Sea
Prologue.
By: Sofie MB.
His eyes widened and he almost felt himself dropping the tray in his hands as he peeked through the small opening in the door. His eyes lowered as he stared at the crimson blood dripping from the blonde's elbow pit. It's contrast was as that of a white shirt on the darkest pool of mud. It was so white –his skin-, and it was so bright –the blood-. It seemed like he couldn't breathe anymore.
He abstained himself from dropping the tray and merely looked down, trying to calm down. He took a deep breath and gave a step back, and then another. He placed the tray on the small table that stood just outside the blonde's room; he walked away.
He was trying to keep his cool, trying to be the usual fifteen-year old boy he was; always understanding. But this one time, he felt like he was way too understanding; he really wished he did not comprehend the situation so that he could simply move on. But he had seen it; he had to do something.
"Tifa-" He tried, his voice rather shaky, but the woman was already in a rush, she barely spared a glance, "Tifa, I need to talk to you." The brunette merely sighed and looked sadly at the younger boy, "I can't, Denzel. I really can't. Talk to Vincent." She said as she rushed outside. Denzel's blue eyes watched the pale girl running outside, and then he turned to look at the man on the darkest corner of the bar called 7th Heaven.
He sat right in front of a window –which brought no light since the sun was on the opposite side-. He was mysterious and scary. His long red clothing and his pale complexion scared him, but not as much as his golden claw –the one that adorned one of his hands-. But he felt like he was the only option –more like he knew so-.
He approached the older man carefully, almost shyly. He kept licking his lips and wouldn't look up; too afraid he'll get caught. The man watched him skillfully, wondering what exactly was the cause of such a riot in the emotions shown in the boy's eyes. The boy walked closer and closer, preparing himself mentally for what was going next.
He opened his mouth several times to talk but found himself unable to. That couldn't be happening, he kept telling himself, and he had to do something. Vincent watched the young boy's eyes open swiftly a determined look on it.
"What is it?" The deep voice seemed to take all of the courage away for a second, but he got it back.
Vincent was sitting on Cloud's bed, waiting patiently for the younger man to get out of the shower. The moment he walked into the room Cloud was already gone; Denzel was shocked. The young boy kept explaining what he had seen; Vincent believed him. He could spot three little drops of blood sitting on the floor, waiting to be cleaned.
He knew the blond would give him no explanation, so he walked out of the room as he heard the blond turn off the shower. He would wait. Wait until he could do something about it, more like, until he knew what to do about it.