They had met in the labs, when he was but a child. Vincent had supplied a child's comfort: strong, mis-matched arms to chase away the nightmares; tender cleansing to wash away the shame; Cures – when possible – to take away the pain.
Then they had met again, all too close to where they had first known each other.
Their relationship had grown, blossoming again. But slowly they had come to realise that childish comfort was not enough.
The comfort had changed.
As he was now an adult, so now was their comfort more mature: Closer hugs, whispered nothings and sweet, secret, tender kisses.
Together they had learned of love; one for the first time, the other being reminded.
They knew there was no real alternative to each other; no-one else who could truly understand the horror of the nightmares, be strong enough to sympathise with the pain: but they did not mind.
The raven and his halo; the angel and his shadow.
Fragile silver beauty matched by darkness.
Sephiroth smiled softly at him, tender pink lips curving up, eyes shining with love, trust and devotion.
Vincent smiled back, rubies glinting in adoration as he skimmed a metal digit over the gentle swell of the other's cheek. He gasped slightly as Sephiroth turned his head and nuzzled against the golden gauntlet, pressing a kiss to the unfeeling palm.
His arm slipped around his lover's waist and he pressed his lips to Vincent's. Their hands met and their fingers entwined as their tongues did.
Vincent smiled, then he realised Sephiroth's hand had something in it. It felt like a box; a velvet-covered box. His eyes opened from their bliss, blinking.
"Sephiroth?" he whispered, hardly daring to hope.
Sephiroth merely smiled. A different smile this time, a plotting one, almost a smirk.
He kissed him again, gently now, putting off the moment when he would ask, building the unbearably sweet tension.
When the kiss was finally broken, Vincent clung to him, staring into the feline emeralds sparkling before him.
"Vincent Valentine..." the voice came finally, full of silent laughter and sweet hope, childish innocence and trust.
"Will you..."
He lifted his lover's hand and kissed it gently.
"Do me the honour..."
Vincent's heart was in his mouth, his grip on Sephiroth almost painfully tight. Was he serious? Was this for real?
Sephiroth withdrew the velvet-covered box, holding it up and flicking it open to reveal a thick band of burnished gold so rich that it was almost orange in colour.
"...Of becoming my husband? Of helping me through everything, of being with me, being together with me, forever?"
Vincent's normally alabaster cheeks flushed and his ruby eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Sephiroth stared into the crimson depths, holding his breath, awaiting an answer.
Vincent took a deep breath; he knew what he had to say. When the only answer you can give is 'yes' there are no doubts left to be had.
It must have shown in his eyes because Sephiroth's own feline orbs closed in relief and joy as he claimed his lips again.
Together. Forever.
When their perfect moment ended, Sephiroth's perfect hand strayed up to brush his lover's cheek with feather-light fingers and stroke away the tears of perfect joy.
He smiled again: the trademark wicked grin which so often these days prefaced perfect pleasure; the emerald eyes sparkling with glee.
"Now there's just one question..."
Vincent blinked up at him, nuzzling shyly against his hand, ruby orbs enquiring with nervous, wary innocence as to the problem.
The grin spread and the head tilted with good-humoured mischief.
"Who wears the dress?"