Chapter Text
Vincent walked into the studio the same way he always did, treading the same steps, knowing the studio like the back of his hand. He found his way to the break room, weaving through the people scattered about to reach the pot of coffee that had been brewed before he had even entered the building. General chatter filled the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing in Vincent’s ear. It wasn't loud, there weren’t even too many people in the room, yet he always found it so very overwhelming. Today's topic of gossip: someone new was starting today. Not that Vincent really cared much. It would be a temporary gig, a guest voice over role if he remembered correctly. And just as quickly as this new man had started he would be gone. People tended to come and go from the studio a lot, it wasn’t new. Of course it was never the people Vincent wanted to go. To disappear. So, sometimes, he would have to take matters into his own hands. This new person would leave on his own and thus, Vincent could not care less. His name was Allen or Andrew or something else along those lines. Vincent hadn’t bothered to learn. He had more important things to attend to today.
He was in desperate need of a promotion. Not that he didn’t enjoy his news anchor role. It was far more successful than he had been as a weatherman, far more influential. People knew his name, every once in a while people would stop him on the street, recognizing him. It wasn’t something that happened often, but when it did it would make his day. Still, he wanted, no, he needed more. This role was limited. Sure, he was the face, people looked to him to keep them updated on the latest happenings in the city. When to celebrate, when to be afraid. He got to dictate that. Still, he was at the mercy of a script, handfeeding him what he should talk about, how to say it and for how long.
And then there was Arthur Cameron, the obnoxious, ignorant, full of himself brat of a talk show host. Vincent could never stand him. He was always too friendly, quick to start a conversation. So full of himself, thinking just because he was ‘famous’ he was entitled to Vincent’s time. Greeting him, asking how his day was, complimenting Vincent’s hair or outfit (Vincent did secretly like this one actually, though he’d never admit to that), making small talk whenever he had the chance. Asking him to drinks? And it was always only Vincent he’d do this to. Never anyone else. Not the producers or his fans or even the women he should be using this attention towards. It was always Vincent. Vincent saw through it all of course. He must’ve made his jealousy too obvious and Arthur had latched onto that, taking every moment he could to remind Vincent that he was there and he was better and had everything Vincent wanted. Everything Vincent needed. Buttering him up just to remind him that he existed. Or maybe, just maybe, Arthur knew Vincent was destined for greatness. Maybe he knew eventually he’d be old news and soon everyone would forget about him because now it was time for the Vincent Whittman show. Maybe he knew he was next and this was his sad little attempt to convince Vincent to spare him. Or maybe it was something else entirely. Who really knew. It’s not like it’d really matter anyway. By the end of the day Arthur Cameron would be gone.
He was lost in thought, running through his plan for the hundredth time in his head to make sure everything would go perfectly. That’s when the far too familiar laugh of his producers broke through the symphony of mindless chatter in the room. It was enough to draw his attention. He looked over to find them ‘talking’ with an unfamiliar face… and for some reason Vincent couldn’t look away. His hair, perfect curls framing his face, even the small flyaways seeming intentionally placed with care. His build, the striking red vest he wore, the way he carried himself. That smile. He definitely stood out among the crowd. The interaction didn’t exactly look like a pleasant one, the laughter seemingly directed at the man. And yet, his smile never faltered. If anything, it almost seemed to grow bigger. Still, there was one key detail that seemed to break the strange man’s perfect facade. A look in his eyes, one Vincent was all too familiar with. He’d seen it reflected back to him in windows and puddles on long walks home after especially bad work days. One he had just seen reflected back to him in his morning coffee. A fury, a fire. The man in the red vest seemed to notice Vincent’s staring, locking eyes for a split second, just long enough for Vincent to feel a strange feeling flutter in his chest. Jealousy he assumed. He quickly looked back down at his coffee.
He didn’t hear the footsteps approaching him.
“It’s rude to stare you know.” Vincent was quickly pulled from his coffee by a voice. He looked back up to find the man at his side, looking down at him with that unreadable smile. The man being much closer now was not doing any favors for that strange, fluttery feeling. His face, his hair. The only word Vincent could think to describe him was beautiful. Not in the way a woman was obviously. No. beautiful in the way a piece of fine art or a morning sunrise were beautiful. The way one could just watch for hours, getting drawn in by its beauty. At least, that’s what he told himself. Shit, he was staring again.
Vincent had always been good with words, quick to respond and knowing all the right things to say in a way that seemed effortless. And yet the words that escaped his lips were anything but. A barely legible string of sounds, about as understandable as trying to find a word in a bowl of alphabet soup.
“I- sorry i uh-” what the fuck Vincent. Get it together. “I think I was… spacing out. My apologies. Coffee hasn’t quite kicked in, you know? Just one of those days.” he gave an awkward yet friendly laugh.
“Mmm…” the man’s tone was irritated, making it clear that he was not buying a word Vincent was saying.
“I don't think I've seen you around here before. You must be-” shit. Vincent was suddenly regretting his previous disinterest in learning this new guy’s name.
