Lost Memories: End of Pursuit

It was raining hard at the top of the building. Water stormed in, and the wind blew through his bones. 

Last night, Byron dreamed of free-falling from a building, and now he stood at the top of a skyscraper. Something told him that this was it—the end of years of running, years of escaping justice. 

Either he would jump to his death, or he would let Detective Baxter, who was still tailing him, finally catch him.

Wait, jump to his death? Of course not. 

Byron had already prepared a wingsuit under his suit, allowing him to free-fall from the building and reach the ground safely. But with the heavy rain pouring down, it wasn't the best time to do it. Still, compared to his past escapes—jumping off a 100-meter waterfall, entering a burning building to access an underground tunnel, hiding in an ancient tomb to avoid capture—free-falling with a wingsuit in a storm felt like nothing more than an amusement park ride, didn't it? 

"Freeze!" Detective Baxter screamed at the top of his lungs, aiming his gun at Byron, stopping the fugitive from making his decision to jump.

"If you move, I'll shoot! I swear, Byron!" Baxter shouted. He had learned from his past mistakes—never again would he let Byron escape through one of his elaborate tricks that made it seem like suicide, only for him to slip away unharmed.

"Babe!" Byron grinned as he turned his back toward Baxter. "It's been 15 years—you've been chasing me forever. Maybe we could buy a villa in the mountains, chill with our dogs, and enjoy our retirement with romance and passion..."

"Shut up!" Detective Baxter lost it. "You're nothing but a liar!"

With a swift move, Byron drew his gun and fired at Charles's weapon, knocking it from his hand. The rain worked to Byron's advantage, the wind blowing hard in Baxter's direction, distorting his vision. Byron smirked.

Charles's face twisted in desperation as he realized—he had failed again. His knees hit the wet rooftop, hands clenched into fists. There was no way to retrieve his gun without getting shot in the process.

"I'm sorry about this, but... I don't think I'm ready to give up my freedom yet," Byron looked serious, and a glimpse of sadness was seen on his face.

Charles looked angry. "I always knew you never meant it. At the end of the day, it's just me and my stupidity, letting people use me without giving anything back. How about just squeeze the trigger and end my life now, so I can finally be free from everything!" 

"Ending your life too soon? We'll see about that, Charles," Byron's footsteps approached—slow, steady, confident. He knew the reason Charles was so persistent in capturing him—because taking down a major criminal would prove his worth to his colleagues. So they would stop bullying and underestimating him. So they would start respecting him. 

How sad...

Byron hesitated, his finger resting on the trigger, but he didn't pull it.

Crazy as it sounded, despite the years of chasing, the endless game of cat and mouse, Charles had made things... interesting. Life would have been far more dull without him.

A memory flashed in his mind—one of their more entertaining encounters.

That night, Byron had crashed a high-society party, slipping through the glittering ballroom to steal a priceless diamond. Charles had been there too, assigned to protect it. As chaos erupted and Byron made his escape, he caught sight of Charles standing on the interior balcony, barking orders to the other officers.

"Don't underestimate him! He's dangerous!" Charles had warned.

Byron, ever the showman, decided to make an entrance. Scaling the walls with effortless parkour, he climbed up to the balcony and landed right in front of Charles, his face hidden under a black balaclava. Their eyes locked.

"Hello there, baby," Byron greeted casually.

He had every intention of smashing Charles's face into the railing, making his escape more dramatic. But when he see how Charles flustered as their faces were too close, he changed his mind.

Byron reached into his pocket and pulled out a single red rose, pressing it into Charles's hand.

"If they ask why, don't tell them I'm your bed buddy," he teased with a wink. "Your career would be over in an instant."

Then, before Charles could react, Byron leapt off the balcony—straight through a window, free-falling thirty floors below.

No one ever figured out how he survived.

***

One time, Byron was on vacation, lounging on a private beach, kissing a beautiful woman in a bikini, when the sudden crack of gunfire shattered the peaceful atmosphere. Guests at his exclusive party screamed and scattered in terror.

"What the hell? Are you crazy? This is vacation! Give us a break!" Byron snapped, turning to face the source of the chaos.

Charles marched toward him with large, determined strides, his face burning with fury.

Byron barely dodged as Charles fired again, the bullet nearly hitting his toes.

