Vincent didn’t like the look on Cass’ face anymore than he liked feeling like he was about to crawl out of his own skin. He felt out of place in this house all of a sudden; like nothing here was meant for him, or wanted him. Especially Cass. Frowning a touch at the other’s tone and obvious formality, the little Slytherin couldn’t help but raise his chin defiantly. “Do I?” He responded lightly, noncommittally.

He didn’t, and they both knew it. Vince hadn’t run after Cass for a reason. Despite his lack of restraint, the Slytherin had some dignity and he wasn’t about to squander it by arguing trivialities with someone who clearly wanted to impress upon him they had the upper hand. It was the story of Vince’s life, really; the fact that it was Cass this time shouldn’t have surprised him. He knew this day would come eventually, even if the other had promised to always stay on equal footing.

If there was one thing that Vincent resented more than anything in this life it was his traditional upper-class upbringing despite sitting firmly, fiscally, in the middle class. He’d been born into the upper class, raised with all the right governesses and nannies, and then somewhere around his first year at Hogwarts something had changed. Mama had moved out of the estate house in the country where grand-mama lived; she’d settled into a flat here in London and decided it was better to live meagerly and alone than surrounded by the opulence of her family when she, truly, had little. Vincent knew she had ambitions to remarry, to step back up, but he had a sneaking suspicion she hesitated on his behalf. Because of what he was to her. The same way the others scoffed at him for what he was to her. It was a catch twenty-two the halfblood simply could not win. Turning a sharp green eye to Cassian, Vincent crossed his arms over his chest and stood, refusing a seat. “Thank you,” he replied in that same blasé, devil-may-care tone. “I’ll stand.”

Vincent found himself at a loss for further words. He knew he had to be the one to prompt this conversation, or lack thereof, because Cass certainly wasn’t going to and yet… he shifted. “Well, I’ll be off in the morning,” he decided. There was no use talking about this; he’d already played out every possible outcome in his head. If there was any hope at not finding himself pinned uncomfortably against the wall, tongue in cheek, then it was better to just… let it go. Vince knew better than anyone how Cass’ temper worked, and he didn’t trust himself to keep from igniting it more and more until he got what he wanted. (Which at this point, was neither here nor there.)

“I suppose we ought to tidy this up like gentlemen.” He sighed a touch. “If you’ve anything to say, speak now. Else we shall forget any of this ever happened and part ways.” Forever. If his tone was commanding, Vincent didn’t mean it.

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