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If only it all started with that damn trip to the campus's coffee shop, but that would be a blatant lie. Looking for an abstract beginning was an absolutely useless exercise, a waste of time, a meaningless act of introspection. However, Victor decided his best bet was to consider that day to be the starting point, for lack of a better one.
To tell the truth, Victor was not even skimming through the rather meager menu for the sake of a cup of coffee. He had never found it reasonable to visit such places on days when he felt fresh and well-rested until he accidentally tagged along with Vincent, who enthusiastically went on and on about the parallels between historical events and those that were currently happening in G4 and other districts, inspired by the last History lecture. Victor tried his best to match his enthusiasm, listened carefully, nodded along, and struggled to come up with some clever remark. It wasn't that he didn't have an opinion; it’s just that when Edgeworth spoke, everyone listened with their jaws dropped. The professors were more than right when they spoke about Vincent’s unmatched professionalism, speaking skills, and impressive outlook. Listening to him was always a pleasure, despite his arrogance, haughtiness, and snobbery. Victor was his only audience during that short walk, and, well... If people hadn’t been so quick to judge, he would have crowned himself the luckiest student at RMU.
Victor wasn’t a fan of coffee, nor did he enjoy the taste; he drank it for its intended purpose only. Yet, refusing Vincent’s invitation (which he had not, in fact, given directly) seemed a greater catastrophe than an extra cup of cheap caffeine.
Usually, the coffee shop was busy with students, but at that moment it was quiet: Financial Law class for both law and economics majors has been postponed for a couple hours, and, while most of the other students were trapped in stuffy classrooms, Vincent and Victor were shifting from foot to foot in the middle of that half-empty diner hall. Well, Victor was, nervous for some unknown reason. Vincent stood with his back straight near the counter, awaiting something.
Blake was not hungry yet after a quick snack he had grabbed before the last lecture, and not a single menu item looked inviting to him; on the contrary, they all seemed purposefully uninteresting, as if hiding and begging not to order them. Victor sighed and began the process of rereading the list once again.
“I got you an Americano,” Vincent said as he approached. “You’ve ordered it here before.”
Victor looked up from his feignedly careful examination of the menu, then glanced at the cup Vincent was holding. Did he just mechanically grab it? Victor stared at those measly few centimeters where his fingers accidentally rested on top of Vincent's, stunned. The cardboard underneath his palm was warm. So was Vincent's hand. Victor suddenly felt scorchingly empty inside, where everything turned upside down, and it seemed the butterflies in his stomach were about to catch fire if a certain someone did not let go.
“Is something wrong?” Vincent asked, still holding tight to the unfortunate cup. Victor wanted to pull his fingers back and to never tear them from their place again at the same time. His head was blissfully empty; it would’ve been nice to ask how Vincent knew that, as it was their first time visiting the café together, but Victor couldn’t find anything more than a dumbfounded “what?..” in his vocabulary.
Vincent's fingers twitched.
He pulled the cup slightly toward himself.
Then frowned.
Victor shook his head, gathered his wits, and blinked a few times, driving away the momentary perplexity that clouded his mind.
“No, no, it’s just... I didn’t quite hear that. Hand it over.”
If only everything had always been clear and simple, and the road had always been lit up by a ray of hope, but saying that would be disingenuous. People tend to hope for unlikely happy endings, but Victor couldn’t even let himself have such thoughts. If he had any chance, it was one of close friendship at best (Victor would’ve accepted that. He would’ve been grateful, even), and an exchange of formalities or two at some alumni meeting after they graduate.
He realized he had a crush – and that it was serious – when he lay in bed for two hours, quietly watching Vincent, who was working diligently. He was busy reading and putting down some notes, paper rustling under his pen. A standard lamp with a green shade flickered, almost as if winking at Blake playfully, and Vincent glanced at it incredulously. Then returned to his important business.
Victor reproached himself for not having anything that seemed more important than remembering every crease in Vincent’s suit. Just a few hours ago, there were pressing deadlines, tests looming over Blake, and a future frightening with uncertainty... Now there was only Vincent’s silhouette. Stately, serious, perfect as always.
