Cid/Vincent High-School RP: Part 4
Summary: an AU account of Cid and Vincent in a modern high-school setting.
Warnings for this chapter: awkward rebuilding of burnt bridges, video games, Chinese takeaway, ambiguous gay, Byron, language, and Bleach.
Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Cid and Vincent, the rest is sadly our own mad-cap invention. XD
Previous chapters: "part1(illustrated)", "part2", "part 3"
Art by: ani_mama
When they reach Cid’s house, a much smaller affair than Vincent's home, Cid barges in and calls for him mum.
"Maaaa, me an Vince are home. My friend Byron's coming over later. We got Chinese!"
When Cid he gets no response, he tells Vincent to set up the food, then goes into the bedroom. His mum's asleep in her bed. She looks frail. Cid thins his lips and tip-toes in. He brushes a lock of hair from her forehead, then kisses it, before sneaking out again.
"Mum's catching up on some work," Cid mumbles to Vincent as he comes back in. "So don't make too much noise, a'right?"
Vincent knows what that means. "You're the noisy one." Vincent swallows, looking at all the open containers instead of Cid, fussing with them to avoid looking suspicious. "I didn't know Byron had accepted... I should have gotten more. I don't know what he likes..."
Cid shrugs, grabbing some chopsticks and attempting - badly - to hold them in one hand. "Eh, he said he'll be 'round later. There's enough 'ere, and if this aint enough, there's plenty o' food in the house. Plenty of dumplings, that's for sure. He might not even eat, didn't think te ask."
Vincent doesn't look at him. "Did you have anything planned...?"
"Eh. Just hanging out,” Cid replies. “Don't know much about 'im, so thought it'd be a good opportunity. Can't learn too much when you’re busy running towards or away from each other." Cid looks up at Vincent, and clacks his crooked chopsticks at him. "Hey, what's up? Ye been actin' weird. I didn't wanna say until we was alone. Have you changed your mind about me playing football? If you don't want me to, I wont," he says, plain and simple. As excited as Cid is to get in the team, if it meant coming between him and Vincent, Cid didn’t have to think twice about which one he'd favour.
Vincent looks up sharply at that, wide eyes distressed. "No! No, never! You love being out there; I would never, ever, ever take that away from you. I like seeing you happy, love seeing you happy. I would never take something like that away from you." Vincent’s voice softens, and he looks away, then darts a glance at Cid's chopsticks. He takes them from Cid with one hand, while rooting around in his hip pocket. "Let me see your chopsticks." He wraps his retrieved hair tie about the larger ends, and clack them at him. "Try them like this."
Cid frowns and takes the chopsticks. They're still awkard in his hands, but he has better luck now. He practices opening and closing them, then reaches out, and picks up a lock of Vincent's hair.
"...So? What's up yer arse?"
Vincent hesitates, eyeing the lock of hair in Cid's amateur grasp, and slowly frees it with careful fingers. "... Nothing. I'm just... just nervous."
Cid sighs agitatedly. He's never been high on patience. "'Bout what?"
Vincent swallows, looking away again. "... Byron."
"Byron?" Cid blinks, surprised. He thinks for a while, opening and closing the chopsticks thoughtfully. "Hey, he likes you. Don't worry. You never give people a chance. Yer always so damn shy, ye never let anyone get te know how awesome ye are," Cid he says with a soft smile, and pokes Vincent gently in the nose with the chopsticks.
Vincent smiles at him weakly, and playfully bites at the chopsticks. "We could finish Sense and Sensibility, if that's his sort of thing."
Cid finally turns to his food, using the chopsticks more or less to scoop his food out. "Might play some games actually. Let's watch the rest o' the film while we eat. C'mon!" He grabs up most of the containers and carries them into the lounge, before rifling in Vincent's bag for the dvd and putting it on.
Vincent comes to sit down beside Cid with the rest of the containers, back against the couch, and starts in on the cream cheese wantons.
"Where did we leave off?"
"The Dashwood sisters are at that fancy party, and Marianne's just spotted Mr Willoughby." Cid selects the right scene, and sprawls out, resting his feet on Vincent's lap, and happily eats out of one of the containers.
They watch it through, eating from the shared containers and making random comments or jibes, just enjoying each other's company. Slowly, Vincent unwinds, and by the time the credits are rolling and the containers are half empty, he's completely relaxed, now lying back against Cid like a low-lying couch, arms propped on his hip and ribs.
And then, the doorbell rings.
"Good timing or what?" Cid says, hopping up and putting his food on the table. He jogs over to the door and opens it wide, grinning. "We aint interested in whatever yer sellin', thanks."
Byron grins at him. "You interested in what I've got for free?" He holds out a tub of curry and rice, visible through the cling-film on top.
Inside, Vincent slowly gets to his feet and starts clearing the table, his heart rabbiting.
"Hell yes! Thanks!" Cid grabs the curry, and hitches a thumb at the hall. "Vince is in the lounge with some Chinese. Help yerself. If yer still hungry, we can heat up some dumplings. Ma's workin, so try an keep it down, eh? Ye wan' a tour?"
Byron's hands, freed, instinctively go to the pocket of his letterjacket, and to the strap of his backpack. "Sure, sounds great." He minds his voice, toning it down.
Cid moves inside, expecting Byron to follow. "Well, this 'ere's the entrance. That's the kitchen an' lounge through there. Up here, we got my mum's room, bathroom, and my room."
Cid opens the door to his room. It's chaotic. Finished and half-finished models of planes, air ships, spacecraft, and cars are scattered about on the floor, desk and bookshelves. The walls are blue. The curtains and lamp red. The bed a mixture of blue, red, military grey and brown. There are posters of planes and rockets, and a few athletes on the wall, mixed up with photographs that predominantly feature Cid and Vincent at various ages. One corner has a tire, and a few old car tools staining the carpet with their rust. The shelves are stacked with books that range from mechanics to astrophysics to classic English literature. There's other things about the place too, and one gets the impression you could find just about anything in the room, if you looked hard enough.
