Chapter Text
i.
It’s raining the first time Haru gets away from him.
Given of course it’s man-made rain due to cause of explosion only inches below the rushing surface of water beneath the highway bridge—but it’s rain nonetheless. It even sets up a series of rainbows flashing over each other to commemorate their first meeting. Light enough it could hardly bother a man of his caliber but could easily drown an ant who didn’t fight hard enough.
Ah, that’s right. Daisuke slips a hand into pocket of his perfectly tailored slacks, observing the scene below him with cool nonchalance. An ant.
The slender little police officer glares daggers up at him from where his fingers barely manage to hold onto the ledge of the bridge. Daisuke gives him some credit—it’s not an unwanted amount of hostility on the first meeting. He’d had his eye on the brown haired man since he threw himself in front of his car, watching those infuriating eyes come into view past the cloud of cigar smoke blown right into his face.
He almost feels like pulling one out right now, just for the grand look of it all.
For such thin looking arms underneath that audaciously ragged jacket, he seemed to be sturdier than he looked. And fast. Fast enough to help that stupid, silly criminal out of the ready-to-blow van, and just determined enough to cling to the bridge before he blew up along with it. Fast enough to slip out of Daisuke’s new car and clamber over the hood of it without any second thoughts, jumping the distance and forcing his way into the car.
Daisuke’s seen plenty run of the mill officers similar to this investigators... brand of justice. He has not met many who live up to their righteous boasts.
Daisuke casually watches the way his fingers flex, scrambling to keep their grip. His arms are trembling, struggling to hold him up while gravity pulls down. There’s a nice, shiny spot of crimson dribbling down between his eyes from where he must’ve gotten hurt jumping out of the car. What a silly man you are. The officer below him bares his teeth, clearly unwilling to bark out the few words anyone else would’ve uttered in a heartbeat to ask Daisuke for his help.
Something stirs in him—a first in a very, very long time brought out by an actual living being, not a nice, very nice car or a good cigar or alcohol. A miniscule, struggling person at his feet.
Satisfaction.
Daisuke likes to feel satisfied.
He’s got nice eyes. Daisuke feels his lips start to curl up into a smirk. The investigator’s eyes narrow into slits. Good eyes. There aren’t many men in this world with eyes like that—that makes this investigator one of a kind, like a limited edition release.
And Daisuke’s always liked to be the only one to have something. What good is a rarity if it could belong to anyone else?
He wonders just how long this bold investigator can hold out—he was going to pull him up, honestly. Eventually. Perhaps after a few more minutes of watching his arms tremble and his face strain and reveling in the pure and utter satisfaction of watching this man he’d only just met struggle at his feet because for some inexplicable good sense, Daisuke feels it will be a touch difficult to witness such satisfaction again.
When the investigator’s fingers start to give out, Daisuke takes a step forward, smooth enough to show his casual intent—and perhaps that’s what does it.
The investigator’s eyes narrow into slits, he scowls, fiercely up at him, and before Daisuke can even revel in that—he lets go, allowing himself to fall.
(He gets away.)
Daisuke calmly blinks, utterly unaffected or unmoved as the investigator plummets down into the river. He hardly watches the bubbling surface until the soft, barely colored head pops back up.
“HEUSC,” he says. “Tell me a bit about that detective.”
And he slides into the car he’d just bought for a billion yen and drives back down without another word.
ii.
The second time Haru gets away is due to a slight miscalculation.
“Let Teppei deal with him! All he does is gamble anyway—maybe they’ll even get along.”
Daisuke pauses just a finger away from opening up the door to Kiyomizu’s office. He raises a thin, fine brow, graciously taking in the sound of Katou Haru’s voice from the other side of the thin wood—cheap wood, Daisuke notes, as essentially all the items in this floor of the office are. He ought to do some refurbishing for his own sake.
It’s utterly clear who Haru is referring to. Haru and not Katou because Daisuke deems them on a perfectly one-sided first name basis—they shared his first little run with this group together after all, no? The first time he said Haru he was given the amusing show of watching Haru get worked up into a storm, hissing and spitting at him while the others held him back like some kind of misbehaved cat.
Daisuke does not mind cats. He prefers the stupid, blind loyalty and obedience dogs can bring to him, but he finds it amusing the way cats like to play the act of indifference. They wander, stray, and do as they please but at the end of the day—they know exactly whose house they must return to.
Haru and Daisuke are partners now, and of course it’s because of Daisuke’s own interference to and otherwise jolly Kiyomizu. Out of the entire band of ragtag, sorry chums left behind by the police in this... charming floor—Haru is the only one he will entertain the idea of.
