//"Do you dream?"
"Of course, everyone dreams."
"What do you dream about?"
". . .I can never remember."
"You're lying. I know when you lie because you always hesitate. I can tell that you don't want to. . . I never knew you were so morally upright."
"I'm not. Only with you."
"Then what do you dream about?"
"I'd have thought by now you would have established the fact that maybe I would not like to share exactly what it is I dream about."
"I'd have thought that by now we were close enough that you could tell me. You know I love you, and you know that I'm not going to hurt you."
"But aren't you?"
" . . .Why would you say that?"
"I know you wont intend to. But I know you will, somehow."
"How do you know?"
"I just do. Something in the back of my mind tells me you will. But that doesn't mean I want to be apart from you. You're the only one I could ever possibly care for. I don't want us to hurt each other."
"Then we wont. We don't have to. But we need to be open with each other."
"Everyone has their secrets. I've got mine and you've got yours. Some things are better left unsaid."
"You're stubborn."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know."//
I panic for only a moment; a pure human response to a potentially dangerous situation. I feel my fevered eyelids slide open and I cannot see anything. I wonder briefly if I've gone blind. There is no sound, no breath of wind . . .nothing. I strain my eyes to see through the formidable darkness, but there is nothing to be seen. I forget where I am and why I'm here and what I'm here for. Of course that doesn't last long though. Memory swamps my mind like a flash flood, unpredicted and potentially deadly. I remember everything that I've done or might have done. I remember killing Sephiroth. I remember that Vincent was sitting at the foot of the bad when I went to sleep. I hazarded a question, praying for an answer. "You there Vincent?" I keep my voice soft; almost afraid that, if Vincent were not there, someone might think I'm talking to myself. As if it really mattered.
"Yes, Cloud. I'm still here."
I exhale in relief and note that my body does not ache as badly as it did before. Now I am weak though, so incredibly weak. I don't think I could move for anything. My head aches so that I feel as if the very walls of the northern crater have tumbled down upon me. "The lights are off?"
"Yes Cloud."
He turns toward me and I see the glow of his eyes, bright in the otherwise pitch-black room. Can my eyes illuminate space like that? Sephiroth's eyes did. I think that one time he and Zack were lost in the woods and they used Sephiroth's eyes when the batteries in the flashlight died. I'm too tired to cry at the memory. But then again every time I think that tears have evaded me, I find new things to mourn over and new losses discovered. I can always cry. At the very thought my throat aches in anticipation to the endless sobs that I know will reclaim me if I let them. Distraction. I need escape, release. Tears cannot accent my grief. Both Heaven and Hell know well enough of my bereavement. Vincent knows that my soul is dying from the loss of my angel. So whom do I need to cry for? What purpose does it serve? "Did you manage to sleep at all Vincent?" Gods I sound weak. I might as well be dead already.
"No, Cloud. But don't worry, I can get by with a few days of lost sleep."
"Don't make yourself ill or uncomfortable on my behalf, Vincent. It's not as if I'm-"
"Of course you're worth it, Cloud. Don't ever think that you're not."
His reaction startles me and leaves me speechless. The vehemence in his voice is almost as if he . . . perhaps he . . . cares about . . . me? No. I must be more delusional than I thought. It's only because he knows what I'm feeling. He has it inside him. The feelings of worthlessness and woe. My very own personal monster that grows inside me is not unlike the demons that were spawned within him. I wonder if Hojo intended him to be that way, or if Vincent's transformations are a manifestation of how he views himself. Maybe I'll turn into a monster someday too. I like the thought. The idea of me crawling around in a puddle of stagnant slime in a rotting cave. The notion that one day I might do nothing but weep and snatch bugs out from underneath my own fermenting body so that I might feast on them. Somehow I want this, and somehow the whole thing is very funny.
"Cloud?"
I realize that I was laughing . . . /laughing!/ It's been ages since I've laughed. As bitter and maniacal as it is I am actually laughing. I stop though, as Vincent is gazing at me, his eyes rich with concern. "What?"
He pauses. I know he wants an explanation and I'm not willing to give it. I'll laugh at my masochism whenever I like, and no one has to ever know why. His eyes peer at me through the darkness. He looks sad. "Where do you want to leave to? It's nearly nightfall."
