📺. — DO YOU ME STILL LOVE?
MULTICHAPTER FIC ! ꩜ [ hazbin hotel ] vincent whittman (vox) x reader 4/5 — PART ONE, PART TWO, PART THREE, PART FOUR, PART FIVE
now playing... ♫ | 04. CAN'T DECIDE IF IT'S A CHOICE (ASKING YOU TO STAY) wc: 4.4k+ words -> second person pov; angst; alcohol use; drunk texts; exes to lovers; eventual smut
the digital clock on the centre console reads 01:15—a quarter after one. vincent stares at it flicker a sad, electric kind of blue, practically rethinking his whole life up until this moment.
he’d had his audi parked and idling outside the bar for a good five minutes now, but he still couldn’t bring himself to turn off the engine. there was no way he would just be able to swagger inside the bar to get you without the risk of one (or all) of your friends jumping his ass. that vaggie girl never did like him much.
and, well, there was always alastor.
vincent grimaces, ultimately settling for the safest option.
“hey, siri? call… sweetheart.”
“calling: sweetheart, red heart.”
he uneasily drums his fingers on the steering wheel, scanning the faces of everyone who walked in and out of the bar. he’d punched the stereo off the moment he pulled out of velvette’s condominium basement, keeping the car heavy with contemplative silence—until he finally hears the other line pick up.
vincent immediately snatches his phone from the magnetic mount, holding it up to his ear like it held the last call left on earth. “hello?” he says almost anxiously, before wincing at the music and bass that boomed through the receiver.
“hhh- yellooow,” you slur through the phone, and vincent swears that if he hadn’t been sitting down his knees would have buckled at hearing the sound of your voice after so long. “v…vinny? s’ that you?”
“yeah, hi, sweetie,” he breathes. “i’m outside.”
he hears you gasp like he’d just said christmas had come early. “really? you-” you let out a little cough. “y’r actually here? like- here, here?”
“i’m here. i-” his pride falters, and he bows his head in defeat. “i’m here, hon.”
“really?”
“i don’t think i can come in, though.” vincent screws his eyes shut, trying to regain his composure. “can you meet me outside? i’m right outside, i promise. you won’t have to look very far.”
“why can’t you come inside?” you ask innocently.
“i told you earlier, remember? your friends won’t be happy to see me.”
“ohhhhhh,” you draw out the syllable. “okay.”
“get your things.” vincent reaches up and flicks the overhead console open to fumble for his sunglasses. “i’ll wait by the car.”
“okay.”
he decides to leave the engine running, then shoots a glance at himself in the mirror to fix his hair. “oh, and, doll?”
“yeeees?”
“don’t tell your friends who’s picking you up.”
“okay,” you say again.
vincent practically deflates in relief. “good girl. don’t keep me waiting.”
“beeeee riiiight theeeereee.”
once the call ends, he exhales sharply, pulling the collar of his sports coat higher to his ears as he exits the car. vincent leans against the door after he clicks it shut, then pushes a pair of ray-bans up the slope of his nose. he tries for a mysterious, aloof stance, going as far as crossing his arms and his ankles as he waits beneath the dim streetlamp.
to his immense relief, you don’t take too long. on the other hand, he wonders which bumbling idiot had been keeping you company and was moronic enough to let you wander out into the street disastrously drunk and alone.
but despite that, he can’t help but notice just how beautiful you look.
clothes wrinkled, lipstick smudged, eyeliner smeared into nothing but shadow around your lashes. you stagger, clumsy and uncoordinated, each step closer a breath of his taken away; somehow aglow in his eyes under the midnight city lights.
still as beautiful as the last time he saw you.
still as beautiful as the day he lost you.
you light up once your unfocused eyes fall on his face, and your steps instantly hasten towards him. “baby!” you coo happily, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him in close. your bag clatters against the roof of his car as vincent stumbles forward to catch you, and he doesn’t miss the way you bury your face in his neck to take in his scent.
but God, oh God—he sure missed you.
