Cid/Vincent High-School RP: Part 3
Summary: an AU account of Cid and Vincent in a modern high-school setting.
Warnings for this chapter: smooching, football talk, some swearing (as always), and there’s no soap-on-a-rope for Cid
Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Cid and Vincent, the rest is sadly our own mad-cap invention XD
Previous chapters: "part1(illustrated)", "part2(illustrated)",
Art by: ani_mama
The next day, Cid arrives as usual at the broken fountain at lunch time. Unsurprisingly, he's the first one there. He's got a new container of dumplings. Cid waits and hopes that Vincent's reason for being late today isn't anything to worry about.
Byron comes up the slight incline, grinning, his hands in his pockets. He removes one to cup it around his mouth so his voice carries.
“Ahoy there, Narcissus! Admiring your reflection again?”
Cid looks up and grins, getting up. “Wouldn't you if ye were as good lookin' as me?”
Byrons face creases in a look of comical concern, and he puts his hand on Cid's shoulder.” “Oh, honey. Not everything mama tells you is true.” He looks down at the dumplings. “I usually go for chocolates, but to each his own.”
“Please, please, take 'em,” Cid says, thrusting the box at Byron. “I made the mistake o' tellin' my ma I liked 'em the first time she made 'em. She hasn't made anything else since. I'm gonna DIE of malnutrition. I have NIGHTMARES about dumplings now. Please. Ugh.”
Byron throws back his head and laughs hard. He takes the little container, still chuckling, and kneels to root around through his bag. He comes up with a container of his own and rises, offering it to Cid. “I suppose some exchange is in order.”
“As long as it aint dumplings,” Cid says, ripping open the lid to peer curiously inside.
Inside is a bed of richly fragrant meaty stew in a thick sauce, over jasmine rice. Byron rubs his head, almost in embarrassment.
“Curry. You're lucky it's not steamed cabbage.” He wrinkles his nose.
Cid eyes the food with ravenous school-boy enthusiasm. “I'd kiss you if my mouth weren't about te be occupied with eating all this is 4 seconds flat.” Cid grins and sits down. “Got a fork or something?”
Byron grins. “Yep.” He hands it over. Of a sudden, he seems sheepishly enthusiastic. “Hey, uh... tell me if it's any good, all right?”
Cid raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything, already shovelling a forkful of the food from the container into his mouth. He makes a pleased, enthusiastic sound, and shovels in a few more mouthfuls before saying, “What is this, take-away? It's fuckin' awesome!” He doesn't wait for an answer, and keeps eating.
Byron beams at him, taking a seat beside him and opening up the dumplings. “Naw. Homemade. Glad you like it.” He starts in on the dumplings with quiet satisfaction, grinning to himself.
Cid looks at Byron suspiciously, a slow, half smile forming on his face. He slows his eating, and nudges Byron with his boot. “Hey. I were thinkin' 'bout what ye said. Reckon Coach would still be interested in a new footballer?”
Byron turns his smile on Cid, working on a dumpling, eyes keen. “I suppose I could use a few more underlings. You thinking about it seriously? What about all those obligations you were going on about?”
Cid shrugs a shoulder. “Well, like you said, it's not your life, right? I'll still have time for other stuff. And Vince said he'll come to training and games, so it wont be like I'm abandonin' him or nothin.”
The smile slips from Byron's face and he turns back to his dumplings, forking them anxiously. “Yeah. That'll be good. Real good. Glad you decided to try-out again. Bet you coach will just take you on anyways, without a try-out.”
“Mmm,” Cid says, looking over his shoulder for Vincent, getting anxious. “So uh, what do ye like doin? When yer not playing ball or cooking awesome curry?”
Byron's head snaps up, on the defensive. “I don't cook! I-” He's interrupted as his eye catches sight of Vincent's dark head, hanging wearily, his hands on the strap of his bookbag, wearing the ever-present red hooded jumper. All of a sudden, Byron’s throat is thick and dry. He swallows.
Cid puts his food down and hastily jumps up, running over to Vincent. “Hey, you okay?” he asks, relieved and anxious at the same time.
Vincent looks up, his expression instantly brightening - and then wilting as his eyes meet Byron's, reluctance, fear, guilt and uncertainty commingling. Vincent slowly draws his gaze away, dropping it somewhere near Cid, letting his hair drop into his face. His hands work the strap of his bookbag. “Yeah... got caught up with Mrs. Maio in Maths. Um, I'll see you after class.”
Vincent unconsciously darts a glance at Byron, swallowing. He presses the heel of his bad hand into his chest, still wrapped around the strap and starts dragging it back to drag the sleeve over it.
