We're Not So Different After All

It's raining when I find another way out through a passage that leads to the mako-veined caves within the obsidian and ragged mountains shadowing over Nibelheim. It's fitting, I tell myself, as I wind up soaked—almost immediately from the downpour that reflects in my ongoing misery.

When I look up to the darkened skies like a shadow of endless foreboding, I'm wishing I could feel as little as it seems to. But I can't and it builds. It builds even more when I look down to the town of Nibelheim. It's faintly lit and the lights almost glow in a sheen of dancing spikes through the distortion of the rain.

Then I stare at the Inn, thinking that's where he might have gone. Though it's likely he may have managed to find passage home by now and I frown at the fact that I'm wondering where he is. After everything he's done and said, the logical step would be to stay as far away from him as I can for both our sakes. But I can't and I choose to reluctantly walk into town, dreading each step and convincing myself that I'm not the only one fighting personal demons.

Nor am I the only one punishing myself, and that maybe if I can't help myself, then maybe I can try to help someone else whether he wants it or not—regardless of whether he deserves it or not.

As I near the grassy hills on the opposite side of town, I shake off the nagging warnings within myself to stay away. I even shake off the sense that I'm almost hearing Lucrecia's voice saying it to me as the imaginary whispers echo through the unforgiving winds and speak like empty admonitions.

And when I find myself in the direction of the back of the inn where the most private rooms are kept, I unconsciously crouch in the shadows and ignore the heavy drops weighing upon me in their progressing downpour. I also ignore the muddy water seeping into the bottoms of my boots as it runs by. Nor do I bother to wipe the hair that's becoming plastered to my face away as if the effort to seek comfort would make Tseng's accusation of me being a monster more real than I want it to be.

So I tell myself I don't deserve it and I focus on the windows of the inn, looking for any sign that might suggest that he's taken up residence here while thickening water sullied with dirt continues to run passed me.

Maybe he's right, I sarcastically wonder. Maybe he's right about having the need to be wary of me. Maybe he knows more about what I am than I do.

He claimed he did his research on me and I've never been able to find any concrete records kept by either Lucrecia or Hojo. The thought makes my burdens seem heavier when I think that maybe it's because Shinra had already found them and kept them locked away somewhere they deemed safe. And it becomes even heavier when I suddenly think that he could be keeping that information to himself.

Maybe that's the real reason I'm out here, I wonder, stalking him like a sickened addict. But that leads me to my next thought and I begin to wonder if maybe I'm only seeking him for answers instead of the companionship that I've been making it seem like.

Companionship, I suddenly think, and I give my head a shake as if the idea is absurd and not worth contemplating.

It's not possible.

And I try to add concrete to the fact that it's not possible by trying to focus harder on the fact that he's the only one I've come across who seems to understand who and what I am, and that maybe he's the only one left that can answer my questions.

But at what torturous price for him will I pursue it and what eternal hell must I pay homage to in order to purchase it?

To my dismay though, there are no closed drapes. Nor is there any sign of the man that leads me to question more than I thought I was capable of questioning. But I can't seem to stop myself. I also can't help but wonder why I'm out here, staring at empty rooms in search for something that doesn't want to be found.

I can't bring myself to leave when there's nowhere else I can go that would make me feel better though. And as destructive as my thoughts are, I catch myself turning my attention to the mansion and staring at it with unwanted memories of a brighter day.

"Lucrecia? What are you carrying?"

"I thought you might be hungry and it's a beautiful day for a picnic. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I thought you had work to do—In the labs."

"I needed a break, and who better to spend it with than my favourite Turk?"

Of all the places for me to return to at this moment, it has to be her, and I mindlessly toy with the small orb around my neck without even realizing I'm doing it. I'm also standing on the same hill where she found me that day. Though it was a sunnier day, full of blue skies populated with clouds like white cotton, and I find myself thinking of how we all could have lived better lives.

If only …

I almost feel like screaming, not so much over what they did to me or even at them, but more over what I think I'm doing to myself because of it as I lower my head and clench my fist around the necklace, wondering why I was ever cursed to live this existence to begin with.