“hi, gorgeous,” vincent says weakly, cradling your messy-haired head with one hand as he embraces you back. he returns your gesture in kind, nudging his nose against your collar for a whiff of your perfume. you smelled like beer and cigarettes and the club, but the familiar sweetness was still there.
familiar. it was all so familiar. even when it wasn’t supposed to be.
you pull back and cup his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks as you slowly turn his head this way and that. “why’re… why you wearin’ sunglasses, silly? it’s nighttime,” you giggle, moving to gently take them off his face. your happy grin seems to brighten up even more when you finally catch a glimpse of his mismatched eyes. “there you are.”
“had to make sure nobody else would recognise me,” he lets out a small laugh, trying not to let his voice waver. “i’m on a top-secret mission to get you, see. kind of hard to miss this face.”
“i missed this face,” you mumble quietly, tilting your head to the side as you continue to look at him, brushing a thumb across his jaw in a way so tender it almost hurt.
sometimes tender meant something left in pain, anyway.
“yeah?” vincent says softly, feeling his chest twist. “let’s get you home, baby.”
he shrugs off his jacket and carefully bundles you up in it, ushering you around to the passenger side. you were all too happy to jump into the seat, wrapping the coat tighter around yourself and snuggling into the soft fabric.
vincent rounds the audi back to the driver’s side, running a trembling hand through his hair, barely comprehending what was going on. the moment he slides back into the car, he finds you clumsily rummaging through his glove compartment, utterly unfazed by his reintroduced presence.
he bristles slightly at the sight, taken aback. “what are you-”
“there!” you announce triumphantly, clutching something in your hand. you nudge the compartment closed with your knee, and vincent doesn’t realise what you’re holding until it’s right in front of his face.
his glasses.
you haphazardly push the thick, chunky plastic frames onto his face—accidentally poking a corner of his eye with one of the nose guards, though vincent deliberately leaves it unmentioned. he blinks rapidly, squinting as his eyes adjust to the vision grade.
he hadn’t worn these in a while.
you lean back into the seat, giving him a soft, sleepy smile. “tha’s… better.”
vincent looks back at you in disbelief, feeling his heart give a traitorous flip. “i… did you drink anything else before i called you again?”
you hum noncommittally, slipping off your heels and curling up on the seat. “mayyyybeeee… kiiiind of?”
he sighs, rubbing his brow as he shifts the gearstick to drive. “how much?”
the leather chair squeaks when you push the recline lever. vincent watches you slowly descend backwards as you raise your other hand with your thumb and pointer pinched close together. “liiiikeeeeee… thi’ much.” you grin toothily at him.
“and that’s how many drinks, sweetheart?”
“uhhhh. two. i think.”
the audi kickstarts down the road before vincent settles it into a more comfortable speed, feeling his head begin to throb. goodness knows just what was in those drinks. “alright,” he sighs heavily. “settle back. you’ve had quite the night.”
fortunately, you obey without question.
vincent smooths his thumbs over the rest of his fingers, cracking his knuckles as he drives. the car is filled with a comfortable quiet he hasn’t known nor felt since the last time you were across the seat from him, curled up in his clothes just as you were now.
his right hand slides down from the wheel out of habit from driving one-handedly, and he’s met with the feeling of your fingertips gently nudging against the underside of his palm—a quiet question that his muscle memory is anything but unwilling to answer despite his hesitation.
it scares him how it doesn’t feel as wrong as it should have been.
he holds your hand as you fall asleep.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
it’s about ten minutes to the drugstore, and the greatest convenience of pulling up to the 24-hour drivethrough at almost 2am was that no one else was in the line in front of him.
vincent rolls down his window to meet the eyes of a tired-eyed pharmacist, who blandly turns from his phone to stick his head out of the sliding screen.
“good evening, sir. how can i help you tonight?” he drawls.
