Born of Cold and Winter Air

[From what he could gauge this was the Victorian Era and the town was named Nuevo Jórvik. The name didn’t ring a bell but he was to continue his research anyways until he spotted a familiar face…]

“Nick!!”

— ⤷ @winterwhxspers ⋮ as is crafted by Locket ‘Kit’ Maestri ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

“Kit!” Nicholas is hugging him in merely moments, then dropping to one knee in front of his dear friend and pressing his forehead to the back of Kit's hand.

Greyson massaged the bridge of his nose as he slipped out of history class as soon as Professor Trein turned his back, footsteps light and quick as he retreated to his favorite spot in the courtyard. He sat down on a bench and pulled out his box of cigarettes, lighting one with a bit of magic and taking a long drag from it.

“Fucking finally.. I've been craving a smoke all day.” He mutters to himself, smoke drifting past his lips and curling into the air.

He thinks he's alone. But is he truly?

Vicente Cabro isn't well-known, but he isn't unknown, either. He's somewhere in the middle, and while he knows many people, he doesn't have a lot of them that he can call friends. Who knows— maybe Greyson Jude will be the one to become one of the rare people Vince calls a true friend. Maybe someone who isn't afraid to defy the rules is just what he needs.

Vince needs a break. He's only been in Night Raven College for a few months, and already he's getting overstimulated. He's never been away from his siblings for so long, the most being a day or two when he's out doing things. The absence of their chattering voices is jarring for him, and history class isn't really doing it for him when it comes to listening the growing ache in his heart. Stepping out of that stuffy classroom buzzing with energy and getting some fresh air for a few minutes is exactly what he needs right now.

Except the air isn't all that fresh. It's laced with smoke, something Vince can sense from a mile away. He's not unfamiliar with the smell—in fact, he even brought outside a pack of his own cigarettes, ready to use them to blow off some steam. Is there already someone smoking out here?

He steps forward, the grass beneath him shifting to hold his weight. When he gets closer, he tilts his head, recognizing their uniform. A Pomefiore student. And a young one, at that—a first year like him, maybe? Vince doesn't see many first years smoking like he does. This is new. And very welcome.

Vince comes closer, ready to join the other boy on the bench if he'd allow it, but he freezes when he whips his head around. He hadn't thought that he would scare the poor Pomefiore so badly.

"Ah... didn' mean t' startle ya', man. M' here for the same reason you are, if 'm bein' frank."

He takes out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, jostling them while his other hand moves to rub the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture.

"Do ya' mind if I sit next t' ya'? M' not a tattletale or anythin', I swear."

“You're in my class, aren't you? T'be honest, I didn't think anyone else would come out to escape from Trein's bullshit.” Grey mumbles around his cigarette, digging in his pockets for a moment and pulling out a lighter that he offers to Vince. They can just use magic, sure, but there was something nostalgic about using an ordinary lighter.

Well, as ordinary as a custom-made lighter could get. The mirror and forest motifs, alongside Greyson's name scrawled in cursive, is a dead giveaway that he has money or at least comes from it.

Vince takes his seat a comfortable distance away from Greyson, leaning his arm against the side of the bench. He takes one of his cigarettes out, murmuring a small "thank you" when the other boy hands him the lighter.

"Unless ya' ain't willin', which in that case, I'd be makin' a fool outta myself right now. M' pretty experienced in that... locale."

Vince turns the lighter over in his hands, reading the word engraved off to the side.

"Doesn't look like any regular lighter I've seen. N' those cigarettes, too—look like they come from 'n expensive brand, why don't they. D' ya' think they feel any different to smoke, at the end?"

He chuckles, lighting up his cigarette and handing the lighter back. He takes a puff, giving the smoke a minute to properly mix with he air before he asks another question.

“There's probably not much of a difference, but you can try one of mine if you'd like.” He offers, taking the lighter back and pocketing it before blowing smoke out into the air.

Vince takes the offered cigarette gingerly, lighting it with the other cigarette he has on hand.

"Feel like 'm in the presence 'f riches, I do. Like 'm some poor weasel on the side 'f the road that's gettin' a whiff of the way the wealthy do it. Reckon 'm feelin' right?"

He smiles at his analogy, taking a whiff from this cigarette.

"Flows a little better, that's for sure. But at the end 'f the day, the relief is all the same. Thanks for letting' me try em' out, though."

Vince tilts his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles wistfully. It's not a surprise to him that this Greyson stranger didn't catch his name right off the bat—it's near-missable, unless you're actually looking out for it. Vince won't admit it out loud, but the other boy does look like the type to fully disregard anyone who won't give him something.

Maybe this exchange is different. Or maybe he's the victim.

"Name's Vicente Cabro, but everyone calls me Vince. Don't blame ya' for not recognizing it right off the bat. A pretty ordinary name, that one."

Vince offers his own cigarette box to him, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Vince, hm? I wouldn't call it ordinary, if anything I think Greyson is more common, but it's a pleasure to meet you as well.” He hums with consideration after getting a whiff of the other's cig.

"Right they do," he says simply, nodding as he brings the fancy cigarette up to his lips again. He looks back at the other boy, noticing the details in his uniform: the beret-like hat on his head, the accent necklaces, the earrings that are something new compared to what students at Night Raven College usually wear. It's cute, he thinks.

"I like what y' did with the outfit, by the way. Added 'ur own personal touch. That's nice."

He tips his cigarette over the bench, dusting some of the charcoal-dark particles off with his finger.

Vince smiles faintly, but his eyes don't look like they're present in the conversation.

"'S hard for me to stay away from m' family for so long. I've been w' them for ages. I jus' got particularly overwhelmed today."

He watches Grey fidget with the earring, noticing that he might be uncomfortable. He hesitates before speaking his next words, voice careful.

"You wanna tell me how you got to this school? This college? Only if you wanna, of course."

Vince is a touchy person, and not having affection for months on end can make a touchy person go crazy. He used to get satiated easily, getting in a cuddle pile with his parents and siblings and watching a movie and play-fighting with them and sticking by their side. But now, this—barely a graze, an unconscious movement—is all the touch he can get anymore. It drives Vince mad, but he doesn't want to make a move and scare the poor boy. He... looses track of his limits sometimes, especially with unfamiliar things (or people).

"I understan' the feeling," Vince nods. "My parents used t' do the same thing, but t' a... more brash extent. But now I got brought into a lovin' family, n' I would never change 'em for anythin' else. Thing's get better, Grey. You can hold me t' it."

Vince looks down at his free palm, opening and closing it a few times. He pretends to do a cool magic spell, whacking it round and round as if he's doing something really powerful.

"Don' even have my UM yet. I wish, though."

His palm drops back to his lap.

“I'm glad you have a better family, at the very least. It must be nice, having siblings. As far as I know, my closest relative is my grandmother, and I'm quite sick of hearing her preach about gender comformity.”

He laughs, but it's a little bitter. The Pomefiore student hides his wistful look behind another drag of his cigarette, which was already becoming a stub from use over time.

Vince takes a drag with him, the smoke from the two cigarettes hesitating before twisting and blending into each other. It's almost poetic.

"I don' care 'bout gender nonsense, don' get me wrong. I jus' wanna know what t' refer t' you by. Better t' tell me sooner than later, 'cause then I keep slippin' up."

Vince decides to be a little daring and press against Greyson's shoulder. Now, instead of a light graze, they're pressing into each other, however softly.

Vince chuckles, letting Grey rest on his shoulder all he wants. He's itching to get closer, longing to get the affection he heeds. But he's able to controls himself and take another puff instead.

"How 'bout I use they/them on you from now on? So y' can see when one y' like better?"

Don't get ahead of 'urself, Vince. He don't mean anythin' by this. Stay calm.

"N' for me, you can use sum' usual he/him, by the way. To let 'ya know."

A comfortable silence wraps around the two boys. Or, comfortable for Greyson, at least—Vince is internally panicking, scrambling to find something else to talk about. He's usually good at this. Why can't he be good at this right now?

"Ya' told me a bit 'bout your home life, so 'll tell you 'bout mine 'n return," he blurts a little faster than usual. A weak conversation starter in the sense that it's obvious, but a conversation starter nonetheless.

"'M adopted. Grew up young n' a shit family, not very important. Got adopted by m' momma n' my mom n' my papa n' my dad when I was twelve. Ya' heard right: four. 'S a polycule, n' they adopted four children n' had five t' go with 'em. M' the seventh r' eighth, pretty sure."

Vince chuckles, ruffling Greyson's hair lightly as a thought occurs to him.

“I'm not one to shy away from dirty work, but I'll warn you now that I burn like dry grass in a heatwave.” It's a kind offer, one that he's never been given before. Usually people were too wary of him to get close.

Vince laughs out loud, the worry from being away from his siblings for long slowly fading away. This boy—this sweet, quiet boy, really had an effect on Vince. Greyson was able to bring Vince back to normal even while they're talking about family.

A kind person, indeed. Vince would have to try his hardest to befriend Greyson.

"Reckon you'll have fun, though. 'll put you with sum' easier jobs, n' at the end, we could go do something' fun. Moms n' dads won't let you r' me leave without a fight."

A blush creeps up Vince's cheeks. There it is. He's lost his limits, and is inviting practically a stranger over to his house. What's up with me?! I can't be so bold alluva sudden!

Easy to fluster under all the so-called aloofness. No one ever tries to approach them, and Vince might just be the first.

"N' why would that be? You're adorable! Nevr' get people, really. Always judgin' for no reason."

Vince slaps Greyson's shoulder a few times, in a teasing, playful manner. He's grinning from ear to ear, happy that Greyson is happy and also so close to him.

“I'm adorable, huh? I think that might be a new word used to describe me. You're easy on the eyes too, Vince.”

Obvious? Yes. But Mother always said to go after the things he wants before they escape him.

"'Easy n' the eyes?' I've been called more uva hunk in my lifetime. But thank 'ya, Grey."

He looks down, watching Greyson's finger as it trails up his metal arm. He extends his fingers, showing the arm off a little bit.

"Does it look odd to 'ya, Grey? 'S a prosthetic arm, if 'ya couldn't tell. Got this while I was fulla bullshit. Still full bullshit now, but I can control myself. 'Nough."

Vince grabs one of his poor cigarettes, the newer one that Greyson gave him kicked to the curb long ago. He twists his finger, and a soft flame bursts from the tip of it, which he uses to heat up the front of the cigarette.

“...Yourself, huh? It suits you, makes you all the more charming, non?” He doesn't know why he slips into a different language, maybe it's from being in such proximity to Rook, or maybe his childhood lessons finally have reason to be used, but there are just some words that English doesn't contain to describe this.

“Une œuvre d'art. A work of art. Your arm, that is. Though that's not to say that you aren't also a work of art- Aïe, je suis en train de me creuser ma propre tombe.”

Grey goes silent, praying to the Seven to give him strength, and wills the warmth on his cheeks to retreat.

“What I mean to say is, your talent, precision, and dedication are works of art.”

Vince waves his hands around, being all showy in an exaggerated way to try and get this guy to laugh. He's not all that egoistical, so it's obvious that what he's saying is all just a joke. When Grey gives him a funny look, Vince can't help but burst into laughter all over again, slapping Grey on the back hard. Not enough to make a dent, but enough to make that cute pouting face again.

When Grey starts speaking French, though, Vince blanks, freezing in place.

"...Ah? What's up with the French? I don' speak a lick 'f French, 'll have 'ya know. Coulda' call'd me a slur, 'nd I'd have no clue!"

Vince snorts, grinning from ear to ear. It's true—he doesn't know not one bit of any other language besides the one he was born saying. The only French words he does know would be stuff like "oui oui" and "bonjour," and even then he would butcher them horribly (wei wei and bonejauhr).

Vince noticed Grey almost going to fiddle with his earring again, and decides to take a bold move and place his mechanical hand gently on top of Grey’s. He chuckles at the other boy’s sheepishness, winking at him as he speaks.

