text: The fact that he was here could only mean one thing: something had gone terribly wrong. He had missed some moment, some crucial crossroads when he could have stopped this. Spoken up, asked the right question, been the voice of reason. But he'd said nothing. Perhaps...perhaps he was as equally to blame for this as anyone.
  
  Cooper Dayton took a deep, calming breath, steeling himself for what was to come. What had to come. Part of him, a big part, just wanted to run out the kitchen door and not stop until he was safely ensconced in his own familiar little apartment. But there was no avoiding this now. Nowhere he could hide. They'd already gone too far.
  
  Cooper walked quietly across the slick marble floor—white with some natural gray veins running through the stone and polished into an unearthly gleam. He could see his own reflection, a dark harbinger staring woefully back up at him, mocking him.
  
  You're dooooomed, his reflection said.
  
  "Ditto," Cooper said, which shut his reflection up real quick.
  
  Cooper slowed as he got closer to the...doorway? Archway? Stone pillared gateway between kitchen and what was nominally a foyer but quite clearly wanted nothing more than to grow up to be a ballroom. It had two sweeping staircases, curved toward each other like open arms. Why? So that people walking up and people walking down never had to make eye contact? For the optimal choreography of big musical numbers?
  
  He could hear voices across the foyer-call-me-ballroom where a set of large French doors stood partially open and led to a stone veranda. As quietly as possible, Cooper made his way toward the voices, taking the long way around the room. A very long way, indeed. To walk across the center of the room under the massive skylights and second floor balcony felt too exposed. Too...bright. Cooper surreptitiously checked behind himself just to make sure he wasn't trailing mud from his shoes. Or tears from his eyes.
  
  The voices on the patio had gotten louder, more distinct, and again Cooper hesitated in the doorway so that he could observe the man who had gotten him into this mess.
  
  Oliver Park often looked magnificent. Tall, fit, broad-shouldered, sure, whatever. But that sort of stuff meant very little without the easygoing confidence he exuded. He was a man who knew his own strength and never felt the need to posture it. Cooper took in Park's wide-legged stance on the intricate outdoor tiled mosaic, the way his hair gleamed dark and shiny in the blazing summer sun. He looked like some kind of lord of the manor surveying his lands. The man to Park's left chatted on and on about saltwater pool maintenance from a slightly more distant position than most conversations took place. Subconsciously or not, even humans picked up on the deadly power that lay, relaxed and unbothered, within Park.
  
  Cooper almost regretted being the one to bother the shit out of him. Almost. But if Lord Park here thought Cooper was going to live in a house with a motherfucking ballroom, he had another thing coming.
  
  "Hey." Cooper stepped out onto the patio and noticed the other man—Josh Dolan, their unsettlingly friendly real estate agent—startle, then recover and grin brightly at him.
  
  Park didn't even blink. But Park had probably tracked Cooper's every movement through the house and been making notes about the rate of his breathing and pulse in his little lemon-colored notebook, to be deciphered with Dolan later. Cooper hoped there was a record of the minor cardiac arrest he'd had seeing the master suite that was roughly the size of his entire current apartment.
  
  "So what do we think? Incredible, right?" Josh asked, reaching out to clap Cooper on the arm. He was a tallish guy, too, around Cooper's height, and obviously took great care to look as buff as he possibly could. His physique was like a children's costume standing next to Park. "I was just telling Oll here how lucky we are she hasn't sold yet. This amount of space? In this neighborhood? Incredible. We've already had some offers. But I was like, hold on now, my guys are gonna love this place! Let them get their shot!"
  
  Cooper blinked slowly and attempted his best blank-faced Park impression. Josh was almost aggressively enthusiastic about not just the houses, but Cooper and Park as well. Everything was incredible.
  
  You guys are incredible. The privacy you get here is incredible. Oll, buddy, your eye for the finer things is incredible. It raised Cooper's natural suspicion and he couldn't help but think Josh was overcompensating for some underlying discomfort. It was unclear whether the discomfort came from them as a couple, the natural uneasiness Park seemed to inspire in certain types of self-labeled "macho" men in particular, or if it was in reaction to Cooper's 24/7 scowl that had not lifted since Park had first introduced them last month. Whatever the reason, Josh spent every house tour tripping over himself to be best buds with "his guys." Just one of the ways Cooper noticed Park's money and perceived status protecting them. Josh knew where his bread was buttered. And the moment Park had walked into the upscale real estate agent's with a file of demands, he'd been treated like a goddamn creamery.
  