"Whoa!" Byron pulled his foot back just in time. "You're seriously losing it!"

But Charles wasn't done. He shoved Byron—not that it did much, given Byron's solid build—but then slapped him across the face.

Byron blinked, momentarily stunned. "Are you insane?!"

"You're coming with me! You fucking come with me, or I swear I'll do something unthinkable!" Charles snarled, trying to grab hold of him.

Unfortunately, Byron was only wearing swim trunks—nothing for Charles to latch onto.

Amused, Byron quickly seized control of the situation. In one swift motion, he gripped Charles's wrist and arm, twisting him down onto the sand and pinning him beneath his weight.

This scenario had played out between them too many times. They both knew exactly where this was going next.

Byron smirked. "Just admit it—you're jealous because I'm partying with beautiful women."

"Dream on!" Charles growled, struggling beneath him. But Byron was simply too strong.

"Look, it's not that you weren't invited," Byron said, grinning in victory. "This is just the only way to get you here."

Charles gritted his teeth, still in denial, as Byron leaned in closer. Their lips met, firm and unyielding. Even when Charles stopped responding—turning his head away in a last-ditch effort to escape—Byron refused to let him go. 

With a firm grip, Byron cupped Charles's cheek, forcing him to face him once more. Their lips crashed together again, leaving Charles with nowhere to run. 

And despite every ounce of resistance, every stubborn denial—he couldn't stop himself from loving it.

"I hate you, Byron!" Charles grunted. "I hate you so much!"

"Stop being denial, your body loves it," Byron silenced him with a kiss.

How could Charles deny that kiss? Of all the relationships—or lack thereof—he'd ever had, Byron was the only one who kissed him with such intensity, such passion.

Charles had never been lucky in love. His childhood crush? Straight. His academy years? A humiliating disaster—shamed for falling for his senior officer.

But Byron… Byron kissed him like no one else ever had.

And his touch—despite everything, despite his reckless life as a professional thief—was impossibly, heartbreakingly gentle.

They had indulged in passion far too many times for Byron not to know exactly where to touch, how to tease, and when to dominate. Charles craved the contradiction—gentle caresses that sent shivers down his spine, yet firm control that left him with no room to escape. 

He loved the struggle, the futile resistance. He would fight back, pushing against Byron's dominance, but they both knew the truth—his resistance was just an invitation to be overpowered. 

Somewhere between their heated moments and whispered taunts, time blurred. A week slipped by unnoticed.

Neither of them could even remember how they ended up tangled in the sheets of Byron's hotel room.

After the fire had settled, Charles lay on Byron, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns against warm skin. He found himself wondering—if they had met under different circumstances, would things have been easier for them? Or would fate have thrown new obstacles in their path, making their love just as impossible?

"You've been lying there for ten minutes. Something on your mind?" Byron murmured, running his fingers through Charles's silky blonde hair.

Charles snuggled closer, resting his cheek against Byron's chest. "Just wondering... what life would be like if you weren't a criminal."

Byron chuckled. "What are you saying? I can't imagine myself as a cop like you."

Charles shifted, lifting his head to look directly at Byron. This time, there was something different in his gaze—he was smiling. His blue eyes, filled with warmth and affection, held Byron captive. In that moment, he looked breathtaking.

"Why not?" Charles teased. "Maybe we could've been good partners."

Byron didn't reply. He was too mesmerized. He had to admit—Charles was a handsome man with soft features. The faint blush on his cheeks made him even more endearing, and the way he got flustered during intimate moments only added to his charm.

"It's too late to change now," Byron said, putting out his cigarette. He took a handful of Charles's blonde hair and squeezed, but the man just surrendered—no more resisting. A week of domination had changed him. Now, there was only trust; trust that Byron wouldn't hurt him.

Then, it crossed Byron's mind—maybe if things went well between them, they could really be a cute couple. Breakfast and coffee in the morning, cuddling by the fireplace at night, and a proper work routine to make them miss each other.

"How's your ass now?" Byron asked with a smirk.

"It hurts…" Charles replied in a tender voice. He bit his lower lip and glanced at Byron softly.

"Is there any way we can live together? No, right? Good things in life are forbidden. That's why…" Byron muttered, caressing Charles's cheek with the back of his fingers. "They call it 'demon.'"

