Neon Rush {M/M} ❀

Ch. 6.2 Guts and Graffiti

Gray accompanies Zef back to the subway station, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. The sun's just a glow caught in blinding slivers between the buildings now, reflecting off the jagged edges of broken windows.

Zef shoots his dad a couple messages to let him know he got the parts. They ping back, though. Reception's still dodgy. This quarter really is cut off.

It strikes Zef that he hasn't been alone with Gray in a place this cut off. A little fear creeps in.

Station's not far, and there should be more people there. Not that crowds could stop Gray. If he wants to take people out, he can. So far, though? He paid for Zef's dinner, saved him from a mugging, and helped fix his dad's broken prosthetics.

Hard to reconcile this man with that photo in Rylan's office.

At the station, they get on the same subway car. No one else on board except a homeless guy sleeping across the seats and a woman with her grocery shopping in a handcart. Zef plonks down on a seat while Gray stands, holding onto one of the loops above his head, shifting from foot to foot.

"You okay?" Zef says.

Gray rolls his shoulders. "Not a fan of the subway. Cramped."

It's pretty uncrowded right now, but Zef doesn't judge. Maybe it's the whole underground part.

The car window behind Gray has a spray painted, hot pink penis ejaculating little hearts on it. There's shit scratched into the plexiglass, too. Chad wuz here, among other sonnets and works of art. Mostly boobs and boners.

Gray looks over his shoulder at it. He gets a look in his eye. One Zef recognizes and doesn't like.

"About that mark you wanted to leave on the world."

"Christ. You know that's not what I me— What the FUCK?"

Gray pulls a switchblade out of his jacket and flicks it open. They won't get to the next stop in time for Zef to escape. Gray twirls the knife and holds it out. Handle first, fingers around the blade.

Zef, still clutching his pearls, says, "You carry a knife?!"

Gray looks...incredulity doesn't cover it. He looks at Zef like he just took a piss in his pansies. "You don't?"

"No!"

"Well, that ain't too city-slick of you. Maybe that guy'd think twice about mugging your ass if you had something sharp to point at him."

"He had a gun. Knife, gunfight, heard the expression?"

"Whatever. I'm not asking you to shank anyone." He gestures with the knife to the plexiglass scarred with carvings and graffiti. "Go on. Leave your mark."

"No way."

Gray sneers. "There's that buttoned-up butthead again. What are you so afraid of?" He thrusts the knife toward Zef. "You think you can leave a mark without breaking a few rules?"

Zef stares at the knife. Two sides of him go to war. The stubborn side that wants to prove Gray wrong, and the dumbass side that wants, on some level, to impress him.

He must be sick. Suffering from dumb bitch-itis. He reaches out and tentatively takes the switchblade. It's beautiful. The copper-plated handle has an inlaid design in the pattern of a dragonfly wing, and the blackened steel blade has a copper edge sharp enough to cleave a Kleenex fluttering on the breeze. Not small, either. Blade's a good five inches long. He taps the tip against the plexiglass.

"This isn't what I meant by leaving a mark," he says.

"Too important for petty vandalism?" Gray extends a hand. "Give it back 'n let me."