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Vincent traced the rim of his glass with his finger as he continued to speak to Alastor. Nervous habits he never really seemed to notice himself. It can be quite hard to notice when you aren’t exactly aware that you’re nervous in the first place. Why was he nervous, exactly? Vincent couldn’t tell you. Maybe it’s because he finally got to talk to Alastor, after years and years of listening to his radio show. After a while, just being a fan ‘behind the scenes’ gets pretty boring. Yet, Vincent does not spend his time with Alastor talking about productive things.
“--and that’s why making a week dedicated only to sharks would be a GREAT idea! Al, did you get all of that?” Vincent taps his foot excitedly on the floor. Another habit.
Vincent finally looked over to Alastor, only to find him staring at him. Very intensely, should he add.
“...Uh, Al? Alastor? You good?” He waved a hand in front of Alastor’s face, which seemed to finally break him out of his daze.
“Vincent, what’s wrong with your eyes?”
Vincent blinked once. Twice.
…
What the hell?
“My… my eyes?” He brought a hand up to his face to check for anything wrong. Alastor only continued to stare. Creepy ass bitch.
“Your eyes, dear. One of them is the color green, the other blue. Why is that?” Alastor tilted his head in… fascination? Captivation? Enamourment?
Vincent felt his face start to heat up at that last thought. Maybe that was a bit of a stretch. No way Alastor liked him. A man liking another man? It could never happen. Alastor wasn’t a homosexual. He wasn’t a homosexual. He's not gay. Right?
Right…?
Vincent pushed his glasses up his nose with a finger. Alastor’s eyes followed the movement. For some reason.
“Well, I guess I was born with it… No, yeah, I was. It honestly made things pretty hard for me– I probably shouldn’t be saying that to you, I know you go through a lot worse, I’m sorry– and now I’m rambling, sorry about that too, but, uh, people didn’t want to hire me at first because they saw me as ‘weird’ and ‘out-of-the-norm’ which I suppose I am, but seriously, denying a job because of fucking eye color? It’s stupid. Shit, I'm sorry. I know you didn’t ask for all that, so I’ll just… stop… talking–”
Holy shit, was that embarrassing.
Alastor let out a chuckle at Vincent’s panicking. “You apologize a lot. It’s adorable, in a way.”
If you took a tomato and put it right next to Vincent’s face, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference in color. Gods, he was acting like a high schooler. So, so fucking stupid.
“Sweetheart, hopefully you are able to recognice my teasing. You almost look ready to erupt.” And suddenly, a cult leader was watered down to a blushing, flustered mess.
Vincent rested his head on his arms, laying on the table. His next words came out as a muffle.
“My struggle is not a joke, Al.”
And what did the fucker do after?
Laugh even harder.
Vincent resolved in his mind to never open his mouth again.
Unless it was for other reasons.
…
What?
“Oh, Vinnie… You are a lost cause.” Alastor patted his shoulder, half-mockingly and half-comfortingly.
Vincent might as well not even look in Alastor’s direction ever again, because there was no way he was going to survive.
Especially if they were going to be partners.
Partners…