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You’re lying on your bed when the urge hits you. I need a drink .
It had been a while, after all, money was tight with just you and Vync holed up in a glorified rubble pit. But hey, you had taken a lot of shifts at Rusty’s, and it had been a while since either of you really went out on the town. The fresh air would help, especially as Vyncent grows antsier by the day, pacing around in maddening circles.
Your face flushes with the thought of dancing with Vyncent in a club, the colorful lights illuminating his chiseled features and blinding smile, the cacophony of voices and music dulled by alcohol to make way for that lilting song that was his laugh...
“Vync!” you call out, maybe a bit louder than necessary as you shoot into a sitting position. “You wanna go out tonight?” The moment the words leave your mouth your stomach drops with the realization of what you said. “I mean- like, go out, um, to, uhh...” You can only imagine how flushed your face looks, burying your head in your hands as Vyncent looks up from the floor. Peeking through your fingers, you see him tilt his head ever so slightly, in that endearing puppy-like way that has you growing more flustered. You groan into your hands before dragging them down your face. “Do you want to go to a club tonight? Get some drinks and dance a bit?” you try, much more deliberately.
Confusion falls from his face to be replaced by excitement. “That sounds awesome, Will!” his tail wagging behind him. Another wave of endearment washes over you. How could this clueless boy be so damn pretty?
“Ok, well, let me get dressed, and we can head out.”
---
The two of you approach the club, lights flashing inside and the bass of the music sending a steady thrum through the street and into your feet. The vibration makes you shiver, partly due to the too-thin jacket you wore tonight to impress someone, and that same someone steadying you with a gentle hand as you stumble on the curb.
“You alright, Will?” he asks, his round eyes looking at you with so much care and concern, the little furrow in his brow appearing as you seem him study your features, likely looking for something wrong. His lips purse softly, so soft and gentle, what would it feel like to reach up and kiss them right now-
“Will?”
“Yes! Fine! Great! Dandy, even, woo hoo I feel so fine right now, heheh...” Curse your stupid brain. You can find a herion needle in a crime scene but you can’t act cool in front of your best friend who looks so pretty in the moonlight right now-
This! This is the issue! Stop it!
You clear your throat. “Yeah, I’m ok, Vync, just, ah, tripped, is all.”
He nods, satisfied. You let out a sigh. One nice thing about your crush being absolutely awful at picking up hints a straight up oblivious to flirting is you can get away with stupid slips ups.
Yay.
You clear your throat, again, feeling it tighten around unsaid confessions. “You wanna go inside?” His face lights up again and he nods. He takes your hand and pulls you towards the door, too busy to notice your flushed cheeks or wide eyes. Oh well. At least he’s holding your hand.
---
The party is loud, the thrumming bass practically thunderous now. Vyncent made a beeline for the dance floor, pulling you along with him. When you make it to the middle of the crowd, you're breathless, for more reasons than one. The boy holding your hand looks positively ethereal in the light, watching with wonder as the colors shift and flash around him. His eyes return to you, and his teeth almost glow in the dark. His mouth moves, but the people around you whisk the words away. “What?” you shout, hoping the headphones over his pointed ears protect him from overstimulation without drowning your own voice out entirely.
He tries again, leaning close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin, “We don’t have stuff like this at home. We have magic, sure, but this...” He trails off, wonder lighting his features.
You shudder slightly from the closeness. It would be so easy to lean over, close the miniscule gap between you, to reach out-
He’s standing upright again, his smile as bright and beautiful as ever. Shame floods through you. Not yet . “I’m going to get us some drinks, sound good?” Some liquid courage would do you wonders right now. Vyncent just nods, swaying along with the crowd to the beat of the electronic music. With excruciating effort, you separate your connected hands. He never let go .
You turn your back to him, partly to order drinks from the bar, and also to pull your gaze away from his face and eyes and lips and-
“Can I get two beers?” You slide a bill across the bar to the bartender there. She looks up, smiles, and reaches below for two bottles. With grace you may never know, she uncorks the two of them, pushing them over to you. You nod and turn back to Vyncent.
The air leaves your chest in a whoosh. If he looked good before, he was angelic now. His hands were raised above his head, bouncing alongside the other patrons. His eyes were closed, and he was laughing as people bumped into him. His purple hair was falling out of his ponytail, already, flyaways framing his face like the masterpiece it was.
This.
This is why you were here.
It had been so long since Vyncent had looked this carefree and happy. Truely happy. You do your best, providing and staying with him, but the emptiness that comes with three less people around is hard to fill alone. Losing Ashe was hard, and you could see guilt and self-loathing in Vync whenever conversations strayed too close to your friend. Tide was worse, as Vyncent’s only parental figure was taken away from him. Again.
