Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everyone was asleep in the French hotel. The balcony window was swung open, and the curtains tossed gently in the night breeze. A soft peace threaded through the air like silk. The heist had gone surprisingly well, so the money was split four ways, evenly for once. They’d celebrated with wine and scotch and sake until they were spinning and blushing and laughing into the evening, and they all fell one by one. Fujiko on the bed, Jigen on the couch, and Lupin on the floor. All but one.

Goemon sat silently on the balcony, his Zantetsuken slipped between his arm and his legs crossed. He balanced precariously on the railing, in the way only a samurai like him could. He opened his eyes to peer down at the quaint, foreign street beneath him. All the people had gone home, tired from the day’s work. The world around him had seemed to pause, catching its breath to finally rest for once. They, too, were resting from the day's work for the first time in a long while. They could lay low for a bit, relax, and take a break from running. Maybe they could have dinner together more often, share their stories under the veil of alcohol. They could even get to know each other.

Goemon blinked at that thought. Get to know each other? As far as he knew, they were all just co-workers. Thieves whose interests had happened to align. Rivals who had come to a temporary truce. Criminals on the run. Partners but only in crime. They were not friends. In fact, they argued more often than they agreed. They had almost nothing in common. They were hardly friends.

“Friends,” Goemon whispered to himself. The word stuck to his tongue like sweet rice paper, faint and fleeting. Like sakura blooms at the edge of spring. The troublesome word lingered and pervaded his thoughts. But at the same time, it was a precious word, one he wanted to value more than all the treasure in the world. He wanted to protect it.

“Friends...” he said again, softer. This time, the word fell from his mouth like a light ginkgo leaf in fall. Why did he even care if they were friends? He’d never spared it a second thought before. So what had changed? When had it started, this ridiculous wavering in his heart? When did the vow to end a thief’s life become a claim to his survival? When did he begin listening to classical music, the unfamiliar “Dvorak” and “Tchaikovsky?” When did he grow homesick for Mt. Fuji and miss the maple leaves, miss having its self-proclaimed namesake beside him?

And did they feel the same way about him? What sort of relationship was this? Did they ever think about being...?

Goemon stopped there, and took a long breath. If he started thinking about that, he’d never stop. Since he’d joined this band of thieves, he’d learned that truth was a scarce commodity. Fujiko with her ever-changing appearance and her fickle honesty. Jigen with his perpetually tipped hat, careful to always shroud his eyes. Lupin with his quick wit and even quicker fraudulence. And Goemon, who had nothing but his stoic discipline. It was important to always be aware of what was truth and what was fiction among a troupe of liars; knowing what was reality and what was fantasy, conjecture, wishful thinking...

These were the facts: it was nighttime, they were in France, they’d just succeeded in robbing a bank, Lupin’s red jacket and Jigen’s black tie lay discarded on the floor, Fujiko was the first to fall asleep, her dark chocolate hair spilling over the pillow, Lupin looked quite nice without his jacket, Jigen did as well, their gin and wine and scotch hadn’t tasted that bad (but it couldn’t compare to sake), alcohol tinged everything in a beautiful haze, three beautiful people lay asleep in this hotel, Fujiko’s beautiful hair looked unbelievably soft, and so did Lupin’s, and Jigen’s—and Goemon’s fingers began to twitch.

This was a new fact: Goemon found the members of this gang to be beautiful, and the mere thought of their beauty terrified him. But what was so beautiful about them that he hadn't noticed before? Had something happened beneath the guise of alcohol? Was it something in Jigen's crooked grin, how the cigarette between his lips looked like a prayer candle's light? Or Lupin's full-chested laugh, the one that only came out when he was genuinely happy? Or Fujiko's subtle movements, the hand on his shoulder, brushing the skin for a brief second? He wanted to know, wanted to observe them at their most exposed, find the battle scars and rough edges on their skin, pure and clean and free of lies for once—

Goemon dared not go back to the room now, unsure of what his hands would do if he saw them lying there, (beautiful). So he occupied them, latched them onto his Zantetsuken: the one thing that could ground him no matter what. Its sharpness was a reassuring constant among the busy shifting of their lives. It was the one thing he could rely on.

But it was his own sword that would come to trouble him. In the dark, every little thought surfaced like leaves in a whirpool, like stars that spear their light through the night clouds. In the dark, empty glasses sparkled with drops of alcohol, and abandoned cigarettes slept in the ashtray. Words both said and unsaid remained in his mind like leftover wine and smoke in the air. In the dark, Goemon could not hide anything from himself.

He unsheathed Zantetsuken and looked his reflection in the eyes. The moonlight gleamed onto the blade, but a shadow cast on it for a brief second. It was that omen of danger and death, and it lingered long enough to make him shudder.

Have you forgotten?  His own voice, from ages ago, echoed in his mind.

I have forgotten many things, Goemon responded. He ran his thumb over the hilt of his sword. Many, many things. The virtue of discipline. Tainted by immorality and excess. The practice of self-restraint. Tarnished by lust and greed. The danger of getting too attached... Well. He supposed there was one thing he’d preserved. That terrible, destructive isolation of his.

Goemon hated himself for that. It was a bad habit. But he needed it, he’d tell himself, ignoring his problems and pains and reinforcing that terrible discipline instead. If they ever asked how he was, he would stay silent. A samurai has no need for these things, he would convince himself. Assistance and partnership...will merely get in the way. So he cleaned the blood from his wounds and hid them beneath the layers of bandages. He did not wince when it stung. He did not allow pain to show on his face. He needed to detach himself or else his heart would soften. He could not forget that he was an assassin. A hired blade. Nothing more, nothing less.

