Vinny didn't ask questions when he opened the door and saw Matthew standing there, soaked to the bone from the rain, blood crusted around his knuckles and jaw clenched like he was trying to bite back an earthquake. No words. Just quiet. Heavy, like the stillness after a scream.
Matthew didn't wait for permission. He stepped inside, brushing past Vinny, trailing blood and stormwater onto the hardwood floor. Vinny closed the door behind them, heart thudding unevenly in his chest. His voice came out lower than usual.
"What the hell happened to you?"
Matthew didn't answer right away. His shoulders rose and fell with the rhythm of a man barely holding it together.
"I handled it," he said finally.
Vinny stared at him. "Handled what? You look like you walked through hell."
"I did."
Silence. Again. Matthew's eyes were sharp and dark and unreadable, but there was a twitch in his jaw, a tension in his shoulders—he was hurting, but more than that, he was angry.
Vinny stepped closer, inspecting the blood smeared across Matthew's temple and the bruises blooming across his collarbone, barely visible through the soaked shirt clinging to his skin.
"Sit," Vinny murmured, nudging him toward the edge of the couch. "Let me clean you up."
Matthew didn't protest. He sat, shoulders slumping. Vinny grabbed a first-aid kit and returned, crouching in front of him. He dabbed at a split lip and a small gash near Matthew's hairline.
"You're lucky none of this needed stitches," Vinny said quietly.
Matthew didn't flinch at the antiseptic. He didn't even blink. His eyes were locked on Vinny, like the sight of him was the only thing grounding him to reality.
"I told you," Matthew said after a moment. "I told you Tom was dangerous."
Vinny's hand froze mid-air.
Matthew tilted his head, reading every twitch of Vinny's expression. "You don't want to ask me what happened tonight?"
Vinny chewed the inside of his cheek. "If you wanted to tell me, you would've already."
Matthew's lips quirked into something that looked like disappointment, but it passed quickly. "So that's how it is."
"No," Vinny replied, finally meeting his gaze. "That's not what I meant. I just know you. When you're ready, you'll say it. You always do."
There was a pause. Then Matthew leaned forward slowly, like gravity was dragging him toward Vinny.
"Say what, Vin?"
"That you're pissed," Vinny said, voice soft and tense. "That you think I'm still too close to him. That maybe you're right."
Matthew's eyes burned into him. "Am I?"
Vinny didn't answer.
Instead, he shifted forward slightly on his knees, hands resting on Matthew's thighs, fingers splayed over bruised skin through torn fabric. There was blood drying on his collar, and Vinny hated how good it looked on him. Wild. Vicious. Dangerous.
"You scare me sometimes," Vinny whispered. "You know that?"
Matthew's hand slid into his hair, fingers tightening near the roots.
"Why?"
"Because I think I like it."
Their mouths collided a heartbeat later—hot, fierce, and unrelenting. It was bruising, clumsy, desperate. Vinny's hands clutched at the front of Matthew's shirt, pulling him closer, anchoring him.
Matthew groaned against his mouth, hands gripping Vinny's waist as he pulled him effortlessly into his lap. Vinny straddled him, legs on either side, palms on Matthew's chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath the skin.
"Still scared?" Matthew whispered, teeth grazing the edge of Vinny's jaw.
Vinny exhaled sharply, nose brushing Matthew's. "No. But you should be."
"Why?"
"Because I'm falling."
Matthew's breath caught. That was new. That was real. For a moment, the game cracked open just enough to show something deeper.
Then Vinny smirked, fingers tugging Matthew's damp hair. "And you like it when I call you mine, don't you?"
Matthew didn't answer with words. He answered by biting Vinny's neck hard enough to make him hiss, followed by a low, raspy, "Say it again."
Vinny's eyes fluttered shut. "Mine."
Their lips crashed together again, hands greedy, mouths hungry. Matthew's hands slid up under Vinny's shirt, mapping skin like he was memorizing it, branding it. Their rhythm was chaotic—teasing and tension-filled—but it was real. And they didn't stop until the storm outside turned into something silent.
Later, Vinny sat on the bed, pulling the sheet tighter around his waist, watching Matthew in the bathroom. The door was half-closed, steam curling into the bedroom. The mirror caught Matthew's silhouette—bruised, bloodied, and beautiful.
Vinny leaned back on his elbows. "So when are you going to tell me what happened?"
Matthew didn't answer. He dried his face with a towel and stared into the mirror for a long moment before stepping out. He dropped the towel onto the sink edge and walked back into the room, unbothered by the way Vinny's eyes tracked him.
"You wouldn't like it," Matthew finally said. "But Tom's not going to be a problem for a while."
Vinny's expression tightened. "You beat him up, didn't you?"
"I said I handled it."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"No," Matthew agreed. "It doesn't."
Vinny got quiet again, chewing his lower lip. "I don't need protecting, you know."
Matthew knelt on the bed, leaning forward until their noses brushed.
"Don't lie. You love it when I protect you. Even if it's from yourself."
Vinny rolled his eyes. "You're insufferable."
Matthew kissed his smirk. "You like that too."
Elsewhere—across the city—Tom was not licking wounds. He was planning.
The warehouse was empty now, the dried blood on the concrete like ghosts under the flickering light. He paced with his phone pressed to his ear.
"He wasn't supposed to walk out of there," he snapped.
On the other end, a voice replied calmly, "You underestimated him."
"I didn't underestimate anything," Tom hissed. "I just didn't expect him to be that savage."
"You should've. He was always unhinged under the surface."
Tom ran a hand through his hair, breathing heavily. "Vinny's going to figure it out."
"You're losing control," the voice warned.
"No," Tom said, voice dark. "I'm just getting started."
The next morning, Vinny woke up tangled in sheets, in Matthew's arms, with bruises on his thighs and heat on his skin.
Matthew wasn't asleep. His hand was tracing small circles on Vinny's back, eyes already open.
"What?" Vinny murmured, voice still hoarse.
Matthew didn't answer immediately.
"Don't leave me again," he whispered.
Vinny blinked. "What?"
"That day you left. The first time. You didn't even say goodbye."
Vinny's chest tightened. "You really want to talk about that now?"
Matthew's voice was low. "I just needed to say it. That it messed me up. That it made me think... I'd never get another chance."
Vinny leaned up slowly, cupping his face.
"You've got your chance now," he said. "Don't waste it."
Matthew pulled him back down, and they lay there, wrapped in silence that felt heavier than words. Both of them knew something was coming.
Something darker.
But for now, they were warm, together, and safe—in a bed of lies, maybe, but it still felt like home.