Lovebirds

ADVANCE

It's bitter, the way he can still feel the touch of her lips on his. Not from the kisses they snuck in the hall, but from a week ago, when it was only them. Just Vincent and Spencer in the middle of the woods, and the way she'd kissed him has since taken up permanent residence in his mind.

But it's bitter. Sour. Tangy, if you'd like, because now it's Friday. That  Friday. Ambrose's Friday.

"Please don't mope the entire time," Hugo pleads, shaking his hands that are held together in prayer. "If you mope, then I'll get mad, then who knows what I would do!"

"You'd go over," Dion states, matter-of-fact-ly.

"Exactly. I'd go over, and seeing as that's exactly what both you—and more importantly Vince, have instructed me not to do, moping would be a very. Bad. Idea."

Dion's lips set in a straight line. Seeing Vincent's eyes still tracing the lines on the gym floor, he bumps his shoulder.

"I'm fine—really! I'm completely and utterly fine. I was aware that something like this might happen when we got... when we started...um, hanging out." Vincent's grip on the bleachers tightens. Dion pretends not to notice. "It's not like it's a date or anything anyway," he mutters beneath his breath.

Neither Hugo nor Dion can do anything when Vince chances a glance back.

She's smiling. Gosh, what a gorgeous smile she has! It takes over her whole face, morphs it into shapes that hypnotize its seeker. No one is immune to the joys of Spencer Sofia.

Not even Ambrose Holley, who sits beside her.

A horn shouts across the gym and the basketball game begins.

Dion sighs. "Okay, how about this: we can spend this time looking for the mysterious picture taker."

Vincent's brow rises high in surprise as his eyes find his hockey captain's face.

"Really? Didn't I tell you guys that it's a harmless thing—or, at least, the intentions seem harmless enough..."

"A dude—or dudette—or non-binary persons—anyway," shaking his head, to recollect his thoughts, "someone leaves you a nice note in the woods and suddenly it's not creepy?" Hugo asks. There's a glimmer in his eye that reads something like hope. Probably because Vincent has given up on moping to concentrate on the topic at hand. 

"Well," Vincent's shoulders raise in a shrug, "it's less creepy."

Hugo and Dion exchange a glance around Vince. The away team scores. The gym fills with noise.

When it settles down, "just humor me," Dion insists.

With an irritated sigh, and a matching roll of the eyes, Vincent grumbles a "fine."

"Absolutely wonderful!" Hugo just nearly jumps out of his seat to run laps around the gym.

A camera clicks from behind them—and all three boys spin around.

A parent took a picture of their senior student making a basket. Seven points for home—

A flash from farther off—

A child accidentally took a picture. No flash photography allowed, and the parents are fussing about the phone.

"How on earth are we going to find someone taking a picture in this?" Vince asks, gesturing to the mass of people that occupy the wide bleachers. "We can't possibly see everyone."

"No, but we can look anyway," Hugo insists. "Take your mind off—"

Dion slaps him on the back of the head, reaching around Vince.

"That was uncalled for, sir," Hugo pouts, rubbing the back of his head.

"Are you moping, Hugo?" Vincent teases, at the same time that his eyes land on the big fat lens pointed directly at his face.

"That's not fair," Hugo begins. But before he can get any further, Vincent gently nudges him on the shoulder. Both he and Dion follow Vince's gaze.

The camera lens has moved on to further up the bleachers. Up, in the direction of Spencer. And Ambrose. Swallowing a lump and remembering how to breathe, he sees Spence wearing Ambrose's jacket.

How cliché, Vincent thinks in order to silence the static that's started in his brain; pounds between his temples, like a migraine.

"I need air," he manages before ducking out of the gym, a hand to his head.

Water. He needs water. Water is all he'll allow himself to think of as he sees her smiling in his mind's eye again. Eating concessions food and having a good time.

Finding the fountain, the water gets within centimeters—millimeters of his lips, before he can't take it. Vincent releases a groan, pushing away from the water fountain, pressing his thumbs into his eyes.

He shouldn't have closed his eyes.

Vince tries to remember the feel of her lips, as he had when he'd arrived. Calling upon the memory with permanent residence, knocking on the door, but it seems that no one's home and the spare key's been forgotten. Quitter, that memory.

"Dude, you alright?" It's Hugo's voice.

"Like I said," rubbing his eyes one last time, "I'm fine."

Dion rounds the corner a second later to join an unconvinced Hugo.

"The boy's from the yearbook club," choosing not to address Vincent's obvious distress. "He had a badge around his neck so he could sit on the sidelines with his camera."

Vincent nods. He'll process tomorrow. Information overload at the moment, and so he hears himself asking to be taken home before his brain can even think on it.

"Of course," Dion says, already leading the way back to the front entrance.

As they walk, Vincent thinks of how he's being pathetic. How he's getting all worked up over some stupid girl who's not even his girlfriend. Some girl who just waltzes off with someone from her fourth period class, not giving him a second thought. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

But it doesn't feel so.

If only he knew.

If only he knew how Spencer couldn't stop herself from looking over all evening. Knew how she panicked for a split second when he left. How she really hadn't heard a thing of what Ambrose had said all night because she'd been too busy thinking about how strange it was to be in school, watching Vincent from afar, unable to speak to him.

Seven more points for the home team.

The crowd stands, raising chaos.