Brad has the next day off. It’s a Saturday, but since it’s his only day off between two workdays it doesn’t feel like a weekend. He finds it difficult to settle to anything, his mind straying back to last night again and again. Brad sees Damien’s pale, drawn face before his eyes, but more often, his imagination conjures up the wide shoulders, the smooth fold of buttock skin he squeezed between his fingers, and the gray eyes that sparkled and held his gaze fast.

After a quick session at the gym, Brad boots up his computer and logs into his Netflix account. As the opening music of Gaukur starts streaming from the speakers, a heat creeps up his face. Checking out Damien on his show feels both exciting and a little pathetic.

The scantily clad, muscular figure on screen bears only fleeting resemblance with the pale man Brad looked after the night before. Brad soon realizes he prefers Damien in the real world to this fictional warrior, even the vulnerable and helpless version he just encountered. The hero Bard is nice to look at, though, and Brad stays in front of the screen for three full episodes. Soon, he’s caught up in the story. He remembers watching at least one of these episodes before, but he didn’t notice anything about Bard then beyond his physical appeal. Now, after the first few minutes, he looks out more for Damien’s mannerisms than the warrior Bard’s bicep. The tilt of the head, the crooked smile, the way his eyes fix on the other characters, all of which Brad remembers from firsthand experience.

As the credits start rolling on episode three, he powers down the computer. Enough of that. Curiosity is one thing, but fantasizing about Damien to the point of arousal feels wrong. Brad busies himself elsewhere in the house for the rest of the day, feeling the slight blush creep up now and then and hoping that Damien feels better.

The next day at work is quiet. Brad tries to concentrate on his paperwork, but the thought of Damien just won’t leave him. Now it’s more concern that attraction that diverts his attention from the case files. Brad tells himself that the reason Damien hasn’t called is because he’s doing much better and doesn’t need help. But the urge to return to Chinatown won’t dissipate. In an attempt to distract himself, Brad closes the case files and spends the rest of the morning doing research. He pores over crime statistics and patterns involving Manhattan’s Chinese community going back ten years. After a couple of hours he’s even more convinced than before: This murder doesn’t fit the organized crime pattern.

Then, when the urge to rush off to Chinatown to check up on a virtual stranger has almost dissipated, Brad’s phone rings. The number on the display is unfamiliar, but as it’s still within regular working hours that’s not unusual.

He takes the call. “Detective Moretti.”

“Err, hi, Brad.” The voice is familiar, but Brad can’t place it right away.

“Who is this?” he asks.

“It’s Damien, Damien Thomas.”

“Oh, hey,” Brad says, embarrassed that he didn’t recognize Damien, when he’s thought of so little else all day. “Sorry. Unknown number, and…” And what? Get a grip, he thinks, and takes a deep breath. “How’re you feeling?”

“Much better. I slept away the whole day yesterday. Not sure when I last did that. It was quite relaxing…” Damien breaks off, as if embarrassed about oversharing. Then he continues, “I was wondering, well…actually… You’re not at work, are you?”

“I am,” Brad confirms.

“Oh,” Damien says, sounding disappointed. “I was thinking I’d like to buy you a cup of coffee. But maybe another day—”

“I’m finishing early today,” Brad interjects. He hadn’t planned to do any such thing, but has a lot of overtime stored up and nothing very pressing to do until the forensics report comes back on Monday. “I can meet you around three?”

“Great! You know Caffé Roma, on Mulberry?” Damien asks. “Or we can go somewhere a bit closer to where you are.”

“Caffé Roma is fine. It’s not that far,” Brad says. He doesn’t want Damien traipsing all over the city if he doesn’t have to.

“Perfect!” Damien sounds happy. “See you then!”

The café is only twenty minutes’ walk from Police Plaza, where Brad and Eric are stationed for most of their desk work. Brad walks the distance easily, enjoying the more pleasant weather that has replaced the humidity of the previous few days. He looks forward to seeing Damien again, maybe more so than he should. He tries not to have any expectations. At least he’ll be able to reassure himself with his own eyes that Damien is well again.

