How long had it actually been since he had last felt this exhausted?
Not only had he worked through the entire weekend—by now even half the week had already passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. The days blurred together; stacks of files and crime scene reports lined up endlessly, and every new case brought more questions than answers.
The only thing still keeping him somewhat upright at the moment was the coffee Isaac made for him every morning before work.
…and at every opportunity in between.
"You look like shit," Isaac said as he set the cup down on the table in front of him.
Benedict looked up into the handsome face of the man he had fallen in love with. He rubbed the back of his neck. As always, Isaac's words were blunt—and unfortunately accurate. The deep shadows under his eyes were hard to hide, even in the café's warm lighting.
"Ah, the last few days have just been exhausting," he deflected. "Once we make a bit of progress on the cases, things will ease up again."
Isaac raised an eyebrow and loosely crossed his arms over his chest.
"You might want to try more sleep instead of even more coffee," he remarked dryly. "That's your third today."
Benedict looked up slightly surprised. "Are you worried about me?"
"Worried?" Isaac exhaled slowly. "I just don't want to be the one responsible when you die of a heart attack."
Despite the matter-of-fact words, there was something else in his gaze—a quiet, barely concealed concern. His eyes moved over Benedict's face, over the tired eyes and the tense posture. Finally, he sighed.
"…Do you have a lot going on right now?" he asked carefully.
Benedict nodded slowly. "A few pretty heavy cases came in at the same time. You know how it is. Sometimes hardly anything happens for weeks—and then suddenly everything hits at once."
Isaac nodded thoughtfully.
"I see," he said at last. Then a small, crooked smile flickered across his face. "Though I suppose working in a café can hardly be compared to being a police officer."
Benedict had to smile. "That's true."
He studied Isaac; he seemed more lively and open than before. Benedict was glad that he appeared to be doing better, whatever the reason might be. However, it reminded him of something he hadn't thought about at all over the past few days.
Isaac's panic attack—and the scar on his neck.
Benedict took a sip of his coffee and set the cup down again.
"You seem to be doing better," Benedict began. "Did something good happen?"
Isaac blinked.
"That…!" he started. His cheeks flushed slightly; he looked at Benedict and then quickly averted his gaze. "Life's been good to me, I guess."
Benedict watched him in silence.
It made him happy to see Isaac like this, yet he couldn't silence the small voice deep inside him that was sowing doubt.
Is it because of that Noctis? Who is he, and how close are you?
If Benedict was honest, Isaac practically seemed to be glowing. As if someone had lit a light inside him.
Something had definitely happened.
And his gut feeling told him that he probably wouldn't like the answer to that question at all.
Still, Benedict automatically began to study Isaac more closely. His gaze moved over him, searching for an obvious change, for a detail that might previously have escaped his notice.
Sometimes he hated himself for it.
This habit of analyzing everything and everyone down to the smallest detail was almost impossible to turn off. It was a mixture of an occupational hazard and personality—a reflex that had embedded itself in him over the years.
He simply couldn't help it.
At first glance, however, Isaac didn't seem to have changed much.
As usual, he wore the black choker around his neck—the same one Benedict had had repaired some time ago. Over it hung a loose sweater with a wide collar, making Isaac's narrow shoulders and pale skin stand out even more. The familiar combination of casual clothing and carefully chosen accessories suited him; it always seemed a little unconventional, but never truly conspicuous.
At least not normally.
The only thing Benedict immediately noticed as new was the earring.
Isaac usually wore rather small studs or, at most, simple, narrow hoops. Unobtrusive, almost minimalist—jewelry that suited his style without particularly standing out.
Today, however, alongside the familiar studs and piercings, a single dangling earring hung from his ear. The piece caught the light whenever he moved his head, inevitably drawing attention.
It was unusual.
Isaac had always had a very distinctive clothing style, but he normally seemed careful not to attract too much attention.
This earring, on the other hand, almost looked like a statement.
"I'm glad you're doing well," Benedict said at last, offering a sincere smile.
Then he lifted his hand and lightly tapped his own earlobe.
"Is the earring new?" he asked. "It suits you quite well."
The compliment was genuine. Still, he hadn't asked the question without an ulterior motive.
He still wanted to know how Isaac had gotten the scar, and he hoped that if Isaac opened up to him a little more, he might be willing to give him that answer. Naturally, other things might become easier as well.
For example, the complicated feelings Benedict had toward the albino.
"You think so?" Isaac automatically raised a hand and touched the earring, as if he had only just remembered he was wearing it. A gentle, almost dreamy smile appeared on his lips. "Thanks."
