Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ A Real Transformation ❯ Love Potion #7 ( Chapter 7 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

More drama with Adrian plays out. A steamy night, apologies and offer made. Another potion's slipped to a rather tipsy Vincent and things heat up.

Shonen ai/Yaoi involved

Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Shounen / Angst / Romance | Type: Shounen-ai | Uploaded On: 12.21.2006 | Pages: 8 | Words: 14.8K | Visits: 276 | Status: Completed

He groaned. He was incredibly sore, and it was a stinging pain when he rolled over on his back, wincing with a soft groan. He had a slight headache. What had happened? What had he been doing to make him so sore. He couldn't remember, not at first, and even when he saw Adrian standing in his kitchen doorway with a small smile of his lips, was his memory hazy.

"Morning sunshine." It was a soft greeting. Suddenly, it hit him. Everything they had done.

"Oh God." He paled, feeling sick, standing and drawing his thin bed covers around him he noticed the mess undeniably on the sheets. He dropped them, eyes wide and not wanting to even think about who it belonged to. He darted into the nearby bathroom before Adrian could see him naked, not that it would have mattered, but Vincent still had somedignity left. Closing the door, having to shut it to get it to stay, the lock useless in the uneven door, he splashed cold water on his face. Other than his sore ass, there was little mess left on him. As though sensing some nearing danger he hastily robed his waist in a ragged cotton towel.

His boss softly opened the door behind him, smiling pleasantly. Their eyes locked in the mirror. He was dressed, hair a little frayed but otherwise looked completely normal, and had Vincent claimed no memory of last night, he would have thought the man had only just arrived, despite the fact that he was wearing the clothing he had last night. He slipped his arms around Vincent's waist pulling him warmly against him, kissing a cold and naked shoulder.

"Oh God," Vincent breathed again. For a moment, Adrian only looked over him with a sort of adoration. His breath was warm in his ear.

"You look like such an angel, but you're a demon in bed." His voice was lazy, content, his fingers brushing over Vincent's stomach and making him quiver. Vincent said nothing, only stared distantly into the mirror, reflecting his boss holding onto him and smiling mischievously back. He was frozen, and not just from how cold it was in his room.

There were marks and bruises on his body, more so where he was covered with his towel, but bite marks and hickies lined his neck, trailed down his chest, particular around the thin scar traced down the middle of an otherwise white chest.

"I cleaned you up this morning." His voice was almost a soft laugh. "You made such a mess." His tongue was snaking between his teeth seductively.

"I thought you'd never stop cumming. It must have felt so good, so wired and hot."

"Oh God," he whispered, but he only managed to mouth the words. A loud bang was heard from the kitchen and instinctively, protective, Adrian's grip tightened, pressing closer. Or maybe it was a gesture of surprise and cowardice. Either way, the mirror gave the only warning as a man cloaking black, hair flying behind him and an impossibly long sword hurried forth in a flurry. Catching the sight of Vincent's black hair, his unblinking stare in the mirror, Sephiroth was forced to hold his attack or else end up dicing him as well as the offender, Adrian. The sword tip nonetheless slashed partially through Adrian's side with a flick of a well trained wrist and a grunting, stifled cry was heard.

Adrian turn, half backing behind Vincent, who merely seemed to be in a stupor. The muddy haired brunette was clutching his side, warm blood almost steaming in the frigidity of the room, spewing forth and trickling over his fingers, down his leg. He was gritting his teeth, pain shining in his eyes. Sephiroth smiled at the sight. The vampire's mouth was parted slightly, as though he had lost what he was about to say, his eyes still a vacant and misty expression. Noticing the look the swordsman swore. Swinging his sword to the side, keeping it unsheathed, it was only when he had managed to get a hand on Vincent's arm and jerk him forward, stumbling, that his glare never left Adrian.

"I should kill you for touching him." He pulled Vincent out into the bedroom, only then sheathing his sword.

"You bastard, what the hell is this for?" Adrian cried, nearly snarling with rage and pain. Sephiroth only smirked, gathering the shocked and disquieted lithe man in his arms.

"Well I have to protect my boyfriend. You did something forbidden. Consider yourself lucky that I haven't eviscerated you yet."

He turned, hair and coat tails whipping behind him.

"Vincent doesn't have a boyfriend or lover, other than me!" Adrian shouted after Sephiroth, stumbling forward. The swordsman just gave a wink over his shoulder.

"That's what you think. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't talk about his cold blooded, murderer of a boyfriend." Face already ashen from his unexpected injury, Adrian seemed to blanch further, although the effect was far from paling; the opposite, a shadow overcoming his face as though he'd pass out any moment now. Sephiroth had been making a bee line for his hotel suite with Vincent draped in his arms, clad in only a towel, when halfway there, the mysterious--though suddenly wily--man jumped from his arms with a short cry. Landing in the snow he stumbled and fell, gasping, shivering. When Sephiroth kneeled down to help him, the lithe vampire scrambled away and it was only after much firm calling of his name and grabbing him by the ankle and half dragged backwards that he stopped. His breath was caught in his throat, seeming only to sneak past as his heart (also in his throat) constricted with a painful beat.

Ruby eyes were wild, glossy.

"Vincent," the swordsman soothed in his ear, but he was gone to some hysteria, a panic to save whatever he had left of himself. Shrugging his coat off and bundling Vincent up as best he could he pulled him close. He didn't need him freezing to death; the ex Turk's lips were already purple, his body shaking almost uncontrollably.

"Hey, we gotta get you to my hotel." But Vincent wasn't listening and he after a moment of frantically searching his surroundings with his eyes, he became hostile, shoving Sephiroth back at arm's length, crying out and trying to back away, scratching when he wasn't able to get away. He needed to escape, to find solitude, to be knocked out for awhile and wake up groggy, unable to remember. He needed to spend long brooding hours alone, no other human contact. He had to feel like he was save under the protection of isolation.

"Hey! Damn that hurts. Vincent calm down," Sephiroth hissed testily, eyeing the scene to make sure no one had watched or was staring.

Pure strength alone did not shake the desperate brunette, merely made him hurt himself more and finally, Sephiroth was forced to use sleep. Casting the magic from the material he kept equipped on his belt, sword hilt, and various other places, he caught a long second where an utter hopelessness and sorrow, an eternity of despair and grief darkened Vincent's eyes, a solitary tear escaping, though crimson eyes were not wet, before he slumped over in a heavy slumber, eyes closed and veiling that anguish. Grim, a little worried about Vincent's condition, and a sort of perverse thrill of stealing the man away overcame Sephiroth and he collected Vincent in his arms once more, hefting him over to reserve his strength. One arm trailed limply from Sephiroth's broad shoulder, bouncing with his brisk walk. He only wished the damn hotel was closer.