Then I turn my attention back to the inn to take one last look before I leave this forsaken land, knowing I never should have come here in the first place. And there he is, ghostlike, almost dead looking and staring at me with those hard and charcoal eyes, piercing as they stand out from his pale and still features. He only stands there, looking stoic and staring right at me as if he's staring into me while I wonder how long he'd been standing there with whatever thoughts he's capable of conjuring.

Maybe he really is a ghost, I wonder as I mind the fact that it's as if he'd appeared from air, and I return the emotionless attention, unsure of whether it's as effective as his. But he's too real to touch and too warm to hold, despite how cold his fixed exterior is. And I mind the fact that he unlatches the window and pushes it open while still maintaining that hardened look of his before he walks away from it as if he's inviting me to step back into the void that's devouring me.

And I do.

It's like I'm being pulled by something I can't see or touch, and I find myself at the small ledge that mimics what could have been a balcony before I step through the barrier to his world for more of whatever it is that I can't get enough of.

I suppose it's my choice of punishment though. Maybe it's what I've chosen for us both since I'm starting to believe I'm not the only one paying the consequence for the mindless things we're doing to each other.

And I stand there, unmoving once I'm in and soaking the wooden floor I'm standing upon while staring into the darkness, I wonder why he hasn't turned the lights on.

"You have no self-respect," he mutters after he emerges from the bathroom and keeps his head down. Then he carelessly throws a towel at me and orders me to close the window before he stares at me and dispassionately comments, "You look like a drowned capparwire."

"Close it yourself," I say under my breath while I drop the towel onto the floor and watch him stare at me like he's someone of importance who's just been offended. And all I can think of is that he does the act so well for some poor little fatherless boy from the outskirts of Wutai, and I can only guess that it's because he's been lying for so long that he doesn't know the difference anymore.

"I should have left you outside," he says, impressing that I'm an ungrateful dog, unworthy of his unkind attention. Then he decides he'll lower himself to doing it himself since I'm putting him out by refusing.

But he doesn't get very far when he tries to walk passed me because I still have some sort of score to settle with him even though I have no idea what it's about. And I'm almost too afraid to think of what I think I might be thinking even though it would set us both free if I just did it and killed him, knowing it would be easy enough from the way I've grabbed him and slammed his back into the wall.

"You're crazed, Vince. Are you aware of that?"

He chokes as his fingers try to work their way below mine so he can try to pry my grip from his throat while my other hand pulls his shirt from his pants and snakes its way underneath it. And I think I'm just as scared as he is when I realize I don't seem to be in control of what I'm doing. But none of it stops his venomous tongue from spitting out accusations.

"You must have a thing for people who can't stand you. Lucrecia tried to push you away too."

"Don't compare yourself to her," I warn him while he jumps nervously and releases his focus from the hand around his neck to push my other one away instead. Then he tries to turn his head away when I lean closer to him and purr in a threatening voice, "Besides, I know you don't want me to stop."

Then I sneer at him and push him away while fighting whatever's gotten into me as he stumbles to gain his balance and posture.

"But you're too much of a coward to allow yourself the risk."

"Leviathan. For a dead thing, you sure are full of yourself," he states and angers me more by snickering about it while he tucks his shirt back in and turns to me in that slick mannerism of his while coyly stating, "why can't you just leave me alone like you did with her."

"Because that was my mistake," I admit before I turn away from him and wipe at my mouth and lower my head, "I let her go."

I've let the guilt consume me ever since.

"And that was the biggest mistake of my life."

"I'm not her," he coldly tells me, even though I don't need to be told and I ignore the offended undertone and the feeling I have over the way he's probably looking at me before he finally closes the window and says as if he's been hit by an epiphany and is disgusted by it just the same, "Leviathan… You're confusing me with her."

"Stop it," I growl before I turn around to glare at the professional Turk with his finger curled over his mouth in thought as he stares at the floor. "Stop thinking you know what's going on in my head like that!"

"It's logical deduction," he states as he takes a few steps forward and washes every last trace of his humanity away, replacing it with nothing more than the man he is when he's working.

"You made a mistake with her and now you think you can rectify it through me."

Then he stops and turns to stare at me with a clinical assessment.

"You're sick, Vince."

And oddly enough, there's nothing offensive about the way he says it even though it offends me.

"Everything they did to you has made you sick."

"Now you're confusing me with Sephiroth," I fire back, not knowing why I'm feeling it's a suitable argument for him deducting that I've somehow managed to merge him and Lucrecia into the same person.

