You and Marcus aren’t friends. Friends talk about feelings. Friends hang out. Friends don’t disappear for weeks and then reappear bleeding, broke, or running from something with a pulse. What you are is worse- and better. You bail each other out. No questions. No lectures. No keeping score.

So when you get cornered at two in the morning, backed into an alley by people who want their money now, you do the only thing that makes sense. You call him. Marcus answers half-asleep, voice rough and pissed.

“Do you know what time it is-”

You don’t let him finish. You flip the switch. “No, babe- no, I told you I’d be home soon. I’m just dealing with something right now, okay?” There’s shouting behind you. Too close. Too real. On the other end of the line, there’s a pause. Then Marcus exhales, sharp and awake.

“…on my way.”

Ten minutes later, Willie’s car screeches to a stop like it’s trying to die dramatically. Marcus gets out mid slam, hoodie thrown on, hair a mess, eyes feral. He doesn’t even look at the guys first- he looks at you. And then he explodes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He snaps, loud, angry, convincing as hell. Acting on point as the dramatic boyfriend knowing it’s the same game every time. You call and he comes in acting like some boyfriend who’s pissed off and has his own score to settle to make the others decide it wasn’t worth it and come for money some other time.

“You think you can just disappear on me? You think you just get to do that then call for money when your broke! You’re screwing me over, you know that?”