Textual Confusion

16. Markus is acting weird.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MARKUS IS ACTING WEIRD.

Markus is acting weird.

Danny

Want me to beat him up?

Wtf, Danny? No!

Sasha

Ignore him. He’s still itching to punch someone since all that shit with Assface went down. Just this morning I had to talk him out of sneaking into the hospital that fucking sociopath is staying at and pulling the plug.

He’s not on actual life support, Sasha.

That may be, but he is in a coma.

A medically induced coma. It’s not like he’s never going to wake up.

Don’t remind me.

Danny

Sasha

Personally, if I was Big Daddy, I’d have just killed him and been done with it.

It wasn’t until the day after the debacle with Trent in Cloud Nine’s bathroom that Asher had even found out that he wasn’t the only one who’d had to be rushed to the hospital.

Markus had beaten the shit out of his ex-boyfriend.

Asher had only a shaky recollection of events after the man had broken down the door. He remembered hearing the fight between Markus and Trent more than seeing it. Although “ fight ” implied Trent ever stood a chance.

One thing Asher could vividly remember was the distinct sound of bones breaking.

Apparently, Markus had broken three of Trent’s ribs. And his arm. Also, he’d fractured his skull. (Hence the facial reconstruction surgery and coma.)

Asher also recalled the blood that had been on Markus’s hands. His clothes. Even his fancy leather loafers. He’d still been wearing his sullied clothes when Asher had woken up to the man hovering over him in the back of an ambulance only a short while after passing out in the bathroom.

Asher had had a bit of a panic attack when he’d learned that the ambulance was taking him to a private clinic instead of one of the city’s public hospitals. He knew that the insurance he had through work wouldn’t cover half of what would no doubt be an egregious bill.

When he’d voiced his concerns while being wheeled inside the building, Markus had all but thrown a fit at the suggestion that Asher would have to pay for any of the medical bills he’d accumulate at the place, which had calmed him immensely.

Markus, not so much.

He had paced Asher’s hospital room like a wild animal, refusing to leave, as they ran MRI and CT scans on his head. In the end, they’d diagnosed him with a mild concussion before placing two tiny stitches in the cut near his hairline. They’d also applied ice to his neck and given him some extra strength Advil for the pain and swelling in his throat.

His injuries were pretty minor, all things considered.

Asher had spent the rest of the night at the hospital at Markus’s insistence, the man only leaving his side every now and then to take a phone call in the hallway.

Asher spent the whole time waiting for the next shoe to drop. For the questions to start. For Markus to demand an explanation as to why Trent had cornered him in the bathroom.

But the questions and demands never came.

Eventually, Asher had decided he should at least attempt to sleep, which apparently was fine to do with a minor concussion. But it proved challenging to do more than sink into that fuzzy area between true sleep and wakefulness when Asher could feel Markus’s eyes burning a hole through him the entire night.

Whenever he dared a peek at the man, Markus was almost always staring at the finger-shaped bruises around his neck or the white bandage plastered to his temple, an almost manic gleam in his eyes.

After a restless night, Asher was discharged in the morning with a prescription for extra strength pain meds, topical cream that was supposed to help with the swelling around his neck, and instructions to take it easy. Apparently, the stitches in his head would dissolve on their own, but if the wound reopened or he experienced any confusion or vision or hearing loss, he was to promptly return to the hospital.

“Do you live alone?” the kind nurse who’d helped treat him had asked.

“He’ll be staying with me for the foreseeable future.”

Markus’s stern tone left no room for arguments, so Asher hadn’t bothered to protest. Truthfully, he was grateful. With everything that had happened, the last thing he wanted was to be alone.

Except when they left the hospital, they didn’t go straight to Markus’s penthouse like Asher had assumed they would. Instead, they’d stopped at a police station.

It was there that he’d found about Trent’s condition.

Asher stared at the double glass doors of the police station in confusion before directing his gaze to Markus. But the man refused to meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t be more than half an hour. You’ll wait in here with Nigel. Keep the doors locked.”

Markus moved to leave the vehicle, but Asher quickly grabbed onto his hand before he could slip away. “Why are we here?” he asked loudly, wincing at the shock of pain it caused his aggravated throat.

But it was pretty obvious, wasn’t it? There were only so many reasons someone went to a police station .