“a bottle of advil and two gatorades,” vincent says curtly, barely giving the boy a second glance as he gently untangles his fingers from yours to reach for his wallet. you mumble a protest in your sleep, and he quietly shushes you while thumbing through a number of small bills in search for his credit card. “make it the blue ones. oh, and throw in a pack of crackers and some straws in there, too.”
the young pharmacist punches in vincent’s order, promptly checking out everything into a small paper bag with a swiftness that was surprising for the exhaustion that was so evident in his body. “here you go.”
“how much is the total?”
a flash of the payment terminal screen is all the response he gets, and vincent swipes his card with a small flourish before taking the bag and driving off with nothing but a small mumble of thanks.
you’d have punched him for having bad manners, he thinks amusedly to himself.
but then he remembers, and he sighs, trailing back to squeeze your hand with a gentleness that he knew was fated to be temporary.
vincent takes a turn that leads into another avenue—his usual route home. the cars were sparse at this time of night, but the traffic lights still blinked faithfully, shifting from green to yellow and finally red. the timer next to the stoplight begins its 60-second countdown as vincent reaches out to turn on his GPS, but he abruptly pauses before he could click on Home.
everything was already wrong enough as it is. he had no right to be picking you up drunk and alone from a bar at 1am, and much less did he have a right to be taking you back to his place. he just…
vincent tightens his grip on the wheel. he just wasn’t ready to take you home again.
it felt too soon.
“siri,” he murmurs. “set a drive to the peninsula.”
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
vincent has never felt more grateful to have taken velvette’s advice of keeping a spare change of clothes in the trunk. it was a bit embarrassing to have watched her pack the small suitcase herself, yeah, but goodness, was it a lifesaver now.
the valet driver had given him a strange look as he had carried you out of the passenger seat and tried shaking you half-awake so you could walk properly by yourself, though to no avail. so vincent, with your cheek still propped up against his shoulder, watches his audi glide down the slope of the hotel driveway until the tail lights disappear into the basement.
he turns to the slightly perplexed concierge, offering him a tight smile. “evening.”
“good… evening, sir,” replies the bellhop, eyes darting to your snoozing form. “do you-”
“i can handle her. it’s fine,” vincent cuts in, shifting your head to a more comfortable position. “could use a bit of help with the bag, though.”
“o-oh. yes. of course, sir.”
a crisp, air-conditioned breeze welcomes him into the lobby. the marble foyer was empty, save for a few graveyard shift staff and the bellboy dutifully rolling his navy RIMOWA behind you both. it certainly takes a while to cross the room to the front desk without dropping you.
vincent shoots a fleeting glance at the metal sunburst sculpture suspended across the ceiling dome, feeling a small twinge of nostalgia. you’d had your first date here.
and you always did like that sun the most out of everything in this hotel.
“good evening, welcome to the peninsula,” the receptionist greets him warmly, though her eyes betray the slightest startle at the sight of you. thankfully, she remains professional. “how may i assist you?”
“room for two,” vincent informs her, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “is 720 available?”
she runs a quick check on the computer, then turns back to him with a somehow even warmer smile. “you’re in luck, sir. it is.”
“lovely.”
“for how many nights, sir?” the receptionist asks, clicking on her mouse.
“just one.” the weight of you on his shoulder suddenly feels heavier. “...please,” he adds.
“just for tonight?” she confirms, looking back up at him.
vincent feels his mouth go dry, and the words suddenly seem stuck in his throat. “i…”
the lady holds her patient gaze. she reminds him of his sister-in-law.
“...yeah,” he finally chokes out. “just for tonight.”
“that can certainly be arranged, mister…?” she prompts, manicured nails hovering over the keyboard.
“whittman. vincent whittman.”
the receptionist gives him another gentle smile as she types in his name. “wonderful to have you here, mr. whittman. and your companion?” she glances momentarily at you, though not unkindly.
companion.
his companion.
companioncompanioncompaniomncompanioncompanioncompanion.
who were you to him tonight?
a ghost? an acquaintance? a mistake? a stranger? some girl he found on the sidewalk outside a bar and decided to play good samaritan with? he couldn’t just say ex-girlfriend, God forbid. security would have him planted against the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back in five seconds flat.