************************

He had barely opened the door and was in the process of setting the nightling down when the demon awakened tensed, rigid and staring as he was laid against the bed. Lips pursed in concern, Sephiroth was agitated that he wasn't really sure how to handle the situation, what course to take. When anyone had ever been hysterical they were dead at the end of Masamune a moment later. War and fighting did that to some people, and it always met the same fate. But no, he couldn't—refused to kill Vincent. He was too beautiful, and besides, Sephiroth hadn't gotten his fun yet. He ran a hand down a pale, cold cheek.

"You should warm up. A bath would do you good." His voice was soft, though the deepness of his voice, the masculinity, sounded firm. Vincent didn't seem to hear him, though his lack of awareness wasn't surprising in the least.

“Okay the, let's get you somewhere warm.” He looked Vincent over, but he wasn't sure if he should leave Vincent alone, to draw a warm bath. He had his answer when he attempted to leave, but was stopped by a firm grip on his shoulder. The ex Turk had a wild distant look in his eyes that said he didn't—couldn't be left alone. Sighing, not one to baby or take care of anyone else, Sephiroth caved in, which didn't stop him from complaining, scooping Vincent back up and heading for the bathroom. Beyond the wide space of shower and around the corner where a linen closet might have been, settled a large, spacious tub serving more as a Jacuzzi than a bath, lined with padding and seats to lay or sit on and be comfortable for hours on end, if one so wished.

Managing to maneuver Vincent in his lap to free one arm and turn the tap on as warm as he could stand, holding the chill body next to him, he proceeded to tug Vincent's towel off, exposing a marked and rather abused body. The vampire cringed and buried his face against Sephiroth's shoulder, ashamed. How pitiful. He ran a soft hand through Vincent's hair. Had he left those marks, he would have smiled, but just thinking that someone else had abused the precious porcelain body of the one he was working so hard to win over, stirred his anger. He would obtain his revenge in full. Merely slicing open Adrian's side was not enough to appease his wrath. He would be back. Managing to shrug out of his coat, Sephiroth was half amused that Vincent wouldn't let go, half peeved that he wouldn't let go. He couldn't finish undressing if he didn't, but having that naked, cold, and abused body clinging to him, making him feel needed and superior, gave him a rush to boost his ego.

“Let go, Vincent,” he said, his tone firm, his voice low. The vampire whimpered, but complied, as though is had been beaten into him to do so, which it probably had, to some extent.

His grip loosened but he didn't entirely let go of Sephiroth, save he fall. One handed, as the tub continued to fill until the water was steamy and making him warm just from sitting next to it, Sephiroth unrobed himself, leaving his clothing in a heap on the floor, strewn about to wherever it happened to land.

“All right now, time to warm you up,” he softly growled, almost smirking at the lewd thought as he settled Vincent, clinging to his neck like a small child, legs wrapped around his waist. The silver haired swordsman was getting aroused just from the feel of Vincent's manhood pressed to his stomach. Lowering them in the water he hissed. It was hot, but not quite uncomfortably so. Then again, for a chilled body it was probably scalding, and Vincent whimpered as the water breeched his body, washing over him and igniting pallid skin to a rosy, flushed color.

“Is it too warm for you?” he whispered in Vincent's ear, holding the other man's head to his shoulder. There was no reply. The water continued to pour forth and it wasn't until Vincent's shoulders had been nearly submerged, that the faucet was turned off, left to drip now and again.

For a long while they sat, pressed together, heated until it was like a sauna, Sephiroth sweating. Vincent had gone limp, half asleep.

“Ok then, since we're here, we might as well clean you up too.” He felt like he was talking to him, a little odd, but more often than not, when the general did indeed speak to himself, no one was there to listen. He would have gotten weird looks if he had been in public. Grabbing the body wash and propping themselves on a seat higher out of the water, Sephiroth lathered his hands well before letting them trail down Vincent's back, lavender suds tainting the water and filling his senses. His hands traveled down the curve of the ex Turk's smooth bottom, and a wince, a short cry and a violent flinch were elicited when Sephiroth proceeded to clean his abused behind. Clinging to a soothing Sephiroth, Vincent swallowed his tears and stifled his cries as the first class soldier seemed to assess the situation and the extent of the damage. Prodding fingers were gentle, not as excited as the ones that had previously explored his body and despite his helplessness and distrust, he relaxed. The fingers left, having done their job of cleaning and searching.

A half smirk, concern glinting in his eyes, Sephiroth pushed Vincent back by the shoulders, running his hands up Vincent's chest, brushing over perked and overly sensitive nipples, unable to resist doing so a second time, first eliciting a shiver, then a whimper. He didn't like what he felt, or part of the way the older man was responding. His body had been so abused, his mentality along with it. Just how long had this bastard fucked with him anyway? Figuratively and otherwise. Or maybe it wasn't just Adrian's doing. Hojo hadn't been very nice to him before, but Sephiroth didn't know the full story, nor did he particularly care. He just wanted a good night where Vincent was all his. It didn't necessarily accomplish anything, save giving Sephiroth just that much more control. He'd been through his reasoning a number of times now and he didn't want to exhaust himself over semantics again.

Vincent only whimpered softly when Sephiroth hit a bruised spot, but otherwise remained silent as the silver haired man washed him. The tally had come as basic sexual abuse, rough and demanding, but not a worst case scenario. It was enough to scar the delicate vampire but probably not enough to completely break him, albeit Vincent had been abused before. Bruises, plenty of bite marks and sexually wearing Vincent out was more or less the extent of his injuries. His backside would be sore for the next couple of days, but he would live to see another day, and another night where Sephiroth would bed him. Draining the water, he stood, Vincent propped beside him, dripping water. He wrung out his hair, laden with hot water, and Vincent's as well, before stepping onto the soft carpeted steps leading to the tile of the shower area, wrapping the largest towel he could find around Vincent, fluffing him up within the folded arms of the cotton, finding a smaller one for himself as well. He dried Vincent, who managed to stand on his own, with firm strokes.

“You're a lot of work to keep up with,” Sephiroth teased, smirking as he pulled the fragile man by the upper arm. “Come on.”

