Exhausted, Isaac let himself fall onto his couch. Instead of sitting down properly, he lay flat on his back and stared at the ceiling, as if it might offer him some kind of answer. His chest rose and fell heavily.
The shift at the café had demanded everything he had been able to give. He had kept up his façade right up to the point where his arm no longer felt like part of his body, but was nothing more than raw, burning pain. Every movement of his hand had become agony, yet stopping had never been an option.
He had known from the moment he opened his eyes that morning that this day would end catastrophically. That dull, gnawing feeling in his gut hadn't deceived him. At the latest when Noah hadn't shown up for work at the agreed time and Isaac had been forced to work overtime, his premonition had been confirmed.
How did someone even manage to be late for the midday shift? It wouldn't even occur to him in his wildest dreams to sleep until 2 p.m. A bit of discipline was necessary—especially in Noah's position. Ah, who was he kidding? Noah did whatever he wanted and was still praised for everything.
His damn magic show drew far too much attention. Because of that guy, Isaac was certain he'd end up kicking the bucket someday.
Really, Noah didn't even need to work at the café at all; why he did so anyway was still a mystery to Isaac.
He sucked in a sharp breath and curled in on himself slightly as his stomach made its painful presence known. He'd already taken too many painkillers at work and swallowed the next pill as soon as he got home. He hadn't drunk enough and hadn't eaten anything since his midnight meal with Noctis. Now everything was taking its revenge at once: stabbing stomach pain, nausea, and the overwhelming pain in his arm that shot all the way up into his shoulder.
For a moment, he considered whether he should quickly make himself something to eat despite it all. But unfortunately his fridge was nearly empty, and what little was left wasn't anything that would do his unsettled stomach any good.
So he abandoned the idea, laboriously turned onto his good side, and drew his knees slightly toward his body.
Damn it, he still had so much to do. For example, the blank canvas waiting to be filled with color. He needed a solid plan for the cop, and he still had to figure out how to approach the next job—assuming that job even reached him.
A soft groan escaped him as another wave of pain rolled through his body, briefly stealing his breath.
When was the last time he'd felt this bad? He was cold, even though the apartment wasn't really cool. Not a single muscle wanted to obey him anymore; even the smallest movement felt infinitely exhausting. His eyelids grew heavy, he could barely keep them open. He felt weak—and hated himself for it.
Why the hell hadn't he gone grocery shopping before the heist?
Of course he could order something, but the very thought of a greasy pizza made the nausea rise. Something light wouldn't be a bad idea. Maybe he should just rest for a moment and then quickly go buy something after all. If not now, then when?
Once the job came in, he'd be completely tied up with his work again. Most of the time, he only had a mere twenty-four hours after a heist to recover. No more than that.
Normally, he used that time to clean his apartment and take care of all the things that had piled up in the days leading up to a heist. But as wrecked as he felt right now, that was absolutely not an option.
He loved his solitude and his quiet apartment, but in moments like this he couldn't help wishing there were someone who took care of him. Someone who was there when he felt awful. Isaac clenched his hand into a fist, then let it fall slack again, exhausted.
He sighed softly.
Your own fault, Isaac. You chose this withdrawn life, he told himself. No one but you can help you, so pull yourself together.
He hated it when his inner voice was right.
At some point, his eyes fell shut.
Just a short break—then I'll have a bit more strength again…
___
When Isaac opened his eyes again, his apartment lay in deep darkness. Only the pale light of the moon seeped through the curtains, casting faint shadows on the walls. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. His body felt as if it had been run over by a train—and then the remains had been fed through a wood chipper for good measure.
A soft whimper escaped him as he tried to sit up. Reflexively, he pressed his hand against the aching wound. A dull, throbbing pain answered at once.
Damn it.
He felt like shit. Really like shit.
With trembling fingers, he rubbed his face and realized his skin was damp. Sweat clung to his forehead, his neck— even his shirt was clammy. He fished his phone out of his pocket and blindly tapped the screen. The harsh light made him blink.
