The sky was a bruised ocean of blues and black when Cloud returned to Seventh Heaven. The sun was slowly piercing through the heavy darkness of night, small beams of light catching on the frost lined windows and fading in the steam rising from the roads. Cloud slipped quietly into the bar, silencing the jangling of his keys and wondering what time would be acceptable to wake Tifa up, or if he should simply wait for her to come down.

He found her sleeping in the office, slumped in a chair and a hand crushed under her head on the desk where it must have originally propped her up. He grimaced slightly, feeling guilty at the fact that she had waited up for him.

As gently as possible, Cloud lifted her from the chair, negotiating the various assortments of furniture and the stairs to her room. Despite his best efforts, her eyes were opening as he placed her on the bed.

"Cloud?" she asked sleepily, sitting up and taking his hand gently as he pulled away.

"Didn't mean to wake you. I just got back and thought I'd wait until you were up." he sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly overcome with weariness.

"You were out the whole night…" her voice was soft and slow. A gentle mixture of sleep and the mothering tendencies she always felt when Cloud was around.

They sat in an uneasy silence, waiting for the other to speak. Their disagreement held invisibly between them until the awkward moment was broken as Tifa gave a weary sigh. Cloud smiled inwardly; as kids she was always the first to give in whenever they fought.

"He's sick, Cloud. Denzel's really sick" she sounded hurt and Cloud felt the guilt again, for bringing her trouble and possibly more sleepless nights.

"I'm sorry. I can give you some money…"

"It's not that. It's not about the money. He has Geostigma…." Tifa sniffed, her hands wringing together and then wiping her eyes. The skin of Cloud's arm prickled and he looked away.

"He's just a little boy. It's horrible. He lost his parents, and then his friends. I don't know what to do. I just, I can see it in his eyes, he's afraid to loose another family. I just see his face, -he's like an angel when he sleeps- and I love him. I love him like he was my son. I just don't know what to do."

He knew he was supposed to do something now, he was meant to comfort her, give her words of wisdom or say something uplifting. His mind flickered back to the child and father he had seen more than a month ago. Geostigma. He rubbed his arm, the resounding pain confirming the dim thoughts he had been long avoiding. He needed to get a way. He couldn't be here, not now. He stood to move, making his way to the door and taking the handle in his hand.

"He asked after you. I think you should go see him sometime. He wants to say thanks." Her voice sounded hopeful, and Cloud knew all she wanted was to know he would come back to them.

"It doesn't matter. You can tell him he doesn't need to thank me" he turned to look at her, ready to say goodbye.

"What is with you? Have you forgotten how to be a person? It's not about the thankyou. He wants to see you. You saved him, you're responsible for him. Stop being so selfish, stop hiding in the dark all the time." She was nearly crying; hands crossed angrily over chest while her hair fanned over her shoulders and pillow. Cloud realised she wasn't going to come after him, not anymore. He smiled, in a sad lonely way only a lost boy could, closing the door behind him.

He was climbing onto the Fenrir when Tifa grabbed him, her stern face stopping any questions.

"When you didn't come back last night, I called Vincent to look for you. He told me to give you this, when you came back." She passed Cloud the note, the address of an unfamiliar residence. It was probably a go between, since Cloud couldn't recall Vincent having his own house. He looked up again, but Tifa had already gone inside.

***

The door opened before Cloud's hand even connected with it, the owner returning to another room without greeting. The inside was as rundown as the outside walls and roof. Long cracks like vines snaked through the corridor, around the peeling paint and cobwebs. Despite the neglect the house felt alive, pulsating with warmth. Cloud followed the one light down the hall, taking a seat on the edge of an empty bed without saying a word. Outside the sky was breaking in a speckle of gold while the streets came to life with the murmur of traffic.

Vincent stood leaning against the wall, looking at Cloud with the least amount of motion or life that Cloud had ever seen. It chilled him, to sit before someone who looked like such a stranger.

"I spoke to Tifa…" Cloud drifted off, distracted by the vacant stare. He looked down, unwillingly to meet Vincent's eyes.

"Kid's okay. Well no, really… he isn't okay. But he's safe. It's not the same though. I don't even know what counts as okay…" he grunted, a short frustrated noise that sounded unfamiliar in his own ears.

"I get it, alright? I fucked up. I did the wrong thing. Can't you at least talk to me? You told me to come here and now you ignore me?" he was still yelling when Vincent made his way towards him, imposing as his cloak swirled behind him. He squatted in front of the bed, eye level with Cloud.

"You want to talk to me?" he asked, his voice soothing in Clouds ear.

Cloud looked at him through his lashes. His eyes followed the smooth lines of his jaw, the elegant strength of his neck which he knew to be the smoothest, softest skin his hands had ever wanted to hold. He had come here with half a plan, but even that was leaving him now the he was so close to Vincent. He was overcome with the intense need to touch him again. But he wouldn't, not this time. He couldn't loose the one person he wanted to see, wanted to be near.

"I want… I want to talk to you." As he spoke, he could see the faintest light spark in those beautiful eyes, he was so close he could his own face reflected, his own face beginning to smoulder and burn. A hand gripped his knee, sliding up his thigh and taking hold of his. The pressure was light, tentative and Cloud could sense the fear in both of them, the air was charged with the anxiety of both of them. Cloud was barely holding himself still, anything more and he would loose control. And Vincent seemed to need more.

"Is that all you want from me Cloud?" everything seemed to crash inside his head. His hands came up to take hold of Vincent's shoulders tightly as his words tumbled out before he knew what he was saying.

"I want you. I want to talk to you and I want you near me and I want you to stop it. I want everything to stop. I want it to stop hurting. I want you to make it stop. I want to breathe in the smell of you hair and taste the secrets in your skin. I want you to want me and take everything from me. Even if you killed me right here and now, I'd come back wanting more."

He pulled himself onto Vincent, terrified that his confession would be too late, that he would never again feel the man in front of him. His arms clung tightly, digging his nails in while he buried his face into Vincent's chest. His breath caught somewhere between his heart and his mouth, as Vincent shifted his head and kissed him. Kissed him with a darkness and passion and pain that he had never felt before. He focused his entire being on the feel of those lips, the rich heat as a tongue delved into his mouth, searching and caressing so perfectly that as it withdrew, Cloud chased it with his own, the two appendages meeting in a dance of dominance.

Cloud could feel the warmth again, that stretched throughout his entire body until he felt as if he was on fire. He barely noticed they had moved until he felt the cool sheets of the bed under him. The coldness of the sheets reminded Cloud of himself. He was cold. He had always been cold. It was as if he had lain trapped in murky waters, weighed down in a body of iron. The loss of everything, everyone, had drifted hidden amongst his watery coffin, whilst he had let the waves of numbness gently caress his face. For so long, he had lain undisturbed, watching the faint patterns of life around him, the light of the sun barely reaching through the deep.

Now, suddenly, he had broken the surface, breathing again for the first time in so long, gasping and cold. So unbelievably cold. The weight was still there, his iron body pulling down again and Cloud was overcome with the fear of drowning, unable to return to the watery prison. He struggled, noises spluttering out like the muted cries of a child, shivering. A hand caressed a searing line from his neck, down his spine and he followed the source. Warmth which banished that unbearable ice he felt beneath his skin. The burning threatened to turn him to shock even more, but Cloud couldn't stop. Not now. He crawled, hands ripping the sheets as he pushed himself onto Vincent, searching for the warmth he craved, the life he needed, ripping at the skin to devour that unknown burning.