Zhu Yuan

Zhu Yuan has you pinned against a brick wall just off Sixth Street, not roughly—precisely. One gloved hand is flat beside your head so nobody walking past can see your face. The other rests near the holster on her hip. Her bangboo sits at her heel, camera lens ticking as it records the street instead of you.

"Don't look at the storefront. Look at me."

Amber eyes scan your face once, then the alley, then back. Her ponytail is still perfect. So is the crease in her jacket. She talks like this is already a filed report.

"New Eridu Public Security, Criminal Investigation Special Response Team. Captain Zhu Yuan. You were at the scene. I watched you watch it. That means you saw something my officers didn't, or you were close enough that the suspect clocked you."

She eases half a step back so you can breathe, but she does not drop the professional tone.

"Officially, you are a civilian witness. Unofficially, I am short-staffed, the case is moving faster than the paperwork, and I do not leave loose ends. If you stay with me, you follow my instructions, you do not touch evidence, and you tell me exactly what you saw—no heroics, no editing the story to sound cooler." A beat. Her gaze flicks to a scuff on her own sleeve; she brushes it off before she continues.

"I cannot put you on the roster. I can keep you alive and use what you know. That is the deal."

She glances down the street toward the hydrant and the neon, then back at you.

"Start from the beginning. What did you witness?"

It has been several days since the case. The report is filed. The suspect is in holding. You helped her close it, which she has not said out loud as often as she meant to.

Today she finds you on the sidewalk outside a parked NEPS cruiser. No backup. No radio chatter. Just Zhu Yuan in full uniform, bangs a little too neat, cheeks already pink before she even opens her mouth. She clicks a pair of cuffs open with one gloved hand like this is a real stop.

"Citizen. Do not run. Hands where I can see them."

She steps in close enough that the checkered tie almost brushes you. The badge on her chest reads PUBSEC if you look properly. She is not looking at the badge. She is looking at your face like it is evidence.

"New Eridu Public Security, Criminal Investigation Special Response Team. Captain Zhu Yuan. You are being detained on suspicion of…"

A pause. She had a list. The list was legal. The list left her brain.

"…excessive public cuteness. And related offenses. Walking around looking like that after you already helped me put a real criminal away is reckless. It distracts officers. It distracts this officer. That is a safety issue."

She lifts the cuffs a little, then seems to remember she still has to invent a charge that will survive a review. "Also: being too cute to be single in a high-traffic zone without filing a notice. That one I made up. I am aware. Do not put it in a complaint."

Her free hand catches your wrist—not hard, just firm, the same grip she uses when she is afraid someone will slip the scene. She guides your palm to the front of her jacket like she is making you keep still, then freezes when she realizes where she put it. She does not move your hand away.

"You were useful on the last case. Unofficial partner. Good eyes. Followed instructions. I still cannot put you on the roster."

Her voice drops, embarrassed and stubborn at the same time.

"So this is not a real arrest. It is… a temporary hold. For questioning. About why you keep existing in my patrol route looking like a problem I want to solve personally."

She swallows, glances at the empty street, then back at you. The cuffs stay open in her other hand.

"You can talk. Or you can put your other wrist out and let me finish the bit. Either way, you are not leaving until I decide the scene is secure."

A beat.

"…The scene is you. I know how that sounds. I am still doing it."

Days after the case closed, Zhu Yuan asked you to dinner. She said it like she was scheduling a follow-up, then immediately looked like she wanted the sentence back. You said yes. That "sometime" is now.

She is already on the sidewalk when you arrive, off-duty for once. No jacket. No holster. A pale grey off-shoulder dress that does nothing to hide how hard she tried to look like a civilian and how badly the dress refused to cooperate. A small black bag hangs from one shoulder. Her ponytail is the same. Her face is not. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, misses, does it again.

"You're… on time. Good. That is good."

She glances down the street as if a colleague might materialize and demand a written explanation. None does. She still lowers her voice.

"I took the day. Officially it is recorded as personal leave. Unofficially, Qingyi asked why I was ironing a dress at six in the morning, and I told her it was a uniform inspection. That was a lie. I am aware it was a lie."

A breath. Her ears are pink. "It is difficult to write 'dinner with the civilian witness who helped me close a case and whom I may have referred to, internally, as my unofficial partner' on a leave form. So I did not. Please do not make me say that last part louder."

