Matthew had to admit—he wasn’t expecting this.
He stood there, arms crossed, watching in silent, begrudging admiration as Masahiro shrugged off his blazer with practiced ease. The smooth roll of his shoulders, the way the fabric slipped off his frame—yeah, it was unfair. Masahiro moved like someone who had spent years cultivating the perfect balance of strength and grace.
Matthew couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though he hated how much he was staring. The precise, deliberate way Masahiro removed his shoes, bending down with the fluidity of someone who knew exactly what he was doing, made Matthew’s chest tighten. And he didn’t know why. He shouldn’t even care.
But the way Masahiro stood up, his dress shirt slightly undone and tie loosened, made something inside Matthew stir. He watched, transfixed, as Masahiro moved with an effortless ease that spoke of a lifetime of confidence and control. The soft light from the stree
The drive to Cassidy's family home was wrapped in an awkward silence, though the tension wasn’t all from the drive. Arthur, eyes focused on his phone, scrolled through messages and notifications, the weight of Cassidy's presence beside him feeling different now. Cassidy, on the other hand, was barely aware of the road. His mind was occupied with a hundred dark thoughts, each one tightening the knot in his stomach.“So,” Arthur’s voice broke through Cassidy’s thoughts, light and boyish. “I’m really excited to meet your parents.”Cassidy forced a smile, though it was tight, like the edges of his mask were fraying. “Yeah, they’re… good people.” He said it flatly, not truly feeling it. Good people? His mind mocked the words. They didn’t know the man who’d made their son, their precious Cassidy, a dangerous, manipulative monster. They didn’t know about the weight of the secrets he car
Then, after crossing the living room, Cassidy and Arthur was on their way to the dining room, where Arthur immediately noticed the table set for five. His gaze flickered to the extra place setting, and he recalled Cassidy mentioning his sister, Juliette.Lorraine smiled warmly and gestured toward a chair. "Have a seat, Arthur."Arthur pulled out the chair and sat, and Cassidy took the seat beside him."Jules!" Lorraine called toward the stairs."Coming," a voice responded from above.Robert settled into his chair with a knowing look. "It’s not every day our son brings someone home."Cassidy smirked, but before he could respond, Lorraine placed a few bowls of food on the table. "So," she asked, glancing at Arthur, "where did you two meet?"Cassidy, without hesitation, answered, "In a café.""Oh?" Lorraine’s brows lifted slightly.Arthur barely held back a smirk, stealing a glance at Cassidy, who was busy pouring himself a
The meal had ended, the table filled with empty plates and half-finished glasses of water. Juliette, always the first to move, stood up and began gathering the dishes.Arthur, wanting to be polite, quickly got up as well. “Let me help,” he said, picking up a plate and following her to the kitchen.They worked together in quiet efficiency, stacking the plates near the sink and wiping down the table. When they finished, Juliette turned toward Cassidy, tilting her head playfully.“Bro, can you come and wash the dishes with me?”Cassidy smiled, about to step forward, when a thought made him pause. His hand instinctively hovered over his wrist—the rose tattoo. The makeup concealing it was waterproof, but he’d been wearing it for hours. Too much water, too much rubbing, and it could start to fade. He couldn’t risk it.Instead, he glanced at Arthur and smirked. “I think it’s better if Arthur helps you&
"Where's the toilet?" Arthur asked, glancing around.Juliette wiped her hands on a dish towel and pointed down the hall. "This way.""Fine, I'll be right back," Arthur said, heading in the direction she indicated.As the sound of his footsteps faded, Juliette leaned against the counter, lost in thought. The pieces had clicked together too well—too fast. Arthur’s story, the black rose tattoo, the way Cassidy had subtly dodged the topic during lunch. It all pointed to one thing.Then, as if drawn by her thoughts, Cassidy entered the kitchen. He went straight to the counter, filled a glass with water, and took a long sip. But he could feel her eyes on him.Lowering the glass, he met her gaze. "What?"Juliette pushed off the counter and silently walked to the door, closing it behind her. When she turned back, her expression was sharp. "What are you hiding?"Cassidy raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. "What are you talking a