And so Goemon remained isolated, like the lonely moon in the night sky. He looked up into its pale light, floating past the clouds and shining on his face. Surely it felt alone too, surrounded by so many bright stars. Yet it could never reach them, even if it tried. The closeness between them was nothing but a trick of the eye. There were millions and millions of light years to traverse. And what star could ever find the moon’s craters to be beautiful?

Goemon shivered. There was nothing he found beautiful about himself. He believed he was only beautiful when slicing worthy objects with his sword, with graceful precision and restraint. But in all the other moments that fell between, the moments where he sat alone with his Japanese food, remained alone on lookout in the safehouse, waited alone for days and days on end—there was nothing beautiful about that. There was beauty in Lupin's master plans, the flawless execution and divine strokes of luck. There was beauty in Fujiko's clever capriciousness, her bold and selfish ways. There was beauty in Jigen's deadly aim, six bullets that were always sure to reach their target.

There is no reason for the moon to be friends with the stars, Goemon concluded. He realized then that he was thinking of the one thing he didn’t want to think of. Clarifying their relationship.

At that, his grip tightened around Zantetsuken’s hilt.

Those words again! Why do they continue to haunt me? Relationship... friends... have I made a mistake? Has all my training not been sufficient? Once again, my heart has softened. How long will it be until I...?

But before his thoughts could run any further, he forced them out of his mind and took a long breath. Inhale, exhale, inhale... until his thoughts were at peace once more. But if it was peace or mere emptiness, he couldn’t tell.

Goemon stared at those faraway stars, steadfast in their discipline. He wished he could be like them: bright, beautiful, and forever proud. Not weak, or cowardly, or emotional.

Perhaps... they are stars, then, he mused. Distant stars that I can never reach. So I must merely admire from afar...

There was no room for sentiment, nor attachment. And certainly not friendship.

Goemon’s silhouette struck black against the rising moon. His hair was carried by the breeze. He closed his eyes again, taking in the soft gleam of the night. But in all his pondering, he’d forgotten that his own blade was fashioned from the iron of a shooting star. He was a dazzling star, just like the rest of them, yet he couldn’t see it.

Beneath the brim of his hat, Jigen lifted an eye to gaze at the figure on the balcony. Through his bangs and his alcoholic fog, he gazed. Ink black hair flowed in the night wind, framed by the halo of the silver moon. He could make out the outline of loose sleeves and a thin shaft. Jigen held his breath. It wasn’t too surprising to catch Goemon brooding in the middle of the night, but something felt different. There was a tension in the air, hovering like heavy clouds between them. But there was beauty, too. Goemon didn’t notice that Jigen was awake. He felt both wrong and right for staring, sweet and yet bitter. Like a tiny star peeking at the moon.

And he thought in that moment,

The way the moonlight hits his skin... he looks beautiful. Almost like he’s the moon, too.

Chapter Text

Dawn spilled its way into the littered hotel room, slicing through the dreamlike haze of the night before and shining the rays of the sun directly into Jigen’s eye. He grimaced and flicked his hat off his head, letting the light hit his face unceremoniously. He wouldn’t quite call himself a morning person, and the bags under his eyes attested to that. The aftermath of their drinking from last night wasn’t helping, either. He was still splayed across the couch he’d passed out on. He grunted and turned away from the sun, hoping some god would be merciful enough to give him five more minutes of rest. But he was awake now, and it would only be more trouble to wake up later when everyone else was awake, too. He had to admit, the mornings were much more bearable when there was no racket from Lupin or Fujiko, or Goemon cooking up some strange-smelling Japanese cuisine. The silence of a slow morning... And the thought of brewing himself a good cup of black coffee...

Jigen sacrificed the five extra minutes and forced himself to sit up, fighting the sluggishness in his limbs. He stretched his arms up and over his head, popping the joints one by one. He noticed then that his shirt was unbuttoned and his tie and jacket were missing. He lowered his eyes. What in the hell were they even doing last night? He ran a hand through his tangled hair, then rubbed away the sleep still clinging to his eyes. The morning light was faint, but it streamed in thinly through the balcony curtains. They’d stopped moving, but they also covered most of the window.

Now who the hell left that open? Maybe it was Lupin in some drunken feat of dumb pride. Or Fujiko trying to get away from his dumb ass. But when Jigen got up to pull away the curtains, he remembered what he saw last night. The silhouette of a lonely samurai on the balcony. The pale silver moon forming a halo around his head. The inexplicable mix of beauty and sadness that he felt when he saw him. His hands pulled back the curtains tentatively...

And he almost felt disappointed by the plain view of the French street. Maybe he was just dreaming, then. Beautiful scenes like that could only happen in movies or stories with happy endings, and Jigen was never one for wishful thinking. Still, seeing Goemon framed in the moonlight like that made him wonder...

He stopped. Nah. It was just a dream. It had to be. He glanced at the rising sun before closing the window and turning back to the room. But if it was a dream... why wasn’t he here?

Jigen sighed and searched for the coffee maker in the kitchen. Enough of that. If there was one thing he’d ever learned, it was that overthinking things just wasn’t worth it. Better to forget about it altogether. That had become his mindset in life. If some throwaway comment from Lupin was bothering him, he would scoff at it and move on. If Fujiko scrambled their plans again, it was better to work with whatever they had left than to gripe about it. If Goemon ever insulted his gunmanship, he’d give a quick scowl and maybe return the remark, but he’d rarely go any further. It was better to keep them at bay than let them in, let them see the true feelings beneath the brim of his hat. The cigarette smoke shrouded his face like a shield, blocking everyone and everything out. He kept up that tough exterior like it was a public image to maintain. It was better to forget than to remember.