"You're thinking that because I'm the product of the same scientists that I'm going to turn on you the same way that he did."

"Give it a rest."

"Not until you admit to it."

"There's nothing to admit to."

"Yes there is!" I insanely fire back, hoping I'm right as he jumps a little. I can't afford to be going crazy and I make my own deduction while I watch him darken when I tell him what my conclusion is.

"You had an affair with a man that destroyed every last piece of faith that you had and that's why you don't want to be anywhere near me. You're afraid I'm going to lose control like he did and you don't want to be hurt again."

In a sick sort of way, I almost feel proud of my assumption, regardless of whether I'm right or not and regardless off how crazy it might be making me seem to him.

But it all goes to hell the moment he uncontrollably fires back with the burning fires of Hades in his eyes and a shake that makes him look like he's about to fall apart.

He's lost complete control of himself over my insensitive idiocy and he nearly loses his voice when the words spill from his mouth like bile.

"Seven years is not an affair!"

And I'm left speechless.

I never expected him to admit to anything of the nature.

I was expecting to never know and be driven crazy over it like the way everything else about him drives me crazy. And I suddenly don't know what to do, say, or even how to react while he does everything in his obsessive need to control and regain himself and slicks his hair back.

Then he shakes his head and shakily mutters as he turns away, "And he wasn't always a monster."

Somehow, I just don't think, "Sorry," covers it even though I mindlessly say it anyway while he reaches into his pocket and fiddles with his locket again. I almost want to hold him—offer some form of comfort to him. But I'm frozen to the spot I'm standing in.

"I never went for younger men," he mumbles. "In fact, I thought I could deny men altogether—make myself change."

It's as if he's disgusted with himself. The nervous and abrupt snicker that escapes seems like nothing more than a forced cover up for the fool he thinks he is while he stands there and refuses to look at me.

"I tried to live a normal life, Vince. Make everyone happy. Be respectable."

Then he shakes his head and wavers like he's dizzy and suffocating before he spins around and throws his locket at me.

"And I'm constantly paying for it!"

It's the first time I think I've felt lower than my views of him. And I wonder why I had to pursue it as he disappears into the bathroom, slamming the door with a hollow echo and leaving me to wonder why I thought making him admit to it was a good idea.

It was more selfish than anything, I think. And to make matters worse, I think I hate him even less than I thought I would over knowing about it.

"That's why you were curious about me," I mutter to myself as I look down at the locket and debate over whether I want to see Sephiroth's face or not. Then I listen to Tseng turn the taps to the bathroom sink. Cold water, I assume, to cool him off.

"And that's why you dug through my past."

Afterwards, I look over to the bathroom door and lower my head while curling my fingers over his locket.

But there's more than the fact that he'd discovered me by researching Sephiroth to find out what went wrong, I conclude, and I find myself saying it just above a breath.

"You see yourself in me."

And from that, I can only deduct that he not only sees himself, he despises himself too. His harsh judgements are nothing more than a disgusted reflection toward himself. At least, that's what I gather from everything I've seen and heard from him so far. But I'm not sure if he knows that I could never change who or what I was either, no matter how much I struggled with the desire to make it happen.

It's enough to make me wish I could do more than nothing for him as I frown and look back at the locket, thinking of how dead inside we both must be to continue living the way that we do, despite how alive we are on the outside in different ways. But I suppose it's trivial as I turn the locket in my hand and study the fine markings on the outer case, wondering what he's decided to show me and wondering what he thinks either of us has to gain by me looking inside.

But the moment I open it, I think I understand—vaguely. It's not really Sephiroth that he punishes himself for. It's nowhere near what I expected. I don't even know what it's about at first as I stare down at the picture in confusion. Black hair, rosy cheeks, innocent eyes and a rosebud mouth, and I wonder why he's carrying a picture of a little girl that can't be any older than two or three.

Then I suddenly feel drained as a dead weight washes over me like a frozen wave and I recall the letter, the vision, and the way that he always toys with the locket whenever he's in that distant mood he often falls into.