But Dakota?
That was devastating.
No longer was there an ever-cheerful face to crack jokes or demand pizza, all while running circles around you. No more was the raspberry-haired boy snoring in absurd places around the base. The void that was left when Dakota left would have destroyed you if you were alone. But you weren’t. Your best friend, the boy you loved, was suffering, so you made it your mission to save him.
Saving someone when you are drowning yourself is hard. So, moments like this, where he left the weight of the world at the entrance of this cheap, noisy, kind of smelly club, were worth all of it.
You nudge him gently with a beer, offering it to him. He takes it gratefully and takes a swig, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. You raise your own drink to your lips, grimacing at the bitter taste before allowing the tension in your own shoulders to drop.
You feel a hand around your wrist, and suddenly you’re spinning. The lights flash by and as you stumble to a stop you are caught with a strong, callous hand. He is laughing again, smiling at you like you are the only person in the world. Maybe, for a minute you are. The moment stretches on, his gaze growing softer, and fonder. He seems to lean forward. Did you imagine it? Are you moving?
He is certainly closer now, the gentlest expression you have ever seen crossing this face. While he looks at you . Your knees all but give out, a longing for him to look at you this way forever. You lean closer still.
A hard jostle sends you to the side, your beverage slipping out of your hand and onto yourself and the floor. No one seems to mind the alcohol coating the floor, nor the bottle rolling away. Your hands and shirt feel sticky, and embarrassment crushes you like an iron boot. Vyncent’s hand finds your shoulder, his voice asks if you are alright. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You know he’d have that pitiful look on his face, and you can’t shove down the shame or swallow your pride to accept that.
You’re embarrassed. Plain and simple. You were so, so close. And you messed it up. You feel pinpricks in the corners of your eyes and your throat constricts.
Harshly, you push off his hand and turn towards the bathroom. As soon as his hand leaves your shoulder the chill that replaces it makes you want to cry more. Why would you do that? He just wanted to help, and you’ve pushed him away. He’s probably hurt and confused, now, he just wanted to help. He just wanted to help.
It’s too late to turn around. You can’t do it; you can’t double back and look him in the eye after you did something stupid and mean because you were upset and embarrassed.
You push the bathroom door open.
It’s dark. Soft white light illuminates the windowless room, shining off the tiles. Looking up, your face stares back at you, and in the artificially clean light it’s just as awful as you remember. Your cheeks are shallow; you were thin before, but when food was scarce... well, it doesn’t pay to feed a corpse. Speaking of corpse, you pull at your face, pale skin washed out further in the light, casting harsh shadows and emphasizing the darks circles that accompany sleepless nights. Your arms and chest, hidden under the liquor-slick jacket, are small, and frail-looking, far too thin or boney to be anything but unsightly. Black and white hair lies limp on your scalp, despite the time you dedicated to styling it.
Bottom line?
You look dead.
You look dead because you are. You are dead, and ugly, and worthless, and nothing compared to the beautiful boy you left behind because you were embarrassed. The one boy who looked at you for a second like you mattered, and you threw it away and ruined it.
You stop seeing your face. Shapes and details blur and distort through watery eyes. Shoulders trembling, you look away from your face, down to your hands, pale and blackened around the fingers. You turn on the faucet in front of you, twisting the nob as far to the left as you can. Your hands sit under the water for a second, then longer. There is steam cascading in the porcelain bowl. You can’t feel it. Your fingers are so cold. You’re always cold.
Unless you’re with him.
The water shuts off abruptly.
You shouldn’t want to be with him, you screwed it up and yet... He’s the only thing that’s made you feel alive in months.
You can still fix this.
The bathroom door gives way under your palm, and you glance around the crowded area. There aren’t many people here, which is partly why you chose this bar, but it is a tight fit; bodies and shoulders surrounding you on all sides as you make your way to where you think you left Vyncent. Scanning the area, you can see intoxicated people all around you, bouncing to the music, their eyes half-lidded. A particularly rowdy crew cheers in the middle of the dance floor, encircling... something? It looks like someone started a dance circle with a small but enthusiastic group of club-goers.
You roll your eyes and continue looking until a flash of purple catches your attention. Looking more closely now, it’s strange you didn’t notice sooner that Vyncent was in the thick of it.
There he is, doing a dance with some complicated-looking footwork, his hair flinging around him as he twirls and his sharper-than-average teeth glinting in the spotlights. A girl is there with him, small, blonde, in high heels and a short dress. The two of them laugh as cheers erupt anew from their small audience.
