his weight on the bed, hear the sound of traffic down below. The smell of chicken and garlic still lingered from the kitchen.

“Not too tight?” Akira asked.

Goro shook his head.

“Can you see anything?”

“Not a thing.”

“You remember the safeword?”

“Water lilies.”

“Good,” said Akira. “If it’s ever too much, or you need to stop, don’t be afraid to say it.”

Goro nodded to him, or at least, in his general direction. He could sort of sense where Akira was.

“Alright, then…” said Akira. Goro jumped as his partner’s lips met his.

Ah, this is…

Akira drew back, and Goro let out a light, disappointed sigh.

“Oh?” said Akira, “Hoping for more…?”

Goro nodded, more vigorously this time.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get more than enough.”

Goro felt Akira’s hands on the nape of his neck, pulling him forward; their lips met a bit more forcefully this time. Akira kissed him slowly, languidly, pausing every so often to let him catch his breath before diving back in. His tongue ebbed at Goro’s lower lip, every now and then slipping inside before curling back out. Goro usually closed his eyes when they kissed, but suddenly not having the choice to look made every touch a thousand times stronger.

It was absolutely intoxicating, letting Akira kiss him blind.

Akira pulled away to consider his next move.

“How is it?” he asked, voice low.

“It’s… really good…” Goro could practically feel the color rushing to his face, “I didn’t expect it to be this good…”

“Hm? We’ve only just started, and you’re bright red already!”

“Yes, well,” his sudden embarrassment surely wasn’t helping his flush, “Can… Can I have another kiss?”

“Ah, someone’s needy,” Akira laughed a little as he leaned in for another pass, “You can have as many as you want.”

Their lips connected, and Akira’s tongue slipped into Goro’s mouth. He reached up, tangling his fingers in Akira’s curls. The two of them fell back onto the bed; Goro hit the pillows sooner than he expected to.

If I could stop time like this…

Akira began to migrate downward, lips brushing Goro’s jaw, then his neck--Goro let out a startled squeak as he felt Akira tugging at his skin.

“Akira--!”

“No good?” Akira released him, and Goro wished he hadn’t said anything.

“No, that was--please keep going.” He didn’t want to sound like he was begging--not this early, anyway--but he was suddenly finding it hard to keep his voice even.

Akira didn’t keep him waiting; in an instant he was back at Goro’s throat, and the latter could do little other than offer helpless moans in response. This was something they’d done countless times before (Niijima had commented wryly on the state of his neck on more than one occasion, despite all his efforts to hide Akira’s handiwork)--and yet somehow, this time, the sensation was much more intense. Without any distractions from his eyes, his could let his sense of touch overpower him.

Fingers raked at the buttons on his shirt; Akira was clumsily trying to undo them without looking. Goro reached up to guide his hands, but he wasn’t much help; he hadn’t realized how much he relied on his eyes for such a simple task. Akira eventually released his partner’s skin, giggling, so that he could finish unbuttoning the shirt on his own. There was a slight chill on Goro’s skin as his shirt fell open.

“That’s better,” said Akira quietly, “Let’s see, where was I…?”

Akira’s lips brushed over Goro’s chest as if they were searching for something. Akira moved Goro’s shirt out of the way and paused briefly; Goro wondered what he was waiting for. In the next moment, Akira’s lips closed around one of Goro’s nipples.

“Ah--!”

“Hmm?” Akira hummed a little, sucking at it--which, of course, only made Goro squirm.

“That’s--!”

“You like that?”

“Y-yes…!”

Goro’s pants were starting to feel too tight for him; that Akira could get him worked up so quickly was a feat in itself. Akira redoubled his efforts, closing back in and tugging a bit more meaningfully this time. Goro threw a hand over his mouth to keep his voice in, but he couldn’t quite catch it in time--!

“Ah--Akira--!”

Akira laughed a little to himself.

“That was a good sound.”

This time something warm and wet brushed against his nipple, playing with it--!

“Oh god--is that your tongue?”

“Sure is.”

Goro wanted to respond, but the sentence was lost--Akira had decided to turn up the heat a little, taking Goro’s other nipple between his fingers.

“T-that’s--!” Goro had to fight for the words, “Hardly fair--!”

Akira released him briefly.

“You know me,” he said, “I don’t play fair.”

“God--!!”

Goro gripped the sheets tightly, grappling for something to hang onto while Akira teased him. Eventually Akira’s attention wandered elsewhere; he released Goro and moved down a little, kissing a wavering line down his body. Goro felt hands at his groin; Akira worked the button free, then unzipped his fly--!

“Can I ask a favor?” he asked.

Anything, was what Goro wanted to say. Instead, he managed to say, “Sure.”

“Lift your hips for me a bit?”

Goro did as he asked, shifting so that Akira could take his pants off for him. Akira’s fingers slipped under the waistband of Goro’s briefs, and he let him remove these as well. It was decidedly chillier in his room without clothes on. Not knowing how he looked, he felt even more exposed, more vulnerable than usual. Beneath the blindfold, Goro couldn’t know what Akira was looking at--was he enjoying the view, taking in every inch of him?

“What are you thinking about?” Goro asked cautiously.

“Hm? Oh, nothing,” said Akira, “Just admiring how beautiful you are. You’re always so well-kept… I can’t help but want to mess you up a little.”

God, f*ck him. f*ck him and his smooth one-liners--!

He felt Akira’s lips just below his navel, and his train of thought ran off the rails. Akira picked up where he’d left off, extending his trail of kisses further south; even when he’d moved on to the next spot, Goro’s skin tingled with the afterimage of his touch.

Akira lifted one of Goro’s legs gently, laying a kiss on the inside of his thigh.

“I could kiss every inch of you, and it wouldn’t be enough…”

Goro found himself shivering--a mix of excitement, chills, and raw, impatient lust. Akira must have been enjoying himself, taking his time like this. Goro just wanted him to get it over with, to f*ck him rough and hot until he couldn’t string a coherent thought together anymore--!

“Ah!”

He jumped as Akira’s lips brushed the tip of his co*ck.

“Hm?” there was a smile in Akira’s voice, “Is there something you want me to do?”

At first, Goro could only whimper in response.

It should be pretty damn obvious what I want--!

“… get me off…” he murmured finally.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” said Akira. “I can’t read minds, you know. Why don’t you tell me exactly what you’d like me to do to you?”

“Ugh…” Goro groaned in frustration. “I… I want you to… to suck me off.”

“There’s what I was looking for,” said Akira triumphantly, “You’re in luck. As it happens, I am more than happy to swallow that big, hard co*ck of yours--!”

“T-then get on with it,” said Goro.

“Oh? What’s that I hear? Could it be the sound of begging?”

“If you’re talking, you’re not sucking,” said Goro, smiling weakly.

Akira whistled.

“You’re impatient tonight,” he purred. “Fine, then. I won’t keep making you wait.”

Akira’s fingers closed around Goro’s co*ck; he jolted at his partner’s touch. This alone would have been more than enough to get him riled up--when Akira finally went down on him, Goro wanted to scream. Everything else fell away; the warmth of Akira’s mouth around his co*ck was all he could think about.

