The Worst Timing | [2/?]
happy (late) new year :') after a month (and a lot of editing and dissatisfaction), i am back with part 2 of the 'yves has had too easy of a time' series (6.4k words). you can read [part 1] here!
this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!
Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anythingâmuch less the fluâruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)
â
When they get to the hotel Aimeeâs booked for them, itâs already late enough to be dark out. Yves helps unload their suitcases from the back, while Leon loads them up onto a luggage cart.Â
Itâs an exceptionally nice hotelâpicturesque brick walls, glossy windows all in a row, slanted red rooftops rising up into the sky. Heâd looked at it briefly when Aimee consulted him about the bookings, but it looks even more like a castle in person, like something straight out of a storybook. Yves will have to remember to thank Aimee and Genevieve again for picking such a nice place for them to stay at.
They check in at the lobby. Yves makes sure the suitcases make their way up to Leon and Victoireâs room, which is on his and Vincentâs floor, but at the other end of the hallway. (âDonât be late to breakfast tomorrow,â he tells them, sternly, and Leonâwho has slept through his alarms for as long as Yves has lived with himâlaughs. âIâm especially talking to you,â Yves adds, looking straight at him).
Then he wheels the luggage cart down the hallway. âIâm so ready to crash,â he says, to Vincent. âItâs been a long day. Are you tired?â
âIâll be tired once I lay down,â Vincent says. He carefully extricates one of the key cards and holds it out to the door card reader.
The interior of the hotel room is a little colder than the hallway is. Vincent flicks on the light, slips the key card back into its designated slot, and leaves his shoes in a neat line at the door. Yves follows him in.
Their room is a standard suiteâthereâs a small sitting area just next to the entrance, a bathroom off to the side, and a door frameâthough not a proper doorâwhich leads to the bedroom. On the far end, translucent white curtains give way to a sliding door which opens up to the balcony. Itâs a nice room, Yves thinks, with a nice view of the rest of the hotel, its pool and gardens, the circular sun umbrellas stretching out floors below them. Itâs only when Vincent hesitates, standing in the bedroom, that Yves realizes whatâs wrong.
The bedroom has a singular queen-sized bed, and nothing else.
Of course. It makes sense for this to be the living arrangement, if theyâre really dating.
âI can take the couch,â Yves says, clearing his throat, which doesnât feel any better than it did earlier.Â
Vincent turns to look at him.
âI mean, this whole pretend-relationship thing doesnât have to extend to us sharing a bed.â
Mentally, he kicks himself for not having the foresight to predict this. Just because Vincent is fine with putting on a show in front of his friendsâand in this case, familyâdoesnât mean that Vincent will be fine sharing a bed with him when theyâre in private.
âYou can have the bed,â Vincent says. âThe bed will probably be warmer.â
Whether thatâs a comment about how Yves has been too cold all day, or whether itâs just an offhanded appraisal which has nothing to do with him, Yves doesnât know.Â
âItâs fine,â Yves says. âI donât mind the sofa. Besides, hotels usually have extra blankets. Iâm sure theyâre just hidden in some drawer somewhere.â
He rummages through a few of the cabinets and looks through the closet until he finds what heâs looking forâa feather comforter, folded neatly on the top shelf. He takes it down, keeping it folded under his arm.
âSee,â he says, flashing Vincent a smile. âIâll be perfectly warm, like this.â
Vincent still looks a little unconvinced. âYou should wake me if youâre not,â he says. âI donât mind switching.â
âDuly noted,â Yves says, even though he has no intention of waking Vincent for any reason.Â
âThe couch probably extends into a pull-out bed,â Vincent says, already heading back into the living room. âIt should be more comfortable. I can help you set it up.â
âI can do it,â Yves says. All this talking is not helping with his throat. Worse, somewhere over the course of the past couple hours, thereâs a faint tickle thatâs managed to settle into his sinuses.
âItâs the least I can do, if Iâm taking the bed,â Vincent says.
Yves is about to say more, but he finds that he really needs to sneeze. He lifts his arm to his face, his eyes watering, his breath hitchingâ
âHh-! hHehhâIIZSCHh-IIEW!â
âBless you,â Vincent calls, from the next room over.