You watch as Vyncent’s hand drops to the woman’s, and with a practiced ease he twirls her around. She dips, and he catches her in the crook of his arm, the one still holding a drink. It’s a plastic cup now, ice and some liquor still inside. When did he get a new drink? How long were you in the bathroom?
The woman bounces back up, she and Vyncent whooping as the song transitions. He seems to be leaving the center of the circle now, which means you can go up and spend the rest of the night with him like you planned. Perfect. Brief bump in the road but nothing William Wisp can’t get over. You got this.
He’s in your line of sight again, watching the circle from more of a distance, now. You take a breath to call out to him.
The woman returns, appearing from thin air beside him. She smiles at him, and her lips move to tell him something. Vyncent turns to look at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. Yes! Tell her to go away, Vync!
She doesn’t. Instead, she snakes a hand around his wrist, sliding it up his forearm and defined bicep to pull him closer. Her mouth disappears behind a curtain of his hair, and his expression clears, then gives way to that beautiful smile. She pulls back again, staring at him through her lashes like the temptress she is, and he laughs. He looks so at ease, so happy.
It makes your stomach churn. It only gets worse as her hand goes higher still, resting now on his shoulder, but not the edge of his shoulder. More like the part of his shoulder that starts to slope into his neck in that mesmerizing way. The part you’ve dug your nose into while you comfort each other with hugs after nightmares. It’s such an intimate part. So close. So tender. The part you’ve dreamt of kissing-
You’re too sober for this.
It’s a daze between there and the bar, but you’re sitting down now, a glass in your hand. You knock it back without a thought, gesturing to the bartender for another. If she looks at you oddly, or recognizes you from before, or even says something it’s lost to you. Another glass replaces the first, and you sip it, the burn trailing down your throat, chasing down the suffocating tears as you feel the edges of your inhibitions fray.
Your mother used to say alcohol was a poison. She refused to keep it in the house, both your parents sober outside of late holiday nights. Teenagers have a way of getting things they shouldn’t, though, and you recall a hazy night with the Unwittness Protection Program, sharing your first sips of whiskey, stolen from a liquor cabinet. The new burn and the adrenaline of disobedience fueled you. It wasn’t the last drink you shared with them. Celebrations of breaks in cases could be accompanied by lukewarm beers. Slow periods of little paranormal activity inspired drinking games. Tragedies and goodbyes were toasted with vodka.
Alcohol is a poison, but jealousy is a writhing snake coiling in your stomach. Its teeth are memories, stabbing and unwelcome, and laced with venomous shame, embarrassment, and anger. You take another sip of your drink. You’re not registering what it tastes like, just accepting the burn.
Why won’t he love me how I love him?
It’s hard to say how long you sit there before you spin in the stool, bracing yourself against the bar as the world takes a few more seconds to settle in place. You blink hard, forcing your pupils to focus, and scan the crowd for Vyncent. You’re mad at him. Why are you mad? Oh, right, he’s not with you. Where did he go? His purple hair is impossible to distinguish among the rushing shapes and colors on the dance floor. The sounds too are overwhelming. The thumping music feels like a heartbeat, the creak of your bar stool sends sound waves through your spin. Somewhere next to you (the right? The left?) a stool shifts, a patron sitting down, or getting up, or adjusting their seat. Who knows. Something clinks against plastic. The tabs behind the bar are constantly running. It’s loud. It’s bright.
Your mouth feels dry. You reach for your glass again. Is it lighter than you thought? You weren’t really paying attention. In an instant it’s gone, and you go to signal the bartender again until your hand retracts, covering your mouth as you cough and sputter. That burned in a strange way, sending needles down your throat. The sharpness fades a little as you cough, maybe in your haste to finish some of the alcohol some went down the wrong pipe. The tears in the corners of your eyes clear, but the smearing shapes around you don’t clear. Maybe slamming two (three?) drinks messes with your head a little. Especially since you don’t remember eating today. Paycheck doesn’t come until tomorrow, so if there was only enough for one to eat it didn’t pay for it to be the dead kid. How does metabolism even work when you’re dead? Meh, thought for sober you. Or not. Dead and existentialism makes you want to be drunk.
A warm hand rests on your mid back. You lean into it. You’re always cold. It’s nice to be warm. Your stomach drops as you lean too far, but your shoulder lands on something sturdy, and a curtain of purple hair blocks your already shoddy sight. Purple hair.
Vyncent.
It’s definitely the alcohol that lets you nuzzle further into his neck, breathing in his scent. It’s weird, that’s for sure. Instead of the mud and metalic scent that hung in an intoxicating cloud, hard-earned by sleeping in the dirt and training with his sword, he smelled like alcohol and cigarettes. Maybe that girl from before shared a smoke with him. Your stomach churns at the thought. Something that felt so intimate, so sacred, shared with someone else.