“I think the two of you get along well!” Kiyomizu says happily from the other side. Daisuke finds the jovial man a touch useful after all, if only for moments like this. “You’re our best Haru-kun, I think you can really bring Kambe-san right up to speed with us.”
“Oh, he doesn’t need to get caught up,” Haru spits. Daisuke smirks. “He needs to leave. Just put me back with—“
Daisuke opens the door without much care. Kiyomizu looks up in surprise and Daisuke watches Haru’s back, relishing in the satisfaction of see the man jump near clean out of his chair. Haru’s head whips around quickly latching back onto him and his eyes narrow, lips pulling back into that scowl that really, really does not do wonders to his face. Haru’s not hideous, but he could do well to offer a charming little smile more, truly.
Haru doesn’t look the slightest bit guilty or ashamed, perfectly fine with Daisuke knowing just how much he despises him and the very thought of being with him beyond the few inches from their desk.
Fine, Daisuke smiles, slow—it’s practically a smirk. By me.
“Kambe-san,” Kiyomizu greets warmly. “I wasn’t expecting you. Is something wrong?”
“Not at all,” Daisuke says smoothly. He relishes in the heat of Haru’s gaze burning holes into the side of his head. He’s been stared at by much, much worst. “I only wanted permission to go over some records.”
“Permission?” Haru mutters darkly. “Since when have you ever asked for permission?”
Daisuke smiles, slow. Haru’s brows furrow and he sits up a little straighter in his chair, as if subconsciously sensing danger. Daisuke doesn’t take his eyes off the other man as he says without batting an eye, “I always check for consent before I lay my hands on anything.”
Haru’s frown deepens, looking more annoyed, Daisuke easily gathers that those words have flown completely over his head—not that he expected much else, one look at the man and Daisuke knew exactly what he was dealing with.
He will have fun with this.
(More fun than he has had in quite, quite some time.
“Oh, this is wonderful, we can talk this out right now!” Kiyomizu says, looking at Haru. The other man blinks in disbelief, looking horrified by the notion. “—let me grab some coffee for all of us.”
“W-Wait a second—“ Haru starts.
“Black,” Daisuke says automatically, cutting the other man off. “A pour over will do.”
“Oho, I like your style!” Kiyomizu slides right out from his desk, walking amiably past a gaping Haru and Daisuke steps clear into the room, holding the door open for Kiyomizu as he leaves. “I’ll be right back you two!”
Daisuke nods, waiting until the man is clear before he lets the door knob release between his fingers, swinging shut with an audible, satisfying click.
His dark eyes swing right back to Haru. He watches the other detective’s brows furrow deeper, follows how his lips pull back into a snarl again, baring his teeth at him. Daisuke’s smile widens, as harmless as a tiger.
“I’m hurt,” Daisuke says, even though he is not hurt at all. Haru’s scowl deepens. “I thought we’d hit it off as partners.”
“Yeah, hit it off alright,” Haru snaps. Daisuke steps deeper into the office, slow and deliberate, taking his time in studying the side of Haru’s face, the soft ends of his hair and the thinly exposed expanse of his neck. “Don’t care what Kiyomizu-san says, I’m gonna push for it.”
“Of course,” Daisuke says. “And I’m sure no amount of...” he walks, allowing his path to follow behind Haru’s chair. He pauses there, a foot away from the man and he observes as Haru doesn’t even stiffen at his presence behind him—as though he were used to interrogations of this sort. “Monetary compensation would change your mind either?”
“Hah!” Haru looks as though Daisuke’s validated every point he could ever make. And of course, Daisuke absolutely has—he has to give Haru a few inches to work with, you lose the line a little before you pull. “This is exactly what I’m talking about—paying someone to be your partner?”
Tight leashes are no fun, after all.
“It’s worked before,” Daisuke says, casually making his way to the edge of Kiyomizu’s desk since Haru refuses to turn around. Haru’s still too focused on glaring at the edge of the desk like it will solve all his problems. “If not monetary, what else can I offer to make this partnership worth your while?”
“Worth my...” Haru pinches the bridge of his nose. “There isn’t much, you can count on that.”
Daisuke slides into the space between Haru’s chair and the desk, leaning back against the wood. Not as cheap, but still very, very cheap. He gets a better look at Haru’s features now too, watching the deep little furrow of his brows, the utter loathing that seems to radiate off him in waves that bounce useless off his expensive suit. Haru will need at least 5,000,000 yen more worth of loathing to even scratch a button.
There’s something about the way Haru furrows his brows that fascinates him—he hasn’t quite put a finger on what that is yet.
