A Drink, A Closet, and a Redhead
"You were an alcoholic," I conclude when he walks back out with a comb in his hand and motions for me to sit.
Then he runs his fingers through the back of my damp hair to smooth it out and starts combing it with a gentle touch, despite all the knots I never bother to tend to.
"I went through a spell," he admits while he works on the ends and carefully moves his way up as if he weren't touching me. Then he tells me, almost like he's not sure why he's saying it, "It was before I got my promotion. President Shinra nearly fired me."
"Why didn't he?"
"Rufus…" Tseng hesitantly starts as his voice grows slightly distant. "Didn't want to see me leave. So he did his best to help me get back on my feet."
"Rufus," I repeat, somewhat disbelieving that Rufus is capable of helping anyone but himself, and Tseng suddenly loses his touch and sharply pulls my hair when he encounters the next knot.
Then he quickly adds, "Reno helped too."
Taking the hint that he doesn't want to talk about whatever could have happened to drive him to drink, I wind up asking him no more questions while I silently work over the puzzle in my head. A part of me can't help but wonder if there's some sort of history between him and one of them, or maybe even both. But I'm not about to ask—considering it would be rude—especially when he's offering me more hospitality than I ever could have expected from him, even if it is slightly on the cold side.
But there's simply one question I can't avoid and it slips out without me really meaning to ask. However, there's a small hope that it might answer some of my unspoken questions.
"Have you always lived alone?"
"No," he answers as if he's not as offended as I thought he'd be. Then he answers my next question before I get the chance to ask, "I've had my share of failed relationships, and I have no desire to have anymore."
"So, you live an empty life," I conclude as I take a look around at his surroundings that lack any pictures or keepsakes, save for those of his mother and a few of the Turks that seem mostly for the sake of appearance.
"Mm," he mutters in agreement as he starts combing my hair more confidently, suggesting he's gotten all the knots out, "Much like yours."
"Is that why you sought me out?"
For a moment he falls silent and taps the comb on the palm of his hand before he walks away to put it back where he got it from, leaving me to wonder what I've done wrong and why he keeps avoiding the question. Then he walks out and leans against the frame of the door, while I sit with my back to him.
"Not quite," he says, confusing me about what he's referring to before he walks over to one of his cupboards and pulls out two wine glasses.
"I suppose," he mutters before he shakes his head and decides against what he was going to say as he pours the wine and grabs a chocolate from a box that's sitting on the counter, "I'm not really sure why I sought you out, Vince."
"Vincent."
"Vince," he mutters as he turns his attention to the floor and bites the chocolate in half before he puts the rest of it in his mouth and turns to grab the glasses. Then he lets me in on one of his strange quirks, even though he sounds more like he's talking to himself instead of to me.
"I never cared for sugar, or anything sweet," he admits, and ignores the fact that I've turned my full attention to him as he comes to the table and sets both glasses down—one in front of me—suggesting that he wants me to drink with him, "But after I awoke from a frightening nightmare, I've had this insatiable hunger for it."
"Nightmare?" I reflect, suddenly realizing that he's talking about the time Sephiroth stabbed him at the Temple of the Ancients, leaving us all to believe that he was dead.
"I've never known anyone," he says before he pauses long enough to take a drink while he searches for the right words. But I think I know what he's getting at, and I start to think that he might have been dead long enough to pass over. And with a strange discomfort, I spare him the burden of having to say it.
"That's been to the other side."
"It was dark," he tells me before he falls quiet and stares at the table while I find myself unable to tear my eyes from him, knowing exactly what he's talking about and knowing that he's wondering if he's not the only one to experience the terrifying emptiness that was nothing like the stories of the Lifestream we all grew up with.
I believed it was a place for sinners. Though I never spoke of it and I find myself still having no desire to verify it for him, considering I was no more innocent than he probably is even though I like to deny that I was ever as low as him. But when it gets to the bottom of it, I realize that I don't really want to tell him about my conclusions and I find myself falling as silent as he's fallen.
We sit there for a while, not saying a word, and I find myself giving in and taking a sip of the aged wine he's placed in front of me before he states, "Dinner should be ready," and gets up to check on it. All the while, he still refuses to look at me.
Then, when he stirs it around and takes a small taste, he nods as if he thinks it's good enough to serve and states, "I was thankful that I didn't have to go back the second time," making me realize that he really was genuine when he sought me out, or so I'm letting myself believe.
But it still doesn't stop me from asking as he turns the burner off, "Why did you go back to the Turks?" Especially if he came to the same conclusion as I did.
