Work Text:
You gaze at the buildings surrounding you on the balcony of your small apartment, taking a drag from your cigarette with a huff.
The sky is clear and barely any lights are on. Stars shine in the sky and a faint breeze hits your face. It was a bit cold, admittedly, but it didn’t really matter, since the warmth of your apartment was right behind you.
A sharp noise of a phone ringing interrupts your moment of peace. You begrudgingly trudge back inside of the living room and grab the phone handle.
“Who is it?” You grumble in annoyance, taking another hit from the cig. How rude, interrupting your lovely, lonely, and peaceful night.
The other end of the line stays quiet for around 20 seconds. Hanging up seems really good right now, but before you can, a voice comes through. “Hm.. oh, right. Hi,” They say, but you immediately recognize that voice as Vincent. “Are you free right now?”
His words are ever-so slightly slurred, which makes you wonder how much alcohol he drank, since you were 80% sure he has a high tolerance.
“I guess? Why?” You question, although two and two do put together and you realize he’s a little drunk and probably impulsively calling you.
A cough comes from the phone and Vincent continues to speak. “… Dinner party.” He says, albeit it sounds a bit uncertain, almost like this was an excuse to invite you over? “Be there.”
The line cuts when Vincent hangs up, leaving you no time to explain that you want to just rot in your apartment for tonight. This will basically force you to go. Yay..
Well, I guess you’re sacrificing the only night you have to yourself because of social coercion.
You grumble in frustration as you toss your cigarette but into the trash can, slipping on the nearest coat you can find in your closet and exiting the apartment, being sure to lock the door behind you.
The coldness in the air hits you much harder than it did earlier. How many degrees did it drop?
Hope this is a short walk.
——
You arrive at La Guele de Saturne— the name of Vincent’s bistro that you still couldn’t decide was stupid or cool— and enter the door that’s to the left of it.
The door opens on the second knock. Before you stands an ever-so slightly, barely noticeable disheveled Vincent Charbonneau, holding two bottles of red wine in his left hand. One is empty and the other is three quarters full.
“Good. You made it.” He says, closing the door after you walk in. He motions for you to sit on the couch, which you do so, but doesn't really relax.
You’ve never actually been to his apartment. It couldn’t be helped that you scan the room in curiosity. It was.. interesting?
It was ugly. But also pretty. Not even average, just both at the same time.
Maybe the wooden floors helped it look prettier.
“So like, where’s the ‘dinner’ and where’s the ‘party?’” You asked skeptically, already knowing he just invited you for the sake of it. How nice.
Vincent sighed and sat beside you, crossing one leg over his other. “About that,” He starts. “That was sort of an excuse to invite you.”
He’s blunt and honest, what can you say?
“Right..” You mumbled, shoulders tense and you nervous from the close proximity. He literally could’ve sat on any other part of the couch— you were already near the end of it, what was the point of this?
Two wine glasses sit on the coffee table, already prepared for the two of you. Both of you reach out for whichever is closest to yourselves at the same time, and Vincent drinks it quickly while you take your time, not in the mood to be drunk.
The bitterness of the red wine invades your mouth. It isn’t exactly pleasant, but you smoked earlier, so it’s not foreign.
Another sip is taken from your glass, and you lok. over to your side and see Vincent pouring another glass for himself. “Are you not worried about drinking too much?” You inquired, but Vincent seemed unfazed by the question.
“I don’t care. I’ll be fine.” He responded, placing the bottle on the table and putting the glass to his lips.
A sigh escapes your mouth as you focus your attention on the wine you're swirling around in your glass. “Suit yourself.”
“I will. What were you doing at home?” He asks, suddenly interested in whatever the hell is going on at home. He’s usually reserved, why does he care?
Your gaze returned to his form, relaxed and unbothered, and you couldn’t help but let your shoulders drop by a fraction.
“Smoking, being alone, having a moment of peace before you interrupted it?” You roll your eyes while taking another sip of the wine.
He nods, before also taking another sip of his own wine. “It’s a Friday night, wouldn’t you rather have company then be alone? Be thankful I even have you this opportunity. Not many people get the privilege of entering my home.”
What? Your gaze turns to one of offence and confusion. “What the hell does that imply?” You ask with a specific look that can’t be named.
“The first part or second?”
“First.”
Vincent sighs and places his finished glass on the table, it echoing with a slight clank. “I’m not flirting with you.” He states bluntly.
That helped you relax a little bit.
Even if you were kind of disappointed.
Woah what? Must’ve been the wind.
——
For hours you two chat, about work, about life, about hobbies, about tea. Whatever there is to talk about, it was probably brought up in the two of you’s conversations at one point.
This was kind of a nice contrast to your night from earlier. Not that you wanted to admit it, but he was right.
Having company on a Friday night was nicer than being alone. That probably applies to all nights, actually, but it wasn’t Monday or Wednesday, so they don’t need to be brought any further.
“And that’s basically what happened,” You sigh as you wrap up some random story about an annoying ex-friend who wouldn’t stop spreading rumours about you, leaning your head against Vincent’s shoulder— which your slightly drunken state doesn’t realize. “So happy I’m out of that mess.”
And neither does he, honestly.
“You were strong for persevering with that.” He says, and you know with your heart that he wasn’t lying about it.
“That’s why I love you.” It wasn’t even meant to be said. It had just slipped out of his mouth accidentally, and it was too late for him to take it back.
A moment of silence occurs between you two.
It lasts a minute.
Then two.
“You what?” The silence finally breaks, a bewildered expression on your face.
Vincent knew that he couldn’t say he was joking. And couldn’t think to do so either. It was about time he told you, actually. “I said I love you.”
This was extremely unbelievable to you. He said he wasn’t flirting with you earlier, and now he’s confessing his love to you?
“You’re drunk.” You mumble, refusing to believe the truth.
“Not drunk enough to spout lies.”
“No, you have to be drunk. You had like two bottles of wine.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”
Thoughts came and went through your head as you debated what to say next. Be honest? Lie? Continue denying it? What the hell was happening-?
Eventually you settled on an answer that you were afraid to say.
“…”
“…”
“I love you too.”
Oh, you pray that you forget about all of this in the morning.