Byron enters the room unashamedly, wandering about the place. "Holy Hell... you're a fucking Renaissance man!" He immediately moves to the bookshelves, reading over the titles on the spines, and minding the models and miscellany.
Cid gives a sheepish, lopsided smile, and rubs the back of his head. "Not really. Just a few things 'm passionate about. I like te think 'm alright at them.... There's lots a stuff I blow at, naturally."
Byron ignores the modest admission, moving over to the desk and photographs. He picks up one in a rounded red plastic frame. In the photo, Cid's holding Vincent's yellow gloved hand at an airshow, as evidenced by the fighter jets on the tarmac. Cid looks like he's about to jump, arm stretched high in a wave. Vincent is more shy, his hair hiding his face, leaning more towards Cid. They're wearing matching caps for the airshow, with three little blue jets on the front. Byron smiles softly, guilt gnawing at him but not deterring the appreciation he has for their friendship - or how adorable he thinks they were as kids. He turns to look over his shoulder at Cid, holding up the framed picture.
"You were pretty cute kids. This is the Blue Angels exhibition, isn't it?"
He turns back around. "Wow. You guys must have been friends forever."
Cid comes over and looks down fondly at the photo frame. "Yeah. Ever since first year. I started at the primary school late, 'cause we moved house within the first few months. Everyone at the school were picking on Vince, 'cause of his accident, then they picked on me fer wantin' te be his friend. I lost a tooth in a fight over it," Cid says with a grin, and plucks a photo from the wall to show Byron. Little Cid and Vincent are at a park, Vincent in a swing, Cid hugging him from behind, grinning widely to show a missing tooth.
"I don't get it. He's so tiny, and kind. Vince would do anythin' for those who do right by him. I don't get why people give him a hard time just 'cause he's a little different. That just makes him all the more interesting!"
Byron swallows. "People can be stupid." He pauses, then comes to a conclusion. "I agree, that he's interesting. Shame about his arm, though. It looks... it looks painful."
Cid makes a noise and puts the photo back. "It's fine, most o' the time. I mean, it's attached to 'is nerves. If it comes on or off, it's like detachin' a real arm, ye know? Not fun. It can play up now an then, but mostly it doesn't 'cause him too much trouble. Aside from people star'in and teasin' him and stuff.
"Anyway," Cid announces, "Let's go down afore he thinks we've abandoned 'im. You wanna play some video games? I'm ace wizard at all the flyin' ones, and Vincent's the best Shooter I've ever seen."
Byron smiles stiffly at him. "Sure, lead the way."
Cid grabs up his console and the games, balancing the curry on top, then leads Byron into the living room.
Vincent comes out from the kitchen, having put the food away for the console's convenience. He tries to look very much like he hadn't been listening in on their conversations upstairs.
Vincent approaches the two hesitantly, fiddling with the sleeve over his false arm, tugging it down. He darts a glance up at Byron. "I, um... we... we got Chinese."
Byron smiles at him, and this time, he forces the tightness from it, trying to project the easy warmth he has with Cid. "I already ate, but thanks anyways. And who knows? I'm a big guy. Meals are like snacks for me."
Byron holds out his hand - his left, so Vincent will have to meet it with his false hand. He's not sure why he does it. To test the boundaries, how far Vincent will take the charade. To see how much Vincent fears him. Maybe simply to start over from the beginning. He leaves his reasons open.
Vincent reaches out, tentatively, wary, eyeing the strong hand. He well remembered the tight grip, the questing fingers, and the pain; he remembered how that hand had hurt him. He feels like an idiot, the kicked dog with his belly to the floor inching towards his master's outstretched hand with sad hopeful eyes - but Byron is Cid's friend. Cid likes Byron. And Vincent refuses to cause strife between them. He puts his trembling metallic hand in Byron's almost the way a woman would, fingertips first, the sleeve still pulled down to the palm.
Byron takes the hand firmly, and gives it a good shake. He's surprised to find it warm; when he'd touched it before, sensation had not been part of his observations. Vincent flinches at the hard grip, fearful. Byron pretends it didn't happen.
"We haven't been properly introduced. Byron McCullagheigh."
Vincent's breath is quick and shallow; he doesn't look at Byron as he introduces himself in an embarrassing stuttering tiny voice.
"V-Vincent Valentine."
Byron gives the hand one more shake and then releases it. Vincent takes it back to fret at it. Byron puts his hands in his pockets. "I hear tell you're a decent hand at shooters." He jerks his chin towards the console. "Care to give me a run for my money?"
Vincent is at a loss, unable to say a word though his mouth works at it, his eyes darting across the floor, uncertain.
Cid watches the interaction, worried about Vincent's almost excessive timidness. Vincent isn’t usually this shy when meeting people. Then again, Byron isn't anyone, he's a fairly big boy, with a big personality. Cid's just about to break-up the awkward introduction for Vincent's sake, when Byron makes the offer of the game. Cid smiles, pleased with Byron's ingenuity. Cid steps up and slaps Vincent on the back, and shepherds him to the couch.
"That's a great idea! You two can show me how it's done, while I finish the rest o' my asian!" Cid sets up the console and game, then sits in the middle of the couch, knowing Vincent will feel more comfortable that way, especially as Cid's the only real link between the three of them at the moment.
Vincent takes a seat at Cid's behest, terrified that Cid will make him play first.
Byron removes the threat, taking off his letter jacket before settling in. "I got dibs on the first round."
Byron grabs up the controller. He proves himself a fair hand at it, but not spectacular. He collapses back against the couch with a sigh, slouching. "Ugh. Jesus. You guys are bad luck. You're interrupting my chi or some shit. That ain't right."
