Vincent yanked Marcus away from the road, guiding him into a narrow alley before anyone from the bus could follow. He released Marcus's wrist at last, though the younger man's palm still lingered close, hesitant to let go.
"Do you have any idea," Vincent hissed, "how close you were to ruining everything?"
Marcus's head dropped instantly, like a scolded child. "I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to. My mind… it just—" He tapped his temple with a frown. "Sometimes it blurs. Like a dream that slips away."
Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress the frustration boiling inside him. "A dream? Cariño, almost the entire bus was ready to hand me over to the police because of your little 'dream.'"
Marcus winced but looked up, guilt swimming in his eyes. "But… you saved me. You always save me." His voice softened into something almost vulnerable. "Tom, you won't leave me, right? Even if I forget again?"
Vincent's heart stuttered. He wasn't Tom. He never would be. But the way Marcus's lips trembled, waiting for reassurance, forced words out of him he didn't plan to say.
"…I won't," Vincent muttered. "I'll stay. Just… stop putting me in situations where I have to prove it to an entire bus of strangers."
Marcus's mouth twitched—almost a smile—but his eyes shimmered with relief. "Thank you. I'll try harder. I promise."
Vincent rolled his eyes and turned away, but the warmth creeping into his chest betrayed him. He spotted a small convenience store at the corner and tugged Marcus along. "Come on. You look like you'll collapse any second."
Inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and bread. Vincent grabbed a couple of bottled drinks, tore one open, and shoved it into Marcus's hands. "Drink. Slowly."
Marcus obeyed without protest, tilting his head back as the cold water slid down his throat. A few drops escaped at the corner of his lips. Vincent sighed, leaned closer, and wiped it with his thumb before he realized what he was doing.
Marcus froze. His eyes darted up, locking onto Vincent's. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"…you didn't have to," Marcus whispered.
"I wasn't about to let you walk around dripping like a toddler," Vincent shot back quickly, tossing the empty bottle into the trash. "Don't read into it."
But Marcus's cheeks carried the faintest flush, and his hand clutched the notebook tighter against his chest like it was protecting more than just memories.
They sat at a tiny plastic table near the window, the city buzzing just beyond the glass. For the first time since the bus fiasco, the world seemed quiet.
Marcus toyed with the corner of his notebook. "People thought you were dangerous," he said softly.
Vincent smirked. "They weren't entirely wrong."
"That doesn't scare me." Marcus's words were quick, almost defensive. He leaned forward. "You… you stayed. You fought for me. Nobody else would have done that."
Vincent swallowed hard, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his tone. He wanted to laugh it off, tease Marcus until that earnest look disappeared. Instead, he found himself asking, "Why do you trust me so much, cariño? You don't even remember me half the time."
Marcus smiled faintly, tapping the notebook. "Because even when I forget, this doesn't. Every page says you came back for me. That you're mine."
Vincent had no reply. He reached for his cigarette pack, then stopped halfway. His hands curled into fists beneath the table.
Before he could change the subject, the bell above the shop door chimed. A tall man in a gray coat entered, his eyes sweeping the store lazily—too lazily. Vincent stiffened, instincts sparking.
The man bought nothing, only lingered near the racks of magazines, pretending to read. But his gaze flickered toward Marcus more than once.
Vincent leaned in, voice low. "Finish your drink."
Marcus blinked. "Why? What's wrong?"
"Don't ask. Just do it."
The younger man obeyed, though confusion creased his brow.
Vincent stood, his expression casual, but his jaw was tight as stone. He clapped Marcus's shoulder lightly. "We're leaving."
The man in the gray coat looked up as they passed, his lips curling almost imperceptibly—like he knew something Vincent didn't.
Outside, Marcus tugged at Vincent's sleeve nervously. "Who was that?"
"No one you need to worry about," Vincent said, scanning the street. But the unease wouldn't leave him. He'd shaken off cops before. Detectives too. But this… this felt different.
Marcus's fingers slipped into his hand again, grounding him in a way he hadn't expected. "Tom… are you scared?"
Vincent chuckled darkly, masking the flicker of anxiety gnawing in his gut. "Of course not. But if someone was after us…" He squeezed Marcus's hand. "…then you'll just have to stay closer to me, won't you?"
Marcus nodded, trusting him completely. Too completely.
And Vincent hated how much he liked it.
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PLEASE SUPPORT PRETTY LADIES AND HANDSOME GENTLEMEN,
WITH LOVE .. WAIT —? NO ! ,
UMM WITH CARE , ( yeah definitely care )
VINCENT. 😚
WITH AFFECTION ,
MARCUS ☺️