Around 8 p.m. on Friday evening, Benedict was waiting in front of a bar he himself had never visited, but about which he knew from a few colleagues that it was quiet. It was located somewhat away from the city center, and at least from the window he had seen that there were only a few people inside.
Another plus point was probably that no really loud music could be heard coming from within.
This was definitely not a place where young people went to get drunk and party.
It was considered a real insider tip. Precisely because it was so out of the way, only very few people ever wandered there. His colleagues raved about how clean it was and how, thanks to the owner, it offered a slightly more elegant atmosphere.
Isaac would certainly like this bar, because there were only a few pairs of eyes that could observe them, and if it did become too much, they could always change venues.
His top priority was for Isaac to relax enough to engage in a conversation.
Of course, it would have been helpful to know what kind of drinks Isaac preferred. But you couldn't know everything, and certainly not plan everything in advance. After all, from conversations with his colleagues he had gathered that the bar offered a surprisingly wide selection of drinks. There would surely be something Isaac could work with.
Benedict did want to know a few things about the young man, but for now he limited himself to just a handful of things he wanted to find out. He would go with the flow, because the more natural the conversation felt, the better.
Though, given Isaac's cool demeanor, he wasn't really holding out much hope of finding out anything at all.
"Hey."
The voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Have you been waiting long?"
Benedict lifted his gaze to the person who had spoken, and for a moment it literally took his breath away. Isaac was standing in front of him. His white hair was styled. He wore several piercings in his ears and his black choker, which peeked out from beneath a black turtleneck sweater.
The turtleneck fit a bit more loosely and was made of a lighter material, maybe jersey. He paired it with tight dark gray jeans that emphasized his legs, black boots, and a dark gray coat that completed the outfit.
Isaac simply looked breathtaking.
He moved toward Benedict like a model on a runway. His gait was so smooth that Benedict inevitably had to think of a cat. For someone who didn't like going out, Isaac had an incredibly strong presence—just from the way he walked. It didn't go unnoticed. Several gazes followed him, and not only from the people he passed by. Benedict himself had trouble tearing his eyes away from him.
Is he aware of those admiring looks? Or does he perceive them negatively as well?
"No, I just arrived myself," Benedict finally replied.
Isaac didn't look at him. Instead, his gaze drifted past him, straight through the bar's window.
"Is this it?" he asked in his cool voice. He cast an unobtrusive glance to the side and just caught two young women staring at him before they quickly looked away. His expression turned dismissive. "Let's go inside. It's getting too much for me out here."
Without waiting for an answer, Isaac walked past him and opened the door. He really did seem uncomfortable being out in public. But he had come, and that was all that mattered to Benedict.
So he followed Isaac into the bar and closed the door behind them.
The interior of the bar was truly appealing. Dark, old wood dominated the room, giving it a warm, almost timeless atmosphere. The counter was spotlessly clean, as were the tables and seating areas. Several large plants softened the overall look, winding their way between the seats and creating small, semi-secluded areas. They offered not only decoration but also privacy—just enough to feel unobserved without being completely isolated.
The plants reminded him a little of Café Noir, which offered similar privacy through the spatial separation created by its greenery. Benedict gave the bartender a brief nod and followed Isaac, who headed for a free table that also offered them privacy.
Isaac took off his coat and draped it over the chair. The seat he chose provided him with a visual barrier from the other guests while at the same time sparing him from having to look at anyone except Benedict, who sat down across from him.
That was all the seat offered him—it gave him no real advantages or a good escape route. He hadn't chosen it the way someone would who was used to living with their life in danger. Or someone involved in illegal activities.
A realization that actually put Benedict at ease.
After all, he didn't want to uncover anything incriminating about Isaac. If it turned out in the end that he was simply a completely normal, albeit somewhat aloof, young man, that would be perfectly fine with Benedict. And if, in that case, he no longer had any distraction, then he would simply look for something else to keep his mind busy—at least until he caught the phantoms and Dan's murderer.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Isaac asked abruptly.
He wasted no time, didn't bother with pleasantries or meaningless small talk. Exactly as Benedict had expected of him.
"Nothing specific," Benedict replied. "I'd just like to get to know you a little."
He used his friendliest smile so as not to give Isaac the wrong signals—especially not the impression that this felt like an interrogation. But Isaac's expression remained as usual, neutral and leaning toward cool.
Isaac raised an eyebrow.
"Why do you want to get to know me?" he asked, with a faintly suspicious undertone.
Benedict raised a calming hand before their meeting could derail right at the beginning. "Wait, Isaac. Would you like something to drink? I really just want to get to know you. You don't need to look at me like I have bad intentions."