11:00 p.m.
Seven hours. He'd slept for seven damn hours.
So much for "just closing my eyes for a moment."
He desperately needed another painkiller—and even more urgently, he needed to take out his contact lenses. His eyes burned; they'd already been irritated that morning. No one was going to do it for him.
He was shaking, freezing cold.
It was definitely time to get up.
So he forced himself to. With a jolt, he sat up, stood—and in the same instant had to brace himself against the back of the couch. Everything began to spin. In the darkness, he couldn't find a fixed point to focus on and let the dizziness subside. His lips were dry, his mouth felt fuzzy, as if he hadn't had anything to drink in days.
Okay.
First, water. Then the painkiller. After that, those damn contact lenses had to come out. At least taking them out was easier than putting them in.
He staggered through the living room toward the kitchen. Again and again, he reached for furniture or the wall to steady himself. His legs felt like jelly—unreliable and weak. What wouldn't he give right now for something warm. A bowl of stew. A simple sandwich. Anything that would fill his stomach without immediately making it rebel.
When he reached the kitchen, he clutched the counter, breathing heavily. He turned on the light—and immediately dimmed it again as his eyes protested painfully. Cursing, he grabbed a glass, filled it with tap water, and downed it in one go. He choked, coughed, tears springing to his eyes.
But it wasn't enough. The thirst was stronger.
He poured himself a second glass, grabbed the painkillers, and without hesitation swallowed two at once. With greedy gulps, he drained the second glass as well. Only then did the burning in his throat ease a little.
Satisfied, he wiped his mouth—at least one of his needs had been met. He opened the fridge, even though he knew exactly what awaited him. Cold, empty light. Not even a slice of cheese was left.
With a sigh, he closed the door again.
So he'd only be able to eat something the next morning.
Next up: the contact lenses. He dragged himself to the bathroom as far as his body would allow. He felt like he might collapse at any moment.
Isaac clenched his teeth and forced his body to cooperate. This wasn't the first time he'd felt like shit. Once the painkillers kicked in, everything would start working better again.
Just a little longer, then he could lie down in his bed. The cold would fade, and morning would arrive faster than he could swear. He fumbled the contact lenses out of his eyes, placed them in the cleaning solution, and quickly brushed his teeth. He also removed his piercings and the choker he was still wearing.
How could just those few hand movements be so exhausting?
After that, he dragged himself through complete darkness into his bedroom.
He closed the door behind him and pulled off his shirt. He urgently needed to check the wound; luckily, he'd left the shoebox on his desk. So he turned on the lamp, put on his glasses, and began to loosen the bandage. But what he saw didn't please him at all.
The stitches were reddened. Isaac cursed softly. In all the stress of work, he'd forgotten to get antibiotics. He rummaged through the box until he found an opened pack from his last bout of flu. Any antibiotic was surely better than none at all. If he remembered correctly, it was broad-spectrum anyway. He quickly checked the expiration date—and cursed himself for even having done so.
The pills had expired five years ago.
"Damn it," he muttered.
He let the package drop into the trash and stared into space for a moment. Now what? It was the middle of the night, and his options were limited. An emergency pharmacy? Without a prescription, he wouldn't get anything there. Seeing a doctor was out of the question as well.
And calling his contact would raise questions—questions he wanted to avoid at all costs.
He clenched his jaw. There was only one person who could help him and keep their mouth shut. Probably.
Isaac grabbed his phone and opened the chat with Noctis. But his fingers hovered over the screen. Why the hell should he message Noctis? He'd find a solution to the problem himself. Just like he always did.
So he turned the screen off again and set the phone aside.
It was time to lie back down.
He disinfected the wound and was just about to put on a fresh, clean bandage when arms slipped around his bare torso. Isaac flinched at the unexpected touch.
"Well, if that isn't luck, I don't know what is," Noctis murmured into his ear. "I was hoping you'd still be awake."
