BLUE [BXB]

ELEVEN

   Vincent didn't go to school the next day. Or the day after. His phone had been blowing up with notifications, ones that he hadn't bothered to check.

   He knew he was overreacting. He knew he was being dramatic. But he couldn't help the way his insides lurched every time he tried to get out of bed. His head felt like it was going to explode from the dizzy spell that seemed hellbent on sticking with him, and he'd thrown up so much the past couple of days that he wasn't sure there was anything left inside of him.

   His dad, though meaning well, didn't really know what to do. Every day, he lingered for a good half hour at the door of his son's room, staring helplessly at his self-destructing boy. He didn't know what was wrong with Vincent, only that he was ready to pummel whoever bothered him into the ground.

To anybody who wasn't Vincent, Roger Samuel was a beast of a man. Burly, bald, and genetically predisposed to having a grim face, it was no surprise people cowered away from his seemingly ever-permanent glare.

Macey, who had been friends with Vincent for years now, wasn't all that affected by him. He liked her enough to toss a couple of smiles her way, but even she knew better than to cross the beast.

But, had anyone seen the way he was softly gazing at his son, concern lining his exhausted eyes, they wouldn't have believed this was the same man.

"Vince?" he called out, voice deep and low, but laced with a gentleness nobody but his son got the privilege of witnessing. "Feeling any better?"

Roger knew better than to pry. He'd learned that his son would speak when he wanted to. Trying to force anything out of the hot-headed teen would only make him shrivel further into himself.

But he would come around. He always did.

Vincent raised his head from the pillow, offering a weak smile, "I'm okay, Dad."

His voice was rasped and scratchy, as if he hadn't spoken in days. Looking back at it, aside from a few mumbles to soothe his father, he really hadn't uttered a word.

"You have a visitor," he announced.

"I don't wanna see anyone, Dad," Vincent refused immediately, turning to face the other way, as he deemed the conversation to be over.

Apparently, Roger thought differently, because he furrowed his brows and spoke, "But why, darling? I think it would be good for you to—"

"I don't want Macey to see me like this," he mumbled dejectedly, voice muffled by the sheets.

Vincent could already imagine the way his perky best friend would pale at the sight of him. He imagined her chocolate brow eyes going wide and then pooling with tears. As much as he loved Macey, he couldn't bear to comfort her while he was in pain himself.

"It's not Macey. It's a boy."

Vincent's body went stiff, eyes widening as he struggled to process the words. He knew exactly who it was.

He turned abruptly, shooting up into a half-sitting position, as he stared disbelievingly at his father. Was Ethan really here?

After what had happened, Vincent figured it would be the last time he'd see the green-eyed boy anywhere near him, let alone in his room.

He found himself seething silently. How dare he come back? Vincent almost told his dad to send him away, but then he hesitated.

On one hand, he didn't want Ethan to see him like this; so broken and fragile. He didn't want him to know just how much his words had affected Vincent.

On the other hand, though, Vincent knew the gut-wrenching guilt that would overcome Ethan once he laid eyes upon the tired boy who looked like he hadn't left the bed in days.

Before he could change his mind, "Let him in."

Vincent didn't miss the surprise that registered on Roger's face as he rushed down the steps. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, hoping to at least look presentable. He debated changing his clothes, but was quickly interrupted as a breathless Ethan burst into the room. He was panting, like he'd jogged up the stairs.

Vincent almost smiled amusedly, but then their eyes met, and suddenly he was the breathless one. Ethan's emerald eyes shone like never before. Sparkling with guilt and a tinge of regret, Vincent felt as if the boy was looking through him.

"Fuck, Vince," the raspy voice bounced off the walls, sending chills down Vincent's back. Ethan took in the smaller boy, remorse clawing at his insides. Vincent's eyes were bloodshot and glossy, his hair a dirty mop on his head, and his face a sickly pale.

The longer Ethan stared at Vincent, the harder he wanted to punch himself in the gut.

How could he have been so cruel?

Vincent almost snapped at him for using that nickname, but thought better of it. He didn't say anything, scared that if he tried to open his mouth, all that would come out were sobs.

"You look like shit, man," Ethan blurted the first thing that came to mind. Vincent stared at him in disbelief, and, for a second, Ethan thought the boy was going to yell and kick him out. For a second, he wanted him to.

But then, a soft chuckle left Vincent's lips, and soon enough, he erupted into full blown laughter. Ethan was shocked for a second, until the melodic sound lulled him into a trance, and he found himself laughing along.

Tears slipped down Vincent's red cheeks, and, for the first time in days, it wasn't because he was sad.

Ironic, wasn't it? The person who'd caused him enough misery to leave him bedridden for days was also the reason he was now howling with laughter.

"Out of all the things you could say," Vincent mused, shoving Ethan who had settled down on the bed next to him. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

Ethan brows furrowed, growing serious all of a sudden. "Yeah, I do. I'm really, really sorry about what happened. I just—freaked out? I know I'm a dick. I never meant to hurt you, Vincent. I'm sorry."

Vincent smiled sheepishly, already feeling the knot in his chest resolve at Ethan's words. He didn't want to forgive him so easily, but how could he not?

At the very least, Ethan was trying. Believe it or not, Vincent hadn't even expected that. "Apology accepted."

Ethan beamed, not having excepted the ordeal to be as simple as it proved to be. The air between them was still, naturally, tense. However, Ethan didn't find it in him to be bothered with it, knowing that all it would take for the two to be buddy-buddy again was some time.

"Listen, Vince," he started, dreading what was about to come. "About the kiss—"

"It was a mistake, Ethan. I know," Vincent butted in, ignoring the way his chest ached.

Ethan's throat went dry. He didn't know why, but hearing the words come out of Vincent's mouth made his heart clench. He found himself on the brink of protesting, but caught himself before he could.

It was the right thing to do.

Ethan didn't want to admit to himself that ever since he walked into the room, he'd been wanting to close the gap between their bodies and feel Vincent's lips against his own. Didn't want to admit that ever since the kiss, he'd been craving to have Vincent pressed up against him, to hold him.

Instead of mouthing his thoughts, he nodded, smiling bitterly.

And then they laid there, two feet apart, hearts breaking as all they wanted to do was curl into each other.