Archive of Our Own

   The sun was already gone by the time that he made it through his front door. He all but slumped against the wood frame as he stepped inside, utterly worn out. The day had been absolutely miserable. His talkshow’s special guest was one he practically despised, a famous writer who thought himself far more important than Vincent thinks he deserves. He hadn’t taken a word out of Vincent’s mouth seriously, as if Vincent was nothing more than the dirt one the bottom of his stupid spectator heels. Those three hours of filming felt like three months, and by the end of it he was teetering on the dangerous edge of breaking down entirely.

   It had taken him his entire lunch break to bring himself out of his spiral. Hanging onto his composure just enough to make it through the other show segments he had on his schedule.

   He heaved out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. It felt relieving to finally get away from the cameras, and the demands of the network, and the knowledge that one slip up could cost him everything. At least for now, he could finally get a small break from the constant need to preform. Or so he thought.

    The sound of his phone ringing startles him more that it should. His hands are shaking as he picks the phone off of the wall. He can feel his headache growing worse, rubbing his hand over his temple as he holds the phone to his ear.

     “H-Hello?” His voice wavers despite his best attempts to modulate it.

     “Ah, Vincent.” Alastor’s voice chimes through the phone.

   Some of that mounting stress melts a little at the sound of that all too familiar man. For all the jokes Vincent loved making about the radio host’s tendency to push his buttons, he truly did rely on him to keep himself centered. Something about Alastor always manages to calm him down.

     “Ive got a good target for us, can you be ready in about half an hour? I’ll tell you the details during the car ride.” Alastor’s melodic voice chirps out the words.

   And just like that, all the stress comes flooding back in. Theres no way he could deal with something so high stakes right now, not when he’s standing on the cliffs edge of a total meltdown. It was already mortifying enough to have to deal with the last time Alastor saw him like that, and no matter how many times the radio host insists that he isn’t bothered by it, it still doesn’t matter. Vincent’s bothered by it, just because Alastor says he’s indifferent to Vincent’s worser flaws, he still hates the idea of Alastor knowing how fragile he really is.

     “Vincent? You there, pal?” Alastor questions.

   Vincent bites down harshly on his lower lip, trying to stifle his involuntary whimper of distress. He hates saying no to Alastor. He can count the exact number of times he’s ever even done it.

     “I…I uhm-“ He splutters uselessly, trying and failing to come up with any excuse or solution.

     “I think I’m coming down with something…I don’t want to get you sick.” Vincent doesn’t know why he doest it, but he emits a terrible coughing impression.

   He doesn’t need to see or hear Alastor to know that the other man wont believe him. Just like always, Vincent has managed to make it all worse.

     “Well then, have a good night Vincent.” Alastor’s tone is colder than it had been before, he only hears it for a fleeting moment before the phone connection cuts out and Alastor hangs up the line.

   Vincent already felt terrible, but now- he feels even worse. He feels so stupid- Alastor will probably be distant now. Vincent dreads the mere thought of it, he’s so highly strung that the idea of it alone is making his eyes water and his lip tremble.

   He can feel a terrible storm brewing throughout his entire body. He paces around his hallway, shakes out his hands and exhales his breath as harsh as he can manage.

     “Calm down Vince…you need to calm down.” He mutters the words to himself, desperately trying to self soothe before his body and mind work itself into a complete meltdown.

   He scurries right into his room, already feeling a bit better just seeing the space he knows so well.

   He starts to quickly undo his shirt buttons, wanting to crawl out of his stuffy suit and change into something far more comfortable against his skin. He clumsily rummages through his dresser, his mind is cloudy in a way that has him forgetting which drawer has what in it. He opens the drawer closest to the bottom, forgetting that his pajamas are always in the drawer above.

