A mental sigh of relief released itself in Vay’s mind as he shook his father’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder cheerfully.<em>Thank God he’s got something on.</em>A sweater and a towel—makeshift clothing out of consideration. Had Belle had the same thoughtfulness, Vay would have been spared the chemical high that had been pumping into his bloodstream.<em>Hard nipples...? Whatever.</em>Now that his father was here, the awkwardness he felt in the midst of his topless sister was dying down. He was grateful for that. Belle didn't look too bright, but he secretly hoped that it was a facade, and beneath it would be something he could connect or work with. He wasn't a snob, but he had a pronounced personality; he knew that he wouldn't get along with certain types of people, and he had to make the best of things with at<em>least</em>the people he'd live with.<br/><br/>Vay’s memory was fuzzy, but twelve years didn’t seem to change the impression of his father in his mind. They were worlds apart—numbers, logic, Marines, and sports cars, whereas Vay hated maths, overanalysing, and the typical guy stuff; his real gift was with people and emotions; art and the flow of life. Logic was the line pointing straight—Vay was more like a sin wave, with climaxes and falling actions. He had heard many things about his father from his mother over the years, but he didn’t take them to heart anymore. People had their own ways of remembering things. Finding out his own truth and meanings had been a battle at first, but it soon became a habit. Making meanings was part of humanity, and part of survival. Judgement was action, decisions. Though for his father, he'd try to start him with a clean slate.<br/><br/>‘Ha, wow. Hey dad. I see you guys still prowl around naked,’ Vay remarked jokingly, both blond brows motioning in mirth. The heater must have been on full blast, because he could feel a film of sweat starting to form beneath his clothing. ‘<em>Mon Dieu,</em>’ he expatiated in French, ‘Is the heater on the last notch? I feel like<em>I</em>ought to strip down now.’ Of course he wasn’t serious, but he had to start taking off his coat before he caught a heat stroke. He had four layers of clothing on and he felt like he was spending summer in Hawaii,<em>inside</em>. Now that he had stepped through the threshold, he found that the reality of the situation was less shocking than he had imagined. At least, so far.<br/><br/>‘Here, wear this,’ Vay said offhandedly as he took off his coat and passed it to Belle. He talked to his father about the plane ride, his stuff being mailed over, and all the boring things about the layovers, the crying kids on the plane, and God knows what, to keep his jaw working. His comfort was interacting with people—a total talkaholic. While his mouth moved, he felt his thoughts shift to the neighbours next door. There was that brief pause when his eyes met the girl’s, as if both were thinking, ‘Is that you?’ That was a curious moment.<br/><br/>‘So who are the neighbours?’ Vay asked freely. It was a harmless question, but he wanted something to grip on. He’d probably come up with an excuse to break down the fourth wall and meet them—confirm that the girl was or wasn’t the one he saw in the airport, and then get the fuck out. That’s all he wanted to know, and it was starting to rack his brain as he thought about it. Part of the reason he hated overanalysing was because it caused stress, worry, and anxiety; also, the fact that he did it from time to time was irritating. Now he was starting to overanalyse over a simple accident,<em>maybe</em>a coincidence, and it was driving him nuts. If he didn't find out one way or another, it'd end up eating his brain inside out.<br/><br/>-Cake<br/><br/>