“Don’t strain yourself,” Markus scolded immediately, twisting open a water bottle and all but forcing Asher to take a drink before finally answering his question. “I’m here to make a statement concerning last night.”

Asher gnawed nervously on the inside of his cheek. He recalled the blood on the man’s clothes. “Are you in trouble?” he asked carefully.

Markus raised his eyebrows. “Why would I be in trouble?”

For beating Trent up, obviously. But neither of them had brought that up yet. And Asher wasn’t exactly eager to answer any questions Markus may have about the guy who’d assaulted him in the bathroom. Especially since it meant he’d have to own up to the fact he’d been being harassed by Trent for months – and he hadn’t told Markus about it.

When Asher remained silent, Markus carefully extracted his hand from his grip. “Like I said, I’ll be back within half an hour. Don’t hesitate to let Nigel know if you need something.”

With that, he left, leaving Asher to stew in his worry.

He couldn’t help it. Markus had never actually said no when he’d asked if he was in trouble; he’d merely deflected the question. Sure, the man once claimed he could kill someone and get away with it, but that was said in jest.

And there had been an awful lot of blood on his clothes last night.

In the end, Asher managed to sit quietly for all of two minutes before hastily lowering the partition between himself and Markus’s personal driver.

“Nigel?”

The man seemed surprised to have Asher address him, but he quickly schooled his expression. “What can I do for you, Sir? Are you thirsty? Hungry? Would you like a snack?”

Asher was torn between amusement and annoyance at the series of question. Honestly, a snack? What was he, a kindergartener?

But his worry for Markus quickly trumped both.

“I’m fine,” he assured. “It’s Markus, actually. I can’t help but be concerned. He won’t tell me, but… is he in trouble?”

Nigel’s eyebrows shot up. “What makes you think that?”

Asher stared at him incredulously before glancing pointedly in the direction of the police station.

Nigel winced. “Ah, yes, that.” But he quickly waved off Asher’s concern. “It’s nothing Sir would want you worrying about.”

“That’s not a ‘no’,” Asher pointed out.

“If it eases your mind, Mr. Kingston is here of his own volition; he was not subpoenaed. It was merely recommended by his lawyers upon learning of-” Nigel paused, hesitant, “… the other party’s condition,” he finally finished.

The other party’s condition?

Asher paled. Trent.

“Did- did he hurt Trent badly?”

Nigel winced. “I don’t think we should discuss the details.”

“Why?” Asher demanded sharply, recoiling when his throat spasmed in retaliation.

Nigel practically leapt through the opening between them to press a bottle of water into his hand, and Asher allowed the other man to fuss over him for a moment. It honestly would have been funny if he wasn’t so upset.

“Why shouldn’t we discuss it?” he asked again once he’d recovered, making sure to speak calmly so as to not aggravate his throat.

But the look in Nigel’s eyes told him the answer before his mouth did. “Mr. Kingston wouldn’t like it.”

Asher fought the urge to scoff.

But as annoyed as he was, his worry easily eclipsed it. Because Markus would only keep it a secret from him if it was bad. And if it was bad, Markus could be in very big trouble.

All because of Asher, and his stupid life choices.

Why hadn’t he told Markus about Trent and his refusal to leave Asher alone before this? There was a good chance none of this would have happened if he had.

That’s not true, a logical voice inside him pointed out. Even if you did tell Markus about him, the Trent from last night was unhinged. He probably would have still tried to corner you eventually even if Markus had intervened.

But when had logic even triumphed over something as potent and nonsensical as guilt?

And it was that guilt, along with a heaping helping of worry, that had Asher unlocking the car door, fully intending on following Markus inside the police station.

“Where are you going?” Nigel asked, a panicked edge to his voice as he once again reached through the divider into the back seat. He looked like he wanted to grab hold of Asher, but he stopped himself at the last second – like touching Asher was off limits.

“If Markus is in trouble, I have to go in and give my own statement,” Asher explained. “Whatever Trent’s injuries… Markus didn’t do anything wrong. He was only protecting me.”

“Of course he was,” Nigel agreed, the anxiety in his voice still very much present. “I know that, you know that, and the police will know that, too, when he gives his statement.”

“But what if they don’t believe him?”

Nigel’s face did this thing, twisting into an expression Asher couldn’t read, before settling a moment later. “Mr. Kingston is a very rich man,” he said eventually, clearly choosing his words carefully.

