"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 LEBLANC hadn't been happy for a year. More than a year, actually. His life had gone utterly downhill ever since the whole ordeal. He hadn't been able to sleep, hadn't found himself smiling as much. He supposed that's what something like what he went through did to a person. He hadn't spoken to very many people, either, living in a run down hotel for a year as he worked 3 jobs to get the money for a plane ticket to New York City.
Thank fuck, the 3 jobs didn't require a background check, allowing his true age to never be questioned. He was still visibly 15, even after a year had passed. He wasn't too bothered by it.
After about a year of working his hardest, he had finally gotten enough money to head right to the big apple, getting on a plane without a care in the world. He had grinned when he got there, finally away from the place he had despised for so very long. He knew exactly where the academy was located. Everyone did at this point. It was basically a tourist attraction.
He had hauled a taxi, sitting in the back with no bags or anything. He didn't have any possessions to take with him, after all. He was rather excited to go all the way to the Umbrella Academy, the place he'd thought about going to for years. Just for a visit. Reginald Hargreeves had died just recently, making it the perfect time for Vincent to head there.
Of course, he felt bad for the family. Although, it opened up a window for him to head over there and tell them all about the end of the world and Five... oh, Five. How he missed Number Five. Despite their rare share of happiness, Vincent still missed him dearly. He didn't think he ever would forget about the time traveling man who was now 58 years old, probably rotting away in the 1950s.
Vincent had kept track on how old Five had become over the years, keeping it recorded in his journal that he had managed to retrieve from his childhood home a few months before. He had broken in through his old window, one with a lock much too easy to pick. He had climbed inside, finding his room exactly the way he had left it all those years before he'd gone missing. He had easily found his journal underneath his pillow, slipping it underneath his shirt before running off away from the home and back to the hotel he had been staying in.
He wrote a lot more in the journal now than he used to. He wrote about Five a lot more than he ever thought he would. Wrote about his hair and his eyes, the mannequin he carried around and affectionately named "Dolores." He wrote about his attitude, the sass that exuded from the Hargreeves boy. The sass he had come to adore.
Vincent thought, at most times, that he liked Five more than Five had ever liked him. He was most likely correct, finding Five to be the bestest friend he had ever had. He doubted Five thought of him to be the same thing. Vincent had accepted the fact since, understanding that Five was probably terribly pissed at him for just leaving him all alone one day without a word of goodbye.