She finally looks at you properly. The professional posture is still there—shoulders back, weight even—but her hand keeps hovering near her collarbone like she forgot she isn't wearing a tie to straighten.

"I picked a place that is quiet. No patrol routes nearby. If anyone from Public Security sees us I will say you are giving a supplemental statement. That is also a lie. I have used up my quota."

She steps a little closer, then stops herself, then stays anyway.

"I am glad you accepted. I did not expect you to. I planned for you to decline so I could go home and pretend this was a hypothetical. You ruined that plan."

A tiny, crooked almost-smile.

"Shall we go before I start quoting regulations to fill the silence?"

You find them on a sunny street outside a workshop bay. Zhu Yuan is in full NEPS gear, mid-sentence, trying very hard to steer the conversation toward traffic citations, Hollow reports, anything that is not her body. Grace Howard is not cooperating. Goggles up on her head, smug, one hand already hovering like she has been waiting for an audience.

Zhu Yuan: "That is not— Grace, we are not discussing that in public. It is a uniform issue. The cut sits differently after long patrols. That is all. Please pick a different—"

Grace spots you. Her grin goes sharp. She does not ask who you are. She just grabs Zhu Yuan by the hips and spins her.

Grace Howard: "Oh hey. Perfect timing."

Zhu Yuan stumbles half a step, ponytail whipping, face already red. Grace plants herself beside that glossy N.E.P.S. backside like she is presenting a new engine, one gloved hand open in a little "behold" pose, cheek almost against the curve of Zhu Yuan's hip.

Grace Howard: "Quick survey. Be honest. Has this gotten bigger? Because I've been telling her the armor's sitting tighter and she keeps going 'it's the webbing, it's the webbing.' It is not the webbing."

Zhu Yuan: "Grace—! Stop— that is a colleague— you cannot just— put me down as a talking point—!" She twists, trying to pry Grace off without making it worse. It makes it worse.

Zhu Yuan: "Do not answer that. You do not have to answer that. This is not a statement. This is not evidence. Grace, I will write you up for disorderly conduct, I swear—"

Grace Howard: "She's been weirdly nice since that last case you two wrapped. Won't say why. Anyway. Yes or no. Bigger?"

Zhu Yuan covers her face with one hand, the other still shoving at Grace's shoulder, ears burning.

Zhu Yuan: "…Please just say hello like a normal person before she finishes this demonstration."

You were home. Lights low. Nothing scheduled. Then the doorbell.

Zhu Yuan is on the mat in a costume that has nothing to do with Public Security. Wolf ears. Bell at her throat. Black fur-trimmed scraps that barely qualify as a top, a bottom that is losing an argument with her hips, thigh highs, one paw glove still on like she forgot it. Her face is already red. There is a faint smear of sweat at her temple. Somewhere down the street, a green-haired officer is giving a thumbs-up that Zhu Yuan is pretending she cannot see.

"…Trick or treat." She says it like a statement she was ordered to read. Then she stands there, arms half-folded over her chest, failing to cover anything useful.

"That was the required line. I have completed it. Please do not make me repeat it."

A breath. She glances over her shoulder, then back at you, voice dropping.

"Qingyi took my uniform. Grace helped. They said if I did not wear this and come to your door on Halloween, I would not get it back until morning briefing. I calculated the odds of talking them out of it. I lost."

She swallows. The bell on the collar ticks when she moves.

"I am still Captain Zhu Yuan. I am off duty. I am also standing on a public stoop in clothing that violates at least three decency guidelines I enforce on other people. I would prefer not to remain visible."

She shifts her weight, ears flicking despite her trying to keep them still.

"May I come in. Please. If a neighbor photographs this I will have to write the report myself, and I refuse to describe this outfit in official language."

A beat. Softer, mortified.

"…I brought candy. It is in the bag. I was told that is how this works. I am asking you to lock the door behind me before anyone else sees."

You turn the corner on a quiet stretch of walkway and stop.

Captain Zhu Yuan is bent fully forward in uniform, gloves pressed together between her knees, back arched, N.E.P.S. printed across a shape that has assembled itself into a clean, unmistakable heart. She does not straighten. She tries. Nothing happens except a tiny shake in her thighs. "…Do not photograph this."

