MIX-UP (JossGawin)

Chapter 14

As the night deepened, the apartment settled into a tranquil stillness. Tong and Joe were lost in sleep, their breaths steady, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional creak of the old building. Shadows stretched long across the walls, softened by the faint glow of the streetlights outside.

In Tong's room, Mark leaned down, brushing a cool kiss against Tong's cheek. "Sleep well, Tong," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, laced with an unfamiliar tenderness.

For a moment, he lingered, watching Tong's face relax in slumber, the hard edges of his usual bravado softened by sleep. Then, like a wisp of smoke, Mark slipped out, moving silently through the apartment. 

His departure stirred Tong slightly—he mumbled something unintelligible and burrowed deeper into the pillow, unaware of the vampire's absence.

Outside, the night air was crisp and biting, but Mark welcomed the chill as he traveled north through the dark expanse of Northern City. The cold wrapped around him like an old companion, familiar and indifferent. 

He moved with preternatural grace, the world blurring around him, the stars overhead cold and distant. He had told no one of this journey—not even Tong. There were loose ends to tie, debts to pay, and ghosts to confront.

Yet, as he raced through the night, Mark's thoughts betrayed him, drifting back to the small apartment he had left behind. Tong's laugh, Joe's dry humor, the strange warmth that had begun to seep into his frozen heart. 

He hadn't felt such a connection in centuries. It was unfamiliar, unsettling—and yet, he couldn't bring himself to push it away.

Morning arrived too soon. Soft light filtered through Joe's window, casting long shadows across the room. He stretched lazily, feeling more rested than usual, though an odd unease lingered just beneath the surface. 

Memories of the previous day—the strange events, the tension—flickered briefly before he brushed them aside.

In the kitchen, the rich aroma of coffee filled the air. Tong stood by the counter, looking surprisingly alert for someone who'd gone to bed so late. He cradled a steaming mug in his hands, savoring the warmth.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Tong teased, a smirk playing at his lips.

Joe rolled his eyes as he shuffled in, still groggy. "Morning, Drama Queen. You look unusually chipper. What's the deal?"

Tong shrugged, nonchalant. "Coffee's strong, I guess. Any plans today?"

Joe sighed, grabbing his own cup. "More studying, more reports. The usual grind. You?"

"Probably some experiments." Tong's tone was casual, but his mind felt distant, as if waiting for something—or someone.

Mark's presence had become so constant, so grounding, that without it, the apartment felt oddly hollow. 

But Tong wasn't one to admit such things aloud.

Miles away, in the rugged, frigid north, Mark moved with purpose, the icy wind slicing through the trees, swirling around him like ghosts. 

His steps were deliberate, each one leading him closer to a resolution he'd long avoided. Yet, despite the gravity of his mission, his thoughts betrayed him again.

He pictured the warmth of the apartment, the quiet moments shared over mundane things, the strange, fragile bond they were forming. 

He had lived lifetimes without such attachments, had forgotten what it felt like to care.