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Veritas Ratio is good at his job, and that is a known truth.
Ever since he graduated from police academy, he steadily climbed the ranks over the years. His thorough disposition and meticulous investigations may have earned him the ire of his colleagues, but it got him a significant promotion and a transfer to a different department. The investigation department of a police force has no room for fools, for half-hearted ambitions and lofty goals. The investigation department of a police force only takes in the best of the best, takes in those with unbridled passion for unanswered questions and the untarnished truth. It only makes sense that this is where Veritas would thrive.
He thrives in his work as an investigator, no longer obligated to work with other people and expend precious brainpower on dealing with bumbling idiots. He thrives in his work as a detective, solving the hardest of problems with ease and prying the coldest of cases wide open. Eventually, after a few sensationalized incidents, he gained a rather embarrassing nickname in the daily papers. They say that he is the Doctor of Truth, and that his specialty is curing the troubled minds of families by prescribing them with much-needed closure.
Veritas Ratio is good at his job, but they say there are always exceptions to every rule.
The Stonehearts are not your average ragtag criminal group. For one, they are quite skilled and are infuriatingly difficult to catch. They have been around for several years now, and all the police has to show for it are a couple of fleeting encounters and close calls. For another, they adhere to a strict moral code that is theirs and theirs alone. It feels damn near arbitrary, with how some major crimes seem completely fine but some lesser ones are apparently off the table. On top of all that, the application of said moral code varies between Stonehearts, making them impossible to predict. The police don’t even know what it entails, only that it exists.
They call themselves phantom thieves, and insist on separating themselves from the common petty burglar. It is not difficult to see why they would do such a thing, not difficult to fathom why they would take offense to being likened to the average criminal. On paper, their crimes are very much the same. In practice, however, their execution is much different.
Their modus operandi are quite peculiar, indeed. First comes the calling card to their place of interest, oftentimes well-made and ornate with fancy writing that details exactly what they are targeting and when they are going to steal it. Second comes a public announcement sometime in the days leading up to the crime, though this step is optional and only occurs when their plans haven’t been made into a public spectacle just yet. Third comes the phantom thief themself, somehow navigating the heavily guarded location without being noticed and slipping away with their prize against all odds. It is the same song and dance so practiced that it’s perfect, and thus they leave with the last laugh every single time.
In recent news, it seems they have a new member.
The first time they come across each other, Veritas had been personally assigned to the case. His superior hoped that with his plethora of experience and this rookie criminal’s lack thereof, they would be able to finally put a dent in the Stonehearts’ ironclad defense by kidnapping away their newborn chick. Thus, he was given the calling card and shooed away from the station for all the days leading up to the scheduled date. He only heaves a single exasperated sigh before he gets to work.
On the fateful night, Veritas runs his gloved fingers along the edges of the sole piece of evidence. It is adorned with gold in the pattern of diamonds, depicting a hat and a mask alongside the message written in magazine cut-outs. Charming, for one, if just a little childish. Its contents are simple; it says that the newly opened museum possesses a valuable gemstone and that it will be the target for this heist. A small endeavor in comparison to what is recorded in the Stonehearts’ case files, tentative and shy as if testing the waters for the first time. It’s a little tempting to be more thorough in securing the premises, to try and capture him right then and there; it’s almost too easy, almost too perfect.
If Veritas were a lesser man, he might’ve caved into his superior’s plan. Alas, he has long decided that this first encounter will be for observation alone. The Stonehearts play the long game, and Veritas aims to beat them at it. It is unlikely that a mere fledgling will be of much use if they aim to use him as the beginnings of the phantom thieves’ downfall. This one hasn’t quite had time to blossom yet, hasn’t been with his allies long enough to know any more about them than the police likely do. Putting him behind bars would be akin to winning the battle, but losing the war.
So Veritas waits patiently, turning a blind eye at the very right time. As predicted, it only takes a mere ten-minute opening for the gemstone to miraculously vanish from the bolted display case that holds it. He checks with the guards and the security cameras immediately, noting that there was no trace left behind. He orders an investigation of all possible escape routes, and examines the scene of the crime personally. And yet, even with all his thoroughness, nothing out of place was found.
