The crowd around the grave began to thin.
Some officers lingered. Others drifted toward their cars in small clusters, the quiet murmur of uniforms brushing against one another, badges catching the sun one last time before vanishing into the afternoon.Masahiro and Matthew stepped forward.The woman stood at the edge of the burial, veil now lifted, her eyes rimmed red but dry. She looked like someone who had cried enough before the funeral ever started.Masahiro approached her first.“Mrs. Doyle,” he said gently, dipping his head. “I’m… I’m sorry for your loss.”Her expression didn’t shift much. But her voice was calm. “Thank you.”There was a steadiness in her grief—one born from surviving years beside a man who chased death for a living.Masahiro gave a small nod, then turned toward the young man standing just beside her.Doyle’s son.Closer now, Masahiro could see the resemblance. The jawline. The way his eyes watched everything. Guarded, teThe couch wasn’t new to this.It creaked like it recognized the weight—Clark’s spine pressed to the cushions, Adam’s knee between his legs, files forgotten beneath them like collateral damage.Clark didn’t gasp.He groaned.“Tch—Adam.” Half-warned, half-melted. “I just organized those.”Adam didn’t give a damn.“Then you should’ve organized your schedule better, counselor.”He said it at Clark’s throat, teeth barely grazing the skin just beneath his jaw. The kind of contact that wasn’t meant to hurt—but to remind.Clark exhaled through his nose. Calm. Infuriating.“You are dangerously obsessed with making me moan over prosecutorial misconduct.”“That’s ‘cause you sound better screamin’ than lecturin’.”Clark chuckled darkly—head thudding back into the cushion. He pushed his glasses up with two fingers, then slid them off entirely and dropped them onto the table.“You’re so fucking predictable.”Adam smirked. “And you’re so fuckin’
"Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine..."Knock! Knock!The sharp sound of a truncheon rapping against the cell bars broke Matthew's focus mid-push-up."Matthew Smith!" the prison guard barked.Matthew paused, caught his breath, and stood up. "Yeah," he replied, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he straightened his posture."Let’s go," the guard ordered, unlocking the cell door.Without a word, Matthew walked toward the open door. As he stepped out, a chorus of whistles and crude remarks erupted from his cellmates. He ignored them. He had learned long ago that responding wasn’t worth the effort. Today, more than ever, it didn’t matter—because today was different. Today was his last day in this hellhole.The guard locked the cell behind him. "Follow me," he instructed.Matthew fell in line behind the guard, walking down the dimly lit corridor lined with barred cells. Jeers followed him with every step, but he kept his eyes forward, focused. He’d never cared much for their taunts,
As Matthew walked towards the prison’s main gate, he spotted a guard standing watch, barely five meters ahead. He glanced up at the sky, feeling the fresh air from the nearby trees brush his face, a small but tangible taste of freedom. The sense of liberation began to settle in—a freedom from the damp, oppressive cells, the stale odor of confinement, and the abuse, both from the guards and fellow inmates. He was finally breaking away from the system that had held him captive for so long.Reaching the gate, he watched as it swung open. With deliberate steps, Matthew crossed over the threshold and immediately noticed a sleek black car with tinted windows parked just outside. The license plate confirmed his suspicion—it was a government vehicle. As he approached, the window lowered, revealing a striking woman with dark, curly hair and sunglasses perched on her nose."Matthew!" she called out, pulling off her shades with a smile."Miss Melissa," he responded, trying his best to sound cordi
