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Vincent didn’t speak on the walk home. He kept his head down, hoodie pulled tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Alastor walked half a step ahead with his shoulders stiff and his jaw set. Every line of his body carried a quiet irritation Vincent could feel even without looking at him. The night air was cool, but Vincent felt hot under his skin, as if shame had turned into a fever.
They’d done jobs together many times. They were good at it. Efficient, quiet, a perfect pair. Vincent’s precision and Alastor’s planning. Vincent’s speed and Alastor’s calm. They fit together like two halves of a single blade. Tonight hadn’t been like that. Tonight had been a mess. Vincent’s fault. He knew it with every step.
Alastor unlocked the door to their flat with a sharp twist of the key and pushed it open without looking back. Vincent followed silently and closed it behind him. Alastor walked into the living room, dropped his coat over the back of a chair, and stood with his hands braced on the table, head bowed.
Vincent hovered in the doorway, unsure if he should speak or stay quiet or disappear entirely. The silence stretched until it felt heavy enough to crush him.
Finally Alastor exhaled. The sound was long and slow, like he was trying very hard not to snap.
Vincent flinched when he heard his name. “Yeah.”
Alastor turned. His eyes were sharp, but not cruel. They held disappointment, worry, and annoyance all tangled together. “What was that.”
Vincent swallowed. His throat felt tight. “I messed up.”
“Yes,” Alastor said. His irritation flickered across his face. “You did.”
Vincent’s stomach twisted.
Alastor stepped closer and stopped just in front of him. He didn’t touch him. He didn’t raise his voice. The tension in him was palpable. “He grabbed you. He got close enough to grab you. He almost took your knife.”
Vincent nodded, eyes dropping. “I know.”
“And if he had,” Alastor continued, his voice tightening, “he would’ve gone for me next.”
Vincent’s breath hitched. “I know.”
“Do you understand how dangerous that was. For both of us.”
Vincent’s eyes stung. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know you didn’t mean to,” Alastor said, sharper now. He closed his eyes and steadied himself. When he opened them again, the anger was still there, but muted. “Meaning doesn’t matter. You slipped. You panicked. You lost control.”
Vincent’s hands trembled. He shoved them deeper into his pockets. “I’m sorry.”
Alastor’s jaw clenched. “I know you are.”
Silence again. Vincent felt small and stupid, like he’d ruined everything. He hadn’t been afraid during the job. He’d been afraid afterward, when he saw the look on Alastor’s face. The tightness around his eyes. The way he’d stepped between Vincent and the body, scanning the alley for witnesses. The way he’d grabbed Vincent’s wrist to check for injuries with hands that shook.
Alastor wasn’t angry because Vincent had killed someone badly. He was angry because Vincent had scared him.
Vincent’s voice cracked. “I didn’t want to put you in danger.”
Alastor’s expression softened just enough to make Vincent’s chest ache. “I know. But you did.”
Vincent blinked hard, trying to keep tears from spilling.
Alastor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Come here.”
Vincent hesitated, then stepped forward.
Alastor reached out and cupped his cheek. His thumb brushed a smear of dried blood. Vincent winced at the touch, not because it hurt, but because it was gentle.
“You’re shaking,” Alastor said quietly.
Vincent nodded, unable to speak.
Alastor’s irritation melted into something warm and heavy and unbearably tender. “Oh sweetheart. Come here.”
He pulled Vincent into his arms. Vincent collapsed against him and buried his face in Alastor’s shoulder. His breath hitched, then broke, and he clung to Alastor’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Alastor wrapped both arms around him and held him tight. Not possessive. Not punishing. Just steady and grounding. Vincent trembled harder.
Alastor pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “You scared me.”
Vincent’s voice was muffled against his shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not angry,” Alastor said softly. “Not really.”
Vincent pulled back just enough to look at him. “You sounded angry.”
“I was annoyed,” Alastor corrected gently. “Annoyed because you’re better than that. Annoyed because you’re careful. Annoyed because you don’t make mistakes like that.”
Vincent’s eyes filled again.
“And,” Alastor added, brushing Vincent’s cheek with his thumb, “annoyed because I love you, and seeing you slip like that made my heart stop.”
Vincent’s breath caught.
Alastor kissed his forehead. “You’re allowed to have bad nights.”
Vincent shook his head. “Not like that.”
“Yes,” Alastor said firmly. “Exactly like that.”
Vincent sagged against him again, and Alastor held him close, rocking him slightly.
After a few minutes, Alastor pulled back. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Vincent nodded, exhausted.
Alastor guided him to the bathroom. Vincent sat on the edge of the tub while Alastor dampened a cloth and began wiping the blood from his cheek. The cloth was warm and the touch gentle.
Vincent winced. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize for flinching,” Alastor murmured.
He cleaned the smear from Vincent’s jaw, the flecks from his neck, the dried patch on his sleeve. He inspected the scrape on Vincent’s arm, shallow and nothing serious, and cleaned it with careful precision.
Vincent watched him with soft, tired eyes. “You’re being nice.”
Alastor glanced up. “Shouldn’t I be.”
“You were annoyed.”
“I still am,” Alastor admitted. “But I love you more than I’m annoyed.”
Vincent’s breath hitched.
Alastor leaned in and kissed his forehead. “You’re mine. I take care of what’s mine.”
Vincent’s eyes fluttered shut.
They moved to the sofa. Alastor wrapped a blanket around Vincent’s shoulders and made cocoa. Vincent curled up with his knees to his chest and watched Alastor move around the kitchen with quiet competence. When Alastor returned, he sat close enough that their thighs touched.
Vincent leaned into him automatically.
Alastor kissed the top of his head.
Vincent whispered, “I messed up.”
Alastor replied, “You’re allowed to.”
Vincent hid his face in Alastor’s shoulder. Alastor held him tighter and threaded his fingers through Vincent’s hair.
“You’re safe,” Alastor murmured. “We’re safe. That’s what matters.”
Vincent exhaled shakily.
They stayed like that until Vincent’s breathing evened out and the trembling stopped. Eventually Vincent fell asleep against Alastor’s chest with the blanket slipping off one shoulder. Alastor adjusted it gently, kissed his forehead, and whispered, “Don’t scare me like that again.”
His voice was soft and full of relief.