Hm. That’s a little troubling. The phantom thief is good, almost too good for his supposed first time. Veritas had given him a relatively short timeframe to work with in hopes that he would leave behind something for the investigation team to work with, but it seems they will return to the station empty-handed. Perhaps next time, the detective should see what he can do with a mere five minutes instead.
Veritas dismisses the rest of his team when he notices it’s getting quite late, opting to stay behind for a little longer. He likes to write his findings down when the details are still right in front of him, still fresh in his mind. He doesn’t know how much time passes as he frantically jots things down on his notepad, but he’s broken out of his stupor by a shadow looming over him. He snaps his head up towards the museum’s glass ceiling immediately, squinting through the rays of moonlight at the figure perched on a ledge under an opened panel.
Phantom Thief Aventurine is flashy and flamboyant, with all the shine and shimmer implied by his name. He is covered head to toe in ostentatious attire, prominently black and split down the middle by accents of sapphire and aquamarine. Long strips of fabric drape downwards in the impression of a cape, surely a safety hazard but more importantly: a potential weakness. A huge hat sits on his head, tilted to one side and hiding his hair. Finally, a stylized mask obscures his entire face, though it cannot even begin to hide the smugness exuding from its wearer.
Veritas notes that Aventurine already has the museum’s precious gemstone in the palm of his hand, flexing his gloved fingers around it as if unused to the weight of its value, the weight of his crime. No, that’s not quite right. It seems more like a reunion, like he’s trying to get used to the sensation of sin against his skin. An interesting observation.
He decides to call out to him, hoping he will take the bait. “A criminal lingering at the crime scene? How reckless.”
And he does.
“Ah, I just wanted to see the person they would send after me.” Aventurine’s voice is smooth, light and a little airy. It has a near melodic quality to it, accompanied by a teasing tone. His ears strain to listen, strain to commit it to memory for reasons more personal than professional. “I didn’t expect him to be so… dashing. Do forgive me for staying a little longer.”
A beat of silence. Is that twisting feeling in Veritas’s gut simply the satisfaction of his small victory, or the other man’s words… no, compliments settling in? “Do as you wish. I shall take my leave, then.”
The detective can just about hear the way the phantom thief’s mouth curls up into a smile. “Oh? Not going to chase after me, detective?”
Veritas scoffs, putting his notepad away in his bag. He doubts he will get any more information, and a voice profile is already plenty evidence. “A preposterous proposal. It would be a waste of energy.”
He is not lying; not like he ever does. Despite being physically fit, it would be a Herculean task for him to go all the way up to the second floor, haphazardly jump onto the small ledges on the walls, and make it to the phantom thief before he can slip away into the night. It is easier to accept defeat, especially when he never expected to win anyway.
“And here I thought that this city’s police force would not let anything come in the way of justice.” Aventurine sighs, dragging his words as he pockets the gemstone somewhere in the fabrics hugging his torso. Is that disappointment in his tone? “You may want to amend your slogan.”
“I’ll be sure to take your complaint up with my superior.” He won’t. “However, as it stands, you are but a few steps away from your escape route. I, on the other hand, have to run up a whole flight of stairs. Apologies, but I have no interest in making myself look like a graceless fool.”
A high-pitched sound rings in Veritas’s ears, reverberating around the whole room easily. As Aventurine doubles over and clutches his gut, he belatedly realizes that it’s laughter. The other man is giggling at him unabashedly, lithe body trembling with the force of it all. It’s the pleasant kind of noise, lovely and light and the type of thing he would like to listen to a little longer. That’s… a sentiment he didn’t expect to be making tonight.
The detective freezes in place, a little too transfixed for his liking. Later, he will attribute this budding feeling to the night being a little too late and his heart being a little too lonely. Later, he will chalk it up to him hearing things and partaking in wishful thinking. If only that were true.
He watches as Aventurine straightens himself up and pushes the panel up further, seemingly ready to pull himself out and make his escape. But of course, that’s not where it ends. Of course, something has to turn this fleeting encounter into a core memory, and it comes in the form of the phantom thief’s last line.
“Next time, then. I will make you run after me, if only to render you breathless.”
Veritas pointedly turns away, walking straight towards the entrance with reddening ears. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Aventurine that he already succeeded.
-
Their second meeting comes only a few weeks later. This time, they stand off against each other in a massive mansion with the target being the rich owner’s safe deposit box.