Oh yes, we're leaving. I can't wait. I need to be away from the others because they'll never leave me alone and they will never understand. But where /are/ we going? Somewhere swampy and cave-like, I hope. A dark dingy place where no one will ever find me. There are lots of places like that around, I know because I've seen them. But why can't I think of any? "Where can we go where no one will find us?" I think briefly that the mythril mines might accommodate me well. There are enough mako-enhanced mosquitoes to feed me for quite some time, and I could sludge around in the dark and shout and keen and moan. But since Midgar is destroyed there are travelers on their way to Junon, and they would harass me, just like the people I thought were my friends did. Sadly the caves that we went materia hunting in are actually somewhat beautiful. Sandy and well lit with enough mako deposits to give it a quiet glow. None of them suit me.
"What about the Frog Forest?"
It's as if he reads my mind. . He used to do that. Know what I was thinking even if my back was turned and I hadn't said a word. I remember the small ways He would try to comfort me if He knew I was feeling sad, brushing his gloved knuckles against the small of my back or a light and nondescript kiss behind my ear. And I remember the ways He always knew when I was lying to Him. He never said anything about that. He would just look at me with such a horrible hurt that no one else would ever see. That look made me want to stay with Him forever and to never hurt Him again. But I always did, and I always did again. I wonder now if I was more hurt than good. Of course, He would lie too, but it never hurt. When He lied it was simply to evade questions He did not wish to answer. He was loyal to me and I never questioned His fidelity, nor was I able to find fault in His love for me. Yet, He always was an enigma to me.
"Cloud?"
I shake my head and blink my eyes. What had he just said? "Oh, Frog Forest." My first reaction is a strong, resounding 'NO!' So many trees and little happy hopping things and brightness and other things that I can't stand. But then in the back, there is that cave where I found my Apocalypse. Yes. It's not as slimy as I might have hoped for, but it's definitely dark and out of the way. And the brightness outside does have its advantages. With everything outside so sweet, then my prison inside will seem all the more wretched. "Maybe . . . that might work." And indeed it might. I can't help but wonder about the remainder of the northern crater though. If I was there, I could /never/ ever escape my sins. The very existence of that place is a reminder of just how stained my hands are, of how stained /I/ am. There would be no ounce of comfort and absolutely no escape from my penance. It is exactly what I deserve. "What about the crater?"
His eyes snap up at me and glow a deeper red than I'm used to. I know the look in his eyes because I've seen it so many times. But never on him, his eyes were /never/ like that. He is afraid. There is an inexplicable terror in those blood red eyes. The glow of his eyes lights his face with soft shadows and every line of his countenance is grave, adamant in his resolves. He doesn't wish to go there. But then it's not as if he has to stay. "Nostalgic?"
Fear changes to anger and just as quickly his eyes reveal nothing. No emotion. ShinRa elitists were like that. They were gargoyles in more ways than one. One moment they were creatures of flesh and blood and malice, the next they were simply rock and granite and malice. They could all turn their eyes to stone at any given moment and at any given whim. Garnets stare back at me as I think this; fire opals. Beautifully striking in ways that compel nearly everyone, but no one could ever tell what the jewels were thinking or how they felt. Sometimes it was better that way.
"No Cloud."
He's thinking of an excuse.
"The area around the crater is unstable. Everything could collapse at any given moment."
"So?" There are still pieces of Zack in me. The boy from Nibelheim was never this stubborn or this prideful or this stupid. Do I really want to die? Is that what I deserve or would that simply be too just for someone who has sinned as I have? I realize belatedly that Vincent is lying to me. The crater already did collapse. There's nothing left to be unstable. "I'll just go by myself." I say this only to see what his response will be. After all, he might just leave me somewhere anyways and . . . As much as I hate myself for it I /need/ to be with another human. I can't be alone, not anymore.
"I wont let you Cloud."
"And who are you to govern my life?" I lift my head as much as I can and I have to feign anger.
The glow disappears slowly as he bows his head and strands of hair fall before his eyes like black cobwebs black lit by bloody lights. There is a soft tapping as his the fingers of his claw dance along the wooden post of the bed. I can't help but be prideful over the fact that I can influence him so much. He is a stone to most people, unmoving and unspeaking, no emotion whatsoever. Even the slight tapping of fingers that would be normal and characteristic of most people demonstrates only a nervousness and indecision in him. I wonder why he doesn't try to hide it.
