The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the sheets and the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Matthew was already asleep, his breathing deep and steady, sprawled out on the bed like he didn’t have a care in the world. His body was relaxed, the exhaustion of the night finally taking its toll on him. Masahiro watched him for a moment, his heart a strange, tight feeling in his chest—something he couldn’t quite name, but something real nonetheless.
He gently pulled himself away, careful not to wake Matthew. Slipping into loose pants, Masahiro padded silently toward the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, the cool liquid a small, simple comfort in the quiet of the apartment. When he finished, he returned to the bedroom, water in hand.
Matthew lay on the bed, his hair spread across the pillow. Masahiro paused at the foot of the bed, watching him for a long moment. He felt a strange, almost possessive tenderness in the way Matthew look
The raid on Mr. K's operation had not only dismantled a criminal empire but had also ignited a media firestorm that engulfed Cleveland. News outlets raced to cover the shocking discovery of the trafficking ring, the corruption that had seeped into the highest levels of government, and the arrest of Kenneth Hartman, the Minister of Trade and Economic Development. Headlines screamed for attention, each vying to present the latest angle on the scandal that had rocked the city.Masahiro could hardly keep up with the barrage of notifications on his phone, each ping signaling another story breaking. “Minister Arrested in Shocking Trafficking Ring,” one headline blared. “Corruption at the Highest Level: Who Else Will Fall?” Another speculated about the fallout, naming high-ranking politicians who had been seen mingling at the gala just hours before the raid.As Masahiro sat in the station, the weight of the media scrutiny settled heavily on his shoulde
At the precinct, the atmosphere was charged with an undercurrent of tension. Officers bustled about, preparing for what many considered the most significant operation of their careers. Masahiro joined the team briefing, his mind shifting gears as he focused on the task at hand.“Listen up!” David, announced, his voice commanding attention. “Tomorrow’s transfer of Mr. K is not just another routine procedure. We’re dealing with a high-profile suspect—a government minister who has ties to organized crime. This operation must be flawless. I expect each of you to perform your duties without fail.”The room buzzed with murmurs. Masahiro exchanged glances with Lewis, who leaned closer, whispering, “It’s hard to believe a minister is a mafia baron. How does he get away with it?”“I wish I knew,” Masahiro replied quietly, his thoughts already racing ahead. “But we can’t let our guard down. Not now.”As the briefing continued, Masahiro listened to David outlining the secu
The convoy rolled steadily along the highway, the morning enveloping the city. Masahiro sat in the driver's seat, his focus sharp, eyes scanning the road ahead. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on him; they were about to deliver one of the most dangerous criminals in recent history to a secure facility for questioning.“Everything good?” Lewis asked.“Yeah, just... keeping an eye on things,” Masahiro replied.Suddenly, the communication systems crackled, and a series of garbled sounds erupted from the radios. Masahiro frowned, flicking the switch to try to re-establish contact. “What the hell?”“David, come in. David!” The static filled the cab, but there was no response. Masahiro glanced at the rear-view mirror, where he could see the other vehicles in the convoy.“Something’s wrong,” Lewis said, his voice low but urgent. “We need to make sure everyone is okay back the
The shrill sound of the alarm echoed through the cold, sterile halls of the maximum-security facility. The atmosphere inside shifted in an instant… what had been a meticulously controlled operation was now descending into chaos. Masahiro stood frozen, his mind racing as the man beneath the hood continued to stammer and plead. The face he’d seen moments earlier… the one he thought belonged to Mr. K… was gone, replaced with a stranger.The confusion in the room was notable. Officers exchanged uncertain glances, their previous confidence slipping away.“What the hell is going on?” Masahiro repeated, his voice steady despite the shock rising in his chest.David still hadn’t spoken. His eyes darted between Masahiro and the man in front of him, his expression unreadable.“Who is this?” Masahiro demanded, stepping forward, his gaze sharp. “Is this some kind of joke? Where’s Mr. K?”
Masahiro unlocked the door to the apartment and stepped inside, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. His usually calm expression was marred by frustration, his movements brisk as he kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket onto the nearest chair.From the couch, Matthew, sprawled in his usual lazy fashion with Clyde perched on his lap, glanced up with a smirk. “Rough day?” he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You look like someone just stole your donuts.”Masahiro shot him a glare but didn’t respond immediately, heading straight for the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.Then he finally spoke, his tone clipped. “Just a lot of work. Nothing special.”Matthew raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Work, huh?” He pointed toward the muted television, where a reporter gestured animatedly outside the facility Masahiro had just left. “Saw the press conference. Something happen?”Masahiro hesitated for jus
The soft rustle of sheets stirred Matthew awake. He groaned, his face buried into the pillow as he tried to ignore the faint light filtering through the blinds. It wasn’t the sun, though, that had disturbed him… it was the weight of a familiar hand trailing up his back, fingers lingering like they had no business being so gentle.“Morning,” Masahiro’s voice was soft, coaxing, the kind of tone Matthew had learned to mistrust.“Whatever it is, the answer’s no,” Matthew mumbled into the pillow. He turned his head just enough to glare over his shoulder, finding Masahiro propped on one elbow, his dark eyes focused entirely on him.Masahiro didn’t reply, not with words. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Matthew’s shoulder, slow and deliberate.Matthew groaned again, louder this time, but it lacked conviction. “You’re like a needy dog, you know that? Path
Matthew lay sprawled on the bed like a defeated gladiator after a particularly brutal battle. His arms flopped to the sides, and his head lolled dramatically as he sighed, long and heavy. “I think you’ve killed me,” he declared. Masahiro, still perched on top of him, leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You’re fine,” he said, far too smug for Matthew’s taste. “I’m not fine,” Matthew shot back, his voice rising theatrically. “My body is broken. My soul is broken. If I even attempt to stand, I’ll probably collapse and die right here. Then what will you do? Huh? Do you have a plan for that?” Masahiro tilted his head, considering this while tracing lazy circles on Matthew’s chest. “I’d probably bury you in the backyard,” he said with a faint grin. “Less paperwork that way.” “You’re a monster,” Matthew deadpanned, glaring up at him. “And yet,” Masahiro whispered, his lips brushing against Matthew’s ear, “you always let me in.” Mat
Masahiro parked the car in front of a small, cozy café, the sun barely peeking through the early morning clouds. He looked over at Matthew, who had loosened his seatbelt and settled back, sunglasses covering his eyes and arms crossed in an all-too-familiar, dramatic pose.“What do you want?” Masahiro asked, eyes on the road but curious about Matthew’s usual morning request.Matthew didn’t even bother opening his eyes, his tone lazy and mocking. “A croissant, something with berries, maybe a Danish. And a hot chocolate. Make sure it's extra thick. Not that watered-down stuff you usually get me."Masahiro smirked, already thinking about how much Matthew liked the ridiculous things he ordered for breakfast. “Alright, I’ll grab your ‘delicacies.’”He got out, leaving Matthew lounging in the passenger seat, still looking like he belonged in a movie about troubled, sunshiny mornings.Insid
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.