“You don’t seem to entirely be lacking in intelligence,” Daisuke says airily. He watches the vein throb on Haru’s head. “I’m sure you could think of something.”
“Sure,” Haru snips back. “I’ll think of a few. How about a transfer?”
Daisuke smiles, like entertaining the thoughts of a toddler. He spreads his legs as he leans back against the desk, Haru’s knees tucked tight to each other as he sits in the chair across from him—it’s a big, plush old thing that fits Kiyomizu’s image and makes Haru look smaller. Daisuke watches his shiny leather shoes slide a bit across the wood until his stance has Haru between them.
“A transfer. To where?”
Haru smirks right up at him, eyes flashing aggressively. Ah, there are those eyes again. Haru always looks at him with such hard eyes—he wonders how soft they can become.
(Unraveled—)
“First division,” Haru says, spitting the first out. Ah, yes, there’s some bad blood there Daisuke’s having his own fun unearthing. “Second. Third. Whichever one you want. I bet it can’t be hard to swindle your way in.”
“Fine,” Daisuke says.
Haru’s lips had been parted for another scathing retort but they promptly sputter when he realizes what Daisuke’s said. Haru’s eyes bulge, growing wide in disbelief and Daisuke watches in pure, lazy amusement as Haru starts to get a little excited, expression brightening. “W-What?”
“I’ll transfer,” Daisuke says. Haru’s face is one of complete disbelief. “If you transfer with me.”
Haru looks as though he’s just dumped a bucket of ice water on him—not unlike their first meeting. Daisuke smiles, that nice, polite smile he can flash as easy as breathing that’s not very nice at all. “Go screw yourself.”
“How about I make a suggestion?” Daisuke says smoothly. Haru huffs unhappily, looking over to the door, begging Kiyomizu to return. Daisuke’s already calculated it’ll take the man several more minutes at his leisurely pace before coming back. “To make this partnership work?”
“Oh, yeah?” Haru says bitterly. “And what suggestion would that be?”
“I just have to show you my worth as an able partner, right?”
Daisuke smiles again, he makes it a much more genuine one. Haru stops, looking at him with wide eyes, clearly unable to believe it but of course, of course Haru will. Because if there’s anything Daisuke know—and he knows much—it’s that warm-hearted fools like Haru will always give the most despicable people a chance if they push the right buttons, play the right words.
“...well, you’re not going to be able to do that by throwing money around like—woah!”
Daisuke’s foot lodged itself under Haru’s chair, lifting it up several inches and tipping it backwards. Haru’s hands grab the arms of the chair instinctively, feet kicking out as Daisuke takes a calm step forward, all in one motion, and places himself neatly between Haru’s legs, standing, calm and cool while Haru splutters, trying not to fall back and out of the chair. “What the hell—“
Panicked is a good look on Haru. So is angry.
“Don’t worry, Haru,” Daisuke says. Haru snarls at him, frantically trying not to fall backwards and out of the chair as Daisuke leans forward an inch. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Daisuke considers the distance between the two of them. He considers Haru’s infuriated face and decides perhaps he hasn’t tested just enough.
So Daisuke takes one more even step forward.
And that seems to do it—Haru promptly jerks back, as eager to escape the vicinity between the two of them as he possibly can be—and ensures his own clumsy demise. The chair tips back the rest of the way without Daisuke’s help, and the ebony haired detective watches in smooth nonchalance as Haru tumbles to the floor with an obscene squawk.
Daisuke calmly tips the chair back into place with the tip of his foot. Haru scowls, huffing as he props himself up on his hands, jerking his head around to Daisuke. “If you’re looking for a fight—“
Daisuke slowly, darkly considers Haru’s form sprawled on the floor, legs folded up under him while he turns back on his hands like some wronged lover kicked out of the apartment in the middle of the night.
There’s something about this look Daisuke finds himself liking, but he can’t quite put a finger on what that is just yet either. Perhaps he should find out.
The door opens to the warm smell of coffee and Kiyomizu’s smiling face. “Sorry for the wait, you two! Here, I’ve got our coffees—oh! Haru-kun! What are you doing on the floor?”
“I fell,” Haru spits, standing up and brushing dust off his pants. He shoots a calm, breezy Daisuke the most venomous look he can muster and marches off, ripping the door open. “Bye Kiyomizu-san, I’m going to finish those reports.”
“I thought you wanted to—“ he winces when Haru slams the door shut and Daisuke doesn’t even blink. “Oh, my. Maybe he needs that day off more than I thought. Haru-kun works too hard.”
“...Kiyomizu,” Daisuke says and the older man turns to him with a jovial smile. “How long would you say it takes you to walk to the breakroom?”