"Shall I be honest with you Cloud? Or shall I tell you what you want to hear?"
His question catches me off guard and I'm forced to contemplate his words. My powers of reason seem fuzzy and atrophied. All I know now is that after everything that I've been through, after every charade I've put myself through and after so many people kept secrets from me, honesty is something that should never be taken for granted. Lies lead to delusion and secrets lead to distrust. I cannot afford to delude myself again. I'll go completely insane then. Who knows, I might even try to take over the world. And I want . . . I want to trust Vincent, I really do. "Tell me the truth Vincent."
I hear him inhale slowly and deeply. His eyes close as he releases the air from his lungs. "Very well. I never intended for this to happen and I tried to fight it. But there is a hidden sentiment that lingers in me that I cannot deny. I care for you in a sense that I do not understand . . ."
He pauses and all I can think is that he's trying to justify what he means. I don't understand either.
"Perhaps there is something in your anguish that goes deeper than mine. I'm not exactly sure. But I know that I want to help you. It may be futile to try and relieve you of your grief, but I sense that there are other demons at work in your mind. I want to rid you of those and I will do anything within my power to do so. Am I making any sense?"
It takes me a moment to respond, as I can't really process all that he's just divulged. Did he say that he cares for me? He wants to help me? "Yes," I answer dumbly. "I mean no." A want to rub my temples to ease the imminent headache seething in the back of my head but I'm too tired to lift my arms. "What do you mean you care for me?" I sound annoyed and afraid all at once.
"I care about you. It's as simple as that."
There are many different levels of caring. I cared for Zack as a brother, and I cared about Tifa and my mother because I felt like I had to. I cared for Aeris because I thought I was someone else. And then there are some things that I care about simply because I need them, like I care for my Ultima Weapon. And there was Sephiroth, whom I cared for on so many levels it hurt . . . it hurt then and it hurts even more so now. But what does all that have to do with Vincent? A derisive scoff drips off my lips like poison. "You care for me? How so Vincent? Is it as if I'm a wounded animal and you want to help me out of sheer pity?"
Not even the slightest of pauses before his response. "In a sense, yes."
I open my eyes, never realizing that they had closed, and gaze up at him through the blackness. If there was one thing I liked about Vincent it was his bluntness, a brutal honesty completely unmatched. I laugh again, a resonating cruelty that I can no longer disguise or deny. Pity is what keeps him here with me now. Pity is what makes him stay awake at my side for hour upon hour. I'm sure pity is what keeps him from detesting me completely. But then . . . maybe that's not just it. I realize how similar we really are, and I realize that in this similarity, we both need to find ways to remind us how awful we really are. Vincent blames himself for /everything/ that happened. Not just Hojo and not just Lucrecia, but also the more recent past and, indeed, the present. I stare into his eyes that are completely unguarded as he is trying to be honest with me. There is a pain and sadness there that is just shy of matching my own. He feels like my pain is /his/ fault; that he could have stopped me and stopped Sephiroth and redeemed himself of his sins by doing so. "Vincent," the bitterness in my voice is gone and I sound like a child even to myself. "You know that none of this was your fault. There was no escaping what happened. Jenova had her claws so far in Him that it would have taken years to get them out. We didn't have years. We had mere /minutes/ before everything went to hell. Sephiroth . . . there was no way we could have made Him see in time. And the others, they wouldn't tolerate it anyways. Everyone /hated/ Sephiroth. There was no way we could have helped Him."
"But what about you?"
I close my eyes again as if the action will stop me from crying. It, surprisingly, does. I inhale deeply to try and stable myself. "When He died a part of me died as well. The only part left of me that was human, that was even remotely capable of caring is go-" I stop talking because he's laughing. The reasons why he is laughing are unimportant to me right now because not once did I ever hear Sephiroth laugh . . .not even /once/. It was rare for Him even to /smile/. But this sound now, so soft yet so /genuine/ . . . I know this is the way Sephiroth would have laughed. Ecstasy overcomes me as I imagine that Sephiroth is sitting at my side and laughing, euphony in the midst of hell.
