However, this did not go unnoticed.
"Having some trouble, are we?" The cold voice from the front of the class came to them. "Why don't you ask for help?"
Cid finally got into the seat with a jerk then crossed his arms, this time speaking loud enough to be heard. "Because I don't #$^#in' need help."
Fortunatly, Prof. Hojo decided to leave it at that and return to what he had previously been explaining on the overhead. Vincent found himself automatically leaning to one side to get paper out of his backpack when he realized he didn't have it with him. He sighed softly and leaned forward, resting his head on his hands as the professor's tone became a meaningless drone.
He knew he should be paying more attention, but his voice was blurring away as he found what his mind apparently deemed more important thoughts coming to mind. He glanced over at Cid, who had his head propped up by one hand and was tapping the other impatiently on the desktop. Vincent could still see the bandages that wrapped around Cid's knuckles and the dark bruises from what had happened the night before.
The world in front of him blurred slightly, and he knew that to be the signal that began his daydreams. It wasn't as if the world in front of him completely disappeared, it simply blurred as he didn't focus on it anymore. He stared forward at some point beyond the room, and everything became indisctinct, even sound as Prof. Hojo continued to speak about emotions and different viewpoints on things.
Typically this mental state was reserved for daydreams, but now he was just thinking. He let his mind wander and found it dwelling on something that had taken up most of his thoughts ever since he had began here.
Cid Highwind.
He was worried that Cid may get attacked again...he was fairly sure that the Weapons weren't in this class, so that was a relief. But what if they were in one of his other classes...? And he knew that he couldn't be with Highwind forever...
A startling thought came to him. He was also a target...what if the Weapons came for him? Despite their similiarity of body type, he could tell that Cid was much stronger, or at least more skilled, then he was...and even he had not fared well against the Weapons...what chance could he have if they came after HIM?
He didn't want to think about that...he'd just have to be careful, that's all...his thoughts wandered to Reeve, and he mentally added him in as well...he'd have make sure that Reeve was safe as well...he didn't want anyone getting hurt because of him...
He wondered what Highwind would be doing after class...he had to stay a night in his own room once, so he couldn't go back with him...and it was the middle of the day anyway, so there was a lot of time. Surely Highwind didn't want to spend the entire time with HIM, did he? Personally, Vincent could not see why he was so interesting, or why Cid seemed to think he was. All he really did was draw, or watch TV, and talk...
Maybe that's why Highwind stayed with him, because his activities weren't strenous or demanding, and that he felt more in control...
Vincent felt a sigh escape him. He felt so weak most of the time...not that he hadn't before. In almost all of his previous relationships, the power had been located elsewhere. He had always been told where to go, what to do, almost what to say, and his opinion had almost always been meaningless...he thought that maybe in college he could escape such suffocating relationships...
It was true that their friendship was not like that, but still Vincent felt weak. He didn't feel as though he could stand up for himself, or what he wanted, or anything like that. Why? He didn't know.
He felt the age-old pangs of depression creeping up into him again. It had vanished for a short time, but again made itself known. Why did he even associate with other people? All they wanted to do was control him, or own him, and then again, why didn't he live alone? Because being alone was worse, and some part of him must have liked being controlled...or maybe because he didn't know how to live unless someone told him how...
Why, why...why was he even here? He had no focus, no direction...he didn't know where he was going, or what he was doing...he didn't know what he was going to major in...everyone wanted him to major in art, but he didn't want to do that...he didn't feel that his art was good enough for it anyway, considering...everyone always said it was too dark, or frightening, or morbid, or too simple...he couldn't imagine drawing his little sketches for money...he couldn't imagine anyone paying money for one of his pathetic drawings...
His one talent he felt was worthless...and now here he was, in his Studies of Human Emotion through Literature class with a teacher who hated him, trying to pay attention and failing miserably, and he didn't even know why he was here. Why was he here? He didn't know anymore...
He had no focus, he didn't know what he wanted to do. He was stalling, wasting time, until the decision finally would come, and he'd have to say that he did not know what he wanted to do. How could he say that, though? His parents were so proud of him, they pushed him, they wanted him to do art, but how could he say how he felt about it? They didn't understand his art, they never did...and they were pressuring him to become an art major, and he didn't want to be an art major...
Why, why, why did they think he could do this? Why did they think he was...he was mature enough to handle this kind of responsibility?
He didn't want to be here anymore, he wanted to hide somewhere.
