Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or Cloud, or Nibelheim, or...well, you get the picture. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.
Illuminating the Dark -- Part Three
by: thelittletree
* * *
His name is Richard. Richard Jr., actually, but everyone calls him Eike. It makes for less confusion around the dinner table, he jokes as he sweeps my fingers up to his lips in a gesture so fluid and natural it feels like I was expecting it. And then he holds my hand. A simple, subtle tactic, and I'll admit that I'm impressed. And gratified. He will pursue me with all of the charm and grace of the cultured masses, and maybe I won't even remember that he's a complete stranger.
He buys me a drooping straw hat, even though the sky is cloudy and the forecast is predicting rain, and entertains me with exaggeratedly thoughtful expressions as he adjusts it on my head. An excuse to touch the skin of my neck, I think, as he deftly makes a bow out of the ribbon under my chin. We share a drink like old friends or new lovers and find the park without the help of the sunshine. I haven't been here before, but I think I would've stood out as a single woman in a green, flowery world of couples. I'm glad now that Eike is holding my hand. I belong here in this social universe again. I am a young woman, carefree as if my greatest problems have never been more complicated than deciding what lusty suitor to go out with or what make-up flatters my skin.
I can laugh and pretend this is the real me. It feels good. Nothing here reminds me of the past, even if this is Nibelheim, and I can almost believe I might be able to forget forever.
I tell him light-hearted stories about my childhood, but I don't tell him I grew up here before the fire. I tell him vague stories about my friends, but don't say anything about Avalanche. I describe my father, but I don't tell him that my parents are dead and I'm the only Lockhart of my line left. And then I turn his questions around on him, and he's only too pleased to court me with witty conversation about his father the business-man, his stuffy childhood in Junon, and his experiences with a Cosmo Canyon education. Even when he talks about the time during Meteor, he describes it like painting flames with pastel colours. A joke about how one of the maids closed all of the curtains so that no one would see the terrifying doom in the sky; a quip about an underground shelter his father had constructed under the house; an anecdote about the number of religious tracts they got in the mail or stuffed into the cracks of the front door.
And I can see he wants to keep me smiling, though it's hard to tell if the rose-coloured picture he's created for me is just for my benefit. Could he really have come through the near-tragedy with so much humour and hope?
It starts to rain; a swift, warm weather swell that catches everyone off-guard. We run for the shelter of a tree amid the startled laughter of the rest of the park. And then, smiling and catching our breath and trying to shake the water out of our eyes, we kiss. As informal as his conversation, soft and careful and permissive. Not the first young, hungry kisses of Cloud; not the heated, gasping uncertainty of Vincent's kiss, somewhere between urgency and desperate control. A kiss that doesn't pretend to be anything else; he likes me, wants to kiss me, so he does and I can pull away or press into him, walk away or continue as half of a pair of people who are simply enjoying themselves.
I'm happy to see that he's grinning, too, when we withdraw. He's not asking for anything, and I imagine he falls in love a couple of times a week. Maybe I would see him again. I'm positive now that it won't go anywhere beyond informal, because if it does I'm sure he'll disappear. But maybe I want informal for now. My heart is an overworked muscle, and all I feel I need is the simple comfort of a hand, a mouth, a glint in the eye of someone who means nothing to me.
Just until I've stopped wishing I had Vincent's hand, mouth, the glint in his eye; until I've stopped looking forward to the evenings where it's just him and me playing poker and he smirks and raises an eyebrow when I ask him what his first impressions of Nibelheim were, or what Shinra was like in the beginning, or if he remembers his parents.
Oh Vincent, you know better than anyone what hell unrequited love is, and you wouldn't wish it on me, would you? I wish you would let me in.
The rain doesn't last long, and then Eike walks me back to Lily's at my request. I'm not completely sure I want him to know where I live yet, I admit, and I already know Lily is going to want a fully-detailed report of my afternoon. We slow at the step and I turn to him, unable to keep the smile off of my face. He is good-looking, and his mood is so contagious. I really can't help hoping that he doesn't find out who I am, what I've been through, for a long time.