"I'm suspicious of everyone," Isaac replied curtly, though his expression relaxed a little. "One of the main reasons I've made it through life so far without any major injuries."
An interesting statement.
Benedict reached for the drinks menu and forbade himself from immediately following up on that remark. It wasn't the right moment yet.
"I find you interesting, that's all," Benedict said in a casual tone. "What do you like to drink?"
"Wine," Isaac replied, his posture subtly defensive. "Although I doubt they have the exact kind I like here."
Isaac didn't seem like someone who drank wine, yet in that moment Benedict could imagine him standing by a window with a glass of wine. He shook the image away and slid the drinks menu across the table to him.
"Is any of them on here?"
Isaac skimmed the menu briefly, then shook his head. "No," he said curtly. "I'll just have water."
"Weren't we at least going to have a drink?" Benedict asked carefully.
If Isaac stuck to water, he would probably never thaw.
"That's true," Isaac sighed softly. "That's what we agreed on." He made a dismissive hand gesture, as if he wanted to put the topic behind him immediately. "Then just order something that tastes good."
"Do you like sweet drinks?"
Isaac shrugged. "As long as they're not too sweet."
Benedict thought for a moment. "How about a cocktail? Which alcohol base would you prefer?"
Isaac seemed briefly uncertain. Then he reached for the drinks menu again, skimmed the list just as quickly as before, and pushed it away just as fast. He didn't look as though he had really given much thought to what he wanted to drink.
"The mojito."
Benedict nodded, stood up, and gave a brief smile. "I'll be right back."
He went to the bar, ordered a mojito and a large, cold wheat beer for himself, paid, and returned to the table with the glasses. Carefully, he set the mojito down in front of Isaac, sat down across from him, and picked up his beer.
Isaac eyed the cocktail he had ordered with suspicion. However, he didn't drink it.
Benedict, on the other hand, treated himself to a deep swallow of his cold beer. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to shake off the stress that had been sitting on his neck for days. The coolness of the drink felt good.
He set the glass back down on the table with an audible clink and looked at Isaac encouragingly.
"Aren't you going to drink your cocktail? You're staring at the glass like it's going to attack you any second."
"I…" Isaac began hesitantly, then broke off.
"You don't have to drink it if you don't want to," Benedict said calmly, already starting to stand. "Wait a moment, I'll just get you a glass of water."
"Wait!" Isaac's voice came more quickly than Benedict had expected. "I'll drink this… mojito." He grimaced slightly, as if the name alone were unfamiliar to him. "I've just never had anything like this before and wasn't sure if I'd ordered the right thing."
"Are you sure?" Benedict asked.
Isaac gave a short nod. So Benedict sat back down.
Hesitantly, Isaac picked up the glass and tried a small sip. For a tiny moment, his expression changed—the tension faded, his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Then came a second sip. And a third.
Involuntarily, Benedict had to smile.
"Does it taste good?"
Isaac nodded. "Better than expected."
He leaned back slightly in his chair, looking for the first time not quite so stiff, and studied Benedict with that assessing, analytical gaze that was so characteristic of him.
"Honestly," he finally began, "I was surprised when you asked me if I wanted to go out for a drink with you." He paused briefly. "That was very… spontaneous."
If Isaac only knew just how spontaneous that idea had been. Deep down, Benedict still regretted how this had come about. However, he could also see the potential in it. He gave Isaac another smile.
"I always found our brief conversations very pleasant. Unfortunately, you hardly have any time for longer talks at work. So I thought it might not be a bad idea if we met outside of working hours."
Isaac took another sip of his mojito, as if he were filtering the words through the taste before answering.
"Yes, maybe the idea wasn't bad," Isaac admitted. He took another sip of the mojito. "I wanted to get to know you too."
Isaac said this completely matter-of-factly, continuing to sip his mojito until the glass was empty. Benedict looked at him in surprise. He had a reason for wanting to get to know Isaac—but why did Isaac want to get to know him?
Normally, there was only one reason why someone would spontaneously agree to a drink.
He wouldn't be…
"Damn," Isaac muttered softly, snapping him out of his thoughts. "This tastes way too good. Hold on a second."
Before Benedict could say anything, Isaac grabbed the empty glass and disappeared toward the bar. Less than two minutes later, he was back in the seat across from him—with a new mojito. Without hesitation, he took a large sip.
His gaze met Benedict's.
"So?" A hint of challenge lay in his voice. "Shall we get to know each other, then?"
Benedict blinked.
What a strange way to ask that question.
