( i know i'll fall in love with you, baby, and that's not what i wanna do )

chapter twenty !

VINCENT KEPT A LIGHTER IN THE FRONT RIGHT POCKET OF HIS PANTS AT ALL TIMES. A small white one, rounded at the bottom and easy to ignite with the tip of his thumb. He'd stolen it from a liquor store a few months before, grabbed it and stuffed it in the same pocket it still sat in, untouched most of the time. And if he was superstitious, maybe he'd believe the white of the lighter was what gave him such bad luck all the time. That was the myth, anyway.

Vincent had burned himself on the lighter a total of three times, the streak kept up with tally marks on the side of the lighter, drawn in Sharpie marker. The first while he attempted to light up a joint for a man who lived in a tent nearby the motel Vincent practically lived in for a year, slipping up and burning the tip of his pointer finger just barely.

The second time was an impulsive decision. To burn a book. That particular book being "To Kill A Mockingbird," because he'd hated reading it at school. He remembered everyone around him telling him how amazing it truly was, but there he sat thinking about how much Boo Radley reminded him of himself, but also was the complete opposite of him. Boo Radley was closed off, stayed in his house practically the entire book and was seen as a monster. Vincent closed himself off similarly, though didn't just not speak to people. He was seen as a monster by his parents and the people he called friends, by Five and his siblings, and by himself. But Vincent was loud, open and fucking wild. Maybe he was more of a Dill than anything. Little background character with nothing to show for it.

Vincent hated that book because he related only to the worst of characters. He burnt it and also burnt a small part of his wrist along with it. It hurt like a bitch.

The last time was simple. He'd been messing with the lighter and got distracted by a boy walking by, hands in his pockets and head tilted up high like he was a fucking God. He looked like one, anyway. Vincent had nearly made a move before he felt the familiar heat of the flame against his left middle finger and hissed as the sting set in, a large blister of a burn on his finger and the godly boy gone.

Okay, maybe the lighter was fucking Vincent over.

Vincent flicked it on, watched the flame grow in front of him and felt a temptation to drag his finger through it, maybe his entire hand. He didn't, holding himself back and staring intently at the fire before he heaved out a sigh, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the pack of cigarettes he'd had stowed away. They were kept right beside his lighter, always in the back of Vincent's mind because, well, the dumbass smoked too many for them to just be a nice little hobby anymore.

He pulled one of the sticks out, sticking it between his lips, bringing the flame up to the end of it and lighting it easily. He removed his thumb from the lighter and the flame ceased.

Fuck.

Vincent sat in an alleyway. The same alleyway him and Five had kissed in. The one that Vincent had specifically asked Luther to drop him off in. Oh how Vincent regretted that now. Both coming back to it and the kiss. The lousy kiss that should have happened when they were sober. He wished he didn't have to, but Five didn't like him the same way and he'd left him. Five had left Vincent all alone, potentially forever. There was always the chance that Five would stay at the Commission forever and never see Vincent again, probably forget he ever existed and never have a thought of him again. How fucking brutal would that be?

Vincent chuckled dryly to himself as his vision blurred just barely, the chuckle becoming a laugh, bending over himself until his knees were at his chest and he had to grip the cigarette between his pointer and middle finger to keep it from falling out of his mouth and onto the cement floor. "Shit," Vincent choked out under his breath as his laughing began to dissipate, his free hand coming up quickly to wipe a stray tear from his face, dripping slowly from his right eye.

His hand shook as he brought it back down to his knee, head falling back against the wall behind him, blowing out cigarette smoke from the corner of his lips as he blinked fast, trying so desperately to make the tears go away. He couldn't cry over Five. He didn't care about him nearly enough to do that.

Vincent chuckled a bit more at that thought, more tears coming down his face without him meaning them to. Of course he cared about Five. He cared about him way too much, so much, so fucking much that it was stupid. Five was stupid. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." Vincent muttered to himself as he felt the tears ran down over his jaw, hands moving to wipe them harshly, rub his eyes so hard it almost hurt. He couldn't cry over Five Hargreeves.

Doing so would make it all more real. Five was gone, he'd had a plan to sell Vincent out the whole time and likely get him killed by the end of this to save his family. Vincent was losing it.

He decided he'd punch Five if he ever came back. Right across his perfect fucking face and bruise that jawline of his. Though he knew he wouldn't be able to bare putting Five through pain, the pros did outweigh the cons by a lot.

But Vincent supposed he shouldn't be so angry. Five was only giving Vincent a taste of his own medicine. Vincent had left Five all those years ago and now Five was doing the same to him. Only it was slightly different now. Because now, Vincent cared for Five more than he ever had before.

That thought going through his head was what made Vincent really start to cry.

When he cried, it wasn't all that pretty. Tears running fast and unforgiving down his cheeks, mouth bubbling up sounds from his throat that could only be heard as near sobs that were being held back forcefully, hands shaking violently and cigarette wobbling between his lips.