The memory overcomes me before I can try to push it back to the recesses of my mind. One time when I almost made Him laugh. I sat at the edge of the bed and He was undressing for the night. It was three in the morning and He had just finished an exceptionally large stack of paperwork. I recall that I would sit by His desk more so to make sure the precariously leaning tower of paper didn't spill all over the floor than for His support. The stack of paper cast a shadow over His face and while I sat there, I thought of metaphors and poetry about how the ShinRa were masking Him and smothering Him. Then in the bedroom with His back turned to me as His shirt dropped to the floor, revealing flawless skin over an amazingly muscular physique. I let my eyes wander over His body, taking in the tired shadows and the less than prefect posture. His mouth was pressed into a disdainful frown. He was frustrated . . . and He wanted me. There was always that need for Him to somehow vent his anger and I let Him use me as a way. He never hurt me; He just needed the distraction and the adrenaline to make Him forget. He was tired though, circles of exhaustion under His eyes and to me it seemed like a crime to mar such perfection. He would never ask me, and I could see Him looking at me from the corner of His eye with a weary exhausted need, hoping I would catch the look and offer myself to Him. But He looked /so/ tired and He had to be awake in two hours as it was. So I could either let Him sleep for a few desperately needed moments or keep Him awake with a few hours of animal sex. I opted for the former. I smiled sadly at Him, knowing exactly what He was thinking and told Him that it might be a good idea if we got some sleep. There was nothing about His exterior that would portray the fact that He was disappointed, and I'm sure that I was the only person (maybe . . . maybe it was Zack) that ever had any idea what was going on in that brilliant mind. He /really/ wanted me. I told him to relax and He finished undressing and lay down on the bed beside me. I still remember how at that exact moment His strong lithe form slid beside me with all the grace of a black panther. Nothing ever again could possible attain such perfect grace. And I remember the fleeting look He gave me, His eyes perusing my body and there was need there. His fingers flexed slightly in anticipation to touch and there was passion there. However, even in the few minutes since He entered the room His fatigue had somehow grown. I told Him to sleep and that we were both probably too tired anyways. My words sounded unconvincing even to me. Therefore, I told Him to try to think of a distraction. He gave me a look that said 'Distraction? Like what?' I could read Him so easily when He wanted me to. We could have entire conversations and He would never have to say a word. I explained various distractions, pretend there's an earthquake, or imagine that the ground is covered in spiders. He looked unimpressed and unconvinced. I told Him to imagine Palmer giving Heidegger a lap dance. His beautiful eyes widened then just a fraction and those full, austere lips curved into a smile that even the blindest could see. He shook His head and His hair fell over His eyes and He /grinned/. Perfect ivory flashing in the dim light of the room as a no doubt hideously graphic image unfolded in His mind. He gave an involuntary shiver and sighed before He threw an arm around me in the most affectionate gesture I would ever receive from Him. I swallow hard as I realize that no one will ever be able to hear Him laugh ever, including me. But Vincent? Has anyone ever heard Him laugh? The sound stops all too soon.
"I apologize, Cloud. But I remember a time when I thought the exact same thing. When Lucrecia died I thought that I was incapable of feeling anything, but you proved me wrong."
The first thing I notice is that Vincent does not pause before speaking Lucrecia's name and I scorn him inwardly for such lack of reverence. But wait . . . did he say that /I/ proved him wrong? /I/ was the one who delivered him from his convictions that he was worthless and inhuman? But I didn't even do anything. I'm not sure whether I'm happy or sad for him. I know that if anyone ever made me forget Sephiroth or made me regard Him in any less worship and guilt as I do now that I would /hate/ them for taking away my love. But then, it must be nice to be able to live again, to know that there is still something left out there worth being alive for. Because he is sitting here with me now, I assume that he is happy to finally overcome his bereavement. If he's happy then I have no reason to feel sorry for him. I feel guilt seep into my mind and I cannot push that away either. If /I/ was the one who destroyed his love for Lucrecia then I have no right to cast him aside and no right to even think about thwarting exactly what it is that he's offering me.
I feel like my mind has collapsed. I know only physical facts. My neck is twisted in an uncomfortable way and my arms feel like lead weights. I know that the mattress sags a little under Vincent's weight. But I still don't get why he's here and why he's telling me all these things and what they're supposed to mean to me or how Sephiroth fits in with all of this. Instinct though . . . during times when you cannot trust your mind, you must rely on instinct. All that my primal senses tell me as that Vincent exudes a quiet kindness and gentle need. But do I deserve that? Does he deserve it? Does it matter? Does my happiness even matter?
"Alright. Frog Forest it is."
"Thank you, Cloud."