Masahiro stood frozen, staring at David. "You…," he began, but paused to collect himself. "Boss, you’re joking, right?" He stepped closer to the table, clearly shocked by what he had just heard.David clasped his hands on the table, shaking his head slightly. "Why would I joke about something like this?"Masahiro ran his hand over his head, visibly trying to calm his growing frustration."Do you two know each other or something?" David asked, looking between Masahiro and Matthew.Masahiro placed his hands on waist and shot David a look that said it all.“Oh..." David finally caught on to the tension. "Can I ask you both to leave for a moment?" he said, directing his words to Melissa and Matthew."Of course," Melissa said, gathering her belongings. "Come on, Matthew."Without a word, Matthew stood and followed her, his eyes briefly meeting Masahiro's in a tense, sidelong stare as they passed him. It was clear there was bad blood between them."We'll be right outside," Melissa gestured t
Masahiro cut the ignition, and the soft hum of the engine died."Get out!" Masahiro said sharply, already releasing his seatbelt to exit the car.Matthew followed wordlessly, his gaze flicking around as they made their way to the entrance of the building in front of them, a modern one ensconced in a quieter neighbourhood.As they entered, Matthew could not help but notice the interior: an immaculate lobby, with minimalistic decoration, and inlaid marble floors gleaming softly under reflected lights.They walked to the elevator and got inside; Masahiro clicked the fifth floor.Masahiro's arms were crossed, barely looking at Mattew, so the same for this one.Finally, the doors opened on the fifth floor; Masahiro headed down the hall, toward a door with a sleek black plaque wrote: ´501´.He unlocked it and went inside without waiting for Matthew to catch up.Matthew held back at the threshold, catching his breath as he took in Masahiro's apartment.It was neat, almost obsessively so; a pl
Masahiro´s hands gripped the steering wheel, while his eyes stayed on the road. Matthew sat beside him in the passenger seat-the air between them thick with unsaid words. The momentary silence in the car felt like the tip of a storm below the surface.Matthew saw Da Vinci's nightclub from the corner of his eye, a neon glow soft against the night.A flicker of relief washed over him. ´At least inside, I can get some distance from this cop. Just for a while, ´ he thought.Masahiro slowed the car, easing onto a secluded spot where he could keep a clear view of the entrance without drawing unnecessary attention to himself. He killed the engine; the soft hum of the car´s power died down. With a quiet sigh, he released his buckle."I’ll stay here, to do the surveillance," he said, his voice cold.Matthew did not say anything, just stepped out of the car and went towards the entrance of the club.Upon Matthew stepped inside, the pulsing beats of Da Vinci’s Nightclub enveloped him. The air wa
As Matthew and Masahiro enganged in a very and long kiss, the two low-level thugs stumbled in; their grins of carefree abandon quickly changed to bewilderment at the sight of an intimate scene unfolding before their very eyes.One of them, his voice ringing with a touch of brash confidence, suddenly exclaimed, "Get a room, you two!"The other, more subdued in temperament, shrugged and nonchalantly went back to pressing business."Right, like this is a place for romantic encounters," he muttered, adding a hearty chuckle to his words as he stepped forward to the sinks.Matthew didn't budge, he kept kissing Masahiro, hitching him a little bit closer still.Masahiro had felt Matthew's body heat against his and was torn between fascination and horror. The kiss had stayed as they struggled for balance, while the unique scent of Matthew was an intoxicating blend of danger and allure, demanding attention. Just as he leaned deeper into the kiss, the f
The only sound was the low hum of the car's engine, Masahiro clenching the steering wheel with unrelenting muscles as his mind whirled over all that happened tonight. He could feel tension simmered in his muscles, the adrenaline still high from the unexpected kiss from Matthew. Matthew, on the other hand, looked like he didn't give a damn about anything, sprawled casually in the passenger seat, eyes flicking lazily to the streetlights outside.Masahiro was still trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened. His mind was still running in circles between the mission and how Matthew had acted. It wasn't just a kiss, and Matthew's Masahiro needed to focus. They couldn't get distracted that time. He needed confirmation from David first before they could do anything else.He drew his cell phone out and dialed David's number, his fingers hovering for just a moment as he glanced at the road. The phone rang twice before David's voice came through, cool and to the point."Masahir
