#twc writing

[doriandistortion]

The past is creeping up my throat

[silverdisable]

a du mortain who would never admit it but feels mildly offended when they don't get the chance to open the car door for their detective

a du mortain who checks if they've eaten, takes an interest in how to prepare their favorite foods and becomes invested in the detectives longterm health, often to a fault

a du mortain who grips their arms with care as they're guiding a tipsy detective across the parking lot, fending off clumsy affections with a flustered smile before buckling them in and taking them home

a du mortain stern and worried as they stress the importance of car maintenance while fixing up the hatchback yet again after coaxing it back to life on the side of the road earlier

a du mortain who would never admit it, but enjoys the warmth of human life around them as they follow the detective dutifully to any social function they've been dragged to. Sits by their side glaring off unwanted suitors half the time, and spends the rest trying not to wax poetics about the way the detectives thigh is pressed against theirs in the booth where they're sat side by side

a du mortain who rests one hand on the wheel, and another on the detective while driving. Their thigh or hand or otherwise, they like to show off. The sun highlights the hair on their arms and hair which casts them in a fiery glow, eyes bright and unburdened as they glance over at the detective in the leather seats of the car they fixed up together as a project.

[herdarkangel]

okokok, tis my submission, no pressure ofc <3

I can't be trusted with non-smut idea, but here i try anyway

GazXreader, where reader is a pathetic and socially awkward thing who worked two jobs, maybe some underpaid deskjob in the morning, so you had to make some extra money by being a barista, taking night shift at this small cozy cafe that wasn't very popular coz it's like a hidden gem spot people barely know.

So uh, yeah- stressed, sleep deprived, and probably high on caffeine yourself. But somehow Kyle still fell hard for you anyway.

He came across the cafe one time, walking around at night for no reason to find a chill place to hangout with that's not a bar.

He became a regular just to see you, but you were probably too burnt out to notice, or maybe you did notice but you thought it was just in your head coz why would a fine man like him be interested in someone skrunkly like you.

And so he started brainstorming, noticing how you only had some energy left to interact with costumers, and often lost yourself in the music playing softly from the speaker.

Then, he noticed the small, lone stage, hidden by a dusty curtain. You explained that your boss said that they used to held some kind of live performances regularly, but eventually they couldn't afford anyone anymore.

And that's how Kyle got an idea. He'd perform for free ofc, well not really- he was paid by your presence alone 😌

..tbh i just want smtn about Gaz playing guitar lmao 🧍, him using music as a way to communicate with you because song lyrics were the only words your sleep deprived mind could process.

Also also, one by one, people who came in just out of curiosity became a regular and the cafe became more popular- not just because of the coffee, but mostly, people just want to see Kyle's performance, even tho his focus was only on you. And now he lowkey annoyed that now he could barely find a time where there were only the two of you in the cafe like before.

Now he had to flip his brain again on how to spell out his feelings for you.. maybe something cheesy like singing a very obvious love confession but reader still like.. obviously vibin so Kyle had to step off the stage himself and continued singing while playing guitar as he approached you 🤭🤭🤭

And.. pics inspo(?):

Was that alright? 👉👈 Sksksks

mBe, you marvelous soul, you... you practically wrote the thing yourself lolol. tbh at first, i was trying to figure out how to even touch this because it's damn perfect as is buuut! i think i can expand on it (love your brain btw, you get the lil worms worming and i love it! also, I'm at work and I'm starting to think it's the only time my brain actually wants to do anything writing related... something something escapism 😭)

Submission from @goatgoesmbe for my shameless request for prompts

~

Gaz needed some peace.

It was one of those nights filled with a noisy disquietude that left him feeling restless. He could go to the usual spot, but something about running into someone familiar made his anxiousness increase, so he opted for something more low-key and certainly less lively. He just didn't want to interact much. A simple drink to quiet his thoughts, a different view than the familiar four walls he'd come to call home... The stroll he'd take along the way was just a bonus.

