(no subject)
Title: Worth It
Type: Gen
Genre: ANGST
Characters: Vince, Amber
Rating: PG-13, or light R
Warnings: Language, talk about all manner of shady
Word Count: 4,885
Summary: Caught between a stoner and a hard place, Vince goes to the one person he knows will listen.
Disclaimer: Mine, except Hale, who is Chelsea/unrulygarden's and some obvious pop culture references.
A/N: Vince is being emo; it's not my fault. However, I will credit Rufus Wainwright's version of "The Origin of Love," Beck's "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometimes," and James Blunt's "Tears & Rain" for making this easier.
Amber hums “Zippedy Doo Dah” as she meanders down the hallway, blissfully hanging up posters and not caring that she’s being rather obnoxious. Doesn’t quite matter, really, since it’s a nice day - just perfectly cold, with a new blanket of snow covering the campus, and the sun’s shining in that adorable, midwinter way. It’s not like she’s being a ray of sunshine on one of those fogged up, dark and rainy afternoons that just have to happen sometimes (the ones where it looks like midnight at two and whatnot, irritating little pestilences), no. She’s just intensifying the brightness and posting up her propaganda, all with a purpose and protected by the rules. Like hell she’s gonna lay down and take apathy about anything, especially not her GSA… thing’s like a baby. A baby with an agenda, made up of a little more than twenty people, granted, but a baby nonetheless.
Then, with no warning whatsoever, her peppy tune is interrupted by fast, purposeful footfalls coming in her direction. Raising an eyebrow, she tapes up one last poster and cocks her ear in their direction; she whips around in time to see…
…Vince? Wait a minute… Vince? What’s he, of all people, doing around her at all? He makes a point of avoiding her, it seems, and Hale tells her all the time that he’s trying to get Vince to show up for a GSA meeting, but that the black-haired boy Just Really Doesn’t Like Her. …But he’s not making a point to go around her; he’s just sort of standing there, snow in his hair and hands in his pockets… he looks like Hell, in all honesty. Not that he’s sick or anything - he might be, which is sad for him and her, since she never really wanted anything bad to happen to anyone, least of all someone who needs help, and he definitely does, in a subtle-ish way - but… he’s showing emotions. That never happens. And he looks like he hasn’t slept, which is hardly good at all.
“…Hi…” he finally manages. Voice is weak and shaky, and he doesn’t look at her. Neither is a good sign.
“Hi,” she chirps, smiling in the hopes of making this easier. “What did… did I do something to deserve this honor?”
“…Huh?”
And he can’t think coherently either. Very unlike him. Looking up from the floor, he lets her glimpse his eyes and the purposeless way he bites his lip… he’s the king of efficiency and running a tight ship. Maybe she should take him somewhere else… like the counselor or the nurse or… something, if he hasn’t slept and he’s doing something inefficient and otherwise looks like a wreck? And he’s talking to her… maybe he really is sick? No, no, he came to her, and that’s a start if it’s anything. This boy definitely needs her help.
“Well… last I checked, you didn’t like me, but… here you are, talking to me.”
“Oh, I… it’s nothing, really, I just… can we talk? I… do you have… time to tal-”
“Certainly! I always have time to talk.”
“Okay, well, uhm… you might want to sit down, I… it’s long.”
“…I have time ‘til we die, Vincent. Talk my ears off, if you need to.”
“Okay…”
Despite loving winter, she’s quite glad that Saturday means not having to wear a skirt. The school’s heated and everything, but, all the same, December’s pretty well having its way with the stone floors, and it’s pretty damn cold through her jeans… the rip in the knee doesn’t really help with that, she supposes, but it’s got a history and it’s a work of art in its own right. Vince has a harder time than she does with the sitting down thing, but he makes it. He’s sort of rickety and visibly shaking, but he slams himself back into the wall and sinks to the floor next to her… he doesn’t bother folding his legs up, though. Probably not a good idea, since most of his height’s in his legs, but there’s a time for pointing that out, and this sure as hell isn’t it.
“So what’s on your mind, sunshine?” She smiles again, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“I just…” He sighs heavily. Poor thing. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. What I can do even, and not knowing my options is… well, it’s… it’s Hell.”
“Which, coincidentally, is what you look like. What in the nine levels of fuck happened to you?”
“I… it’s… don’t think this means… it’s Hale.”
“But isn’t he your-”
“Nothing’s changed that, nothing ever will, but… he’s… I’m really worried about him and he won’t let me get a word in edgewise.”
“…That… really doesn’t make sense. I mean… it’s great that you care about him, especially since you say that you don’t care about anyone, but… he doesn’t seem off to me at all, and he’s not acting differently-”
“That’s just the thing, isn’t it?” Vince huffed. “He never acts differently, even when there’s a big fucking problem! Like, the first time he met my ex, he… ohshit…”
“Your come again what now?” she splutters, ignoring (or because of) his self-deprecating blush.
“My…” He pauses for a deep breath (one of Hale’s meditation techniques; she’s seen it tons of times before, but never being used by Vince). “My ex-boyfriend. His name was Dylan, he was twenty-one, and it was a huge, disgusting mess. And that’s all you need to know.”
She nods. “Okay. So where does Hale come into that huge, disgusting mess?”
“As if I wouldn’t introduce my best friend to my boyfriend. What kind of guy do you think I am? …No. Don’t answer this. Anyway… Hale met him - we worked together at the Renaissance festival, so it was easy to arrange, just a matter of getting Hale to California - and he… rightfully disapproved. How can you not, I mean… seventeen and twenty-one, and the latter is horny 24-7-”
“I love how you badmouth your ex…”
“Did I say I was finished? Anyway. Hale rightfully disapproved, but he didn’t say anything. He offered wisdom that I didn’t listen to because I’m an idiot, but… mostly, he just… gave me that little smile of his, and hugged me, and… he didn’t act any different.”
“Okay, point taken, but… why are you so worried?”
“He’s my best friend! …Well, anyway… you know stoner Kevin, right?”
“Yeah, he’s in the GSA. Doesn’t do a lot, innovatively speaking, but-”
“No. Fucking. Way. He isn’t.”
“He is.”
“Great. Just fucking…”
“What does he have to do with this?”
