(no subject)
Title: Not Stupid
Type: Gen
Genre: Kinda angsty
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, mostly; also minor sex talk
Word Count: 736
Summary: Vince isn't stupid, but he's doing a stupid thing.
Disclaimer: Vince and Slyvie are mine; Hale is Chelsea/unrulygarden's.
A/N: Direct follow-up to this piece.
Vince finds Sylvie, as she promised, in the driver’s side front seat of Sally-Anne, her little blue Prius. She’s got Barenaked Ladies on the stereo - “Jane,” her favorite; “What A Good Boy” should be next and it’s sadistically appropriate - but she isn’t singing along like usual. She doesn’t even look at him when he gets in the car, just nods and starts it up from Accessory. He has a license and could drive, if only his stupid car hadn’t decided to die this morning (lucky for him, Sylvie was planning on going to Ren Fest today and was going to change the car battery for him… she’ll probably leave him to his own devices now, which means certain doom).
…Actually, he realizes with a sigh, he probably wouldn’t be able to drive himself home after that kind of shock. …Though, if he’d driven himself up, this whole mess would’ve been avoided. …Either way, really, the last thing he expected to happen did, and now he can barely walk straight, let alone operate a car at any functional level. And he feels like his face is running its own fever, which is wholly unpleasant and making him somewhat nauseous. A quick glance in the rear-view mirror confirms that he’s redder than sunburn. …Her driving is not going to help with that.
They set out from the Ren Fest lot, kicking up some dust as Sylvie pulls onto the street, and silence hangs - black and heavy - over top of the music, which isn’t even turned up to make things easier for either of them. …And she’s driving the speed limit for once in her life. …And she’s being really careful over all the turns. …Great. Just fucking great. Now he’s unintentionally pissed off the only family member who doesn’t have a glaring problem with him or vice versa. Not even Dylan can fix this… unless he lets Vince stay at his place, which he probably won’t, but anything’s worth a shot at this point. If even Sylvie’s mad at him-
“So,” she finally says. “…You’re gay?”
He nods. “…Yeah…”
“Alright. Now… given how close we are, why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have let Jamie make those girlfriend comments if I’d have known.”
“I… it’s fine, really. And… only Hale knows? Well, him and Dylan, and he’s the only one I’ve told, and he’s gay too, and-”
She eases the car to an even slower speed. “Vince! Calm down. We’ll talk about this later.”
“Okay…”
“Bigger issues at hand.”
“That wasn’t what it looked like!”
She sighs and stares at him soberly; good thing the road is straight right now. “Baby brother, I don’t care if you were getting felt up. It’d be really hypocritical of me, especially considering that you’re a year older than I was on my first time.”
“I… er… that’s nice, but I-”
“What I do care about is This Guy… Dylan.”
“…He’s my boyfriend…”
“I gathered that much. How old is he?”
Vince chokes slightly, but weakly manages, “Twenty-one?…”
The car slams to a halt in front of the sign for one of the many vineyards in the area. It’s a damn good thing they’re alone because, without wasting any time, she flings the car into park and wheels around on him, looking like the love child of shock and disgust, as delivered by Doctor Disappointment. Her mouth gapes and she furrows her brow. …Great. Just when he was starting to think that things might work out about this whole boyfriend thing. He could never expect anything less than utter, complete, and total disappointment from mom and dad, but Sylvie’s supposed to understand. And now, he’ll be lucky to make it through-
“Vince,” she huffs after a few meditative breaths. “Did it ever occur to you and your straight-A record that you’re dating someone who’s my age?!”
“…Yeah, but-”
“And that, age of consent or not, it’s still technically illegal and kind of disgusting?”
“…I don’t think it’s-”
“And that someone could press char-”
“Hethinksi’meighteen!”
“…Run that by me again?”
“…He… he thinks I’m eighteen…”
She sighs in that way that can’t ever hide her disappointment, and she shakes her head in the way that backs it up. She puts the car in drive again and starts going down the road. After a briefer silence, she shakes her head again.
“You know, you’re not stupid… but you’re really doing a stupid thing.”
Title: Dumped
Type: Gen
Genre: Angsty
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, mostly; also sex talk and angst
Word Count: 1,346
Summary: Vince got dumped. Angst ensues.
Disclaimer: Vince and Slyvie are mine; Hale is Chelsea/unrulygarden's.