The evening rush had already passed, so it was just the lights and hum of life at night left. Not many people were out - just a few passersby trying to enjoy what few hours of the day they had left before tomorrow came.

This isn't too bad.

The crisp fall air felt good on Gaz's skin and knowing he could enjoy the company of others without being forced to interact with them relieved some of the anxiety and suddenly, the thought of being around anyone sipping anything stronger than caffeine bothered him. Maybe a coffee shop would work instead.

Finding one almost immediately after that thought, Gaz walked into a small cafe. Well... small-ish. The way it was setup, the space was clearly designed for an intimate setting what with a book shelf seated prominently in a cozy reading nook to the left, but the stage hidden behind a set of large curtains to the right suggested the place could handle more people for entertainment purposes. And it wasn't like the cafe was cramped either. There was good spacing between all the furniture so patrons could navigate easily, but the atmosphere felt... homey.

Gaz quickly took in the extra details as he headed to the counter: a small group of young adults studying late in the evening, a few individuals who sat by themselves performing various tasks from reading to presentations, two couples enjoying each other's company on what appeared to be a double date, the bathroom further down the hall to the right and an additional exit just beyond it, and a jukebox to the left of the counter. It was a force of habit from work, but falling back into the motions did something about the itch in his fingertips.

That was until his eyes finally landed on you.

You were a curious thing. Clearly worn down by life, but moving in a way that made the mechanics of your job look like deliberate, natural movements. He could see it in your eyes, though: you had checked out a while ago, if you ever actually checked in. This was autopilot at it's finest. The only thing that seemed to actually bring some life back to your eyes was the music playing from the jukebox someone must have updated with some modern music. The way your eyes lit up briefly when a new song came on gave him a glimpse of the person you would be if you weren't head over your heels in the stresses of life. But the way you started swaying slowly while completing your little tasks had him silently wishing he could get a peek at more.

"I'll be right with you!" you said evenly, like you hadn't finally noticed him from the corner of your eyes after downing a cup of something dark and heavily caffeinated if the droplet swiped by your tongue and the scent wafting from your lips were any hint. Curious. Have you been eating properly or just been giving yourself boosts? Gaz wondered to himself.

Gaz put in his order when you asked what he wanted. The way you spoke wasn't sweet or too friendly, but rather just... genuine. It was personable. Request, response, results. The perfect transactional interaction from the world's perfect - if not exhausted - customer service professional and just what Gaz needed tonight. No expectations. No small talk. Just straightforward business and some time to be allowed to simply exist.

While you made his drink, he observed the way your shoulders just wouldn't relax. The way your mind worked your limbs to exceute the rather complex task before you. The way you purposefully measured your breaths while you waited, whether to calm yourself or keep awake, he wasn't too sure. Perhaps both. And he caught you looking at him too when you walked back to him with his drink. It wasn't the usual ogle he'd gotten used to. No. You were certainly appraising him, but it felt more like a basic assessment of him as a person. And by the time you got to him, it seemed you had already come to a conclusion about him, eyes looking directly into his and smiling gently as you handed him the cup. You must like what you see... whatever that must be.

He took a seat at a table by the reading nook, training making him subconsciously sit with his back against the wall so he had both full view of the entrance and a quick escape behind the counter if need be. He frowned at that.

Sure that train of thought was probably one of the reasons he chose to stay away from the usual haunts and felt a bit on edge readjusting to civilian life, but the thought that there would be any harm to the people in the establishment - namely you - made him uneasy. You clearly had enough going on in your life. Surely, the last thing you needed was a risk to it.

So, he sipped his drink. And decided he'd come back. It was something to do and he did like the vibe here.

Three times a week, he'd arrive around the same time. And three times a week you'd be there looking as though the world could burn around you and you wouldn't be bothered enough to notice if you ended up missing your paycheck because of Armageddon. He'd get his drink, watch you sway, enjoy his drink, and then leave after getting his fill of watching you occupy his vision and thoughts.