Up until the cigarette wasn't lit anymore, and Vincent cursed out under his breath. He pulled out the lighter quickly, hands shaky and dropping it a few times as he brought it up to the cigarette, squeezing his eyes shut tight when he couldn't do it. Just what he fucking needed.

Vincent gave up, stuffed the lighter back in his pocket and stood up, dropping the cigarette and stomping on the goddamn thing for way too long. By the time he left the alleyway, he was proud to say he'd only let out one pitiful sob.

Maybe it was pathetic that he was so worked up over this one thing. This one thing that could be viewed as not as bad as what Vincent did to Five. But shit, it felt horrible. It felt horrible to know what Five had known about this whole time and failed to tell him.

Vincent supposed he'd find out eventually. When the Commission would place the barrel of a gun between his eyes and pull the trigger without one last thought. Though Five would get to be an adult again and would be happy, happier than he'd been before and surrounded by his family. The people he really loved.

It was silly for Vincent to ever think he'd be apart of that group.

Vincent sighed, running a stiff hand down the side of his face as he walked, intending on going right back to the Academy. Maybe he'd do the dumb thing and lay down in Five's bed, think back on memories and all that sappy bullshit. Or maybe he'd get kicked out by Five's angry siblings, shoved away and forgotten by the only people he had come to know. Fuck. Where was Vanya when you needed to talk to her?

The Umbrella Academy wasn't too far from the alleyway, only a few blocks. Vincent was thankful for that, not bothering to knock and simply walking into the already unlocked house. He raised his eyebrow at the group surrounding the living room area, confused.

"Family meeting," Luther spoke simply, glaring just lightly as a means to make Vincent leave.

"Chill, chill, I get it," Vincent chuckled, raising his hands in surrender as he walked past them and back to a room he didn't recognize. There were way too many rooms in the house. He shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets and messing with the bottom of the lighter, finger catching onto a small piece of stray plastic, peeling off the side as he looked down at the ground, his body involuntarily guiding him towards Fives room.

"Vincent?"

Vincent turned around slowly, eyebrows furrowing in before he realized who it was and he relaxed, sighing. "Yeah, that's me," He smiled lightly, giving the person standing across from him a small unenthusiastic jazz hands.

Vanya- who looked upset and tired- smiled back just barely, nodding her head. "Are you okay? You look like you've been crying.."

Vincent laughed a little. He couldn't help it. He hadn't expected her to see how red his stupid eyes were. "Yes, ma'am. I mean, I have been crying. But I'm okey dokey, swear it. Cryings my favorite hobby," He rambled a little, shrinking back under Vanyas disbelieving gaze.

"Where's Five?" Vanya asked softly, stepping closer. She was much shorter than Vincent, and it would have made him laugh if not for the circumstances. Maybe he could joke with her about it eventually.

"Shit.... I don't know.." Vincent chuckled out a little, looking away from Vanya. "To the Commission. He sorta left me alone. Guess I deserved it. I left him alone a long time ago. Though, this time he kinda was mixed up in this big plan these assholes have to kill me or something. Not totally positive on that."

Vanya placed a gentle tentative hand on Vincent's shoulder, nodding slowly. "My brother can be a little rude sometimes. I'm sure you know that by now. But you've lived this long, haven't you? Five likes to get things over with and he hasn't killed you. He's kept you safe. He only keeps the people he really cares about safe. He let's Luther get hurt all the time but he loses it if you get hurt. I've seen it, Vincent," Vanya smiled gently. "My entire family are filled with rude people." She chuckled.

"What did they do to you?" Vincent asked softly, ignoring the rest of her words for now. He could think on them too much later, anyway.

"Nothing... They just leave me out of things because I'm not powerful," Vanya mumbled, looking up at Vincent. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was cut off by a man walking into the room, quite short and put together.

"I'm ready to go, Vany- who's this?" The stranger questioned, staring at Vincent.

Vanya smiled. "This is Vincent. Vincent, this is Leonard."

Vincent raised his eyebrow, looking at the man. And then quick, much too quick to possibly prepare for, Vincent muttered a sharp curse as his eyes immediately shut and he fell to the ground right on his knees.

He instinctively covered his face, the sounds of Vanya's surprise muffled and her hand moving to his shoulder practically nonexistent to him, leaning down as images of the man- Leonard- flashed in his brain relentlessly, images of tons of knives stabbed in his body, Carrie style and a white bandage covering Leonard's right eye. Vincent almost whimpered against his hands. This was by far the most gruesome of the ones he'd seen, harsh and vivid and fuck- Vincent felt like he was gonna throw up.

And then, just as rapid as they came, the images ceased and Vincent felt himself fall back a bit more on the ground before scrambling up quickly, eyes still squeezed shut purposefully. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," He rambled quickly under his breath, jumping a bit in the air when Vanya placed a hand on his shoulder.

