"Lips of an Angel"
By: Comet Wong
Dedicated to:
"My folks"
As always, all my works are dedicated to you my beloved parents!!
"My friends"
Like my folks, I will always dedicate my works to you guys as well, you know who you are!
He always had trouble falling asleep. It was one of those things that he could never change. There was always something to boggle his mind, something that needed thinking of that by the time night falls and when other beings are safely tucked in their beds and sleeping soundly, he would have difficulty laying his thoughts to rest.
It did not help that during the times that he did get some sleep, his dreams shortly turned into nightmares. Nightmares that continue to haunt him; nightmares that would never truly go away. When these nightmares wake him up, he could never get back to sleep and he would be awake until the cycle started again.
He lived like this for so long that even those few whom he called friends started calling him a vampire. A vampire. Why wouldn't it be appropriate? He was a monster anyway, any stranger could see that. No one, at first look, would consider him human.
He hated it. He hated being a monster, but he knew monster was the only worthy name for his kind, He was a monster. There was no human in the world who slept in a coffin for more than a decade and still be alive. No human would have a claw for a hand. Anybody who looked into his red eyes would not hesitate in calling him a monster. Just looking into his reflection, he knew he was a monster. That was also the reason why he abandoned the use of mirrors long ago.
He avoided daylight as much as possible. Not because the sun burned his skin, though he might have preferred it that way, but because the sun made him more visible. Avoiding daylight made it possible to be less avoided by those others and it made him less envious of other people. He preferred the dark.
Ironic, since he was not totally at peace at night either. He could never get a chance for a peaceful sleep. It did not bother him as time passed however. Better to avoid what one can avoid.
But...But there had been a time when he was able to sleep peacefully. There was a time in his gloomy life when the blankets wrapped him in warmth and he did not wake until the sun was up. There was a time when he did breathe and sleep. There was a time he could be called human.
He remembered it well. He remembered those times and how fleeting they had been. But still, they were memories and these were the kind he would like to keep. Memories where his days were spent with her.
Yes, her. He remembered the first moment they met and how different his opinion was of her. She was too loud, too hyper, too much of everything. She laughed at the simplest of things and got angry for the pettiest reasons. She was a walking contradiction and he was annoyed by her.
Why wouldn't he be? Unlike most people he met, she was never ruffled by his glares or deadly silences. She was never bothered that he didn't answer her questions and she preferred it that way. He figured she would one day get the hint and understand he preferred no one know too much about him. Not even those he was to work with. But...She would not get the hint, and would continue to pester not only him, but everybody else. However, unlike him, they tolerated her bright spirit, her bubbly disposition.
"This world needs more laughter," one of them told him, but he could never understand. He had abandoned laughing a long time ago.
Only when things started to turn for the worse did he fully understand what his comrades were talking about.
One always needed the cheerful hope, the silver lining, the ray of sunshine, and she provided it when no else could. She was the one who made everybody smile or laugh just when they thought they could no longer do it. She wasspirit. She was energy. She was hope.
He knew then, at that moment, he would no longer try to stop her exuberance. She was needed to be that person, to let everybody know that they could still pick themselves up, that they could move on. That the could smile.
How difficult her role was, he realized after a while after he realized he knew her. She did not have to be cheerful or optimistic all the time, no one asked it of her, but when he had asked her of her reasons, she merely replied:
"It's easier to put a smile rather than wipe tears from your face,"
He then knew how mature she really was, contrary to the naive brat that she showed and he wanted others to see that maturity. It was difficult, but he wanted others to realize that she felt thing deeper than she let on.
He confirmed this notion when their group experienced the death of one of their most beloved members. He, unlike the others, moved on from the death easily enough. He grieved, but alone, he was used to death. He had experienced far too many deaths in his past to let this one shake him.
Not so her. Despite everything, she was still very young. No matter how skilled she was in battle, no matter how much blood she spilled, the death of a friend was still shocking and very much unbelievable to her. When the battle was over and she was nowhere to be found, the other members of the group asked him to go looking for her, to console her. He had protested in his own way, he was not the person for the job of comforting any one. They insisted he was the perfect man for the job, saying that out of all them, he had the clearest understanding of what death and loss was like. He did not know what to think of that statement.
