Vincent wasn’t sure about Lissington’s friendly manner enough to feel perfectly comfortable flopping down beside him and bemoaning his own circumstances. They were surely not close enough for that, all else aside. (Sure, he could expose his deepest dirtiest fantasies to the redhead and moan his name into the next century, but share anything personal? Never.) The strawberry blonde shuffled awkwardly. He wanted to be friends though, and this was the way one did that wasn’t it? Finding commonalities and sharing? Vince sucked in a breath. It wasn’t until the redhead’s own face contorted however that the Slytherin finally felt his resolve break.

What’s wrong? he asked.

He noticed.

All at once, everything in Vince swept forward like a waterfall and he felt himself frown at the other. Everything, he wanted to wail. Everything and nothing, a storm in a teacup! Except it wasn’t nothing. It was much more than nothing, experiences that would shape him into the man he’d one day become even if right now it felt like all would pass. Vincent sighed and decided to sit. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “Just some nasty Slytherins.”

Vince wasn’t sure if he wanted to elaborate more than that. He’d never actually confessed to anyone, even Cass, how much he hated his own house and the other students in it. It felt almost like he was betraying a part of himself through such exposure, a part that blasted little sorting hat had seen in him. Sometimes during the yearly sorting Vince wished it would catch on fire on some poor first year’s head. A Slytherin, preferably. Shooing the rather morbid thought aside, Vince considered Lissington.

In his sitting he’d ignored the others' reach to take his hand, too wrapped up in his own selfishness to notice, but now… now Vince transferred his book to his lap and sat cross legged. He leaned into the redhead’s shoulder and resisted the urge to lay his head upon it. Lissington was a tactile being, something that was entirely new to Vincent but that the Slytherin was slowly learning to embrace. He couldn’t neglect his little Hufflepuff and starve him of touch; especially when there was no reason for it, or desire. There was nobody about anyway. Sucking in a quick breath, Vince leaned over and pressed a chaste little kiss on the redhead’s cheek.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to do that except… that he was perfectly able to. Invited even. It was a warming feeling that made his bitterness abate a touch. Lissington wanted Vincent, in every way that others simply didn’t. Even Cass.

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The following 2 users Like Vincent Iago's post:2 users Like Vincent Iago's post
   Cassian Valenduris, Gus Lissington