   His eyes blow wide when he realizes what he’s doing, yet he doesn’t pull away. He stares down at the assortment of his most personal possessions, the ones he only uses when his brain desperately needs a break. Vincent sighs comfortably, letting his body ease up as he reaches into the drawer and pulls out his favorite thing in the small space. It’s a shark stuffed animal, one he had bought a while back when the aquarium near him had first opened up. He felt shameful when he first bought it, knowing that he had no reasonable excuse to find so much joy in a toy meant for children. But he did. The shark toy was the first step in the hazey new direction Vincent started taking to calm himself down. He found himself enjoying not only the childish toy, but also drifting into a state in which he felt much smaller, far more younger.

   He doesn’t know why he does it, all he knows is that it helps. And right now, he wants nothing more than to just sink into a deeply comforting headspace and let himself relax. He clutches the shark plushie closely as he changes into his softest pair of pajamas, already feeling his composure slipping right through his fingers. He lets it happen, lets his mind cloud up as his littler headspace envelops him.

   He hums a gentle little tune as he pulls his comfy shirt over his head, not bothering to fix the mess it made of his hair. He feels better now, wrapped up snuggly in his clothes as he brushes his fingers over the sharks fluffy texture. He pawed around the drawer for a little while longer, happily digging his hands across the soft pastel toys of his small collection. He takes out his baby blue notebook, and clumsily holds onto it. He reaches for his halfway used up coloring book, every page has to do with marine life in some way which Vincent just loved. And Lastly he picked out his favorite set of crayons.

   He clutches everything up in his hands and canters back downstairs, childishly dumping all of his handheld toys onto the living room floor. He has a routine to these sorts of episodes. He knows from the times before what works best for him, which is why he grabs his favorite blanket and drapes it onto the hardwood floor. He quickly runs off to his kitchen, haphazardly rummaging through his cupboard to find the sippy cup he has hidden in the very back of the space. He gleams a little as he finally grabs onto it, and pours a generous amount of orange juice into it with a childish enthusiasm. He seals up the lid as tight as he can, making sure it wont spill and upset himself later on.

   He happily waltzes back into the living room. Turning on the television and giggling softly as he flips the channel to play his beloved cartoons. He lays down on the soft blanket, enveloping himself in this special space of comfort as he flips open his coloring book. He pulls out his light blue crayon and starts to fill in the page in front of him, a picture of a smiling cartoonish shark dancing around with a few smaller fish.

   He feels better already, the weight and the stress from his miserable day wash away like water. It’s just him, safe and content as he lets himself have this rare moment to be himself. Time drifts by him, an hour or two going by without him even noticing it. He loses himself in his numerous blotchy crayon drawings. 

  A sharp sound interrupts his peace. Knocking, loud at his front door. It scares him, makes his body lock up as he yelps. His head snaps to the side, his big eyes frightfully stare at the door as the knocking continues.  

     "Vincent? It's Alastor."

   Oh.

   Vincent feels fear pooling in his gut. His calming littler state of mind slips back, being stomped down by the quickly amounting panic that's overtaking everything. He rushes to stand up, anxiously shoving all of his childish belongings underneath the blanket. His legs are still wobbly from the sudden fear overtaking him. The knocking starts up again, much to Vincent’s distress. He clumsily unlocks the door and throws it open.

   Alastor’s frame comes into focus. The radio host seems a little shocked by Vincent’s obvious dishevelment. He quirks up a brow in Vincent’s direction, pursing his lips while still maintaining a light smile.

     “Hi…A-Alastor.” Vincent awkwardly mumbles, accidentally slurring his speech in a childish way unconsciously.

   Alastor only grows more confused. Vincent feels the awkwardness thicken around them. Its constricting, it feels like its choking him slowly and he cant stand it.

     “May I come in?” Alastor’s voice is as smooth as ever, even in this uncomfortable moment.

   Vincent doesn’t want him to, he just wants to go back to his crayons and forget this terrible feeling overtaking him. He cant make himself do it though, because it’s Alastor. His weakness, the man that he will never have the heart to deny anything from.

     “Okay…” Vincent somberly agrees.

