"maybe we can head to the apocalypse again as a little vacation. you know what they say... paradise!"
"i cannot express to you how little i would like to do that."
"stingy fucker."
IN WHICH vincent leblanc, resident french asshole and externally...
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VINCENT HAD NEVER BEEN THIS CLOSE TO FIVE BEFORE. With their shoulders touching slightly and them both leaning slightly close to one another, sharing a cigarette as the cold air nipped at their skin. Along their stroll to Fives sister, Vanyas, apartment, Vincent had pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one up. Of course, the sound of the thing being lit up was enough to make Five perk up, plucking the cigarette from between Vincent's lips and taking a puff before he even could.
Vincent hadn't been even slightly angry, glad that Five was finally not as pissed at him as he had been all day. They had passed the cigarette back and forth silently, other than the occasional cough or heavy sigh. Vincent understood that Five wanted nothing to do with him. He knew that Five was very hesitant to even think about bringing him to his sisters humble abode.
The pair had progressively gravitated closer to one another as they walked, close enough that if they turned to face one another they would undoubtedly feel the others hot breath on their face. Vincent had never been this close to him. They had never decided to get this close. Had never made the split decision to hug one another or anything even close. Five had used to sometimes play with Vincent's hair, although he had never actually gotten too close. Not enough that they were quite touching skin to skin. Not like they were now.
Vincent was nervous. His hands felt clammier than usual and his face was a burning red, despite the cold. He didn't know the feeling. It was foreign, an unknown pressure at his gut that made him feel an unbearable sense of anxiety. Not because it was uncomfortable, but because he had no idea what it could be. Being close to Five only ever made the feeling appear, it seemed. He had ruled out the idea of liking Five as more than friends a long time ago, when he was lying in his bed back in France and thinking of the teleporting boy.
He decided that he hadn't thought of their lips pressing against one another enough for it to be a crush. He had thought of kissing Five twice, once when they were lying a few feet away from each other in the end of the world, Five taken over by slumber and Vincent taken over by thoughts; and once when he had left Five and began to feel terribly bad for it. He had thought of what it would be like to comfort Five. He had never gotten to do that. Five was not a particularly emotionally vulnerable person. Or at least, he was good at hiding his emotions.
Vincent, on the other hand, was not. He was too emotional, finding himself crying into his pillow for whatever reason nearly every night. He was sensitive, a total fucking crybaby that couldn't handle anything overwhelmingly upsetting. If faced with something that is hard for him to accept, he'd probably scream and sob, fall unto himself and curl up like a child having a tantrum. But no one would comfort him. No one had ever comforted him before.