The implication was obvious enough. Even if the police didn’t believe him, money talked.

And, deep down, Asher knew Nigel was right. Markus was a literal billionaire. A powerful, white man whose face had graced the cover of Forbes magazine multiple times. In all likelihood, the police couldn’t do jackshit to him.

Yet, Asher still worried.

The indecision on his face must have been notable because Nigel kept speaking. “You want to help, and that’s admirable. But Mr. Kingston would be deeply upset if you went in there.”

“But why?” Asher couldn’t help but ask.

“I imagine he doesn’t want you to have to relive the trauma after so recently experiencing it.”

That was a sweet thought, and maybe it was even true. But Asher could tell it wasn’t the whole story. Nigel was holding something back.

“That’s all?” he pressed. “That’s the only reason?”

Nigel pressed his lips together, like he wasn’t sure if he should elaborate. “He hasn’t said as much,” he admitted after a pregnant pause, “but I believe Mr. Kingston to be concerned about your reaction when you learn the extent of the other party’s injuries.”

Asher blinked. “Oh.” A beat. “What were Trent’s injuries?”

Asher and Nigel stared each other down for several uncomfortable seconds, but despite the apologetic look on the other man’s face, he didn’t budge.

“Fine, don’t tell me.” Asher reached for the door handle. “I guess I’ll just find out myself – from the source himself.”

Nigel broke as soon as Asher pushed the door open.

“I’ll tell you,” he blurted. “Just sit and try to relax. Please .”

Relaxing was a tall order, but Asher managed to sit still and at least pretend to remain calm as the laundry list of injuries Trent had sustained came spilling out of Nigel’s mouth: contusions that covered approximately half of his body, broken bones, and finally the fractured skull and accompanying brain bleed.

It made Asher’s concussion look like child’s play.

Asher knew he was pale by the time Nigel was finished, his face feeling entirely bloodless. Which is probably what caused the man to assure him that the brain bleed was minor, and that Trent was expected to live. Sure, he was currently in a medically induced coma, but it was only so doctors could fix the damage to his face as painlessly as possible.

“I- I need to be alone to think,” Asher managed to communicate when Nigel was finished explaining the extent of Trent’s injuries.

The man reluctantly nodded, looking worried as Asher rolled back up the partition.

It would be a lie to say Asher wasn’t shaken. Markus had put Trent in a coma. (Technically the doctor’s had put Trent in the coma, but still. Markus was the one that made such a decision necessary.)

Asher forced himself to sit and think how he felt about that – to feel it.

And to his surprise, he didn’t feel bad. Yes, he was relieved Trent wasn’t dead, but it was more for Markus’s sake and the trouble the man’s death would cause him – legal or otherwise – than anything he felt towards Trent.

Not that he wanted his ex dead or anything. He just wanted the man to leave him alone.

Maybe it was wrong, but he couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief, happiness even, that this would (hopefully) be enough to finally keep Trent away for good.

Asher wasn’t sure what that said about him as a person – that he was happy despite his ex being so badly hurt – but truthfully, he was too tired from the events of the past twenty-four hours to let it concern him.

By the time Markus returned to the car, approximately fifteen minutes after Nigel had told him how bad Trent’s injuries were, Asher had come to peace with it.

He definitely didn’t want such a thing festering between them. He wanted to assure Markus that he wasn’t mad – that it didn’t change anything – but Asher wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

Markus must have been able to sense his rising anxiety regarding the issue because as soon as Nigel pulled into traffic, he was dragging Asher’s hands into his lap and rubbing his thumb over the fleshy part of his palm in a soothing manner. “Don’t worry. I made sure you won’t ever have to speak to the police about yesterday.”

Except he’d obviously misread the cause of Asher’s anxiety. And with all the grace of a newborn foal, Asher blurted out, “Is Trent really in a coma?”

Markus was clearly taken off guard by the question, bristling at the sound of Trent’s name coming from Asher’s mouth. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. “Who told you?” Markus demanded after a solid thirty seconds of staring, shoulders stiff, the tension practically rolling off of him.

Asher swallowed, fighting the urge to glance in Nigel’s direction.

He must not have succeeded because Markus turned to glare at the seat divider, like he could see through it and burn the poor man behind it alive with the intensity of his gaze alone.