“Oghgh…” a groan slipped from his throat, and he pressed the back of his hand to his lips.

Akira sucked gently at first, using his fingers to massage his partner’s co*ck at the base. Goro’s hips began to buck a little, pushing his co*ck just a bit farther--he wanted to f*ck something so badly, and if Akira’s mouth was what was available, he would take what he could get.

Akira seemed to understand what Goro needed; he took his lover’s erection even deeper into his mouth. Goro’s breath hitched as he realized just how far in he was: he could just about feel the back of Akira’s throat tightening as he swallowed, struggling not to gag. On any normal day this would have been a cause for concern, but right now, Goro was so horny that the thought of Akira choking him down only served to worsen his lust. He almost wanted to remove the blindfold so he could see it for himself--!

Akira’s mouth suddenly felt tight around him; he released Goro’s co*ck with a few gasping coughs. The sound was enough to snap him from his trance.

“Oh, god, are you okay--!?”

“I’m fine,” said Akira, catching his breath. “You just took me by surprise, is all. Did you like being that deep?”

“I, yes, well…”

Akira laughed to himself.

“You learn something new every day.”

“Just don’t overdo it, alright?” said Goro, “I don’t want you to choke…”

“Really? Sounds to me like you enjoyed having me choke on your dick.”

“Oh my god, you jerk--!”

“Don’t worry. I’m happy to deepthroat you anytime you like.”

“Keep this up and I’ll choke you for real--!”

Akira didn’t give him a chance; he went down a second time, and Goro’s teasing ill-intent immediately dissolved.

This is…! This is really…!!

He was getting dangerously close to coming; the more Akira worked at him, the harder it was to keep his voice in.

“Akira--!”

“Mm.”

There was a wet smack as Akira released him. Goro couldn't help but breathea disappointed sigh.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. The mattress rose as Akira got down from it; Goro picked up the sound of the nightstand drawer sliding open, and cardboard shuffling inside.

“Condom?” Goro asked tentatively.

“Bingo.”

There was the jingle of a belt coming undone, followed by the sound of Akira’s jeans hitting the floor. The bed gave a little as Akira climbed back onto it.

“I’m going to need you to hold onto this for me,” said Akira, “My hands are about to be a little… busy.”

Goro reached up to take it, but a second later, he felt the plastic wrapper push against his lips.

“Come on. It’d be no fun if you used your hands.”

Goro bit down on it gently, obediently; he wished he could see Akira’s reaction.

“There you go.”

There was a slight squelching sound, and Goro gathered that Akira had taken the bottle of lube off the nightstand.

“Let’s see here, where to begin…?”

Akira’s hands were cold and wet on his skin; Goro jumped. One hand immediately set to work on his co*ck, stroking the length of it from base to tip. The other pushed just slightly against his ass--not inside, not yet. Akira was merciful enough to wait for the lube to warm a little. Goro groaned weakly; he wanted to let his mouth fall open and his voice escape, but if he did, the condom would fall…

“There’s a good boy,” Akira purred, his thumb rubbing over the head. Goro trembled in his grip. “Keep it nice and steady…”

The first of Akira’s fingers pushed into him, and Goro let out a small whine. He had to grit his teeth to keep the condom in place.

“Hm? That good, huh?” Akira pushed in and out, loosening him up, “We’re just getting started.”

Something warm and wet dragged the length of Goro’s shaft; it took him a minute to realize it was Akira’s tongue.

“Akira,” Goro practically hissed between his teeth.

“Good?”

“Ye-Yes--!”

“Don’t forget to keep your mouth closed, darling.”

Goro groaned in frustration; he’d always been a little weak to sweet talk. He submitted, holding tight to the condom and tucking his head into his shoulder. With Akira a finger deep in his ass, Goro was ready to let him do whatever he damn well pleased--!

“Ah--!”

A second finger joined the first, and Goro bucked his hips involuntarily.

“Mm, you’re practically doing all my work for me,” said Akira coyly. Goro couldn’t find the coherence to throw a together a response, so Akira got back to business. With his partner’s tongue swirling around the head of his co*ck, Goro felt like he was about to lose his mind--!

“f*ck--!”

Goro couldn’t help it anymore; the condom fell from his lips. His voice poured forth in pitiful, needy moans. He writhed helplessly, scrabbling for any extra purchase he could get and gripping the sheets so tightly he thought he might tear them.

“Akira, please--!”

“You really want it, don’t you?” Akira gave his partner a few meaning thrusts, “You know I love hearing you beg.”

“Please, god, just--!”

“Ohh, just like that, Goro. Sing for me a little more.”

“Akira…! Please--!”

Akira laughed to himself, slowly pulling his fingers out.

“God, you’re so hot,” he said, lifting the condom off of Goro’s chest. There was a slight crinkling as he worked the wrapper open. “As a reward for being so patient, I’m going to make you come all over this bed.”

“I-I don’t care what you do, just, hurry--!”

“Ahh, you’re so cute when you beg like that…!”

Goro wanted to tell him to just shut up and do it already, but luckily the chance never came. Something cold, wet, and decidedly big pushed up against his ass, and, in the next moment, forced its way inside.

“Mm, you’re tight, Goro. Maybe I should have loosened you up a little more?”

Goro was beyond words. After the initial chill, Akira’s co*ck felt overwhelmingly warm inside him. He was conscious of little other than the feeling of it pressing into him, filling him up in just the right way--!

“f*ck me,” Goro swore, voice barely over a whisper.

“Well, if you insist,” said Akira. He began to thrust, and Goro tossed his head back, letting his voice fill the room.

“Akira!! Ah--! Oh, Akira--!”

He reached up blindly, trying to find Akira’s face without looking. Akira guided Goro’s hand to his cheek, then leaned forward. Their lips met briefly; Goro could feel the flush of Akira’s skin against his. He wrapped his arms around his partner and held on tightly, Akira’s ragged breathing filling his ears.

That’s it--! I’m--!

“C...coming…!!”

The word stumbled from his mouth haphazardly; something warm and sticky splashed against his stomach. The strength drained from Goro’s arms, and his hands fell back on the pillows. Everything was a daze of tingling nerves and gasping breaths; he was both utterly spent and practically buzzing with energy.

Akira sucked in a desperate breath, bucking more intensely.

“I’m so close…!”

His hands found Goro’s on the bed, tangling their fingers together.

“I love you,” he whispered, “God, Goro, I--agh!”

At long last Akira came within him, legs trembling. He buried his face into Goro’s shoulder, struggling to catch his breath. They lay together for a long time, reveling in each other’s closeness while they waited to come down from their high.

So whatif you’re really Arsene, Goro found himself thinking. It doesn't matter. Not here, not now. When we’re alone together, you’re just Akira Kurusu--the person most important to me. I don’t care about anything else.