“Everything. I mean… Hale’s been spending a lot of time with him.”
“…So?”
“He does drugs, woman! Lots of drugs!”
“Well, I know that, but-”
“Okay, look. Hale is easily the most important person in my life. Easily. He helps me out in more ways than I think he knows, and he understands me, and he’s the only person to date who I’ve actually come out to, and I… I’m not ungrateful, but I don’t thank him enough. That said, I… I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him, and I’m pretty sure it will if he keeps hanging out with Kevin.”
“Actually, from what I’ve seen, Kevin’s mostly harmless. If he’s hurting anyone, it’s most likely himself.”
“That’s what Hale said! ‘He’s not just a stoner, Vince, really! He’s in a lot of pain and he needs someone who’ll help him out,’ but I don’t buy it. I really don’t know him, but still.” He sighs and, looking the very portrait of irritation, shoves some hair off his face. “I mean… I know I’m going to be the bad guy on this one, or the judgmental bitch at least, and… I’m really not one to talk about this, I guess, but… it’s really pissing me off! You know Hale’s on partial scholarship, right?”
“Yeah. I am too, so…”
“So you understand it better! Messing with Kevin could make him lose it, and I don’t want that to happen to him. And I know he’s doing it because he thinks he can help the little stoner or save him or whatever, but still! He’s just going to get hurt in this, I know it, and… and… he makes me tolerate the little son of a bitch! He brought him, stoned and drunk off his ass, to our room, to sleep off his pot and vodka! …I just don’t want anything to happen to him, but I can’t say that because I’m wrong, just because I’m being ‘judgmental’.”
“Well… in all fairness, sunshine, you… you kind of are-”
“Do you think I don’t know that?! I know I’m judgmental, I know I’m a bitch, I know that everything I do is, in some way, selfish… I mean, I’m not a nice, good person like him, but…”
He sighs again, this time leaning his head back before slumping it forward in apparent defeat.
“Who am I kidding?” he pants. “I mean, really… it’s not my place to say anything. He’s got free will and everything is permitted… he’ll do whatever he wants and all I can do is disagree… but I fucking despise having to nod and smile and keep my big mouth shut when he goes on about Kevin this, Kevin that, Kevin, Kevin, Kevin! And then more Kevin! I hate being tolerant like I think it’s okay, because I don’t, and… and there’s really nothing else I can do.”
Amber doesn’t say anything at first, just lets Vince’s statements simmer as she looks him over: he doesn’t look like himself at all. Well, no. That’s not entirely true, but there’s some gold amongst the pyrite, she knows there is. At the very least, some of the pyrite looks enough like gold to fool more than the inexperienced. Usually, he’s not so casual and open, least of all to her, though he’s incredibly vocal about how she irritates him. He’s Vincent. Eliot. Morris. King of all things technical, stage manager to end them all, and character actor extraordinaire, also an aspiring costume designer, hopeful essayist, and weekend photographer - and don’t you dare forget it. Well… she always says that he has unexpressed feelings when people question why she’s so invested in getting him into her GSA (understandably, since he plays the heinous bitch so well), and this is proof that she’s right, if it’s anything… and it’s definitely something else too. Right now, he’s not acting, which sounds odd, but his love of theatre always has seemed to overpower his real existence on occasion; odder still - she’s the one who gets to see it.
Well, no. Hale probably gets to as well, but still… the great and occasionally egotistical Vince Morris is idly tracing circles on the floor with his finger, looking far-off and almost crying (is he wearing his eyeliner? He always wears his eyeliner, but his face doesn’t look quite right and she can’t tell…) and he’s doing so for her. Whatever’s going on with him, it’s a might potent disease.
“Might I interject?” she sighs, voice heavy out of thought.
“…You already have.” Ever the nit-picking melancholic. Ever the Jaques. “But go on… I’m kind of spent and any insight is good… even yours.” He says it like an after-thought, like he doesn’t really mean it, or is otherwise in a state where he doesn’t care that he professes to hate her.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what? I mean… why would I be jealous?”
“There are a lot of reasons but right here, right now… I think it’s love. Specifically, you love Hale.”
“Well, of course I love him! He’s my best friend!”
“I mean in a different way, Vince.”
One of her knowing Looks and he blushes rose red; he’s got the point.
“What the… no! No way in Hell, I… no! You’ve got the completely wrong… what… no, no, no, no… best friends doesn’t mean… Brokeback Mountain… gay guys can be friends without… we are just friends! …Okay… breathe, Vince, breathe. …Anyway! He’s just my best friend, no sexual or romantic love anywhere.”
“Who’re you trying to convince?”
“I shouldn’t have to convince anyone because it’s not true!”
“Come on, Vince, it’s obvious! You’re a nice human being when he’s around, he gets you to think about the GSA, you told him you’re gay instead of waiting for him to get it, you get jealous when he talks about another guy-”
“I am not jealous! At all! It’s a free country; he can talk about who he wants and I can disapprove!”
“You’re also free to deny it, but it’s not helping anyone.”
“No… just… no. You don’t understand. I’m not in love with Hale; I can’t be.”
“Why not? Stranger things have happened.”
“I… I just can’t… for one thing, he’s my best friend.”
“Have you ever been on the Internet, Vincent?”
“Yes, of course. It’s practically impossible to avoid the damn thing.”
“You ever searched Google for ‘slash’?”
“Yes, woman, I know about slash. I know that a bunch of crazies think that Harry Potter’s fucking his best friend or something equally ridiculous-”
“Draco Malfoy.”
“Exactly! And that’s why I don’t think that’s admissible evidence. Besides… this isn’t that. This is you, Amber Whatever-the-Fuck Donovan-”
“Elizabeth.”
“…I don’t care. Anyway, this is you suggesting that I have feelings for my best friend, which is simply not true, regardless of how hot you think it would be. And I am getting the hell and gone out of dodge before you start suggesting that I molest freshmen techies or something…”
In typical, Vince fashion, he slips back into his façade, stands up, and stalks off without so much as a, “thank you for listening,” but, then again, she never really expected him to. He just doesn’t play the game that way. Oh well. At least he’s being vocal to someone, since, apparently, Hale’s out of the question. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together can see that he needs it more than a dehydrated man needs water. …Okay, maybe only a little bit more, or right on the level, but it’s still valid and, unlike the hypothetical man in her analogy, he won’t acknowledge or admit it. Shrugging and shaking her head, she shoves herself up off the floor and pleasantly returns to posting her propaganda. Job won’t do itself, after all.
