Random BL One-Shots

The Vanishing Act

The streets of Saigon hummed with the familiar chaos of motorbikes and late-night vendors, but Minh felt an unsettling quiet within himself as he scanned the latest case file on his desk. It was just past midnight, the city's night shrouding it in secrets that mirrored the growing darkness of his investigation. Five people had vanished within the past three months, all under eerily similar circumstances. The most unsettling part? No bodies, no notes, and not a single witness—just the yawning silence left behind in their absence.

Minh, a sharp-eyed private investigator, had learned long ago to rely on gut instincts, and this case screamed danger. The deeper he dove, the more tangled the web became, and the harder it was to separate fact from the shadows closing in on him. He sighed, rubbing his temples, as he heard the familiar click of the front door.

"Another long night?" Tuan, his partner, stood in the doorway. He tossed his leather jacket onto the back of a chair, glancing at the mess of files. "You need to take a break, Minh. This case is eating you alive."

Minh's lips twitched into a tired smile. "Can't stop now. There's something wrong with these disappearances, Tuan. Too clean, too precise."

"And yet no closer to solving it." Tuan sat across from him, leaning forward, his voice dropping. "What do you think, Minh? Organ trafficking? Kidnapping ring? None of this adds up."

Minh glanced at him, but before he could answer, his phone buzzed. He stared at the screen, seeing a familiar name: Khai.

"Got something?" Minh asked as soon as he answered.

"Maybe," Khai's voice came through, crisp yet tinged with exhaustion. "I found some leads in the public archives. Meet me at my office. We need to talk in person."

The line went dead before Minh could respond. He was already grabbing his coat, sensing the urgency in Khai's tone. Tuan raised a brow, clearly reading the tension in the room.

"Don't tell me it's Khai again," Tuan muttered.

Minh shot him a quick look. "It's always Khai."

Khai's office was tucked away in a dingy building that had long since seen better days, much like the man who owned it. Minh climbed the narrow staircase two at a time, his pulse quickening. He hated how his heart always did this before seeing Khai—a mixture of excitement and dread that never felt entirely welcome.

Khai sat at his cluttered desk, papers strewn everywhere, a stark contrast to the sharpness in his gaze. The journalist looked up as Minh entered, his expression unreadable. They had known each other for years, but there was always this invisible wall between them—one Minh could never quite break through.

"You look terrible," Khai said, though there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.

"Thanks. You look worse." Minh leaned against the desk, eyeing the clutter. "What do you have for me?"

Khai slid a file toward him, but his fingers lingered on the edge. "There's something off about this, Minh. I'm getting pressure from the higher-ups to back off."

Minh's brows furrowed. "Who?"

"I don't know yet. But it's serious. I think we've hit something big." Khai's voice lowered, almost as if he feared being overheard.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, Minh could see the weight Khai carried, the same burden they both shouldered in their own ways. Khai had been digging into the disappearances too, pushing limits, crossing lines that made Minh uncomfortable. But that was Khai. He never knew when to stop.

"You should back off, then," Minh muttered.

Khai chuckled softly, though it lacked humor. "You and I both know that's not going to happen."