Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or Cloud, or Nibelheim, or...well, you get the picture. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.
Illuminating the Dark -- Part Four
by: thelittletree
* * *
It's strange, how unfamiliar a place you've lived in for months can suddenly feel. This is my kitchen, I know where the light switch is. There is the opening to my living room; dark now, but not normally unwelcoming. My bedroom is down the compact hallway that I can't see from here, but I know every footstep and expect that I would instinctively move to avoid the creaking floorboard that's on the way.
Only one thing is out of place. Only one thing, in a veritable ocean of memories associated with the ease of smiles and tea and food and conversation:
Vincent is standing in my kitchen instead of sitting at the table; his posture is rigid where my apartment has only ever seen it lax and casual in a chair; he is radiating a kind of hostility, like a porcupine under threat, and I feel like any words I say will be taken as intruders into the silence he has erected like a fence.
This Vincent -- this old wall, this mask, this...painfully familiar stranger -- is the only difference. And yet, it makes all the difference. He's forgotten how to trust me. And I've forgotten how to talk to him.
I can't help wishing now that we had some previous experience with being honest with each other this way, with things as complicated as feelings. Then I might have more confidence in saying what I know has to be said. But, for the sake of comfort, we've so far just gone along our normal routines. We've ignored the obvious, we haven't admitted to anything. We've just let is grow into what it is now: a big, fat mess of quiet deceit that we didn't mean to hurt anybody with. And, instead of dealing with it in a way we might both have been all right with, I've blown it wide open with a kiss he has probably taken for the real thing. And he's not going to acknowledge that he is jealous; he's not going to make himself vulnerable to me, a person he now knows he can't continue carefully investing his feelings in. He's probably going to deny everything and just leave me to my own thing and unobtrusively take himself away until he is obliviously comfortable again.
Stubborn, self-deluded fool. It only hurts us in the end, doesn't it, Vincent? But you won't admit that, either.
I slip out of my shoes and put the umbrella down, feeling sort of self-conscious though I can practically taste his disregard. And then I move to the sink and pull the kettle from a stove burner. My hand is still shaking as I turn on the water. I have to concentrate to make sure I heat the right element.
This has to start somewhere. But I can't be honest with a wall, with that heavy smothered anger, with that part of him I recognize even without the cloak and bandana. I need to be reminded of the chinks in his armour. I need...I need to remember Lily...
I sigh and I want to push away from the sink and face him. But I can't yet. Just give it a second, Tifa, I tell myself. Lily would tell me to give it a second, I'm sure. She always has such a good sense of timing.
"Vincent, will you sit down?" My voice is a little unsteady, but I'm proud of my tone. I sound resolute. "I can't talk to you when you're standing there like that. So...just sit down, or leave."
He doesn't move, but neither do I. I can be stubborn, too, if I have to be. No matter how fluttery my insides are. I used to be so afraid of giving Cloud ultimatums; I don't think I ever trusted him that far. It was always so damn easy for him to walk away. But Vincent hasn't walked away yet, even when he could've avoided all of this by leaving me in Kalm. Very responsible and devoted, and it's a strange mixture with the rest of his personality. Well, the stoic part of his personality, at least. I've already seen how close to home he likes to keep those things that become important to him, as if he's afraid they'll all be suddenly taken away.
However, I still feel that sigh of relief somewhere between my lungs and my mouth when he finally takes a slow step from where he was probably all but rooted to the linoleum. Thank you, Vincent. You know as well as I do that this isn't going to be easy, or tidy. But I'm glad you're willing. I'm glad...
Oh, I'm glad I'm this important to you, at least.
He lowers himself into his usual chair without a sound, and after a moment even makes himself a little comfortable. I almost expect him to slip a hand into a pocket for his cigarettes. I let a breath out quietly through my nose and open the cupboard above me. "Do you want some tea?"
He doesn't reply right away, and I know at this point Cloud would be getting angry and demanding that I just get on with what I have to say. But one of the chief reasons I think I like Vincent is because he isn't Cloud.
"No."
