The storm outside was the only thing that dared to speak.
Rain lashed against the tall glass windows of the mansion, hurling shadows across the floor. The lightning came in white, bone-colored flashes — harsh, too bright, like truth itself.
Matthew stood in his office, still wearing the shirt he had on since morning, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the cuffs wrinkled. He hadn't moved for hours. The papers on his desk were untouched — only the letter he'd found sat in front of him.
Vinny's handwriting.
Slanted. Beautiful. Shaking slightly at the end of each line.
"I can't breathe here anymore, Matthew. I need space. I need to be me again."
"Please don't look for me."
He'd read it once. Then twice. Then until the ink blurred and the words lost shape, until only the ache behind his ribs remained.
His hand trembled slightly as he traced the ink again. Every word felt like a knife pressed just beneath his skin — slow, deliberate, intimate.
He exhaled. It came out ragged.
"Space," he muttered under his breath, the word sounding alien, offensive even.
Matthew slammed his palm down on the desk, rattling the penholder. His jaw flexed as he pushed away from the desk, pacing the length of the room.
He knew this would happen. He'd seen it coming in Vinny's eyes — the hesitation, the distance, the way his laughter had changed lately. It wasn't careless anymore; it was cautious, rehearsed.
Matthew had promised himself he wouldn't do this again. Wouldn't turn into the thing he'd been before — cold, controlling, desperate. He'd promised Vinny.
But promises meant nothing when you could feel the person you loved slipping through your fingers.
He pressed a hand to his face, nails digging into his temple. "No, no, no…"
The walls felt smaller, the air thick, as if the house itself knew what was coming.
A faint knock came at the door.
He didn't answer.
"Sir?" one of the guards outside called softly. "Should we keep an eye on—"
"Leave," Matthew snapped. His tone cut through the room like frost. The footsteps faded.
He looked down at the letter again. It lay there like an open wound, mocking him.
Vinny… leaving.
The thought made his stomach twist violently. He could already see it — the empty room, the half-made bed, the silence where his voice should be. He could see himself searching, begging, breaking.
No.
He couldn't go through that again.
He turned and walked toward the liquor cabinet. His reflection caught his eye — tired, hollow, the green in his eyes too bright, almost feverish. He poured himself a drink, but his hand shook so badly that the amber liquid spilled over his fingers.
He downed it anyway. It burned all the way down, doing nothing to dull the storm inside him.
A single question looped in his head like a curse: Why would he leave me?
He'd given Vinny everything — protection, warmth, a life free of danger. He'd endured Vinny's moods, his cold shoulders, his games. And now… this.
He laughed once, low and broken. "You really thought you could just walk out?"
The laughter faded, replaced by silence that was almost cruel.
He couldn't let him. Not when every piece of him had already wrapped itself around Vinny. Not when his heart didn't know how to beat without him.
He ran a hand through his hair and turned toward the drawer near his desk — the one he rarely opened. He hesitated, breathing shallowly, before pulling it open. Inside, a small vial sat hidden beneath papers and an old gun magazine.
A clear liquid shimmered faintly inside it.
It wasn't poison. Just a sedative.
He'd used it once before — for protection, not control. Or so he'd told himself.
But now, as his fingers closed around the glass, his heart began to pound louder, heavier, until he could barely hear the rain anymore.
He told himself it wasn't wrong. It was temporary. He just needed to stop Vinny from leaving. Just until he explained everything.
Just until Vinny understood that he needed to stay.
His voice cracked as he whispered, "You won't leave me, Vin."
Vinny stood in front of his closet, folding clothes with mechanical precision.
He'd tried to keep his hands steady, but his heartbeat wouldn't slow. The silence of the room felt thick — as if it were watching him.
He couldn't stay here. Not anymore.
Not after everything he'd seen, everything he'd felt tightening around him like invisible chains.
Matthew was too much — too consuming, too unpredictable. There was love, yes. But also fear, and confusion, and that quiet ache of losing himself a little more every day.
