Chapter 5: The Spark

Chapter 5

Est

Est studied his body in the large mirror— his back that had been a canvas of raw bleeding welts now just lines of yellowed fading bruises.

The marks no longer burned when he moved, though the faint ache lingered like a memory stitched beneath his skin.

It had been two weeks since his encounter with The Man.

And since then, he hadn't had the urge to hurt himself. Two weeks of silence, of living in this shell of himself.

He still couldn't write, still found himself spacing out in between paragraphs and most times he didn't even know if the story was going anywhere.

So he stopped trying.

He also hadn't called since then.

Didn't think he was ready to answer Hong's curious, intrusive questions. He didn't think he'd be able to anyways. Didn't know if he would want to.

All he knew was he'd been having dreams of the stranger that had broken his body and healed him in ways he hadn't thought possible that same night.

Dreams that woke him up with his heart in his throat and a visible tent in his pants.

And it scared him. Left him feeling a little unsettled, a little lost.

Est didn't know if he was ready.

To experience that again, to face him again...

What would he find waiting for him?

Clarity or Destruction?

A knock came in.

"Cuz?" Nut's low voice called out.

Est threw on a shirt quickly, taking a steadying breath before opening it.

"Hey!" Nut was leaned against the door frame, keys in hand. "I'm about to leave... head to work."

"Oh? Okay..." Est answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nut's eyes lingered, concerned. "Are you okay? Your mom is worried about you— I'm worried about you... You should call more often."

Est only nodded his head, planting a false smile on his lips. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I'll try to call more often."

Nut studied him for a long moment, searching his face as if trying to read the weight behind Est's eyes. But he came up empty. "Okay then... I'm going." He said.

"I'll walk you outside."

Est walked him downstairs, out the door and towards his car outside.

"Let's meet up for drinks soon, catch up properly."

"Yeah... I'd like that." Est said, arms crossed, voice still strangely distant.

Nut gave him a long, worried, last look before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway.

Est watched the car speed off down the road, tail lights soon swallowed by the morning haze. He stood there a little longer than necessary until the low rumble in the street fell quiet again.

Then he stepped inside, made himself a hot cup of coffee before settling into his workspace.

He turned on his computer and got to work, doing some research for his book.

There he spent the next three hours, browsing through various sites, reading articles and googling research docs onArtificial Intelligence.

He found some citations and recommendations, scribbled a name down on a notepad. Afterwards, he grabbed his keys, his shoulder bag and left the house.

The bookstore was a modest, rustic shop tucked into a quiet corner of town. It was small, almost easy to miss, as if it had been hiding there all along.

Est had never been here before.

He'd found it only through sheer coincidence as his usual was closed today.

This was new, unfamiliar, and as Est stepped inside for the first time, he felt the hush of the place settle over him like a beautiful secret shared.

It oddly warmed him.

Moving through the cramped space, he browsed throw the rows and sections— eyes sweeping carefully, fingers ghosting over the spines like shadows whispering.

Romance, history, sci-fi, and a scatter of other genres lined the shelves. To his surprise, he even stumbled upon fourth-edition copies of his own book.

It made him warm, proud— yet a faint twinge of sadness stirred within him too. The sight pulled him back to a time when life had been much lighter, less fucked up.

He hated that his books had turned into melanchoic reminders of those days, hated how heavy his heart grew with the memory.

Blinking away the dismal feeling, he moved ahead, careful not to brush the shelves with his broad shoulders.

He stopped at an aisle, eyes scanning through until he found the book he was looking for.

Turning around, he took another sweeping glance and his eyes landed on a row a few feet away.

Erotica.

Est squirmed, his toes curling in his boot, suddenly very self aware. The feeling was impulsive and he felt a sudden wave of embarrassment wash over him despite himself.

Curiosity tugged, lingered, the small aisle a siren's call.

Unable to resist, he took a conscious look around before walking towards it— his steps small, hesitant, as if he were doing something dishonest.

Once there, his eyes skimmed through the array of erotic literature— Marquis de Sade, Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, Georges Bataille, Giovanni Boccaccio, Sylvia Day, EL James...