“I nagged Nigel about it until he broke and told me,” Asher hurried to excuse the man, not wanting Nigel to get in trouble for something as simple as answering his questions.

An uncomfortable pause. “You were asking about him?” Markus demanded, voice clipped. “Why?”

The way the word “him” rolled off his tongue with equal amounts disgust and anger made it obvious enough he was referring to Trent.

“I don’t know,” Asher muttered, momentarily cowed. “We were at a police station-”

“And?” Markus interrupted, not letting him finished. His face and tone were unreadable, but Asher couldn’t help but feel he was skating on thin ice. “Were you worried about him?”

Asher furrowed his brow in confusion. “What? No. Of course not.”

“Fucking good!” the man all but snarled, finally exploding. “Because I don’t feel sorry at all for what I did to that stupid fucker. In fact, I wish I’d done more. I wish I’d killed him. And if he ever comes within a hundred feet of you ever again – if he so much as lays his eyes on you – I fucking will. I’ll pull his intestines out through his fucking throat and hang his worthless body from the fucking rafters, understand?”

Asher’s eyes widened at the gory description. Markus took him by the chin. “I said, do you fucking understand?” he repeated.

Asher swallowed. “I understand.”

Markus searched his eyes before eventually releasing him. “Good.”

But things weren’t “good” between them. Not yet. Because Markus honestly thought that Asher had worked himself up over Trent. It was his turn to take Markus by the face, carefully cupping his cheeks and forcing the man to look at him. “But for the record, I was never worried about Trent.” A muscle in Markus’s jaw twitched at the sound of the man’s name. “I don’t care about him. I haven’t in a long time. It was you I was concerned about when I saw we were at the police station. You were my first thought when Nigel told me the extent of Trent’s injuries.” Asher took a deep breath, gathering up the scraps of his courage. “I- I care about you. A lot.”

And finally, finally the man softened. “I care about you, too.” He pressed a kiss to Asher’s brow.

And that was that… but the tension in Markus’s shoulders lingered, and Asher couldn’t help but think he was missing something.

Asher was torn out of his reverie by the buzzing of his phone.

Sasha

Anyway, describe weird.

Idk, he’s just acting strange.

Wow. The description. The detail. It’s truly astounding. 's

He’s just been kind of distant, I guess…

I mean, we’ve barely discussed Trent at all. He literally cracked the guy’s skull open for me, but he hasn’t even asked me who he is or why he attacked me. Nothing.

Oh. Well, that’s probably because I told him.

What?! Sasha!

Chill. He grilled me over the phone while you were in the hospital. All I told him was that Trent was your ex.

Did you tell him about the texts?

I told him he’s been harassing you for a while, but that you didn’t want to bother him about it.

No wonder why he’s been so cold. He’s probably pissed at me.

Yeah, right. You could shit on that man’s floor, and I doubt he’d be able to work himself up past mild annoyance.

Danny

Ew, why would I shit on his floor?!

Sasha

Idk, it’s the first thing that came to mind!

If he’s not mad, then why is he acting so weird? Like I said, he hasn’t even brought up Trent once.

Danny

Have you brought him up?

Well… no.

Then he’s probably just following your lead. You know, respecting your privacy and giving you space and stuff.

Wow. That was actually pretty insightful.

Sasha

Kind of makes me wet.

Danny

Can we get back to the topic at hand?

Even if that is why Markus is acting so distant, what should I do about it?

Easy. You talk to him about it. You know, communicate your feelings and shit like an adult.

That sounds awful.

Sasha

That's a riot coming from you. You're the most childish person I know.

I literally caught you watching cartoons the other day.

Danny

Avatar: The Last Air Bender is a fucking classic. It doesn’t count.

Would it kill you two to stay on topic?

Sasha

Sorry. Seriously, though, it’s not bad advice, if a bit generic. Talk to him, and if he hurts your feelings, let me know. I’ll rip his balls off.

Danny

Please don’t touch my boss’s balls.

Sasha

You’re the one who offered to punch him.

Danny

Yeah, in the face. Not the gonads.

Setting down his phone before he could get pulled into his friends’ antics, Asher reflected on their advice.

Truthfully, they had a point.

There was nothing stopping Asher from bringing up Trent himself.