She has his eyes, and it doesn't take me long to realize that it's 'her' he was told to blame himself for, and it all falls into place while I reluctantly close the locket. Then I open the bathroom door to see him leaning against the wall opposite to the sink with his arms folded in front of him as he stares blankly at the floor. He's too much of a man to let his emotions out, I conclude, and I almost feel guilty for making him lose it.

"She was your daughter," I say, almost regretting saying it as I place the locket into his listless hand. I have to guide him to hold it out and he mindlessly puts it back in his pocket without responding in any other way. I decide it's best not to voice my other assumptions as far-fetched or real as they might be. But I'm assuming his wife had killed her to punish him and that the man she saw him with was the same man that turned on him in the end.

All I can do about it is shake my head, knowing there isn't really anything I can do or say to bury the ghosts I've surfaced. So I remain silent and grab a towel from beside him. Then I gently wipe at the remainder of the water he must have splashed onto his face to cool himself down.

All the while, he remains dead to me.

I can't help but frown at him, and even at myself as I place a kiss upon his forehead, hoping he'll respond. Anything positive or negative will do right now, but I receive nothing.

"Don't shut me out," I whisper, unintentionally grazing my lips across his skin and closing my eyes as I pull him into my arms. And I take an unsettling comfort in the fact that he does nothing to push me away.

Then I pull him closer and hold him more protectively while I mindlessly stroke his hair as he stares in the opposite direction of me.

It takes moments that seem like eternity—of me rocking him and wondering if I'm doing the right thing before he finally moves. But he doesn't move away. Instead, he lets out a deep breath as if he'd been holding it and wraps his arms around my waist while repositioning his head onto my shoulder for better comfort.

"It wasn't because I was mourning," he mutters as his arms tighten slightly. "It's just that after what he did in Nibelheim and everything else that happened along the way, I didn't want to be with anyone anymore."

Then he lets out another shaky breath while I continue to mindlessly stroke the back of his head with massaging movements and take comfort in the fact that what Sephiroth did was even too much for Tseng's stomach.

"Then when I found out he was still alive and I ran into him at the temple…"

"You've gone that long?" I insensitively ask, hoping to take him slightly off the path he's heading on and not about to deny the fact that I'm curious about whether or not Sephiroth was the last person he was with.

He doesn't answer me though. Instead, he takes another breath and regains himself.

Then he pulls away and frowns at me before erasing whoever he was just a second ago and focuses on my soaking clothes and probably the fact that he was letting me hold him while they were like that.

"You're soaked," he mutters.

Then he straightens up and starts undoing the buckles on my cloak. But he's not exhibiting his usual arrogance as he does it and he appears almost human and soft.

And as he pulls it from my shoulders and walks to the tub to hang it over the curtain rod, he continues as if a weight is being lifted.

"When I looked into his eyes, I realized that whoever he was wasn't the same man I knew before he went to Nibelheim, and I felt relieved," he tells me with his back to me.

Then he grabs the towel I used to wipe his face off and comes back over to me to dry my hair with it.

"That creature wasn't Sephiroth," he confides while I brush his hair behind his ear and he shakes his head to remove my touch. "That creature was what destroyed him."

He still won't look me in the eye right now though. And I'm not really sure how to interpret it when he finally does. I'm even less sure how to interpret what he asks next, or even if I should encourage him to go on.

"Do you know why I was relieved that he was dead?"

"No," I say, deciding that I actually do want to know even though I'm not sure if I really want to hear it.

"I was relieved because it meant that I could go back to lying."

Then he tilts his head while he crimps the towel over the ends of my hair and keeps his focus on what he's doing instead of on me.

"I was never fond of the fact that I'm attracted to men, Vince. I always viewed it as a weakness."

He smiles at that though. Although I can tell he's being genuine and is genuinely bothered by it.

"But weak, I am," he admits, and his smile turns coy while he looks back at me with that glint that's almost impish when he confesses, "But I'm even weaker than that."

"How's that?" I ask, knowing that I'm asking exactly what he wants me to.

"Because I was never very good at staying faithful to one person," he says before he pauses while studying me again and stepping back.

Then he sneers in disgust, but not in regard to me this time.

"I tried. I even tried with Marina. But I could never stop myself from falling to temptation."

And at that, he quirks his brow and looks to the side while muttering, "How's that for another reason to stay away from me?"

He's not really asking as much as he's trying to reconfirm his lack of worth to himself and trying to convince me that he's not worthy of my time.