He recalled words he heard somewhere...
"Why do you want to GO to college anyway?"
"'Cause that's what you do after high school!" In a frantic, panicked voice...
How he related...he knew this was supposed to be the next step, but there was nowhere to go from here...and he didn't even know how to keep his balance on this step anyway...
He didn't want to be an art major, he didn't want to be here...he didn't want to have to continue living his life, making decisions and moving closer and closer to death with every breath...he didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't want to have to think of his life after this, meaningless repetition of tasks for money for things that he didn't need, but wanted to try and make his life mean something...
Why was he still doing this...why...
Why hadn't he died years ago...why was he still here...? Why were they making him continue to play out this meaningless charade of life, this life that was so empty and cold? A life with no purpose, no light, nothing...why did he have to play along?
Why...
Something touched his shoulder, and he jerked involuntarily. He realized with a start that his head had eventually sunk until it was buried in his arms. He looked up, then looked to one side to see Cid's sky-blue eyes staring into his own.
"Vin? Vin, are you okay?" His voice was whispered. Fortunately, now that he had returned back to the world, Vincent could still hear Prof. Hojo's voice droning on. So he hadn't heard or noticed...good...
Vincent sighed softly, not sure of what to say. How could he tell Cid how he felt? How could he say that he didn't want to be here, to pretend to be something he wasn't, to do what other people told him to do...how could he tell him that he never felt free, that he was forever imprisoned in this life that seemed so preordained? How could he tell Cid that he hated his art, hated his artwork, hated his predetermined major, and hated doing this? How could he tell Cid that...that he never wanted this...
He couldn't...he just couldn't...
Vincent turned his eyes to one side, unable to stare at those eyes, which radiated such concern that he felt was so undeserved. Cid had gotten hurt because of him, because of his presence...this was his fault, why was he still here...
He couldn't tell him...
"It's nothing..." He mumbled, not sure if Cid even heard him. Apparently, he did.
"The #^#$ it's nothin'." Cid's voice carried an undercurrent of annoyance. "C'mon, Vin, you can tell me. We're friends."
"No..." Vincent kept his eyes averted and even turned his head away, keeping his chin on his arms. "No, it's alright, it's nothing. I'm fine..."
"#$^# Vin, don't do this."
Vincent didn't reply, and he heard Cid slide back from where he was leaning across his desk with an annoyed noise. Vincent felt his heart hurting, and he blamed himself. Why didn't he tell him?
He couldn't...he didn't want to put that kind of burden on him. He could never tell him, he couldn't. He couldn't give Cid that kind of burden to bear along with his own...he didn't want to pressure him or make him carry his problems for him...he had lived with his own problems for ages. He had dealt with things by himself for almost his entire life, and he knew that he could do so now, if the need be.
And he needed to do this himself. He could never depend on other people, he could never do that. He couldn't, he had tried it before and it had failed. In the end, he was always alone, he knew that. And he had to deal with this by himself. He didn't want to drag Cid into his own emotional morass...
He felt another tap on his shoulder, and he looked up. Cid was balanced on his crutches, looking down at him with concern. "Vin, c'mon. Class's over. Didn't you hear?"
Vincent straightened up slightly, keeping his eyes down as he stared at his pale arms, now slowly letting the blood flow back into them after being kept motionless for so long. He looked up slowly.
"That seemed very fast..."
"That's 'cause you weren't payin' any #$^#in' attention, Vin." Cid tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow. Vincent looked up at him, worried, and found that Cid seemed different. He had something on his mind, something that was bothering him, he could tell. His laugh was different, and all of his body language. "C'mon, let's go."
Vincent pushed himself off the desk and found that he actually did seem to need the desks assistance, oddly enough. He looked down, expecting to see his backpack, but remembered that he didn't have it with him. Feeling strange, he walked along with Cid out of the classroom. Cid wasn't talking as much as he usually did, and he seemed to be focusing more on the crutches, as he didn't stumble at all.
"I hope you two payed attention during today's lecture, as I notice you had no paper on which to take notes." Hojo's voice came behind them, but Vincent didn't even bother to turn around. Neither, he noticed, did Cid.
The two of them left the room, letting the door close behind them. They walked in silence for a while, the uneven sound of Cid's crutches hitting the ground contrasting with Vincent's quiet light steps. There was a silence, which was uncommon for them, and they both knew it.
