vincent
The next days that followed were somewhat steps piling up in order for the catalyst that would follow.
They'd arranged to work at his house the following Thursday, Friday, and if they needed it, the Saturday, and Sunday, to finish the project.
On the first day, Vincent had messaged Ruth beforehand, but didn't get a reply, so when his bell rang and he casually strode to open it, he was shocked to see her standing there.
Vincent blinked at Ruth.
As the cold air swept into the room and chilled him, he did a quick sweep of her. She was wearing a big mustard-colored puffer, making her look very small, with a thick, black scarf wrapped buffly around her neck, and her bag slung over one shoulder. Half her face was hidden in the scarf, especially with the toque (God bless her for finally wearing it right) covering just below her brows, before she looked up while pulling her scarf down and revealed a slightly pink-tinted nose and cheeks, and breath coming out in pale puffs of air. Her eyelashes were frozen by the looks of it as well, with white tips blinking and her hair tied back like it always was. She looked like a snowman. He wanted to hug her.
Instead, he said, "You actually came."
Her features softened for a moment. "Of course."
"You didn't reply to my messages, so I thought you wouldn't show up." Shut up. Why was he getting annoyed? He knew she didn't want to have anything to do with him. He didn't know why small things like that still upset him.
She held up her phone. "It froze and died, sorry." He wanted to punch himself for almost being happy. "Do you have a charger?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, 'f course."
They stared at each other for a moment, before she pointed somewhat at his house and raised her brows slightly, reminding him that she was still in the cold. Vincent blinked once more and cleared his throat, widening his door. "Sorry. Come in."
"Thank you."
"Shoot," he said after closing the door. "I already put all my supplies away. Give me a sec."
"Are we not working in your room...?" she asked as she unwrapped her scarf.
Vincent regarded her for a moment. "No..." he said. "We'll work on the dining table."
He jogged up the stairs three at a time, picking his backpack off the ground, rummaging through the piles of homework and grabbing the essentials. He changed his shirt too, embarrassed at the ramen stains she'd probably seen. Then he began thinking about her.
Ruth talked to him...
He shook his head, laughing at himself. He was really pathetic. Was he at the point that her talking to him made him happy?
...
Yeah. He definitely was.
He didn't want to see her unhappy. And more than that, he didn't want to be the one to make her unhappy. That's why he was letting her go.
But when he saw her standing in the doorway, and she unwrapped the scarf...
He closed his eyes.
He was really considering holding her in his arms.
Sucking in a deep breath, he made his way downstairs, seeing Ruth sitting comfortably with one leg propped up on his dining room chair.
"Hey."
She turned to him, blinking at his shirt. He peered down, eyes landing on the corner that was riding up.
Vincent raised a brow, pulling it down casually as he could, sitting across from her to give her as much space as he could. "Hey. Let's start."
They discussed what they wanted to complete for the first day, and Ruth started the first part, whereas Vincent started the second; partner assessment.
"Hey, Ruth," he said after filling out his personal assessment, "What did you give me for the partner grade?"
She scrunched up her nose. "You first."
"I gave you a one hundred," he said, like it should've been obvious.
"Okay," Ruth said. "I gave you a ninety-six."
"Only?" he said with a jokingly exasperated voice, brows genuinely raising. Although being embarrassingly in love with her was something almost always in his mind, he'd given her the grade because she deserved it; Ruth genuinely was the perfect person to work with. He couldn't think of any flaws if he tried. "What happened to the other four percent?"
She tapped her chin with her finger. "You don't seem to work as good with a partner."
"That's because I work better alone."
"Since when?" She snorted. "You suggested we worked together in the first place."
"Yeah, but I just did that for your sake," Vincent said as he slightly scratched his nose. He didn't even realize what he was doing until Ruth's lack of words rung in him, and his eyes landed on her, whose expression was far different than he would've expected. She had a contented expression on her face, which she wiped off her face the second she saw him staring.
"Yeah, we'll believe that for now," Ruth murmured to herself, and Vincent didn't know if he was meant to hear it or not.
And that was it for the first day.
The second day went by quite fast, with them completing the editing for the script as well as discussing performance— all up until the end.
Vincent had sat his chromebook down, reading over his lines again with a grimace. Cheesy. He wasn't sure how he'd be able to say it to her without cracking up. Or crying. Or both.
"I'll highlight your lines," he said to Ruth, looking up at her from across the table. She'd sat beside him at first, until he shifted casually and said he had to go check the air conditioning, and when he returned, he sat across from her again. He couldn't quite think rationally with her less than ten inches away. "What color do you want?"
"You pick."
He colored them yellow, and waited a second before looking to her expectantly. She was just watching him quietly.
"Ruth," he said slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Is it there?"
She blinked away, narrowing her eyes at her screen with a frown. "It's not showing up on my screen." "Really?" Vincent frowned too and tried again, waiting a few seconds. "Try now."
She waited too, with pursed lips.
"Let me try from you—"
"Can I just look from your screen?"
