Other Fan Fiction / Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Distorted Perception ❯ Too Long to Wait ( Chapter 12 )

Chapter Twelve

Too Long to Wait

 

Since that night in the church, when Cloud had suddenly shown up and threatened Rufus to keep his distance, Vincent was mildly pleased that Shinra's president seemed to have taken heed of the hissed words of warning. However, the raven haired gunman's distress over the matter far outweighed what little relief he took in not having to deal with Rufus in anything but a platonic fashion.

 

Now, Vincent's mind was consumed with thoughts of the blond swordsman. He hardly had a moment's rest when his mind would suddenly wander and begin to wonder about the currently missing ex-SOLDIER.

 

Having lost Cloud during the chase, or rather never even catching a second glimpse of the swordsman's shadowed form, Vincent had been completely perplexed by it all. During his confused trek back into town, he couldn't explain his sudden desperation to follow.

 

If he'd wanted to see Cloud he would have joined Aeris in her tracking mission around the world. But, he hadn't. Yet, the moment he caught sight of the blond again, he automatically scrambled to not lose sight again.

 

Why?

 

**

 

The new school building for Sector 5 had finished its construction in little over six months, just in time for the new fall semester.

 

Three months since Vincent's encounter with Cloud that night, the gunman once again opted for a change in life style. He hardly planned on spending the rest of his life as some schoolmarm, that was just wrong for anyone who once belonged to the Turks.

 

With the classes in the hands of hired professionals, Vincent took his leave with the assurance that Aeris would not be disappointed. In his opinion, it had been a clean break, no strings attached. His promise to return at least twice each quarter was only because the kindhearted Ancient had been pleading the children's case. It was for her sake, not the talkative brats, who often reminded him of Yuffie. Or so he told himself.

 

For a short while, Vincent returned to Cosmo Canyon, more for the sake of Nanaki than himself. Sentimental attachments weren't really something he had concerning the place, especially when each corner brought back memories of his struggle times with learning the truth. Okay, so there was obvious some sentiment contained in Nanaki's home, but it wasn't the sort he cared to remember. He'd rather put it all behind.

 

For the first time in a long time, Vincent ventured off on his own. Nanaki remained in Cosmo Canyon, while the raven-haired gunman set off the get a better feel for the world. After thirty years, it truly had changed to a near unrecognizable state.

 

Vincent imagined he was wandering just like Cloud, and often dreamt about coincidentally meeting with the swordsman. It was a childish sort of fantasy that was not a usual habit for the gunman. But with so many unanswered questions and open possibilities of how to read into that late night meeting in the church, he was left little choice.

 

Why was he so obsessed with the matter? Why had Cloud been there? Could he conclude from the blond's words that the ex-SOLDIER had gone rogue for his sake, to keep distance for two whole years? Was he being watched over?

 

It was maddening to have such empty days and nights that left Vincent nothing to do but mull over each aspect repeatedly.

 

Restless with a seeming affliction of hammering thoughts, Vincent vainly tried to another stationary settlement to bring reprieve.

 

With the overhanging words of a wiser than she should be for her age Ancient, the gunman considered that while he hardly knew much about any of the group members, they were still friends. Surprisingly, this proved true, when he'd shown up in Sector 7.

 

Once again living in one place, Vincent worked for Tifa at her bar.

 

Business was never better, the weekends brining in hoards of people that sometimes lined the streets just to order food to go. That was the benefit of having skilled chefs in a low key sort of bar like 7th Heaven. Well, it wasn't very low key anymore, but it was still managed and owned by a single person.

 

**

 

Amidst the hustle and bustle of a busy bar, a young Wutai ninja amused herself by spinning around in the barstool. To the point where she became dizzy, Yuffie giggled at her simple pleasure while ignoring the odd stares from the adults around her.

 

“Yuffie, they'll think your drunk and then I'll in trouble for supplying a minor,” Tifa chastised, busily filling glasses and shots behind the counter.

 

Dark violet eyes sparkled with amusement. “You should have thought of that before you got these new stools. They spin all the way around, that's just begging for me to have fun.”

 

“Don't you have a job to do?” the raven-haired woman reprimanded, momentarily stilling her movements to place a hand on her hip and frown.

 

“Yes, boss!” Yuffie chimed, hopping from her seat and twirling around while trying to remember which tables she was supposed to be waiting on.