“Think ‘ur good with words, tho’. Ain’t have nobody call me a work ‘f art in this lifetime. N’ I don’t think nobody’ll ever tell me it like you did.”

So much care around the words. So much tenderness, even though they’re technically not even friends yet. Vince wonders why that is, but drops it after a few seconds of pondering. It’s probably just out of formality.

“Mmm… We’ll, if ‘ya think that way, then how ‘bout ya’ give me a real authentic French insult? One that’ll get someone’s boots shakin’, so I can tell it to ‘ur haters n’ have ‘em runnin’ for their lives?”

“Avoir le QI d’une huître. It means that to have the IQ of an oyster. One of my favorites, personally.” Grey smiles, a bright little thing that makes the world feel just a little bit brighter.

Vince laughs, patting Grey on the back for the good insults. He tries to say the insult in French—"cone conmeh uhn valaisw sans po-ih-knee?"—but butchers it terribly and has to watch as Grey laughs in his face.

"Wha—hey! M' pronunciation ain't tha' bad! V' never dun this befor'!"

He's not offended by it, though. Vince laughs along with Grey, but pauses when he catches sight of that pretty smile. My, Sevens...

"Ya'know, after seein' it n' person, m' thinkin' you should smile a little more. Suits 'ya. Brings out yer eyes."

He takes out his phone, opening the camera app.

"Cm'ere. Lemme show ya'."

He flushes at the compliment to his smile, but sheepishly looks towards the camera while placing a hand on Vince's shoulder.

Vince shows Greyson the photo, zooming into his face. Whether or not Greyson sees anything different in himself, it's clear that Vince sees a lot in him.

"'Dorable! Ya'd really be a hot shot, if ya did tha' 'round more people. Good thin' that ya' ain't, 'cause I kinda wanna keep tha' perfect smile all to m'self."

Vince sends the photo to his family group chat before putting the phone into his pocket. The action rides his pants down just a tad, but what's really curious is the white fur peeking underneath. He doesn't seem to realize this, nor the implications of what he just said.

“I-” His throat feels dry. Why does it feel dry?

“You wouldn't have to pose, you're pretty as is.” He mutters, too flustered to notice the fur as he takes out his own phone cups Vince's face with his free hand.

It seems like he's perfectly fine with taking pictures with other people as long as he's not the main subject of it. He stares at the photo for a very long time, then pockets his phone after sending it to someone.

Who?

Who knows. There wasn't a contact name.

"Wha—hey! Whos' that, eh? Ya' beter not be sendin' stuf t' sum rando who'll mock me fo' tha' arm o' mine!"

Vince pouts after realizing that he's really not going to be allowed to see who he's texting, but then his eyes light up when an idea crosses his mind.

"Ah! Didya want my magicam n' that number o' mine, Grey? M' happy t' give it t'ya! I post sum stuff n' there, f' ya'd like t' take a look!"

That's what Greyson starts with, typing the handle into magicam to find the account. When he clicks on the profile picture of a cat hiding in the bushes of a forest, he can already spot a picture from Vince at the gym peeking out from under his bio.

"I could type ma numba for ya, if ya'd like! Y' could put whateva profile picture ya' wanna on there! N' y' don' mind me taggin 'ya n' stuff, d'ya?"

Vince takes Greyson's phone, inputting the number and putting his name as "VINCE!!". He then sends a test text to himself (labeled as Testing!! Testing!! 123!) and then checks his own phone (responding with It worked!!)

"It worked!" Vince exclaims out loud, looking up from his phone.

"'ll be textin' ya 24/7, too. Any sorta pref as ta' what ya' want ur profile pic n' ur name ta' be?"

All he sent?

He check his prone for the test text message, lighting up when he sees the heart.

"Tha's such a cute heart! 'Ur softer than I thought! D'ya text everyon' a heart, r' am I a special lil' fella?"

He replies to the emoticon with one of his one: (*´ω｀*)

Greyson fiddles with the keyboard, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tries to make one by himself. Greyson tries to speak, but Vince won't let him until he's conjured up the perfect kaomoji to use.

"Eh... ahah! 'Think I got it!"

He sends the one he made along with a few variations, grinning like a proud father when he finishes and sits back.

\ (// `u` //) /

\ (// `_` //) /

\ (// `0` //) /

"Thank 'ya! Ya can use 'em if ya... huh?"

Vince looks down at his phone, noticing that Greyson hearted all of the kaomojis with spiderwebs. He tilts his head, squinting to make sure that he was seeing right.

"'S thatta spiderweb?"

Vince looks back up, eyes filled with wonder.

Vince laughs, abandoning his phone to reach out and pinch Greyson's cheeks. His touch is soft, but his hands are rough. Probably from days of working at the farm.

"What a cutie! Wouldda never thoughtta doin' somethin' so creative! How cute!"

Vince moves back, picking up his phone again. He taps his chin, scrolling through emojis until his eyes light up. He then proceeds to like all of Greyson's texts, but instead of a heart, it's a leaf.

“Awh that's cute. A leaf suits you.”

Vince chuckles, now pressing into Greyson fully. He's open for a hug, he very much wants a hug, but he also doesn't want to push Greyson.

"Did'ja really wanna come ofer ta' ma' farm? R' wassat all sum joke?"

He grins, placing his head on Greyson's shoulder.

"Would love it 'f ya came. But we only jus' met."

His eyes light up as a new idea dawns on him.

"Whaddya say ya ask me a few questions, eh? N' I do the same ta ya! How about 'ya start?"

“I don't joke lightly about wanting to escape my mother. I'd love to visit.” He admits, already itching for another cigarette. He doesn't wait long before he's grabbing another from his box and lighting it.

Vince presses his cheek against Greyson's head. He thinks about what question he could ask for a few seconds, taking out another cigarette of his own and asking the question when he the smoke in his mouth caught with the air.

Vince snorts, getting a little shy now. He usually doesn't reveal things like this right off the bat, but... oh, hell. Vince trusts Grey enough for this.

"Ya might find it stupid, but I do like ta' dance. Think I look like tha' dancin' type, Burt not fo' tha type dancing tha' I do. 'Cause I do pole dancin'."

He nudges Greyson playfully, winking.

"Well, m' gonna need a lil more from ya. How 'bout... a secret? Here— 'll give ya mine first. Fair 'change."

Vince taps his chin, thinking about a good secret to give him.

"Ah. 've gotta good 'un. N' if ya come to da farm, ur gonna see 'em anyway."

Vince chuckles nervously, rolling his pant legs up to reveal white fur. His face turns a little redder as he speaks.

“A secret of mine? Hm...” Greyson takes another drag of his cigarette while he thinks, searching for anything that he might categorize as a secret.

Oh.

Well. There's that, of course.

But...

No, too soon.

He could only hope, anyway.

"N' I suspect 'ur gettin' better, no? 'Cause 'ur real nice n' amazin'! M' enjoying' ma time wit ya!"

He winks, pulling down his pant leg. He doesn't feel so ashamed about his legs anymore. Not with the way Greyson reacted to them. He's glad that the other boy didn't find them weird like most do.

A satanist and a cannibalist. An unhealthy duo.

"N' wha 'bout you? R' should I ask a differen' quest'n?"

Is it better or worse that he's glad it was her and not anyone else?

He looks one minute away from just shoving his cigarette into his mouth and eating it.

"I won' tell. An' if ya don' wanna tell what happen' tha' day either, tha's a-okay. But jus' kno' tha you n' I, well, we're in tha same situation. So if 'ya ever wanna tell me 'bout tha, I could tell ya bout my siblings Marcy n Ophelia."

He smiles, trying to lighten the mood.

Vince giggles, ruffling Greyson's hair as an excuse to get to touch him more. Vince had never really had a crush before, more prone to feeling familial things than anything else. But now, with this sweet, broken boy...

He didn't want to get too into it.

"'Cause ah'd say tha' we're weird, too. Is it like tha'? R' sumthin' different?"

He tilts his head, reaching out and snatching another fancy cigarette from Greyson. He chuckles, lighting the front with his mechanical finger like he had shown before. He then opens a hidden pocket in his arm, taking out two chocolate bites.

"Tha's pretty wild. Neva knew of sumone who could do tha before."

After a second, he adds quickly:

"Only if ya wanna! 'S of course ur decisi'n! I don' mean ta be so forward 'bout these things. M' sorry."

Vince rubs his hand over his arm a few times. He hopes that Greyson isn't getting weirded out because of how forward he keeps being. But then again, going right about now to a cafe sounds like a good idea... to drink a smoothie from the same straw like 1980s rom-coms...

Oof.

Vince smiles, already gathering his things to leave. If Vince knew Greyson even a little, he could already tell that someone like him would know the best way to sneak out of school. He's done it a few times himself, but maybe learning from a true expert would prove him well. Most of the times that he's done it, he's gone straight to detention.

Greyson massaged the bridge of his nose as he slipped out of history class as soon as Professor Trein turned his back, footsteps light and quick as he retreated to his favorite spot in the courtyard. He sat down on a bench and pulled out his box of cigarettes, lighting one with a bit of magic and taking a long drag from it.

“Fucking finally.. I've been craving a smoke all day.” He mutters to himself, smoke drifting past his lips and curling into the air.

He thinks he's alone. But is he truly?

Vicente Cabro isn't well-known, but he isn't unknown, either. He's somewhere in the middle, and while he knows many people, he doesn't have a lot of them that he can call friends. Who knows— maybe Greyson Jude will be the one to become one of the rare people Vince calls a true friend. Maybe someone who isn't afraid to defy the rules is just what he needs.

Vince needs a break. He's only been in Night Raven College for a few months, and already he's getting overstimulated. He's never been away from his siblings for so long, the most being a day or two when he's out doing things. The absence of their chattering voices is jarring for him, and history class isn't really doing it for him when it comes to listening the growing ache in his heart. Stepping out of that stuffy classroom buzzing with energy and getting some fresh air for a few minutes is exactly what he needs right now.

Except the air isn't all that fresh. It's laced with smoke, something Vince can sense from a mile away. He's not unfamiliar with the smell—in fact, he even brought outside a pack of his own cigarettes, ready to use them to blow off some steam. Is there already someone smoking out here?

He steps forward, the grass beneath him shifting to hold his weight. When he gets closer, he tilts his head, recognizing their uniform. A Pomefiore student. And a young one, at that—a first year like him, maybe? Vince doesn't see many first years smoking like he does. This is new. And very welcome.

Vince comes closer, ready to join the other boy on the bench if he'd allow it, but he freezes when he whips his head around. He hadn't thought that he would scare the poor Pomefiore so badly.

"Ah... didn' mean t' startle ya', man. M' here for the same reason you are, if 'm bein' frank."

He takes out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, jostling them while his other hand moves to rub the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture.

"Do ya' mind if I sit next t' ya'? M' not a tattletale or anythin', I swear."

“You're in my class, aren't you? T'be honest, I didn't think anyone else would come out to escape from Trein's bullshit.” Grey mumbles around his cigarette, digging in his pockets for a moment and pulling out a lighter that he offers to Vince. They can just use magic, sure, but there was something nostalgic about using an ordinary lighter.

Well, as ordinary as a custom-made lighter could get. The mirror and forest motifs, alongside Greyson's name scrawled in cursive, is a dead giveaway that he has money or at least comes from it.

Vince takes his seat a comfortable distance away from Greyson, leaning his arm against the side of the bench. He takes one of his cigarettes out, murmuring a small "thank you" when the other boy hands him the lighter.

"Unless ya' ain't willin', which in that case, I'd be makin' a fool outta myself right now. M' pretty experienced in that... locale."

Vince turns the lighter over in his hands, reading the word engraved off to the side.

"Doesn't look like any regular lighter I've seen. N' those cigarettes, too—look like they come from 'n expensive brand, why don't they. D' ya' think they feel any different to smoke, at the end?"

He chuckles, lighting up his cigarette and handing the lighter back. He takes a puff, giving the smoke a minute to properly mix with he air before he asks another question.