He comes and finds her again on Wednesday, while she’s hanging streamers in the Saint Cecilia’s gym for the Sadie Hawkins dance. It’s not really a huge thing for her, since she only takes guys half the time, always asks when she feels like it, and, more often than not, goes in something closer to “friends” than “dates” anyway, but… school spirit is school spirit and any excuse to party is a good one. Besides, Amelia sprained her ankle in a freak volleyball accident and Amber’s not busy. As she looks down from double-checking her set-up, she sees Vince a few feet below her ladder-perch, staring up at her with an uncommonly vulnerable look on all his features. He looks even worse for wear than he did on Saturday, which, she must concede, is saying something, and something pretty fucking important too.
It’s only been four days since their last impromptu meeting. Could he really have lost enough sleep to look so terrible? Poor boy looks positively dead on his feet. And he’s paler than normal too, probably just a shade or two darker than the snow on his shoulders and in his hair, and it’s all doubly bright, since both his hair and trench coat are black. He looks drawn, and certainly not by some master artist… no, he’s got himself looking more like a rushed sketch than anything else. Didn’t Hale say something about Vince being on some kind of medication for something or other (and not Ritalin or anti-depressants like everyone would assume)? Well, whatever it is, it definitely looks he hasn’t been taking it - pale, stretched thin, a little scrawnier than usual… and he is most certainly not wearing his eyeliner.
This can’t be good. Now might be a good time to break her usual way of doing things, walk him back to Ratchett, and drag his skinny ass to the nurse… but then he gives her that wounded puppy look that he probably learned from Hale and she erases the thought.
“…Hi,” he says, nearly whimpering.
“Afternoon, sunshine.” She can’t help sighing. Even his voice says he’s not taking care of himself. “What’s on your mind?”
“I… can we talk? …Somewhere more private?”
“Sure thing.”
Injecting purpose into her usual cheer (that being to cheer him up or, at least, compensate for the unmitigated air of gloom surrounding him), she bounds down the ladder and bounces along beside him as he trudges out into the corridor. They don’t go far before he slumps onto the floor; since she’s already changed into jeans, she doesn’t need to use discretion, but she does anyway and kneels next to him instead of sitting. Apparently, the vaguest inklings of privacy open him up enough to groan loudly and hit his head on the wall.
“That’s not going to help, you know,” she sighs, smiling off-handedly; he gives her A Look and she nods. “So… what’s up?”
“I… I was thinking about what you said,” he whispers like he’s forcing the words out. “And…”
“And…?”
“…I… God, I really don’t want to say this, but… you were right.”
“…Excuse me?”
“You were right…”
“About…?”
“About me… and Hale, and… look, I’ve already said it twice and that’s painful enough. I don’t like you, but you’re not an idiot; put two and two together.”
“Fish.”
“Amber…”
He’s calling her by her name… so everything is serious. Well… she didn’t win the eighth grade “Most Likely To Make You Smile” award for nothing. Time to live up to her unofficial title. Physical proximity is a good place to start, shows that she trusts him and she’s here for him, and that, if psychology books and Mister Rogers have any concept of these kind of things, is likely to get him to open up. And Mister Rogers hasn’t failed her yet in seventeen years. She nudges her way closer to him, but leaves some space there because he’s obsessed with his personal space; she’s gentle as she tucks a long, loose piece of hair behind his ear and puts the hand on his shoulder.
“So you…” she prompts, speaking softly for comfort and quietness.
“Love him, yeah. More than I’d like to admit… more than I like, period.”
“It’s not like you can do anything-”
“But I don’t want this. He’s my best friend, he’s… I can’t feel like this.”
“I’m curious, Vince. What prompted this?”
“You gave me this look when I was leaving - you probably don’t even know that you did it; most people aren’t aware of their faces until the fallout happens - but… you looked at me like that, and… I just kept coming back to it, and then… then I had this dream. My dreams are really vivid; I remember all of them.”
“And this one…”
“I ravished him. It wasn’t making love, or anything so romantic. It wasn’t even sex; he was there and I… I took him… and he didn’t say anything. And all I could think about when I woke up was how wrong it was, but, I… I liked it…”
“Vince, I… have you slept?”
His voice jumps up a few notes. “Not really, no. I don’t want to see that ever again. His face, his body, the sweat… no, no, never ever, no. So I haven’t been sleeping well… actually, I haven’t slept since yesterday. I had the dream on Sunday going into Monday, and I don’t think I’ve had eight hours of straight sleep since then, not that I usually sleep that well, but it’s usually better than this, and-”
“Woah!” She jostles him a little bit; he’s light to begin with and gives no resistance. “Vince! Calm down.”
“Compared to how I could be, this is very calm. …Sorry, but… I didn’t ask for this, and I really don’t want it… I’m in love with my best friend, and I shouldn’t be. It’s not right, he… it can’t happen, so I shouldn’t feel this way.”
“There is no ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ for feelings, Vince, but… that’s neither here nor there, really. I can philosophize at you, or I can help, and I’m going with help. What do you plan to do about this?”
“…Nothing,” he sighs in a finalizing way. “I am going to do absolutely nothing. …Maybe switch rooms, if I can swing it.”
“What? Why?”
“Amber, I’m… I’m having dreams where I fuck my best friend rotten. …That’s not right! And the best thing I can do to control my desire is get away from it. Far away.”
“That never works.”
“Take junk away from a junkie and he’ll eventually get clean.”
“Love isn’t heroin.”
“No… it’s worse. Wholly, entirely worse. But I can’t trust myself around him. I’m going to take advantage of him; I know it.”
“…You’re getting way too wound up about this.”
“I’m not hyperventilating yet; I’m fine.”
“But you’re obviously not fine! I mean… you’re not wearing your eyeliner for god’s sake!”
“…I’ve been crying on and off all day, and most of yesterday. I’m good at hiding it, but smudged liner wouldn’t help.”