Well, nothing except the fear of Markus’s reaction when he found out his ex had been stalking him for months and Asher had done fuck all about it.

But according to Sasha, that particular cat was already out of the bag, so…

Maybe he’s keeping his derision hidden because he doesn’t want to yell at someone so pitiful looking, a mean voice pointed out. As soon as the bruises fade, he’ll let you know how stupid and pathetic he thinks you are.

Asher quickly squashed that voice. No. Even if Markus was upset with him, he’d never be so mean, and Asher was sick of sitting back and letting this weird energy fester between them.

It’d only been three days since he’d been discharged, but he couldn’t take much more of it. It’s not like Markus was being purposefully cruel or neglectful. Quite the opposite, in fact. The man had even taken off work to stay with him, something Asher insisted wasn’t necessary and tried to talk him out of.

But Markus wouldn’t be swayed.

At his penthouse, the man had all but confined Asher to the bed, refusing to allow him to do anything more strenuous than walk to the kitchen for a snack or the balcony to get some air. Even then, he trailed after him, no more than a few feet away at all times, like he was afraid Asher’s legs would give out at any moment and he’d fall into a dead faint.

Which was silly. It was his throat that was hurt, not his legs.

Once Asher even had to scold Markus for following him into the bathroom.

At night, the man still slipped into bed and held him. But the arms around him were always rife with tension.

And just like at the hospital, he was always staring . Sure, Asher was used to having the man’s eyes on him even before the debacle with Trent. But he’d always smile smugly when he was caught before. Now, he’d just looked away.

Like he was ashamed – like he was doing something wrong by looking at Asher.

Like Asher himself was wrong.

He had to put a stop to it.

Asher was cut abruptly from his thoughts by a raised voice suddenly emerging from the other side of the apartment – Markus’s office, probably.

Even though he’d taken off work, the man was still taking phone calls. Asher had insisted.

A few minutes later, Markus was stalking into the bedroom, muttering under his breath about “incompetent cunts” and “how hard is it to email some fucking files on time?”

Asher bit his lip. “It’s okay if you need to go into work,” he said. “I’ll be fine hanging out here on my own.”

Markus shot him an incredulous look, like Asher had suggested he sacrifice his first born instead of head into work for a few hours. “I’m staying,” he said, tone final.

Asher sighed. “Alright.”

But he couldn’t help but feel guilty. After all, Markus wouldn’t have had to take off work if it wasn’t for Asher and his drama. He considered his friends’ advice of talking about his feelings.

Maybe if it lessened some of the guilt threatening to consume him, it was worth a shot. He took a deep breath in through his nose. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, watching as Markus froze where he stood near the nightstand, gathering up the empty water bottles slowly accumulating there.

He frowned. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” Asher said. “You just seem… distant, I guess.”

Markus’s frown took on a disbelieving edge. “I’m literally right here,” he pointed out.

Asher swallowed. “I know… but you’re not even looking at me.”

It was true. While Markus was facing him, his eyes never stayed connected with Asher’s for longer than a handful of seconds, always seeming to find something more interesting to look at over his shoulder or above his head.

To Asher’s surprise, Markus didn’t deny it. “It’s hard to look at you,” he confessed, voice gruff.

Asher winced at the admission, his own gaze lowering to the sheets pooled on his lap. He couldn’t help but to twist them nervously in his hands. “I know I’m an eyesore right now-” he started.

He felt like a slob, wearing the same pajamas since yesterday. Plus, his curly hair resembled a bird’s nest, and his eyes were puffy from the disjointed sleep he’d been getting the past few nights. That was to say nothing of the ring of bruises around his neck, the finger-shaped marks having blossomed into dark purple blemishes since Saturday.

“That’s not what I meant,” Markus cut him off. He sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Every time I look at you, I can hardly believe you’re mine. I apologize if I made you feel otherwise.” He paused, pressing his lips together. “It’s just hard for me to see you hurt,” he admitted.

Asher felt awful. “I’m sorry,” he offered, voice barely more than a whisper.

“What could you possibly be sorry for?” Markus asked.

“I should have told you – about Trent. I just didn’t think he’d actually do anything. Even when he started sending those awful texts-”

“What texts?” Markus demanded.

Asher blinked. “Sasha didn’t tell you?”