"It's all I've ever known," he answers before he waves me over and points at the plate in front of me to remind me to bring it. Then he quietly adds, "I'm afraid I don't have the resolve or dedication that you possess when it comes to changing my ways."
"And you'd like to believe that Rufus is genuine about his claim to change his," I add, figuring that his claim is also part of the reason whether he really believes it or not.
But he admits that, "It doesn't really matter."
Then he places a small amount on my plate and tells me that he doesn't know if I'll like it, not that I'm really sure why he's concerned about it. Then again, I'm not really sure why the only thing I want to do right now is set my plate on the counter and grab him so I can do the same thing to him that I did when he was in my room.
I don't though. Instead, I look at the plate in an attempt to take my mind away from him, and then I walk back to the table and take a larger drink of the wine than I did the first time while hoping for the first time in over thirty years that I'll fall victim to a drunkenness that will take all my memories away as I fall further into a world full of temptation that he seems to be awakening within me. And I don't bother to ask myself why, since I highly suspect that I already know the reason.
I just don't want to admit to it.
Much to my surprise, Tseng is a fine cook. Although I don't really know why I'm surprised. He's been good at everything else he's done so far, except for when it comes to conversation and opening up. But then again, I'm not the best person to try and have a conversation with. Not to mention that after having only one and a half glasses of wine, I'm feeling stranger than I probably should be. I can't help but assume it's because it's been so long since I've had something like this in my system and I'm turning even more closed than I was as a result.
And the fact that every time I look over at him, I want to throw him onto the table and show him how much I want to share myself with him isn't helping. Nor is his reluctance to look at me, and I'm beginning to think that it's the reason I'm wanting him.
But so far, I'm doing a good job of not letting him know what kind of nonsense is going through my head. Either that, or he's doing a good job at ignoring it.
And for some reason, I don't doubt the latter as I get up when he gets up and I decide to help him with the dishes. From everything I've figured about him so far, he's an obstinate man who won't admit his own feelings to himself, even though I'm beginning to think that he does feel something due to the simple fact that he relentlessly refuses to look at me.
He's an asshole, I tell myself while trying to stop myself from being driven crazy by him, and I find myself standing a little closer than I should be, and I find myself moving a little slower than I should be just so I can prolong being close to him.
That is until he pushes me back to let me know that he knows what's going through my scrambled head and reminds me that I'm not attracted to men and that he's not an idiot, even if I'm wishing that he was.
And then I blurt out with a slight slur while surprising myself by the amount of control I have in my tone, even though the question is completely inappropriate, "So, how many men have broken your fictitious heart?"
After that, I lean into him and maliciously purr, "From the way you behave, you've obviously experienced your fair share."
I suppose the smack across my face was called for, even though I'm sure it would have stung a bit more if it wasn't for the wine. Then he angrily throws the dish towel at me while telling me that I can finish cleaning up on my own before he walks into his room and slams the door.
But like hell if I'm going to apologize to him, and I take another drink from the glass that better judgement would have told me to dump. Then I grip my hand around it in an attempt to gain some self-control, knowing that a familiar darkness is overtaking me and I ignore the subtle shattering sound as he comes back out and states that, "You're all the same."
Whatever the hell he's talking about, I don't know. All I really do know is that it would be in his best interest to turn around and probably even lock his bedroom door to keep me out.
I should have known better than to accept him—his hospitality—and to follow him like I did…
All I really want to do right now is spare him from knowing my own reasons for not wanting to get close to anyone. But all he notices is the broken shards of glass sticking out of my hand and he chooses to come to my aid. Like an insect to a well laid trap, he regrets it the moment he realizes that I'm not exactly me right now and grunts from the grip I've got him in.
"Chaos," he mutters before his eyes roll back from the force that I've slammed him into the wall with.
His hair sticks to the wall as he slides down and it mingles with small streaks of blood that have suddenly gotten my attention while I tilt my head and stare at it for a moment. That is, until I realize it's his blood, and I suddenly gain full control of myself before I pull him forward to find out what I've done and how.
I must have slammed him into the old-style key hooks that were hanging there. The fact that his blood is on them doesn't really leave me with much room to doubt it, and I curse at myself as my hand covers the back of his head as if it will stop him from bleeding. Then I pick him up while I search for where he put his gloves, remembering that he had different kinds of healing materia in them.
"Stay with me, Tseng," I lowly growl when I find them and lay him on the floor by his bed. Then I put them on as quickly as I can and I mutter out, "Cure2," in hopes that he still has the restore materia in them that I was sure he carried on the first day I met him.
All the while, I'm checking for his pulse and praying that I don't lose it before he takes a deep and laboured breath and opens his unfocused eyes.
