Arthur knocked on the door to Masahiro’s room, shifting his weight as he waited. He glanced at his watch. `Maybe I should’ve waited till breakfast… But Masahiro didn’t seem like the type to oversleep. ´ Arthur figured he’d be up and ready to tackle the day, as always.
Inside, Masahiro stirred awake, frowning at the sound of the knock. "Who is it at this hour?" he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Beside him, Matthew groaned softly, burying his face deeper into the pillow.
"Go back to sleep," Masahiro murmured to him. He slipped into his sleeping pants, running a hand through his messy hair as he walked to the door.
When the door opened, Arthur greeted him with his usual boyish smile. "Morning, boss! I, uh, just wanted to let you know—might be late for checkout if we don’t get moving. Didn’t want you caught off guard."
As he spoke, his gaze shifted to the floor, and his jaw nearly dropped. Clo
Matthew was lounging on the couch, his legs stretched out, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. The peaceful moment was interrupted by the familiar ring of his phone. Seeing Masahiro's name on the screen, Matthew smiled faintly and picked up."Hey," Masahiro’s voice came through the line, steady but warm."Hey, clingy detective," Matthew teased, his tone light. "We were together just yesterday. What's it now?"Masahiro chuckled. "I’ve been thinking...""Oh? That’s dangerous," Matthew joked. "What’s on your mind?""Next two weeks, Middlesbrough is playing Bristol," Masahiro said. "We should go."Matthew rolled his eyes. "Geez... you know I’m not into football, right?""C'mon. It’s going to be fun," Masahiro coaxed. "Good atmosphere, good food, and maybe I’ll get to see you cheer for once.""I’ll think about it," Matthew said with a mock sigh.Just then, Matthew’
Cassidy sat behind the desk in his office, the papers sprawled out in front of him. His fingers skimmed over reports, calculating profits, losses, territories... his empire. As capo of nightlife operations, every nightclub, casino, and bar in his realm had to be accounted for. His mind was sharp, calculating. But underneath it all, there was something else gnawing at him... a sense of restlessness. The knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. “Get in,” he commanded, voice steady but tinged with anticipation. The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside, his eyes focused, every movement precise. “Sir,” the man greeted, his tone respectful but sharp. Cassidy looked up, his gaze cold and measured. The man stood in the doorway, his appearance a perfect embodiment of a capo’s enforcer—sleek, sharp, and unyielding. His tailored black suit fit him like a second skin, the fabric crisp a
Cassidy leaned casually against the doorframe, his sharp suit pristine despite the fire in his eyes. He was eerily calm, the kind of calm that promised chaos beneath the surface. His voice was low and deliberate. “So, it was you?”Masahiro stood in the doorway, his expression didn’t falter as he met Cassidy’s gaze head-on. "You’ll have to be more specific," Masahiro replied, his tone light but cutting. "I’m many things to many people."Cassidy’s lips curled into a predatory grin. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’m talking about that call. The one where you decided to play coy while answering my boyfriend’s phone.”Masahiro leaned against the doorframe, his smirk widening as though Cassidy’s words were amusing. “Ah, that call. Funny, I thought you’d let it slide. Guess I overestimated you.”Cassidy stepped forward, his movements slow and controlled, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Where is he?” he asked, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “I know he’s here.”
