Chapter Text
Alastor realized something was wrong the moment he stepped into his studio and couldn’t see absolutely anything. A strong, sweet scent flooded his nostrils, creating a cloying atmosphere that made him dizzy, and a soft, plush texture swallowed his face.
Something enormous, red, and absurdly perfumed—had he already mentioned the perfume? Because the entire room felt like a flower garden at its peak. The object was shoved against his face with enough enthusiasm to nearly knock him backward.
“What is this?” His voice came out muffled and grouchy, already edged with threat.
The assistant froze for half a second, struggling to hold the most expensive and painfully embarrassing bouquet Alastor had ever seen in his life. A hundred roses—perhaps even more—crammed together as if trying to crush whatever dignity Alastor still possessed. An elegant sheet of vivid blue paper wrapped the mass of roses, too blue, too electric, exactly the favorite color of a certain someone, securing everything with careful precision. A glossy, sophisticated ribbon held it all in place.
“It’s…” the young man cleared his throat. “It’s for you, sir.”
Alastor pushed the bouquet away just enough to breathe and stared at it as if it were a lunatic.
“I wonder,” he said slowly, “who, in the name of EVERYTHING that is still even remotely reasonable in this corporate hell, would send this into my studio at seven oh five in the morning?”
The assistant smiled. He wasn’t Alastor’s assistant—Alastor had seen this boy around before, and he knew exactly with whom… A guilty smile. Very guilty, very embarrassed, spread across the young man’s face.
“Mr. Vincent asked me to apologize for not being able to pick you up at home today,” he said quickly, like someone reciting a memorized script. “But he asked me to let you know that he’ll make it up to you by taking you out to dinner tonight. He personally hired a helicopter to take you to the top of the tallest building in the city, to that restaurant with the glass walls, so you can enjoy the view.”
Silence.
A silence so heavy it seemed to compress the air inside the studio.
Alastor felt a vein throb in his forehead. Literally. He brought two fingers to his temple, closed his eyes for a second, and took a deep breath, as if counting to ten… and failing at three.
“He…” he began, then stopped. “Has he completely lost his mind?” he muttered, almost to himself. “Did all that gel poison his brain?”
“He seemed… very excited,” the assistant ventured. “I’ve never seen him smile this much these past few days. He hopes you like it. He also said blue suits you very well.”
The vein throbbed again.
“Of course he did.”
The disconcerting, heavy bouquet was finally placed on the soundboard with the assistant’s help, taking up far too much space, drawing far too much attention, turning Alastor’s workplace into a perfumery. Alastor stared at it, then pulled a single rose from the arrangement. He smelled it—full, beautiful, completely in bloom. Where was he supposed to put a hundred roses? What a complicated man, heavens.
Since the kiss, Vincent had let his wings loose, along with whatever restraint he once had. He’d allowed his most bewildering, eccentric traits to spill freely from every pore. Alastor still couldn’t reconcile the man he’d met on his first day of work with the man he was now. The contrast was simply too jarring.
When Vincent appeared about fifteen minutes later, Alastor knew before even seeing him.
It was as if the room had been invaded by far too much energy for an ordinary, mediocre workday.
“Good morning!” Vincent announced, throwing the studio door open with a smile so wide it should have been illegal before nine. He greeted everyone, then approached. “Good morning, my favorite radio host!”
Alastor didn’t turn around.
“If you say ‘good morning’ one more time, I will use the thorns from those roses as a bladed weapon.”
Vincent laughed. Truly laughed. An easy, open laugh, utterly indecent for someone who just weeks ago had been far too busy finding ways to irritate Alastor. He cupped Alastor’s face and kissed the top of his head with enthusiasm.
Alastor froze. He couldn’t even look around. His mind went blank.
“You saw them!” Vincent moved closer to the table, animated, breathing in the scent of the flowers. “I thought about sending fifty, but when I realized they were for you, that felt genuinely miserly. A hundred seemed… appropriate.”
“It looks like it’s for some kind of funeral,” Alastor shot back. “Or a corporate apology after handing someone a termination letter.”
“It is an apology,” Vincent agreed, far too serious for half a second. “For not keeping my promise and picking you up. And today feels like it’s going to be a good day. I woke up thinking, ‘I am absurdly happy, so I should make the person I love happy too.’”
He said all of it without a trace of irony.
Alastor closed his eyes.
Hell. How did he manage to say things like that so naturally?
Throughout the morning, it became painfully clear that Vincent had decided to live as if the world were one long personal celebration.
Alastor commented, without much thought, that the company coffee was undrinkable.
Five minutes later, someone showed up with a thermal cup from an absurdly expensive, exclusive café on the other side of the city.
