The first coincidence, Marcus almost missed.
It was a Tuesday. Rain tapped against the office windows. He was three sips into his coffee — cream, no stir — when Damian appeared at his desk.
"Morning." Damian's voice was quiet, almost sleepy. He held his own coffee cup. Steam curled from the top.
Marcus nodded. "Morning. You're here early."
"Couldn't sleep." Damian shrugged. Then he lifted his cup and took a sip.
Marcus glanced at it without thinking. Black coffee. With cream.
Same as mine, he noted. Then dismissed it. Half the office drank coffee with cream. It wasn't strange.
But something tugged at the back of his mind. Something he couldn't name.
The second coincidence came three days later.
Marcus was in the break room, stretching his neck — left, right, slow roll — when Damian walked in.
"Long day?" Damian asked.
"Getting there." Marcus finished his stretch. "You?"
Damian tilted his head. Left. Right. Slow roll.
Exactly the same sequence.
Marcus blinked. For a second, he felt like he was watching himself in a mirror. Then Damian laughed — a sharp exhale through his nose, followed by a low chuckle — and the feeling vanished.
"What?" Damian asked.
"Nothing." Marcus shook his head. "Just... déjà vu."
Damian smiled. "Maybe we've been working together too long."
Marcus laughed. The moment passed.
But later that night, alone in his apartment, Marcus replayed it. The stretch. The laugh. The way Damian had looked at him — not at him, but into him.
You're overthinking, he told himself.
He didn't believe it.
The third coincidence was not a coincidence.
Marcus knew it the moment he walked into the gym.
It was Saturday morning. The gym was half-empty — just a few dedicated regulars and one guy on the treadmill who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Marcus nodded at the front desk, swiped his card, and headed for the free weights.
Then he saw him.
Damian was already there. He stood by the squat rack, loading plates onto a bar. His back was to Marcus, but there was no mistaking those shoulders — broader than Marcus's, thicker, the kind of build that made other men in the gym glance twice and look away.
What the hell?
Marcus stopped. For a moment, he considered leaving. Not because he was avoiding Damian — why would he? — but because something about this felt off.
He'd never mentioned this gym. Not once. Not in passing, not in conversation.
And yet here Damian was.
"Marcus?"
Damian turned. His face registered surprise — or something that looked like surprise. His eyebrows lifted. His mouth curved into a small smile.
"Didn't expect to see you here."
Marcus walked over. "I could say the same. I didn't know you worked out here."
"First time, actually." Damian gestured at the rack. "My usual gym is closed for renovations. Thought I'd try this place."
First time. Marcus wanted to believe it. The explanation was reasonable. Plausible. The kind of thing that happened every day.
But Damian's gym bag was already unpacked. His water bottle was on the floor, half-empty. The weights on the bar were warm from use.
He'd been here for a while.
Then why are his hands still dry? Marcus's mind supplied the question before he could stop it. He looked at Damian's hands — large, scarred at the knuckles — and noticed there was no chalk dust. No sweat. No signs of actual lifting.
The bar was loaded. But Damian hadn't touched it.
You're being paranoid, Marcus told himself. He's a coworker. You're both adults. This is normal.
But normal didn't explain why Damian's eyes followed him for the rest of his workout.
Not staring. Just... watching.
Every time Marcus looked up, Damian was looking somewhere else. The window. His phone. The TV mounted on the wall.
But Marcus could feel it. The weight of those grey eyes on his back. On his shoulders. On the curve of his spine when he bent to pick up a dumbbell.
He finished his set early. Didn't cool down. Just grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
"Leaving already?" Damian called after him.
Marcus turned. Damian was still by the squat rack, still not lifting, still watching.
"Yeah," Marcus said. "Not feeling it today."
Damian nodded. "See you Monday."
"See you Monday."
Marcus walked out into the grey morning light. The rain had stopped, but the air was heavy and cold. He stood in the parking lot for a full minute, trying to shake the feeling crawling under his skin.
It wasn't fear.
It was something else. Something he didn't have a name for.
He's just a coworker, Marcus told himself again.
But as he drove home, he couldn't stop thinking about the way Damian had looked at him.
Like Marcus was something to be studied.
Like Marcus was something to be learned.
Damian watched Marcus's car disappear down the street.
Then he pulled out his phone and opened the notes app.
Under "Marcus — Gym," he typed:
Prefers dumbbells over machines. Skips leg day on Saturdays. Checks his phone between every set. Drives a grey sedan — license plate [he'd memorized it]. Left early because he felt me watching.
He read it twice, then added:
He knows something is wrong. He doesn't know what yet.
Damian smiled.
Not Marcus's smile. His own.
Good, he thought. Let him feel it. Let him wonder. Let him lie awake at night trying to figure out why his new coworker makes his skin prickle.
The chase was the best part.
And Marcus had no idea he was already caught.