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Chapter 38
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2024-12-14 20:30:39The sterile smell of the hospital mingled with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food as Matthew stepped into Masahiro's hospital room, balancing a tray laden with lunch. He had gone to the trouble of preparing something decent at home, determined to take care of his reluctant partner. Dull and insipid options from the cafeteria, Matthew had hoped the meal he'd lovingly cooked would lift Masahiro's spirits.
"Hey, I brought you lunch," Matthew said as he set the tray on a small table beside Masahiro's bed. He beamed with pride at his handiwork: the plate set out in fine fashion, grilled chicken, steamed vegetables, rice.
Masahiro turned away, and there was cynicism written into his eyes. "I'm not eating that."
"Come on, it's good for you," Matthew implored, crossing his arms, "you need to gain your strength.”
"I said no." Masahiro's voice was firm, but the defiance didn't quite rule out curiosity. "You could have poisoned it."
Matthew raised
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Gold & Sand Chapter 39
The apartment was in semi-darkness, the soft glow of a lamp dancing across the walls in small curves. Masahiro was sitting on the couch with his cast resting on a pillow as he watched Matthew rummage through the first aid supplies, they had bought. The dancing light brought into prominence the focus of the blue eyes when he readied to change the bandages on Masahiro's arm.“You know, you're pretty good at this," Masahiro said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "I didn't really think you'd be so… capable."Matthew looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. "Surprised? You think just because I've spent time in a prison cell, I don't know how to take care of myself?”"No, it's just that most people wouldn't connect 'ex-capo' with 'first aid expert,'" Masahiro replied, his eyes fixed keenly on Matthew as he carefully unwrapped the old bandage.Matthew chuckled low and warm. "Well, you'd be surprised how much you can learn when you're on your
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The precinct was bustling with activity as Matthew stepped inside, the scent of coffee and ink mingling with the hum of ringing phones and hurried conversations.He made his way to the reception desk, where a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a weary smile was typing away at her computer. She glanced up as he approached.“Can I help you?”“I’m here to see the new detective assigned for the Mr. K´s case,” Matthew said, keeping his tone neutral.The woman nodded, clicking through her screen. “Ah, the interim partner for the Mr. K case.” She gestured toward the second floor. “His office is upstairs, second door on the right. Can’t miss it… he’s probably got his feet up on the desk.”Matthew raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, simply nodding his thanks before heading toward the staircase.As he reached the second floor, he found the door slightly ajar. Pus
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The small interrogation room was heavy with the scent of stale coffee and tension. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed above as Matthew sat across from Rocco, his hands folded on the table. Lewis stood beside him, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering. Rocco, slouched in his chair, refused to meet their eyes, his defiance clear in the tight set of his jaw.Lewis leaned in; his voice cool but firm. "This is your last chance, Rocco. If you don't give us something, if you don’t tell us who’s behind all of this, you’re done. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison, and we both know you won’t last in there. Not with that kind of reputation."Rocco’s lips twisted into a smirk. "You think I’m scared of prison?" he sneered. "You really think I care about your threats?"Matthew’s eyes flicked to Lewis for a split second before returning to Rocco. "It’s not about scaring you," Matthew said, his voice sharp. "It’
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Matthew entered Masahiro’s room, carrying a tray of food with deliberate care. He placed it on the nightstand, his gaze flickering to Masahiro, who was lounging in his chair, staring blankly out the window.“Dinner’s here,” Matthew said, trying to keep his tone neutral.Masahiro didn’t even glance at him. “I’m not eating that,” he muttered.Matthew blinked, his jaw tightening. “What do you mean? It’s what you asked for.”“I don’t want it.” Masahiro’s voice was clipped, dismissive.Matthew’s patience was already running thin. “You need to eat,” he said firmly. “The doctor said—”Masahiro cut him off with a sharp laugh, humorless and bitter. “I don’t care what the doctor said. I’m tired of being treated like some invalid. I’m not helpless, Smith.”The words struck a nerve. Matthew folded his arms, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think I want to be here, catering to you?” he shot ba
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Matthew lounged on the couch in the living room, the flickering glow of the television illuminating his face as he scrolled through channels mindlessly.The sound of Masahiro´s door´s room creaking open drew his attention. Masahiro stepped out of his bedroom, and despite the cast encasing his right arm, he looked stunning. He wore a fitted black shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and trim waist, the fabric hugging his toned physique perfectly. The dark shirt was paired with dark blue slim-fit jeans that showcased his long legs and made him look effortlessly stylish. His black boots added an edge to the outfit, while a minimalist silver watch on his left wrist gleamed subtly against his skin. The overall effect was striking; he exuded an air of confidence that was impossible to ignore.Matthew raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Where do you think you’re going?”Masahiro paused, casting a glance over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “That’s n
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Matthew stood frozen in place, his heart hammering in his chest as he stared down at Masahiro’s crumpled form. The man who always had his cool, who could outsmart and outmaneuver anyone, was now lying motionless, unconscious on the floor. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other in frantic chaos.´What the hell am I doing? ´His stomach churned as he tried to suppress the rising tide of panic, but it surged anyway. Every time he tried to convince himself that it was nothing more than a drunken stumble, his eyes betrayed him… Masahiro’s pallor, his stillness, the way he hadn’t even made a sound when he collapsed, rattled him.´Focus, ´ Matthew ordered himself, gripping Masahiro’s body and lifting him up, adrenaline surging through him, making the task seem easier than it should have been. It was a strange contrast, the sharpness in his limbs despite the dizziness threatening to overpower him.