  And Cooper was...the visiting milkman? Head dairy farmer? Transient cow?
  
  You are his alpha.
  
  Whatever the ever-living fuck that was supposed to mean.
  
  Park was analyzing him carefully and Cooper pulled his thoughts together. One hurdle at a time. And unless he wanted to spend his next day off touring the Palace of Versailles while Park wondered if perhaps what it was missing was more gilded windows, he was going to have to confront this hurdle right now.
  
  "So!" Josh clapped his hands together. "Are we signing here? Or should we get some celebratory drinks, first round on me?"
  
  Cooper smiled tightly. "Can I talk to you, Oll?"
  
  Park raised an eyebrow, but Josh just clapped his hands together again. "Of course, of course! I'll leave you guys to chat. Don't forget, we've got that other place on Beech Street. Do you guys play tennis?" He swung an imaginary racket a couple times while backing into the house, then pointed at them. "Think about it!"
  
  Once Josh was gone, Cooper gave Park a long look, then walked past him, a little farther out onto the patio, and felt the heat of the day settle tighter to his skin. After the extreme air-conditioning of the house it was nice, but within seconds began to feel too hot and oppressive. They'd been having an uncomfortably warm late June, even by DC standards. He wished he'd decided to have this conversation inside, and the thought annoyed him. He didn't want to appreciate anything about this house.
  
  Cooper sighed and felt rather than heard Park draw closer. Felt the palm of his hand lie gently on his back and smooth down his spine until it touched the rise of his ass and then slipped under his T-shirt and slid around to hold his hip. Park gave off more heat than your average human, and the touch of his palm to Cooper's skin was all it took to push the prickling feeling into a full-on sweat.
  
  "I'm filthy," Cooper murmured in protest.
  
  "I realized that the first week I met you," Park said, dipping his fingers teasingly below the waistband.
  
  Cooper snorted and knocked Park's hand away and turned to face him, catching the end of a grin. "All right, all right. So what do you think of this place?" Park asked.
  
  Cooper bit his lip. "What do you think?"
  
  Park tilted his head and regarded him. "I think your facial expression says you'd rather be drawn and quartered than put an offer in."
  
  Cooper looked around the multilevel backyard, walled in and secure from the rest of DC. "It's certainly incredible," he said, finally. "Isn't that one of those words we don't use correctly? Like it's not necessarily good, it just defies credibility. You can have an incredible lack of self-awareness. An incredible seismic event?"
  
  "So, let me get this right, on a scale from one to ten you're rating this place a natural disaster? Is that higher or lower than—what did you call the place across town?" Park tapped his chin theatrically. "Oh right, the first monstrosity you'd raze in the coming revolution."
  
  "You said you didn't like that one either!"
  
  "I'm just trying to understand your advanced rating system for my notes."
  
  Cooper rolled his eyes, wishing he was joking about the notes. But even as Park teased, he was pulling out the hateful lemon notebook that had become such a staple of their lives. Cooper had snuck a peek inside the thing a couple of weeks ago. Not that it was sneaking, really. Park frequently invited him to use the notebook himself but so far Cooper had avoided it.
  
  Then when Park was out one day—leaving him with the links to four new mini-mansions to look over—Cooper was overcome with curiosity. Inside the notebook he found Park had been religiously keeping track of every place they'd seen, talked about, driven past and every micro-expression that had crossed Cooper's face since they'd started this hellish house hunt. What he hadn't found was any insight into what exactly Park was hoping for. What kind of places made Park happy.
  
  Fuck the notes, Cooper wanted to say. But that wasn't fair. It wasn't a bad thing that Park cared so very, very much about what he wanted. That's what Cooper kept having to remind himself on days like this. None of this was bad. He was excited by the idea of moving into a house with Park. In fact, it had been his idea to move in together in the first place, and they'd done that fairly seamlessly, all things considered. He just hadn't quite expected this, too.
  
  After returning from Cape Breton around five months ago, Park had started showing up to Cooper's apartment with boxes immediately, claiming his lease was up right now. Cooper didn't believe that and it was clear Park didn't expect him to. The truth was, ever since Cooper suggested living together, Park had been...giddy. When he wasn't busy unpacking his things, he was talking about it. When he wasn't talking about it, he was prodding Cooper to talk about it.
  