Cid laughs. "That's alright. Warm up round, eh? Vince, ye have a go now. Then we can do versus mode, or mission, where ye team up. Depends, whether ye want te kill each other, or work t'gether." Cid makes the options sound so innocent.
Byron turns to look at Cid, then leans far around to see Vincent's dark head. "You good for it?"
Vincent takes up the controller, reluctantly. Byron flops back with a grunt, feet stretched out in front of him.
Vincent's game is a far cry above Byron's, nearly flawless, the moves executed almost without thought. Fascinated, Byron watches the passive face paired with the swift fingers, impressed against his will. At the end of the game, Vincent does nothing, shows nothing; he holds the controller in his lap with one hand, and reaches for one of the wontons in front of Cid with the other. All Byron could think of, almost a non sequitor, was, "Okay, victory makes him hungry."
Cid cheers Vincent on, as he had done when Byron had done well. There's a few comments he makes which don't make sense from the outset, and are, most likely, private jokes he shares with Vincent.
Cid gets the other controller, and gives it to Byron. "Alright, this is gonna be good! Hey Vince, choose the swamp level. You don't play that one so much, so it'll be a bit more fair on Byron."
Vincent does, half a wonton jutting from his mouth, both hands on his controller. Byron takes the other controller, wheedling at Cid.
"He's going to slaughter me. Ciiiiiiddddddd...~" Byron starts pawing playfully at Cid's clothes, begging him and winging.
Cid laughs and pushes Byron back. "Suck it up, Sunshine. C'mon, ye'll do fine. Here, I'll even distract Vincent for ye, to give you a fighting chance, eh?"
Cid leans in the other direction, and starts rubbing his stubbled chin against Vincent's cheek. Vincent screws up his face, arching his neck away, still working on the wonton. He frees a hand to give Cid an absent shove away.
Byron raises an eyebrow, smiling quirkily at Cid's chosen method of distraction. Cid looked like a big cat around a pair of legs, rubbing and butting.
Cid laughs, obviously enjoying the way he's annoying his friend. He leans back. "Hey Vincent... Viiiiinceeeeent.... Viiiince....." Cid coos, and starts sneaking a hand about Vincent's side, threatening to poke or, worse, tickle the boy, his eyes dancing mischievously.
Vincent draws his elbows into his sides, pulling away. His brow furrows, and he makes an agitated noise around the mouthful of cream cheese.
Byron doesn't even bother to start the game; he briefly ponders starting to get an advantage, but decides that watching the antics of the two of them were more entertaining. Nobody at school saw this side of Vincent, never saw him agitated, never saw him playing video games, or Hell, even saw him eat. This Vincent was Cid's Vincent, much more like a kid, and less like a meek, bookish student with a crippled arm. And when he didn't have his hair in his face, or his head hanging, Vincent was almost pretty. Byron doesn't think twice about that thought, dismissing it absently.
Cid tenses his hand, like he's just about to tickle Vincent. Then, when his friend least suspects it, he leans in and bites the other half of the wonton sticking from Vincent's mouth. "OOMN! <3"
Vincent wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Mmmmph!" It's half angry, half amused. Probably, mostly angry. He tears away from the contact, forfeiting the half that Cid's attacked. He speaks around his mouthful, forgetting about Byron. He gives Cid's shoulder a shove for good measure. "Ugh, Cid! That was the last one! I told you we should have bought more!"
Byron's mouth twitches, stifling his chuckles.
Cid just laughs, muffled, as he enjoys eating the food. He ruffles Vincent's hair, then looks at the screen, and groans. "Aw, c'mon Byron! That was your chance! What were you doing? Jesus, yer hopeless," he says, obviously not meaning it, grinning too much. "Don't come crying to me when Vincent decimates you."
Byron grins widely at him, then gives him a haughty look. "I would never, ever, come crying to you. A broken, bleeding shell of a man, maybe. But not crying. Much. At first." Byron glances at Vincent, who's swiping at his mouth with a thumb. He winks at him. "You ready to go?"
Vincent looks away, bobbing his head, flushed with embarrassment. His hands go back down to the controller.
They're at it for ages - and it's true, Vincent seems hampered by the unfamiliar level, but then again, so is Byron. They go for round after round after round, until Byron finally throws up his hands, dropping the controller in his lap, and slipping an inch down the couch. He groans, face creased in agony. "God, how does he do it? How does he do it?" He suddenly leans around Cid. "How do you do it? Christ."
Byron falls back to the couch with a sigh, not giving Vincent a chance to answer. He pulls his hands down and eyes them critically. "I think my thumbs are bleeding. Hey, do my thumbs look bloody to you?" He holds out his hands for Cid's inspection. They're calloused, and one has the near-faded scar of a burn in the palm - half circular, like a stovetop burner.
Cid pretends to put on a monocle and regarded the hands with haughty dignity. "Well now, young sir. They do look bloody. Bloody girly.”
Vincent covers a smile with his hair.
Byron throws himself back with a whine. "Now even girls are making fun of my hands! My poor, pulped little hands..."
Byron stares at them morosely, and then leans over Cid's lap, offering the hands imploringly to Vincent, who recoils slightly. "You have made me a wretch! My football career, my scholastic career, torn to shreds!" He sobs.
Vincent takes a chance, and gives the outstretched hands a shy shove. Byron throws himself backwards, arms flung into the air, and floops back against the couch with a manful groan of impact.
Cid laughs hard. "Told ya Vince were Ace." He leans over Byron and reaches for the hand with the scar. "Hey, what happened 'ere? How did ye get that? Looks fantastic."
Byron looks down at the captured hand, the other coming up behind his head. He regards it seriously, as if unimpressed. He sniffs dismissively.
"Got burned on a stove."