It had been quite difficult for Veritas to secure backup for this operation. For one, the neighborhood is high-security which makes it difficult for them to move in and out at their leisure. For another, the owner himself is a stuck-up asshole that is overly particular about every little thing they do. He’s almost tempted to open the door himself for Aventurine to waltz right in and take all of the valuables. But alas, his job entails servicing law-abiding citizens, even those as infuriating as this.
Trusting his own deductions, Veritas decides to give the phantom thief only five minutes to accomplish the heist. He’s refocused most of the security to surveillance of the property’s perimeter, figuring that he should start with determining the entry point then narrowing it down from there. He brushes off the suggestions that he should focus most of the security inside instead. Sure, that’ll get him more specific information but it’s too early for that. In the long run, it’s better for him to focus on the phantom thief’s general tendencies so that he can predict his next move. He hopes this approach will yield results.
And yet, just like last time, Veritas leaves the box alone for no less than five minutes only for it to vanish as if it had never been there in the first place. Thankfully, though, he gained some new evidence to work with.
It’s not much, but one of the windows in the mansion had traces of dirt on the windowsill that wasn’t there before. That, alongside the fact that Aventurine escaped through the ceiling last time, points to a possible tendency of his. It’s quite fitting for the Stonehearts’ newborn chick to reach for the skies, scaling the walls of buildings and breaking in from above. Veritas wonders what he will do when his wings are clipped; perhaps he should redirect his security efforts somewhere higher instead.
Veritas paces through the halls of the mansion, lost in thought. He may be getting ahead of himself, but he’s already thinking of the most likely locations for the next heists and some preliminary plans for how he’s going to deal with them. He lingers at the door of the crime scene every time he passes by it, but he knows that there’s no more evidence to be found. Well. No point wasting any more time here, then. He should make himself scarce and prepare for the inevitable chore of reporting to his superior and the victim.
Just as he’s about to go down the staircase, he hears an audible thump coming from behind him. He tenses, knowing that the mansion had long been evacuated and the rest of the officers are positioned outside.
“We meet again, detective.” That familiar voice drawls, lingering on the syllables of his title. Veritas turns around to see Aventurine sitting on the windowsill, legs dangling in the open air. Distantly, he remembers they’re on the third floor and his heartbeat stutters a tad.
“So it seems.” He clears his throat, hand holding onto the railing as if he’s the one trying to hold on for dear life.
“Are you assigned to my case? Should I start looking forward to seeing you with every single heist?” Aventurine carries on nonchalantly, fingers drumming on the outside safe deposit box right next to him. Incredible. How is he going to bring that down from this height?
The detective grits his teeth, mind racing for more reasons than one. “That is confidential information.”
“That’s good as a yes, coming from a police officer.” The phantom thief shifts so that he’s facing him, one leg crossing over the other as he tilts his head inquisitively. “Say, if this is going to be common occurrence, I might as well distinguish you from the rest of the force. How do you feel about a special nickname, just for you?”
Veritas takes a few tentative steps closer. When the other man doesn’t budge, he huffs and keeps going. “’Detective’ will suffice, thank you very much.”
Aventurine hums, as if he’s pondering his next words. “Classic, but a little too plain. Hm… how about…”
He trails off when Veritas comes to a stop right in front of him, and they’re barely a meter apart now. The phantom thief chuckles under his breath before slowly holding one hand out, careful not to make any sudden movements as he patiently waits. Against his better judgment, the detective lifts one arm so he can place his hand in his. Gloved fingers clasp around his gently, giving Veritas ample time and opportunity to pull back.
He doesn’t. Instead, he thinks about how the fabric is so thin that he can feel a bit of warmth through them. Instead, he thinks about how those fingers are a little smaller than his, slender with a delicate touch. Instead, he thinks about the way Aventurine lifts his hand up to his face and presses it to his mask. Veritas’s knuckles brush over right where his lips would’ve been.
“My darling detective...”
Veritas averts his gaze immediately, feeling warmth bloom in his cheeks despite the chilly evening air. Alright, time to stop thinking. He decidedly does not think about the way Aventurine all but purrs it out, does not think about the way the pet name sounds on his lips even when distorted by the mask.