âThanks,â Yves says, turning into his shoulder with a small cough. His breath hitches again, irritatingly. âhHeh-! HEHHâIiITSHHiEW! snf-!âÂ
When he heads into the living room, Vincent is already almost done setting up the pull-out bed. Yves helps him lock down the legs of the frame.
âThanks,â Yves says, fluffing out the blanket heâs holding so that he can lay it out over the mattress. âAll set up.â
He looks the bed over. It looks inviting enoughâa little smaller than the bed in the bedroom, the mattress thinner, but fluffy and clean regardless. Vincent steps past him to duck into the bedroom and emerges a moment later, carrying two pillows.
âAre these your pillows?â Yves says.
âTheyâre yours now.â
âI can sleep without pillows.â
âThey gave me two sets, anyways,â Vincent says. âI wouldnât have made use of these ones.â
âOkay.â Tentatively, Yves takes a seat at the edge of the mattress. From the doorway, he gets a limited view of the bedroomâhe can see the curtains at the far end, the desk pushed up against the wall, and the very foot of the bed. âDo you think this is what couples do when theyâre traveling and they get in a fight?â
âIs that what weâre doing?â Vincent asks.
âIt might as well be,â Yves says.
âIf your family walks in and sees that Iâve banished you to the sofa, I donât think Iâll ever be forgiven,â Vincent says, so seriously that it almost doesnât register as a joke. Yves laughs.
âYou can just say I snore,â he says. âOr, worse. Maybe I kick you in my sleep.â
âDo you?â
Yves doesnâtâat least, heâs been told he doesnâtâbut itâs of no consequence. Theyâre not going to be sharing a bed. âLuckily for you, you wonât have to find out.âÂ
He gets settledâsets his suitcase out on one of the side tables, sets out all his toiletries in the bathroom, puts the clothes heâs planning to wear for tomorrow in a neat stack, and hangs up the suit heâs going to wear for the wedding in the closet. Heâd been careful folding it, but heâll probably have to give it another good iron before the wedding date. By the time he has everything accounted for, the bathroom door is closed, and the showerâs running.
The hotel has left them a couple bottles of water on the nightstand but he heads downstairs to buy a couple more from the on-site convenience store on the first floor. Victoire had them exchange dollars for euros at the airport, which Yves thinks he might have forgotten to do in their haste. Even though sheâs the youngest of the three of them, sometimes he thinks she is the one with the most common sense.
He strikes up a brief conversation with the cashier, in French that he thinks is fairly fluent but probably accentedâitâs been awhile since heâs gotten any practice with it. His speaking is good, but there are some colloquialisms and some idioms that heâs not familiar with and ends up having to ask about.
By the time he gets back up to the bedroom, bottled waters in hand, Vincent is done showering, his hair still a little damp.
âI got us extra waters,â Yves says. âThereâs a convenience store down on the first floor.â
âOh,â Vincent says. âThanks. You didnât have to.â He looks nice, even with his hair damp, even though heâs wearing just a t-shirt and shorts to sleep, Yves thinks, and then immediately tables that thought.
âIt was nice to stretch my legs,â Yves says. âAnd nice to have a chance to practice my French. My relatives are going to be disappointed in me if I sound worse than I did last year.â
âAre you fluent?â
âFluent enough to hold a proper conversation. Not fluent enough to not sound like a foreigner. I grew up speaking French and English, but obviously in the states, there arenât as many opportunities to practice French.â
âI donât think you would have lost much of it,â Vincent says, as if from experience.Â
Yves laughs. âFor my own sake, letâs hope not.â
When he steps into the bathroom, the mirror is still fogged up from the steam. He swipes a hand over the glass to clear enough of it so that he can see.
He looks fine, still, at least outwardlyâa little tired, maybe, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by. Thereâs a faint flush to his complexion, too, which is strange, because he doesnât feel like he has a fever. Heâs just a little colder than usual, is all.
All in all, he still looks passable. At first glance, it doesnât seem very evident that anything is wrong at all.
He takes a shower, cranks the water up until itâs almost scalding, and stands under the hot water, shutting his eyes. The warmth is a welcome change. Itâs the first time today that heâs been really, properly warmâif only because heâs turned the water up a couple degrees higher than he usually has it at.
The water splashes over his shoulders. He leans his head back, taking in a deep breath of the steam.
