My life is like one of those steamy web novels, and I'm just the security guard. The city's most feared crime lord, pinned against a wall in a dark alley by his own subordinate, having a secret negotiation. I saw it. The alpha CEO, forcibly kissing his adopted son in a crowded elevator. I saw that, too. The tanned, muscular delivery guy, putting the moves on the innocent-looking student renting an apartment on the third floor. Yep. Saw that one as well. I listen with deadened ears to the chorus of… exertion… echoing from the wall of security monitors. Seriously, does nobody know that public spaces have cameras? Does anyone ever stop to think about the straight security guard's feelings in all of this? 1 I stared helplessly at the monitor, lighting a cigarette in utter despair. A few minutes ago, the notorious crime lord Silas Thorne had appeared on camera NW-03. Thinking I was about to witness some shady back-alley deal, I snapped to attention, locking the camera onto him. But Silas looked… dazed. Gone was his usual ruthless, cold-as-ice demeanor. Instead, the subordinate trailing him, a guy with sly, narrow eyes, easily shoved him against the wall. A double-cross? I frowned, zooming in and cranking up the audio. The subordinate, Mickey, purred, "Boss, you've been wearing it all day. Tired?" My senses tingled. Wearing what all day? Stolen goods? Some kind of torture device? Incriminating evidence? Silas just stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. Mickey leaned in closer. "Boss, remember how I took a bullet for you? How I put down two of our rivals, all for you? Don't you think it's time you… returned the favor?" What the hell did that mean? And what was he digging for in his pants? A weapon? My brow furrowed, my heart pounding in my throat. My first night shift, and I'd stumbled into a mob takedown. My finger hovered over the emergency dial. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. Zzzzip. The next sound I heard was a zipper. And then I watched, wide-eyed, as the great Silas Thorne sat down. He sat right down on the little kiddie ride his subordinate had just… unzipped. The mechanical pony rocked unsteadily, forcing the crime lord to grab Mickey's hand for balance. A wave of despair washed over me as a cheerful, synthesized jingle filled the alley, the sound so sharp it felt like it was stabbing my eyes. That cursedly catchy tune began to play—Who's the best daddy in the world~? Silas mumbled, his voice low and shaky, "Daddy…" Clearly, the ride was already making him dizzy. 2 I am a security guard on the brink of a complete mental breakdown. It's my third day working in Ashton City. My supervisor noticed the dark circles under my eyes. "Kyle, you look terrible. Rough night?" I managed a weak smile. "Rough night" didn't even begin to cover it. I'd had a nightmare that I was being chased down by a fleet of giant, sentient kiddie rides. They cornered me, their plastic eyes glowing, and demanded, "What do you call your father's mother's third cousin's uncle's second wife?" I couldn't answer. As I started to panic, they cackled, linked hands, and locked me inside one of their horrifying, rocking bodies. I sighed, shaking my head. I had to tell myself last night was a fluke. Forget everything. Just focus on work. Just then, a man in a sharp, tailored suit and glasses stepped into the main elevator. I immediately straightened my posture, my gaze filled with respect. This was Adrian Vance, the wealthiest man in the city, a legendary CEO. He was also the man who owned the company that owned my security firm. The boss of my boss. If anything happened to him on my watch, I had to be the first one to intervene. Adrian didn't press a floor button. He just stood there, his gaze fixed on a spot just outside the elevator. A moment later, a young man came running into the frame. "Adrian! I finally caught you! You can't keep avoiding me!" Adrian's face was a mask of indifference. "You should call me 'Father.'" Oh, please, I thought, rolling my eyes at the monitor. Like you didn't hold the door for him on purpose. The young man, Ethan, stepped into the elevator, his eyes locked on Adrian. "I've never seen you as a father. You were my dad's friend. That's it." Okay, I got it. Classic family drama. Ethan's real dad passed away, Adrian adopted him, and now the kid was in his rebellious phase, refusing to accept the new dynamic. I could sympathize. At his age, I was all about making it on my own, too. It was only after joining the