Vincent's eyes shot open, head snapping over to look at Vanya. "What just happened? Are you okay?" Vanya asked, concerned.

Vincent swallowed hard, nodding quickly, and mumbling a small "nothing- uh- nothing" before stumbling back and glancing at Leonard for a moment with wide eyes before he turned and practically sprinted up the stairs, right into Fives bedroom, closing the door shut rather hard behind him.

Vincent stumbled away from the door, moving to sit down on the edge of Fives bed, hands shaky. His eyes stayed put on his hands, biting his lip roughly and, well shit.... he really needed Five here right now. Five was great at keeping Vincent somewhat calm, just his prescence enough to make Vincent feel better. It was odd considering how big of an asshole Five was, always the first to criticize Vincent and tell him when what he was saying or doing was stupid.

But Five had always supported Vincent with the stuff he approved of. Vincent telling Five bits and pieces of his childhood that were sometimes fabricated to make him look better and Five nodding his head thoughtfully and pointing at Vincent when he thought something had been a good idea. Punching an asshole had been one of the good things. Vincent had never told Five why the kid was being an asshole, though. A simple homophobe getting into Vincent's face, telling him how fucked up he was until Vincent broke and hit so hard it fractured five bones in his hand.

The details hadn't been important.

Fives room smelled entirely like him, the strong stench of vodka and cheap cologne, oddly Five-like. Vincent laid back on the bed, sighing into it and staring up at the ceiling, trying not to allow the familiar sight of Fives handwriting all over it to possibly make Vincent sad all over again.

But again, Vincent was emotional.

The thoughts of the body, Leonards body, replayed in his head over and over until Vincent's bottom lip was quivering a little and suddenly he was glad Five wasn't here. Five would have called him a pussy, slapped him on the shoulder and told him he was overreacting. Or maybe that was just what Vincent believed Five would do. In reality, each time Vincent had cried in the apocalypse he had earned Fives surprisingly gentle hand in his hair, carding through until Vincent calmed down and Five pulled his hand away, traced his thumb down Vincent's jaw before gently squeezing the side of his neck.

Vincent never knew how much he needed Five until he really lost him, slipped out of his grasp and gone for what could be forever for all he knew. Fuck, Vincent really hoped it wouldn't be forever.

Five and his ingenuity, wide cunning smirk and the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled up. Five and his occasional gentle touches, fingers slipping down Vincent's forearm and squeezing his elbow before he'd stand up. Five and his encouraging words- though often harsh- in which he'd tell Vincent he was proud of him, followed by quickly calling Vincent an idiot.

Five and the stupid fucking way he'd gotten Vincent to fall so deeply in love with him.

Vincent felt two tears fall down his face, quickly followed by more until he was practically drowning in it, curled up into a little ball of Fives bed, knees pulled up to his chest and hair sticking to the moisture on his forehead. Jesus, Vincent was so weak and sad. So goddamn sad. But he knew that already. He'd known that for a while now.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever cried this much in a single day before. Maybe the day his grandfather died, the one man who was kind to him all his life, would kneel down to his level and gently tell him that he was proud of him. He died when Vincent was eight years old, shot in the stomach by a man trying to steal his wallet who never ended up being caught. His parents had never told his grandfather about his abilities and maybe that had been why he'd been loved by him genuinely. Maybe if he'd known the truth he would have ran like the rest of them. Vincent supposed he did.

Maybe the day he'd broken his arm, gotten it twisted back so hard it popped from its socket loudly and had to be pushed back in by the shitty school nurse who popped her gum too loud and didn't seem like she cared much for if Vincent's arm healed correctly. He'd cried a lot that day— not even because of the pain— but because he'd been humiliated in front of everyone. A twelve year old boy getting harassed was seemingly funny to a group of kids. Neither of his parents had come to pick him up and he'd walked home with a cast and called a nuisance by his father when he returned home from work.

But maybe it really was this moment. With Vincent curled up and crying senselessly, thinking about how fucked up he'd become. He kept seeing images of dead people and he was suddenly in love with the one boy he'd ever been able to call his best friend, so desperately in love it made him dizzy, so sad that he had just left. He'd left and Vincent hadn't even said a nice word to him beforehand.

Vincent felt like he was losing his mind. Slowly but surely, he couldn't take it anymore. Maybe the world really should just end.

Maybe then Vincent wouldn't feel so much.

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A/N: this is 3079 words and i dont love how I wrote this chapter But it is pretty sad and also theres no Five in it :( Vincent's just Sad As Fuck 😎 also catch that admitting his love for Five to himself babey! anyway sorry for the sad chapters I love that Sad Shit. also I haven't read "to kill a mockingbird" in a While so I'm not completely 100 percent on if that analogy is not completely shit lmao