amour coriace ( five hargreeves! )

032

( you're going to die in your best friend's arms. and you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, because you've memorized it, because it's all you know )

chapter thirty-two !

FROM HERE, THE STORY GETS COMPLEX AND ALMOST SADDENING. You really should have seen it coming. Vincent did. He saw it very well. 

Vincent knew from the moment he stepped foot in the theater that Vanya Hargreeves was about to end the world in that this was where the story came to an impartial end. This was where it all went sideways, where Vincent became nothing more than a lonely star in the sky, floating and floating and floating. This was where the Commission's prophecy would see itself true.

He was oddly calm about it.

Being faced with the prospect of death was something Vincent had never once allowed himself to fawn over. He was afraid because he would always be afraid, but the acceptance was something he'd built up for years.

He would be fine. Maybe.

Maybe not.

The ringing in Vincent's ear was incessant, panging in his head painfully. He didn't know why it was happening exactly, but he did know that it was strongly unpleasant. He already wanted to leave the theater and they had barely even walked inside.

Upon entering the lobby, Allison stopped the others abruptly, scribbling something out on her notepad before holding it up for the others to see. "I NEED TO GO ALONE," it said, something that Vincent immediately began nodding quickly in agreement with, pointing at it.

"Allison, I can't let you do that, alright? She's beyond reasoning." Luther retorted, shaking his head.

"Do you hear the music?! It's started!" Diego called out, gesturing to the entrance to the stage.

"Do you want us to think she's gonna listen? After everything that's happened?" Luther huffed to Allison, glaring at Vincent when he mocked the questions under his breath in a high-pitched voice. "Okay." He said slowly.

Allison nodded momentarily before turning around, jogging into the area where the performance was happening. Vincent watched her, unable to swallow down the bubble of anger in his chest. His irritation was at an all-time high in this place, and he had no idea why.

It felt invigorating and yet so horrible, so beautifully horrible.

Vincent whipped around to stare at Luther, grinding his teeth hard. "You're a stupid fucking asshole. Using her as a distraction is quite possibly the worst idea you've ever had," He huffed. "Tackling Vanya won't do dick."

"It'll be our best chance to incapacitate Vanya." Luther argued.

"Oh fuck you, motherfucker," Vincent spat out, taking a step forward. "I fucking—"

"Vincent," Klaus mumbled softly, eyes wide. "Your eyes are glowing white."

Vincent snapped out of his anger immediately in favor of being overtaken by an ice cold fear. His shoulders stiffened as he brought one oddly shaky hand to his eye, rubbing at it harshly. He remembered this. He remembered the figurine in Harold Jenkins house. He remembered how white his eyes were. He remembered how white Vanya's were. He remembered. How could he not?