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First published September 10, 2018
❝Why do you care?❞
Why, indeed. ❝You're my partner, Seong-Jae.❞ That was the right answer to give. The only answer, Malcolm told himself, even if the words twisted inside him. ❝I don't know if I'd call us friends. I don't know if you even want to be friends.❞ He shrugged. ❝But you're still my partner. I want you to be okay. And 'okay' means more than breathing and in one piece.❞


Malcolm couldn't take this. This illusion of intimacy, this lie that only forced him to recognize that some part of him might want it to be true.
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He spoke a million words with every little touch, even when he said nothing at all.
But sometimes, somehow...
It soothed the scrape of the raw edges, where they tried to fit together.


❝I may not know you that well, Seong-Jae…but I can tell when you’re lying to me. When you’re shutting off. When you’re shutting me out.❞
… ❝Why don’t I believe you?❞
❝Because you,❞ Seong-Jae said, pulling his arm from Malcolm’s grip, ❝are a mistrustful asshole.❞
If that wasn’t the fucking pot calling the kettle— Malcolm grumbled. ❝Better than calling me a jot.❞
Seong-Jae snorted. ❝Your accent is atrocious.❞
❝You want to talk about what that was about?❞
❝No.❞
❝Didn’t think so.❞ With a sigh, Malcolm let it drop. Pushing at Seong-Jae never got him anywhere—and usually set him a few steps back.
❝That’s yours?❞
❝Did you think I had no form of transportation?❞
❝You said you didn’t.❞
Seong-Jae quirked a brow. ❝I said I did not have a car.❞
With a groan, Malcolm dragged a hand over his face. ❝I hate how pedantic you are.❞
❝No, you do not,❞ Seong-Jae countered smoothly. “Would you like to ride with me?❞
When the car had struck Malcolm, Seong-Jae’s heart had ripped out of its place and come loose from its moorings—and afterward, it didn’t quite fit back into the hole it had left behind.
❝That was a very interesting sound, Malcolm.❞
❝You bit me.❞
❝Shall I refrain from doing so again?❞
Malcolm considered him for long moments, before a feral, challenging smirk canted his lips. ❝…just don’t leave any marks I’ll have to explain at work tomorrow.❞
❝Duly noted.❞
Trouble sleeping, or— Seong-Jae cut off that line of thought. Malcolm’s habits were none of his business.

I KNOW I KNOW I AM SORRY! I'm honestly just so bad at reading mystery/crime scene type books that I put this one down. But damn just how stupid am I because honestly once I hit 50% of this bad boy I could NOT put this one down. And the main reason is the characters!
⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱*I'm Struggling A Bit*⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱

His pulse made hard flutters against his throat. He looked up at Seong-Jae, at dark coal eyes with deep embers smoldering just under their surface. That faint shimmer-sheen on Seong-Jae’s skin arrested him as much as the feeling of that long, honed body pressed against his, imprinting on him as though he were molten metal molded into shape, every inch of him fitting to Seong-Jae until there wasn’t room to breathe between them without creating friction, creating flame, creating something that burned wild and hot and undeniable in Malcolm’s blood. Tomorrow, he would try to forget this. Try to remember professional lines. But tonight his senses were raw, his body on fire, and Seong-Jae was tearing him to pieces with the heat of his flesh and the splay of long, strong fingers against the small of Malcolm’s back.😮💨😮💨
A warm, angular weight pressed against him from behind—a familiar tall frame, the soft felting of that long black coat, body heat and the scents of diesel and musk. Malcolm stilled. Seong-Jae leaned lightly against him, pressed back to back, shoulder to shoulder, his weight a quiet encroachment of solidity and stability. His hands hung loose at his sides, and one brushed Malcolm’s hand where it fell at his thigh, the edges of their fingers just touching. Malcolm’s breaths hitched, and he closed his eyes again, struggling not to turn around. Struggling not to take Seong-Jae into his arms, and just hold him close until the man went soft against him and stopped twisting him inside out with these brief and subtle little intimacies that were so very Seong-Jae. He spoke a million words with every little touch, even when he said nothing at all.
Sometimes, Seong-Jae thought, Malcolm Khalaji was annoyingly distracting ...

You are ever and always a man set in his ways ...

They couldn't fucking work like this ... ..

The address had been typed on the envelope in the sort of staggered Courier font that implied an older typewriter ...

"Wake up, old wolf." he whispered. "We need to talk."

