Author's Notes: Woo hoo, I'm being productive today! I posted this along with pt 2 of my other Vincent story, Sans, which is quite a bit darker than this one... but, shameless pimping aside...

I make two apologies: one, this chapter is short and has a bit of a cliffhanger. Two, I apologize to everyone who ever believed in the whole 'I kiss you and everything is magically better' philosophy. Very few things in life, I think, are that easy.

There are two more chapters after this one: the conclusion and then the epilogue. It certainly has been quite the ride. (smile)

Enjoy the chapter.

Contact (pt 7)

My head rests against your chest. My arms are wrapped very loosely around your hip and you're supporting my weight with good grace. Your back is against the couch and my side is just barely touching it. Your hand is resting on my hip, your claw very, very lightly on my leg. You still keep me safe and I appreciate it.

You feel tired, Vincent. It can be exhausting, this honesty.

I feel unusually shy… I tuck my face in against your shirt and close my eyes. I feel like I should apologize but I refuse. Your weariness settles on me like a weight. Your thumb rubs against my hip and I almost smile. There's a tiny bit of comfort in that touch; I can feel it. I swallow.

I've never understood the phrase 'and the silence felt heavy' until this very moment. The quiet is pushing down on us. The only thing that I hear is our breathing and we're trying to keep even that quiet. It really is like waking up after dying, isn't it Vincent?

I kiss your neck very, very lightly and then pull away. You look down at me. My cheek rests on your shoulder. No, I still can't read you. I would love to see… something there. I'm waiting for the storybook lines. I'm looking for something in the base of your eyes… but all I see there is old pain and that aching weariness that I felt before. The side of my mouth creeps up. An ironic smile, I never used to know them before I met you.

You hand leaves my hip and touches my cheek. It reminds me of your fingers on my jaw line in the kitchen but the feeling is completely different. There, it was a last resort… Here, it's like the soft light that falls in through our curtain windows first thing in the morning. Diffuse and yellow, it paints the room in subtly different colours.

Should I go first, Vincent?

I nudge my cheek against those fingers and you cup my face. Are you moving on instinct? I am. In this contact, I can be honest. I close my eyes and breathe out.

"Vincent… I love you."

The words fall like raindrops – teardrops – against that quiet morning light. I feel you exhale. Oh, the ache in you hurts me Vincent. You look away from me, to nothing. My eyes open up and I stare right ahead.

So that's what it feels like.

A cold falls in, a distance. Because I refused to lie, Vincent? No, that's not it. That's not it, is it? My fingers reach up and touch your cheek. I force you to look at me. Can you see it, Vincent? My eyes are serious. I'm a touch angry. It makes me say things.

"Vincent, you don't have to stay here for me. Because that's the truth. If you don't…"

But it doesn't make me brave, not quite. I don't finish my sentence. I swallow and look away. I'm angry, I'm hurt and you're just… what did you say? Oh yes, I remember.

We're always a disappointment to the ones we love.

Were you trying to tell me something then, Vincent? I didn't want to listen. Let me fill in the words for you, Vincent Valentine. Tell me… tell me that some pain is just too much to step back from. Tell me that sometimes when people die they just die and there's no coming back from it. Tell me that you don't love me.

But that would be a lie, wouldn't it, Vincent?

I feel your struggle. Gods, you're a good man, aren't you Vincent? That's… that's cruel. What will you tell me? Will you tell that me you love me? Will you lie to me? Can you lie to me, Vincent?

I turn my face back to you. I wish I could let the anger dribble away but I can't. It's tied up in you and me and the life that broke you. I hate the gods, Vincent. I hate them.

The smile on your lips now is sad. Lost, that's how I feel. Hand on my cheek… oh I could drown in those sad smiles. Sad smiles, ironic laughter, petty pains.

Do you see why I hate the gods?

The sad smile touches my lips too. We weren't made to be normal, you and I. You dip your head down – always repentant, my poor would-be lover – and I lean my forehead in against yours. Thank you… thank you for being honest.

Tomorrow, I'll see you off. It's alright, I forgive you. You're just… so very you, Vincent. I can't help but forgive you. I smile because the ache would swallow me. I smile because I told you that I wouldn't be your sin and I wasn't lying. So, it's okay. I forgive you.

Tomorrow, I'll see you home.