Vincent was completely and entirely comfortable as he felt Gus Lissington melt into him. The red-head’s words were still rattling around in his head, sweet and soothing and promising even as he leaned into the kiss. I wouldn’t ever hurt you he said, and perhaps he really meant it. Vince could see Lissington meaning it in every action the pretty red-head had ever shown him, from every manner in which the ‘Puff had treated him since they’d met. Vince trusted Lissington in a way he honestly never thought he’d trust anyone again - not after the blowout with Cass this summer and all the aftermath - but it was so incredibly terrifying.

It had been difficult for Vincent to learn to share this part of himself. Over the past few weeks, after he and Lissington had struck up whatever it was they’d started, it had been purely physical. Distant, even. They were friendly, but not friends. They were physical, but not close. Slowly, somewhere along the line, that had started to change, with their sitting together platonically on occasion and chatting about trivial things every so often. And then… today… here and now, Vincent was finally coming to realize… they were more than just that anymore. For the first time since he’d opened up to Cass, Vincent felt seen for who and what he was— for what he wanted. For the first time, ever, someone actually wanted him back too.

As he slowly pressed closer, need and greed and every other form of sentimental desire raging through the Slytherin’s system, Vincent became distantly aware of a sound. A sound that was out of place but not alarming enough to force him back into a reality he didn’t want to face. Here, in Lissington’s arms he was sheltered, protected, safe. It wasn’t until a familiar voice shattered the peace that Vincent finally retreated from his heavenly moment to recoil so violently, he slammed his head into the tree trunk. Searing pain rocked the back of his skull, shooting any sense of calm from the Slytherin’s visage as his delicate nose scrunched and Vince raised a hand to the back of his skull.

Scrambling to his feet then and leveling Cassian Valenduris with a withering, angry look, Vincent felt everything inside of himself tense. (Of all the bloody students to find them—) Beside him, Lissington seemed to scramble madly as well and Vince didn’t move, or turn to look at the red-head even as Lissington whispered something urgently and stepped forward to invite Cass into their moment. Suddenly, Vince balked. Wait, no! He turned an affronted look onto the other and opened his mouth to protest.This was their moment. Nobody had a right to intrude, not even Cass! Especially not with his judgement and negativity. Not now. Not after so much had happened.

Vince had seen the expression from this summer so markedly familiar on the big blonde’s features again, a look that still haunted his dreams on occasion. It was disgust and bitterness and hatred all wrapped up in the pretense of distinction. Cassian Valenduris was not in a position himself to forsake anyone and, as Vincent tried to shove the thought of Cass’ own sentiments from his mind, he held out an arm in front of the red-head to stop him in his tracks. Vince knew then that Cass was about to throw an utter fit and so, stepping forward, he intoned a sharp little “No.”

Green eyes narrowed at the back of the blonde’s head, fury that the other couldn’t even stand to look at them fueling the fight that had been simmering in his gut all day. “He can’t sit with us actually.” If Cassian was going to be a prick then Vincent was going to give him something to be a prick about. “What do you want, Cass?” He asked, pointedly. “I don’t have anything for you about the weather or even our classes. So what is it you could possibly have come up here for?” If his voice was sharp and painfully laden with emotion, then Vince did nothing to hide it. He was not in the mood for Cassian’s lectures at the moment. Or the stabbing pain that was bound to come from whatever the big, moronic blonde had to say next.

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