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“You look like shit.”
Somewhere in France in the 1960s, a famous chef drunkenly rang up his not-really-a-friend friend after the waiter he hired quit, and despite the fact the “friend” could barely make out a word of what the chef was saying over the phone, he came over.
“What has you looking all…” Richard was looking at Vincent as if he was some sort of homeless person. “...Gross? —” Clearly, someone can’t read the room very well, let alone read the fact that Vincent clearly wasn’t in the mood for anything at all.
Poor guy looked almost endearingly pathetic? He looked vulnerable which, for a man as famous and firm as himself, was quite the sight. He still had this intimidating aura around him, but it wasn’t quite the same as it usually was. He was laid over the disturbingly overpriced red velvet couch, one arm hung over the side, the other hanging off with a wine bottle held loosely in hand. His hair was rather messy and his face was flushed a beautiful shade of pink that reflected nicely against his pale skin.
…Of course, Richard didn’t think any of that, he just saw a mess of a man. Obviously.
He just plopped himself right by Vincent’s feet and shoved his legs off the couch, remarking with a smile, “You’re gonna regret having your feet on the couch when you sober up, y’know. If I know you, this couch must’ve cost a pretty penny.”
Vincent seemed to mumble something in response but it was so quiet that it came out as drunken slurring that nothing could be made out of. He just looked somewhat sad as he placed the wine bottle on the floor and sat upright, though hunched over. He looked… small, which was surprising considering the fact he was six feet tall, but it was still actually upsetting to see. “If you look that depressing, you know I can’t poke fun at you. What is it?”
“...Imagine if- being alive was a crime.”
“ Pfft-! Then we’d all be in jail—”
“Yeah, no shit.” Vincent seemed to just be looking at a newspaper article laid on the glass table, a stemware sat on top as the paper was treated almost like a coaster, the latest update to a previously existing clause had just hit the papers it appeared with words reading in big bold letters obscured by the empty wine glass.
Richard reached over and moved the glass off the paper, placing it on the table as he sat back and read the paper.
“Lorsque l'outrage public à la pudeur consistera en un acte contre nature avec un individu du même sexe,”
Richard read out loud,
“la peine sera un emprisonnement de six mois à trois ans et une amende de 1 000 NF à 15 000 NF…”
He shrugged it off.
“Not like it affects us, am I right?” He just laughed about it, like it was funny, “I mean, it’s kinda their fault, they don’t ever seek treatment for their sickness. Imagine if they contaminated the rest of us! Jeez… Good riddance. If you ask me, they should just be locked up for good..”
Richard carelessly threw the newspaper back down on the glass table. “Don’t tell me that those faggots are what’s got you all worked up.”
“...No- It’s not that.” Vincent was lying. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was lying. “..But, since we’re on the topic, do you actually believe that?”
“Believe what?”
“Everything. About homosexuality, do you believe they’re sick?”
“...Well, yeah. That’s what science says, right? We’re not doctors, nor are we queers, so if science says being one is an illness, and religion says being one is a sin, who are we to question it? Let’s leave that up to the professionals, yeah?”
“I suppose so.”
There was a moment of silence shared between them after that brief discussion, Vincent having contemplated everything that was said while Richard swiped the wine bottle from the floor and poured himself a glass.
“I used that one just now, Richard.”
“And? From the looks of it, you were drinking straight from the bottle when I walked in so it’s not like you’re gonna use it again.”
“That’s still disgusting. Germs.”
“I’m the disgusting one?” Richard laughed, though it sounded more like a scoff, really, “Your meals are smoothies, just a bunch of food ground into a liquid. That’s disgusting.” He sat back and sipped his wine. “So, what’s really got you all upset then?”
“...Do you remember the waiter I offered the job to?”
“
Pfft
, how could I forget? I knew that guy back in college, he was kinda like you now, actually. Pretty stuck-up, I wonder what happened to him.”