It was a few minutes before Akira had the strength to move. He sat back up and carefully pulled himself out. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and Goro dazedly lifted the blindfold to check on him. The look on Akira’s face at that moment was almost too much--even after several months together, Goro still wasn’t used to being looked at that way. And yet, even beneath his loving gaze, Goro couldn’t help but think his partner looked somewhat sad, too…

“Thank you for being willing to try that with me,” said Akira quietly.

“No, thank you,” said Goro, “As with most things we’ve tried, I enjoyed that more than I expected. Although… it still would have been nice to see your face.”

“Well, you’ll just have to blindfold me next time,” said Akira playfully, “Not tonight though… I’m pretty spent.”

“I don’t think I have the energy for another go,” said Goro with a quiet laugh, “Come here, Akira. Just being with you is enough.”

“Just a minute--let's get cleaned up.”

"Oh, right..."

Akira took a moment to remove the spent condom and gently lift the blindfold off Goro’s head. Goro reached for a tissue from the nightstand and got himself cleaned up; he’d come quite a bit more than he usually did. He almost felt embarrassed for making such a mess, but it was understandable, considering…

These things done, Akira lay down and nuzzled his face into Goro’s shoulder.

“I’m going to miss this,” Akira said quietly, “Finals are coming up, and after that…”

“Shh. No making me sad.”

“Alright, alright…”

Even so, Goro reached up and wrapped his arms around Akira’s back. He gave his boyfriend a squeeze.

I’ll miss this too… That’s why… I have to make sure I enjoy this while it lasts. As long as I can…

Chapter 18: Night at the Musem

Chapter Text

It was a brisk December evening, past midnight, with overcast skies. The Louvre was dark inside, as it often was at this hour, but warm floodlights illuminated the outer walls. Grave shift security guards patrolled the perimeters, armed with flashlights and batons. Timing their patrols carefully, a shadow waited for his opportunity. He snuck past them the second he got an opening and silently leaped onto the side of the building. The French Renaissance-style building was easy to climb, its many embellishments serving as ready handholds. He was able to scale the walls in a matter of minutes. The shadow reached the roof and hid in a darkened corner to catch his breath.

Well, that’s the scariest thing I’ve ever done.

Arsene snuck around the edge of the roof, keeping a careful eye for guards (though he doubted any of them would be looking for him up here). His point of entry was a skylight in the Richelieu Wing that could be opened from the outside. From there, he’d need to sneak down to an underground level, where the temporary exhibitions were held. Entering from the roof seemed like roundabout way of doing things, but the fact was that there were no places to get in from the ground level--none that weren't heavily secured, anyway. What museum would be that careless?

Arsene found the skylight in question, and it came loose with a bit of work around the edges. Inside was a wide hallway, walls covered in paintings. It would be a long drop to the floor, but a relatively shorter drop to the crown molding. Arsene took two calculated leaps, first to the molding, and then dropping to the floor and rolling off the impact. From here it would be a matter of keeping to the shadows--and in the darkened museum, there were plenty of places to hide. He would have to traverse to another wing and find a maintenance door…

In this part of the museum, security was light. Arsene was able to dodge most of the guards on patrol. Using the museum pamphlethe’d brought with him, he managed to navigate down to the ground floor, and then find an entrance to the lower levels.

This is almost too easy…

It didn’t take him long to find the maintenance door he’d been looking for; he’d passed by it when he’d visited with Goro. It was flush with the wall, with a retracting handle and an “Authorized Personnel Only” sign. A card reader was attached to the wall next to it, a small red LED glowing in the darkness.

Arsene smiled, taking a small plastic card from his pocket. He’d filched it from a custodian’s pocket during his last visit: taking the card was easy, but making the collision look like an accident had taken a bit of calculation in advance. He’d duplicated the card and returned the original a few days later (the lady at the ticket office had commended him for finding something so small and knowing to return it). There was a slight chance they’d disabled the card as a precaution--but, to his delight, the door clicked open. He slipped in unnoticed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

The maintenance hall was dark and narrow, dotted with file cabinets and carts. Arsene had to go from his memory of the blueprints he’d gone over with Morgana. Somewhere around here there would be a trapdoor with an extending ladder, providing access to the air ducts. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, and finally spotted what he was looking for: a small cord hanging from a panel. With a light tug, the panel swung open, and a ladder unfolded to admit him.

Now came the hard part--navigating the museum from within the ceiling.

As always, Arsene came prepared. He flicked a switch on his helmet, and a light shone forth from the plate on his forehead. The inside of the ceiling was mostly open, crisscrossed by piping, ethernet cords, support pillars, and air ducts. A catwalk ran along the air ducts for stable maintenance access. There was about 3 feet of space between the ceiling tiles and the base of the floor above; Arsene would have to crouch to move around. He pulled the trapdoor shut behind him.

He calculated where he was based on the layout of support pillars, making his way toward the room housing the Nefertiti exhibit. Once he’d reached the right room, he counted the tiles in the ceiling to find the tile directly above the display. If he remembered correctly from his last visit, it should have been 16 in from the entrance, and 14 from the side. With a bit of effort, the tile in question came loose. Arsene peered down to see that he was directly above the display--just as planned.

Arsene took a small apparatus from his pocket and fastened one end to a harness he’d worn to the site. He attached the other end to the catwalk rail, tugging to make sure it would support his weight. Next, he took out a small canister and dropped it down to the floor below. As soon as it hit bottom, the canister began to emit an opaque mist that soon covered the room, illuminating a veritable sea of lasers crisscrossing the floor.

Sheesh. They’re not f*cking around.

Luckily, Arsene wasn’t dumb enough to just stroll into the exhibit like a normal person.

If only they’d thought to secure the ceiling too… this is really careless of them. Oh well!

Arsene tugged on the harness cord one last time before slowly lowering himself down through the hole, a powered winch unreeling the cord for him. He’d have to watch his height; the lasers extended about four feet off the ground. The bust’s display case was a good deal taller than that, though. Arsene came to a stop just above it, locking the winch to keep himself suspended.

And now for the hard part, I say, about every stage of this heist…

Arsene took a long, thin tool from his bag: one end had a sort of suction cup, the other a metal point. He attached the suction cup to the center of the display case’s top pane, and moved the metal point to draw a circle about a foot and a half in diameter. With a tug, the glass circle came loose. Arsene took a hasty look around, making sure nobody had noticed him.

We couldn’t kill the power this time, so there’s likely going to be something on the cameras. On the plus side, that means the guards can’t come in here, because they’d trip the lasers… Ah, not like it matters. This is my last heist, after all.

Arsene reeled himself back up to the ceiling so he could put down the glass cutter and its quarry, then zoomed back in for the second phase. The bust would be incredibly fragile; he would have to take the utmost care in removing it. Lowering himself closer, he took a cloth shopping bag from his pocket and carefully placed it around the bust itself.

Easy…. Easy….

He lifted the bust slowly, carefully removing it from the display. At 19 inches tall, it was fairly sizable--and surprisingly light for its size. Once he had it out of the display case, he wrapped the shopping bag more tightly around it and pulled himself back up to the ceiling. He gently lay the bust on the catwalk before going back in for the final step. He had to really reach to get the red card to lay just so in the empty display, then carefully replaced the glass disk. The cut glasslikely wouldn’t stay up the whole night, but he didn’t want anyone to go looking for it.