Itâs fine. It will be fine. Heâll drink tons of water, take all the vitamin C he can find, and sleep this off tonight. Heâll be good as new tomorrow.Â
â
When Yves blinks awake, itâs still dark out.
The first thing that registers to him is that heâs cold.
What started off as a slight headache has turned into something much worseâhis head is throbbing, and even with the blanket, heâs freezing. The air conditioning in the room is onâhe can hear the low hum of it through the ventsâand everything feels unbearably frigid. Even the bedsheets, which are at the very least warm from his body heat, seem to always be losing heat, unpleasantly, when he shifts.
When he checks his phone, the time onscreen is 3:45 am. Too late to call the front desk and ask them to send up more blankets, probablyâeven if they are technically in operation, he doesnât want to be that one asshole to ask for a favor at this time of day.
Heâll ask tomorrow, he thinks, at a more reasonable hour. Itâs almost morning, anyways. Maybe if he manages to get back to sleep, he wonât feel the cold as much.
Thereâs a dull pressure to his sinuses, a slight tickle that seems only to sharpen as he rubs his nose. His breath catches, too quickly for him to do anything to attend to the subsequentâ
âHhehâ! hHEHHâiISHHhi-iEw!â
Fuck. The sneeze is loud enough to echo a little within the confines of the living room. Vincent is in the next room over. Vincent is asleep, presumably, like Yves should be.Â
And Yvesâs nose is starting to tickle again.
He raises the blankets to his face, presses his nose to them to muffle the nextâ
âhhEHâ hehhâIZschhH-IIEW! snf-!âÂ
The sound is marginally quieter this time, muffled into the cotton, but itâs far from silent. He hopes, desperately, that itâs quiet enough, or that Vincent is a heavy enough sleeper for it not to matter. There isnât even a proper door between them.Â
He reaches up to swipe a hand over his eyes. How did this get so bad so quickly? His head feels heavy, and every sneeze that tears through him is harsh enough to scrape at his already-raw throatâwhatever hope heâd had for sleeping it off seems to be diminishing with every passing minute.
He listens, for a moment, for anything: any shifting from the room over, any motion, any footsteps. But to his relief, thereâs nothing.
His head is swimming. Worse, he still has to sneeze. The tissue box is on the nightstand in the bedroom Vincent is in, but Yves thinks that it would be too unwise to make a trip right now and risk waking Vincent up a good three hours before sunrise.
âhHh-! hhH-!...â
Fuck. He stays frozen like that, for a moment, one hand hovering over his nose and mouth. His nose tickles, badly, kept just narrowly on edge. It feels like one wrong breath would be enough to set off a sneeze, but sometimes it seems to evade him at the last secondâhe canât seem to get his body to settle on something decisive. âhhHEh-!â
The sneeze is unexpected, when it comes, at lastâloud and forceful and vicious.
âhehHâNGKTâshhHâEEW!â
A short burst of pain shoots through his temples. Yves canât claim heâs ever been good at stifling, and this attempt is no exception. Itâs not much quieter than the others, even muffled into his pillow, and the attempt to stifle has only made the pressure in his head feel worse.
âHheh⌠hh-!â He sniffles. His eyes are watering so much he thinks they might spill over. âhHeh⌠hh-hHih-HEHhâDJJSHhâiEEW!â
This one he muffles into his hands, ducking forward into his chest. The relief he feels from letting out the sneeze is unfortunately short-lived. Heâs nowhere close to done. He can feel it, in the tickle in his nose which refuses to let up, in the pressure to his sinuses which only seems to worsen with each sneeze.
For a moment, Yves contemplates spending the rest of the night just outside their room, out in the hallway. It will almost certainly be colder, he would be quieter there, at the very leastâthere would be a proper door and a wall between him and Vincent, and thatâs something, isnât it?
Before he can seriously consider it, heâs snapping forward at the waist, muffling another loud sneeze into the covers.