And the first thing that the miserable son of a bitch says to me is, "What the hell are you doing with my gloves on?"
He doesn't even ask me what happened and I'm so tempted to smack him right back to where he was only a moment ago over it.
"I had a better idea of where your gloves were than wherever you put my stuff," I tell him as he tries to get up and I quickly place my arm across his back to help support him.
"Your stuff belongs in the garbage," he mutters. Then he rubs at the back of his head and pushes me away, making it obvious that he doesn't want my help when he tries to stand.
"Take them off," he orders as he blindly waves his hand at mine and starts to stumble toward the small bathroom and grabs the frame of the door to support himself, "I never gave you permission to wear them or to even go so far as to use the Restore materia in them."
I know I shouldn't have expected any other kind of behaviour from him, and maybe a part of me deserves it, considering I'm the one at fault for his pounding headache. But like hell if I'm going to forget that he's the one that shot me earlier, and like hell if I'm going to admit that I probably deserved that too.
Actually, I don't really know what I'm thinking as I grit my teeth and watch him stumble over to his medicine cabinet to grab a small potion for his head and I find myself sneering at him as I angrily remove his gloves and throw them on his bed. And when I turn around, he's standing in the doorway and tapping on the empty bottle he just drank from while staring at me with enough belittlement in his eyes that he doesn't even need to say a word to let me know what he's thinking.
But he does.
And when he does, I come to the conclusion that there is no end to his arrogance and I wonder why the hell I can't stay away from him.
"Remind me not to let you drink anymore, Vince. You obviously can't handle it."
"Vincent."
"Vince," he repeats again, as if he's getting some sort of satisfaction out of it. Then he walks back into the bathroom and closes the door and locks it while I stand there and stare at it.
I'm not really sure what's going through my head right now, or if there's anything going through it at all. All I really do know is that there's some sort of pent-up energy swirling around in my gut that's causing me to react on nothing but instinct, and it's against all my better senses of judgement as I hear him run the water for the bath I'm assuming he's decided to take and I kick the door down.
Immediately, he reacts by grabbing the collar of his shirt that he nearly undid to hold it closed, and something else that's sharp is thrown at me. His accuracy is frightening and he manages to slice a lock of my hair off. But I anticipate it enough to safely dodge it and I grab him quickly—as it hisses passed my ear from the speed—to keep him from trying anything else while he sneers at me.
"If I'd known you were going to be a violent drunk, I never would have offered you that drink," he states as he tries to struggle out of my grip, which turns out to be counteractive and he winds up more secure in my arms.
"You would have given it to me anyway." I accuse, half-believing that he's twisted enough to want to see how far away from myself he can drag me.
He's about to say something else before I think we both cringe at the sound of someone pounding on his front door, and Reno's muffled voice asks, "Hey. Everythin okay?"
"Fuck," Tseng mutters, surprising me a little since it's the first time I've heard him swear. Then he pushes me back and says under his breath, "He's not going to go away until I let him in."
After that, he pulls the knife that he threw at me out of the broken doorframe and grabs my wrist to roughly place the tuft of hair he never would have gotten under normal circumstances into my hand. Then he grabs the arm of my shirt and drags me over to his bedroom closet and pushes me in.
"Don't. Even. Breathe," he warns under his breath through the horizontal venting of the doors and points at me to get his message across. Then he takes a deep breath and quickly does his buttons back up and straightens his clothes as he hurriedly kicks the small rug with his blood on it under his bed and walks to the front door to let the redhead in.
But he stops for a moment and notices the broken glass on his counter and the blood on the wall before he mutters something in Wutian that isn't very flattering and geared towards me, and calls out, "I'll be right there!"
Then he quickly grabs the rag from the side of the sink that's still filled with soapy water and quickly wipes the wall and the hooks down before he brushes the broken glass into the water and tosses the rag in afterwards in a haphazard attempt to avoid having to answer for any of it.
When he opens the door, he bows to the man and greets him like I would have expected him to.
"Reno," he says, respectively, and then he steps out of the way to let him in.
"Thought I heard somethin," Reno says as he walks by him and carefully looks around as if he's looking for anything that might be out of place, "Like a crash… Thought ya might be havin a bit'a trouble…"
"I can take care of myself," Tseng answers in his typically hollow and professional-sounding tone as the redhead stops beside him and taps his EMR on his own shoulder. Then he turns his head and looks Tseng up and down before he settles on his superiors face and narrows his sickly eyes.
"Ya been drinkin?"
"I had a glass," Tseng admits.
"Hm," Reno mumbles before he leans a little closer to take a more intimidating look at the man, even though Tseng remains stone-faced and unaffected by the accusing study he's facing.
