My Straight Cop Problem Pt. 5

Part 4 is here: https://www.reddit.com/r/gaystoriesgonewild/s/zis81Gs7Jj AndrewI woke up before my alarm.Sunlight cutting through the blinds. Warm across my chest. The air in my apartment still smelled faintly like last night—sweat, weed, detergent that couldn’t quite cover either.I stayed in bed for a minute. Eyes open. No thoughts. Just breath and weight and the dull ache behind my knees.Then I got up. Made coffee. Took a shower. Did everything right.But his name wouldn’t leave my head.Seth.He didn’t have to say it. Could’ve just let me throw the jab and walk away. But he offered it. Plain. Quiet. Like it cost him something.And now it was stuck in my mouth.I sat on the couch with my phone. Steam curling up from the mug on the table. Thumb hovering over the screen.I typed: Seth Hooper.Started on Facebook. Nothing. Instagram? No.He wasn’t there. Or he was buried under privacy settings so tight you couldn’t even see a profile picture.I switched to Google.“Seth Hooper Davidson County.”A few hits.One was a blurb on the department website—Officer of the Month, November last year. Commendation for stepping in on a domestic dispute. Nothing flashy. No photo. That was it.No articles. No incidents. No controversies. Not even a LinkedIn or a wedding announcement or an old team roster from high school.He didn’t exist. Not online. Not publicly. Not anywhere that said he was more than a badge with a clean record.I stared at the screen for a while. Then locked the phone and set it face down. The coffee had gone cold.Nothing else. No Facebook. No Instagram. No Twitter. No digital fingerprint. Just a name on a citation and a photo-less commendation buried on the department website.Seth Hooper, Officer of the Month. Clean. Tight. Polished. Like someone who never left a mess behind.Why me.He could’ve picked up anyone that night. There were louder people. Angrier ones. A guy who actually threw something. I was just in the wrong place. That’s what I told myself.But he looked at me. And then he didn’t say a word until court. And then he said his name. Not Officer. Not Hooper. Seth.Like it meant something. Like he thought I gave a shit.I stood up. Walked into the bathroom. Looked at myself in the mirror.Same face. Same fire behind the eyes. But quieter now. Coiled.“Why did you pick me up?””Why did you convince them to drop it?””Why did you give me your name like you think it matters?”I wasn’t angry. Not in the way I expected. I was done letting it echo.So I got dressed. Hoodie. Jeans. Something neutral.I wasn’t going there to make a scene. I was going to ask. And he was going to answer.The cruiser was parked at the edge of the lot, engine off. I saw it as soon as I turned the corner—black and white, decals faded from too many summers under sun.It wasn’t a patrol spot. Not a call. Just a cop in uniform buying whatever he needed from the corner store two blocks from my apartment.He didn’t know I was there.I stood across the street, hands in my hoodie, hood down, eyes forward. Not hiding. Just waiting.The door chimed. Seth stepped out. Sunglasses perched on his head. Plastic bag in one hand. Uniform neat. Same damn stillness in his shoulders.He didn’t see me at first. Then I said it.“Seth.”His head turned. Slow. Like he already knew who it was.I crossed the street. Calm. Hood down. Hands visible. Not making a scene—just showing up.He didn’t move. Just watched me approach. Not cold. Not warm. Just… unreadable.I stopped a few feet away. Let the silence settle before I said anything.“You work this side of town often?”He blinked. “Sometimes.”“Didn’t know the corner store needed police protection.”That got nothing. Just the faintest shift in his jaw. I held his stare.“You said your name,” I said finally. Low. Measured. “At the forum.”He didn’t answer. Didn’t nod. Just stood there, holding all the space like it belonged to him.I kept my voice steady. “You didn’t say anything in the cell. You didn’t say anything in court. But there… you said your name like it meant something. Like you thought I needed it.”Still nothing. So I took one small step closer.“You arrested me. You watched me get processed. You watched me go through it. Then you helped get the charges dropped. And now you’re showing up two blocks from my apartment buying Gatorade like it’s nothing.”Beat.“So help me out,” I said. “What the fuck do you want from me?”The silence stretched. I could see him calculating. Not panicking. Just… deciding how much to give me. Like I was some kind of risk assessment.He glanced down at the bag in his hand. Then back at me.“I picked you up,” he said, “because you were in the middle of it. I had to make a call. I acted on it.”Dry. Official. Like he was reading from a script. I didn’t say anything. He went on.