  Was Cooper sure this was okay? Was Cooper having second thoughts about this? Was Cooper sure they shouldn't keep all three colanders?
  
  His enthusiasm for moving in would almost have been absurd if it wasn't so...sweet. Flattering. For weeks Park practically vibrated around the apartment in what Cooper publicly referred to as his "settling in" period but privately thought of as some sort of claiming or scent-marking ritual. He sat in every chair at least three times a day. He slept on the couch, the bed, the floor, the tub. He somehow persuaded Cooper into fucking on every available surface. It was Goldilocks gone wild. If there was a single nook or cranny of the apartment Park hadn't stuck his nose in, it was only because he physically couldn't fit.
  
  And then there were the days—not many, but memorable ones—Cooper had come home unexpectedly or woken up a little earlier than usual to find Park "in fur" sticking his considerably longer nose into those impossible-to-reach places while Boogie the cat looked on, utterly aghast. Cooper didn't say anything about it and mostly tried to pretend he didn't notice all the rubbing and sniffing and rearranging. The last thing he wanted to do was to make Park self-conscious.
  
  Also, Cooper kind of loved it.
  
  Until the day Park told him he wanted to move.
  
  "I—I thought you liked it here," Cooper had stuttered, shocked. They were just lying on the couch together, watching a movie, and now this. He felt dizzy by the abruptness. It hadn't even crossed his mind that Park might be unhappy. That he might not have the same exasperated affection for the admittedly rundown apartment that Cooper had developed over the years. "You rubbed yourself on everything," he blurted.
  
  Park had coughed, avoiding his eyes. "That's not—I like being with you. But...it's a bit small, for both of us. Isn't it?" He sounded both nervous and gently hopeful.
  
  Cooper had looked at Park's boxes and boxes of books stacked against the wall with no place to be unpacked, looked at the room full of his furniture because Park's was in storage, and realized he'd fucked up. No wonder Park had been so busy getting his scent on everything. Nothing here was his. While Cooper had welcomed Park into his space, he'd never allowed Park to make the space his own. So what if they'd fucked in the literal closet? Park's socks and underwear were still in a suitcase sitting in said closet because there wasn't any room in the dresser.
  
  "Of course we should move," Cooper had said with conviction he wanted desperately to feel. "I should have thought about that. I'm sorry. Let's find somewhere we're both happy. Together."
  
  The surprised joy that lit Park's face had soothed any lingering traces of doubt Cooper might have felt. In that moment he promised himself he was going to pull his head out of his ass and focus on helping Park get what he wanted for a change.
  
  The very next day, the little lemon notebook had appeared. Then Josh Dolan and the parade of million-dollar houses. It was going to be a lot harder keeping that promise than he'd thought.
  
  I can move some money around. Sell the car. What are savings for if not this? Cooper told himself, watching Park's face light up when he saw a backyard pool or heated shower floors. Seeing how at home he looked in this world. How could he say, "Now let's check out some one-bedroom condos"? So instead he'd teased and laughed at the decadence like it simply wasn't his aesthetic, and hoped to god Josh would miraculously show them something affordable one day. No doubt accidentally. While drunk. Or under threat.
  
  It was time to accept that wasn't going to happen. Cooper either had to have a difficult, honest conversation with Park or just accept the next shiny palace they saw.
  
  Cooper ambled closer and put his hand on Park's wrist, stilling his pen as it scribbled notes in his lemon book. With Park's beautiful, neat script it was easy to catch a few notes, even unintentionally. Frowned at double range stove. Dislikes chandeliers. Just crystal or all?
  
  "I don't make things easy for you, do I?" Cooper said carefully.
  
  Park's hand flexed slightly under his, but his face remained carefully impassive. "You don't make things hard, either."
  
  Cooper smiled. "I hope I make some things hard."
  
  Park's expression softened slightly, revealing how tense he'd been a moment ago. He turned his hand over in Cooper's to interlace their fingers. "All right. Hit me with it. What's wrong with this one?"
  
