#i want to clarify that i do in fact think vincent could have had v good game when he was at art school

[writing-good-vibes]

all in the name of love

guess who's back !! i invite y'all to watch your favourite fanfic author project her own insecurity regarding intimacy/relationships onto this random hot topic employee. i put vincent through the ringer in this one, apologies in advance. bold is asl, as always. divider images by @/suckgirl. check out sol's art that heavily inspired vincent's smoking habit 🚬😈. domestic sinclair content for the most part but WARNING for some mild spicy implications because i am giving bo too much credit for his hoeing around.

When they are 9 years-old, Bo comes home from school one day and tells Vincent all about his day.

His class has been reading Charlotte's Web, and Bo doesn't like Zuckerman because he was going to eat the pig. He had meatloaf for lunch, and sat next to Scotty Jones, which was good because Scotty is the coolest kid in their grade. In geography they're still going over the State Capitals, which is really boring because Bo already knows all of the State Capitals. At recess he got married to Missy Landry.

At recess, Bo got married to Missy Landry.

Vincent nods and listens when Bo tells him how pretty Missy is. She has brown hair and brown eyes and is the best at jump rope and sits two seats in front of Bo in class. She's friends with Tanya Freeman who is the prettiest girl in their grade and who got married to Scotty at recess last Tuesday.

Vincent doesn't go to school with Bo, he stays at home and Mama teaches him all of his lessons. Reading, Writing, Arithmetic. Lester doesn't do any lessons yet because he's barely more than a baby. Or at least that's how Vince still sees him.

Vincent has read Charlotte's Web and has PB&Js for lunch and knows all of the State Capitals by heart.

Vincent doesn't have anyone to marry out on the schoolyard.

When they are 12 years old, Bo comes home from school with a handful of Valentines.

The two of them sit on Bo's bed and, as Vincent looks over each card, covered in glitter and pink gel pen love hearts, Bo tells him about the girls that sent them. The girls who giggled as they dropped their tokens of affection onto his desk as they passed by, and the ones that blushed.

Lisa and Tara and Christine and Becky.

Vincent traces each heart, each xoxo, with care. He puts the cards aside and tries to brush the glitter from his hands. It sticks in the creases of his palms and glints from the fabric of his baggy blue jeans.

He thinks, absently, about Joshua Mayer who lives down the hill from them. He has red hair that is almost as red as the hearts on Bo's Valentines.

Bo is still talking. He says he didn't send any Valentine's, because he doesn't care about soppy, girly things like that.

When they are 14, Bo gets himself a date to their first high school dance.

This is the first year that the twins have gone to school together. Mama said it would be better for Vincent to be around kids his own age for a while, and that she just didn't have the time to teach him what he needed at home anymore.

The lucky girl is Missy Landry. Vincent remembers her. Bo married her at recess when they were 9. It seems like their marriage is going well, and to think Vincent had expected they'd be divorced by now.

Vincent had though Bo didn't care about the dance. But he watches anyway as Bo walks up to Missy after Algebra and says, "Wanna go to the dance with me?"

That's it. Seven words that make up a question that Bo already knows the answer to. That everyone already knows the answer to.

Missy says yes and Bo grins. They briefly discuss their plans, before Missy's friend is tugging her elbow because the bell is about to go for next period.

The twins turn to make their way to their own classes.

"Who are you gonna ask?" Bo asks.

Vincent turns with a start. "What?"

"To the dance," Bo reiterates, though he knows Vince knows exactly what he meant. "You're going to ask someone, right?

Vincent shrugs, watches as Christine Deville passes them in the opposite direction. In the first week of their English class, Christine had forgotten her copy of Catcher in the Rye and had to share Vincent's copy, under teacher's orders. Vincent felt the sweat prickle on the back of his neck as Christine asked, "Should I move over to you?" He shook his head, shuffled his desk closer to hers and held the book as steady as he could, dutifully turning the page when necessary and certainly not making eye contact with the pretty girl next to him.

He doesn't make eye contact with her now, either. She passes them by without a second glance.

When they are 17 years-old, Bo is late driving him and Vincent home from school one Friday.

Vincent waits around the truck, swinging his legs from where he is sat on the dented hood. He and Bo aren't in the same 8th period, so they always meet at Bo's truck after the final bell and drive home. Across the lot, he sees Joshua Mayer. Now he's almost as tall as Vince and plays the tuba in marching band. He's with his band friends, all packing their instruments into someone's SUV. Joshua has a loud laugh, he always has, and it makes Vincent smile behind the mask. He dutifully ducks his head down anyway.

Bo ends up being almost 20 minutes late, and the parking lot is emptying out by the time he saunters up to his twin, looking far too pleased with himself.