Each book cover gleamed under the fluorescent lights of the store— provocative and tempting.

Est stood there a moment— hesitant, having an internal tug of war. He thought long and hard about whether this was something he wanted to keep exploring.

So far, his experience had left him with more questions than answers. Though it made him a little stable, it also left him unsteady... alot.

Releasing a loud sigh, he finally conceded and reached out, deliberately picking out the most familiar.

Fifty Shades of Grey— silver tie over a bluish gradient background, bestseller, infamous. He turned it in his hand, weighing it over, before holding it against his chest with his other pick.

He moved ahead, eyes scanning, until he glimpsed another—historical, its white and blue paperback alluring. 120 Days of Sodom by Marquis de Sade.

The name rang a bell. He was sure he'd seen it somewhere before. Or maybe heard about it. Without second thought, he picked it up.

He ended up setlling for another random— Comfort Food by Kitty Thomas. The premise seemed promising.

Stacking his picks, he grabbed them, moved to the checkout counter, carefully placing them on the cool marble surface.

His eyes dropped, fingers rummaging through his bag for his card.

"Good afternoon..." A warm voice greeted.

"Good afternoon..." Est looked up and his eyes fell on a man— handsome face, metal framed glasses over small dark eyes. His dark-brown hair fell in unevenly trimmed waves across his face and his smile framed even white teeth.

He was younger, shorter by an inch or two, but striking all the same, attractive, in a way that was soft— boyish even.

Est mouth was suddenly dry.

"Good afternoon..." Est croaked, flustered, flushed all at once. "That will be all."

The man flashed him another beaming smile before checking out his picks. "Hmmm... Superintelligence: Dangers of AI. Everybody needs to read this book... Seems like it's only a matter of time before the robots finally put me out of business..." He half-joked, his voice friendly but serious still.

Then his brows raised as his eyes saw the next.

Est's eyes widened slightly.

He realized how it must have looked and a blush crept up his neck. "I— i-it's not what it looks like—" He choked out, stuttering. "You see I'm a writer... and it's for.... research." His voice lowered, cheeks flush with embarrassment as the lie slipped out.

The man chuckled. "You don't need to explain yourself, sir."

But for some reason, Est had felt the need to. Catching himself, he blushed an even deeper shade, scratching the back of his neck.

"You say you're a writer? Do I happen to have some of your writing in here? Or are you a digital writer?" He asked as he charged the books into the systen.

"Uhm, yes... You do. Letters Beneath the Gashouses and The Last Waltz of Vienna."

The man stopped abruptly, steadfast hands halting. "Est Supha?"

Est smiled at the slight awe in his tone. "That's me... seems you've read my books." He answered shyly, his stance awkward.

"Read would be an understatement... Though I've read almost all the books in here. But yours? Man I'm honored." The man reached out a hand. "I'm Tui."

Est looked down at his hands— strong hands he could tell. He slowly took it and Tui's hand brushed over his, warming his skin. "Nice to meet you Tui."

Their gazes met, locked, and something passed between them. Some unspoken magnetic connection.

Tui soon broke his hold. But the magic remained.

"So... you took the world by storm with a heartbreaking holocaust romance and now you're writing... AI... BDSM erotica?" His tone was baffled, yet it held traces of humor.

Est was completely red at this point. "It's classified." He answered, hoping that counted as a save.

Tui laughed, shaking his head. "Well whatever it is I can't wait to read it?"

"I'll send you a signed copy." Est smiled back, his voice warm.

Another electric pause.

Tui looked at him again, taking him all in. He looked away, scratching his hair, hesitant. Then. "Uhm... speaking of signed copies, I have personal copies of your book, but it is tucked away in my treasure chest back home... So maybe I'll bring it over, and hopefully if you ever come around again, you can sign it for me?" He handed the wrapped package over.

Est decided he liked the way Tui spoke— dorky but warm, the kind you remember on a casual afternoon walk in a garden and a wilted summer leaf lands in your hair. "Hopefully." He answered, mesmerized, meeting those small, endless orbs as he took the paper bag.

Tui gave him a shy smile and bit his lip.Then he leaned forward, voice lowered, more flirtatious. "Hopefully you need another AI book soon."