“What? Why aren't ye staying? C'mon, Byron's got this awesome curry and I saved some of it for you.” Cid smiles worriedly and puts a hand on Vincent's good arm, tugging him in an almost child-like gesture, pleading.
At that look, at the childish gesture, Vincent can't help but acquiesce. No matter what the question, Cid had but to ask him with such care, concern, and enthusiasm, to touch him companionably, and he came undone.
Vincent smiles weakly, and nods.
Byron looks away, eyes searching the ground, hands tight on the bowl in his lap.
“Great!” Cid ushers Vincent back to their little picnic area. He pushes the last of the curry into Vincent's hands, then grabs his friend's bag, digging about unashamedly for Vincent's lunch.
“Byron was just gonna tell me a bit about 'imself, weren't you?” Cid grins at Byron and soon finds the sandwich. He puts one half in the curry container for Vincent to eat, then breaks the other half in half again. He starts eating his quarter while he swaps Byron the other quarter for a dumpling, and gives that to Vincent too. With all the food divided as equally at Cid deems appropriate, he looks at Byron expectantly, waiting to learn more about his new friend.
Vincent stands, frozen with uncertainty, while Cid apportions the food. After, he seems to melt at Cid's feet, sitting almost daintily, with his legs folded to one side. He looks nowhere but down at his meal, prodding everything with the fork.
Byron's smile slowly returns - though watered down, and he starts eating the dumplings again. He forcibly injects enthusiasm into his voice.
“Well, I like pina coladas, going dancing in the rain, and long walks on the beach, hand in hand.”
Cid grins ruefully. “Yeah right. Ye got any brothers or sisters?”
Byron wrinkles his nose, growing into the charade. If he didn't look at Vincent, pretend he wasn't there... “After a fashion. We have a strange female beast in our house. We call her Delphine. We usually have to call her Princess in order to get her to do any tricks, though.”
Cid finishes his bit of sandwich around a smile. “Yeah, i bet ye do. Ye live with yer folks, or....?” He asks carefully. Without a dad, and with Vincent without a mum, Cid's aware that not every household is made up of a mum and dad, two point five kids, and a dog and a cat.
“Yep,” Byron answers without hesitation. “It's just me, my parents, and Princess. What about you?”
He flicks an almost-inclusive glance at Vincent.
“My dad left when I was younger,” Cid says. His voice sounds neutral, but there's an obvious expression of distaste on his face. “Just my mum an' me now.”
Cid looks to Vincent, his expression softening, and he slings an arm over the boy's shoulders. “Vincent lives with his dad... His mom died in an accident. It's what done 'is arm in too.”
Vincent carefully doesn't look up, but also doesn't hesitate to lean into the contact with Cid.
Byron stares at them both, and smiles slowly. “I guess together, you two make a whole family.”
Cid gives Byron a great big grin. “Yeah! But I aint adverse te havin' another brother. Hey, you wanna come over to my house after football tonight? Whether Coach takes me in or not, doesn't matter. Vince, yer coming over, right?”
Vincent looks up at Cid from beneath the curtain of dark hair, eyes expressive but unreadable, and drops his head in a nod.
Byron objects, weakly. “Hey, I wouldn't want to cut in your "you" time...”
Cid shrugs a carefree shoulder. “Yeah well, see how ye feel after practice. We don't mind, do we Vince?” He grabs Vincent's bag and finds some spare paper and a pen, and writes down his address and phone number, then hands the paper over to Byron.
Vincent says nothing, silently agreeing with Cid, however reluctantly.
Byron takes the paper with some hesitation. “If you're sure...”
Cid grins, which is answer enough. The rest of the lunch break is mostly spent with Cid and Byron talking football. Cid picks Byron's brains over the current team, and some of the more complicated tactics he's half-forgotten. Cid doesn’t forget Vincent, explaining some of the more difficult things to him so the boy doesn't feel left out. Even when engrossed in what Byron's saying, or what he's asking, Cid flashes Vincent a look, or touches him in a casual way, to reinstall that Vincent is a part of the group, that he's not been forgotten.
Vincent and Cid's last class of the day is one of the few they share. Cid likes these classes. He likes watching Vincent when Vincent's being studious. He likes it when Vincent asks really smart questions that makes Cid swell with pride for his friend, and even better, when -he's- able to answer the questions, and Vincent looks at him with what Cid likes to believe is also part pride, part amusement. Conspiracy between friends. Cid likes kicking Vincent's feet under the desk, or passing him notes, wondering if today Vincent will ignore him, or give him an annoyed look, or an amused one, or even reciprocate the notes if feeling particularly playful.
By the time Cid's running towards the football field, he's in great spirits. He feels energetic and excited and ready to do his best.