“Alastor.” he said, any patients the man may have had talking to Vincent clearly long gone at this point.
“Vincent. Vincent Whittman.” he held out his hand for a hand shake. Alastor looked down at it but didn’t take it. After an awkward second that felt like an eternity Vincent returned his hand to his side. Rude. “It’s always great to see new faces around.” Vincent put on his best impersonation of a friendly smile.
“Likewise.” the most nothing of a response Alastor could’ve given. Alastor’s responses were short, seemingly uninterested in the whole conversation, if this little interaction could even be called a conversation. It honestly felt more like a humiliation ritual for Vincent. So much for first impressions.
Vincent opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the shrill sound of “Whittman!” being yelled across the breakroom. An out from this nightmare of a conversation, Vincent took it instantly.
“Shit, I’ve got to go. It was nice meeting you, Alastor.” a lie.
“I’m sure we’ll meet again, Vincent.” The words sent a shiver down his spine. An unfamiliar presence in the man’s voice that wasn’t there before. He decided not to dwell on it, quickly running in the direction of the voice.
Ethan… something-, a wholly unremarkable man. Unremarkable enough that Vincent couldn’t be bothered to learn his last name. A journalist who mainly kept to himself. Small and nerdy, easy to startle, even easier to forget. He carried a stack of papers that he shoved into Vincent's hands with a little too much force.
“There you are Vinny!” Vincent hated that nickname. It made him sound small. Somehow Ethan had convinced himself he and Vincent were ‘friends’ and no matter how much Vincent seemed to push away he still followed him around like some weird little puppy. Creep. “There’s been a change in reporting today. Breaking news. Look these over to report on during today's segment.” He never made eye contact with Vincent. “Sorry it’s such short notice.” he said quickly before disappearing back to god knows where.
Vincent sighed, tucking the papers under his arm. So much for relaxing before going on. This wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, things were always happening and news was always changing, always breaking. Still, the stacks of papers, when they did happen, were never normally this large. He made his way to his desk, resting his coffee cup on the same spot he always did and began reading.
A disappearance. A high level executive from a rival media company. Alvin Turner, Last seen at some big fancy dinner that had been held a few days ago. Vincent couldn't really care less, he was a reporter, not a detective after all. All he needed to do was present the information to the public, send his condolences to the family and exclaim how much he hoped he would return safe and sound soon. And then the segment would be over and everyone would move on like it never happened by the end of the day.
That’s the funny thing about the news cycle. Everything moves so fast, there's always new stories emerging that no one has time to really sit and soak in the tragedies happening every day around them before having some new story shoved in their face. Even when everyone’s favorite news anchor, George Tayler had been found murdered, a little over six months ago, not long before Vincent’s 22st birthday, it was quickly replaced by news of a new shopping complex being built on the east side of the city within the week.
Vincent found this both incredibly helpful and oh so very irritating. On one hand, it’s much easier to get away with something when the sheer nature of the industry does half the work on covering it up. The questioning stopped quickly when the news coverage did around the station, everyone moved on with their lives, and Vincent ever so kindly took on the challenge of filling in for him in his absence. Vincent was just generous in that way. Oh so kind.
On the other hand, he had worked so hard to do it. Spent hours hyping himself up that night, waiting for god knows how long in that damn alley way for George to walk by. Striking quickly with a slit to the throat and then it was over. He quietly bled out in the dumpster Vincent had thrown the body in. It was over so fast. It was almost disappointing. But it would be fine, because he would get to hear everyone talking about it, grieving and whispering to each other about the killer who may be lurking among them. All talking about him. Except that’s not what happened. Everyone moved on in a week and things went back to normal. He wouldn't let that happen this time. If the aftermath would be underwhelming at least he’d make sure the event was unforgettable.
But that’s later. Right now, he had to present the news. It was second nature to him at this point. He presented the facts as they were, trying his best to console the public, make sure they didn’t feel afraid, worrying that they might be next. Not because he cared of course, god no. But this wasn’t his doing and thus, it didn’t matter. If he sensationalized it too much then it may overshadow all the work he was going to do tonight and, of course, that just can’t happen.
“We here at channel 6 news are absolutely devastated to hear about the disappearance of Mr.Turner.” A lie. The two stations were known rivals and any disruption to them was a gain for channel 6. Besides, he was missing, not dead. He probably got bored and decided to fuck off to god knows where and would re-appear when his little vacation was over. Probably. “We’d like to put our differences aside today and hope Mr.Turner is able to return home safely. Our thoughts and prayers are with his family.” and just like that he moved on to the next piece of news like nothing happened.
Eventually, the hour time slot was over and Vincent and his coworkers said their goodbyes, the lights dimming and cameras turning off. Vincent quickly stood up and, for once, he was happy to go find Arthur.
Arthur was standing by the set of his talk show, looking over the papers for his segment that would be starting soon. He was taller than Vincent by quite a bit, with lanky arms and legs, his ginger hair perfectly styled to curl and frame his face. He had a pretty face, sure, but something about him felt off, too feminine, too awkward. Not the type of person you’d expect to work in such a public facing role. His eyes lit up when he saw Vincent walking in his direction, putting the papers down at an almost embarrassing speed.