Markus shook his head. “She just said he’d been harassing you. She didn’t say how.” His eyes drifted to Asher’s phone, where it sat innocently on the night stand.

Asher bit his lip. “Do… do you want to see?” he asked hesitantly.

Markus’s eyes shot back to Asher's. “Only if you want me to.”

Asher debated. On one hand, it might upset the man to see some of the threatening messages he’d been receiving from Trent. On the other hand, he’d beaten the guy into a coma for Asher. He probably deserved to know why. He reached across the bed for his phone, unlocking it before handing it to Markus.

“He’s saved under Assface.”

Asher waited nervously for the man’s reaction as he scrolled through the messages, his expression unreadable. “I only kept them in case I needed them as evidence,” he rambled, filling the silence “I didn’t really think he would ever actually do any of the stuff he said, but it seemed the prudent thing to do in case I decided to pursue a restraining order.”

A few tension-filled minutes later, Markus had finally finished reading the texts, and he looked up to meet Asher’s gaze. While his face remained almost scarily blank, his eyes were dark with what Asher could only describe as unfathomable rage.

“I’m going to kill him,” he stated plainly.

“You already put him into a coma,” Asher joked, aiming for light hearted, but missing it by mile judging by Markus’s unchanged expression.

“I’m going to cut his dick off and shove it up his ass, leave him a bloody, gaping mess, like he threatened to do to you. Then I’ll fucking kill him,” Markus reiterated.

Markus looked deathly seriously, and Asher found himself believing the man. It caused a shock of fear to shoot down his spine. Not for Trent, obviously, but for Markus. He all but climbed into the man’s lap, clinging to him despite his tense posture. “Please, Markus,” he begged, words muffled but still understandable from where his mouth was pressed into the side of his neck. “He’s not worth it.”

“He may not be worth it, but you are!” the man argued. “He said he was going to make you bleed, Asher. I can’t just let that go unpunished.”

“But you already did punish him,” Asher pointed out. “You frickin’ fractured his skull, Markus. It’s only sheer dumb luck that he isn’t dead. And Trent may be a lot of things, but he’s not an idiot. He knows if he tries to touch me again, you really will kill him. And he knows the system well enough to know you’d get away with it, too. Please. I can almost guarantee you he won’t bother me again.”

“Almost isn’t good enough.”

Asher sniffled. “ Please ,” he repeated. “I just want it to be over.”

For a moment, the man in his arms remained stiff. Then he sagged against Asher all at once, arms encircling him to pull him even closer. “Of course, baby. I’m sorry. Whatever you need.” A pause. “But I’m getting you a new phone. That’s nonnegotiable.”

Asher eagerly nodded his agreement. He’d take a new cell phone over death threats any day. “Okay, but just so you know, I tried that once already. It’s actually how I met you.” He snorted. “You know, in a weird way, we have Trent to thank for meeting each other.”

“If you’re suggesting I be grateful to that motherfucking cunt-” Markus warned darkly.

Asher winced. “Of course not,” he immediately backtracked. “It was just an observation, that’s all.”

They continued to cling to one another. The longer Asher sat in his lap, the more Markus seemed to relax, and they eventually ended up lying in bed together, legs tangled as Asher rested his head on Markus’s chest, his heartbeat a soothing melody in his ear.

Markus was running a hand up and down his side, and Asher was on the verge of falling asleep when the man spoke again. “Those texts went back months.”

Asher felt himself stiffen. “I know,” he acknowledged quietly.

A prolonged pause.

“I wish you would have told me,” Markus murmured the words into his hair. He didn’t sound mad, just heartbroken, and Asher felt like the worst person in the world for keeping it from him. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could trust me with it.”

That was enough to finally get Asher to shift from his comfortable position. “What? No!” he said, moving until he was sitting up and looking Markus in the eyes. “It’s not that! I trust you; I do .”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Asher opened his mouth, then closed it again, thinking his answer through before trying again. “I- I guess I didn’t want to bother you with it.” Markus made a face at that, but Asher soldiered on before he could interrupt him. “I mean, think about it. It’s not like we’re in a real relationship. It’s an arrangement based on a contact that stipulates I have sex with you for money. The last thing I wanted to do was burden you with ex-boyfriend drama.”

