The warm spray of the shower cascaded over Matthew’s skin, the steady rhythm of the water offering a brief respite from the chaos in his mind. He leaned his forehead against the cool tiles, letting the stream wash away the grime of the day. Thoughts of Masahiro consumed him… their brief time together, the way Masahiro’s touch had felt like a lifeline, and how those days had been the closest thing to a dream he’d ever known.
But dreams didn’t last, did they?
The faint sound of footsteps reached his ears, and Matthew froze. His body tensed as his mind raced. Was it Cassidy? Had he followed him here? The thought sent a chill down his spine, but he shook it off, focusing on the present. Whatever. It was just Cassidy; he’d deal with it. He turned his attention back to the shower, keeping his ears tuned to the approaching presence.
The footsteps stopped just outside the glass stall.
Matthew’s instinct
Matthew's breath hitched as he watched Masahiro's eyes darken with desire. Masahiro leaned down, capturing Matthew's lips in a tender kiss, before trailing kisses down his neck, leaving a trail of wetness.With a slow, deliberate push, he entered Matthew again, eliciting a soft moan. He paused, giving Matthew a moment to adjust, before pulling out and thrusting back in, setting a slow, sensual rhythm.Matthew's hands roamed over Masahiro's back, tracing the contours of his muscles. He arched his back, pushing himself onto Masahiro's length, seeking more friction. "Yes, Masahiro… just like that," he whispered, his voice hoarse.Masahiro complied, his thrusts becoming more intense. He lifted Matthew's legs onto his shoulders, opening him up further, allowing for deeper penetration. Matthew's eyes fluttered shut as he surrendered to the pleasure, his body moving in sync with Masahiro's.Then, the piercing sound of a ringtone shattered the illusion.Ma
Arthur walked into El Paradiso, the lively hum of the nightclub filling his ears as he stepped through the door. The dim, neon-lit ambiance of the place instantly hit him, and he felt a wave of nostalgia rush over him. His attire for the night… a crisp blazer, a simple but stylish T-shirt beneath, and well-fitted trousers… was on point, just the right balance between casual and sharp. He scanned the crowded space, the vibrant beats of music reverberating around him.At one of the couches by the bar, he spotted Charles and Peter. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he noticed their affectionate position… Peter sitting comfortably on Charles’ lap, both engrossed in each other. It was a bit daring for a public spot, but that was just how they were… bold, carefree, and very much in love. Arthur made his way toward them, feeling a lightness he hadn’t experienced in a while.When he reached their table, he cleared his t
Cassidy leaned back in a plush booth of El Paradiso, the low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses blending into a comforting background. But tonight, the sounds were distant… his mind was elsewhere. Frustration gnawed at him. He’d placed two calls to Matthew, but not once had the phone picked up. It was starting to eat at him.His fingers twitched as he reached for his glass, taking a sip of the amber liquid that burned down his throat. It didn’t help. Nothing helped. He was supposed to be out here, in control, but tonight? Tonight, he was feeling like the man he'd tried so hard not to become… vulnerable.“Another one,” he muttered to the barman, his voice low, strained. The bartender didn’t ask questions, just nodded, sliding another glass across the polished wood.Cassidy pulled out his phone, his thumb flying over the screen as he typed a message to Matthew. `I wanna see you back until tomorrow morning, othe
Arthur took a moment to scan Cassidy up and down, the powerful presence of the man impossible to ignore. Cassidy’s demeanor was all control… his intense eyes, his smirk, the confidence in his movements. Arthur could feel the tension building between them, like an electric current in the air.“It’s your first time here?” Cassidy asked, his voice smooth, probing. “Never saw you here before.”Arthur chuckled, his gaze flicking over Cassidy before meeting his eyes. “What? You live here?”Cassidy leaned in slightly, a glimmer of amusement in his expression. “I’m in the management team.”Arthur raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Interesting. But answering your question... no, I don’t come often.”Cassidy tilted his head, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “So, what made you come here today?” His hand reached out, gently grazing Arthur’s jaw. The
Arthur woke up slowly, the morning light seeping through the gaps in the blinds. His head felt heavy, and his body ached faintly from the night before. Blinking, he turned his head to the other side of the bed, expecting to see Cassidy still there. The space was empty. He frowned, propping himself up on an elbow.“Maybe he’s in the bathroom,” Arthur muttered, his voice rough with sleep.Pushing himself upright, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched. The room was quiet, too quiet. Something felt off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He rubbed his face and got to his feet, his gaze landing on his trousers crumpled on the floor. His phone. He needed to check the time.Arthur crouched down, fishing through his trousers. His hand moved through the pockets, coming up empty.His brow furrowed. “Where the hell…”He stood up, scanning the floor around him. Maybe it had fallen out? He crouche
