The room was quiet, save for the occasional clink of utensils against plates. The aroma of dinner filled the air, a simple meal after a long day. Both Matthew and Masahiro were seated at the table, each enjoying their food in a peaceful silence.
Matthew, however, couldn't shake the thought of what he had witnessed earlier. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he broke the silence.
"Since when do you like Clyde?" Matthew asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity.
Masahiro paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He glanced at Matthew with a neutral expression, then shrugged before continuing to eat. "What do you think?" he replied, keeping his voice even.
Matthew frowned, clearly intrigued. Masahiro wasn't one to offer explanations, especially when it came to personal matters. But this, this was different. He needed to know more.
Masahiro placed his chopsticks down, his gaze drifting toward the window as he continue
The hospital felt like a mausoleum… cold, quiet, and unnervingly sterile, as if the place had given up on the concept of warmth altogether. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow on the off-white walls, making everything look like a second-rate horror film set. Matthew walked briskly ahead, his steps purposeful, as if he were on a mission to escape this dreadful place. Behind him, Masahiro trailed, desperately trying not to look too eager to keep up, as though lagging behind would somehow validate their tortured existence together.They had been living together for nearly five months, and in that time, their relationship had twisted into something that could only be described as a twisted sitcom… complete with sarcastic barbs and forced smiles.As they reached the clinic, a nurse motioned for Masahiro to follow her alone. Matthew stayed behind in the waiting area, scrolling through his phone with the kind of indifference typically reser
Yumi knocked on the door of Masahiro’s apartment, and Matthew, who had been casually lounging on the couch, opened it. He greeted her with a warm smile."Yumi, good to see you again," Matthew said, his tone light and welcoming. He stepped aside to let her in."Likewise, Matthew," Yumi replied, her voice stead.She entered the apartment, and her eyes immediately found Masahiro. He was lying on the couch, looking more relaxed than she had seen him in a long time. His arm was propped up with a pillow, but he gave her a half-smile when she entered, a soft expression that immediately put her at ease."Hey, Yumi," Masahiro greeted her, his voice still a little raspy but clearly more upbeat than the last time they’d spoken.Yumi walked over, taking a seat beside him on the couch. "How’s everything? How’s your arm?" she asked, her eyes scanning him with practiced precision.Matthew, recognizing that the two needed space to ta
A month laterThe morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, warming the room but doing little to stir its occupants. Matthew lay sprawled across Masahiro’s chest, their breaths steady in sync. The sheets draped lazily over their waists, leaving the marks of last night visible on Matthew’s skin—hickeys scattered along his neck and shoulders, paired with faint bruises where Masahiro’s grip had been firm.The shrill buzz of a phone shattered the peaceful quiet.Masahiro stirred first, his dark eyes narrowing as he glanced toward the bedside table. “Smith… your phone’s ringing.”Matthew groaned, nuzzling closer into Masahiro’s chest. “Hmm…”Masahiro’s voice carried more insistence. “Your phone.”“Too early for this…” Matthew muttered; his voice muffled against Masahiro&rs
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen as Masahiro stood at the counter, methodically pouring the dark liquid into a ceramic mug. The quiet hum of the early morning was broken only by the faint sounds of Clyde’s paws tapping against the floor as the cat followed him around.Masahiro glanced down, raising an eyebrow at the cat’s persistent presence. “You don’t drink this,” he said dryly, gesturing to the coffee. “There’s food and water in your spot. Go.”Clyde meowed in protest but didn’t budge, his tail flicking lazily as he watched Masahiro take his mug and head toward the balcony.The morning air was crisp, a gentle breeze rustling through the city below as Masahiro leaned on the railing, the warm mug resting in his hands. He sipped his coffee slowly, his gaze wandering over the familiar urban sprawl. For a moment, everything seemed ordinary—the distant hum of traffic,
Masahiro sat in a café a few blocks away, his coffee forgotten as his eyes lingered on the street outside. The car was still there, parked in the same spot it had occupied since morning. This time, its engine was running, a faint plume of exhaust curling into the chilly air, setting his nerves on edge.Then his eyes caught on a figure across the street. Matthew.Masahiro’s stomach churned. Matthew strolled casually, hands in his pockets, utterly unaware of the danger.Pulling out his phone, Masahiro dialed Matthew’s number. Once. Twice. No answer. The bastard wasn’t picking up.“Come on, Smith,” Masahiro growled under his breath, dialing again.The car’s headlights flicked on. The low growl of the engine grew louder as the vehicle inched forward, angling toward the crosswalk.Masahiro shot to his feet, abandoning his coffee. “Matthew!” he shouted, sprinting out of the café. His voice barely carried over the traf
Masahiro’s pacing had worn an invisible path into the living room floor. The clock ticked too loudly, and the silence between him and Matthew grew heavier with each minute."Any harder and you’ll stomp right through," Matthew said, lounging on the couch. His tone was playful, but his eyes followed Masahiro’s movements with interest.Masahiro ignored him. The doorbell rang, and he practically sprinted to answer it. He pulled the door open to reveal Yumi, standing there with a bag slung over her shoulder and an expression caught somewhere between worry and confusion."Masahiro," she greeted, stepping inside. Her gaze landed briefly on Matthew, who gave her a lazy wave from the couch."What’s going on?" she asked, shifting her attention back to Masahiro. "You sounded urgent on the phone.""Just check on him," Masahiro said briskly, gesturing toward Matthew."Check for what, exactly?" Yumi frowned, approaching
Masahiro sat stiffly in the hospital waiting room, his eyes flicking occasionally toward Matthew, who was lounging casually in the chair beside him. The faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound, punctuated by the occasional cough or shuffle of paper from the front desk."Why do you look so serious?" Matthew asked, his voice cutting through the silence, a teasing smile on his lips.Masahiro shot him a sidelong glance. "Because I’m getting this damn cast off. Finally."Matthew raised an eyebrow. "You're sure you don’t want to keep it for a little longer? You know, for the sympathy points.""I don’t need sympathy," Masahiro grunted, his expression tightening. "I just need this to be over with."A nurse called Masahiro's name, and the two stood up in unison. Matthew slung a lazy arm around Masahiro's shoulders as they followed the nurse down the corridor. Masahiro tried to ignore the smirk on Matthew's face as he walked, but the fami
"Well, well, well, look who's back on his feet," Lewis said with a grin, leaning against the doorframe. "Thought you were six feet under, Payne."Masahiro’s expression didn’t shift, his cold, stoic demeanor as unbothered as ever. "Not today, Lewis," he replied flatly, his voice steady. "We’ve come to talk to Jones about something that happened yesterday."Lewis raised an eyebrow, glancing between Masahiro and Matthew, who gave him a smile in return. "Oh? Is this about Rocco’s death?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.Masahiro shook his head. "No. Matthew's the next target."Lewis’s face dropped. "What do you mean?"Matthew sighed, the playful gleam in his blue eyes fading as he shifted his stance. "When I got back from here yesterday, I almost had a car accident."Masahiro’s voice was matter-of-fact, cutting through the tension. "Wasn't an accident. The mafia’s trying to kill him."Matthew shot him a pointed look, but the se
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.