"I have a date with Stacy Leblanc tonight," he says, hopping into the drivers seat and switching the ignition.

Vincent follows, climbing in the passenger side door and throwing his school bag into the back seat. "Is that why you were late?"

"Time is it?" Bo asks. He doesn't wear a watch, so Vincent does.

Vince shuffles the sleeve of his hoodie up and checks the time. "3:18."

"I'm not that late," he chides, putting the truck into gear and driving out of the lot. "Had plans to make, didn't I? M'pickin' her up at 6."

They drive in silence for a while, until they get to the long stretch of road that leads back to Ambrose. It's secluded, with tall, windswept trees on either side and a dwindling trickle of traffic.

Bo glances over at Vincent, feeling a heaviness in the air that always comes when it isn't a good time for Vince to speak but he has something to say anyway. Humming lowly with interest, Bo sits back in his seat.

Vince leans forward, twisting in his seat to better face his brother. "I thought you said Stacy Leblanc was a slut?"

He did say that, last week actually. "Yeah well, she should know what she's doing then, shouldn't she?" He grins, raising his brows almost comically.

Vincent shrugs noncommittedly. "If you say so."

Bo smirks, pushing playfully at Vincent's chest. He leans back against the passenger door to get out of Bo's reach. "What, you jealous? I could put in a good word for you, if you want? Then maybe you'll finally get some."

When they are 21, Vincent drops out of college and Bo has to come and pick him up.

They don't talk for a long while. They pack Vince's things up into boxes and stack them in the back of Bo's truck. Each box is labelled. Clothes. Bedding. Books. Supplies: Paints. Supplies: Tools. Supplies: Sketching.

He stops by at a few of his friends dorms to say goodbye. He doesn't tell them he's not coming back in the fall. Just as he's leaving the dorm block, he runs into another friend. A girl from his Art History class. They'd been to parties together, sipping wine in the corner, sometimes his free hand would brush hers, but they never talked about that. He says one more goodbye and then turns to leave

He finds the truck parked across the street. Bo is sat on the dented hood, smoking.

"Who's the lil' blonde?" Bo gestures discreetly over Vincent's shoulder with the cigarette packet.

Vince takes a smoke and slowly turns to look in the direction Bo is pointing. Of course he knows who Bo's talking about, but what harm is there in one last look?

She's continuing down the side walk, the same way she was going when Vincent crossed her path that final time. As she rounds the corner of the block, she casts a glance over her shoulder, gives a half-wave in Vincent's direction, and then disappears out of his life. Or he is about to disappear out of hers? Same difference.

When he turns back to his twin, Bo is holding a lighter out, the flame flickering in the faint breeze. Vincent shifts his mask off, dangling it gently from his fingers for a second, before he deposits it safely next to Bo. As Vincent leans forward to light his cigarette, he lets his hair fall just enough to cover his face.

Pulling away and taking the first testing drags, Vincent replies, "Loretta."

"She's cute," Bo nods, like he's appraising a piece of antique furniture. "She put out?"

Vincent shakes his head.

When they are 22, the guy that Bo had sworn he wasn't dating moves out of Ambrose, so he convinces Vincent to come with him to the closest bar for some of that brotherly bonding they hadn't had a lot of time for in the past few months. He most definitely is not drowning his sorrows.

Vincent doesn't go out much anymore, but he usually accompanies Bo without much fuss. At least he can drive them home, so Bo doesn't total the truck. And to think, once upon a time, Vince was worried that it'd always be him that totalled the Chevy.

They sit at the bar and Bo drinks and Vincent smokes.

A girl with brown hair and brown eyes appears beside Bo and he buys her a drink, because Bo has never been immune to a pretty girl. She bats her lashes and Bo excuses them to "get some air".

Vincent waits, watching the clock above the bar. Sometimes, he wonders if Bo brings him along to be a comparative wingman. Because, Vincent knows, any girl in their right mind would rather hook up with Bo, especially when they see that he is the ugly alternative. He ashes his cigarette into the green glass ash tray.

There's a man, with cropped black hair and broad shoulders, at at the other end of the bar. Vincent can't help but stare. Well-timed glances which make his own heart flutter. He's practiced a smile in the mirror before; no teeth, nonchalantly suggestive. Instead, he watches for the flex of muscle that suggests movement in the other man, suggests he might get caught, and dutifully averts his gaze. When the man downs the last of his beer and leaves, Vince sighs, chin resting on his hand. That could have been an almost, he thinks.

Bo comes back, without the girl, after about 20 minutes. The flush on his face is cooling down, but he's still tucking his t-shirt back into his jeans by the time he arrives back at the stool next to Vince's.

"Where's your 'friend'?"

"She has places to be."

Vincent grunts, turning away to get a new smoke from the packet between them on the bar.