It was a routine he settled into. Something normal and repetitive. Safe.

Quickly, Gaz learned you were about the only one who worked the night shifts because the others seemed to have other things going on. You were always friendly when someone spoke to you, but you didn't engage anyone first, seemingly too drained to be properly social. The owner rarely made an appearance, leaving you to your own devices to keep the cafe running seamlessly, but luckily there wasn't a lot of activity at the shop after hours. Not caring for the way you'd be all by yourself, Gaz considered staying with you until closing, but figured you'd be put out by that. So, he always made sure to leave an hour before...

And then keep watch over you from a distance.

He felt a bit creepy doing it, but it kept his conscience clear at night when he went to bed, visions of your body matching those he'd seen on the battlefield a very close and unwanted companion in the early days when he didn't. He absolutely did not stop by on nights he didn't go inside the cafe to make sure you got home safe. Nope.

One day, he noticed the jukebox was out of service, lights no longer illuminating the corner he usually sat by. You looked positively miserable that night. The next time he returned though, you had your small speaker quietly playing something from your playlist and the sound of your hums filled the space in his heart. You still looked like you could use a 3-month long all-expenses-paid vacation in a cabin somewhere, but you looked more like you. And that gave him an idea.

On one occasion when the two of you spoke, you had told him about the stage. Apparently, the owner used to have little performances back when this cafe was still new and shiny to the locals. Musicians, singers, comics. Sometimes there would even be a story night for the local bookworms, but over time, the cost of keeping it up became too much so the curtains closed and never re-opened. Gaz had wondered then what a performance night might've looked like, but it turns out he didn't have to wait to find out.

It started small. Just a random night he asked if he could use the stage and sing. For free, of course. He couldn't ask for money after shamelessly asking to use the establishment's facilities for his hobbies. Besides, the thought of you slowly dancing to the sound of his voice was payment enough.

The first night, he picked a quiet number. It was an out-of-the-blue performance which meant the other regulars wouldn't be expecting a chnage to their routine - he didn't want to disturb them much.

He needn't have minded though, because the next performance had a small crowd. Someone seemed to have reported how well he sang to the owner, because they took it upon themselves to advertise for him on the nights Gaz requested to use the stage. It was a minor annoyance, being paraded around without consent but as long as you were happy... ish, so was he.

Except, you got less happy. Your shoulders hunched more. You took more coffee breaks. The smile you kept for your regulars was nowhere to be found, just painful attempts at a half-smirk to let people know you weren't cursing their entire lineage. Not that they seemed to mind you anyway - you were polite enough. But your quiet nights were clearly gone with all the new faces and less of your attention went to the music that played. You hadn't danced in a bit. Why hasn't the owner gotten more people to help you out? It's their fault anyway you have so much more to do.

The last straw had to be a group of college students loudly discussing how they'd heard Gaz had a beautiful voice and sang ballads passionately, but that they had no idea he was so good looking to boot. One particularly suggestive comment about his hands strumming his guitar had his eyes flicking over to you. You couldn't even enjoy yourself let alone pay attention to the lyrics for the song he wrote just for you and yet, here were other people coveting the pieces of him he had already decided were all yours if you would ever want them. But he doubted you knew that.

How could you? You were swamped because of him. You'd barely even let yourself look at him unless he came to talk to you, clearly too worn out or too self-conscious or something to even give into the possibility of Gaz being even mildly attracted to you. He knew. He'd watched you long enough that it was easy to pick up on the way you watched him when you didn't think he was paying attention. You never stared. Just observed in the curious way you did. But you weren't unaffected and that was more than enough for him. Until it wasn't.

Because you didn't steal those moments anymore. Because you were too busy. Too focused on the customers he brought in. Too distracted to let your mind wander. Too occupied with something, someone, that wasn't him. And it was that moment he realized he truly did want more. More of your time. More of your voice. More of your scent. More of your attention. Your focus. Those beautifully sleepy, yet watchful eyes on him.