“she’s…” vincent swallows hard. damn it, where was his corporate suave machismo when he needed it most? he forces the lie—half truth, call it whatever you want—to slip past his tongue like a pill swallowed wrong. “she’s my girlfriend.”
to sell the alibi, he nudges his lips through the curtain of your hair to press affectionately against your temple just like he used to do so long ago. “right, baby?” he murmurs. “had a bit too much to drink tonight, huh?”
subconsciously or otherwise, you play easily into his act. your head falls against his shoulder, snuggling into him as you mumble a quiet, “mhm.”
vincent turns back to the front desk lady with a small, charming smile. “friend’s birthday party,” he winks. “you know how it is.”
the receptionist’s gaze softens with compassion. “oh, i certainly do.” she chuckles quietly to herself, resuming her task. “anyhow, i’ll also need to take down your phone number and credit for the deposit. it won’t take long,” she adds kindly, “i’ll make sure your darling gets the rest she deserves as soon as possible.”
it’s the greatest comfort he’s received all night. “thank you,” he breathes out, holding your boneless body closer to him. “i appreciate it.”
“of course, mr. whittman. now, i just need you to sign here…”
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
goddamnit, he should have booked 725 instead.
room 720 was a luxuriously familiar sight, sure, with its light carpeted floors, ivory painted walls, polished wooden furniture, and heavy blackout curtains concealing the lights of the city—but vincent halts in the doorway, staring in dismay at what awaited him beyond the foyer.
one bed.
of fucking course.
“is something the matter, mr. whittman?” the bellboy—a different, younger one this time—asks timidly, holding onto the small suitcase in a way that made him look like he was about to cry.
vincent swivels on his heel to glower at the boy, eye twitching. “wasn’t this a twin room?”
“i- y-yes, it was, mr. whittman,” he stammers hesitantly, “but we’ve recently undergone a refurnishin-”
“yeah, no. it's fine. totally fine,” vincent interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose. “it's no big deal. nothing at all.”
“o-okay, sir,” the bellboy squeaks out. must've been an intern. “let me help you get settled in.”
“just the luggage, kid.” vincent rummages in his pocket until his fingers close around a small bill. bingo. “you can put it over there.” he gestures vaguely in the direction of the closet.
the bellboy obediently hauls the RIMOWA onto the cushioned compartment as vincent settles you down onto the king-size. you don’t budge in the slightest, and his eyes soften the tiniest fraction, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face.
“i-is there anything else i can assist with, mr. whittman?” the bellboy asks timidly.
vincent straightens up, turning around to look at him. “no, that’s all.”
“alright, then, s-sir.”
he walks toward the foyer to escort the bellboy to the door. “thanks, uh…” he trails off, squinting at the nameplate on the boy’s uniform. “ethan.” vincent presses a tip into the young man’s hand. “have a good one.”
ethan slightly bows his head and puts a trembling hand over his heart. “e-enjoy your stay, mr. whittman.”
vincent shuts the door in his face.
well, as politely as he could. he’s had a long night, alright?
sighing heavily for the nth time, vincent trudges into the marble bathroom, rolling up his sleeves to the edge of his forearms before eventually catching sight of himself in the mirror. he can’t help but chuckle at his reflection. dashing and handsome as usual, of course, but damn did he look like he aged twenty years older. and simultaneously… five years younger.
vincent goes quiet as he studies his features, relearning the way his face looked like with glasses on. he’d switched between glasses and contacts as he trudged through his early twenties, until he finally decided to ditch the specs entirely once his career started gaining traction. it felt quite nice to look like he was back in his highschool and university days, admittedly, despite how distasteful his memories of that time were.
he shakes his thoughts away along with his head, and he takes off the black frames and folds them onto the counter.
the faucet turns on with a squeak as vincent places his hands under the running water, splashing it onto his cheeks and running his fingers over his eyelids and up into his hair to comb it back. well, at least it was a relief to know he’d still be hot in two decades. just as he should.