For some reason, it irritated Benedict. The way Isaac behaved and the way he touched the earring almost made it seem as though he hadn't chosen to buy it himself—but rather as if he had received it as a gift.
Unbidden, that smug, self-satisfied grin of Noctis appeared in Benedict's mind. The name alone was enough to cause an unpleasant tightening in his chest.
Benedict briefly clenched his hand into a fist and silently counted to ten to calm himself. Jealousy would not get him anywhere—not now.
After the weekend he had spent working nonstop, he had at least finally been given a day off—at least officially. That he had spent most of it sitting in the café continuing to work on the cases was something he preferred not to mention. Technically speaking, Isaac had not been entirely wrong with his comments about sleep deprivation and coffee.
Benedict cleared his throat softly.
"Do you have anything planned later?"
Isaac tilted his head slightly as he thought for a moment.
"I have a commissioned piece I need to take care of," he said eventually. "Other than that, nothing special."
Then he looked at Benedict with a scrutinizing expression.
"Is this about the dinner we talked about?"
Benedict nodded.
"To be honest, I'm starving," he admitted. "And for the past hour I haven't been able to think about anything except a proper steak."
A tired but genuine smile crossed his face.
"Will you join me? I'll treat you."
Isaac raised an eyebrow. "I'll come with you, but I'm paying," he said in a tone that left no room for argument. "I still owe you for your help the other day."
"Anyone would have done that…," Benedict began.
"But you were the first one there to help me," Isaac interrupted. "Besides, not everyone would have gotten involved in a situation like that. So? What do you say?"
Benedict couldn't help but laugh. Isaac's persistence was difficult to counter, especially when he argued so matter-of-factly.
"Alright, deal," he finally conceded. "Then I'll accept the invitation. Steak is okay for you, right?"
Isaac nodded. A satisfied expression settled on his face, as if he had been expecting exactly that answer.
"Steak sounds good."
Benedict leaned forward slightly.
"Then I'll just wait until your shift ends," he said. "In the meantime, I'll look for a suitable place."
He paused briefly, then added, "The fewer guests there are in the restaurant, the better, right?"
Isaac let out a quiet sigh. It sounded like a mixture of agreement and mild resignation.
"Honestly, I'd prefer if we could just order something," he said. "But a good steak doesn't deliver."
He pursed his lips slightly.
"And now that you've mentioned it, I've started craving one myself."
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Benedict's mouth. "I'll take care of that problem."
Isaac gave a short nod. "In that case, I'll leave it to you."
At that moment, the bright chime above the entrance door rang. Isaac cast a brief glance toward the door, then back at Benedict.
"See you in a bit."
Without another word, he turned away and walked over to the guest who had just entered the café. Benedict's gaze followed him automatically. As always, it lingered far too long on Isaac's back—and eventually on his ass.
He forced himself to look away before his thoughts drifted in a direction he could barely control. It was already difficult enough to behave even remotely normal around Isaac.
With a quiet sigh, he reached for his phone.
While Isaac took care of the new guest, Benedict began searching for a suitable restaurant.
In fact, two immediately came to mind.
He had visited both several times with Jasper and Sebastian. They were places where one could sit relatively undisturbed—restaurants with some distance between the tables, subdued lighting, and staff discreet enough not to interfere with conversations.
Perfect for discussions about police work that were not meant for other ears.
Benedict would never have thought that this knowledge might one day help him with something so… personal.
He scrolled through the listings on his phone and opened the page of one of the restaurants.
Isaac would probably not want to say much about himself anyway if someone was constantly within earshot. And that was exactly why the place had to be right. If everything went well, he might finally get a few answers today.
Answers to questions that had been circling in his mind for days.
Maybe then that unpleasant feeling in his gut—something he felt every time he thought about Isaac—would finally disappear.
And if he was honest, there was another reason as well.
If his suspicions did not prove true, he might finally be able to court Isaac properly.
Because one thing had become fairly clear to him by now: he had no intention of simply leaving Isaac to that Noctis. The man's intentions had been more than obvious.
The mere thought of him made Benedict's jealousy rise again, an unpleasant tightening in his chest.
He snorted quietly and ran a hand through his hair.
Get a grip, Ben. Since when do you get so fixated on someone when you don't even know if they feel the same way?
___
"Take a seat," Benedict said curtly as they entered the restaurant less than two hours later and were shown to their table.
The place was quiet. Dim lighting, few guests, the faint clinking of cutlery in the distance. Exactly the kind of atmosphere Benedict had been looking for.