And now, we get the hell out of here.

Arsene zipped back up to the ceiling and climbed out, replacing the ceiling tile and removing his harness. He wrapped the bust in one, two more shopping bags, carrying it under his arm. It was far too large to tuck into his satchel. Arsene retraced his steps, carefully closing the trapdoor behind him. His escape route would take him back through the maintenance halls to an elevator, up a floor, and then out and upwards to the relay point… if everything went according to plan, he could be looking at a butter-smooth getaway.

Ah, it’s almost a bummer that my last heist was so easy…

Arsene took the elevator up to the ground floor, then took off down the unlit hall. His exit wasn’t that far away now--!

“Freeze right there, Arsene.”

Chapter 19: Cornered

Chapter Text

Goro Akechi had been waiting in the security room, watching as Arsene danced around their precautions--well, of course he did. This wasn’t surprising. Goro had, in fact, been counting on this outcome. He knew Arsene’s usual habits, entering from the air ducts and leaving through whichever exit was least likely to be monitored. He’d left those maintenance shafts wide open for a reason, arming the floor with lasers to ensure nobody else could interrupt Arsene’s theft. Goro left the room as Arsene retreated into the ceiling, disappearing from the camera footage.

The Louvre was enormous, and Arsene could be anywhere--but Goro knew exactly where to find him. His plan was coming together perfectly, and Arsene had taken the bait as easily as a fish on a hook. Using a borrowed key, Goro slipped into a maintenance hall on the ground floor. The sound of echoing footsteps told him the rest. He broke into a run, pulling his gun from its holster.

“Freeze right there, Arsene.”

The footsteps came to an abrupt halt. Goro could make out a silhouette in the dimness: the culprit was about his height, wearing a long black coat and some kind of helmet. It was similar to what he'd seen the night Arsene knocked him out.

“Turn around. Hands where I can see them.”

Arsene turned to face him, one arm up disarmingly, the other holding a wad of cloth--the wrapped-up bust. Goro kept his gun trained on the thief as he moved toward the wall, flicking a switch. The lights came up with a click, flooding the room in white light. Now that he could get a good look at him, Goro was surprised that Arsene’s outfit was so… garish. He almost seemed to be wearing some kind of cosplay, and there didn’t appear to be a particular reason why. It wasn't the most practical getup in the world.

“No cameras here,” said Arsene coyly. His voice came through the mask filtered; it was impossible to identify who it belonged to.

“That’s right,” said Goro, “I have you just where I want you… Akira Kurusu.”

Arsene paused.

“So now you’ve really caught me…” he said. He moved a gloved hand to his helmet, and Goro raised his gun--but all Arsene did was push a button, causing the front plates of his helmet to split apart. As they slid backward, they revealed that the face beneath the mask was Akira after all.

Goro had known for a while now--had hypothesized it, at least--but seeing his suspicions confirmed was no less painful. He had to work to keep it from showing on his face. Right now, the person he needed to be was a hardened detective.

“I’m impressed,” said Akira, “How did you know where I was?”

“Come on,” said Goro, smirking, “You didn’t think we would have let you anywhere near the real bust, did you?”

Akira’s eyes widened, and the bust fell from his grip. There was a muffled crash as it hit the floor, but the sound was not of stone cracking, but of ceramics breaking.

“It’s amazing what you can do with a 3-D printer these days,” said Goro, “All I had to do was fit that replica with a transmitter, and it became painfully easy to follow your movements. You’re as good as mine, Arsene.”

Akira took a step backwards, but Goro stepped forwards, gun steady.

“I don’t think so,” he said, “Take one more step and I shoot.”

Akira put both his hands up this time.

“You found out, didn’t you?” said Goro, “You’ve known I was the one after you. Ever since that night at Borbeau’s apartment, when I had you cornered.”

“Guilty as charged,” said Akira, smiling wryly.

“And you kept seeing me, even knowing that?”

“Well,” said Akira, “It made the sex pretty incredible.”

Goro flushed.

“That’s--!”

“Besides,” said Akira, “Sounds like I could be asking the same of you. When did you figure it out?”

“... I've had a hunch for a few months now,” said Goro. “In hindsight, it was obvious. You weren’t exactly subtle about it.”

“Had to commit to the bit,” said Akira.

“Joking around at a time like this? Do you even understand the situation you’re in?”

“Actually, yes,” said Akira, grinning, “We rehearsed it, didn’t we?”

“Doyou think this is a game?” Goro had to fight to keep his voice even, "For once in your life--can you please take this seriously?"

"Sorry, I'm just nervous." Akira grimaced, "It's not that often you find yourself on the business end of a gun."

Goro lowered the gun slightly, almost feeling guilty. His hands were beginning to shake.

“Akira.”

“Yes?”

“... do you believe you were justified?”

“Huh?” Akira’s hands fell a little.

“Answer the question. Do you believe your actions were justified? Stealing artwork, dodging security, even… even lying to me about all of it.”

“Are you asking if it was worth it?”

“I’m asking if you believe you were justified.”

Akira eyed him carefully. Goro could see that he was debating whether to answer, or what to say.

Finally, Akira smiled as if conceding something.

“Of course I do,” he said, “Otherwise--what’s the point? What could be more justified than returning stolen art? I wouldn't do something like this if I was just lukewarm about it. It had to be all or nothing.”

“I see… even the lies, then?”

“Oh, not all of it was a lie,” said Akira, “Not that it helps now, buteverything I said about always being here for you… I meant all of it. I wouldn't have stayed with you this long if I wasn't 100% serious about you. But I am--I'm completely, stupidly in love with you. So much that Icouldn'tbring myself to break up with you, even after I found out you're a detective. Really, and I mean this,the past year has been-!”

“I don’t want to hear it,” said Goro darkly, “You lied to me for six months, Akira. You can’t just shrug that off.”

“I know… doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try.”

Goro laughed in spite of himself.

“You’re always like this, aren’t you…?”

The two of them eyed each other tensely for a long time. This was the moment Goro had spent the last year waiting for: the moment he finally captured Arsene. For some reason, he thought he would enjoy it more--the satisfaction of a well-executed plan, the knowledge that justice would finally prevail. With Arsene behind bars, he could finally return to Japan and resume his normal life. But for some reason, Goro just felt… hollow. Like his victory had no meaning, in the end.

He slowly took his radio from his pocket.

“Niijima, this is Akechi requesting backup. Maintenance corridor in the Richelieu Wing, ground floor, north side. Target is moving quickly; I can’t catch him from here. Can I get Team 5 to head him off at Employee Exit R2?”

“Roger that,” said a woman’s voice on the other end.

“Thank you.”

Akira stared at him as he put the radio back.

“This is the Sully Wing,” he said quietly.

“I know,” said Goro, “I’ve cleared the guards around the nearest exit. Just get out of here. I’ll tell them I couldn’t catch you.”

“Goro…”

“Go before I change my mind.”