He led Vincent to his bed, pushing him down, raven hair still damp.

“I'll join you in a minute.” Drying himself as he headed into the kitchen area to set water to boil for tea, he stood, naked, and stared out the window at the scenery. The frigidity radiating from the cold panes made his hair stand on end, but the untouched snow seemed beautiful, so clean. This was the one season that made Midgar look truly beautiful. He stood, watching the horizon, mesmerized until the whistle of the tea sang him back to reality. Pouring steaming cups over tea bags, he brought in a cup to Vincent, who lay curled on the bed, eyes closed tight, knuckles white, they clutched the blanket so hard.

“Vincent?” His named resounded softly from Sephiroth's lips as he set the cup of tea on the bedside table next to Vincent, rounding the bed to face the vampire who had warily opened his eyes. Sephiroth slipped under the blankets to join his guest. Immediately, arms circled his neck and he was pulled close to the still frightened man. He refused to speak, only whimpered softly against Sephiroth as a strong arms embraced him. At this rate, it didn't seem as though the first class soldier would need a potion to convince Vincent to fall for him. There was a long moment filled with silence, the light in the room dims from the veiled windows.

“Would you like to tell what exactly happened? What did he do to you?” His voice was curious, nonchalant. It was a touchy subject, and Vincent was never apt to talk much anyway, but he need to know the details of the situation before he could decide what torturous process to use on this Adrian fellow. Disembowelment was always slow and painful. Vincent didn't reply, didn't even moved. Only his warm breath, almost quivering against Sephiroth's throat indicated that he hadn't gone into shock and forgotten how to function.

“I promise he will pay,” Sephiroth said as he stroked raven hair. “You know, if you're going to keep borrowing clothes from me, maybe I should charge. Ever since you've bumping into me, inevitably, I would say, you've been stealing a lot of favors. You owe me, Vincent.” He spoke softly.

“It wouldn't be right to take your money though; you don't have any. You should find a way to pay me back. I would say a free or heavily discounted price on your alcohol, but you don't work that job any more. Hmmmm.” He paused. “Maybe I could convince you to provide other services.” He grinned.

“You know, house keeping, accompanying me in case I get lonely.” He sugared the last word, hugging Vincent, but even as he rambled, he received no response. “Drawing my bath water, doing as I ask, massaging me everywhere.” His fingers danced down Vincent's back, playing suggestively over the skin just above that sweet ass of his, one finger sipping down to rub wantonly over already abused skin. Vincent tensed slightly, but relaxed with a sigh.

“Are you even listening to me?” Sephiroth asked, his voice a little louder, as though his softly spoken words before had been lost, their volume so low the interminably quiet snow had stolen them. Holding Vincent back by the shoulders, he noticed that the ex Turk had fallen asleep, his head hanging limply forward. Smiling faintly and ruffling damp hair, he drew Vincent closer. He itched to take advantage of him. He was already so fragile, his resolve undermined and dissolved from previous engagements, but no, Sephiroth would have preferred him more vocal and feisty over recluse and sobbing.

For a while, he rested but the sound of his PHS ringing drew him from Vincent's arms, causing the darkling to whine in protest but when Sephiroth offered the pillow he had been sleeping on in place of himself, Vincent hugged it gladly, face snuggled to where Sephiroth's damp hair had been. It must have smelled like him. Smirking, Sephiroth found his pants in the bathroom, dressing himself in what he had been wearing before finally answering his phone.

“It had better be good,” he hissed, disdain heavy on his voice. Of course, he wasn't upset. He was just toying with the man on the other line. He heard Hojo clear his throat uncomfortably.

“Er yes well, I received information regarding the effects of the potion from Vincent's room, and I have forwarded the tape to your email in case you wanted to see. I was t—er I realized how….. protective you seemed to be of our subject, and since he had been with another person, I wasn't sure if you were… aware—” Sephiroth sighed exasperatedly, grinning to himself. Of course he knew.

“I've taken care of that, if you would check your tapes. What do you want Hojo? I told you it had better be good. If you can't catch my interest, I'm hanging up in five…..four…”

“Er wait, no, you see, I hadn't checked because of the potion I was working on. The second stage has been completed, and now the third one is almost—”

“Three…..two…..”

“It should be ready by this afternoon. Can you stop by the pick it up? The president will not allow any other personal guards to retrieve it, you see.”

The scientist spoke hastily as Sephiroth slowly counted. There was a long silence.

“S-Sephiroth?”

“I need to come pick it up? What if I say I can't? You know I won't be happy if I can't get the potion, but if my hands are tied up, I can't come to your every beck and call.” His voice was mocking.

“Hm, ah yes, well, I do have one other option but, you see, I do not know how safe it will be—”

“You bore me Hojo.” With that, the twisted scientist still trying to get a word in, Sephiroth hung up. Shaking his head and sneering at the PHS, he set it back on the kitchen table, returning to his bedroom—only to find his bed was empty. The tea was untouched, and Vincent was nowhere to be found. Looking in his drawers, he found some of his clothing had been taken.

“Well now, you didn't ask, you didn't leave a note, and you didn't pay me for it.” Sephiroth grinned. He liked a good chase, but based on how Vincent had been acting, he wondered why he had left; he had been so clingy! Was he still in his right mind? No, of course he was, but was he fueled by that insanity that drove so many to commit such blasphemous acts?

“Hm…. I'm coming to get you, Vincent,” he crooned, shouldering his coat on and holstering his weapon, attaching it to his side. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

************************

Vincent was shivering. He had fled, needing to get away. He had felt oddly safe, knowing it was Sephiroth's arms he had been furled in, but some part of him just had to get away. That need for solitude, to isolate himself, even if it meant brooding over things he didn't understand, or didn't want to understand, over things that he never wanted to remember. In his panic, his clarity for remembrance was keen, unusually sharp, instead of a jumbled blur. He had reasoned out everything before, and on some level he accepted it because it made sense, but to have general Sephiroth seem to care so tenderly for him? It didn't really make much sense, unless it somehow fit in the rest of the puzzle, but how? He was the son of Lucrecia, so maybe the genes he got from her were finally starting to show. Maybe he did have a loving, caring, tender side to him after all…..

