Disclaimer: not mine.
Author's Note: This is totally random, seriously. I just thought, "What would happen if Tifa died...?" and you know, since I adore this couple, that's what this has to do with. No Tifa bashing here, I actually really like her, she's wickedXD But yeah, I like Vincent more so, she had to die; that's what this is based around. This is also from Cloud's point of veiw.
Self Discipline
So dead for so long and he felt like he was never coming back. The road just seem so long, too long.
He hadn't felt like walking for a while now, or even moving, metaphorically that is.
He would rather be stuck in the past; freeze in time. He just wanted to remember her, always her.
So walking wasn't option.
Stepping wasn't even aloud.
What he hadn't realized though was he was moving, in a sense. He would use, yes, and the other would know. But that wasn't an issue because they both knew without saying. It was something they both preferred.
He would use him to remember her: their strikingly black hair and dazzling graceful movements.
That was the only way they were similar-could ever be similar. That was okay though, he was still a reminder, a reminder of her.
Her eyes were a deep chocolate, but lately he was seeing crimson.
She had a creamy soft essence, he could only feel a strong and cold exterior.
He could slowly feel the crave for stony marble increasing and the soft lily dying.
He didn't want to walk yet, or even try to crawl. He almost wanted to stop breathing entirely. Duty called for the other; just a look, a cold, hard look. He could forget-not even realizing in the least bit; he was hooked on remembering, punishing himself.
The air lingered between them.
The world would stop on a dime and the fire would break loose, eating away all the ice, healing the frostbite, it would open a knew door. Nothing was gentle, that was perfect, nothing was supposed to be gentle, because fire stung; it burnt, and it left scars. Cloud liked when he saw the fire glow and then grow out of control, it would move him without him having to on his own.
The wind wouldn't breathe.
His heart and mind wouldn't speak.
He would appear at the end of the road and keep his eyes closed, only remembering the beginning .
He had to punish himself for this, because it was the sin of all sins: moving forward.
He should call his steps, steps. He wouldn't. Won't.
He wouldn't ever rise again.
One kiss though, and he was alive.
--
fin.