“Understandable, I guess, but… you should at least tell him.”
“Like what? ‘Hey, Hale, the reason I’ve been so worked up about you hanging out with Kevin is because I really, really love you?’ Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?”
“Pretty fucking stupid. But keeping yourself bottled up like this isn’t good for anyone.”
“I can repress anything that I want to, I… there’s a guys’ bathroom by the theatre, right?”
“…Yeah…”
“Any on this floor?”
“No…”
“…I’ll be right back.”
He fumbles in getting up quickly, but he’s an actor; he knows how to move, and it doesn’t take long for him to get his bearings and peel off for the third floor. Precedent says that she probably shouldn’t trust him, but it’s more out of concern that she follows him and sits outside the lone guys’ bathroom in the school building. This is just great right here: he’s so tightly wound and overexcited about the situation that he’s gone and made himself sick. And he probably hasn’t eaten anything, so it’s that much worse. It’s Oliver! Tech Week all over again, and he barely ate anything then… he was basically delirious by Thursday and Mister Moore and Miss Goldstein got him the day off for Friday. “Self-destructive passion-following,” or whatever he calls it. Amber calls it completely ridonkulous, but such is life, such are teenagers… at least he’s getting worked up over something more worthwhile than the spring production this time? Is that worth anything? Stands to reason that it would be…
A sigh, and he’s sitting next to her again, despite the change in location. His cheeks are damp and he’s another shade whiter.
“You okay?” she offers, putting a hand back on his shoulder.
“Totally,” he huffs; going back into sarcasm probably isn’t a good sign, but it sounds half-hearted. “I just love vomiting what I haven’t eaten when I haven’t slept or taken my iron supplements.”
“Still leaves the question of what you’re going to do about Hale…”
“And I’m still going to do absolutely nothing.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s better for everyone.”
“Everyone but you, you mean.”
“Why does it matter what’s good for me? If I confess, I give him all sorts of stress that he doesn’t need, especially with his little quest to ‘save’ Kevin. He doesn’t get extra stress, so he can carry on business as usual, and I’ll just have to put it as far back in my mind as possible.”
“But what about what you want?”
“What does it matter what I want? What I want… I don’t even really know what I want. It’d be nice if he loved me back, but I know he doesn’t and probably won’t, so what’s the point?”
“Wait… how do you ‘know?’ Being that you’re not Hale and all…”
“It’s just… his face, his eyes… he gets this look when he talks about Kevin; I can’t even begin describing it, it’s just… special. It’s dewy, and sentimental, and you can just tell that he has this really strong emotional investment in this… this person who he doesn’t really know that well, and he cares what’s going to happen to Kevin, and how Kevin feels, and if Kevin’s suicidal or just stoned and being an idiot. And I can tell when I see it… the little stoner has something that I don’t. I don’t know what it is, I can’t even begin to think about what it is… but he won… he probably doesn’t even know he won, he’s so oblivious, but he did… and I just have to accept that Hale’s never going to have that look about… about me.”
“So that’s it? You come to the conclusion and two days later give up on it?”
“What’s the point of going any further with it? Hale’s a good person, and I’m just his bitchy, idiot friend with a stupid crush. I… it’s not worth it making him deal with that. I couldn’t do that to him… and I’ll get over it… it might take a while because it’s in my nature to be stubborn and single-minded, but I will, and he won’t have to know a thing about it. I mean… I thought Dylan would last for more than two months, but it didn’t, and I thought the fallout would last forever, but I got over that-”
“Because of Hale?”
“Well, my sister helped too, but, yeah… mostly because of Hale. Point is… he doesn’t need to know and, this time next year, I’ll have moved on, even if it’s still there a little, and… Kevin always seemed flamingly straight to me, but, if anything happens, more power to them. Telling him… I probably should. And he deserves my honesty about the most important thing, since he gets it every other time, but… it’s just not worth it.”
“Love is always worth it, Vince.”
“Maybe for you, but… not for me. Not here, not now… there’s no way in Hell I could force him to deal with this, which is probably the most selfless thing I’ve ever done… but also the most selfish. It’s just… I wish he’d let me entertain the possibility, but even that can never happen…”
Without thinking about it, she shoves herself up onto her knees and grabs him in a tight hug around the shoulders and only clenches more inflexibly when he writhes weakly. It doesn’t take long to get him to calm down - she’s shorter, but stronger, and he’s not in a fighting mood right now - and, once she has him docile, she puts a hand on the back of his head and holds it down comfortingly. As if by instinct, she rubs his hair as he coughs and makes the choking noises of letting out a good, uninhibited cry for the first time in a while. After a few minutes, his breathing slows down and she lets him up: his eyes are red and puffy, and their products are on the shoulder of her shirt, but a little catharsis will do him good.
“I… I’m sorry about your shirt…” he sighs.
“I’ve got more,” she says simply, giving him a smile and a shrug.
“I… what… why are you doing this for me?”
“What?”
“I mean… I’m never nice to you - or anyone, but especially not you - and you really have nothing to gain from this, so… why?”
“You came to me upset and looking for someone to talk to, and then for help and someone to talk to, and… I wasn’t going to leave you like that.”
“…But why?”
She shrugs again. “Homie don’t play that.”
“Well… thank you.”
“Not a problem. And… come on, up. Let me walk you back to Ratchett.”
“It’s not that far… you don’t have to…”
“No, no, I insist.” She stands up, and pulls him with her. “And you might want to go up to the infirmary tonight. Not to be rude or anything, but you look like Hell.”
“I know… seems to be the story of my involvement with love.”
She hugs him again, met with no resistance and, surprisingly, a hug back and then, in silence and a light drift of snow, they walk across campus to Ratchett.
“That just leaves one matter unsettled,” he says as they pass the lake.
“Several, really,” she mutters, “but what’s yours?”
“The holiday showcase. I’ve been signed up since the sheet one up, singing, obviously… and, whatever I pick to do, it’ll be to Hale in some way.”
“Uh huh…”
“So it’s between ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’ and ‘The Origin of Love’… I know them both well, and I have the sheet music for both, but still…”
“‘Origin of Love,’ I think,” she offers philosophically. “Better suited to what you’ll be saying.”
