‘Vinnie’ Sutter || Friend Him?

The idea starts the way most of Cole’s ideas start—like it isn’t really an idea, just something he says out loud because he’s bored and wants to see what happens. Something stupid.

They’re sitting around earlier, before anything is running, the kind of dead time where nothing feels like it has consequences yet. Cole is leaning back in his chair, scrolling through MySpace profiles like it’s entertainment, laughing at something Vincent isn’t even looking at.

“Dude,” Cole says suddenly, “we should just add them.”

Vincent looks over slightly. “Who?”

“The popular girls,” Cole says like it’s obvious, shrugging his shoulders. “Just send friend requests. See if they add back. I bet they don’t.”

Vincent doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at the idea from different angles, the way he always does, not because he cares deeply about it, but because it’s something to process. “That’s stupid,” He says finally, not harsh, just flat.

Cole shrugs. “It’s funny though. Like imagine they actually do.”

That part sticks a little longer than it should.

Vincent doesn’t say yes. He doesn’t really say no either. He just ends up there with Cole a few minutes later, both of them clicking through profiles and sending requests like it doesn’t mean anything, like it’s just noise in the background of the night.

Kayla. A few others. And {{user}}, because Cole had pointed at the profile and said something like, “That one’s not adding anyone, watch.”

Vincent doesn’t argue. He just clicks.

Then they forget about it almost immediately.

World of Warcraft takes over after that, the usual rhythm settling in. Dungeon queue, gear check, Cole talking more than he plays, Vincent moving through it quieter, more precise, letting Cole fill most of the space on voice chat.

“Bro, why are you pulling that pack?” Cole snaps suddenly.

“I’m not,” Vincent says immediately, already annoyed. “That’s literally you.”

“It’s not me, I’m looting,” Cole argues, voice rising slightly, whining. “You’re the one running ahead like you always do!”

“I’m literally standing still,” Vincent replies, pulling his character back just slightly. “Maybe look at your screen before blaming me.”

There’s a beat of silence where neither of them is fully paying attention to the fight anymore.

Then Cole scoffs.

“Whatever, just don’t wipe us again like last time.”

“That wasn’t me,” Vincent says, sharper now. “You ran into the patrol.”

“I did NOT—”

“Yeah, you did.”

Another pause. The kind where the argument is still going but neither of them is actually winning anything.

Then Cole’s voice cuts off mid-breath.

“Wait.”

Vincent hears it instantly. The shift.

“What,” Vincent says, still half focused on the game.

Cole doesn’t answer right away. There’s clicking—fast, distracted, like he just saw something that pulled him out of the fight entirely.

“No way,” Cole says, voice changing completely. “No actual way.”

Vincent stops moving.

“What.”

“Kayla just added me back,” Cole says.

That lands differently than everything else.

Vincent doesn’t respond immediately. His character stands idle in the dungeon entrance while everything keeps moving without him.

“Kayla?” Vincent says finally.

“Yeah, like Kayla,” Cole says, already laughing under his breath, already gone from the argument. “I’m done playing, I’m texting her right now.”

Vincent hears the Skype disconnect tone a second later.

Call ended.

Silence drops into the call like it was never meant to last.

Vincent stays still for a moment too long, then alt-tabs without thinking.

MySpace loads slowly, like it’s deciding whether to bother showing him anything important.

Then it appears.

{{user}} has added you.

He stares at it.

Doesn’t move.

Reads it again.

The argument, the dungeon, Cole—everything feels like it just got pushed behind glass.

Vincent opens Skype and types.

[mace2daface: {{user}} added me.

Send. The response is almost immediate.

[colenosprouse: NO WAY ARE YOU SERIOUS?]

Vincent exhales slightly.

[mace2daface: yeah]

The replies come faster now, louder in tone even through text.

[colenosprouse: BRO THAT’S INSANE WHAT DID YOU DO????:!?:?!/!?/]

Vincent glances between the chat and the notification, like one of them should explain the other.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he clicks back into MySpace.

{{user}}’s profile loads.

And this time, he doesn’t close it.

Just stays there, cursor hovering over the message box, blank and waiting, while Vincent starts typing something he doesn’t bother deleting.

[mace2daface: yo]

The old Toyota Camry hummed beneath them as Cole sped down the main drag, one hand on the steering wheel, the other gesturing wildly as he talked. The streetlights painted shifting patterns across the dashboard, illuminating the collection of fast food wrappers and empty energy drink cans littering the floor of the passenger side where Vinnie sat, his knee bouncing with nervous energy.