Akira took a few cautious steps backward, testing to see if Goro was bluffing. Goro wouldn’t even look at him. He turned the lights back off, plunging the corridor into darkness. Akira took that as his cue to leave; he turned on his heel and dashed down the hall, leaving Goro alone in the dark. Before long, the sound of footsteps faded to nothing.

Chapter 20: Last Surprise

Chapter Text

I can’t believe I did that.

Goro sat outside on the Louvre’s front steps, gazing at the courtyard’s central pyramid without really taking it in. Officers milled around, talking with the various security teams. Niijima was arguing with an officer, likely over the fact that Goro had mixed up the Louvre’s wings at a critical moment. He’d been able to convince her that it was an accident, at least--that he was too caught up in adrenaline to get the wings right. He told her Arsene figured out their plot and ditched the bust, rendering the transmitter useless.

Goro knew the chances of keeping his job after this were slim at best. France had hired him to do one thing, and he couldn’t even do that… The look of disappointment on Niijima’s face was enough to make his gut twist; he didn’t even want to think about facing the chief of police…

And yet, somehow, part of him couldn’t feel bad about it. He’d made the choice on his own, after all--all that remained was to live with the consequences.

Just… don’t make me question whether it was the right choice, alright? Akira…

There was a loud click behind him; the officers’ eyes all turned up to the top of the building. Goro stood up and whirled around to follow their gaze. Spotlights which were normally reserved for special events had been switched on, aiming at the domed atrium atop the Sully wing.

“What’s going on?”

The officers began to murmur amongst themselves. Goro tensed up, eyes roving the roof for any sign of movement--but there was none.

And suddenly, there came a resounding bang--like fireworks, or a gunshot. The air around them erupted in red, white, and black; cards rained down from the roof of the palace like oversized confetti. Goro caught one out of the air, already dreading what he would find written there.

“To those at the Louvre--I know that I am not the only trickster here. You were deeply mistaken to think you could fool me. I will reveal your true form, and lay your crimes bare for all of France to see. - Arsene.”

Goro stared at the card, gripping it so tightly that it crumpled in his hand. He still couldn’t properly read the message, but by now he understood enough French to get the gist.

That rat bastard…! Was he planning this from the beginning? There’s no way… there’s no way he knew I would corner him. So, back there--was he counting on my mercy…?

Goro had little time to think about it; chilling laughter echoed through the already brisk night air. Everyone looked around in a panic, but with the acoustics of the courtyard, it was nearly impossible to determine the source. There was a sudden flash at the point where the spotlights crossed, leaving a cloud of smoke in its wake. A jazzy tune filled the courtyard, pumped in from the Louvre’s own sound system.

“Bonsoir, Paris!”

It was the same filtered voice that Goro had heard in the hallway. The smoke began to clear, revealing a silhouette--a tall young man in all black, face obscured by an ornate helmet. Goro grit his teeth.

This is a lot even for you, Akira… just what are you planning?

“Are you surprised?” The masked figure gestured with a red-gloved hand, his French just slightly accented. “The man who’s name has been on everyone’s lips finally makes an appearance! I am Arsene!”

The officers gathered raised their weapons, taking careful aim.

“Now, now,” Arsene waved his hands, “That’s a rude way to greet someone! Besides, it would be quite a scandal if I were to be shot here--after all, this entire exchange is being broadcasted live to all of France!”

Goro glanced hurriedly at Niijima, who looked back at him equally stunned.

“Can we confirm that?” he asked her. Niijima took out her phone and immediately began dialing.

“I’m sure you have plenty of questions for me,” Arsene continued. “I can just hear your little voices now: ‘Arsene, why have you decided to show yourself after all this time?’ and ‘Why, Arsene, where’s the Bust of Nefertiti?’ Rest assured that I hear you, and these questions and more will be answered!”

“Akechi,” Niijima held the phone down, covering the microphone, “We’re still confirming it with all the major stations, but it’s broadcasting on at least two news outlets now. They’re working to get it down, but something’s locked them out.”

Goro clenched his fists.

He must have an accomplice. It’s not physically possible for him to have orchestrated all this alone.

“The Bust of Nefertiti was taken wrongfully from Egypt,” said Arsene, “Its visit to the Louvre would have been a perfect opportunity for me to return it to its owners--but! In reality, the bust has not left its Berlin home. The bust on display at the Louvre was, this whole time--an elaborate fake!”

Arsene paused for effect. Many of the officers began to voice their confusion, which Goro supposed was reasonable. Only a select few had been told the bust was a fake: Niijima, the police chief, and the Louvre’s board of directors. The chances that one of them had blabbed to Arsene were slim to none--so how had he known? It wasn’t possible for him to have set all this up in the short time since his escape, so he must have already known the bust was fake, then feigned surprise…

“As you can see, I do not have the bust with me now,” said Arsene, “I had initially planned to prove that it was fake on camera--but, ah, it met with an unfortunate accident along the way. I believe the police will be holding onto the remains for me.”

Of course, thought Goro, in order to make me believe I’d surprised him, he had to sacrifice this part of his plan...

“Now, you may be wondering: why would the Louvre go to such trouble to make a fake bust? The answer is simple. This was all an elaborate ploy to ensnare me, without deliberately endangering a precious work of art. I’ll admit, it was clever! Credit goes where credit’s due. I’ve great admiration for the man or woman who put this plan together. You are almost as illustrious as myself!”

Goro couldn’t help but feel, nauseatingly, that Arsene’s praise was aimed at him.

“Normally, I would let something like this go by without comment. I’ve no problem with someone laying such a trap--in the privacy of their own home. But to use the Louvre for something like this seems almost nefarious... After all, for the past three months, they’ve been advertising this replica as the real thing! Not only that, but charging money for people to come see it! You’re all smart men and women; surely you can see that there’s something wrong with this picture!”

Expedient means, Goro thought to himself, though he found himself grudgingly agreeing. He hadn’t considered the possibility that the truth could come out. From the public’s eye, his plan was nothing more than a scam. If he’d at least succeeded in capturing Arsene, they might have been more willing to forgive him for tricking them…

“The Louvre’s little ploy is a crime against art that I, Arsene, will not stand for,” Arsene continued, gesturing theatrically, “And so I have taken it upon myself to lay their sins bare for all to see! For my final heist, I intend to steal the hearts of everyone in France!”

“We have to stop him,” said Niijima, “We should have stopped him five minutes ago, before he said anything--!”

“I know,” said Goro, “But he’s right--if we shoot him, there will be a scandal. He hasn’t yet done anything that would merit unnecessary force.”

Much as I would gladly shoot him myself--!

“I’ll see if we can’t get a special forces team in here to apprehend him,” said Niijima, “We can’t let him continue like this; it’s an embarrassment.”

“Yes, I gather that was his point.”

“Well?” said Arsene, surveying the crowd, “Have I succeeded? I will leave that for you to decide. For now, though, this is unfortunately where we part!”

There came a great roar; heads turned to see a helicopter on the approach from the west. Goro at first thought it might be a news crew, but as it drew closer, he realized it was unmarked. It came to a stop just above the palace roof, whipping up a deafening wind in the courtyard.

