Nathaniel stood by the window, his back against the cool glass, watching the crowd outside with a cold, calculating gaze. The club was alive with movement, the energy thick with laughter and music, but he was focused… he always was.
His fingers toyed with the edge of his phone, flipping it over in his hand, the familiar weight of it grounding him.
Across the club, the front door swung open. Nathaniel’s eyes immediately locked onto the figure that entered… the unmistakable posture of Masahiro. The man was confident, like he owned the world, but Nathaniel saw through it. He had a habit of doing that.
He adjusted his coat, the fabric brushing against the cold, hard steel tucked discreetly under his arm. His eyes followed Masahiro, moving with purpose but never rushing, savoring the moment. As the bartender approached Masahiro, Nathaniel leaned back into the shadows, his fingers once again dancing across his phone screen. A few taps.
In th
Nathaniel stepped into Masahiro's apartment, the familiar scent of cedarwood and sandalwood filling the air, grounding him in the cold precision of the task at hand. The dim light from the living room cast long shadows that seemed to stretch and pulse with each beat of his heart, adding to the ambiance of deliberate quiet that surrounded him. His eyes, however, weren’t drawn to the sterile décor or the quiet beauty of the space. They went immediately to the bedroom… where the plan would unfold.As Nathaniel crossed the threshold into the room, a strange mix of urgency and anticipation gnawed at him. It wasn’t just about the job; there was something more primal at play. Power. Control. Watching everything unfold under his command.He approached the bed with measured steps, kneeling beside Masahiro. The man’s body was limp, vulnerable, the deep slumber induced by the drug still keeping him unaware of his surroundings. Nathaniel, however, w
Matthew had just finished his shower when his phone buzzed from the bedside table. He grabbed it, still wrapped in a towel, and saw a message from Masahiro.Masahiro: Hey babe, I'll be a bit late, coming at 11 pm.Matthew smiled, his heart fluttering at the familiar tone. He quickly typed back.Matthew: Alrighty, clingy detective. I'll head home and wait for you.He hit send, tossing the phone aside. A warm feeling spread over him as he moved to get dressed. It was just another night with Masahiro, one of their many quiet, intimate evenings.Matthew smiled to himself as he slipped into his sweater, the fabric warm against his skin. He couldn’t help but think of Masahiro… his strong, reassuring presence, the way his eyes always seemed to soften when they locked onto each other. Tonight, they’d unwind together after their busy days. Just the two of them, like always.Before he finished getting dressed, Matthew grabbed his ph
Masahiro’s head pounded as he stirred awake. His body felt strangely heavy, and a dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. He blinked, the dim glow of the room slowly coming into focus.Something was wrong.The scent of alcohol, and something unfamiliar clung to the air. The sheets beneath him felt tangled, foreign, and—Then he saw him.Matthew.Standing in the middle of the room, eyes dark, wild, full of something Masahiro had never seen before.Masahiro pushed himself upright, his body sluggish. His movement caused the weight beside him to shift, and then… he froze.A stranger was in his bed. A naked stranger.Masahiro’s entire body went rigid. His mind raced, but it was blank at the same time. He didn’t understand. He had been at El Paradiso. He had been waiting for Matthew. And then… what?"What the hell is this?" Masahiro’s voice
Masahiro's head throbbed as he struggled to piece together the fragments of his memory. The last thing he remembered was sitting at the bar in El Paradiso, waiting for Matthew. He had taken a sip of whiskey—one he hadn’t even ordered. Then… nothing. A complete blackout.Now, he was in his bed, naked, with a stranger standing at the foot of the room, already pulling on his clothes. His stomach twisted in disgust.Masahiro turned his head sharply, his eyes locking onto the man. His voice was cold, sharp as a blade. "Who the hell are you?"The man, startled but attempting to play it off, smirked slightly as he buttoned his shirt. "Don't you remember? We were drinking together." He sounded too nonchalant, too rehearsed.Masahiro held back a smirk of his own, though his horror was growing. His body felt… wrong. There was a strange taste on his tongue, a sluggishness in his limbs. He knew damn well he hadn’t touched this man&mdas
The hum of the engine was a dull rhythm in the background as Masahiro's hands gripped the steering wheel with practiced ease. The city around him was waking up, people moving in and out of buildings like clockwork, oblivious to the storm swirling in his mind.He’d barely slept last night, his thoughts too wild, too tangled in the mess Cassidy had created. The image of that stranger in his bed, the drugged haze, and the sheer betrayal that followed still burned in his chest. Masahiro had replayed it over and over in his mind, trying to find the one thing he’d missed. Some clue that could explain what had really happened. But it was all so fucking messy, like someone had taken his life and turned it into a nightmare just to watch him suffer.His jaw clenched as he drove through the morning traffic, trying to shake the feeling that something was about to slip out of his control. He needed to fix this. He needed to find a way to get to Matthew, to make him see