Vince shifts again, onto his back this time; the blood vessels in his arm are starting to scream from being laid on. As the ceiling poster of Kurt Cobain stares down at him, the other arm throbs at the memory of breaking four years earlier while trying to put the damn thing up. Ever impatient, he doesn’t stay on his back for long, rolling onto the other arm instead. He can’t think of a way to help himself, from doing this or out of this funk. No. It’s hardly a funk. That would imply that it’s spontaneous or otherwise unwarranted. And it’s not. The more appropriate term would be “romantic depression” or “the fallout of being dumped.” He can’t honestly say that he’s felt anything worse.
He thought he was special, he thought he meant something to Dylan, or so he thought… apparently, that’s all he’s good for anymore. Thinking and sex, and cuddling and sex, and kissing and sex, and sex, lots of sex, and he must not be that good for anything but thinking anymore, or else he’s still have Dylan, instead of just his stupid Iron Maiden t-shirt. It’s way too big for him, but it felt like home when they were together. Now, it’s cold and he’s only wearing it because it was the first thing he pulled off the floor when he got home last, from taking Charlotte and Gatsby to see some stupid Disney movie. …God, he must’ve really done something wrong to deserve knowing that Dylan doesn’t want him anymore.
But Dylan was an ass, which is why he left… no, he didn’t leave. That makes it sound more serious than it is… was… should be, and… oh God, why is he getting so worked up over this? Furthermore, what time is it and why is Massachusetts three hours ahead of California? For all he knows, it’s midnight there, and Hale actually sleeps, but, damn it, he needs something, and Hale’s always good at this sort of thing… oh God damn it. In his spree of self-pity and assorted whining, he’s making his stomach churn and the acid bubble, which, in turn, gives him that heartburn feeling of sympathy for the dumped and reminds him that he hasn’t eaten yet today…or maybe in two days. How long has he been here? Two days? Three? How long has it been since they broke up?
And how fucking pathetic must he look to any superhuman forces or deceased watchers, if they exist and care enough to watch? Grandma might be looking at him right now, pissed off that, not only is he - the heir to the Morris wine farm and all business ventures therein entailed - gay as a three dollar bill, but he’s getting broken up over a relationship that was almost entirely sexual. Well, it was that to Dylan. And he let the bastard make him feel special, and, now, he’s letting him control his moods entirely. Some fucking man… some big, strong boy who can take care of himself and the entire cast of every play.
It happened at sunset, and on the last day of Festival. So incredibly Dylan - he’s so perfectly dramatic like that, something Vince has never quite achieved outside of character. He set it up just like a movie, all ready for a “goodbye for a little while” kiss - Vince expected one, he even moved in for it - just to give the beautiful let down: “It’s been fun, and I like you, but I think we should break up.” Holy Christ on a toast-point, Vince can’t even make it seem articulate. And it was articulate… at least it was when Dylan said it. Thinking about it warms Vince’s cheeks with the ghosts of Dylan’s hands (and they’re immediately freezing again when he remembers that this is just a memory from after Sylvie walked in on them). And he was so gentle about it too because the words were heavy enough on their own… it was just a whisper with their faces almost touching.
Curling his fingers in his afghan, Vince vaguely entertains the possibility that he wouldn’t have minded just being fuck-buddies. They only had sex three times. He probably wouldn’t mind it being meaningless if it meant that he’d get to spend time with Dylan, which is really pathetic and something he never expected to think or hear from himself… and, to think… in June, he never would have thought something like this. In June, he wasn’t exactly strong, but he was pretty confident and didn’t just lay in bed, rolling over his sheets and everything that happened and the words to “Goodbye Love” and “Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometimes” over and over. Damn Rent, damn Beck, damn Jonathan Larson… damn their catchy, all too fitting lyrics…
…And then the door opens and slams shut, snapping him out of his head, where it doesn’t really matter that much, if it at all. Please don’t be mom and dad, or one of the kids, or grandma, or… oh, it’s just Sylvie. Sighing, she kneels next to his bed and pushes his hair off his face.
“What happened with you and Dylan?” she asks, huffing slightly.
“…How’d you…” is all he manages before she puts her finger on his lips.
“One: I’m older than you. I’ve been in similar places and I know when something’s wrong. Two: I’m your sister and I know when you’re off. Now, tell me what happened with He-I-Severely-Disapprove-Of so I can fix it.”