I pull down one mug and rummage through my tea drawer for something with chamomile in it. And then I admit to myself that I can't stall anymore. Any longer and I'll lose my nerve. I turn around, and then let myself lean back against the counter so that I'm not standing stiffly with my arms at my sides. Let's pretend we've done this before, Vincent. Let's pretend this isn't our first argument and we both know how it's going to turn out. Let's both pray I have the presence of mind to start this the right way.
Oh, Vincent...why in the world do you suddenly look so exposed over there, staring at the table-top like it might hurt you to look me in the eye? I can't watch you when you look like that. Please, let's both be strong enough to admit the truth.
"That...that was Eike Claviston." Is it a bad way to start, naming the other man? I don't know. Is this like starting in the middle of a conversation? But maybe we're already deep in the middle. "But, I want to explain about him..."
"You don't have to."
But I do! I know you don't want to hear any of this, Vincent. But, please, be brave and face this with me. Don't interrupt...
"He's...he's not anything to me. It was just a first date. I...I..." What? I'm checking out the market on eligible men? "I was just a little lonely." God, this is coming out wrong. Vincent, I'm sorry.
He's still not looking at me, and I almost wish he was fidgeting. But Vincent never fidgets. "Tifa, you don't have to explain it to me." He doesn't sound angry, or even resigned. His tone almost lacks any inflection at all. "You don't need my permission to see people. You've already said you were thinking of dating others. It doesn't bother me what you do."
But that's not what your expression said when you saw me kissing him, I can't help but want to say. It does bother you, more than you want to admit. I wish you would just be honest with yourself. I wish I had the guts just to come out and call your bluff. "Vincent, you've just spent the evening ignoring me." There, that's a little more on track, though I know there is an uncomfortable blush climbing the back of my neck. "You weren't even going to walk me home. What can I blame that on, if not the fact that..." Say it, say it! "...that you saw me kissing another man?"
I can't help but glance up to see his reaction, and he does look a little stunned as if he didn't expect me to be so blunt. But the break in composure doesn't last long.
"You're mistaken, Tifa. Nothing has changed. You're implying jealousy where there isn't any."
I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but he's making me angry. I don't want to turn this into a shouting match. I just want us to talk. "Then you wouldn't have a problem if I continued seeing him?"
"Of course not."
"If I kissed him routinely on Lily's doorstep?" I'm a little surprised by the part of me that suddenly wants to hurt him. But I'm a little too angry to care right now. If he wants to do this the hard way...
"You can do what you like." I can hear it, Vincent, the edge to your voice. You can pretend to be unfeeling, but I know better.
And I'll bet it's not so hard to break through that composure you want to make others believe is unbreakable. "If I fucked him on a regular basis right here on my kitchen tabl..."
"Tifa!"
I can tell that both of us are startled by his outburst. For a moment he's staring at me as if he can't quite believe that he was the one who shouted my name. And then, before I can recover enough to say anything, he stands from the chair and starts toward my apartment door.
It's not a surprise, maybe, that his first impulse is to get away from me. But he can't leave now. This is when he runs off and holes himself away in his apartment. But letting him go at this point will be worse than if I hadn't said anything in the rain. Because he has all but admitted it, and he knows it as well as I do. It's almost a reflex when I push myself away from the counter and grab onto the upper part of his left arm.
Tight muscles, thin bone-structure, but as strong as wire cables. The same thing that has kept us from facing this has so far kept an unspoken agreement between us that we don't touch each other. I have broken so many rules today I can't help but believe we will need to create a whole new system of them. Instinctively trying to hold him back, and, not the weak girl I was before, I'm actually having a measure of success for a second. But then he's twisting away and I'm forced to switch tactics or give up. With a grunt, I give one last pull on his arm and then slip in front of him to keep him from getting to the door.
"Vincent..."
He glares at me as he is forced to a stop, and for a moment I can almost believe that he might simply push me out of the way. Not just anger, but that wary unease in his eyes, uncomfortable with what I can make him feel and afraid of what I might do.
"Vincent, wait. We need to talk!"