Two tablespoons of cheap complimentary coffee plopped into the filter. Jigen groaned. He couldn’t believe he was letting his thoughts run like that. Unbelievable. He filled the water tank from a leftover plastic bottle. Then, he plugged in the coffee maker and pressed the “brew” button. The old relic sputtered for a second before doing its job. He sighed. Maybe it was the lonely silence of the morning that coaxed his thoughts out. Usually, mornings were hasty and loud, scrambling to get everything together so that they could get the hell out as fast as possible. If they weren't on the run, then the TV would be playing a soccer match, or the news, or some other distraction Lupin liked to switch on. The absence of those familiar background noises brought all of his thoughts to the surface. But Jigen shot them down at point-blank range. He was supposed to be making coffee, not mulling over his friggin’ life’s story. He could do that any time over a bottle of scotch.

Jigen took stock of the room while the coffee trickled into his mug. They’d totally trashed the place. The ashtray was overturned and endless cigarette butts had fallen out. One, two, three... four empty bottles of wine!? Three abandoned scotch bottles—well, those were all his—one and a half finished sake vessels, and a ridiculous amount of leftover alcohol glasses. And that was only from the drinking! He grimaced. They were all a bunch of friggin’ pigs. Guess he wasn’t exactly paying attention when he was slugging glass after glass of scotch.

Also beautifully adorning the table (and floor) were scattered dirty dishes with scraps of whatever crap they’d ordered from room service last night. Sushi, steak, green beans (Lupin had insisted on calling them légumes), takoyaki, ramen bowls, pasta, dumplings, croquettes, calamari... Jigen pinched his forehead. God, what a mess. We really went for a world sampler, huh.

Moments from the night played in his mind for a second. The laughter that rung throughout the air. The glow and the warmth that seeped into the room. Lighting Lupin’s cigarette. Lingering for a second as he watched the light hit his face in all the most beautiful places. Begrudgingly lighting Fujiko’s cigarette. Serving Goemon’s sake and blushing when he noticed the smile on his face. Losing track of the time and telling story after story, laughing and laughing like nothing could touch them.

Yeah, right. Only friends did that.

Jigen had always insisted that they were no more than business partners. Any more than that and he thought he’d get a migraine. It was troublesome enough to stick with one self-righteous idiot, but a pious jerk and a selfish woman was where he drew the line. However, Lupin had made him question the line between “partner” and “friend” more times than he wanted to admit.

What defines a partner? Lupin would say. And Jigen would always give the same reply: loyalty. He believed that the one thing that tied them together was loyalty. Even if they were just business partners, they were loyal to one another. He had no idea how many bullets were rattling around in his body since he’d started protecting Lupin. He and Goemon had been compared to guard dogs or henchmen or whatever more times than he could count.

Well, guard dogs and henchmen sure are loyal, aren’t they? Lupin’s voice echoed. So how far is a “loyal business partner” from a friend?

As far as I can freakin’ throw you, he responded.

They were business partners. Not friends. He’d be damned if he ever let that change.

So not too far, huh?

The coffee maker's trickling came to a stop, and so did Jigen’s daydreaming. He picked up the mug and blew, then took a sip. Damn. Nothing beat a true French blend, even if it was crappy-hotel-brand. He glanced at the slightly ajar bedroom door, mid-sip. Might as well check if she was still there.

Jigen pushed open the bedroom door with his foot, letting the light gradually creep in from the opening. Instead of a sleeping Fujiko, he found nothing but a well-made bed and a note on the dresser.

Bye, guys! Thanks for all the fun, but it’s time for me to take off. Oh, and I took Lupin’s share of the money. Tell him it’s a “service fee.” He won’t mind, will he, Jigen?

- Fujiko

Jigen huffed. Damn woman... Well, that was more or less what Lupin deserved for always getting involved with her. A service fee. Ugh. He definitely wouldn’t mind... Wait. How did she know he was reading this? He flipped it over.

You’re the first one I thought to be awake, Jigen. We both know Lupin won’t wake up any time soon. Besides, I caught Goemon slipping away from the balcony last night. Don’t tell, okay?

There was a lipstick kiss pressed to the corner of the note. Jigen cringed and wiped his fingers on his shirt. Ugh! He couldn’t believe she knew him that well. He wondered why she even bothered to leave the damn thing in the first place.

Then another thought crossed his mind. Fujiko saw Goemon, too.

...So it wasn’t a dream.

Jigen silently folded the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He figured he could go look for her and ask about it. He had a good idea of where she was, anyways. There was one place she loved the most in France, and it was along the Seine. But the thought of letting someone past his walls shook him for a moment.

Those walls were so high that Jigen rarely thought twice before shooting those who stood outside them. Anyone who wanted to come in would probably just betray him in the end, anyways. Yet there was always something nagging him. Something he couldn’t deny, no matter how long he spent perfecting his defenses.

Whenever he pushed them away, there was always a hint of sadness in their eyes. Sure, it was dashed in there with anger, maybe, or indifference, but it was there.