 

Yuffie ambled along, unaware of anything that dealt with the responsibilities of a job. Wearing 7th Heaven's trademarked black apron, bound around her waist and falling near her ankles, she stepped along with precise balance. Her raven hair was slightly lengthened from is bobbed cut, but still barely reached her chin. Having grown little over the past year and nine months, she was still the slightly gangly, sly ninja she'd always been. Though her innocent appearance would have been useful in tricking an enemy, most people knew she'd been a fighter against Sephiroth, so that little façade was easily done away with.

 

During her leisure time in the summer months, she had left Wutai to hang out with Tifa. Aside from having fun in general and being allowed the perks of being in a bar when she was underage, there was also a satisfying pleasure in being associated with Tifa Lockheart. In Wutai and in Sector 7, her friends were all jealous that she was such a close friend to the famous raven-haired kickboxer. As a fighter and model, Tifa's fame had grown as the popularity of 7th Heaven had grown. And now, there was the added bonus of knowing Vincent too. The gunman's name was reaching the ears of the well-to-do class on the plate above.

 

Just yesterday there had been a group of rich housewives that came all the way down to the slums just to order some water and have Valentine serve it to them.

 

Some nights tended to get a bit rowdy, which was expected with tables of drunken fools. But, there was never any danger, perhaps some mild annoyance, nothing more. Between Tifa and Yuffie, they could handle a hoard of liquored men. Tifa and Yuffie were perfectly safe.

 

Vincent, however, was another story. In a fight, the gunman was skilled enough to take down most any opponent. The trouble was, with paying customers who meant no harm, Vincent couldn't slice them up with his claw or shoot them down with Peacemaker. While the two women were well versed in the learned etiquette of gently turning down the boisterous and drunken offers, the raven-haired man was not.

 

In Tifa's observant brown eyes, the gunman was the same as ever, despite Aeris comments that Vincent had changed so much. Always the infrequent talker, the pale man seemed more apt to handle giggling schoolgirls with violence than with suave charm. Vincent was definitely a looker, but he lacked all personality for the part of a ladies' man. And somehow, this only managed to make the problem worse. It gave him a mysterious air that women couldn't get enough of.

 

The worst times were when it wasn't just the women, but the men too. It usually only happened when the men were drunk enough to not care that Vincent was obviously a guy. Stealing a quick pinch to the gunman's ass was something Tifa nearly died over. On many occasions, such gestures were done to her with an accompanying wink, to which she'd respond with a grunt and gentle slap to the person's hand. It wasn't appropriate in the least, but if the bar owner ever felt harassed beyond her boundaries she'd kick the customers out.

 

In general, it was all good-natured fun and banter. People were too grateful for what they'd done to ever seriously intend rudeness and vulgarity, even in the most drunk of states. However, Tifa doubted that Vincent understood all this. Like Cloud, the ex-Turk probably had a life apart from the rest of the world. Then after thirty some years of being completely cut off, the new aged jibing and cynical attitudes were probably a bit unfamiliar.

 

Each time something happened, and Tifa would see a particular gleam to those crimson eyes, she'd speak up from wherever she was at the time and jest that if the person weren't careful, Valentine might have some new target practice.

 

Likewise, each time, Vincent would comment coldly that if she were any less of an acquaintance he wouldn't hesitate to break the perpetrators fingers.

 

Tifa was somewhat assuaged from stressing over the matter by the feeling that Vincent would never intentionally harm a civilian no matter how provoked he might become. It was an odd conclusion to draw from such solemn and often threatening red eyes, but she couldn't help but feel that Vincent was never the type of person to kill for game or sport. Perhaps that was what Aeris meant by the gunman having changed drastically. Before, when they were all fighting together, there was sorrow and anger in those eyes, and she knew without a doubt that the raven-haired man sought to spill blood.

 

Being an ill fit and bothersome line of socializing work was a stipulation Vincent quickly learned to over look. From the very start it became apparent that working for Tifa as a waiter was going to help him overcome his problems with physical contact.

 

From obtrusive gropes, which were rare though far more frequent than he'd ever care for, to blatant staring, he'd slowly but surely learned to relax. Granted, each time someone dared to brashly run a hand along his arm and invite him to dinner, or whatever else it was those middle aged women so loved to do, he wanted to level his gun to their head. But, between not being allowed to make threats or at least cause a flesh wound, Vincent had trained himself to accept it all as casual and harmless.

 

The gunman was most reluctant to learn that all this unwanted attention was doted upon him because according to whatever trivial societal values that dictated the appearance of beauty, he was considered an attractive person. Not a disfigured monster that every stared at in disgust, but….