"Of course, everyone dreams."
"What do you dream about?"
". . .I can never remember."
"You're lying. I know when you lie because you always hesitate. I can tell that you don't want to. . . I never knew you were so morally upright."
"I'm not. Only with you."
"Then what do you dream about?"
"I'd have thought by now you would have established the fact that maybe I would not like to share exactly what it is I dream about."
"I'd have thought that by now we were close enough that you could tell me. You know I love you, and you know that I'm not going to hurt you."
"But aren't you?"
" . . .Why would you say that?"
"I know you wont intend to. But I know you will, somehow."
"How do you know?"
"I just do. Something in the back of my mind tells me you will. But that doesn't mean I want to be apart from you. You're the only one I could ever possibly care for. I don't want us to hurt each other."
"Then we wont. We don't have to. But we need to be open with each other."
"Everyone has their secrets. I've got mine and you've got yours. Some things are better left unsaid."
"You're stubborn."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know."//
I panic for only a moment; a pure human response to a potentially dangerous situation. I feel my fevered eyelids slide open and I cannot see anything. I wonder briefly if I've gone blind. There is no sound, no breath of wind . . .nothing. I strain my eyes to see through the formidable darkness, but there is nothing to be seen. I forget where I am and why I'm here and what I'm here for. Of course that doesn't last long though. Memory swamps my mind like a flash flood, unpredicted and potentially deadly. I remember everything that I've done or might have done. I remember killing Sephiroth. I remember that Vincent was sitting at the foot of the bad when I went to sleep. I hazarded a question, praying for an answer. "You there Vincent?" I keep my voice soft; almost afraid that, if Vincent were not there, someone might think I'm talking to myself. As if it really mattered.
"Yes, Cloud. I'm still here."
I exhale in relief and note that my body does not ache as badly as it did before. Now I am weak though, so incredibly weak. I don't think I could move for anything. My head aches so that I feel as if the very walls of the northern crater have tumbled down upon me. "The lights are off?"
"Yes Cloud."
He turns toward me and I see the glow of his eyes, bright in the otherwise pitch-black room. Can my eyes illuminate space like that? Sephiroth's eyes did. I think that one time he and Zack were lost in the woods and they used Sephiroth's eyes when the batteries in the flashlight died. I'm too tired to cry at the memory. But then again every time I think that tears have evaded me, I find new things to mourn over and new losses discovered. I can always cry. At the very thought my throat aches in anticipation to the endless sobs that I know will reclaim me if I let them. Distraction. I need escape, release. Tears cannot accent my grief. Both Heaven and Hell know well enough of my bereavement. Vincent knows that my soul is dying from the loss of my angel. So whom do I need to cry for? What purpose does it serve? "Did you manage to sleep at all Vincent?" Gods I sound weak. I might as well be dead already.
"No, Cloud. But don't worry, I can get by with a few days of lost sleep."
"Don't make yourself ill or uncomfortable on my behalf, Vincent. It's not as if I'm-"
"Of course you're worth it, Cloud. Don't ever think that you're not."
His reaction startles me and leaves me speechless. The vehemence in his voice is almost as if he . . . perhaps he . . . cares about . . . me? No. I must be more delusional than I thought. It's only because he knows what I'm feeling. He has it inside him. The feelings of worthlessness and woe. My very own personal monster that grows inside me is not unlike the demons that were spawned within him. I wonder if Hojo intended him to be that way, or if Vincent's transformations are a manifestation of how he views himself. Maybe I'll turn into a monster someday too. I like the thought. The idea of me crawling around in a puddle of stagnant slime in a rotting cave. The notion that one day I might do nothing but weep and snatch bugs out from underneath my own fermenting body so that I might feast on them. Somehow I want this, and somehow the whole thing is very funny.
"Cloud?"
I realize that I was laughing . . . /laughing!/ It's been ages since I've laughed. As bitter and maniacal as it is I am actually laughing. I stop though, as Vincent is gazing at me, his eyes rich with concern. "What?"
He pauses. I know he wants an explanation and I'm not willing to give it. I'll laugh at my masochism whenever I like, and no one has to ever know why. His eyes peer at me through the darkness. He looks sad. "Where do you want to leave to? It's nearly nightfall."
