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He pinches the stem between his fingers, the glass was cool and nostalgic. With a practiced hand, he plucks it like a flower from the counter, red petals fluttering in the glass. He does not spill it. He does not push the drink down his throat. He sips slowly, lips grasped around the rim, letting liquid in. Transporting him.
…
That was a lie. It has been many, many years since a simple drink could pull him from the present. He swallows, resting the drink back on the counter.
Draco seemingly came out from the shadows of the room, into the spotlight of the bar.
“Master.”
“Yes?”
“Victor Blake is here.”
Vincent raises an eyebrow.
“When have I not let him in, Draco? He is your second master, as this is his second home. He is my most trusted associate. Don’t forget that.”
“Yes, Master, of course.” Draco did not falter, “I will allow him in.” He bows, taking his leave.
Vincent ran his fingertips slowly along the edge of the glass as he waited for his guest, his finger hindered slightly on his saliva, then continuing.
“My dear Vincent, drinking without me?” He hears Victor’s footsteps approach him. He feels a cold metal hand on his shoulder.
Vincent smiles, closing his eyes. “I always drink without you, fool.”
Victor gasps dramatically, feigning shock. “Lies. You can’t toss them back without me .”
Vincent snorts under his breath. “Toss them back? Victor, really?”
“Of course, it’s the only way to drink!”
“You just like getting drunk quickly.”
Victor takes a seat beside him, legs crossed and arm propping his head up on the counter. Draco automatically comes to the wall of bottles facing them.
“What would you like tonight, sir?”
“Brandy, at least 25 years. Sherry aged preferably.”
“Of course.”
Draco plucks a crystalline bottle gracefully from the shelf, turning and setting it on the counter. He reaches below it for a glass. A tulip shaped cup with a stout stem is set in front of Victor, and the rich liquid is poured into it. Draco leaves the bottle with him. Victor thanks him, but only gets a bow in return from Draco, before he turns and walks away.
“Do you come just to drain me of my alcohol collection?”
“Oh, but of course, my dear. You only drink martinis most days. Your other bottles are feeling very neglected.” Victor traces the side of the bottle of brandy, almost pitiful. Vincent rolls his eyes.
The next few minutes are spent silently drinking. Victor finishes nearly the entire bottle, while Vincent finishes his glass. His face is slightly red when he speaks again.
“Have you been… alright while I’ve been gone?”
“Hm? As alright as I can be. Why do you ask?”
“Mmm… I just worry about you, my dear.”
“I can take care of myself, Victor.”
Vincent glances at Victor, who was staring intently at him.
“I know you never want me to go on those things.”
“What I want isn’t an issue. It’s what we need that’s the issue.”
“I just…” Victor seems to think for a moment, before he scoots his barstool over and leans towards him. Vincent lets him.
He feels metal encapsulate his cheeks, and he’s suddenly unable to avoid his eyes. Striking, black, probing eyes… Vincent always thought they were beautiful on Victor.
Victor’s forehead is pressed against his, and he feels the warmth of his face from the alcohol. “Want you to know… I’d do it all again, for you.”
Now Vincent’s face was flushed. “V-Victor. What is this all about?”
“When this is all over, I want…” One of Victor’s hands leaves his face, digging into his pocket. He pulls out a box. It is a dark mahogany, treated so that it glints like a gem in the harsh bar lighting.
Vincent’s eyes widened . “Victor…”
“…I want us to get married.” Victor looks him in the eyes. “Will you marry me, Vincent Edgeworth?”
An electric moment passes. Vincent’s eyes are locked in place. Gray swirls of emotion that usually never showed. Never poked their heads from their hole, unless Victor reached in… gripped them by the hair… and pulled them into the sunlight.
Vincent’s eyebrows furrowed together. He tries, he tries very hard, but he can’t stop the tears from spilling over. His mouth opens in shock, and hands are reaching… reaching for Victor.
Victor smiles, and stands from his barstool, Vincent’s face still in his hand, and the box in the other. He sets it on the counter, then dives into Vincent, arms wrapping around him fiercely as he sobs. Vincent’s hands latch onto him, face buried in his shoulder.
Vincent Edgeworth is polite, composed, calculating, and mysterious. He is an enigma. A dangerous man. But… he is also a cat lover, fiercely loyal, smart, and strong hearted. Nothing Vincent Edgeworth sets his mind to goes unfinished, and no one Vincent Edgeworth loves goes uncared for.
The only one Vincent Edgeworth is truly in love with is Victor Blake. The only one who has ever seen Vincent cry is Victor Blake. To the world, Vincent Edgeworth doesn’t cry. To Victor Blake…
“Yes… I do… I do, Victor…” Vincent babbles in between sobs, feeling unbelievably small. A drink may have not been able to transport him, but Victor was. Victor always was. There was no greater grief Vincent felt, than the grief for the things that he had taken from Victor. “God I… after all this, you still…”
“Of course I do, Vin, of course…” Vincent grips tighter onto the fabric of Victor’s vest, as if he was in pain.
“You do… oh god, you do…”
Victor holds the back of his head, running his cold metal hand through the black strands.
… to Victor Blake, Vincent Edgeworth is the man he will live, and subsequently die with.
There will be no fanfare.
There will be no funeral.
There will be no wedding.
All promises they make, must be made now, while they’re still alive to make them.
So Victor holds his fiancé tightly. Even when his head is no longer on his body. He holds him tightly.