Lupin would say something like, “Fine! See if I care! I’m not gonna give your sorry sulky ass my time of day,” then he’d leave him alone with nothing to say. And without fail, before the day ended, he’d be back with a pack of Marlboro reds. It was tossed in his lap with nothing more than a scoff, but there was no malice in it. Lupin’s pride wouldn’t let him outright say it, but he was sorry.

Surprisingly, Fujiko wore her heart on her sleeve when she really did care. It wasn’t often, but there were times when she’d ask if he was okay. It was genuine, and he could tell, and that scared him.

“If you’re not gonna tell him, you can at least tell me. He really is a jerk if he made you upset.” Sometimes, Jigen gave in and told her what happened. But the times he didn’t, she wouldn’t press it and she’d give him space. If he tried to slip her some cash as thanks, he’d find it returned to him in his pocket later. It was a silent sort of agreement.

And then there was Goemon. His observant nature and intuitive sense could always figure out when Jigen was down. Even if he was doing his best to hide it or pretend like he wasn’t bothered, Goemon saw right through it.

“Jigen. What is the matter? You have been avoiding us all day,” he would say, reaching out to touch his shoulder. It was the best consoling he could come up with. Jigen would tip his hat down and ignore him. And then he’d see the concern in Goemon’s eyes. The inexplicable sadness that confused him to no end.

Why should keeping away from someone like him make them sad, of all things? They should be grateful that they didn’t have to deal with him.

Jigen took a long sip of coffee. Holy shit, he needed a distraction. His thoughts were running everywhere, and that was the last thing he wanted. He walked over to the record player the hotel had (surprisingly) provided. He thumbed through the vinyl box, searching for anything that would take his mind off of things. There weren’t many of his favorite classical works, a couple of familiar names here and there, Bach and Mozart and Rachmaninoff, other randomly thrown together collections, pieces by small name composers, etc, etc. It was better than nothing. His fingers stopped on a sleeve that was smaller than the others. It was a plain white cover for a humble little 45. He slid out the record and looked at the center: “Salut d’Amour (Elgar)/Clair de Lune (Debussy).” He frowned. It was French. And he had no clue what it said. He looked back at Lupin. Face down, ass up, and out cold. Dammit. He shrugged and placed it on the turntable, set the speed to 45 rpm, and let the needle down gently. It was better than nothing, he told himself again, setting down his coffee mug and picking up his tie from the floor.

But when a slow, simple violin melody began to play, he stopped what he was doing and really listened, just for a moment. It wasn’t terribly remarkable. It was just a solo violin piece with accompanying piano. Even though he’d always been one for the flourish of victorious pieces and crashing orchestras, there was something about that simple melody that struck him. It was melancholic, like Liszt’s Liebesträum, but not hopeless. Reflective without being vain. For some reason, it reminded him of the roses Lupin was so partial to picking. Bold and beautiful and passionate.

Jigen got ready to the soft lilt of the violin filling the room. He put on his tie, slipped on his shoes, and slid his arms into his jacket. He brushed his hair out with his fingers again, pushing it back out of his eyes. The music cleared his mind and he felt much better than before.

Before he realized it, the record had stopped spinning. Unlike his favored hours-long symphonies, this piece was no longer than four minutes. He pouted and flipped the record anyways.

It was a piano piece this time, still slow but with an air of mystery around it. Gentle and quiet, like the moon rising at night. This time, he was reminded of Goemon sitting on the balcony. The calmness of a lake in the moonlight with the intensity of a storm.

After putting on his hat, Jigen got the final and most important piece of his outfit, his magnum, and shoved it in his back pocket. It was time to head out and find Fujiko. He grabbed a hotel key, making up his mind, but he paused before opening the door. He looked back one last time at the sorry state he was leaving the room in. He figured it would be Lupin’s atonement for all the trouble he’d caused. He glanced at his passed out partner. It had been a while since he got up now. At least an hour. He’d hoped, for some odd reason, that Lupin would wake up and he could stop thinking about all that useless crap. They could argue or chat or do something other than leave Jigen alone with his thoughts.

Dunno what I expected, he sighed to himself. Some kinda miracle? A hero’s plot twist? Yeah, right.

Jigen locked the door on the way out and walked down the stairs with his hands in his pockets.

People like us don’t get miracles or happy endings. We just get the leftovers, and we live with that.

Inside the room, the record needle hit the center of the disc and stopped playing. On the floor, a sleeping thief had a long, long dream. A few blocks away, a dutiful inspector made his way to the French hotel. Many miles away, a lovely woman found a lonely samurai beside the Seine.

Jigen checked his watch. It was 7:12 A.M. He got on the nearly empty bus and looked out the window at the river. He’d find her soon enough.

Chapter Text

It was some distorted version of a memory, a warm haven that he didn’t want to be stolen from him. It felt beautiful and kind and safe, isolated from the thievery and the danger and that endless chase. It was all he had, all they had, and he couldn’t bear to lose it. Love held a terrible, immense power over him, and he knew it. He knew that it was only a dream, that it was too good to be true, that it was more than he deserved.

But he was asleep, and in his dreams he could have all the good things he wanted, so Lupin dreamed of the things he wanted the most.

The autumn night was young and beautiful and golden, just like them. The scene filtered through a strong amber lens, tinting the world with light and warmth. The hotel room was filled to the brim with a haze, both from the smoke and the alcohol. The evening news on the TV was drowned out by the Japanese enka record playing from the turntable. Cheap plates and glasses clinked and clattered, like the rythm of a discordant music. The melody of laughter and cheerfulness floated above it, airy and free.