Est returned the smile. "Hopefully." He murmured, the words barely above a whisper.

Then he turned and walked away, careful not to stumble with the aggressive butterflies that fluttering in belly. He glanced back, stole another lingering glance— but he met Tui's unwavering gaze, still fixed on him.

He stepped out of the shop, and the bright, warm sunlight greeted his face.

Taking a lungful of the fresh air, suddenly felling a little lighter, he turned and walked down the street.

~~~

William

William was ticked.

Irritated.

He always was.

But now... he was edging toward furious.

It annoyed him. Made him unsteady. Made him unpredictable.

Hong pissed him off. He always did.

But this time was different— less endearing, more infuriating.

They'd kept their secret safe for four years. Had sanctity. Had solitude. But now it all came crashing down.

Unraveling. Thread by thread.

All in a single stroke of Hong's stupidity.

It wasn't his first fuck up. And just like the last time, William had to clean it up.

The cop could wait. He would handle the snitch first.

Dead men don't talk to cops.

And if it came down to it... he'd deal with The Pig as well.

He watched from his car as Est stepped out of the bookstore, walking past an intersection and crossing the road.

He'd been following him, hoping to corner him.

He didn't know what he was going to do yet, but he needed a confession, needed to know how deep this ran.

If someone had sent him or if this was just a personal vendetta.

He didn't care what means he had to use. He would get one out of him.

William stepped out his car and followed him, trailing behind— not fast, but not slow enough to arouse suspicion.

Just steady.

Casual.

Like a stranger on an afternoon stroll.

He followed Est until he walked into the entrance of a large building.

William stopped, looked up.

Bangkok Museum of Arts.

That piqued his curiosity.

A museum?

The word tugged on a memory... one he couldn't quite catch.

But he didn't force it, just followed him in.

Inside, he stood a distance away, watching as Est walked and stood in front of a large painting— a tree that blended into a cloud in a dizzying splash of colors.

'Optical illusion?' Will wondered.

Est stood there, feet rooted to the spot, unmoving. Almost as if in a trance.

The painting was mediocre at best in William's eyes, but something about the way Est stood, made another picture.

One of quiet desperation, longing— a soul adrift and reaching for answers it could not yet grasp.

He wondered what Est saw in the painting that could keep him at standstill for such long minutes.

Curious, he walked over— hands in pockets— and stood next to him.

And he stared, trying to see what Est saw.

He thought Est might not have noticed him in his trance-like state, but Est started to speak— eyes still fixed on the canvas.

"You know..." His voice was quiet, focused, almost as if speaking to the painting itself. "Most people who come here, they don't know the story behind this."

William blinked slowly, startled, though his expression remained impassive. He turned his head to face Est, who kept on speaking, eyes still trained on the painting, unmoving.

"The artist painted it after he lost his wife. She died in childbirth... He didn't weep, didn't break... He just... Sat... By the window, staring at the tree where she was buried."

He took a slow breath, eyes never leaving the canvas.

"Then he started to paint. Not eating, not sleeping. Just painting."

"He wanted to paint something, something that expressed his grief, his pain. He drew a hundred pictures... but none ever felt right. He discarded them, burned them, broke away from his family, his friends, never looked at his daughter— He just kept... painting"

Est paused... lost in the story, his mind unfurling at every word he'd uttered. Then he carried on.

"They called him cold. Called him heartless. Said he'd gone mad. But... grief doesn't always look like sobbing. Sometimes it's this—" He gestured softly at the blurred line where tree faded into sky. "Not knowing where one ends and the other begins."

William stood silent, his jaw tightening faintly.

Est's lips curved into a faint, sad smile. "I never really understood it, I just thought it was beautiful. Haunting, but beautiful. But... I think I get it now."

His voice thinned, but he pressed on. "He wanted to capture the moment when the person you love slips from your grasp. Still here, but also... not. Invisible..."

A calm quiet stretched for a bit, the world dissolving around them

"And yet, somehow... you're the one that's invisible. You keep living, but it's like no one really sees you anymore. They only see your pain. The person you were before. Not the person you become after life has punished you with all its brutal, barbaric betrayals." His voice became tight, sharper, tears welling, burning his eyes. His chest heaved, his breaths shortened.

He still looked at the painting, but he could no longer see it, the image blurring behind his unshed tears, behind the sudden surge of anger he felt.

Est lowered his gaze, shut his eyes to quell the heat, fist crumpling the paper bag in restraint. When he took a steadying breath, when his chest finally lightened, he opened them— his lashes wet with his grief and he carried on. As if nothing had happened. "But sometimes... in that invisibility, you can still find... a kind of clarity. That we're all truly alone in this world. It's cold. But it's clear... And maybe that's enough to survive."

Finally, he turned to William.

Their eyes met, held— Est's fragile, glassy with his woe, William's hard but faltering under the weight of what he'd just heard, what he just saw.

He looked at Est, truly looked at him.

And what he saw was different.

Not the broken, blindfolded man that had begged underneath him. Or the one he watched from a distance all morning, hoping to corner and ruin.

This one was closer, piercing into his soul through his eyes

And in that fleeting moment, as William stared, he noticed it.

Noticed his eyes— the color, the shape— almond and black with sorrow.

A silence hung as they stared, the world shifting into quiet focus.

After a long lingering moment, Est blinked, breaking the hold and the noise of the gallery rushed back in.

Est stepped back, turned and walked away without another word, light footsteps echoing against the marble floor.

William didn't follow.

Not anymore.

He only stared at the painting a little longer— his reflection catching faintly in the glass, his mind wandering.