And, God, if only this was a one-time thing!.. Stealing glances in a crowd was normal, human, natural, but Victor kept finding himself searching, deliberately looking for a pair of familiar gray eyes, or at least for a head of dark hair, in the noisy school halls. Vincent was easy to look for; he was noticeable, he wanted to be noticeable. Towering above most of his peers, he looked down on everyone – both because of his height and reputation. And because of a childhood spent in a rich family. But did that really matter?
And, even if it did, Victor knew: if he was to approach Vincent, if he was to look over his shoulder, Vincent would not have moved. He would’ve let Victor look down on him. And the idea of that was so dizzying, so gut-wrenching that Victor dared not. He dared not get closer. Dared not give himself an accidental glimmer of hope.
So he gave Edgeworth a warning shot.
“Vincent?” Victor called, lifting himself on the elbows.
Edgeworth looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. The rustle of pen on paper had stopped, and silence fell.
Vincent had a discerning eye that bore into the soul, sparkling with interest and a slight reflection of the stupid green lamp. Vincent had chiseled cheekbones that seemed sunken in the darkness of their dorm room, as befits geniuses. Vincent had a sharp chin and a sharp jawline. His tongue, too, was inexcusably sharp at times. Although it seemed, not today.
“Hmm?” Edgeworth licked his lips, his gaze fixed on Victor.
Or at least on something in his direction.
“Vincent, what time is it?” The clock recently showed half past one, Victor knew that all too well, and it wasn’t even what he wanted to ask. He didn’t even have an actual goal with his question; it was just that Edgeworth’s name rolled off his tongue. It was natural: Vincent could not be kept in place, could not be stopped. If he wasn’t climbing that ladder, he was falling down from it, headlong, deliberately and irrevocably.
“A quarter to two,” Vincent said, and returned to studying. What a pity.
“And you’re still working,” Victor sighed.
“And you’re still awake,” Vincent retorted.
Victor rolled over to face the wall and tried his best to fall asleep, but couldn’t get the image of Edgeworth, with the strands of his raven hair slightly out of place, in his raw, real, extraterrestrial beauty, out of his head.
Sleeping felt impossible, so Victor tossed and turned until he was on his back again. Today there were no patterns on the ceiling, and Victor’s eyes of their own accord wandered around the room, then laid on the back of Vincent’s head.
Edgeworth flinched and turned to the sound of sheets shifting. Victor hastily shut his eyes. Oh, how much he wanted to be closer... Lord, what was he thinking about? Blake hid his face in his hands, sank into the pillow, and thought that it would be nice to suffocate in it.
Vincent flipped another page.
God.
If only it were as simple as love at first sight, but looking at Vincent was not even required; just being around him caused Victor’s heart to flutter in his throat, as if it was banging on the ribcage.
“We’re late,” Edgeworth knocked again, persistent and fast, his voice nervous. Fabric fell out of Victor’s hands once again, and shame crawled under his skin like a nasty web. His palms were sweaty, his fingers trembling. Was this occasion even worth the effort?
“Give me a second!” the words did not sound as confident and cheerful as he intended. Victor's been standing in front of the mirror for an outrageously long time, stressed either from excitement before the event or from how doomed his situation felt – or was it because of Vincent, who insisted on wearing formal, dressy clothes? It seemed really important to him. The silk, for the umpteenth time, slipped from Victor’s fingers. “I'm almost done!”
“Open the door, Victor.”
Victor sighed in defeat and surrendered.
His father never taught him to tie a tie, much less a bow tie. It wasn’t common to wear such things in their family, and the occasions for dressing up could be counted on the fingers of one hand: graduations and funerals.
Blake opened his arms in a sad greeting, and after an awkward second of ringing silence, he let them fall. The freshly ironed shirt rustled as his hands fell to his sides. The bow (or rather, what was supposed to become one) limply hung around his neck.
“You still haven’t tied it,” Vincent muttered through his teeth, glancing at the silver watch on his wrist. Of course I haven’t, I’ve never done this in my life! popped into Victor’s head. He bit his tongue and swallowed the impulse to respond to irritation with irritation. It wouldn’t be fair: the main – the only – cause of exasperation for both of them stood in the middle of the room, hiding his eyes, unable to get some knot over with . “I can’t believe my eyes! I did this in preschool.”