By why towards him, Vincent? Lucrecia hated both herself and Vincent because of what the ex Turk had done. Then there was the thought that he was being slipped something, that Hojo was also connected, but Sephiroth hated his father, didn't he? And why not? Vincent hated him because of everything he did, stealing the love of his life, experimenting on the both of them, letting Lucrecia get away with risking her life and paying an ultimate price for it….. Sephiroth should hate him even more simply for being what the swordsman was. No, Sephiroth and Hojo couldn't be connected; the silver haired man would have surely killed him on sight! That bastard Hojo could be manipulative, but this was the famed first class soldier, general Sephiroth, even if he was son to the wicked bent man.

Sighing, his breath a frosty puff, he pulled the rather thick cloak tighter about him, flakes of delicate intricately carved ice crystals floating down around him and melting on him, sticking to his clothing—to Sephiroth's clothing. His feet were numb, even after having trekked as quickly as possible back to his apartment for shoes and his cloak. Wanting to avoid the place, he couldn't help but go back, only because it would have been foolish for getting sick from cold feet, and because there was no place warm he could retreat to. Either way he would have had to go back to his apartment sometime anyway. Vincent was lucky not to have run into Adrian there, though he avoided the bathroom where a trail of dripping blood was drying.

Crimson eyes closed wearily, but not because the raven haired man was tired. He was stressed and felt like he was about to have a breakdown, which almost seemed to be a blessing, welcomed into his world of insanity. Why had everything turned upside down so suddenly? He'd had enough problems at work with Adrian, and now Sephiroth was in the middle of the picture, screwing everything up, just because he tailed Vincent, taking care of him, looking after him. Why? He couldn't possibly be exacting revenge, could he? It wasn't impossible, and after what Vincent had done to Sephiroth's mother, Lucrecia, it wasn't improbable. Sure, Lucrecia wasn't the vengeful type, but the general was half of Hojo as well. Sephiroth probably knew what the ex Turk had done to Lucrecia, and now he was getting revenge. Hiding his numb fingers under the folds of his cloak, already heavily powdered white, Vincent decided it might as well be revenge, but it was still odd that Sephiroth would care so much for him. No, he told himself, it was just a ruse to get close to him, to make him trust him, just so he could carry out his scheme when the older man was least expecting it.

He had tucked himself away, not far from Wall Market, perched on a wall of crumbled rock, under an overhang and inconspicuous, despite the color of red cape clashing against the white of snow and black-brown of rubble. Not that it would matter in another hour; he'd be covered in snow and hidden from roaming eyes. Mounds of snow covered the broken machinery and wrecked road-way, making it look as though spindly arm, laden with icicles were reaching from the depths of a frozen hell, a forest of refuse, alive, that would consume anyone who wandered through. His tracks had been covered, barely seen through the deeper snow that failed to support his weight. Vincent was warm under a blanket of snow, his body heat warming him, trapped under the thin barrier, and he didn't plan on moving until curiously enough, Adrian wandered through the scene. The sun was veiled with thick ice clouds, cool grey, boiling the misty sky, and so, regardless of the reflected light off the pure white scenery, it was still rather dark out, such as a premature night, and rising dawn.

Shuffling through the light powdery snow, Adrian had his hands in the pocket of a white jacket, lined with fur. Although he was pale from the bite of the slight wind and the cold of the climate, he looked warm enough, his lips worn pink from the onslaught of unrelenting frigidity. Bright blue eyes searched, his dark chocolate hair, appearing like a cocoa brown compared to the pallid color of his skin. Ruby red eyes narrowed, and instinctively Vincent pulled closer against the rock to his back. He was confident enough that he would be seen unless someone was searching for him up the sloping side of the wall before it became a sheer craggy wall, but he could never be too invisible in a case like this. With pursed lips, a delicate face hidden behind the shield of his cloak, he watched his hated enemy shuffle closer, looking around wearing a forlorn, puzzled expression. Adrian appeared to be offended, by the snow or cold, or perhaps something else.

Even with his guise of snow and rock blending him into the environment, he ended up being found anyway. Vincent stiffened as Adrian looked curiously around the edge of wall the ex Turk was settled behind, a smile spreading across his face pleasantly as he identified who it was, his grin falling grimly from the glare he received. Why was it, when he didn't want to be found, he ended up being walked on by someone he didn't want to see? Sure, he'd been out there brooding a good couple hours already, but where had his former boss come from? Slowly, Adrian ascended the small hillside to settle hesitantly next to Vincent who pulled away from him as much as possible. Vincent could have fled, could have fought him, and could have gotten away with it, but he just didn't. He couldn't find the willpower to run away or fight, whether it was just because he was so tired of everything that he had given up or because of something else he couldn't explain.

The blue eyed brunette winced slightly when he sat, careful with his wounded side, careful not to brush too closely to Vincent. He was silent, looking over the scenery a moment.

“I wanted to apologize.” His voice cut the crisp air and the darkling nearly winced. Was that some kind of misery he heard in his voice? Why should he be sorry? His intentions had never been very noble from the beginning!

“I want to apologize for everything. I suppose I just… approached you in the wrong way.” Vincent sat still, listening as he stared at the frozen snow. Adrian sighed before trying to further his explanation. “I treated you more like a woman, just someone to use…. That's all they ever wanted from me, materialistic things. I came off as good looking, and charming to them, and if I ever wanted a woman to use for my own pleasures they didn't usually resist. I—” He looked away, ashamed. Were human emotions possible in this man?

“I don't have any excuses and none of them would do you any good, but I want to apologize for the way I've acted. I deserved what I got and I don't expect your forgiveness, but if it's any consolation, I am very sorry for everything I've done. If I can do anything for you…..” He let the thought trail, looking back towards Vincent, wistfully, though still dignified in some way. His eyes were sad, but his body tried to retain some amount of self-respect. Adrian pursed his lips, playing with the snow at his feet, knees drawn to his chest.

“Apologies can't fix anything, I know,” he said softly. Vincent glanced to him, watching him carefully from the corner of his eyes. The raven haired man hadn't really known his former boss very well and he never bothered to try. He'd come on too strongly for him, so he had assumed that was just how he was, a jerk with nothing better to do than harass people, but honestly, from the scene he was setting up, it seemed like there was more.

Adrian met Vincent's eyes, hard and cold, though in a way, still understanding, and the young brunette looked away shyly before he was able to meet a piercing crimson gaze again.

“I know you cannot trust me right away, if ever again. Please, accept my apology?” Vincent looked him over with a blank expression, though his eyes shone with disdain. He hated this man, but here he was apologizing. What if it was just a set up, something to let his guard down. He merely watched Adrian, who became uncomfortable under the scrutinizing. After a long moment with no response, Adrian simply stood, dusting the clinging snow from the back of his pants. Unzipping his coat to reveal a red sweater, he groped an inside pocket, pulling out a rather small envelope, something inside. He held it out to Vincent between gloved fingers.

