Masahiro’s car pulled up to the familiar gate of his apartment complex, the dashboard clock glowing a haunting 2:03 a.m. His thoughts raced as he shifted into park, exhausted but eager to collapse back into bed beside Matthew. That brief reprieve vanished the moment he glanced toward the security guard’s station.
Darkness. No lights. Not even the faintest flicker from the small desk lamp that should have been on.
Masahiro squinted through the windshield. Something was off. The guard was always vigilant, always there to nod at him or flash a casual wave. Tonight? Nothing. He scanned the area again, his gaze settling on the shadowy shape crumpled on the pavement near the station.
His breath hitched. A body.
“No, no, no…” Masahiro muttered under his breath as he yanked the door open and ran to the lifeless form. His shoes scraped against the pavement as he crouched down, hands trembling as he reached out.
The guard&rsquo
Masahiro woke up with a start, his head heavy and his body aching from the restless night. The events from the early hours weighed on him like a suffocating blanket. He turned his head to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. Matthew’s side. A surge of irritation bubbled within him. The thought that Matthew might have run away gnawed at his mind. He clenched his jaw and exhaled sharply. He checked the clock on his bedside table; it was almost 10 a.m. He was over three hours late. The realization did nothing to ease his frustration. Sitting up, Masahiro grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his fingers lingering on the hope that there would be some word from Matthew. A message, a missed call, anything. But the screen was devoid of Matthew’s name. Instead, it was filled with multiple missed calls from Lewis. Masahiro sighed deeply, then dialed Lewis back. The line barely rang twice before Lewis answered. “Payne! Good morning. How ar
Masahiro arrived home, exhausted from the day’s events. He stripped off his suit, his mind still lingering on Matthew. He could still feel the weight of his absence in the silence of his house, the emptiness of his bed. The space where Matthew had once been felt like a void, a gap that no amount of routine could fill. For the first time in a long while, Masahiro let himself reflect on what Matthew had become to him.How could he even begin to reconcile the emptiness he felt when Matthew wasn’t around? He missed the way Matthew teased him, the way they would lay together in silence after a long day. He missed the small things… Matthew’s laughter, his sarcastic remarks, his warm body next to his. The loneliness felt unbearable.Masahiro had tried to push it away, tried to remind himself that Matthew was a lost cause, that he was just a fleeting chapter in his life. But every time he closed his eyes, he couldn’t shake the thought: How was he
Masahiro pushed through the throngs of people in El Paradiso, his jaw tight, his patience wearing thin. The club was alive with flashing lights and pulsing music, but it grated on his nerves. He scanned the room with sharp eyes, frustration building with every moment that passed without a trace of Matthew.He clenched his fists. Two days. Two damn days. Every scenario had run through his mind… Matthew injured, captured, or worse.Then he saw him.Matthew was in the center of the dance floor, commanding attention like it was his birthright. His body moved to the rhythm, fluid and enticing. He had a cigar in hand, smoke curling lazily around him like a lover’s embrace. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, a sinful smirk gracing his lips as he rolled his hips in perfect sync with the beat.Masahiro froze, his emotions colliding in a storm he could barely contain. Relief washed over him… Matthew was okay. Alive. Unharmed. But it was quic
Masahiro was leaning heavily on the restroom counter, his palms bracing against the cold surface as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. His reflection in the mirror showed a storm of emotions… anger, confusion, and a lingering ache he couldn’t shake.Just then, the sound of the door unlocking snapped him out of his thoughts. He spun around, ready to bolt out of the suffocating space, but two women slipped inside, closing the door softly behind them. Their sultry smiles didn’t match the tension knotting in Masahiro’s chest.“Going somewhere?” one of them purred, her voice silky as she leaned against the door, blocking his exit.“I’m not in the mood,” Masahiro growled, his patience threadbare.The second woman, with dark curls framing her face, tilted her head. “Relax, honey. We’re not here to stop you. Just to deliver a message.”“A message?&rd
The sitting room echoed with the sounds of moans and skin slapping against skin.Matthew lay beneath Masahiro, his breath catching as their bodies pressed together, the place illuminated only by the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the large windows.Matthew clung tightly to Masahiro's shoulders, his fingers digging into him. "Ah... Ah..." he panted, his voice hoarse from hours of unrestrained pleasure. Each thrust from Masahiro sent a jolt of ecstasy through his body, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.Matthew closed his eyes, his mind racing. ´Does he really love me? Or is this just one of those fleeting things? Something born out of the moment. ´As Masahiro's powerful hips slammed into Matthew's soft, welcoming cheeks, he leaned down, his hot breath tickling Matthew's ear. "What are you thinking?" he whispered, his deep voice raspy with desire.Matthew blinked up at him, stunned by how easily Masahiro seemed to s
Matthew stirred in bed, the morning light streaming through the thin curtains. He blinked his eyes open, noticing Masahiro standing near the dresser, pulling on his turtleneck sweater. The fabric hugged his frame in a way that briefly distracted Matthew from the haze of waking up.Sensing the movement, Masahiro glanced back, his lips curving into a soft smile. "Hey, babe."Matthew stretched lazily, his arms reaching above his head before falling back onto the pillow. "Morning," he replied, his voice thick with sleep.Masahiro adjusted his sleeves, walking over to grab his watch. "I gotta go."Matthew sighed, rolling onto his back and hugging a pillow to his chest. "I know."Masahiro paused, watching him for a moment. "I’ll come back later," he said, his tone reassuring.Matthew turned his head, his brows furrowing slightly as worry crept into his expression.Masahiro caught the look imme
The quiet hum of the office was broken only by the steady clicks of Masahiro’s keyboard. His brow furrowed as he scrolled through a list of phone records on his screen. Beside him, Lewis leaned back, flipping through the financial reports they had pulled on David. The tension in the air was thick as realization began to take hold.“Look at this,” Masahiro said, his voice sharp but low. He highlighted a series of calls. “Jones received multiple calls from an unregistered number right before Mr. K’s convoy. Ten calls in the hour leading up to the operation. And then—radio silence.” Lewis glanced at the screen, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s not just suspicious; that’s damning. Whoever called him, they knew exactly what was happening.” Masahiro nodded grimly. “And these calls? They weren’t logged in the official records. It’s like he wiped them clean. But this,” he pointed to a time stamp, “is a trace he couldn’t erase. The call connected to th
The clock struck 12:45 AM, the room bathed in shadows as the faint glow of the moon seeped through the curtains. Masahiro and Matthew lay entwined on the bed, their bodies pressed close. Matthew was on his back, one arm resting lazily on Masahiro's, whose arm was draped protectively around his waist. Masahiro’s face was nestled in the crook of Matthew’s neck, their breathing synchronized in a gentle rhythm.It was a rare moment of peace.The stillness was broken by a faint buzz. Masahiro stirred, his brow furrowing as he blinked against the dim light. The phone on the bedside table vibrated insistently, its screen glowing.Carefully, Masahiro reached over, trying not to disturb Matthew, though the motion caused the other to shift slightly. He unlocked the phone, his sharp gaze narrowing as he read the message:Lewis: Come now.Beneath the terse words was a location pin, marking a spot on the outskirts of th
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.