“No!” shouted Goro above the din, “He’s getting away--!”

“Adieu, Paris!” Arsene blew a kiss, “You’ve been a lovely, lovely companion. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect backdrop to my endeavors. Though I may disappear this moment, so long as you keep me in your hearts, I shall never leave your side!”

A cord dropped down from the helicopter. Arsene clipped it to a harness around his waist, and in an instant he zipped upwards.

“Stop that chopper!” someone shouted. The police opened fire, but it was too late--Arsene was already inside, and the helicopter was already speeding away. The music stopped, and the lights clicked off. The police were left standing in the darkened courtyard, scattered calling cards at their feet.

Goro fell to his knees. He’d never seen anything backfire so spectacularly, and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or scream. His career as a detective was over. In the space of ten minutes, Arsene had completely, utterly destroyed him.

If I’d just arrested him when I had the goddamn chance--!

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Niijima. The look of defeat on her face was almost unbearable.

“You should go home,” she said, “I’ll make sure all this gets cleaned up. We can debrief in the morning.”

“But--!”

“You’ve done enough tonight, Akechi-kun. Just go home.”

Chapter 21: The Best-Laid Plans

Chapter Text

“Akira, take a look at this.”

That October evening, Akira had been called to Morgana’s apartment for a bit of brainstorming. With the older man’s connections, they were able to get access to the Louvre’s blueprints, along with outlines of some of the security measures that would be in place. The Louvre had been working closely with the French police to ensure tight security at the exhibit, and Akira had no doubt that Goro was helping them.

Akira leaned in over a blueprint of the temporary exhibit hall, trying to guess what Morgana was looking at.

“If I’m reading this right…” said Morgana, “They’ve left us openings all over the place--especially in the ceiling. The display case is right under a maintenance catwalk. Those ceiling tiles won’t support your weight, but that catwalk absolutely will.”

“What?” said Akira, “Don’t they know the ceiling is--?”

“Your specialty,” Morgana finished for him. “The more I look at this, the more it’s starting to look like a big ol’ neon sign that says ‘Steal This, Arsene’.”

Morgana shifted a few papers around to find a diagram he’d made of the exhibit, from multiple angles. He’d scribbled all over it in red pen.

“Here, look--this is where the lasers should be in the room, based on what you told me from your visit,” he said. “With these placed where they are, the floor is practically lava--it’d be impossible for anyone to enter the room normally without tripping the alarm.”

“Right.”

“But look at these mounting instructions from a few weeks ago,” Morgana continued, picking up another sheet, “The highest measurement it gives is only about four feet off the ground. If they were expecting someone to enter on foot, that would’ve been enough. But they’ve gotta know you prefer the air ducts, considering how much time they spent sealing ‘em off for our previous targets. And yet, no lasers anywhere above four feet.”

“It’s like they left it wide open.” Akira saw where he was going with this. “Why, though? It’s like they’re asking for me to--oh.”

“Oh?”

“The bust I saw isn’t real.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a trap. They have professionals doing security for them. If they’re working this closely with Akechi and still left all these openings, there has to be a reason.”

“Hm. You may be on to something,” said Morgana, “I think I have a contact at the museum in Berlin; I’ll get in touch to see if the real bust is actually still there. If this is a setup...”

Morgana looked at him seriously.

“We better call this off. We haven’t sent a card yet, and there’s still time to pick something else before you go back.”

Akira pouted, folding his arms.

“I was really looking forward to robbing the Louvre…”

“I know,” said Morgana, “But we’ve gotta pick our battles. If there’s a chance this is a trap, we shouldn’t risk it. We could try picking something else at the Louvre if you have your heart set on it, though.”

“Like the Mona Lisa?”

Morgana snorted.

“Hah, no. If you had a death wish, maybe.”

“I’m kidding. France bought the Mona Lisa in a fair deal--it wouldn’t make sense for Arsene to go after her.”

“Right…”

Akira put a hand to his chin, thinking hard.

“Thinking about Nefertiti, though…” he said at length, “It just bothers me that they’d do something this elaborate. Making a replica of the bust and putting on an exhibit for it, playing it like the real deal… those tickets weren’t cheap.”

“Yeah,” said Morgana, “I bet there’d be a looooot of angry tourists if the truth got out…”

Suddenly, Akira got an idea. The most over-the-top, insane, incredible idea he’d ever had. An idea crazy enough to make “phantom thief roleplay with the literal detective after you” seem relatively tame.

“What if, instead of stealing it, we could prove it was fake?”

“What?” Morgana squinted at him.

“What if we used this opportunity to call their bluff?” Akira was getting excited just thinking about it. “What if we get in there, steal the thing, and then broadcast ourselves revealing that it’s fake--that the Louvre’s been scamming everyone?”

“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” said Morgana, “What good would that do? Besides, if they’ve laid such an obvious trap, there’s no way they’ll let us escape.”

“I want to try it,” said Akira. “We’d have to be really careful about it, of course, but if it worked… the name ‘Arsene’ would be known around the world--the man who unmasked the Louvre itself!”

“Yeah, and if we fail, you’re facing a significant chunk of your life behind bars,” said Morgana. “Come off it, Akira. You’ve got eyes bigger than your stomach on this one.”

“Please, Morgana? Don’t you want to see Arsene’s last heist be something grand?”

“Well, I’d rather Arsene’s last heist be something that won’t land us both in jail.”

“We could have spotlights, music, confetti…” Akira continued as if he hadn’t heard him, “Broadcasting our reveal to all the major news stations, then zooming away in a helicopter!”

Morgana sighed.

“You’ve watched way too many movies,” he said.

“I know it’s a stupid idea,” said Akira, “But it’s great because it’s stupid. It would be a fitting capstone to Arsene’s legacy: stealing not an artifact, but hearts of the populace… The greatest theft of all time!”

“You’re letting this all go to your head.”

“Hasn’t Arsene been a vigilante hero from the beginning?” said Akira, smiling, “Stealing artwork to return it to its rightful owners… he’s a man of the people, after all. Arsene would want the people to know the truth.”

“Arsene is a fictional persona,” said Morgana. His frown lightened nonetheless. “You’re going to try to pull this off even if I say no, aren’t you.”

“Naturally--though, it will be a lot less stylish without your help.”

“... Fine,” said Morgana finally, “I’ll help you with this stupid plan of yours. But on one condition--if you get caught, you’re on your own. I’m not bailing your ass out of jail.”

Akira smiled.

“Then I won’t get caught,” he said. “You’ll see. I won’t disappoint you this time, Morgana.”

“You’d better not,” said Morgana, “Now come on. Let’s see if we can put together an infiltration route…”

//

They ditched the helicopter outside the city--more specifically, at the tour company they’d rented it from. By that time Akira had changed back into normal clothing, tucking the helmet into his bag. The two men who emerged from the helicopter looked like just a pair of ordinary tourists. Morgana slipped the rental employee a €500 bill on his way to his car.