"Alright, #$^#, that's it." Cid turned his head towards Vincent, who didn't look at him. "What the #$^# is wrong?"
"Nothing." Vincent felt an edge of anger in his voice. Why didn't Cid believe him? Why didn't he just drop it? Didn't he realize that he didn't want to tell him for his own sake? That he was doing this for him?
"The #$^#in' #$^# it's nothin'!" Cid's voice raised. "What the #$^#, last night-"
"Look, I just don't want to talk about it." Vincent looked away from Cid, focusing on the lockers as they went by. Annoyance and guilt kept building up in from keeping this away from him.
"Why the #$^# not?" Cid was angry now. "I #$^#in' tell you what bothers ME! Why won't you tell me? What the #$^#'s botherin' you?"
"I don't want to talk about it!"
"Then what, Vin? What the #$^# then? What are you goin' to do? Are we just goin' to pretend that nothin's wrong, jus' like my parents? Jus' go along pretendin' that we're all fine and #$^#in' dandy and inside you're dyin'?" Cid stopped walking, glaring angrily through misty eyes. "I #$%@in' won't let that happen, Vin, I #$^#in' hated them for that and I still #$^#in' hate 'em 'cause they won't stop. For $#^#'s sake, Vin, what's wrong?"
"Highwind, listen!" Vincent stopped and turned, wishing he had his backpack on so that he could do something with the straps, grasp them, anything. His claw was twitching terribly as a result of the emotional stress he was under. "There's nothing wrong, I'm fine, okay?"
"The #$^# you are! I don't #$^#in' believe you!"
"Fine!" The word tore from Vincent with a mixture of anger and sadness. He whirled away and began running down the hallway. "Don't believe me! It's better that way! You don't want to know!"
"Vin, come back! Wait!"
"Stay away from me!" Vincent hit the door to the hall with a loud crash, sending the doors into the opposite walls as he ran outside. His claw was clenching terribly, metal scraping against metal, as he ran across the road outside, not sure of where to go. He had to get away, he just had to be alone. He had to go somewhere where he could think. He had to go somewhere...anywhere...
"Vin!" He could hear Cid's voice behind him, and he knew that he couldn't turn back. He chose a direction and began running, not sure of where he was going or what he was trying to do. As the wind rushed by him, he felt a sudden sharp coolness on his face, and found that he was crying.
"Mother#@%#!" Cid finally made it through the doors, only to see the glimpse of black as Vincent took off running in another direction. He sighed deeply and then collapsed on a nearby bench.
Mother#$%#in' god#$^# piece of ^$#^ crutches, if he hadn't had these then he would've been able to catch Vin no problem. Piece of mother#$#^in' #$^#.
"God#^$# it..." He mumbled to himself as he tried to catch his breath. Why had Vincent ran out like that...? He knew he was upset, he could tell in class. Vincent's face seemed to dissolve from the face he had known into this terrible emotionless mask, and his head just sank slowly until he couldn't even see his face anymore. Of course, Vin was full of #$#^ when he said nothing was wrong. Why was he trying to hide it? Why was he upset...?
Why would he be trying to hide something from him? He thought they were friends...
Cid leaned his head back and stared at the sky above him, watching small clouds go by as he tried to organize his thoughts. His feet were throbbing angrily, as were his knuckles and the cut over his eye, although he hadn't told anyone that. It would only be for a few moments anyway.
He thought he and Vincent were friends. Friends don't hide things from each other, do they? He sighed. But then again, in almost all of the previous friendships he had, there had been something hidden. He wasn't innocent either, he hid things from others as well. But it seemed that others never told him things because they didn't think he could handle it, or they didn't want to bother him. He usually told other people when they were bothering him, or would casually refer to it in conversation as something that annoyed him, but with most of his other friends, they acted as if nothing was wrong. They didn't even talk about it or mention it like he did. They acted as if it was perfect, as if they were fine, as if nothing was wrong. Cid hated that. He was their friend, he would be there for them through rain or shine, even if they were being a whiny #$^#% about something or wanted to cry. He was supposed to be there for them even through their worst times. But they didn't want to show him their worst time, they just wanted to be happy for him all the time.
He hated that, he hated it. He wasn't some god#$^# kid, he could handle it. He could handle having friends depressed or upset over stupid #$^#, but they never seemed to think so.
God#$^# it, no one depended on HIM. He #$@#in' hated that.
He sighed, wishing more then ever that he had a cigarette. God #$^@.