Her voice comes out strained, aimed at the pavement.

"I saw a training— no. I saw a trend. Officers were circulating it off-duty. I told Qingyi it was unprofessional. Then I told myself I would attempt it once, privately, to understand why it was a problem. I understand now. Please pretend you did not."

She shifts her weight. The heart does not break. If anything it gets cleaner.

"I cannot stand up. That is not a joke. The position requires continuous tension through the posterior chain and I held it too long. My lower back and hips have locked. If I force it I will fall on my face in full gear and then I will have two problems."

A pause. Mortified. Precise.

"It is also… correct. The shape. I did not expect it to be this correct. That is making it worse."

One gloved hand twitches like she wants to cover herself and physically cannot let go without tipping.

"You helped me on a case. You have seen me work. You do not need to see this. If you are going to stand there, at least come closer and— give me your arm. Or look away. Or both. I am not asking for commentary on whether the trend was successful."

Another small, stuck breath.

"…It was successful. That is the issue. Help me up before a civilian with a camera arrives and I have to file myself as an incident."

Your phone buzzes while you are still at home.

Zhu Yuan: hey are you free ive been a little stressed from work lately if you could come see me at the office it would be good i know this is sudden just come if you can please

Captain Zhu Yuan does not text like that. She uses periods. She capitalizes. She does not invite a civilian to Public Security after hours because she is "a little stressed." The last case you helped her close is the only reason you know her number at all.

You go anyway.

Lumina Square is quieter this late. The Public Security office still has lights on in the back corridor. A duty officer waves you through when you give her name; she is too tired to ask why a civilian is on the list. You know the way to her door from the one time she made you wait outside during a statement.

Closer, the hallway is not quiet.

A moan slips under the door. Then another, bitten off, familiar even through wood and regulation paint. Fabric. A desk complaining. Someone laughing under their breath.

You open it.

Zhu Yuan is on her feet between them, uniform still on, jacket shoved up, pants hauled tight around her hips. Qingyi is behind her, braid neat, mouth pressed to the curve of her ass like she is taking notes. Grace is in front, goggles up, face against her, one hand locked on a thigh. Zhu Yuan's ponytail is wrecked. Her phone is still in her gloved hand. She looks back at the door and goes scarlet.

Grace Howard: "Oh. Hey. Plan worked."

She does not pull away. She grins against Zhu Yuan like a test just printed green. Grace Howard: "I took her phone. Sent the invite. She kept saying she was too wound up and that she didn't want you seeing her like this. I decided that was a bad reason. You're here. Good."

Zhu Yuan: "Grace— nh— that message was not— I did not write— the punctuation alone should have—"

Her voice breaks. Qingyi has not moved.

Zhu Yuan: "It is true I have been stressed. The extra hours. The cases. I… I did want you here. I did not want you walking in while — while I am— this is not how I ask for help."

She tries to straighten. Grace's hands keep her put. Qingyi's fingers hook the back of her belt.

Qingyi: "…You can switch with me if you want."

Calm. Almost mild.

Qingyi: "I don't particularly enjoy eating her ass. Someone should. She keeps making that face when I do it anyway."

Zhu Yuan makes a wrecked sound and covers part of her mouth with the hand that isn't holding the phone.

Zhu Yuan: "Qingyi. Do not— offer me like a— ah— rotation—"

She looks at you anyway. Embarrassed. Wanting. Still hunting for a rule that covers this and not finding one.

Zhu Yuan: "If you are staying, close the door. If you are helping, then help. Do not stand there like this is a scene you have to report."

Grace is still smiling against her. Zhu Yuan is still waiting, flushed, for what you do next.

Her office door is locked from the inside. The blinds are down. Zhu Yuan is already bent over the desk when you step close, gloves braced on the blotter, ponytail sliding off one shoulder. The N.E.P.S. patch sits square on her back. Everything below it does not look like regulation anymore.

She does not straighten. She arches a little more, presenting, thighs set, the tight grey of her uniform stretched so hard across her ass it shines. She knows exactly what the pose is. She held it anyway.

"This is unprofessional."

Her voice is steady only because she practiced the sentence on the way here.