“Yeah… guess so.”
Type: Gen
Genre: ANGST
Characters: Vince, Amber
Rating: PG-13, or light R
Warnings: Language, talk about all manner of shady
Word Count: 4,885
Summary: Caught between a stoner and a hard place, Vince goes to the one person he knows will listen.
Disclaimer: Mine, except Hale, who is Chelsea/unrulygarden's and some obvious pop culture references.
A/N: Vince is being emo; it's not my fault. However, I will credit Rufus Wainwright's version of "The Origin of Love," Beck's "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometimes," and James Blunt's "Tears & Rain" for making this easier.
Amber hums “Zippedy Doo Dah” as she meanders down the hallway, blissfully hanging up posters and not caring that she’s being rather obnoxious. Doesn’t quite matter, really, since it’s a nice day - just perfectly cold, with a new blanket of snow covering the campus, and the sun’s shining in that adorable, midwinter way. It’s not like she’s being a ray of sunshine on one of those fogged up, dark and rainy afternoons that just have to happen sometimes (the ones where it looks like midnight at two and whatnot, irritating little pestilences), no. She’s just intensifying the brightness and posting up her propaganda, all with a purpose and protected by the rules. Like hell she’s gonna lay down and take apathy about anything, especially not her GSA… thing’s like a baby. A baby with an agenda, made up of a little more than twenty people, granted, but a baby nonetheless.
Then, with no warning whatsoever, her peppy tune is interrupted by fast, purposeful footfalls coming in her direction. Raising an eyebrow, she tapes up one last poster and cocks her ear in their direction; she whips around in time to see…
…Vince? Wait a minute… Vince? What’s he, of all people, doing around her at all? He makes a point of avoiding her, it seems, and Hale tells her all the time that he’s trying to get Vince to show up for a GSA meeting, but that the black-haired boy Just Really Doesn’t Like Her. …But he’s not making a point to go around her; he’s just sort of standing there, snow in his hair and hands in his pockets… he looks like Hell, in all honesty. Not that he’s sick or anything - he might be, which is sad for him and her, since she never really wanted anything bad to happen to anyone, least of all someone who needs help, and he definitely does, in a subtle-ish way - but… he’s showing emotions. That never happens. And he looks like he hasn’t slept, which is hardly good at all.
“…Hi…” he finally manages. Voice is weak and shaky, and he doesn’t look at her. Neither is a good sign.
“Hi,” she chirps, smiling in the hopes of making this easier. “What did… did I do something to deserve this honor?”
“…Huh?”
And he can’t think coherently either. Very unlike him. Looking up from the floor, he lets her glimpse his eyes and the purposeless way he bites his lip… he’s the king of efficiency and running a tight ship. Maybe she should take him somewhere else… like the counselor or the nurse or… something, if he hasn’t slept and he’s doing something inefficient and otherwise looks like a wreck? And he’s talking to her… maybe he really is sick? No, no, he came to her, and that’s a start if it’s anything. This boy definitely needs her help.
“Well… last I checked, you didn’t like me, but… here you are, talking to me.”
“Oh, I… it’s nothing, really, I just… can we talk? I… do you have… time to tal-”
“Certainly! I always have time to talk.”
“Okay, well, uhm… you might want to sit down, I… it’s long.”
“…I have time ‘til we die, Vincent. Talk my ears off, if you need to.”
“Okay…”
Despite loving winter, she’s quite glad that Saturday means not having to wear a skirt. The school’s heated and everything, but, all the same, December’s pretty well having its way with the stone floors, and it’s pretty damn cold through her jeans… the rip in the knee doesn’t really help with that, she supposes, but it’s got a history and it’s a work of art in its own right. Vince has a harder time than she does with the sitting down thing, but he makes it. He’s sort of rickety and visibly shaking, but he slams himself back into the wall and sinks to the floor next to her… he doesn’t bother folding his legs up, though. Probably not a good idea, since most of his height’s in his legs, but there’s a time for pointing that out, and this sure as hell isn’t it.
“So what’s on your mind, sunshine?” She smiles again, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“I just…” He sighs heavily. Poor thing. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. What I can do even, and not knowing my options is… well, it’s… it’s Hell.”
“Which, coincidentally, is what you look like. What in the nine levels of fuck happened to you?”
“I… it’s… don’t think this means… it’s Hale.”
“But isn’t he your-”
“Nothing’s changed that, nothing ever will, but… he’s… I’m really worried about him and he won’t let me get a word in edgewise.”
“…That… really doesn’t make sense. I mean… it’s great that you care about him, especially since you say that you don’t care about anyone, but… he doesn’t seem off to me at all, and he’s not acting differently-”
“That’s just the thing, isn’t it?” Vince huffed. “He never acts differently, even when there’s a big fucking problem! Like, the first time he met my ex, he… ohshit…”
“Your come again what now?” she splutters, ignoring (or because of) his self-deprecating blush.
“My…” He pauses for a deep breath (one of Hale’s meditation techniques; she’s seen it tons of times before, but never being used by Vince). “My ex-boyfriend. His name was Dylan, he was twenty-one, and it was a huge, disgusting mess. And that’s all you need to know.”
She nods. “Okay. So where does Hale come into that huge, disgusting mess?”
“As if I wouldn’t introduce my best friend to my boyfriend. What kind of guy do you think I am? …No. Don’t answer this. Anyway… Hale met him - we worked together at the Renaissance festival, so it was easy to arrange, just a matter of getting Hale to California - and he… rightfully disapproved. How can you not, I mean… seventeen and twenty-one, and the latter is horny 24-7-”
“I love how you badmouth your ex…”
“Did I say I was finished? Anyway. Hale rightfully disapproved, but he didn’t say anything. He offered wisdom that I didn’t listen to because I’m an idiot, but… mostly, he just… gave me that little smile of his, and hugged me, and… he didn’t act any different.”
“Okay, point taken, but… why are you so worried?”
“He’s my best friend! …Well, anyway… you know stoner Kevin, right?”
“Yeah, he’s in the GSA. Doesn’t do a lot, innovatively speaking, but-”
“No. Fucking. Way. He isn’t.”
“He is.”
“Great. Just fucking…”
“What does he have to do with this?”