Vincent follows after Cid's more energetic form, smiling shyly to himself and taking his time. He's overjoyed to see Cid so enthusiastic about something, something he's wanted for a long time. In Vincent's mind, there is no doubt that Cid will make the team. Cid’s body is broad and well-muscled, and the blonde is never lacking in energy; the same mind Cid so studiously applies to mechanics and aviation he could quite easily put to strategising and memorising plays. Vincent wonders what number Cid will get, and what position he'll be put in - he tentatively guesses quarterback, because Byron's a quarterback also, and their build and analytical minds are similar.
Vincent's disquieted by thoughts of Byron, and his relationship with Cid. He doesn't worry for Cid. Cid never gets bullied anymore; Byron wouldn't dare, and Cid wouldn't put up with it. Cid was strong and likeable - not much like Vincent at all, who tended to be meek, and shy, except around his best friend. Vincent didn't think Byron would risk teasing him or confronting Cid, or even so much as speaking ill of him in front of Cid, but when Cid wasn't around, Vincent knew it would be back to basics. But for the moment, nothing could dampen his swelling heart, so full of pride and satisfaction, as he watched Cid gallop ahead to the football fields.
The dark-haired boy took a seat in the bleachers towards the bottom to watch, and took Cid's things when the blonde raced up to him, grinning, and thrust them at him with a plea to watch them. Vincent nodded, still grinning, and quietly wished Cid luck. He tied back his hair in a loose tail and pulled his hood up - his fair skin was subject to easy sunburn, and he wasn't going to chance it. He settled in to watch Cid's try-out with the chin-raised attentiveness of a meerkat.
Byron stood casually out on the field, the ball tucked under one arm against his hip, and wore no helmet, but the typical football practice attire of a short shirt and tight football trousers.
“Hurry it up, Twinkle-toes, I only have so much time to own your ass!”
“We'll see who owns whose ass!” Cid calls back, and playfully raises his arm and slaps his bicep in a rude gesture at Byron. “Don't hold back, Ballerina-Byron!”
Byron blows him a kiss. “Anything you say, baby.” And he sashays away down the field.
The coach calls them into order, and they all jog into their positions.
The next two hours sees Cid in every field position, in plays simple in execution to elaborately staged strategies. He almost never falters, understanding the rudiments of his instructions from the get-go. It's obvious the coach is taking to him, fast. When he calls Cid over at one point, he puts an arm around his shoulders, and speaks to him seriously, like he's already a part of the team - the smile lurking around the thin lips betraying the coach’s pleasure at Cid's performance, as does the pat on the back as he sends him in for more. Quite frequently, Cid’s put into partner-plays with Byron, the coach perhaps already sensing their good chemistry. They synch well, with Cid being the more serious no-nonsense player, charging hard and running long, and Byron being the more playful and agile, dancing around the field like a colt, laughing nearly constantly, making his work look ridiculously easy.
Vincent's on tenterhooks, watching, tensed, as Cid gets tackled, wrestled, charged, or dog-piled. He knows that Cid is fine, he can hear the blonde laughing, smiling as he gets up and dusts himself off, but that's Vincent’s best friend out there. Vincent is relieved when the last game is called, everyone slowing into a jog, then a leisurely walk towards the coach. He's seated just near enough that he can hear everything.
“Well, good thing I got this out of the office before I locked up. Had a feeling you'd be getting this today, anyhow.” The coach unfolds a training jersey with the number 13 on it, holding it up by the shoulders.
The players surrounding Cid get their hands on him, tousling his hair and slinging arms around his shoulders, Byron foremost, having come up at his side. He musses Cid's hair and pinches his cheek obnoxiously.
“What did I tell you, Sunshine! Congratulations, you little fucker!”
The coach gives him a stern look. “Byron-”
Byron doesn't miss a beat. “Flooper.”
Vincent is trying very, very, very hard not to scream, run over, or in anyway make a fool of himself over how happy he is.
Cid's grinning so wide it's amazing he doesn't split in two. When he can lift his head up enough from all the congratulatory hair ruffling, he thanks the coach enthusiastically and honestly. He pulls the jersey on, and punches Byron hard in the arm for thanks. Then, after a few more congratulations, as everyone moves towards the showers, Cid breaks free of the crowd and finds the energy to pelt all the way up to Vincent, ignore the stairs to jump over the railing instead and climbing the first few rows until he can swallow Vincent in a mad, sweaty, dirty, grinning hug.
“Did ye see? Did ye see me?! Look, look!” Cid pulls back and holds up the 13 on his top, panting and laughing breathlessly. “It's your birthday! I'll never lose now!”