“Hmm? The breakroom? Maybe... ten minutes or so? I put a little hustle into it today!”
“I see.”
(A minor miscalculation. No matter.)
iii.
The third time Haru gets away is because of a criminal.
“What the hell did I do in my past life to end up in a situation like this with you?”
Daisuke entertains him with an answer, “Perhaps an uncanny amount of good.”
Haru scowls, such a deep, angry frown that makes his brows crease in that curious way Daisuke has taken to noticing. The two of them were following after an armed robber about to upstage the first division from a bit of wisely leaked information—but of course, as always, Daisuke and Haru are one step ahead of anyone else when the two of them put their minds to it. The only hitch to the plan was the dumbwaiter shaft breaking on them, leaving the two lodged at the bottom of the shaft’s floor while Haru kept the wood of the shaft box from sitting on top of their heads with his feet.
Haru’s legs are propped up against the wall behind them, so he doesn’t have to work too hard to keep the box from landing on their heads. His back is sprawled against the floor of the shaft, scrunched up uncomfortably with his head touching the other side of the wall while his hands brace either side. Being stuck here wouldn’t be as terrible as it was if he was stuck with positively anyone else—Mahoro, even Shinnosuke.
But, of course he’s stuck with fucking Daisuke because they’re partners and for some ungodly reason, Daisuke didn’t let him topple down the shaft by himself—he had to go crashing after him after trying to grab Haru’s foot and falling through as well.
It’s a small, tight space, as all dumbwaiter shafts usually are, forcing the two of them right together.
Which leaves Daisuke’s position—face lax, almost unbothered as he kneels between Haru’s legs, having coaxed them a little further apart for more room—“Don’t touch me, bastard!” “Now, Haru, I simply don’t want to be crushed.”—and his hands on either side of Haru’s head, hovering over his partner.
Daisuke’s dark eyes have been calmly observing their space, moving his hands freely along the stone walls, searching for a way out while Haru spits out the occasional snappy retort that Daisuke humors just because he can.
Haru hates how god damn close he has to be to this bastard. He smells like rich cologne and cigars. And something else. God forbid he ever knows what it is—he doesn’t even care.
Daisuke blinks calmly, occasionally shifting between Haru’s legs, his knees right beside his ass. Every now and then he looks at Haru who just snarls right back at him for even looking.
“Can you reach my phone?” Haru suddenly says, brightening at the idea. Daisuke’s eyes lazily flicker back to him, almost half-lidded. “My right pocket.”
“Pants or jacket?” Daisuke asks.
“Pants,” Haru says. “Teppei should be waiting outside still when we flush them out. Maybe he can sneak around back and pull the box back up so we can get out the first opening.”
There’s a door right in front of them, but it seems wedged shut from the inside. Someone outside would have to pry it open. Daisuke considers his words for a moment before he reaches a hand down between them.
The tips of his fingers brush over the soft white cotton of Haru’s shirt, trailing down past his buttons. Haru ignores it, focusing on moving his legs to find a more comfortable position while keeping this box propped over them. Daisuke keeps his eyes focused on Haru’s face, taking note of the long flutter of his lashes—light colored like his hair. He considers the seemingly permanent furrow of his brows, the light pink on his cheeks from the tight air and fall.
No, Daisuke surmises. Haru is not hideous at all. He has potential—which only makes sense, because Daisuke deserves only, only the best. He won’t settle for less.
Daisuke’s hand presses down against Haru’s hip, still light. Haru’s eyes are trained above his head where his fingers are still trying to work at the door behind them, seeing if he can weasel his fingers through. Daisuke feels a small smirk tug the corners of his lips as he lets his fingers rest there before giving Haru’s hip an experimental squeeze.
Slender hips. How fitting.
Haru blinks but doesn’t look fazed—that makes this a touch more fun for Daisuke. “Back pocket—can you reach?”
“I need you to lift your hips a bit,” Daisuke says smoothly. Haru scowls, simply because he has to do something for him, but obediently lifts his hips.
“Better,” Daisuke praises, his voice is low, like velvet. So you can be good. Haru’s brows furrow slightly, his fingers barely wedging through the gap of the shaft door. Daisuke leans forward, shifting his weight to his knees while he brings his other hand down to the other side of Haru’s hip, holding it there with a ghost of a touch. Not yet. The best catches were made when unaware.