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Yumi pushed open the bedroom door and immediately went to Masahiro’s side. Matthew watched her with a quiet unease as she knelt down beside him, her eyes scanning his body with practiced precision.There was a tenderness in the way she touched him… checking his pulse, brushing his hair away from his face. Her hands moved with an efficiency and familiarity that Matthew could not ignore.“Is he...?” Matthew started, his voice almost a whisper.Yumi didn’t look at him as she worked. She didn’t need to. She knew what she was doing.“He’ll be fine,” she replied curtly, but her gaze lingered on Masahiro’s face, and there was something more there… something that Matthew couldn’t quite place. Was it concern? Or something deeper?She finally turned to him, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you here?”Matthew blinked, thrown off by the directness of the question. “I
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Masahiro blinked awake, his vision hazy and unfocused. A dull ache pulsed through his body, especially his side where the gunshot wound still lingered. His surroundings slowly came into view, and the first thing he saw was Matthew, sitting beside the bed, arms crossed, staring at him with his usual mix of irritation and worry. But then, as his eyes adjusted more, Masahiro noticed a second figure… a familiar one. Standing just behind Matthew, with wide, worried eyes, was his cousin Yumi. "Yumi…?" he croaked, his throat dry and raspy. He felt sluggish, like he’d been run over by a freight train. Before he could say anything more, Yumi sprang forward, throwing her arms around him with such force that he winced. "Masahiro! You idiot!" she exclaimed; her voice high-pitched with panic. "Why didn’t you tell me you got shot?! Are you crazy?! I’ve been working all day and I get a call saying you’ve passed out in your apartment?!" Her words hit him in a rap
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Adam stepped into the café, the scent of freshly ground coffee and something sweet hanging in the air. His sharp eyes swept the place, spotting them immediately.Matthew, sprawled across the seat like he owned the place, one arm lazily draped over Masahiro’s shoulder, fingers idly tracing circles on his wrist. The contrast between the two was almost comical—Masahiro sat stiff, composed, his crisp white dress shirt neatly tucked, tie in place, an air of authority surrounding him even in a casual setting. Matthew, on the other hand, exuded nothing but comfort—shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, smirking at whatever Masahiro wasn’t reacting to.Adam snorted to himself and made his way over.The moment Matthew noticed him, his grin widened.“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite gangster turned babysitter,” Matthew teased, gesturing to the seat across from them. “Come, sit.
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Adam stepped into the apartment and immediately regretted it.`What a mess. ´The coffee table was cluttered with half-empty beer cans, pizza boxes stacked haphazardly, some still open. The TV flickered with muted images, casting a dim glow across the room.Clark was slouched on the couch, dressed in a loose-fitting T-shirt and soft pants that barely clung to his hips. His glasses sat low on his nose, one hand adjusting them lazily as he turned his gaze toward Adam."So, you’re back," Clark mused, voice flat but not surprised.Adam let out a breath, stepping further inside. "Yeah."Without asking, he reached for a slice of pizza from one of the open boxes.Clark’s expression twisted in mild offense. "Are you—"Adam ignored him, taking a bite.Clark huffed. "For fuck’s sake, at least ask.""Why?" Adam mumbled through his bite, chewi
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The elevator hummed softly as it jolted back to life. The sudden return of motion sent a flicker of relief through Adam, but his focus wasn’t on the elevator anymore.The lights flickered once, then stabilized. The number panel above the door blinked. 10. 9.Ding.The doors slid open at the ninth floor.Clark moved before Adam could register it.A sharp breath, a quick motion—he reached for the emergency stop button and pressed it.The elevator jerked. Stopped.The doors, obediently waiting, remained open, revealing the quiet, dimly lit hallway of the ninth floor.Clark stepped out.Not hurried, not frantic—but decisive. Like someone who had made up their mind and would not be convinced otherwise.Adam watched him, not moving at first.Then he sighed, let the doors slide wider, and stepped out behind him.He didn’t say anything