It was quite sad that, from the height of his flight, Edgeworth kept forgetting one simple truth: in preschool, children played with toys, stole candy from the table, and did not bother their heads with boring adult stuff. But well-trodden roads and worn-out highways were meant for ordinary, mediocre people, weren’t they, Vincent?
“I can do without a bow tie,” Victor made a last attempt at protest, but in vain. Vincent had already put his graceful fingers on the silky fabric and was almost done tightening the knot. “Or I could put on a regular one as a last resort…”
“I don’t wear those,” he said, fixing the ends of the bow. “Nor do you.”
“I could start…” Why? To better fit Vincent?
“Nonsense. That’s not like you at all.”
“Right, and bow ties are exactly my style.”
“It was the only thing I could offer,” Edgeworth reminded him, his hands now moving to Victor’s neck to straighten out the wrinkled edge of the shirt. “And, well, it suits you.”
Black tie, wrapped like a silken snake around Victor's neck, now seemed akin to a noose. Victor wasn’t the one to blush from embarrassment, but as soon as Vincent's fingers brushed along the inside of his collar, the heat he felt on his cheeks and in the tips of his ears became a sensation that was a hundred times worse than the awkwardness of the last few minutes. Vincent wouldn't let Victor touch him, would he? Wouldn’t let him pull Edgeworth closer? Of course he wouldn’t!.. And for good.
Victor bit his lip and glanced to the side. The mirror on the wall was sarcastic, showing a mockingly beautiful picture of Vincent leaning over him, as if with care, too high in the clouds to notice how painfully long his fingers lay on Victor’s collar.
If you don't let go this instant, I swear I will...
Vincent removed his hands.
If only Victor was a compliant person who valued the comfort of others above his own at all times, an altruist in the poetic sense of the word, but, even though it wasn’t a complete lie – he preferred compromises to disagreements – next to Vincent, his situation always got a hundred times worse. Running after people was the fate of poor souls who fawned over their peers, colleagues, superiors, mentors – over those who stood higher than them. Running after Vincent Edgeworth, like an obedient dog running after its owner, was the fate of Victor Blake. He consoled himself with the thought that at least there was no falsehood in him, which was commonplace for such desperate pursuits. Victor barely had hope for anything. And his lack of hope was sincere, honest, religious, even. While others were running a sprint in this game, Victor was running a marathon, persistently, doggedly, with a devoted smile on his face. Vincent, with the same persistence, stubborn as always, seemingly on accident (as if he had accidents!) kept pulling Victor towards himself, towards the clouds, towards some goals and ideals. Victor felt he was going crazy when, for the first time, he thought that his goals and ideals were all gathered in one place. They clung on to each other tightly, forming a person dressed in a suit – a proud, confident, and majestic person. And Victor, under their soft, inevitable pressure, caved in and agreed to unthinkable deals in which his only benefit was looking at Vincent and sighing.
This was exactly what Victor has been doing. Hidden behind the open window frame, leaning on the window sill, Victor stole glances at the ever so busy Edgeworth with such caution, such righteous apprehension that every glimpse he caught was imprinted with an amber drop of sealing wax on his eyelids. His soul felt so wonderfully sad that Blake fished a cigarette out of his pocket, spinned it in his hand, and, with a flick of a lighter, lit it. Glanced at Vincent again. Their eyes met. Victor turned his gaze to the window, where a cloud of gray smoke dissolved in the cool darkness of the night, still feeling Edgeworth staring at him.
“We’ve already discussed this,” Vincent hinted at the reason for the tension hanging in the air, his voice low and reproachful.
“Discussed what?” Victor put the cigarette to his lips. Almost like the act itself wasn’t a provocation, a childish prank; almost like he wasn’t testing the waters.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Vincent said. He should’ve been already fed up with this conversation that kept repeating over and over again, shouldn’t he? Vincent engaged in these meaningless exchanges only when he was bored or in a good mood. When he was irritated, out of sorts, or, even worse, tired, he, in eloquent silence, just pointed to the door.