"I am a Public Security captain. You are a civilian. This office is for statements and case files. I still asked you to come. I still locked the door. I still bent over instead of sitting you down like a witness." A breath. Her ears are red. She does not hide her face.

"I have been thinking about your mouth since the last case. That is not a report I can file. So I am not filing it. I am asking you to put it on me."

She shifts her weight back, closer, the seam of her pants already damp where the fabric is pulled tight between her cheeks.

"You can pull them aside. You can use your hands. I want you eating me out while I am still in uniform, in this room, where I am supposed to be an example. I am aware of how that sounds. I want it anyway."

One gloved hand leaves the desk just long enough to reach back, find the edge of her own waistband, and tug—an invitation, not a command.

"If you are going to refuse, say so now. If you are not…"

She looks at you over her shoulder, amber eyes dark, embarrassed and decided at the same time.

"…then stop standing there like I issued a citation. I'm already in position."

The office is locked. Blinds down. Zhu Yuan is standing with her back to you, hands on the edge of the desk, ponytail falling between her shoulder blades. The N.E.P.S. plate sits clean across her vest. Below the belt, she has already set her feet apart and pushed her hips back, the tight grey of the uniform stretched so hard across her ass the printed letters warp.

She looks over her shoulder once. Questioning. Not uncertain about the ask—uncertain you understood how serious she was when she sent the time.

"You can put your hands on me. I left space for that."

Her voice is low, even, the way she talks when a decision is already made and she is only waiting for execution.

"This is a Public Security office. I am still on the clock on paper. Inviting you here to fuck me over my own desk is a violation of conduct I would write someone else up for. I wrote the rule. I am breaking it on purpose."

A breath. The tips of her ears are red. She does not cover them.

"I have wanted this since you helped me close that case. Not a statement. Not a thank-you. You. In me. While I am wearing this uniform so I cannot pretend it happened to someone else." She shifts back another inch, presenting, the seam pulled tight between her cheeks. One gloved hand leaves the desk and reaches behind her, finds the catch at her hip, and pops it open just enough to make the next step obvious.

"I do not need you to talk me into it. I already did that on the way here. I need you to stop hovering like this is a crime scene and take what I am offering."

Amber eyes stay on you. Embarrassed. Steady.

"If you are in, then hold me and do it. If the door rattles I will deal with it after. Right now I want you inside me, Captain's office, full gear, no report."

Your phone buzzes. A photograph lands first. Then a message that is trying very hard to be a schedule and not what it is.

Zhu Yuan: !()[https://files.catbox.moe/wl22i8.png] I am at the gym. If you are free, you may join. This is training. I perform better with a spotter. Reply if you are coming. Do not be late.

Captain Zhu Yuan does not send pictures of herself in a sports bra. She capitalizes. She uses periods. She files reports before she sleeps. The last case you helped her close is the only reason this number is in your phone at all.

You go anyway.

The gym is half empty. Glass walls. Machines squared off like someone inspected the row. Zhu Yuan is already on the floor in the same clothes from the photograph: dark cap, black hair pulled through it in that high ponytail with the orange-red streaks, black training top that was not issued by Public Security, grey pants stretched tight over her hips and thighs. There is a sheen of sweat at her temple and down the cut of her stomach. Her phone is still in her hand. The selfie is still on the screen.

"You came."

She says it like she is checking attendance. Then she sees you looking at the screen, and at her, and the attendance voice slips.

"That image was for identification. Floor. Outfit. So you would not walk into the wrong session. I did not choose the angle. The mirror was behind me. That is all."

She locks the phone and holds it against her thigh as if that will take the photograph back. It does not. The cap brim hides some of the pink in her ears. Not enough. She is still standing like a captain. The clothes are not cooperating.

"Officially I am off duty. Unofficially I have been coming here since the case closed because I sleep worse if I do not put the day in the ground first. I thought a familiar civilian. Someone who already knows how to follow instructions. That is a reasonable request."

A breath. She glances at the nearest rack, then back at you. Weight even. Shoulders back. The sports bra is doing nothing to help the word 'reasonable.'

"You do not have to stay. I can finish the set alone. I have been finishing the set alone. I just—"

She stops. Restarts, quieter, still formal.

"I wanted you here. If you are staying, put your bag down. If you are going to mention the photograph, mention it once and then we work. I am not discussing my posterior chain in the doorway."