~~~

Est

Est got home, and the hush of the space settled over him like a warm blanket.

He carefully kicked off his shoes, his socks and went upstairs. There, he placed his bag and the books on his bed, sank into the carpet and pulled one out.

120 Days of Sodom.

'Here we go...'

He took a calming breath and flicked a page open. His fingers trembled as he leafed throught first pages, his eyes catching on the lines that seemed to leap at him from the book.

"Sex without pain is like food without taste."

A slow turn.

"Nothing that makes one hard is wicked, and the only crime in the world is to refuse oneself that pleasure."

He frowned deeply, his brows creasing. His fingers tapped against the line, processing.

Daunting.

"When she's abandoned her moral center and teachings...when she's cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor...when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing, mewling, bucking, wanton whore for my enjoyment and pleasure.....enticing from within this feral lioness...growling and scratching and biting...taking everything I dish out to her.....at that moment she is never more beautiful to me."

Est's stomach coiled, a tight knot forming as he flipped again.

"If it is the dirty element that gives pleasure to the act of lust, then the dirtier it is, the more pleasurable it is bound to be."

Another turn.

'It is only by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.'

Then the pages screamed.

"Kill me! At least God, whom I implore, will pity me. Kill me, but don't dishonor me"

He slammed the book shut, his chest rising and falling in small heaves. This book... the words— they clung to him like a stain he couldn't shake.

Pushing away the disconcerting feeling in his chest, he reached for the next book, Comfort Food.

A woman— kidnapped, controlled, conditioned until she becomes subservient. Stockholm syndrome.

This was different— not soft, though not as hard to stomach.

But the undertone was the same— power, control, depravity woven into every line.

Then Fifty Shades of Grey.

College student and broken billionaire.

Easier to read. Easier to swallow. But again, the same truth lingered underneath— depravity was the common thread.

He leaned back on the carpet, pressing a hand against his humid forehead.

He remembered The Man's words that night.

Because you're not hard... You're chasing something else. Oblivion. Silence.

And now, he understood.

He hadn't enjoyed the pain.

He'd only wanted to bury his grief underneath it.

Yet something had healed in him that night.

'The sex?'

Maybe.

Or maybe it was simply that for the first time, somebody had forced his body to feel something beyond sorrow.

He thought of Tui— how his hand had brushed his at the counter, how his heart had stuttered.

Tui was handsome, kind.

Normal.

His type.

But another image bled into his mind.

The stranger.

The one who had left bruises now fading into yellow. The one whose belt, hands and lips had marked him.

It shot a shiver through him.

Est closed his eyes, forcing the sensual image away.

Denying it.

He wouldn't chase it.

Not unless he felt the urge to destroy himself again.

