Vincent sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, staring at nothing.
Elisa's perfume still clung to his shirt like poison. Her words kept looping:
"I could ruin you for anyone else…"
Marcus saw it the second he walked in: the way Vincent's shoulders curled inward, the tremor in his fingers.
He shut the door with a soft click that sounded final.
"Hey." Marcus's voice was low, velvet over steel.
Vincent didn't look up.
Marcus crossed the room in three strides, knelt in front of him, hands gentle on Vincent's knees.
"Look at me, amore."
Vincent's eyes finally lifted: glassy, ashamed, furious.
"She touched me like—"
Marcus pressed a finger to his lips.
"Shh. She doesn't get to live in this room."
He leaned in, nose brushing Vincent's.
"Only I get to touch you. Only I get to make you forget.
Vincent's breath hitched.
Marcus stood, pulled his own shirt over his head in one motion, let it drop.