You want to pull away. A song thrums through the speakers, now pop music with words.
You could kiss a hundred boys in bars-
You should. Make him the jealous one for once. Show him what he’s missing. Make him want to fight and push for you.
You try to tug away again, but the hand on your back slips to your waist and holds you securely to his side.
Shoot another shot try to stop the feeling-
God, it feels good to be wanted. To be clung to...
Wait. No, you had a plan you were going to make him jealous. You have to get up, even though leaning against him feels so good.
You could say it’s just the way you are-
A gay disaster, yeah.
Make a new excuse, another stupid reason-
You’re tired of excuses. Why can’t you just love him. Tell him outright.
Good luck, babe.
He doesn’t feel the same. He’s never shown he’s interested, he’s flirted with and gone around with other girls , for fucks sake.
Well, good luck, babe.
Is he even gay? Give up on loving him, it’s never going to happen. Do what you do best and shove your feelings and your problems aside to keep the little bit of him you still have. You’ve done it before. You let your eyes drift shut, your nose brushes against his neck. He shudders beneath you before squeezing you closer still.
You’ll have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.
...
Fuck it.
Your lips clash messily against his neck, his chin arches up to allow more room. You chase his mouth, squishing kisses against his neck as you go. You kiss his jawbone, the line so perfect and sharp. You kiss the corner of his mouth before he turns to face you finally.
Eyes still closed; your lips meet in a less than perfect kiss. He tastes of bourbon and ash, which is not something you expected. But still, he tastes . Sloppily, your mouth falls open, and he’s quick to fill the void with his tongue. Quick swipes around your mouth send lightning bolts through your body. His hands rest on your waist band, and then they rise, slipping under your shirt.
Need courses through your mind, all inhibitions and ration driven out by alcohol. Your hands feel shaky and weak as you try to pull his head closer to yours, fingers trailing through his hair. It’s coarser than you expected.
He pulls away, and a pathetic sound escapes you. A whine, accompanied by a freezing cold being pulled from his warmth. You’re too tired to open your eyes, and your arms, weak and heavy feeling, drop, even as you try to hold onto him.
You hear a stool scrape against the floor, and then he’s there again, pushing you into the bar. The wood digs into your back but oh he feels so good.
He pulls away, again, this time taking you with. Your legs don’t move how you tell them too, so he basically drags you. You follow as best you can, blindly chasing his mouth, his neck, his tongue.
He’s taking you away, somewhere new, but not too far, as the beat of the song pulses through the floorboards, in tandem with your heart. Your shoulder thuds against something hard before it gives way, your body shoved against a door in your combined eagerness. From behind your eyelids, you feel the light change, and the door swings shut, muffling the music outside.
You’re pushed against a wall, now, his body so close to yours. His heartbeat pounds against your chest, and his hands begin to explore again. His mouth lowers from yours, dipping to kiss your neck. All shame is pushed from your mind, exhilaration taking over.
“ Vyncent ,” and his name feels so right on your tongue, so perfect, so pure . Like you were always meant to say it.
For only a moment, the mouth on your neck separates, grumbling a gruff, “Who?” before diving back down for more. He growls, and bites.
You don’t feel the prick of Vyncent’s overly sharp canines. The ones you’ve watched sparkle when he smiles.
He bites again, harder.
The ear that brushes against your jaw is short and round. Not the pointed ear of the other worldly elf.
You force your eyes open, and it feels like lifting iron on your eyelids. The lights in the bathroom are much more muted than outside, with a soft white light. Pink hair tickles your nose and brushes in front of your eyes.
That’s not Vyncent’s hair. That’s not his voice, his ears, his mouth, his hands-
That’s not Vyncent.
Bile rises in your throat.
You raise your hands to the stranger's chest, shoving him off as hard as you can. Your muscles feel weak and soft, and instead he pulls you closer, nails digging into your skin. He growls and bites again. It hurts.
“Stop,” you try, and push again. Your voice comes out as a whine, or a whisper, and your tongue feels heavy. You're too tired to try and clear it. “Stop,” again, shoving him away. It’s desperate.
A sound of frustration. “Shut up,” he says, pushing you further into the wall. The tile grinds behind your shoulder blades, pinching the skin and muscle there.
“N-no, stop it, stop-”
Another growl before white light sparks behind your eyes, a dull ache sprouting from the back of your skull. If you couldn’t focus before it’s worse now, the lights swinging around your vision as your eyes refuse to settle.
You’re sitting, now, though you're not sure how. Your feet swing, and something cool and smooth presses against your back. It feels nice on your head, and you turn your cheek to rest on it. Through half-lidded eyes you see yourself, your mess of hair falling into focus before your breath clouds your vision.