Lupin smiled, something terribly genuine and vulnerable, and his cigarette hovered above Jigen’s lighter. He could see the look beneath his hat, both hesistant and expectant. Like something out of a bad romance movie, Jigen gently pulled on Lupin’s tie to position the cigarette over the flame. He let the tie slip through his fingers as Lupin took a drag, blowing out the smoke with a smile. (This was a dream, after all.) Goemon chuckled and Fujiko brushed a careless hand on his thigh, talking about some jewel she had her eye on. He simply listened and told himself not to get distracted by how she looked in the light: young and beautiful and golden.

The four of them crowded their dinner onto a tiny round coffee table, barely leaving room for an ashtray. There weren’t enough chairs, so they made do with pillows. It created a quaint little intimacy, even if it was false and short-lived. But Lupin didn’t think about that, and it didn’t make him happy, so he didn’t let it invade his dream. There was only that fleeting intimacy, that elusive thing he wanted to treasure above all else.

“So, Lupin,” Jigen said, lazily placing an elbow on his shoulder, “what’re we goin’ for next?” He forked a piece of steak into his mouth.

Lupin raised his glass of wine and declared with a grin, “Only the greatest treasure of all, of course!”

“Huh? And what would that be?” Jigen tipped up his hat to look him in the eyes. Lupin winked in response.

“Love, obviously! We’ll steal all the love of the world for ourselves!” He took a dramatic sip, then outstretched his arm with a flourish. “We’ll become... the Phantom Thieves of Heart!”

The three of them looked at him in disbelief. Goemon’s sushi slipped between his chopsticks, Fujiko’s sake cup paused in her hands, and Jigen dropped his fork with a clatter.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” he said, scowling. “Man, ya can’t just spring some dumb idea on us like that, we’re eatin’ here!”

“You can’t be serious, Lupin! Stealing love?” Fujiko pouted and sipped her sake. “That’s impossible! And not to mention, a waste of our time...”

“Perhaps he has had too much to drink,” Goemon said with a smirk, politely taking a bite of his sushi. “Or perhaps he is just easily swayed by alcohol.”

Jigen snorted and took a swig of his scotch. “Yeah, I think Goemon’s right. You’re a friggin’ lightweight, man!”

“Love would outdrink you any day if your tolerance is that low, Lupin!” Fujiko giggled, leaning into Goemon’s side. He blushed in response and attempted to straighten his kimono.

“Ahem... Yes, and you haven’t exactly stolen our hearts, so how do you expect to steal the world’s?” He argued.

“Through their pants, of course!” Jigen laughed, slamming his elbow on the table and pointing his forked steak at Fujiko.

“Oh please, anyone’s but mine!” she gasped, smiling. “How about yours, Jigen?” Goemon stifled a chuckle, but Jigen let himself laugh, full-chested and deep. That had an effect on everyone for some reason, and it wasn’t long before they were all swept up in laughter, including Lupin.

“No, I’m serious, you guys!” he said through his snickers, “Love is the most difficult thing to steal! And you know I can’t resist a challenge.” He grinned and held his wine up to the light, letting the dark red shine golden at the rim. He got a dreamy, romantic look in his eyes, the one he got before he really made up his mind about a heist, the one full of resolve and excitement and mischief.

“How predictable. You favor challenge above value.” Goemon huffed and took a sip of his sake. “But there are far greater treasures in the world than one’s heart.”

“Yeah, Lupin! Why not just pull a heist for a diamond? Or a beautiful necklace?” Fujiko smiled, taking a bite of a croquette. “A thief should stick to real heists, y’know.”

“Hey, stealing someone’s love is the realest, greatest, and most private heist a thief could ever accomplish. It’s unrivalled, unparalelled, unbeatable—It’s the perfect crime!”

Jigen lifted his glass of scotch to his lips and teased, “Oh Professor, I’m just dyin’ to hear your lecture. Please, tell us more~“

Lupin jokingly frowned at him before continuing. “Well, make sure you’re taking notes, then!” The three newly made students sighed and took a sip of their drinks. There was no stopping him when it came to the subject of love, and they all knew it. Lupin cleared his throat, stood up as though he were giving a presentation, and began.

“What is life without love? That is my mantra. Love is an elusive mayfly, I say! Because love is found everywhere, I search for love in all things. In thieving, I value the theft of the heart the most. I fall in love with every beautiful person I see on the street, be them soft and curvy like Fujicakes, or husky and strong like Goemon, or bearded and loyal like—“

Jigen cleared his throat. “Gettin’ distracted there, teach?”

“Man, you’re just no fun!” Lupin pouted and sipped his wine. “Fiiine. As I was saying, love is found everywhere, but that’s what makes stealing it such a challenge. You have to be certain it’s the love you want. Of course, if you do manage to nab it, then you’ve got the world in the palm of your hands.”

Jigen gave Goemon a knowing look. It was the look that said, He’s talking about something that makes absolutely no sense again, but let’s go along with his shit as usual. Goemon nodded concededly.

“So, is all that gonna be on the test, Prof?”

“Oh, we’re not done yet, Jigen,” Lupin took his seat and swung an arm around his partner’s shoulders, “because now you’re going to tell us your definition of love!”

“Huh!?” Jigen’s hat nearly flew off his head as he sat straight up, ready to bolt out of the room.

“Aw, how romantic, the boyfriends are gonna tell us about love!” Fujiko giggled like a girl spreading rumors in class.