âhhHeh-iIDDSHHhhâYyiiEW!â
He finds himself coughing, after, muffling the coughs tightly into the feather blanket in an attempt to cough more quietly. He shivers, huddling deeper into the covers. His head is pounding. Every time he swallows, sharp, hot pain lances his throat.Â
He hears nothing from the room over, even when he listens carefully. This much is a reliefâtruthfully, he would feel awful if he were keeping Vincent up because of this. Yves has survived on less sleepâback in university, 6am crew practice meant waking up early even when heâd been up late to finish projects or coursework, or otherwise out late with friendsâbut the thought of keeping Vincent up makes something uncomfortable settle in his stomach. Vincent hadnât slept at all during the flight. He must be tired, now. The last thing he needsâafter the stress of being surrounded by strangers in a foreign country, after traveling for almost 10 hours straight, after being assigned to room with his coworker, of all peopleâis to be woken up at an ungodly hour just because Yves canât keep this damn cold under wraps.
Yves thinks he should try to sleep too, if only because it means he wonât be awake to succumb to the next sneeze that threatens to tear through him.
But if heâs entirely honest with himself, heâs not sure if sleep is going to come to him anytime soon.Â
â
Yves doesnât remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to his 7:30am alarm so tired that he feels like he hasnât slept at all
âMorning,â Vincent says, emerging in the doorway. Heâs fully dressed already, his shirt crisply ironed, the collar upright, his hair neatly styled. Â
âYouâre fast,â Yves says. His voice sounds a little hoarseâall the sneezing last night probably hasnât done it any favors. But if Vincent can tell that it sounds off, he doesnât say. âHave you been waiting long?â
âNot really,â Vincent says. âWe have time.â
âGive me a few minutes to get ready,â Yves says, hauling himself out of bed. âIâll be out in five.â
He changes in record speed, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and stuffs everything he can see himself needing into a backpack to take down to breakfast.
When he emerges, Vincent is waiting for him in the hallway.
âHow did you sleep?â Yves asks.
âFine,â Vincent says. âYou?â
âI slept well enough,â Yves says, before muffling a yawn into his hand. At Vincentâs pointed glance at him, he adds, âIâm just a little tired. Itâs probably jetlag. Itâs what, like, 2am over in New York?â
â1:42,â Vincent says, checking his watch. âIs your whole family going to be at breakfast?â
âIâm not sure if everyoneâs up,â Yves says. âBut Leon and Victoire will be. I told them to be downstairs by 8, so obviously theyâll kill me if Iâm not there first.â
The breakfast lounge is on the first floor, a few hallways down from the reception desk. Yves saves a table for them.Â
He isnât very hungry, for some reason. Still, he fills his plate with breakfast pastries and scrambled eggs and grabs a cup of hot tea while heâs at it. He really doesnât want to lose his voice entirely before the ceremony. Even with his jacket onâwhich is probably even excessive, considering the temperature of the lobbyâhe isnât as warm as heâd like to be.
Victoire joins them next. She waves to Vincent as she passes. âHope you guys got some sleep,â she says innocently.
Yves says, âWe got perfectly good sleep, thank you.â
âMorning,â Leon says, appearing in the doorway at 7:59.Â
âYouâre really cutting it close,â Yves says, sniffling.
âItâs 7:59,â Leon says. âWhether Iâm on time is a binary, not a sliding scale. Iâm entirely on time.â
The table Yves picked can fit more than four, so they spread themselves out through the seats. âMom and dad said theyâre having breakfast at one of the cafes nearby,â Victoire says, shrugging her sweater off and leaving it perched on the back of her seat. âThey said theyâd report back if itâs anything life changing.â
âThereâs a welcome party tonight,â Yves says to Vincent, âFor everyone whoâs flown in. Youâll get to meet them then.â
âIs there anything your parents hate in a partner?â Vincent asks.
âDonât worry too much. I donât thinkâ hEHhâŚâ Yves scoots back from the table turning away as he reaches blindly for one of the cocktail napkins heâd taken. âHEHhâDDJJSHh-iiEW! Ugh, sorry.â His nose has been running all morningâheâd made sure to take a generous stack, and stuff some of them into his pockets for later, but itâs been all of fifteen minutes and heâs already nervous that he might run out. âI donât you could get them to hate you even if you tried.âÂ
âMom and dad met in college, at a bar,â Leon says. Yves, who has heard this story many times before, busies himself with eating, and tries hard not to visibly shiver. In a way, heâs grateful to the two of them for filling in the space for himâthe less he strains his voice today, the better. âMom was super drunk, and for some reason when she started talking to dad the conversation topic turned to, like, something super specific and not at all romantic.â
âIt was whether or not itâs ethical to clone extinct species,â Victoire says, idly folding her napkin into a pinwheel. âThough this was before it had ever been done.â
âApparently she was drunk enough to ask his hand in marriage mid argument, and he was drunk enough to say yes, because he thought it was a joke,â Leon says. âAnd it was a joke. But he proposed to her seriously a year later, and all she said was âat least you kept your promise.ââ
âBut now theyâre happily married,â Vincent says.