With a tired sigh, he shoved the books aside and pulled Superintelligence into his lap, flicking a page open.

Safer words.

Productive words.

~~~

Nut

Nut didnt know who he could share this secret with. All he had was a number. And a growing, uncertain feeling in his chest.

He pondered through the drive, wondering if he should just call and ask Est?

Come clean about it.

He knew him. He could trust him.

But—

Est was off. Something was... different.

No, he decided.

it was too dangerous.

For all he knew, Est was a pawn. An innocent. And he could get caught in the crossfire.

Or...

He was an accomplice. And he could cover his tracks.

Leaving Nut exposed.

He needed to tread carefully.

This city was rotten.

There were too many dirty cops here. And those who weren't dirty mostly didn't give a damn.

Hong?

He seemed promising, but he didn't trust him. Not yet.

He picked up his phone and placed a call to HQ.

"Hello? Perth? I need you to trace a number."

~~~

He walked into the station— his eyes meeting Hong's briefly. He nodded in greeting, slipping into his seat.

Hong returned the greeting with a tight smile.

He had barely warmed his seat when Lego burst out of a room with hurried, sharp steps, calling out. "Drug bust downtown, undercover deal went south. Possible shootout. Let's go."

They were both on their feet in the next instant.

Everything went to shit in a blink.

One moment the undercover sting was quiet— just the shuffle of shoes on concrete, dealers exchanging quiet words and the low hum of traffic echoing outside the boarded windows.

The next, the glass inside the abandoned warehouse shattered with gunfire.

Muzzle flashes lit the room, spraying sparks against the rusted steel mchinery.

The dealers dove behind some toppled crates— screaming, cursing, while the cops pushed in, returning fire— their voices sharp, tactical.

Hong and Nut moved in with the rest of the officers, weaving through the crowded, cramped space.

Shell casings clinked across the floor, hot and smoking. The smell of gunpowder blended with the decay of the old building.

"Move, move, move!" Someone barked.

Nut squeezed off rounds, clearing the left side, while Hong ducked low, trading gunshots with a pair of men retreating toward the rear exit. He hit one square in the thigh.

They pressed forward, swerved to the side, spraying bullets, until the sound of gunfire lessened and the warehouse settled into a tense silence broken only by the sounds of boots on concrete and shallow breathing.

Then a shape moved.

From behind an old forklift, a figure emerged— massive, thick-necked, his shoulders wide enough to blot out the sun from the high windows. His heavy boots rumbled against the floor as he moved forward.

Nut and Hong raised their guns instinctively— shouted out a warning. "Put your hands up."

No answer.

The man just growled low and stepped forward.

Gun click.

Both empty.

They both froze.

For a heartbeat, a dead silence pressed in again, before being broken by the faint creak of the giant cracking his knuckles and the sudden rain of nearby gunshots.

Nut's jaw clenched.

He turned his head toward Hong. "We can take him.."

Hong hummed low, nodding in approval, squaring his jaw.

Nut nodded back in response, then formed a stance, knuckles balling into fist, tattooed arms clenched.

But just as Nut was about to move, Hong spun on his heel and bolted past the haze of bullets.

"Hong? What the fuck?!!!"

Nut blinked, panic flaring hot in his chest.

Then looking back at the brute barreling toward him, he realized this wasn't a fight he could win.

He cursed under his breath and sprinted after his partner, bowing his head low.

He raced past injured officers, through the warehouse, bullets weaving past broken machinery and shattering pallets, their echos sharp and terrifying.

They burst through the side door, the bright sunlight almost blinding.

Their squad car sat just yards away among the other police vehicles, parked under a busted streetlight. It's passenger window had been shattered in the gun fight.

Hong dove in first, fumbling for the driver's seat.

Nut was a step behind— but the giant caught him, hand clamped down on his shoulder. The force yanked him back, slamming him onto the ground, knocking the breath clean out of him.

Before he could react, the brute straddled him, thick fingers tightening around his throat.

Nut clawed at the man's wrists, punching him desperately, his vision blurring as the pressure closed in. His face turned red, his boots dragging against rough gravel and his chest felt like it was about to explode.

