Strangers (scrapped)
i need tumblr to revert back to its old layout right this second because this twitter-esque layout is making me so fucking upset
anyways this has been in my wips long enough for me to know it's probably never getting finished soooo. you can have it.
can you tell that i really connect emotionally with music? cuz i reaalllyy connect emotionally with music
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It starts with the picking.
Vincent is checking around the second floor for anything useful when he hears it. The untuned, experimental picking of the old banjo’s strings. The sound floats up the stairs and right to Vincent, as if magnetised. After a moment the playing starts. It’s unrefined and far from pleasant. But it’s almost familiar.
Then, the humming.
That. Well.
Vincent’s feet carry him to the top of the staircase, just listening. The voice is rough like the strings, and yet. There’s something about it.
He steps down. Magnetised. Before he knows it, he’s at the landing, watching Leo Caruso sit with bowed head as he hums alongside the makeshift tune. Light spills over his shoulders. Vincent thinks he spots a hint of a smile. He’s happy. The song is on the tip of his tongue.
Then…
“Mm-mm, mm-mm, I don’t mind. If I live too long, I’m afraid I’ll die…”
Oh.
The stagnant air carries the Davies’ words and they taste like cinnamon from Leo’s lips. As he sings, Vincent makes his way down the steps, enraptured by this impossible moment.
“So I will follow you wherever you go, If you offered hand’s still open to me.”
Leo doesn’t notice him when he reaches the bottom. It doesn’t seem real. This vulgar, cocky criminal, picking a banjo and singing the Kinks like he’s got nowhere better to be than here, flipping every one of Vincent’s notions on their heads. He’s been doing that a lot lately.
“Strangers on this road we are on, Oh, we are not two, we are one.”
Something in his voice beckons him forward; but when he walks into the open space, Leo’s head snaps up.
Silence.
He looks nervous, guilty. Like he’s been caught in the middle of something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Vincent’s pinned by his gaze before he convinces his body to move again, making it the rest of the way to the piano resting quietly against the wall. He lifts the lid and tests the keys. Still well-tuned. He takes a second to remember the chords. And then…
“So you’ve been where I’ve just come, From the land that brings losers on...”
He doesn’t look at Leo, instead focusing on the keys. Similarly, it’s unrefined. He learned to play this song a while ago, and it’s not like he’s had much free time lately. He shouldn’t have any now.
Leo picks back up his half, the banjo a fitting supplement for guitar. His smile is small. Vincent’s is as well.
“So we will share this road we walk, And mind our mouths and beware our talk.”
It shouldn't come as a surprise that Leo can play; his file mentioned an upbringing in Virginia. And anyway, he’s missing a third of the chords he picks. Still, Vincent finds himself entranced by his fingers on the strings, calloused and confident despite his mistakes. Like the result doesn’t matter, because he’s enjoying himself. The simplicity is infectious.
“‘Till peace we find, tell you what I’ll do, All the things I own, I will share with you.”
Their voices meld into one. Leo meets his eyes and he gets the feeling that the song choice was intentional. His eyes glitter with warmth, with trust. Vincent ignores the flighty feeling in his chest.
“And if I feel tomorrow like I feel today, We’ll take what we want and give the rest away. Strangers on this road we are on, Oh, we are not two, we are one.”
They play together and it feels fucking right. Like everything they do. Slotting together perfectly, like companions, like friends, like…
Vincent fumbles a few beats as he dismisses the rest of that thought. Leo eyes him, but he keeps on.
He can accept the fact that Leo is attractive. It’s not anything subjective, it’s just a fact. With a hard, lean body and the skills to match, he’s not losing anything by admitting it. Leo’s attractive. That doesn’t mean Vincent has feelings for him. He’s not even… he’s never thought about a man that way. It would be a stupid choice, anyways, considering his circumstances—he’d be better off shooting Leo now. He tries to ignore how that idea makes him vaguely nauseous.
But he can’t spare it any more thought once the next verse catches them. He forgets the next lyrics, but Leo supplies.
“Holy man and holy priest, This love of life makes me weak at my knees.”
Vincent might have jumped in were he not suddenly captured by the sound. It’s not smooth, but it is good. Like a low fire, crackling with warmth and smoke, licking at the roof of his mouth. Vincent’s goes dry.
“And when we get there, make your play, ‘Cause soon, I feel, you’re gonna carry us — come on, man!”
Vincent swallows and pulls his eyes back to the piano. It shouldn’t be so hard to look away. But Leo is so earnest in his joy, glowing in the soft light of the afternoon. So he sings.
“In a promised lie you made us believe, For many men, there is so much grief. And my mind is proud, but it aches with rage, And if I live too long, I’m afraid I’ll die. Strangers on this road we are on, Oh, we are not two, we are one…”
Vincent watches his own fingers play. Badly bruised and webbed with cuts from day and night spent navigating the wilderness with Leo at his side.
couplet? maybe
Leo doesn’t know who he is, and maybe the irony of it is what hits the hardest. He’s extended this proverbial olive branch and he doesn’t even know what it means, wholly trusting that Vincent is who he claims to be. That’s always been Leo’s greatest vice. Trust. He gave his trust to Harvey, who threw it back in his face. And now, despite his wounds, he’s given it to Vincent. Who plans to do the very same.
fin.