He looked back up, hoping that maybe Vincent had come back, but found the streets still deserted. Considering that was the only class he had with him, that meant he might not even see him again today. Mother#$^#.
He slowly got back up on his crutches and thought. He still had other classes to go to...should he go after Vincent?
No...Vincent seemed pretty intent on running away from him. Cid felt a sick bitterness overtake him, something that he hadn't felt in a while. He felt the slight shock of the crutches hitting the ground he headed back to his own dorm. No, Vincent apparently didn't think Cid was mature enough or old enough to deal with someone who wasn't happy all the time. He didn't trust him.
#$^#...
He found that thought more depressing then ever, and he felt his fingers itching for a keyboard. He had to get something out, quickly...
He walked back to his dorm, ignoring the jibes and taunts he got from others, although they were reduced in number due to Vincent's absence. Cid found he missed the taller youth's presence near him, his quiet voice, and how he laughed just slightly at all of his stupid jokes. God#$^# it, why did he have to do this to him? Didn't he know how much this hurt?
#@#%...
Cid angrily clenched his fists around the crutches handgrip. #$^# it. #$^# everyone. He had been alone this far. People had hit him or abused him, and he had been alone for all of his life. And of course, just when he thought he wasn't he #$^#in' was. Just the kind of trick life LOVED to play on him. #$^# it. #$^# everyone. He was so #^#@in' tired of this. Fine, he'd be alone again. He'd be alone, if life was so god#$#^ set on making him that way.
Although his thoughts were furious, he found a slight melancholy beneath them. For those few nights, for once, he had felt alive, he hadn't been alone...he thought for once life wouldn't be playing a cruel trick on him, for once that he would truly have a chance to be happy after life had #$^#ed him over several times...but it was just another #$^#in' prank...
Cid sighed deeply. He could really use a cigarette.
Vincent hid for a while, not sure of what to do. He was fairly sure that Cid wouldn't have followed him...not with those crutches...
He had wandered aimlessly for a long time, thoughts of his life, his art, his parents, and Cid running in endless loops through his brain. Had he done the right thing? Shouldn't he have told Cid something...?
He shook his head. No...no, it was better if no one knew. It was better, no one would ask him questions. It'd be better, things would be like they were before. He didn't want to ruin things with his stupid self-doubt...
He wandered for what seemed like a long time and found that his classes began soon. Not sure of what to expect, he headed back to his dormroom to find no one was there. More depressed then surprised, he didn't even find a note. Not that he had expected one. He grabbed his backpack and headed back out of the room.
What would he have done if Cid was waiting for him? He didn't know...probably ran like a coward again. At this rate he'd always be running from him...he didn't want to do that...but what else could he do?
He shouldn't have ran in the first place...now he had doomed himself to a never ending circle of running away. He should have known he would have done something like this...
Classes that day were meaningless, repetitive...he took notes as required, but found that his heart and mind were somewhere else. He barely heard anything that was said, particularly during his art class. He doodled around the margins of his page, sketches of the characters from Cid's story, sketches of himself, demon-winged, bleeding and alone. He was a demon, why was he doing this...
He knew he must be hurting Cid by doing this kind of thing to him, but he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't confront him now, he couldn't...he had ruined things, just like he had with his other relationships...this was why no one could ever get close to him. God...
His papers were filled with the dark demons, falling, dying, bleeding, and his own self-hatred. How could he have done this? What could he do...
He walked back to his dorm in the twilight, the feeling of all-encompassing depression sweeping over him. He knew this well, he had felt it for years. What fool desire had made him think that he could escape it here...?
How could he have done this...he should have said something. But no, he'd rather have broken off their relationship this way then have Cid recoil with distaste, or think that he was foolish, or stupid...
But he had never thought of him that way before...
But everyone else had.
He slipped his key into his lock and entered his room, finding Cloud gone again. No surprise. He put his bag down near the bed and sat down at his chair, staring at the ceiling as if hoping it would give him some advice. Finding nothing coming, he turned to his computer, dark and silent. Curious, he decided to go and read Cid's story again, to refresh it in his memory...
The page loaded up, off-white on black, and the familiarity of it reminded Vincent of Cid's first visit...and how embarassed he was over Vincent reading his work. Why? It was so good...
He found that it had been updated, a few hours ago, actually. Curious, but half-apprehensive, he scanned through the story until he came to where he had left off.