The two of them were on the road back to Paris before long. Morgana had the radio on to break the silence, but at this hour there wasn’t anything good airing. Akira leaned the seat back and put his feet up on the dash, yawning.

“Not bad for a last gig,” he said.

“I have to admit, I’m impressed,” said Morgana. “I didn’t think that was going to work.”

“It almost didn’t,” said Akira.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I might have gotten cornered for a little bit…”

“No kidding? How’d you escape?”

“They sent the wrong person to catch me.” Akira couldn’t help smiling a little. He did feel a little bad, taking advantage of Goro’s mercy like that… but at that stage of the game, it was far too late to back out. The public deserved to know the truth, and he’d already gone to the trouble of printing all those calling cards. The entire setup was on a timer, and would have started playing without him if he'd been caught.Even still...

Akira looked out the window, watching the occasional farmhouse light fly by. The memory of Goro’s pained expression wouldn’t leave his head.

It wouldn’t have worked out anyway. I’m just… glad that I was able to be with him for so long. It was nice…

“I’m not gonna ask,” said Morgana. He turned up the radio a bit as a news segment came on.

“.... Investigation into the mysterious broadcast from the Louvre is still ongoing…”

“Anything left at your dorm you need to get?”

“Nope. It’s all at your place.”

“Good. Probably better to make fewer stops.”

The semester had ended a few days prior; with his finals done, Akira had officially moved out of the dorm. Morgana had offered his couch for the remainder of Akira’s time in France, and with some consideration, he’d accepted. At first Akira had wanted to move in with Goro for the final few days, but he’d already begun to suspect that his boyfriend knew the truth. Especially after what happened tonight, the logistics for that would have been… shaky. He would have to keep a low profile until his flight back to Japan.

Now, I just have to hope Goro doesn’t rat me out...

He hadn’t really worried about that possibility before now. It had been a mistake to reveal his face; to even acknowledge that the detective’s guess was correct. His need to mess with Goro one last time had unfortunately overtaken his common sense. Considering he’d gone on to utterly embarrass the Louvre and the police, Akira wouldn’t have been surprised if Goro decided to rescind his mercy and turn him in out of spite.

And yet, somehow… he didn’t think Goro would do it.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

“Oh, that reminds me,” he said.

“Hm?”

“When you get a chance--give Monmouth my thanks. The last year has been the most fun I’ve ever had.”

“Monmouth? The art conservator? What’s he got to do with--?”

“Come on,” said Akira, “I know you’re not the real Morgana. Did you think I couldn’t tell you’re not the same guy who sent that email?”

“... you got me,” said Morgana, sighing, “I’m surprised--how did you know Monmouth was the one orchestrating this?”

“Well, I practically wrote a paper on him,” said Akira, “Someone this passionate about repatriation, with more money and connections than he knows what to do with, and poor health? It’s almost obvious that he’s the one running all this. Someone like that wouldn’t be chaperoning me around. Besides--no offense--I don’t think someone like Geoffrey Monmouth would be living in an apartment like yours.”

“Heh,” Morgana laughed to himself, “You’re sharp, Akira. But--you’re wrong on one thing. I am Morgana, and Monmouth is also.”

“What do you mean?”

“The name ‘Morgana’ doesn’t refer to a single person,” said Morgana, “It’s the codename for the Avalon Foundation’s less-than-legal repatriation efforts. Truth be told, I don’t even know how many people go by that name. As you’ve probably figured out, I’m just a middleman.”

“Interesting…” said Akira.

“Something tells me you won’t be the last Arsene, either,” said Morgana, “Though, if I’m gonna be honest, I don’t think anyone could beat your little performance earlier.”

“Oh stop, I’m blushing.”

“It’s been good working with you,” said Morgana, “I hope we get to cross paths again sometime, after this.”

“Morgana?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your real name?”

Morgana snorted.

“Like I’d tell you.”

“You know my real name. It’s not fair that I don’t know yours.”

“Yep. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Akira pouted.

“Fine.”

There was some silence between them, other than the sound of the still-blaring radio. The news report had made way for a sleepy, meandering tune.

“Thanks for all your hard work… partner,” said Morgana quietly.

Akira turned to look at him, but Morgana’s eyes were on the road.

“Yeah… you too…”

Chapter 22: Justice Blooming Out of Season

Chapter Text

They removed him from the case the following morning.

Goro at least managed to convince the French police that his blunder at the Louvre had been an accident, using the same story he’d told Niijima. That didn’t change the fact that his plan--a high-risk, expensive plan that had taken months of preparation--had failed spectacularly, and would likely throw the Louvre into a scandal now that the truth was out.

After a year of repeatedly losing to Arsene, the French were just about done putting their faith in the young detective.Rumors even began to fly around the force that Goro had been working with Arsene--or could even be Arsene himself. After all, nobody was more familiar with the police’s security plans than Goro was. It would have been easy for him to create the guise of security while an accomplice snuck in and took what he pleased.

Amid that acrid atmosphere, Goro was all too happy to purchase return tickets to Japan. He packed up his apartment, offloading all but the essentials to secondhand stores; luckily he hadn’t bought much in the way of souvenirs. There were a few things he lingered over longer than others before getting rid of them; baubles and gifts he’d accumulated over the past year. Museum brochures and ticket stubs. A book of paintings by Monet. Things that reminded him of Akira.

On his way back to his apartment from his final dropoff, the elderly landlady stopped him in the entryway.

“Oh! Monsieur Akechi!”

“Hm?”

“There’s mail for you today.”

Goro hadn’t received a single piece of mail since coming to France, and with good reason, so this immediately struck him as odd. He followed her, quizzically, to the row of post boxes behind the front desk.

Inside his mailbox was a single pink carnation, accompanied by a red card. He stared at them for a few minutes before taking them out for a better look. The card was blank, but on the back was emblazoned the same letter A he’d grown used to seeing. Goro grit his teeth.

“Oh!” said the landlady, “It looks like someone’s got a secret admirer!”

“... it’s not exactly a secret…” Goro murmured.

“Hm?”

“It’s nothing. I’m moving out tomorrow, so… thank you for having me.”

“Yes, I remember. Thank you, dear. Other than the occasional noise, you’ve been a lovely tenant.”

“The occasional--? Oh.”

Goro flushed and headed upstairs without another word.

He tossed the card and carnation into the trash the second he was back in his room. By now his familiar studio apartment was bare, save only for the furniture that had come with the place. It somehow seemed emptier than it had when he’d first moved in. A year ago, he couldn’t possibly have foreseen how events would play out--or even that he’d remain in France for so long. That chance meeting at the cafe, that had seemed so ordinary at the time…

‘I’ll never forget you’… the nerve, after what you did…

Goro took his phone from his pocket and unceremoniously deleted Akira’s number.

After some time, though, he fished the red card out of the garbage and tucked it into his wallet.

* * *

In the days that followed, Arsene became a national sensation. The footage from the Louvre looped nonstop on just about every channel, with pundits, experts, and even ordinary people all wondering who the thief really was. He’d been in and out of the news from his previous heists, but the sudden connection of an image and personality to the name practically invited a fan following. There were those who seized at the opportunity to make a little money off his popularity, and Arsene-themed merchandise began popping up at kitschy souvenir stands seemingly overnight.