“Excuse me?—”
“I’m messing with you! Lighten up, Vince. Still, he was pretty full of himself, I was surprised to see him working your party, he looked kind of pathetic, not to mention he lacks manners, did you hear what he said? He just- told me he needed to go piss , not even that he needed to go to the bathroo—!”
“Shut up, I was only asking if you remembered him, I don’t need a rant on how lackluster of a man he is.”
Richard appeared taken aback, not quite insulted or offended as being told to shut up wasn’t very surprising coming from Vincent.
No, what surprised him was how it almost sounded like Vincent was… defending Rody.
The shock on Richard’s face clearly read to Vincent as easily as a kid’s book, causing Richard to stammer out an answer. “Pardon my.. bluntness , but I’ve never seen you worked up over a friend, let alone any person in general. I mean, fuck— you’d never defend me like that. ”
“ What? What’re you talking about?”
“Well, I’ve just never seen you defend anyone so strongly?”
“I’m not defending him —”
“You told me to shut up because I was about to go on a rant about how much of a
skeeze
he was. If that’s not defending, I don’t know what is, especially coming from you.”
“Jesus Christ,” Vincent stood up suddenly, standing still for a moment as he struggled to stay upright, “What did I even call you here for if all you’ll be doing is spouting nonsense?”
Richard lazily grabbed Vincent’s wrist, trying to pull him back down onto the couch, “Fine, fine, I’ll stop talking. Keep going.”
“Why? So you can speak more gibberish about every little detail?”
Richard tugged on Vincent’s wrist firmer, “No, I’ll be serious this time, it just surprised me, come on.”
After a bit more protests on Vincent’s end, he sat back down on the couch, though clearly more guarded than before, but that also isn’t saying much if it’s Vincent Charbonneau — It upset Richard sometimes, but he wasn’t sure why.
“…Well, are you gonna say anything?” Richard questioned, elbowing Vincent a bit.
Vincent just mumbled something, probably a refusal, and stared at seemingly nothing, though Richard could swear he’d caught Vincent glancing at the newspaper a couple more times before grabbing the bottle and further drinking himself stupid.
“Okay.”, was all Richard replied with. He didn’t push Vincent to talk about it, assuming that his silence was his own fault anyways so it’d be relatively senseless to make any attempts involving it. He just sat back and stared at nothing alongside his friend.
─── ⋆⋅𓌉◯𓇋⋅⋆ ───
“You’re something real special, you know that?”
A few too many glasses of wine had neither of them thinking logically—hell, neither of them were thinking at all—but that was more of a relief than thinking too much about everything.
Vincent replied, “Elaborate.”
A hand ran itself through black hair which Vincent didn’t protest against, perhaps not even realizing the affectionate gesture through blurred vision and distorted senses. That made more sense to Richard than the idea that Vincent would allow it.
“You just- are, y’know?” Richard didn’t even know what he was saying, actually. He didn’t know where he was going with this conversation, words just spilled out at this point when he struggled to tell left from right. He wasn’t as much of a lightweight as dear Vincent here, being able to catch up and drink as much as him, but still holding some semblance of thought that he’d probably be able to remember what happened the next morning once the headache and nausea subsided.
Vincent, on the other hand, wouldn’t. If he had any logic in his mind currently, he wouldn’t have found himself leaning against Richard, head on his shoulder in what almost looked like a vulnerable sight for the both of them.
“…I suppose the same can be said for you,” Vincent paused for a moment before continuing, “You aren’t as much of a nuisance as most, not in the way I’ve made you out to be..”
Richard seemed to almost laugh at the statement. “Is that so? What a heartwarming remark from you, Charbonneau.”
“Don’t be shitty.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t. He was smiling still.
More silence followed, but not a tense or thick silence, something soft and tender. A silence that only occurs between two people who consider eachother’s existence satisfactory enough to do nothing but be together.
If they were a man and a woman, perhaps it’d even be considered romantic.
But they weren’t, and in the end, it’d always be nothing more than platonic. What they had would always be platonic, no matter how much yearning was felt.
“I love you, Rody.” Vincent began.
“…I love you too, Vince.” Richard replied.