   Thankfully, Alastor choses to sit in the kitchen, since it’s the closest room to the front door. Vincent’s grateful, he doesn’t know what he would do if Alastor were to notice the blanket heap in his living room. Alastor sets a few items down on Vincent’s table. The television star hadn’t even noticed he had brought anything along with him.

     “I brought you some things to help with your symptoms.” Alastor proudly states.

   Vincent stares at the assortment with glossed over eyes. chewing on his lips and swaying a little as he stands. Words feel like a little too much for him, clearly his younger headspace was still lingering somewhere closer to his external persona than he would have liked. He tries to pull himself back into the big world, he cannot let Alastor know.

   Vincent uses his hands to gesture and point at the first thing Alastor had set down. Alastor’s deep brown eyes follow the flow of Vincent’s hands.

   “This-” He explains, pushing the item Vincent had been pointing to closer to him. “-Is cough syrup.”

     “And these-“ Alastor picks up a small bottle, Vincent likes the sound it makes as the radio host lightly shakes it. “-Are pills to help with headaches.”

   Vincent squirms around a bit, mentally yelling at himself for drinking so much juice.

     “Uhm…tha-thanks Al.” He sheepishly tries to offer his gratitude.

   Alastor hums happily. His pretty eyes flicker to inspect Vincent’s face. Vincent can feel his face flushing at being to center of Alastor’s focus.

     “Would it be okay if I made you some soup? It shouldn’t take long.”

     “Yeah…uh- I’ll be back. Gotta pee-“ Vincent swiftly leaves for the bathroom, leaving Alastor alone in the kitchen.

   Alastor just shrugs to himself, electing to start getting to work on the soup instead of thinking too hard about Vincent’s strange behavior. He chalks it all up to his ill state. Alastor had initially been skeptical, fairly certain that Vincent had been putting on an act over the phone. When the door had swung open, Alastor’s slight doubt was shoved away. Vincent looked…not his best, to put it nicely. Hair completely disheveled, his eyes were glossed over and unfocused, his usual clothes were swapped out with pajamas. Alastor feels a little guilty for not believing him, but he forces himself not to dwell on it any longer. He tries to set up his materials to get the soup ready.   Without Vincent’s chatter keeping him busy, his ears pick up on a quiet sound he hadn’t yet noticed. The sound of talking sways through the house at a low volume. Alastor tries to ignore it as he opens up the lid of the canned soup. The sound becomes distracting, the noises of overdramatic sound effects and high pitched theatrical voices become impossible to drown out. With a worn out sigh, Alastor sets down the can on the counter, and marches his way into the living room to put a stop to the incessant sound.

   His feet step delicately into the living room. Confusion quickly envelops him. Vincent’s living room television is still on. What truly catches the radio host off guard is whats on the television.

     “Cartoons…?” Alastor quietly mumbles to himself, slowly stepping closer to get a better look.

   His suspicions were correct, the screen in front of him continues to play lively and upbeat cartoons, the silly antics stealing his attention with a vice grip. He doesn’t understand why Vincent would ever watch something so childish, it simply doesn’t fit the perception of the television star that Alastor has come to know. With his eyes solely focused on the bright animation, his footing slips up. He trips over a large heap in the middle of the living room floor. Thankfully, his skilled reflexes save him from a hard fall. He manages to catch himself swiftly, his eyes looking down in bewilderment at the offending scene.

     “What the…?” Alastor quietly mumbles.

   He crouches down to pick up the blanket, his movements harsh from the slightly bubbling frustration.

     “Cant even clean up your own messes? How typical of you, Vincent.” Alastor says it quietly, no one to hear the insult except for his aggravated self.

   He starts to fold the soft blanket neatly, that is until his eyes look down again and he freezes up. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Below his heel is a myriad of children’s belongings. A stuffed shark, crayons strewn about beside some messy coloring pages, and a children’s sippy cup. Alastor doesn’t even know how to process what he’s seeing, let alone acknowledge the fact that any of this belongs to Vincent of all people.

