๐๐ เฃชห ึด๐ My Fakest Condolences.
โ Vincent Whittman x Fem!Reader
โ Summary: Your cousin was the host of his own hunting segment, until he tragically passed away in a gunshot "accident." As his only family, you visit the studio to collect his belongings, and are introduced to none other than Vincent Whittman.
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"It is with...a heavy heart...that I must announce to you all the passing of one of our own,"
Vincent began. Staring directly into the camera lens across from him, his eyes softened with a sympathy that only he knew was inauthentic.
"Thomas Smith, whom many of you know as the host of our hunting segment โ appearing every night at 8'oclock โ has passed away. He was found in the woods early this morning...a gunshot wound to his chest. Authorities have ruled the incident as self-inflicted and accidental. We extend our dearest sympathies to his family. They need our prayers right now." Vincent concluded his performance through bowing his head in a false prayer, before he was interrupted by the sound of someone announcing: "And we're off the air!"
Vincent raised his head in return, glancing around the room as he was immediately showered with compliments from the studio crew.
"Great job, Mr. Whittman."
"Only you could keep it together when talking about a topic like this..."
"Thomas would've been honored to know you honored him in such a way."
Vincent acknowledged each compliment with a smile and a nod, preparing to head to his office. He was barely parted from his desk when one of the studio assistants frantically approached him.
"Mr. Whittman!" the assistant called out. Vincent turned around, facing the assistant as they finally caught up to him. "I'm so sorry to pester you. But, Mr. Montgomery would like to speak to you in his office, sir."
"Not a problem. Thank you for letting me know." Vincent smiled in response, before walking the opposite direction towards Bob Montgomery's office.
Bob Montgomery was the stern, reserved head of the studio, whose "expiration date" had well passed in Vincent's eyes. The man was in his late sixties, and had a country accent strong enough to give him a starring role in a western film. The only reason Vincent hadn't sealed Bob's fate in the same way he had sealed the fates of various other people in the studio, including Thomas Smith, was because Bob approved Vincent for everything he had ever requested. Including every position Vincent sought after, such as head news reporter.
If Bob were to ever break his streak of pleasing Vincent, however, Vincent knew Bob's neck would be next to break.
"Bob!" Vincent greeted cheerfully, as he entered Bob's office with no warning. "I was told you wished to speak with me?"
Bob ushered for Vincent to close the door behind him, and once Vincent did so, Bob responded with a nod.
"Yes, I did. You did great reporting on Thomas's death. You kept it brief, but also honorable." Bob praised, as Vincent's smile widened.
"Why, thank youโ" Vincent began to respond pridefully, before Bob interrupted.
"I just didn't expect your closing statement to be inaccurate." Bob said flatly, which humbled Vincent.
"What do you mean by that?" Vincent inquired, equally confused and insulted at the notion that anything he had done was imperfect.
"You said at the end... 'They need our prayers right now,' in reference to the boys' family," Bob began. "That boy has no family. None. Not in the way one would picture it. He has no ma, or pa, no sisters or brothers. He told me that when he first started here. That's why he wanted his own huntin' segment so bad. He wanted to be someone's pa who had no pa, and teach them how to hunt."
Vincent became slightly more intrigued, but still did not feel any authentic sympathy. The only thing Vincent wondered in that moment was how this boy could have no family whatsoever.
"The most he ever had was a cousin, and she wants to come up here round an hour from now and gather his belongin's," Bob paused, before continuing. "Vincent, I know you're not exactly a man of servitude, but I want you to help her gather her cousins' shit. Can you help her do that?"
Vincent took in a sharp breath. The idea of staying overtime to help someone โ no less the cousin of the boy he had...rid himself of...the night before, rummaging through the belongings of said boy he had...rid himself of...the night before โ annoying him greatly. But Vincent certainly was not about to present himself as an asshole to a mourning woman, so he agreed.
"I'll be waiting in Thomas's office for her." Vincent promised, before excusing himself from the room.
After an hour had passed by, Vincent was leaned against the doorframe to Thomas's office. He sighed frustratedly, wondering when this girl would just get here already so he could leave. Lost in his thoughts, the head news reporter did not even notice the unfamiliar frame approaching through the hallway.
"Excuse meโ?" You called out sweetly, as you approached your cousin's office, and consequently, the unknown man blocking the entrance.
Vincent snapped himself out of his thoughts, only to get lost in them again once he laid his eyes on you.
You had the most precious smile painted across your face, and a few loose strands of hair, which perfectly framed your face as well. Your cheeks were flushed slightly, evidence of you crying just moments before. Adorned across your body was a beautiful, floral blue dress that seemed to flow as you walked. And given it was the 1950s, of course, your outfit was paired with white laced gloves and a pearl handbag.
"Oh, hello there." Vincent straightened up, before extending his hand out to you. "My name is Vincent Whittman. But please, call me Vincent. I'd like to help you in collecting your cousins' belongings. I'm deeply sorry for your loss."
Your eyes widened in recognition of who the man was. Accepting his hand, you were taken aback when he shook it softly. You smiled once he let go of your hand.
