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Velvette was no idiot. With enough time, she could tell that Vox’s mood swings were no ordinary mood swings. Well, sometimes they were. Sometimes it was simply how unhinged he was at any given time, which she was better able to keep in line with some of her particular brews. When Vox was alive, they didn’t understand being manic-depressive or autistic. Or bipolar.
She was no psychologist either, but she made a few stabs and what she had come up with tended to keep him more stable than he was before. Val had assured her of it.
But this was different.
She laid on the balcony seat, still in her bathing suit (oranges, pinks, and white), taking in the rays of the red-tinted sunlight. The camera crew had left, having taken all the photos they needed of her summer Pride fashion up here to get started on her promotions, but they had been efficient enough Velvette didn’t have to move for a while. For once. There were a few other matters to take care of at the moment, but they could all be done from her mobile. The day was hot enough, but not so scorching that it wasn’t comfortable to lie like this. Her new sunhat stayed on so she could see the messages online, as well as the internal ones keeping her up to date on the proofs.
When Vox arrived, she fully expected him to be weird. Or to ask what she was still doing up here. Or ask any other number of questions about how work was doing.
“Hey there, V.”
What she didn’t expect was for him to sit next to her lounge seat and lean against it quietly. It immediately had her thinking something was wrong, but when she looked into his face, she saw an expression she had seen before. Rarely, but Velvette documented so much of her afterlife in pics, and in reviewing over them she kept herself more informed than if she only watched what went on around her. However, it was an expression which made her uncomfortable, because she never quite knew what to do about it.
There was a slight detachment. As if he didn’t know what to do in his own body. It didn’t show in anything other than that expression and in how it changed when he touched something. It gave Velvette the impression he felt like he was smaller than he was. Not younger, though he was quieter, but smaller.
“On break?”
He nodded. “Saw some of the pictures. They look good, Vel.”
Scratch that. There was where it showed. Vox almost never called her Vel. It made her feel small (and this time it was her feeling younger). She hated it. At least, she should hate it, because she wasn’t a tot and Vox should never be the one making her feel like she was. But he did. Sometimes, he just did.
Something always kept her from calling him out on it. She wasn’t sure what, because she definitely would have called anyone else out on it if it made her feel this way. Val’s pet names didn’t do the same thing. So why did Velvette feel so weird about this?
“I thought you’d find it weird. You usually get all iffy when we promote sexualities.”
Vox shrugged. “I just don’t get why.”
Another surprise. A sincere response which made sense. Velvette blinked, unable to focus on her pop up screens, then tilted her hat up to better look at Vox again. “Because we’re all used to people telling us we can’t be this way, that everything has to be man plus woman, so we’re celebrating telling all those people to fuck off?”
Vox frowned. Not in disapproval, but like he was still having trouble figuring it out. “I guess. But why is it so specific?”
“Straights get to be. Why not us?”
“I guess.”
Was this one of those things she wouldn’t understand, because he didn’t understand? Velvette huffed. It was enough dealing with the weirdness she couldn’t define, but now these questions that she had already covered with him (albeit without him being as open about his lack of comprehension)?
“You like how the bi flag has your colours.”
Vox chuckled. “Yeah. I do.”
“And I look fantastic in mine.” Velvette paused as something else occurred to her. “Do you dislike when Val wears pan colours?”
The frown returned, but this time it was definitely more Vox. “No.”
It didn’t sound like a no of denial. “It’s definitely harder to make sure the shades match for him, considering the wrong ones would make him look like a disaster.”
“You’d never let that happen.”
“Damn right.”
Vox laughed and Velvette couldn’t help but smile.
“What?”
“Just thinking about if you’d said damn straight.”
It was so stupid, but Velvette was laughing too. Nothing uproarious, like they could, but quiet and comfortable. Not their usual at all. But this wasn’t one of Vox’s mood swings. This was not him being bipolar, or narcissistic, or autistic. She was not a psychologist or a psychiatrist. She hated armchair diagnoses put toward her as much as she didn’t mind handing them out.
But this was Vox. Maybe she should call him out on it and ask what the fuck was going on. Did he know? There was so much about himself that he didn’t know. On the other hand, there was even more that he did and simply refused to say. To her, to Valentino…
“It’s getting too hot,” she lied.
Vox got to his feet and put his hand out. That much was usual—when he was being his chivalrous weirdo self. Velvette took his hand and got to her feet.
He kissed her on the forehead.
“What the fuck?” She meant to say it louder, but a lot of the volume stuck in her throat. Much like everything else when Vox acted like this. Like he was a different person, despite still being enough of himself.
There was something about that which clicked with her, but a larger part of herself tried to bury her realization. Because she didn’t know how to act about that. Because no way could Vox know, and him knowing might hurt him more unless she was ready to guide him. Like he’d been guiding her since she joined the Vees, despite how she insisted she was equal, despite how it was in writing that she was, but how he still acted as her teacher. And as often as she didn’t care if he got himself banged and bruised by his dinosaur-aged beliefs, this would be far too big for him to do so quietly. He would bury it and hurt himself. Make it obvious and hurt them as a whole.
Which would hurt him even more when he realized it. Vox was the first one to talk about making sure none of them hurt their image. Until he went manic. Would this send him manic?
Maybe Velvette was the one who wanted to be in denial. She reached up and poked him hard in the centre of the screen.
And suddenly his expression switched on. Switched. Oh, fuck. She was right. Velvette didn’t want to name it and make it real, but she was right.
“What the fuck?”
“You had something on your face,” Velvette said.
Vox raised an eyebrow. “Your finger?”
Laughing, she let go of his hand. “You got it!”
“Ha ha. Hilarious.” Despite his dry tone, he still smiled too. A normal smile. Not that of another person. The same person. Velvette wasn’t qualified for this.
She would still be doing the research until she was. She had to. Even if she never told Vox, because he could never take it, she would know enough to make sure she could handle the truth for him.