Sunlight cut through the blinds of my apartment, golden and sharp, and for once it wasn't accompanied by the shrill ring of an alarm or the pressure of a case file waiting for me. Sunday. No calls. No murders. No smile balls. Just sunlight and a chance to breathe.
I stretched, muscles aching from the past two days of chasing shadows and evidence, and glanced at the clock. Ten a.m. Already late for a "normal" Sunday, whatever that was supposed to be.
"Alex's probably awake," I muttered, grabbing my jacket. My black leather one — worn and stiff from too many late nights — zipped up over my brown T-shirt. My forearm brushed against the dragon tattoo I'd gotten in my early twenties, a reminder of fire, strength… and sometimes my own stubbornness.
When I stepped outside, the city felt different. Calm. Sunday calm. A rare gift. And there he was. Alex. Standing on the corner like some silent sentinel. He wore black — as always — tall and imposing, his broad shoulders squared like he was ready for anything, though he wasn't readying for work today.
"Morning," I said, walking up to him.
He tilted his head, his scar catching the sun. "Morning," he replied, voice low.
"Fancy a break?" I asked. "No cases, no files, no bodies."
Alex's dark eyes flicked toward mine. "If you promise not to talk about work, sure."
I grinned, tugging him along as we started walking down the empty streets. Side by side, the years fell away, replaced by that easy rhythm. We had grown up together, fought together, bled together in minor childhood wars, and somehow the habit of being linked remained. Now, even in our late twenties, the silent camaraderie felt just as natural.
We ended up at a small park, not far from the precinct. Empty swings swayed gently in the breeze, the grass still damp from yesterday's rain. I kicked off my boots, letting the mud squish under my soles, and let out a low whistle.
Alex did the same, standing a little stiffly before bending down to remove the dust from his shoes. "You really can't relax, can you?" he said, voice soft, teasing just enough to let me know he was amused.
"What? I've spent the last two days staring at dead people and toys. If I don't move, I might become part of a crime scene myself."
Alex's lips quirked slightly. "You'd die in ten minutes if you didn't run around like a maniac."
I laughed, a genuine laugh, and for the first time in days, it didn't feel like tension dripping from my chest. "And you'd probably sit there quietly judging me for it," I said.
"Not judging," he said carefully.
"Ah, yes," I said, mock bowing. "The great Alexander. Quiet, calculating, terrifyingly reliable. I'd be dead without you."
He didn't smile, but his eyes softened just a fraction.
We walked in silence for a while, just listening to the park, the distant sounds of kids playing, dogs barking, and the occasional car passing by. No sirens. No phone calls. Just normal.
I spotted a bench near a small fountain, water trickling lazily. "Sit," I said, motioning to it. "Let's watch people. Relax."
Alex obeyed without a word, sitting carefully, his posture straight, as always. I leaned back, letting my arms stretch over the top of the bench, and watched him. There was something almost sculptural about him, even when doing nothing. White hair gleaming, scar sharp against pale skin, eyes so dark they almost swallowed the sunlight. He looked dangerous, even here.
"You ever think about normal life?" I asked suddenly.
Alex glanced at me. "Sometimes. What normal is, though… I'm not sure I know anymore."
I chuckled. "Yeah. Detective life kind of ruins that. But…" I shrugged. "It's nice to just… exist today. No cases. No killers. No paperwork."
Alex's eyes flicked back to the fountain, and for a moment, his face was calm, almost human. "I can see that."
We talked quietly, wandering around the park. No agenda. No deadlines. Just movement.
"You remember when we tried to camp out in Miller's Woods?" I asked, smiling at the memory. "We were ten. Thought we could survive alone. Your idea, of course."
Alex's scarred face tilted, lips twitching. "We lasted two hours before the rain drove us back. You cried halfway through."
"Halfway? I think it was more like five minutes," I said, laughing. "You left me alone in the rain and ran off to steal chocolate bars from the vending machine."
He smirked faintly. "You always were dramatic."
"And you were the brilliant one," I said. "Calculating, silent, scary even at ten. You had a plan. I had… whining."
Alex's eyes softened, and for a second he looked like he did when we were kids — not the calculated, anti-social partner who could walk into a murder scene without blinking. Just Alex. My friend.
We ended up by a small pond, ducks gliding across the surface. I sat on the edge, kicking at the water. Alex crouched beside me, hands resting on his knees.
"Ever think about how people end up where they are?" I asked. "Not in terms of jobs, but… life? Choices, mistakes?"
Alex considered it. "Sometimes. Everyone's a product of decisions, trauma, accidents. You, me… we're lucky. Survived what most don't. Others… not so much."
I nodded, staring at the reflection of the sun in the water. "Yeah. Lucky. Sometimes I feel like we've just been dodging things we weren't meant to survive."
Alex's dark eyes met mine. "Maybe that's why we work together. Because someone has to notice the shadows before they swallow everyone else."
"Or maybe," I said softly, "someone has to keep you from turning into one."
He didn't answer immediately, but the quiet between us wasn't uncomfortable. It was acknowledgment. Understanding. Trust that didn't need words.
We wandered further into the park, silent, letting the world pass around us. Children's laughter, dogs barking, the wind through the trees. Every so often, I'd nudge him. "Bet you still remember that time we got chased by Mr. Franklin's dog."
He smirked. "You screamed like a girl."
"And you… tried to throw me into the pond to save yourself."
"I may have miscalculated," he said, eyes dark and gleaming with that same quiet amusement he'd always carried.
I laughed, head back, sunlight on my face. "We've survived a lot, huh? Fires, fights, cops, criminals…"
"Childhood counts," he muttered.
I looked at him. "Yeah. Childhood counts. It counts for everything. Maybe that's why we work so well. We've always had each other."
Alex's gaze drifted toward the horizon. "We understand each other in ways no one else does. That's rare. Lucky, even."
"Lucky, huh?" I said, smiling. "I'd say more like stubbornness. We've always been too stubborn to let the other fall."
He nodded once, silently approving.
The sun started to dip, turning the sky golden-red. Time had passed faster than I realized. Our stomachs rumbled — we hadn't eaten.
"Lunch?" I asked.
Alex shrugged. "Sure. Something casual."
We walked toward a small diner nearby, empty except for a few regulars. I ordered burgers. Alex took the usual — a black coffee and a sandwich, simple and deliberate.
We sat across from each other, eating, and talked quietly. Not about work. Not about killers. Just life. The city. Memories. Small things that mattered only to us.
"You know," I said between bites, "some days I wonder if we'd be normal people if none of this had happened. If we didn't… see what we've seen."
Alex took a sip of his coffee, eyes scanning the street outside. "Normal is subjective. We've always been… us. That's enough."
I grinned. "Yeah. Us. And maybe that's better than normal."
He didn't smile — not fully — but there was a softness to his gaze, a flicker that reminded me of the boy I had grown up with. The one I'd trusted with everything.
By the time we left the diner, the city had started to settle into evening. Streetlights glowed softly, casting long shadows across the pavement.
I nudged Alex as we walked back toward the precinct. "Sunday's almost over. Back to chaos tomorrow."
He didn't answer, just followed. Silent. Calm.
I looked at him and felt the familiar mix of frustration, admiration, and brotherhood.
For one perfect Sunday, the city could wait. The killers could wait. The world could pause. And for now, that was enough.