“There's probably not much of a difference, but you can try one of mine if you'd like.” He offers, taking the lighter back and pocketing it before blowing smoke out into the air.

Vince takes the offered cigarette gingerly, lighting it with the other cigarette he has on hand.

"Feel like 'm in the presence 'f riches, I do. Like 'm some poor weasel on the side 'f the road that's gettin' a whiff of the way the wealthy do it. Reckon 'm feelin' right?"

He smiles at his analogy, taking a whiff from this cigarette.

"Flows a little better, that's for sure. But at the end 'f the day, the relief is all the same. Thanks for letting' me try em' out, though."

Vince tilts his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles wistfully. It's not a surprise to him that this Greyson stranger didn't catch his name right off the bat—it's near-missable, unless you're actually looking out for it. Vince won't admit it out loud, but the other boy does look like the type to fully disregard anyone who won't give him something.

Maybe this exchange is different. Or maybe he's the victim.

"Name's Vicente Cabro, but everyone calls me Vince. Don't blame ya' for not recognizing it right off the bat. A pretty ordinary name, that one."

Vince offers his own cigarette box to him, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Vince, hm? I wouldn't call it ordinary, if anything I think Greyson is more common, but it's a pleasure to meet you as well.” He hums with consideration after getting a whiff of the other's cig.

"Right they do," he says simply, nodding as he brings the fancy cigarette up to his lips again. He looks back at the other boy, noticing the details in his uniform: the beret-like hat on his head, the accent necklaces, the earrings that are something new compared to what students at Night Raven College usually wear. It's cute, he thinks.

"I like what y' did with the outfit, by the way. Added 'ur own personal touch. That's nice."

He tips his cigarette over the bench, dusting some of the charcoal-dark particles off with his finger.

Vince smiles faintly, but his eyes don't look like they're present in the conversation.

"'S hard for me to stay away from m' family for so long. I've been w' them for ages. I jus' got particularly overwhelmed today."

He watches Grey fidget with the earring, noticing that he might be uncomfortable. He hesitates before speaking his next words, voice careful.

"You wanna tell me how you got to this school? This college? Only if you wanna, of course."

Vince is a touchy person, and not having affection for months on end can make a touchy person go crazy. He used to get satiated easily, getting in a cuddle pile with his parents and siblings and watching a movie and play-fighting with them and sticking by their side. But now, this—barely a graze, an unconscious movement—is all the touch he can get anymore. It drives Vince mad, but he doesn't want to make a move and scare the poor boy. He... looses track of his limits sometimes, especially with unfamiliar things (or people).

"I understan' the feeling," Vince nods. "My parents used t' do the same thing, but t' a... more brash extent. But now I got brought into a lovin' family, n' I would never change 'em for anythin' else. Thing's get better, Grey. You can hold me t' it."

Vince looks down at his free palm, opening and closing it a few times. He pretends to do a cool magic spell, whacking it round and round as if he's doing something really powerful.

"Don' even have my UM yet. I wish, though."

His palm drops back to his lap.

“I'm glad you have a better family, at the very least. It must be nice, having siblings. As far as I know, my closest relative is my grandmother, and I'm quite sick of hearing her preach about gender comformity.”

He laughs, but it's a little bitter. The Pomefiore student hides his wistful look behind another drag of his cigarette, which was already becoming a stub from use over time.

Vince takes a drag with him, the smoke from the two cigarettes hesitating before twisting and blending into each other. It's almost poetic.

"I don' care 'bout gender nonsense, don' get me wrong. I jus' wanna know what t' refer t' you by. Better t' tell me sooner than later, 'cause then I keep slippin' up."

Vince decides to be a little daring and press against Greyson's shoulder. Now, instead of a light graze, they're pressing into each other, however softly.

Vince chuckles, letting Grey rest on his shoulder all he wants. He's itching to get closer, longing to get the affection he heeds. But he's able to controls himself and take another puff instead.

"How 'bout I use they/them on you from now on? So y' can see when one y' like better?"

Don't get ahead of 'urself, Vince. He don't mean anythin' by this. Stay calm.

"N' for me, you can use sum' usual he/him, by the way. To let 'ya know."

A comfortable silence wraps around the two boys. Or, comfortable for Greyson, at least—Vince is internally panicking, scrambling to find something else to talk about. He's usually good at this. Why can't he be good at this right now?

"Ya' told me a bit 'bout your home life, so 'll tell you 'bout mine 'n return," he blurts a little faster than usual. A weak conversation starter in the sense that it's obvious, but a conversation starter nonetheless.

"'M adopted. Grew up young n' a shit family, not very important. Got adopted by m' momma n' my mom n' my papa n' my dad when I was twelve. Ya' heard right: four. 'S a polycule, n' they adopted four children n' had five t' go with 'em. M' the seventh r' eighth, pretty sure."

Vince chuckles, ruffling Greyson's hair lightly as a thought occurs to him.

“I'm not one to shy away from dirty work, but I'll warn you now that I burn like dry grass in a heatwave.” It's a kind offer, one that he's never been given before. Usually people were too wary of him to get close.

Vince laughs out loud, the worry from being away from his siblings for long slowly fading away. This boy—this sweet, quiet boy, really had an effect on Vince. Greyson was able to bring Vince back to normal even while they're talking about family.

A kind person, indeed. Vince would have to try his hardest to befriend Greyson.

"Reckon you'll have fun, though. 'll put you with sum' easier jobs, n' at the end, we could go do something' fun. Moms n' dads won't let you r' me leave without a fight."

A blush creeps up Vince's cheeks. There it is. He's lost his limits, and is inviting practically a stranger over to his house. What's up with me?! I can't be so bold alluva sudden!

Easy to fluster under all the so-called aloofness. No one ever tries to approach them, and Vince might just be the first.

"N' why would that be? You're adorable! Nevr' get people, really. Always judgin' for no reason."

Vince slaps Greyson's shoulder a few times, in a teasing, playful manner. He's grinning from ear to ear, happy that Greyson is happy and also so close to him.

“I'm adorable, huh? I think that might be a new word used to describe me. You're easy on the eyes too, Vince.”

Obvious? Yes. But Mother always said to go after the things he wants before they escape him.

"'Easy n' the eyes?' I've been called more uva hunk in my lifetime. But thank 'ya, Grey."

He looks down, watching Greyson's finger as it trails up his metal arm. He extends his fingers, showing the arm off a little bit.

"Does it look odd to 'ya, Grey? 'S a prosthetic arm, if 'ya couldn't tell. Got this while I was fulla bullshit. Still full bullshit now, but I can control myself. 'Nough."

Vince grabs one of his poor cigarettes, the newer one that Greyson gave him kicked to the curb long ago. He twists his finger, and a soft flame bursts from the tip of it, which he uses to heat up the front of the cigarette.

“...Yourself, huh? It suits you, makes you all the more charming, non?” He doesn't know why he slips into a different language, maybe it's from being in such proximity to Rook, or maybe his childhood lessons finally have reason to be used, but there are just some words that English doesn't contain to describe this.

“Une œuvre d'art. A work of art. Your arm, that is. Though that's not to say that you aren't also a work of art- Aïe, je suis en train de me creuser ma propre tombe.”

Grey goes silent, praying to the Seven to give him strength, and wills the warmth on his cheeks to retreat.

“What I mean to say is, your talent, precision, and dedication are works of art.”

Vince waves his hands around, being all showy in an exaggerated way to try and get this guy to laugh. He's not all that egoistical, so it's obvious that what he's saying is all just a joke. When Grey gives him a funny look, Vince can't help but burst into laughter all over again, slapping Grey on the back hard. Not enough to make a dent, but enough to make that cute pouting face again.

When Grey starts speaking French, though, Vince blanks, freezing in place.

"...Ah? What's up with the French? I don' speak a lick 'f French, 'll have 'ya know. Coulda' call'd me a slur, 'nd I'd have no clue!"

Vince snorts, grinning from ear to ear. It's true—he doesn't know not one bit of any other language besides the one he was born saying. The only French words he does know would be stuff like "oui oui" and "bonjour," and even then he would butcher them horribly (wei wei and bonejauhr).

Vince noticed Grey almost going to fiddle with his earring again, and decides to take a bold move and place his mechanical hand gently on top of Grey’s. He chuckles at the other boy’s sheepishness, winking at him as he speaks.

“Think ‘ur good with words, tho’. Ain’t have nobody call me a work ‘f art in this lifetime. N’ I don’t think nobody’ll ever tell me it like you did.”

So much care around the words. So much tenderness, even though they’re technically not even friends yet. Vince wonders why that is, but drops it after a few seconds of pondering. It’s probably just out of formality.

“Mmm… We’ll, if ‘ya think that way, then how ‘bout ya’ give me a real authentic French insult? One that’ll get someone’s boots shakin’, so I can tell it to ‘ur haters n’ have ‘em runnin’ for their lives?”

“Avoir le QI d’une huître. It means that to have the IQ of an oyster. One of my favorites, personally.” Grey smiles, a bright little thing that makes the world feel just a little bit brighter.

Vince laughs, patting Grey on the back for the good insults. He tries to say the insult in French—"cone conmeh uhn valaisw sans po-ih-knee?"—but butchers it terribly and has to watch as Grey laughs in his face.

"Wha—hey! M' pronunciation ain't tha' bad! V' never dun this befor'!"

He's not offended by it, though. Vince laughs along with Grey, but pauses when he catches sight of that pretty smile. My, Sevens...

"Ya'know, after seein' it n' person, m' thinkin' you should smile a little more. Suits 'ya. Brings out yer eyes."

He takes out his phone, opening the camera app.

"Cm'ere. Lemme show ya'."

He flushes at the compliment to his smile, but sheepishly looks towards the camera while placing a hand on Vince's shoulder.

Vince shows Greyson the photo, zooming into his face. Whether or not Greyson sees anything different in himself, it's clear that Vince sees a lot in him.

"'Dorable! Ya'd really be a hot shot, if ya did tha' 'round more people. Good thin' that ya' ain't, 'cause I kinda wanna keep tha' perfect smile all to m'self."

Vince sends the photo to his family group chat before putting the phone into his pocket. The action rides his pants down just a tad, but what's really curious is the white fur peeking underneath. He doesn't seem to realize this, nor the implications of what he just said.

“I-” His throat feels dry. Why does it feel dry?

“You wouldn't have to pose, you're pretty as is.” He mutters, too flustered to notice the fur as he takes out his own phone cups Vince's face with his free hand.

It seems like he's perfectly fine with taking pictures with other people as long as he's not the main subject of it. He stares at the photo for a very long time, then pockets his phone after sending it to someone.

Who?

Who knows. There wasn't a contact name.

"Wha—hey! Whos' that, eh? Ya' beter not be sendin' stuf t' sum rando who'll mock me fo' tha' arm o' mine!"

Vince pouts after realizing that he's really not going to be allowed to see who he's texting, but then his eyes light up when an idea crosses his mind.

"Ah! Didya want my magicam n' that number o' mine, Grey? M' happy t' give it t'ya! I post sum stuff n' there, f' ya'd like t' take a look!"

That's what Greyson starts with, typing the handle into magicam to find the account. When he clicks on the profile picture of a cat hiding in the bushes of a forest, he can already spot a picture from Vince at the gym peeking out from under his bio.

"I could type ma numba for ya, if ya'd like! Y' could put whateva profile picture ya' wanna on there! N' y' don' mind me taggin 'ya n' stuff, d'ya?"

Vince takes Greyson's phone, inputting the number and putting his name as "VINCE!!". He then sends a test text to himself (labeled as Testing!! Testing!! 123!) and then checks his own phone (responding with It worked!!)

"It worked!" Vince exclaims out loud, looking up from his phone.

"'ll be textin' ya 24/7, too. Any sorta pref as ta' what ya' want ur profile pic n' ur name ta' be?"

All he sent?

He check his prone for the test text message, lighting up when he sees the heart.

"Tha's such a cute heart! 'Ur softer than I thought! D'ya text everyon' a heart, r' am I a special lil' fella?"