Vincent pulls Cid back in, hugging him hard, uncharacteristically. His hood drops back from the force of it. “You were the best out there! The best! You were so... just... wow! I'm so proud, you did so well...! The best, the best...!”
Vincent can't seem to find the words, overflowing with pride and happiness and excitement.
Cid cries out in joy. He lifts Vincent up, buffeting the boy over his shoulder, and jumps about on the spot, pumping his other fist in the air. “I'm the man, yeah!! Ye all better look out! Cid's gonna be in yer field, floopin' yer shit up! I'm in, I'm in, I'm in!!!!”
Vincent laughs, startled, and clings to Cid's new jersey.
From down the field, Byron calls after Cid.
“Hey, number 13! Get your floopin' ass into the showers! We want to assault you!”
“Only if ye promise not te be gentle!” Cid calls back, then lets Vincent off his shoulder.
“'Kay, I'll be right back!” Cid starts to run off, then skids to a stop, and runs back to Vincent. He grabs his bag, then on an impulse, grabs Vincent's face and kisses him sloppily on the mouth. Cid grins evilly, then runs back after Byron and the other boys to shower and change.
Vincent startles, eyes going wide, and watches Cid race to the showers.
Byron watches with an eyebrow raised, amused. He can't really see what Cid's parting gesture was, but he can guess. He envies the closeness that would make that acceptable. He wonders if he can ever be that close to Cid - not to kiss, of course, but just so that the gesture would casual, like that, that's comfortable with on another.
Cid races back to Byron and slogs him again in the arm, grinning.
“Hey what number are you?”
Byron punches Cid in the arm to retaliate, grinning, and slings his arm around Cid's shoulder. “Numbah one!”
“Tch!” Cid says, showing what he thinks of that. “I got a number one, plus three others. Loser!” He teases, shoving Byron and running in front of him towards the showers and change room.
Byron jogs after him, grinning. “HEY GUYS, CID'S GONNA DROP THE SOAP!”
There's a chorus of hollers and hoots as they stamped into the locker rooms.
“YE ALL WISH!” Cid strips unashamedly in the shower and starts washing the sweat and dirt and grass from his body. He runs a hand over his face and feels the stubble on his chin and smiles to himself. As he's washing, he accidentally drops the soap and stares at it.
“... I so aint picking that up.” He announces flatly.
Byron leans over and stage-whispers. “The trick is to keep your back to the wall.” He then holds up his wrist, smirking devilishly. “Or soap-on-a-rope.”
Cid looks at the soap miserably. “Fuck it. It can stay there. I'm mostly clean and I'll wash properly at home.”
Cid stands under the shower and lets the water run over his head and face, scrubbing briefly at both and rinses the little soap lather he had worked up off his body. Then he turns off the faucet and pads wetly into the change rooms to dry and change. Cid doesn't feel the least embarrassed when he pulls his number 13 jersey over the top of his shirt, and then puts on his jacket. He's earned the right to wear it and show it off for the afternoon.
Byron hollers a goodbye at him, in no hurry to get home, and enjoying his shower besides.
“’Lates, 13! See you tonight?”
There's a slew of catcalls at the suggestion.
Cid grins as he slings his bag over his shoulder.
“Yeah, we'll have a threesome at mine. Come over whenever ye like.”
Cid leaves Byron to face the music of his suggestion, then jogs out to meet Vincent, his hair still damp but his grin never wavering.
The sounds of his team-mates ribbing Byron enthusiastically fade as he leaves the building. Vincent's standing some distance away, hood back up, and looking about him uncertainly.
“Hey, I want Chinese!” Cid announces, flopping himself half over Vincent. “Let's get some on the way home to celebrate! No way I'm forcing down dumplings tonight.”
Vincent puts an arm about Cid's back, his fingers curling in the jersey. “My treat.”
Cid's grin grows broader, if that's possible. “You're the best friend ever, Freak! And this time, you have to teach me how to use chopsticks properly, okay? Today, I can do anything!”
Vincent grins. “You know what this means, right?”
Cid gives Vincent a puzzled look. “What?”
The grin widens, Vincent’s eyes glinting maliciously. “You'll have to cut back on your smoking to stay in top shape.”
Cid pulls a face, looking aghast at the notion. Then quickly tries to cover his reaction. “Hey, I don't smoke -that- much. Did ye see me coughin' at all tonight?”
Vincent's smile softens. “No. You did really, really great. You were the best one out there. Your mom's going to be real proud of you. Dad too.”
Cid smiles a pleased, almost bashful smile. He tugs the hood off Vincent's head and ruffles his hair. “Yeah well, yer dad's cool. And I'm not giving it up.” He says stubbornly, but for once, Cid doesn't light up a cigarette on their way to the take-out or back to his house.