   Alastor hears the sound of footsteps approaching, his head tilts to the source and takes in the sight of Vincent. At first, Vincent hasn’t looked up yet, his tired eyes are staring at his hands as he fidgets with them, walking slowly closer.

     “Al…I was looking for you. Why’d you leave the kitchen-“ Vincent’s throat closes up when his eyes finally sneak a glance upward, and suddenly his whole world feels like it’s stopping.

   He finally sees the awful scene. There stands Alastor, body as stone as a statue and he looks back and forth between Vincent, and the mess he had just uncovered. Vincent’s entire face goes pale, his mismatched eyes widen with undeniable fear. His worst nightmare plays out right in front of him and all he can do is stare. He can feel the tears beginning to well, his lower lip starting to tremble.

     “Vincent.” Oh, he hates that tone in Alastor’s voice. Its terrifies him.

   “What is…all of this.” The radio host gestures down to his toys and belongings, Vincent has never felt more shameful to even own any of them.

     “I…I uh…uhm….” He uselessly stutters, voice cracking as he feels himself crumbling in every single way.

   He cant stop his mind from reacting honestly, the shock of the situation making his will to mask everything much less intense. Tears fill his eyes, his hands tremble and all his body can do is cower into himself.

     “Fuck.” It’s the last word he gets out before he starts quietly sobbing, the tears streaming down his cheeks in succession.

   Alastor wasn’t prepared for such an intense reaction. It only makes him more confused. Vincent sinks down until he’s curled up into a ball on the floor, shoving his head into his knees and shaking from the force of his sobs. He feels so unfathomably stupid, for being careless enough to leave all of his toys out in the open. Most of all, he feels so ashamed of himself for being like this in the first place, for allowing himself to ever think that this pathetic behavior was something that he should allow himself to indulge in.

   Alastor hates the sight in front of him. He cant stand to see Vincent’s tears, especially when he knows it’s his fault that this is happening. He sets the blanket aside, hurries the short distance over to the other and crouches down beside him. He learned his lesson from his last experience with one of Vincent’s meltdowns. This time, he knows not to instinctually touch him.

     “Vincent, hey-“ Alastor keeps his voice calm, it takes a considerable effort to do so.

     “-I’m sorry. M’sorry…I-I’m sorry-“ Vincent repeated over and over, his tears continued to swell up and cascade down his blotchy cheeks.

   And if the sight alone doesn’t stir Alastor’s stomach in the worst of ways. He takes a moment to think of what to say, what he could tell Vincent to get him to calm down.

     “Vincent, please- theres no need to get upset. Just tell me whats going on.” The radio hosts voice stays even and composed, though his voice carries a great deal of sympathy.

   Vincent looks up at him, something in his gaze is different than the times before, his mannerisms seem much more timid than Alastor has ever seen.

     “No… you wont like me anymore.” Vincent spills the words from his mouth in between sobs.

     “Vincent…I wont judge you. You should know that by now.”

   Vincent doesn’t know what to do anymore. He desperately needs to get this off of his chest. But he’s so scared of bridging that final step. What will Alastor truly think of him if he were to be honest? Vincent can picture the way the radio hosts face would contort, how he will look at him with barely concealed disgust. Vincent whimpers at the terrible thought, his desperate eyes stare into Alastor’s own, as if he’s trying to decipher whether or not Alastor is being genuine with him. Theres a long stretch of hesitation on Vincent’s end, before he finally works up the courage to spill his biggest secret into the air.

     “S-Sometimes when I…g-get really stressed I just-” Vincent starts to panic, already regretting opening his mouth in the first place.

   Alastor makes a risky move. So very gently, he moves his palm up. It glides across Vincents shoulder, caressing the skin with a loving and delicate touch that no other human can ever get out of Alastor. Thankfully for Alastor, Vincent melts into his touch. It eases something deep within Vincent, makes him feel as thought the death trap he’s about to talk himself into might just be non inevitable. The television host takes in a deep, long breath. He braces himself for the worst as the final words start to leave his lips.

