Disclaimer: I do not own, Cloud, Tifa, Vincent, or anything else related to Final Fantasy VII. They belong to Square--------enix. Yeah. Neither do I own any of The Smiths' lyrics, which are from Asleep and Half a Person.
Warning: Depression, death, suicide, and very, very, very mild shounen-ai.
Notes: Wow, these songs are just---SO CLOUD AND VINCENT! Un-beta'ed, and whipped together at an alarming pace. My first songfic. I really, really need this to be read and reviewed. I'm rather pleased with it.
She was left behind, and sour
And she wrote to me, equally dour,
She said:
Cloud, sometimes I wonder where you are, even though I know quite well. Maybe it's because I can't believe that you'd forget me so completely. I don't mind, though, because I know how sick you are. is a silly word to use. never existed, so my love hurt me. I know why I felt that pain, now that I realize I was loving something so unreal--so very fabricated. I wish that you could have been different.
Tifa
There her letter ended, Cloud stretched, and let it slip from his fingers. The ceiling above him suddenly seemed to hold a painful intensity. His head fell to the side, and he was met with an untraceable scent from the flow of black hair before him. It might have been roses, wine, rubbing alcohol, mako, blood, tears. He didn't know, and it didn't bother him. He asked himself if he cared about that or anything else, really. Really.
In a word, yes--things hurt him deeply. The memory of green eyes, always the same. Framed by bloodstained silver lashes. Blood stained hands. Had he really done it, after waiting so long?
Call me morbid, call me pale
I've spent six years on your trail
Six long years
On your trail
A quiet falling, an unfelt embrace, an unfelt existence. He knew it was the same for his lover. Perhaps that was why, then, they said,I love you, one after the other like ghosts, mouth to mouth, eyes open, feeling nothing. Flowing together, bleeding together, ink running on a sad painted face. And how, afterwards, the will to stay asleep was overpowering.
Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I don't want to wake up
On my own anymore
This hopeless sweetness would end, fade, so quietly he wouldn't be sure whether it ever existed or not. To sleep, this love bleeding slow would fade to sleep, he was sure. He was possessed by the desire to sleep, to bleed noiselessly, to silence the heavy sound of his own breathing. He shook Vincent playfully. Smiling, hollow eyes echoed in red juxtaposition. Awake all along, he observed.
Would you like to sleep, now? Forever? I'm very, very tired. And I know you are. Whispering became unnecessary. Vincent nodded as to say he was tired, too. Sleep. White, opiate, pain, medically, wrist to crook of the arm, blood, memories.
And if you have five seconds to spare,
I'll tell you the story of my life,
Sixteen, clumsy and shy,
That's the story of my life
It had ended when the sight of green eyes brought about a childish need.
Call me morbid, call me pale,
I've spent six yours on your trail,
Six full years of my life on your trail
But how worn and drained he had been, and the stillness felt so restful, and the lullaby of slowing breathing. Shallow water, slipping away from the shore. To sleep, to the sea.
There is another world
There is a better world
Well, there must be
Well