"We ain't gonna go back there again. Are we?"
"No."
"Good," Reno answers before he sets his eyes on the near-empty bottle and taps his shoulder again with his EMR while narrowing his eyes again.
"One glass, huh?" he observes before he walks up to the bottle and swirls what's left of it around and chuckles as he walks over to the sink and dumps the thimble full that's left, "Must'a been one helluva glass, Tseng. Ya mind if I see it?"
"Yes."
"Somethin botherin ya?"
"No."
"Ya sure?" Reno asks before he turns around and leans against the counter. Then he waves his EMR at all the closed drapes and looks at the soapy suds still running down Tseng's wall before he raises his brow and comments, "Ya've been actin kinda strange… Fer a while now."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Really? Ya've been through a lot, Man," Reno observes before he places his hand in his pocket and steps away from the counter, "An ya haven't really spoken ta anyone since ya showed up on the doorstep at Healin, 'bout what happened."
Then he walks over to the doorway to Tseng's bedroom and sets his eyes on the broken frame of the bathroom door.
"Like, I mean, we all saw ya die, Man…"
For a moment, Tseng's eyes fall darker as he stares at the back of Reno's head and places his hand in his pocket to mindlessly fiddle with whatever he has in it while he hollowly asks, "Why are you asking me about that now?"
"Heh," Reno snorts as he settles his eyes on the closet door I'm behind and tilts his head as he studies it, "Ya sayin it ain't a good time?"
Then he taps his EMR again as the corner of his mouth turns upward and he walks over to the broken frame of the bathroom while musing, "Then again, is there ever a good time ta ask a man 'bout how he cheated death? 'Specially after a whole fuckin temple crumbled down on top of 'im afterwards'n disappeared?"
"Is that why you wanted to check up on me?" Tseng asks as his eyes grow narrow in suspicion and the redhead leans into the bathroom and taps his EMR on the spot where Tseng lodged his knife.
"Nah," He mutters as he pulls out a black hair and runs his fingers along it as if he's comparing it to Tseng's texture, "Jus shootin the shit. Ya know? Passin time while I make sure yer all right."
Then he lets out that dark sounding chuckle of his as he drops the hair to the floor and turns to Tseng's direction with a half toothy grin and asks as he points his EMR at the broken frame, "So… Ya gonna tell me what happened?"
"I locked myself out," he answers, dryly, as he continues to stand where he's been the entire time and finally takes his hand out of his pocket while Reno watches him and nods with a serious look on his face.
"I'm worried about ya, Man," He admits in a softer tone before he glances once more at the closet door and then warily looks back at the broken frame and walks over to him, "We all are."
"Don't be."
"That's what ya said the last time," the redhead points out with a slightly compassionate crackle to his tone before he walks back into the room Tseng's standing in and looks at the water running down the wall again, "An the time before that…"
"This isn't the same," Tseng mutters as his darkening eyes fall to the floor and he straightens up to maintain his composure in a manner that suggests he'd like to erase whatever's suddenly bothering him. And I can't help but wonder if I'm going to get a glimpse of whatever they're saying to each other even though neither of them are coming out and saying it.
But as if the redhead knows what's going through Tseng's head, he nods like he'd like to say he's sorry about something and walks passed him while stating, "Don't shut us out again, Man," before he honours Tseng's silent request to leave and walks toward the door while warning him, "'Cuz I ain't gonna ignore any of the signs this time."
All the while, I'm wondering what they're talking about and I'm wondering why Tseng suddenly has that forlorn look in his eyes again as he continues to stare at the floor and puts his hand back into his pocket to mindlessly toy with that silver object of his again.
Then he rubs at his eyes and shakes his head like he's trying to clear it out before he acts like nothing just happened and storms over to the closet to yank me forward by the front of the shirt.
"What the hell are you trying to do to me?" he demands in a lowered voice that's suddenly conscious about being overheard, but angry just the same.
And whether it's from the alcohol or one of the other mindless drawbacks that I suffer from, I completely ignore his question and feel drawn to the sudden anger he's showing again. So I grab him by the back of his head and smash my mouth against his before I'm rewarded with another stinging slap from him and am violently pushed back.
"Something is wrong with you," he states before he points at the bed and tells me to, "Sit—And don't move."
Then he goes over to his dresser and grabs his nightclothes before he decides to clean himself up in the other bathroom while commenting that we were both lucky Reno didn't see the blood in his hair. Of course, I don't bother to mention that it was on the back of his shirt too, even though I'm sure he'll notice it the moment he takes it off.