Then—

CRACK!

A surge of electricity snapped through the air.

The beast roared, jerking violently as the barbed prongs from Hong's taser shot into his ass. He convulsed, grabbing the cords with inhuman strength and yanking them out.

Then he turned to Hong, soaring to his feet.

"Fuck this..." Hong muttered, pulling the trigger again.

This time, the prongs landed square on his groin.

His scream was high, his whole body seizing with the shock before he finally slumped, twitching, unconscious on top of Nut.

Nut shoved him off with a grunt, rolling onto his elbows, lungs heaving. Sweat slicked his face as he pulled himself upright. He looked at Hong with red eyes, mouth open, ready to curse Hong into the ground—

But Hong beat him to it, collapsing with his hands on his knees, gasping like he'd just run a marathon.

"Oh fuck! I need to start going to the gym."His breath heaved, chest rising and falling in sharp gusts.

Nut stared at him for a long second, eyes assessing, stunned before bursting out into a fit of laughter, shaking his head, the sound choking his bruised throat.

Hong's eyes narrowed, sweat dripping down his temple. "Fuck off! And you're welcome." He was still out of breath.

Nut barked another laugh. "You left me, you asshole."

"You looked like you had it handled..." Hong said, still bent over, heart thundering.

"Are you sure you're a detective? You're so out of breath."

"Shut the fuck up! And can you cuff Braun Strowman over there? He looks like he's stirring."

Nut glanced at the unconscious giant, lips twitching. "Might just let him get back up... So you can run yourself back into shape."

Hong didn't even answer— just lifted his hand weakly and gave him the middle finger.

The hours that followed slipped by slowly.

Extra forces were called in.

Some officers sustained serious injuries but there were no casualties. News coverage van parked at a corner and a helicopter flew over the area. Reporters roamed around the officers like fleas, looking for their next big story.

Nut and Hong handed over their captor and gave a verbal report of everything that happened.

The lead asked Nut to get his injury checked and return home. Get some much needed rest.

Bone exhausted, Nut moved to the medic and Hong followed— half exhausted and a little guilty. Afterwards they were allowed to return home.

They both got into the car and despite his injury, Nut insisted on driving. They pulled out of the scene and drove into the slow moving evening traffic.

The drive was quiet, slow, the air laced with the smell of fuel, sweat, gun residue and unspoken tension.

Nut turned his head— voice low, almost brgrugding but still grateful. "Good work today, officer."

Hong didn't catch his tone. "Oh fuck off. You don't have to be an asshole about it." He retorted instantly, guilty eyes fixed on road.

Nut's lips curved faintly. "I was actually being genuine... It was a compliment."

Hong turned, blinking at him, surprised, before looking away again. He awkwardly muttered a low... "Thanks."

Silence hung again, this time tenser and uncomfortable.

Hong spotted a drive-thru up ahead and his stomach rumbled with sudden hunger and anticipation.

"I'm starving..." He said, rubbing his belly. "We're getting food. Pull over"

Nut pulled into the drive-thru, headlights washing over a plastic menu board with faded pictures of burgers and noodles.

The speaker crackled. "Welcome, what can I get you today?"

Hong half leaned out the window, his voice sharp. "Yeah, uhmm— two cheeseburgers, large fries, fried chicken wings, and—" He glanced at Nut. "What do you want?"

Nut shook his head. "Just water."

Hong groaned. "Oh come on, you can't just order water, man. That's criminal."

Nut chuckled low, conceding without a fight. "Fine. Fried rice. And water."

"Thank you, sir." The voice droned.

When the paper bags were passed through, the smell filled the car— greasy, salty, comforting.

Hong didn't even wait.

He ripped open the fries, stuffing a handful into his mouth, grease glistening on his lips. "Oh my God..." He moaned. "Heaven."

Nut watched with open curiosity, raising an amused brow. "You eat like a child."

Hong pointed a fry at him. "If that's a compliment, thank you... If it isn't, then fuck you."

Nut chuckled, opening his box.

The fried rice steamed, the scent soy and garlic spicing the air. He lifted his spoon, took a skeptical bite, and the flavours exploded in his mouth. "Not bad."

