Cyrus leaned over the counter, trying to take Marcus' advice, but it was difficult. In his mind he knew everything was fine, but still, everything felt out of control. He took in a deep, shaky breath and tried to hold it for a few seconds, only for his body to immediately force all the air out of him.
He tried again, to the same effect.
Instead, Cyrus tried to ground himself by focusing on the circular motions that Marcus' hand made into his back, but he was stuck. There was nothing he could do but ride out the intense panic at this point.
Marcus stayed by his side, worry spread across his face. He didn’t make an attempt to hug or to do anything other than the soft circles. He was too afraid he’d make the other feel trapped.
So he stood there with Cyrus, worriedly looking him over.
Cyrus had no clue how long it had been when things started to ease up a bit, but he was just grateful it was over. He buried his head in his hands as his breathing slowed, absolutely horrified that Marcus already had to see that. Or had to see him like this at all. Ever.
"I'm… sorry…" he whispered.
Cyrus felt physically terrible. There were the hangover symptoms, plus the still-persisting tremble of his hands, the weird emptiness, the numbness that set into his extremities and face. He felt like he might throw up too.
“It’s okay, don’t apologize. You cant control those.” He murmured. “It’s all okay now. Come here.” He opened his arms wide for a hug, gesturing for the other to come closer. “Come here. Give me a huuuug”
Cyrus leaned down to bury his head into Marcus’ shoulder.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered,
rubbing his cheek.
His body still shook a bit.
Marcus tensed at that. He gently took Cyrus in a tight hug, running his fingers through his hair. “Drink some more water, it’ll help, love. If you do think you’re going to be sick, I’ll help you to the bathroom.”
“Thanks…” Cyrus whispered, “Yeah, um…”
He started towards the bathroom, trying to maintain any calm he had left.
He pushed his hair out of his face and leaned over the toilet.
Ugh… just let this be over already…
Marcus moved to help him, gently brushing the strands of hair from his face. “Did I scare you this morning?” He asked slowly. “Was it a nightmare?”
“N-no… it just was…” Cyrus whispered.
He coughed and gagged a bit before vomiting. There wasn’t much on his stomach in the first place, so it wasn’t much, but it was still miserable.
Marcus had to turn his head away, scrunching up his nose in a slight disgust. Despite seeing things much worse than vomit, Marcus found he quite disliked the liquid. Who didn't?
"Would you like some medicine?" He asked, moving to sit on the floor next to the other, slowly tracing lines up and down the other's arm. "Or something to help at least the hangover?"
“No, that’s okay,” Cyrus sighed, “I think I’m good. I just need… I just need a bit to recover from the panic attack. I’ll drink more water, but…”
He lowered his head.
“I’m so sorry…”
Cyrus’ hands were shaking still.
"It's okay, Cyrus. Never apologize for a panic attack. They happen." He reassured, taking one of Cyrus's shaking hands and bringing it up to his lips in a gentle kiss. "Rest and recover for as long as you want."
“Well… not exactly something I wanted you to see this early on,” Cyrus replied, leaning back up against the wall.
He wiped sweat from his forehead.
“I’ve… I’ve had pretty bad anxiety all my life, so… that was nothing new.”
“I would have eventually seen it, Cyrus. You can tell me anything.” He replied confidently. That confidence seemed to fade.
“I don’t know how you deal with it…” Marcus mumbled, pulling his knees into his chest. “I only get it bad when someone holds me down…” he admitted, rubbing at his wrists in memory of rough hands that forced him down.
He suddenly jolted, eyes going wide. “Shit I have to see Marx today… he said nine right!?”
"I don't know, I wasn't paying enough attention," Cyrus admitted, "Do what you need to prepare. I'll be alright. I mean, I usually handle this alone. One show of it to anyone in the gang, and… well… my old man isn't having any of that… Can't have a son who reflects poorly on him, I guess."
He ran a hand through Marcus' hair.
"You're going to be okay. I know it's hell, but you've been here before, you've pushed through it, and I swear to god it won't be like this forever."
Cyrus stopped for a second, frowning and rubbing his cheek.