"I had a lot of fun, Eike," I tell him, the perfunctory words of the first date. "Thank you for the hat, and the park."
"Even if it rained?" He flicks the hat affectionately so he can see my face better.
"Especially because it rained. Rain is romantic."
He grins and sweeps a thumb under my chin, over the bow. "I'm glad you had fun. Maybe we should do this again."
"Definitely."
He doesn't ask with words, he just leans forward and lets me move into the kiss. Perhaps it is forgivable that I'm not thinking about his lips this time, already in Lily's kitchen in my mind and trying to choose the words I'll use to tell her about my date. And perhaps it is forgivable that I'm not thinking that this kiss, this pleasant, meaningless little kiss, might have any repercussions.
Perhaps it is forgivable. But I'm not sure I can forgive my own stupidity at assuming anything when Lily's door opens suddenly and Vincent nearly collides with the two of us.
He has just come back from the hunt, I'm positive, still dressed in his long coat and hiking boots, his hair tied back and hidden under his collar. But I can only acknowledge this peripherally; at this moment I'm sure nothing in the world could take my horrified gaze from his face. The momentary flash of rigid shock in his eyes, the slight tightening of the lines around his mouth, between his eyebrows -- things anyone else might take for simple surprise. But I know now that any expression Vincent gives is always just a fraction of what roils beneath the surface. A smirk is a laugh, a brief frown is an exclamation of anger, a scowl is a frustrated curse.
A shocked wince is a gasp of pain.
With the spark between us, with the unspoken line we've drawn down the middle of our friendship, there has come a kind a trust. Careful of the attraction, careful with the knowledge that we are both recovering. A trust I have not only broken without justification, but have broken right in front of him. No claim to each other, but we know what is there.
Oh God, Lily, you were right. I should have explained first.
Vincent, I'm sorry, let me explain...
Like the stereotype of a man who has grown up in the self-involved atmosphere of a wealthy family, Eike seems impervious to the sudden suffocating tension in the air and he pulls away from me with a broad smile to hold out a hand to Vincent. "Hi, Eike Claviston."
Vincent glances at Eike for a moment and then drops his eyes, and his expression is no longer anything but unreadable. He pushes past us with a barely mumbled, "Excuse me." Eike, I notice, gives an odd smile as if he isn't sure whether or not to be offended by the brush-off, and then he looks at me with a small scoff of breath as if to say, 'What's his problem?'
I don't want to explain. I don't want Eike to be here anymore. I don't ever want to see him again. I smile and shrug and tell him I'll talk to him later. I accept his renewed grin and the departing kiss on my fingers, and then I go inside and try not to throw up on Lily's kitchen floor.
Lily is folding her laundry in the cold, cement basement. I step up beside her without a word and start to help her. I hope she doesn't notice how my hands are trembling.
I'm surprised at how automatically the details of the afternoon come out of my mouth when Lily asks, while my mind is actually upstairs with Vincent, wondering if and how I might be able to fix this. He's going to be angry, and he's going to be hurt, and he's going to pretend that he's not feeling anything. And I'm not sure what I'll do if he wants to walk away and ignore me. Shout? Accuse him of jealousy? Just let him go?
Maybe appeal to the part of him that has enjoyed our friendship so far...?
"Tifa. Tifa. Stop a sec."
I interrupt myself to realize that Lily has probably been trying to get my attention for several moments. "What is it?"
Lily shakes her head a little and raises an eyebrow, halfway through folding a faded blue towel I recognize from her bathroom. "You're telling me about this date like someone forced you to go. What's wrong? What happened?"
Of course she would know something is wrong. She always knows. I finger the pocket of a purple sweater she once let me wear, unable to admit my shame to her face. "Vincent was coming out the door when Eike was dropping me off. He saw us kissing."