~*~*~*~
Warnings for this chapter: smooching, football talk, some swearing (as always), and there’s no soap-on-a-rope for Cid
Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Cid and Vincent, the rest is sadly our own mad-cap invention XD
Previous chapters: "part1(illustrated)", "part2(illustrated)",
Art by: ani_mama
The next day, Cid arrives as usual at the broken fountain at lunch time. Unsurprisingly, he's the first one there. He's got a new container of dumplings. Cid waits and hopes that Vincent's reason for being late today isn't anything to worry about.
Byron comes up the slight incline, grinning, his hands in his pockets. He removes one to cup it around his mouth so his voice carries.
“Ahoy there, Narcissus! Admiring your reflection again?”
Cid looks up and grins, getting up. “Wouldn't you if ye were as good lookin' as me?”
Byrons face creases in a look of comical concern, and he puts his hand on Cid's shoulder.” “Oh, honey. Not everything mama tells you is true.” He looks down at the dumplings. “I usually go for chocolates, but to each his own.”
“Please, please, take 'em,” Cid says, thrusting the box at Byron. “I made the mistake o' tellin' my ma I liked 'em the first time she made 'em. She hasn't made anything else since. I'm gonna DIE of malnutrition. I have NIGHTMARES about dumplings now. Please. Ugh.”
Byron throws back his head and laughs hard. He takes the little container, still chuckling, and kneels to root around through his bag. He comes up with a container of his own and rises, offering it to Cid. “I suppose some exchange is in order.”
“As long as it aint dumplings,” Cid says, ripping open the lid to peer curiously inside.
Inside is a bed of richly fragrant meaty stew in a thick sauce, over jasmine rice. Byron rubs his head, almost in embarrassment.
“Curry. You're lucky it's not steamed cabbage.” He wrinkles his nose.
Cid eyes the food with ravenous school-boy enthusiasm. “I'd kiss you if my mouth weren't about te be occupied with eating all this is 4 seconds flat.” Cid grins and sits down. “Got a fork or something?”
Byron grins. “Yep.” He hands it over. Of a sudden, he seems sheepishly enthusiastic. “Hey, uh... tell me if it's any good, all right?”
Cid raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything, already shovelling a forkful of the food from the container into his mouth. He makes a pleased, enthusiastic sound, and shovels in a few more mouthfuls before saying, “What is this, take-away? It's fuckin' awesome!” He doesn't wait for an answer, and keeps eating.
Byron beams at him, taking a seat beside him and opening up the dumplings. “Naw. Homemade. Glad you like it.” He starts in on the dumplings with quiet satisfaction, grinning to himself.
Cid looks at Byron suspiciously, a slow, half smile forming on his face. He slows his eating, and nudges Byron with his boot. “Hey. I were thinkin' 'bout what ye said. Reckon Coach would still be interested in a new footballer?”
Byron turns his smile on Cid, working on a dumpling, eyes keen. “I suppose I could use a few more underlings. You thinking about it seriously? What about all those obligations you were going on about?”
Cid shrugs a shoulder. “Well, like you said, it's not your life, right? I'll still have time for other stuff. And Vince said he'll come to training and games, so it wont be like I'm abandonin' him or nothin.”
The smile slips from Byron's face and he turns back to his dumplings, forking them anxiously. “Yeah. That'll be good. Real good. Glad you decided to try-out again. Bet you coach will just take you on anyways, without a try-out.”
“Mmm,” Cid says, looking over his shoulder for Vincent, getting anxious. “So uh, what do ye like doin? When yer not playing ball or cooking awesome curry?”
Byron's head snaps up, on the defensive. “I don't cook! I-” He's interrupted as his eye catches sight of Vincent's dark head, hanging wearily, his hands on the strap of his bookbag, wearing the ever-present red hooded jumper. All of a sudden, Byron’s throat is thick and dry. He swallows.
Cid puts his food down and hastily jumps up, running over to Vincent. “Hey, you okay?” he asks, relieved and anxious at the same time.
Vincent looks up, his expression instantly brightening - and then wilting as his eyes meet Byron's, reluctance, fear, guilt and uncertainty commingling. Vincent slowly draws his gaze away, dropping it somewhere near Cid, letting his hair drop into his face. His hands work the strap of his bookbag. “Yeah... got caught up with Mrs. Maio in Maths. Um, I'll see you after class.”
Vincent unconsciously darts a glance at Byron, swallowing. He presses the heel of his bad hand into his chest, still wrapped around the strap and starts dragging it back to drag the sleeve over it.