it doesn’t take long for his confident shoulders to sag with another lung-emptying sigh. the silence was getting harder to ignore.
so once again, vincent fills the emptiness with routine.
he pulls the large drawer below the sink open with a firm tug, taking one of the two washcloths from the folded pile. as he nudges the drawer shut again with his hip, vincent unwraps a bar of soap from the complimentary toiletry display, tossing the paper into the bin with no more than a faint rustle. his hands move on instinct—setting the faucet to a temperature warm enough to be comfortable, wetting the towel beneath the stream of water, wringing it out, running the soap over the damp fabric, before repeating the third and second steps as so to keep the suds faint.
it’s even greater instinct to walk out of the bathroom and back to where you lay sleeping. the mattress dips when his elbow presses into it; when he kneels on one knee beside the bed and gently takes your face in one hand as he holds the warm towel in the other.
vincent carefully wipes the skin over your eyes first, leaving behind a trail of glitter and mascara on the white fabric. he turns it over to the other side as he wipes your forehead, your cheeks, and your nose, before going back to the bathroom to rinse the washcloth for a final wipe over your lips and the rest of your face.
time seemed to blur as he went along.
he’d taken off your earrings, your necklaces, and the rest of your jewelry, placing them onto the nightstand next to the side of the bed you preferred. off went your heels, your jacket, your belt—until his hand pauses over the hem of your sleeveless button-up blouse.
did he have a right to?
vincent sighs again. you were gonna punch him either way in the morning, might as well have you sleep comfortably while he’s at it. he was never the caretaker type, or one for tending to needs other than his own, but for you, he would.
he always would for you.
“compromise,” vincent sings dryly under his breath, trudging over to the suitcase to zip it open. “oh, joy.”
again, thank goodness for velvette. there were two sets of clothes.
vincent takes out one of the shirts—dark blue, of course—and one of his double-layer nike shorts. he leaves the luggage open as he walks back to the bed, this time sitting down on the duvet to carefully lift you into an upright position. your head lolls against his shoulder as he sits with your back to his chest, trying to unfasten the first few buttons of your blouse before he pulls the fresh shirt over you. once the shirt was safely through your arms and over your chest, he unbuttons the blouse the rest of the way, tossing it to the other side of the bed as he lays you back down and begins to slide your ankles into the nike shorts. at least the shorts were easier to manoeuvre.
he slides the garter right over your thighs and settles them around your waist, before zipping down your skirt and sliding it off your legs. vincent snatches the blouse and folds it along with the skirt, then heads over to the closet to rummage for the provided laundry bag and tossing it in.
mission accomplished.
vincent checks his watch. it was getting late. early, technically—but it was mere semantics. he should probably get changed first.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
changing out of clothes he’s worn throughout an incredibly exhausting day into a fresh, loose set is the closest thing vincent can compare to rebirth. he feels like lazarus walking out of that tomb as he walks out of the bathroom, a towel over his shoulders while he pats his face dry with one end, clad in a plain white shirt and cotton boxer shorts. his hair is combed back, damp from a quick shower and smelling of complimentary hotel shampoo made in italy.
perhaps it was a little unfair, going to bed thoroughly washed up when you barely were, but vincent does his best to push away that guilt and forces himself to remember that he had already worked with what he had. at least, he reasons, you were already clean enough rather than not.
vincent hangs his towel off the desk chair, gravitating towards the paper bag from the pharmacy. he takes out the two bottles of blue bolt gatorade, popping one in the mini fridge and twisting the other open, before taking one of the straws from the bag and walking to your bedside.
he shakes you gently. “(name)?”
you loosely mumble in your sleep.
“(name), honey, can you wake up for a second?” vincent asks softly, setting the orange cap onto the table and the clear straw into the bottle. “you have to drink this first.”
“dr… dr’nk?” you murmur groggily, barely awake. “vi…nny?”
