Jared woke to the sound of movement beside him. A breath drawn in. The hush of fabric. The bedroom was dim, pale gray leaking in at the edges. Adrian stood by the dresser, pulling on his shirt with slow, deliberate care.
His chest tightened. Panic, sharp and familiar, rose up so quickly it left him dizzy. No words for it. No thought fast enough to catch it. It struck deep. The Dark moved before he could stop it.
A shadow slipped from him, thin as smoke. It glided over the sheets, curling up Adrian’s back, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. Adrian flinched at the cold touch, turning. His eyes found the dark mark on his skin, then Jared’s half-open gaze.
He did not speak to the Dark. He spoke to Jared.
“I am not leaving.”
The Dark recoiled, darting back into him like a frightened animal. Jared closed his eyes. Shame burned through him, hot and raw. Relief tangled with it, sharp and fleeting.
Adrian crossed the small space and touched his shoulder. “I was only getting dressed. You can sleep a little longer.” His hand brushed lightly through Jared’s hair. “I’m right here.”
He nodded, barely. The knot in his chest loosened, just enough. Sleep pulled him under again.
Later, he woke to brightness. The apartment smelled of cleanser, coffee lingering underneath. He found Adrian in the living area, wiping down the counter with practiced ease. The tablet in his other hand, scrolling through files, cross-referencing without pause. The kitchen counter was now clear. The dishes were clean and stacked in the drying rack. The random items had been collected and neatly put into a box sitting on the floor.
A stack of Jared’s laundry sat neatly folded on the couch, which had been cleared. His blankets had been folded and stacked at the end of the couch. The random items that had been haphazardly piled were now neatly contained in a box on the floor.
Jared stared at the stack of clothes, then at Adrian. Heat rose in his chest. Sharp. Ugly.
“You don’t have to do that,” Jared said.
Adrian turned, smiling warmly. “Good morning.”
“I mean it.” Jared gestured, sweeping his hand at the counter, the couch, the whole apartment. “You are doing everything.”
“It is fine,” Adrian said without even looking up from the tablet. “I like being helpful.”
“It is not fine.” The words came out louder than he meant. “Stop saying that.”
Adrian blinked, surprised. “Jared…”
“I am not a child,” Jared snapped. “I do not need to be managed. Or handled. Or treated like I can't do anything for myself. I do not want you fixing everything. It makes me feel...” He dropped his gaze, throat tight. “Small.”
The Dark spilled out, a wave of irritation brushing the room’s edges. A spoon rattled in the sink. A shirt slid from the couch. A glass tipped, rolling slowly and deliberately toward the counter’s edge. It shattered on the floor.
Adrian watched the Dark’s tantrum with calm acceptance. Then he looked at Jared, gaze gentle and steady.
“You’re not a child,” he said softly. “You’re not helpless. You’re allowed to need space. You’re allowed to ask for it.”
Jared’s jaw clenched. "I never know what to say when you start doing all of this." He gestured, sweeping the apartment. The Dark moved with him, yanking more clothes from the couch, flicking a dish towel from the counter in silent agreement.
Adrian stepped closer, then stopped, leaving space between them. “Thank you for telling me. I hear you. It matters.” His voice was steady. Sincere. Too clinical. Jared felt like a patient, not a partner. “Next time I want to clean or take something off your hands, I will ask first. You get to choose in your own home.”
Jared swallowed and nodded. He tried to tell himself the professional tone didn’t matter. It was just Adrian. All neat lines and crisp edges. Jared, always coming undone. The Dark settled, retreating, grumbling in thin tendrils against the air.
Adrian gave him a soft smile. “Also, if I had to wear your clothes, that would be a disaster. Everything you own would stop somewhere around my elbows.”
Jared huffed, unable to help it.
“I am going shopping. Getting clothing. Giving us both a chance to process,” Adrian said, a small smile softening his face.
Before Jared could answer, Adrian stepped forward. He cupped Jared’s face, leaned down, and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his mouth. Light. Reassuring. Gone before Jared could catch his breath.
“I’ll be back,” Adrian said quietly.
He left, grocery bags and a list in hand. The door clicked shut behind him.
The apartment felt too big. Empty without him.
Jared stood in the center of the living room, chest tight. The echo of the kiss lingered on his mouth. Emotions spun, guilt and uncertainty tangling, suffocating.
He moved to the bathroom. Turned the shower hot. Water hit his skin in a heavy rush. He pressed both hands to the tile, head bowed.
“He will come back,” he whispered.
The Dark flickered in disagreement.
Jared squeezed his eyes shut. “He said he will come back.”
He tried to unclench the fear in his ribs. Tried to believe he had not already ruined everything. Tried to believe Adrian meant what he said.
It took a long time to shower. Longer to breathe.
When Adrian returned, Jared heard the key in the lock. Something inside him lifted, sudden and sharp. Adrian stepped in, two grocery bags and a department-issued garment bag in hand. He hung the clothing on the hook and unpacked groceries as if nothing had happened.
“See,” Adrian said lightly. “I told you I would be back.”
Jared did not trust his voice. He only nodded.
Adrian started cooking, moving with his usual calm efficiency. He tapped the tablet awake with his knuckle and spoke as he chopped potatoes. “Kate sent the officer reports. They found LeMere’s notebook in the altar room. He mentioned a Dr. Baker three different times. Something about returning to the morgue for the next set and Baker providing him with material.”
Jared’s eyes moved over the scanned pages as Adrian slid the tablet to him. Cramped, frantic handwriting. A diagram in the margin. A ritual circle, almost the same as the one on the floor. Jared ran his fingers over the tablet and collected the data into his interface, where he could look at it more easily.
Adrian stirred onions in the pan. “Officers also found those photographs in the shoebox. They were taken in a morgue, not the house. You can see Baker’s workstation in one of them. The stainless steel table has a distinctive scratch pattern.”
Jared frowned. “So Baker has been helping him.”
“It appears so. And the lab confirmed the alchemical mixture in the ritual circle matches a proprietary embalming compound used at Old County Morgue.”
“Then that is where we need to go,” Jared said quietly.
Adrian finished plating the food and brought a warm dish to Jared. Poached eggs. Home fries. Rye toast. Exactly the way Jared liked it.
Jared stared at the plate. Warmth bloomed in his chest. “You remembered.”
“You always ordered it,” Adrian said as though it were obvious. “It is the only breakfast you actually eat on missions.”
Adrian returned to the stove, scooped his own meal into a bowl: rice, eggs, green onions. He sat across from Jared. Relaxed. Eyes steady.
“You made something different for yourself,” Jared said quietly.
“I prefer it,” Adrian replied.
Guilt twisted through Jared again. He pushed it down and took a bite. The food was warm, grounding. He ate slowly at first, then with more confidence as his stomach realized it wanted this.
“We should go tonight,” Adrian said between small bites. “Baker works nights.”
Jared nodded.