"Gladly," he said at last and nodded. At last, they had reached the point he had been waiting for since Monday. "Tell me something about yourself, Isaac. Are you a student?"
Isaac paused briefly. Then he shook his head.
"No."
That seemed to be all he wanted to say on the matter.
All right, then let's try this a different way.
"Is there a reason for that? You're definitely intelligent—why don't you study something better, or are you planning to work as a barista for a while longer?" Benedict asked carefully.
Isaac shrugged. "I like working there. Besides, the working hours suit me very well alongside my main job—or should I rather say my hobby?"
He continued sipping his mojito.
Benedict tilted his head slightly. "And what kind of hobby is that?"
Isaac lifted his gaze from his glass, the straw slipping from his lips.
"I paint," he said. For a moment, his expression softened, becoming a little affectionate as he spoke about his hobby. "Sometimes I also do commissioned work." For a brief moment, he seemed almost thoughtful. "You could say it's my main source of income—even if it's an irregular one. That's why I work at the café, in case the commissions dry up."
It all sounded very plausible. Isaac seemed full of surprises. Benedict would never have expected him to paint. Still, he would verify that claim later.
Isaac shot him an amused look. "What is it? Don't you believe me?"
"Yes, of course," Benedict replied quickly. "What do you paint, then? Digital or—"
"Traditional," Isaac interrupted him. His voice was calm, almost proud. "Depending on the commission, with acrylic or oil paints. And the larger the canvas, the better." He paused briefly, then looked up. "Enough about me. Tell me something about yourself."
Fair is fair.
"I'm a police officer," he answered honestly. There was no reason to lie about that fact—and he didn't feel like doing so anyway.
Isaac chuckled softly. "So that's where all the questions come from."
Benedict gave him a crooked grin. "An occupational habit. I hope it doesn't bother you."
Isaac drained his glass and briefly licked his lips, as if testing the taste once more.
"If it bothered me, I'd tell you," he replied casually. "Don't worry."
The alcohol seemed to be slowly easing his tension. His shoulders looked more relaxed, his gaze less defensive. Benedict realized that inviting Isaac out for a drink had actually been a pretty good idea.
"Do you enjoy the job?" Isaac asked now, genuinely interested.
"Most of the time," Benedict answered. "Especially when a case gets closed. They're small victories you can celebrate." He paused briefly. "Every closed case means that someone has received justice—and that someone else has to face the consequences of their actions."
"Makes sense," Isaac said simply. Then his voice took on a slightly provocative tone. "And when is the job not fun? When you can't catch the bad criminal?"
Benedict paused briefly and, instead of answering, took a large gulp of his beer. He didn't know what to say to that. The answer was a clear yes—and yet there was so much more to it.
But this was neither the right place nor the right time for that topic.
So he merely nodded and swallowed down the bitter aftertaste of his grief.
"Exactly," he said at last. "No one who does evil should be left free, and sooner or later everyone feels the consequences of their actions."
For a brief moment, Isaac's gaze hardened. Something unreadable flickered across his face—so quickly that Benedict wondered whether he had imagined it. In the next instant, however, Isaac was already waving to the bartender and gesturing toward his empty glass. Then his eyes fell on Benedict's nearly empty beer.
"Are you having another drink too?"
Benedict drained his glass in one go.
"Sure," he said, setting it down. "Why not."
And so they sat together for quite a while longer, continuing to drink. The more alcohol flowed, the more talkative Isaac became—or perhaps more sociable was the better word. In any case, in his slightly drunk state he seemed to be the exact opposite of how Benedict had experienced him so far.
Benedict didn't learn much new about him in the process. They talked about trivial things—music, the weather, art in general—without going into too much depth. Isaac came across as a perfectly normal man his age. He said nothing strange, nothing that would have raised suspicion.
The only things Benedict now knew about him were that he liked classical music and preferred a quiet lifestyle. He enjoyed culture and the arts; he spoke enthusiastically about an exhibition he had visited recently and about an artist he admired. In those moments, he seemed as young as he was.
So Benedict decided to simply enjoy the rest of the evening. And at some point later, when he would be back home, he would sink into a deep, dreamless sleep thanks to the alcohol.
Amused, Benedict watched the young man sitting across from him, who was now finishing his fifth mojito and still didn't seem to have had enough. Isaac's cheeks were lightly flushed, an almost cute contrast to his snow-white hair and red eyes. In this state, he involuntarily reminded Benedict of one of those white rabbits. He looked so innocent and vulnerable that it made you want to protect him somehow.