Masahiro sat on his couch, the TV flickering with muted images as he sipped his coffee. His casual t-shirt and pants did nothing to downplay his commanding aura, his presence filling the room even in stillness. The sharp knock at the door disrupted his peace.Setting his mug down deliberately, Masahiro rose and walked to the door, his movements slow and precise, like a predator assessing its prey. Opening it, he found Cassidy standing there, dressed sharply in his usual tailored suit, a smug smile playing on his lips.“You again,” Masahiro said flatly, his tone devoid of interest but heavy with disdain.Cassidy’s smile widened. “I want to talk. Just the two of us. Man to man.”Masahiro’s eyes flicked over him, sizing him up from his polished shoes to the smirk on his lips. “Man to man, huh? You don’t have a gun on you, do you?”Cassidy’s smirk twisted into something darker as he patted his suit jacket and trousers with theatrical exaggeration. “No weapons this ti
Masahiro sat on the edge of his bed, his laptop open in front of him, his mind focused on the screen as he scrolled through case files. The quiet hum of the hotel room added to the atmosphere of calm that had settled over him in the few days since he’d arrived in Newcastle.His phone that quiet sat on the bedside table buzzed suddenly, the cheerful ringtone cutting through the quiet. He glanced at the screen and saw Yumi’s name flashing. A small, fond smile tugged at his lips as he picked up the call.“Masahiro! Ohayou!” Yumi’s voice burst through the line, as lively and infectious as ever. “How’s my favorite cousin doing?”He leaned back in his chair, feeling a little lighter already. “I’m fine, Yumi. What’s going on?”“Well,” she began, a hint of excitement in her voice, “I was thinking, maybe we could catch up? How about a coffee? I’m free right now!”
Cassidy sat at his polished desk, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface as he sifted through the stack of paperwork in front of him. He had almost forgotten about it… Arthur’s wallet.He opened the drawer slowly, the smooth wood creaking slightly. Inside, neatly tucked away in the corner, lay the familiar brown leather wallet. Cassidy’s lips curled into a smirk.“Guess I should call him,” he muttered to himself, his fingers hovering over the phone on his desk. It only took a moment before he grabbed it and dialed Arthur’s number.The phone rang twice before Arthur picked up, his voice clear but slightly disoriented.“Arthur speaking.”“Hey, Arthur… Cassidy here,” Cassidy greeted, leaning back in his chair, his tone casual, but with a hint of amusement.Arthur’s voice faltered for a second. “Ah… You.”Cassidy chuckled softly. “I got
Arthur pushed open the doors of El Paradiso, the pulse of music and chatter washing over him. He adjusted his jacket and surveyed the room, eyes landing on Cassidy in a private booth. The man sat back in his seat, casually swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, his presence dominating the space like a magnet drawing attention from every direction. The usual smug smirk was plastered on his face, and it made Arthur’s irritation flare.Arthur squared his shoulders and marched over to the booth, irritation lining his every step. Cassidy looked up as he approached, that lazy smile never leaving his face.“Where’s my wallet? It’s late, and I’ve got an early morning. Unlike you, I have work.”Cassidy leaned back even further, savoring the moment before lifting his hand to pull something from his coat. With a flourish, he set Arthur’s ID card down on the table like a prize.Arthur froze, his gaze fixating on the card. H
It was a crisp, energetic afternoon, and the stadium buzzed with excitement as the long-awaited match between Bristol and Middlesbrough FC was about to start. Fans filled the stands in a sea of blue and red, the rivalry between the two teams as fierce as ever. Matthew and Masahiro made their way through the crowd, blending in with the excitement but each lost in their thoughts, unaware of the various ties that bound them all to this very place.Matthew, in his casual black t-shirt, bomber jacket, jeans, and sneakers, looked every bit the confident man as he walked beside Masahiro, who was a little more polished in his long-sleeve t-shirt and dark jeans.They approached the snack stall, the aroma of hot dogs and chips filling the air.“I’ll be right back,” Masahiro said, his voice low but firm. “Need to use the restroom before the game starts.”“Alright,” Matthew replied absentmindedly, pulling out his phone as he
