Hitchhiker
[>> continued below the cut]
[Insert "A corpo and a nomad walk into a desert" joke here].
ölakshdfasjfhdsdfh hi, I'm Elven, and I'm becoming increasingly addicted to making longass VP comics uwu (and loving every second of it, let's be real XD)
This one has been on my "wanna do" list forever - or at the very least since @pinkyjulien trusted me with his boy 💛 Thank you so much for letting me take Valentin on some unexpected adventures!!
The thing is, I had always wondered if and how these two could ever meet (and also if they could ever become friends, because let's be honest, they're from very different worlds.... or are they 👀 alköasdhfdf I'm already saying too much, there is a part two that will follow in a separate post, but I'll link it below once it's here)
[Part Two - now here :D]
But yes!! Nothing better than fateful meetings at unexpected times :D And I hope I'll have Vince as an NPV somewhere down the line as well to send him on some adventures of his own!
Also, some BTS from a while ago for everyone who read this far:
Very sus
Short, colorful rattail kings 🤌
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"No pools."
kpanniversary2024 - prompt: haunting
(post-canon, post-hospital)
When the smell hit his nose, it stopped Pete in his tracks. It was enough to tear him away from the present and take him back to the dark and painful memory that hid in the shadows of his very being—lurking there, waiting.
Haunting him.
He was only there for a favour. It wasn’t like he needed the money; for once in his life, he had more of the stuff than he knew what to do with. But he wanted to get out of the house, to feel like he had more of a purpose, to feel like he still had a friend. Porsche needed help. That much was clear to anyone within six feet of him and his attempts at being the new head of the minor family. And Pete, being Pete, couldn’t help but hold onto the hand that reached out for him.
They weren’t even in the minor family compound. Pete didn’t make a habit of returning there very often, and Vegas and Macau even less. For obvious reasons, it wasn’t somewhere that any of them wanted to spend their time.
But Pete hadn’t smelt that smell since it happened. And when it hit him as he walked past the outdoor pool in the gentle warmth of the late afternoon sun, his body went cold with immediate dread.
One whiff of chlorine and he was back to that night, the pain shooting through his knees as he dropped to the floor, the sight of Vegas’s skin losing its colour as the life drained from his body—the sound of his own screams as he mourned what was in front of him.
It was…visceral. The image of the scene of his worst living nightmare playing before him like he had a front seat at the theatre. And it wouldn’t stop. Why was there a ringing in his ears? Just playing over and over and over and over–
Pete.
and over and over and over and over–
“Pete!”
The ringing stopped, and he was wrenched out of the past and back into the present.
“Huh?” He asked dumbly, emotionally distraught and hoping desperately no one had noticed.
“You okay, man?” Porsche looked concerned as he pulled down his sunglasses and perched them on the end of his nose so he could peer down at him.
He blinked. “I’m fine,” he plastered on a smile, breathing in and out slowly in a bid to stave off the ever-building panic.
Porsche frowned, though he slowly pushed his glasses back up his nose, maintaining his immaculate play-pretend persona. “All right, man, if you say so. Anyway, so if I send over those files–”
Most things after that fly straight over his head. His body goes on autopilot, almost as if he blacks out. It's not until he somehow drives back home and sits in the driveway of his new house, tucked deep into a fancy gated neighbourhood, that he comes back to his senses. His hands shake as he takes the keys out of the ignition, stiffly getting out of the car and making his way into the house.
It’s quiet when he walks inside, yet his mind is anything but. The sudden need to find Vegas, to see him with his own eyes just to prove he’s still alive, takes over him. He barely remembers to take off his shoes before he rushes further inside, searching through every room until he finds who he’s looking for.
By the time he finds Vegas, who is tucked into the corner of the couch in the spare room, his heart is palpitating out of his chest. The window was perfectly positioned to let in the afternoon sun, so he could frequently be found napping there. Fatigue plagued him in his recovery, and it was not uncommon to come across him asleep. But today, the sight of him passed out does not make him smile. It makes Pete want to scream and howl and wish he would never close his eyes again (for as long as he lives).
He hardly makes a sound as he tiptoes across the room, but he manages to disturb Vegas anyway, his eyes squinting open before Pete has a chance to sit down. “You’re back,” he croaks, eyes brightening as his gaze lands on him. “how’d it go?” He yawns as Pete sits down next to him.
The answer to the question escapes him; in fact, most thoughts escape him. The black cloud of the past still looms over his brain, flooding his memories.
“Pete?” A hand on his knee makes him jump slightly, “what’s wrong?”
“Let’s not get a pool,” he manages, forcing down the need to scream.
“What?” Vegas laughs incredulously, pulling Pete’s arm so he sinks into his side.
“I don’t want to get a pool; let’s not build one,” he repeats, closing his eyes in relief when he can hear the beat of Vegas’s heart underneath his ear.
“Okay. Whatever you want,” Vegas speaks quietly, confused, almost as if trying not to scare away a spooked animal.
A kiss is pressed to his forehead, and the need to scream dissipates.
“No pools.”
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