The drunker Isaac became, the more clingy he seemed to grow. He leaned closer to the table, sought Benedict's gaze more often, as if he needed the silent reassurance that he was still there. It was… unexpected. And in a strange way, quite cute.
"You said you don't really go out," Benedict said eventually. "What do you usually do when you meet up with friends?"
"Friends…" Isaac murmured. He seemed to roll the word around on his tongue. For a moment he looked thoughtful, almost lost. But barely a second later, his expression brightened again, only to shift into a slightly annoyed look. His voice was a little slurred by now, the words coming out in a faint mumble from his full lips. "Sometimes one of them comes over and gets on my nerves."
Benedict chuckled.
"Besides, the guy has absolutely no manners," Isaac continued, gesturing erratically. "He comes and goes whenever he wants!"
Benedict took another sip of his beer. "Sounds like a pretty good friend," he said. Involuntarily, he thought of his two best friends, who had often shown up at his door without any notice. Where would he be today without them?
Isaac snorted. "He may be the only friend I have, but that doesn't give him the right to always do whatever he wants."
And yet there was a small smile playing on his lips as he said it. Soft, almost shy. Probably the first genuine smile Benedict had ever seen on him.
So you can smile after all, Benedict thought with satisfaction.
"And what would you want instead?" he asked cheerfully. The evening was doing him surprisingly good.
"Peace and quiet," Isaac muttered. He absently poked at the ice cubes in his glass. Then suddenly he looked up. "Did you know that foxes are quite intelligent? You usually only see them by chance, and they only strike when they're absolutely sure they'll get their prey." His voice lowered, that annoyed expression once again flickering across his elegant features. "They're devious. Sometimes they even enjoy playing with their prey. But they only reveal their true intentions at the very end."
Why is he suddenly talking about foxes?
"Sounds like you don't particularly like foxes," Benedict teased anyway.
His expression was still annoyed, then he pushed out his pretty lips in a pout.
"I think they're pretty," he objected. "And there are really cute species. But …"
He broke off, reached for the drinks menu instead, and waved the server over. "You know what? I feel like something with gin."
"A gin and tonic, please," he asked the waitress when she came to their table.
Benedict studied him thoughtfully. "Are you sure you want to switch the type of alcohol?" His voice sounded concerned despite the casual tone.
Isaac made a dismissive hand gesture. "It's fine. Besides, I'm not even tipsy," he mumbled.
He was clearly more than just tipsy.
But Benedict didn't say anything further. Isaac was of age and hopefully knew his limits better than he was currently showing.
"How about relationships?" Benedict asked, steering the topic in a different direction. "Is there someone in your life?"
Isaac's expression hardened instantly. All at once he seemed soberer than he had been the entire past hour, as if someone had flipped a switch.
"No, there isn't," he said in a cool, controlled voice. "Look at me, Benedict. I can't possibly go find a woman and pass on my genes." A bitter smile flickered across his lips. "I'm a damn freak. And I don't want to burden anyone with having to go through the same thing I did."
Benedict felt something tighten inside him. For a moment, Isaac looked completely lost, as if he truly didn't know where his place in this world was.
"You know there aren't only women out there," he replied calmly. "It could just as well be that there's a man you like."
Isaac's fingers closed tightly around his gin and tonic. He clutched it as if it were an anchor, something that kept him here. For a moment, he seemed as though he wanted to say something.
"I…"
But instead of finishing the sentence, he tipped the glass back and drained it in one go, grimacing in distaste.
"What about you?"
"What exactly do you mean?" Benedict asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"Is there someone in your life?" Isaac's gaze rested on him, appraising. "You look a lot more put-together now than you did on the first day you came into the café. Have you met someone?"
"I… well…" Benedict hesitated. He looked at Isaac, whose cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, yet whose gaze seemed genuinely interested. Maybe it would become easier if he said it out loud. Isaac was a good listener. And there was nothing he wasn't allowed to know. After all, he wasn't revealing any police secrets—just his own pain.
"I was engaged," Benedict finally managed with difficulty. "He died before we could get married. It happened just a few weeks before the wedding."
Something like compassion flickered briefly in Isaac's eyes, then he looked away again and stared into his empty glass before looking back at Benedict.
"It's always hard to lose someone you love," he said softly. His voice sounded strangely composed—as if he had experienced a similar loss himself. "Is that why you wear the rings?"
He pointed at Benedict's neck with his index finger.
Instinctively, Benedict wrapped his hand around the rings and nodded. He couldn't manage more than that.
Isaac looked away and gazed thoughtfully out the window. He rested his chin on his hand.
"Must be nice," he murmured, "to have something that reminds you of the person you loved."
