Vincent's frustration clawed at his chest like wildfire. He stormed out of the restaurant, scanning the bustling street, but Marcus was nowhere in sight. How the hell could he just vanish?
Grinding his teeth, Vincent spun on his heel and barged back inside. The waitress who had served them earlier was stacking plates at a corner table.
"You," he snapped, striding toward her. "Did you see where my friend went? The guy I was sitting with—dark hair, blue shirt?"
The waitress blinked, startled by his tone. "He just left out with you ! You both only paid and left together, why are you asking me now?"
"That's it?" Vincent barked.
Her brows pinched together, irritation sparking. "Sir, I'm not his babysitter. Maybe check outside instead of yelling at me."
Vincent cursed under his breath and pushed back out the door. He grabbed the arm of a random man smoking near the curb. "Did you see a guy leave here just now? Tall, charming face, dressed neatly—"
The man yanked his arm free with a scowl. "What's your problem? No, I didn't see anyone. Get lost."
Vincent's blood boiled. He spun, eyes raking across the crowded street, desperation mounting—until he saw him.
Marcus.
There he was, strolling casually on the opposite sidewalk, hands in his pockets, as if he hadn't just ditched Vincent mid-meal. And before Vincent could even blink, Marcus stepped onto a public bus. He didn't look back. Didn't hesitate. Just disappeared inside.
Vincent froze for a beat. Then rage boiled in his veins.
"Son of a bi*ch"
"You've got to be kidding me," he growled, and sprinted across traffic. Car horns blared, brakes screeched, but he didn't care. The bus had already begun to pull away. Vincent shoved himself harder, legs burning, and with one reckless leap, he clung onto the handle by the door and swung himself inside.
Gasps rose around him. A couple of passengers stared, wide-eyed. But Vincent didn't care. His vision tunneled straight to Marcus, sitting near the window, gazing outside like a daydreaming child.
People staring him with a wide eyes tracking the stranger who had just vaulted into their quiet commute.
Vincent didn't notice. His gaze locked on Marcus sitting by the window, staring outside serenely. Like nothing in the world was wrong.
Vincent stormed up the aisle and grabbed Marcus's shoulder so hard that Marcus hissed in pain.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Vincent's voice was raw with fury, sharp enough to cut glass.
Marcus flinched, twisting under his grip. His eyes went wide with fear, his voice trembling. "Please—let go! I don't know who you are!"
Vincent blinked, momentarily stunned. "Don't pull that crap with me right now." His grip tightened, knuckles whitening.
Marcus squirmed, his face etched with terror. "Why are you doing this? Did I do something to you? I-I don't even know you!" His voice cracked, soft but loud enough to ripple across the bus.
Murmurs started immediately.
"What's going on?"
"Is he hurting him?"
"That poor guy looks terrified."
Vincent's chest heaved. "He's lying!" he snapped at the onlookers, his voice pitching higher. "He knows me. He's just—"
"Hey, take it easy!" a middle-aged man barked, stepping into the aisle. His glare was sharp, protective. "You can't just grab people like that!"
"Yeah, let him go!" another passenger chimed in. "This isn't your house, buddy. You're scaring him."
Vincent's skin crawled with the weight of all those accusing stares. His pulse hammered, sweat slicking his palms.
Marcus leaned away, his lower lip trembling. "Please," he whispered, just loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Don't hurt me."
That was the final spark. The murmurs swelled into outrage.
"What the hell's your problem?"
"Driver, stop the bus!"
"Call the police!"
The bus screeched as the driver reluctantly slowed down.
Vincent's breath came in ragged gasps. He hadn't meant for this. He just wanted to drag Marcus back before he did something reckless ( and also how would he let go his golden goose get escape that easily ) . But now… now it looked like he was the criminal ( actually he is .. now he didn't want to look like a criminal )
An elderly woman rose slowly, her cane tapping the floor. She approached with steady eyes and turned to Marcus, her voice gentle. "Sweetheart, do you know this man? Is he bothering you?"
Marcus looked at her, then at Vincent. His blank, innocent mask held. His voice came soft, almost breaking.
"…I don't know him."
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Every head swiveled toward Vincent, their faces twisted with suspicion and disgust. The old woman's gaze sharpened, protective and condemning all at once.
And in that suffocating moment, Vincent realized—Marcus had just turned the entire bus, the entire world, against him.
------
PLEASE SUPPORT PRETTY LADIES AND HANDSOME GENTLEMEN,
WITH ...I DON'T KNOW ,
VINCENT 🙄
WITH INNOCENCE ,
MARCUS 🫥