“Everything. I mean… Hale’s been spending a lot of time with him.”
“…So?”
“He does drugs, woman! Lots of drugs!”
“Well, I know that, but-”
“Okay, look. Hale is easily the most important person in my life. Easily. He helps me out in more ways than I think he knows, and he understands me, and he’s the only person to date who I’ve actually come out to, and I… I’m not ungrateful, but I don’t thank him enough. That said, I… I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him, and I’m pretty sure it will if he keeps hanging out with Kevin.”
“Actually, from what I’ve seen, Kevin’s mostly harmless. If he’s hurting anyone, it’s most likely himself.”
“That’s what Hale said! ‘He’s not just a stoner, Vince, really! He’s in a lot of pain and he needs someone who’ll help him out,’ but I don’t buy it. I really don’t know him, but still.” He sighs and, looking the very portrait of irritation, shoves some hair off his face. “I mean… I know I’m going to be the bad guy on this one, or the judgmental bitch at least, and… I’m really not one to talk about this, I guess, but… it’s really pissing me off! You know Hale’s on partial scholarship, right?”
“Yeah. I am too, so…”
“So you understand it better! Messing with Kevin could make him lose it, and I don’t want that to happen to him. And I know he’s doing it because he thinks he can help the little stoner or save him or whatever, but still! He’s just going to get hurt in this, I know it, and… and… he makes me tolerate the little son of a bitch! He brought him, stoned and drunk off his ass, to our room, to sleep off his pot and vodka! …I just don’t want anything to happen to him, but I can’t say that because I’m wrong, just because I’m being ‘judgmental’.”
“Well… in all fairness, sunshine, you… you kind of are-”
“Do you think I don’t know that?! I know I’m judgmental, I know I’m a bitch, I know that everything I do is, in some way, selfish… I mean, I’m not a nice, good person like him, but…”
He sighs again, this time leaning his head back before slumping it forward in apparent defeat.
“Who am I kidding?” he pants. “I mean, really… it’s not my place to say anything. He’s got free will and everything is permitted… he’ll do whatever he wants and all I can do is disagree… but I fucking despise having to nod and smile and keep my big mouth shut when he goes on about Kevin this, Kevin that, Kevin, Kevin, Kevin! And then more Kevin! I hate being tolerant like I think it’s okay, because I don’t, and… and there’s really nothing else I can do.”
Amber doesn’t say anything at first, just lets Vince’s statements simmer as she looks him over: he doesn’t look like himself at all. Well, no. That’s not entirely true, but there’s some gold amongst the pyrite, she knows there is. At the very least, some of the pyrite looks enough like gold to fool more than the inexperienced. Usually, he’s not so casual and open, least of all to her, though he’s incredibly vocal about how she irritates him. He’s Vincent. Eliot. Morris. King of all things technical, stage manager to end them all, and character actor extraordinaire, also an aspiring costume designer, hopeful essayist, and weekend photographer - and don’t you dare forget it. Well… she always says that he has unexpressed feelings when people question why she’s so invested in getting him into her GSA (understandably, since he plays the heinous bitch so well), and this is proof that she’s right, if it’s anything… and it’s definitely something else too. Right now, he’s not acting, which sounds odd, but his love of theatre always has seemed to overpower his real existence on occasion; odder still - she’s the one who gets to see it.
Well, no. Hale probably gets to as well, but still… the great and occasionally egotistical Vince Morris is idly tracing circles on the floor with his finger, looking far-off and almost crying (is he wearing his eyeliner? He always wears his eyeliner, but his face doesn’t look quite right and she can’t tell…) and he’s doing so for her. Whatever’s going on with him, it’s a might potent disease.
“Might I interject?” she sighs, voice heavy out of thought.
“…You already have.” Ever the nit-picking melancholic. Ever the Jaques. “But go on… I’m kind of spent and any insight is good… even yours.” He says it like an after-thought, like he doesn’t really mean it, or is otherwise in a state where he doesn’t care that he professes to hate her.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what? I mean… why would I be jealous?”
“There are a lot of reasons but right here, right now… I think it’s love. Specifically, you love Hale.”
“Well, of course I love him! He’s my best friend!”
“I mean in a different way, Vince.”
One of her knowing Looks and he blushes rose red; he’s got the point.
“What the… no! No way in Hell, I… no! You’ve got the completely wrong… what… no, no, no, no… best friends doesn’t mean… Brokeback Mountain… gay guys can be friends without… we are just friends! …Okay… breathe, Vince, breathe. …Anyway! He’s just my best friend, no sexual or romantic love anywhere.”
“Who’re you trying to convince?”
“I shouldn’t have to convince anyone because it’s not true!”
“Come on, Vince, it’s obvious! You’re a nice human being when he’s around, he gets you to think about the GSA, you told him you’re gay instead of waiting for him to get it, you get jealous when he talks about another guy-”
“I am not jealous! At all! It’s a free country; he can talk about who he wants and I can disapprove!”
“You’re also free to deny it, but it’s not helping anyone.”
“No… just… no. You don’t understand. I’m not in love with Hale; I can’t be.”
“Why not? Stranger things have happened.”
“I… I just can’t… for one thing, he’s my best friend.”
“Have you ever been on the Internet, Vincent?”
“Yes, of course. It’s practically impossible to avoid the damn thing.”
“You ever searched Google for ‘slash’?”
“Yes, woman, I know about slash. I know that a bunch of crazies think that Harry Potter’s fucking his best friend or something equally ridiculous-”
“Draco Malfoy.”
“Exactly! And that’s why I don’t think that’s admissible evidence. Besides… this isn’t that. This is you, Amber Whatever-the-Fuck Donovan-”
“Elizabeth.”
“…I don’t care. Anyway, this is you suggesting that I have feelings for my best friend, which is simply not true, regardless of how hot you think it would be. And I am getting the hell and gone out of dodge before you start suggesting that I molest freshmen techies or something…”
In typical, Vince fashion, he slips back into his façade, stands up, and stalks off without so much as a, “thank you for listening,” but, then again, she never really expected him to. He just doesn’t play the game that way. Oh well. At least he’s being vocal to someone, since, apparently, Hale’s out of the question. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together can see that he needs it more than a dehydrated man needs water. …Okay, maybe only a little bit more, or right on the level, but it’s still valid and, unlike the hypothetical man in her analogy, he won’t acknowledge or admit it. Shrugging and shaking her head, she shoves herself up off the floor and pleasantly returns to posting her propaganda. Job won’t do itself, after all.