But I don't know how to get him to listen now, how to make him want to stay long enough to hear me out. I don't want Eike; I want him, and barring that I want his friendship. I might try to find love again, a boyfriend, someone to hold my hand, but I don't want to lose him because of that. I want the both of us to be happy. God, if he would just listen, maybe I could make him understand...
If he would just acknowledge the fact that we're attracted to each other and just agree to work from there...
But maybe...maybe I'm going about this the wrong way. Scared to death to take the risk, and afraid that he will just see it as another breach of trust. Filled with nervous anticipation about what it might mean or lead to.
Vincent...
He's wearing one of his loose black button-ups under his coat, and I can feel the heat of his skin through it. Running my hands around him and then pulling closer until I'm holding him, and there are a hundred thousands pleasant little chills shivering over me at the feel of being pressed up against him like this -- hard, lithe body, sharp hipbones -- and he realizes too late what I'm doing. Stiffens in my arms and automatically tries to back away, his expression changing. Wary fear, and anger...and something else in his eyes, now dominated by dark dilated pupils.
"This is what we need to talk about," I tell him, unable to disguise the tremor of tension in my voice. "This attraction we feel. It isn't wrong. Vincent, listen to me!"
He's pulling out of my embrace, levering my arms away with his elbows, and I can't hold on anymore. But I've made my point.
And if he wants to leave now, I'll let him. So far lost in the false comfort of denial that I don't know what else to do to try and reach him. Vincent, why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn?
His breathing is a little heavy and he isn't looking at me as he takes the first few steps away, further into the hall. I drop my eyes, feeling ashamed of myself; but even more than that, feeling disappointed in him. Obviously I've misjudged my worth. It's good to know when to fight, when to stand up for something, or to someone. But it's also good to know when to give up. Zangan, where did you learn all of these lessons? I never asked you or, really, ever thanked you. If I ever become someone to be proud of, it will be because of you.
I can feel the seconds stretching, and then I know I've been waiting too long. Vincent...isn't pushing me out of his way, isn't running away, isn't trying to leave. I want to glance up to find out what the delay is, but I'm afraid to look and see that it isn't what I hope it is...that it isn't because he's willing to listen.
But he's there, leaning against the wall a little, slumped on his left shoulder. Still not looking at me, but his expression isn't the mask anymore. Staring at the baseboard heater, and after a moment he sighs, and I can't help but think it is for my benefit, to show me that he is resigning himself. I put a hand to the doorjamb and think about taking a step toward him, but then I mentally take the gesture back.
"Vincent?"
He closes his eyes and I catch the movement at his throat as he swallows.
I lick my lips, trying to sort out the direction of my words. "I'm sorry I did that. Maybe it was a little over-the-top. But I just wanted to make you listen." The kettle is suddenly whistling in the kitchen, but I force myself to ignore it. "We're attracted to each other, we both know it, but..." It's my turn to swallow uncomfortably. I've always hated confrontations and confessions. "...but you need to know that in the last month...I've started wanting it to become more than that between us." My voice is shaking and I have to force myself to loosen my grip when I realize how hard I'm holding onto the jamb, enough to whiten my fingers. "But I knew, too, that if I tried to change things between us, you would..." God, I can feel the tears there, a pressure behind my cheekbones. My throat feels thick, and I have to swallow again. "...you would get afraid, and run away from me. So, I was deciding that I would take Cloud's advice and start dating other people, so that we could keep our friendship the way it is. But I was going to explain it to you first, so it wouldn't be uncomfortable..." I blink back the moisture that wants to start escaping down my cheeks.
Vincent hasn't moved, but he seems to be listening. I just need to get this said.
And then, Vincent, please say something...