Lily, I notice, opens her mouth a little as if she wants to say something, but then she turns back to the towel, deftly flipping it forward until it's a tidy rectangle. And she sighs a little as she puts it down on top of her growing pile of clean laundry, smoothing out a wrinkle I can't see. "And what'd you say to him?"
"Nothing. What was I supposed to say? Eike was standing right there." I shouldn't be trying to justify it, as if it somehow isn't my fault. If I'm truthful with myself, I have to admit that it wasn't really because Eike was standing there that I didn't say anything. I'm bad with confrontations and sometimes I'll put them off as long as possible. Even if it was my procrastinating that helped to ruin things with Cloud. I get so damn afraid of being hurt, and that only risks more pain...
I'm almost surprised when Lily doesn't get angry. She just plucks a pair of loose yellow jogging pants out of the dryer and starts to shake them free of static. "Well, maybe it's better to give him a little time. Right about one thing, he needs to realize that you're not settled like he is, like I am. You've still got a lot of life in you, and he can't expect things to stay the way he wants, just because he wants them to. You want to find love, to have a family; good things to want. And he's got to let you."
I wish her words were making me feel better, but they aren't. I don't feel right about anything at all. I don't want Eike; I want Vincent. I don't want an extravagant life and a family and big house and lots of money; I want Vincent, and I want to live quietly for awhile and just be happy. "I still have to talk to him."
"Well, yeah, I hope you still do." She gives me a lopsided smile and gently squeezes my arm. "But maybe give him a little time. You can prob'ly talk to him tonight when he walks you home."
That will be after supper, and our usual card games. "What if he doesn't want to walk me home?" I say it with a sort of chuckle, though the thought is anything but funny.
Lily turns back to the pants she's holding and starts to fold them. "I wouldn't worry about that, Tifa." She's smiling a little. "His protective streak'll win out over the stubborn part of him that wants to be angry."
And I know she's right. Once you know what motivates him, Vincent is actually pretty predictable.
Though I'm still a little surprised when he actually comes down into Lily's kitchen to eat with us as if nothing's changed. He doesn't speak to us, though. And it is a very quiet poker night. Just the clink of the gil in the pot, the sound of Lily cursing occasionally to herself, and the rustle of me squirming uncomfortably in my chair. Somewhere around seven o'clock, Vincent folds (I have never seen him fold) and gets up from the table, saying something about going to bed. I feel like I should object, but I keep my mouth shut. Okay, Vincent, okay. I know. And I'll probably just spend the night on Lily's couch.
But Lily, bless her heart, has never been one to keep her mouth shut. "Will you walk Tifa home first, Vince?"
He turns back to the table and I see his version of a frown flash briefly over his face as he stares at Lily. But she only looks back at him innocently with her eyebrows raised. Though I doubt she's fooling him; she always knows what she's doing. And after a moment, he drops his eyes with a sigh. "Of course."
It's raining again. Lily has lent me her umbrella. I want to offer it to Vincent, so that he can carry it over the both of us so we both stay dry, but I already know he won't take it. He's walking along the street, a foot or so from the curb, and about three feet from me. Just close enough to still be considered walking 'with' me, and just far enough away to dissuade me from talking. And he won't voluntarily come any closer. Damn him. But it's my fault, I remind myself. I wish I knew how to start.
It was raining, too, the first time it came to me that I might be falling in love with him. Do you remember, Vincent? You offered to accompany me, to help me carry my groceries. The first big load of food in my apartment, and I was so relieved to have the help. And when we were leaving the store, you saw that it was raining and you bought a paper. I didn't understand why until you held it out for me to take, holding out your other hand for some of the bags I was carrying. 'Over your head,' you explained. And I hesitated.
Not like Cloud. Cloud wouldn't have offered, he would have just done, and then because he'd just assumed I needed the help I would've gotten upset. And then *he* would've gotten upset and it would've been a big deal. With you, Vincent, if I'd said no, and meant it, you wouldn't have gotten angry. You would've simply accepted it and we would've walked home. No hard feelings.