Which is how he found himself gravitating towards you. Feet moving before he could register towards the counter where you busily fussing over where to find more supplies. Voice carrying a particularly wistful note right to you as he sat up on the counter, guitar in hand as he leaned towards your rising form. Eyes crinkling at the corners as you started, clearly just noticing him and slowly realizing the lyrics coming from his lips are really coming from his heart.

Because this man is clearly in love with you and has decided to sing his confession to you and you alone... audience be damned.

[lukas-du-mortain]

Hi ^^ You mentioned a heartbreaking HC for Lukas and Rebecca re Rook?? I'm curious now! (and ready to have my heart broken ;) )

Smoke slowly billows in front of Lukas' face as he exhales. The burning end of his 2nd cigarette illuminates the tips of his fingers. He stares out into the darkness of the woods, wondering what is out there, who's watching him, what kind of supernatural lurks in the shadows. Bright light from his phone screen is the only other source of illumination for kilometers and kilometers. He aimlessly swipes through his phone reel, laughing at the wild and interesting photos of him and Unit Bravo. The selfie of him and Felix. Pictures of Emma laying on top of Felix, dwarfing him in comparison. A candid picture of Adam running with Emma in the early morning.

All of a sudden Lukas stops. A selfie of him and his Alaskan Malmute, Emma. In the background however, is a framed picture of him at the young age of 14, his mother, and a guitar. A 1984 Ibanez rs400, bright red.

Rook's guitar.

Rebecca had known that Lukas absolutely excelled at music. His father's early influence no doubt. On an early anniversary, Rook had waited for Rebecca to come home from the Agency. He had set up roses and candles. Dinner had been prepared and its smell wafted through their tiny Vancouver apartment. As Rebecca made her way through, she heard Rook playing his guitar; the song that was playing when they got engaged.

That guitar was Rook's favorite. Rebecca once told Lukas, "The whole time I was pregnant, and-" she paused."For those first 2 years after, he played you lullabies every night."

Lukas' 14th birthday was the only one Rebecca was there for. It was just the two of them. After dinner Rebecca had come out of her bedroom with a large box wrapped haphazardly in 'Birthday' paper. Lukas was so confused. He told her, "But you already spent my birthday with me. I don't need any gifts."

Rebecca almost cried when Lukas said that. Their relationship used to be so close. But she was resolute, wiping her tears away saying "Lukas, sweetheart, this isn't just a present from me." She took his hands in her own. "It is a gift from your father."

Lukas never heard much about his dad. Rebecca always told him how traumatizing that moment was, so he understood that she never discussed it. All she would ever say was that Rook loved Lukas with his whole heart. Lukas was his whole world.

Lukas opened the box carefully, but with vigor. When he gazed upon the glossy vibrant red finish, he felt his father with him. Every time Lukas played from that day on, he always felt Rook was right there next to him.

In the last year, Lukas has begun to lose faith in Rebecca and their relationship. He knows it isn't entirely her doing, but he still is not sure if he can entirely forgive her for all those kept secrets. That framed picture from his birthday, is a stark reminder of how things used to be. He loves his life now, especially with Adam in it. Though he can't help but wish he had those days back. Whenever he's sad, whenever he's angry, whenever he records a new track, he picks up Rook's guitar and just plays. He plays until his fingers bleed, until he's filled his notebook with song ideas.

It's the only physical reminder that his father existed.