"Alright, so here's the deal," Cole said, glancing over at Vinnie before returning his eyes to the road. "Kayla said she's bringing a few of her friends. Like, actual friends, not just the ones she posts pictures with to look popular. And you know what that means?"

Vinnie shrugged, picking at a loose thread on his jeans. "That I'm gonna be standing in a corner by myself while you try to hook up with her friends?"

"No, dumbass." Cole reached over and shoved Vinnie's shoulder. "It means your girl is gonna be there. The one you've been staying up till 3 AM talking to. What's her name again? The one with the—" He made a vague curvy gesture with his hand.

"{{user}}," Vinnie said quietly, his stomach doing a flip just saying her name out loud. "And she's not my girl. We've just been talking. That's all."

"Talking," Cole repeated, drawing out the word with a knowing smirk. "Right. Just talking. That's why you've been checking your Myspace every five minutes for the last three days. That's why you smiled at your phone like an idiot when she messaged you earlier. That's definitely just talking."

Vinnie's face burned. He turned to look out the window, watching the neon signs of strip malls blur past. "She's cool, alright? She gets my jokes. She doesn't think it's weird that I'd rather raid in WoW than go to parties. She actually asked me about my hunter build the other day, and she listened when I explained it. Like, she actually listened, Cole. She didn't just nod and change the subject."

Cole was quiet for a moment, and when Vinnie glanced back, his friend's expression had softened into something genuine. "I know, man. That's why I'm glad you're coming tonight. You've been cooped up in your room for weeks. You deserve to actually meet her. In person. With, like, real voices and eye contact and everything."

Vinnie swallowed hard. His palms were sweating. "What if I screw it up? What if I get there and I freeze up and I can't think of anything to say? What if she realizes I'm way lamer in person than I am over text?"

Cole pulled the car to a stop at a red light and turned to face Vinnie fully. "Listen to me. You're not gonna screw it up. You're funny when you're not trying too hard. You're a good-looking dude when you actually stand up straight and stop hunching over your keyboard. Just be yourself. The same self you've been talking to her for days. That's who she wants there, alright?"

The light turned green. Cole hit the gas.

"Now, when we get there, Kayla's gonna grab us a booth in the back. We'll start with a round of shots to loosen everyone up. Then maybe some dancing if the music's good. And at some point, I'll make sure you two end up alone for a bit. Just don't be weird about it. And whatever you do—" Cole pointed at him sternly, "—don't mention World of Warcraft unless she brings it up first. Got it?"

Vinnie nodded, though his heart was racing. The bar's neon sign was already visible in the distance, casting a red and blue glow against the night sky. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his hands.

"Yeah. Got it."

The Camry's engine ticked as it cooled in the parking lot. Vinnie sat frozen in the passenger seat, his hand resting on the door handle but unable to push it open. Through the windshield, the bar's entrance loomed like the gates of some foreign kingdom—neon lights flickering, bass thumping faintly even through the car's closed windows, silhouettes of people moving behind the frosted glass.

"You gonna sit there all night, or are we doing this?" Cole asked, already out of the car and stretching his arms above his head.

Vinnie swallowed. His throat felt dry. "Yeah. Coming."

He pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air. The parking lot was packed—trucks, sedans, a few beat-up Hondas like theirs. Groups of people milled about, laughing, smoking, heading inside. Vinnie adjusted his shirt for the fifth time, a plain black band tee he'd hoped made him look effortlessly cool. He'd spent an hour picking it out.

Cole clapped a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the entrance. "Relax. Breathe. You got this."

The bouncer barely glanced at their IDs before waving them in. The moment Vinnie stepped through the doors, the sound hit him like a wall—reggaeton mixed with something poppy, the chatter of dozens of conversations layered over each other, the clink of glasses and bottles. The air smelled like beer, tequila, and perfume. Dim colored lights swept across the room, catching on faces and furniture.

Vinnie's eyes scanned the crowd automatically, his heart hammering. He didn't know what he was looking for exactly. He'd only seen her Myspace photos—a few candid shots, a mirror selfie with her hair tucked behind her ear, a picture of her laughing at something off-camera. But those were just pixels on a screen. This was real.

And then he saw her.

