The instant the sun shone into his dark eyes, there was one thing on his mind. It wasn't really a thing, mind you. It was a name. However, he would not let his dry lips form the name, for it was ridiculous to be thinking of the particular name. Because he was in love with only two things: Fujiko and money. The name had nothing to do with Fujiko or money, though at the time he'd had as much fun as he would on a heist, or at least that was what he thought. It had to be one of them, right? Someone had to lose, and Lupin III never lost, even when it cost him everything. But it didn't, because he loved Fujiko and money.

On occasion, he would show care for his partners, because they were important to his job. They were his friends. They watched after his ass when he couldn't. They were important. They were like brothers. Fujiko, money, Goemon, and Jigen. And once in a while, Zenigata, because they had an unspoken rule between them that he wouldn't break even if it were non-existant. Nothing else mattered; other than himself, of course. So why did his eyes lie to him when he woke up and had blurred vision and moisture running down his cheeks at an alarming rate? He wiped them away, telling them they couldn't be there. They had no reason to. They were derived of lies.

Sometimes, he would awaken and Fujiko's arms would be around him. She told him it was because he had nightmares and asked what they were about, but he couldn't tell her because they didn't make sense. She seemed too worried about him. Too worried to be Fujiko, the girl that gave him the endless chase he, despite what trouble it caused, wanted and thouroughly enjoyed. But after a while, he'd stopped enjoying it, and she'd stopped running. He'd thought then that Jigen had gotten through to him, and maybe her too, but that didn't feel right.

Goemon and Jigen treated him differently. Jigen had discovered how red in the face Lupin got when he saw eggs. Jigen thought it was a fear or an allergy, because Lupin wouldn't tell him what it really was, so he used it as a secret weapon, which he appeared to like having far too much until the day he filled Lupin's bed with them and found the thief crying shortly afterward. It was a fear, Lupin realized, because there was no other reason for him to be crying. Jigen hadn't spoken of it since, but he got weird looks every now and then. He didn't know when Goemon had started being different, but it was almost as if he sensed something the others didn't, but that was likely the samurai reading into things too much and misunderstanding things like he had a habit of doing, as far as Lupin was concerned.

They didn't work as much, and hadn't in a while. Zenigata was off the Lupin case, needing something more consistant. Lupin had been replaced. The last time he'd seen the detective, it was at a bar. Lupin was almost drunk, but not completely because he was Lupin, and Zenigata entered the place with his wife. Lupin had hardly said a thing, but Zenigata talked to him like a normal human being rather than a criminal, and he didn't know why. He didn't remember what was said either, but he did remember the look of pity that was recieved, and it wasn't by Zenigata. He didn't understand it and never had.

Lupin flopped out of bed. Something was wrong. No, everything was. Why did his eyes lie to him? His dreams? Why did Fujiko, Jigen, and Goemon lie to him? Why did Zenigata give him what he didn't need and never did? Could it be that he was trapped by a foe, locked into a fake world that was untruthful? Or was the world really that twisted and cruel? Or maybe, just possibly, it wasn't the world that was wrong, but him. How could he be wrong? He was Lupin III. He was a master thief, best in the world. He was. He'd been replaced. How? Was it his fault?

He fell onto his knees. His hands were trembling as they were lifted closer to see. Why was everyone lying? Why was his mind lying? Why couldn't they see that he loved Fujiko? That he definitely was not gay? That he did not love Mamou?

He gasped...

The waterfall of tears came down faster. They soaked his cheeks and didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. He pounded his fists onto the floor, as if that would bring his love back. Why was it that he couldn't love Fujiko like he wanted to? Why did he have to want--no, need the unattainable? And it wasn't just that the person despised him, but it was his fault he was gone. "Mamou," came the pain whispered of a broken soul. "I'm sorry, Mamou." He ended on a loud sob which he tried to bite off, and failed. And what was the point in stopping himself now?

"I'm sorry that I... that I couldn't tell you. And that your... hated enemy has to-" He cut himself off, unable to go any farther. His fists became well aquainted with the ground because he just didn't care anymore and even though they were raw, red, and painful, there was no way to make it go away, which pissed him off. He knew it didn't make it better, he just couldn't make himself care. He didn't.

"Stop."

The single word had him doing just that. There was a delicate touch-- no, there were touches. One on his chin, forcing him to look up, a consistant one through his hair. Warmth. However, as soon as the tears had stopped, they started again, more vicious than before. He could only utter one word. "How?"

"You forget who I am. Somewhere, I knew this was coming."

As Lupin was about to ask more, he was silenced by tender heat sealing his lips, completely at the control of their master, the one that had planted the seal, the one that could massage them all better. He was the one that took away the bitter taste on his tongue and gave him sweetness he'd been missing for years.

He dropped into the embrace of another. It wasn't gentle and it wasn't pain numbing. Sore arms entangled themselves around the perfect figure, his less than perfect form too being wrapped in it. It was painful and it was sour, but it was love, and that was all that mattered.