Leon nods. âTheyâve been happily married for almost thirty years now. Anyways, my point is that whatever relationship you have with Yves, you donât have to try and impress them. Thereâs no need to overthink it.â
âI understand,â Vincent says. âMy parents got married because my dad did well in a business competition at the time, and my mom thought he was going to make a lot of money.â
âAnd how did that turn out?â Victoire says, interested, propping her head up on one hand.
Yves watches Vincent cut a pastry into four even pieces. âBetter than you might expect,â Vincent says.
â-
The welcome dinner is held at a local restaurantâAimee and Genevieve have rented out the outdoor space for seating. The tableâa long table that seats thirty, or soâis set with tall, elegant white candles, all in a row; wine glasses with delicate stems; vases spilling over with flowersâlilacs, pink and white roses, orchids.Â
Above them, string lights are strung up in neat lines. When Yves sees Aimee, he doesnât drop all of his things to run over and hug her, but itâs a close thing.
âYves! You made it,â she says.
âI wouldnât miss it for the world,â he tells her, in French. âGod. Did you plan out all of this? It looks gorgeous.â
âGenevieve did a lot of it,â she says. âShe has a good eye for decorations.â
Genevieve is off to the side, talking to someone who Yves recognizes as her sisterâYves follows Aimeeâs gaze over to where sheâs standing. When he looks back, Aimee is smiling in a way Yves has never seen her smile beforeâthe sort of fond, private smile that he feels like he isnât sure heâs supposed to be seeing.Â
Yves is stricken, for a moment. Itâs so clear that sheâs in love. It shows all over her face, plainly, the kind of love thatâs uncontestable; the kind of love that makes love, of all things, look simple. Has he ever looked like that, to someone else?
âHow have you been?â he asks. âI imagine preparations have been hectic.â
âNever better,â she says, turning back to face him at last. âYouâre rightâitâs been exhausting. But I feel like the adrenaline is carrying me through, you know? Like Iâm so happy this is happening.â
âYou two deserve a perfect wedding,â Yves says, and means it. He clears his throat, sniffling. Itâs a little cold out, even though the sun hasnât gone down yet; he really hopes his nose doesnât start to run visibly. âIf you ever need any helpâwith last minute preparations, or if anything comes up, or if you need someone on transportation or moving thingsâlet me know. Even if itâs like, 3am or something. My hands are completely free.â
She laughs. âThank you, thatâs so kind of you to offer! It has been hectic, but I havenât been up at 3am this week, thank God.â
âI hope to keep it that way.â Yves turns away from her, raising an arm to muffle a fit of coughs into his sleeve.
Aimee takes a step forward, her eyebrows furrowing. âAre you okay? You sound a little off. And youâre coughing.â
And Yves thinks: she canât know. He has his toasts to give at her wedding. He has the wedding rehearsal tomorrow and the wedding ceremony on Saturday to attend. If Aimee finds out heâs coming down with something, sheâll probably tell him to sit things outâto get some proper rest, to disregard virtually everything she has planned, and to not leave the hotel room until heâs feeling a hundred percent betterâeven if itâs at her own expense.
Worse, sheâll be worried for the entirety of his illness, heâs sure. As if she doesnât have enough on her plate already, between the setup and all the accommodations and the last minute changes.
Aimee deserves a perfect wedding.Â
Thatâs the bottom line in all of this. This is a once in a lifetime thing for someone he cares and cares deeply about. Yves is not going to ruin it. Heâll get through the next few days, even if it means pushing himself a little past his limits. He can crash afterwards, on the plane ride home, after all the festivities are over and everyone bids farewell.
