The scent of antiseptic filled the small side room beside the kitchen. It was quiet now — too quiet. The kind of silence that settled only after blood had dried and adrenaline had burned itself out.
Mark sat shirtless on the edge of the counter, his body a map of old scars and new wounds. Fresh bruises bloomed across his ribs, purplish and angry. His knuckles were split, red crust forming where skin had torn.
Jas stood beside him, first-aid kit open, trembling hands trying to steady the gauze.
"Hold still," Jas murmured.
Mark's lips quirked faintly. "I am still."
"You're breathing like a bull," Jas muttered, pressing the cloth against a gash on his shoulder. Mark hissed, muscles tightening.
"See? You move," Jas said softly, almost smiling.
Mark looked down at them. For the first time that night, his expression softened — not pity, not amusement. Something gentler. Something careful.
"You shouldn't be doing this," he said quietly.
"And yet I'm the only one who is," Jas replied, refusing to look away. "So unless you want your wounds to rot, sit there and let me help."
For a moment, they only stared at each other. Jas's eyes burned with stubbornness; Mark's with something unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded.
Jas worked in silence after that — wiping, wrapping, cleaning. But every brush of skin made their heartbeat stumble.
Mark watched them closely, as if trying to memorize their face in the faint light. The silence between them felt alive, thick enough to touch.
When Jas reached for the last cut — a deep one along his forearm — their fingers hesitated. The scar looked painful, raw.
"How did you get this one?" they asked softly.
Mark's gaze darkened. "Someone I trusted didn't know when to stop."
The words carried more weight than they should have. Jas met his eyes, a question hovering on their tongue, but Mark's expression warned them not to ask.
Instead, they just murmured, "I'm sorry."
Mark's jaw tightened. "Don't be. It's just another reminder of what trust costs."
Jas finished wrapping his arm, then sat back, exhaustion and emotion mixing behind their calm. "That's a sad way to live."
"It's the only way that keeps you alive," Mark replied, then paused. "Until someone like you comes along."
Jas's head snapped up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Mark's lips curved — not quite a smile, more like surrender. "That you make people want to forget what survival costs."
The air between them shifted, electric.
Jas didn't speak. They just reached for his hand, tracing the edge of the bandage lightly. "Then maybe it's time you stop paying so much."
Mark caught their wrist before they could pull back. His touch was firm but gentle, his eyes locked on theirs.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he murmured.
"Then tell me," Jas said, voice trembling but steady. "Let me understand."
Mark exhaled, eyes lowering. "If I tell you everything, you won't look at me the same way again."
"Maybe I will," Jas whispered, leaning closer. "Maybe that's the problem."
Their breath mingled — faint, unsteady, dangerously close. The world outside didn't exist for a heartbeat.
Mark pulled back first, breaking the spell. "You should get some rest."
Jas swallowed hard, eyes burning with something they couldn't name. "You always do that."
He frowned. "Do what?"
"Run the moment things feel real."
Mark froze. It wasn't accusation that stung — it was truth.
He stood, grabbing his shirt. "Because real gets people killed."
Jas's voice followed him as he walked away. "Or saved."
He stopped at the doorway, but didn't turn. For a long moment, silence hung heavy between them. Then, barely above a whisper, he said:
"Not in my world."
When he left, Jas stood there alone, hands still stained faintly with his blood — and their heart with something far more dangerous.
---
Upstairs, Lucias sat by the window, glass in hand, watching the rain trail down like falling memories.
Kai had vanished hours ago, hiding in one of the guest wings. Lucias didn't chase him — not yet.
But he could feel him. The energy. The resistance. The pull.
Lucias's reflection in the window smirked faintly. "Run as far as you want, Ice. Fire always finds its way through the cracks."
He raised his glass, whispering into the dark. "To the ones who think they can walk away."
Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating his face — and the loneliness buried behind his arrogance.
Because for all his power, for all his dominance, Lucias knew one thing with bone-deep certainty.
He didn't want control over Kai.
He wanted him to stay.