Oh yes, we're leaving. I can't wait. I need to be away from the others because they'll never leave me alone and they will never understand. But where /are/ we going? Somewhere swampy and cave-like, I hope. A dark dingy place where no one will ever find me. There are lots of places like that around, I know because I've seen them. But why can't I think of any? "Where can we go where no one will find us?" I think briefly that the mythril mines might accommodate me well. There are enough mako-enhanced mosquitoes to feed me for quite some time, and I could sludge around in the dark and shout and keen and moan. But since Midgar is destroyed there are travelers on their way to Junon, and they would harass me, just like the people I thought were my friends did. Sadly the caves that we went materia hunting in are actually somewhat beautiful. Sandy and well lit with enough mako deposits to give it a quiet glow. None of them suit me.
"What about the Frog Forest?"
It's as if he reads my mind. . He used to do that. Know what I was thinking even if my back was turned and I hadn't said a word. I remember the small ways He would try to comfort me if He knew I was feeling sad, brushing his gloved knuckles against the small of my back or a light and nondescript kiss behind my ear. And I remember the ways He always knew when I was lying to Him. He never said anything about that. He would just look at me with such a horrible hurt that no one else would ever see. That look made me want to stay with Him forever and to never hurt Him again. But I always did, and I always did again. I wonder now if I was more hurt than good. Of course, He would lie too, but it never hurt. When He lied it was simply to evade questions He did not wish to answer. He was loyal to me and I never questioned His fidelity, nor was I able to find fault in His love for me. Yet, He always was an enigma to me.
"Cloud?"
I shake my head and blink my eyes. What had he just said? "Oh, Frog Forest." My first reaction is a strong, resounding 'NO!' So many trees and little happy hopping things and brightness and other things that I can't stand. But then in the back, there is that cave where I found my Apocalypse. Yes. It's not as slimy as I might have hoped for, but it's definitely dark and out of the way. And the brightness outside does have its advantages. With everything outside so sweet, then my prison inside will seem all the more wretched. "Maybe . . . that might work." And indeed it might. I can't help but wonder about the remainder of the northern crater though. If I was there, I could /never/ ever escape my sins. The very existence of that place is a reminder of just how stained my hands are, of how stained /I/ am. There would be no ounce of comfort and absolutely no escape from my penance. It is exactly what I deserve. "What about the crater?"
His eyes snap up at me and glow a deeper red than I'm used to. I know the look in his eyes because I've seen it so many times. But never on him, his eyes were /never/ like that. He is afraid. There is an inexplicable terror in those blood red eyes. The glow of his eyes lights his face with soft shadows and every line of his countenance is grave, adamant in his resolves. He doesn't wish to go there. But then it's not as if he has to stay. "Nostalgic?"
Fear changes to anger and just as quickly his eyes reveal nothing. No emotion. ShinRa elitists were like that. They were gargoyles in more ways than one. One moment they were creatures of flesh and blood and malice, the next they were simply rock and granite and malice. They could all turn their eyes to stone at any given moment and at any given whim. Garnets stare back at me as I think this; fire opals. Beautifully striking in ways that compel nearly everyone, but no one could ever tell what the jewels were thinking or how they felt. Sometimes it was better that way.
"No Cloud."
He's thinking of an excuse.
"The area around the crater is unstable. Everything could collapse at any given moment."
"So?" There are still pieces of Zack in me. The boy from Nibelheim was never this stubborn or this prideful or this stupid. Do I really want to die? Is that what I deserve or would that simply be too just for someone who has sinned as I have? I realize belatedly that Vincent is lying to me. The crater already did collapse. There's nothing left to be unstable. "I'll just go by myself." I say this only to see what his response will be. After all, he might just leave me somewhere anyways and . . . As much as I hate myself for it I /need/ to be with another human. I can't be alone, not anymore.
"I wont let you Cloud."
"And who are you to govern my life?" I lift my head as much as I can and I have to feign anger.
The glow disappears slowly as he bows his head and strands of hair fall before his eyes like black cobwebs black lit by bloody lights. There is a soft tapping as his the fingers of his claw dance along the wooden post of the bed. I can't help but be prideful over the fact that I can influence him so much. He is a stone to most people, unmoving and unspeaking, no emotion whatsoever. Even the slight tapping of fingers that would be normal and characteristic of most people demonstrates only a nervousness and indecision in him. I wonder why he doesn't try to hide it.
"Shall I be honest with you Cloud? Or shall I tell you what you want to hear?"
