First, there’s a very uninvited sense of delight – childish, almost, except not quite innocent enough to qualify – at the word special. But then, something inside Claude visible trembles. Not the rest of him, oh no, and Vincent hasn’t seen him slip up even once on stage so why would his body fail him now of all times? Rather, there’s something about the tone of his voice, the way he kicks that poor little wayward pebble… Vincent takes a moment to understand his words properly. A lonesome diner. Well. There’s a rush of something that’s not quite gratefulness, not quite relief as he realises that he’s not the only one who’s had to resign himself to his own company when two would have been the preferable number. Then, immediately after, he feels a stab of anger at the mere thought – that someone like this, a man like Claude should be left to silence and loneliness despite the way he shines. Brightens up the world, even when the lights go out and the curtain falls.

Reacting rather than thinking, he crosses the distance between them quickly and links their arms together, making certain to strike a pace next to Claude that won’t be… invasive or bothersome. He realises only belatedly that he’s touching him, that he’s invading his personal space without even an ounce of hesitation or humility but surely, surely, there’s nothing quite as important in the world as this. As slowing them both down, just enough to leave a sense of calm floating between their bodies, filling out whatever little distance remains.

“I hope I won’t disappoint, then.” He keeps his voice light, the slight tremble at the last word giving away the nervousness raging through his body with every step. He doesn’t – it doesn’t have to mean anything. If he doesn’t ponder too much, surely there’ll always be the night for regrets and self-reproach. “Apparently, you are a man with very selective tastes in company.”