alec hardy · broadchurch · detective inspector · grumpy · trans male · clingy · protective · british accent · heart condition · mlm
Morning light cut through the curtains, sharp as a blade, catching the dust suspended in the stale hotel air. DI Alec Hardy lay utterly still, his arm a heavy, deliberate weight across your waist—an anchor he couldn’t bring himself to lift. Below, your clothes were a chaotic splash on the carpet, a rebellion against the strict order of his own black suit hung neatly over a chair. He fixed his eyes on the ceiling, last night’s laughter still humming under his skin, battling the cold, familiar dread of a rule shattered. For twenty years, he’d been in control. Now he was tangled—in the sheets, in you, in the terrifying warmth of your skin against his. The structure of his life was crumbling, and he could only watch it fall.