He comes and finds her again on Wednesday, while she’s hanging streamers in the Saint Cecilia’s gym for the Sadie Hawkins dance. It’s not really a huge thing for her, since she only takes guys half the time, always asks when she feels like it, and, more often than not, goes in something closer to “friends” than “dates” anyway, but… school spirit is school spirit and any excuse to party is a good one. Besides, Amelia sprained her ankle in a freak volleyball accident and Amber’s not busy. As she looks down from double-checking her set-up, she sees Vince a few feet below her ladder-perch, staring up at her with an uncommonly vulnerable look on all his features. He looks even worse for wear than he did on Saturday, which, she must concede, is saying something, and something pretty fucking important too.
It’s only been four days since their last impromptu meeting. Could he really have lost enough sleep to look so terrible? Poor boy looks positively dead on his feet. And he’s paler than normal too, probably just a shade or two darker than the snow on his shoulders and in his hair, and it’s all doubly bright, since both his hair and trench coat are black. He looks drawn, and certainly not by some master artist… no, he’s got himself looking more like a rushed sketch than anything else. Didn’t Hale say something about Vince being on some kind of medication for something or other (and not Ritalin or anti-depressants like everyone would assume)? Well, whatever it is, it definitely looks he hasn’t been taking it - pale, stretched thin, a little scrawnier than usual… and he is most certainly not wearing his eyeliner.
This can’t be good. Now might be a good time to break her usual way of doing things, walk him back to Ratchett, and drag his skinny ass to the nurse… but then he gives her that wounded puppy look that he probably learned from Hale and she erases the thought.
“…Hi,” he says, nearly whimpering.
“Afternoon, sunshine.” She can’t help sighing. Even his voice says he’s not taking care of himself. “What’s on your mind?”
“I… can we talk? …Somewhere more private?”
“Sure thing.”
Injecting purpose into her usual cheer (that being to cheer him up or, at least, compensate for the unmitigated air of gloom surrounding him), she bounds down the ladder and bounces along beside him as he trudges out into the corridor. They don’t go far before he slumps onto the floor; since she’s already changed into jeans, she doesn’t need to use discretion, but she does anyway and kneels next to him instead of sitting. Apparently, the vaguest inklings of privacy open him up enough to groan loudly and hit his head on the wall.
“That’s not going to help, you know,” she sighs, smiling off-handedly; he gives her A Look and she nods. “So… what’s up?”
“I… I was thinking about what you said,” he whispers like he’s forcing the words out. “And…”
“And…?”
“…I… God, I really don’t want to say this, but… you were right.”
“…Excuse me?”
“You were right…”
“About…?”
“About me… and Hale, and… look, I’ve already said it twice and that’s painful enough. I don’t like you, but you’re not an idiot; put two and two together.”
“Fish.”
“Amber…”
He’s calling her by her name… so everything is serious. Well… she didn’t win the eighth grade “Most Likely To Make You Smile” award for nothing. Time to live up to her unofficial title. Physical proximity is a good place to start, shows that she trusts him and she’s here for him, and that, if psychology books and Mister Rogers have any concept of these kind of things, is likely to get him to open up. And Mister Rogers hasn’t failed her yet in seventeen years. She nudges her way closer to him, but leaves some space there because he’s obsessed with his personal space; she’s gentle as she tucks a long, loose piece of hair behind his ear and puts the hand on his shoulder.
“So you…” she prompts, speaking softly for comfort and quietness.
“Love him, yeah. More than I’d like to admit… more than I like, period.”
“It’s not like you can do anything-”
“But I don’t want this. He’s my best friend, he’s… I can’t feel like this.”
“I’m curious, Vince. What prompted this?”
“You gave me this look when I was leaving - you probably don’t even know that you did it; most people aren’t aware of their faces until the fallout happens - but… you looked at me like that, and… I just kept coming back to it, and then… then I had this dream. My dreams are really vivid; I remember all of them.”
“And this one…”
“I ravished him. It wasn’t making love, or anything so romantic. It wasn’t even sex; he was there and I… I took him… and he didn’t say anything. And all I could think about when I woke up was how wrong it was, but, I… I liked it…”
“Vince, I… have you slept?”
His voice jumps up a few notes. “Not really, no. I don’t want to see that ever again. His face, his body, the sweat… no, no, never ever, no. So I haven’t been sleeping well… actually, I haven’t slept since yesterday. I had the dream on Sunday going into Monday, and I don’t think I’ve had eight hours of straight sleep since then, not that I usually sleep that well, but it’s usually better than this, and-”
“Woah!” She jostles him a little bit; he’s light to begin with and gives no resistance. “Vince! Calm down.”
“Compared to how I could be, this is very calm. …Sorry, but… I didn’t ask for this, and I really don’t want it… I’m in love with my best friend, and I shouldn’t be. It’s not right, he… it can’t happen, so I shouldn’t feel this way.”
“There is no ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ for feelings, Vince, but… that’s neither here nor there, really. I can philosophize at you, or I can help, and I’m going with help. What do you plan to do about this?”
“…Nothing,” he sighs in a finalizing way. “I am going to do absolutely nothing. …Maybe switch rooms, if I can swing it.”
“What? Why?”
“Amber, I’m… I’m having dreams where I fuck my best friend rotten. …That’s not right! And the best thing I can do to control my desire is get away from it. Far away.”
“That never works.”
“Take junk away from a junkie and he’ll eventually get clean.”
“Love isn’t heroin.”
“No… it’s worse. Wholly, entirely worse. But I can’t trust myself around him. I’m going to take advantage of him; I know it.”
“…You’re getting way too wound up about this.”
“I’m not hyperventilating yet; I’m fine.”
“But you’re obviously not fine! I mean… you’re not wearing your eyeliner for god’s sake!”
“…I’ve been crying on and off all day, and most of yesterday. I’m good at hiding it, but smudged liner wouldn’t help.”