"I'm sorry if I hurt you." My voice is cracking, and the first tear makes its inevitable appearance. "I didn't mean for you to find out that way. But..." I wipe at the dewdrop impatiently, angry now for crying; I don't want to seem the weak little girl, and I don't want to make him more uneasy. "...but, I want somebody. And if it can't be you..." God, stop crying, Tifa! Take a breath, calm down. "Oh God, I want things to stay the way they are between us, too, but I don't know if they can anymore. If it can't be you, I think it's going to have to be somebody else. Do you understand?" I make myself wait too long for his answer before continuing, as if I hope to make him realize that I'm trying to be patient and give him his space to answer. "Please, say something."
"The water's boiling."
I feel a wash of helpless anger. Why does he want to make this harder? "I don't care about the damn water!"
"Then what do you want me to say, Tifa?" His voice is quiet and firm, and he's suddenly looking at me out of the corner of his eye. And I've thought it before: this is the real Vincent. This is Lily's Vincent. This is the honest Vincent who always knows more than he lets on. "That I don't want you to date other people? That I want things to stay as they are? That I want..." And then that fear seems to seep back into his eyes, as if he's suddenly aware of what he's saying. He glances away from me, back to the base heater against the wall. "You can do what you like. You don't have to explain your reasons to me."
"But..." Why isn't he understanding? "...but I don't want to lose your friendship!"
He looks at me again, and I almost want to take a step back from the hard glare in his eyes. "Sometimes..." A harsh whisper, more emotion than I've ever heard him use before. "...we can't have everything we want."
It stings, like he might've hit me, and I can't hold back the tears any longer. There will be no understanding. He's hurting, and he's bitter, and he's angry. And maybe, really, I was asking too much of him. To stand by and watch while I go out with other men, because he doesn't feel he can ever be that man for me, or for anyone? We're both selfish, and we both don't want to be hurt anymore. And he's going to make me choose. Choose between him, when I know I can't have him, and leaving him behind for a relationship with a lover.
But, really, is it a choice at all? I take a breath, though I can't look up to meet his eyes. "Then...I choose you, Vincent." I can almost feel it when he glances at me. I swallow the lump that is growing in my throat yet again. "I'd rather have your friendship, and be...alone the other way, than lose what we have together." God, Vincent, I love you. There's no question now. I love you, and it's breaking my heart. And I know I should let you go. But...when did I ever learn to let go at the right time?
"Tifa..." His voice still sounds harsh, angry, as if he suspects I'm just trying to one-up him. "...I'm not asking you to give up anything for me."
This time I look at him, but he's not trying to meet my eyes. My jaw feels tight, and it seems to take a lot of effort to open my mouth. "Why shouldn't I?" And I take a breath, know there are new tears in my eyes, feel the growing knot in my stomach. "I love you." And I can't help but bite my lip after this until I'm tasting blood on my tongue, as if some part of me unconsciously wants to inflict some punishment for the confession.
He closes his eyes and starts to shake his head, and then he stands from the wall, both of his hands fisted at his sides. His expression is so like a scowl, but I admit that I have no idea what's going through his mind. And, feeling light-headed and so nervous my teeth are chattering, I give in to my instincts on this one. And step up in front of him.
His hair is still damp from the rain and in a ponytail, but...those silly strands, never long enough to be pulled back, and too fly-away sometimes to stay put behind his ears. I lift cold fingers I know are trembling and sweep that hair gently out of his face, like I've been tempted to do so many times before. "Is it..." I swallow. "Is it so hard to believe?"
Never been here before. Never come this far. Even with Cloud, I never managed to be honest enough with him to bring us to this place. And I'm so afraid not to know what happens next. But almost surprised when Vincent opens his eyes. Only the third time I've ever been close enough to spot the brown flecks in his irises. And there is no wall there -- no bitterness, no anger -- but there is fear. Fear, and a kind of weary, defenseless honesty, as if he might be so tired of pretending, as if he really does wish this could all be made right. "Tifa, there is a part of me that wants it." No more than a whisper. And I know, I *know* as well as I know anything, that he isn't finished speaking.