“What? Why aren't ye staying? C'mon, Byron's got this awesome curry and I saved some of it for you.” Cid smiles worriedly and puts a hand on Vincent's good arm, tugging him in an almost child-like gesture, pleading.
At that look, at the childish gesture, Vincent can't help but acquiesce. No matter what the question, Cid had but to ask him with such care, concern, and enthusiasm, to touch him companionably, and he came undone.
Vincent smiles weakly, and nods.
Byron looks away, eyes searching the ground, hands tight on the bowl in his lap.
“Great!” Cid ushers Vincent back to their little picnic area. He pushes the last of the curry into Vincent's hands, then grabs his friend's bag, digging about unashamedly for Vincent's lunch.
“Byron was just gonna tell me a bit about 'imself, weren't you?” Cid grins at Byron and soon finds the sandwich. He puts one half in the curry container for Vincent to eat, then breaks the other half in half again. He starts eating his quarter while he swaps Byron the other quarter for a dumpling, and gives that to Vincent too. With all the food divided as equally at Cid deems appropriate, he looks at Byron expectantly, waiting to learn more about his new friend.
Vincent stands, frozen with uncertainty, while Cid apportions the food. After, he seems to melt at Cid's feet, sitting almost daintily, with his legs folded to one side. He looks nowhere but down at his meal, prodding everything with the fork.
Byron's smile slowly returns - though watered down, and he starts eating the dumplings again. He forcibly injects enthusiasm into his voice.
“Well, I like pina coladas, going dancing in the rain, and long walks on the beach, hand in hand.”
Cid grins ruefully. “Yeah right. Ye got any brothers or sisters?”
Byron wrinkles his nose, growing into the charade. If he didn't look at Vincent, pretend he wasn't there... “After a fashion. We have a strange female beast in our house. We call her Delphine. We usually have to call her Princess in order to get her to do any tricks, though.”
Cid finishes his bit of sandwich around a smile. “Yeah, i bet ye do. Ye live with yer folks, or....?” He asks carefully. Without a dad, and with Vincent without a mum, Cid's aware that not every household is made up of a mum and dad, two point five kids, and a dog and a cat.
“Yep,” Byron answers without hesitation. “It's just me, my parents, and Princess. What about you?”
He flicks an almost-inclusive glance at Vincent.
“My dad left when I was younger,” Cid says. His voice sounds neutral, but there's an obvious expression of distaste on his face. “Just my mum an' me now.”
Cid looks to Vincent, his expression softening, and he slings an arm over the boy's shoulders. “Vincent lives with his dad... His mom died in an accident. It's what done 'is arm in too.”
Vincent carefully doesn't look up, but also doesn't hesitate to lean into the contact with Cid.
Byron stares at them both, and smiles slowly. “I guess together, you two make a whole family.”
Cid gives Byron a great big grin. “Yeah! But I aint adverse te havin' another brother. Hey, you wanna come over to my house after football tonight? Whether Coach takes me in or not, doesn't matter. Vince, yer coming over, right?”
Vincent looks up at Cid from beneath the curtain of dark hair, eyes expressive but unreadable, and drops his head in a nod.
Byron objects, weakly. “Hey, I wouldn't want to cut in your "you" time...”
Cid shrugs a carefree shoulder. “Yeah well, see how ye feel after practice. We don't mind, do we Vince?” He grabs Vincent's bag and finds some spare paper and a pen, and writes down his address and phone number, then hands the paper over to Byron.
Vincent says nothing, silently agreeing with Cid, however reluctantly.
Byron takes the paper with some hesitation. “If you're sure...”
Cid grins, which is answer enough. The rest of the lunch break is mostly spent with Cid and Byron talking football. Cid picks Byron's brains over the current team, and some of the more complicated tactics he's half-forgotten. Cid doesn’t forget Vincent, explaining some of the more difficult things to him so the boy doesn't feel left out. Even when engrossed in what Byron's saying, or what he's asking, Cid flashes Vincent a look, or touches him in a casual way, to reinstall that Vincent is a part of the group, that he's not been forgotten.
Vincent and Cid's last class of the day is one of the few they share. Cid likes these classes. He likes watching Vincent when Vincent's being studious. He likes it when Vincent asks really smart questions that makes Cid swell with pride for his friend, and even better, when -he's- able to answer the questions, and Vincent looks at him with what Cid likes to believe is also part pride, part amusement. Conspiracy between friends. Cid likes kicking Vincent's feet under the desk, or passing him notes, wondering if today Vincent will ignore him, or give him an annoyed look, or an amused one, or even reciprocate the notes if feeling particularly playful.
By the time Cid's running towards the football field, he's in great spirits. He feels energetic and excited and ready to do his best.