Byron wrinkles his nose. "That was a long time ago, though, like five or six years." He sighs, mournfully. "But it ended my fabulous career in cakes. I... I've never been the same." He looks away with a fake sob, pressing his fist to his mouth.
"Just curries, instead," Cid teases, looking up at Byron under blond bangs with a mischievous smirk.
Byron looks at him with one eye, beneath his upturned hand, then looks away. "Told you, I didn't make the curry. My ma did."
Cid shrugs and lets the hand go, still smiling. "Yer mum's a good cook then. So who wants te do what? Movie? More games, video or board?" He looks to Vincent.
Vincent shrugs minutely.
Byron hauls himself up off the couch, heading for the kitchen. "I'm getting something to eat. You guys pick something. There anything I'm not supposed to touch, not supposed to drink, or cups I'm not supposed to use? Anything?"
"Nope, free for all," Cid calls back. "Good crockery ain't in the kitchen anyways."
Cid turns back to Vincent. "Wanna watch some anime?"
Vincent darts a glance after Byron. "I don't know... does Byron...?"
"Not asking him, I'm asking you," Cid says. "'Sides, the man says for us to pick something. So we'll pick something."
Something eases up in Vincent; Cid is still Vincent's friend first. "Are we up on Bleach?"
"We can be." Cid grins, and rifles around his dvd collection. "Bleach it is then!" He announces, and puts it on. He motions for Vincent to get up, so he can pull out the fold-out mattress in the couch, so they can watch in luxury.
Vincent helps, pushing the coffee table out of the way, and then with extending the mattress. He throws himself on it, bouncing a little and climbing towards the head, splaying his legs and folding his hands on his stomach, slouching. "Where are we at? We're past Ishida's intro, right?"
"Yeah, we're at the point where Ruukia's been taken back to the Soul Society, and Ichigo has agreed to train with Urahara for 10 days." Cid crawls up onto the mattress and sprawls out next to Vincent. He gets a cushion and pillows his head, then drags Vincent so the boy half lies ontop of him, Cid's hand resting casually at Vincent's slender waist. "Byron, yer gonna miss out on Bleach!"
Byron comes out with a container of mixed Chinese, a can of Coke and a mouthful. "Oh shit, really? Man, last I saw, Ichigo was against this dude with glasses and there were red ribbons and shit! Oh, man!" He flops onto the couch, not sparing a glance for the two more than side by side, setting his Coke on the floor and digging in with his chopsticks.
"Ishida," Cid informs. "He's one'a my favourite's. Kinda reminds me o' someone," he says, and ruffles Vincent's hair.
Byron grins around a mouthful. Even if he's not a part of the friendly contact, it feels good to have them there, like that, comfortable and unashamed with each other - happy.
Vincent's metal hand tightens on Cid's shirt, and he makes an abrupt sound of disagreement.
"What?" Cid protests. "He's smart, kinda an outcast, got dark hair, pretty, thin, talks too damn formally, he's a 'shooter', loyal te a fault... Byron, stop me if none o' this is familiar."
Byron looks over at that, and shrugs, lo mein dangling from his mouth and hands occupied with carton and chopsticks.
Vincent wrinkles his nose. "I'm not a drama-llama."
Byron snorts with laughter around his mouthful, and he brings the back of his hand to his mouth, half choking. Vincent lifts his head to look at him. Byron waves away his concern, coughing. "Di-Didn't exepct t-to hear that from you is-all... Jesus..."
Vincent ducks his head back to Cid, made shy. Byron pursues it. "Have to agree with him on that one, though. He's not a prissy asshat, either."
Cid smirks. "Yeah well. I said, "reminds me of". Didn't say they were twins or nothin'."
Byron winks at them, digging through the carton. "Well he's already got a Siamese twin." He lifts his chin at the both of them intertwined. He glances at his watch. "A game of CRAPS. After this episode, I have to skedaddle. I have homework and a curfew - I can't get by on good looks and talent alone."
Cid groans at the mention of homework, remembering a maths assignment he has to have done before tomorrow. "Yeah, know the feelin'. You stayin' over t'night, or goin back te yer dads?" He asks Vincent.
Vincent agrees to stay over, offering to call his Dad after the episode. The episode seems to end too swiftly - and on a cliffhanger, as always. Byron gathers up his things and says his farewells, embracing Cid strongly, and giving Vincent a more confident handshake, and waves farewell to both the figures in the doorway, and starts on his way home with a long-legged jaunty stride. Vincent calls his Dad, and tells him where he'll be.
"Did you wash the clothes I left here?"
"Yeah, ma did the other day," Cid replies, cleaning up. "They're in that spare draw in my room."
After everything's put away, Cid pulls out his bag and sprawls on the floor, frowning down at his maths assignment, and starts working his way through the problems. He's not particularly fast, but his answers are almost perfect. After a while, his mum comes down and greets Cid and Vincent genially, asking after Vincent and his father, and moves into the kitchen. She spots the top Cid's wearing, and Cid mumbles about getting into the football team. Mrs. Highwind is very excited for him.
"Can I make you anything special, dear? Would you like more dumplings?"
Cid hesitates, and then puts on a smile. "Sure mum. Yer dumplings taste awesome!"
She beams happily and moves to fuss about in the kitchen. Cid drops his head back to his homework, his shoulders slouching, and hides a sigh.
Mrs Highwind is still fussing in the kitchen when they say their goodnights and go up to Cid's bedroom. Cid's grumbling under his breath about his mother being insane as he strips. He takes a quick shower before bed, and collapses into it gratefully, exhausted after the long day.
Vincent borrows Cid's sweatpants thoughtlessly, and a t-shirt, and pulls on the glove he keeps at Cid's. He burrows into bed with Cid, and curls up close. "Night, Cid."
Cid hums a goodnight, already half asleep. He moves a lazy hand and rests it at the small of Vincent's back, and swiftly drifts off.