But I can pretend to misunderstand. Get up on my toes and brush his mouth with my lips, not quite a kiss. And it makes me shiver, makes his eyelids flutter, and I want more. "Then take it." I do it again, but this time I linger for a second until I feel his unsteady breath against my face. He's closed his eyes tightly, his hands are still fisted, I see a tell-tale tremor in his shoulders, the twitch of his self-control against me. But he's not running away. Yes, a part of you wants this, Vincent. And I'm not Lucrecia. "I don't want to hurt you. I just want the both of us to be happy." Again. "And, I think..." One more, and coherent thought is starting to flee from me. "...this way, we both could be."
"Tifa..."
But I don't know if it's a protest, or an agreement, or simply my name on a wave of something purely physical. Because then he kisses me. And I forget everything else. I forget the tears on my cheeks; I forget that there are probably rational reasons why we shouldn't be; I forget that I might be taking advantage. I've wanted him for so long it feels like forever, and his skin feels so good under my fingers. Too many buttons for my faltering grip, and it's hard to believe I'm not dreaming, that it might really be Vincent's shaking hand trying to untuck my shirt.
Oh...oh yes. Don't let me wake up. There it is, on your face, Vincent. You can't hide it. You want me, too.
We...we're never going to make it to the bedroom.
* * *
The kettle has finally boiled dry.
This changes everything. And I don't know what he's thinking. Or what he might start thinking when he's awake enough to think. Drowsing with me on the floor, on his back, and I'm lying on his right arm with my head on his shoulder, absorbing the clean, musky smell of him -- shampoo and soap and his own skin. And I don't want to wake him up in case he tries to leave.
But I have a bed, Vincent. We could sleep there. Let's help each other up and stumble under the blankets, curl up together for the warmth of another human body and know deep inside ourselves that we'll never be able to live again without this.
"Vincent?" It feels so good to nuzzle my nose against the underside of his jaw, against his neck, because it fits so well. "Vincent?"
"Hmm?"
"There's a bed. In the other room."
"Hm." He takes a breath, and I feel his chest rise and fall, his ribs pressing into the soft part of my arm. "Sorry. Next time."
And I can't help but chuckle a little into the crook of his shoulder. That's not what I meant. It's not what I meant. I don't care where we are. I just meant for sleeping in. That's all.
Next time... Oh, Vincent. Are you aware enough to know what you've implied?
Maybe next time, tomorrow, and it'll be your apartment. Finished supper and cards and Lily will ask if you're going to walk me home. And I'll stand and walk to your chair and kiss you. Kiss you like I don't have any doubts. Kiss you to rewrite all of the rules. Kiss you until you melt against my mouth, until you're willing to be brave, until we both know it's a promise to work on it and not hurt each other. And tell her...
I'll tell her...
'I think...'
I don't care where we are. It doesn't always have to be comfortable. You just have to be there. And as long as you can do that, I'll be there, too. I'll never be Lucrecia...
'...I'll just...'
....and you'll never be Cloud.
'...stay here...'
Good-night, Vincent.
'...tonight.'
* * *
The end. As together as I can get them without going through every obstacle and argument they are undoubtedly going to have. I feel sorry for people who *do* have complicated relationships. This part was frustrating to write. But worth it. *grin*
Thanks so much for reviews, for this little fic and my last one! Now, it's finished. And I hope to keep reviewing other people's fics. Don't know when or if I might write something else. But thanks, all the same, for all of the encouragement! I feel like my writing has gained something from the Fanfiction.net experience.
See ya!
---thelittletree
Illuminating the Dark -- Part Four
by: thelittletree
* * *
It's strange, how unfamiliar a place you've lived in for months can suddenly feel. This is my kitchen, I know where the light switch is. There is the opening to my living room; dark now, but not normally unwelcoming. My bedroom is down the compact hallway that I can't see from here, but I know every footstep and expect that I would instinctively move to avoid the creaking floorboard that's on the way.
Only one thing is out of place. Only one thing, in a veritable ocean of memories associated with the ease of smiles and tea and food and conversation:
Vincent is standing in my kitchen instead of sitting at the table; his posture is rigid where my apartment has only ever seen it lax and casual in a chair; he is radiating a kind of hostility, like a porcupine under threat, and I feel like any words I say will be taken as intruders into the silence he has erected like a fence.