Jigen cursed the blush that flashed across his face. “H-Hey, who the hell said we were boyfr—“

“But Jii~gen, aren’t we both boys? Who are fri~ends?” Lupin smiled devillishly, leaning into Jigen’s shoulder and sliding a dangerous finger along his tie. With a flourish, he slid it loose from his neck and grinned.

“So, wouldn’t that make us boyfr—“

“FINE, I’ll give my friggin’ speech! If it’ll shut you up about this whole...” He tripped over his words out of embarassment. “The friggin’...! The damn—“

“—Boyfriend thing?” Goemon cut in.

“NO! Well, yes, but—AGH!” Jigen pulled the brim of his hat down, desperately trying to hide his face.

Lupin stuffed a calimari piece in his mouth and smiled. “No need to be shy, man! Go on and share with the class, won’t you?~” Jigen scowled and took a swig of his scotch before answering.

“Here’s my freakin’ thesis, Prof: love and betrayal are dangerous partners, and if ya mess with one of ‘em, you’re gonna attract the other. So it’s better to stay away from both of ‘em. There! Ya happy?” He stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it in a flash. The familiar smoke obscured his face, and Lupin sighed.

”Oh... I guess I’d give it a B+. Could use some more citations, I guess.” He played with the tie between his fingers. His partner and love didn’t mix very well. He knew that. But still... “So very boring... I’m not sure what I expected from such a jaded old geezer, though!” he teased playfully.

Lupin watched Jigen grumble and take another drag. He knew it was a true answer. Jigen feared love, but only for its inseparability from betrayal. He couldn’t even begin to count the number of times he’d been betrayed by a woman he trusted. But when she was faithful and gentle, he would do anything for love... or so Lupin assumed. The golden frame of his dream world shook for a second, but he willed it to stay. It may have been a retelling of their dinner last night, but it was a dream nonetheless, and it was tainted with opinion. The amber lens of his idealism clouded. The portraitures of his friends that he had so lovingly placed began to waver. But Lupin wasn’t ready to leave yet. He wanted to know what love meant to his friends. He had to know. Even if it was only from a dream. He slipped on his enthusiastic persona again.

“Alright, so who wants to go next?” Lupin declared, splitting his chopsticks to point at both Fujiko and Goemon. “Students, this is for your participation grade, you know! Please give a thoughtful response.”

“Then I shall go, as your pupil,” Goemon said in that typical, dramatic, samurai fashion, and set down his sake cup. “I would like to receive this ‘participation grade’ you speak of, Sensei.”

Lupin stifled a laugh and said, “Go for it, Goemon!”

“Very well. But...” he paused, his voice utterly serious and oblivious at the same time. “Am I required to take a drink before giving my speech as Jigen did?”

“Hey, don’t start makin’ a friggin’ fool of me!” he scowled, tipping his hat down.

“Well, if it makes ya feel better about it, sure! A sip or a swig, whatever you want,” Lupin chuckled.

To everyone’s surprise, Goemon emptied his sake cup in a single gulp and stood up, unfazed. Lupin made a mental note that Dream Goemon could certainly handle his alcohol, and hopefully Real Goemon could do that too, and that it was ridiculously attractive.

“Now then... I believe that love is the basis of all relationships. For family, friends, lovers, and even partners: love is present in all affairs. It is as firm as the earth, yet as fluid as a creek in spring. It is powerful enough to cut through the hardest of hearts, yet gentle enough to pluck the most fragile camellia. The heart’s capacity for love is boundless, yet that heart is easily stolen. Love is a terribly great and invisible force, and no one is immune to its golden calls, not even I.” Goemon bowed his head, concluding his speech. Jigen gave a dismissive huff of smoke and Fujiko tugged at his hakama.

“Oh? So does that mean you’ve fallen in love before, Goemon?” She giggled, watching the deep red blush color his cheeks.

“W-Well... that’s...” he mumbled something unheard, and she tugged at him again, insistent on hearing what he said. Jigen leaned back on his arm and tipped his hat down, scoffing at the embarassment before him. Goemon was sitting down now, crossing his arms and turning away from Fujiko, who had her hand on his chin, trying to catch the expression on his face.

Lupin looked down at his wine glass, not noticing any of it. So, does that mean he thinks that love is part of this partnership, too? I don’t care if it’s a dream, there has to be some truth in it, right? Is that just what I want to hear, or is it something he’d really say? Damn it...

He glanced up and watched the strange scene unfold: Fujiko smiling victoriously, Goemon murmuring something careful and quiet, Jigen pretending not to eavesdrop and cracking a grin. It was a cute invention his dream had come up with. A deleted scene from their little slice-of-life movie. An intimate feeling they could never keep forever. Oh, come on, Lupin. A samurai like him? No way. All his discipline and bushido and whatever... He’s got better things to do, more important things like training and honing his skills. So why on earth would he fall in love with you? Why bother basing a business partnership on love—

Lupin shuddered and forced the sharp, cynical thoughts out of his mind. This was a pleasant golden dream; there was no room for doubt or bitterness. No room for that conversation. The hazy dream spun around him, whirling on to reach its conclusion. He didn’t notice, couldn’t notice, completely lost in his thoughts. His cognitions continued the scene, indifferent to their dreamer’s plight.

“So Fujiko,” Jigen said, “How ‘bout instead of pesterin’ Goemon, you give us your little speech about love, huh?” He smirked and let the smoke spill between his lips.

Fujiko’s eyes widened in surprise, and she dropped her hand from Goemon’s still blushing face.

“Me? B-But—!”