Right, the mask. Contrary to previous beliefs, it seems that it is made of metal. It’s pleasantly cool, his mind helpfully supplies. From up close, it’s a little curved but it doesn’t quite follow the shape of his face. How is it being held in place, then? It shouldn’t be too thick or heavy if it can be worn while doing strenuous physical activity. How… strenuous can said physical activity be before it−
Aventurine laughs heartily, and it brings him back to reality. “It seems that you like it.”
Veritas scoffs, pulling his hand back like he’s been burnt. He hasn’t, but the memory of the moment will be seared into his mind for days to come. “What a hasty assumption.”
“You haven’t told me off for it.”
“I could.”
Even with his face hidden, the phantom thief’s smug smile is no less obvious. “Would you, though?”
The detective bites his lip, not daring to dignify that with a response. Alas, that is an answer in and of itself.
“That’s good as a no, coming from you.” Aventurine uncrosses his legs and pulls the box closer to him. He stands up, dusting himself off. “I’ll see you around then, my darling detective!”
And with that, he falls backwards and slips into the darkness of the night. Veritas runs up to the opened window, but only so that he close it. Wouldn’t want to give the owner more things to complain about, after all.
A few nights later, he’s sitting at his desk in the police station when he makes an interesting break in the case. The stolen safe deposit box contained cash, several sets of fine jewelry and a family heirloom. As predicted, the heirloom had not made its way around the market yet, but the jewelry was distinct enough that he could find the ones that were circulating. Through process of elimination, he determined the ones the phantom thief most likely sold.
From that point on, it was simply a matter of tracking where the money went. It is a time consuming process, but not necessarily difficult so long as it was spent within a few days of acquiring it. A rookie mistake for any thief to make, really, and Veritas just managed to capitalize on it. Now, it’s time to see what Aventurine did with his latest prize…
Oh.
His laptop screen displays one of the orphanages in the city, dilapidated and clearly on its last legs. His cursor is still hovering over the donations tab, his eyes scanning the only one listed there. It’s recorded at a mere two days after the incident, and the amount matches exactly what the jewelry was sold for plus the amount of cash that was in the box. There is no name that it is attributed to, only a small message from the sender that makes his heart skip a beat.
For repairs and maintenance. If there is any left over, please use it for providing basic education.
The next few minutes pass by in a blur, as Veritas is propelled by sheer muscle memory. He makes note of his findings, clearly tabularizing where each set of jewelry went and what it sold for. He doesn’t miss a single detail, even writing in the margins about the orphanage’s location and contact information. Once he’s done, he files them all into an evidence folder. When it’s time to put it away, Veritas hesitates for only a moment before he slips it alongside his personal belongings. For good measure, he zips up his bag to hide it.
Then, he leans back in his chair and grabs a blank sheet of paper. After all, he has to draft up a report informing his superior that the jewelry simply couldn’t be tracked down.
-
From that point on, it becomes a bit of a cycle.
They meet again and again without fail. Every few weeks, Veritas is pulled out of the monotony of his regular detective work by a familiar calling card and he answers to it every time. Aventurine drags him around gaudy locations with a plethora of valuables and sends him on a wild goose chase that stretches long into the night. It’s a begrudgingly welcome distraction, and Veritas even finds himself looking forward to them. An absurd notion, indeed; if you told him a few months ago that he would be frolicking with a known criminal and enjoying it, he would certainly kick you out of the station personally.
Alas, there is something so captivating about Aventurine beyond the little performance he puts up every time. Veritas cannot help but let himself be led astray, cannot help but watch as the little fledgling of a thief grows into a flamboyant peacock that prances around confidently with feathers spread wide. It is a captivating show, one that he thankfully has the front seats to.
All things considered, their encounters are like a fun little game. Aventurine sets the stage, and Veritas arranges the challenge. No matter how high the stakes, they end up surprising each other every time. This part is rather simple; it is a mere test of intellect, a display of prowess and skill. The part that comes after, however, is a bit more complicated.
Physical altercations aren’t uncommon in Veritas’s line of work, even after he got transferred to the investigation department. And yet, it stands that most of them don’t involve heated gazes, lingering touches, and an inordinate amount of flirting. It’s odd that they somehow end up in compromising positions every time. It’s even odder that he doesn’t mind at all.