     “-I start acting like a kid.” His voice tremors as he finally gets it out.

   It’s a terrible and freeing confession. It feels like a little bit of that crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders. What shocks him most is that Alastor doesn’t pull away from him. The radio host stays right beside him. His grip on Vincents shoulder gets a little firmer, but no less reassuring.

     “Can you explain it a little more?” Alastor asks.

   Vincent avoids eye contact with him, still embarrassed and ashamed to even be sitting here explaining to his partner in crime that he likes to pretend he’s a child rather often.

     “When I need to calm myself down sometimes I just…watch cartoons. And…draw, and drink out of kids bottles and just…pretend I actually am a kid.” Vincent has never wanted to die more than he has in the exact moment.

   He feels the need to go further, to elaborate and justify himself to Alastor. “Sometimes I cant really control it though…it’s like my mind gets all fuzzy and I forgot that i’m not an actual kid.”

   Alastor stares at him with a genuine gaze, his smile comforts Vincent just like it always does.

     “Thank you for telling me, Vincent.”

   Vincent’s head perks up, his eyes blowing fully wide.

     “W-What?” He says in sheer disbelief, wiping the snot from under his nose.

     “I can tell by that look in your eyes that you’re already overthinking…Vincent- I’m not mad at you for any of this.”

   Vincent’s body loses its tension in that instant, utter relief floods every bone in his body as he smiles sheepishly.

     “I…thank you.” It’s all Vincent could say.

   Alastor makes a tsk sound with his mouth, rolling his eyes affectionately.

     “Don’t start thanking me. It doesn’t suite you.”

   Vincent feels his chest lighten up, a part of him doesn’t know why he was so scared to tell Alastor this. He picks at the skin of his thumb as he scoots in closer to Alastor, yearning for more contact.

     “Are you sure you’re okay with all of this?”

   Alastor picks up on Vincent’s sly attempts to get a little closer. He uses his other arm to drag the television host into his lap, his comforting arms wrap around Vincent’s sides.

     “In all honesty, I much prefer this over you ripping out your hair and slamming your head into the wall whenever you’re stressed out.”

   Vincent squirms at the less than welcoming reminder of his past freak outs. It really is a miracle to him that Alastor has stuck around him after witnessing all of that.

     “It wasn’t my intention to uhm- disrupt your…alone time. Im sorry, Vincent.” Alastor starts rubbing soothing circles into Vincents back, the feeling is damn near hypnotic.

   Vincent lets out a deep, comforting breath, his lashes are still wet with the last of his tears, his voice is still shaking but somehow, in some way- he feels so safe in Alastor’s arms. The all too familiar haze starts to wash back over him, creeping out of the back of his mind now that he knows he doesn’t have to uphold his masked persona any longer.

     “S’ okay.” The television host childishly mumbles, rubbing the side of his head into the warmth of Alastor’s clothes.

      “Would you…like me to stay with you? If not I can leave. I understand if this is…something that you want to indulge in by yourself.” Alastor’s voice holds no judgment for him, thought Vincent isn’t sure he would have picked up on it if it weren’t. His adult mind feels more distant with every passing moment between them. He feels so safe in Alastor’s arms, so free to just let go and be his younger self.

     “Stay.” Vincent wraps his arms around Alastor’s neck, nuzzling his nose into the crook of his nape.

      “Vincent, are you…younger right now?” Poor Alastor, still so confused by this entire situation but trying his best to not let it show.

   Vincent nods his head, a little bit of shame wells up in his chest.

     “I…I’m sorry.” He already feels the guilt mounting up, Alastor doesn’t deserve to get wrapped into his weird source of comfort.

     “No, no- theres no need to apologize. I just…wanted to make sure before I assumed anything.”

   Vincent calms a little at that, somehow Alastor always knows how to quell the sudden panic that Vincent so commonly gets hit with.

     “Do you still want me to make you some soup?” The radio host gently asks.

      “Uh huh.” Vincent perks up.