With all of France asking, “Who is Arsene?” there was just one person who could answer that question.

Goro Akechi left France without breathing another word to the police. He didn’t turn Akira in. Couldn’t, wouldn’t. Each time he thought he could--knew he should, really, after all that--the words got caught in his throat. He knew it was stupid, selfish, to let him walk. Akira had committed crime after crime without remorse, had deliberately lied to him, had now likely destroyed his career, but...

He couldn’t bring himself to put behind bars the person who’d shown him what freedom looked like.

Goro, who had spent his whole life a slave to society’s expectations of him, saw in Akira a glimpse of what it meant to be free. He didn’t need to be anything to Akira--not a star detective, not a perfect student, not an obedient son--just himself. He’d spent so much time crafting facades around himself that he wasn’t sure what “himself” even looked like anymore. And yet, somehow, Akira had found it within him. Akira had given him a place where “himself” was enough. That feeling, the sense of finally belonging somewhere, had been liberating.

We don't deserve each other, you and I...

He’d repeated this thought often since that night, wrestling with how he felt about all this. He felt betrayed, surely, and he certainly had no desire to see Akira again anytime soon. But the very real things he’d felt back then--the love he had for Akira--he couldn’t just sweep those away, either. It was complicated. He still wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

Goro turned the blank calling card over in his hands as he sat on the plane, awaiting takeoff.

The choice to let Akira escape had been deliberate. A momentary lapse in judgment, sure, but deliberate nonetheless. He would likely feel the repercussions of that choice the rest of his life. And yet, somehow… to know that he’d made the choice for himself was exhilarating, in a way. The world now seemed a bit more open than it had been before. Bitter as he was, he couldn’t quite regret the way things turned out.

I just hope you’re happy, wherever you are… Akira, you crazy bastard. You crazy, brilliant, amazing… horrible, stupid bastard.

It was with thoughts like these in mind that Goro handed in his letter of resignation to his superior back in Tokyo. Part of it was to take responsibility for messing around in France all year and letting Arsene escape. He certainly couldn’t let anyone else take the fall for what he’d done, and his superiors would appreciate the show of remorse. He’d let them all down, after all; a resignation would be expected of him. But he couldn’t deny that there was another underlying motive--more selfish than just taking responsibility.

As he left the chief’s office, he found himself smiling.

In the end, I suppose I have to thank you. You were the one who gave me the courage to do this, after all. To choose my own path…

He was out a job, with nothing on the agenda for the foreseeable future. He could do whatever he wanted. He could cut his hair and move to a new part of town, go to college and get a degree, learn how to drive a car, get a job out in the countryside and disappear, or even blow his savings traveling the world. He could do all of the above. He no longer owed anything to anyone--he could be whatever, whomever he wanted.

The future stretched out before him… and for the first time, Goro saw that it was his for the taking.

Chapter 23: Epilogue

Chapter Text

Winter melted into spring; Goro’s first semester of college began among scattering cherry blossoms. He’d secured a full-ride scholarship at a university in Tokyo, and taken a humble part-time job to cover the rest of his living expenses. He wasn’t yet sure what he wanted to study, so he was taking a variety of classes in the hopes he’d find something he was interested in. With all his work for the police, he hadn’t really given much thought to “future” or “career” before now. Included in his courseload was one western literature course, one general science course, one mathematics course, and one art history course--the latter of which he'd selected on a whim. Perhaps what he'd learned in Paris would come in handy for something.

The days passed without incident, and he was already finding himself making friends (slowly--it took effort to understand what “the kids these days” were into, and it was hard to unlearn years of self-defense habits). Nonetheless, his college days were spent among people he could call friends. He got along well enough with his classmates, and gradually his fake smiles made way for more genuine ones.

Even as he dedicated himself to his new life, he couldn’t help feeling a bit… empty. It was a different feeling from before, when he’d often felt like he was merely a tool for the police to use in solving cases. This was different. He was in control of his own future now, but something still wasn’t enough.

(He knew what it was, or at least had a hunch. He tried to pretend he didn’t.)

In mid-May, Goro found himself wandering around Tokyo once classes were out for the day. He had to head to Shibuya for some shopping, but on his way back through Shibuya station, he noticed a stop on the Tokyu Den-en-Toshi line that sounded familiar, for some reason:

Sangen-jaya.

He’d never taken that line before, but he knew he’d heard the name of that stop somewhere. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to divert his usual route to go investigate.

On the way to the platform, he passed a wall-size advertisem*nt for a nature garden in Kochi prefecture. What caught his eye, however, was that the garden in the photo looked hauntingly familiar. A pond covered in water lilies, framed by wisteria, with a Japanese bridge... He paused to read the text.

“Experience the beauty of Monet’s vision here in Japan. Come visit Monet Garden Marmottan in Kitagawa Village.”

Goro hadn’t known anything like this existed in Japan. He wished he’d seen the advertisem*nt before Golden Week, so he could have made plans to go. Normally things like gardens didn’t interest him, but, for some reason…

Ah, but I’ve already seen the real thing. Besides, going by myself would be…

Goro decided to keep walking, but he made a note on his phone to Google Kitagawa Village later. Just in case.

Sangen-jaya station opened up into a sleepy, old-fashioned neighborhood. The buildings were shorter here, and though the streets were cramped, there was something homey about it. Goro wandered around with his head on a swivel. There was a secondhand store, a grocery market, a batting cage, and even a movie theater. As Goro explored, he noticed signs advertising a French-style cafe.

It seems as thougheverything's reminding me of you today...

His heart ached a little, thinking of that cafe by the Seine. The many afternoons spent chatting over coffee… It had been almost six months since he’d left France, and he still found himself longing for it sometimes.

Though maybe what he longed for was the memory of that time, and not the actuality of it. He doubted he would be able to enjoy himself in Paris if he ever went back. It wouldn’t be the same.

Wrapped up in thoughts like this, Goro’s feet seemed to move on their own. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of a tiny, modest cafe on a quiet side street. Leblanc, read signs on the outside. Compared to the shops on either side of it, Leblanc looked like a thin slice of Paris in the middle of Tokyo. Goro glanced over the menu, but it looked like all the cafe offered was house blend coffee and homemade curry.

Interesting combination.

Wondering if the cafe’s main draw was its atmosphere, Goro pulled open the door. Bells at the top jingled, signaling his arrival.

“Bienvenue!” a voice called to him from behind the counter, “Welcome to Lebla--!”

The voice paused midsentence; Goro froze in place as well. He knew that voice. His eyes traveled to the counter, where the messy-haired barista stood in shock, empty mug in hand. Dark eyes met his from behind horn-rimmed glasses. A face he couldn’t forget no matter how hard he tried.

“Ah,” the barista laughed to himself quietly, his expression warming, “I guess it’s fate after all.”

Goro had never really believed in things like “fate”.

But if “fate” came to him as a familiar face in a French coffee shop, he supposed he could give it the benefit of the doubt.