You’re on the bathroom counter, then. That makes sense, your fingers feeling the ceramic of a sink next to you. Why are you on the counter? Your eyes drift lazily, resting on a figure with pink hair.
His face comes forward, his mouth meeting yours greedily. His haste sends your head backwards, slamming painfully into the mirror. Your head hurts, your back hurts. You lift an arm to shove him away, but it feels heavy. You grimace as the taste of smoke hits your tongue. You don’t want this. This hurts. This is wrong. His hands are heavy on your thighs as he leans his weight on them. It hurts.
Then, the pressure leaves. Only to slip to your waistband, a finger sliding beneath to push at your boxers.
Memories flood your mind, and panic with them. You push his hands away as hard and as fast as you can, but your movements are sluggish, and you can do no more than bat weakly at his hands.
A hand with fingers too wide and a palm without callouses from sword fighting shoves your jeans lower.
...
You’re not a virgin. A freak, a weirdo, a zombie, maybe. All titles given not-so-affectionately by your peers at Deadwood elementary and high school. Sure, you give the appearance of a virgin; social outcast, unsightly appearance, emo kid who sits alone at lunch. It’s not a wild jump in logic. Being friendless and avoiding parties seemed to be synonymous with no hookups.
But you met a kid when you were 15. God, 15 was awful. But he...
He was everything.
He moved to Deadwood with his parents that year. It caused a stir because no one comes to Deadwood. Everyone is dying to get out. Sometimes they do die to get out.
He joined the school year late, and the teacher sat him at the only empty desk, which happened to be by you. Your chipped black nail polish got a lot of stares, but not a lot of compliments. But when he sat down, he glanced at your hand and smiled. Not the mocking smiles you usually got, followed by sneers or jibes or slurs. A genuine smile. And at that moment, you decided he was the prettiest boy in the world.
He ate lunch with you. Then he held your hand. He was your first kiss by the dumpster behind the diner you liked, after your first cigarette, passed between fingers that lingered too long over each other.
He told you you were everything. He told you he loved you.
Being loved feels good.
Losing love hurts.
It was maybe two months before he started drifting. When his hand didn’t meet yours immediately and his gaze settled somewhere far away. ‘I love you’s became scarcer, saved for the times you earned it.
Of all the names, and the mockery, and the shame, virgin didn’t bother you. Church with your parents told you sex was sacred. Was special for that one right person after marriage. It was completing, and it was the most vulnerable act of love that would show your spouse how you loved them. You didn’t mind waiting. Letting something so sacred be saved for someone so special.
Losing love hurts. You’d do anything to stop the hurt.
It felt wrong. You felt dirty but you got to keep him. You couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror, but he would smile at you and tell you he loved you and you would say it was ok.
You hated it, but you loved him. So, you stayed, and you stayed silent. Embarrassment washed over you as you thought of your parents’ disappointment. Shame crushed you as you considered a spouse who would only get the broken, used bits of you. You pushed it down, he said he would marry you one day. He said he loved you. He said he cared when you passed kisses and cigarettes behind the dumpster.
He kissed Sarah Jones in the science wing when you were coming back from the bathroom. You passed him without a word and went back to class.
He didn’t speak to you again.
He huddled with the cliques who whispered about you, trading rumors and hissing slurs as you passed. He shoved papers in your locker with advice on how to kill yourself.
He moved again before the year ended. His parents evidently realized how weird of a town Deadwood was. You never saw him again.
When you were 16 you were with the Unwittness Protection Program. Things were better. You still tried to earn their love, but it was different this time. It didn’t make you feel so dirty. You felt better when you realized some of them felt dirty, too. So, you solved mysteries and shared smuggled beer when the memories got to be too much. They never asked you to feel dirty for them.
When you died you joined the Prime Defenders. Dakota was loud but loved so easily. He gave love so freely to everyone he met. It felt nice. Then Vyncent. He was softer, and scared, and gentle. He loved quietly, once he trusted you. Then he gave everything. Loving Dakota felt like how you wanted to love David. Loving Dakota felt like having the brother you wanted, when your real brother wanted nothing to do with you. Loving Dakota felt like family. Loving Vyncent felt like being exposed. Loving Vyncent felt like having the worst parts of yourself on display.
Loving Vyncent was scary. What if he made you feel dirty, too, so you could earn that love in return.
He never did, though. Vyncent was gentle, and patient, and kind. Vyncent protected you and watched your back. Vyncent stayed with you when everything fell apart after Ashe. Vyncent held your hand when the nightmares got to be too much.
Loving Vyncent felt like being safe.
The pink haired man in front of you pushes his hand further down.
This is not love.
