A Ghost With No Name- Bl- Officer and Thief

Zev didn't wake up one morning with some grand revelation.

There was no dramatic moment where the sky split open and the universe whispered the truth into his ear.

It was slower than that. Subtler. The kind of thing that crept up on him when he wasn't looking, when his guard was down, when he was too tired to shove the feeling away.

Like now.

He sat on the floor of his motel room, back against the peeling wall, knees pulled up to his chest. The lamp on the nightstand flickered weakly, barely keeping the darkness at bay. The room smelled like cheap cigarettes and damp fabric, and his stomach was empty, but none of that was new.

The only thing that was different was the thought sitting heavy in his chest.

He liked Elias.

The realization wasn't a sudden punch to the gut—it was more like sinking into cold water, slow and inevitable. Like something that had been true for a while but had only now decided to make itself known.

Zev exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fuck."

He hated this. Hated the weight of it, the sheer impossibility of it.

Liking Elias didn't make sense.

Liking Elias was dangerous.

Because Elias was a cop, and Zev was a thief. Because Elias was steady, and Zev was a fucking mess.

Because Elias had a future, and Zev... well.

Zev was just trying to get through the next day.

But despite all that, despite the thousand reasons why this shouldn't be happening—

It was.

He liked the way Elias never pushed. The way he never looked at him like he was broken or disgusting or something to be saved. He liked the way Elias let him be—just existed near him without expectation.

He liked the warmth of Elias's jacket, the weight of it over his shoulders.

He liked the way Elias looked at him sometimes, like he saw him.

Zev clenched his jaw, glaring at the cracks in the ceiling. It didn't matter. He wasn't some idiot kid with delusions about romance. He knew exactly how this would go.

Elias wouldn't feel the same.

He was kind, sure, but kindness wasn't affection. Elias probably just pitied him, saw him as some stray dog who needed food and a firm hand.

And Zev?

Zev didn't get to have things like this. Not things that meant something.

So, he'd do what he always did. He'd push it down. Bury it deep, let it rot in the same place he kept all the other things he didn't let himself want.

That should have been the end of it.

Except—

In his hands, he turned over a small, creased business card.

Detective Elias König.

A number printed neatly beneath.

Zev had stolen it. Weeks ago, the night Elias had tried to hand it to him with some bullshit about calling if he ever wanted out. He had scoffed, walked away without taking it.