In the end, Micah had begrudgingly agreed to keep the case closed as there had also been foreign skin cells detected under Nico’s fingernails. There was no proof that any of the Hooker Hunter’s victims had ever had the chance to fight back, like Nico clearly had.

Unfortunately, when they ran the DNA provided by the skin cells through the system, no matches popped up. It meant that whoever had murdered Nico wasn’t in their database.

Ultimately, they were no closer to finding Nico’s killer at the end of the week than they were at the beginning.

Despite the lack of progress at work, there had been some bright spots in his week – specifically when Damon took him out to eat at a fancy restaurant on Wednesday for what Micah had taken to calling their “weekly bonding session” in his head.

He would have preferred to just hang out at one of their apartments, but Damon insisted he needed to learn proper dining etiquette. Micah couldn’t deny that the food had been delicious. (Though the way Damon had watched him eat with dark, hooded eyes had made him squirm in his seat, clenching his thighs together in an attempt to stop any other bodily reactions.)

Micah was wholly certain that the quartered garlic potatoes he was eating were delicious, but he couldn’t enjoy the taste of them with Damon staring at him like that.

The man had hardly touched his own food. Instead, his gaze was laser-focused on Micah, seemingly enraptured as he watched Micah stab a potato, bring it to his mouth, and chew – then repeat, occasionally pausing to lick the buttery sheen from his lips.

“Am I doing it wrong?” Micah asked, unable to take the intense scrutiny after a while. He was only being a little sarcastic. He knew he was using the correct fork – Damon had ensured that – and he was making sure to chew with his mouth closed, but for all he knew, he was committing some other social faux pas.

Damon dragged his eyes away from Micah’s mouth and cleared his throat. He didn’t seem at all abashed at being called out for staring. “You’re doing fine,” he assured.

“Are you sure?” Micah asked. “I mean, I’ve only been feeding myself for twenty-three years now, but if you think you can do a better job of it…” Micah held out his fork, teasing the man.

But to his immense surprise, Damon snatched it from his hand. Instead of using it, however, he put it down, and picked up one of the glazed baby carrots on his own plate with his fingers, holding it to Micah’s mouth.

Micah sputtered, pushing the man’s hand away. “What are you doing?”

“You offered to let me feed you,” Damon pointed out the obvious. “Or did you change your mind?”