He replies to the emoticon with one of his one: (*´ω｀*)

Greyson fiddles with the keyboard, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tries to make one by himself. Greyson tries to speak, but Vince won't let him until he's conjured up the perfect kaomoji to use.

"Eh... ahah! 'Think I got it!"

He sends the one he made along with a few variations, grinning like a proud father when he finishes and sits back.

\ (// `u` //) /

\ (// `_` //) /

\ (// `0` //) /

"Thank 'ya! Ya can use 'em if ya... huh?"

Vince looks down at his phone, noticing that Greyson hearted all of the kaomojis with spiderwebs. He tilts his head, squinting to make sure that he was seeing right.

"'S thatta spiderweb?"

Vince looks back up, eyes filled with wonder.

Vince laughs, abandoning his phone to reach out and pinch Greyson's cheeks. His touch is soft, but his hands are rough. Probably from days of working at the farm.

"What a cutie! Wouldda never thoughtta doin' somethin' so creative! How cute!"

Vince moves back, picking up his phone again. He taps his chin, scrolling through emojis until his eyes light up. He then proceeds to like all of Greyson's texts, but instead of a heart, it's a leaf.

“Awh that's cute. A leaf suits you.”

Vince chuckles, now pressing into Greyson fully. He's open for a hug, he very much wants a hug, but he also doesn't want to push Greyson.

"Did'ja really wanna come ofer ta' ma' farm? R' wassat all sum joke?"

He grins, placing his head on Greyson's shoulder.

"Would love it 'f ya came. But we only jus' met."

His eyes light up as a new idea dawns on him.

"Whaddya say ya ask me a few questions, eh? N' I do the same ta ya! How about 'ya start?"

“I don't joke lightly about wanting to escape my mother. I'd love to visit.” He admits, already itching for another cigarette. He doesn't wait long before he's grabbing another from his box and lighting it.

Vince presses his cheek against Greyson's head. He thinks about what question he could ask for a few seconds, taking out another cigarette of his own and asking the question when he the smoke in his mouth caught with the air.

Vince snorts, getting a little shy now. He usually doesn't reveal things like this right off the bat, but... oh, hell. Vince trusts Grey enough for this.

"Ya might find it stupid, but I do like ta' dance. Think I look like tha' dancin' type, Burt not fo' tha type dancing tha' I do. 'Cause I do pole dancin'."

He nudges Greyson playfully, winking.

"Well, m' gonna need a lil more from ya. How 'bout... a secret? Here— 'll give ya mine first. Fair 'change."

Vince taps his chin, thinking about a good secret to give him.

"Ah. 've gotta good 'un. N' if ya come to da farm, ur gonna see 'em anyway."

Vince chuckles nervously, rolling his pant legs up to reveal white fur. His face turns a little redder as he speaks.

“A secret of mine? Hm...” Greyson takes another drag of his cigarette while he thinks, searching for anything that he might categorize as a secret.

Oh.

Well. There's that, of course.

But...

No, too soon.

He could only hope, anyway.

"N' I suspect 'ur gettin' better, no? 'Cause 'ur real nice n' amazin'! M' enjoying' ma time wit ya!"

He winks, pulling down his pant leg. He doesn't feel so ashamed about his legs anymore. Not with the way Greyson reacted to them. He's glad that the other boy didn't find them weird like most do.

A satanist and a cannibalist. An unhealthy duo.

"N' wha 'bout you? R' should I ask a differen' quest'n?"

Is it better or worse that he's glad it was her and not anyone else?

He looks one minute away from just shoving his cigarette into his mouth and eating it.

"I won' tell. An' if ya don' wanna tell what happen' tha' day either, tha's a-okay. But jus' kno' tha you n' I, well, we're in tha same situation. So if 'ya ever wanna tell me 'bout tha, I could tell ya bout my siblings Marcy n Ophelia."

He smiles, trying to lighten the mood.

Vince giggles, ruffling Greyson's hair as an excuse to get to touch him more. Vince had never really had a crush before, more prone to feeling familial things than anything else. But now, with this sweet, broken boy...

He didn't want to get too into it.

"'Cause ah'd say tha' we're weird, too. Is it like tha'? R' sumthin' different?"

He tilts his head, reaching out and snatching another fancy cigarette from Greyson. He chuckles, lighting the front with his mechanical finger like he had shown before. He then opens a hidden pocket in his arm, taking out two chocolate bites.

"Tha's pretty wild. Neva knew of sumone who could do tha before."

After a second, he adds quickly:

"Only if ya wanna! 'S of course ur decisi'n! I don' mean ta be so forward 'bout these things. M' sorry."

Vince rubs his hand over his arm a few times. He hopes that Greyson isn't getting weirded out because of how forward he keeps being. But then again, going right about now to a cafe sounds like a good idea... to drink a smoothie from the same straw like 1980s rom-coms...

Oof.

[From what he could gauge this was the Victorian Era and the town was named Nuevo Jórvik. The name didn’t ring a bell but he was to continue his research anyways until he spotted a familiar face…]

“Nick!!”

— ⤷ @winterwhxspers ⋮ as is crafted by Locket ‘Kit’ Maestri ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

“Kit!” Nicholas is hugging him in merely moments, then dropping to one knee in front of his dear friend and pressing his forehead to the back of Kit's hand.

Greyson massaged the bridge of his nose as he slipped out of history class as soon as Professor Trein turned his back, footsteps light and quick as he retreated to his favorite spot in the courtyard. He sat down on a bench and pulled out his box of cigarettes, lighting one with a bit of magic and taking a long drag from it.

“Fucking finally.. I've been craving a smoke all day.” He mutters to himself, smoke drifting past his lips and curling into the air.

He thinks he's alone. But is he truly?

Vicente Cabro isn't well-known, but he isn't unknown, either. He's somewhere in the middle, and while he knows many people, he doesn't have a lot of them that he can call friends. Who knows— maybe Greyson Jude will be the one to become one of the rare people Vince calls a true friend. Maybe someone who isn't afraid to defy the rules is just what he needs.

Vince needs a break. He's only been in Night Raven College for a few months, and already he's getting overstimulated. He's never been away from his siblings for so long, the most being a day or two when he's out doing things. The absence of their chattering voices is jarring for him, and history class isn't really doing it for him when it comes to listening the growing ache in his heart. Stepping out of that stuffy classroom buzzing with energy and getting some fresh air for a few minutes is exactly what he needs right now.

Except the air isn't all that fresh. It's laced with smoke, something Vince can sense from a mile away. He's not unfamiliar with the smell—in fact, he even brought outside a pack of his own cigarettes, ready to use them to blow off some steam. Is there already someone smoking out here?

He steps forward, the grass beneath him shifting to hold his weight. When he gets closer, he tilts his head, recognizing their uniform. A Pomefiore student. And a young one, at that—a first year like him, maybe? Vince doesn't see many first years smoking like he does. This is new. And very welcome.

Vince comes closer, ready to join the other boy on the bench if he'd allow it, but he freezes when he whips his head around. He hadn't thought that he would scare the poor Pomefiore so badly.

"Ah... didn' mean t' startle ya', man. M' here for the same reason you are, if 'm bein' frank."

He takes out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, jostling them while his other hand moves to rub the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture.

"Do ya' mind if I sit next t' ya'? M' not a tattletale or anythin', I swear."

“You're in my class, aren't you? T'be honest, I didn't think anyone else would come out to escape from Trein's bullshit.” Grey mumbles around his cigarette, digging in his pockets for a moment and pulling out a lighter that he offers to Vince. They can just use magic, sure, but there was something nostalgic about using an ordinary lighter.

Well, as ordinary as a custom-made lighter could get. The mirror and forest motifs, alongside Greyson's name scrawled in cursive, is a dead giveaway that he has money or at least comes from it.

Vince takes his seat a comfortable distance away from Greyson, leaning his arm against the side of the bench. He takes one of his cigarettes out, murmuring a small "thank you" when the other boy hands him the lighter.

"Unless ya' ain't willin', which in that case, I'd be makin' a fool outta myself right now. M' pretty experienced in that... locale."

Vince turns the lighter over in his hands, reading the word engraved off to the side.

"Doesn't look like any regular lighter I've seen. N' those cigarettes, too—look like they come from 'n expensive brand, why don't they. D' ya' think they feel any different to smoke, at the end?"

He chuckles, lighting up his cigarette and handing the lighter back. He takes a puff, giving the smoke a minute to properly mix with he air before he asks another question.

“There's probably not much of a difference, but you can try one of mine if you'd like.” He offers, taking the lighter back and pocketing it before blowing smoke out into the air.

Vince takes the offered cigarette gingerly, lighting it with the other cigarette he has on hand.

"Feel like 'm in the presence 'f riches, I do. Like 'm some poor weasel on the side 'f the road that's gettin' a whiff of the way the wealthy do it. Reckon 'm feelin' right?"

He smiles at his analogy, taking a whiff from this cigarette.

"Flows a little better, that's for sure. But at the end 'f the day, the relief is all the same. Thanks for letting' me try em' out, though."

Vince tilts his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles wistfully. It's not a surprise to him that this Greyson stranger didn't catch his name right off the bat—it's near-missable, unless you're actually looking out for it. Vince won't admit it out loud, but the other boy does look like the type to fully disregard anyone who won't give him something.

Maybe this exchange is different. Or maybe he's the victim.

"Name's Vicente Cabro, but everyone calls me Vince. Don't blame ya' for not recognizing it right off the bat. A pretty ordinary name, that one."

Vince offers his own cigarette box to him, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Vince, hm? I wouldn't call it ordinary, if anything I think Greyson is more common, but it's a pleasure to meet you as well.” He hums with consideration after getting a whiff of the other's cig.

"Right they do," he says simply, nodding as he brings the fancy cigarette up to his lips again. He looks back at the other boy, noticing the details in his uniform: the beret-like hat on his head, the accent necklaces, the earrings that are something new compared to what students at Night Raven College usually wear. It's cute, he thinks.

"I like what y' did with the outfit, by the way. Added 'ur own personal touch. That's nice."

He tips his cigarette over the bench, dusting some of the charcoal-dark particles off with his finger.

Vince smiles faintly, but his eyes don't look like they're present in the conversation.

"'S hard for me to stay away from m' family for so long. I've been w' them for ages. I jus' got particularly overwhelmed today."

He watches Grey fidget with the earring, noticing that he might be uncomfortable. He hesitates before speaking his next words, voice careful.

"You wanna tell me how you got to this school? This college? Only if you wanna, of course."

Vince is a touchy person, and not having affection for months on end can make a touchy person go crazy. He used to get satiated easily, getting in a cuddle pile with his parents and siblings and watching a movie and play-fighting with them and sticking by their side. But now, this—barely a graze, an unconscious movement—is all the touch he can get anymore. It drives Vince mad, but he doesn't want to make a move and scare the poor boy. He... looses track of his limits sometimes, especially with unfamiliar things (or people).

"I understan' the feeling," Vince nods. "My parents used t' do the same thing, but t' a... more brash extent. But now I got brought into a lovin' family, n' I would never change 'em for anythin' else. Thing's get better, Grey. You can hold me t' it."

Vince looks down at his free palm, opening and closing it a few times. He pretends to do a cool magic spell, whacking it round and round as if he's doing something really powerful.

"Don' even have my UM yet. I wish, though."

His palm drops back to his lap.

“I'm glad you have a better family, at the very least. It must be nice, having siblings. As far as I know, my closest relative is my grandmother, and I'm quite sick of hearing her preach about gender comformity.”

He laughs, but it's a little bitter. The Pomefiore student hides his wistful look behind another drag of his cigarette, which was already becoming a stub from use over time.

Vince takes a drag with him, the smoke from the two cigarettes hesitating before twisting and blending into each other. It's almost poetic.

"I don' care 'bout gender nonsense, don' get me wrong. I jus' wanna know what t' refer t' you by. Better t' tell me sooner than later, 'cause then I keep slippin' up."

Vince decides to be a little daring and press against Greyson's shoulder. Now, instead of a light graze, they're pressing into each other, however softly.