Then he tosses the towel at me and points at the robe supplied by the inn, suggesting that he wants me out of my soaking clothes and into something dry.

During which time, I don't dare voice the cruel thought that runs through my head about me never having to worry about him straying because it would require that he'd have to take his clothes off, and he won't do that anymore.

And I can't help but suddenly realize that the more effort he puts into trying to drive me away so he can continue to live out his miserable lie that he calls a life, that it makes me want to be with him even more. And the next thing I know is that I've gotten a grip on his shoulders and he's facing me and demanding that I take off my gauntlet because the damned thing is digging into him.

And I never bothered to change.

I'm still soaking and I completely ignore him complaining about it before my mouth meets his and his hands change from trying to push me back to crawling up the back of my neck. Then he unclasps Lucrecia's necklace so he can throw it to the floor while I do the same with that ridiculous weapon that Sephiroth gave to him.

As far as I'm concerned, we might as well suffer together since neither of us can stop ourselves anyway, and I can't help but feel that he's reached the same conclusion as his hands find my buckles and I lift him onto the low dresser, knocking everything off of it so our hips are at the same level.

He may have amazing legs—as long and slender as they are—but he's still shorter than me and I suddenly realize that there is something physical that I find attractive about him. Besides all of his confusion and agony, and his hypnotic eyes, he has the most incredible legs, and I suddenly want him to wrap them around me while he insists that I take the damned gauntlet off again.

Fine.

I'll take the damned gauntlet off, I tell myself as I pull back and nearly rip it from my arm before throwing it at something that crashes. Then I suddenly wonder if it's even possible for him to wrap his legs around me and I wonder if he'd oppose to trying. All the while, I don't think either of us is really concerned with whatever it was that I broke.

And once I manage to get his pants off, he answers my question for me by remaining as he was and pulling me closer while undoing my own pants and doing what I wanted him to. He locks them around my hips and moans when I start to rediscover him while I'm wishing he'd quit screwing around and take my pants off faster.

"Leviathan," he mutters when I run my tongue along the parts of his neck I can get access to and he moves his head to accommodate me better.

Then he pushes down on my shoulder and illegibly mumbles, "Go down on me."

For a moment, I think about it before I push him back by the shoulder with a rough nudge and tell him, "No," while he snickers over it and runs the palm of his hand over my upper back.

"You might like it."

"I don't think so," I tell him as he quickly jumps to stop me from taking his shirt off and suggests that he'd like it while he pushes my pants down with his feet.

"I'd like it if you'd take the damned shirt off," I mutter while struggling with the tight neck on it and tugging at it to try to loosen it.

"No."

"I've already seen you."

"I don't care," he mutters before he quickly adds as a breathy afterthought that refers to me not doing what he wants me to do either. I'm sure of it.

"We don't always get what we want."

"The lights are out," I state, frustrated as I pull back to meet his glazed eyes and he stares back at me with a dignified quirk to his brow while holding the bottom of his shirt down to stress the fact that he thinks he's the one who makes up the rules.

Then he coolly asks as if he's chastising me at the same time in an almost melodic tone, "Do you want to do this or not?"

"F—"

Why even say it, I wonder while I catch myself and refrain from not only behaving like his scavenging pet but talking like one too.

Then I sneer at him with narrowed eyes and say to hell with it as I rip the shirt down the centre and push him back so I can watch him cringe unnecessarily.

Afterwards, I think that those uncertain eyes that almost make him appear cross-eyed at times must be what gets me every time as he looks to the side. It's as if he thinks he can hide himself by refusing to acknowledge it and he partially sucks back on his bottom lip like a child.

I'm taken for a moment, and I ignore the self-conscious discomfort I'm causing by staring at him as I watch the shadows of water streaking down from the window behind us. It runs down his sunless and cruelly marked skin that's almost glowing from the silvery light of the moon from outside.

He carries so much more life than my own bloodless skin and I catch myself holding his arms away, spreading them out like a bird so he can't shield himself from me.

I remember telling Cloud that he had it coming once, and I suddenly wonder how little I really deserve from him due to that fact. Then I lean toward him with an unspoken guilt and a gentle respect for his comfort, knowing it will never be enough to make up for any of the mistakes I keep making.