fandom: Final Fantasy VII
title: Beneath the Stars
genre: General
rating: G
pairing: Vincent/Aerith
summary: While sitting outside on a starry night in Cosmo Canyon, Aerith and Vincent talk a little bit. (premiered 08.26.05 in my oldest writing journal)
notes: Written for my friend Heather for a challenge thing where they were to choose a pairing, a color, a verb and a scent... and I had to write a fic with those!


The night was black and moonless. The stars shone brightly, which Aerith was glad for; in Midgar, the stars were never seen. But here in the tranquility that was Cosmo Canyon, they could never be brighter.

She sat alone, as she frequently did when no one else was awake. When they did wake up, this never once crossed their minds. Except for his. He knew. Vincent.

"Good evening," he managed, as he walked up to her.

"Oh. Hi, Vincent." Aerith looked up and smiled slightly. Then she motioned for him to sit beside her. But he didn't.

"You should rest," he said, not in a way that he'd sound concerned. To her, he almost sounded like he wanted to get rid of her.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"It's impossible for me to stop worrying about things, Vincent," she said. "Everyone thinks I'm so optimistic, when really, I'm scared. Scared of being alone... the last Cetra. What's my fate? What's in my future?" She paused, realizing she'd just poured her heart out to someone known for his stoicism.

But he didn't mind. He understood. "Fear is a conflagration to one's soul," he said, his voice taking on a somewhat philosophical tone. "Worry is its fuel. You're young and shouldn't have these burdens. ...However, I do understand why you do."

Aerith drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. "I think you're the only one who does." She sighed.

Vincent wasn't good at consolation. He sat down, then, and just glanced at her from time to time as she thought about things. Out of the entire team, they were probably the only two people who understood each other, who could relate in some way. He inhaled deeply, and picked up the vague scent of vanilla; one of the residents was most likely baking.

Neither said anything for the rest of the time they were out. They didn't really need to.


AN: I'm currently in the process of moving several of my stories from my personal writing journal on LiveJournal (607am) to here. I'm keeping them at the aforementioned journal, though ... just putting them on here as well. :) Bigger audience, and stuff.