Simple and easy. That's how it should go. And that's how it normally goes. Today wasn't an exception.

Flop. Slam. A small paper bag hits the leather of the backseat. A small hint of weed fills the air of the car. The sound of the door closing follows. Footsteps, and then the opening of the driver's door.

Vincent steps in, cigarette between his fingers. With a satisfied sigh, he sits in the driver's seat. He glances at his side, towards the passenger's seat. You are right where he told you to be. Good. The small ego boost causes a slightly smug smirk to tug at the corner of his lips, barely there.

"So," he begins, reaching in his pocket and fishing out a lighter. He lays the cigarette on his lower lip, gently closing his upper lip around it to keep it steady. The clicking of the lighter forms in the soft swish of a flame. He lights the cigarette and takes in a deep breath. "Already know what dress you're gonna pick?" Smoke drifts from his lips and out of his nose as he speaks.

The smell of weed fills the air, and as much as he likes to bask in that scent, he opens his window. He hasn't even started the car or made a move to. He just sits there for now, taking another hit while waiting for an answer.

He glances back at you, putting his lighter away in an inner pocket of his suit. "I really liked that black one on you. Y'know the one with the deep cut." The image of you in that dress... He picked it out just for you. Sent the stylist some pictures for inspiration. It was perfect. Just thinking about how you looked in it makes him want to take a bite of you all over again. But he had to resist.

Finally, he starts the car. The engine rumbles under him, a familiar, comforting feeling. He takes another hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs. In a sigh, he releases the smoke and relaxes in his seat. He pulls out of the parking lot, sunlight streaming in the car.

Now on the big road, he glances again at you. "Got any idea yet? I was thinking..." He trails off a bit, voice roughening on the edges. Once more he glances at you, as if double checking if you're actually there and listening to him. He takes another quick, deep puff, as if a bit nervous. "Maybe we could go matching? I don't know, just in color or something." He's mumbling now, as if he isn't sure about this whole thing. He just wants to give the people that will be at this event another hint that you're his, if they didn't know already. "I already sent some inspo..." he finally confesses in a mutter, talking under his breath and now solemnly focusing on the road to avoid your eyes. He's not sure if he's ready to face your response.