"Way nice." He hummed, glancing back once Cyrus had changed. He stood and slipped on an oversized sweater. Marcus couldn't find the energy to actually get ready.
"I don't wanna get dresssseddd." He whined, looking over at Cyrus. "Can I go in this?"
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“We’re not going anywhere fancy. Suit yourself,” Cyrus said, shrugging.
He had pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans himself, which was better than leaving in plaid pajama pants as far as he was concerned.
Marcus skipped over to Cyrus and kissed his cheek, grinning. "Thanks love~ Lets go!" He gently tugged on the other male's arm, leading him towards the door.
He was still wearing his pajama bottoms but at least they were sweatpants so it just looked like he had gotten lazy. Which he had. Marcus really didn't mind. He already got a bad rap from being a gang member and all and it wasn't like he could hide it when Marx was so open with his little 'toy'.
Cyrus followed, suddenly feeling more nervous than before.
He checked his phone again for a response. Still nothing.
“Yeah, we should probably hurry. I’m getting all sorts of bad feelings.”
"Want to hold my hand?" He asked softly, offering his hand as he spoke. Marcus was worried for Cyrus. He didn't exactly know who Cyrus's friend was to him but he would trust his boyfriend and help out the other male if it meant dying for him.
“Mhm,” Cyrus gave a subtle nod and clasped the other’s hand firmly.
“I love you. Thanks for being with me.”
Marcus gave his hand a squeeze, smiling weakly up at the other. "I love you too, Cy. I'm going to be here for you for as long as you want me." He purred, kissing Cyrus's cheek. "I love you a lot."
Cyrus leaned into the kiss. He found himself squeezing the other’s hand tighter. His palms started to sweat as he approached the apartment building. Cyrus scanned the parking lot. Pollux’s motorcycle was still there. He pointed this out to Marcus.
Marcus's eyes were darting around like a scared rabbit among wolves. He remained on edge, one hand in Cyrus's and the other near his weapon, ready to pull it at any point. He slid closer to Cyrus to try and comfort him, staring at the motorcycle.
"Maybe he did just sleep in…?" He offered wearily.
“M-maybe…”
Cyrus walked up the stairs to the man’s door. He backed up a few steps and grabbed his gun when he saw what happened.
“It’s open,” he murmured, “The hinges…”
Something seemed off. Someone had to have broken in.
“Fuckin’ hell, dude…”
Marcus immediately went on the defense, his own gun pulled from it's place and aimed at the door. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
"Cy, I don't like this…" He murmured, tensed and baring his teeth at the scene in front of them. He could only see the door and he was already filled with fear. This situation was all too familiar.
Cyrus banged his fist on the door frame, trying to gauge if anyone was inside.
“PD!” He shouted, banging again.
Both times he listened. No obvious movement from inside.
“I think we’re safe to go in. Stay on guard,” Cyrus said.
He slowly pushed open the door, terrified at what he might see. At first glance, it was only apparent that a bookshelf had been knocked over. Cyrus kept his gun up. No telling what would be in the bedroom or bathroom.
Marcus felt his chest tighten, the loud bang making him jump. The skittish gang member pulled another weapon from his pocket; a small butterfly knife he flicked open. He willed his hands to steady and completely wiped his mind of emotion.
It was the whole reason Marcus had been chosen by the gang. He went into a state of dissociation so hard he could do anything without hesitation.
Cyrus lead the way, scanning the room. It was empty. The kitchen, also empty.
He took a deep breath and went into the bedroom. The door was open. Nothing. The covers were overturned, which wasn’t unusual, but that was all, aside from the room looking like it maybe needed cleaning.
Same with the bathroom. Cyrus reached up to touch the towel hanging by the door. It was still damp, probably from this morning, or last night at the earliest. Then again, they knew he was here yesterday.
“Nothing, really…” Cyrus murmured, “How strange.”
He had been expecting to see a bloody crime scene, or at least the traces of a struggle, but there was nothing.
Marcus focused on the bedroom for a moment or two, studying the overturned sheets. He didn't speak or acknowledge Cyrus for a moment or two, letting his mind drift off. When he came to, his emotions seemed to be back in check.
"What even happened here?" he murmured, a little exhausted by his emotional shut down.
“I… don’t know? Not a murder, I don’t think,” Cyrus said, “I wonder if he left his valuables?”
He picked up his phone and called Pollux, listening for a ring anywhere in the house. Again, nothing.
“Didn’t leave his phone, I don’t see his wallet anywhere obvious.”
Cyrus checked a couple of drawers to make sure that was true. It was.
“This is some weird shit.”
Marcus rubbed at his head, groaning. "I hate this, so much. Where could he have gone? He couldn't have just disappeared… the room is too orderly for it to have been a kidnapping though…" He murmured.