On one occasion, Veritas had Aventurine pinned to the wall beneath him in order to stop him from escaping. On another, he pulled the other man in by the waist as they hid from another officer that was passing by. If he were a lesser man, he would’ve put a knee in between those slender legs and leaned in. If he were a lesser man, his grip would’ve tightened and he would’ve buried that masked face in his chest. Sometimes he wonders what would happen if he had less restraint, if he was less of a coward.
Veritas doesn’t have to ponder on it for long. It is on one such occasion that things between them change forever.
This fateful night, they’re at an art gallery that holds artworks made by renowned artists for millionaires. It’s grand, and extravagant, and… there’s a decidedly empty space on the wall where an expensive painting was once displayed. Yes, despite the ever stricter security measures put in place, the phantom thief’s heist went off without a hitch. Not a surprise, really.
By this point, Veritas has long re-evaluated his approach. He no longer aims to keep Aventurine out. Rather, he aims to keep him from getting away. So the detective chases after him.
They run through the open halls of the building, and Aventurine’s laughter guides Veritas right in his direction through the darkness. Unfortunately, he can’t see that well with only a flashlight in hand so he’s forced to move at a slower pace. Had the power not been cut by a certain little thief, he likely would’ve been able to catch up by now.
In a foolish bout of impatience, Veritas decides to speed up. To compensate for his lack of adequate vision, he reaches out in front of him as he stumbles his way through another open area. It’s not enough, though, because he bumps into something solid. He steps back immediately, but it’s a little too late. There’s a distinct metallic groaning that reverberates around the room, and he looks up in alarm.
Ah. One of the installations is going to fall, likely crushing him beneath its weight. How embarrassing.
Just as the heavy metal comes crashing down, Veritas is abruptly tackled out of the way. He instinctively braces himself for impact, wrapping one arm around the mass that pushed him. Thankfully, the only pain that comes is the dull ache of hitting the floor and the sudden weight pressing down on him. His flashlight clatters to the floor somewhere behind them, illuminating the room just enough that he can make out the current position they’re in.
Veritas is sprawled on the gallery floor, propped up on both elbows as he cranes his neck so he can look up. There’s two gloved hands clasped around his shoulders, holding firmly yet trembling a little bit. He doesn’t have time to think about how the other’s fingers are digging into his flesh, not when he realizes that Aventurine is basically straddling him. Soft thighs cage him in by the waist as a plush rear sits pretty on his abdomen. He tells himself that the blossoming blush on his cheeks is just from exertion.
“Woah there!” The phantom thief exclaims, words strained. His hat is on a little crooked, his mask skewed to the side, and his chest heaving. Did he run all the way back to get to him in time? “Cutting it a little close there, aren’t we, my darling detective?”
The detective huffs, a little out of sorts. “Unfortunately.”
“You’re always no fun.” The other man playfully pulls one hand back and smacks his shoulder. “I just saved your life! Shouldn’t you be thanking me?”
Unfortunately for both of them, it seems that he has lost all capacity for intelligent thought. “I suppose I will have to, yes.”
“How cruel.” Aventurine sighs, absentmindedly trailing his fingers down Veritas’s chest. There are several layers in between, but his touch leaves a trail of fire all the same.
“Maybe you should’ve picked a more secure location.” The detective mutters under his breath, shifting all his weight to one elbow so he can free up one hand. The first thing he does with it is grip onto a soft thigh, kneading the flesh beneath his palm.
The phantom thief rewards him with a delicious gasp, legs clamping around him as he jerks up in surprise. He laughs breathlessly, twisting up the fabric of Veritas’s shirt as he pulls him up so that they’re just a few inches apart. “Maybe… maybe you should plan the details for my next heist, then.”
“Another preposterous proposal.” He scoffs, turning his head to the side so he can look away. The grip on him loosens, but he is no less winded.
The other man shrugs. “It was worth a try. You’re lucky I already had something in mind.”
A small movement in Veritas’s peripheral vision catches his attention, and he snaps right back to it. He can feel his eyes widen as Aventurine pulls up his mask slowly, just enough to reveal pale skin and pretty pink lips. He can see the way the corners of the phantom thief’s mouth curl into a coy smirk as he dips his head down to close the distance, teasingly hovering over the detective’s lips for just a few moments too long. Aventurine chuckles like he isn’t absolutely destroying the last of Veritas’s sanity, and nonchalantly leans in to whisper into his ear instead.
