The only questions that had made him uncomfortable were the ones about his family – his father, specifically – which he’d tried to answer as vaguely as possible.

It was only about a half-hour after Damon had left his apartment – after Micah had showered and collapsed onto his bed – that he realized he’d legitimately enjoyed getting to know Damon. It’d been fun playing twenty questions with the man, and worst of all – even though he had seen Damon less than an hour ago – Micah found that he already missed him.

It was pathetic, and if Micah wasn’t already concerned about his mental facilities, he certainly would have been then. All sorts of alarms were going off in his brain. It didn’t matter how charming or devilishly handsome or sweet (in a convoluted, pushy way) Damon was, he was a fucking mob boss, and Micah had no business enjoying himself around him.

Micah had gone as far as typing in “therapists near me” into the search bar of his phone, because clearly there was something drastically wrong with his psyche, when he heard a buzzing sound coming from the kitchen. When he’d gone to investigate the noise, he saw a “new message” alert on the iPhone Damon had gifted him.

It could only be from one person.

Despite the instant spark of curiosity, Micah was proud to say he lasted an entire minute before swiping to see what the message said.

Who’s your favorite musician?

Thank God no one had been there to see the loopy grin that broke out across Micah’s face. (The answer was Queen, obviously.)

That was how Micah ended up exchanging text messages back and forth for two entire days with New York City’s most notorious mafia don. At least, that’s what he was doing when he wasn’t working Nico’s case at the precinct.

Call Micah paranoid, but there was no way he was bringing the phone Damon had given him to the station. Even if Damon hadn’t installed any nefarious devices on the iPhone – a big if – there were plenty of other ways to track a phone. Hell, there were even apps for it.

Thankfully, Damon had yet to ask why Micah didn’t answer his texts between the hours of 8:00 AM and 4:00 PM, and if he did, Micah was fully prepared to lie – something, surprisingly enough, he hadn’t had to do so far.

Regardless, Micah only ever responded to Damon’s texts when he was at home, which is where he was at right now. It was inching past ten o’clock, and last Friday’s debacle aside, it was where Micah spent most of his Friday evenings. Because Micah was lame.

Also apparently a glutton for inevitable tragedy, since instead of using his miniscule downtime to find some tv show to binge on Netflix – or better yet, sleep – he was exchanging texts with a mobster.

It was downright idiotic.