daily grind that I realized how lucky he was. All he had to do was say "Dad," and a billionaire would set him up for life. So, just a father-son squabble. I breathed a sigh of relief. Adrian remained cool. "What is this tantrum about?" "It's not a tantrum! I meant everything I said! You know what? Fine. Be your cold, heartless self! I'll just go study abroad! It's not like there's a shortage of men out there!" Huh? I felt like I was missing a piece of the puzzle. "You wouldn't dare!" Adrian hissed. And in the next second, they were kissing. A desperate, hungry kiss, like there was no one else in the world—or, you know, a high-definition camera—watching. I was completely stunned. Wait, what? Is this even legal? I thought this was a family drama, not… this. Thirty minutes later, my phone rang. It was my supervisor, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Kyle, Elevator 2 is stuck on the top floor. There's a huge line of employees downstairs waiting. Can you check the camera and see what the hell is going on?" I chose my words carefully. "Mr. Vance and his son are in there… having a very intense argument." "Well, can you do something? Go talk to them or something. The complaint emails are about to start flooding in, and you know who they'll blame." My jaw dropped. "Me? You want me to go?" After hanging up, I stared at the monitor in despair, gingerly lifting the corner of the napkin I'd used to cover the screen. Inside the elevator, the "argument" was still raging. Adrian was on the offensive, and while Ethan was losing ground, he certainly wasn't surrendering. They were locked in a fiery, passionate battle, and frankly, they looked like they were enjoying every second of it. My eyes burned as if someone had stuck needles in them. 3 Why does no one seem to remember that public places have security cameras? And that a security guard has to watch them! 4 I am a security guard at the end of his rope. After a month of being forced to watch an endless parade of men engage in various forms of… extreme wrestling… in alleys, elevators, and stairwells, I finally understood. There was something fundamentally wrong with this district. I went to my supervisor and requested a transfer. I wanted to work security at a residential complex. My only requirement: the older, the better. He gave me a puzzled look. "Kyle, you know the older buildings have more problems, right? You'll be working your butt off." I instinctively flinched when he tried to clap me on the shoulder. This past month had taught me that a single, careless touch could ignite a raging inferno of carnal combat. I looked him dead in the eye, my voice deadly serious. "I don't mind the hard work. Sir, please, transfer me to the most rundown apartment building you've got." The older the building, the more old men. And I'll bet my life that a bunch of grandpas don't have the energy to be doing the splits under a security camera. 5 I stared at the monitor, speechless. Why? Why did this seventy-year-old grandpa look like he could still break hearts? Why did that middle-aged man over there, with no makeup on, have the delicate grace of a weeping willow? And why were the group of old guys chatting on the exercise equipment batting their eyelashes like seasoned coquettes? What is wrong with this world? I buried my face in my hands, letting out a silent, desperate scream in front of the bank of monitors. And in that moment, I had an epiphany. It wasn't me. It was the world. The whole world had gone insane. 6 A new young tenant moved into the complex. White shirt, blue jeans, broad shoulders, narrow waist, and a clean, handsome face. He looked like a decent kid, probably poor, who'd stumbled into this den of grandpas because the rent was cheap. The moment he arrived, the other residents swarmed him, their curiosity piqued. They started introducing themselves. "Hello there, I'm a bottom." "And I'm a top." Their expectant eyes landed on the young man. He froze for a second, then stammered, his voice uncertain, "...Then... am I a two?" Hearing his answer, I shot up from my chair and rushed over. "I'm a two! I'm a two, too!" I grabbed his hand, my own shaking with emotion, trying my best to hold back the tears welling up in my eyes. Three whole months! I'd finally met another straight guy! Clasping his hand felt like finding a long-lost brother-in-arms. 7 The young man's name was Noah. "I'm Kyle," I said, my voice thick with emotion. Noah smiled, and a small dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. He