#viescorch

The reception he’s headed to is being held in one of the fanciest hotels in the city. It’s a charity thing, and he was only invited by the power of Walon Vau’s contacts, but the promise of high-end glamour and terrible hors d’œuvres and tiny flutes of champagne isn’t exactly why he’s excited to be here tonight.

The front steps are carpeted in red and the doorman greets Vies personally as he enters. There’s a whole to-do in the grand entrance hall: something like a hundred people all milling about under a clamour of polite conversation and heavily festive wintry décor. He feels lost, for a moment, suddenly adrift and searching out any passingly-familiar face with an increasing sense of desperation.

“Hey,” somebody calls gently by his shoulder. Vies turns—breaks out into a grin before he can temper it. Scorch makes a fine figure in an evening suit and bow tie, and smiles back with a cheeky flash of teeth, stepping in closer to be heard above the hubbub. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Happy to see me?” Vies asks, “Or are you happy to have someone else who never knows what to do at these things.”

Scorch holds out a glass, small and fizzing with something appropriately golden coloured, and Vies takes it gratefully. “Do I have to choose one?”

Vies’ pathetic little heart flutters around his chest. It’s been a few months since the fateful evening they met, but just the sight of Scorch’s smile and the scent of his cologne is enough to set off the anxious little butterflies.

They’ve been on a fair few dates since, but they’re both busy men. Vies can be excused for his excitement.

Dizzy with the understanding that he’d probably agree to just about anything Scorch were to suggest right now, Vies gladly follows him around the throng of guests in the grand entrance. He notes the careful beauty of the fir garlands and their tasteful baubles as they pass doorways and hanging portraits that have all been trimmed accordingly, all the way up to the sweeping marble staircase.

He’s so distracted, gaping as he is, that he nearly misses it.

“Oh,” he murmurs, and tugs on the inside of Scorch’s elbow to bring him to a halt.

“What is it?” Scorch asks, brows beginning to crease, but he follows Vies’ gaze upwards and the confusion quickly clears. “Oh.”

Scorch clears his throat. Vies looks at him and wishes he had a camera to capture the delightfully bashful expression he pulls.

“I promise I didn’t know that was there.”

Less of a sprig—a whole branch’s worth of mistletoe has been artfully dangled over the doorway they are currently in the centre of. Planned or not, Vies can’t help but think it’s either an early gift or a sign from higher powers.

“Well,” he says, letting go of Scorch’s arm to instead place a hand on the lapel of his beautifully tailored suit, “it is tradition.”

“Tradition is very important,” Scorch half-mumbles in distracted agreement. His arm winds around Vies’ waist; Vies has missed him entirely too much these past few months, and leans forward to kiss him without any further hesitation.

Scorch laughs, returning the kiss with just as much fervour. “Your nose is really cold,” he murmurs against Vies’ lips.

The panel chimes a moment later and the door slides open to a brother in his blacks, rolling up his sleeves as if he’s only just shed his plates.

“…Scorch?” he asks, frowning.

“Surprise!” Scorch says. He thrusts forward the roll of flowers in his hand: a bouquet, Laseema had told him, helping him pick the colours at the shop not far from HQ.

Vies blinks at it, at him. He takes the cellophane wrapping carefully and doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with it, but as he looks closer Scorch is delighted to see the corners of his lips twitching up.

“Scorch,” he says again, gentler. “I thought you were with the rest of Delta.”

Scorch smiles and folds his empty hands over his front to keep himself from fidgeting. He rocks subtly up on his toes anyway—he’s never done well with standing still.

“I was,” he admits. “But then I heard from Ordo who heard from Maze that you were planetside—though I’m not sure why they were talking about you. Or telling me.”

Vies opens his mouth and closes it again. “So… you cancelled?”

“I suppose? I’d much rather, uh. Well. I came to say hello. In person.”

“For me,” Vies says, almost to himself, and hides half his face behind the flowers.

Scorch swallows through a dry mouth. “Er—yeah,” he answers lamely. “It’s nice to finally meet you face to face.”

Vies picks himself up from the bouquet and steps back, gesturing for Scorch to follow.

“Come in!” he says. “Come in, it’s… Wow, yes, it’s good to meet you. I feel like I’ve known you for so long now.”

“Six months, sir,” Scorch replies. He can get away with cheeky while Vies is distracted by his surprise visit—maybe he should have called ahead?—but Vies still pauses to give him a very familiar look of exasperation.