Finding August

Chapter Three

A moan.

A soft mewl.

Then the annoying disruptive ringing of an old alarm clock.

Vincent's hand flew out to slap the annoying thing off his bedside table. He sat up abruptly, trying to adjust back into the world he'd been harshly pulled back into.

He hissed in pain when he made the mistake of moving and his thighs rubbed together. Apparently, his groin was missing August just as much as he was.

Vincent was never into s*x, not to talk of relationships before he met August, and when he did fall into a relationship with him he had to adjust and eventually enjoy constant physical contact.

August had been a touchy person that craved constant physical contact Vincent was only happy to give. August would find small reasons to peck Vincent, kiss him, hug him or touch him. Vincent's absolute favorite was when August came up behind him and rested his head on his shoulder.

August had somehow in a way been a very taunting s*x imp that converted Vincent to his ways before disappearing off the face of the earth, leaving Vincent to crave for him in his absence.

Vincent sat up with a sigh. He had to stop thinking about him, but thinking about not thinking about him only made matters worse.

He ran his hand through his short curls, missing the feel of running them through August's smoother longer ones. Thinking about August was going to be the death of him.

Vincent soon started to busy himself with getting ready to open the tattoo parlor. He'd promised his half-sister Anita that he would close up early to spend time with her and her daughter who was just a toddler.

It was just Vincent's luck that August was plastered all over the news again when he switched on the TV. The reports were interviewing him as well as praising his art style. They called him a post-surrealist because his works tried to represent human thought, thinking, and ideas.

Although Vincent's heart hurt from watching it he couldn't help feeling a small undeniable feeling of pride for August. He was truly an amazing artist.

Vincent was sitting on the long sofa in his sitting room, sipping from the cup of coffee in his hands as he watched reporters on the news interview his ex-boyfriend.

Boyfriends.

They had been known as that for about four months. Eight months of the year August's stayed with Vincent usually involved Vincent chickening out on his growing feelings for him. It was an ironic contradiction, considering August only became bolder as he realized his own feelings for Vincent.

_

"So, what are we?" August had asked one morning as he and Vincent tried to clean out the kitchen during a day he was at work.

Vincent looked up from his kneeling position. He was cleaning out the cabinets while August dusted and cleaned the counters.

"I don't understand," Vincent muttered as he watched August play with the kitchen rag by twirling it around his pale brown hand.

Vincent was still trying to figure out if August was fully black or of mixed race like he suspected. His friends had gotten their silly game of trying to figure out August's race into his head. He couldn't help guessing if August was just light-skinned African American or if the race of one of his parents played a part. He didn't even dare to ask August himself because he knew how much he didn't like to talk about his parents. Bringing up a topic that would indirectly involve them was asking for trouble.

Vincent didn't care really, he liked August just the way he was.

The sides of August lips twitched into a frown. "You know, relationship-wise," he muttered with a shrug.

Vincent could feel his heart tug at the question. He and August had only started sharing a bedroom a week back, and casual s*x didn't feel so casual anymore.

"I really don't know," Vincent sighed as he wiped the sweat that was starting to form on his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Do you want us to be something?" Vincent asked, his question making his own heart swoon. He tried to look calm as he waited for an answer from August but was disappointed when he ignored the question like he'd never even asked it.

"I like you," August said instead after a few minutes. Vincent bumped his head against the counter edge when he tried to raise his head without really looking out.

"God, I'm sorry!" he heard August apologize as an agonizing groan left through his own lips. He knelt up on the floor in pain, soon feeling a hand press against his forehead lightly in common first aid.

"I'm sorry," August muttered again as Vincent was finally able to open his eyes to look at him. Things were a bit blurry at first but they cleared up after a few blinks.

"What did you say?" Vincent asked, moving from kneeling to sitting position. He didn't mind getting his pants dirty. He and August were already filthy with dust heaped clothes anyway.

"I said I was sorry—" 

"No, the first thing," Vincent said, cutting in. He watched as August bit his bottom lip in thought.

"Oh," he stated as a small smile spread across his features.

"I like you," he said, repeating his words. August fidgeted with his fingers as he waited for Vincent's reaction. His hands were rough, strong and freckled with fading cut marks he received when handling an art knife or sharp shaping and carving tool for print work and sculpture.

"Oh," Vincent muttered not knowing what else to say. The truth was that he was completely happy with August's words even though he might not have meant them the way he hoped he did.