added me as a contact, then patted my shoulder. His voice was soft. "Nice to meet you, Kyle. You can call me Noah. I guess I'll be counting on you to keep me safe around here." I knew it was just something a tenant says to a security guard out of politeness, but his words went straight to my heart. From then on, I kept a close watch, my eyes often sore and strained, always ready to send him a helpful tip. "Noah, try not to use the back entrance after midnight. People… walk their dogs there around that time." "Noah, don't wait for the elevator when you get home. It's 'broken' again. Probably be out for an hour." "Noah, be careful about opening your door for strangers." After sending that last message, I waited. No reply. My anxiety spiked. I stared at the monitor, my body tense, sweat beading on my brow. Because standing at Noah's door was a delivery guy. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a tan, muscular chest that strained against his uniform. He'd somehow turned the bright yellow company jacket and helmet into a badass biker outfit. This guy did not look like a regular delivery driver. I glared at the screen. The driver, looking hot, unzipped his jacket and took off his helmet, revealing a ruggedly handsome face dripping with raw, masculine energy. He is definitely not just a delivery guy! I screamed internally. But Noah hadn't seen my message. He opened the door. The audio on the old cameras was shot. I could only watch as Noah took the food, said a few words with a gentle smile, and the delivery guy leaned against the doorframe, not leaving, talking back. After a moment's hesitation, Noah—my sweet, innocent, straight brother Noah—let him inside! I shot out of my chair, shoved my baton and flashlight into my belt, and sprinted towards Noah's apartment building. 8 Noah opened the door to my frantic knocking. I was bent over, panting, unable to speak. The elevator had been… occupied… again. I'd taken the stairs. He looked pleasantly surprised. "Kyle? What are you doing here?" I waved a hand dismissively, my eyes scanning him from head to toe. Clothes were all in place. He was safe. Then I peered past him, looking for the delivery guy. "Sir, is this all the trash?" a voice called from the kitchen. The driver emerged, carrying several bags of garbage. He looked a bit dejected. It seemed Noah hadn't fallen for his tricks. Safe! I finally relaxed. Noah saw the delivery guy out. "I've sent the twenty-dollar tip. Thanks again." Twenty bucks just to take the trash downstairs? My eyes widened. I make five thousand a month as a security guard. My hourly wage is barely twenty bucks! Suddenly, my opinion of the delivery guy shifted dramatically. "Kyle, what's wrong?" Noah asked again. I stammered, not wanting to sound like a weirdo. "Uh, I saw you didn't reply to my text…" Understanding dawned on Noah's face. He picked up his phone. "Oh, sorry about that, man. I sprained my ankle, so I can't really get downstairs myself. I've had to ask the delivery guys to help me with the trash." He looked down, then shyly lifted his pant leg to show me. His slender ankle was definitely swollen. It looked bad. I frowned, immediately crouching down for a closer look. "How'd you do that?" I asked, concerned. "Was walking home late the other night, didn't see a loose stone." "Have you put any ointment on it?" Noah bit his lip and shook his head, looking a little embarrassed. "I, uh… I don't really know about that stuff, Kyle." "Let me take a look. We need to make sure it's not a fracture." I gently took his ankle in my hand and began to probe the area. "Hiss—" Noah winced, grabbing my shoulder for support. His eyes were red at the corners. "Kyle," he whimpered. He wasn't as tough as me. One time, a colleague and I were chasing a thief, and my buddy accidentally tased me. I didn't even make a sound. But then again, Noah was still a college student. He hadn't been hardened by the real world yet. It was okay for him to be a little sensitive to pain. As the more manly big brother figure, I felt a duty to take care of him. With that in mind, I treated him with extra patience. "So, what do you do for work, Noah? You're out late a lot." Noah smiled. "I haven't graduated yet, Kyle. I'm just renting a place here while I look for a job. I do some part-time work to make ends meet." "What kind of work?" "I'm a private tutor." My hand froze. I let go of his ankle. My entire body went on high alert.
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