Adam adjusted the cuffs of his black dress shirt with quiet precision, the fabric taut across his broad frame. His skin, deep and smooth, caught the fading afternoon light spilling through the windows. Honey eyes calm. Black coat folded across the chair. Gun holster hidden beneath his tailored layers. Everything about him looked calculated—ruthless, clean, deadly.Clark sat on the couch, file in hand, glasses low on his nose, pretending not to notice. Or care.They’d had sex that morning. An accident. Again.So no, Clark wasn’t going to ask where Adam was going, or why he smelled like expensive cologne, or why his shirt looked too good to waste on a solo errand.He flipped another page and didn’t glance up. But he knew. Adam was meeting a woman. It didn’t take a law degree to know the signs.Adam grabbed his keys.Clark rose from the couch and crossed the hall to the guest room, muttering to himself. “Left my pen—of course.”Then the power cut.Lights blinked off. Total silence.Then
Arthur stepped inside quietly, holding a small bag from the café downstairs. He hadn’t told anyone what was in it—but knowing Cassidy, he’d smell the sugar from a mile away.Cassidy looked up the second the door opened, eyes sharp despite the bruising. “Took you long enough.”Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”Cassidy smirked. “If I’d known being stabbed meant breakfast delivery, I’d have done it sooner.”Arthur rolled his eyes and set the bag down on the table. “Don’t joke like that.”“Why not? You only show up when I bleed.”Arthur froze.Cassidy tilted his head. “Kidding. Mostly.”Arthur sat down with a sigh. “You’re impossible.”Cassidy grinned, the expression just soft enough to make Arthur forget all the warning signs. “What did you bring?”“Pastry. Something with blueberries. And mango juice. I remembered.”Cassidy lifted a brow, pleased. “You always remember.”Arthur opened the box, handed over the juice. Cassidy took
Adam didn’t blink. Just dropped his keys on the counter, walked forward slow. “Daz ain’t even gone five fuckin’ minutes and you’re already climbin’ some rando in my goddamn living room?”Clark shrugged, casual. “You said I wasn’t your boyfriend. I took that as a glowing endorsement to get laid elsewhere.”The man started to stand. Adam stared at him like a gun might follow.“You,” Adam said, low. “Out. Now.”The guy didn’t argue.He grabbed his shoes and bolted, not even looking back.Clark stayed seated on the couch, legs crossed, one hand dragging through his tousled hair like nothing had happened. “You gonna throw a tantrum now, or just glare me to death?”Adam’s voice was ice and asphalt. “You that desperate to get fucked, Clark?”Clark didn’t flinch. “Maybe. Maybe I just wanted someone who doesn’t treat sex like a goddamn war.”Adam stepped closer. “You keep runnin’ your mouth, I’ll give you war.”Clark stood. Smirking. Testing. “Then may
The bookstore at Cypress and 18th was small, tidy, and too quiet. Adam stepped in like a loaded weapon, black coat unbuttoned, collar popped, the glint of steel just visible beneath his shirt. The bell above the door jingled. No one greeted him.He didn’t need it.He walked past shelves of overpriced novels and twee little notebooks, past a bored college girl behind the register who looked up, blinked once, and wisely said nothing.Adam turned a corner, found the owner in the back—a short, balding man with glasses and a cardigan. The kind of guy who still believed a politely worded email could fix a debt problem.“Mr. Barnes,” Adam said, voice low, flat.The man flinched. “I—I was going to call. I was just—"“Late. Twice.” Adam stepped closer. “This your idea of fuckin' subtle? You think just 'cause you sell Shakespeare you get to skip your dues?"Barnes swallowed. “I-I didn’t mean—I just needed more time. Things have been slow, and—"“So you thought