“Say, how do you feel about the next heist being at the auction house? On the last night of this month?” The other man’s breath comes out in hot puffs, lips brushing against the lobe because of the sheer proximity. “I’ll be stealing… a kiss from my darling detective.”
After he lets those words hang in the air a little, Aventurine slowly sits back up. He puts his hand over the one the detective has on his thigh and intertwines their fingers together, squeezing a little bit as he pulls their held hands up to his mouth. He presses a feather-light kiss to them, and Veritas carefully files away the empirical evidence of how the phantom thief’s lips feel against his skin.
“That is my calling card.” This time, he can see the phantom thief’s bright grin and his heart skips a little beat from how genuine it looks. “I trust you will be there.”
Veritas nods, not trusting himself with words right now. At that, Aventurine lets him go and stands up. The phantom thief dusts himself off before walking over to a painting leaning by the nearby wall, securing it under his arm before scurrying off into the darkness. The detective doesn’t move an inch, not until the footsteps fade away completely and he can bury his burning face in his hands without being teased for it.
“Idiot.” He mumbles to himself, a little bashful. “I always am.”
-
Detective Veritas Ratio, fool that he is, goes along with Phantom Thief Aventurine’s whims regardless.
Turns out his reputation comes in handy for times like these, because he didn’t need to use any of his well-crafted excuses at all. He just walked up to his superior’s office and told him that he thinks the auction house might be an area of interest considering the upcoming auction and the lull in Stonehearts activity. Just like that, he was granted approval and an ample period of time in which he could investigate the building alone at night. Of course he still has a team assigned to him, but by now they’re more than used to him telling them to just secure the perimeter. Old habits die hard, after all.
He finds himself thoroughly distracted in the following days. While he always accomplishes his regular work on time, his thoughts wander a little too much for him to be working at a comfortable pace. All too often he finds his fingers hovering over Aventurine’s case file whenever he passes by it, his touch lingering every time it brushes against the hidden evidence folder still tucked away in his bag. When working on his laptop, it isn’t long before he tabs out in favor of finding which orphanage has a new mysterious anonymous donation. He lies sleepless at night, tossing and turning as one hand comes up to his ear in an imitation of the sensation from the night at the gallery. His entire face reddens, and he buries his face into his pillow in a plea for slumber to take him. It does, but not without dreams full of a light voice, soft laughter, and teasing little words that make his heart skip a beat.
Despite all of Veritas’s worries, there is little fanfare leading up to their meeting. A public announcement isn’t even made, so he quite literally doesn’t hear from Aventurine until the fateful day. He enters the building alone and locks the door behind himself, going through the rows of seats slowly. He steps up onto the stage and walks towards its center, standing behind the podium. The room is big and empty, only illuminated by the moonlight slipping in through some windows at the far back. In the silence, he runs the half-baked plan through his head once again.
Hey, he may be eager, but he’s going to make the phantom thief work for his prize. All the regular entrances are blocked, save for the door from outside leading to the backstage area. That, however, is teeming with security. That leaves only a few options left to enter from. One would be the main entrance itself, but Veritas just came from there and it is under heavy surveillance. Another would be the windows in the bathrooms, but they might be too small even for such a lithe frame. The final and most obvious one would be the ceiling once again, but if it’s difficult for even the most physically fit people on the force to scale the side of this particular building. Veritas wonders which option will be picked this time.
Naturally, Aventurine chooses none of them. Fitting.
The phantom thief defies expectations yet again, emerging as a figure from the shadows bunched up in the corner of the room. One hand fiddles with a golden coin that glints in the light every so often, while the other pulls his mask up a little. His heels click audibly against the tiled floor, hips swaying as he makes his way to the awaiting detective. Did he make his way in while Veritas was lost in thought? Or had he been there the entire time?
“You really did come.” Aventurine says once he’s reached the foot of the stage, looking up at the podium. There’s a small smile on his face already, and it’s gorgeous.
“Of course I did.” Veritas crouches down and offers him a hand, pulling him up. He really doesn’t weigh much, huh? “I’m an officer of the law, I can’t just let a crime be committed right under my nose.”
