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Of course, Vince wishes he had done a few things differently.
Back in the house, he wasn’t so sure what the public would think. Contrary to popular belief, he has a semblance of self-awareness in him!
Or maybe he doesn’t, because he genuinely didn’t think anything was off with his friendship with Morgan. So what, they hugged and spoke to each other all day! He was stuck in a house with Keanu and Ava and Kelley. Who the hell else was he supposed to talk to? And it’s not his fault no one else in the house is as friendly as he is.
Public perception, though… terrible doesn’t even touch it. Even outside the house, things have cratered. He and Kelsey are completely over with, which, okay. He expected that after two HOH letters and videos from home passed with no word from her. He’s single now, officially. Not that it feels freeing.
The words Vince has most commonly seen from skimming Instagram DMs are: unemployed, job, cheater, Ashley, and Morgan.
That last one…
That’s been the most confusing part of coming out of the house.
Vince is apparently not as moral as he thought. It had started off innocent, and for a while, it stayed that way. But there’s only so much hugging and sleeping in the same bed and snide comments he can handle before his brain somehow connects the dots.
And the Morgan of it all—Jesus Christ. It’s not like she makes it hard for anyone to fall in love with her. She’s sharp and ambitious and just so alive. Vince is a weak man, and he knows it. If you dangle a strikingly pretty and competitive woman in front of him, he is going to get hypnotized.
Anywho, after those realizations and some seriously difficult conversations with people, that leads him here, sitting in the comfort of his bed on a warm California Wednesday night.
His phone screen glows with Morgan’s Instagram profile. Why hadn’t he followed her? It feels silly, juvenile even. He barely resisted the urge to call Rachel and ask her if she could ask Morgan if she like-liked him. Then he realized Rachel has a husband and children and little to no interest in playing messenger for a thirty-four-year-old man.
Still, though, it’s scary. He didn’t have to worry about what thousands of people would think about his Instagram following before this show. And now he does.
Ugh. Vince needs to get his shit together, it’s an Instagram DM. He wants to say hello, not profess his undying love and weeks worth of pining to her.
He hadn’t meant to ghost her.
A message is typed out: Morgan, whats up!
…No.
Hey, Morgan.
Eugh. Double no.
Finally, he lands on: Morgan, hey! Sorry, I know I’ve been slightly MIA. I saw your interview with Sharon. How’s life?
Like he wouldn’t know how her life is, he’s clinically nosy. Whatever, he sends.
That night, Vince falls asleep trying not to think about if Morgan would reply. He honestly has no clue why that worries him. Morgan’s a sweet girl; even if she hated his guts she wouldn’t let him stay on delivered.
When he wakes up, in some unhealthy realization as soon as his dry eyes open, he immediately checks his notifications. A sigh of relief escapes his lips when he sees Morgan’s name.
Whats good, Vinny! Just woke up and saw this. Lifes been pretty crazy. I’m sure it’s similar for you, so you don’t have to apologize. How’s it going?
Good morning. Crazy’s one word for it. I’m doing alright, I just miss talking to you, honestly.
Due to some early morning (10:45, holy shit, he needs to get a life) delirium, Vince sends that meesage without a single thought. And he instantly snaps wide awake at the realization.
Vince might be the dumbest piece of shit to ever walk the Earth. You don’t talk to this girl for over a week and that’s your second message to her? She probably already has a new dude—look at her! What the hell—
I miss you too.
For a second, Vince just stares at it. The words blink up at him like a dare. And then he grins like an idiot. He sets the phone down then immediately picks it back up and reads the message again.
This isn’t pity, and it doesn’t feel like politeness either. Morgan’s not the type to hand out soft landings. If she said it, she meant it.
He leans back against the headboard, exhales through his nose, and laughs. It isn’t necessarily funny, but this is somehow the only thing thats made sense to him in weeks.
He doesn’t want to screw this—whatever “this” is—up, so in typical fashion he overthinks his next message.
That’s good to hear.
But before he can decide, another message pops up.
You’re in L.A. right?
Yeah.
We should meet up!
The coffee place Morgan picked is one of those aggressively trendy spots with exposed brick, succulents on every surface, and a corny menu. Vince spots her through the window before he even walks in.
She’s already seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone, wearing an oversized sweater and her hair pulled back. He takes a breath, pulls open the door, and the little bell chimes.
Morgan looks up immediately, and her face breaks into a smile that does something irreversible to his chest.
“Vinny!” She stands, and before he can decide if they’re hugging or doing some awkward half-wave, she’s already closing the distance.
The hug is quick but warm, and she smells like vanilla and something floral he can’t place. When she pulls back, she’s still smiling.
“Hey,” Vince simply says, and wow! Great opener. Really knocked that one out of the park, Panaro.
“Hey yourself,” Morgan says, sitting back down. “You look good. Less stressed than on finale night.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had time to process the fact that America hates me.”
She snorts. “America does not hate you.”
“Twitter would beg to differ.”
“Twitter’s a cesspool. You can’t take it seriously,” She tilts her head, studying him. “Have you been doing okay, though?”