Matthew stirred, his face buried deep into the pillow, half-dreaming, half-drifting in that pleasant haze of sleep. Then came the incessant buzzing of a cellphone, shattering his peace. His eyelids twitched as he groaned softly, reluctant to wake. He opened one eye, squinting at the empty side of the bed. The faint sound of running water came from the bathroom. Of course, Cassidy was already up. His phone, however, was still ringing, loud and demanding attention. "Cassidy!” Matthew called out, his voice rough from sleep. The water stopped abruptly. A silence lingered before Cassidy’s deep, dangerous voice carried back. “Yeah?” “Your phone is ringing!” There was a pause, then the same commanding tone. “Pick it up!" Matthew frowned, stretching an arm toward the device. As he held it up, he muttered, “New phone,” before answering. “Yeah?” Nothing but silence on the other end. “Hello?”Again, there was nothin
Matthew lay sprawled on the couch, half-watching the TV. The flickering light danced over his face, but his mind was elsewhere. The sound of the door opening caught his attention, and he turned to see Cassidy entering, shrugging off his coat with a calculated ease.Cassidy’s dark gaze fell on Matthew, lingering as if he was trying to read his every thought.“Matthew, I’ll be leaving for NewCastle Upon Tyne soon.”Matthew didn’t bother masking his sarcasm. “What’s the occasion? Vacation? Assassination?”Cassidy smirked, ignoring the barb. “Business. A capo meeting. Annual reports, territory matters, last year’s successes, next year’s plans. You know, the usual.”Matthew snorted. “How riveting. Must be nice to have a full calendar of crimes to discuss.”Cassidy’s smirk widened, and he walked toward the washroom without
Arthur sat at his desk; his brow furrowed as he scribbled notes onto his notepad. Despite the calm atmosphere in the office, his thoughts were anything but. Every noise around him felt amplified… the faint hum of the overhead lights, the shuffle of papers, the clicking of Masahiro’s pen as he worked at his desk. Arthur stole a glance at his boss, Masahiro, who looked as composed and sharp as ever, completely immersed in his work.The sound of a knock at the door broke the rhythm.Masahiro, without looking up, called out, “Come in.”The door creaked open, and Masahiro’s secretary stepped inside. Her heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as she approached his desk.“Good morning, sir,” she said politely, holding out an envelope. “This just arrived from the Newcastle Police Station.”Masahiro looked up and took the envelope from her with a nod. “Oh, it ca
The apartment door clicked shut behind them.Clark dropped his coat on the entryway bench with an exaggerated sigh and muttered, “I am emotionally exhausted. And not in a sexy, Victorian-tragedy kind of way. I mean in the ‘my feet hurt and my soul’s tired’ kind of way.”Adam, already heading for the kitchen, tossed back, “Then take your heels off, sweetheart.”Clark gave him a long, dry look. “They are Italian leather Oxfords. But yes, thank you, masculine voice of reason.”Adam opened the fridge, grabbed leftover rice, and dumped it unceremoniously into a pan. A beat passed, then the stove clicked to life. Clark wandered in behind him, slower, more graceful, toeing off his shoes like someone doing a product demo.“You’re cooking,” Clark said with a soft note of surprise.“I’m heating shit up.”“For you or for both of us?”Adam didn’t look up. “Depends. You gonna whine the whole time?”Clark leaned against the counter, resting his chin in his hand. “Maybe. Depends. Are you going to be
The apartment door shut behind them with a soft click. Masahiro shrugged off his coat and hung it by the door with mechanical efficiency. Matthew kicked his boots off lazily and dropped his keys into the bowl by the counter, same routine as always.Masahiro passed him in the hallway, unbothered. "I’m showering."Matthew nodded, grabbed a soda from the fridge, cracked it open. Silence stretched while the water started running. When Masahiro emerged ten minutes later, hair damp and towel slung around his neck, Matthew was still at the counter, drinking slowly.“We gonna talk about it?” Matthew asked without looking up.Masahiro paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “About what.”“Yumi.” Matthew turned now. Arms folded. Voice calm, but not playful. “How she thinks I sleep in your guest room because of some old undercover job we did. And you let her think that. Still.”Masahiro dried his hands with the towel, avoiding his eyes. “It’s easier.”“Easier for who?”Masahiro didn’t answer.Matthew
The restaurant doors swung shut behind them, sealing in the scent of roasted garlic and expensive regret. The parking lot buzzed with leftover heat from the day, a few stray voices in the distance, heels clicking on pavement.Clark walked ahead with Masahiro, steps crisp, back straight, his fingers adjusting his sleeves as if court decorum extended into the streets. Masahiro matched his pace effortlessly—hands tucked into his coat pockets, eyes cold and precise as always."So," Masahiro said without looking at him, "how do you see the trial ending?"Clark didn’t hesitate. "Nathaniel will walk. Probably with a statement read by a trembling clerk and a jury that wants to forget the word 'testimony' for the rest of their lives."Masahiro gave a slow nod. "You're confident.""I'm always confident," Clark replied, the corner of his mouth twitching. "The difference is whether I admit it out loud."Masahiro’s eyes flicked to him, a hint of dry amusement. "You just did."Clark adjusted his gl
