The night outside the motel had gone still.
No cars. No wind. Just silence thick enough to choke on.
Inside the room, Vincent slept unnaturally deep, his body loose, his lips parted in a soft breath. The red light filtering through the blinds pulsed faintly across his skin, making him look almost fragile.
Marcus lay beside him, eyes wide open. He hadn't slept at all. He didn't even look tired.
He watched the slow rise and fall of Vincent's chest one, two, three then exhaled softly.
A faint smirk crossed his lips.
Not one of affection. One of recognition.
As if a mask had finally cracked open to reveal what had always been beneath.
He slid out of bed soundlessly. The mattress didn't even shift.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath as he reached for Vincent's jacket, the one tossed carelessly over the chair. Marcus hooked it on one finger, the fabric hanging loose from his shoulder like an afterthought or a warning.