“Please, please... stop it, please stop-” Your face feels wet. How long have you been crying. You’re so tired. This hurts, it feels wrong, it feels dirty.
“Please...”
He keeps kissing you. You can’t even move your head away anymore. It’s so hard to keep your eyes open. Let them fall. Fall asleep, and maybe you can wake up from an awful dream. Or at least wake up alone.
You close your eyes. The fog in your mind takes over.
...
You hear a loud slam, followed by the sound of music pouring in much louder than before. The mouth on yours leaves yours in a second, his hands coming off as well. It hurts to move, and it’s cold again. Someone is shouting, and it hurts your ears. There’s a loud clatter, like something heavy against metal. If only you could cover your ears, but your arms won’t move.
Another slam, then the music gets loud again. When did it get quieter? It doesn’t matter, your head hurts.
A hand grabs your shoulder. It's gentle, but you feel so wrong. A sob escapes your mouth and your try to pull away. It’s hard to move, but the hand on your shoulder pulls away, quickly, as though shocked.
“Will?”
That voice. It’s familiar. It’s jokes around a bowl of beef stroganoff; it’s shouts across a battlefield. It’s questions about math homework, it’s cheers on game night. It’s soft after nightmares, it’s rough in the mornings.
It’s a breeze blowing through a forest, it’s a sword clanging against stone. It’s the safest place in the world, it’s where you’ve never been more nervous.
Vyncent .
Your eyes open to meet the stare of the most beautiful elf in the world. All his features are right. His hair falls out of his ponytail, framing his face in purple curtains. His pointed ears peek out on either side of his face, his headphones resting around his shoulders on the collar of his jacket.
His eyes are the prettiest shade of blue and seeing them so worried makes you want to cry. Something so beautiful shouldn’t have to look so sad.
“Will, are you ok? It’s me. Please, say something man.”
“Vync...”
“Yeah, I’m here,” a hand hovers near your shoulder, holding back from touching you again. “Can I give you a hug? Or hold onto you? Or... anything? I don’t know. Touch good or bad, Will.” He’s so careful with you. He’s patient. He doesn’t try to take from you.
“Vync-” and this time you do cry. A sob shakes your body, air shredding your throat as it tries to get to your lungs. Your body feels empty. It’s cold. Why are you always so cold.
In a desperate attempt to stop shivering, you lean forward, resting your heavy head on his strong shoulder. In an instant his arms are around you, gentle, at first, then tighter, clinging to you. It’s not painful or restraining, but firm and steady. A foundation so you can fall apart and not be afraid.
And you do.
Who knows how long the two of you sit there, you blubbering incoherently into his patient shoulder. He must be tired, standing still for so long, but he doesn’t complain. Instead, his hands trace soothing circles into your back, and he whispers to you. Words you don’t understand, but soft and low, rumbling through your body. He’s warm, and you let that warmth envelop you.
It’s a long time before the breathless panic slows to soft hiccups and finally shuddering breaths.
“Are you ok?”
Your tongue feels like putty. You shake your head.
“Yeah, that’s fair, that’s on me, sorry. Um... can you walk?”
Cement could be tied to your feet and you’d be able to move faster. Again, you shake your head.
“Ok. Does nodding work for communication right now?”
A nod.
“Alright. I’m going to pick you up, is that ok?”
A nod.
“Ok, Will, let’s get you home.”
His arms slip from your back to your legs. Your body stiffens and he murmurs an apology in your ear. Eventually, he settles on a princess-carry; an arm supporting your back and one holding your legs. Your head lands heavily on his chest, forehead against his neck as you inhale. Mud and metal. Vyncent.
Home .
Your eyes fall closed once more.
...
You awake in the same clothes you wore to the club last night. You’re alone on the mattress Vyncent and you have shared in the rubble you call home, and a blanket is draped over your body. It slips as you attempt to sit up, a stabbing pain pushing you back down. You resolve to look around slowly, taking in your surroundings.
You're alone, until a flash of movement catches your attention.
Vyncent walks in from around the corner, the half-empty pack of bottled waters squeaking in his hands.
He catches you staring, “Oh, sorry, did a wake you up?”
You try to say no, but your tongue more resembles sandpaper than a muscle. You opt for a disagreeing groan. Vyncent is by your side in a second.
“Here, let’s get you up,” he says, slipping an arm around your shoulders and slowly lifting you to a sitting position. You whine in protest, “I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He really does sound sorry. “This is for your own good, though.”
Once you are mostly upright, leaning heavily on the elf with an arm around you, a water bottle finds its way to your lips. You take a small sip, before attempting to chug it. The water feels so good on your dry tongue, mouth, throat, everything. It pulls away too soon, though, and your left with water dripping down your chin and a whine leaving your throat. “I’m sorry, Will, but you’ve got to slow down, you’re going to make yourself sick, again.”