[kiramalibu]

i’m not used to asking

for anything more than

what i’ve been given

for my hands have curated

stardust from black ash

so this assertion is more

observatory than complaint

but is this the reason

why i’m so dissatisfied?

do i harbor too much self restraint?

is that even possible?

can i live a life in which everything

that i have is nothing that i yearn for?

do you think that’s plausible?

these thoughts of mine

should be castrated

they’re so privileged that

it’s almost too volatile

i swear i’m learning how to

be more responsible

but unfortunately having

my mind is not optional

kira malibu

[writingbyella]

the girl from the internet

there you are.

in the midsts of tank tops

and trends and noise, noise, noise.

you.

in the land of binary

and shooting shots.

you.

in the uber and then, later,

under the yellow umbrella

and close enough to-

you.

this is what it’s like be found.

to be seen. truly - not some trick

of the light or fiction -

but really, actually seen

from the soul outward.

this is what coming home feels like

i think to myself as she, she, she

smiles. at me. with those eyes.

and lips that taste like we’ve met before -

all those years of burnt flesh

and i never realised

that wasn’t how

sunshine felt on the skin.

[sanddollarpoems]

All this art

Bold brush strokes

Construction

Of lovely

Sentences

Avant garde

I listen

To the sounds

Of you all

Becoming

The next greats

The future

Written word

And I bask

Beside you

As you rise

[justcallmefox89]

The Bakery Fallout

Spoiler warning: if you haven’t read the book 3 demo, this fic does contain a small spoiler for Mason’s route.

Adam has to rescue the detective as they attempt to comes to terms with Mason’s statement in the bakery.  Their adversarial relationship transforms into something softer as they realize they have more in common than they first thought.  

I tap angrily on my keyboard in an attempt to finish my final report of the day as the scene from the bakery this morning plays on a loop in my mind.

Just seeing each other naked......

“What a smug, condescending........”  My thoughts trail off into an inaudible growl as shove myself away from my desk.  My office chair turns me in a lazy circle as I consider why I’m angry.

Fact - Mason had warned me that this would just be a bit of fun on his part.

Fact - I had agreed to those terms.

Fact - Somewhere along the way I lost my good sense and started to fall for him.

Fact - This morning he ripped out my heart and left it on that table at Haley’s.

I’ve spent the day stewing in my office, slamming filing cabinet drawers and dodging phone calls from the mayor.  I’m pissed at Mason, but downright disgusted with myself.  I glance at the clock hanging on my office wall.  

Close enough to quitting time.

Now there’s only one thing to do for my sour mood.  I catch Tina by the hand as she scampers past my office.  “We’re going drinking.”  

She doesn’t hesitate, just lets out a cheery laugh.  “Lead on then Detective!”

-------------------------

Adam strides purposefully into the bar, eyes narrowing as he searches the dim establishment for Detective MacKenzie, nose wrinkling against the smell of cheap beer.  He huffs in irritation when he is unable to immediately locate them.

He’s beginning his second scan of the bar when a pair of hands yank down on his arm.  Officer Poname is gazing up at him blearily, holding his arm for balance as she stretches up on her tiptoes.  

“They’re over there!”  She points to a far corner of the room and shouts in an attempt to be heard above the din of the bar.

Adam winces as her voice attacks his hypersenses and steps away quickly, pulling his arm from her grip as he does.  His gaze flicks in the direction of Officer Poname’s extended arm and catches a glimpse of the detective’s riotous black curls as they brush their hair over their shoulder, shaking their head and laughing as their long hair tickles their bare skin.  

The detective’s tattoos are usually covered, but tonight they have removed their flannel shirt and Adam is momentarily fascinated by the colorful ink and pale skin revealed by the detective’s sleeveless undershirt.

“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” Adam observes, wondering for the tenth time since he left the warehouse why he was called to save the detective from their bad decisions.

“Yeah, about that........” Officer Poname slowly drawls.  “There’s something going on.  They won’t tell me what it is, but I haven’t seen them this bad since......”

“Since?”  Adam prompts, impatient.

Officer Poname shakes her head and waves a hand, as if shooing the thought away.  “If Kieran wants to tell you about it, they will.  They point is, they’re drunk and in bad shape, and I’m not in any state to help them out right now.”

“I’m sure Specialist Agent Mason would have been happy to assist Detective MacKenzie,” Adam remarks dryly.