“Oh?” The phantom thief steps closer and throws his arms around the detective’s neck. His tone turns into something playful, the beginnings of a teasing remark. “So you say, but your mere presence is the accessory to this crime.”
“A pity, truly.” Veritas rolls his eyes, pulling the other man in by the waist. He relishes in the soft gasp that punctuates the exact moment their bodies press flush against each other. “I suppose I am the unwilling accomplice.”
“You−!” Aventurine pouts, mumbling under his breath. “Unwilling, my ass.”
“What a shame.” Veritas allows himself a small smirk, flipping their positions so he can pin the other man to the podium. This time, he really does press a knee in between those legs if only to see how it would feel. It feels better than what he imagined. “It seems my little thief is incapacitated. I’ll have to do all the work by myself.”
“Don’t forget, my darling detective. I’m the expert here.” Aventurine practically purrs, fingers drumming on his nape as he guides him closer. “Let me show you how a real heist is done.”
“Go on, then. Take it.” Take all of me. Steal me away and never look back.
Despite the hot and heavy atmosphere, the first press of their lips against each other is light and tentative. Veritas’s eyelids flutter shut, head tilting instinctively to deepen it just so. It’s slow and lazy, the gentle pressure just enough to make his knees feel weak. It only lasts for a few seconds before they’re pulling apart, and he is loath to admit that he chases after the remnants of the kiss like a man in the desert desperate to quench his thirst.
Ever so eloquent, the detective says the first thing that comes to mind. It’s not very conducive, really. “So you’ve gotten what you wanted.”
“That I have.” The phantom thief hums, trailing one hand from the sides of his neck up to cup his face. A gloved thumb rubs his reddened cheek, and scarlets bloom under its touch.
“What now, then?” Veritas pulls the other man closer so he can whisper against his lips. He can feel the ensuing shiver. “A criminal lingering at the crime scene? How reckless.”
“Hah! I’m afraid that thieves are greedier than most, my darling detective. So…” Aventurine trails off, fingers threading through the waves of purple hair as he cranes his neck up to meet him in the middle. “Do forgive me for staying a little longer.”
Their lips crash together, fervent and zealous and kissing each other like it is the last thing they will ever know. Their hands scramble for purchase, Veritas finding it in the bruising grip he has on a lithe waist and Aventurine finding it in the nails digging into a strong back. He licks a wet stripe along a bitten bottom lip in a plea for entry, and he is granted it all too easily. His tongue finds another, and they move in languid motions in order to pull needy whines from Aventurine’s throat. He is no better, really, with how he chokes out a low moan when their hips knock against each other.
His head is spinning, and he can’t tell if it’s from the sensations or from lack of air. It must be the latter though, because Aventurine pulls away first. When they part, Veritas’s eyes fly open. He is paid to be observant, paid to be meticulous. He’s still on the clock, so it comes as no surprise that he does his job.
The phantom thief’s mask is skewed, pulled up considerably due to their frantic heated kiss. The detective’s gaze traces the curvature of his nose, lingering on the way the moonlight catches on his slackened jawline. Even through the dark, he can tell that his skin is pale and his lips a pretty pink as they part around heavy breaths. Aventurine turns his head to the side as distant footsteps approach, and Veritas catches a glimpse of vibrant pink and blue eyes widening. When the other man pries himself off him and runs off, his hat is tousled enough for fluffy blonde locks to peek out from underneath.
It burns itself into Veritas’s memories, his dreams, his fantasies. With every blink, he’s building an even clearer picture of the man underneath the mask and the grandeur. He is no fool. With what information he has, he could recognize him on the street as he passes by, could draw the damn police sketch himself, could wax poetry about the beautiful thief that has stolen his heart. And yet, his words die the moment they reach the tip of his tongue.
A guard peeks around the corner from backstage with a flashlight in hand, calling out to him. Detective Veritas Ratio only reports that Phantom Thief Aventurine has eluded him once again.
-
After that, Veritas doesn’t see a hint of Aventurine for a few months.
No calling cards, no public announcements, no anonymous donations… It’s almost as though he’s disappeared from the face of the earth. The detective briefly wonders if he scared him off, if he did something wrong or made him regret anything they did together. He’s definitely spent an inordinate amount of time wallowing in all his worries and doubts about the situation, rethinking every encounter as if he could do something to change the past.