"Would you rather die a criminal," Charles asked gently, "or make a change so you can live your dream?"

Byron laughed. "Are you telling me to surrender myself to the law? They could sentence me for decades, and by the time I get out, I'd already be too old—if I even survive prison."

"So you'd rather die a criminal than have a life with me?" Charles rested his chest against Byron's stomach, propping his head up with his fist, his elbow pressed into the mattress beside him.

"Why don't you live a freedom life with me instead of being a cop? Didn't you say no one was nice to you there?" Byron turned the situation around, making Charles look bitter. In response, Charles yanked at Byron's chest hair.

"Ouch! Hey, don't do that," Byron scolded, slapping Charles's hand away.

Charles pulled himself off Byron's chest and turned over, lying on his side with his back facing him.

"What was that? I just threw your words back at you, and now you're mad?" Byron scoffed.

"You won't even change for me, so why bother? You don't love me, you're just a liar," Charles sulked. Just moments ago, when they had climaxed, Byron had kissed his forehead and told him he loved him.

Byron raised his voice slightly. "You won't change for me either!"

Charles sat up and leaned toward him. "If you follow my change, you'll become a good person. But if I follow yours, I'll become a terrible one. My change is better."

"But in my idea of change, we get to live our lives freely, right away. In yours, I have to go to jail first," Byron countered, shaking his head with a smirk. "How long do you think the judge will lock me up? Eighty years? We ain't got time for that."

"You're right," Charles muttered, upset as he got out of bed. "What am I even doing here? Just a masturbation tool for a criminal? Yeah, right. Everyone uses me—my mom used me, my friends used me, my childhood crush used me..."

Byron laughed, amused by Charles's flamboyant frustration. There was nothing funnier than an upset gay. "I don't use you. We're just a bird and a fish—there's no way to build a life together because crossing realms is impossible!"

"That's why I'm just your sex toy." Charles started getting dressed, wincing at the dull ache in his tailbone.

Byron slid across the bed, and Charles knew exactly what was coming. He quickly stepped back to avoid him. "Don't touch me! I'm done!"

"Negative. I'm not done."

With a swift move, Byron caught Charles just as he tried to escape, locking him in his arms. Charles struggled, but as usual, it was futile.

"Let me go!" Charles demanded, cursing under his breath, but Byron only pushed him back onto the bed, pinning him down.

"No! I don't want this anymore!" Charles grabbed a pillow and smacked Byron with it, but Byron easily tossed it aside.

"I'll consider it," he said.

Charles froze. "What did you say?"

Byron gently ran his fingers through Charles's hair. "I said I'll consider it. I do want to live with you."

"You do?" Charles's face lit up, and he allowed Byron to kiss him.

And so, they started again. But this time, it was different. No more pinning down. No more handcuffs. Just eye contact. Byron let himself get lost in Charles's deep blue eyes as they melted into one another.

And that was how he knew—he was in love.

Love had always been his weakness. A man in love would do anything for his lover.

But he knew it wouldn't be easy to start anew. He had committed too many crimes to escape justice—mostly theft—but he refused to face trial. And after that vacation ended, Byron considers about it for too long. So, in the end, he started stealing again.

And their endless game of cat and mouse began once more.

Now, under the relentless downpour, Byron found himself unable to pull the trigger. Even though this wouldn't be the first time he'd taken a life.

He let out a bitter laugh, lowering his gun from Charles's head.

"I can't, man..." Byron kept laughing, shaking his head. "Damn... I can't kill you. I like you too much."

Exhaling, he slumped onto the ground, now at eye level with Charles. He looked at him and shrugged before tossing his gun aside, utterly indifferent to the consequences. "How long do you think they will keep me in a cage?"

"Probably 10 years. Is this another mischievous act? I'm too tired for games, Byron, really."

"No, it's not. I told you, I want to live with you, didn't I? I ain't playing games with you. Use that handcuff, and let's do it. It's time to face it so we can start our lives sooner," Byron nodded.

Charles didn't waste his chance. In one swift motion, he pulled out his handcuffs.

This time, they locked around Byron's wrists instead of his own.

"I'll wait for you," Charles promised.

"You better be," Byron smiles.

And the sound of police sirens was approaching...