“Here. Please, take it.” Adrian waited for a long moment until Vincent reluctantly did. The ex Turk didn't like his former boss one bit, but at least he'd be civilly decent toward him.

Holding the small card between two fingers in a way that would assume the paper might bite, he waited until Adrian gave a soft smile before wandering away, glancing over his shoulder before heading on, his shoulders looking a bit lighter after his confession. Moments after the brunette left, Vincent stared absently at the card. He was planning on throwing it away, but before he could, leaving it lost in the snow, his curiosity got the better of him, and he opened it, peeking inside. There was a sheet of paper. Glancing around as though someone were watching his actions, he slipped the piece of paper from its envelope, turning it over and reading it between two fingers. It was an invitation to a… lodge? Midgar had lodges? It must have been new. Even as a Turk, Vincent had never heard of Midgar having any lodges, other than a winter house for President ShinRa to stay in. Then again, he had never been to the place given. Flipping the paper over, the opposite side had a small hand drawn map, detailing recognizable landmarks, starting with ShinRa HQ.

Adrian was inviting him to stay at a lodge. It was included in a post-script that Adrian was staying there and would pay for a separate room for him if he came by, but Vincent held no intention of doing so. Nonetheless, he pocketed the paper, folding it back into the envelope, standing and shaking the snow off him. He didn't want to return home, and eventually he'd need to return Sephiroth's clothes. Sliding down the snow-laden slope, his hair caught the breeze, whipping about his face and reminding him that he didn't have his headband on. That was right—Sephiroth still had it. If the swordsman wanted to find him, he'd probably go back to his apartment. It still made the vampire wonder why Sephiroth would tail him, but he didn't want to think about it. He still had to deal with Adrian too.

He was headed back through Midgar, past a broken and closed down, shambled church filled with snow and towards another sector when he was quite surprisingly taken aback by some sort of monster. Normally he wouldn't bother with any small monsters that bothered hiding in the rubble. They were barely strong enough to take on the sick of the Sector 7 slums, let alone the experienced fighter, but this was different. Vincent recognized it as a Bad Rap Sample from Hojo's labs, its large greenish-blue head, the claw-like protrusions, and the trailing twin tentacles holding onto a vial of… something. Immediately, the ex Turk backed up, being unarmed. Where had the Bad Rap Sample come from? Whether it was headed to a predetermined destination or following him to attack, he didn't know until he dropped his knees, stealthily and quickly side-stepping the monster, giving it a wide girth. It turned to follow, and then he knew it was after him. Reaching for his gun, he found it wasn't there. He wasn't even wearing his claw either and why should he? Unless he was purposefully looking for a fight, be it with monster or man, there was no reason to be armed—he could give slip or fist fight his way past anyone, and normally anything that was here never bothered with him, especially because he was too strong, but a Bad Rap Sample was another story.

Vincent fled far enough to lose the monster, it being not fast enough, before he doubled back. It was still searching for him, almost dreamily, following his footsteps, though the nightling doubted it was smart enough to be able to track him. Slipping into the scarce shadows of a mound of rubble and trash, he slid along, headed somewhere else, but a thought struck him. This creature was stronger than the people of the slums could possible handle. Most were doing well enough to be able to fight off a cold, let alone a strong monster they'd never seen before with enough bite to leave many dead before it was overwhelmed by sheer numbers alone. But he couldn't fight it unarmed either. Inevitably heading back towards his apartment with as much haste as he could, he hoped he wouldn't run into anyone else he didn't want to see, hoping also that the Bad Rap Sample would follow him slowly, step for step, and not fend off a defenseless person that got in his way.

************************

Sephiroth waited patiently in Vincent's apartment, near the door when low and behold, the man he was waiting for was nearly deposited like a neat little package into his arms.

“Ah, gotcha!” he cried triumphantly, grabbing Vincent's arm and pulling him close enough to hook a restraining arm about his stomach when the wary raven haired man turned to jump back through his doorway. Apparently, he might have been expecting something like this, but had been too distracted to worry about it.

“Sephiroth!” His voice was a hiss, nearly a shout.

“I knew you'd come back,” Sephiroth said matter-of-factly, eliciting a groan from the older man in his grasp. So much for hoping.

“What are you doing here? Let go. I have something tailing me and I plan on killing it.” He wiggled, kicking, and finally Sephiroth let down, crossing his arms and watching as he stalked from the room to his bedroom, no doubt to retrieve his claw and his gun.

“My clothing looks so fetching on you,” the swordsman called out lazily to Vincent as the brunette disappeared from sight. Grinning, he shut the front door, looking out to find nothing following Vincent. When he stepped into the bedroom, the ex Turk was hurriedly fighting on his own shirt, already stepped into pants that fit snuggly.

“Aw, but I thought you looked so sexy in my clothes, Vincent.” The vampire tossed a glare over his shoulder, fixing his hair, pulling his claw into place, as quick as he could, but delicately, and holstering his gun under his cloak. Still glaring he pushed Sephiroth's clothing into his arms with a muttered, “Thanks,” and brushed past the tall man.

“Oh come now, I waited to see you and it's like you're walking on hot coals. Stay a few minutes and enlighten me Vincent. You know I wasn't very pleased that you ran away from me. I'm beginning to think that you don't like me.” Sephiroth dropped his clothes, stepping in front of the door in the kitchen and successfully blocking the vampire from escaping. Ruby eyes looked wildly a moment, glaring, but Vincent settled down.

“What do you want Sephiroth?” The darkling's voice was firm and even.

“What's tailing you?” the first class soldier asked, switching the subject, mako colored eyes shining. Vincent remained silence, as if he were contemplating whether to answer Sephiroth or not, but at length he did.

“A Bad Rap Sample, escaped from Hojo's lab.” The silver haired young man cocked his head inquisitively when Hojo was mentioned. A monster from Hojo's lab? All the way in Midgar? It would have been killed by something else just to get here! Unless it was a particularly strong one, and if he remembered correctly, Hojo tended to keep strong, bizarre creations with him.

“It's following you?” he asked. Vincent nodded grimly, then withdrawing his gun, he cocked it.

“I don't know if it's killed anyone, but I don't want to wait long enough to find out. Step aside, Sephiroth.” The general looked the ex Turk over, then nodded, gingerly stepping to the side.