His voice sent a pleasant shiver through Isaac's body, spreading inevitably. His ear had always been a sensitive spot—and there was nothing he could do about it. Isaac was pretty sure Noctis knew that perfectly well and deliberately took advantage of it again and again.
That aside, it really shouldn't have surprised him anymore that Noctis simply showed up like this and effortlessly intruded on his privacy.
"As I can see, you've once again forgotten how to use doors," Isaac replied coolly. "Disappointing."
Still, he didn't pull away from Noctis's embrace and allowed himself to enjoy his body heat for a moment. Somehow, he was even glad he'd come. That way, he wouldn't have to explain anything—and maybe he'd even get his hands on some antibiotics, which would be an absolute stroke of luck.
"Oh, don't be like that, after I went to all the trouble of visiting you. Besides, I did use the door—you just didn't open it yourself," Noctis replied innocently. He let go of Isaac, sat down on the desk, and let his gaze roam over Isaac's bare upper body. A satisfied smile played on his lips. "Who would've thought I'd even be rewarded for coming here?"
"Idiot…" Isaac muttered, his ears reddening. He was too tired to retort or even remotely argue with Noctis. "Why are you here?"
"There are several reasons for that," Noctis answered cheerfully. His expression remained as unreadable as ever. "Let's start with the most important one."
He reached inside his coat and pulled out a black envelope, sealed with a dark green symbol.
"Your next job."
He handed it to Isaac, who took it with trembling fingers. The cold still had a firm grip on him, and he could barely hide the shaking. From Noctis's look, it was clear it hadn't gone unnoticed.
"Since when are you the boss's new errand boy?" Isaac asked tiredly. He set the letter aside for now; he'd look at its contents properly the next morning.
"Since a certain someone took a bullet that nobody is supposed to know about?" Noctis replied with a shrug. He studied Isaac closely, then frowned. "Is everything okay? You look like shit."
"You said that yesterday too," Isaac sighed.
He grabbed the fresh bandage and began wrapping the wound as best he could. His arm was hot and tight, and with only one hand it was nearly impossible to do a proper job. Since Noctis was already here, he might as well take a look at it.
Noctis leaned forward and snatched the bandage before Isaac could say anything.
"Are you fucking serious?" Noctis's voice had a sharp edge to it, tinged with unmistakable disappointment. "I'm sitting right here in front of you, and you're still trying to bandage yourself on your own?"
He pulled off his gloves, disinfected his hands, and began applying the bandage. He paused when his fingers touched Isaac's skin. Isaac only heard him mutter something unintelligible, then he jumped up and switched on the ceiling light. A moment later, he was back at Isaac's side. Isaac almost sighed in relief when Noctis's cool fingers touched his overheated skin.
"When were you planning to tell me that the wound is infected?"
"If you didn't talk so much all the time, I'd have told you ages ago," Isaac replied weakly.
"Of course," Noctis snorted. He placed a hand on Isaac's forehead, immediately pulled a face, and withdrew it again. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead directly against Isaac's. "You're burning up."
Relieved by the sudden coolness, Isaac closed his eyes. For a brief moment, he pressed his forehead a little more firmly against Noctis's. The coolness of his skin was wonderful and simply felt good.
"Is that so?" he murmured.
"I'm afraid so," Noctis said more quietly than before and finally pulled away. "Let me clean the wound properly again. Do you have any antibiotics here?"
"No," Isaac answered. "The last ones expired five years ago."
Noctis let out an audible breath. "Why didn't you contact me sooner? I could've gotten you some."
"Because I was asleep until just now," Isaac deflected.
"Idiot. When are you finally going to start relying on me?" Noctis muttered irritably as he examined the stitches again at his leisure. "At least I don't see any pus yet."
He disinfected the wound again and finally rebandaged it. It was so quiet that Isaac's eyes threatened to close again. He had to do something about this annoying fatigue. He looked at Noctis's focused face.
"I know who the cop is," he said abruptly.
Noctis froze. For a fraction of a second, genuine surprise flashed across his face. "The one who shot you?"