Markus was quiet for a long time – so long that Asher was forced to gather his courage and lift his gaze from his lap, where it had settled during his spiel. To Asher’s surprise, Markus looked hurt. “Is that all you think you are to me…” he asked, sitting up, “…an ‘arrangement’?”

Asher nervously wet his lips. He knew Markus cared about him, obviously, but… “I- I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Do you think I shower all my sexual partners with gifts?” Markus asked.

“I mean, you’re definitely rich enough to-”

“And give away family heirlooms?” Markus interrupted, taking Asher by the wrist and thumbing under the wristwatch there.

Asher’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know it was a family heirloom,” he protested.

“You think I invite them to my penthouse every night?” he pressed. “Let the stay over and putz about my kitchen, cooking us breakfast the next morning? You think I feed them soup when they’re sick, and break open the skulls of their repulsive ex-boyfriends?”

Asher swallowed. “No,” he conceded in a whisper.

“Do you know the last time I took a day off work before I met you?” Markus asked, the question obviously rhetorical. “Two years ago, when my grandmother died. But since meeting you, I’ve been late, taken off early, or simply missed days altogether at least a dozen times-”

Asher nibbled on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not telling you to make you feel sorry,” Markus finally snapped at Asher, reaching forward to pluck that lip out of his mouth. “I’m telling you to make you see . I’ve never done anything like this for anyone before. I’ve never wanted to. But with you… I want to give you the fucking world, you understand?” Markus took a deep breath, seemingly to calm himself. “I don’t claim to be an expert on relationships, but to call this thing between us a mere arrangement is fucking blasphemous, Asher. Surely , you know that. Surely , you know the feelings I have for you are real.”

The proud man was pleading with Asher, and he felt shame well in his chest. “I know you care about me…” he hedged.

“Then what’s holding you back?” the man demanded. His brow furrowed a moment later, the light in his eyes shuttering. “Unless you don’t feel the same way…”

“I do!” Asher hastily assured, grabbing the man by the forearms before he could pull away. “Of course I do! I mean, I almost cried that one time I thought you were ignoring me, and I brought cookies to your office on my day off like a schoolgirl with a crush. I think about you every day and every night.” His cheeks flushed at the admission. “You make me so happy. All I want is to make you happy, too.”

“You make me the happiest man in the world, baby,” Markus promised.

Asher pressed his lips together, nodding. “It’s just… the contract,” he finally confessed. “I try to put it out of my mind, but my brain won’t let me forget. It.. it bothers me,” he whispered shamefully.

A pause.

“Is that all?”

Asher frowned. “What do you mean, is that all?”

“I mean, if you want me to, I’ll rip it up.”

Asher blinked. “You’d do that for me?” he asked.

“You have no idea how far the depths of what I’d do for you goes. I’d have ripped the damn thing up ages ago if I knew it bothered you so much.”

“Really?”

Markus tucked a wayward curl behind Asher’s ear. “Of course. I thought you liked the extra security the contract provided.”

“Huh. I guess Danny was right about this whole communicating your feelings stuff.”

Markus hummed, leaning forward and brushing his nose against Asher’s. “Well, in the spirit of open communication… say another man’s name in our bed again, and I’m going to make sure the only words coming out of your mouth for the rest of the night involve you begging for my cock.” He backed up. “When you’re feeling better, of course.”

Asher pouted. “You can’t threaten me with good time and then take it back.”

Markus snorted. “You’re adorable.”

“I prefer the term sexy,” he joked before starting to play with his fingers, feeling shy all of a sudden. “Does this mean I can officially refer to you as my boyfriend to my friends?” he asked.

Markus tilted his head to the side, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Only if you still call me Daddy in private.”

Asher rolled his eyes. “Of course, Daddy.”

“Come here,” Markus demanded, voice husky as he once again pulled Asher into lap. Their lips met in a surprisingly sweet kiss. They took their time, languidly exploring each other’s mouths until Asher felt drunk off the taste of the man. Despite the thick erection Asher could feel pressed up against his own growing… situation , however, the kiss remained soft, no intention from either of them to take it any further.

It wasn’t long after that Asher found himself cocooned in the warm embrace of his boyfriend , once again on the brink of sleep. And for the first time since that that fateful encounter with Trent in Cloud Nine’s bathroom, Asher felt like maybe, just maybe , everything would be okay.

That feeling lasted for all of a week.