~*~*~*~
Warnings for this chapter: awkward rebuilding of burnt bridges, video games, Chinese takeaway, ambiguous gay, Byron, language, and Bleach.
Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Cid and Vincent, the rest is sadly our own mad-cap invention. XD
Previous chapters: "part1(illustrated)", "part2", "part 3"
Art by: ani_mama
When they reach Cid’s house, a much smaller affair than Vincent's home, Cid barges in and calls for him mum.
"Maaaa, me an Vince are home. My friend Byron's coming over later. We got Chinese!"
When Cid he gets no response, he tells Vincent to set up the food, then goes into the bedroom. His mum's asleep in her bed. She looks frail. Cid thins his lips and tip-toes in. He brushes a lock of hair from her forehead, then kisses it, before sneaking out again.
"Mum's catching up on some work," Cid mumbles to Vincent as he comes back in. "So don't make too much noise, a'right?"
Vincent knows what that means. "You're the noisy one." Vincent swallows, looking at all the open containers instead of Cid, fussing with them to avoid looking suspicious. "I didn't know Byron had accepted... I should have gotten more. I don't know what he likes..."
Cid shrugs, grabbing some chopsticks and attempting - badly - to hold them in one hand. "Eh, he said he'll be 'round later. There's enough 'ere, and if this aint enough, there's plenty o' food in the house. Plenty of dumplings, that's for sure. He might not even eat, didn't think te ask."
Vincent doesn't look at him. "Did you have anything planned...?"
"Eh. Just hanging out,” Cid replies. “Don't know much about 'im, so thought it'd be a good opportunity. Can't learn too much when you’re busy running towards or away from each other." Cid looks up at Vincent, and clacks his crooked chopsticks at him. "Hey, what's up? Ye been actin' weird. I didn't wanna say until we was alone. Have you changed your mind about me playing football? If you don't want me to, I wont," he says, plain and simple. As excited as Cid is to get in the team, if it meant coming between him and Vincent, Cid didn’t have to think twice about which one he'd favour.
Vincent looks up sharply at that, wide eyes distressed. "No! No, never! You love being out there; I would never, ever, ever take that away from you. I like seeing you happy, love seeing you happy. I would never take something like that away from you." Vincent’s voice softens, and he looks away, then darts a glance at Cid's chopsticks. He takes them from Cid with one hand, while rooting around in his hip pocket. "Let me see your chopsticks." He wraps his retrieved hair tie about the larger ends, and clack them at him. "Try them like this."
Cid frowns and takes the chopsticks. They're still awkard in his hands, but he has better luck now. He practices opening and closing them, then reaches out, and picks up a lock of Vincent's hair.
"...So? What's up yer arse?"
Vincent hesitates, eyeing the lock of hair in Cid's amateur grasp, and slowly frees it with careful fingers. "... Nothing. I'm just... just nervous."
Cid sighs agitatedly. He's never been high on patience. "'Bout what?"
Vincent swallows, looking away again. "... Byron."
"Byron?" Cid blinks, surprised. He thinks for a while, opening and closing the chopsticks thoughtfully. "Hey, he likes you. Don't worry. You never give people a chance. Yer always so damn shy, ye never let anyone get te know how awesome ye are," Cid he says with a soft smile, and pokes Vincent gently in the nose with the chopsticks.
Vincent smiles at him weakly, and playfully bites at the chopsticks. "We could finish Sense and Sensibility, if that's his sort of thing."
Cid finally turns to his food, using the chopsticks more or less to scoop his food out. "Might play some games actually. Let's watch the rest o' the film while we eat. C'mon!" He grabs up most of the containers and carries them into the lounge, before rifling in Vincent's bag for the dvd and putting it on.
Vincent comes to sit down beside Cid with the rest of the containers, back against the couch, and starts in on the cream cheese wantons.
"Where did we leave off?"
"The Dashwood sisters are at that fancy party, and Marianne's just spotted Mr Willoughby." Cid selects the right scene, and sprawls out, resting his feet on Vincent's lap, and happily eats out of one of the containers.
They watch it through, eating from the shared containers and making random comments or jibes, just enjoying each other's company. Slowly, Vincent unwinds, and by the time the credits are rolling and the containers are half empty, he's completely relaxed, now lying back against Cid like a low-lying couch, arms propped on his hip and ribs.
And then, the doorbell rings.
"Good timing or what?" Cid says, hopping up and putting his food on the table. He jogs over to the door and opens it wide, grinning. "We aint interested in whatever yer sellin', thanks."
Byron grins at him. "You interested in what I've got for free?" He holds out a tub of curry and rice, visible through the cling-film on top.
Inside, Vincent slowly gets to his feet and starts clearing the table, his heart rabbiting.
"Hell yes! Thanks!" Cid grabs the curry, and hitches a thumb at the hall. "Vince is in the lounge with some Chinese. Help yerself. If yer still hungry, we can heat up some dumplings. Ma's workin, so try an keep it down, eh? Ye wan' a tour?"
Byron's hands, freed, instinctively go to the pocket of his letterjacket, and to the strap of his backpack. "Sure, sounds great." He minds his voice, toning it down.
Cid moves inside, expecting Byron to follow. "Well, this 'ere's the entrance. That's the kitchen an' lounge through there. Up here, we got my mum's room, bathroom, and my room."
Cid opens the door to his room. It's chaotic. Finished and half-finished models of planes, air ships, spacecraft, and cars are scattered about on the floor, desk and bookshelves. The walls are blue. The curtains and lamp red. The bed a mixture of blue, red, military grey and brown. There are posters of planes and rockets, and a few athletes on the wall, mixed up with photographs that predominantly feature Cid and Vincent at various ages. One corner has a tire, and a few old car tools staining the carpet with their rust. The shelves are stacked with books that range from mechanics to astrophysics to classic English literature. There's other things about the place too, and one gets the impression you could find just about anything in the room, if you looked hard enough.
