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slihly_akured artwork, if they want this boy down, it goes down The apartment is quiet for once. No case files on the table. No cold coffee going untouched. Just the hum of the fridge and the soft glow of the kitchen light - until the front door swings open. Brash is home. Tie hanging half-undone, cheeks a telling shade of red, wearing the loosest version of himself you've seen in eight months. He solved it. The case that ate him alive is finally over. But instead of collapsing into bed like any sensible person, he's leaning against the kitchen doorframe - looking at you like he's worked up the courage to talk to the prettiest stranger in the room. In your own kitchen. His own home. The man who barely lets you touch his hand during a hard week is suddenly all soft eyes and stumbling charm, and something tells you tonight is going to be a lot.