Chapter 108-pass away

Vincent pov

I find it quite intriguing that amidst the hustle and bustle, I'm "waiting" for someone. The person I'm waiting for is simply engaged in an activity that's neither hurried nor pressing, and I'm not irritated by it, which makes it even more fascinating.

"Good evening."

I sat on the couch, set aside the newspaper, and tucked the wolf's head pendant into the pocket over my chest.

"Good evening."

I looked at Lucca. She came in barefoot, flipped through a pair of slippers, put them on, and then changed her mind. She took a piece of cake from the fridge and placed it on the table, saying "please," to prevent me from feeling neglected.

I didn't remind her either, but she had actually forgotten to grab a fork and knife. She dashed to the kitchen to wash the thermos for coffee.

Two minutes later, she returned to the table with water dripping from her hands. It was only then that she realized she hadn't brought the utensils for the cake.

"I'll go get them," I got up and said. Lucca caught a glimpse of the evening newspaper I had been reading earlier, which prominently featured the morning explosion incident. The accident had claimed the lives of three people and left 136 injured.

Only a small portion of the injuries and casualties were directly caused by the explosion; the majority resulted from the ensuing traffic accidents triggered by the blast.

"Here you go," I returned with only a pair of fork and knife.

"I'm not eating," Lucca frowned, "It's too rich."

She wanted to inquire about the incident that had been troubling her, but I casually closed that page.

I sliced a small piece of cake and offered it to Lucca's lips with the fork.

"Do you want me to feed you?" I raised an eyebrow.

Lucca slightly evaded, wiping off the cream that had touched her lips and insisted, "Eating this late is not good, and it's high in calories..."

I ate that piece myself.

"Then why did you bring it out for me?" My questioning raised eyebrow still carried an air of authority.

"It's not... I just..." Lucca tried to explain. I scraped off the outer layer of cream, cut a small piece of cake, and handed it to her. Lucca opened her mouth and ate it.

High-calorie food is truly sinful yet delightful.

Lucca swallowed and said, "I'll go get another set of fork and knife."

"Why? Are you catching a cold again?" I asked nonchalantly.

"No, it's just... don't you find it unclean..." I paused, then suddenly drew closer, pressing my lips to the corner of hers, which had crumbs from the cake.

Lucca couldn't help but pull back a bit, licking her own lip corner. I reached out and cupped her neck, and our tongues found their way past the barriers, exchanging the taste of strawberry cream between our lips and teeth.

Finally, we both, panting, used the same fork and knife to devour the entire piece of cake. A soothing silence washed over us.

The stress of the week gradually faded into the background, and I finally began to feel more at ease. Lucca wiped her mouth, feeling both embarrassed and guilty. She picked up her plate, intending to go to the kitchen to calm herself.

"Lucca..." I called out to her.

"I'm too tired today, maybe next time," she said.

"It's not about that," I pointed to the newspaper, the silver strands of hair gleaming in the light, "Do you know about the car accident this morning?"

Lucca didn't know why I brought this up. Her heart suddenly sank. In her fear, there was also a strange sense of heaviness. The stone that had been weighing on her all day was finally about to drop.

"Your foster parents passed away in the car accident," I said with a completely objective and calm tone.

Lucca pov

I froze for a moment. A brief blankness flashed through my mind.

"Your foster parents passed away in the car accident," Vincent's words were neither gentle nor emotional. His indifference rubbed off on me, leaving me with a strange sense of detachment, as if we were discussing something entirely unrelated to me.

Vincent went on to share some undisclosed details with me.

The explosion was a suicide attack. The driver of a truck loaded with explosives attempted to ram into City Hall but was intercepted. The armored vehicle that intercepted the truck accidentally collided with a private car passing by. My foster parents were inside that car.

They died on the spot.

The three casualties were the truck driver and my foster parents. The soldiers in the armored vehicle quickly evacuated, and while other civilians suffered injuries during the evacuation due to accidents and stampedes, there were no further fatalities.

"If you need it, I can gather their belongings for you in a few days," Vincent offered.

I replied almost immediately, "No, there's no need."

My heart pounded heavily, burdening me unbearably. I wanted to stop and catch my breath, but breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. It felt as though oxygen couldn't reach my lungs, no matter how hard I tried to inhale.

Vincent waited quietly for me to regain my composure. I was only gasping in pain, my gaze fixed on him, my eyes appearing empty and devoid of thought.

Vincent sighed and stood up, pulling me into his arms.

"You can cry," he said.

I wanted to express my grief somehow, too. However, the physical pain in my body had overshadowed everything, and I couldn't think of anything. I unconsciously clutched at my shirt.

"I've contacted the research institute," Vincent gently patted my back, "Relax."

He was afraid I might hurt myself in my agony, so he touched my hand and slowly separated my clenched fingers, interlocking them with his own.

"It's okay... I won't collapse," I whispered softly.

Vincent wrapped his arm around my waist, supporting my trembling body.

"You won't," he assured.

He lowered his head and kissed me.

In truth, I hadn't cried. But Vincent's lips were damp with my teardrops. I peered over his shoulder and saw his silver hair shimmering like moonlight on a fragmented lake. He had clean hair, a clean scent, and clean eyes, but being in his embrace made me feel unforgivable.

We kissed on the couch. Vincent remained unemotional about my foster parents but was more than willing to be my support during this time. He patted my back, urging me to get closer, the physical contact offering soothing warmth, and the soft glow of the lights made me feel safe.

"I'm feeling better, no need to go to the research institute," I whispered.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Vincent repeatedly checked, "You don't have to pretend..."

"I'm not," I immediately replied.

I looked at Vincent, my black eyes restless.

"I'm not," I repeated.

Vincent raised an eyebrow, "Psychologists are available anytime, and I can..."

I kissed Vincent.

I wasn't sure what I was trying to prove.

Vincent, of course, welcomed me willingly.

He held me by the waist, shifted to a more comfortable position to support my weight.

I kissed him passionately, and at times, when things got intense, I tugged at Vincent's hair when it grazed my palate. At first, he tried to endure it, but eventually, he gripped my hair forcefully, not to make me withdraw, but to keep me from falling.

In the haze, I tasted the metallic tang of blood.

The connection point also seemed to ache faintly.

I abruptly regained some clarity, "No...no, this can't..."

"It's okay," Vincent slowed down his movements, continuing to kiss my lips, "Don't worry about safety measures..."

...

We spent the entire night without sleep.