The rain was dripping off your nose, the ends of your hair, trembling on your eyelashes. And you have such nice, long eyelashes, I'd never noticed before.
We arrive at the door to my building, and I still haven't said a thing. I pull out my keys with unsteady fingers and try to find the right one for the door. I sense it when Vincent turns to walk away, having safely delivered me home.
And I know this is my last chance. After this, it will be even harder to talk to him. I take a breath and gather the scattered wisps of my courage.
Maybe I can't fight for your love, Vincent, but I can fight for your friendship. I don't think I could stand it if we parted this way. And, truthfully, I don't think you could either.
"Wait, Vincent."
I don't turn, and I can't tell if he's stopped.
"We need to talk." I swallow the lump in my throat that is threatening to make my voice crack. "But let's get out of this rain."
I risk a glance over my shoulder. He's there, standing a few feet away with his back to me, staring out into the night.
"Come upstairs with me, Vincent. Just for a few minutes." Please, I want to add. Please, if our friendship has meant anything to you, please come upstairs. I need to explain, and apologize; maybe we can still salvage this.
I'm half expecting him just to start walking away. He's angry at me, and I'm sure it would serve me right to have him ignore me for the rest of my life. But things will never be comfortable again if he does that, and he must know it. I can practically feel everything teetering on the edge of the chasm that has suddenly cropped up between us.
The terrible waiting seems to last for hours before he finally turns around to me, and I nearly breath a sigh of relief. Though as he gets closer I realize he isn't looking at me.
But that doesn't matter, I tell myself as I unlock the door and slip inside, holding it open for him as I struggle to close the umbrella. He's willing to listen, and despite how resentfully stubborn he can be sometimes, he is a reasonable man. We can come to an understanding, I know we can.
At least, I hope I know we can.
* * *
One more part left. Yup. Now I have to eat breakfast and go to work. Thanks for reviews!
Illuminating the Dark -- Part Three
by: thelittletree
* * *
His name is Richard. Richard Jr., actually, but everyone calls him Eike. It makes for less confusion around the dinner table, he jokes as he sweeps my fingers up to his lips in a gesture so fluid and natural it feels like I was expecting it. And then he holds my hand. A simple, subtle tactic, and I'll admit that I'm impressed. And gratified. He will pursue me with all of the charm and grace of the cultured masses, and maybe I won't even remember that he's a complete stranger.
He buys me a drooping straw hat, even though the sky is cloudy and the forecast is predicting rain, and entertains me with exaggeratedly thoughtful expressions as he adjusts it on my head. An excuse to touch the skin of my neck, I think, as he deftly makes a bow out of the ribbon under my chin. We share a drink like old friends or new lovers and find the park without the help of the sunshine. I haven't been here before, but I think I would've stood out as a single woman in a green, flowery world of couples. I'm glad now that Eike is holding my hand. I belong here in this social universe again. I am a young woman, carefree as if my greatest problems have never been more complicated than deciding what lusty suitor to go out with or what make-up flatters my skin.
I can laugh and pretend this is the real me. It feels good. Nothing here reminds me of the past, even if this is Nibelheim, and I can almost believe I might be able to forget forever.
I tell him light-hearted stories about my childhood, but I don't tell him I grew up here before the fire. I tell him vague stories about my friends, but don't say anything about Avalanche. I describe my father, but I don't tell him that my parents are dead and I'm the only Lockhart of my line left. And then I turn his questions around on him, and he's only too pleased to court me with witty conversation about his father the business-man, his stuffy childhood in Junon, and his experiences with a Cosmo Canyon education. Even when he talks about the time during Meteor, he describes it like painting flames with pastel colours. A joke about how one of the maids closed all of the curtains so that no one would see the terrifying doom in the sky; a quip about an underground shelter his father had constructed under the house; an anecdote about the number of religious tracts they got in the mail or stuffed into the cracks of the front door.