Bo nudges his twin, making him look back at him. "Don't be jealous. You're too good for a girl like that, anyway."

Vincent knows that isn't exactly true. He thinks, at this point, he'd take just about anyone who would have him.

[rhetoricalrogue]

Cookie Decorating and Slow Dancing

Here’s my first contribution to @thesecondsealwrites‘ Kissing Day celebration. I went with a modern AU with Vincent and @alittlestarling‘s Rosalind.

In the late afternoon sunlight, Roz's kitchen was a whirr of quiet activity.  There were two dozen cookies in the oven baking away and every available surface hosted a multitude of others as they cooled enough to move onto the decorating stage.  Cute, inexpensive waxed cardboard containers were still in the large canvas bag slung over a dining room chair Roz had brought them home from the store in, and Roz herself was stationed in front of her stand mixer, carefully adding just the right amount of red food coloring to turn the icing she had made into a festive pink.

She may have gone a little overboard this year: she had at least four containers of icing ready to go, each in a different shade of red, white, and pink.

Roz barely looked up when the floorboards close to the entrance to the kitchen creaked.  “Don't even think about eating any of these, Vincent,” she mock-threatened.  “They're for the other nurses and the new moms on my floor.”

“Should I be offended that you'd think I'd steal one or worried that you know me too well?”  Vincent came up from behind and wrapped his arms around her as he dropped a kiss on her cheek.  He had to smile when he caught a faint taste of powdered sugar that had been smudged across her skin.

She smiled back as she leaned into his embrace.  “I’ll let you decide.”  She made a tutting noise and smacked at the back of his hand with her spatula when he reached over for a still-hot sugar cookie shaped like a heart.  “Vincent Nathaniel Trevelyan!  What did I just say?”  Turning the mixer off, she turned in his arms until she faced him.

“Had to try.”  Vincent winked at her and she should have been clued in to his mischievous mood when his eyes lit up and one of his hands came up to cup her cheek.  “Although if I can't have something sweet,  I'm just going to have to try for something even sweeter.”

Roz hummed as she stretched up on tiptoe to better kiss him, squeaking a bit when he lifted her off her feet with a single arm.  “Mixer,” she mumbled, feeling the edge of the counter bite into the small of her back.  She smoothed her palms down his chest as he let her back down, fingers dipping into the collar of his shirt to feel the warm skin underneath.

“I never thought I'd say this, but I really don't like cookies right now.”  With one last kiss to her forehead, Vincent took a step back.  “They're countertop-blocking.”

The oven timer let out a soft ding and Rosalind moved around Vincent to take the sheet pans out of the oven, grabbing oven mitts as she went, smirking when he gave an appreciative sound at the extra wiggle she gave her backside for his benefit.  “You know you never need an excuse to visit, but aside from distracting me and attempted cookie theft, what brings you here?”

After washing his hands in the sink, Vincent pulled out one of her dining room chairs and grabbed an empty piping bag.  “Well,” he started, taking one container of almost neon pink icing and spooning the contents into the bag he held, “I knew that you were going to be super busy and thought you would need some help.”  Decorating Kissing Day cookies together was one tradition that they’d had since childhood: it had started out as sharing the icing for the single cookie the Circle had allowed each child to decorate that day and then evolved into decorating dozens when Vincent’s parents had invited Roz to join Vincent on holiday trips back home.  Each year, Vincent's mother made batches upon batches of elaborately decorated cookies to give to local children and neighboring families and even though Roz swore every year that she'd just make small batches, her hand automatically measured out enough ingredients to fill her house with more cookies than she knew what to do with.  Marta had taught Roz how to make her trademark icing and the familiar patterns felt like coming home.

Late night decorating parties were very much a thing between them, even if they weren’t in the family kitchen, although this year would have to be rushed.  Roz was scheduled to go in for an all day shift that if by the plans she had overheard were right, would stretch into a late evening to help cover for nurses who wanted to go out to eat with their significant others.

It rankled.  Rosalind and Vincent hadn't officially come out as a serious couple yet, so no one at work knew that maybe she too would have had date night plans.  Then again, she didn't know if they had plans and she didn't want to make their first Kissing Day together-together weird and…

“Roz?  You still here with me?”

She blinked.  “Sorry, mind’s going a mile a minute.”  She scooped the icing she had just made into another piping bag and joined him at her table to work on the already cooled cookies.  They had a system: Vincent would lay down the base coat of royal icing and Roz would follow up with different designs.  Vincent always claimed that she was better at piping the delicate lacework she’d always put on her cookies because her hands were a lot more steady than his, but Roz always felt that it was a carryover from childhood.  Ever since she could remember, Vincent was more of a big picture person while she tended to obsess over the details.  It was one of the ways that they had always worked well together: he was good with starting things and she made his big brushes of color that much clearer with little clarifying details.