âIâm fine,â Yves says, clearing his throat. âIâmââ This is really the worst possible timing. He takes a few steps back, craning his neck over his shoulder. âhH-! hHhhâkKTSSH-IEEW! snf-! Ugh. Iâmb just getting over a slight cold.â Getting over might be a bit of a stretch, and a slight cold might be even more of one, but other than that, itâs not entirely dishonest.
Aimee frowns at him. âBless you. Does your throat hurt? There are cocktails on the side table, if you want anything to drink. Wine, too. I can get something for you if youâd like.â
âNice try, but thereâs no way Iâm letting the bride go and get things for me,â Yves says, grinning. âDo you want any cocktails?â
âI need to be sober until Iâve officially said hi to everyone,â she says. âCanât make a fool of myself just yet. Speaking of which, whereâs your boyfriend?â
Yves waves Vincent over. âCome say hi!â he says, in English.Â
âItâs very nice to meet you,â Vincent says, in slightly accented French, which is a surprise. He seems to hesitate, thinking hard. âCongratulations on your wedding.â
âOh my gosh!â Aimee says in English, pulling him close for a hug. Vincent hugs her back. âItâs good to meet you too, Vincent. Thanks for always looking after Yves. Iâm glad to have someone keeping him out of trouble overseas.â
âThank you for having me here,â Vincent says, hugging her back. âI know it was really last minute with the flight and everything. I hope it wasnât too stressful for you.â
âIt was no trouble at all!â Aimee says. âYves is like a younger brother to me. Last summer was pretty rough for him, I think.â she doesnât mention Erika, but Yves is sure Vincent knows what sheâs referring to, regardless. Aimee smiles, a little wistfully. âIâm just so grateful that he met you. Iâm glad to see him happy again.â
âI donât think I can take credit for that,â Vincent says, blinking.
Aimee smiles warmly at him. âHeâs the happiest heâs been in months,â she says. âI think you are selling yourself short.â
After Aimee asks Vincent how his stay has been (good, Vincent says, itâs actually my first time in France, to which Aimee excitedly lists off places he absolutely has to see while heâs here) and Vincent asks Aimee how the wedding preparations are going (nothingâs gone terribly wrong yet, Aimee laughs, which I suppose is all I can ask for), they find their way to their seats at the table. Someone has set out little name cards with all of their names written in calligraphy. Yves realizes, faintly, that the handwriting isnât Aimeeâs. Maybe itâs Genevieveâs, then.Â
âI didnât know you knew any French,â Yves tells Vincent, in English.
Vincent looks away, a little sheepish. âI took a crash course into it when you mentioned the wedding would be in France,â he says, which Yves finds somehow disproportionately endearing. âI know maybe five sentences total, plus a few common terms.â
âFive sentences is impressive given that you had, what, just a few weeks to learn them?â
âIâm not sure if they are very coherent,â Vincent says. âThe vowels are different from English. Iâm still trying to get the hang of saying them.âÂ
Yves is about to respond, but heâs cut off with a sharp, unexpected gasp. He pitches forward, raising his elbow up to his face just in time to muffle aâ
âHh⌠HhEHH-!âIihHâDZSCHh-IIEW!â
Heâs glad, for once, that heâs not wearing the suit heâs planning on wearing for the wedding. His nose is running again, which is embarrassing, especially because he can still feel Vincentâs eyes on him.
âĂ tes souhaits,â Vincent says.
Yves laughs, rummaging through his jacket pockets for one of the napkins heâd taken at breakfast to blow his nose into. âMerci. Is that one of the common terms you learned?â
âNo,â Vincent says. âI looked it up last night.â
âLast night?â Yves asks.
For a moment, heâs afraid that Vincent might reveal to him that Yves had kept him up last night, after all, despite all of his efforts to keep quiet.Â
âOn the car,â Vincent clarifies. âDuring the trip to the hotel. I was just curious.â
âOh,â Yves says, relieved. He blows his nose into the napkin heâs holding, which heâs sure he has reused at least a couple times alreadyâbut with his nose running so much, he doesnât exactly have the luxury to be picky. âWell, youâll be an expert at saying that phrase by the end of this trip, at the very least.â
Itâs easy to lose himself in the throes of conversation, after that. Aimee and Genevieve have arranged it so that he and Vincent are sitting directly across from his parents. Leon is rightâhis parents have never really been the type to subject the partners heâs brought home, over the years, to any sort of interrogation. Itâs a fun night, especially after everyoneâs a couple drinks in.