“Oh, c’mon! Wouldn’t be fair if we didn’t let the lady speak, now would it?” Jigen flicked the brim of his hat up, revealing a mischievous grin.

“Hmph! And I thought you were a misogynist,” she shot back. Jigen’s grin fell to a grimace.

“Well, Fujiko, you are the only one who hasn’t spoken,” Goemon said, still trying to regain his composure. “And I believe you owe me some compensation for the trouble you’ve caused.”

Fujiko scoffed, “Oh, please! You boys barely even answered the question. I doubt you could give a real answer if you tried!”

Jigen sighed out a cloud of smoke and turned to the inert Lupin, who was still staring at his glass. “Well, it looks like we’re at a stalemate. What’s the verdict, Lupin?”

The dreamer came to life at the sound of his name. His eyes lit up on command, ready to continue the act and deliver the next line. He had to see this through to the end, even if Fujiko’s answer was the one he dreaded the most.

“Fujicakes, ya just have to go! It wouldn’t be fair!” Convincing little words, lies, whatever. Nevertheless he pleaded, putting on his best puppy eyes. He clasped his hands together and leaned across the table. “C’mon, won’t you do it for me?” That certainly earned him a fed-up sigh.

“You guys are unbelievable. If anything, I’m going to answer it for myself, okay?” Fujiko replied, defying Lupin as he expected her to, and he loved her nonetheless. She stole a sip from his wine glass and began, hesitance still lingering in her voice.

“Love... is like the wind. It comes and goes, and it does what it wants. It’s not tied down or easily defined. Always changing, never the same. She’s a fickle lady, a tough one to keep, but she’s worth it.”

“Oh, please, that’s just a description of all women,” Jigen said, cynical and bitter. “Can’t trust either of ‘em.”

“Hush! It’s rude to speak over your classmates,” Lupin chided, earning himself another sigh from his partner. Fujiko rolled her eyes and continued.

“As I was saying... Love is a wonderful lady. She’s my role model, you know. Beautiful and deadly, selfish and strong. She doesn’t let herself belong to anyone, and she likes it that way. At least, that’s what I think,” Fujiko sighed, concluding her speech. She took another nonchalant sip of wine and smiled. “What do you think, boys?”

“It was a damn short speech,” Jigen grumbled, dangling the spent cigarette between his fingers. “But what’d I expect from someone who throws herself into relationships?”

“Okay, ‘Mini Magnum,’ as if you’ll ever get into one,” Fujiko retorted. “God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Right back at ya, witch.”

Goemon furrowed his brow. “If no one can have this Lady Love,” he questioned, “how come she is everywhere? Is she not present in the hearts we are meant to steal? That is what Lupin claimed, right?”

“W-Well, that’s...” Lupin didn’t actually know how to answer that. He did have a point. But that’s just how the interpretations of love were; they were meant to be different, to contradict each other. ...Right?

Lupin reconsidered his own question, though he’d already answered it before. What was love to him? What were all these relationships, if not extensions, other forms of love? Lupin could find comfort in one fact alone: that he felt he existed for love, and nothing else. He couldn’t imagine a world without love. So long as love lived, so would he.

The dream fell from gold to bronze as the scene changed. Three sharp knocks came from the door, and Fujiko seized her opportunity.

“Go get it, Lupin! Ple~ase?” she sang, leaning into Jigen’s side. She slid her fingers down the buttons of his shirt, smiling. Jigen grimaced, but didn’t resist. Something clouded his judgement, alcohol or smoke or whatever it was. Goemon let his discipline slip and glanced at his other two partners. It was like some invisible switch had been flipped. This was the outcome Lupin had wanted. That coveted intimacy. That closeness that could only lead to...

The dream’s screws began to loosen. Lupin knew he wanted to stay, but he felt himself move to the door against his will.

“Dont worry, you can always join us later...!” Fujiko’s voice drifted away as the door shut behind him.

White owl feathers dusted the cold air like snow. Darkness stretched before him, until an endless white staircase rose from the shadows. Lupin frowned and stuck his hands in his pockets. Where’s the joker that knocked on the door? Like a black velvet stage curtain, the dream barred him from the sides, creating a narrow path.

Well, if I don’t have any other choice... there’s nowhere to go but up, then, he thought, taking his first step on the stairs. Light seemed to shine softly from the staircase, guiding his way up and up.

Suddenly, the falling feathers condensed into a familiar form. They danced and braided themselves into locks of hair, slender arms, and a delicate waist. A beautiful woman stood before him. Her long brown hair fell in tresses and framed her face. She wore nothing. She smiled.

“Tell me, Lupin. Do you love me?” Fujiko asked, lifting her hand to cup his cheek. It was warm and soft—those feathers made for an interesting illusion.

Lupin leaned in to the touch. “Don’t you know the answer to that question already?”

She ignored him. “What would you do for me?” Her fingers brushed over his lips.

“Just about anything.”

“Would you kill for me? Would you die for me?” The delicate hand frayed apart into owl feathers, and her figure dissipated. “Why is that, Lupin? For love?” Her voice followed suit and faded away.

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” he chuckled and mused to himself. “But it’s all for love in the end, isn’t it...?” The white specks fluttered and played in he air as he continued up the stairs.

Fluttering turned to flurry, and the feathers began to mimick the falling of cherry blossoms. Before Lupin knew it, they had swirled into the form of a samurai. His stance was deadly and poised to fight. His eyes were piercing, unforgiving. “Tell me, Lupin. What do you fear the most?” the cold, distant voice demanded.

