In the half-light, dim and orange, Vincent thinks Teddy looks beautiful. He stops himself from saying it out loud — too gay. The streetlight buzzes its apprehension, flickers. There are too many stars in the sky. "You look so good."

The lurch he makes towards him is involuntarily, and he has a sudden nausea in his stomach. "Ow."

"Are you drunk?" The worry and concern in Teddy's voice actually pisses Vincent off. He hates it when Teddy sounds like that, makes that high-pitched cooing noise, but he doesn't hate it, just hates how it makes him feel, hates how his stomach flip-flops.

He doesn't answer, just presses his hands to Teddy's shoulders, willing him to stop talking or thinking or anything, and Vincent can't stop thinking about everything, the way his friends always tease him, the way Teddy looked with Penelope on his arm. "Don't move."

He leans in, slowly, his head swimming. Teddy's mouth is so close, so warm and soft and wet, and Vincent hasn't been gay in a while, since at least last summer, at least. But it is what it is, in the half-light, in a dark corner of the town, in his suit for prom. It's colder than it should be. Vincent imagined this better when he was sober.

He almost makes it. Teddy doesn't move, doesn't say a thing, and Vincent can't tell if he's breathing. But just a hairbreadth away from kissing him, just a sliver, and Teddy makes a noise, a feral sound that erupts from his lungs. Wrenches away, and in the orange light, his eyes glitter with flame.

"No. You can't." Teddy's voice is firm and suddenly Vincent feels small and sad and very lonely.

"Why?" Last summer, his tongue in the shallow dips between the bumps of Teddy's spine. Last summer and it was his teeth making tiny nips and marks on the back of Teddy's neck, and his hands on his hips, and his fingers touching his ribcage to feel the heart thrumming on the other side. "Last summer," he says, like it's an answer, like it means something.

The memory flits quick and easy through Teddy's eyes. "You said, you told me no. You said your mom would never — and you said no. You told me that."

Vincent doesn't know how to say that he changed his mind without sounding like a tool, so he says nothing.

"Last summer," Teddy says, and his hands are wringing together, "you said no and I listened to you. Why won't you let me —"

He huffs, makes another angry noise from deep in his throat, and Vincent will always ruin everything he touches. Teddy doesn't ever finish his sentence. He says, "Penelope is giving me a ride home." He gives Vincent looks of pity and regret and Vincent is still too drunk to feel anything.

He goes home alone. Walks in a straight line. Wishes he were straight. Wishes he could remember why he said no, last summer. Mom doesn't notice the alcohol on his breath when he gets home, doesn't notice him at all, and Vincent bites down on his arm until he draws blood and tears and anger and he'll never be weightless.