In the end, he relented. He chose to this for his comrades, knowing full well that they need their cheerful friend back. He told himself that he went because he saw the validity of the argument and that perhaps he could track her easily.
When he found her, in that lake where they lost their friend, he was not prepared to see the tears on her face. He was not prepared for her tight embrace when she saw him and he was more than amazed to discover he welcomed this first human contact since Lucrecia died.
So many things happened that night, and he treasured every minute of it. There he learned he found his purpose to live again, that perhaps he could strive to protect this fragile woman with what's left with his humanity.
However, he chose not to tell her his choice. He did not want her to grow frightened with this decision, (as he knew how much the unknown ruffled her) and he chose to pursue his decision.
As years past, he found himself more inclined to the day and light more than before. Those were also times that he could have hours of peaceful and undisturbed sleep. He began to grow more comfortable around people, though he still chose the people he chose to spend time with. She teased him when she finally noticed the slight change in him. She said he was more human than he wanted others to see.
"I'll see if I can make you laugh." She vowed and the challenge began.
He did not think it was possible for her to be brighter, bubblier and more intrusive and to his eyes, more attractive. Everyday she tried to come up with ways to make him laugh again and every time he tried to tell her all she needed was to ask.
Then trouble started brewing again. Their old nemesis was back and the old group was needed to unite and help the defeat him again. She chastised him when it took her quite some time to track him down.
"Don't you have a phone?" she demanded just before they had to go and help their friends. He had given her one of his characteristic looks, which she returned with a look of her own.
"I'll get you one after the battle!" she declared cheerfully, before jumping off the airship they used to ravel with.
She was good to her word. Immediately after the battle was over and the peace was reclaimed, she disappeared again only to appear with a package in hand for him.
He had been surprised and a little apprehensive. He had seen her communication device and if her choice for him was anything like her cell phone, he did not know how he was to refuse such an ostentatious device.
However, when he was forced to open the gift in front of her eyes, the cell phone in the box what all him. It was exactly the kind of cellular phone he would have chosen for himself if he had the time to pick one. It was black and slime, perfect for him and his personality, but still, she couldn't resist adding her own personal touch, in the form a miniature materia bauble dangling at the end of the phone.
He kept it, even when he pushed her away. Even after she left, doing exactly what he asked of her.
Of all the memories he had of her, that night was the most vivid. He knew that such a relationship was never going to last. She was too goo, too perfect for a monster like him.
She was surprised. Amazed and shocked. She thought he was jesting, that he could not meant it. But she knew that was unlikely. That out of all people, he would never say anything that would contradict his true feelings. He didn't say things he didn't mean. Of all people, he was the most forward, so he would not beat around the bush. Her nature, the part of her that clung to the good side of things still hoped he would change his mind. She stayed around after he told her to leave. She tried to make things like they were before he became more distant in turn he fell more in love with her. Of course, he grew more determined to push her away.
In the end, he had to use words that only the both of them knew how much it would hurt her. HE said them harshly, coldly, with tones that would hurt her and only her. No one else would get affected by these words.
He would never forget the look in her stormy grey eyes when he told her of his indifference. Her eyes shining with unshed tears. He hoped, and wished that for once she would cry first before hiding her pain with her happy mask, but she was not as weak as that and she did not waver in her resolve. She was still the strong young woman he fell in love with and how his heart smote at the site of her pain. He did not know he could still feel heartbreak, but then again he never thought he could feel love again.
So in the end, she left him and he let her. He decided it was better for her to hate him than forever be disgusted with him. After all, hate is not the opposite of love. With hate you still feel. He decided it was better that way.
It did not take the others to notice what happened between then. Contrary to the reaction he had hoped, they did not blame him nor get angry. Instead, everybody gave him looks as if they were saddened by the outcome of the incident. He chose to ignore them, and pretty soon, he returned to his old ways, his old habits before he met all of them.
He was never worried if she had trouble moving on. On those times he could not resist checking up on her, she was back to her normal bubbly self and he was convinced he had done the right choice.
