Dead Set. || PURPLEPHONE

Work.

(( I've written a writing advice book. . . check it out?

A slightly short chapter but I think it ended at the right place. ))

Scott grinned at Vincent, his tie swinging slightly as he skipped to catch up to his boyfriend, "You know, as much as Fazbear's is a Godforsaken hell-hole, I'm almost glad to be going back." 

"Really?" Vincent arched an eyebrow. "How on earth could you possibly enjoy it there? They make it seem all friendly and 'magical', but I swear, the smell of death is soaked into the bricks of that place. Freddy's is the most screwed up, horror-shack of a place I've ever worked."

"Gee, I'll be sure to tell Uncle William you said that," Scott poked his boyfriend in the stomach as they walked down the road towards the aforementioned 'horror-shack'. 

"Oh, come on," Vincent nudged him back, "Don't tell me you don't get the shivers when you're at work. Like something-- someone-- is always staring you down, crawling on your back, making the hairs on your neck stand up. It weirds me out." 

Scott paused for a second, trying to figure out if Vincent was serious or not, and then he frowned, "Huh. I never thought you'd be the superstitious type." 

Vincent huffed, looking aside and shrugging his shoulders. "You just shouldn't play around with things you don't understand." 

Scott snorted, "What are you worried about, Vinny? Ghosts? OooooOooOOOoOoh~! Fazbear's was built over a gay disco club after all! It was the ghosts that forced me to admit my sexuality, oooOOoOh!"

Vincent laughed, shoving Scott playfully, "Yes, actually. Now I remember why I recorded Poltergay. Field research. Trying to figure out whether or not the ghosts were shipping us or not." 

Scott sniggered. "Oh, I imagine they lapped it up. If I were a ghost, and all I had for entertainment was a bunch of snotty-nosed kids and rusty old animatronics, I'd get a bit starved for drama, too."

"Hmmm," Vincent narrowed his eyes, elbowing Scott in the ribs, "Well, maybe we should help them out with that entertainment, huh? A few snuck-in kisses, every now and again? Work does get, oh, so boring sometimes..." 

"Very funny," Scott smiled, "You already know about our restrictions on kissing at work." He punched Vincent back in the arm playfully, and put on a shockingly realistic impression of their boss. "Look, I understand that you two are happy together, and I support your relationship, but, please, for all of our sakes, stop. kissing. so. much." 

Vincent tsked, shaking his head, "Boss. He's a stubborn ass sometimes, but you gotta respect the guy."

Scott nodded, "Oh, yeah. I think even Mike would settle down and listen to William. If that's even possible for him, of course." 

"Probably not," Vincent grinned. "But he'd actually try, which is close enough." 

Scott nodded in agreement, smiling as well. The gravel crunched under his feet as he stopped walking, looking up at the front of Freddy Fazbear's. He took a deep breath and shook his head, "27 years old. Twelve years working at a kids' pizza place. Gawd, Vincent, you ever get the feeling you're a waste of space? I could have done so much more with my life."

"It's never too late to start," Vincent said, as they stepped through the doors of the pizzeria. "Plus, you've got plenty more to live up to..." Vincent smiled to himself, mumbling, "Being my boyfriend, being my husband, and maybe, sometime in the future, being a Dad..." 

Scott's eyes shot open. He spun around to face Vincent, the romantic side of him all aflutter at Vincent's words, "Wha--? AaGH!" With a yelp, Scott slipped, stumbled backwards a few steps, and landed hard on the ground.

Vincent burst into laughter, screwing his eyes shut as he doubled over, "Oh my gosh, Scott. If I didn't know better, I'd say the prospect of being my husband almost scare-" His words died in his throat as he took in the sight before him.

Scott felt his breathing quicken, as he held up his hand, watching the blood slowly drip off and land on his pants, "V... Vincent?" he squeaked, "I t-think we have a problem."