Vince chuckles, letting Grey rest on his shoulder all he wants. He's itching to get closer, longing to get the affection he heeds. But he's able to controls himself and take another puff instead.

"How 'bout I use they/them on you from now on? So y' can see when one y' like better?"

Don't get ahead of 'urself, Vince. He don't mean anythin' by this. Stay calm.

"N' for me, you can use sum' usual he/him, by the way. To let 'ya know."

A comfortable silence wraps around the two boys. Or, comfortable for Greyson, at least—Vince is internally panicking, scrambling to find something else to talk about. He's usually good at this. Why can't he be good at this right now?

"Ya' told me a bit 'bout your home life, so 'll tell you 'bout mine 'n return," he blurts a little faster than usual. A weak conversation starter in the sense that it's obvious, but a conversation starter nonetheless.

"'M adopted. Grew up young n' a shit family, not very important. Got adopted by m' momma n' my mom n' my papa n' my dad when I was twelve. Ya' heard right: four. 'S a polycule, n' they adopted four children n' had five t' go with 'em. M' the seventh r' eighth, pretty sure."

Vince chuckles, ruffling Greyson's hair lightly as a thought occurs to him.

“I'm not one to shy away from dirty work, but I'll warn you now that I burn like dry grass in a heatwave.” It's a kind offer, one that he's never been given before. Usually people were too wary of him to get close.

Vince laughs out loud, the worry from being away from his siblings for long slowly fading away. This boy—this sweet, quiet boy, really had an effect on Vince. Greyson was able to bring Vince back to normal even while they're talking about family.

A kind person, indeed. Vince would have to try his hardest to befriend Greyson.

"Reckon you'll have fun, though. 'll put you with sum' easier jobs, n' at the end, we could go do something' fun. Moms n' dads won't let you r' me leave without a fight."

A blush creeps up Vince's cheeks. There it is. He's lost his limits, and is inviting practically a stranger over to his house. What's up with me?! I can't be so bold alluva sudden!

Easy to fluster under all the so-called aloofness. No one ever tries to approach them, and Vince might just be the first.

"N' why would that be? You're adorable! Nevr' get people, really. Always judgin' for no reason."

Vince slaps Greyson's shoulder a few times, in a teasing, playful manner. He's grinning from ear to ear, happy that Greyson is happy and also so close to him.

“I'm adorable, huh? I think that might be a new word used to describe me. You're easy on the eyes too, Vince.”

Obvious? Yes. But Mother always said to go after the things he wants before they escape him.

"'Easy n' the eyes?' I've been called more uva hunk in my lifetime. But thank 'ya, Grey."

He looks down, watching Greyson's finger as it trails up his metal arm. He extends his fingers, showing the arm off a little bit.

"Does it look odd to 'ya, Grey? 'S a prosthetic arm, if 'ya couldn't tell. Got this while I was fulla bullshit. Still full bullshit now, but I can control myself. 'Nough."

Vince grabs one of his poor cigarettes, the newer one that Greyson gave him kicked to the curb long ago. He twists his finger, and a soft flame bursts from the tip of it, which he uses to heat up the front of the cigarette.

“...Yourself, huh? It suits you, makes you all the more charming, non?” He doesn't know why he slips into a different language, maybe it's from being in such proximity to Rook, or maybe his childhood lessons finally have reason to be used, but there are just some words that English doesn't contain to describe this.

“Une œuvre d'art. A work of art. Your arm, that is. Though that's not to say that you aren't also a work of art- Aïe, je suis en train de me creuser ma propre tombe.”

Grey goes silent, praying to the Seven to give him strength, and wills the warmth on his cheeks to retreat.

“What I mean to say is, your talent, precision, and dedication are works of art.”

Vince waves his hands around, being all showy in an exaggerated way to try and get this guy to laugh. He's not all that egoistical, so it's obvious that what he's saying is all just a joke. When Grey gives him a funny look, Vince can't help but burst into laughter all over again, slapping Grey on the back hard. Not enough to make a dent, but enough to make that cute pouting face again.

When Grey starts speaking French, though, Vince blanks, freezing in place.

"...Ah? What's up with the French? I don' speak a lick 'f French, 'll have 'ya know. Coulda' call'd me a slur, 'nd I'd have no clue!"

Vince snorts, grinning from ear to ear. It's true—he doesn't know not one bit of any other language besides the one he was born saying. The only French words he does know would be stuff like "oui oui" and "bonjour," and even then he would butcher them horribly (wei wei and bonejauhr).

Vince noticed Grey almost going to fiddle with his earring again, and decides to take a bold move and place his mechanical hand gently on top of Grey’s. He chuckles at the other boy’s sheepishness, winking at him as he speaks.

“Think ‘ur good with words, tho’. Ain’t have nobody call me a work ‘f art in this lifetime. N’ I don’t think nobody’ll ever tell me it like you did.”

So much care around the words. So much tenderness, even though they’re technically not even friends yet. Vince wonders why that is, but drops it after a few seconds of pondering. It’s probably just out of formality.

“Mmm… We’ll, if ‘ya think that way, then how ‘bout ya’ give me a real authentic French insult? One that’ll get someone’s boots shakin’, so I can tell it to ‘ur haters n’ have ‘em runnin’ for their lives?”

“Avoir le QI d’une huître. It means that to have the IQ of an oyster. One of my favorites, personally.” Grey smiles, a bright little thing that makes the world feel just a little bit brighter.

Vince laughs, patting Grey on the back for the good insults. He tries to say the insult in French—"cone conmeh uhn valaisw sans po-ih-knee?"—but butchers it terribly and has to watch as Grey laughs in his face.

"Wha—hey! M' pronunciation ain't tha' bad! V' never dun this befor'!"

He's not offended by it, though. Vince laughs along with Grey, but pauses when he catches sight of that pretty smile. My, Sevens...

"Ya'know, after seein' it n' person, m' thinkin' you should smile a little more. Suits 'ya. Brings out yer eyes."

He takes out his phone, opening the camera app.

"Cm'ere. Lemme show ya'."

He flushes at the compliment to his smile, but sheepishly looks towards the camera while placing a hand on Vince's shoulder.

Vince shows Greyson the photo, zooming into his face. Whether or not Greyson sees anything different in himself, it's clear that Vince sees a lot in him.

"'Dorable! Ya'd really be a hot shot, if ya did tha' 'round more people. Good thin' that ya' ain't, 'cause I kinda wanna keep tha' perfect smile all to m'self."

Vince sends the photo to his family group chat before putting the phone into his pocket. The action rides his pants down just a tad, but what's really curious is the white fur peeking underneath. He doesn't seem to realize this, nor the implications of what he just said.

“I-” His throat feels dry. Why does it feel dry?

“You wouldn't have to pose, you're pretty as is.” He mutters, too flustered to notice the fur as he takes out his own phone cups Vince's face with his free hand.

It seems like he's perfectly fine with taking pictures with other people as long as he's not the main subject of it. He stares at the photo for a very long time, then pockets his phone after sending it to someone.

Who?

Who knows. There wasn't a contact name.

"Wha—hey! Whos' that, eh? Ya' beter not be sendin' stuf t' sum rando who'll mock me fo' tha' arm o' mine!"

Vince pouts after realizing that he's really not going to be allowed to see who he's texting, but then his eyes light up when an idea crosses his mind.

"Ah! Didya want my magicam n' that number o' mine, Grey? M' happy t' give it t'ya! I post sum stuff n' there, f' ya'd like t' take a look!"

That's what Greyson starts with, typing the handle into magicam to find the account. When he clicks on the profile picture of a cat hiding in the bushes of a forest, he can already spot a picture from Vince at the gym peeking out from under his bio.

"I could type ma numba for ya, if ya'd like! Y' could put whateva profile picture ya' wanna on there! N' y' don' mind me taggin 'ya n' stuff, d'ya?"

Vince takes Greyson's phone, inputting the number and putting his name as "VINCE!!". He then sends a test text to himself (labeled as Testing!! Testing!! 123!) and then checks his own phone (responding with It worked!!)

"It worked!" Vince exclaims out loud, looking up from his phone.

"'ll be textin' ya 24/7, too. Any sorta pref as ta' what ya' want ur profile pic n' ur name ta' be?"

All he sent?

He check his prone for the test text message, lighting up when he sees the heart.

"Tha's such a cute heart! 'Ur softer than I thought! D'ya text everyon' a heart, r' am I a special lil' fella?"

He replies to the emoticon with one of his one: (*´ω｀*)

Greyson fiddles with the keyboard, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tries to make one by himself. Greyson tries to speak, but Vince won't let him until he's conjured up the perfect kaomoji to use.

"Eh... ahah! 'Think I got it!"

He sends the one he made along with a few variations, grinning like a proud father when he finishes and sits back.

\ (// `u` //) /

\ (// `_` //) /

\ (// `0` //) /

"Thank 'ya! Ya can use 'em if ya... huh?"

Vince looks down at his phone, noticing that Greyson hearted all of the kaomojis with spiderwebs. He tilts his head, squinting to make sure that he was seeing right.

"'S thatta spiderweb?"

Vince looks back up, eyes filled with wonder.

Vince laughs, abandoning his phone to reach out and pinch Greyson's cheeks. His touch is soft, but his hands are rough. Probably from days of working at the farm.

"What a cutie! Wouldda never thoughtta doin' somethin' so creative! How cute!"

Vince moves back, picking up his phone again. He taps his chin, scrolling through emojis until his eyes light up. He then proceeds to like all of Greyson's texts, but instead of a heart, it's a leaf.

“Awh that's cute. A leaf suits you.”

Vince chuckles, now pressing into Greyson fully. He's open for a hug, he very much wants a hug, but he also doesn't want to push Greyson.

"Did'ja really wanna come ofer ta' ma' farm? R' wassat all sum joke?"

He grins, placing his head on Greyson's shoulder.

"Would love it 'f ya came. But we only jus' met."

His eyes light up as a new idea dawns on him.

"Whaddya say ya ask me a few questions, eh? N' I do the same ta ya! How about 'ya start?"

“I don't joke lightly about wanting to escape my mother. I'd love to visit.” He admits, already itching for another cigarette. He doesn't wait long before he's grabbing another from his box and lighting it.

Vince presses his cheek against Greyson's head. He thinks about what question he could ask for a few seconds, taking out another cigarette of his own and asking the question when he the smoke in his mouth caught with the air.

Vince snorts, getting a little shy now. He usually doesn't reveal things like this right off the bat, but... oh, hell. Vince trusts Grey enough for this.

"Ya might find it stupid, but I do like ta' dance. Think I look like tha' dancin' type, Burt not fo' tha type dancing tha' I do. 'Cause I do pole dancin'."

He nudges Greyson playfully, winking.

"Well, m' gonna need a lil more from ya. How 'bout... a secret? Here— 'll give ya mine first. Fair 'change."

Vince taps his chin, thinking about a good secret to give him.

"Ah. 've gotta good 'un. N' if ya come to da farm, ur gonna see 'em anyway."

Vince chuckles nervously, rolling his pant legs up to reveal white fur. His face turns a little redder as he speaks.

“A secret of mine? Hm...” Greyson takes another drag of his cigarette while he thinks, searching for anything that he might categorize as a secret.

Oh.

Well. There's that, of course.

But...

No, too soon.

He could only hope, anyway.

"N' I suspect 'ur gettin' better, no? 'Cause 'ur real nice n' amazin'! M' enjoying' ma time wit ya!"

He winks, pulling down his pant leg. He doesn't feel so ashamed about his legs anymore. Not with the way Greyson reacted to them. He's glad that the other boy didn't find them weird like most do.

A satanist and a cannibalist. An unhealthy duo.

"N' wha 'bout you? R' should I ask a differen' quest'n?"

Is it better or worse that he's glad it was her and not anyone else?

He looks one minute away from just shoving his cigarette into his mouth and eating it.