“Understandable, I guess, but… you should at least tell him.”
“Like what? ‘Hey, Hale, the reason I’ve been so worked up about you hanging out with Kevin is because I really, really love you?’ Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?”
“Pretty fucking stupid. But keeping yourself bottled up like this isn’t good for anyone.”
“I can repress anything that I want to, I… there’s a guys’ bathroom by the theatre, right?”
“…Yeah…”
“Any on this floor?”
“No…”
“…I’ll be right back.”
He fumbles in getting up quickly, but he’s an actor; he knows how to move, and it doesn’t take long for him to get his bearings and peel off for the third floor. Precedent says that she probably shouldn’t trust him, but it’s more out of concern that she follows him and sits outside the lone guys’ bathroom in the school building. This is just great right here: he’s so tightly wound and overexcited about the situation that he’s gone and made himself sick. And he probably hasn’t eaten anything, so it’s that much worse. It’s Oliver! Tech Week all over again, and he barely ate anything then… he was basically delirious by Thursday and Mister Moore and Miss Goldstein got him the day off for Friday. “Self-destructive passion-following,” or whatever he calls it. Amber calls it completely ridonkulous, but such is life, such are teenagers… at least he’s getting worked up over something more worthwhile than the spring production this time? Is that worth anything? Stands to reason that it would be…
A sigh, and he’s sitting next to her again, despite the change in location. His cheeks are damp and he’s another shade whiter.
“You okay?” she offers, putting a hand back on his shoulder.
“Totally,” he huffs; going back into sarcasm probably isn’t a good sign, but it sounds half-hearted. “I just love vomiting what I haven’t eaten when I haven’t slept or taken my iron supplements.”
“Still leaves the question of what you’re going to do about Hale…”
“And I’m still going to do absolutely nothing.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s better for everyone.”
“Everyone but you, you mean.”
“Why does it matter what’s good for me? If I confess, I give him all sorts of stress that he doesn’t need, especially with his little quest to ‘save’ Kevin. He doesn’t get extra stress, so he can carry on business as usual, and I’ll just have to put it as far back in my mind as possible.”
“But what about what you want?”
“What does it matter what I want? What I want… I don’t even really know what I want. It’d be nice if he loved me back, but I know he doesn’t and probably won’t, so what’s the point?”
“Wait… how do you ‘know?’ Being that you’re not Hale and all…”
“It’s just… his face, his eyes… he gets this look when he talks about Kevin; I can’t even begin describing it, it’s just… special. It’s dewy, and sentimental, and you can just tell that he has this really strong emotional investment in this… this person who he doesn’t really know that well, and he cares what’s going to happen to Kevin, and how Kevin feels, and if Kevin’s suicidal or just stoned and being an idiot. And I can tell when I see it… the little stoner has something that I don’t. I don’t know what it is, I can’t even begin to think about what it is… but he won… he probably doesn’t even know he won, he’s so oblivious, but he did… and I just have to accept that Hale’s never going to have that look about… about me.”
“So that’s it? You come to the conclusion and two days later give up on it?”
“What’s the point of going any further with it? Hale’s a good person, and I’m just his bitchy, idiot friend with a stupid crush. I… it’s not worth it making him deal with that. I couldn’t do that to him… and I’ll get over it… it might take a while because it’s in my nature to be stubborn and single-minded, but I will, and he won’t have to know a thing about it. I mean… I thought Dylan would last for more than two months, but it didn’t, and I thought the fallout would last forever, but I got over that-”
“Because of Hale?”
“Well, my sister helped too, but, yeah… mostly because of Hale. Point is… he doesn’t need to know and, this time next year, I’ll have moved on, even if it’s still there a little, and… Kevin always seemed flamingly straight to me, but, if anything happens, more power to them. Telling him… I probably should. And he deserves my honesty about the most important thing, since he gets it every other time, but… it’s just not worth it.”
“Love is always worth it, Vince.”
“Maybe for you, but… not for me. Not here, not now… there’s no way in Hell I could force him to deal with this, which is probably the most selfless thing I’ve ever done… but also the most selfish. It’s just… I wish he’d let me entertain the possibility, but even that can never happen…”
Without thinking about it, she shoves herself up onto her knees and grabs him in a tight hug around the shoulders and only clenches more inflexibly when he writhes weakly. It doesn’t take long to get him to calm down - she’s shorter, but stronger, and he’s not in a fighting mood right now - and, once she has him docile, she puts a hand on the back of his head and holds it down comfortingly. As if by instinct, she rubs his hair as he coughs and makes the choking noises of letting out a good, uninhibited cry for the first time in a while. After a few minutes, his breathing slows down and she lets him up: his eyes are red and puffy, and their products are on the shoulder of her shirt, but a little catharsis will do him good.
“I… I’m sorry about your shirt…” he sighs.
“I’ve got more,” she says simply, giving him a smile and a shrug.
“I… what… why are you doing this for me?”
“What?”
“I mean… I’m never nice to you - or anyone, but especially not you - and you really have nothing to gain from this, so… why?”
“You came to me upset and looking for someone to talk to, and then for help and someone to talk to, and… I wasn’t going to leave you like that.”
“…But why?”
She shrugs again. “Homie don’t play that.”
“Well… thank you.”
“Not a problem. And… come on, up. Let me walk you back to Ratchett.”
“It’s not that far… you don’t have to…”
“No, no, I insist.” She stands up, and pulls him with her. “And you might want to go up to the infirmary tonight. Not to be rude or anything, but you look like Hell.”
“I know… seems to be the story of my involvement with love.”
She hugs him again, met with no resistance and, surprisingly, a hug back and then, in silence and a light drift of snow, they walk across campus to Ratchett.
“That just leaves one matter unsettled,” he says as they pass the lake.
“Several, really,” she mutters, “but what’s yours?”
“The holiday showcase. I’ve been signed up since the sheet one up, singing, obviously… and, whatever I pick to do, it’ll be to Hale in some way.”
“Uh huh…”
“So it’s between ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’ and ‘The Origin of Love’… I know them both well, and I have the sheet music for both, but still…”
“‘Origin of Love,’ I think,” she offers philosophically. “Better suited to what you’ll be saying.”
“Yeah… guess so.”