His voice sounded just as melancholic as Benedict felt in that moment.
What loss did you suffer? And why do you seem as though you're long past it?
But Benedict didn't voice the questions. He didn't want to dig deeper into that pain—neither his own nor Isaac's. He longed for the cozy, carefree feeling from earlier. But how do you simply push aside a topic like that when the air suddenly feels so heavy?
"Don't you think," Isaac suddenly asked, "that penguins walk in a pretty stupid way?"
His voice was now noticeably more slurred than before, probably a direct result of the gin and tonic. For a brief moment, Benedict wondered whether he should have stopped him after all.
Then he burst out laughing.
The question came so unexpectedly, so completely out of place after that moment of openness, that the rising pain was immediately pushed aside. Isaac looked at him completely serious, as if he had just said something incredibly important.
Benedict couldn't have changed the subject any better.
So he went along with it—with an honest laugh and the feeling that, despite everything, this evening was exactly right.
"Why are you laughing?" Isaac asked, confused.
"Penguins?" Benedict repeated, amused. He laughed again. "How did you suddenly get on the subject of penguins?"
"Well, because…" Isaac began, but halfway through his sentence, his face flushed bright red. Embarrassed, he broke off, and his posture suddenly became defensive. But only halfheartedly—he made a hand gesture as if trying to erase what he had just said. "Just forget what I said!"
"Why's that?" Benedict's tone was teasing, almost challenging.
Somehow, it is way to fun to annoy him.
But instead of answering, Isaac suddenly jumped up as if stung and hastily grabbed his coat. He swayed noticeably as he put it on with visible shame. When he nearly lost his balance and instinctively grabbed the edge of the table, Benedict jumped up at the same moment and caught him.
"Hey," he said calmly, placing a steadying hand on his side. Yet the smile didn't leave his lips. "It's pretty late. Should I take you home?"
Isaac didn't answer. Instead, one hand clutched Benedict's shirt tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
"I can walk on my own," he mumbled stubbornly.
He pushed away from Benedict—only to grab hold of him again the next moment.
"Okaaaay… maybe not," he muttered, furrowing his brow. "Is there an earthquake, or why is the floor so wobbly?"
Benedict couldn't suppress a smile any longer. "You're just drunk."
"That can't be," Isaac said seriously. "I've only had a few glasses of juice. And that one gin and tonic. That doesn't get you drunk."
Benedict placed a hand on his waist and slowly guided him toward the exit. The drinks were already paid for; he just left a little tip on the table.
"You do realize there was alcohol in those cocktails, right?" he teased gently.
"Is that so?" Isaac mumbled in surprise—sounding as if this was an entirely new realization.
Benedict chuckled softly. "Where do you live? I'll take you home."
Isaac stopped and looked around, as if he needed to reorient himself. Finally, he pointed in the direction he had come from earlier that evening.
"That way," he said confidently. Then, a moment later, noticeably less sure: "I think…"
Benedict pulled out his phone, opened the navigation app, and handed it to Isaac.
"Can you enter your address? I'll hold you too."
There was no way he was going to wander through the city all night with him.
Isaac turned toward him and leaned his upper body against Benedict. For a moment, he pushed slightly away again, but Benedict's hand was now firmly on Isaac's lower back, steadying him. They stood so close that Benedict could feel Isaac's sweet, alcohol-scented breath.
The streetlight fell directly on Isaac's face, making his white eyelashes appear almost unreal in their length. Once again, Benedict painfully realized just how incredibly handsome the man with albino features was.
He tilted his head, and suddenly it looked as if he were trying to seduce Benedict.
Then he slowly lifted his hand and tapped Benedict's cheek with his index finger.
"Don't you dare let me go," Isaac whispered.
Before Benedict could say anything, Isaac snatched the phone, turned slightly to the side, and rested his head against Benedict's chest. He just stayed there, while concentrating on typing in his address—deleting, retyping, correcting again—until it finally appeared correctly on the screen.
Whether he wanted to or not, Benedict's heart was beating noticeably faster. Isaac smelled good, he was warm, and somehow it was comforting to feel another body so close again.
He's only acting like this because he's drunk.
He doesn't want anything from you. And you don't want anything from him.
Just ignore it and be exactly the support of justice he needs right now.
With that silent reminder in his mind, Benedict took the phone back and once again wrapped an arm around Isaac to steady him. Meanwhile, Isaac was babbling drunkenly to himself, speaking in disconnected fragments, laughing softly at his own thoughts.
But Benedict barely listened. He hoped the night's coolness would clear his mind—and, above all, cool his body.