Yeah, Micah really needed to work on his pep talks.

Regardless, he couldn’t avoid the inevitable confrontation with Damon any longer, so he forced himself to straighten his shoulders before exiting the bathroom, marching across the bedroom he’d awoken in until he reached the unexplored door.

He pulled it open and stepped out into a living area that looked like it belonged in a Better Homes and Gardens magazine – one that catered to billionaires with a penchant for penthouses.

The space was massive – the huge windows and vaulted ceiling making it seem impossibly larger. There was a walk-out balcony, upon which Micah could make out a set of wicker furniture and… was that a hot tub?!

Micah jerked his eyes away from the balcony, back to the inside of the space. Like Damon’s bedroom, the place was mostly decorated in monochromic colors. The floors were a gleaming cream-colored hardwood that stretched out across the room, only broken up by a large white area rug near the brick fireplace.

There was minimal furniture – a black leather sofa and loveseat surrounding the rug near the fireplace – and more abstract-looking art hanging on the walls, including a trio of weird (ugly, frankly) metal pieces that were possibly supposed to resemble flowers.

As impressive as the space was, Micah couldn’t deny feeling an unexpected wave of disappointment. Sure, the place probably cost more money than what he would make in a lifetime, and the hot tub was awesome, but it was all just so… impersonal. He may as well have been at the suite in The Mark for as much as Damon’s place told him about the man.

What Micah wasn’t disappointed by was the heavenly smell in the air – something sweet and cakey that had his stomach twisting in anticipation. He’d avoided looking in the direction of the kitchen until then, his body somehow instinctually knowing that was where Damon was, but he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

Sure enough, there he was. His back was to Micah as he focused on the stove, and he hadn’t noticed Micah’s entrance. Even turned around as he was, however, Micah couldn’t help but admire the view.

Damon was in a t-shirt – the most casual Micah had ever seen him dressed – and his trapezius muscles strained against the fabric, his biceps bulging against the sleeves. Unfortunately, a shiny kitchen island equipped with granite countertops blocked the rest of the man from Micah’s eyesight.

Micah cleared his throat, taking a step towards the kitchen. “G’morning,” he said, voice quiet and a bit croaky yet from sleep.

Damon jerked around at the sound of it, spatula in hand. “You’re up.” The man sounded surprised. “I thought you’d sleep in longer.”

Micah ran a nervous hand through his hair, taking another step closer to Damon. “Yeah, well, I’m used to long nights at the job.”

Micah meant his job at the precinct, which often required odd hours. Crime didn’t sleep, after all, and time-sensitive cases frequently required all-hands-on-deck. It wasn’t unusual for him to work evenings and weekends. Take his undercover gig as a prostitute, for example-