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Clark strode through the quiet corridor of the courthouse, his footsteps measured, precise. The air inside was different from outside—stale, cold, controlled. The kind of air that held centuries of judgment, of verdicts that decided lives, of whispered deals that never made it to paper.Adam trailed a few steps behind, hands in his pockets, casual, but present. He wasn’t following Clark, exactly. Just… making sure he went where he was supposed to. That was the job.They stopped in front of Judge Fitzgerald’s office.Clark barely hesitated before reaching for the handle."You stay here," he said over his shoulder.Adam let out a small huff, leaning against the wall like he hadn’t planned on moving anyway. "Yeah, yeah. Go do your thing, lawyer boy."Clark didn’t bother responding. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.Judge Fitzgerald’s office
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Clark woke up to a weight against his back.At first, it barely registered—just warmth, skin against skin, the rough scratch of stubble against his shoulder.Then, hands.A firm grip dragging down his waist, fingers digging in with possession rather than affection.Clark stiffened. “Morning, sweetheart,” the man behind him murmured, voice thick with sleep, lazy and satisfied. His teeth skimmed the shell of Clark’s ear. “How ‘bout a morning round?”Clark’s eyes snapped open. `Fucking hell. ´He was too hungover for this.He pushed back, dislodging the man’s hands. “Yeah, no. Get out.”The guy didn’t move.Didn’t even hesitate.Instead, he chuckled, slow and deep, tightening his grip. “Aww, don’t be like that. You were real into it last night.”
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Clark barely spared a glance at Adam as he grabbed his keys off the table, his movements brisk, sharp with unspoken intent. His fingers curled around the cool metal, the faint clink echoing through the quiet apartment. Adam, stretched out on the couch, remote in one hand and a beer in the other, didn’t even bother turning his head. "Where are you going?" Clark exhaled. Didn’t slow. Didn’t stop, "Outside," That was all he said before crossing the room and reaching for the door. Adam let out a slow sigh, taking his time to put down the remote. Then stood. Clark heard the shift of weight behind him. He didn’t have to turn around to know what was coming next. "Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as he pulled the door open. "Do you have to follow me everywhere?" Adam, now standing a few feet behind him, met his irritation with the same lazy indifference. "Yeah," he replied, completely unfazed. "That’s kinda the job." Clark clenched his jaw, his fingers
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The drive back to the police station was tense. Arthur sat in the backseat, rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on the window like it held all the answers he didn't have. Clark, on the other hand, had his usual ice-cold detachment in place. Legs crossed, elbow resting on the door, flipping through emails on his phone like he wasn’t sitting next to a literal criminal acting as his bodyguard. Adam? Adam was watching them both, the way Arthur’s knee bounced, the way Clark’s fingers were tight around his phone despite the bored expression. He smirked. "Damn. This car ride’s fuckin’ depressing." Arthur didn’t respond. Clark didn’t even look up. "Then drive faster, MacDougall." Adam let out a low chuckle but did exactly that. When they pulled up in front of the station, Arthur finally moved. He unclipped his seatbelt, hesitated, then muttered, "Thanks." Clark barely glanced at him. "Try not to look like you’re mourning your own goddamn funeral in there." Arthur gritted his teeth but
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The atmosphere in Masahiro’s office was thick with tension.Clark stepped in first, his suit crisp, posture composed, despite the hangover weighing on him. Adam followed, silent, imposing, watching.Masahiro looked up from his desk. "Clark."Clark nodded. "Masahiro."Arthur was already there, sitting stiffly, his hands gripping the edge of his chair like he’d been waiting for this moment.Masahiro turned slightly. "Cooper, the file."Arthur was fast—too fast. He grabbed it like it was life or death, shoving it toward Clark before Clark even sat down.Clark narrowed his eyes. Noted that.He flipped the file open, eyes scanning the legal jargon, the cold, hard details of Cassidy’s case.A slow exhale."Alright. Let’s tear this apart."Masahiro leaned back slightly. "What’s going to be the prosecution’s
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Clark was dead asleep when his phone started vibrating aggressively against the nightstand.A groan. A slow inhale. A delayed reaction before his hand finally reached out, fumbling blindly until his fingers closed around the device.He cracked one eye open. Too bright. Too soon.The caller ID: Masahiro.Clark exhaled through his nose, pressing the phone to his ear as he collapsed back onto the mattress."Payne," he muttered, voice rough, thick with exhaustion."Clark," Masahiro’s voice was as crisp as ever. No trace of sleep, no pleasantries. "Cassidy was moved to the detention facility this morning."Clark barely processed the words before rubbing a hand down his face."Great," he muttered, blinking up at the ceiling. "I was planning on heading to the station today. Need to go over a few things with you and Arthur.""Fine," Masahiro said, as if he