As Cassidy steered the car through the quiet streets, Arthur sat back in his seat, feeling the soft hum of the road beneath them. After a moment, he couldn’t help but smile.“Your mom really knows her way around a kitchen. I think I ate enough to last me a week.”Cassidy’s eyes flicked briefly to him, and a small, almost imperceptible smirk appeared on his lips. “I noticed. You couldn’t stop picking at everything. But it’s cute how you have no self-control.”Arthur looked over at him, unaware of the possessiveness in Cassidy’s tone. “What? It was all so good! You saw me try to be polite, but that lasagna… man, it’s like she put a spell on it.”Cassidy’s expression shifted slightly, but his voice remained playful. “You were staring at the Cheesy Breadsticks like you were about to take a bite out of my hand. If you wanted it that bad, you could’ve just asked.&rd
Arthur stepped into his studio apartment, kicking off his shoes before throwing himself onto the bed. A wide grin stretched across his face as he stared at the ceiling, his heart still racing with excitement. He had just met Cassidy’s family. They had accepted him.For the first time in a long time, he felt like he belonged somewhere, like he was part of something special. The warmth of their welcome still lingered in his chest, and he let out a small, contented sigh.But then his gaze drifted to the nightstand beside him.His smile faltered.There, in a simple wooden frame, was a picture of Alexandra. His twin sister. The pang of sadness hit him like a cold wave, washing away the warmth of the evening. For a moment, he felt like he had forgotten—forgotten why he had joined the police in the first place, why he had spent years chasing shadows.He reached for the frame, tracing his fingers over the glass as he stared at her familiar face
Arthur was at his desk, flipping through the last pages of a report when the sound of the office door opening made him glance up. Masahiro walked in, his sharp gaze scanning the room before heading straight to his desk."Morning, Cooper," Masahiro said as he set down his briefcase."Morning, sir," Arthur responded.He watched Masahiro organize his things, his movements precise and efficient. Without realizing it, Arthur found himself staring. Masahiro, always perceptive, caught the lingering gaze and turned his head slightly."Do you have something to say, Cooper?"Arthur immediately straightened, averting his eyes. "Uh—sir… It's just—"Masahiro raised an eyebrow. "Just what? Spit it out."Arthur exhaled, gathering his thoughts. "My mother is sick, and I… I'm the only family she has. I'd like to go to Bristol for two days to see her."Masahiro, now sitting down, rested his elbows on the desk. "You took this long just to ask for
Arthur was on the bed, staring at the ceiling as his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The cheap let in a sliver of morning light, casting a faint glow across the cramped room. He reached for his phone without enthusiasm, glancing at the caller ID.Cassidy.His fingers hesitated before answering."Morning, sweetheart."Arthur rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness. "Morning," he murmured, voice still thick with sleep."How did you sleep? By this voice, you’re still in bed."Arthur turned onto his side, facing the window. "I slept well. What about you?" A pause. "Yeah… I’m still in bed.""I slept well too, just missing you." Cassidy’s voice was low, teasing. "So, did you manage to ask for a few days off from your boss? You didn’t tell me anything else."Arthur’s breath hitched for a second. "Uh—yeah… I’m in Bristol right now.""I s
Masahiro stood without a word. Matthew didn’t let him get far. He stepped in front of him, blocking the doorway like it was instinct. “You’re not going without me.” Masahiro’s eyes narrowed. Calm, but tight. “You’re not a cop.” “Didn’t stop you from dragging me into deep cover operations.” “That was different.” “Was it?” Matthew snapped. “Because back then, we had no backup, no names, no way out. And I still walked beside you every night — pretending to be yours before I ever really was.” Masahiro’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Matthew stepped closer. “You trusted me then — when we were both lying, bleeding, and one wrong move meant a bullet to the head." “And now?” Masahiro’s voice was too quiet. “Now you’re mine for real. That’s the difference.” Matthew froze. Masahiro didn’t stop. “Now I can’t lose you.” Silence. Heavy. Matthew’s breath hitched — not in shock, but in recognition. “Then don’t shut me out.” He reached up, touching Masahir