Reluctantly, you nod, and the water bottle is back at your mouth. Taking smaller sips this time, you finish it, and you feel loads better already. Your body still aches, but at least you don’t feel like you're choking on your tongue.
“Ok, let’s start with that. Can you talk?”
You test your tongue around your mouth. “Maybe?” It comes out as a croak.
“Ok, yeah, we’ll let your voice rest a little.” Vyncent’s hand comes up to wipe some water from your chin. “You, uh, you got kinda drunk last night, but,” he clears his throat. “Min, um, was looking at you, trying to fix you up a bit, because... well, to be honest, man, you were really fucked up.” A snort escapes you. “Yeah, heh, but,” again he pauses. “I... she was worried about you, and she seems to think you got poisoned, or drugged or something.”
A pit opens in your stomach. The drink tasting odd. The heavy limbs. The man there and ready to sweep him away.
“Oh.”
Vyncent leans forward to meet your eyes. You look up and close them instead.
“That explains a lot.” It’s silent as Vyncent waits for you. Ever patient, Vyncent. “My drink didn’t taste quite right, and I got a lot loopier than I do just normal drunk. I couldn’t,” you cough to clear the scratchiness from your voice, “I couldn’t move too well, and...”
He waits. “...And?” Gently. Wanting to understand.
“There was a guy. He was there to get me when I started to lose it.”
“And he took you to the bathroom.”
I wanted to go with him because I thought it was you.
“Yeah.”
“...Ok.” His voice is still soft, but something sharp has crept into his voice. Something dangerous. Something protective.
Silence wraps around the two of you. It’s almost suffocating, so you tug on your shirt to distract yourself. With a grimace, you notice it’s still sticky from last night. Vyncent notices the wrinkle in your nose and the tension in his brows lessens. “Oh, uh, yeah, sorry, I didn’t want to take off your clothes while you were asleep. Especially...” he trails off.
After you were just roofied goes unspoken.
“I feel gross.”
“Yeah,” he laughs, “that’s fair. Between the alcohol and the vomit-”
“Vomit?” you spin around to face him, regretting it as the world tilts a little too far. You tip, but his arm around you holds you steady. He hasn’t let go yet. When you get your bearings, you ask, “When did I throw up?”
He considers for a moment. “Sometime after we got back to the base. I started to set you down, you sat up for like half a second to throw up and passed out again.”
You groan, a hand coming to cover your face. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”
“Meh, don’t be,” he shrugs. “I’ve cleaned up worse. Besides, it got some of that shit out of your system, so I’m not complaining.”
“Still...” you mutter.
“Hey,” a hand pushes your fingers away from your eyes, forcing you to meet those beautiful blue eyes again. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad you’re mostly ok. I was worried.”
He doesn’t drop his hand from your face, instead resting it on your cheek. You try to resist the urge to fall into it and fail. He holds steady, then leans forward to rest his forehead against your own.
For a moment, nothing in the world exists except you two. Your world is entirely comprised of purple hair and blue eyes.
You sit there for a minute, or an hour, or a second.
He pulls away. “You wanna try and shower?”
Your body aches with the loss of contact, but it also screams in discomfort of being so sticky and gross feeling. You nod. “Can you walk?” Can you? You push off the ground... or attempt to. Your legs shake and your feet slide from under you. “Ok, I can carry you.” Without another word, he scoops you into his arms, almost effortlessly, and walks you to the bathroom. You’re thankful he’s not looking at you, seeing as your face is almost certainly bright red.
You make it to the bathroom, which you’re quite fortunate to still have. It survived most of the fire, barring some scorch marks and charred towels, and water still runs through the faucets. Vyncent sets you down on your feet, his arm around your waist to keep you standing. “Do you want help?”
“I don’t want to bother you.”
“Not a bother.”
God. What the fuck do you say to that? You’ve definitely thought of showering with Vyncent, but not in this context. You look so awful, and after last night the last thing you want to do is be naked with someone else. Vyncent’s different, but still...
But your arms ache, and you’re so tired.
“...Can you help me wash my hair?”
“’Course man. Let me set you down, I’ll get the water started so it can warm up, then I’ll get some clean clothes for you to change in after.”