“it’s me, baby, don’t worry.” he holds the straw up to your lips. “drink.”
you limply comply, sipping obediently as vincent uses his other hand to hold up your head to make it easier for you to drink. “that’s a good girl,” he murmurs, though you detach your lips from the straw about a quarter to the bottom.
good enough.
vincent lets you down onto the pillow again, working the heavy duvet over your boneless form and settling you into the crisp sheets. he screws the bottle of gatorade shut, placing what was left of it into the fridge with the other bottle, before walking around the room to flick off all the lights; everything except for the mood lighting over the bathroom sink.
3:21. he’d finally get to sleep.
vincent crawls into bed, a reasonable distance away from you, kicking his feet beneath the covers. he feels his neck crack, then his back, and his hip, almost like his body was a tapeline slithering back into its case as he finally, finally settles down.
he has half a mind to sacrifice his pillow and put it in the space between you two for good measure, and he’s already moving to take it from behind his head when he hears your sleep-ridden voice feebly ask, “why are you so far away?”
vincent thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe.
“wh… what?”
“you’re s’ far away,” you say again, drowsier this time. “i dun’ like it when y’r… far away. makes me sad.”
he breathes out a weak, helpless laugh. “i can’t, sweetheart. i’m not allowed to anymore.”
“why’n… why not?”
his hand reaches across the bed, finding yours in the dark. “i’m not yours. you’re not mine. this isn’t how it works.”
your fingers curl around his; weak upon skin, constrictive around heartstrings. “maybe…” you whisper, still tipsy, “we can make it… not work that way… t’night.”
“yeah?” vincent hopes you don’t notice the tremble in his words.
“yeah.”
against logic, against moral, against his dignity and pride—he finds himself inching closer to you just as you also were to him, close enough to feel your heartbeat near to his own again.
it’s like clockwork, puzzle pieces falling into place, autumn leaves upon a cobblestone path in november. your head fits into the space below his chin, your hand over his chest, his arm against your back, his leg over your hip.
familiar, his mind echoes again.
vincent dips his face down so your forehead presses against his lips rather than his jaw. you tilt your head up in response, and he can feel your slow, drunken breath warm his quivering chin, until the gravity of both your eyes in the dark finally becomes too much to hold.
“hi,” you say softly, after a moment of silence.
“...hi,” vincent whispers. he holds your hand tighter.
“i missed you.”
“you’re drunk.”
“i still missed you,” you murmur.
vincent goes quiet.
“we… really shouldn’t be doing this,” he exhales exasperatedly. “i shouldn’t be letting you- letting myself, really- it’s-”
“jus’...” you interrupt drowsily, fingers curling into his shirt. “jus’ for tonight. please. one last time.” your breath ghosts across his lips. “y’don’t… even need t’ love me.”
but he did.
he still did.
“…okay,” he swallows.
vincent finally lets himself be selfish once more—reassuming nearly everything he was until you’d called. he slowly slides his hand into the back of your hair, holding you close until you were the very breath in his lungs, even though every ounce of his body other than the muscle in his chest was screaming at him not to.
“just for tonight.”
꩜ a/n: when i got the ending of this chapter first drafted out i was overthinking the whole thing so much cuz it felt rushed so i asked @1ix1n what she thought about it and if it was okay and she very wisely said "in the words of addison rae, 'it makes me want it more'." go check out her bllk/hq fics thats my goat i love her so much and and and!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME !!!! YAAYAYAYAYAYAY !! i hope u guys liked this chapter wuaheuhusfha i meant it when i said that if yall hated me for ch3 you'd hate me even more for this one <3 LOVE U ALL MWAH also this is ur gentle reminder that the music icons on the top of each post have a link to a four-song playlist curated for every chapter ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ p.s. deactivated tumblr user tuquoque pls come back ... the kids (me and haz) miss you so much......
will be cross-posted to ao3 soon!
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ TAGLIST: @whoatemycheezeits, @1ix1n, @timesskip, @tuquoque, @writerisahazbin, @tontawinnie, @plushance, @6esiree, @safination, @so-x1, @m4r3tu-f4nn, @mysoulforkyo, @apateissotuff, @0det4ri-f4n
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