Victor shrugged his shoulders in a show of total confusion and tried to concentrate on the smoldering cigarette between his middle and index fingers. Holding it that way was ostentatious, impractical, and inconvenient, but for some reason, it felt great to be a little too much at that moment.
“Victor,” Edgeworth insisted.
“No clue what you’re talking about,” it became exponentially more difficult to pretend ignorance, and Victor had to keep himself from a stupid grin.
“I can smell that stench from here. Enough is enough,” oh, how diligently he hid behind his work. Sure, for Victor this game was obviously a losing one, but in their playful (and not so much) arguments, he found some strange comfort and peace. Was this how old married couples felt? God, he was in his early twenties... “Clean up the ashes after you’re done.”
“Mhm,” Blake swallowed another smile. “As always.”
“Victor.”
Edgeworth stood up, and for some unknown reason, it seemed wrong to look at him, even if it was just a fleeting gaze. It was quiet and dark outside. Victor thought having a distraction, like counting stars, would be nice, but eternally gray clouds hung over G4. The footsteps grew louder.
“Cut it,” Vincent demanded. He crept up so close that his voice was right behind Victor, and this feeling was enough to make Blake ready to give up, to stop this cat-and-mouse-game...
But then Edgeworth grabbed Victor’s wrist halfway between his lips and the sill, took the cigarette from his fingers, and winced. Victor choked on his last puff and coughed.
“You could use another hobby,” Vincent, certain in his rightness, didn’t even spare it another thought: he put out the cigarette on the disgustingly creaking metal part of the window ledge and, with the most disgruntled face in the world, threw the extinguished cigarette stub at Victor. It hit him right in the heart, bounced off, and fell to the floor. “Something more beneficial to society,” Vincent turned his back. “It was the last time.”
Blake finally gave in and allowed a dumb smile to spread across his face. Maybe there actually was a slight smell of nicotine in the air, but was it that much of a deal? He rubbed his wrist contentedly.
“You always say that.”
“You always promise to listen.”
If only priorities had always been clear, but, being the luckiest guy ever, Victor Blake spent the weekend preparing for tests with his roommate, and prioritizing had never been harder. Out of all tasks that had long been ranked according to importance, urgency, and interest, Vincent Edgeworth, unfortunately (or fortunately), was in the lead by all metrics. During the period of final exams, concentration was a necessity, and never-fading anxiety, mixed with slight complacency (look, he’s helping me study with his secret techniques!), noticeably slowed down the process. People envied him for the opportunity to study with Vincent, and doing so while being that close to him? Let’s be honest, Victor would have envied himself.
Even though scientifically proven methods of memorizing information barely helped with the chaos in Blake's head, he was immensely grateful for every piece of advice, every smart thought Edgeworth decided to share with him. Being buried in academic work was monotonous, boring, and exhausting. Being buried in academic work in the same room as Vincent? A couple of meters away from him? Victor was concerned by how much he rejoiced at the opportunity.
It was rational to expect queues in the cafeteria and near the coffee machines during a time like this, but Blake wouldn't be surprised if he found the longest ever line at their dorm room tomorrow morning. Everyone dreamt of studying with Vincent. Victor was pretty sure he heard someone in the halls whispering about how contagious Vincent’s academic motivation was. Perhaps they were right. In this case, Victor had built tolerance to this aura. For the hundredth time, he re-read the task and checked his notes, but there was no point: he was head over heels in love first, head over heels in work second. The calculations still did not make any sense.
Here goes nothing, Victor thought as he prepared himself for what was, for sure, an extremely risky mission to distract Edgeworth from his philosophy essay.
“My debits and credits don’t match,” Victor leaned on Vincent’s shoulder, attempting to get his notebook somewhere where his friend’s gray eyes would see it. Victor’s handwriting was confusing, with some parts crossed out, some connected by arrows, some having additional remarks written above them. And the problem was not even completely solved...
“You’re distracting me,” Vincent replied unwaveringly, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen, too busy for such trifles. Exactly as Victor expected, but it was worth a try. And, well, the numbers truly did not match, did they? It must’ve been due to Victor’s absent-mindedness, but still.
