Cassian raised his eyebrows at first, determined to keep a straight and earnest face. But as Vince turned redder every second the silence extended, the hue creeping even to the back of his neck, the blonde’s lips started to twitch into a smile. Of course, Vince is never truly rendered speechless (though Cass swelled with a bit of pride knowing that he stumped him for a minute), and so he kept nodding very intently while his friend tried explaining himself until, finally, he busted up laughing.
It was a booming, full-body kind of laugh, one that sent his head back in the pillow while he covered his face and gasped for air.“Oh yes… I forgot… about the… the Scarecrows…” Soon enough, he managed to make a recovery, sobered a bit by the fact that his instinct was right. It sealed in Cassian’s mind that no one knew Vincent better than him - a fact that went the other way around as well - yet there were still countless things about Vince that he didn’t know. This realization came with some relief, though. Whatever his friend is dealing with, they could surely work through it together.
“Let’s skip the quidditch game tomorrow,” he finally suggested, feeling a little guilty that he didn’t notice sooner. “It's Puddlemere United versus Montrose Magpies, just a midseason game. We’re strictly for Chudley Cannons in this house, mind you.” Truly he could not resist the urge to make sure the Slytherin was properly informed about this, and then he waved his hand as though sweeping a counter, quietly dispelling the topic for another day.
The question was a rhetorical one of course. It was no surprise to see the well-worn “sonnet book,” as Cass called it, come out. Without much thought he found himself nestling into his spot to get comfortable for listening. Vince had a nice voice, for reading.
“Romeo and Juliet?” he inaccurately guessed, he was certain, because they’d read that play too, and he hadn’t the faintest idea what Shakespeare thought about a summer day. Was it a day like this one? Blue eyes drifted to look out the window as Vince started to recite the sonnet. Some days the words passed over his head in a haze. Other days, the words pierced him, lighting a fire in his chest or twisting his gut. Today it was the latter, with a cool breeze lifting the hairs of his neck and arms on end. For a moment, silence filtered between them.
"...Can you read it again?" he asked as quietly as the patter of rain outside. This wasn't entirely uncommon thing for him to ask, but usually it happened when the words didn't make sense. It was unusual, then, for him to ask to hear the sonnet again when the look on his face said plainly that he was already considering its meaning.
After the second reading, the silence that followed felt full, unspoken thoughts lingering between them. It… worried Cassian. He latched on to a negative interpretation, one bewildered by Shakespeare’s blind faith in love to overcome this state of anguish. And more importantly, what did Vince mean by this - did he really think he was the same as this cursed man?
Feeling Vincent so close didn’t bother Cass, it reminded him of where they were, and dragged him out of his own head. He turned towards his best friend, not confused, not angry, but locking eyes - firmly this time - with a look that implored to the brunette, please, why won’t you be honest with me, with yourself? “Vince…” he started softly. “Do you see yourself in this sonnet?”
It was a booming, full-body kind of laugh, one that sent his head back in the pillow while he covered his face and gasped for air.“Oh yes… I forgot… about the… the Scarecrows…” Soon enough, he managed to make a recovery, sobered a bit by the fact that his instinct was right. It sealed in Cassian’s mind that no one knew Vincent better than him - a fact that went the other way around as well - yet there were still countless things about Vince that he didn’t know. This realization came with some relief, though. Whatever his friend is dealing with, they could surely work through it together.
“Let’s skip the quidditch game tomorrow,” he finally suggested, feeling a little guilty that he didn’t notice sooner. “It's Puddlemere United versus Montrose Magpies, just a midseason game. We’re strictly for Chudley Cannons in this house, mind you.” Truly he could not resist the urge to make sure the Slytherin was properly informed about this, and then he waved his hand as though sweeping a counter, quietly dispelling the topic for another day.
The question was a rhetorical one of course. It was no surprise to see the well-worn “sonnet book,” as Cass called it, come out. Without much thought he found himself nestling into his spot to get comfortable for listening. Vince had a nice voice, for reading.
“Romeo and Juliet?” he inaccurately guessed, he was certain, because they’d read that play too, and he hadn’t the faintest idea what Shakespeare thought about a summer day. Was it a day like this one? Blue eyes drifted to look out the window as Vince started to recite the sonnet. Some days the words passed over his head in a haze. Other days, the words pierced him, lighting a fire in his chest or twisting his gut. Today it was the latter, with a cool breeze lifting the hairs of his neck and arms on end. For a moment, silence filtered between them.
"...Can you read it again?" he asked as quietly as the patter of rain outside. This wasn't entirely uncommon thing for him to ask, but usually it happened when the words didn't make sense. It was unusual, then, for him to ask to hear the sonnet again when the look on his face said plainly that he was already considering its meaning.
After the second reading, the silence that followed felt full, unspoken thoughts lingering between them. It… worried Cassian. He latched on to a negative interpretation, one bewildered by Shakespeare’s blind faith in love to overcome this state of anguish. And more importantly, what did Vince mean by this - did he really think he was the same as this cursed man?
Feeling Vincent so close didn’t bother Cass, it reminded him of where they were, and dragged him out of his own head. He turned towards his best friend, not confused, not angry, but locking eyes - firmly this time - with a look that implored to the brunette, please, why won’t you be honest with me, with yourself? “Vince…” he started softly. “Do you see yourself in this sonnet?”
eyecandy by fox<3