Steam clung to the bathroom mirror like secrets to skin. Matthew wiped it away with the edge of a towel, revealing a reflection that didn't quite look like him. The bruises had bloomed across his ribs and jaw—angry purples, deep reds. His knuckles were raw from splitting open skin and bone, and though the blood had washed away, the violence hadn't.
He inhaled sharply, jaw tightening. The warehouse fight hadn't been random. Tom had planned it. Lured him in like prey. And Matthew—smart, careful, cold Matthew—had walked into it, fists clenched around trust that should've been dust long ago.
He stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, leaving damp footprints along the hardwood floor. The apartment was quiet, unnervingly so. Vinny hadn't come in while he was cleaning up, and part of Matthew wondered if that was a good thing. The rage was still coiled beneath his skin, tempered only by exhaustion.
As he turned into the hallway, he spotted Vinny curled on the couch, hoodie draped loosely over his frame, headphones in. His eyes were closed, but his brows were drawn together like he was deep in some dream—or worse, a nightmare.
Matthew hesitated. For once, he didn't feel like the one with the upper hand.
He moved closer, silently, and leaned on the armrest of the couch, watching Vinny's chest rise and fall. There was something unguarded about him like this. Less venom. Less chaos.
Vinny stirred. One eye cracked open. "You look like shit."
Matthew chuckled under his breath. "I won."
Vinny sat up fully, scanning Matthew's body with narrowed eyes. "Define winning, because it looks like you got hit by a freight train."
"Three freight trains," Matthew said, sinking onto the couch beside him with a wince. "Tom's idea of a meeting included bats and steel-toed boots."
Vinny froze. "Tom?"
Matthew nodded, eyes unreadable.
Vinny turned away slightly, the room quieting under the weight of something unspoken. "You shouldn't have gone alone."
"I didn't exactly expect a brawl. He said he wanted to talk."
"And you believed him?" Vinny's voice came out sharp.
"No," Matthew said honestly. "But I had to see what he was playing at."
Vinny's lips thinned. He looked down at Matthew's hand—still scabbed and swollen—and traced the bruises up his forearm with his gaze like he could memorize the pain for himself. "Did he say anything?"
Matthew hesitated. The words Tom had spat echoed in his mind. He's using you. You're just a game to him. You always were. But he didn't say any of that out loud.
"No," he lied. "Just fists."
Vinny didn't look convinced, but he didn't press. Instead, he scooted closer, hand hovering near Matthew's shoulder before he let it rest lightly against the bruised skin.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"Only when I breathe."
Vinny huffed a small laugh, then leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the edge of Matthew's jaw. "You shouldn't make a habit of bleeding on my furniture."
"Can't promise that," Matthew murmured, his fingers curling into Vinny's hoodie. "Not with you around."
Vinny rolled his eyes, but his cheeks tinted. "You're impossible."
"I like when you call me yours," Matthew said suddenly, voice low. "You do it like you mean it."
Vinny blinked. "That's because I do."
Matthew studied him for a long beat. "Then say it again."
Vinny raised a brow. "What?"
"Call me yours."
There was a beat of silence. Then Vinny leaned in, mouth brushing Matthew's ear. "Mine," he whispered, voice dark velvet. "Even when you're being reckless. Especially then."
Matthew let out a breath, something almost like relief washing through him. He leaned in, mouth seeking Vinny's, and the kiss was slow this time—soft and bruising in its own way. Less about fire. More about grounding.
But even as they kissed, Matthew's mind was elsewhere. Tom hadn't just thrown fists—he'd thrown poison, and it was festering under the surface.
Across town, Tom wiped blood from his lip with a rag, tossing it aside. He stood in front of a mirror, eye swollen, cheekbone fractured. "He fought harder than I thought."
Kieran sat on the counter nearby, one leg bouncing. "That's what you get for trying to ambush a guy with rage issues and military-level reflexes."
Tom glared. "I told them not to hold back. They still couldn't break him."
Kieran shrugged. "He's not easy to break."
Tom turned toward him, something dangerous flashing in his gaze. "Everyone breaks eventually."
"And what exactly do you plan to do next?" Kieran asked, almost bored. "Because so far, all I've seen is you throw pawns at him like a chessboard on fire."
"I'm done playing chess." Tom's voice dropped. "I'm flipping the board."
Kieran's brows rose.
"You'll see," Tom said, walking past him, eyes glinting. "He'll wish he never laid eyes on Vinny."
Back at the apartment, Matthew lay on the couch with Vinny curled against him, the tension in his muscles slowly ebbing. Vinny's head was on his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns across the ridges of Matthew's stomach.
"I should go back to my place," Matthew murmured.
Vinny snorted. "You're not going anywhere tonight."
"I don't want you caught in this."
Vinny looked up, eyes hard. "Matthew. If this is war, I'm already enlisted."
Matthew kissed his forehead gently. "Then stay close."
Vinny nodded. "Always."
But as they drifted into silence, neither of them noticed the notification that lit up Matthew's phone screen.
A new message.
Unknown Number:You thought that was the end? I'm just getting started.