"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...
( i never knew somebody like you, somebody, falling just as hard )
chapter twenty three ! (tw. pretty strong internalized homophobia in this one)
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VINCENT HADN'T THOUGHT ABOUT IT IN FULL. The open hands of such a tender darkness that was, perhaps, death or just an intangible sleep, far from grasp but close enough to know it was there. He hadn't had the time lately to process what it meant, really, to die. To lose himself to something unknown and mysterious that he had no prior knowledge of.
The horror of it all was what kept Vincent up at night. How would Vincent die in a timeline that didn't exist within the apocalypse? Hopefully years from now, happier than he was now. Hopefully painless, easy and peaceful.
The happenings of the past week had scared the living shit out of Vincent for more reasons than one. First being the openness of Five's newfound affection, the way he'd hold Vincent's hand like it was the most casual thing in the goddamn world, despite how terrified he knew Five was of ever being found out. (Though found out about exactly what, Vincent wasn't sure.) Secondly, the harsh flashes of gorey corpses in his brain were getting harder to handle, increasingly driving him insane. He didn't have the mental capacity for such a thing, that he was sure of. Fuck that, wholeheartedly with full offense. And third of all, Vincent didn't know what the hell was going on. Five had left him in the dark on when exactly the world was ending- the bastard- and now Vincent was going along with something that would very likely lead to that exact fucking intangible tender darkness. Nothing poetic about it, really.
Vincent fucking hated Five. Five and everything about him infuriated Vincent to no end. The way he stood with an ideal that he was better than everyone, more intelligent and strategic. Maybe that was true, but it was still utterly annoying.
Vincent wished he didn't have to look at Five and feel such strong things for him. Such outrageous clenches of his heart, yet so synonymous with something almost comforting that horrified Vincent and would undoubtedly make Five a little nervous if he knew. But that was the thing, the real fucking kicker; he didn't know. He would never know. Five would never understand how wildly yearnful Vincent had been for the past week or so. How horribly sickening his love had gotten, needful and almost crucial.
It didn't sound as bad as it was, but Vincent knew Five could tell by the small change in attitude. The way Five was more put off by Vincent's jokes, growing red in the face and averting his gaze and getting tense every damn time.
It almost upset Vincent. Made him frown and bite his tongue, also look away, ignite the sudden urge to pull all his hair out anxiously and live his life out in a box until the world ends and he explodes into a million pieces or whatever the fuck goes down when the earth disappears into a poof of dust. He didn't want Five to think he was gross.
