Chapter One

Vincent was sitting in his recliner petting his cat with one hand and holding his book with his other. It was a quiet Wednesday night and everything seemed normal until there was a knock then a thud on the door.

He looked up at the sound, pulling off his reading glasses and setting the two objects onto the nightstand next to him before standing up.  It took him no more than a few moments to grab a bat and walk to the door.

He opened it, readying himself for anything.

Yet seeing his rival beaten and bloody on his doorstep was not what he expected.

Quiet sobbing escaped from the smaller man with white hair. He was shaking and losing a lot of blood quickly. His clothes were drenched with blood and torn to shreds to reveal all his wounds.

"I-I… d-didn't know where… else to go…" he breathed before losing consciousness and going limp. His breathing had almost completely stopped and his heartbeat was barely there.

Vincent cursed under his breath, glancing around to make sure there was no one else around before he set the bat aside.  He leaned down, hooking his arms around the other's torso a bit awkwardly and heaving him up and over his shoulder.  Carefully he used his foot to close the door before moving to help.  It was a practiced caution that had kept him alive so far.  Then, with a quiet sigh, he moved to set him on the nearest couch, laying him on his side and taking a step back to assess the damage.

It was indescribably horrible to look at and it looked really serious.

Vincent was up all night and most of the morning tending to his arch enemy's gashes and bruises. He stitched him up and washed him before bandaging the rest. He put the smaller boy in a pair of boxers, a T-shirt that was too big on him and a really oversized sweater.

He picked him up and laid him in his bed since he didn't want to lay him back in blood. He tucked him into the bed before sitting down on the bed next to him to rest for a moment only to end up passing out next to him.

Vincent was awake every time he felt a movement.  After the seventh time, he got up, seeing the bright blue numbers of his alarm clock blaring 4:30AM at him.  He sighed, rubbing his eyes a bit and glancing over at the one still asleep in his bed.

From the look of it everything seemed to be holding together.  He walked out of the room, moving into the kitchen to make himself something sweet to drink.

Five minutes later there was a loud terrified scream from his bedroom.

Vincent audibly cursed, nearly spilling his drink at the sudden sound.  He set the mug down, hurrying back into the room and next his rival's side.

The boy was awake and looked confused and scared. He was shaking and cowered when he saw Vincent come in.

He stayed a few feet away from him, seeing that something was wrong.  "Hey, you feeling good enough to tell me what happened?"

"W-Who are you? W-where am I? Why am I-I here?" The boy looked at him with terrified golden eyes.

"I guess not…"  He breathed to himself.  Then he looked back at the other.  "Vincent Grahm.  You are in my house, and you're here because you showed up on my doorstep nearly dead and bleeding out.

"Now, it's a bit of a stretch, but I'd like to know how bad the current situation is and to do so I need to know whether or not you can remember your own name."  Vincent took a step forward, leaning a bit to let their eyes assume the same level.  "So tell me.  Do you know your name?"

"I-I can't remember."

Vincent eyed him for a minute, then sat down where he was.  "Great."

"Vince… were we friends?" He looked at him with fear in his eyes.

He looked back up at him when he asked that, face resting on his hand as he debated on how to answer.  Then he decided.

"Yeah," he said, "we were."

This response, he knew, was probably going to be what gets him killed in the future.  How far in the future he didn't know.  But he could feel it.  The rock that settled in the pit of his stomach upon saying those words and the sudden detail in the things around him.

Vincent covered his eyes, holding his breath as he thought.

"Will you take care of me and keep me safe?"

He didn't reply for a few minutes.  Then, slowly, he stood back up, letting out a long sigh.  "You can stay here, if that's what you want.  But you'll have to pull your weight or it's off."  He stared him in the eyes now.  

"I don't know what that means."

"It means, Michael, that if you make a mess and don't clean it, I'll kick you out."  He stared him down while saying that, making sure he could see the realization click in his eyes before he turned and walked out of the room.

"I've made cocoa, if you'd like some."  He called behind him, closing the door to give Michael some space.

"Wait! Is Michael my name?" He called after him.

He got no response.  

Vincent picked up his half empty mug, disappointed but not surprised when he felt it was cold.  Silently, he set it into the microwave, turning on his electric kettle to reboil the water that was inside as he waited.  If Michael did end up wanting some he'd at least get things prepared.