"Shit, I still can't feel my face."
Marcus gave the other a soft hug, gently kissing his cheek. “As soon as I’m done I’m going to call you. You shouldn’t have to be alone.” He smiled reassuringly at Cyrus, nuzzling into his cheek.
“I know it won’t… I want it to pass sooner but I have to be patient. And as for your face, I don’t have much to help. There’s some GABA supplements in the cabinet. I don’t use them too often so I’m not sure how effective they’ll be. I heard they’re supposed to help.” He laughed nervously, sighing sadly as he pulled away and moved to stand. “Give me a call if you need to talk. I’ll try and pick up if I’m not… occupied.”
Cyrus gave a halfhearted smile.
"Alright. I'll be here, and I'll be okay. Please stay safe. Thanks for you know… being here."
He was terrified. He wanted to kill Marx. Cyrus barely knew the guy, but he knew all he needed to know. No one deserved this kind of abuse. No one.
Marcus grabbed Cyrus’s face and stole a big smooch, grinning as he started out the bathroom door. “I’ll be safe. There’s a spare key to this apartment in the violin book by my bed, take it. Use this place as your safe space.” He hummed, walking into his bedroom to get dressed.
He wouldn’t lie, his entire body was wracked with a deep fear. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen to him today but he knew it wouldn’t be good.
Cyrus felt a flush pass over his face.
"I appreciate it."
While Marcus was getting dressed, Cyrus cleaned himself up a bit at the sink, splashing water over his face and washing his mouth out. When he was done, he walked out, towards the bedroom.
"I mean it though. Please stay safe. Please."
He turned to look in the direction Cyrus’ voice had come in, now wearing an absolutely tattered pair of jeans and that familiar jacket. He gave the other a small smile. “Don’t worry about me, Cyrus. It’s nothing I haven’t done…” he murmured, stretching as he checked the time. “I should go so Marx doesn’t kill me.”
Cyrus nodded, any words he had left catching in his throat. He was already so worried of being left behind again.
“Bye,” he managed.
Shit. He was shaking pretty badly again.
The smaller male gave the other a sweet smile, waving as he pocketed a handgun he had pulled from a drawer in his dresser. He had many more. Marcus was always paranoid about someone breaking in to harm him. Rival gangs were terrifying sometimes especially towards him as he was the second hand man to Marx.
“You be safe too, okay? I- I really like you… I want to meet up more.” He murmured gently, blushing lightly as he turned to leave the apartment.
His phone buzzed impatiently and Marcus knew exactly who it was.
Cyrus was at a loss for words. He smiled weakly and waved to Marcus.
Once the other was gone, Cyrus went to shower. He closed his eyes and let the water wash over his face.
Marcus bit his lip, daring to look at the text he had received. The message sent chills up his spine.
’There’s another who skipped their payment, Marcy~’
(Ima do a little time skippy right here)
The ash and smoke burned his lungs; the smell of burning gas and wood made him choke.
He was aware of the sirens that wailed in the distance but didn’t quite register them as he slid down the wall to watch his work unfold.
Fire was such a beautiful thing. It licked and clawed and ate, seeking any salvation it could find in the form of destruction and devastation. It lived and breathed while managing to be something completely other than a living being.
Marcus reveled in the fact that he too was like fire, gasping and sputtering for anything to grab onto and break, destroy, redeem. It made him laugh out loud, the sound manic and gruff.
His enjoyment was cut short by a hand grabbing his arm. Marx. a pant of fear swept over Marcus, his whole body standing on edge as the gang leader drew him close.
“What a lovely job you did today~” The crooked man cooed. Marcus knew he wasn’t talking about the fire. A shudder ran through his body as Marx finally pulled away and wandered back down the alley. “Go home, Marcy. I’ll call you back when we need you.”
Cyrus spent most of the day sleeping, occasionally waking up parched. He tried to drink a lot of water to offset it, but he still felt awful. A lot of time had passed, and he still hadn’t heard back from Marcus.
He reached for his phone and typed,
Hey. Is everything okay?
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