Isaac waved weakly. "I still don't know if it was really him. But I've seen the new cop."
"Where?"
"This morning at the café. Looks like he's been my new regular customer since last week." Isaac frowned as he tried to scrape together the few details that had stuck in his memory.
Noctis's gaze darkened. "You didn't seriously go to work with that wound."
"The boss wanted me to behave as usual," Isaac replied coolly.
"You really are beyond help. No one but you would pull something like that," Noctis snorted, shaking his head. Still, he grinned. "Maybe that's why I like you so much. Your stubbornness really is one of a kind."
Isaac exhaled slowly. "Sometimes I really wonder whether you haven't fallen on your head one or two times too many."
Noctis chuckled softly. "Who knows." He grinned lopsidedly. "Okay, back to the point. What exactly are you planning to do with this information? Do you know his name?"
Isaac shook his head. "No. I don't know who he is, his rank, or where he lives. All I know is what he looks like—and that his workplace is the police station closest to Café Noir."
"You could tail him," Noctis suggested with a cool smile. "Find out what he does all day long, then wait for a good opportunity to get revenge for the gunshot wound."
"If only it were that easy. I really have no desire to get tangled up with cops at work," Isaac snorted. "The cop has a notebook. He writes in it every day, or sketches something. So far, though, I haven't been able to see exactly what."
Noctis taped the bandage in place and leaned back against the tabletop. His gaze locked onto Isaac's.
"And you want that notebook," he stated flatly.
Isaac nodded. "It could tell us what the police already know or suspect. That notebook might contain answers to questions we haven't even asked yet."
Noctis raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Do you really think they know anything at all? You've been stealing for years—yesterday wasn't your first job, and you were always more than careful not to be recognized. It was almost boring," he said doubtfully. Then he suddenly sat up. "Oh! Wait, that actually reminds me of something."
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped at it until he apparently found what he was looking for. He held it out to Isaac.
"What is that?" Isaac asked, puzzled.
He stared at the image: a grainy, poorly lit shot of some bright patch against a dark background. White shapes, slightly distorted, blurred. He could barely make out what it was supposed to be—let alone who.
"You," Noctis replied simply.
At first, Isaac didn't understand. Then realization slowly seeped in. Those were the museum's windows. The very museum where he'd pulled off his job the night before.
"When did they…," he began, but a chill ran down his spine. "Is that a newspaper article?"
"Exactly," Noctis confirmed. "The whole world now knows there isn't just one thief. There are two."
"Fuck," Isaac breathed softly.
Noctis took the phone back. "They don't know who's behind the Phantoms, though."
A small comfort—but a comfort nonetheless.
"That's good."
Noctis grinned at him. "But now you have a name."
Isaac grimaced slightly. "A name? Isn't that a bit much?"
"Noah got one too."
Isaac's jaw tightened involuntarily. "He chose it himself," he muttered irritably.
"Be that as it may." Noctis shrugged as if it were a completely insignificant detail. "As of today, you're apparently Moonshadow. Pretty poetic, don't you think?"
"So, Moonshadow." Isaac leaned back in his chair without truly relaxing. The name echoed in his head. "Whatever… it just means I need that notebook even more urgently now."
His thoughts raced. His pulse hammered against his temples. Everything suddenly felt as if it were spiraling out of control—at least that's what it felt like. What exactly would happen now? Would the police and the media start focusing on him more? Because he was the newly discovered Phantom?
He had to do something. Anything. Damn it, if only he could get his hands on that notebook. He would do anything for it.
"Then do it. Get that notebook and find out what they know," Noctis said confidently. An amused grin crept onto his face. "Honestly, it sounds pretty fun. Need help?"
"No," Isaac replied.
"Too bad." Noctis's tone was curious. "How are you going to do it?"
"To get something that belongs to someone else, you just have to get close to them," Isaac explained curtly. "So that's exactly what I'm going to do."
For a moment there was silence—then Noctis burst into loud laughter.