A strange look crosses Tina’s face.  “They told me not to call him,” she admits. “They said to call the.....” She trails off and her face flushes momentarily.  “They told me to call you.”

Adam furrows his brow, confused as to why Kieran wouldn’t want to call Mason, and even further confused at the small fluttering in his chest at the revelation that they had insisted he come to their aid.

“Well, uh, I’ll leave you to it then.”  Tina pats his shoulder and clumsily meanders off in search of another drink.

He shoulders his way towards the dark corner Detective MacKenzie is ensconced in, stopping in surprise when he sees they’re not alone.  Kieran is sitting with the reporter, more accurately, seated in his lap, both hands braced on his muscular chest as their fingertips toy with the buttons of his shirt.  Bobby’s fingers run through their hair, tangling in their curls and playing with the silver and leather hair beads scattered through the thick locks.

Pushing down a sudden surge of irritation Adam moves directly behind the duo’s chair and loudly clears his throat.  Bobby is the first to look up at him, eyes widening in surprise quickly followed by curiosity, undoubtedly wondering why Adam is there instead of Mason.

“Looks like you’ve got a visitor, angel.”  He smirks as he twists one of Kieran’s curls around his index finger.

“I’ve come to escort you home,” Adam announces, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Kieran twists to look at him over their shoulder.  They look angry, brows furrowed, lips parted to make a sarcastic remark, as per the usual course of their relationship with him.

As Adam braces himself for a confrontation he glances down to meet Kieran’s gaze.  Their eyes are glassy, pupils blown so wide the black nearly obscures the vivid emerald color of their irises.  Despite the fury that twists their features, their eyes are pained..........sad.

Adam takes a sharp breath, momentarily disconcerted by the pain that emanates from Kieran’s very being; washing over them in waves and threatening drown them.  He exhales shakily, overwhelmed by the sudden, intense urge to dive in and save them from the undertow.

Kieran inhales deeply and blinks several times in rapid succession, and when they meet Adam’s eyes again he’s relieved to see their usual smirk is back in place. 

“If you insist, Commanding Agent Du Mortain,” Kieran purrs.  They lean in and whisper something in Bobby’s ear.  Adam is only able to parse out a few words over the clamor of the other bar patrons, but whatever they say puts a large smile on the reporter’s face.  

Kieran places both feet firmly on the floor and stands, wobbling slightly.  Unthinking, Adam reaches out to steady the detective with one large hand on their shoulder.  As soon as he touches bare skin his body tenses.  Their skin is soft and so, so warm.  For some reason he had imagined that the tattoos would feel differently, that maybe the ink would texture their skin somehow, but all he can feel is smooth, unblemished skin.

“Hey!  Du Mortain!”  Adam gasps, startled out of his shockingly personal thoughts about the detective, and realizes that his hand is still firmly touching them.

Kieran gives him an infuriating smirk and a quick wink.  “Looking’s free, but touching will cost ya.”

Adam snatches his hand away from the detective and imperiously looks down his nose at them.  “Never fear Detective MacKenzie, I have no desire to touch you any longer than absolutely necessary to ensure your safety.”  

His stomach clenches and he frowns.  His words sounded so certain, but why did it feel like he was telling a lie?

Kieran shrugs into their flannel shirt and gives him a coy look.  “That’s what the pretty ones all say at first,” they murmur, patting his chest softly.  

Adam’s eyes widen at the casual touch and he huffs out an involuntary rush of air.  “Time to leave detective.”

Kieran turns to blow Bobby a kiss, then lazily waves a hand towards the bar’s exit.  “Lead on then, Du Mortain.” 

The chill of the outside air and a soft mist are a welcome change from the sour, fermented air of the bar and Adam inhales deeply to cleanse his lungs.  Next to him, Kieran has closed their eyes and tilted their head back, lips curled in a soft smile as the mist touches their skin.