His question catches me off guard and I'm forced to contemplate his words. My powers of reason seem fuzzy and atrophied. All I know now is that after everything that I've been through, after every charade I've put myself through and after so many people kept secrets from me, honesty is something that should never be taken for granted. Lies lead to delusion and secrets lead to distrust. I cannot afford to delude myself again. I'll go completely insane then. Who knows, I might even try to take over the world. And I want . . . I want to trust Vincent, I really do. "Tell me the truth Vincent."
I hear him inhale slowly and deeply. His eyes close as he releases the air from his lungs. "Very well. I never intended for this to happen and I tried to fight it. But there is a hidden sentiment that lingers in me that I cannot deny. I care for you in a sense that I do not understand . . ."
He pauses and all I can think is that he's trying to justify what he means. I don't understand either.
"Perhaps there is something in your anguish that goes deeper than mine. I'm not exactly sure. But I know that I want to help you. It may be futile to try and relieve you of your grief, but I sense that there are other demons at work in your mind. I want to rid you of those and I will do anything within my power to do so. Am I making any sense?"
It takes me a moment to respond, as I can't really process all that he's just divulged. Did he say that he cares for me? He wants to help me? "Yes," I answer dumbly. "I mean no." A want to rub my temples to ease the imminent headache seething in the back of my head but I'm too tired to lift my arms. "What do you mean you care for me?" I sound annoyed and afraid all at once.
"I care about you. It's as simple as that."
There are many different levels of caring. I cared for Zack as a brother, and I cared about Tifa and my mother because I felt like I had to. I cared for Aeris because I thought I was someone else. And then there are some things that I care about simply because I need them, like I care for my Ultima Weapon. And there was Sephiroth, whom I cared for on so many levels it hurt . . . it hurt then and it hurts even more so now. But what does all that have to do with Vincent? A derisive scoff drips off my lips like poison. "You care for me? How so Vincent? Is it as if I'm a wounded animal and you want to help me out of sheer pity?"
Not even the slightest of pauses before his response. "In a sense, yes."
I open my eyes, never realizing that they had closed, and gaze up at him through the blackness. If there was one thing I liked about Vincent it was his bluntness, a brutal honesty completely unmatched. I laugh again, a resonating cruelty that I can no longer disguise or deny. Pity is what keeps him here with me now. Pity is what makes him stay awake at my side for hour upon hour. I'm sure pity is what keeps him from detesting me completely. But then . . . maybe that's not just it. I realize how similar we really are, and I realize that in this similarity, we both need to find ways to remind us how awful we really are. Vincent blames himself for /everything/ that happened. Not just Hojo and not just Lucrecia, but also the more recent past and, indeed, the present. I stare into his eyes that are completely unguarded as he is trying to be honest with me. There is a pain and sadness there that is just shy of matching my own. He feels like my pain is /his/ fault; that he could have stopped me and stopped Sephiroth and redeemed himself of his sins by doing so. "Vincent," the bitterness in my voice is gone and I sound like a child even to myself. "You know that none of this was your fault. There was no escaping what happened. Jenova had her claws so far in Him that it would have taken years to get them out. We didn't have years. We had mere /minutes/ before everything went to hell. Sephiroth . . . there was no way we could have made Him see in time. And the others, they wouldn't tolerate it anyways. Everyone /hated/ Sephiroth. There was no way we could have helped Him."
"But what about you?"
I close my eyes again as if the action will stop me from crying. It, surprisingly, does. I inhale deeply to try and stable myself. "When He died a part of me died as well. The only part left of me that was human, that was even remotely capable of caring is go-" I stop talking because he's laughing. The reasons why he is laughing are unimportant to me right now because not once did I ever hear Sephiroth laugh . . .not even /once/. It was rare for Him even to /smile/. But this sound now, so soft yet so /genuine/ . . . I know this is the way Sephiroth would have laughed. Ecstasy overcomes me as I imagine that Sephiroth is sitting at my side and laughing, euphony in the midst of hell.