“Maybe you could at least take a look?” he positioned himself on the edge of Edgeworth's desk, which, as always, was in a state of chaotic order. “You know, from a new angle or whatnot.”
“Let me finish the sentence,” Vincent drawled, immersed in his writing.
As if Victor had any other option but to let him.
He glanced at the notebook, which lay open in his palm, not really trying to find the mistake, but quickly got bored and turned to the window. The sun had long passed midday and was inexorably creeping towards the horizon. Breathtaking. But Vincent in the golden light was, of course, even more beautiful.
“I can’t promise anything,” Edgeworth responded, and Victor flinched. “And I really need an A for this essay.”
“Just a look,” Victor begged, once again slipping his notes under Vincent’s nose. This time, he didn't resist. The notebook fell on top of Edgeworth’s keyboard, and a warm wave of jubilation washed over Victor’s body. “Please.”
“Fine,” Vincent finally complied. Blake felt a sudden urge to jump around the room, joyfully clapping his hands.
While the semblance of a solution was under Vincent’s scrupulous gaze, Victor had enough time to slouch, peek into Vincent's essay, and re-count the number of remaining exams. The situation was deplorable, but not hopeless. Especially with Vincent's help.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Edgeworth raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips in irritation.
“What do you mean?” Victor looked up at him in confusion.
“Even I know that when providing services on credit, the accounts receivable account is debited while sales revenue is credited,” he said, pushing the notebook aside. It slammed shut and hung dangerously over the table’s edge. “I really have a lot of work to do.”
“Wait, wait, how did you find this?” Blake instantly perked up, flipped through a few pages, and bent over his calculations.
“How did you not find this?” Vincent rolled his eyes and reached for the pencil. It was exactly where the owner wanted it to be: in an open textbook, buried under some papers that lay right behind Victor’s back. Vincent leaned forward. His chaotic order has always been peculiar, and somehow he knew exactly where to find every small thing. He used to scold Victor for leaving his desk in a similar state, and, while Vincent’s was organized to accommodate his needs, Blake’s was in complete disarray. “The rightmost column, it’s literally been under your nose...” Vincent froze. He got too close, almost pressed against Victor, and looked up at him. “The whole time…”
Victor could not breathe. All thoughts except "almost there” instantly disappeared from his head. His throat was dry. His knees were shaking dangerously, but did he really mind collapsing in front of Vincent and begging him to never do this again? Or to do this more often?
“Should I reconsider our relationship, dear?” Victor whispered. His voice felt too weak, and in the sobering silence, you could probably hear a pin drop. Victor felt Vincent's breath on his lips, and the mechanism of self-control, which ached happily in his chest, begged him to forget about the rules, to forget about Vincent's opinion, and just tilt his head a little to...
“Stroke your ego as much as you want,” Edgeworth grumbled in a whisper. He let Victor admire him for another second, for a sweet, sweet moment. Then pulled back and withdrew his hand, holding on to the pencil. “Here’s the solution to your problem,” what a pity that Victor’s problem just got a million times worse. Vincent scribbled something on the checkered paper. What were those notes again?.. “I’m getting back to work.”
With his fingers trembling, Blake picked up the notebook, closed it, not caring enough to look through the new contents, and headed to his desk. Vincent had already returned to his essay. Victor found himself touching his lower lip with two fingers and bit it, ashamed. His mind refused to think about the homework, but hope, which had been unheard of and prohibited for so long, glimmered somewhere in his heart.
Victor swore he felt Vincent Edgeworth smiling in his chair.
If only falling harder and containing and giving that much love was as unrealistic, as impossible, as it seemed, but it kept happening over and over again. Victor woke up every day to see the disheveled, morning, real Vincent; boasted to him about his academic successes to hear encouragement; brought him his favorite coffee during breaks so that Vincent’s focused, serious face would light up, even if for just a second; accompanied him to the library and spent hours there, waiting for Vincent’s classes to finish. After so much time, it was impossible to not find out. Victor’s unambiguous behavior was obvious, his motives were crystal clear. Anyone would’ve understood by that time, let alone Vincent. Still, Edgeworth did not show his awareness of the situation in any way. But he simply could not have not known, could he?