Although he doesn’t really want to, Vince tilts his head up to look her in the eyes, knowing full well that his cheeks are wet. Even the loose strands of her hair are sympathetic.
“…He dumped me,” he chokes.
Sylvie has him sitting up and in a hug before she speaks again. “Oh, Vince.”
“…I mean, what’d I do? I’ve been going over it all, and I can’t think of anything, but I must’ve done something, right, or else he’d still-”
“No, no, no… you didn’t do anything, I promise you didn’t.”
“But I had to, or else… unless he just woke up and realized I’m not good enough for him…”
She pushes him back and gives him the same sober, slightly let down stare she gave him when she found out that Dylan thought he was eighteen. It’s hard to tell what stings more: the mental connection he immediately makes to Dylan or knowing that, this summer, he’s disappointed her more than he ever has before. Seeing that there are more tears welling up - he isn’t even trying to stop them; he doesn’t see a point - she hugs him again.
“Vince,” she sighs. “I’ve heard that from a lot of people… I never thought I’d hear it from you.”
“But it’s true.” He knows that he’s whining by this point; he can’t stop it and doesn’t care. “He’s smart, and funny, and… and… and…”
She shoves his head into her shoulder and strokes his hair. “Vince. You have it backwards. He’s not good enough for you.”
“But he’s… but I… I don’t get it, Sylvie…”
“He’s sleazy! You deserve someone better.”
“I want to crawl in a hole and die…”
“Okay, okay… we’re gonna do what I did when I got dumped once.”
“…What?”
“First, get cleaned up and take some iron. You’ve gone… how long? Two, three days?”
“Three, I think…”
“Right. You’ve gone three days without it and you look like hell. Then, we’re going to set his stuff on fire, so you can’t dwell on it. Then, you’re going to eat something, and then you’re going to call Hale.”
“But he’s in Massachusetts…”
“I don’t care; we’ll pay for it. You need to talk to him right now.”
“But you’re here…”
“Yeah, but he’s your best friend and he’ll be just as much, if not more, help.”
“Okay… and Sylvie?”
She lets him lift his head and their eyes meet directly.
“Yeah?”
“I… he… we… I had sex with him. …Three times.”
“Oh, Vince.”
His head is back in her shoulder before he can exhale.
Type: Gen
Genre: Kinda angsty
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, mostly; also minor sex talk
Word Count: 736
Summary: Vince isn't stupid, but he's doing a stupid thing.
Disclaimer: Vince and Slyvie are mine; Hale is Chelsea/unrulygarden's.
A/N: Direct follow-up to this piece.
Vince finds Sylvie, as she promised, in the driver’s side front seat of Sally-Anne, her little blue Prius. She’s got Barenaked Ladies on the stereo - “Jane,” her favorite; “What A Good Boy” should be next and it’s sadistically appropriate - but she isn’t singing along like usual. She doesn’t even look at him when he gets in the car, just nods and starts it up from Accessory. He has a license and could drive, if only his stupid car hadn’t decided to die this morning (lucky for him, Sylvie was planning on going to Ren Fest today and was going to change the car battery for him… she’ll probably leave him to his own devices now, which means certain doom).
…Actually, he realizes with a sigh, he probably wouldn’t be able to drive himself home after that kind of shock. …Though, if he’d driven himself up, this whole mess would’ve been avoided. …Either way, really, the last thing he expected to happen did, and now he can barely walk straight, let alone operate a car at any functional level. And he feels like his face is running its own fever, which is wholly unpleasant and making him somewhat nauseous. A quick glance in the rear-view mirror confirms that he’s redder than sunburn. …Her driving is not going to help with that.
They set out from the Ren Fest lot, kicking up some dust as Sylvie pulls onto the street, and silence hangs - black and heavy - over top of the music, which isn’t even turned up to make things easier for either of them. …And she’s driving the speed limit for once in her life. …And she’s being really careful over all the turns. …Great. Just fucking great. Now he’s unintentionally pissed off the only family member who doesn’t have a glaring problem with him or vice versa. Not even Dylan can fix this… unless he lets Vince stay at his place, which he probably won’t, but anything’s worth a shot at this point. If even Sylvie’s mad at him-
“So,” she finally says. “…You’re gay?”
He nods. “…Yeah…”
“Alright. Now… given how close we are, why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have let Jamie make those girlfriend comments if I’d have known.”