Adam has never seen the detective look so happy.  No, not happy.  Unguarded.  Kieran has nearly as many personal defenses in place as he does, and to see them simply be is something he wants to savor.  He allows himself a few moments more before catching the detective’s attention.

Adam coughs loudly, prompting Kieran to open their eyes.  “If you’re quite through Detective MacKenzie, we need to proceed to your apartment.”

Kieran rolls their eyes and shoulders past him.  “Whatever you say, Du Mortain.”

“If you find my company that distasteful you could’ve called someone else to retrieve you,” Adam snaps, matching his steps to their.  “I’m sure Agent MacKenzie or another member of Unit Bravo-”

“Bleeding Christ, no,” Kieran snorts.  Adam blinks, taken aback by their vehemence.  “Those four are the very last fucking people I want to be around right now.”

Adam’s eyes widen.  “You want to be around me?”

“Shocked the shit out of me too, Du Mortain,” they chuckle.  “Nate and Felix would just look at me like I’m a wounded puppy and want to talk about how I feel.”  

They blanch, a faintly sickened look on their face at the very thought.  Adam feels a faint pang of empathy; the thought of having his feelings subject to the scrutiny of either Nate or Felix is enough to make him feel ill as well.  

“And we both know that they only time Rebecca has anything to do with me is if she needs something or when we have a case.  And Mason is only interested in what’s in my pants, not helping me out.”  Kieran glances over at him, anticipating his rebuttal.  

Adam opens him mouth, knowing he should put forth some form of token argument, but he can’t deny the truth of Kieran’s statement, so instead he asks, “Why call me then?”

“Because,” they sigh.  “You leave things well enough alone.  You don’t pick or prod trying to get me to open up about things I don’t want to talk about.  You just let me be.  And I appreciate that.  You’re the only one who does.”

The rest of the walk continues in silence as Adam ponders the detective’s statement.  He hadn’t considered it before, but he appreciated them for the very same reason.

The rest of the walk to Kieran’s apartment passes in a companionable silence.  Once they have the door unlocked they lean against the doorjamb and rake an appraising glance over Adam.  

“Wanna come inside?”  They ask, jerking a thumb towards their living room.  “We could have a proper sleepover, make hot chocolate and friendship bracelets and everything.”

 Adam’s eyes bulge in surprise and he takes a startled step back.  “You cannot be serious, detective.”

“Sure I am.  I’ve got a crafting kit left over from the last time I watched Verda’s girls.”  Kieran waits a beat then dissolves into giggles.  “You should have seen your face, Du Mortain.”

Adam’s shoulders sag in relief, but for the second time this evening a faint pang of disappointment resonates in his chest.  He quickly shakes the feeling off.  “I trust you can handle yourself from here, Detective MacKenzie?”

Kieran smirks and gives him a lazy salute.  “Absolutely, Commanding Agent Du Mortain.”  They sober for a moment.  “But seriously, thanks for coming to walk me home.  You’re a regular knight in shining armor.”

Adam rolls his eyes in annoyance and turns to leave.

“Hey Adam?”  Kieran’s voice is soft, hesitant.

He turns, an eyebrow quirked in curiosity.  “Yes, detective?”

Their eyes are hazy now, glassy with unshed tears.  “Why don’t they want me?”

Adam’s brow furrows as he attempts to work out who Kieran is talking about.  A few moments too late he works out that they’re referring to Mason and Rebecca.  

Kieran has taken his silence as something other than momentary confusion, and nods as they smile sadly.  “Yeah.......I wouldn’t want me either.”

“Detective,” Adam begins, his throat clenching as they roughly rub the cuffs of their shirt over their eyes in attempt to stop their tears from falling.

They shrug in a half-hearted attempt to reassure him.  “Goodnight, Adam.”  They silently withdraw into the darkness of their apartment and shut the door.

He stands motionless outside the detective’s apartment, and for the first time since he’s known them, Adam feels a rush of pure rage towards Mason and Rebecca.  Damn them.  Damn them both.