Cassidy adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket with a precision that came from years of practice. He didn’t need to look at the mirror to know he looked sharp. The reflection would confirm it, but he already felt the familiar, confident surge of satisfaction. Tonight wasn’t about him, though.He walked toward the sitting room, his steps calm but deliberate. As he approached, he saw Matthew slouched on the couch, eyes glazed over as he watched TV. No excitement. No joy. Just... numbness. Typical. Cassidy could see the indifference in the way Matthew held himself, the way his eyes flicked toward the screen but never fully engaged. It wasn’t the indifference of someone who didn’t care… it was the apathy of someone trying not to care. Trying not to care about everything. About him.“Still here?” Cassidy’s voice was smooth, but there was a sharpness to it—like a question that didn’t quite need an answer.Mat
Arthur’s grip on the towel around his neck tightened as he stared at Cassidy, his expression caught between frustration and resignation. The tension between them was thick, almost suffocating, but Cassidy just stood there, one hand lazily resting against the doorframe, his smirk unwavering.“You lied to me,” Cassidy said smoothly, like it was a simple fact rather than an accusation.Arthur sighed, already exhausted. “I didn’t lie.”Cassidy arched an eyebrow. “No?”Arthur shook his head. “I was going to come back late. My boss dismissed me early.”Cassidy hummed as if considering his words. “And yet, you didn’t think to call?”Arthur exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t think about it.”Cassidy tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Didn’t think about it?” He let the words hang between the
Arthur had just finished his beer. Cassidy noticed, his fingers tapping lazily against the rim of his whiskey glass. Just as he was about to signal for another round, Arthur stopped him with a light touch on his wrist."Hey... no, I already had three," Arthur said, his voice firm but not harsh.Cassidy arched an eyebrow, a slow smirk curling his lips. "The night is a child."Arthur huffed. "It's the middle of the week. I gotta work tomorrow. I can’t go in smelling like alcohol... I don’t want problems with my boss."Cassidy tilted his head slightly, watching Arthur with that lazy, calculating gaze of his. "Alright, lemme finish my drink first," he murmured, lifting his glass to his lips. He took a slow sip, watching Arthur over the rim, but didn’t finish it yet. "This boss of yours," Cassidy mused, setting the glass back on the table, "he looks kinda scary."Arthur, now scrolling through his phone, barely glanced up. "He’s n
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.
The trial had ended.Not in fire, not in blood. The gallery emptied quickly—reporters scuttling off to feed headlines, spectators trickling out in whispers. The clack of heels and shoes echoed until the room was hollow.Clark didn’t move.He stood beside the defense table, hands flat, jaw tight, staring down at the stack of notes like they might rearrange themselves into something useful.Masahiro was the first to step closer. Matthew followed, quiet for once. Arthur hung back, uncertain."Clark," Masahiro said low. "It was a tough session, but—""You did everything you could," Matthew offered, unusually serious.Clark said nothing.Didn’t blink.Didn’t breathe.Then Adam moved.He stepped in without a word, placed a firm hand on Clark's shoulder. "We should go."Clark exhaled, just a fraction, and stepped away from the table.Adam glanced at the trio like he didn’t need to explain. Like this wasn’t the time.Masahiro unde
Two weeks later The courtroom was cold. Sterile. More like a morgue than a chamber of justice.Clark was sitting at the defense table. Navy suit pressed. Tie straight. Glasses low on his nose. The picture of control—except for the death grip on his notes.The courtroom was packed. Press, gallery, sketch artists. Arthur sat in the back, unreadable. Masahiro beside him, arms folded. Matthew leaned in the corner, watching Clark like he was the only thing holding the walls up.And Adam—silent, broad, near the exit—eyes locked on Clark."Court is now in session. The People versus Nathaniel Bishop."The judge’s voice echoed through the chamber, sharp as the crack of a gavel. The courtroom stilled.Across from him, the prosecutor, Diana Halvorsen, stood with calm, dangerous precision. Her heels clicked once on the hardwood as she stepped forward."Your Honor," she began, "the prosecution will revisit the timeline of the incident at the Crayfo
The front door clicked shut behind them.Clark walked in first, tossing his blazer over the back of the nearest chair and muttering something about how courtrooms smelled like wood polish and moral decay.Then the light blinked on.He slowed.Not completely—just enough to glance up at the hallway, blinking once. Frowned faintly.Another step.A second light flicked on—this one lower, softer, tracing the path toward the kitchen with a warm, almost deliberate glow.Clark stopped completely. “Okay.”Adam followed behind, setting his keys down. “What.”Clark turned. “That wasn’t there before.”Adam barely looked up. “Good eye.”Clark squinted. “When did this happen?”“While we were out.”Clark took another step. The light above the pantry glowed to life.He turned slowly, then looked at Adam with suspicious narrowing eyes. “You put motion lights in the condo.”Adam shrugged. “Problem?”Clark blinked. “Why?”“You trip in