The hospital smelled like bleach and endings.A nurse unplugged the IV drip with practiced ease, her eyes never quite meeting Cassidy’s. A guard waited by the door, checking the clipboard, another stood near the window — hand near his holster, like Cassidy might suddenly grow wings and vanish.Cassidy rolled his shoulder once, slowly, wincing faintly as the cuff clicked back around his wrist.The coat they handed him was his. Dark and worn in. He slid it on himself, one-handed, with a little flourish — because even now, he wouldn’t let them dress him.Then he walked.Unhurried. Smooth.Like the hallway was his,like the cuffs were just accessories,like he hadn’t spent a month in bed bleeding under sterile lights.At the end of the corridor stood Arthur.No uniform.Just a dark blazer over a pressed white shirt, slim black trousers, and clean shoes that didn’t echo on the floor — only the sound of Cassidy’s boots did that.Arthur’s hands were in his pockets.His posture straight, stif
Adam didn’t waste time.Didn’t ask.He grabbed Clark by the waist, manhandled him down onto the couch, rough enough to jolt a barked laugh out of him.Clark hit the cushions with a soft thud, sprawling like a prince demanding tribute — T-shirt rucked halfway up, legs already spreading without shame."Again, brute?" he gasped, grinning. "Couch this time? What’s next? Roof?"Adam didn’t answer.He just shoved his knee between Clark’s thighs, leaning down heavy, pinning him with his whole body.Clark bucked against him immediately — reckless, mouthy — dragging his nails lightly down Adam’s arms just to provoke a reaction."Fuck," Clark gasped, the word slipping out sharp like a spark. "You're addicted."Adam growled low in his throat — not denying it.Clark moaned again, softer this time, head tipping back against the armrest."Mmh—ah—"The sound ripped out of him easy, helpless, like breathing.Adam caught his wrists in one big hand,
The engine rumbled under them, steady and low as Adam turned onto the main road.The ride was quiet at first — just the muted hum of tires over wet asphalt, the occasional creak of the gearshift.Then the radio clicked to life.Low at first.Just background noise.The first drifting chords of "Crazy" by Seal sliding out of the speakers.Clark, half-dozing in the passenger seat, cracked an eye open.He smiled — that slow, rare thing, all crooked teeth and messy hair — and reached for the dial.Turned the volume up.Just a little.Then a little more.Adam cut him a sideways look.Clark didn’t notice.Or maybe he did and just didn't care.He leaned back in the seat, loose and lazy, eyes slipping closed again — mouthing the words, soft and off-key:"We're never gonna survive... unless we get a little..."Adam’s hand tightened around the wheel."You serious right now?" he muttered.Clark didn’t even open his eyes.Just pushed his glasses up with two fingers, hair falling into his forehead
The hospital hallway smelled like antiseptic and something tired.Arthur pushed open the door to Cassidy’s room without knocking — he didn’t need to.Cassidy was half-sitting up in the bed, one arm cuffed to the railing, IV line taped to the crook of his elbow. The hospital gown was loose on him, but the smirk was all intact — sharp, crooked, and stubborn as hell.Arthur didn’t even make it two steps before Cassidy snagged him by the front of his jacket and dragged him down into a kiss.Rough. Fast. All teeth and defiance.Arthur made a small sound of protest, more shock than complaint, trying not to jostle the IV. Cassidy didn’t seem to give a damn. His mouth moved against Arthur’s like they had all the time in the world and none of it to waste.Arthur pulled back first, breathless. “You’re cuffed to the bed, you lunatic.”Cassidy grinned, feral. “Doesn’t stop me.”Arthur flushed but didn’t move away. He hesitated — just a second — then reached down,
The light through the blinds was thin and grey, slicing across the bed in cold stripes.Adam woke first. Always did.Clark was draped over him like a cat that refused to admit it wanted warmth — face buried near Adam’s shoulder, one hand fisted tight in the front of Adam’s hoodie.Adam stared at the ceiling a beat, jaw tight, before peeling himself away. Clark muttered something in his sleep but didn’t wake, just curled deeper into the stolen hoodie like it was stitched from safety itself. Adam left him there. Gym first. Routine never stopped. By the time Adam came back — sweat cooling under his T-shirt, heart steady — Clark was awake. Barefoot, hair a wreck, and swimming in another one of Adam’s hoodies like he’d been born in it. He padded into the kitchen half-conscious, yawning into his wrist. “Mornin',” Adam muttered, grabbing the coffee pot. Clark just grunted and stole a mug without asking.
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