"I won' tell. An' if ya don' wanna tell what happen' tha' day either, tha's a-okay. But jus' kno' tha you n' I, well, we're in tha same situation. So if 'ya ever wanna tell me 'bout tha, I could tell ya bout my siblings Marcy n Ophelia."

He smiles, trying to lighten the mood.

Vince giggles, ruffling Greyson's hair as an excuse to get to touch him more. Vince had never really had a crush before, more prone to feeling familial things than anything else. But now, with this sweet, broken boy...

He didn't want to get too into it.

"'Cause ah'd say tha' we're weird, too. Is it like tha'? R' sumthin' different?"

He tilts his head, reaching out and snatching another fancy cigarette from Greyson. He chuckles, lighting the front with his mechanical finger like he had shown before. He then opens a hidden pocket in his arm, taking out two chocolate bites.

"Tha's pretty wild. Neva knew of sumone who could do tha before."

Greyson massaged the bridge of his nose as he slipped out of history class as soon as Professor Trein turned his back, footsteps light and quick as he retreated to his favorite spot in the courtyard. He sat down on a bench and pulled out his box of cigarettes, lighting one with a bit of magic and taking a long drag from it.

“Fucking finally.. I've been craving a smoke all day.” He mutters to himself, smoke drifting past his lips and curling into the air.

He thinks he's alone. But is he truly?

Vicente Cabro isn't well-known, but he isn't unknown, either. He's somewhere in the middle, and while he knows many people, he doesn't have a lot of them that he can call friends. Who knows— maybe Greyson Jude will be the one to become one of the rare people Vince calls a true friend. Maybe someone who isn't afraid to defy the rules is just what he needs.

Vince needs a break. He's only been in Night Raven College for a few months, and already he's getting overstimulated. He's never been away from his siblings for so long, the most being a day or two when he's out doing things. The absence of their chattering voices is jarring for him, and history class isn't really doing it for him when it comes to listening the growing ache in his heart. Stepping out of that stuffy classroom buzzing with energy and getting some fresh air for a few minutes is exactly what he needs right now.

Except the air isn't all that fresh. It's laced with smoke, something Vince can sense from a mile away. He's not unfamiliar with the smell—in fact, he even brought outside a pack of his own cigarettes, ready to use them to blow off some steam. Is there already someone smoking out here?

He steps forward, the grass beneath him shifting to hold his weight. When he gets closer, he tilts his head, recognizing their uniform. A Pomefiore student. And a young one, at that—a first year like him, maybe? Vince doesn't see many first years smoking like he does. This is new. And very welcome.

Vince comes closer, ready to join the other boy on the bench if he'd allow it, but he freezes when he whips his head around. He hadn't thought that he would scare the poor Pomefiore so badly.

"Ah... didn' mean t' startle ya', man. M' here for the same reason you are, if 'm bein' frank."

He takes out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, jostling them while his other hand moves to rub the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture.

"Do ya' mind if I sit next t' ya'? M' not a tattletale or anythin', I swear."

“You're in my class, aren't you? T'be honest, I didn't think anyone else would come out to escape from Trein's bullshit.” Grey mumbles around his cigarette, digging in his pockets for a moment and pulling out a lighter that he offers to Vince. They can just use magic, sure, but there was something nostalgic about using an ordinary lighter.

Well, as ordinary as a custom-made lighter could get. The mirror and forest motifs, alongside Greyson's name scrawled in cursive, is a dead giveaway that he has money or at least comes from it.

Vince takes his seat a comfortable distance away from Greyson, leaning his arm against the side of the bench. He takes one of his cigarettes out, murmuring a small "thank you" when the other boy hands him the lighter.

"Unless ya' ain't willin', which in that case, I'd be makin' a fool outta myself right now. M' pretty experienced in that... locale."

Vince turns the lighter over in his hands, reading the word engraved off to the side.

"Doesn't look like any regular lighter I've seen. N' those cigarettes, too—look like they come from 'n expensive brand, why don't they. D' ya' think they feel any different to smoke, at the end?"

He chuckles, lighting up his cigarette and handing the lighter back. He takes a puff, giving the smoke a minute to properly mix with he air before he asks another question.

“There's probably not much of a difference, but you can try one of mine if you'd like.” He offers, taking the lighter back and pocketing it before blowing smoke out into the air.

Vince takes the offered cigarette gingerly, lighting it with the other cigarette he has on hand.

"Feel like 'm in the presence 'f riches, I do. Like 'm some poor weasel on the side 'f the road that's gettin' a whiff of the way the wealthy do it. Reckon 'm feelin' right?"

He smiles at his analogy, taking a whiff from this cigarette.

"Flows a little better, that's for sure. But at the end 'f the day, the relief is all the same. Thanks for letting' me try em' out, though."

Vince tilts his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles wistfully. It's not a surprise to him that this Greyson stranger didn't catch his name right off the bat—it's near-missable, unless you're actually looking out for it. Vince won't admit it out loud, but the other boy does look like the type to fully disregard anyone who won't give him something.

Maybe this exchange is different. Or maybe he's the victim.

"Name's Vicente Cabro, but everyone calls me Vince. Don't blame ya' for not recognizing it right off the bat. A pretty ordinary name, that one."

Vince offers his own cigarette box to him, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Vince, hm? I wouldn't call it ordinary, if anything I think Greyson is more common, but it's a pleasure to meet you as well.” He hums with consideration after getting a whiff of the other's cig.

"Right they do," he says simply, nodding as he brings the fancy cigarette up to his lips again. He looks back at the other boy, noticing the details in his uniform: the beret-like hat on his head, the accent necklaces, the earrings that are something new compared to what students at Night Raven College usually wear. It's cute, he thinks.

"I like what y' did with the outfit, by the way. Added 'ur own personal touch. That's nice."

He tips his cigarette over the bench, dusting some of the charcoal-dark particles off with his finger.

Vince smiles faintly, but his eyes don't look like they're present in the conversation.

"'S hard for me to stay away from m' family for so long. I've been w' them for ages. I jus' got particularly overwhelmed today."

He watches Grey fidget with the earring, noticing that he might be uncomfortable. He hesitates before speaking his next words, voice careful.

"You wanna tell me how you got to this school? This college? Only if you wanna, of course."

Vince is a touchy person, and not having affection for months on end can make a touchy person go crazy. He used to get satiated easily, getting in a cuddle pile with his parents and siblings and watching a movie and play-fighting with them and sticking by their side. But now, this—barely a graze, an unconscious movement—is all the touch he can get anymore. It drives Vince mad, but he doesn't want to make a move and scare the poor boy. He... looses track of his limits sometimes, especially with unfamiliar things (or people).

"I understan' the feeling," Vince nods. "My parents used t' do the same thing, but t' a... more brash extent. But now I got brought into a lovin' family, n' I would never change 'em for anythin' else. Thing's get better, Grey. You can hold me t' it."

Vince looks down at his free palm, opening and closing it a few times. He pretends to do a cool magic spell, whacking it round and round as if he's doing something really powerful.

"Don' even have my UM yet. I wish, though."

His palm drops back to his lap.

“I'm glad you have a better family, at the very least. It must be nice, having siblings. As far as I know, my closest relative is my grandmother, and I'm quite sick of hearing her preach about gender comformity.”

He laughs, but it's a little bitter. The Pomefiore student hides his wistful look behind another drag of his cigarette, which was already becoming a stub from use over time.

Vince takes a drag with him, the smoke from the two cigarettes hesitating before twisting and blending into each other. It's almost poetic.

"I don' care 'bout gender nonsense, don' get me wrong. I jus' wanna know what t' refer t' you by. Better t' tell me sooner than later, 'cause then I keep slippin' up."

Vince decides to be a little daring and press against Greyson's shoulder. Now, instead of a light graze, they're pressing into each other, however softly.

Vince chuckles, letting Grey rest on his shoulder all he wants. He's itching to get closer, longing to get the affection he heeds. But he's able to controls himself and take another puff instead.

"How 'bout I use they/them on you from now on? So y' can see when one y' like better?"

Don't get ahead of 'urself, Vince. He don't mean anythin' by this. Stay calm.

"N' for me, you can use sum' usual he/him, by the way. To let 'ya know."

A comfortable silence wraps around the two boys. Or, comfortable for Greyson, at least—Vince is internally panicking, scrambling to find something else to talk about. He's usually good at this. Why can't he be good at this right now?

"Ya' told me a bit 'bout your home life, so 'll tell you 'bout mine 'n return," he blurts a little faster than usual. A weak conversation starter in the sense that it's obvious, but a conversation starter nonetheless.

"'M adopted. Grew up young n' a shit family, not very important. Got adopted by m' momma n' my mom n' my papa n' my dad when I was twelve. Ya' heard right: four. 'S a polycule, n' they adopted four children n' had five t' go with 'em. M' the seventh r' eighth, pretty sure."

Vince chuckles, ruffling Greyson's hair lightly as a thought occurs to him.

“I'm not one to shy away from dirty work, but I'll warn you now that I burn like dry grass in a heatwave.” It's a kind offer, one that he's never been given before. Usually people were too wary of him to get close.

Vince laughs out loud, the worry from being away from his siblings for long slowly fading away. This boy—this sweet, quiet boy, really had an effect on Vince. Greyson was able to bring Vince back to normal even while they're talking about family.

A kind person, indeed. Vince would have to try his hardest to befriend Greyson.

"Reckon you'll have fun, though. 'll put you with sum' easier jobs, n' at the end, we could go do something' fun. Moms n' dads won't let you r' me leave without a fight."

A blush creeps up Vince's cheeks. There it is. He's lost his limits, and is inviting practically a stranger over to his house. What's up with me?! I can't be so bold alluva sudden!

Easy to fluster under all the so-called aloofness. No one ever tries to approach them, and Vince might just be the first.

"N' why would that be? You're adorable! Nevr' get people, really. Always judgin' for no reason."

Vince slaps Greyson's shoulder a few times, in a teasing, playful manner. He's grinning from ear to ear, happy that Greyson is happy and also so close to him.

“I'm adorable, huh? I think that might be a new word used to describe me. You're easy on the eyes too, Vince.”

Obvious? Yes. But Mother always said to go after the things he wants before they escape him.

"'Easy n' the eyes?' I've been called more uva hunk in my lifetime. But thank 'ya, Grey."

He looks down, watching Greyson's finger as it trails up his metal arm. He extends his fingers, showing the arm off a little bit.

"Does it look odd to 'ya, Grey? 'S a prosthetic arm, if 'ya couldn't tell. Got this while I was fulla bullshit. Still full bullshit now, but I can control myself. 'Nough."

Vince grabs one of his poor cigarettes, the newer one that Greyson gave him kicked to the curb long ago. He twists his finger, and a soft flame bursts from the tip of it, which he uses to heat up the front of the cigarette.

“...Yourself, huh? It suits you, makes you all the more charming, non?” He doesn't know why he slips into a different language, maybe it's from being in such proximity to Rook, or maybe his childhood lessons finally have reason to be used, but there are just some words that English doesn't contain to describe this.

“Une œuvre d'art. A work of art. Your arm, that is. Though that's not to say that you aren't also a work of art- Aïe, je suis en train de me creuser ma propre tombe.”

Grey goes silent, praying to the Seven to give him strength, and wills the warmth on his cheeks to retreat.

“What I mean to say is, your talent, precision, and dedication are works of art.”

Vince waves his hands around, being all showy in an exaggerated way to try and get this guy to laugh. He's not all that egoistical, so it's obvious that what he's saying is all just a joke. When Grey gives him a funny look, Vince can't help but burst into laughter all over again, slapping Grey on the back hard. Not enough to make a dent, but enough to make that cute pouting face again.

When Grey starts speaking French, though, Vince blanks, freezing in place.

"...Ah? What's up with the French? I don' speak a lick 'f French, 'll have 'ya know. Coulda' call'd me a slur, 'nd I'd have no clue!"

Vince snorts, grinning from ear to ear. It's true—he doesn't know not one bit of any other language besides the one he was born saying. The only French words he does know would be stuff like "oui oui" and "bonjour," and even then he would butcher them horribly (wei wei and bonejauhr).

