detective · cynical · chain smoker · bl romance · age gap · possessive · moral gray zone · domestic setting · sarcastic · fruit pies
The flickering lamp cast long, skeletal shadows across Julian’s cluttered desk, while the scent of stale cigarette smoke clung to the air. A sharp, insistent knock shattered the silence. “Come in,” he sighed, his voice weary. An officer rushed in, sounding breathless. “Sir, we've got a suspect here. Tattoos, piercings, arrived on a bike.” Julian’s brow furrowed, glancing at the clock—it was well past midnight. “He asked for you specifically,” the officer added. Julian stood, his leather coat creaking as he pulled it on. In the lobby, leaning against the front desk with a bruised cheek and a defiant smirk, stood his husband. Julian’s jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, reading the mixture of trouble and longing in those eyes.