"Not bad?" Hong gasped, scandalized. "This fried rice is a miracle in a box... It's balance, it's texture, it's... it's hope."

Nut laughed, shaking his head. "You're insane."

"You know I'm not lying." He said, hapilly munching away on fries.

Nut's eyes flicked to him, saw the small smear of ketchup at the corner of his lips. He gestured. "You have something... there."

Hong looked up, cheeks stuffed, eyes startled and clueless.

Nut exhaled and angled himself towards him. "Mhere." He leaned in close, his hand lifting almost without thought. His thumb brushed over the spot— slow and deliberate, wiping it clean.

The moment lingered a beat too long— his finger unconsciously trailing back to the corner of his lips, warmth flickering in that small, ordinary, intimate touch.

Hong stilled at the touch, their eyes meeting, holding for a long moment— close, unguarded.

It was as if the small gesture had stolen the air between them, turning something so simple into something charged.

Nut blinked, pulling away, before settling back into his seat, his heart thudding in his throat, a little unevenly. He swallowed deeply, a bit flustered.

Hong gave him another long stare, suddenly warm, hid lips curving to a small, knowing smile before lowering his gaze back to his food.

They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of wrappers and the hum of traffic passing on the main road. The food calmed something tight in their chests— the stress of the day melting in its comfort.

Eventually, Hong leaned back against the seat with a loud sigh, patting his belly.

The silence stretched for long minutes after their meal— the empty, greasy box and paper wraps now discarded in the back seat.

Then a different kind of calm settled.

Hong looked over at Nut, whose eyes were fixed onto the dark— unyielding. "I'm sorry." He started, breaking the silence though his words.

Nut looked at him then. "For what?" He asked, his voice a curious murmur.

"For earlier. For running. For leaving you... I'm not— I'm not really a good cop... Or a good anything really."

Nut frowned.

The words felt rawer than it should have. "Why would you say that?"

Hong shrugged, now staring at the light of the dashboard. "The only reason I joined the force was to feel useful... To matter. But—Half the people in the station are no better than the thugs on the streets... And me?" He paused for a beat, carefully weighing his words. Then. "I'm just... there. Filling a seat. Drinking coffee."

Nut studied him, the rare honesty softening Hong's usual bold edges. "Then why stay?"

A humorless laugh escaped Hong. "Because... I've got something here. Something important. Something I can't leave behind." Then lower. "Something I need to protect."

Nut tilted his head, intrigued.

Hong had misunderstood his question.

He hadn't meant to ask why stay here in town. He'd meant why stay a cop.

Hong's answer was odd— personal, almost like a confession.

But Nut didn't say anything, just pressed on casually. "Your family?"

Hong scoffed, shaking his head. "No... Not them. My dad was a drunk. My mom? She was... mean. Too mean. So I had to figure life out myself. The only good thing I had growing up was my best friend..."

His eyes lowered to his weaved fingers, lost in the memory. "He made me feel safe, understood. We were both broken, so we just... fit. Made something out of the jagged pieces we had. But now, even that... the one thing I have left might get taken away."

His voice cracked at the end, so faint Nut almost didn't catch it. But he did, and the honesty, the vulnerability cracked something in him.

"I'm sorry about your parents..." He said, his voice earnest.

"It's okay..." Hong murmured, gaze still fixed in his fingers but the words weren't true.

His didn't know where this sudden urge to open up came from, he just knew his heart burned at the now distant memory.

Nut let the silence sit for a moment before speaking, his tone soothing. "My father used to tell me something... He said, 'Even a cracked blade can cut. Even a broken man can still protect what he loves.'"

Hong's turned his head slowly, his lips parting, as if to say something. The words had moved, deeper than he expected.

Nut went on, softer now. "Strength isn't about being whole... Or Excellent in your case. It's about what you do, even with the cracks. And most times, that's more than enough."

Hong stared at him for a heartbeat before letting out a laugh. However it was thin, forced, almost shy. "Your old man really said that?" His voice was disbelieving.

"Many times..." Nut said, a small smile tugging his lips.

For the first time all night, Hong leaned back in his seat, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction.

