"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...
( 'cause im lonely, im so lonely, if you hold me i'll be your only, are you lonely )
chapter nineteen !
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VINCENT WISHED HE COULD TELL HIMSELF TO FUCK OFF. He wished he could reach into his own subconscious and quiet down his thoughts, make his head empty. But he couldn't.
He couldn't help his staring at Five either; the way his eyes would fall amongst the boys jawline, every goddamn perfect thing about him. He couldn't help the way his chest ached when his eyes caught onto him and the quickening beating of his heart.
Though doing so only drove Vincent more and more fucking insane. His thoughts would drift to everytime he'd been beaten black and blue for liking boys. The times he'd kissed boys to numb it all and only ended up making it so so much worse. Everything horrible and suffocating that had ever happened to him.
It was no lie that Vincent hated who he was. He'd always despised the very essence of his personality. The way he acted around people, anyone who wasn't himself. Loud and seemingly open, flaunting how gay he was all the damn time. Really, Vincent often found himself hating that part the most.
Perhaps it was his own self loathing that created that fuming detestation he had buried down. Perhaps it was the internalized feelings he had towards the way he felt for boys. And fuck, he'd never quite admitted that before. He tried to be open about it, spew out jokes to cover up how much discomfort it brought him. But everytime, all that went through his head was every moment in which he'd been targeted or called something horrible for that very thing.
Maybe that made Vincent sensitive. Maybe it made him weak. The way he was so fucked up over something that attributed to so many things that weren't even horrible. Liking boys didn't make him as terrible as the assholes used to say it did.
But it did still feel that way. Everytime he felt himself yearn over Five, every pretty thing about the boy. Everytime his eyes would linger for too long, everytime he dreamt of his arms around Fives waist or Fives arms around his, he didn't fucking care. He just wanted so much. Too much. Too much that Five would probably hate him for.
Sure, Five had kissed him when they were drunk, but that didn't mean he would approve of Vincent having feelings for him. Feelings. Fuck. Vincent felt so much for Five. So much it hurt to think about, made Vincent want to pull every strand of his hair right out of his head. He made Vincent's heart beat fast, palms sweat, face go red and brain short-circuit.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
Vincent scratched at his palm, hard enough to leave a harsh white line that would likely soon fade away and be replaced with a red one, letting out a sharp hiss of pain through his teeth. He held back the urge to bring his hand up to his hair, grip tight and pull. He knew Five didn't like it much when he did that. Though he'd started to get back in the habit, and that made it all the more difficult to stop.