“Sure you can take on the big bad monster?” he nearly laughed, Vincent throwing open his door and stalking out. The frame had had more than it could take and the door fell to the side on broken hinges. Vincent didn't bother though, the Bad Rap Sample in sight not far from the hotel.

As quickly as he could he made his way down the side stairs to the side of the apartment complex, hidden around the corner, but it wouldn't matter, for the creature seemed to know he was there, even sped up a bit as if anticipating the vampire, the vial of purple liquid held in its tentacle grip. Looking over the hand rail, Sephiroth found the monster, vaguely remembering it from Hojo's lab and acknowledging it as something he had indeed seen there before, but why was it here? Squinting against the bright snow, he found the Bad Rap Sample was carrying a bottle, and upon leaning far over the rail for a better look, he saw it was the potion the scientist had been working on. Now that he recalled, Hojo had said something about sending the concoction over another way, not knowing how safe it would be. So this is what he meant. He grinned, then remembered Vincent was about to kill the thing and probably destroy the bottle along with it. Vaulting over the rail as though Vincent's apartment wasn't on the second floor of the two story apartment complex, he landed with a thud in the snow, tucking and rolling with a forward lurch to avoid shattering his ankles.

He stood in a flurry of snow, just in time to make a reach for the bottle the monster was carrying. It had stopped, turned to him, then held out the bottle for Sephiroth, dropping it in his hands. The swordsman stared at the glass vial as though he didn't know what it was, then the Bad Rap Sample exploding only a yard away from him. He ducked, turning away, barely in time for the back of his coat to be spattered with pinkish juices from the now dead monster. It was still smoking with bullet holes, the shots reverberatingly loud, making a timbered structure of an old and abandoned house collapse. Groaning was heard from the apartment beside Sephiroth, but it held up under the sound's frequency. Vincent lowered his arm, sheathing his gun on his hip, eyes searching Sephiroth for an answer as to what the beast had been carrying.

Pocketing the vial, Sephiroth frowned, glaring at Vincent.

“You didn't have to get it all over me!” he complained with a huff.

“Why did you jump from the second story?” Vincent hissed disapprovingly back, but he was more intrigued by what the monster had been carrying that Sephiroth now had in his pocket.

“What was that it was carrying?” the ex Turk asked, but the silver haired man only smiled faintly, much to Vincent's dismay.

“A high potion. Did you need it for something?” He looked the other over, seeming to search for a wound of some sort, perhaps abuse from Adrian. After a moment of watching Sephiroth suspicious, the brunette shook his head slowly, then drew his cloak about himself and walked briskly onward.

************************

The first class soldier and general had let Vincent walk on, knowing he would find him again. Letting him get to a distance where he thought he was safe, Sephiroth returned from taking his clothing back to his suite, tucking them safely into their proper drawer before setting off to locate Vincent once more. Despite the size of Midgar and how easy it was to lose people in all the nooks and crannies, all the shadows and holes, Vincent never wandered far anyway. He sat perched atop the broken church, huddled, shivering under his cloak. It was mid afternoon by now and the sun way already setting, the days always growing shorter, the nights ever longer, and always colder. The snow had let up once again, refusing to make a blanket in which to warm Vincent. Sephiroth had silently climbed the mass of broken rubble, watching Vincent from an unnoticed distance for awhile. He had the potion, but now he needed the vampire to drink it.

He watched until his feet had grown numb with the cold, then decided to approach Vincent. Standing only a few feet away, having been careful of ice and snow, the swordsman rubbed his arms, Vincent having noticed and edged visibly away.

“Sephiroth,” he growled, sighing with his greeting.

“Come back to my suit. I'm sure you're cold, and no doubt hungry.” Sephiroth skipped the chase to get to the point. Vincent couldn't really return to his `home.' It was broken and cold, the door gone and snow blown in. The only thing he really owned there were his clothes and his weapons, his small amount of gil stashed away for safe keeping.

“What for?” the brunette asked after a moment filled with silence.

“So you don't freeze to death out here,” Sephiroth bit out, rolling his eyes, then cocked a brow at Vincent. That was part of the reason. That and the fact that Adrian could come back, stupidly, for revenge, and because Sephiroth had a potion Vincent needed to drink.

“Come on now and don't be stubborn.” Receiving no response after a good while, he pulled Vincent up by the shoulder, tugging him along, honoring only a glare, but no protest.

The sky covered world in darkness, the clouds veiling the moon heavily and threaten to give way to even more snow. They had made it back to Sephiroth's suit, though Vincent needed some convincing just to enter the room again, trying to tell the swordsman that he was perfectly fine sleeping in the lounge. Nonetheless, Sephiroth paid for his meal, getting Vincent tipsy enough to need the bedroom, ordering more wine for the kid and mixing in the potion. Of course, Sephiroth had drunk enough to get buzzed, only to alleviate suspicion, but he was still sober enough to be able to walk straight, unlike Vincent who wobbled a bit when he walked. The dark and untamable man had taken reluctantly to accepting Sephiroth's hospitality, especially since the silver haired man didn't bite.

They were eating on the bottom floor of the hotel, in the restaurant stashed in the corner, where businessmen staying there or other VIP members would eat if they hadn't ordered room service instead. Regardless of the odd looks Vincent had gotten from the higher class people staying at the high scale hotel, Sephiroth didn't try to persuade Vincent into wearing something a little less flashy, or else something higher class—not that Sephiroth had bothered bringing anything of the sort anyway. Vincent only accepted after much insistence and persuasion, not wanting to be in debt to the green eyed general, having to pay him back when it was least expected. The ex Turk relaxed well enough in Sephiroth's presence, decided nothing much mattered at the moment, and so allowed himself the pleasure of a long and filling dinner, accompanied with several glasses of wine and even some chit chat between the two.

As far as the swordsman could tell, the raven haired man didn't expect a thing. Vincent wasn't gullible, but in his brooding thoughts, he wasn't always too observant, although most people weren't anyway, unless looking for something in particular. While Vincent took his time in the men's room, Sephiroth leisurely called Hojo, reassuring that he had received the potion and that it was on its way to being consumed shortly. He hung up in the middle of Hojo saying something about results for the brew, a waiter stopping at the table to fill Sephiroth's glass with water. The general had spotted Vincent returning from the bathroom, carefully weaving his way through the chairs and tables to the back wall where they had been situated. Sitting himself, perhaps glad that they had ordered a booth and not just a table for two with chairs he might fall out of, Vincent looked Sephiroth over, sobering up.