And I can see he wants to keep me smiling, though it's hard to tell if the rose-coloured picture he's created for me is just for my benefit. Could he really have come through the near-tragedy with so much humour and hope?
It starts to rain; a swift, warm weather swell that catches everyone off-guard. We run for the shelter of a tree amid the startled laughter of the rest of the park. And then, smiling and catching our breath and trying to shake the water out of our eyes, we kiss. As informal as his conversation, soft and careful and permissive. Not the first young, hungry kisses of Cloud; not the heated, gasping uncertainty of Vincent's kiss, somewhere between urgency and desperate control. A kiss that doesn't pretend to be anything else; he likes me, wants to kiss me, so he does and I can pull away or press into him, walk away or continue as half of a pair of people who are simply enjoying themselves.
I'm happy to see that he's grinning, too, when we withdraw. He's not asking for anything, and I imagine he falls in love a couple of times a week. Maybe I would see him again. I'm positive now that it won't go anywhere beyond informal, because if it does I'm sure he'll disappear. But maybe I want informal for now. My heart is an overworked muscle, and all I feel I need is the simple comfort of a hand, a mouth, a glint in the eye of someone who means nothing to me.
Just until I've stopped wishing I had Vincent's hand, mouth, the glint in his eye; until I've stopped looking forward to the evenings where it's just him and me playing poker and he smirks and raises an eyebrow when I ask him what his first impressions of Nibelheim were, or what Shinra was like in the beginning, or if he remembers his parents.
Oh Vincent, you know better than anyone what hell unrequited love is, and you wouldn't wish it on me, would you? I wish you would let me in.
The rain doesn't last long, and then Eike walks me back to Lily's at my request. I'm not completely sure I want him to know where I live yet, I admit, and I already know Lily is going to want a fully-detailed report of my afternoon. We slow at the step and I turn to him, unable to keep the smile off of my face. He is good-looking, and his mood is so contagious. I really can't help hoping that he doesn't find out who I am, what I've been through, for a long time.
"I had a lot of fun, Eike," I tell him, the perfunctory words of the first date. "Thank you for the hat, and the park."
"Even if it rained?" He flicks the hat affectionately so he can see my face better.
"Especially because it rained. Rain is romantic."
He grins and sweeps a thumb under my chin, over the bow. "I'm glad you had fun. Maybe we should do this again."
"Definitely."
He doesn't ask with words, he just leans forward and lets me move into the kiss. Perhaps it is forgivable that I'm not thinking about his lips this time, already in Lily's kitchen in my mind and trying to choose the words I'll use to tell her about my date. And perhaps it is forgivable that I'm not thinking that this kiss, this pleasant, meaningless little kiss, might have any repercussions.
Perhaps it is forgivable. But I'm not sure I can forgive my own stupidity at assuming anything when Lily's door opens suddenly and Vincent nearly collides with the two of us.
He has just come back from the hunt, I'm positive, still dressed in his long coat and hiking boots, his hair tied back and hidden under his collar. But I can only acknowledge this peripherally; at this moment I'm sure nothing in the world could take my horrified gaze from his face. The momentary flash of rigid shock in his eyes, the slight tightening of the lines around his mouth, between his eyebrows -- things anyone else might take for simple surprise. But I know now that any expression Vincent gives is always just a fraction of what roils beneath the surface. A smirk is a laugh, a brief frown is an exclamation of anger, a scowl is a frustrated curse.
A shocked wince is a gasp of pain.
With the spark between us, with the unspoken line we've drawn down the middle of our friendship, there has come a kind a trust. Careful of the attraction, careful with the knowledge that we are both recovering. A trust I have not only broken without justification, but have broken right in front of him. No claim to each other, but we know what is there.
Oh God, Lily, you were right. I should have explained first.
Vincent, I'm sorry, let me explain...