“He took all his things with him too. His wallet, his phone… It’s weird. He would’ve put up one hell of a fight too, so that can’t be it. But then there’s the matter of that toppled bookshelf. Looks like someone got pissed and knocked it over, honestly,” Cyrus reasoned.
"There's no signs of struggle other than that…" Marcus grew ever more frustrated with it, looking around. "People don't just disappear like this, Cy… It doesn't make any sense unless he got angry and broke the hinges on the door and knocked over the bookcase.
“He’s not like that,” Cyrus sighed, shaking his head, “He wouldn’t-“
His phone started to buzz, and he held it up.
“It’s… him?”
He answered and put it on speaker.
“Pollux, what the fuck is going on?”
“Christ, why so hostile?”
Cyrus paused for a second, mulling over the whole scene.
“Where are you?”
“Oh, about that… I’m in the hospital- but I’m okay.”
His voice was a little raspy and laced with exhaustion, but he was very much alive. Cyrus’ eyes widened.
“They came here to kill him,” he told Marcus, “But he wasn’t here.”
“Cy, what are you talking about?”
Marcus breathed a sigh of relief, sitting down on the edge of the bed before flopping backwards onto it. "I hate things like this. I hate it. I need to light something up…" He murmured, more to himself than to anyone. He began rubbing at his arms, looking up at Cyrus.
"He wasn't here so they got angry and knocked the shelf over? That story fits." He noted, tilting his head.
“Or left it as a threat or message,” Cyrus agreed.
“Cyrus?”
“Pollux, don’t come back home. I think someone came to kill you.”
The other end of the line went silent for a few seconds.
“Oh…”
“Pollux, are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah, yeah. They’ve got me pumped full of drugs right now, so I don’t feel that bad. You and… Marcus, was it? You’re welcome to visit if you want to talk more.”
“I’ll let you know if we do, okay?”
“Yeah, man. Keep me posted. That’s some scary shit.”
“Of course. Bye.”
Cyrus looked over to his boyfriend. “It’s times like this at which I’m almost glad I have anxiety. If I didn’t, I may have never given his nonresponse a second thought. I might have dismissed it.”
Marcus listened in carefully, biting his lip. In a way he was happy someone remembered his name for once but he was also scared that it would tie Pollux to him. Marx wouldn't like that. Marcus would do his best to keep the others out of it all.
"I'm a little glad too, but I'm also sad that you have it. It hurts you, and I'm afraid I don't help when I need to." He replied, sighing deeply. "But he's okay, right? What was he in the hospital for?"
“He didn’t say, but I think he had a bad asthma attack. Remember how sick he was yesterday?” Cyrus recalled, “I’m glad he actually went in, though. As for where he’ll go once he gets out, I just… I don’t know. Clearly it’s not safe.”
"He was really sick, I was a little worried. Did he take some medicine for it at least?" Marcus asked, tilting his head. He sat up and hugged his knees to his chest, thinking for a moment.
"What if we made sure he was okay..? I'm free for the next week or so, like I mentioned earlier, I know its not the most romantic thing to do together but, it'd keep him safe. And he's important to you so he's important to me."
“Yeah, he started up a breathing treatment when we were leaving yesterday. I don’t think he landed himself in the hospital for lack of trying to take care of himself,” Cyrus said, “And I’d appreciate it. I think we’re better off trying to get the target off his back mostly, but I do want to check in on him.”
Cyrus rubbed the back of his neck.
“That shit’s scary… I’m so glad he’s okay.”
Marcus nodded, offering his hand to Cyrus and taking in a deep breath. "I thought I was going to have to shoot someone… and I didn't really care in that moment. I went blank again… I think it's a coping mechanism. It's like I zone out and my emotions disappear, I just go blank and off into my own head." He murmured, shivering. "I'm glad he's okay too, I'm glad we're okay."
“That sounds like… dissociation? I think? I don’t know really, because I don’t experience it, but… I’m so glad you didn’t have to shoot anyone. God, I was far more worried we were gonna stumble upon a crime scene,” Cyrus said, taking Marcus’ hand.
“What do we even do? I want to get this cleared up before they discharge him, if it’s possible.”
“I hate it.” He huffed, looking at Cy as he spoke. “What would we even do if we came across a crime scene. It’s not like either of us can call the police… we’re both carrying weapons, mine is illegal, and we’re both mixed up with gangs or assassins or things of that sort.”
It would be quite the predicament if they came across a crime scene…
“I- I don’t even know. Do we go after the ones who tried to kill him…?”
“They were probably following orders,” Cyrus sighed, “From my old man. So taking them out doesn’t protect Pollux.”
He groaned.
“I wish we didn’t have to take matters into our own hands like this.”