"You?" He looked at him in disbelief, his voice dripping with teasing. "Do you even know how to do that? You keep everyone and everything at arm's length."
"Oh?" Isaac's gaze turned cool. "You don't think I'm capable of it?"
Noctis shrugged, his look still challenging. "Can you blame me? You're not exactly the most communicative type."
Internally, Isaac cursed him. Of course his jabs hit the mark every single time. And of course Noctis had noticed long ago. The challenge had already been accepted in that moment—whether Isaac wanted it or not.
"Maybe," Isaac growled irritably. Not without a note of defiance in his voice, he went on, "but that doesn't mean I won't pull it off. Just wait—the cop and I will be the very best of friends soon."
"Best friends?" Noctis asked, amused. "You don't have a single friend out there besides me. So how would you even know how that works?"
"I'll figure it out somehow."
"And what are you going to do then? Turn on the charm? Do you even realize how people look at you, Isaac?" Noctis leaned closer, his free hand coming to rest on Isaac's thigh. "You're putting me in a difficult position. What if you accidentally seduce the cop?"
A difficult position?
Isaac swallowed. Just the hand on his thigh made his skin burn. "I have no intention of seducing anyone," he said quietly.
Slowly, Noctis's fingers began to slide upward over the fabric. It was such a casual motion, and yet Isaac could feel the intent behind it. His face was already hot from the fever, but his skin seemed to grow even hotter—
especially under that intense gaze with which Noctis was watching him.
"Is that so?" Noctis's voice was barely more than a murmur. Only a few centimeters separated their faces now.
"Why would I start something with the enemy?" Isaac scoffed. "Just thinking about it makes me want to gag."
"In that case, I'll watch the spectacle with the greatest pleasure," Noctis grinned. He raised his index finger. "How about we make things a little more interesting?"
"In what way?" Isaac asked.
"If you manage to get your hands on the notebook without the cop noticing, I'll grant you any wish."
Isaac raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, Noctis continued.
"But if you don't manage it, then you'll grant me a wish," Noctis grinned.
"What kind of wish could I possibly fulfill for you?" Isaac asked. "You can afford anything you want, if I remember correctly."
"You're absolutely right—and yet there are things only you can do for me," Noctis replied in a dark voice.
"What kind of things?" Isaac breathed, not without suspicion.
"I want a date with you. And we'll do everything I feel like doing."
Isaac lifted an eyebrow. "A date? Seriously?"
"Why not? We've never gone out together before. It'll be… fun."
Why did his grin look so diabolical?
Going out together sounded doable, even if Isaac didn't really feel like mingling with people. He had never really gone out and had always stayed in public only as long as absolutely necessary—like for grocery shopping. He even preferred ordering clothes online rather than going shopping himself.
At least they would simply do whatever Noctis wanted. As long as he didn't have to plan the day himself, he could just follow him everywhere until he was satisfied.
Besides, Noctis would never get to enjoy a victory. Isaac had no intention of botching the notebook business. A confident grin played around his lips.
"Fine by me. But prepare yourself for a defeat—I have no intention of losing."
Noctis chuckled. "Tell me what you want from me. You seem very confident in your victory."
Isaac paused for a moment. What would he wish for? There wasn't anything in particular he wanted.
"I'll tell you when the time comes."
He definitely needed more time to think.
"Hmm~? You're keeping silent and letting me squirm?" Noctis asked in a teasing voice.
"No. I just don't know yet," Isaac sighed.
"Exciting," Noctis said. "All right, we'll do it that way."
Isaac brushed Noctis's hand off his leg and leaned back with his arms crossed.
"Then sit back and enjoy the show. And don't you dare interfere."
"And miss the chance to keep you from embarrassing yourself? Don't worry—I'll watch everything from the best seat in the house."
"Who says I'll embarrass myself?"
"Hope dies last, doesn't it?"
"Bastard."
Noctis gave him a self-assured grin. Whatever Noctis was hoping for, Isaac would definitely not give him the satisfaction of a humiliation.
Never.
He could wait a long time for that.