"Oh! Mr. Whittmanโ I mean, Vincent. You are so kind. You do not have to help me, I am certain you are a very busy man." You told him, surprised that the head news reporter would seemingly volunteer himself to help you.
"Oh please, allow me to help you. It would be my pleasure, missโ?" Vincent trailed off, smiling once you told him your name. Gosh, your name was so pretty too. "Where would you like to start?"
"Truthfully, most of this could be thrown away." You stated, entering Thomas's office and taking a brief look around the room. "But I do want to grab his hunting journal. He showed it during every segment, so I know he kept it here. Oh, that journal was so precious to him."
As grief became more evident through every passing word, Vincent did start to feel a twinge of guilt. Not for taking the life of Thomas Smith, an actual human being. No, Vincent felt guilty solely for making a pretty thing like you so sad.
You began to rummage through the room, starting with Thomas's desk. Vincent helped you, as he looked through the drawers on the other side of the desk. You both searched in silence, before Vincent finally spoke up.
"I didn't know much about your cousin at all," Vincent began. "We only shared a few conversations about the incompetent assholes hosting the other segments. But he seemed like a really good man."
"That means a lot to me," you told him. "You actually have no idea how much that means to me."
Silence overtook the room once again. But only briefly, as this time, you were the one to break it.
"Tommy always wanted to have his own hunting show or segment. But nobody in our family ever believed in him. Not even his own parents," you explained sadly, the smile you maintained the whole time dissolving into a frown. "His siblings made fun of him too. Our whole family called him a loser for wanting to be on television. It broke his heart. I was the only one who believed in him. That's why he cut them all off, and only kept me around."
"That's very unfortunate." Vincent responded, trying to think of what else he could say. Truthfully, his own mind was blurred through what you had just told Vincent. You had believed in your cousin's ambitions to be a television personality, even when nobody else did. That struck a chord in Vincent's heart, one that the man did not know even existed, as he recalled the feeling of initially having nobody at all to support him.
"Yeah. He didn't let it get to him, thoughโ" you answered, before interrupting yourself with a huff. "I don't know why I'm keeping these gloves on. It's making it hard to rummage through all this stuff." You complained, before retracting your hands from the drawers and opting to remove your gloves.
Once you removed your gloves, placing them on top off the desk, Vincent turned to his left to steal a glance at you. His eyes shifted from your face to your now bare hands. Without even thinking, he blurted out:
The sudden, unexpected comment caused you to shift your vision from the drawers to Vincent's face. You looked both confused and embarrassed, but you were really just searching for any disapproval on Vincent's face. It wasn't uncommon for people to direct side comments at you for not being hitched off the second you turned 18. Acknowledging how uncomfortable you became, Vincent quickly clarified himself.
"I didn't mean it maliciously." Vincent assured. "It's justโ it's quite unusual to see a woman as beautiful and thoughtful as yourself still unwed."
You immediately blushed, your eyes widened and mouth opened in surprise at Vincent's comment.
"Iโ uhmโ oh! You... you think I'm thoughtful?" You responded in surprise.
"Very." Vincent emphasized. "I mean, I imagine you have men throwing themselves at you all the time. Why aren't you married, then?"
Your eyes focused in another direction, as you switched to searching through a lower drawer. Sighing, you awkwardly answered his question.
"Yes, men do throw themselves at me all the time. But...well. They only see me for my beauty. They never see me as anything else. Ever. And I want to be so much more than a pretty face. I mean, what you did just now, calling me thoughtful? You're the first man to ever do that." You admitted.
Right as you finished speaking, Vincent laid his hands on a book within one of the desk drawers. Vincent pulled it out, showing it to you as your eyes brightened up again.
"His journal!" You exclaimed, taking it from Vincent's hands and holding it close to your chest. "Thank you, Vincent. You're wonderful." You praised sweetly, as you looked up at him with the soft, adoring eyes.
In that moment, it was Vincent's turn to admit something awkwardly to you. He smiled, before taking in a breath.
"You know...I relate a lot to something you said earlier," Vincent said, as you tilted your head in interest. "When you said that your cousin was constantly called a loser, and that nobody believed in him. I relate to that a lot. That's how everyone treated me as well. My father, he uhm, he especially had no faith in me. I don't talk to my family anymore either." You became visibly sad at Vincent's admission, feeling so much sympathy for him. "I wish I had someone like you. He was so...blessed to have you." Vincent concluded.
"You know...when you said that you related a lot to something I said earlier, I didn't think this was the direction you were going to take." You said quietly, as Vincent raised a brow. "I thought that...well, I thought that you were going to say that you relate to having people throw themselves at you a lot, but by women. Since you're so handsome."
Vincent blushed at your response, before quickly pulling himself together. He put on a charming smile, before offering to take your hand. This time, when you accepted it, he kissed your palm.
"Perhaps I could take you out to dinner tonight, sweet girl? And we can look through your cousins journal, together? I'm sure he has a lot of wonderful things written in there." Vincent offered, to which you smiled at the idea of honoring your cousin a final time.
"You think I'm sweet, too?" Your precious smile widened.
"Indeed." Vincent confirmed.
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