 

Vincent sighed.

 

“Hey handsome,” a soft voice cooed.

 

Wincing at the greeting, the gunman longed for his cloak to bury his face into. He could handle the less than convenient for mobility apron, which practically wrapped around his legs entirely, but without his cloak he felt utterly exposed.

 

Painted red lips pulled upwards in a well-practiced smile. Blond curly hair bounced slightly as the perpetual twenty-two year old woman leaned forward. If her cleavage was exposed audaciously from the movement, she was surely none the wiser. “Your tie's crooked,” she purred.

 

Biting back all retorts at the woman's actions, Vincent maintained his cool expression, hoping his growing revulsion wasn't showing. Trixi, something or other, was a well-known face among the pop media on the above level. While the bleach blond wasn't Tifa's friend, they'd become acquainted on the shoot or two. And, now, Trixi was one of Valentine's more persistent customers.

 

Feigning ignorance, Vincent regarded his black tie against his equally black dress shirt. There was nothing crooked about it, except the smug woman's perception that if she continually initiated close contact with him they'd some how fall in love.

 

“Don't trouble yourself, let me get it for you,” her low voice pressed in a painfully obvious manner of seduction.

 

Vincent couldn't quite remember just how many times this same ploy had been used not just by the curly haired blond, but many others. He'd do away with the damn tie if it weren't a part of the uniform. Why was it that no one ever adjusted Yuffie's tie? She practically wore it around her head and no one seemed to notice it was out of place.

 

He was beginning to think that monster or pretty boy, his appearance was a curse either way.

 

Reluctantly, Vincent set his empty tray down gently and bent closer. The tail of his bound hair slid over his shoulder with the action. Crimson eyes rolled in annoyance as ridiculously long nails snuck under the knot of his tie and pretended to make the proper adjustments. Before he could pull away, a single index finger kept his chin on point.

 

Vincent silently congratulated himself for not feeling the least bit threatened. Completely repulsed, definitely, but not frightened. Four months ago he probably would have fled the scene with a furious mixture between embarrassment over his instinctive fear and inability to handle himself.

 

“What's a guy like you doin' way down here?” Trixi pouted slightly. Hazel eyes made an obvious scan over the pale gunman's delicate facial features.

 

It wasn't often that Yuffie was around to see how some of the more confident customers treated Vincent. The young ninja stood with her mouth open at a nearby table. Completely ignoring the continued attempts by the couple she was serving to get her attention, the young girl set her tray down and stalked over to Vincent.

 

Grumbling under her breath about how they hadn't even dared to talk to him like that when they were all sleeping in the came camp, the ninja sidled up close before forcing her way in between the two.

 

“Who do you think you are?” Yuffie asked angrily.

 

“Yuffie,” Vincent hissed out, carefully scanning the area for prying eyes.

 

“You can't touch him,” the ninja stated firmly. The reclusive attitude the gunman always had was enough to make her certain that he didn't like to be touched or talked to. Turning around, she looked up into red eyes. “You don't have to take that.”

 

Without showing his annoyance, Vincent subtly raised his gloved hand and questioned, “And what would you have me do little ninja?”

 

Despite the sarcasm surrounding the titled reference, Yuffie beamed as though the gunman had called her sweetheart. “You're really strange you know that? Just tell her you're not the least bit interested,” as the violet eyed girl said this she impressed the words with a glare over her shoulder, “Tell `em it's inappropriate.”

 

Brows furrowed, Vincent looked from the short ninja to the ruffled woman seated just behind her. Confused, the gunman wasn't sure what to do. He began to get angry when Chaos started laughing at him. Glaring sharply, not intentionally directing it at the blond model, but inadvertently causing her to suddenly flinch in surprise, Vincent let out a gruff sigh. Working along side Yuffie was always a challenge.

 

Yuffie, seeing Vincent's complete ineptitude, rolled her eyes and turned back to the arrogant woman. “You can't touch Vincent, he doesn't like it. Besides, he's already taken.”

 

“What?” Vincent involuntarily questioned.

 

Scoffing, Yuffie frowned in displeasure. Everyone assumed she was too carefree and young to notice anything. “Don't tell me you and Cloud didn't have something going on. Besides,” she leaned close and whispered, “I overheard Aeris when she made him promise not to get involved until your two years were up.” Leaning back she gave an over exaggerated wink. Giving Trixi the evil eye, she skipped off to actually do her job.

