The room had gone still, save for the low hum of the neon bulb outside. The same red glow washed over everything — the cracked wallpaper, the half-open beer bottle, the untouched food on the tray.
Marcus entered quietly, careful not to startle him again. Vincent sat on the edge of the bed, face pale, eyes rimmed red. The earlier panic still clung to him like invisible frost.
Marcus didn't speak. He simply placed the tray on the nightstand and pulled up a chair. For a long moment, neither moved — the air hung between them, thick and wordless.
"You should eat something," he said, voice softer now.
Vincent hesitated, wiping his face with the back of his hand. " I am Not hungry."
Marcus gave him a look — the kind that didn't allow argument. "Eat this anyway."
He took a peice of steak in the fork and gently offered it. Vincent blinked, a faint, embarrassed flush crossing his face.
"You're not serious—"
"I am dead serious and i don't go joking around"
There was no teasing in Marcus's tone. No warmth either — just quiet insistence. The kind that came from someone used to taking control when others couldn't.
Vincent sighed and let out a small, tired laugh, opening his mouth despite himself. Marcus fed him carefully, slow, patient, as though handling something fragile. Between spoonfuls, neither spoke — only the soft clink of cutlery filled the space.
For the first time, Vincent didn't try to fill the silence with jokes or smirks. He simply… existed in it.
The small touches should've felt ordinary, but they weren't. There was something deliberate in them — something claiming something more possessive.
When the food was half gone, Marcus set the spoon aside and reached for the bottle of beer. The glass glinted under the red light.
"Drink," Marcus said, unscrewing the cap.
Vincent frowned weakly. "I'm not in the mood to drink beer right now, Marcus."
"I said , Drink. Don't make me repeat my words twice" Marcus repeated, tone patient but unyielding.
Vincent sighed knowing nothing can change this guy's demand, taking the bottle. "You're acting like a nurse," he muttered, bringing it to his lips. The first sip burned down his throat — not in the usual way. It was bitter, metallic almost, nothing like the cheap beer he'd tasted before.
He coughed lightly. "ewww. What the hell it is ? It tastes… weird."
Marcus's expression didn't shift. "Cheap liquor. Probably mixed with something stale. Don't think too much about it."
Vincent squinted, still tasting the sharpness on his tongue. "Tastes like regret."
"Then it suits you," Marcus said, the faintest curve at his lips.
Vincent laughed softly, half-amused, half-exhausted. The sound faded into silence as he set the bottle aside. His body was starting to feel… heavy. Not painfully — just slow, like the world was thickening around him.," are you sure ? Is this beer ? Not some carbonated urine of a bastard ?..coz I feel weirdly dizzy"
Marcus stood, taking the tray away as if he knows that he'll feel dizzy later , he said almost calmly, "feeling dizzy ?" , the words didn't actually sound like question it sounded like a statement — fact. "Lie down then you need rest" he said quietly.
Vincent blinked, his vision swimming slightly. "What? No, I— I'm fine. Just dizzy."
"Exactly," Marcus replied. "Lie down. Now."
Something in his tone left no room for argument. Vincent hesitated, then gave up and lay back on the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight.
That's when he noticed it — only one pillow. One blanket. One bed.
He turned his head slightly. "Wait— you're not sleeping on the floor, right?"
Marcus arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Do I look like I'd fit there?"
Before Vincent could respond, Marcus brushed past him, the faint scent of soap and blood clinging to his shirt. He circled the bed and sat on the other side, pulling off his jacket with unhurried movements.
Vincent's heart thudded. He wasn't sure why. They'd been close before — physically, even — but this felt different. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the way Marcus carried himself now: calm, composed, unreadable.
Vincent shifted slightly, turning his back to him. "Just don't snore," he muttered.
He felt the bed sink as Marcus lay down beside him. For a few seconds, there was nothing — just their breathing, faint and uneven.
Then, a touch.
A firm hand slid around Vincent's waist, pulling him closer in one slow motion.
Vincent froze. The air caught in his throat. The warmth of Marcus's chest pressed against his back, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding — or maybe caging — him.
"Marcus…" he whispered, eyes fluttering.
"Sleep," Marcus murmured against his hair.
Vincent didn't argue. His head felt heavy, his limbs warm and unresponsive. The earlier bitterness of the beer still lingered faintly on his tongue.
He tried to say something — maybe to joke, maybe to ask why Marcus suddenly sounded so gentle — but his voice wouldn't come out. The world was softening, melting around the edges.
The last thing he felt before darkness claimed him was the steady breath against his neck and the slow, possessive tightening of the arm around his waist.
And then, nothing.
Marcus stayed awake long after Vincent's breathing steadied into sleep. He stared at the man in his arms — the thief with the careless smirk, now quiet and vulnerable under his touch.
His expression was unreadable. Calm. Almost serene.
He brushed a thumb along Vincent's temple, then down his jaw, tracing the faint streak of dried tears that still clung to his skin.
"Sleep well, Vincent," he whispered. "We still have a long way to go."
The neon light blinked again outside, red and black, red and black.
In that flickering light, Marcus leaned closer — and for a brief, fleeting second, the gentleness in his gaze cracked.
Beneath it, something darker watched. Something that didn't look away.
---
PLEASE SUPPORT PRETTY LADIES AND HANDSOME GENTLEMEN,
WITH BITTERNESS (AND BEER APPARENTLY),
VINCENT. 🍺
WITH CONTROL (AND A SECRET SMILE),
MARCUS. 😌