It wasn’t long before the table was full of different colored trays of hearts lined with sweet lace or dotted with tiny daisies.  Vincent got up several times to exchange the completed cookies for fresh trays, dropping a kiss on the crown of Roz’s head as she worked before he sat back down every time.  They decorated in companionable silence for the first hour before Roz fiddled with her phone and started up some music to keep them company.  She had to laugh when Vincent got up and tugged on her hand.

“Vincent, we still need to finish…”

He grinned as she stood up.  “That was the last dozen.”  His hand slid down to rest on her hip.  “I think we deserve a break before we package these up.”

It didn’t take much for her to snuggle up to him, her head resting on his chest and her arm around his waist.  It felt right to hold hands there in the middle of her kitchen, sighing contentedly when he gently cradled their laced fingers over his heart.  “It isn’t fair,” she said, turning her face into his shirt as they slowly began to sway along to the music playing on the counter.

“What is?” “The fact that I have to work tomorrow.”

Vincent was quiet, which usually meant that he was thinking about the words he wanted to say before he said them.  “It is our first Kissing Day together,” he finally said, his thumb running against the back of her hand.  “I would have liked to spend the whole day together, but…”

“But?”

The hand on her hip moved up to tip her chin upwards to meet his gaze.  “You’re incredible. It shouldn’t be a surprise that your boss wants the best on the floor.  There’s patients in the hospital who can’t be with their own families and you go out of your way to make sure that they’re remembered.”

She shook her head.  “I’m just...I’m not…”

His fingers moved to tangle in her hair.  “You are incredible.”  He bent his head to brush his nose against hers.  “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”  Both of them seemed to sense the way that the tone had shifted and Vincent was the one to bring it back to how it had been.  “It just so happens that you have a boyfriend willing to share you with everyone.”

Roz laughed.  Wiggling her fingers out of his grasp, she stood on tiptoes and kissed him, slow and sweet.  “I have the best boyfriend, you mean.” She nipped at his bottom lip, smiling against his lips when his hands tightened on her waist.  “We haven’t really made any plans for tomorrow.”

“Well, I was thinking something low key.  I’ll whip up something here after I close up the greenhouse, something that can be kept warm until your shift is over?”

“That sounds nice.  And then?”

He held her closer.  “Movie, tea, maybe making out in the middle of a movie?”

Roz laughed.  “I like that plan.”  She stretched up against him and tangled her fingers in his hair.  “And there will definitely be making out mid-movie, no maybes about it.”

Vincent tugged her closer.  “I like that plan,” he echoed.  He stopped swaying and reached over to grab her phone, shutting off the music.  “These can sit out for a bit longer, don’t you think?”

She gave him a wicked smile.  “I think they can.”  Taking his hand, Roz led Vincent out of the kitchen and towards her bedroom.

The shrill buzz of her alarm woke her up.  Roz groaned as she blindly slapped it off, blinking as she rolled out of bed.  “Vincent?”  Sleepily pulling an oversized shirt over her head, she wandered into the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted her.

The trays from the night before were empty and drying in the drainboard next to the sink, along with the bowls that had held the icing.  Her kitchen table was bare, save for the large canvas bag sitting on top, waxed cardboard containers full of cookies neatly stacked inside.  She had to smile at the sticky note pressed on her coffee cup.

Sorry, had to open the nursery early.  Surprisingly, people think that plants are a great alternative to Kissing Day flowers.  Speaking of, check your back patio.  Have a great day at work, see you later tonight.

Love,

V.

P.S. - All the cookies survived.  It was tough, but I didn’t steal a single one.

Setting the note down with a laugh, she walked over to her back patio and pushed the curtains aside.  Sitting next to her little table was a huge Antivan esperanza plant she had been admiring at his shop just the other day, its foliage full of cheerful yellow blooms.  Leaning against the door frame with a goofy smile on her face, she realized that Vincent must have put that there the night before, seeing that he more than likely wouldn’t have had time to do it that morning, habitual early riser or no.

Roz looked at the clock.  She had an hour before she had to leave the house to show up at the hospital.  After showering and changing into her scrubs, she took the time to clear the clean dishes from the drainboard and make sure that her kitchen was ready for whatever Vincent was planning on cooking for dinner.  Filling a travel mug with coffee, she slung the bag full of cookies over her shoulder and locked up her house.  She was backing out of the drive when she realized that Vincent had cleaned the back window, leaving a dusty heart on one corner.

She might have to work for most of the holiday, but maybe she could get someone to come in for their shift early.  There was a dozen of cookies hidden in a tin on a bottom cabinet she’d decorated early especially for Vincent that he didn’t know about and she couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when she gave them to him.