Vince noticed Grey almost going to fiddle with his earring again, and decides to take a bold move and place his mechanical hand gently on top of Grey’s. He chuckles at the other boy’s sheepishness, winking at him as he speaks.

“Think ‘ur good with words, tho’. Ain’t have nobody call me a work ‘f art in this lifetime. N’ I don’t think nobody’ll ever tell me it like you did.”

So much care around the words. So much tenderness, even though they’re technically not even friends yet. Vince wonders why that is, but drops it after a few seconds of pondering. It’s probably just out of formality.

“Mmm… We’ll, if ‘ya think that way, then how ‘bout ya’ give me a real authentic French insult? One that’ll get someone’s boots shakin’, so I can tell it to ‘ur haters n’ have ‘em runnin’ for their lives?”

“Avoir le QI d’une huître. It means that to have the IQ of an oyster. One of my favorites, personally.” Grey smiles, a bright little thing that makes the world feel just a little bit brighter.

Vince laughs, patting Grey on the back for the good insults. He tries to say the insult in French—"cone conmeh uhn valaisw sans po-ih-knee?"—but butchers it terribly and has to watch as Grey laughs in his face.

"Wha—hey! M' pronunciation ain't tha' bad! V' never dun this befor'!"

He's not offended by it, though. Vince laughs along with Grey, but pauses when he catches sight of that pretty smile. My, Sevens...

"Ya'know, after seein' it n' person, m' thinkin' you should smile a little more. Suits 'ya. Brings out yer eyes."

He takes out his phone, opening the camera app.

"Cm'ere. Lemme show ya'."

He flushes at the compliment to his smile, but sheepishly looks towards the camera while placing a hand on Vince's shoulder.

Vince shows Greyson the photo, zooming into his face. Whether or not Greyson sees anything different in himself, it's clear that Vince sees a lot in him.

"'Dorable! Ya'd really be a hot shot, if ya did tha' 'round more people. Good thin' that ya' ain't, 'cause I kinda wanna keep tha' perfect smile all to m'self."

Vince sends the photo to his family group chat before putting the phone into his pocket. The action rides his pants down just a tad, but what's really curious is the white fur peeking underneath. He doesn't seem to realize this, nor the implications of what he just said.

“I-” His throat feels dry. Why does it feel dry?

“You wouldn't have to pose, you're pretty as is.” He mutters, too flustered to notice the fur as he takes out his own phone cups Vince's face with his free hand.

It seems like he's perfectly fine with taking pictures with other people as long as he's not the main subject of it. He stares at the photo for a very long time, then pockets his phone after sending it to someone.

Who?

Who knows. There wasn't a contact name.

"Wha—hey! Whos' that, eh? Ya' beter not be sendin' stuf t' sum rando who'll mock me fo' tha' arm o' mine!"

Vince pouts after realizing that he's really not going to be allowed to see who he's texting, but then his eyes light up when an idea crosses his mind.

"Ah! Didya want my magicam n' that number o' mine, Grey? M' happy t' give it t'ya! I post sum stuff n' there, f' ya'd like t' take a look!"

That's what Greyson starts with, typing the handle into magicam to find the account. When he clicks on the profile picture of a cat hiding in the bushes of a forest, he can already spot a picture from Vince at the gym peeking out from under his bio.

"I could type ma numba for ya, if ya'd like! Y' could put whateva profile picture ya' wanna on there! N' y' don' mind me taggin 'ya n' stuff, d'ya?"

Vince takes Greyson's phone, inputting the number and putting his name as "VINCE!!". He then sends a test text to himself (labeled as Testing!! Testing!! 123!) and then checks his own phone (responding with It worked!!)

"It worked!" Vince exclaims out loud, looking up from his phone.

"'ll be textin' ya 24/7, too. Any sorta pref as ta' what ya' want ur profile pic n' ur name ta' be?"

All he sent?

He check his prone for the test text message, lighting up when he sees the heart.

"Tha's such a cute heart! 'Ur softer than I thought! D'ya text everyon' a heart, r' am I a special lil' fella?"

He replies to the emoticon with one of his one: (*´ω｀*)

Greyson fiddles with the keyboard, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tries to make one by himself. Greyson tries to speak, but Vince won't let him until he's conjured up the perfect kaomoji to use.

"Eh... ahah! 'Think I got it!"

He sends the one he made along with a few variations, grinning like a proud father when he finishes and sits back.

\ (// `u` //) /

\ (// `_` //) /

\ (// `0` //) /

"Thank 'ya! Ya can use 'em if ya... huh?"

Vince looks down at his phone, noticing that Greyson hearted all of the kaomojis with spiderwebs. He tilts his head, squinting to make sure that he was seeing right.

"'S thatta spiderweb?"

Vince looks back up, eyes filled with wonder.

Vince laughs, abandoning his phone to reach out and pinch Greyson's cheeks. His touch is soft, but his hands are rough. Probably from days of working at the farm.

"What a cutie! Wouldda never thoughtta doin' somethin' so creative! How cute!"

Vince moves back, picking up his phone again. He taps his chin, scrolling through emojis until his eyes light up. He then proceeds to like all of Greyson's texts, but instead of a heart, it's a leaf.

“Awh that's cute. A leaf suits you.”

Vince chuckles, now pressing into Greyson fully. He's open for a hug, he very much wants a hug, but he also doesn't want to push Greyson.

"Did'ja really wanna come ofer ta' ma' farm? R' wassat all sum joke?"

He grins, placing his head on Greyson's shoulder.

"Would love it 'f ya came. But we only jus' met."

His eyes light up as a new idea dawns on him.

"Whaddya say ya ask me a few questions, eh? N' I do the same ta ya! How about 'ya start?"

“I don't joke lightly about wanting to escape my mother. I'd love to visit.” He admits, already itching for another cigarette. He doesn't wait long before he's grabbing another from his box and lighting it.

Vince presses his cheek against Greyson's head. He thinks about what question he could ask for a few seconds, taking out another cigarette of his own and asking the question when he the smoke in his mouth caught with the air.

Vince snorts, getting a little shy now. He usually doesn't reveal things like this right off the bat, but... oh, hell. Vince trusts Grey enough for this.

"Ya might find it stupid, but I do like ta' dance. Think I look like tha' dancin' type, Burt not fo' tha type dancing tha' I do. 'Cause I do pole dancin'."

He nudges Greyson playfully, winking.

"Well, m' gonna need a lil more from ya. How 'bout... a secret? Here— 'll give ya mine first. Fair 'change."

Vince taps his chin, thinking about a good secret to give him.

"Ah. 've gotta good 'un. N' if ya come to da farm, ur gonna see 'em anyway."

Vince chuckles nervously, rolling his pant legs up to reveal white fur. His face turns a little redder as he speaks.

“A secret of mine? Hm...” Greyson takes another drag of his cigarette while he thinks, searching for anything that he might categorize as a secret.

Oh.

Well. There's that, of course.

But...

No, too soon.

He could only hope, anyway.

"N' I suspect 'ur gettin' better, no? 'Cause 'ur real nice n' amazin'! M' enjoying' ma time wit ya!"

He winks, pulling down his pant leg. He doesn't feel so ashamed about his legs anymore. Not with the way Greyson reacted to them. He's glad that the other boy didn't find them weird like most do.

A satanist and a cannibalist. An unhealthy duo.

"N' wha 'bout you? R' should I ask a differen' quest'n?"

Is it better or worse that he's glad it was her and not anyone else?

He looks one minute away from just shoving his cigarette into his mouth and eating it.

"I won' tell. An' if ya don' wanna tell what happen' tha' day either, tha's a-okay. But jus' kno' tha you n' I, well, we're in tha same situation. So if 'ya ever wanna tell me 'bout tha, I could tell ya bout my siblings Marcy n Ophelia."

He smiles, trying to lighten the mood.

Vince giggles, ruffling Greyson's hair as an excuse to get to touch him more. Vince had never really had a crush before, more prone to feeling familial things than anything else. But now, with this sweet, broken boy...

He didn't want to get too into it.

"'Cause ah'd say tha' we're weird, too. Is it like tha'? R' sumthin' different?"

He tilts his head, reaching out and snatching another fancy cigarette from Greyson. He chuckles, lighting the front with his mechanical finger like he had shown before. He then opens a hidden pocket in his arm, taking out two chocolate bites.

Greyson massaged the bridge of his nose as he slipped out of history class as soon as Professor Trein turned his back, footsteps light and quick as he retreated to his favorite spot in the courtyard. He sat down on a bench and pulled out his box of cigarettes, lighting one with a bit of magic and taking a long drag from it.

“Fucking finally.. I've been craving a smoke all day.” He mutters to himself, smoke drifting past his lips and curling into the air.

He thinks he's alone. But is he truly?

Vicente Cabro isn't well-known, but he isn't unknown, either. He's somewhere in the middle, and while he knows many people, he doesn't have a lot of them that he can call friends. Who knows— maybe Greyson Jude will be the one to become one of the rare people Vince calls a true friend. Maybe someone who isn't afraid to defy the rules is just what he needs.

Vince needs a break. He's only been in Night Raven College for a few months, and already he's getting overstimulated. He's never been away from his siblings for so long, the most being a day or two when he's out doing things. The absence of their chattering voices is jarring for him, and history class isn't really doing it for him when it comes to listening the growing ache in his heart. Stepping out of that stuffy classroom buzzing with energy and getting some fresh air for a few minutes is exactly what he needs right now.

Except the air isn't all that fresh. It's laced with smoke, something Vince can sense from a mile away. He's not unfamiliar with the smell—in fact, he even brought outside a pack of his own cigarettes, ready to use them to blow off some steam. Is there already someone smoking out here?

He steps forward, the grass beneath him shifting to hold his weight. When he gets closer, he tilts his head, recognizing their uniform. A Pomefiore student. And a young one, at that—a first year like him, maybe? Vince doesn't see many first years smoking like he does. This is new. And very welcome.

Vince comes closer, ready to join the other boy on the bench if he'd allow it, but he freezes when he whips his head around. He hadn't thought that he would scare the poor Pomefiore so badly.

"Ah... didn' mean t' startle ya', man. M' here for the same reason you are, if 'm bein' frank."

He takes out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, jostling them while his other hand moves to rub the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture.

"Do ya' mind if I sit next t' ya'? M' not a tattletale or anythin', I swear."

“You're in my class, aren't you? T'be honest, I didn't think anyone else would come out to escape from Trein's bullshit.” Grey mumbles around his cigarette, digging in his pockets for a moment and pulling out a lighter that he offers to Vince. They can just use magic, sure, but there was something nostalgic about using an ordinary lighter.

Well, as ordinary as a custom-made lighter could get. The mirror and forest motifs, alongside Greyson's name scrawled in cursive, is a dead giveaway that he has money or at least comes from it.

Vince takes his seat a comfortable distance away from Greyson, leaning his arm against the side of the bench. He takes one of his cigarettes out, murmuring a small "thank you" when the other boy hands him the lighter.

"Unless ya' ain't willin', which in that case, I'd be makin' a fool outta myself right now. M' pretty experienced in that... locale."

Vince turns the lighter over in his hands, reading the word engraved off to the side.

"Doesn't look like any regular lighter I've seen. N' those cigarettes, too—look like they come from 'n expensive brand, why don't they. D' ya' think they feel any different to smoke, at the end?"

He chuckles, lighting up his cigarette and handing the lighter back. He takes a puff, giving the smoke a minute to properly mix with he air before he asks another question.

“There's probably not much of a difference, but you can try one of mine if you'd like.” He offers, taking the lighter back and pocketing it before blowing smoke out into the air.

Vince takes the offered cigarette gingerly, lighting it with the other cigarette he has on hand.

"Feel like 'm in the presence 'f riches, I do. Like 'm some poor weasel on the side 'f the road that's gettin' a whiff of the way the wealthy do it. Reckon 'm feelin' right?"

He smiles at his analogy, taking a whiff from this cigarette.

