man on the run • shyan

Achilles (not quite god, not quite human)

The next morning is a vast contrast compared to last night.

Sunlight has replaced the illicit blue night, the golden rays painting Tinsely's tiny room shades of royalty.

His bed is vacant except for him.

Despite mentally preparing himself for Ricky's department from him for months all night, his heart still aches, the grip the man on his heart is lethal and yet he refuses to even try to snatch his heart back.

He knows he'll obsess over the absent man during sleepless nights for months on end.

He spends another minute or two pouting in disappointment like a child, his thin sheets that have now been tainted by the memory of the other man snuggled around his bare waist. He leaned on his arms, head tilted back and hazel eyes closed.

In his fatigue, he took note of the sound of busy car engines on the street below, the slamming of his neighbours' doors as they left their houses, the empty hollowness of his own shabby flat.

Overthinking about small things to distract his messy head from thinking about the missing man.

His blissful isolation disrupted by the loud clanging of a dropped metal object coming from somewhere in his house.

He rushed out, brunette hair dishevelled and glasses crooked on his nose as he hastily put on his dirty boxers from last night discarded on his bedroom floor.

In his haste to look decent incase it was an intruder or worse, his brother, was the one making a mess in his kitchen, he failed to realize a crumpled button up shirt at the foot of his dresser, which couldn't have belonged to him judging by how it would look like a crop top on his lanky torso.

Along with The Unsolved Criminal, it was also a mystery why Tinsley was a detective in the first place.

The detective stood at the opening of his tiny kitchenette to a sight he would have never believed.

The infamous Ricky Goldsworth, haunched over a coffee machine with his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

The shorter man lacked his shirt, giving Tinsley a full view of the criminal's tan skin littered with lilac bruises.

It wasn't until now had Tinsley ever seen Goldsworth without a button up in full lighting, their previous encounters without clothes had all been in the secrecy of the dark, illicit and hidden.

It was then Cecil Tinsely flushed deeply.

Which was honestly ridiculous, seeing how he has seen Goldsworth literally ass out naked spread out on a cheap motel mattress before.

But now the homicidal man had never seemed so human.

His usually coquettish eyes were soft and sleepy behind a simple pair of black glasses, his short raven hair had forgone its usual sleeked back style into a mess of tendrils sticking out in every direction as if it was trying to run away, the man was slouching slightly, and Tinsely could see the gentle slope of his back to his broad shoulders.

He looked so soft.

Tinsley had known he liked boys since he was a teenager, with their broad shoulders and deep voices made his knees weak even when he was a mess of lanky limbs.

But this was a whole new level on infatuation.

The burning hot desire that melted his insides everytime Goldsworth spared him a teasing glance or smug laugh had morphed into a fluttering lightness that made his head feel stupid and his bones ache with longing.

Ricky Goldsworth with messy hair and glasses bathing in Apollo's soft golden sun light from his tiny kitchenette windows was ethereal.

Tinsley knew he was screwed.

"Morning, Tinhat"

The shorter man greeted, the ever present charming glint in his eyes more playful than challenging. His voice was slightly gruffy from sleep and his eyes were slightly gentler than the cutting edge they always seem to hold.

He was unapologetic and unabashed, skirting around the kitchenette in an attempt to what looks to be scrambled eggs.

"You're still in my house?"

Tinsley had asked dumbly, a slacked expression on his face as he tried to process the situation that shouldn't be happening if his other encounters with Goldsworth was anything to go by.

Ricky turned away from the sizzling pan, to the protest of Tinsely who promptly turns the gas off before his expensive apartment got burned down, with his dark eyebrows furrowed together and his teeth worrying on his pouting bottom lip.

"Did you want me to leave?"

Tinsley shook his head frantically, taking a seat across from the dejected man.

"No no, I just didn't expect you to-"

The other man gave him a wide grin, mischievous instead of sultry, like a child playing hide and seek knowing he chose the absolute best hiding spot.

"Stay? Well I didn't plan to. You're the special exception, Tinhat, don't get used to it"

∆

There hasn't been a case against Ricky Goldsworth in months.

Tinsley grins to himself fondly.

∆

"Why did you tell me? Who you are?"

It was weeks later, Ricky stayed the night more often than not, and they were slouched lazily in Tinsley's bed.

The shorter man quirked an eyebrow, flicking his cigarette on the ashtray Tinsley had bought for him. The taller of the two men twisted his body to face Goldsworth, his droopy eyes constantly making him look sleepy.

"I wanted to see how smart you were"

Tinsley scoffed, sitting upright with his arms crossed.

"A toddler could solve this case with how many clues you've left me"

"Maybe I wanted to get caught, detective"

"Really, now?"

Tinsley used his sceptical tone, the same he had used when presented with the case about Ricky Goldsworth. The other man replied with an easy grin.

"Yeah, by you"