Relentless
He collapses upon the bed, exhausted. It's four o' clock in the afternoon, but already his body is shutting down for the day. The bedroom is dark, cool, a stark contrast to the summer heat outside. He rolls over, and turns his nose to the bedspread; it smells of hot chocolate, a sure sign that Yuffie had been watching so-called 'chick flicks' whilst he was away. He sighs, and knows he is home.
Seconds later, she throws herself on the bed next to him, and wriggles in delight at the cool sheets.
"I missed ya, dork," she says affectionately.
"And I you, Yuffie," he replies. She, too, smells of hot chocolate, or perhaps it's just her pyjamas.
"Don't expect any bang-a-rang though, Captain Claw. I haven't got the energy," she grins.
"You must be getting old, Yuffie," he teases, reaching out to stroke her cheek. She snaps at his finger and grins wryly.
"Oh, I've got the energy for the sex. I just can't be bothered to wash the sheets afterwards," she smirks.
In truth, her energy is never-ending. Just being around her makes him feel tired. She does not walk; she rushes. She does not speak; she sings. She does not smile; she grins like a Chesshire cat, and the rest of the world seems to fade to invisibility in light of her smirk. Every action taken to the extreme, every feeling cutting to the bone; that is how she lives.
And each day, he feels he is getting left further behind, as if he is running to catch a train which will not stop and is picking up speed. It isn't the age of his body that slows him; it is the age of his mind, the wounds which heap upon his conciousness.
"No. I think it is I who is getting old," he murmurs, closing his eyes.
She looks at him and understands. She knows the weariness, the fatigue that plagues him. At times, he snaps when she bothers him, then goes quiet for hours afterwards, eyes unfocused, mind turned inwards like the barrel of a gun. She knows that he is not tired of her but of life, which is all the scarier as she doesn't know how to fix it.
Waiting until he is asleep, she steals out of the room.
"Surprise!"
He is woken rudely and coldly by what seems like the waterfalls of the Ancient City. Yuffie grins devilishly down at him, bucket still in hand.
"Yuffie, I am tired," he croaks.
"Well, sure," she says, dropping into seriousness like a pebble into a pond. "But Vince, tiredness is like an illness. You gotta fight it with energy. I know it sounds stupid, but that's the way it is."
"I know," he says, and he does. If he sleeps, life will pass him by, as it did long ago. He won't let it.
For a life with her, he will be relentless.