Vincent groaned loud enough for the roar of the engine to swallow half his words. "Two. More. Days." He slapped the handlebars with the heel of his palm. "Do you have any idea how much gas costs? How much food costs? At this rate, my wallet's not just getting thinner—it's evaporating, cariño!"
Behind him, Marcus clung lightly to his waist, his tone maddeningly calm. "But you said you'd stay with me, Tom."
Vincent's jaw locked. There it was again—that quiet plea, that guilt-trip of a line that somehow clawed under his skin every time. He exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering, "Yeah, yeah. Doesn't mean you gotta bankrupt me in the process and You're lucky you're somewhat handsome so that I don't ditch you on the highway. Promises… damn promises."
Marcus smiled faintly, as though he knew Vincent's bark was worse than his bite.
They rode another ten kilometers before Marcus suddenly tapped his shoulder. "Stop here."
Vincent slowed, glancing at the neon glow of a small pharmacy on the roadside. "Why? We outta snacks already?"
Marcus shook his head. "No. I need to buy my medicines."
That word—medicines—hit Vincent like a jab. He pulled to a stop, kicking the stand down. "Medicines? You couldn't have mentioned this, say, before we were in the middle of nowhere?"
Marcus only offered a faint smile and stepped off the bike. "I almost forgot. I need them for my Alzheimer's."
Vincent muttered under his breath, "Of course you did," but followed him inside.
The pharmacy smelled of antiseptic and cheap air freshener. Marcus went straight to the counter, pointing at a scribbled note in his notebook.
He rattled off a list of names that made Vincent's head spin.
"Xantrin… Celvior… Dorminax… and two packs of Noxerin."
Vincent frowned. "Those sound like alien planets, not medicine."
The cashier raised his brows but didn't ask questions, just disappeared into the back shelves.
Vincent leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He wasn't prepared when the man returned with a small bag filled with boxes—seven or eight at least—all with ridiculous names Vincent couldn't even pronounce.
The cashier rang them up. "That'll be $490."
Vincent's eyes nearly bulged out. "For pills? Are they made of gold?"
Marcus calmly slid his card forward, tapping in the code. Vincent folded his hands like a man praying at an altar. Come on, just this once...
Please, please work this time…
The machine beeped. DECLINED.
Marcus blinked at the screen, confused, as if it had betrayed him personally. "That can't be right." He tried again. DECLINED.
Vincent's prayer shattered. "You've got to be kidding me."
Marcus looked sheepish, though Vincent swore there was a tiny twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.
Vincent's blood pressure spiked. He slammed a hand on the counter, nearly making the cashier jump. "Of course it's wrong. Of course! Because why would the universe ever let me keep my money?!" He dug into his wallet, yanking out bills with a hiss. "Fine. FINE. I'll pay for your damn brain vitamins, cariño but Add it to my ever-growing tab of 'Things I Pay Because Prince Charming Here Forgets His Digits.'"
The cashier counted the bills quickly and began packing the medicines into a brown bag. "Be careful with these," he warned casually. "One of them is a very, very strong sedative. Only half a pill is recommended, or it'll knock someone out cold."
Vincent's brows arched. He turned slightly toward Marcus, curious.
And then it happened.
Marcus's head lifted slowly. His eyes, normally wide with innocence, narrowed into sharp slits. He glared at the cashier, an expression so cold, so venomous, it made Vincent's stomach tighten. There was no trace of the gentle, confused boy in that moment. Instead, what Vincent saw was dangerous. Predatory. The kind of look that promised violence if the wrong word slipped out.
The cashier froze mid-sentence, clearing his throat awkwardly. He quickly stuffed the remaining boxes into the bag and slid it across the counter. "Here you go. Thank you for shopping."
The expression was gone as quickly as it appeared. Marcus turned back to Vincent with his usual soft smile, as if nothing had happened. "Let's go, Tom."
Vincent blinked, forcing his features into their usual cocky mask. He snatched the bag off the counter. "Yeah. Let's go."
They stepped out into the night air, the neon glow humming above them. Marcus hopped onto the back of the bike, humming a little tune as if the tension inside the pharmacy hadn't happened.
Vincent adjusted his gloves, though his mind was spinning. He wasn't the type to get rattled, but the shift he'd just seen in Marcus—sharp, violent, unfiltered—scraped at the edges of his instincts. He wanted to laugh it off, pretend the glare hadn't shaken him. And yet…
As he revved the bike, his thoughts gnawed at him: What the hell was that back there?
He glanced at Marcus in the mirror. The boy's face was relaxed, almost angelic, resting against his shoulder like a sleepy passenger. Sweet, harmless, forgetful Marcus.
Vincent swallowed, his throat dry. He forced a smirk, muttering under his breath, "Probably just me. Yeah. Just me."
But the memory of that killer glare wouldn't leave him. It lingered in his mind, heavy and poisonous, like the warning label on the sedatives tucked in the brown bag between them.
And as the bike roared back onto the road, Vincent knew one thing for certain—there was something about Marcus he couldn't put his finger on. Something dangerous hiding beneath that soft smile.
Something that terrified him more than he'd ever admit.
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PLEASE SUPPORT PRETTY LADIES AND HANDSOME GENTLEMEN,
WITH DOUBT ,
VINCENT. 🤐
WITH CALMNESS,
MARCUS.😏