“I… it’s fine, really. And… only Hale knows? Well, him and Dylan, and he’s the only one I’ve told, and he’s gay too, and-”
She eases the car to an even slower speed. “Vince! Calm down. We’ll talk about this later.”
“Okay…”
“Bigger issues at hand.”
“That wasn’t what it looked like!”
She sighs and stares at him soberly; good thing the road is straight right now. “Baby brother, I don’t care if you were getting felt up. It’d be really hypocritical of me, especially considering that you’re a year older than I was on my first time.”
“I… er… that’s nice, but I-”
“What I do care about is This Guy… Dylan.”
“…He’s my boyfriend…”
“I gathered that much. How old is he?”
Vince chokes slightly, but weakly manages, “Twenty-one?…”
The car slams to a halt in front of the sign for one of the many vineyards in the area. It’s a damn good thing they’re alone because, without wasting any time, she flings the car into park and wheels around on him, looking like the love child of shock and disgust, as delivered by Doctor Disappointment. Her mouth gapes and she furrows her brow. …Great. Just when he was starting to think that things might work out about this whole boyfriend thing. He could never expect anything less than utter, complete, and total disappointment from mom and dad, but Sylvie’s supposed to understand. And now, he’ll be lucky to make it through-
“Vince,” she huffs after a few meditative breaths. “Did it ever occur to you and your straight-A record that you’re dating someone who’s my age?!”
“…Yeah, but-”
“And that, age of consent or not, it’s still technically illegal and kind of disgusting?”
“…I don’t think it’s-”
“And that someone could press char-”
“Hethinksi’meighteen!”
“…Run that by me again?”
“…He… he thinks I’m eighteen…”
She sighs in that way that can’t ever hide her disappointment, and she shakes her head in the way that backs it up. She puts the car in drive again and starts going down the road. After a briefer silence, she shakes her head again.
“You know, you’re not stupid… but you’re really doing a stupid thing.”
Title: Dumped
Type: Gen
Genre: Angsty
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, mostly; also sex talk and angst
Word Count: 1,346
Summary: Vince got dumped. Angst ensues.
Disclaimer: Vince and Slyvie are mine; Hale is Chelsea/unrulygarden's.
Vince shifts again, onto his back this time; the blood vessels in his arm are starting to scream from being laid on. As the ceiling poster of Kurt Cobain stares down at him, the other arm throbs at the memory of breaking four years earlier while trying to put the damn thing up. Ever impatient, he doesn’t stay on his back for long, rolling onto the other arm instead. He can’t think of a way to help himself, from doing this or out of this funk. No. It’s hardly a funk. That would imply that it’s spontaneous or otherwise unwarranted. And it’s not. The more appropriate term would be “romantic depression” or “the fallout of being dumped.” He can’t honestly say that he’s felt anything worse.
He thought he was special, he thought he meant something to Dylan, or so he thought… apparently, that’s all he’s good for anymore. Thinking and sex, and cuddling and sex, and kissing and sex, and sex, lots of sex, and he must not be that good for anything but thinking anymore, or else he’s still have Dylan, instead of just his stupid Iron Maiden t-shirt. It’s way too big for him, but it felt like home when they were together. Now, it’s cold and he’s only wearing it because it was the first thing he pulled off the floor when he got home last, from taking Charlotte and Gatsby to see some stupid Disney movie. …God, he must’ve really done something wrong to deserve knowing that Dylan doesn’t want him anymore.
But Dylan was an ass, which is why he left… no, he didn’t leave. That makes it sound more serious than it is… was… should be, and… oh God, why is he getting so worked up over this? Furthermore, what time is it and why is Massachusetts three hours ahead of California? For all he knows, it’s midnight there, and Hale actually sleeps, but, damn it, he needs something, and Hale’s always good at this sort of thing… oh God damn it. In his spree of self-pity and assorted whining, he’s making his stomach churn and the acid bubble, which, in turn, gives him that heartburn feeling of sympathy for the dumped and reminds him that he hasn’t eaten yet today…or maybe in two days. How long has he been here? Two days? Three? How long has it been since they broke up?
And how fucking pathetic must he look to any superhuman forces or deceased watchers, if they exist and care enough to watch? Grandma might be looking at him right now, pissed off that, not only is he - the heir to the Morris wine farm and all business ventures therein entailed - gay as a three dollar bill, but he’s getting broken up over a relationship that was almost entirely sexual. Well, it was that to Dylan. And he let the bastard make him feel special, and, now, he’s letting him control his moods entirely. Some fucking man… some big, strong boy who can take care of himself and the entire cast of every play.