âI think itâs a good thing that you guys are in the same line of work,â Yvesâs dad says, conversationally. âYves wonât have to explain why heâs always working overtime.â
Yvesâs mom says, âIsnât that a bad thing? We shouldnât be encouraging their workaholic tendencies.â
Yves neglects to mention that heâs pretty sure Vincent (who worked the entire flight here)âs workaholic tendencies will persist, even without any encouragement.
Vincent tells them how theyâd metâitâs the same story as heâd told the first time theyâd done this, during Margotâs new year party a few months back, but Yvesâs parents seem to find it extremely entertaining.
Yvesâs mom says, âI told you Yves was the one who asked him out.â
Yvesâs dad says, âI didnât know if he had it in him.â
Yvesâs mom says, âI remember hearing him say something about having an attractive coworker. It wasnât that much of a logical stretch to assume heâd make a move at some point.â
(Yves thinks he sees them exchange a twenty dollar bill under the table, but he canât be sure.)
Vincent practices his French with Yvesâs parentsâYves fills in for him when he stumbles on a word, or when he hesitates, wracking his memory for a term he canât quite translate.Â
âA fantastic attempt,â his dad says, when Vincent is done talking. âI canât believe you learned so much in just a few weeks. I can only hope youâll keep learning..âÂ
âI will,â Vincent says. âMaybe next time we can have this conversation entirely in French.â Thereâs no uncertainty to the way he says it. Yves doesnât mention that thereâs a real chance Vincent wonât see them again, after this. Itâs not a thought he particularly wants to confront.
At some point, Leon rises to his feet and shouts, in French, âLetâs toast to Aimee and Genevieve, everyoneâs favorite couple!â
They all stand and raise their glasses. Yves finds he feels a little unsteady on his feetâmaybe heâs had too much to drink. He feels warm, through the flush of alcohol in his cheeks, despite the evening chill.Â
Heâs marginally worse at covering when heâs tipsyâand worse, too, at anticipating that heâs going to sneeze in the first place. At some point during the night, someoneâmaybe Vincent, or maybe one of Aimeeâs friends from work that are seated nearbyâsets down a stack of cocktail napkins in front of him.
Yves just hopes whoeverâs put it there knows how grateful he is. The night is getting colder, even though he canât quite feel it, and his nose is running so much that he finds himself grabbing a new napkin every couple minutes to blow his nose. Itâs strange, he thinks, how such a small thing can be so comforting.
At some point, too, Vincent takes the glass of wine out of his hands and switches it out with a different glass. Yves thinks it might be a cocktail, at first, but when he takes a sip, he finds itâs just orange juice.
âI think youâve had enough to drink,â Vincent says.
âI havedât had that much,â Yves says. But come to think of it, his head feels hazy in a way that suggests heâs just a little drunk. âJust a coupleâ glassesâ hh-! hHhEHâIIZSCHhâiIEw! snf-!â He barely manages to cover that sneeze in time.
âBless you,â Vincent says.
âUgh.â Yves reaches for another napkin from the stack. He feels a little dizzy, now that heâs paying attention. âI swear, my toleradce - snf-! - used to be a lot better before I graduated.â
Vincent hides a laugh behind one hand. Yves is too tipsy to pretend he doesnât find that a little endearing.
âWhat?â he asks, faux-affronted.Â
âNothing,â Vincent says. âI shouldâve known that you went to parties and drank irresponsibly.â
Yves laughs. âAlong with every other college student in the world.â He turns aside to muffle a cough into his sleeve. Perhaps he hasnât been especially conscientious about saving his voice this eveningâwith all the talking heâs been doing, it will probably sound even worse tomorrow. âWhat, donât tell me youâve ndever gotten irresponsibly drunk!â
âOnce or twice,â Vincent says, which is a bit of a surpriseâhe canât imagine Vincent being drunk enough to lose the air of⌠well, composure isnât the right word, perhaps. Professionalism? Self-assuredness? But maybe even drunk Vincent is professional and self-assured, all the same. Yves wonders, faintly, if heâll ever have the chance to find out.Â
â
Dinner winds down slowly. Yves helps Genevieve collect all the name cards, gathers everyoneâs plates to set them in a couple neat stacks at the end of the table, says hello to the relatives heâs closer to, and strikes up a conversation with some of Genevieveâs friends, who look to be just a few years older than he is. They talk first about the planning sheâd kept them in the loop about, and then about the planning that sheâd pulled off behind the scenes. Yves tells them about the many aesthetic and managerial decisions Aimee had consulted him for early on over text. The common consensus seems to be that Aimee and Genevieve are vastly overqualified when it comes to making sure that everything is logistically sound.