He could recognize the main character, Eiyon, was meant to represent Cid, although the two were essentially different in many ways. His mind creating the imagery to go with the words, he found Eiyon meeting up with someone, another winged creature, this one's name being Lyzndr. Although Eiyon could not fly, Lyzndr didn't seem to care, and they became friends. From the description, Vincent could tell that Lyzndr was somewhat based on him. They acted and spoke the same way, and many of their conversations mirrored his and Cid's.
That is, until the two of them were abandoned together. Lyzndr and Eiyon were cast out, and found themselves relying on eachother more then ever...and...
He found himself saying the words outloud, almost against his will, whispering to himself as his scarlet eyes ran over the off-white letters.
"Although he could not fly, he had found something else that gave his life meaning...his lips...his lips...met...with Lyzndr's...."
He paused on that line for a long time, not sure what it meant...had he written this now? Why would he write that today? After what had happened...didn't Cid hate him now? Why, why would he write something like this? He didn't understand...he thought that they were friends, but Cid wanted...this couldn't be right...
He leaned back and pushed his claw into his hair, forcing his thoughts to stop. He had to remember, these were characters. He wasn't Lyzndr, although they were similar. Eiyon was not Cid. This could mean nothing, Cid could have just thought it was a good idea. This didn't mean anything...it didn't mean anything...
He closed the file, not sure of what to do. How was he supposed to react to that...? Did that mean that Cid was not upset? That Cid didn't hate him for running away...? That things would be okay...?
He couldn't have such high hopes for himself...he knew deep in his heart that nothing would ever be okay, as long as it concerned him, he knew that nothing could be right, as long as he was involved. He closed the browser and crawled onto his bed, sprawling on the unmade sheets, letting his arms and legs flair out as he stared upwards. He felt as if something was crushing him...all this pressure that he could not deal with was crashing down on him, and now this...
He couldn't deal with this...
He turned onto his stomach, putting his hands above his head, on his neck, and closed his eyes, trying to go to sleep so that the real world would disappear for a few more moments, a few hours, a few minutes, so he could think of what he had to do...
So he could try and organize his life, so that he could find out which meaningless pattern would allow him to continue...
He felt his breath catch in his throat once, and something warm fall from his eyes, and he wished that he didn't have to do this. He wished he could stop hiding, but the metal against his neck and the doubt and hatred he had in his heart told him that he could never, ever stop hiding, from himself or from everyone else.
Cid sat in his room, fortunately alone. Reno had gone out somewhere with his friends, leaving the blond by himself. As soon as he had the room to himself, he had gone into his storage of cigarettes, and smoked until he began to find it hard to breathe. Finding no solace in it, he sat down at the computer and began to write, trying to find a way to work out his feelings or his thoughts into a clear form.
As he wrote for Eiyon and Lyzndr, he felt tears falling down his face that he rubbed away angrily, the bandages across his knuckles scraping against his skin angrily. Fortunately the bandages didn't impede his hands progress across the keyboard.
Envy filled him as he watched the two of them, sharing their lives and thoughts and love freely. He envied them deeply. Eiyon, although he couldn't even fly, was happier then he could ever be, now that Lyzndr had told him everything. Why couldn't real people do this? Why couldn't he ever have any real relationships that worked this perfectly?
Why couldn't he live in his own stories?
He rarely cried while writing, but he normally felt pangs of emotion as he tried to write things that had hurt him, or scenes that affected him. He had cried before. As he continued writing for the two, watching as they supported eachother, even though everyone else had ostracized them, he envied them so deeply that he felt his heart seemed to burn. Why couldn't he be happy? Was there some kind of conspiracy against him, or some horrible flaw with his personality that made all his friendships end in such horrible ways?
He wanted to get drunk, he wanted to do something so that he didn't have to think of anything. Even writing hadn't given him any solace, as all it did was reflect his deepest desires back to him and show him just how unattainable they were.
He had his hair pushed back by another pair of goggles, and another pack of cigarettes carefully stowed away in the band. Unable to stay at the computer any longer, he got up and left the room, not sure of what he wanted to do. He couldn't stay here and let his mind torment him...he had to go somewhere and get his mind off of the trouble that he was in, and find some way that he could stop thinking about what had happened between him and Vincent...
He shut the door behind him, hearing it click softly. He still didn't understand...
He shoved his hands in his pockets angrily and walked down the hallway, wishing beyond anything on earth that he could be Eiyon.