He zipped the small duffel bag shut and placed it by the bed. His fingers brushed against the small photo frame on the nightstand — a picture of them at the lake house, both of them smiling, sunlight hitting Matthew's hair.
He wanted to hate that picture. He couldn't.
He sighed, blinking away the sting behind his eyes. "Why couldn't you just let me go…"
The door opened quietly behind him.
"Vinny?"
His entire body froze.
Matthew's voice was too calm — the kind of calm that came right before something broke. Vinny turned slowly, forcing his features into neutrality.
"You're supposed to be working," he said softly.
Matthew stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His eyes darted to the duffel bag. His expression didn't change, but something flickered — dangerous and unreadable.
"Going somewhere?"
Vinny swallowed. "I just—needed some air. A few days away."
Matthew smiled — gentle, terrifying. "A few days?"
The room fell into silence. Vinny didn't answer.
Matthew moved closer, his voice almost a whisper. "You weren't going to tell me."
Vinny's throat felt dry. "You would've stopped me."
Matthew's jaw tensed. "Damn right I would've."
For a long moment, they just stared at each other — two storms about to collide. The air between them was thick, suffocating. Vinny could see the exhaustion in Matthew's eyes, the veins at his temples, the tremor in his hands.
He looked broken. Desperate. And it hurt — because despite everything, a part of Vinny still loved him.
"Matthew…"
"Don't," he interrupted, stepping closer. His breath was shaky, his voice almost pleading now. "Don't say my name like that. Like you're already gone."
Vinny's lips parted, but no sound came out.
Matthew's hand brushed his cheek, almost tenderly. "You think I can survive you walking away from me?"
Vinny flinched at the intensity. "You'll learn. People do."
Matthew's eyes darkened. "Not me."
Then his expression softened again — too soft. "You're just tired, Vin. I'll make dinner. We'll talk. You'll feel better."
Vinny frowned slightly. "Matthew—"
But Matthew was already turning toward the door, voice steady. "Stay. I'll bring something up."
Vinny hesitated, unsure whether to follow or run. He sighed and sat back on the bed, running a hand through his hair.
He didn't notice the faint sound of a bottle opening downstairs.
Dinner was served in the smaller dining room. Candlelight flickered across the polished table, glinting off crystal glasses. The smell of roasted herbs filled the air.
Vinny walked in quietly, unsure why his chest felt heavy. Matthew sat at the other end of the table, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable.
He gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit."
Vinny obeyed, the silence between them almost unbearable.
Matthew's voice was soft. "I made your favorite."
Vinny stared at the plate. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to."
They began to eat — or rather, pretend to. Matthew's gaze never left him. It wasn't anger now. It was something worse — devotion twisted into something sharp.
Halfway through, Vinny reached for his glass of wine. His hands felt heavy. His head swam for a second.
He blinked. "Matthew…?"
Matthew didn't move. His expression stayed calm, his eyes reflecting something close to sorrow.
Vinny's breath hitched. The fork slipped from his hand, clattering against the plate.
"What… did you… do…"
Matthew rose from his seat, coming to kneel beside him. "Shh. It's okay, Vin. Just sleep. I'll fix everything."
Vinny tried to push him away, but his body wouldn't respond. His vision blurred — the candlelight bending, melting, until Matthew's face was the only thing left.
"Don't… do this…" he whispered, voice weak.
Matthew brushed his hair back from his forehead, his thumb tracing his cheek. "You were going to leave me," he murmured, voice cracking. "I can't let you do that."
Vinny's lips parted in protest, but darkness took him before he could finish.
Matthew caught him before he fell.
For a long time, he just held him there — limp, breathing softly, completely defenseless. His heart ached with something between love and guilt, but it didn't stop him.
He lifted Vinny into his arms and whispered against his hair, "You'll understand soon. You'll see this is for your own good."
Lightning flashed again, painting the room in white.
And as the thunder rolled, Matthew carried him upstairs — the chain already waiting at the foot of the bed.