Like the stereotype of a man who has grown up in the self-involved atmosphere of a wealthy family, Eike seems impervious to the sudden suffocating tension in the air and he pulls away from me with a broad smile to hold out a hand to Vincent. "Hi, Eike Claviston."
Vincent glances at Eike for a moment and then drops his eyes, and his expression is no longer anything but unreadable. He pushes past us with a barely mumbled, "Excuse me." Eike, I notice, gives an odd smile as if he isn't sure whether or not to be offended by the brush-off, and then he looks at me with a small scoff of breath as if to say, 'What's his problem?'
I don't want to explain. I don't want Eike to be here anymore. I don't ever want to see him again. I smile and shrug and tell him I'll talk to him later. I accept his renewed grin and the departing kiss on my fingers, and then I go inside and try not to throw up on Lily's kitchen floor.
Lily is folding her laundry in the cold, cement basement. I step up beside her without a word and start to help her. I hope she doesn't notice how my hands are trembling.
I'm surprised at how automatically the details of the afternoon come out of my mouth when Lily asks, while my mind is actually upstairs with Vincent, wondering if and how I might be able to fix this. He's going to be angry, and he's going to be hurt, and he's going to pretend that he's not feeling anything. And I'm not sure what I'll do if he wants to walk away and ignore me. Shout? Accuse him of jealousy? Just let him go?
Maybe appeal to the part of him that has enjoyed our friendship so far...?
"Tifa. Tifa. Stop a sec."
I interrupt myself to realize that Lily has probably been trying to get my attention for several moments. "What is it?"
Lily shakes her head a little and raises an eyebrow, halfway through folding a faded blue towel I recognize from her bathroom. "You're telling me about this date like someone forced you to go. What's wrong? What happened?"
Of course she would know something is wrong. She always knows. I finger the pocket of a purple sweater she once let me wear, unable to admit my shame to her face. "Vincent was coming out the door when Eike was dropping me off. He saw us kissing."
Lily, I notice, opens her mouth a little as if she wants to say something, but then she turns back to the towel, deftly flipping it forward until it's a tidy rectangle. And she sighs a little as she puts it down on top of her growing pile of clean laundry, smoothing out a wrinkle I can't see. "And what'd you say to him?"
"Nothing. What was I supposed to say? Eike was standing right there." I shouldn't be trying to justify it, as if it somehow isn't my fault. If I'm truthful with myself, I have to admit that it wasn't really because Eike was standing there that I didn't say anything. I'm bad with confrontations and sometimes I'll put them off as long as possible. Even if it was my procrastinating that helped to ruin things with Cloud. I get so damn afraid of being hurt, and that only risks more pain...
I'm almost surprised when Lily doesn't get angry. She just plucks a pair of loose yellow jogging pants out of the dryer and starts to shake them free of static. "Well, maybe it's better to give him a little time. Right about one thing, he needs to realize that you're not settled like he is, like I am. You've still got a lot of life in you, and he can't expect things to stay the way he wants, just because he wants them to. You want to find love, to have a family; good things to want. And he's got to let you."
I wish her words were making me feel better, but they aren't. I don't feel right about anything at all. I don't want Eike; I want Vincent. I don't want an extravagant life and a family and big house and lots of money; I want Vincent, and I want to live quietly for awhile and just be happy. "I still have to talk to him."
"Well, yeah, I hope you still do." She gives me a lopsided smile and gently squeezes my arm. "But maybe give him a little time. You can prob'ly talk to him tonight when he walks you home."
That will be after supper, and our usual card games. "What if he doesn't want to walk me home?" I say it with a sort of chuckle, though the thought is anything but funny.
Lily turns back to the pants she's holding and starts to fold them. "I wouldn't worry about that, Tifa." She's smiling a little. "His protective streak'll win out over the stubborn part of him that wants to be angry."
And I know she's right. Once you know what motivates him, Vincent is actually pretty predictable.