The memory overcomes me before I can try to push it back to the recesses of my mind. One time when I almost made Him laugh. I sat at the edge of the bed and He was undressing for the night. It was three in the morning and He had just finished an exceptionally large stack of paperwork. I recall that I would sit by His desk more so to make sure the precariously leaning tower of paper didn't spill all over the floor than for His support. The stack of paper cast a shadow over His face and while I sat there, I thought of metaphors and poetry about how the ShinRa were masking Him and smothering Him. Then in the bedroom with His back turned to me as His shirt dropped to the floor, revealing flawless skin over an amazingly muscular physique. I let my eyes wander over His body, taking in the tired shadows and the less than prefect posture. His mouth was pressed into a disdainful frown. He was frustrated . . . and He wanted me. There was always that need for Him to somehow vent his anger and I let Him use me as a way. He never hurt me; He just needed the distraction and the adrenaline to make Him forget. He was tired though, circles of exhaustion under His eyes and to me it seemed like a crime to mar such perfection. He would never ask me, and I could see Him looking at me from the corner of His eye with a weary exhausted need, hoping I would catch the look and offer myself to Him. But He looked /so/ tired and He had to be awake in two hours as it was. So I could either let Him sleep for a few desperately needed moments or keep Him awake with a few hours of animal sex. I opted for the former. I smiled sadly at Him, knowing exactly what He was thinking and told Him that it might be a good idea if we got some sleep. There was nothing about His exterior that would portray the fact that He was disappointed, and I'm sure that I was the only person (maybe . . . maybe it was Zack) that ever had any idea what was going on in that brilliant mind. He /really/ wanted me. I told him to relax and He finished undressing and lay down on the bed beside me. I still remember how at that exact moment His strong lithe form slid beside me with all the grace of a black panther. Nothing ever again could possible attain such perfect grace. And I remember the fleeting look He gave me, His eyes perusing my body and there was need there. His fingers flexed slightly in anticipation to touch and there was passion there. However, even in the few minutes since He entered the room His fatigue had somehow grown. I told Him to sleep and that we were both probably too tired anyways. My words sounded unconvincing even to me. Therefore, I told Him to try to think of a distraction. He gave me a look that said 'Distraction? Like what?' I could read Him so easily when He wanted me to. We could have entire conversations and He would never have to say a word. I explained various distractions, pretend there's an earthquake, or imagine that the ground is covered in spiders. He looked unimpressed and unconvinced. I told Him to imagine Palmer giving Heidegger a lap dance. His beautiful eyes widened then just a fraction and those full, austere lips curved into a smile that even the blindest could see. He shook His head and His hair fell over His eyes and He /grinned/. Perfect ivory flashing in the dim light of the room as a no doubt hideously graphic image unfolded in His mind. He gave an involuntary shiver and sighed before He threw an arm around me in the most affectionate gesture I would ever receive from Him. I swallow hard as I realize that no one will ever be able to hear Him laugh ever, including me. But Vincent? Has anyone ever heard Him laugh? The sound stops all too soon.
"I apologize, Cloud. But I remember a time when I thought the exact same thing. When Lucrecia died I thought that I was incapable of feeling anything, but you proved me wrong."
The first thing I notice is that Vincent does not pause before speaking Lucrecia's name and I scorn him inwardly for such lack of reverence. But wait . . . did he say that /I/ proved him wrong? /I/ was the one who delivered him from his convictions that he was worthless and inhuman? But I didn't even do anything. I'm not sure whether I'm happy or sad for him. I know that if anyone ever made me forget Sephiroth or made me regard Him in any less worship and guilt as I do now that I would /hate/ them for taking away my love. But then, it must be nice to be able to live again, to know that there is still something left out there worth being alive for. Because he is sitting here with me now, I assume that he is happy to finally overcome his bereavement. If he's happy then I have no reason to feel sorry for him. I feel guilt seep into my mind and I cannot push that away either. If /I/ was the one who destroyed his love for Lucrecia then I have no right to cast him aside and no right to even think about thwarting exactly what it is that he's offering me.
I feel like my mind has collapsed. I know only physical facts. My neck is twisted in an uncomfortable way and my arms feel like lead weights. I know that the mattress sags a little under Vincent's weight. But I still don't get why he's here and why he's telling me all these things and what they're supposed to mean to me or how Sephiroth fits in with all of this. Instinct though . . . during times when you cannot trust your mind, you must rely on instinct. All that my primal senses tell me as that Vincent exudes a quiet kindness and gentle need. But do I deserve that? Does he deserve it? Does it matter? Does my happiness even matter?
"Alright. Frog Forest it is."
"Thank you, Cloud."