“Honestly? It’s been weird. Really weird. But I’m figuring it out.”
“Good,” She nods, satisfied, then slides a menu toward him. “You should order something. I’m not drinking alone like some kind of sad divorced guy at a hotel bar.”
They order (he gets a normal coffee, because he’s not trying to impress anyone), and for a while, the conversation is easy. She tells him about an interview that went off the rails, about her family’s reaction to the show, about how she’s been trying to figure out what to do next outside of streaming.
“Everyone keeps asking me if I’m going to do The Challenge or something,” she starts, stirring her drink. “Like that’s the natural next step. I don’t know, maybe it is.”
“Would you?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t just wanna be known for Big Brother. I applied for Survivor, you know.”
“Yeah, I get that,” He takes a sip of his coffee. “It’s weird being known for something that was only a few months of your life. I’ve gotten papped twice!”
“Exactly,” She points at him. “See, you get it.”
There’s a comfortable pause, and Morgan drums her fingers on the table, something shifting in her expression.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Does it bother you? The whole… narrative?” She waves her hand vaguely. “Like, the way people talk about us. About you and Kelsey. All of it.”
Vince sets his coffee down, choosing his words carefully. “Uh-huh. It does. Not because I think they’re entirely wrong, but because it’s more complicated than what fits in a tweet, you know?”
“Right,” Morgan nods slowly. “It’s just weird being part of someone else’s story like that. Like, I existed in that house as my own person, but now I’m just… I don’t know. A plot point in someone else’s drama.”
“You’re not, though.”
“To them I am.” She shrugs, but there’s something Vince finds sad in it. “I’ve gotten some pretty creative messages about it. Homewrecker’s a popular one.”
“Morgan—”
“It’s fine,” she cuts him off, but her smile grows tight. Shit, did he say something wrong? “I’m not mad about it. It just sucks, you know? Because we were friends. We are friends. And somehow that got twisted into something else entirely.”
Vince feels something tighten in his chest. They both know that friendship isn’t the word for them at this point. “For what it’s worth, I never wanted you to get caught up in any of that.”
“I know.” She looks at him, and her expression softens. “I don’t regret being your friend. Even with all the bullshit that came with it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” She takes another sip of her coffee, then smirks. “Even if you do give the world’s most confusing signals.”
Vince laughs loudly, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Morgan says. “Just an observation.”
Vince’s brain kicks into maximum overdrive before he forced himself to just be normal, and he shakes his head, grinning. “You’re the worst.”
“I’ve been told.” She takes another sip of her coffee, then glances around the café. “This place is kind of pretentious, huh? I think that guy over there is writing a screenplay.”
Vince follows her gaze to a bearded guy hunched over a laptop, wearing a beanie despite it being seventy degrees outside. “Oh, definitely.”
“Think it’s any good?”
“Absolutely not.”
Morgan snickers. “I missed this.”
“Judging strangers?”
Morgan rolls her eyes. “No,” she starts. “Talking to you. It’s nice. Especially when there aren’t a billion cameras and microphones around.”
“Yeah. It is,” Vince leans back in his chair. He’s never really earnestly spoken to Morgan without the threat of being televised. “I forgot what it was like to have a conversation that wasn’t gonna end up online.”
“Right? Like, I can’t even go to Target without overthinking it,” Morgan says. “I spent twenty minutes in the shampoo aisle the other day because I was worried someone would make fun of my shampoo choice.”
Vince laughs. “Alright, that’s paranoid.”
“Is it? You got papped while getting into some random dude’s car.”
“Fair!” He finishes his coffee. “This is our life now, I guess.”
“Yup,” Morgan checks her phone, then looks back at him. “You doing anything after this?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“My apartment’s close. We could hang out there if you want. I have food that isn’t overpriced pastries,” She stands, grabbing her bag. “No pressure, though.”
Vince takes a minute to think about it, he worries about papparazi (really crazy thats something he just has to worry about now), but he honestly doesn’t think he’s interesting enough to get papped for a third time. So, screw it.
“Yeah, sure.”
They leave the café and walk a few blocks. Morgan talks about her building’s broken elevator and how she wants to buy this really cute keyboard she saw online. Vince tells her about his living situation, how he’s looking for somewhere other than his parenr’s basement with the runner-up money. They take the elevator up to the third floor, and she unlocks the door.
“Ignore the mess,” she says, stepping inside.
It’s not that messy. There are a few boxes stacked near the wall, some shoes by the door, a blanket draped over the couch. It looks lived-in but not disastrous. Very Morgan-ish.
“This is weird, right?” Morgan says after they both sit down.
“What is?”
“This. Hanging out like normal people.” She laughs. “I don’t think we ever did this enough in the house.”
“We did that a bunch! You were just such a gamer.”
Morgan chuckles and pulls her legs up onto the couch, getting comfortable. “So what have you actually been doing? Besides wallowing.”
“I haven’t been wallowing.”
“Vince.”
“Okay, maybe a little wallowing,” He says. “I’ve just been trying to figure out what’s next, you know? I’m not going back to my old job, and I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to do.”