“Thanks for treating me to dinner Sephiroth, but I need to get going,” he rasped softly, politely.

“Oh?” Sephiroth asked in return, quirking a brow. “Go where? We've reasoned this before, Vincent.” But the nightling was already shaking his head.

“I'm fine on my own Sephiroth.”

“Oh come on now, wherever you say, even if it's indoors it's not nearly as convenient or comfortable as an actual room! The only places halfway decent are higher scale places like this hotel, and then they kick you for trying to sleep in the lobby!” He eyed the glass of tainted wine, then back to crimson eyes, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward.

“Whaddya say? Just a night or two… until you get another job or something. Find a real place to stay.” The brunette searched Sephiroth with all gravity, but didn't seem to find what he was looking for, asking at length.

“Why?” His voice was stiff, nearly bitter. “Why have you been so concerned about me? Why are you harassing me, following me around? What do you want?” He was getting in a fuss, but he calmed himself before his feathers became too ruffled, taking a deep breath and watching Sephiroth steadily for his answer.

The swordsman pondered the questions a moment. He'd always held a certain pleasure for torturing people, and the extent of his scheme was merely to posses this beautiful person, Vincent. He was certainly powerful, good looking, if a bit feminine in the face, strong, broad shouldered, and mysterious, and any girl that thought to pursue him was easily swayed but anything he told them. Most often enough they stayed away though. Sephiroth radiated a certain vibe, a sort of quiet, murderous signal that bid people stay away, and he was perfectly fine alone. He manipulated people, if only for his own fun or to prove a point. He couldn't really tell Vincent that, not in those words, and he most definitely wouldn't tell the other that he and Hojo were experimenting on him.

“Why? Well, why shouldn't I?” Giving Vincent a skeptical look, a slight frown tugged on his lips. The brunette faltered, his own expression doubtful, but quickly veiled.

“You have to have a reason.” Sephiroth shrugged, sipping his water and giving Vincent a look, daring him to challenge his reasoning.

“I asked why I shouldn't. If I tell you I just feel like, are you going to believe that? Am I going to have to make up some heart-wrenching sob story for you to believe me?”

Vincent sighed softly, slumping in his seat, his arm along the back of the booth's polished wooden chair. If Sephiroth didn't give him answers he'd just have to supply his own, so long as they seemed feasible and made enough sense to him. He shook his head in acknowledgement, ready, he supposed, to end up finding his way back to Sephiroth's suite. It wasn't such a bad option; he'd felt safe before, but it was suspicious, and only because it seemed that the silver haired man was taking care of him. Vincent had been perfectly fine when Sephiroth didn't pay enough attention to him to be able to tell what color his hair was. Although it didn't make sense, he was through bothering with it.

“Finish your wine and we'll get going.” He looked over a porcelain face with slightly narrowed eyes, then added quickly, “I know I'm paying for it but I don't want it going to waste.” The ex Turk would have told Sephiroth to just drink it himself if he didn't want the wine going down the drain, but he refrained. He didn't need someone else upset with him, especially the first class soldier. Grumbling faintly to himself he picked his glass up, sipping, then gulping it down, licking his lips when he was finished. If his eyes hadn't been closed he might have caught the eager look with which Sephiroth gazed at him, but as it was, he missed the none too subtle action entirely, finding a smirking general instead. Setting his wine glass down, he nodded.

It wasn't the same wine he'd ordered before, but wasn't bad either, just a little sweet for his preference.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “But if you find me gone in the morning, don't be surprised.” Sephiroth just chuckled softly, daring to reach across the table for a lock of ebony hair. Was that some kind of triumph in his eyes, or just over-zealous confidence, perhaps?

“Is that a threat?” the silver haired man murmured, kissing glossy strands softly, eyes narrowed gently, mischievously, causing Vincent's cheeks to glow with a carnation blush. Laughing to himself again, Sephiroth stood, pulling the collar up on his jacket and fishing enough gil out of his pocket for a rather generous tip, covering the meal and then some.

“Don't worry, I don't think you'll want to leave. You won't have reason to.” Sephiroth was purring coolly as he slipped his hand around Vincent's elbow, steering him towards the elevator. He took his time with slow purposeful strides, knowing the potion would need some time to take effect, but knowing if he waited too long—if things were going as predicted—they'd never make it out of the elevator, much less through his suite's door and into a more private room.

Vincent closed his eyes as they rode up, a little unsteady, but Sephiroth held him firmly about the shoulders. The swordsman spoke as they stepped into the hall, the elevator doors signaling their arrival with a `ding.'

“You never quite struck me as the type to get drunk, Vincent.” The brunette said nothing, his lips pursed. He hadn't intended to get so tipsy that he had a little trouble walking, but more often than not, when he brooded he didn't always pay attention to the here and now, the reality around him, and so he consumed more alcohol than he'd meant. His impaired judgment was indifferent towards Sephiroth, neither a threat nor a save haven, just simply there. In response he shrugged, almost falling through the doorway when Sephiroth unlocked it. Chuckling softly, the general helped Vincent to the bed before he fell, and the lithe figure collapsed gratefully against the blankets, pulling himself on and staring at the ceiling. Laying there, Sephiroth smirked, locking his door again and hanging up his coat, stripping down to his pants and a robe.

“I'll make sure I have ice, if you need it.”

The ebony haired beauty watched the ceiling spin some. At least he wasn't totally wasted, and wine was easy to stomach. Closing his eyes, his extremities tingled; his head flopped to the side and when he opened his eyes, a ruby gaze fell over the muscular frame of the first class soldier. Vincent blinked to clear his vision. The black robe Sephiroth wore was thin, more a decoration or lingerie than something to keep him warm and dry. It was black, lined with golden thread, the letter `S' ornately adorning the breast pocket, vines of roses coloring the hem and climbing up to his hip on one side. A broad chest was partially exposed, and leading up a defined though smooth neck to rich features was a mischievous face, haloed with flowing silver hair. Vincent sat up, lips delicately parted as he watched Sephiroth approach the bed, giving him a mildly questioning look and wandering around to the arm chair in the corner near the bed. Sitting like a roosting hen, comfortably situated against the warming fabric, his arms crossed over his chest, Sephiroth sat back to observe Vincent.

It made the vampire feel a little awkward when Sephiroth didn't turn his gaze away, and so he blushed faintly, rolling onto his side.