  Cooper leaned forward and kissed Park quickly, light and affectionate. "You're incredible. The good kind of incredible. And I appreciate how much—" he gestured with his free hand "—work you've done on this, for us. I know how hard it's been, trying to figure out what I want on top of the problems with the job—"
  
  Park glanced away, a flash of discomfort on his face. "There're no problems," he said quickly.
  
  Cooper let that drop. Another hurdle, another time; it was becoming a bit of an overused motto for him these days. "Okay. My point is we've both been busy...adjusting. To everything. But I've been using that as an excuse not to have this conversation and I think—I know it's gotten out of hand."
  
  Park's breathing hitched, very slightly. "What are you saying, exactly? You don't want..."
  
  "I'm saying I can't afford this. Not even close," Cooper said frankly. "You know I can't afford it."
  
  "But I can." Park frowned. Slowly he said, "Cooper, I don't expect you to contribute anything financially."
  
  That...didn't feel good. But Cooper wasn't sure if it stung because of some outdated, toxic bullshit of a man's role in a household or if he had legitimate reason to cringe at the idea of giving up his apartment, his beloved neighbors, his security, to bunk rent-free in his boyfriend's mansion.
  
  "Look," Park said, when Cooper was silent too long. "If I want to buy you a big house and can afford a big house, what's the problem?" He ran a hand through his hair and seemed to force himself to say, "Unless there's another reason you're not comfortable with this?"
  
  Cooper shook his head. "I just... I don't think it's a good idea for you to spend a bunch of money on me," he hedged.
  
  "Cooper, I'm the one who needs the space. If it wasn't for me, would you even be moving?" Park asked.
  
  "Well," Cooper said. "Eventually. Probably."
  
  "The way you're eventually, probably going to buy a bookshelf where the books aren't the ones holding up the shelves?"
  
  "Last winter you said they were charming," Cooper grumbled. "Like being back in college. Where's your loyalty?"
  
  "With you. You have all my loyalty and there's none to spare for DIY home deathtraps." Park sighed and pulled Cooper toward him. He pressed a kiss to his temple. "Look, if you let me worry about the money, I promise to look for something with less staircases. And then maybe you can stop clutching your pearls if the toilet can be flushed more than once an hour."
  
  "No pearls. I draw the line at pearls," Cooper said, recognizing when he was being distracted but lacking the energy and breathable air to do anything about it.
  
  Park laughed into his hair, and one hand trailed very lightly down his spine. "But you'd look so, so pretty..."
  
  Cooper felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and reluctantly pulled out of Park's arms to give him a mock "how dare you" look.
  
  Probably for the best. If Park's thoughts were going anywhere near the same direction as Cooper's, poor Josh might have returned to something incredible, indeed.
  
  Cooper pulled out his phone and glanced reflexively at the screen, then paused.
  
  "What?" Park asked, studying his reaction. "Who is it?"
  
  Cooper showed him the phone.
  
  Santiago. His old boss at the BSI. Both their bosses, really. At one time Cooper had even considered her...something. Not a friend—no, they were nowhere near close enough for that—but someone he liked, respected. Someone he sometimes suspected might like and respect him, too. A rare occurrence in his last job. She'd had a legendary career in the FBI and was part of the reason Cooper had even agreed to join the BSI. That and the promise of answers about the man who'd grown claws and ripped his gut out. It was a busy year.
  
  Then when a cold case at his dad's house turned hot and his relationship with Park had been revealed, she'd gotten distant, fast. Cooper hadn't spoken to her at all since officially leaving the BSI to join the Trust.
  
  "Dayton," Cooper said, answering the call.
  
  There was a pause, long enough that Cooper checked they were still connected. Then, "Dayton. This is Santiago." Another pause. "You're doing well?"
  
  "Yeah. Yes. And you?"
  
  This time he heard a shuffling sound and a door closing from the line. As if Santiago was moving around. She ignored his question. "Are you available to meet? There's something I'd like to discuss with you. In person."
  
  Cooper glanced at Park, who was staring intently, head cocked slightly to the side. "Um, yes. All right. When were you—"
  
  "Today," she said. "Now or...as soon as possible."
  
  "All right," Cooper said. "Where?"
  
  She named a residential address surprisingly close to where they were.
  
  "I can be there in twenty." Park made a face and Cooper rolled his eyes. "Ol—Agent Park is with me. Is that going to be a problem?"
  
  Santiago sighed. "No. I was hoping he would be. This concerns both of you."