âDo you want to head out soon?â Vincent says, after some time, when Yves returns to his seat and some of the other guests have begun to filter out.Â
âThat might be a good idea,â Yves says.
He says his goodbyesâto his parents, to Leon and Victoire, to Aimee and Genevieve, whom heâll see tomorrow. Then he follows Vincent out. The hotel is a fifteen minute walk from where they areâsome of their relatives have cars, but theyâd walked here, and Yves thinks itâd be more work to try to coordinate a ride with someone.
Everything feels bright, Yves thinks, blinking.Â
âYouâre cold,â Vincent says. It isnât a question.
Yves realizes, faintly, that heâs shivering. He crosses his arms over his chest. âI donât feel it that much.â
âThatâs because youâre drunk.â
âIâm ndot drunk.â
âTipsy, then.â
Yves canât argue with that. âJust a bit. Iâll probablyâ hhEh-!â He turns aside to direct the sneeze over his shoulder, away from Vincent. HH-! hHEHhâiIITSHh-IIEw! Snf-! âsober up soon.â The end of the sentence catches wrong on his throat and suddenly heâs coughing, a little harshly, into his wrist. The coughing fit is harsh enough to leave him faintly lightheaded, which is a surprise to him.
He thinks it shouldnât be visible, but Vincent reaches out and grabs his shoulder to steady him. For a moment, Yves contemplates how nice it would be to lean into his touch.
Then he catches himself. Heâs tired, but not so tired that he canât sustain a short walk from the dinner venue to the hotel. Itâs dark, but they donât have any early obligations tomorrow, and itâs not late enough that he wonât have time to shower, get changed, and get a good nightâs sleep, with time to spare.
Yves shifts out of Vincentâs touch. âSorry about that,â he says, with the most convincing smile he can muster. Heâs sure Vincent would be understanding if he brought it up, but truthfully, it feels like a waste of time to say anything at all.
Vincent doesnât reach for him again, but his eyebrows furrow. âAre you okay?âÂ
âWhat?â
âYou almost fell,â Vincent says.
âI just tripped. The roads arenât very even, and itâs dark.â Theyâre standing in the middle of a small, winding cobblestone street. None of the roads around here are very flat for very long.
âAre you saying that because you believe it?â Vincent says. âOr are you saying that so that I stop worrying about this?â
Yves stares at him for a moment too long. Heâs sobering up a little.
For a moment, he contemplates telling Vincent everythingâabout how tired heâs been, all day. About how much itâs taken out of him to keep up this front, the whole day; about how he feels worse than he did waking up this morningâtired and cold and congested, a little unsteady on his feet. If heâs not mistaken, he thinks he might be running a slight fever; itâs hard to tell through the jacket, through the brisk evening air.
Maybe Vincent would understand. Maybe Vincent would insist that he get some rest, tomorrow, before the wedding. Maybe Vincent would tell him that this is all going to be fineâthat this wedding that Yvesâs been looking forward to for months, that he desperately doesnât want to mess up, is going to be perfect, just as Aimee and Genevieve has planned it, even if he isnât feeling his best.
But this is not Vincentâs problem to solve. Yvesâs bad timing and his unfortunate circumstances are not Vincentâs responsibility, and Yves extended the invitation because he wanted Vincent to have fun on this trip, and no part of that entails having to look after Yves. Vincent has always been reliable, but Yves canât start to expect things out of himâto take his kindness as a given, to take more than Vincent is willing to give.
He already asks more than enough of Vincent, as it stands.
âIâm fine,â Yves says, a lie, as easily as any other lie heâs ever told. The smile that follows comes easily, too, though heâs not sure if Vincent can see it in the dark, canât tell if itâs more to fool Vincent or more to fool himself. âIâd tell you if I wasnât.â
[ Part 3 ]
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