Byron enters the room unashamedly, wandering about the place. "Holy Hell... you're a fucking Renaissance man!" He immediately moves to the bookshelves, reading over the titles on the spines, and minding the models and miscellany.
Cid gives a sheepish, lopsided smile, and rubs the back of his head. "Not really. Just a few things 'm passionate about. I like te think 'm alright at them.... There's lots a stuff I blow at, naturally."
Byron ignores the modest admission, moving over to the desk and photographs. He picks up one in a rounded red plastic frame. In the photo, Cid's holding Vincent's yellow gloved hand at an airshow, as evidenced by the fighter jets on the tarmac. Cid looks like he's about to jump, arm stretched high in a wave. Vincent is more shy, his hair hiding his face, leaning more towards Cid. They're wearing matching caps for the airshow, with three little blue jets on the front. Byron smiles softly, guilt gnawing at him but not deterring the appreciation he has for their friendship - or how adorable he thinks they were as kids. He turns to look over his shoulder at Cid, holding up the framed picture.
"You were pretty cute kids. This is the Blue Angels exhibition, isn't it?"
He turns back around. "Wow. You guys must have been friends forever."
Cid comes over and looks down fondly at the photo frame. "Yeah. Ever since first year. I started at the primary school late, 'cause we moved house within the first few months. Everyone at the school were picking on Vince, 'cause of his accident, then they picked on me fer wantin' te be his friend. I lost a tooth in a fight over it," Cid says with a grin, and plucks a photo from the wall to show Byron. Little Cid and Vincent are at a park, Vincent in a swing, Cid hugging him from behind, grinning widely to show a missing tooth.
"I don't get it. He's so tiny, and kind. Vince would do anythin' for those who do right by him. I don't get why people give him a hard time just 'cause he's a little different. That just makes him all the more interesting!"
Byron swallows. "People can be stupid." He pauses, then comes to a conclusion. "I agree, that he's interesting. Shame about his arm, though. It looks... it looks painful."
Cid makes a noise and puts the photo back. "It's fine, most o' the time. I mean, it's attached to 'is nerves. If it comes on or off, it's like detachin' a real arm, ye know? Not fun. It can play up now an then, but mostly it doesn't 'cause him too much trouble. Aside from people star'in and teasin' him and stuff.
"Anyway," Cid announces, "Let's go down afore he thinks we've abandoned 'im. You wanna play some video games? I'm ace wizard at all the flyin' ones, and Vincent's the best Shooter I've ever seen."
Byron smiles stiffly at him. "Sure, lead the way."
Cid grabs up his console and the games, balancing the curry on top, then leads Byron into the living room.
Vincent comes out from the kitchen, having put the food away for the console's convenience. He tries to look very much like he hadn't been listening in on their conversations upstairs.
Vincent approaches the two hesitantly, fiddling with the sleeve over his false arm, tugging it down. He darts a glance up at Byron. "I, um... we... we got Chinese."
Byron smiles at him, and this time, he forces the tightness from it, trying to project the easy warmth he has with Cid. "I already ate, but thanks anyways. And who knows? I'm a big guy. Meals are like snacks for me."
Byron holds out his hand - his left, so Vincent will have to meet it with his false hand. He's not sure why he does it. To test the boundaries, how far Vincent will take the charade. To see how much Vincent fears him. Maybe simply to start over from the beginning. He leaves his reasons open.
Vincent reaches out, tentatively, wary, eyeing the strong hand. He well remembered the tight grip, the questing fingers, and the pain; he remembered how that hand had hurt him. He feels like an idiot, the kicked dog with his belly to the floor inching towards his master's outstretched hand with sad hopeful eyes - but Byron is Cid's friend. Cid likes Byron. And Vincent refuses to cause strife between them. He puts his trembling metallic hand in Byron's almost the way a woman would, fingertips first, the sleeve still pulled down to the palm.
Byron takes the hand firmly, and gives it a good shake. He's surprised to find it warm; when he'd touched it before, sensation had not been part of his observations. Vincent flinches at the hard grip, fearful. Byron pretends it didn't happen.
"We haven't been properly introduced. Byron McCullagheigh."
Vincent's breath is quick and shallow; he doesn't look at Byron as he introduces himself in an embarrassing stuttering tiny voice.
"V-Vincent Valentine."
Byron gives the hand one more shake and then releases it. Vincent takes it back to fret at it. Byron puts his hands in his pockets. "I hear tell you're a decent hand at shooters." He jerks his chin towards the console. "Care to give me a run for my money?"
Vincent is at a loss, unable to say a word though his mouth works at it, his eyes darting across the floor, uncertain.
Cid watches the interaction, worried about Vincent's almost excessive timidness. Vincent isn’t usually this shy when meeting people. Then again, Byron isn't anyone, he's a fairly big boy, with a big personality. Cid's just about to break-up the awkward introduction for Vincent's sake, when Byron makes the offer of the game. Cid smiles, pleased with Byron's ingenuity. Cid steps up and slaps Vincent on the back, and shepherds him to the couch.
"That's a great idea! You two can show me how it's done, while I finish the rest o' my asian!" Cid sets up the console and game, then sits in the middle of the couch, knowing Vincent will feel more comfortable that way, especially as Cid's the only real link between the three of them at the moment.
Vincent takes a seat at Cid's behest, terrified that Cid will make him play first.
Byron removes the threat, taking off his letter jacket before settling in. "I got dibs on the first round."
Byron grabs up the controller. He proves himself a fair hand at it, but not spectacular. He collapses back against the couch with a sigh, slouching. "Ugh. Jesus. You guys are bad luck. You're interrupting my chi or some shit. That ain't right."