Vincent follows after Cid's more energetic form, smiling shyly to himself and taking his time. He's overjoyed to see Cid so enthusiastic about something, something he's wanted for a long time. In Vincent's mind, there is no doubt that Cid will make the team. Cid’s body is broad and well-muscled, and the blonde is never lacking in energy; the same mind Cid so studiously applies to mechanics and aviation he could quite easily put to strategising and memorising plays. Vincent wonders what number Cid will get, and what position he'll be put in - he tentatively guesses quarterback, because Byron's a quarterback also, and their build and analytical minds are similar.
Vincent's disquieted by thoughts of Byron, and his relationship with Cid. He doesn't worry for Cid. Cid never gets bullied anymore; Byron wouldn't dare, and Cid wouldn't put up with it. Cid was strong and likeable - not much like Vincent at all, who tended to be meek, and shy, except around his best friend. Vincent didn't think Byron would risk teasing him or confronting Cid, or even so much as speaking ill of him in front of Cid, but when Cid wasn't around, Vincent knew it would be back to basics. But for the moment, nothing could dampen his swelling heart, so full of pride and satisfaction, as he watched Cid gallop ahead to the football fields.
The dark-haired boy took a seat in the bleachers towards the bottom to watch, and took Cid's things when the blonde raced up to him, grinning, and thrust them at him with a plea to watch them. Vincent nodded, still grinning, and quietly wished Cid luck. He tied back his hair in a loose tail and pulled his hood up - his fair skin was subject to easy sunburn, and he wasn't going to chance it. He settled in to watch Cid's try-out with the chin-raised attentiveness of a meerkat.
Byron stood casually out on the field, the ball tucked under one arm against his hip, and wore no helmet, but the typical football practice attire of a short shirt and tight football trousers.
“Hurry it up, Twinkle-toes, I only have so much time to own your ass!”
“We'll see who owns whose ass!” Cid calls back, and playfully raises his arm and slaps his bicep in a rude gesture at Byron. “Don't hold back, Ballerina-Byron!”
Byron blows him a kiss. “Anything you say, baby.” And he sashays away down the field.
The coach calls them into order, and they all jog into their positions.
The next two hours sees Cid in every field position, in plays simple in execution to elaborately staged strategies. He almost never falters, understanding the rudiments of his instructions from the get-go. It's obvious the coach is taking to him, fast. When he calls Cid over at one point, he puts an arm around his shoulders, and speaks to him seriously, like he's already a part of the team - the smile lurking around the thin lips betraying the coach’s pleasure at Cid's performance, as does the pat on the back as he sends him in for more. Quite frequently, Cid’s put into partner-plays with Byron, the coach perhaps already sensing their good chemistry. They synch well, with Cid being the more serious no-nonsense player, charging hard and running long, and Byron being the more playful and agile, dancing around the field like a colt, laughing nearly constantly, making his work look ridiculously easy.
Vincent's on tenterhooks, watching, tensed, as Cid gets tackled, wrestled, charged, or dog-piled. He knows that Cid is fine, he can hear the blonde laughing, smiling as he gets up and dusts himself off, but that's Vincent’s best friend out there. Vincent is relieved when the last game is called, everyone slowing into a jog, then a leisurely walk towards the coach. He's seated just near enough that he can hear everything.
“Well, good thing I got this out of the office before I locked up. Had a feeling you'd be getting this today, anyhow.” The coach unfolds a training jersey with the number 13 on it, holding it up by the shoulders.
The players surrounding Cid get their hands on him, tousling his hair and slinging arms around his shoulders, Byron foremost, having come up at his side. He musses Cid's hair and pinches his cheek obnoxiously.
“What did I tell you, Sunshine! Congratulations, you little fucker!”
The coach gives him a stern look. “Byron-”
Byron doesn't miss a beat. “Flooper.”
Vincent is trying very, very, very hard not to scream, run over, or in anyway make a fool of himself over how happy he is.
Cid's grinning so wide it's amazing he doesn't split in two. When he can lift his head up enough from all the congratulatory hair ruffling, he thanks the coach enthusiastically and honestly. He pulls the jersey on, and punches Byron hard in the arm for thanks. Then, after a few more congratulations, as everyone moves towards the showers, Cid breaks free of the crowd and finds the energy to pelt all the way up to Vincent, ignore the stairs to jump over the railing instead and climbing the first few rows until he can swallow Vincent in a mad, sweaty, dirty, grinning hug.
“Did ye see? Did ye see me?! Look, look!” Cid pulls back and holds up the 13 on his top, panting and laughing breathlessly. “It's your birthday! I'll never lose now!”
Vincent pulls Cid back in, hugging him hard, uncharacteristically. His hood drops back from the force of it. “You were the best out there! The best! You were so... just... wow! I'm so proud, you did so well...! The best, the best...!”