Isaac paused for a moment.
"I can seat myself—," he began.
But before he could finish the sentence, Benedict had already pulled out the chair for him. Isaac hesitated, looked at him for a moment, and then sat down anyway. He did not seem particularly pleased about it.
Benedict then took the seat opposite him and smiled faintly.
"If you're already paying for the meal I more or less talked you into, the least I can do is make your time here as pleasant as possible, right?"
Isaac pulled a slight face.
"If your goal was to make me feel like a child, then you definitely succeeded."
Benedict chuckled quietly. "Did your parents always do that too?"
But Isaac's reaction was not what he had expected. For a brief moment, Isaac simply stared at him. Without blinking. Without saying anything. Then he cleared his throat.
"Of course they did."
He seemed distracted, and his voice sounded a little cooler than usual. Immediately, Benedict's gut feeling returned.
Why is he reacting like that? Is his relationship with his parents really that bad? Is that why he decided to live on his own at sixteen?
"Do you not get along well with your parents?" Benedict asked carefully. "If I'm overstepping, please tell me."
"My father and I… we have our differences, but we're on a good path. At least I think so."
His father? So he at least gets along well with his mother?
Benedict would have liked to ask about Isaac's mother, but his gut told him he should not push further in that direction.
"I'm glad to hear that," he replied with a smile. "What's your father like?"
Isaac seemed to think about it. "He's strict, but a good man."
His tone was respectful, and there was a trace of admiration when he spoke about his father. Isaac's gaze settled on Benedict.
"Enough about me. Tell me something about yourself. What are your parents like?"
Benedict smiled.
"They worry about me far too much," he said with a small chuckle. "My mother nearly had a heart attack when I was accepted into the police academy."
Isaac listened attentively.
"She seems to love you very much," Isaac said quietly. A faint smile played on his lips. "And your father?"
Benedict leaned back slightly.
"We clash all the time," he admitted. "But I know from fairly reliable sources that he regularly brags about me to his friends."
Isaac raised an eyebrow.
"So he can't show it to you directly?"
Benedict laughed.
"The old man is more stubborn than a mule."
Their drinks were brought. Isaac had ordered an iced tea, while Benedict had ordered a beer.
"No alcohol this time?" Benedict asked with amusement.
Isaac's face instantly turned red. "I still have to work later—I can't just get drunk!"
"We should definitely go out for a drink together again," Benedict said, lifting his beer slightly. "Last time was pretty entertaining."
The teasing undertone was hard to miss. Isaac's face immediately deepened to an even darker shade of red.
"I'm definitely not getting that drunk again," he muttered, briefly looking away. "That was more than enough for me."
Then, after a moment, he added, "But I'd be willing to go out with you again for one or two drinks."
Benedict smiled at him.
"I'd like that."
Isaac slid his glass a little across the table and studied him.
"For a change, you could be the one getting drunk next time," he suggested. "Maybe then I'll have something to laugh about."
Benedict raised an eyebrow.
"Do you even have that much time?" he asked dryly. "I can hold my liquor pretty well."
Isaac narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Why does that sound like a challenge?"
"Does it?" Benedict took a sip of his beer. "Alcohol simply tastes better in good company. You can't stop at just two glasses."
Isaac snorted quietly.
"No. Don't even try." He shook his head slightly. "Last time was more than enough. The next day I was completely useless."
Benedict chuckled softly. "What a shame."
At that moment the waitress returned and set their plates down on the table. The smell of seared meat immediately rose into the air. Isaac leaned forward slightly.
"Wow," he said, taking a short breath. "That smells really good."
Without waiting long, he picked up his knife and fork and began cutting into his steak.
Benedict watched him discreetly.
Isaac's movements were calm and precise. His hands worked with an elegance that seemed almost natural. His posture was straight and controlled as well—his table manners impeccable.
It was something Benedict had noticed before.
With those manners, Isaac could easily be taken to an upscale restaurant or a formal dinner, and he would move there completely naturally. That was not something one simply picked up along the way.
And as far as Benedict knew, Isaac did not come from a particularly wealthy background. His parents had—at least as far as Benedict had been able to find out—perfectly ordinary jobs, an average life.
So why did he have such refined manners?
Benedict cut himself a piece of steak as well, but his thoughts kept working. No matter how he looked at it, the more he learned about Isaac, the less the pieces seemed to fit together.
His gaze drifted to the clock. He probably did not have much time before the conversation drifted in another direction again.
"May I ask you something, Isaac?"