He sets you down on the toilet before starting the faucet and running out of the room. In minutes, he’s back, your favorite sweatshirt and other comfy, clean clothes stacked neatly in his arms. He lays them on the counter and tests the water. “It’s pretty warm if you want to get in, you can keep your clothes on if you want.” You nod, and he picks you up to lower you in the tub. You cringe as the water soaks into your jeans, but the water is warm and seeps into your bones. Vyncent’s hand never leaves your back as his free hand reaches for shower head, soaking your head with the massaging water. It’s comforting, and you miss it when he puts it to the side. A part of you is reminded of bathtime as a child, and embarrassment fills you. How pathetic do you have to be to not be able to clean yourself? Childish and burdensome and-
“Hey,” Vyncent’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Stop thinking so hard, I can hear it from here.” When you look at him, he’s smiling that sweet sad smile of his. “I like taking care of my friends. Hell, I’m the one who thought of this in the first place. Stop feeling all unworthy and shit.” He fills a hand with shampoo and lathers it between his fingers.
“Thank you,” it’s barely more than a whisper.
“No problem, man. Do you want me to talk? To distract you?” You nod. “Alright then,” and he launches into stories of his home back on Fauna. As he talks, he runs the lathered shampoo through your hair, gently scratching your scalp and massaging the soap through your curls. His voice fades into white noise as you let the utter ease and comfort of his fingers wash over you. Your eyes drift shut as though hypnotized or put to sleep, and you let your body feel as Vyncent takes care of you. He makes circles with his fingers around your scalp, giving focus to your hairline and behind your ears. Once he’s deemed your hair properly suds up, he takes the showerhead and runs water over you, tilting your head and angling the water so no soap falls into your eyes. He switches to conditioner and repeats the process, continuing to tell stories to fill the air.
You miss his hands when they leave your hair, clicking the showerhead back into place. “Ok, I’ll head out now so you can shower and change.”
As he gets up to leave, your hand shoots out, as though possessed, and clings to Vyncent’s wrist. Your hand, which was sitting in the water, sprays water everywhere, including Vyncent. It hardly makes a difference around his arms, which are soaked from washing your hair, and his hair, which is damp from the mist of the showerhead. Shame floods through you, but you shove it down. He wants to help. “Stay? Please?” You hate how pathetic you sound, but despite everything in your body telling you to, you don’t rescind the request.
“Sure man. You want me to just turn around?” A nod. “Ok then.”
With his back to you Vyncent continues his stories. You strip behind him, feeling exposed yet safe. While Vyncent’s words fill the air you scrub the memories of last night off your skin. Parts of your body are red and raw when you turn the water off, but you feel better. Getting to shaky legs, you tug the towel off the wall and dry yourself, slipping into your clean clothes.
As you pull the sweatshirt over your head, Vyncent pipes up. “You decent?”
You blush, but answer, “Yeah, you can turn around.”
He does, spinning around to look at you from the floor. “You look loads, better. Feel better?” You nod. “Awesome. How about we take a lazy day today. If you’ve got your phone, we can watch some of that show you were telling me about.”
“Sounds awesome, man.”
“Want me to carry you back to bed?”
Yes yes yes yes yes.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
In one swoop you’re back in his arms, and you let your head fall against his chest. His heart beats faster than a human’s, and the vibrations make you feel sleepy all over again. That and the warmth from the shower and the strong arms around you that lift you no problem-
He sets you down on the bed, carefully arranging your limbs so to make you comfortable. You wonder if it was the same way he did when he carried you home last night. Did he stay up and watch over you? Wait, did he?
You turn to look at him as he situates himself on the concret floor beside the mattress. “Did you stay up all night last night watching me?”
He nods. “Wanted to be sure you were ok. And still breathing. And didn’t freak out if you woke up confused.” He laughs, almost bitterly. “And then I leave when you wake up anyways.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” and he meets your eyes and there’s sincerity there, along with something else you can’t quite name.
“Well... you should get some sleep. I don’t want you to be super tired.”
“Ok, I’ll take a nap here while you watch.”
“On the concrete?”
“...Yeah?”
“Dude, get on the mattress.”
Vyncent looks at the mattress and back at you, concern and confusion lacing his perfect features. His hair is mussed up from the shower and the late night. He looks angelic. “Are you sure? I don’t want to, I don’t know, make you uncomfortable or something.”
Ever thoughtful. Reaching over you grab the collar of that beautiful boy’s shirt and drag him over to you with all the strength you can muster. Surprisingly, he comes along with, tipping onto the mattress beside you. With another burst of courage, boldness, or stupidity fueled by a hangover, you grab the blanket and pull it over the two of you, resting your head on his chest, right over his heart. “I’d say you’re making me very comfortable right now,” you say, your face burning. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vynce could feel the heat radiating from you. Instead, he lays a hand on your back, massaging circles with his finger.
The two of you did say you would watch a show, but being so warm, in bed, with a blanket, laying on the chest of the boy you love, the rhythm of his heart lulls you to sleep. This is love. This is home.