Though I'm still a little surprised when he actually comes down into Lily's kitchen to eat with us as if nothing's changed. He doesn't speak to us, though. And it is a very quiet poker night. Just the clink of the gil in the pot, the sound of Lily cursing occasionally to herself, and the rustle of me squirming uncomfortably in my chair. Somewhere around seven o'clock, Vincent folds (I have never seen him fold) and gets up from the table, saying something about going to bed. I feel like I should object, but I keep my mouth shut. Okay, Vincent, okay. I know. And I'll probably just spend the night on Lily's couch.
But Lily, bless her heart, has never been one to keep her mouth shut. "Will you walk Tifa home first, Vince?"
He turns back to the table and I see his version of a frown flash briefly over his face as he stares at Lily. But she only looks back at him innocently with her eyebrows raised. Though I doubt she's fooling him; she always knows what she's doing. And after a moment, he drops his eyes with a sigh. "Of course."
It's raining again. Lily has lent me her umbrella. I want to offer it to Vincent, so that he can carry it over the both of us so we both stay dry, but I already know he won't take it. He's walking along the street, a foot or so from the curb, and about three feet from me. Just close enough to still be considered walking 'with' me, and just far enough away to dissuade me from talking. And he won't voluntarily come any closer. Damn him. But it's my fault, I remind myself. I wish I knew how to start.
It was raining, too, the first time it came to me that I might be falling in love with him. Do you remember, Vincent? You offered to accompany me, to help me carry my groceries. The first big load of food in my apartment, and I was so relieved to have the help. And when we were leaving the store, you saw that it was raining and you bought a paper. I didn't understand why until you held it out for me to take, holding out your other hand for some of the bags I was carrying. 'Over your head,' you explained. And I hesitated.
Not like Cloud. Cloud wouldn't have offered, he would have just done, and then because he'd just assumed I needed the help I would've gotten upset. And then *he* would've gotten upset and it would've been a big deal. With you, Vincent, if I'd said no, and meant it, you wouldn't have gotten angry. You would've simply accepted it and we would've walked home. No hard feelings.
The rain was dripping off your nose, the ends of your hair, trembling on your eyelashes. And you have such nice, long eyelashes, I'd never noticed before.
We arrive at the door to my building, and I still haven't said a thing. I pull out my keys with unsteady fingers and try to find the right one for the door. I sense it when Vincent turns to walk away, having safely delivered me home.
And I know this is my last chance. After this, it will be even harder to talk to him. I take a breath and gather the scattered wisps of my courage.
Maybe I can't fight for your love, Vincent, but I can fight for your friendship. I don't think I could stand it if we parted this way. And, truthfully, I don't think you could either.
"Wait, Vincent."
I don't turn, and I can't tell if he's stopped.
"We need to talk." I swallow the lump in my throat that is threatening to make my voice crack. "But let's get out of this rain."
I risk a glance over my shoulder. He's there, standing a few feet away with his back to me, staring out into the night.
"Come upstairs with me, Vincent. Just for a few minutes." Please, I want to add. Please, if our friendship has meant anything to you, please come upstairs. I need to explain, and apologize; maybe we can still salvage this.
I'm half expecting him just to start walking away. He's angry at me, and I'm sure it would serve me right to have him ignore me for the rest of my life. But things will never be comfortable again if he does that, and he must know it. I can practically feel everything teetering on the edge of the chasm that has suddenly cropped up between us.
The terrible waiting seems to last for hours before he finally turns around to me, and I nearly breath a sigh of relief. Though as he gets closer I realize he isn't looking at me.
But that doesn't matter, I tell myself as I unlock the door and slip inside, holding it open for him as I struggle to close the umbrella. He's willing to listen, and despite how resentfully stubborn he can be sometimes, he is a reasonable man. We can come to an understanding, I know we can.
At least, I hope I know we can.
* * *
One more part left. Yup. Now I have to eat breakfast and go to work. Thanks for reviews!