   Alastor’s smile widens, he gently detangles Vincent’s limbs from his own. He picks back up the blanket he had previously folded and hands it to Vincent.

     “I’ll be in the kitchen for a little while. Why don’t you go back to what you were doing before. I’ll let you know when your snack is all done.” Alastor finishes his words off with a quick ruffle of Vincent’s hair.

_____

   Vincent loses track of time rather quickly. Once he manages to clumsily get all of this stuff back into place again, time seems to just pass by him aimlessly. He’s content like this, enjoying himself even. Alastor walks into the living room for the first time in a while, Vincent can hear his graceful footsteps. He instinctively covers up the drawing he was working on, not wanting Alastor to see it until he’s finished with it.

   When their eyes meet, Alastor’s smile beams at him.

     “I brought you something.” The radio host gently places the warm bowl of soup on the table next to Vincent.

  Vincent rushes to get up. He bolts over to Alastor, hugging him tightly to show the radio host his gratitude. Alastor lets out a surprised sound, but it quickly melts into a laugh.

     “Easy now, Vince.” He playfully warns.

   Vincent pulls away and scoops up the bowl in his hands.

    He takes in a big spoonful of it, his eyes practically lighting up as it glides on his tongue. Alastor sits down on the couch, watching Vincent with careful eyes.

     “How is it?” Alastor inquires.

   Vincent smiles at him, something about his unhidden childlike glee warms something in Alastor’s heart.

     “Yummy!”

   Alastor softly giggles at the television hosts antics. Vincent takes a big sip from his cup, frowning when the last of his juice runs out.

     “Is your cup empty?”

   Vincent sadly nods at Alastor’s question. Alastor gets up and gestures for Vincent to give him the cup. Vincents instincts work faster than his mind does. He whimpers at Alastor’s sudden attempt to take his cup away from him. He clutches it close to his chest, blocking Alastor from stealing it. Alastor makes a sombre expression, but it doesn’t last for more than a second.

   “Vincent, can I please refill your cup for you?”

   Vincent lightens up at the request. Hesitantly, he gives Alastor his cup. He watches Alastor leave the living room before shouting out to him.

     “I wan’ juice please!” He hopes Alastor can hear him.

     “Coming right up!” Alastor shouts back.

   While Alastor is away, Vincent uses the small pocket of time to finish up the final part of his drawing. He looks at the finished piece with glee, proud of himself and even more excited to show Alastor what he made for him. He kicks his legs back and forth as he looks at his own work. Unbeknownst to him, Alastor has been leaning on the doorframe to the living room for a minute or so, just watching his partner silently.

   Alastor certainly hadn’t expected any of this, a part of him was a little sour that he hadn’t been smart enough to figure it out on his own. He’s never heard of this type of behavior until today, but it doesn’t shock him to know that Vincent happens to rely on it. He doesn’t know everything about Vincent’s childhood, but from what the television host had told him, it was nothing good. It makes more sense the more Alastor thinks about it. Vincent had told him about his twin brother, how he had died when Vincent and him were little, how it had left Vincent grieving and alone. Alastor knew that Vincent’s father was nothing short of cruel to him, and that his mother died before he could even form so much as a memory of her.

   Alastor’s childhood wasn’t any better, but that didn’t stop him from being able to acknowledge that Vincent had suffered more than any kid ever should. Alastor has seen Vincent at rock bottom more times than anyone ever has, he’s seen every struggle weighing him down. Until now, he never knew how to stop it, how to help Vincent in the way he needed. Alastor might not understand what he’s supposed to do, or if theres even a roundabout way to care for his partner in a state like this, but he’s willing to work it out for Vincent’s sake. Because if Alastor is being honest, Vincent deserves to have this one good thing to cling onto, who would Alastor be to ruin that comfort for him?

     “What are you up to, mister?” The affection is heavy in his voice, he doesn’t even try to hide it.

   Vincent gasps and swings his head around with a scared expression stuck on his face. It quickly melts away into a happy smile.