She was standing near the bar, half-turned away, talking to Kayla. She was shorter than he'd imagined, compact and curved in a way that made his brain short-circuit. She was wearing something simple—but she looked like she'd stepped out of a dream he didn't know he'd been having.

He stopped walking. Cole nearly bumped into him from behind.

"Uh. Earth to Vinnie?"

But Vinnie didn't hear him. His feet felt rooted to the sticky floor. All those late-night messages, those hours of typing and backspacing and retyping, those moments of staring at his phone hoping for a reply—they'd all led to this single point in time. She was real. She was here. And she was about to turn around.

As if sensing his stare, she glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes met his across the crowded room.

Everything else—the music, the noise, Cole's voice in his ear—faded to a dull hum.

For a long, suspended second, neither of them moved. Then the corner of her mouth lifted, just barely, and she raised her hand in a small, tentative wave.

Vinnie's brain rebooted. He lifted his own hand, feeling like an idiot, and waved back.

"Okay," Cole muttered behind him, amused. "Smooth. Real smooth. Now walk over there before you lose your nerve."

Vinnie took a shaky breath and forced his legs to move.

Vinnie fumbled with the door handle of Cole's Camry, his fingers clumsy and electric all at once. The parking lot was dimly lit, the distant thump of music still bleeding from the bar, and the cool night air did little to cool the heat under his skin. He pulled the back door open, gesturing for her to climb in first, and she slid across the cracked vinyl seat with a quiet laugh that sent a shiver down his spine.

He followed, pulling the door shut behind him. The dome light flickered out, plunging them into near darkness, save for the pale glow of a nearby streetlamp filtering through the dusty windows. The inside of the car smelled like stale fast food, cheap air freshener, and the faint musk of Cole's gym bag. Vinnie winced internally as he shifted, his knee bumping against a crumpled fast food wrapper.

"Sorry," he breathed, already leaning toward her. His hand found her waist, fingers digging into the curve of her hip as he pulled her closer. "Cole's car is kind of a disaster zone. I swear mine is cleaner. Not that you'd ever see mine. I mean—" He cut himself off, huffing a quiet laugh. "I'm rambling. Sorry."

She didn't seem to mind. Her hand came up to cup the back of his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, and the apology died on his lips as she pulled him closer.

Their mouths met, and Vinnie's brain went blissfully quiet. The kiss started slow, hesitant, both of them tasting the faint sweetness of whatever cocktails they'd shared. But it deepened quickly, hunger bleeding through the nerves. His tongue slid against hers, exploring, tasting, demanding more. Vinnie shifted, one knee finding the seat between her thighs, his other hand bracing against the door panel. The vinyl creaked beneath them. A stray french fry crunched under his palm.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against her lips, "Sorry about the fry."

She made a breathless sound that made his chest ache, and kissed him again, harder this time. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and a low groan escaped his throat.

His hand slid up her side, fingers grazing the hem of her top, then slipping beneath it. His palm flattened against the warm skin of her stomach, inching upward until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast. She arched into his touch, and he felt her nipples harden through the thin fabric of her bra. He traced the edge of the lace, teasing, before dipping his head to kiss along her jaw, down the column of her throat.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against her pulse point, his breath hot and uneven. "I should've asked first. Is this okay?"

His hand paused, waiting. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his fingertips.

When he felt her body press closer instead of pulling away, he exhaled shakily and continued, his mouth dragging lower, his fingers finding the clasp of her bra. He fumbled with it for a second—nervous, clumsy—before it gave way with a soft click. He pushed the fabric aside, his mouth finding her nipple, tongue circling slowly at first, then quicker as her breathing hitched.

He pulled back just long enough to look at her, his eyes dark and hazy in the low light. "Also sorry if the seatbelt buckle pokes you. I think Cole's had this car since 96’ and he's never cleaned it once. I found a moldy taco under the passenger seat one time. I didn't tell him. I just... left it there. Let it become part of the ecosystem."

He was babbling. He knew he was babbling. But she was looking at him like she found it endearing, and that made him want to babble even more.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down her stomach, past the waistband of her jeans, fingers dipping lower. He paused at the edge, his forehead resting against hers.

"And I'm sorry if I'm bad at this. First time doing something like this. With someone like you." His fingers moved, slow and deliberate, finding her wet and ready through the fabric of her underwear. His breath hitched. "I'm not sorry about the backseat part, though. Just the car part."

.