“I had it brought in,” Vincent explained, pleased. “You wrinkled your nose. I found it offensive that you had to drink that. I know your palate is refined.”
“Vincent…”
“If you want, I can have it delivered every day. At other times too.”
Alastor pressed his lips together. He took a sip. It really was delicious, but how was he supposed to keep accepting all of this? Vincent looked like the lead in some soap opera, courting the love interest and showering her with gifts and expensive gestures—like when he showed up with tickets to Alastor’s favorite opera, the one he hadn’t been able to buy in time because it had sold out, or when he took him to lunch and closed the entire restaurant just for the two of them. Alastor wanted to let a bit of venom slip, to rein in this excess, but then he’d see one green eye and one blue eye fixed on his face with nothing but humility and kindness, and the cruel words would dissolve along with his saliva.
What was he doing?
In the hallway, Alastor idly complimented an old painting hanging on the wall.
“You liked it?” Vincent stopped immediately. “I can buy one just like it for you. Or buy this one and give you the original.”
“It was just a comment. Don’t be reckless.”
“But it was your comment.”
Alastor had no words.
In the cafeteria, Vincent was his complete nightmare.
He sat too close. Touched too much. Held his tray. Took a napkin and wiped his mouth. Brushed away a nonexistent grain of rice from Alastor’s lapel as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Alastor felt the attention. Felt the stares. Felt the murmurs growing.
“Vincent, you’re overdoing it,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“Oh, I didn’t notice,” Vincent replied cheerfully. “When I’m with you, I can’t bring myself to care about anything else.”
“Well, apparently a lot of people also seem not to care about anything else…”
It was only when they were alone later, in an empty editing room, sorting through footage for their podcast, that Vincent seemed to… slow down.
He closed the door carefully, like someone who didn’t want to scare a stressed animal.
“May I?” he asked, coming up behind him, his voice lower.
Alastor felt Vincent’s body draw close, not touching yet.
“May you what?”
“This.”
Arms wrapped around Alastor’s waist, slow, not tight. A back hug, warm, restrained, as if Vincent were holding his own strength in check. He hid his face in the curve of Alastor’s neck.
“Can I touch you like this when it’s just the two of us?”
Alastor let out a long, deep sigh. Tired. A sigh that carried both surrender and clarity at once. To Vincent, it all seemed so easy, but for Alastor, it was the first time—everything was new, and he couldn’t do what he did with everything else in life and go look for old books to teach him how to handle this. He was disoriented by all the attention, nervous about his own emotions. There was no one he could ask, “What am I supposed to do?”
“Vincent…” He tilted his head back, resting it lightly against Vincent’s shoulder. “You’re acting like a puppy who’s just discovered he’s allowed on the couch.”
Vincent smiled against his hair.
“A good puppy?”
“A very needy puppy.”
“Hopelessly in love with his owner.”
Alastor was silent for a few seconds. Then he laughed. A low, disbelieving, slightly tired laugh, but unexpectedly happy.
“All right.” He lifted one hand and touched Vincent’s arm briefly. “I’ll allow it. I brought this on myself—it’s only fair I take responsibility.”
Vincent tightened the hug just a little. Alastor could feel his wide smile against the curve of his neck.
“But not in public,” Alastor added. “Not all the time. And no… excessive displays in the cafeteria.”
“Understood,” Vincent nodded, serious as if he’d just received military orders. Alastor laughed again. This man was unbelievable.
At the end of the day, when they were finally leaving, Vincent showed up holding the enormous bouquet so Alastor wouldn’t have to strain his arms. He looked excited again.
“So…” he smiled. “Helicopter?”
Alastor stared at him for a moment. Then looked away, thoughtful.
“It’s a Wednesday. Are you sure you want to do that? And it’s so cold. I don’t think we need to take a helicopter to a restaurant in a building so tall you can’t see anything anyway. Instead…” he said slowly, feeling a bit anxious, “why don’t you grab the keys to that tacky, expensive car of yours… and come have dinner at my place? I’m not a five-star restaurant, but I trust my skills.”
Vincent blinked. Once. Twice.
Then he smiled in a different way. Less flamboyant. More real.
“I’d love to,” he answered simply, but if he’d had ears and a tail, both would have been upright and wagging.
Alastor turned toward the parking lot, already regretting having said it, but also satisfied that he had. He wanted this, even if he was unsure, and it would just be dinner—he didn’t need to feel like a teenager. He needed to deal with all of this like an adult.
Behind him, Vincent squeezed his keys tightly, like someone who had just won something, his smile bright and giddy, like a teenager at the peak of excitement.
Neither of them knew what would happen next, but they were both very ready to find out.