His other hand did as it was supposed to do, sliding under Haru and touching his back pocket. Haru frowned, shifting his hips in an attempt to get less contact. “It’s not exactly hiding—“
Haru momentarily freezes. He blinks, once, twice. Daisuke’s hand is firm, holding his hips up while the other dips into his back pocket, grabbing the phone—exactly like how Haru said, just, just doing what anyone would so then why—
Haru finally realizes just how snug the two of them are. Daisuke’s elbow is keeping one of Haru’s knees apart so it doesn’t bump into his head. Daisuke’s hips, firm, are pressed tightly to his, bring their lower halves flushed together aside from the minuscule layer of clothes between them. It’s hot. Air is tight in this shaft and the damn space is cramped enough, but god damn it he doesn’t need to be any closer to the guy than this! What would someone say if they saw the two of them?
Haru starts blinking rapidly. No, there’s something off about this. He can’t quite put his finger on it—
Daisuke watches Haru below him, eyes dark, lids low—and he revels in the curious confusion swirling openly over Haru’s face. So expressive.
Daisuke finally puts a finger to one of those strange thoughts from before—Haru, angry and flustered on the ground—Haru, below him, under him—it’s a very, very flattering look for the detective.
(Daisuke decides he likes it.)
“Haru,” Daisuke says in that low, dark voice of his, truly velvet. It makes Haru scrunch up his brows in a funny way. “Lift your hips more.”
“Wha—I’m bending over backwards here!” Haru snaps at him. Daisuke looks bored at his complaints and that makes him madder. “How about you try to hold this up and get folded in half like a pretzel—“
Daisuke roughly pushes Haru’s hips up—sliding his hand from his hip to his lower back. Haru almost yelps, jerking in surprise instead at the rough action, spluttering at the stupidly rich man’s audacity. His knees bend further. “You bastard, just grab the damn—“
“You’re more flexible than you look,” Daisuke says, and Haru’s never noticed before but he’s got a funny way of talking that makes it sound like a rumble—a low, buzzing hum. It also feels like a backhanded compliment.
His cologne washes over him. The faint, crisp smell of mint covered only by the heavy tang and bite of cigar smoke. Haru falters, blinking repeatedly when he feels like he’s suddenly getting half a good look at himself.
Haru’s knees are hooked over Daisuke’s shoulders—broader than he expected. He’s practically in the damn guy’s lap, hips pressed snug as Daisuke leans over him, one hand still pressed firmly to his lower back, raising him up while Daisuke’s other hand, clutching his phone now sits on his stomach. If he makes one fucking joke—I’m gonna kill him. Haru finally looks up and he balks, face pale.
Daisuke’s expression isn’t one of disgust or condescending—it’s unreadable. Haru doesn’t know why, but he’s hearing those warning bells again—danger, danger, danger—like it’s supposed to save him from—
“...Haru,” Daisuke says, sounding completely and utterly calm. Haru suddenly wonders if he’s just going crazy from the claustrophobia. Daisuke sets his phone down on Haru’s stomach, using his lower abdomen like a table. It pisses him off in the back of his head. “Passcode?”
“P-Passcode,” Haru’s fingers slip against the wedge he had on the door. “Uh—five, seven—“ Haru feels that weird little fear spike up when Daisuke doesn’t once take his eyes off his face, focused on a specific spot—his chin? Was there something on his chin? Daisuke’s hand presses harder against his lower back. “Five, seven—“
“Seven,” Daisuke presses. Is he even looking at the screen? Did his voice always sound this husky?
“S-Seven, six—“
The door to the lower shaft is torn open. Haru’s head swings back, mouth falling open in disbelief while Daisuke eyes darken, brows creasing, ever so slightly as his hand fists the fabric of Haru’s jacket against his lower back.
The thief stares right back at them, eyes bulging from his head.
“W-What the hell—“
Daisuke reaches forward, hand striking like a snake, and slams the robber’s head against the wall. He crumples to the floor, dropping the sack of jewels.
“H-Hah!” Haru shouts, quickly scrambling forward, flailing wildly under Daisuke. The ebony haired man above him doesn’t look particularly amused, grabbing Haru’s knee before it decks him in the chin as Haru pulls himself out of the shaft. Daisuke releases his grip on the lower part of his jacket at the very last second. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
Haru finally pulls free, falling flat on his face. Daisuke pushes the box above them up with a light tap and slides out himself. The box crashes down with a shudder to where they were and before Daisuke can say anything, Haru’s already on the phone, speaking animatedly with the group over the lucky capture.
Daisuke makes sure no one notices when he shoves the crook’s head into the police car with a little more force than necessary, puffing on his cigar and watching Haru smile like an idiot as the family who owned the jewels thanks their group profusely. He casually taps out his ashes onto the head of the thief, ignoring his hiss of pain as Haru hurriedly waves him over and Daisuke walks, taking his time until he stands beside Haru and the family thanks him too.