That was until one stormy night, when he could not sleep, the cell phone she had given him rang, vibrating loudly in the silent room, startling him out of his thoughts.
With a sigh, he left his spot from the windowsill, walking over to the continually vibrating phone. He almost dropped the glass of red wine in his claw when he saw the name of his caller, the glow of the phone casting a blue hue upon the small materia dangling from the phone.
He flipped his phone open, not knowing if he was going to like this conversation.
"Vincent?" she whispered his name the minute he accepts the call and he feels a strange emotion course over him. Why was she calling so late? Unless she changed her sleeping patterns, there must be something wrong. But, Jenovah, he should not prolong this conversation but something in him holds on.
"Vincent, are you there?" she says and her voice sounded strange even through the phone. "I'm sorry to call so late but..."
He was still silent, allowing her to ramble on, but he knew she was never this jittery before. Something was definitely wrong.
"Is something the matter?" his voice is hoarse from weeks of disuse but she hears him.
"I just..." she hesitated and he hears the tears in her voice. She's crying? How could she be? She was angry with him wasn't she? When those thoughts left him, he cursed himself of thinking he caused the tears. They have not heard from each other in over three months. She could not be crying over the last night they had spoken. But still, he wanted to know if she was all right.
"Is everything all right?" he asks again and he realizes it was difficult for him to speak right now.
He wonders what exactly is the reason why she called him, when she knew that out of all people he should be the last person she should call for comfort. As the phone was filled with the sounds of her sobs, he wanted nothing else but to take back the words of indifference he said, so he could offer he safe words of comfort. But he knew he could never take those words back. The best he could do was listen to her, as he had always done.
"Vincent," she said his name and he, at that moment never heard anything so sweet. Just that one word, his name, the way she said it, made him feel like he was another person entirely, that anything that came from her lips, from his angel, was perfect. And it all made him weak.
"I just..." she started again he became silent as well.
It was strange that she was calling him so late. Before, he remembered, when they were staying together in one place because she had no place to go and he had plenty of space, she would wake up at wee hours in the night. She too, had nightmare and she clung to him for comfort. Surprisingly, he managed to give it and she, after a few nights said she found something new to dream about, to keep the nightmare out.
Did she know he dreamt of her too? He did, when the nightmares become too much handle, dream of her, her smile and her laugh and just plain presence. That always calmed him better than a glass of wine.
Why was she crying? It seemed like every sob he heard her give pierced him more than any bullet could. Did he really become this weak? No. He had long since learned that loving does not mean weakness. Choosing life does not make you weaker. On the contrary, it means that you have chosen to live and not deteriorate in despair.
Now, folding the miniature material she had given along with his phone, he felt his resolve waver. Is it possible that he could deserve something as pure and as beautiful as she was? Was it possible that he could be deserving of her after all the sins he committed. One of his friends once asked him if sins were ever forgiven and he resolutely replied that he never tried. Now, perhaps, hearing her crying and saying his name over and over again, he could try.
"Vincent," for once, she was not saying much but his name and he likes it better that way. Perhaps it's his time to talk.
"Yuffie." He says her name for the first time since the conversation started and it felt like a weight was lifted off him. "Forgive me." He whispered these words more to himself than her, but she heard.
"Vincent, you don't have to..." she began but he interrupted.
"Forgive me," he said again and it was easier. "I never told you all I wanted to say." He hesitated, not sure how to go on and he felt her own tension for his next words. "The circumstances that we find ourselves in are nothing more than my own cowardice taking the better of me. I have always cared, Yuffie. I have always..." loved you...the last words died in his throat but she heard them without them being spoken.
The tears were gone from her voice when she answered him. " Maybe I should have tried shutting up a long time ago if this the way to make you talk."
Hearing those words, so typically his Yuffie, Vincent Valentine did something that he never thought he could do again. He laughed.
A/N: Hey!! This was just something I came up with a LOONG time ago, but I never really got to post...so here it is...Please Please review...I'vealways loved Yuffentine, next to CloTi so here's a tribute...hehehe...Tell me what you think...It's actually based from a song by Hinder, "Lips of an Angel" but I don't think it's a hardcore songfic...anyway...please review and happy valentine's day!!!
Cheers!
Comet