He blinked. "Sure...?"
Ruth stood and gingerly sat beside him, tugging a piece of hair behind her ear and leaning in. "Ohh. Pretty."
He turned his screen slightly towards her.
"Do you just wanna rehearse like this?" she asked, still looking at the screen. Then she met his eyes.
No. "Do you just want to use mine?" he suggested. "We can switch."
"No," she said, a little quickly. "We can share." He was simply watching her when she spoke again, pointing to the screen. "For line six, I think you can deliver it in a, like, choked way. Does that make sense? Like 'My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you'—" she said, imitating his voice, and he smiled slightly in fondness— "You have to really act like you're in love." She looked at him. "Can you do that?"
"I think I'll manage." He was still smiling as he looked away. "And you? Can you manage pretending?"
"I already am," she said, barely a murmur, Vincent wondered if he'd imagined it. She spoke before he could process it. "I think that's enough for today though, right?" She stood, checking the time.
"Yeah." He did the same. "Do you need a ride?"
"No, thank you," she grinned, eyes lighting up. "I wanna catch the sky today."
Of course she does.
Vincent let himself smile as she packed up her things, and he let his smile grow even wider when his eyes landed on the yellow highlights that very obviously showed up on her screen despite her claims.
Cute.
On the third day, Ruth showed up to his house with her mustard puffer, however this time, holding two trays of Tim Hortons drinks. He blinked.
"Hey..." he trailed off.
She pulled down her scarf the same way she did the first time, bambi eyes looking at him. "Hey. Is the family home?"
"Why?"
She gave him a very obvious look. "I have something for them."
He called for his siblings after letting her in, and told her his mother was at work. The top of almost every cup read HC in white chalk pen, and he nodded slightly to himself.
They came down one by one, and Ruth handed them each a cup of hot chocolate, all (to no one's surprise) accepting it in eagerness, with Mel hugging Ruth's leg as she took another sip of her coco, eyes wide.
Vincent scowled. "Everyone say thank you to Ruth."
Thank you, Ruth.
Ruth faintly turned pink (or was it the cold?), eyes widening as she waved her hands frantically.
"Oh, no! You don't have to—"
"Thank you Ruth," the children chorused.
Thanks, he mouthed, and he took a sip of his tea, nodding to his living room and walking towards it as the children scurried off, but not before Ruth hugged each one and whispered promises he wasn't sure she'd keep to them.
"Thank you," he said once they settled down.
"Like I said, it's okay!"
"No," he said. "For remembering my order, I mean."
She blinked, and smiled softly. "It's just an order."
"I know."
And then she was slowly reaching over the table, and he was frozen in spot, and before he could even ask what was wrong, she leaned over so close he could count her eyelashes, and reached up and ran a hand through his hair. "There," she murmured, leaning back. Then she went back to her screen as if nothing happened.
Vincent didn't know if he was right or really going insane for thinking maybe she felt even the smallest bit the same way he did.
Saturday came, and their sessions were much shorter albeit somehow seemed longer and tense.
The glances they shared were heavier, more hesitant, as if one person was just on the brink of reaching out but couldn't quite do it.
Vincent closed his chromebook with a loud sigh, stretching his arms behind his head, a small smile animating his lips when he saw Ruth peeking at the bit of chest his shirt wasn't covering. "I wish we had more time."
Ruth cut herself out of the haze and saw him watching her as she closed hers too, wrapping her knees up to her chest, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. Cute. "Why?"
"Because I like spending time with you," he said, like it was obvious, and he rested his arms on the table, heart pounding. He wasn't coming onto her. He was simply stating the truth.
It was selfish and it was crazy and a reach— but he was going for it. He was so in love with her he wanted it to be obvious. If it wasn't he'd be shocked. He'd spent more time staring at her than the screen during the last three days.
"I like spending time with you too," she said quietly, and she leaned closer to the table too.
The string of curses that filled his head at the idiocy that was the 'sit across from each other on the table' idea were many in numbers. Suddenly the table was more than a table; it was a roadblock, another thing keeping him from being bold and just telling her how he felt. It was his fear of her shutting him out again when given the circumstances he was lucky to even have her want to be in the same house as him. Screw it. He'd just stand up and walk over to her si—
His thoughts were interrupted by Ruth reaching her hand across the table.
He looked at her hand for a second and grabbed it, intertwining their fingers the best he could with the distance.
Vincent smiled at her.
She smiled too.
On Sunday, which was performance day, it took Vincent three cups of coffee and three croissants to get through his lines perfectly once, and it took Ruth four cups and a donut in addition to the croissants. And then Vincent ruined it at the end.
They only both got it right on their seventh try, when both of them collapsed onto opposite couches in the living room, and all of the event leading up to that day really sank in.
Vincent was worn.
He was so worn.
He wanted nothing more than to reach over the table and hold her, to reach through the wall and simply touch her heart.
It was as though they both had a million things to say to each other.
But neither would.