Isaac chewed for another moment, swallowed, and then looked up at him.
"Ask your questions." A small smile appeared on his face. "I'm slowly getting used to answering a cop's questions."
Benedict blinked in surprise, then had to smile.
"When you put it like that, it sounds as if I'm interrogating you all the time."
Isaac raised an eyebrow slightly. "Aren't you?"
"Maybe a little."
Isaac cut himself another piece of meat and put it into his mouth. For a brief moment, Benedict's gaze lingered on him—on his lips, on the long, unusually thick white lashes that lowered as he chewed.
He forced himself to look up again.
"Well then," Isaac finally said in an easy tone. "What do you want to know?"
Benedict took a slow breath.
"The scar on your neck…" he began.
But suddenly Isaac tightened his grip on the knife. He paused for a moment. Then Benedict gathered his courage and asked the question that had been on his mind.
"…how did it happen?"
Isaac said nothing. He sat in his chair as if frozen in shock, as though someone had stopped time.
Shit, this is really going great, Benedict thought. He studied Isaac. At least he doesn't seem to be hyperventilating.
"I'm sorry," Benedict said quickly. "The day I found out about it just won't leave my mind."
Isaac bit his lower lip. When he finally lifted his gaze, something in his eyes struck Benedict immediately—and it made him uncomfortable. Pain. Unconcealed, raw pain that effortlessly broke through Isaac's otherwise calm facade.
"Do we have to talk about it?" Isaac asked quietly. His voice trembled slightly. His gaze met Benedict's. His red eyes looked at him almost pleadingly. "Can't you ask something else?"
Benedict would have preferred to give in, to tell him that everything was fine. But then he would never get his answers, and this hunger for knowledge about Isaac would never fade. He had to use this opportunity.
Before he could say anything, however, Isaac let out a strained sigh.
"Someone tried to kill me, and for whatever reason I survived. They never caught the guy. Maybe he's still alive, maybe not—I don't know. Is that enough?" he asked sharply. "Or do you want to know more?"
I want to know everything.
"Why would someone try to kill you?" Benedict asked quietly.
Without really thinking about it, he reached for Isaac's hand—the one still gripping the knife. Isaac flinched immediately.
"Benedict," he said tensely. "I really don't want to talk about it."
But Benedict did not let go.
"Who tried to kill you, and why did those guys try to kidnap you the other day? Has something like that happened before?" Benedict asked. His grip tightened slightly. "Why are gangsters interested in you?"
"Ben, you're hurting me…"
"Damn it, tell me, Isaac. I keep thinking about it and I can't find any explanation that—"
"Then stop thinking about it!" Isaac suddenly snapped. He yanked his wrist free and stood up. "Why does it matter so much to you? It was so long ago, the guy is gone, and I don't even want to know why he did it!"
Several guests briefly turned to look at them.
Isaac's chest rose and fell faster than before.
"Isaac—"
"No! Shut up, damn it!" Isaac shot back angrily. "If I knew why all of this happened, I certainly wouldn't start shaking like a frightened rabbit every time the subject comes up, would I?!"
His hands trembled slightly.
The outburst hit Benedict harder than he had expected.
"Hey…," he said more calmly. "I'm sorry."
And he meant it. He had known Isaac would not react enthusiastically if he asked about the scar. But he had not expected this much resistance.
"What exactly are you sorry for?" Isaac asked sharply. His anger was now clearly palpable. "You want information?"
He laughed briefly—a dry, bitter sound.
"I'm pretty sure you've already looked into it if you're this interested."
Benedict froze inwardly.
Ouch.
That hit.
Isaac laughed bitterly. "What else did I expect from a cop?" he muttered, more to himself than to Benedict.
Benedict stood up and stepped toward Isaac.
"Don't come any closer," Isaac warned him. His gaze was icy. Isaac's voice was calm—but sharp enough to make him stop immediately.
"Isaac, I'm really sorry," he said carefully. "Can't we just sit down again?"
He gestured weakly toward the table.
"We can just talk about something else. The food just arrived—"
"No. I've had enough," Isaac said.
He grabbed his jacket, pulled out his wallet, and slammed more money onto the table than the meal and drinks would have cost. Then he turned around without another word and walked away.
Benedict stood there, staring after him.
The entrance door opened, the quiet chime of the bell rang—and then the door closed again.
Silence.
Benedict remained standing in the middle of the room.
For a moment, he did not move.
His chest felt strangely empty. His gaze fell on the food they had barely touched and the large amount of money Isaac had left on the table.
Shit, you really screwed that up, Ben…