Cid laughs. "That's alright. Warm up round, eh? Vince, ye have a go now. Then we can do versus mode, or mission, where ye team up. Depends, whether ye want te kill each other, or work t'gether." Cid makes the options sound so innocent.
Byron turns to look at Cid, then leans far around to see Vincent's dark head. "You good for it?"
Vincent takes up the controller, reluctantly. Byron flops back with a grunt, feet stretched out in front of him.
Vincent's game is a far cry above Byron's, nearly flawless, the moves executed almost without thought. Fascinated, Byron watches the passive face paired with the swift fingers, impressed against his will. At the end of the game, Vincent does nothing, shows nothing; he holds the controller in his lap with one hand, and reaches for one of the wontons in front of Cid with the other. All Byron could think of, almost a non sequitor, was, "Okay, victory makes him hungry."
Cid cheers Vincent on, as he had done when Byron had done well. There's a few comments he makes which don't make sense from the outset, and are, most likely, private jokes he shares with Vincent.
Cid gets the other controller, and gives it to Byron. "Alright, this is gonna be good! Hey Vince, choose the swamp level. You don't play that one so much, so it'll be a bit more fair on Byron."
Vincent does, half a wonton jutting from his mouth, both hands on his controller. Byron takes the other controller, wheedling at Cid.
"He's going to slaughter me. Ciiiiiiddddddd...~" Byron starts pawing playfully at Cid's clothes, begging him and winging.
Cid laughs and pushes Byron back. "Suck it up, Sunshine. C'mon, ye'll do fine. Here, I'll even distract Vincent for ye, to give you a fighting chance, eh?"
Cid leans in the other direction, and starts rubbing his stubbled chin against Vincent's cheek. Vincent screws up his face, arching his neck away, still working on the wonton. He frees a hand to give Cid an absent shove away.
Byron raises an eyebrow, smiling quirkily at Cid's chosen method of distraction. Cid looked like a big cat around a pair of legs, rubbing and butting.
Cid laughs, obviously enjoying the way he's annoying his friend. He leans back. "Hey Vincent... Viiiiinceeeeent.... Viiiince....." Cid coos, and starts sneaking a hand about Vincent's side, threatening to poke or, worse, tickle the boy, his eyes dancing mischievously.
Vincent draws his elbows into his sides, pulling away. His brow furrows, and he makes an agitated noise around the mouthful of cream cheese.
Byron doesn't even bother to start the game; he briefly ponders starting to get an advantage, but decides that watching the antics of the two of them were more entertaining. Nobody at school saw this side of Vincent, never saw him agitated, never saw him playing video games, or Hell, even saw him eat. This Vincent was Cid's Vincent, much more like a kid, and less like a meek, bookish student with a crippled arm. And when he didn't have his hair in his face, or his head hanging, Vincent was almost pretty. Byron doesn't think twice about that thought, dismissing it absently.
Cid tenses his hand, like he's just about to tickle Vincent. Then, when his friend least suspects it, he leans in and bites the other half of the wonton sticking from Vincent's mouth. "OOMN! <3"
Vincent wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Mmmmph!" It's half angry, half amused. Probably, mostly angry. He tears away from the contact, forfeiting the half that Cid's attacked. He speaks around his mouthful, forgetting about Byron. He gives Cid's shoulder a shove for good measure. "Ugh, Cid! That was the last one! I told you we should have bought more!"
Byron's mouth twitches, stifling his chuckles.
Cid just laughs, muffled, as he enjoys eating the food. He ruffles Vincent's hair, then looks at the screen, and groans. "Aw, c'mon Byron! That was your chance! What were you doing? Jesus, yer hopeless," he says, obviously not meaning it, grinning too much. "Don't come crying to me when Vincent decimates you."
Byron grins widely at him, then gives him a haughty look. "I would never, ever, come crying to you. A broken, bleeding shell of a man, maybe. But not crying. Much. At first." Byron glances at Vincent, who's swiping at his mouth with a thumb. He winks at him. "You ready to go?"
Vincent looks away, bobbing his head, flushed with embarrassment. His hands go back down to the controller.
They're at it for ages - and it's true, Vincent seems hampered by the unfamiliar level, but then again, so is Byron. They go for round after round after round, until Byron finally throws up his hands, dropping the controller in his lap, and slipping an inch down the couch. He groans, face creased in agony. "God, how does he do it? How does he do it?" He suddenly leans around Cid. "How do you do it? Christ."
Byron falls back to the couch with a sigh, not giving Vincent a chance to answer. He pulls his hands down and eyes them critically. "I think my thumbs are bleeding. Hey, do my thumbs look bloody to you?" He holds out his hands for Cid's inspection. They're calloused, and one has the near-faded scar of a burn in the palm - half circular, like a stovetop burner.
Cid pretends to put on a monocle and regarded the hands with haughty dignity. "Well now, young sir. They do look bloody. Bloody girly.”
Vincent covers a smile with his hair.
Byron throws himself back with a whine. "Now even girls are making fun of my hands! My poor, pulped little hands..."
Byron stares at them morosely, and then leans over Cid's lap, offering the hands imploringly to Vincent, who recoils slightly. "You have made me a wretch! My football career, my scholastic career, torn to shreds!" He sobs.
Vincent takes a chance, and gives the outstretched hands a shy shove. Byron throws himself backwards, arms flung into the air, and floops back against the couch with a manful groan of impact.
Cid laughs hard. "Told ya Vince were Ace." He leans over Byron and reaches for the hand with the scar. "Hey, what happened 'ere? How did ye get that? Looks fantastic."
Byron looks down at the captured hand, the other coming up behind his head. He regards it seriously, as if unimpressed. He sniffs dismissively.
"Got burned on a stove."