     “You’re Back!” Vincent happily utters.

   Alastor crouches down to where Vincent has sprawled out on his living room floor. He hands the television host his cup, taking the opportunity to brush his bangs out of his face while he’s happily distracted sipping his juice. Alastor tries to stand back up, hoping to rest on the couch again. His movements come to halt when he feels Vincent gently tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, a pleading look in those big, mismatched eyes of his.

     “No! Wait wait wait I-“ Vincents words jumble together as he hurries to get them all out, his mind already running with the idea that Alastor is going to up and leave him the moment he lets go of his shirt.

     “-Vincent, shhh. I’m not going anywhere, alright?” Alastor soothes the anxiety in him, sitting down beside him as if to prove his words.

   Vincent picks up his drawing and holds it up with both hands for Alastor to see.

     “Made it f’you.” Nerves eat away at him and his own voice comes out quietly.

   Alastor takes the drawing from Vincent with gentle care. Vincent starts to chew on his pointer and middle finger, sucking on them and looking at Alastor, already bracing for the possibility of Alastor hating his drawing. Alastor’s eyes glide across the page, his smile spreads out into a toothy grin, the gap in his front teeth on full display as he smiles widely.

     “Oh, Vincent.” He says his name like it’s something precious, in a way that makes Vincent feel more love than he ever felt throughout his entire childhood.

   On the page is a drawing of a deer. Vincent was a fairly decent artist, it seems that even in his childlike headspace, he still has a grasp of his skill. The deer is smiling, its entire body colored in with a red crayon. Alastor holds the paper up, placing it next to his face, gesturing back and forth between his face and the drawing.

     “Is the deer supposed to be…me?” He asks the question despite already knowing the answer.

   Vincent looks a little embarrassed as he smiles and nods. Alastor gently sets the drawing down in the coffee table.

     “Thank you, Vincent. That was very sweet of you.”

   Vincent smiles through the gentle praise. A yawn racks through the television hosts body and he rubs a hand over his face in the aftermath.

     “Mnphn.” He mumbles incoherently, a small pout forming on his face.

     “Is something the matter?” Alastor asks curiously.

   Vincent picks up his shark stuffed animal and cradles it in his clumsy hands alongside his sippy cup.

     “M’ tired…sleepy.” He yawns again after the sentence.

   Alastor ushers for Vincent to stand up with him. He does so with sluggish movements, following Alastor until they both end up on the couch. Vincent wants to crawl closer, but he’s too scared to move. He doesn’t want Alastor to yell at him, so he timidly asks for permission instead.

     “Can we…cuddle? Please…” He feels a little selfish for even asking it.

   Alastor pats the open space on his lap, gesturing that Vincent is more than welcome to move in as close as he wants to. Vincent doesn’t waste any time doing so. He sprawls out on Alastor’s lap, pushing the side of his body into Alastor’s chest. Alastor turns the volume on the tv up a few notches, and Vincent finds himself yet again captivated by the cartoons on the tv screen. He takes a few more sips of his juice before his eyes start to droop. Alastor wiggles the cup from Vincent’s hands, trying to avoid the outcome of Vincent falling asleep and spilling juice all over his nice clothes. Both of Vincent’s hands hold tightly to his fluffy stuffed shark. Alastor watches Vincent sink deeper and deeper into the bounds of sleep, rubbing his back to hopefully provide some sort of soothing effect.

     “Al…Alastor…?” Vincent sleepily mumbles, too tired to even open up his eyes.

    Alastor hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything out loud. He watches Vincent succumb to sleep, still mumbling Alastor’s name before his sounds turn into quiet breaths, in and out. Alastor sighs in a deep breath. He turns off the tv and pulls on the string attached to the lamp just next to him. The room turns into a more comfortable darkness, much more to Alastor’s liking.

   He knows he’s not going anywhere else for the night, content to stay right where he is. He rests his head back, feeling himself slowly drift with Vincent’s loving body keeping him warm.