 

Huffing indignantly, the blond in the little red dress shot daggers at the rude waitress. “Well that was uncalled for,” she whined.

 

Vincent didn't bother agreeing.

 

“So, I take it a lot of girls get jealous,” the woman said, resuming her previous attempts at attracting the man's eye.

 

“Will it be the usual?” Vincent questioned once again picking the round tray up. Three more months and he'd be rid of all this.

 

Somewhere along the line, he'd begun to assume that at the end of two years he'd see Cloud again. In three long months, he'd be rid of this consuming desire to see the swordsman. Whether a single glance would satiate his growing longing or a few more nights spent together like they did when tracking Sephiroth, it didn't matter.

 

Right now, he felt antsy. After striving to become whole again he finally felt as though he didn't have any mental barriers stopping him from living a normal life. Normal by an ex-Turk's standards anyway. He honestly didn't know what he'd like to be doing. Putting his skills as a fighter to use was probably the only way he'd ever fit in. For now it was simply filling the space of these two years.

 

He had no idea when he'd changed so much. Perhaps he'd changed little by little as each day passed. In most ways he was still the same as ever, which was something he had not intention on correcting. He spoke little, only when he truly felt compelled or if required. He kept to himself, relishing the solitude that came with even a few tables between himself and the closest person.

 

On nights like these he questioned whether or not he'd be capable of waiting for the allotted amount of time.

 

The woman had said something, but he didn't manage to catch it. Losing his focus to this extent was telling him just how muddled his mind must be.

 

With a frown, the blonde ceased her easy natured smiling. “Valentine?” she whined.

 

Vincent hated that name, at least in the sense that people like Trixi used it.

 

A hand reached out to play with the strings on his apron, which wound twice about his slim waist. “When are we going to quit playing these games? Go on a real date with me, I can make it worth your while.”

 

Unable to suppress a groan, Vincent stated lamely, in a repetitive manner, “I'm not interested and this is inappropriate.”

 

With a deepened frown, the assured woman persisted, “Don't let that little girl spoil our fun. She won't tell Lockheart about mixing business with pleasure.”

 

The suede material of his glove crinkled as he tightened his metallic fist. It was in that moment he seemed to realize how familiar this situation was. It was a disturbing parallel to the stream of events prior to when he'd opened his eyes. There were people who came to this bar, or who visited him in churches at night, who wanted him or something from him. And, in each instance, he'd been a complete coward with no spine. Either he was bending over and taking it for atonement, or he was flinching away in fear. Now, he was biting the bullet and writing it off as civility towards customers. Maybe Tifa and Yuffie could handle it, but he was taking the most shit from anybody and given his track record, it was anything but harmless.

 

Before he could lose his temper and take it out on the woman, Vincent jerked away from her hand and strode for the kitchen. While that conceited model could use a few words of reprimand, she'd been coming in here for the better part of two months on an almost weekly basis. In those times he'd never lead her to believe that her actions were unwanted, so he couldn't very well go off on her this night.

 

Passing by a curious Tifa, he mumbled that he was taking a break.

 

Rumbling laughter filled the back room, the chefs talking amongst themselves. The lighting was much brighter, but he hardly noticed as he tossed his tray on an empty aluminum countertop and hastily exited through the back door.

 

It felt like a warm summer breeze swept through the air as he leapt down the short flight of stairs and paced just far enough away to drown out all noise of mingling strangers. This definitely wasn't the job for him, especially after he felt it had helped him as much as it was going to. If he could stand that woman's touch, he could probably handle Rufus at this point too.

 

Nipping the clothed material on his fingertip, he pulled his glove off. He shouldn't have to wear this. It wasn't like people hadn't already seen it. Though, it did make for gripping mugs and glasses better.

 

Frustrated and needing an outlet, the raven-haired waiter violently jabbed his clawed hand against the brick building that neighbored 7th Heaven. Raking his fingers along the solid graphing, he left five deep gouges.

 

Huffing in relief, he pressed his back against the solid building and raised his head to the sky. He was truly a fool. No, fool was an understatement for what he was. Just how long would it take for him to realize the truth behind everything? Just when he thought he'd seen the errors to his ways, he had yet another epiphany.

 

Pathetic was a good term that came to mind.

 

Yes, work in a social environment, it'll do wonders for ridding that nasty little habit of cowering like a child if someone accidentally bumps into him. Never mind that men seemed unable to decipher thoughts derived from their tiny brains and thoughts from their tiny heads. He could roll over like dog and take it.