He stared at his fingers, then at Nut, something unreadable in his eyes. Then it flicked away and he said. "Not bad advice."

The air in the car shifted. The heaviness was still there but softer now, easier to breathe.

"If it helps any better, I think you're a good cop, Hong."

The words landed like raindrop on parched land, so simple, natural and yet so soothing, so full of hope.

Their eyes met again, the air in the car thick with something unnamed, but growing.

Hong didn't know what. Didn't care.

It was... something.

And he welcomed everything.

His gaze dropped to his lips, flicked back to his eyes, then lowered to the tattooed hand resting against the door— a hand that looked punishing, like it could break him with ease.

Nut noticed the look, but he noticed other things too.

Like how Hong's eyelashes were light but long, the sharp straight-curve of his nose, the pinkish hue of his small, plump lips.

For a moment, it was like a spell had taken hold of them both. And it was suddenly too hard to breathe.

Nut blinked hard, tearing his gaze away, before he got swallowed by the intensity. He fixed his gaze outside, biting a finger to halt his roaming thoughts.

"It's late." He said, his voice a little rough around the edges. "We should head home."

Hong studied him— a little breathless from Nut's obvious reaction. It pleased him to know he had effect. He nodded his head, biting back a smile. "Yeah... Ok."

Nut turned the key in the ignition— his fingers slightly trembling and drove into the dark.

When they pulled up to Hong's house, Nut glanced at the small building, its modest frame almost swallowed by the wide garage beside it.. The window lights glowed warm and the place looked unexpectedly cozy.

"Your place looks cozy." Nut voiced the thought.

Hong hummed, turning to face him, eyes gleaming in questioning. "Want to come in? I can show you my dog."

Nut chuckled, arching a brow. "You have a dog?" He asked, curious.

"No." Hong's sharp response.

A beat passed.

The air sizzled with the tension.

Nut could sense the unspoken intent in the invite, knew he was being flirted with.

Their eyes met again, held... for a long, almost eternal moment.

The offer was tempting, Nut couldn't deny that.

But he shook his head, shook the bait away. "Nah, I'd better get home."

Hong nodded slowly, though his smile remained. "Okay... Maybe next time."

"Yeah... next time."

Their gazes locked again. This time longer.

"Goodnight, Hong." Nut murmured.

"Goodnight..." Hong said, before stepping out of the car and walking towards his door.

Nut watched him move— the graceful steps, the small tilt in his shoulders, the way the black of the night wrapped around him.

Something new blossomed in his chest— enticing, distracting, something he didn't embrace right away. But he didn't push it away either.

He just let it sit... unfeeling.

For now.

He finally pulled out of the driveway, speeding off into the dark. When he finally reached home, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, the light illuminating the dark space.

A message from Perth lit the screen.

It was an address.

________________________________

Author's Note.

Incoming rant‼️

Hong gives me so much life 😭 I was cackling so hard during the shootout scene because honestly, I feel like that's such a Hong thing to do. He is so unhinged and chaotic. Ugh I love him so much.

I'm also loving Est's arc so far. His character is so layered and complex— even I'm still trying to fully grasp him. I just hope I don't mess up what I'm aiming for, lol. The plot keeps thickening, and trust me, it's only going to get more complicated from here on😭 can't wait...

P.S. The books mentioned are ones I've already read— except 120 Days of Sodom. I wanted to watch the movie but a friend sounded me a warning, so I ended up watching the sped-up narrated version on Spookyrice's YouTube channel years ago. It still haunts me to this day. The quotes in the chapter are from Goodreads and I just randomly picked the most haunting SFW ones, so I'm not even sure if they're in order 😭 So erm sorry if you care about stuff like that.

And alasssss, my baby Tui is finally gay in one of my fics 😭 I've been kind of obsessed with him lately, and I was lowkey tired of straight-washing him in my aus(he's been straight twice now). At first, I was going to make up an original character for a potential love rival, but then I saw a really cute TuiEst pic and even tho I'm usually not into ghost ships, i thought they would make sense? And I kinda love what I'm seeing here... What do you think about TuiEst? LMK ❤️

Anyway, the next chapter should be out early next week. Have a great weekend, and see you then ❤️