“Vincent! Hi!” he said with a smile as Vincent found his face standing in front of him. “You did great today! News like that is always so scary, especially when it’s someone in our industry and-”
“Yeah yeah” Vincent cut him off before he could keep going. Arthur sure did like the sound of his own voice, didn’t he? “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”
Arthur’s eyes seemed to light up even more at this. “Oh! Yeah, yeah absolutely! What was it that you needed?” He was fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt as he spoke. Weirdo.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about your little… proposal last week. Going for drinks. And well, this new bar opened up down the street from my apartment a few days ago that I've been meaning to swing by and try. I was wondering if you might want to go with me?” God he hated this. Arthur stood up a bit straighter and, for once, not a single word escaped his lips. God Vincent loved the silence, and in any other circumstances he would’ve let this moment last forever, unfortunately now was not that moment. “Well?-”
Arthur snapped back to reality. “Sorry sorry. Yes I'd absolutely love to!” he stuttered out like an awkward teenager, brushing a loose piece of hair that had fallen neatly back into place. “I'm free after 9:00 tonight?”
“I know. I have a few things I need to get done around here tonight, though.” a lie. “ Would you mind staying around till closer to 10:00? I can meet you here when I finish up” It was a stupid request, asking him to stay till most of the staff had already left, making him wait around for an hour just to go get some drinks. Luckily, Arthur was stupid.
“Oh that’s no problem, I can wait! Although… i’ll be honest this place always gives me the creeps at night. Ever since what happened with George I just… I don’t know. And now that other guy at the other network goes missing too? It’s scary!”
Vincent chuckled. “You worry too much. I'm sure it’s a coincidence.” He leaned a bit closer with a hushed tone. “Between you and me, I heard George hung around some not so great people so I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what took him out. I really wouldn’t worry too much. Besides, that happened out there and you’ll be in here. Plus, I'll be here too so you won't even be alone! You’ll be completely safe, trust me.”
The tension in Arthur’s shoulders settled as he let out a sigh. “I guess you're right. I worry too much sometimes. 10:00 would be great Vincent.”
Vincent hated the way his name sounded coming from Arthur’s mouth. “I’ll see you then.”
“It’s a date.” That word made the hair’s on Vincent’s neck, but before he could say anything Arthur was called away to get ready for his show, leaving Vincent to stew on that one word as a million little puzzle pieces clicked themselves together in his little brain.
He quickly stormed off, hiding in a stall of the nearby bathroom. Date. What the fuck did he think Vincent was? Maybe he didn’t mean it like that… but the more he thought the more the pieces started to click into place, making his skin crawl. The constant attention, the begging to spend any sort of time with him out of work, it all made sense now. He wasn’t some selfish, full of himself brat who wanted to show Vincent just how much better he was. No, he was more akin to a nervous teenager with a crush.
Vincent’s nails dug into the palms of his hands as he tightened them into fists. He wasn’t surprised at the revelation about Arthur, not really. Rumors had always been spread about him. The only reason he even had the job in the first place was because he was related to one of the lead producers at the network. The producer was his uncle or father or some shit. Again, Vincent couldn’t be bothered to learn. Even in the papers rumors seemed to spread about him sometimes, but his family connections made it easy to sweep things under the rug. What Vincent cared about was that Arthur thought he was one of them. Some kind of fairy. That’s what was making his skin crawl and his hands ball up and shake and his nails dig so so far into his palms. God he wanted to go out there right now, grab him by the collar and scream at him and slam his head into a desk until it was given a nice new crimson coat of paint. But he couldn’t, not now. Not yet. There were too many people around and that would do nothing but create a scene. And so, he took his anger out on the closest thing he could find, punching the stall wall, imagining it as Arthur’s stupid little face until his knuckles were red, only stopping when he finally saw a small drop of red on the wall. He stood, out of breath and still seething. Pull yourself together, Whittman he told himself, running a hand through his hair and attempting to take soft, slow breaths. Soon.
Eventually, he regained his composure, fixing himself up and opening the stall door, heading straight towards the sink to clean the small smear of blood from his hands. It wasn't a lot, luckily. He washed his hands, looking up at himself in the mirror only to find a figure standing in the corner, watching him curiously, the familiar shade of red and uncanny smile catching him off guard. The man tilted his head when he saw Vincent notice him, giving a barely audible laugh. How- when the fuck did he get here? It had been empty when Vincent had entered, and he swore he never heard the door open. Although, frankly it probably was muffled by the loud bangs of his fist against metal. Whatever, it didn’t matter.
“I would suggest finding less… destructive ways to handle your emotions.” Alastor said, which did nothing but push Vincent even farther over the edge.
Vincent’s eyes darted between Alastor and the edge of the sink. It would be so easy to- No. No Vincent. Instead he settled for a simple “fuck off” before storming out and back into the studio, his facade back on and glowing.
Soon Vincent. 10:00pm. And god he was going to make sure it hurt.