A/N
I thought about it for a while, and decided to do a second part… It's just been heavy on my mind.
Incongruity
Red Wine…
So Bitter-sweet
I would let you go straight to my heart
t has been almost a month since then.
However, things like that, things like sadness and hope, and maybe a sort of kind-of-sort-of love, just can't be let go just like that. But, they ignore it for the most part…
At least they pretend that it never happened.
'But it did…'
They both think, still sitting there in the room, her body scrunched uncomfortably in the corner of the couch, and his legs splayed widely, carelessly, as he drags a deep breath of smoke, barely resisting the temptation to crawl over to her and kiss her senseless.
However, as his fingers twitch, and he watches her expression change from small smiles to frowns, to little confused pouts, he cannot help but stay away.
Both of them are just sitting there, and today she's wearing the same pink dress and the same boots, but the dress is just a little shorter, and the boots are just a little higher, and he thinks to himself that her perfume just might be a little stronger and her hair a little neater. She is just a little more beautiful than a month ago.
Nevertheless, he's just the same. Greasy and oily, smelling of smoke, cigarettes, regret, and probably lack of personal hygiene; since it's been ages since they got to stay in an actual inn with a shower that didn't run out of water after two minutes.
But, they're just waiting around on that dingy couch, while everyone else is out or sleeping and suddenly, as he puts the cigarette out on the already dirtied coarse fabric of his jeans, she leans over, her lips ghosting over his.
'It's turned into this…'
They both think this, as he pushes her down with a gentleness he only has for her—excluding the brat—and as she wondrously tries to slip the shirt over his shoulders.
Now he's peppering her jaw with soft air light kisses, gradually moving down as her back arches, nimble fingers running through his matted hair as if it's her only lifeline.
He can tell with every breath she takes, that even though it's so wrong—the worst thing—it feels so right, and in another world, it would be all right. Moreover, he knows, and she does too, but it doesn't stop them…because now, what could be more right, and at the same time, so wrong?
It is the world's most awful and beautiful contradiction.
He whispers against her skin, his lips finding every nook, as her hands tenderly run across his face, his shoulder, his rib cage, fingernails briefly running lines over the scars and the muscle with a delicate murmur.
They are the most ugly and beautiful contradiction.
Who wouldn't have it any other way except for them?
"If you were smoke, I would let you go straight to my heart…" He murmurs to her under his breath, hot breath still skimming over her seemingly smooth skin, though it's just as scarred—just in different ways—as his.
Now, without words, his breathing and hers recite stolen whispers, stolen things…
A delicious…delicious…delicious rare drink…
She's singing to him now, voice breathless, lips finding his own before his hands become tangled in her hair. (His lifeline too…)
"Breathe me in…drink me in…"
Red wine…
He is almost to the point of tears, beautiful tears running down his ugly scarred face, his lips rough but tenderly running across her own, as his voice, coarse and grating, speaks gentle words. And in a last moment, he holds her tight, his face buried into a wave of hair and her shoulder, hands gripping both of her arms as she smiles, her own arms wrapped around his neck.
"Don't you ever let me go…don't ever let me go…"
'Stay with me… Stay with me…please…'
But she gets up, brushing now swollen lips over his own before wrapping herself in the blanket, looking regretfully over her shoulder as he lowers his face, pulling on his pants, skin still sweaty.
She opens her mouth to speak, but finds, just like the last time, she can't find herself to say anything to him.
So, she'll just lift her mouth into that sad heart-wrenching smile, the tears now bubbling at the bottom of her eyes, and turn away.
So, she's slowly walking away, and he whispers one more time, eyes pleading—like he's ever said please for anyone except for her—and his mouth quivering.
"I would let you go straight to my heart…"
She can't even look at him anymore, so she aims for the doorway, it seems to be a thousand miles away…
Bittersweet…
Red Wine… Red Wine…
He's at desperation's edge…
He scrambles off the couch, refraining from holding her.
Voice low…
Heavy…
With...
Tears…
"I would let you go straight to my heart…"
'So right…' He thinks…
'So wrong…' she tells herself…
Her voice is low too, wavering with sadness.
"You already did…"
And that's the end.
She is thinking in the darkness of her room.
'I let you go straight to my heart…'
He is outside, breathing in the smoke of a dozen cigarettes.
'So did I…'
The taste is bitter… It is sweet too…
Delicious…
A beautiful rarity…
Drink Me Up… Breathe Me In…
Let me into your heart…
Red Wine…
Red Wine...
Let me get drunk on you…
Red Wine
Red Wine
You are all that I'll ever need.
End
A/N
Ah,
I intentionally wanted "Incongruity" to be just a one-shot, but, every time I would think about writing something else, stuff for this would just pop up. So here I am, writing a second part.
If we're lucky, this story will probably have three or four parts, depending on when I get sick of writing it.
Well, I could never get sick of writing it per-say, but, you fellow writers know what I mean.
I guess we'll just see what happens.
Go Cid and Aerith, we really need more of them.
TMoh
Disclaimer: Just to reassure you that I won't ever try to own Final Fantasy Seven or Cid or Aerith… I do own the poem "Red Wine" though. It's a pretty old poem, before my Final Fantasy obsession. I made it when I was with my Ex. I'm just glad I could put it to some use, though. This is just a snippet of the poem.
About time I own something… Heh, heh.