Matthew didn’t wait for an invitation—just dropped into the chair across from Clark like he owned it.Masahiro sat beside him with all the enthusiasm of a man attending a funeral, pulling out his phone before the chair even touched the floor.Matthew grinned, eyes on Clark. “You two are cute. The bodyguard act? Adorable. But let’s not pretend you’re not fucking like a side plot to a very illegal soap opera.”Clark, unbothered, lifted his wineglass with practiced elegance. “And you’re talking like a man who’s only slept with criminals and delusions.”Matthew’s grin widened. “Facts.”Adam didn’t look up. Just kept eating his burger like nothing in the room concerned him.“Adam’s real quiet today,” Matthew added, leaning his chin on his palm. “All those hickeys drain your vocabulary?”Clark sliced a piece of venison with clean, silent precision. “Some of us have class. Others… wear too much cologne and overshare.”Masahiro didn’t even glance up. “Don’t e
The trial day had ended with the defense soaring and the prosecution bleeding.Masahiro, Arthur, and Matthew stood in the hallway, a loose cluster of tension and exhaustion. Arthur clutched a half-empty water bottle, his fingers still shaking from the witness stand. Masahiro stood tall and unreadable, as always.Matthew looked like he’d just come out of a concert—buzzing, amused, and entirely too observant.Clark approached with that predator-still-in-courtroom calm, suit untouched, expression cool. Adam was behind him, one step back, hands in his pockets, saying nothing—like always.“Hell of a show,” Matthew said as Clark joined them. “You made that prosecutor look like she was reciting a grocery list under threat.”Clark only lifted a brow. “She wasn’t worth more than that.”Masahiro gave a nod. “Strong performance.”Arthur murmured, “Nathaniel might actually walk…”Clark nodded slightly. “Let’s not jinx it.”They stood there for a beat.The
The door shut behind them with a soft, echoing click.Clark didn’t speak. Neither did Nathaniel.For a long moment, they just stood there in the defense room—alone, away from the murmuring gallery and the jury’s blank stares.Clark finally moved.He set his notes down on the table, reached up, and took off his glasses. Not dramatically. Just… tired.His fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose like he could squeeze the tension out through his skull.Nathaniel watched him.Still in his seat. Back straight. Calm in the way someone learns from spending time around chaos.“You didn’t have to say all that,” Nathaniel said quietly.Clark dropped his hand. Didn’t look at him yet. “Yeah, well. I did.”“You made me sound like a hero.”Clark finally glanced up. The fatigue didn’t soften his tone. “No. I made you sound like a man who didn’t fire a gun.”Nathaniel gave a small, humorless laugh. “Still a lie.”Clark sat down slowly across from
The courtroom felt colder.Not physically—just… off.Like every breath Clark took was being measured in decibels.Like the walls were closer.The gallery buzzed with quiet anticipation—reporters in tailored neutral, pens ready to cut. Matthew sat on the far end, half-scowling. Arthur hovered near Masahiro, face unreadable.Nathaniel sat beside Clark—still, calm, like he didn’t feel the pressure digging into the back of his spine.And Clark?Perfect.Tie sharp. Glasses gleaming. Posture textbook.Only Adam saw the truth.His tie was straight, but his breath was shallow. That wasn’t confidence. That was survival.Adam watched from the last bench, arms folded.Motionless. But primed.At the front of the courtroom, Diana Halvorsen stood like she’d built the place.Flawless blonde hair, heels like blades, voice clear as verdicts.She turned to the jury with clinical poise.“Let’s talk about narrative.”“You want to paint Bishop as a savior’s assistant?” she asked, voice smooth. “Then tell
Arthur sat at his desk, staring at the clock.3:59 PM.He shifted in his chair. Cleared his throat. Glanced at the file in front of him, then at Masahiro—just across the room, seated, silent, flipping through a thick report with surgical focus.Arthur hesitated.Then looked again.Masahiro didn’t look up. Not immediately. Just turned another page with that same eerie calm.Then, without raising his voice or his head, he said, “I know exactly what you want.”Arthur straightened. “I—uh—what?”Masahiro looked at him now. Direct. Sharp. “You want to visit Cassidy.”Arthur’s ears burned. “Sir, I was going to—”“You’re allowed,” Masahiro interrupted. “Go.”Arthur blinked. “Really?”Masahiro returned to his file. “You’ll be back before shift ends.”Arthur nodded quickly, standing. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”Masahiro said nothing more.Arthur cleaned his desk—neatly, as always—then grabbed his coat and bag. He moved quickly but tried n
Adam got up from the couch and tugged the curtain back.Clark was outside on the balcony, sitting on the tile floor like it wasn’t cold, wearing nothing but Adam’s hoodie. Legs bare. Hair a mess. Staring at the skyline like it had wronged him.Adam slid the glass door open. Leaned against the frame.“You really gonna sit out there half-naked like a damn raccoon in a hoodie?”Clark didn’t look over. “What do you care?”“I don’t.” Adam stepped out. “Just don’t want to explain to Masahiro why you froze your ass off in my perimeter.”Clark exhaled through his nose. “I’m not cold.”“You’re barefoot on stone, dumbass.”Clark muttered, “I’m not here for a fashion lecture.”Adam didn’t rise to it. Just crouched beside him, arms on his knees, voice low. Calm. But with that steel under it.“You need a signal.”Clark blinked. “What?”“In public. Court. Crowd. Whatever. You’re too proud to say ‘help.’ So don’t. Just tap.”Clark stared at him.