“You could do TV stuff. You’re good on camera.”
“I don’t know if I want that.”
“Then don’t,” Morgan shrugs. “You’ve got time to figure it out.”
“What about you?”
“I’m just streaming for now. Trying to build that up again. Maybe do some more modeling if anything good comes through,” She pauses. “I don’t know. I’m just taking it day by day.”
“That’s the smart move.”
They end up on the couch watching some true crime documentary Morgan swears is incredible but is actually incredibly boring. Vince tells her this, she tells him he has no taste, and neither of them change the channel.
The conversation tapers off at some point. The documentary drones on about forensic evidence or whatever, but Vince stopped paying attention about twenty minutes ago. He’s too busy being hyperaware of Morgan next to him—the way she’s tucked into the corner of the couch, the running commentary she keeps muttering at the TV, the fact that her knee is about three inches from his.
When he looks over, her eyes are closed. She’s slumped against the arm of the couch at an angle that’s absolutely going to wreck her neck later.
Vince should leave. It’s late, and he’s overstayed his welcome by at least two hours. But the idea of getting up, walking out, going back to the sad basement in his parent’s house…
Ugh. Yeah, no. He’s staying put.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep. One second he’s watching some guy in a lab coat explain blood spatter patterns, and the next his eyes are closing, and he’s out.
Vince wakes up to aggressive sunlight in his face and a car alarm going off somewhere down the block.
His first thought: Where the hell am I?
His second: Oh.
He’s on Morgan’s couch. His back is killing him. There’s a throw blanket halfway over him that he definitely didn’t put there.
Morgan’s nowhere in sight, but he can hear movement in the kitchen. Cabinet doors, the whir of a coffee maker, faint humming.
He runs a hand over his face, trying to smooth out whatever curly disaster his hair’s decided to be, and checks his phone. 9:17 a.m. God, he completely crashed.
He stands, stretching his arms overhead until his spine cracks in seven different directions, and walks toward the sound of civilization.
Morgan’s in the kitchen, wearing a huge old t-shirt with the logo faded out and a messy bun that’s holding on for dear life. She’s holding two mugs, steam rising from both.
“Oh, hey, you’re up,” she says, smiling like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Yeah, I, uh… didn’t mean to pass out on your couch.”
“I forgot how bad your snoring is. It’d be impressive if it didn’t keep me up.”
“Great, so I embarrassed myself in my sleep. That’s awesome.”
Morgan laughs and hands him a mug. “Relax. You didn’t drool or anything. We lived with Keanu, I have a low bar for acceptable behavior now.”
He takes a sip of the coffee. It’s strong, but it’s pretty good. “You made this?”
“Obviously,” she replies, mock-offended. “I’m a woman of many talents.”
“You’re full of surprises.”
“I get that plenty.”
There’s a stretch of quiet. She leans back against the counter, eyes soft and curious. “So, you heading home soon?”
“Yeah, I probably should,” he answers, though his tone betrays that he doesn’t want to. “Don’t wanna overstay my welcome.”
“You’re fine. It was kinda nice having someone else around.” Then, Morgan says, “You know, I thought you were gonna reach out sooner.”
He glances over. A wave of guilt washes through the pit of his stomach at the comment. “Yeah. I wanted to. I just didn’t really know if I should.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
He shrugs, staring down into his coffee. “I didn’t wanna make things harder for you, considering… the obvious. Or make myself look like an even bigger idiot.”
“Newsflash, you already looked like one on national television,” she teases lightly.
Vince takes another sip of coffee and lets it sit in his mouth longer than the previous drink.
“So,” she begins. “What now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Us,” she gestures between them. “being… whatever we are now.”
He was waiting for the elephant in the room to be brought up. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve been trying to figure that out since the finale. I keep telling myself we’re just friends. That’s all it was in the house, and that’s all it should be. But every time I think about it, that feels like a lie.”
Morgan’s unreadable gaze flicks up to meet his. “A lie?”
He exhales and sets his mug down beside hers. “Yeah. Nearing the end, I don’t think I thought of you as just a friend. I told myself I did, because it was easier and anything else would’ve been a disaster.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Finally, she says quietly, “You’re not the only one who thought about it.”
Fuck. That knocks the wind out of him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she nods. “But I didn’t want to mess things up. I thought you had Kelsey at home. We had such a weird little bubble in there — I couldn’t trust that what we were feeling was genuine.”
“And now?”
She gives a small, crooked smile. “Now I’m out of the bubble, and it still feels genuine.”
Vince laughs, nervous and breathless. “Tell me about it.”
Morgan tilts her head slightly. “You know, you could do something about it instead of just standing there.”
Okay, now Vince has to actually do something. Shit.
Morgan raises an eyebrow, and thats all it takes. He takes a step closer, heart hammering like he’s on live TV again, except this time it’s worse. Or better. He’ll decide later.
“You’re sure?” he murmurs.
She nods. “Yeah.”
For the first time in thirty four years of living, he doesn’t overthink it.
Vince leans in and kisses her. It’s soft, hesitant at first, but then she kisses him back, and every worry he’s been carrying fades into static.