When he gets to the café, Damien is already sitting at a table in the back. Brad orders an espresso and a biscotti, then sits down opposite Damien on the spindly silver chair. He notices that Damien chose a seat well shielded from the light streaming through the café’s glass front and reflecting from a multitude of shiny surfaces around them. Brad surmises that his head still feels tender. Damien wears a baseball cap again, and a pair of sunglasses is tucked into the front of a clean T-shirt.

“Hey,” he says, smiling at Brad. His eyes are clear, and he’s no longer pale and clammy.

“So you really are better,” Brad says, and an actual weight drops from his chest. “I was worried about you.”

“And so you should, as a good cop and all that.” Damien’s eyes glint with amusement. Brad is sure he’s flirting. He grins back, not minding the obviousness at all.

“Exactly!”

“Seriously, though,” Damien says, dropping his voice. “I’m really grateful to you. I don’t like to bother people with the migraine, it gets so boring because it happens a lot.”

“I’m sure your friends or family would want you to bother them,” Brad interjects. Damien gives a shrug, not looking at Brad.

“I’m usually fine on my own. And I would’ve been on Friday, had I stayed home. I just thought if I used the pen it’d go away faster.” A shadow crosses over his face. “I’ve got a lot on right now. I guess that was my body’s payback.” He shakes his head as if to will away the subject. “Anyway, glad you could squeeze me into your busy day.” The flirtatious smile is back.

“Sure thing,” Brad says. “I’m in Chinatown a lot at the moment.”

“Interesting case?” Damien asks.

“As interesting as murder on an innocent bystander ever is,” Brad says drily, then regrets his snappish tone. Damien’s eyes are huge.

“You’re a homicide detective?” he says. “Then why did you come to take Viv’s statement?”

“We were in the neighborhood,” Brad says. He won’t explain Eric’s weird guilt trip with the chief.

Damien sighs. “I should’ve never let her call the cops. She….”

Brad is sure he wants to say that Vivienne made it all up. But Damien doesn’t continue. Brad wonders again what the story is with those two. But he finds that he’s not interested enough to ruin their encounter by forcing Damien to talk about her. “Never mind,” Brad says eventually. “No harm done.”

Damien’s grateful smile is radiant. He holds Brad’s gaze for so long, Brad feels his stomach flutter a little.

“Well, I want to thank you properly for helping me like you did,” Damien says. “I ruined your Friday night, and all.

Brad is about to protest, but Damien carries on, “I’d like you to come to a charity gala on Wednesday. It’s for a good cause I support. There’ll be a dinner, and a raffle, and…I’d really like it if you came.” He looks at Brad with hopeful eyes.

“Yeah, course I’ll come,” Brad says. “Thanks for the invite.”

“Great!” Damien says, delighted. “It’s at the Bowery Hotel. I’ll text you the RSVP later.”

They talk of nothing in particular for a while, just the chitchat of two people getting to know each other. Damien buys another round of coffees, and Brad feels himself relax into the other’s company. Damien is amusing, with a quick wit and easy charm, and neither of them tries to hide their attraction very hard.

Just when Brad starts to wonder if coffee might merge into dinner, Damien looks at his watch. “Damn,” he mutters. “I hadn’t realized how late it is. I have to rush. I’ve got a plane to catch in a few hours.”

“A plane?” Brad asks, bemused.

“Yeah,” Damien replies, sounding glum. “I’m due in LA tomorrow morning.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Brad inquires before he can stop himself. “You’re not a hundred percent recovered yet.”

“It’s probably a terrible idea,” Damien agrees. He looks tired and drawn again all of a sudden. “But I have no choice. I’ve got an…appointment.” He doesn’t meet Brad’s eyes any more. He throws twenty dollars on the table and gets up. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.” He hovers by the table for a moment, then leans down, putting his hand on Brad’s, and Brad’s skin starts to tingle. “I’m looking forward to it,” he whispers near Brad’s ear.

Before Brad can say anything or try to catch his eye, Damien has turned toward the exit and is striding away.