It happened at sunset, and on the last day of Festival. So incredibly Dylan - he’s so perfectly dramatic like that, something Vince has never quite achieved outside of character. He set it up just like a movie, all ready for a “goodbye for a little while” kiss - Vince expected one, he even moved in for it - just to give the beautiful let down: “It’s been fun, and I like you, but I think we should break up.” Holy Christ on a toast-point, Vince can’t even make it seem articulate. And it was articulate… at least it was when Dylan said it. Thinking about it warms Vince’s cheeks with the ghosts of Dylan’s hands (and they’re immediately freezing again when he remembers that this is just a memory from after Sylvie walked in on them). And he was so gentle about it too because the words were heavy enough on their own… it was just a whisper with their faces almost touching.
Curling his fingers in his afghan, Vince vaguely entertains the possibility that he wouldn’t have minded just being fuck-buddies. They only had sex three times. He probably wouldn’t mind it being meaningless if it meant that he’d get to spend time with Dylan, which is really pathetic and something he never expected to think or hear from himself… and, to think… in June, he never would have thought something like this. In June, he wasn’t exactly strong, but he was pretty confident and didn’t just lay in bed, rolling over his sheets and everything that happened and the words to “Goodbye Love” and “Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometimes” over and over. Damn Rent, damn Beck, damn Jonathan Larson… damn their catchy, all too fitting lyrics…
…And then the door opens and slams shut, snapping him out of his head, where it doesn’t really matter that much, if it at all. Please don’t be mom and dad, or one of the kids, or grandma, or… oh, it’s just Sylvie. Sighing, she kneels next to his bed and pushes his hair off his face.
“What happened with you and Dylan?” she asks, huffing slightly.
“…How’d you…” is all he manages before she puts her finger on his lips.
“One: I’m older than you. I’ve been in similar places and I know when something’s wrong. Two: I’m your sister and I know when you’re off. Now, tell me what happened with He-I-Severely-Disapprove-Of so I can fix it.”
Although he doesn’t really want to, Vince tilts his head up to look her in the eyes, knowing full well that his cheeks are wet. Even the loose strands of her hair are sympathetic.
“…He dumped me,” he chokes.
Sylvie has him sitting up and in a hug before she speaks again. “Oh, Vince.”
“…I mean, what’d I do? I’ve been going over it all, and I can’t think of anything, but I must’ve done something, right, or else he’d still-”
“No, no, no… you didn’t do anything, I promise you didn’t.”
“But I had to, or else… unless he just woke up and realized I’m not good enough for him…”
She pushes him back and gives him the same sober, slightly let down stare she gave him when she found out that Dylan thought he was eighteen. It’s hard to tell what stings more: the mental connection he immediately makes to Dylan or knowing that, this summer, he’s disappointed her more than he ever has before. Seeing that there are more tears welling up - he isn’t even trying to stop them; he doesn’t see a point - she hugs him again.
“Vince,” she sighs. “I’ve heard that from a lot of people… I never thought I’d hear it from you.”
“But it’s true.” He knows that he’s whining by this point; he can’t stop it and doesn’t care. “He’s smart, and funny, and… and… and…”
She shoves his head into her shoulder and strokes his hair. “Vince. You have it backwards. He’s not good enough for you.”
“But he’s… but I… I don’t get it, Sylvie…”
“He’s sleazy! You deserve someone better.”
“I want to crawl in a hole and die…”
“Okay, okay… we’re gonna do what I did when I got dumped once.”
“…What?”
“First, get cleaned up and take some iron. You’ve gone… how long? Two, three days?”
“Three, I think…”
“Right. You’ve gone three days without it and you look like hell. Then, we’re going to set his stuff on fire, so you can’t dwell on it. Then, you’re going to eat something, and then you’re going to call Hale.”
“But he’s in Massachusetts…”
“I don’t care; we’ll pay for it. You need to talk to him right now.”
“But you’re here…”
“Yeah, but he’s your best friend and he’ll be just as much, if not more, help.”
“Okay… and Sylvie?”
She lets him lift his head and their eyes meet directly.
“Yeah?”
“I… he… we… I had sex with him. …Three times.”
“Oh, Vince.”
His head is back in her shoulder before he can exhale.