“Feeling okay? You're not going to let loose all over the bed and force us to sleep in the bathtub are you?” the green eyed man half joked, still sounding concerned over Vincent's health.

“Hmph. Maybe I should, just to be spiteful. Not that I'd sleep with you in a bathtub.” Vincent mumbled the last part, but it only made Sephiroth smile coyly. The room fell silent, hushed in the dim light from two lamps, and the ex Turk dozed lightly, resting in his haze of inebriation. Then Sephiroth decided he wanted a closer look. Crawling onto the bed, he ran a tickling hand down Vincent's upper arm, propped on one elbow, and the action made Vincent shiver softly, rolling half on his back and nearly into Sephiroth's arms with a blush. His eyes half opened, partially asleep, he wasn't ashamed to gaze awe-stricken into strikingly sea green eyes. Inadvertently staring into mesmerizing eyes, finding himself unable or unwilling to look away, on his back now, Sephiroth was drawing daringly close, his regard sparkling and dancing with roguishness.

Blushing, pressed against the bed beneath him, eyes widened before fluttering closed as Sephiroth closed the gap between then with a kiss, firm against soft lips, though pliant, slow, yet demanding. Cupping a delicate cheek with one hand, the swordsman's fingers trailed to a narrow chest, which arched under his touch ever so faintly. Opening Vincent's mouth, he could taste the wine on him, shifting to possessively hover over the small frame, arm cradling his side closely and making him whimper. With a bite to a lower lip in parting, Sephiroth trailed down Vincent's neck, the smaller man's head thrown back in a gasp, arching under the swordsman when ghosted over a sensitive spot. His hands tugged futilely at silver hair and he whined girlishly to no avail, only making Sephiroth attack with renewed fervor, teeth grazing porcelain skin and leaving red marks. He tolerated the assault well enough, hands having found their way to broad shoulders and holding on tightly, but when he felt a strong hand between to feel between his legs, roughly fondling him, he panicked.

Vincent didn't want this. Not when he felt as if he had no control, and it was apparent his body reacted without him telling when he only spread his legs wider, eliciting a soft pleased laughed from Sephiroth. He was already hard, aroused even before Sephiroth began kissing him, when he had laid eyes on a beautifully muscled figure he'd been struck with a certain quiet lust and it had only grown since then, but why would he be attracted to the general in any way?

“Lucrecia…” he mumbled to himself in answer to his unasked question, eyes wet with unshed tears of frustration and unwanted desire.

“Stop,” he mumbled, still holding onto Sephiroth, his grip tightening. “Please…..” But his plea only caused the other to rub him all the more gruffly, sensuously. He shuddered, closing his eyes, brows furrowed. Despite his moan he grit his teeth, managing to shove Sephiroth off with wild, aggressive eyes.

“Stop!” It was a hiss. Faintly glowing eyes surveyed him.

“Something wrong?”

“I said stop.” The smirk grew to a skeptical look on Sephiroth's face.

“Lucrecia? That's what you said. Where did that come from?” Vincent merely stared perplexed, awoken from his wonderment by another grope.

Eyes fluttering shut, soft lashes dusting his cheeks, he groaned again and Sephiroth picked up where he left off, hand moving to undo Vincent's pants, but the ex Turk panicked again, shoving Sephiroth back. There wasn't much else he could do, and he didn't trust his legs.

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, alarmed.

“Relieving you,” was the simple reply, accompanied with teeth nibbling at his collarbone.

“What's this about Lucrecia, Vincent? Tell me. I want to know.” Wiggling out of Sephiroth's grasp, he managed to throw his legs over the side of the bed, but was held back, a knee sneaking behind him and pressing against his backside. The ex Turk's body wanted to press back against the touch, begging for more, to throw himself at the dominating man and bend over for him, but his mind was screaming. Despite his intoxication, his fear was enough to knock some sense into him. Jerking away, stumbling backward, he glared offensively at Sephiroth.

“What are you doing? What about Lucrecia?” he spat vehemently, backing up, hugging himself and surreptitiously reaching for his gun.

Sephiroth rounded him past the door, blocking that escape and forcing him toward the kitchen.

“You whispered her name and I wanted to know why. It'd be a pity if you mistook me for her. Or are you just trying to purify yourself? I know you've down that in the past. Murmur her name, like she's a holy saint that can protect you, right?” Sephiroth's voice was mocking, amused. Vincent was horrified. Defiling Lucrecia's name? He turned his face in shame at painful memories.

“You don't know her,” he said firmly, voice shaky, giving the man a wistful look before bolting into the kitchen, withdrawing his gun and shooting out a window before jumping through, head ducked, one arm shielding him from flying glass with his cloak. Gravity took effect and pulled him downward. He was several stories up, and though he hadn't accounted entirely for the height, he compensated, twisting to reach for a lower ledge with his claw. Catching the cement with a spark from metal claws melting ice, he dropped the rest of the way, into the snow, throwing himself sideways in a roll. Dazed, stunned from his fall, he leaned against the hotel wall to regain his bearing before stalking off at a quick pace.

He'd be easy to track in the snow, so he took his time to walk in a wide circle around several blocks before jumping a distance and taking the time to cover his tracks. He was glad the snow was powdered soft. The cold air helped sharpen his alcohol dulled senses. All the while, he wondered how Sephiroth could insult Lucrecia that way…. His own mother, whether he knew or accepted that or not. Sephiroth could use him, but Lucrecia? No, he shook his head. It was like calling him weak, like mistaking an angel for a demon. It was bad enough Sephiroth wanted to use him for—something. His body reacted, his mind panicked and he couldn't help it. His mind flashed to Adrian. He could still remember some of what happened when he'd taken him. He was out of his mind then too, as he had been now. He'd been taken advantage of, and he hated it. Managing to lose his footprints among a few other people's tracks, he subtly made his way back to his apartment. Even if it was broken down and worthless and he didn't have money to pay for it—not that the landowner would have cared much anyway, it was some place to go back to. He could at least collect his clothes and money and head out to find a better place to stay in.

However, he noticed the blatant tracks in the snow leading straight into his room, fresh over the faint tracks leading out. Someone had come in, but he didn't want to chance who. He probably knew who. Sephiroth wanted him, for some reason, and wouldn't leave him be. Not wanting to risk the chance of running into him, especially after all the running away he had done earlier, the painstaking process of covering his tracks, not to mention walking in the numbing cold with a rather prominent erection between his legs, he fled back through the sector of Midgar, wondering where he could stay.