A Ghost With No Name- Bl- Officer and Thief

Some hands are cold.
Some hands are rough.
Some hands shake—
but none let go.

They take like tide against the shore,
pulling pieces, never whole,
never enough to drown me clean—
just enough to erode.

They leave their weight but not their warmth,
their scent but not their names.
They stay for seconds,
but take forever.

And I—
I am whatever is left.

God, I need a drink.

The ink was still wet when Zev shut the notebook.

He leaned back against the cold bench, staring out at nothing in particular. The streets were mostly empty this early, save for the occasional car hissing by on rain-slick asphalt.

His fingers tapped against the worn cover of the notebook. He wasn't a poet. He wasn't much of anything. But sometimes, the words needed somewhere to go.

The city never slept, but it had its quieter moments. This was one of them.

The streetlights buzzed overhead, flickering weakly, and the occasional car whooshed by, headlights cutting through the early-morning fog. Zev sighed, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

He should get up. Should find work, should keep moving, should do something. But he was tired. Too damn tired.

A shadow fell over him. He didn't look up at first, assuming it was some drunk stumbling out of a bar, but then— "Sitting on the street in this weather?" Zev did look up then.

Elias König stood over him, hands in the pockets of his coat, green eyes sharp as ever. He wasn't in uniform—just a simple button-up, a dark overcoat. But even without the badge, he carried himself like a man who owned the ground he walked on.

Zev's lips curled into something between a sneer and a smirk. "Look who it is. Thought you'd given up on playing hero."

Elias didn't react to the bait. He tilted his head slightly, scanning Zev's face. "You're injured." Zev rolled his eyes. "No shit. What gave it away?"

"Your posture. The way you're favoring your left side. The fact that you haven't stood up since I got here."

Zev clicked his tongue. "Oh, congratulations. You cracked the case, officer. Now what? Gonna arrest me for loitering?"

"No." Elias studied him for another second before sighing. "Come on. You shouldn't be sitting here."

Zev barked out a laugh. "Right, because I have so many better places to be."

Elias didn't rise to the sarcasm. Instead, he crouched down, leveling their height. His expression was unreadable—calm, steady.

"What do you need?"

The words threw Zev off more than they should have. He scoffed, looking away. "If I said 'a thousand bucks and a way out of this shithole,' would you give it to me?"

"No," Elias said without hesitation. Zev smirked. "Figures."

"But I'd buy you breakfast."

Zev blinked. Of all the things he expected, that wasn't one of them. His gut reaction was to reject it. To scoff and say he didn't need handouts. To make a crass joke, throw up his walls, leave before this got too—whatever this was. And yet— His stomach growled before he could even open his mouth.

Elias's lips twitched, like he almost—but not quite—smiled. Zev scowled. "Tch. Fine. But don't think this means anything."

"I wouldn't dare." Zev clicked his tongue again and pushed himself up, wincing as his ribs flared in protest. Elias didn't offer a hand. He just stood, waiting, letting Zev do it on his own.

That, somehow, annoyed Zev more than if he had offered.

As they walked toward the nearest café, Elias fell into step beside him, silent and steady. Zev glanced at him from the corner of his eye, irritation buzzing under his skin. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"

"No," Elias said simply. And, for some reason, Zev had no idea how to respond to that.

The café Elias chose wasn't much. Small, tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store. The kind of place where the floor was always just a little sticky, where the air smelled like burnt coffee and butter.

Zev didn't complain.

He slid into the booth stiffly, keeping his movements slow, measured. His ribs ached, his muscles protested, but he bit back any wince, refusing to give Elias the satisfaction of noticing.

The food came quickly. Two plates, stacked with eggs, toast, and something that was probably bacon. A cup of coffee each.

Zev eyed his plate.

He wasn't that hungry.

It wasn't like he needed this.

He picked up his fork, took a slow bite of eggs. Barely tasted them. Chewed like he had all the time in the world. Swallowed.

Then another.

Measured. Casual. Indifferent.

But his stomach coiled tight, every muscle screaming at him to stop playing games and just eat.

He ignored it.

Elias hadn't touched his own plate yet. Just sat there, watching, green eyes steady but unreadable.

Zev huffed. "What, you gonna supervise me the whole time?"

Elias didn't answer. Just took a sip of coffee, as if he had all the patience in the world.

Zev clicked his tongue and took another deliberate, slow bite.

His fingers twitched around the fork. His throat felt tight.

He wasn't sure why.

The silence stretched. The clink of silverware, the low murmur of the café around them, the hum of an old ceiling fan.

Zev swallowed another bite of toast, then scowled. "You're annoying, you know that?"

Elias didn't look offended. "So I've been told."

Zev rolled his eyes. Pushed his eggs around his plate. Forced himself to chew slow when all he wanted was to inhale everything before his body realized how much it needed it.

He wondered, distantly, why Elias was here.

Why he gave a damn.

But he wasn't about to ask.