"You've been really nice to me," August said, leaning in to press his lips against Vincent's throbbing and bruised forehead. Vincent relaxed into the gesture, feeling immediately deprived as August pulled away to look at him.

Vincent watched August curiously as he noticed how the lighter man's eyes seemed to flood with thought.

"What's wrong?" Vincent asked, taking August's hands in him. He watched the young man give him a curious look before sighing.

"I think I'm in love with you," August blurted, making Vincent let go of his hands in reflex. August watched the man as his mind turned on wheels.

"Vincent..." he'd trailed as he watched Vincent in worry. Vincent got up soon after, leaving through the kitchen door without another word.

He didn't let August share a room with him that night. He wasn't sure if he could handle someone being in love with him even though he was in fact in love with that same person.

_

Vincent was sitting on the living room couch with his heart throbbing in regret. Maybe if he hadn't been so resistant in the first August might not have had any doubt while they were together, and even if August had still eventually decided to leave he'd have spent the months that he had resisted him to show the man how much he meant to him.

After dwelling in self-pity for a while Vincent got about to open up the parlor. The day passed by fast and he was eventually able to close up at about four in the evening. He had been tempted to work longer, but he was sure if Anita should get there to him working she would be upset.

Anita arrived two or so later after he closed up with her toddler babbling 'Uncle Vincent' as if the title was a nursery rhyme. All the kids in Vincent's family simply adored him. Although he didn't have much they still saw him as the well-off uncle that gave them gifts and money to buy treats.

"How have you been doing?" Anita asked as she made her way to one of the sofas. A smile played on her lips as she watched her daughter play with her uncle's fingers, holding them in a tight grip like children did.

"Fine, I guess," Vincent muttered in a low tone. He couldn't really keep the grief from his voice. He was completely devastated and Anita caught on.

"You're still grieving over him..." Anita trailed in a tone of disapproval as she twirled one of her single braids between her fingers. Vincent stayed silent, refusing to say anything regarding the matter. He instead turned his attention to his niece on his lap, patting her small Afro.

"You're good with her," Anita commented, letting the previous topic slide.

"Yeah." Vincent agreed with a smile, looking up at his sister. Although she was putting on a smile it was obvious from the bags under her eyes and her tired look in general that she was in no way doing fine.

"Is something wrong?" Vincent asked, earning a sigh from his sister.

"Yes," she admitted before bending over. "Eliot wants to take Nina."

Nina was the name of Anita's daughter, while Eliot was the bastard ex-husband of hers from whom she'd effectively gotten a divorce from with the help of Vincent a few months back.

When Anita had met August she was still in the process of fighting for her divorce. Maybe that was why she was so harsh with her judgment on him, she hadn't had a good taste of a relationship before and had been skeptical about the image of her brother in one.

"Then call a lawyer," Vincent said firmly, giving his sister a firm look before casting his gaze back to the child on his lap.

"I can't afford one Vin, and the one the law courts provide are shitty," Anita complained, covering her face with her palms. "I'm going to lose my daughter..."

"There's no way I'm letting that happen," Vincent said, dropping Nina gently in a sitting position on the couch before exiting the room. Anita watched after him, wondering where he was heading.

He came back with a slip of paper in hand, walking briskly towards his sister.

"Here," he said, handing her the piece of paper. Anita unfolded it to find Vincent's email scribbled on it in a neat handwriting.

"Give that to your lawyer. Tell him or her that I'll handle the payments and anything you can't," Vincent said as his watched his sister's dark eyes go wide with unshed tears. She eventually pocketed the paper and stood up with a look that screamed gratitude plastered across her face.

"Thank you Vin, what would I do without you?" she croaked as her brother pulled her into a hug.

"It's going to be okay." Vincent tried to assure his sister as he pats her back.

Vincent was naturally soft-hearted and kind, and that's why was so careful when it came to matters of the heart. He avoided being used or hurt like the plague. He might have thought that the few breakups he had as a teen hurt, but nothing really compared to the hurt he was facing because of August's exit.

He thought August must have been frustrated with him and the walls he was always trying to build.

Vincent was trying to bare himself a little to avoid chasing away the people he cared about, and that's why as he hugged his crying sister he made a promise that there would be no more walls or speculation and hoped that maybe, just maybe the heavens would return August to him.