The couch wasn’t new to this.It creaked like it recognized the weight—Clark’s spine pressed to the cushions, Adam’s knee between his legs, files forgotten beneath them like collateral damage.Clark didn’t gasp.He groaned.“Tch—Adam.” Half-warned, half-melted. “I just organized those.”Adam didn’t give a damn.“Then you should’ve organized your schedule better, counselor.”He said it at Clark’s throat, teeth barely grazing the skin just beneath his jaw. The kind of contact that wasn’t meant to hurt—but to remind.Clark exhaled through his nose. Calm. Infuriating.“You are dangerously obsessed with making me moan over prosecutorial misconduct.”“That’s ‘cause you sound better screamin’ than lecturin’.”Clark chuckled darkly—head thudding back into the cushion. He pushed his glasses up with two fingers, then slid them off entirely and dropped them onto the table.“You’re so fucking predictable.”Adam smirked. “And you’re so fuckin’
The crowd around the grave began to thin.Some officers lingered. Others drifted toward their cars in small clusters, the quiet murmur of uniforms brushing against one another, badges catching the sun one last time before vanishing into the afternoon.Masahiro and Matthew stepped forward.The woman stood at the edge of the burial, veil now lifted, her eyes rimmed red but dry. She looked like someone who had cried enough before the funeral ever started.Masahiro approached her first.“Mrs. Doyle,” he said gently, dipping his head. “I’m… I’m sorry for your loss.”Her expression didn’t shift much. But her voice was calm. “Thank you.”There was a steadiness in her grief—one born from surviving years beside a man who chased death for a living.Masahiro gave a small nod, then turned toward the young man standing just beside her.Doyle’s son.Closer now, Masahiro could see the resemblance. The jawline. The way his eyes watched everything. Guarded, te
It had been five days since Allan Doyle’s body was found behind Barrow Lane.Five days since the call. Since the silence that followed it. Since Masahiro had driven into the night with blood in his chest and Matthew’s voice at his back.Now, the sun was too bright for a funeral, but they buried him anyway.The car rolled to a stop at the edge of the cemetery.Beyond the windshield, the canary was crowded—rows of law enforcement officers in black, lined up in silent formation. Uniforms everywhere: pressed blues, starched grays, polished medals that caught the morning light. Detectives in tailored coats stood among beat cops and field agents. The air was stiff with order and unsaid things.Canopies had been set up above the grave site, a futile attempt to shield the mourners from the pale spring sun. The wind tugged at coat hems and tugged hair loose from buns and slicked styles. But no one moved. No one left.Masahiro turned off the engine.They sat for a
It was midnight.Matthew’s face was buried against Masahiro’s chest, his breath warm and steady, rising and falling like waves breaking against stone. The bedroom was cloaked in dim gold—just the faintest light slipping through the cracked door, catching on the curve of Masahiro’s bare shoulder.Masahiro lay still, one hand in Matthew’s curls, the other resting against his side. He hadn’t slept.Not really.The weight of six weeks hadn’t left his chest since he’d closed his eyes.Then the phone rang.A sharp vibration on the nightstand. No ringtone—Masahiro never let it ring. Just the buzzing thrum of urgency in the dark.He reached without waking Matthew, answering in one fluid motion.“Payne.”The voice on the other end was clipped. Low. Shaken.“Sir… it’s Doyle. Allan Doyle. He’s dead.”Masahiro didn’t breathe.His hand froze mid-motion. The ceiling above him went quiet.The voice continued. “They found his body in the alley behind Barrow Lane. Gunshot. Close range. No witnesses.”
