Steve first saw Christian on a rainy evening outside a convenience store.
It wasn't anything dramatic—no lingering eye contact across a smoky bar, no accidental brushes of hands in a crowded room. It was just a guy, standing under the awning, shaking rain from his brown curls while fumbling with a lighter.
But for some reason, Steve couldn't look away.
Christian was beautiful in a way that made Steve uncomfortable. Not just in the physical sense—though he was undeniably attractive—but in the way he carried himself. There was a quiet confidence in his movements, something controlled yet effortless.
Steve had spent years in a world of violence, of men who spoke with their fists and feared nothing. Christian didn't belong in that world.
Maybe that's why Steve followed him.
At first, it was just curiosity. He'd see Christian on the subway and watch from a distance. He'd catch glimpses of him at a café, sipping coffee and reading. Steve never approached—never even intended to.
But he kept watching.
And then, one night, Christian noticed him.
It was outside a bar. Steve had been leaning against the wall, smoking, when Christian stepped out, shaking his head like he was trying to clear his thoughts.
Their eyes met.
"You know," Christian said, tucking his hands into his pockets, "if you're going to stalk someone, you should be less obvious about it."
Steve blinked, taken aback.
"I—what?"
Christian raised an eyebrow, amused. "You think I haven't noticed? You're not exactly subtle."
Steve's heart did something weird in his chest. He wasn't used to being caught off guard.
Christian stepped closer, studying him. "So? You gonna tell me why you keep following me?"
Steve had no answer.
"Alright," Christian sighed. "Then at least buy me a drink."
And that was how it started.
Their first "date"—if Steve could call it that—was at a dingy bar that smelled of cheap liquor and desperation.
Christian was nothing like the people Steve usually dealt with. He was sharp but warm, confident but not cocky. He had this way of looking at Steve, like he was trying to see past the walls he had built.
Steve hated it.
And yet, he kept coming back.
One drink turned into two. One night turned into many.
They talked about everything—movies, books, things that didn't matter. Christian never asked about Steve's past, and Steve never offered.
Then, one night, after too many drinks, Christian leaned in.
"I think you like me," he murmured, his lips barely inches away.
Steve could have laughed. Could have pushed him away. Could have done anything except what he did.
Which was close the distance.
The first time they slept together, it was messy, desperate. Steve wasn't the type to be gentle—he didn't know how to be. But Christian was patient, guiding him, grounding him.
Afterward, Steve lay awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling something unfamiliar curl in his chest.
It wasn't love. Not yet.
But it was something.
Something dangerous.
And Steve didn't realize just how dangerous it was—until he learned the truth about Christian.
Steve never intended for it to become a habit.
One date turned into another. Then another. And another.
It was strange—being with Christian. Steve had spent years cultivating an image of ruthless efficiency, of a man without attachments. Yet here he was, sitting across from a man who made him forget, if only for a little while, who he was supposed to be.
They never talked about the things that truly mattered. Christian didn't ask why Steve sometimes flinched at unexpected touches. Steve didn't question why Christian always seemed to be studying him, like he was searching for something.
And the sex—
God, the sex.
It wasn't just about release. It was the way Christian touched him, like he wasn't something broken. The way Christian would drag his fingers down Steve's spine, whispering things that made Steve's chest ache.
The way Christian held him afterward, like he wanted to.
Steve didn't know what to do with it.
So he did what he always did. He ignored it.
One night, they lay tangled in Christian's sheets, the room thick with the scent of sweat and heat. Christian's hand traced absent patterns on Steve's bare shoulder.
"You ever think about leaving?" Christian murmured.
Steve frowned. "Leaving what?"
"This life. The gangs. The violence. Doesn't it get tiring?"
Steve stared at the ceiling. The question shouldn't have caught him off guard, but it did.
He turned his head, meeting Christian's gaze. There was something unreadable in his expression.
"What are you trying to say?" Steve asked.
Christian hesitated, just for a second. Then he smiled—small, tired.
"Nothing," he said. "Just wondering."
Steve let it go.
He shouldn't have.
Because weeks later, he would learn the truth.
Christian wasn't here by accident.
He was here for him.