Vincent Valentine looked at the man sleeping next to him. Man, my ass. He looks more like a little boy, sucking his thumb like that. The blond man was curled up on his side with one arm under his pillow, and his thumb in his mouth. A few golden bangs covered his eyes, though Vincent was still able to see the shadows his long eyelashes cast on his cheeks.
The black-haired man got out of the bed without making a sound. Just as soundlessly, he gathered his clothes and put them on. He looked at the sleeping blonde for a while. The feeling of those lips on his own still lingered, his skin still tingled from the touch of those hands, he was still warm from the contact with that body. On the inside, however, he felt as cold as always. He started to walk away, at the door he turned and threw one last look at the sleeping figure. A good fuck, that's all. I don't even know his name, and I don't care, either.
Out in the streets it was snowing heavily. On a sudden childish impulse, Vincent stuck out his tongue, trying to catch the snowflakes as they fell. He soon discovered that he was even worse at this than he had been as a child, so he gave up. He increased his pace, somehow he had the feeling he needed to hurry, even though he knew he didn't. There wasn't anything, or anyone, he needed to reach. There never was.
-
He opened the door to 7th heaven, shaking of the snow in his hair and on his clothes before stepping inside.
"Give me something strong, Tifa," he said with a grim expression.
"You know, Vincent, it wouldn't kill you to smile every now and then," the black-haired woman told him.
"I won't smile when I'm not happy. Are you going to get me a drink, or what?"
"Actually, it's very tempting to say no. You drink way too much as it is."
"Just give him a drink. It won't kill him," came a voice from the corner.
"Thank you, Cloud. Glad someone agrees with me," Vincent said.
Tifa muttered under her breath as she mixed Vincent's drink, and she gave it to him with the scowl of the century. He grabbed the glass and swallowed it's content in two gulps. When he demanded more, Tifa didn't bother to hide her cursing. Still, she knew it was no good arguing with him.
Vincent grew more intoxicated by the minute, and Tifa's swearing seemed to intensify at roughly the same rate. About forty-five minutes after Vincent arrived, the man was so drunk that Tifa was seriously considering serving him non-alcoholic drinks without telling him, but just when he was about to ask for yet another round, someone walked in the door. The redhead walked right up to the counter, not even looking at Vincent.
"Give me a beer, Tifa."
"Calm down, Reno. It's not like the world's about to end or anything," Tifa snapped. "Let's start again, you tell me what you want like you're not in a race against time." Something in Vincent's mind told him that he might be the reason why the woman was so irritable, but he was too plastered to recognize it as a thought. He decided to drop the whole thinking-business. Instead he watched Reno. The man's white shirt looked more rumpled than usual. Long day? Or screwing? Reno's long red hair was tied back in a ponytail, a few loose locks hung down in front of his eyes. His hair was like a mix of fire and ruby. Vincent loved that color. Do I like his hair because of the color, or the color because of his hair? A light shower of freckles covered his pale complexion. Reno's face was the most beautiful Vincent had ever seen. When did I start liking freckles?
"What you staring at, Valentine?" Reno's voice brought the black-haired man back to reality.
"Huh?" he said, confused.
"You were staring at me."
"Was I?"
"Yeah, you were."
"Oh. Didn't notice. I have to go now, anyway. Bye guys."
Vincent made his unsteady way to the door. Outside, he slumped against the wall. The cold gave him a little push towards sobriety. What the hell was I thinking? Staring at him like that. I can't believe what this guy does to me. I'm not the type to fall in love. Well, wasn't. Wasn't the type to fall in love. I guess somewhere along the way I must have turned into that kind of guy though, cause if this ain't love, then I'm an eighty year old lady. He lifted his hand to smack his forehead, but he was still drunk enough to miss by several inches. He grumbled a few words that would have made Tifa flinch, and hit his fist repeatedly against the snow-covered ground. Why did he have to be in love with Reno, of all people?
He didn't know if was the red hair or the freckles, the glasses on his forehead or the ruffled white shirt. There was just something about the man that had a kind of magnetic effect on Vincent. Perhaps it was his cynical humor. Perhaps it was the way he always called to him as 'Valentine'.
-
"Still out here, Valentine?" Reno poked Vincent in the side with his foot. "Didn't get very far, did you?"
Vincent didn't say anything.
"Not very talkative today, eh?"
"Guess not."
"Well I'll be damned! You spoke, Valentine."
"So I did."
"You going in my direction? That is, if you can stand on your feet."
"I can stand," Vincent said, and tried to get to his feet. His attempt was fairly unsuccessful. Reno reached out his hand to help him up.
"You sure you can stand?" the redhead said when he saw how unsteady Vincent was. Had that remark come from anyone else, Vincent would have been greatly offended, but when Reno said it he didn't even feel the least bit annoyed.
"I can stand," he repeated.
What the hell do I do now? I can't walk with him! I'm just going to make a goddamned fool out of myself. Okay, screw you, Vincent Valentine. Focus. You can do this. Vincent walked silently next to Reno, listening to the man talking, and watching him out of the corner of his eye. He felt an urge to grab his hand or put an arm around his shoulder or stroke his cheek. It didn't matter what, but he felt like he needed to touch him somehow. Suddenly he felt a hand grab his own.
"Not pulling away, Valentine? Didn't think you would. I saw the way you looked at me earlier tonight."
"How come you always call me Valentine? Everyone else calls me Vincent."
"I dunno. Don't you think it's a bit romantic, though?"
"I guess."
"You still wanna go home? My place is much closer, and to be quite honest I don't know how long those legs can carry you."
"As if you care about my legs. You just want to fuck my brains out."
"Whatever you say, Valentine."
--------
Fun fact 1: I planned to make a Christmas story, but it ended up just being a regular story instead.
Fun fact 2: The plan was to make a really sad, angsty story, but that strategy went to hell in a hand basket.
God, I loved writing this. I wanted to concentrate more on the language, and you might notice that there are some fancy words here and there. I love the words sobriety, intoxication, however, grim, scowl, ruby, complexion, perhaps, cynical, talkative, fairly, urge and lots of other that I might or might not have used in this story. Didn't get to show of my vocabulary as much as I'd like, but still, this is more of a "language-story" than most of my other stories together. One problem, though, I cannot write the word "sobriety" without getting "Twist in my sobriety" stuck on my brain (by the way, does anyone understand that title? It bugs me that there might be some meaning behind it that I don't get), but that's okay, cause I like Tanita Tikaram.
Wasn't sure about how I was going to rate this. Sex is mentioned indirectly, but not very subtly, at the beginning, so there's a T, at least, and then there's the profanity (yay, more vocabulary), but T means it's for 13 year olds and older, right? And 13 year olds can take a few obscenities. I'm rating it T, there is no explicit descriptions of sex, there is no violence, the swear words aren't that bad.
Drinks for reviewers (non-alcoholic or booze, that's your choice).