Vincent can't seem to find the words, overflowing with pride and happiness and excitement.
Cid cries out in joy. He lifts Vincent up, buffeting the boy over his shoulder, and jumps about on the spot, pumping his other fist in the air. “I'm the man, yeah!! Ye all better look out! Cid's gonna be in yer field, floopin' yer shit up! I'm in, I'm in, I'm in!!!!”
Vincent laughs, startled, and clings to Cid's new jersey.
From down the field, Byron calls after Cid.
“Hey, number 13! Get your floopin' ass into the showers! We want to assault you!”
“Only if ye promise not te be gentle!” Cid calls back, then lets Vincent off his shoulder.
“'Kay, I'll be right back!” Cid starts to run off, then skids to a stop, and runs back to Vincent. He grabs his bag, then on an impulse, grabs Vincent's face and kisses him sloppily on the mouth. Cid grins evilly, then runs back after Byron and the other boys to shower and change.
Vincent startles, eyes going wide, and watches Cid race to the showers.
Byron watches with an eyebrow raised, amused. He can't really see what Cid's parting gesture was, but he can guess. He envies the closeness that would make that acceptable. He wonders if he can ever be that close to Cid - not to kiss, of course, but just so that the gesture would casual, like that, that's comfortable with on another.
Cid races back to Byron and slogs him again in the arm, grinning.
“Hey what number are you?”
Byron punches Cid in the arm to retaliate, grinning, and slings his arm around Cid's shoulder. “Numbah one!”
“Tch!” Cid says, showing what he thinks of that. “I got a number one, plus three others. Loser!” He teases, shoving Byron and running in front of him towards the showers and change room.
Byron jogs after him, grinning. “HEY GUYS, CID'S GONNA DROP THE SOAP!”
There's a chorus of hollers and hoots as they stamped into the locker rooms.
“YE ALL WISH!” Cid strips unashamedly in the shower and starts washing the sweat and dirt and grass from his body. He runs a hand over his face and feels the stubble on his chin and smiles to himself. As he's washing, he accidentally drops the soap and stares at it.
“... I so aint picking that up.” He announces flatly.
Byron leans over and stage-whispers. “The trick is to keep your back to the wall.” He then holds up his wrist, smirking devilishly. “Or soap-on-a-rope.”
Cid looks at the soap miserably. “Fuck it. It can stay there. I'm mostly clean and I'll wash properly at home.”
Cid stands under the shower and lets the water run over his head and face, scrubbing briefly at both and rinses the little soap lather he had worked up off his body. Then he turns off the faucet and pads wetly into the change rooms to dry and change. Cid doesn't feel the least embarrassed when he pulls his number 13 jersey over the top of his shirt, and then puts on his jacket. He's earned the right to wear it and show it off for the afternoon.
Byron hollers a goodbye at him, in no hurry to get home, and enjoying his shower besides.
“’Lates, 13! See you tonight?”
There's a slew of catcalls at the suggestion.
Cid grins as he slings his bag over his shoulder.
“Yeah, we'll have a threesome at mine. Come over whenever ye like.”
Cid leaves Byron to face the music of his suggestion, then jogs out to meet Vincent, his hair still damp but his grin never wavering.
The sounds of his team-mates ribbing Byron enthusiastically fade as he leaves the building. Vincent's standing some distance away, hood back up, and looking about him uncertainly.
“Hey, I want Chinese!” Cid announces, flopping himself half over Vincent. “Let's get some on the way home to celebrate! No way I'm forcing down dumplings tonight.”
Vincent puts an arm about Cid's back, his fingers curling in the jersey. “My treat.”
Cid's grin grows broader, if that's possible. “You're the best friend ever, Freak! And this time, you have to teach me how to use chopsticks properly, okay? Today, I can do anything!”
Vincent grins. “You know what this means, right?”
Cid gives Vincent a puzzled look. “What?”
The grin widens, Vincent’s eyes glinting maliciously. “You'll have to cut back on your smoking to stay in top shape.”
Cid pulls a face, looking aghast at the notion. Then quickly tries to cover his reaction. “Hey, I don't smoke -that- much. Did ye see me coughin' at all tonight?”
Vincent's smile softens. “No. You did really, really great. You were the best one out there. Your mom's going to be real proud of you. Dad too.”
Cid smiles a pleased, almost bashful smile. He tugs the hood off Vincent's head and ruffles his hair. “Yeah well, yer dad's cool. And I'm not giving it up.” He says stubbornly, but for once, Cid doesn't light up a cigarette on their way to the take-out or back to his house.
~*~*~*~