Michael was able to stumble into the kitchen after lots of falling and holding himself up on things.

He leaned against the counter "You called me Michael. Is that my name?"

Vincent finished stirring the liquid of the mug in his hand, looking over at him.  "It is."

He moved over to where Michael had stopped, setting the mug down on the counter and gesturing at an empty stool.  He retrieved his own from the microwave, taking a sip from it to test it's heat.  Satisfied, he leaned against the stove facing Michael.

Michael sat in the chair and sighed his body screaming in pain. He sipped the hot chocolate. "This is really good."

"It's just a mixture of chocolate and milk, nothing special."  He said, finishing what was left of his own before setting the mug into the sink.

Before he could say anything else, his phone dinged.  He looked over at it.  Another message notification from a private number most likely coming to him for a job.  

"Good timing…" He muttered to himself, picking up the phone to look at the message.

When he glanced back up at Michael a minute later he was asleep on the stool with his head resting on his arm on the counter.

Vincent took a few moments to watch him breathe.  The somewhat steady rhythmic movement made his tense muscles loosen a bit, and he pressed call.

The phone rang for about four beats before someone answered. 

"Give me whatever info you have."  He said, hopping backwards to sit on the counter, eyes not moving from Michael once.

"Steven Linson is walking down your street. He's one hundred yards away. I have Lola taking taking him past your apartment. You remember Lola from the Johnson disappearance? Kill him in any way you want and hide the body. You'll be getting 20 thousand." A man's voice replied.

Vincent nodded, despite the other being unable to see it.  "Got it."

He hopped back down, grabbing a random knife from the rack and the trashcan before heading to the door.  

Vincent opened it when he heard a pair of voices getting louder, setting the trashcan down behind him and to the left so it was accessable but out of the way.

He made eye contact with Lola.  She patted Steven's shoulder, demanding his attention before punching him in the nose.  He stumbled back to where Vincent stood ready, making a noise when he felt himself getting grabbed from behind.  

Vincent grabbed him over the mouth to muffle it a bit, twisting Steven off balance and holding him face down into the trashcan.  Without a second thought, he placed the tip of his knife to the soft part of the side of Steven's throat and pierced the skin, thrusting it in somewhat deep and then ripping forward into the trashcan.  

The cut had cleanly severed the carotid artery, and Vincent made sure to take the extra effort to open the trachea to lessen the outward flow of blood.

Steven was dead within minutes.

Vincent went back into his apartment after disposing of the body using the method of dumping the body in a homeless person's barrel fire when the homeless person was digging through a dumpster.

Vincent took a shower and treated then washed his clothes before getting dressed and going to the kitchen where Michael had fallen on the floor from the stool and was still asleep.

He sighed and picked Michael up, taking him to his bedroom. He set Michael down and was about to leave when he felt a half asleep Michael gently grabbing his hand.

"Will you please sleep next to me in the bed?" Michael asked looking up at him with lidded eyes. The look he was giving Vincent made him get a weird feeling in his chest.

He considered it for a few moments, before shaking his head.  "I've still got things to do, so I won't be able to join you."

"Just until I fall asleep? Please?" He begged.

Vincent stared him down until Michael looked away from him.  He stayed like that for a few more moments, then let out a long sigh, moving to get onto the bed next to him.

"When did you become so needy?"  He mumbled quietly to himself.

Once Vincent was in bed with him, Michael laid his head on Vincent's chest and snuggled up against him.

"I'm sorry I just… I dunno…" Michael mumbled.

He didn't reply, instead choosing to set a hand lightly against the back of Michael's head, running his hand through his hair in a smooth and rhythmic motion.   Then after a minute or two, he spoke again.  "This is a one time thing, got it?"

Michael was already asleep, breathing softly. He looked so sweet and precious like something Vincent would want to keep safe.

Vincent watched him for a while, feeling the steady beat of Michael's heartbeat against his heart.  Then his phone buzzed.  He picked it up, glancing at the new notification.  It was a "job well done" from the guy who hired him.  Paid full and wired to his account.  

"Glad he realised that being paid partial doesn't sit with his clients."  He said quietly to himself.

Michael held him tight as he slept.