The car rolled to a stop in front of Arthur’s building. The street was dim, washed in the orange flicker of old lamps. Arthur hesitated for a second before unbuckling. “Thanks for the ride,” he said quietly, eyes a little too wide, hands still trembling from the night. Masahiro nodded once. “Goodnight, Cooper.” Matthew gave him a small wave from the passenger seat. “Text Masa if anything weird happens, yeah?” Arthur nodded and got out, closing the door softly. He walked up to the building, pulled his keys from his pocket, and glanced back just once. They waited. Arthur opened the gate, disappeared inside, and only when the door shut behind him with a faint click, did Masahiro start the engine again. Silence. It stretched for blocks. Then Matthew let out a sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. “This whole thing’s a mess.” Masahiro didn’t respond immediately. He kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight. Matthew kept going. “Six people. And somehow we’re all tangled up
The lock hissed. The panic room door creaked open.What greeted them wasn’t relief. It was aftermath.A wash of chemical air hit first—smoke and industrial sanitizer, sharp and sterile. Lights flickered overhead, the hallway still recovering from whatever scramble had unfolded outside.Armed officers lined the corridor, weapons lowered but eyes tracking every movement. No one moved until Masahiro stepped out first, calm as a blade.Cassidy followed, still cuffed, but upright. Arthur stayed tucked at his side, blinking against the hallway light like he’d forgotten what outside air tasted like.Behind them, Clark adjusted his tie. Adam stepped beside him, hand loose on Clark’s back without thinking. Matthew emerged next, yawning. He still looked smug.At the far end, a prosecutor and a city official waited. Legal cleanup."We’ll need statements," the official said.Masahiro didn’t even pause. "Not now."The man sputtered, but Masahiro was already wa
The panic room had gone quiet.The gas had settled. The lock was still sealed. But for the first time in an hour, no one was yelling, bleeding, or threatening to kill someone over sarcasm.Clark sat near the far wall, his head resting on Adam’s shoulder, tie loosened, wrist still trembling.Adam didn’t say anything.Just held a water bottle in one hand, and Clark in the other.He glanced down. “Drink.”Clark sighed, voice hoarse. “You’ve said that three times.”Adam pressed the bottle into his hand. “And I’ll say it a fourth.”Clark took it. “You’re very annoying.”Adam’s smirk was faint. “You like annoying.”Clark: “I like expensive wine and emotional distance.”Adam: “And still end up in my bed. Funny how that works.”Across the room, Cassidy had planted himself against the wall, legs stretched out, one arm wrapped around Arthur, who was tucked against his chest. Arthur hadn’t spoken in ten minutes.Cassidy ran a hand through Art
The courtroom was colder than usual.Not from temperature. From tension.Cassidy sat at the defense table, cuffed but unmoved. Clean suit. Straight spine. His eyes drifted, slow and knowing, over the faces present—not the jury, not the prosecution. The others.Arthur was in the gallery, near the back, shoulders squared but not at ease. He hadn’t looked at Cassidy since entering. But he hadn’t looked away, either.Clark stood at the defense bench, immaculate in gray. Composed. Watching. Reading the room like a surgeon reads skin.Adam leaned against the wall at the rear of the courtroom, arms crossed, one boot tapped into the tile like a metronome of violence barely restrained. He clocked everything. Every whisper. Every eye shift.Matthew sat beside him, chewing gum he wasn't supposed to have, scrolling his phone without looking. But his free hand rested near Adam’s, just enough to ground him.Masahiro sat two rows ahead of Arthur. Silent. Controlled. The
Arthur returned to the precinct in silence.His boots clicked over tile, shoulders tighter than when he’d left. He hesitated at the office door.Masahiro was stiil inside. Alone. Leaning against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, unreadable.Arthur opened the door anyway.He didn’t speak. Just shut it behind him.Masahiro watched him for a moment.“You left without a word.”“I know.”Masahiro’s tone didn’t rise. “During work hours.”Arthur nodded.Masahiro tilted his head. “Wanna tell me where you went?”Arthur didn’t flinch. “To see Cassidy.”A pause. Not surprise—just confirmation.Masahiro’s voice was calm. “What did you go there to do?”Arthur swallowed once. “I asked him not to retaliate.”Masahiro blinked slowly. “That’s what you think your job is now?”“I asked him to wait,” Arthur said. “To give us a chance to fix this through the system. I told him I’d do everything I could… by the law.”Masahiro looked at him for a long beat. Then pushed off the desk and walked toward the