 

Reaching up with his right hand he clumsily tore at his tie, loosening it just enough to then undo the first couple buttons of his shirt. Yanking the elastic band from his hair, he ran his fingers through it to smooth it out.

 

Silently he vowed that from that moment forth, he did nothing that he didn't want to do. He was done living for others. He was done being complacent. He was done being burdened by the twisted instincts Hojo had ground into him.

 

Absently tossing the small band away, he sank to the ground. Knees bent, he sighed and returned his focus to the clear skies above. There was no moon in sight, but the stars shown just as brightly as that night he'd seen Cloud. It was the same season too.

 

Where was the stupid swordsman? Why wasn't he here? What was so damn important that Cloud needed to disappear like this?

 

The blond fighter had mentioned that their last meeting was premature. That would suggest Cloud had no plans on seeing him for at least another three months.

 

It was backwards now. Before he'd felt overwhelmed with relief that he wouldn't have to see Cloud, but now he couldn't stop wishing that weren't the case.

 

Why?

 

Why did he feel this incessant need to see the bright-eyed warrior?

 

Those nights, those two nights, when he'd been held close had been warm. Looking back, now knowing it wasn't out of pity or the fated role of becoming a punisher, Vincent could only feel that it had been warm. Deep down, beyond his worries about not wanting to taint the young man, he'd felt comforted. More so with their first night than the second, but he couldn't deny that there was some feeling of attachment for both times. Though, it might simply be the attachment he added on to the memory after the fact.

 

There was no regret for how everything had turned out. But, he was extremely discontent with his increasing feelings of unrest. He doubt he'd ever be able to definitively state that he was completely recovered from Hojo's experiments, but with a year and nine months behind him, he felt confident that he was a whole man, sound of mind. So, what was there to do beyond recovering?

 

He wondered if the swordsman were watching over him. That time with Rufus couldn't have been coincidence, could it? The blond had been nearby, watching. Yet, no matter how often he tried to sense the younger man's presence, he couldn't.

 

Aeris was still off looking for their leader, which would seem to imply that he wasn't nearby.

 

But how could he be certain?

 

He couldn't, and that was a part of what was driving him into such an uneasy state.

 

Briefly, he'd toyed with the idea that he was lovelorn. Longing for the remaining time to go by faster, and constantly thinking about the man, it was a logical conclusion to come to. While it was logical, it was also ridiculous. He'd been in the company of the blond for a matter of weeks. During that time, they'd conversed rarely, and only on strategic matters dealing with Sephiroth. The last few nights had been strange and a complete change in pace, but it had only still only been a few days.

 

Could someone fall in love so quickly? And considering the state of mind he'd been in at the time, was it even possible for him to know the difference between his own feelings of want and the returning of feelings projected onto him by the swordsman?

 

There was really only one way to find out. He had to see Cloud again.

 

He could not handle three months of such a lovelorn state, it was demeaning and simply not like him.

 

“You have the worst timing of any person I've ever met,” Vincent spoke aloud to the vacant alley. The blond was there when he didn't want him to be and not there when he did. “I want to see you,” he mumbled in a lower voice.

 

In a sulking manner, he drew his legs in closer, hugging his knees to his chest, and dropped his head down.

 

“I can't do anything about my timing, but you've only ever had to ask and I would have come.”

 

Dark strands of hair fluttered as Vincent snapped his head up at the familiar voice. Brows cringed in a pained expression, the gunman refused to get his hopes up. It was more likely his imagination taking his nightly dreams to the next level. Still, there was a small flutter sensation in the pit of his stomach and he couldn't quite make himself believe it wasn't real.

 

“Cloud?” he whispered tentatively.

 

A deep humming responded from the shadowed stairwell nearby. “You don't seem happy to see me,” the voice spoke in a chastising manner.

 

Gracefully standing, Vincent strode closer. Already, more words had been spoken than during their brief meeting before. He was afraid that the fighter would leave again. “You've been watching me,” the gunman spoke the obvious, holding a slight tone of accusation.

 

Moving from the shadows, the spiky haired blond took a few steps down. “I've been waiting,” Cloud corrected.

 

“This whole time?” Vincent asked incredulously.

 

Low chuckling flowed through the air. “No, I had my own soul searching to do.”