"Flows a little better, that's for sure. But at the end 'f the day, the relief is all the same. Thanks for letting' me try em' out, though."

Vince tilts his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles wistfully. It's not a surprise to him that this Greyson stranger didn't catch his name right off the bat—it's near-missable, unless you're actually looking out for it. Vince won't admit it out loud, but the other boy does look like the type to fully disregard anyone who won't give him something.

Maybe this exchange is different. Or maybe he's the victim.

"Name's Vicente Cabro, but everyone calls me Vince. Don't blame ya' for not recognizing it right off the bat. A pretty ordinary name, that one."

Vince offers his own cigarette box to him, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Vince, hm? I wouldn't call it ordinary, if anything I think Greyson is more common, but it's a pleasure to meet you as well.” He hums with consideration after getting a whiff of the other's cig.

"Right they do," he says simply, nodding as he brings the fancy cigarette up to his lips again. He looks back at the other boy, noticing the details in his uniform: the beret-like hat on his head, the accent necklaces, the earrings that are something new compared to what students at Night Raven College usually wear. It's cute, he thinks.

"I like what y' did with the outfit, by the way. Added 'ur own personal touch. That's nice."

He tips his cigarette over the bench, dusting some of the charcoal-dark particles off with his finger.

Vince smiles faintly, but his eyes don't look like they're present in the conversation.

"'S hard for me to stay away from m' family for so long. I've been w' them for ages. I jus' got particularly overwhelmed today."

He watches Grey fidget with the earring, noticing that he might be uncomfortable. He hesitates before speaking his next words, voice careful.

"You wanna tell me how you got to this school? This college? Only if you wanna, of course."

Vince is a touchy person, and not having affection for months on end can make a touchy person go crazy. He used to get satiated easily, getting in a cuddle pile with his parents and siblings and watching a movie and play-fighting with them and sticking by their side. But now, this—barely a graze, an unconscious movement—is all the touch he can get anymore. It drives Vince mad, but he doesn't want to make a move and scare the poor boy. He... looses track of his limits sometimes, especially with unfamiliar things (or people).

"I understan' the feeling," Vince nods. "My parents used t' do the same thing, but t' a... more brash extent. But now I got brought into a lovin' family, n' I would never change 'em for anythin' else. Thing's get better, Grey. You can hold me t' it."

Vince looks down at his free palm, opening and closing it a few times. He pretends to do a cool magic spell, whacking it round and round as if he's doing something really powerful.

"Don' even have my UM yet. I wish, though."

His palm drops back to his lap.

“I'm glad you have a better family, at the very least. It must be nice, having siblings. As far as I know, my closest relative is my grandmother, and I'm quite sick of hearing her preach about gender comformity.”

He laughs, but it's a little bitter. The Pomefiore student hides his wistful look behind another drag of his cigarette, which was already becoming a stub from use over time.

Vince takes a drag with him, the smoke from the two cigarettes hesitating before twisting and blending into each other. It's almost poetic.

"I don' care 'bout gender nonsense, don' get me wrong. I jus' wanna know what t' refer t' you by. Better t' tell me sooner than later, 'cause then I keep slippin' up."

Vince decides to be a little daring and press against Greyson's shoulder. Now, instead of a light graze, they're pressing into each other, however softly.

Vince chuckles, letting Grey rest on his shoulder all he wants. He's itching to get closer, longing to get the affection he heeds. But he's able to controls himself and take another puff instead.

"How 'bout I use they/them on you from now on? So y' can see when one y' like better?"

Don't get ahead of 'urself, Vince. He don't mean anythin' by this. Stay calm.

"N' for me, you can use sum' usual he/him, by the way. To let 'ya know."

A comfortable silence wraps around the two boys. Or, comfortable for Greyson, at least—Vince is internally panicking, scrambling to find something else to talk about. He's usually good at this. Why can't he be good at this right now?

"Ya' told me a bit 'bout your home life, so 'll tell you 'bout mine 'n return," he blurts a little faster than usual. A weak conversation starter in the sense that it's obvious, but a conversation starter nonetheless.

"'M adopted. Grew up young n' a shit family, not very important. Got adopted by m' momma n' my mom n' my papa n' my dad when I was twelve. Ya' heard right: four. 'S a polycule, n' they adopted four children n' had five t' go with 'em. M' the seventh r' eighth, pretty sure."

Vince chuckles, ruffling Greyson's hair lightly as a thought occurs to him.

“I'm not one to shy away from dirty work, but I'll warn you now that I burn like dry grass in a heatwave.” It's a kind offer, one that he's never been given before. Usually people were too wary of him to get close.

Vince laughs out loud, the worry from being away from his siblings for long slowly fading away. This boy—this sweet, quiet boy, really had an effect on Vince. Greyson was able to bring Vince back to normal even while they're talking about family.

A kind person, indeed. Vince would have to try his hardest to befriend Greyson.

"Reckon you'll have fun, though. 'll put you with sum' easier jobs, n' at the end, we could go do something' fun. Moms n' dads won't let you r' me leave without a fight."

A blush creeps up Vince's cheeks. There it is. He's lost his limits, and is inviting practically a stranger over to his house. What's up with me?! I can't be so bold alluva sudden!

Easy to fluster under all the so-called aloofness. No one ever tries to approach them, and Vince might just be the first.

"N' why would that be? You're adorable! Nevr' get people, really. Always judgin' for no reason."

Vince slaps Greyson's shoulder a few times, in a teasing, playful manner. He's grinning from ear to ear, happy that Greyson is happy and also so close to him.

“I'm adorable, huh? I think that might be a new word used to describe me. You're easy on the eyes too, Vince.”

Obvious? Yes. But Mother always said to go after the things he wants before they escape him.

"'Easy n' the eyes?' I've been called more uva hunk in my lifetime. But thank 'ya, Grey."

He looks down, watching Greyson's finger as it trails up his metal arm. He extends his fingers, showing the arm off a little bit.

"Does it look odd to 'ya, Grey? 'S a prosthetic arm, if 'ya couldn't tell. Got this while I was fulla bullshit. Still full bullshit now, but I can control myself. 'Nough."

Vince grabs one of his poor cigarettes, the newer one that Greyson gave him kicked to the curb long ago. He twists his finger, and a soft flame bursts from the tip of it, which he uses to heat up the front of the cigarette.

“...Yourself, huh? It suits you, makes you all the more charming, non?” He doesn't know why he slips into a different language, maybe it's from being in such proximity to Rook, or maybe his childhood lessons finally have reason to be used, but there are just some words that English doesn't contain to describe this.

“Une œuvre d'art. A work of art. Your arm, that is. Though that's not to say that you aren't also a work of art- Aïe, je suis en train de me creuser ma propre tombe.”

Grey goes silent, praying to the Seven to give him strength, and wills the warmth on his cheeks to retreat.

“What I mean to say is, your talent, precision, and dedication are works of art.”

Vince waves his hands around, being all showy in an exaggerated way to try and get this guy to laugh. He's not all that egoistical, so it's obvious that what he's saying is all just a joke. When Grey gives him a funny look, Vince can't help but burst into laughter all over again, slapping Grey on the back hard. Not enough to make a dent, but enough to make that cute pouting face again.

When Grey starts speaking French, though, Vince blanks, freezing in place.

"...Ah? What's up with the French? I don' speak a lick 'f French, 'll have 'ya know. Coulda' call'd me a slur, 'nd I'd have no clue!"

Vince snorts, grinning from ear to ear. It's true—he doesn't know not one bit of any other language besides the one he was born saying. The only French words he does know would be stuff like "oui oui" and "bonjour," and even then he would butcher them horribly (wei wei and bonejauhr).

Vince noticed Grey almost going to fiddle with his earring again, and decides to take a bold move and place his mechanical hand gently on top of Grey’s. He chuckles at the other boy’s sheepishness, winking at him as he speaks.

“Think ‘ur good with words, tho’. Ain’t have nobody call me a work ‘f art in this lifetime. N’ I don’t think nobody’ll ever tell me it like you did.”

So much care around the words. So much tenderness, even though they’re technically not even friends yet. Vince wonders why that is, but drops it after a few seconds of pondering. It’s probably just out of formality.

“Mmm… We’ll, if ‘ya think that way, then how ‘bout ya’ give me a real authentic French insult? One that’ll get someone’s boots shakin’, so I can tell it to ‘ur haters n’ have ‘em runnin’ for their lives?”

“Avoir le QI d’une huître. It means that to have the IQ of an oyster. One of my favorites, personally.” Grey smiles, a bright little thing that makes the world feel just a little bit brighter.

Vince laughs, patting Grey on the back for the good insults. He tries to say the insult in French—"cone conmeh uhn valaisw sans po-ih-knee?"—but butchers it terribly and has to watch as Grey laughs in his face.

"Wha—hey! M' pronunciation ain't tha' bad! V' never dun this befor'!"

He's not offended by it, though. Vince laughs along with Grey, but pauses when he catches sight of that pretty smile. My, Sevens...

"Ya'know, after seein' it n' person, m' thinkin' you should smile a little more. Suits 'ya. Brings out yer eyes."

He takes out his phone, opening the camera app.

"Cm'ere. Lemme show ya'."

He flushes at the compliment to his smile, but sheepishly looks towards the camera while placing a hand on Vince's shoulder.

Vince shows Greyson the photo, zooming into his face. Whether or not Greyson sees anything different in himself, it's clear that Vince sees a lot in him.

"'Dorable! Ya'd really be a hot shot, if ya did tha' 'round more people. Good thin' that ya' ain't, 'cause I kinda wanna keep tha' perfect smile all to m'self."

Vince sends the photo to his family group chat before putting the phone into his pocket. The action rides his pants down just a tad, but what's really curious is the white fur peeking underneath. He doesn't seem to realize this, nor the implications of what he just said.

“I-” His throat feels dry. Why does it feel dry?

“You wouldn't have to pose, you're pretty as is.” He mutters, too flustered to notice the fur as he takes out his own phone cups Vince's face with his free hand.

It seems like he's perfectly fine with taking pictures with other people as long as he's not the main subject of it. He stares at the photo for a very long time, then pockets his phone after sending it to someone.

Who?

Who knows. There wasn't a contact name.

"Wha—hey! Whos' that, eh? Ya' beter not be sendin' stuf t' sum rando who'll mock me fo' tha' arm o' mine!"

Vince pouts after realizing that he's really not going to be allowed to see who he's texting, but then his eyes light up when an idea crosses his mind.

"Ah! Didya want my magicam n' that number o' mine, Grey? M' happy t' give it t'ya! I post sum stuff n' there, f' ya'd like t' take a look!"

That's what Greyson starts with, typing the handle into magicam to find the account. When he clicks on the profile picture of a cat hiding in the bushes of a forest, he can already spot a picture from Vince at the gym peeking out from under his bio.

"I could type ma numba for ya, if ya'd like! Y' could put whateva profile picture ya' wanna on there! N' y' don' mind me taggin 'ya n' stuff, d'ya?"

Vince takes Greyson's phone, inputting the number and putting his name as "VINCE!!". He then sends a test text to himself (labeled as Testing!! Testing!! 123!) and then checks his own phone (responding with It worked!!)

"It worked!" Vince exclaims out loud, looking up from his phone.

"'ll be textin' ya 24/7, too. Any sorta pref as ta' what ya' want ur profile pic n' ur name ta' be?"

All he sent?

He check his prone for the test text message, lighting up when he sees the heart.

"Tha's such a cute heart! 'Ur softer than I thought! D'ya text everyon' a heart, r' am I a special lil' fella?"

He replies to the emoticon with one of his one: (*´ω｀*)

Greyson fiddles with the keyboard, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tries to make one by himself. Greyson tries to speak, but Vince won't let him until he's conjured up the perfect kaomoji to use.

"Eh... ahah! 'Think I got it!"

He sends the one he made along with a few variations, grinning like a proud father when he finishes and sits back.

\ (// `u` //) /

\ (// `_` //) /

\ (// `0` //) /