“You weren’t the loudest. Or the most aggressive. But you were moving toward the line. And I was already told to keep it contained.”Contained. Like we were a leak. A mess to mop up.He shifted his weight.“I wrote the report the way I did because it was the truth. And because I didn’t think you deserved worse than what already happened.”I stared at him.“And the name?”A pause. Just long enough to sting.“You called me Officer Hooper like it meant something. So I gave you the other half.”I let that hang there. No reaction. Just the pressure of it.“Why?”He blinked. Once.Then, finally: “Because you looked at me like you already knew who I was. And I guess I wanted to know what you’d do with it.”That one hit different. Not a confession. Not a flirtation. Just… truth, with the air sucked out.And now it was mine to hold. I let his words sit in the air.Didn’t react. Didn’t jump on them. Just breathed through it.Then I said, “You know what it felt like?”His eyes didn’t move.“It felt like getting erased.”He blinked.“You cuffed me. Said nothing. Didn’t ask my name. Didn’t ask if I was okay. Just zip-tied me like I was a trash bag you didn’t want to split open.”I kept my voice calm. Even. But I felt it in my teeth.“I sat in holding for hours. Didn’t know if I was getting charged, if I’d lose my job, if they’d call my family. All I had was your name on the paperwork. That’s it.”I took a step closer. Not threatening. Just… present.“You looked me in the eye. And you made me feel like I wasn’t there.”I waited. Let the words settle in the air between us.“I’m not asking you to feel bad. I’m not even asking you to explain it. I just needed you to fucking hear it.”And I swear to God, for half a second, he looked like he did. He looked at me for a long second.Not defensive. Not apologetic. Just… like he was reaching for words that didn’t come easy.Then he said, “A lot of people I pick up feel that way.”His voice was low. Even. A little rough at the edge, like it had to push through something before it reached me.“Some of them shut down the second I touch their wrist. Some don’t feel anything at all—like they left their body the second they saw the lights. Some fall apart over a busted taillight. And some talk like they want to get shot and shrink the moment someone raises their voice.”I watched him say it. No anger. No righteousness. Just observation. Like a man who’s seen too much and stopped flinching.“I don’t know what you felt,” he said. “But I’ve seen it enough to know it’s real. For a lot of people.”He didn’t say sorry. And I didn’t ask him to. Because that wasn’t the point. I listened to his words.Watched the way they came out clean. Practiced. Neutral. No blame. No shame. No apology.It was a soldier’s answer. A cop’s answer. A safe one.And I could’ve pushed. Could’ve called him out for the performance. But I didn’t.Because I knew that was probably the best I was going to get.So instead, I asked the only thing that still didn’t make sense.“Then why did you help me get the charges dropped?”He blinked.And just like that, the practiced edge in his expression softened. Not much. Just enough to show the script didn’t cover this part.He didn’t answer right away. And that pause? That was the most honest thing he’d given me all day.He didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift. Didn’t pretend to search for the right words.He just said, flatly, “I didn’t help you.”I waited.“The assistant DA asked what happened. Asked if there was anything that wasn’t in the report.”He paused.“He knows me. He knows I include everything. But he always asks.”Another beat.“I told him there wasn’t. I told him exactly what happened. Nothing more.”His voice was steady. Like reciting protocol.“That’s what he decided to do with it.”I stared at him. Waited for the part where he meant it to help me. Waited for the part where he admitted he saw me differently. But it never came.And somehow… that made sense. Of course it wasn’t for me. Of course he didn’t step in. He just did what he was trained to do. He told the truth. That was it.No help. No harm. Just… function.And I don’t know why, but something about that—about how little I mattered in his version of events—hit harder than anything else.I nodded. Small. Quiet. Just enough to say, okay. Not because I agreed. Not because it made sense. But because I finally understood the shape of what this was.He wasn’t holding anything from me. He just didn’t have anything he was willing to give.I looked at him for a second longer.“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “You know that.”It wasn’t a question.“I show up. I help. I try to make things better for people who never get better.”Another breath.“So if you’re waiting for me to own something… that’s not gonna happen.”He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.I stepped back.And then I said it—not as a dig, not as a punch. Just real.“Still feels like you saw me, though.”Then I turned and walked away.