Victor didn’t intend on pressuring him. If they were not destined to continue living together and sharing everything, even the most personal, intimate things, as they used to in RMU, then it would be fine. An acceptance letter from Myers that Victor just received was a different thing. No one would dare to accuse him of not wanting to part with his friend from university: countless people applied to Myers each year. And yet, the feeling of self-contempt stung unpleasantly in his lungs. Who chases the object of their affections to a company about which they do not really care? Ridiculous. Despite everything, the situation remained the same: Blake was accepted into a place where only the best of the best went, where people like Vincent went, and that fact was, probably, great news.
The events of that evening were developing in the most desirably undesirable way. Vincent blushed, nervous, and adjusted his bow tie. Vincent tried to look good for Victor, and it was too much, but so insanely not enough that even the air felt awfully sticky.
“Did you really think this was a date, Vincent?” what else could it be? Blake burst out laughing. Vincent looked away and let out an annoyed sigh.
“Do you really think I can’t smell the cologne you’re wearing?”
As if Victor did not want him to notice.
Watching Vincent get into the passenger seat felt like the ultimate reward. He was restless in a good way and hid his eyes in the worst way. Every so often, he glanced at Victor. Every so often, their looks crossed. Every so often, they could not get their eyes off each other for an inexcusably long time. Or was it time itself playing a cruel joke on them? Slowing down, turning the toffee-like seconds into hours, turning reality into the eternal absence of space and time.
Vincent had never drunk before, but Victor swore he felt even dizzier. It couldn’t have been possible for him to fall more, to fall deeper, but another rock bottom was hit, another one was crushed by Vincent’s tipsy smile, and Victor physically forgot what breathing was. If he had another chance to see Edgeworth as relaxed, as peaceful and laid-back, then Victor, without a slightest bit of hesitation, would go to Myers – hell, he would go anywhere! – because at that moment... At that moment, Vincent was right there – actually, truly there – and nothing in him indicated he would push Victor away. On the contrary, Vincent was making eyes at him, not on purpose, of course, but in such a way that Blake’s heart stopped, unable to move under his gaze. It wasn’t the first time they sat next to each other, sure. Over the course of four years, countless hours were spent at one table in the library, in the cafeteria, in the coffee shop; and in a bar as busy as this one, there were just no other options. Nevertheless, everything felt unusual, as if ephemerally sincere. And god, if it wasn't amazing...
Then Vincent trying on a new tie was certainly the best thing Victor had ever seen. Perhaps it was the way Victor carefully hid this little thing for such a long time and the way it wonderfully fit its new owner. Or it was the shy readiness with which Vincent accepted the gift. Or the fact that Victor once again caught himself thinking that loving someone more was physically impossible. The world continued to prove him wrong with every Vincent’s word, every action.
“I’m sorry, Vincent Edgeworth, I’m afraid you’re not getting rid of me yet,” Victor chuckled, dusting off all the fears and bad ending scenarios that had long been living in his head. To ease the sudden anxiety, he focused on his own hands, then on the empty martini glass.
Nothing is predestined in life, right?
When he finally worked up the courage to look at Vincent's face, his eyes glistened with tears. Victor let his palm brush softly against Edgeworth’s face. He didn’t move an inch. Did Victor have the right to consider this permission? Vincent’s cheeks were hot with blush, his eyes were full of hope and tears, and wiping them away seemed like the best thing he could do. Victor’s hand felt like it belonged there. As Blake was caressing his face, Vincent closed his eyes and smiled. Everything felt right.
If only the realization came immediately, but Victor lost his ability to think straight in matters concerning Edgeworth. They had no confession, no romantic candlelit dinner, no study dates. But when Vincent rested his head on Victor’s shoulder, his eyes sparkling with success, and maybe, just maybe, with something more, everything was finally clear. Victor tucked a strand of Vincent's hair behind his ear and sighed. The future in its threatening uncertainty was inevitable, but it did not scare him anymore. Well, it did, but only a little. Ahead lay the Myers Corporation, tireless work, hundreds of challenges, and endless opportunities to fall even deeper in love.