Goemon’s steady fingers hovered over the hilt of his sword. His hands were rough and worn from wielding Zantetsuken with a terrifying, unmatched skill. That sword tore at his very being and carved its presence into his lean physique, his scars, and his callouses. It barely left any room in his hardened heart for love.

“Do you fear the loss of this little collection of yours, Lupin? The friends you have turned into selfish treasures?” In a flash, the blade was drawn and pointed at his opponent. He traced a diagonal line across his chest, the sword of feathers seemingly sharp enough to rip the fabric. Goemon lifted his tie into the air. He didn’t falter. He was an assassin, after all. “Is that what we are to you? Where is the love you spoke so fondly of?”

“A collection, huh?” Lupin touched the tip of the blade and looked the samurai in the eyes. Though his sword spoke violence, his eyes hid nothing. He was afraid. Yet it was the anger, the violence that animated his bones. It was that bitter word, ‘collection.’

“Can you truly love someone when they are nothing but an item in your collection?”

Lupin flicked the sword of feathers into nothing. The rest of the fragile form followed, and soon there was nothing but darkness before him again. There was nothing he could say. A thief’s collection would include the people he loved, wouldn’t it? Then again, perhaps he was just lonely. That loneliness made him sick. The dream wavered, preparing to end. But there was one more form to meet.

Like a tornado of white, the feathers whirled around Lupin, sweeping into the air. They spun until they wove into an old fedora, floating down gently. Amidst the flurry, a suited man took form and adjusted his feathered tie. The hat fell onto his head just right, and the brim covered his eyes. Lupin grinned at the familiar man standing in front of him. He took out his magnum and grinned back.

“Hey, man.” Jigen pressed the tip of the gun to Lupin’s forehead. It was nonchalant. Casual. Like they’ve done this all before. The illusioned metal was cold and comforting. “What am I to you, anyways?”

“I could ask you the same thing, partner.”

He scoffed. “So that’s all I am to you? Partners... don’t make me laugh. I know you want more than that.”

Jigen readied his finger on the trigger. Lupin smiled at the empty chamber. He took a step forward and placed his hand over Jigen’s. The feathers trembled.

“Well? Don’t you want something more?”

Yes. Of course I do, Lupin thought, in spite of himself. But all I want to know is your answer...

“Or is it really just business, partner?” Bitter words from a bitter man.

Lupin gripped Jigen’s hand tighter. He watched his finger twitch. Beneath his hat, his eyes were dead serious. Lupin knew it was a dream. He knew it. And yet, despite it all, despite his hesitation and his fears, why did he want so badly to—

Jigen pulled the trigger, and his body burst apart into endless feathers. They drifted away into white snow specks, and the darkness settled for a final time. Lupin's fingers grasped at nothing once more. He sighed. This is a horribly boring dream, he thought, denying his racing heart and shaking hands.

“Now, Mr. Lupin... what is he to you?” Out of nowhere, a white owl flew above him, his voice booming through the void.

“He? You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that, buddy,” Lupin scoffed, craning his neck up to see the taunting bird. He squinted to find the bird in the darkness, but the white specters seemed to flicker in and out of existence. The dream was ending. The curtain was ready to close.

“It’s about time you woke up.”

Suddenly, a bright light beamed from the top of the staircase. The darkness gave way to white, and the feathers blended themselves into the surroundings. Lupin shielded his eyes and took a defiant step up.

"He's waiting for you."

"Agh, I told you to be specific, didn't I!?" Step, step. The dream flickered once more. Stumble. Fall. Sprawl across the blinding white stairs. No point in trying now.

"Lupin... Lupin... Wake up, will ya...?” The voice seemed louder and more impatient than before. And a little more familiar, Lupin noted. "Where are the rest of 'em at...?"

Before he knew it, the scene fell into endless light, and a deafening shout pierced the air, one that almost sounded like—

“LUPIN!!! Are you gonna tell me just what the hell happened here!?”

Lupin rubbed his eyes. Everything was still blurry and hazy and gold flecked. The world was bright, too bright, and he couldn’t see a thing. Slowly, he came to his senses. He was face down on the floor, and the pervading scent of alcohol stuck to his skin. He lifted his head, swearing he heard someone else's voice (or was that just the dream?). But as the room molded itself together, he saw a large, imposing silhouette looming above him. It became clear to him gradually; first the outline of a hat, then the collar of a trench coat, then...

“This place looks like a damn PIG STY!!" One very angry inspector stood before him, his arms full of—wait, were those dirty dishes? Lupin scrambled to sit up and make sure he wasn't still dreaming.

“P-Pops? What are you doing here?” he said in disbelief, rubbing his eyes again. In the morning light, this Zenigata sure didn't seem like a feathered illusion. Pieces of his dream started to rise to the surface. Feathers, partners, a golden night...

"I get a tip from a hotel at nearly eight in the morning, and what am I greeted with? An abandoned Lupin, in the middle of a trashed room! What partners you've got..." He tapped his shoe impatiently and peered down at the half-dressed, half-dazed man.

Lupin met his gaze, slipping from the grip of his fading fantasy. The words from his dream echoed back to him. “What is ‘he’ to you?” Zenigata was grumbling at him, sure, but it wasn’t out of resentment or disgust. His eyes, despite the sharpness of his words, were soft. Tenderness driven by necessity, maybe. Or could it be...

Lupin smiled, and the room lit up in gold for a split second.

So... what’s your definition of love, Pops?