Byron wrinkles his nose. "That was a long time ago, though, like five or six years." He sighs, mournfully. "But it ended my fabulous career in cakes. I... I've never been the same." He looks away with a fake sob, pressing his fist to his mouth.
"Just curries, instead," Cid teases, looking up at Byron under blond bangs with a mischievous smirk.
Byron looks at him with one eye, beneath his upturned hand, then looks away. "Told you, I didn't make the curry. My ma did."
Cid shrugs and lets the hand go, still smiling. "Yer mum's a good cook then. So who wants te do what? Movie? More games, video or board?" He looks to Vincent.
Vincent shrugs minutely.
Byron hauls himself up off the couch, heading for the kitchen. "I'm getting something to eat. You guys pick something. There anything I'm not supposed to touch, not supposed to drink, or cups I'm not supposed to use? Anything?"
"Nope, free for all," Cid calls back. "Good crockery ain't in the kitchen anyways."
Cid turns back to Vincent. "Wanna watch some anime?"
Vincent darts a glance after Byron. "I don't know... does Byron...?"
"Not asking him, I'm asking you," Cid says. "'Sides, the man says for us to pick something. So we'll pick something."
Something eases up in Vincent; Cid is still Vincent's friend first. "Are we up on Bleach?"
"We can be." Cid grins, and rifles around his dvd collection. "Bleach it is then!" He announces, and puts it on. He motions for Vincent to get up, so he can pull out the fold-out mattress in the couch, so they can watch in luxury.
Vincent helps, pushing the coffee table out of the way, and then with extending the mattress. He throws himself on it, bouncing a little and climbing towards the head, splaying his legs and folding his hands on his stomach, slouching. "Where are we at? We're past Ishida's intro, right?"
"Yeah, we're at the point where Ruukia's been taken back to the Soul Society, and Ichigo has agreed to train with Urahara for 10 days." Cid crawls up onto the mattress and sprawls out next to Vincent. He gets a cushion and pillows his head, then drags Vincent so the boy half lies ontop of him, Cid's hand resting casually at Vincent's slender waist. "Byron, yer gonna miss out on Bleach!"
Byron comes out with a container of mixed Chinese, a can of Coke and a mouthful. "Oh shit, really? Man, last I saw, Ichigo was against this dude with glasses and there were red ribbons and shit! Oh, man!" He flops onto the couch, not sparing a glance for the two more than side by side, setting his Coke on the floor and digging in with his chopsticks.
"Ishida," Cid informs. "He's one'a my favourite's. Kinda reminds me o' someone," he says, and ruffles Vincent's hair.
Byron grins around a mouthful. Even if he's not a part of the friendly contact, it feels good to have them there, like that, comfortable and unashamed with each other - happy.
Vincent's metal hand tightens on Cid's shirt, and he makes an abrupt sound of disagreement.
"What?" Cid protests. "He's smart, kinda an outcast, got dark hair, pretty, thin, talks too damn formally, he's a 'shooter', loyal te a fault... Byron, stop me if none o' this is familiar."
Byron looks over at that, and shrugs, lo mein dangling from his mouth and hands occupied with carton and chopsticks.
Vincent wrinkles his nose. "I'm not a drama-llama."
Byron snorts with laughter around his mouthful, and he brings the back of his hand to his mouth, half choking. Vincent lifts his head to look at him. Byron waves away his concern, coughing. "Di-Didn't exepct t-to hear that from you is-all... Jesus..."
Vincent ducks his head back to Cid, made shy. Byron pursues it. "Have to agree with him on that one, though. He's not a prissy asshat, either."
Cid smirks. "Yeah well. I said, "reminds me of". Didn't say they were twins or nothin'."
Byron winks at them, digging through the carton. "Well he's already got a Siamese twin." He lifts his chin at the both of them intertwined. He glances at his watch. "A game of CRAPS. After this episode, I have to skedaddle. I have homework and a curfew - I can't get by on good looks and talent alone."
Cid groans at the mention of homework, remembering a maths assignment he has to have done before tomorrow. "Yeah, know the feelin'. You stayin' over t'night, or goin back te yer dads?" He asks Vincent.
Vincent agrees to stay over, offering to call his Dad after the episode. The episode seems to end too swiftly - and on a cliffhanger, as always. Byron gathers up his things and says his farewells, embracing Cid strongly, and giving Vincent a more confident handshake, and waves farewell to both the figures in the doorway, and starts on his way home with a long-legged jaunty stride. Vincent calls his Dad, and tells him where he'll be.
"Did you wash the clothes I left here?"
"Yeah, ma did the other day," Cid replies, cleaning up. "They're in that spare draw in my room."
After everything's put away, Cid pulls out his bag and sprawls on the floor, frowning down at his maths assignment, and starts working his way through the problems. He's not particularly fast, but his answers are almost perfect. After a while, his mum comes down and greets Cid and Vincent genially, asking after Vincent and his father, and moves into the kitchen. She spots the top Cid's wearing, and Cid mumbles about getting into the football team. Mrs. Highwind is very excited for him.
"Can I make you anything special, dear? Would you like more dumplings?"
Cid hesitates, and then puts on a smile. "Sure mum. Yer dumplings taste awesome!"
She beams happily and moves to fuss about in the kitchen. Cid drops his head back to his homework, his shoulders slouching, and hides a sigh.
Mrs Highwind is still fussing in the kitchen when they say their goodnights and go up to Cid's bedroom. Cid's grumbling under his breath about his mother being insane as he strips. He takes a quick shower before bed, and collapses into it gratefully, exhausted after the long day.
Vincent borrows Cid's sweatpants thoughtlessly, and a t-shirt, and pulls on the glove he keeps at Cid's. He burrows into bed with Cid, and curls up close. "Night, Cid."
Cid hums a goodnight, already half asleep. He moves a lazy hand and rests it at the small of Vincent's back, and swiftly drifts off.
~*~*~*~