 

“What did Aeris tell you?” the gunman questioned, walking even closer. Standing was the bottom of the stairs, he gazed up at the familiar, yet strange face of Cloud Strife. He was exactly the same, yet older. It might have just been the eyes, or perhaps the swordsman's aura that seemed to have matured.

 

With a whimsical smile, Cloud stepped down, bringing them a single step away from each other. “She told me the truth,” the blond answered. When crimson eyes stared at him expectantly, he continued, “We were both blind.” Reaching out, he gently set his palm against the raven beauty's soft cheek.

 

“And now?” Vincent questioned almost hopefully. Unconsciously, he tilt his head slightly, openly leaning into the touch.

 

A soft smile tugged the blue-eyed man's lips upwards. “And now, I've seen the world, learned a few things I never could as SOLDIER. Now, I'm not so blind.”

 

“I'm sorry I never believed you,” Vincent abruptly spoke.

 

Casually, Cloud moved his hand, running his thumb along the smooth skin in a stroking manner. “I never expected you to. I was brash and jealous, and never expected things to go so wrong.”

 

Vincent frowned, not understanding what he meant.

 

“I thought Hojo was the only person who could set you straight, but I never imagined… well, I didn't know he'd hurt you so badly.” Cloud had never expected that Hojo would be able to quickly sway the determined gunman from the path of revenge. And then, all hell broke loose with Sephiroth.

 

“That's not your fault,” the dark haired man assured.

 

“And what Hojo did to you isn't your fault,” Cloud countered.

 

Resolute red eyes gleamed. Bowed lips frowned before stating, “I know that.”

 

“What happened to Lucrecia isn't your fault,” the blond followed up.

 

“I know that,” Vince replied in time.

 

“What happened with Sephiroth is not your fault.” His fingers trailed, skimming through silken hair.

 

“I know,” the gunman replied again. Vincent had to consciously keep his eyes from closing as a pleased shiver ran down his spine at the feel of the swordsman's fingers in his hair.

 

“When people stare at you, it's not your fault.” Cloud leaned a bit closer, staring down from his higher position.

 

With a soft chuckle, Vincent played along. “I know,” he repeated.

 

“They're not allowed to touch you,” Cloud continued with an undertone of possessive aggression.

 

“I know,” Vincent assured soothingly.

 

“You're not a monster.”

 

“I take it you've been listening to my daily mantra that Aeris wrote,” the gunman concluded.

 

With a smirk, Cloud quirked a brow and admitted to being guilty of that much. “You're beautiful,” the blond whispered huskily.

 

Vincent didn't reply. There were only so many times he could say the same phrase.

 

“None of it was your fault,” Cloud pressed, twining his fingers in dark tresses and urging the gunman to keep going.

 

“I know,” Vincent muttered once again.

 

“Except,” the fighter countered, taking a final step down, he stood only slightly shorter than the raven-haired gunman. “What you've done to me is entirely your fault.”

 

Taking the blond's meaning quickly enough, Vincent used his hand to direct Cloud's hand from his hair and back to his cheek. Affectionately, he turned into the calloused palm and nuzzled it. “One can only hope,” he replied playfully.

 

No longer in need of words, Cloud snaked his free arm around the sultry man's slim waist. Pulling him closer, he swiftly leaned in and pressed their lips together. It was an overwhelming sensation that quickly created the need to never relent his old and delve deeper.

 

As their lips meshed together greedily, and Vincent eagerly welcomed the searching flick of a tongue, the gunman knew that this was what he'd been after all these months. Lovelorn was an understatement. He was downright desperate and starved for this sort of contact with Cloud.

 

When the heated exchange drew to an end, Vincent panted for air and grasped tightly to the blond's dark navy shirt. He didn't want the swordsman to leave suddenly, not after that kiss, not ever.

 

Elated, but wary, Cloud wrapped his arms around the lithe form, drawing Vincent close against his chest. “I want to be with you,” he whispered against soft hair.

 

Head burrowed against the blond's neck, Vincent shifted his hold on the pleated vest-like top and hugged the swordsman's hips. It was his silent way of returning the same feeling.

 

“I'm a patient man, so we'll take this slow,” he assured, gently stroking the gunman's hair.

 

Vincent almost scoffed at the most prominent change in the leader. That's why the younger man was off for so long. He needed to mature, to see the world like he said he had.

 

“I won't hurt you,” Cloud assured.

 

Vincent smiled at this. Face still burrowed as though the blond man were a replacement for his cloak, he replied in a muffled voice, “I know.”

 

 

THE END