Despite it all, life goes on and the world must continue spinning. Veritas drowns himself in his regular detective work, keeping himself occupied with cases both new and old. It’s almost like life has gone back to normal, with how he spends his nights elbow deep into documents instead of running around some esteemed establishment playing a game of tag. However, he can’t help straining his ears every time he hears his coworkers mention the Stonehearts, can’t help scanning the daily paper to see if a certain name appears in any of the headlines.
(Out of curiosity, he spends a full night sketching the details of the face together from memory. Then he spends another going through police records as far as a decade back. The moment he comes across a mugshot depicting a person with matted blonde hair, unique eyes, and a name starting with K, he quickly drops the file and hurriedly puts it back in the drawer.)
Was Veritas simply worried, or was he yearning? Well. That’s for him to know.
He doesn’t forget, no. Their time together, however brief and fleeting, was memorable. He does, however, learn to set his expectations low. Over time, his near frantic distress ebbs away into a slight tinge of concern. His mind lingers, yes, but it doesn’t stay for longer than a few minutes. His heart hopes, yes, but it doesn’t wait anymore.
So when Veritas clocks out of work one day and sees a familiar figure loitering outside the station, he freezes.
Leaning against the lamppost is a short man, dressed in a simple cashmere sweater and loose white pants. Fluffy locks of blonde hair frame his rounded face and the sides of his neck, falling into his eyes so much that a small hand tucks some of them behind a pierced ear. His vibrant pink and blue eyes look around anxiously, dainty fingers toying with a golden coin.
No way.
This is not happening right now. Veritas is surely disheveled from laboring over his work all day, he likely has prominent eye bags, his hair is a mess, and his heart is not prepared to deal with all this. The streets are barren and empty at this time of night, so it wouldn’t be easy for him to slip into a crowd and sneak away. Belatedly, he realizes that his next best option is to just backtrack into the station and wait it out. Before he can get far, though, a familiar voice calls out to him.
“Officer!” The man waves at him, gesturing him to come closer. Ah, never mind. Who is he to deny?
He takes a deep breath and does just that, hoping his voice has at least some semblance of calm. “Detective, actually. Is there a problem?”
“As a matter of fact, yes!” The man lets out a soft laugh, and it makes his heart skip a beat. “But first, I believe introductions are in order.”
“How come? Will this problem take up a considerable portion of my time?” Despite himself, Veritas only stops in his tracks when they’re a mere foot apart. It’s way beyond the regular boundaries of personal space, way beyond what a stranger would be okay with. Ah, but they aren’t strangers now, are they?
“Why, yes! It’ll last for a lifetime, depending on what you choose to do.”
“Very well. Go on then.”
“Kakavasha.” A hand comes up to cup the detective’s face, and he leans into the touch instinctively as he drinks in every little syllable with ease. “That is my name.”
“I know.” He says breathlessly, because it’s all he can muster.
“Oh?” Kakavasha’s face lights up, and he is positively radiant. “Have we met before, my darling detective?”
Veritas huffs, averting his gaze lest his eyes burn. “Not like this, no.”
“Then… what’s your name?”
“Veritas Ratio, at your service.”
“My, what a coincidence!” Kakavasha takes a step back so he can rummage through his pockets, and Veritas nearly mourns the loss of physical contact. “You see, the problem is that I had a message to deliver to you specifically.”
Oh. He feels his breath get caught in his throat. “From who?”
The corners of the other man’s mouth twitch up into a small smile. It’s coy, teasing, and knowing. It’s achingly familiar. “From Phantom Thief Aventurine.”
He swallows thickly. “I see.”
He holds his hand out, and an all-too notorious golden card is pressed into his palm. For a moment, he relishes the sensation of being able to hold it again. He runs his touch along its edges, flicks a thumb against the rounded corners and finally lets his eyes run over the contents. Gone is the artwork of the hat and the mask, and the magazine cutouts are nowhere to be seen either. Instead, there is neat handwriting and cute doodles that spell out the message.
Right here, right now. Your heart.
“So…” Kakavasha looks up at him with sparkling eyes, an expectant expression on his face. “What does it say, my darling detective?”
Veritas simply smiles and pulls his little thief closer by the waist, muttering his next words against his lips.
“It says that my little thief had another successful heist.”