The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality. Clark adjusted his glasses, rolled his neck once to the side, and exhaled sharply like he was releasing a conversation he didn’t want to carry. Daz fell into step beside him without needing a cue.The hospital corridors were sterile and humming, a low buzz of monitors and too-white lights. Clark didn’t speak as they made their way down to the lot, didn’t fumble for small talk or even sarcasm. He just walked—brisk, businesslike, jaw set.Outside, the day had sharpened. The sun was too bright for how little he’d slept, and the air held that biting edge of early morning smog. Daz opened the passenger door without a word, and Clark slid inside, gripping the folder tighter than necessary.Once on the road, the silence between them was thick but not uncomfortable. Clark leafed through the motion papers one last time, checked the hospital report again, and drummed his fingers against the leather seat.He didn’t ask Daz
Adam woke to the sharp buzz of his phone, vibrating against the hardwood floor like it was ready to start a fight.He groaned, sat up on the couch, and grabbed it.Wilson.He swiped. “Yeah.”“Cypress and 18th. You didn’t forget, did you?” Wilson’s voice was already impatient. “Nine sharp. Don’t fuckin’ be late.”Adam rubbed at his face. “Didn’t forget. Just ain't slept proper.”Click. Wilson was already gone.Adam exhaled hard, dropped the phone to the couch, and rolled his shoulders. Everything ached. He felt like a fridge someone tried to push down a staircase.Dragging himself upright, he trudged to his bedroom to a shower. The door creaked open.Clark was still there.Laid out in his bed like he belonged there. Blanket half-pulled down, shirt riding up, a sliver of hipbone peeking out. And there—barely visible in the low morning light—were the faint, blooming bruises from the night they’d crossed a line.Adam’s jaw ticked.He turne
Clark stirred, blinked blearily, and smiled like a cat in sun."Oh good," he said, voice hoarse with whiskey and gall. "I was beginning to think you got lost on your way to your own kitchen.""Get out of my bed."Clark stretched like a man entirely too comfortable. "Mmm. Strong start. But could use more foreplay."Adam’s glare narrowed. "You’ve got your own room.""Do I?" Clark asked with mock surprise.Adam stepped forward. "Get. Out."Clark didn’t move. "Do you treat all your guests this warmly, or am I just special?"Adam reached down, grabbed the blanket, and yanked.Clark gave a low, protesting sound. "Easy, brute. You’ll wrinkle my shirt.""You’ll wrinkle my patience."Clark sat up, brushing his fingers through his hair like he was about to give a TED talk, not be evicted. "You’re very touchy for a man with shoulders that broad."Adam leaned in, voice low. "I swear, if you try one more line—"Clark tilted his head. "You’ll wh
Clark was on his fifth whiskey.Not a tasting flight. Not an indulgent double.Five.He sat hunched at the bar, sleeves rolled to the elbows, his glasses slightly crooked like even they were too tired to argue. His fingers drummed on the rim of his empty glass like it had personally betrayed him.Adam stood a few feet back, arms crossed, watching with the patience of a man who had once broken someone’s jaw for looking at him wrong—but currently didn’t feel like doing paperwork.“Didn’t you say you needed a drink?” Adam finally asked, voice dry.Clark didn’t look at him. Just raised a lazy hand and signaled for a sixth. “It’s called metaphor, Adam. Try it sometime.”Adam scoffed. “This ain’t metaphor. This is a cry for help in a ten-dollar glass.”“Then let me cry in peace.” Clark muttered, elbow on the bar, head in his hand.Adam stepped closer, looming just enough to annoy. “You’re done.”Clark turned his head slowly. His smile was razor-shar
One hour later, Matthew lay on his stomach, cheek pressed to a cool pillow, chest heaving like he’d just outrun a hit.Masahiro was beside him, upright, breathing only slightly harder—an infuriating show of stamina.“You’re cheating,” Matthew groaned. “No one’s this functional after round three. You’re not human.”Masahiro reached for the water on the nightstand, took a sip, then calmly replied, “Again.”Matthew turned his head so fast he nearly sprained his neck. “Excuse me?”Masahiro looked over at him. No smile. Just steady intent in those eyes. “Round four.”“Oh my God,” Matthew said, dragging a hand down his face. “You have the emotional expression of drywall and the libido of a demon.”“You kept moaning.”“Yeah, because you were trying to kill me through my pelvis.”Masahiro set the glass down. “You didn’t seem to mind.”Matthew buried his face into the pillow. “I’m going to die in this bed.”Masahiro moved closer, slipping under the