Vincent broods.
Broods as he watches those dark, wine-red eyes flicker to connect with intense blue-green ones.
Broods as he feels the air between the wine-red and intense blue-green fizzle to life.
Watches as the sweet, oval face softens a little before turning back to the empty glasses waiting to be filled in front of her.
She deserves someone whole. He keeps telling himself. Like Cloud.
Not someone older than she'd ever live to be, not someone with a metal claw for a hand, not someone who wandered day to day like a corpse. Lifeless. Dull. Someone with nothing to offer. Not someone, someone...like him.
But that didn't matter. The leftovers of his heart wouldn't listen. He thought he'd had enough. That he wouldn't mind dying soon. He'd lived his share.
Yet he yearned for her. For her touch. For her soul to touch his soul. For her understanding and compassion. For all the things he'd thought he'd lost hope in. For her to see him and him alone.
Maybe he was just lonely.
The lights dimmed and he rubs his eyes, lying his head on his arm, he watches as Tifa wipes the last of the glasses.
And his last thought before drifting off was that while the red-wine colored eyes never wavered, the blue-green ones did.
And that, that was enough for him to move, to move in...for...
Red. Black. Screams and Pain. Skin stretched tight in agony and he was falling. Getting smaller and smaller and darkness engulfed him. Didn't know where, when it'd stop. He was just falling...
He awoke with a start and it took a moment for him to register the body next to his and the hand connected to the body stroking his head gently.
He remembered now. When it all started.
It had been the nightmares that had come a few nights ago and wouldn't leave. After the first couple nights, he had decided to come to Tifa's bar in the hopes of leaving intoxicated and numb enough to fall into a deep, hopefully, dreamless sleep.
And had, except not exactly where he had planned.
The first time, he had knocked out right on the counter in front of her and had awoken to Tifa's hand on his forehead and a worried expression on her face.
You were mumbling and sweating, she had said. You okay? She had asked.
He had pondered on whether to tell her or not and had decided against it.
Fine, he had lied. And he had seen the disbelief in her eyes but she dropped it and handed him a napkin.
Want something to help you sleep? She had asked with a gentle smile, concern still in her eyes. I could make you some tea.
And briefly he had wondered how she'd managed to pinpoint exactly what was troubling him at the moment. After a short moment's observation, however, he understood it wasn't that she'd figured it out but more her way of soothing him.
And he had remembered thinking at that exact moment that if she were the cup of tea, maybe it would help him sleep. He decided it best not to follow that train of thought.
He had accepted then and she had stayed with him quietly, keeping him company.
I'll be alright, he'd told her. You go ahead upstairs. I'll lock up when I'm done.
She shook her head. Maybe it was time someone kept you company, she had said.
And they had looked into each other's eyes and he had sensed for the first time, tears similar to his, deep scars of past torture and surprisingly, a loneliness he knew all too well.
And he had wondered briefly, a little angrily, if the cause was a who.
But no, if it was similar to his, it was probably much more then that.
He'd been the first to break eye contact, but not before seeing a spark of recognition and shock in her eyes.
Then he had looked down at the cup of tea, taken a sip and had set it down. The warm liquid had flowed down his throat soothingly and suddenly he had felt a little better.
I'm having nightmares, he had told her, his eyes trained on the marble counter top. He could stay here, he'd thought, even sleeping on the counter top didn't seem too bad. He chuckled inwardly at the thought. Maybe he was finally going crazy. It would have been about time.
Want to tell me about it? She had asked.
He had shaken his head then and said, just some painful memories back when I was a Turk.
She had nodded and he had taken another sip of tea. They were silent for awhile and then Tifa had said, want to talk about something else?
He had blinked and she had grinned when she saw the lost look on his face.
Sometimes it helps to just talk. And we've been comrades for years, but I still don't know as much as I want to. She had explained.
He nodded, but at that moment, Cloud had returned from upstairs. He looked between the two questioningly and nodded at Vincent before speaking to Tifa. The kids are in bed, he had said. And the hanging question in the air was, what's going on?
I'll be up soon, Tifa had said and Cloud had nodded before turning and going back up. Though not without another brief,
questioning glance at him.
Vincent had decided he had taken up enough of her time for the night. He had stood up and pushed the now empty cup toward her and she looks about to protest, but he had shaken his head and had told her it was time for him to leave.
Did you like the tea? She had asked.
I don't drink things I don't like, he had answered.
She had chuckled and lifted the cup off the counter. Tomorrow, then? She had asked. If you feel like it, she added.
He had pondered for a second and then nodded. Tomorrow, he had echoed softly. And with a slight sweep of his cloak, he had left.
His nights had then become less alone, less cold and less red and less black. And for the first time in years, he wondered if he should clean up the place he lived in.
And here he is again. The stroking hand was a new development. And he pleaded silently for her not to stop.
Perhaps tonight he would question her about it. And perhaps tonight, he could be her comfort instead.