It's not delivery, it's disappointment. (yaoi)

it's hard but it's worth it(sometimes)

"...Hey."

Their voice was deep, but a mere whisper against Vincent's racing mind. A thousand voices speaking all at once which mashed into one large roar. In his head, at least. He was frozen in place, paralyzed with his own dwelling imagination. He took a step back from the doorway, mindful of the steps leading downwards, and pulled the rest of his form with his worn shoes. He did not speak, but instead stared as the figure slowly came to light. Or rather, they craned to reveal their face in the light

"You're the pizza guy, right?"

"..."

"Ehm... " A brief silence. The taller man couldn't much fathom what exactly was bothering the guy, but he relented the stiff silence. In directing the attention from himself as an offset option to the 'situation'.

"You're kinda bending the box-" He notified.

It was curt, but gave Vincent enough of a start. Vince turned his attention from the shadowed customer to the battered box in his arms, and yep. It was dipping in two now. It reminded him of the titanic. What a failure. He released his death grip on the thin cardboard, pushed it up a little to ease the divot. He gingerly pressed it forward

"S-Sorry, I'm... ehm... I'm here to deliver these-," Vincent stuttered.

"Collian."

Collian gave a small, genuine smile that was docile and attentive. It brought Vincent to a flush, and he responded as cooly as he could manage.

"Right." Even that wavered. He failed.

Vincent glanced pointedly at the two pizza boxes in hand briefly. He then trained his eye contact with his customer, before deciding that the doorframe was much more pleasing to the eye. He never really could retain long-term eye contact. Another reason he was stuck. For now at least. With this crappy job, he had himself to blame for this. He knew.

"An... all-veggie, with a... left sausage to 14th elm street, house 1111. You called, right?" He paused briefly in the midst of listing out the order, still finding 'left sausage' to be a strange combination for a pizza taste. He wasn't really one to judge, though.

They nodded in the affirmative, a smirk glinting as Collian thought this to be some break in the awkward encounter. That was nice. Vincent pulled the receipt out of his backpocket, somewhat struggling inwardly to juggle the boxes in one hand. He nervously passed over the slip of paper to Collian. Collian reached into his own pocket. While he counted his money, Vincent took in his appearance.

Well, if there was one thing that really popped out to him, it was that this guy was pretty damn strapping. Collian was wearing a sweater, sure, but it wasn't like anything couldn't be left to the imagination. He was fair skinned and visibly built. The tendons in his hands revealing whenever he flexed to reach in for another quarter, the scarcely visible muscle in his legs shown whenever he'd shift weight. His nose was low and arched, seeming connected all the way up to his eyebrows. It reminded Vincent of a 'V'. His eyes were difficult to describe in such lighting, but from what he could catch, they were deep, possibly brown. Vincent found himself vaguely wanting to get closer to scrutinize.

'Wow. That sounds really bad out of context. Even in context..." A brief thought that shamed Vince for staring so intensly at this man. 'He's a stranger, goddamn. But even strangers are aesthetically pleasing..' An internal battle would have waged, had it not been for the disruption in Vincent's atmosphere.

He was wearing black rimmed glasses, only to match his raven hair. Vincent couldn't catch a sliver of brown, not even in the light, he found this entrancing. His shorts weren't shorts at all, just swim trunks with an obscure arrangement of green and red shapes. Vincent huffed out a sigh, and boggled his eyes at the sudden intrusion of a hand in his face. Well, close enough to make him pull back quickly.