This Vincent -- this old wall, this mask, this...painfully familiar stranger -- is the only difference. And yet, it makes all the difference. He's forgotten how to trust me. And I've forgotten how to talk to him.
I can't help wishing now that we had some previous experience with being honest with each other this way, with things as complicated as feelings. Then I might have more confidence in saying what I know has to be said. But, for the sake of comfort, we've so far just gone along our normal routines. We've ignored the obvious, we haven't admitted to anything. We've just let is grow into what it is now: a big, fat mess of quiet deceit that we didn't mean to hurt anybody with. And, instead of dealing with it in a way we might both have been all right with, I've blown it wide open with a kiss he has probably taken for the real thing. And he's not going to acknowledge that he is jealous; he's not going to make himself vulnerable to me, a person he now knows he can't continue carefully investing his feelings in. He's probably going to deny everything and just leave me to my own thing and unobtrusively take himself away until he is obliviously comfortable again.
Stubborn, self-deluded fool. It only hurts us in the end, doesn't it, Vincent? But you won't admit that, either.
I slip out of my shoes and put the umbrella down, feeling sort of self-conscious though I can practically taste his disregard. And then I move to the sink and pull the kettle from a stove burner. My hand is still shaking as I turn on the water. I have to concentrate to make sure I heat the right element.
This has to start somewhere. But I can't be honest with a wall, with that heavy smothered anger, with that part of him I recognize even without the cloak and bandana. I need to be reminded of the chinks in his armour. I need...I need to remember Lily...
I sigh and I want to push away from the sink and face him. But I can't yet. Just give it a second, Tifa, I tell myself. Lily would tell me to give it a second, I'm sure. She always has such a good sense of timing.
"Vincent, will you sit down?" My voice is a little unsteady, but I'm proud of my tone. I sound resolute. "I can't talk to you when you're standing there like that. So...just sit down, or leave."
He doesn't move, but neither do I. I can be stubborn, too, if I have to be. No matter how fluttery my insides are. I used to be so afraid of giving Cloud ultimatums; I don't think I ever trusted him that far. It was always so damn easy for him to walk away. But Vincent hasn't walked away yet, even when he could've avoided all of this by leaving me in Kalm. Very responsible and devoted, and it's a strange mixture with the rest of his personality. Well, the stoic part of his personality, at least. I've already seen how close to home he likes to keep those things that become important to him, as if he's afraid they'll all be suddenly taken away.
However, I still feel that sigh of relief somewhere between my lungs and my mouth when he finally takes a slow step from where he was probably all but rooted to the linoleum. Thank you, Vincent. You know as well as I do that this isn't going to be easy, or tidy. But I'm glad you're willing. I'm glad...
Oh, I'm glad I'm this important to you, at least.
He lowers himself into his usual chair without a sound, and after a moment even makes himself a little comfortable. I almost expect him to slip a hand into a pocket for his cigarettes. I let a breath out quietly through my nose and open the cupboard above me. "Do you want some tea?"
He doesn't reply right away, and I know at this point Cloud would be getting angry and demanding that I just get on with what I have to say. But one of the chief reasons I think I like Vincent is because he isn't Cloud.
"No."
I pull down one mug and rummage through my tea drawer for something with chamomile in it. And then I admit to myself that I can't stall anymore. Any longer and I'll lose my nerve. I turn around, and then let myself lean back against the counter so that I'm not standing stiffly with my arms at my sides. Let's pretend we've done this before, Vincent. Let's pretend this isn't our first argument and we both know how it's going to turn out. Let's both pray I have the presence of mind to start this the right way.
Oh, Vincent...why in the world do you suddenly look so exposed over there, staring at the table-top like it might hurt you to look me in the eye? I can't watch you when you look like that. Please, let's both be strong enough to admit the truth.
"That...that was Eike Claviston." Is it a bad way to start, naming the other man? I don't know. Is this like starting in the middle of a conversation? But maybe we're already deep in the middle. "But, I want to explain about him..."
"You don't have to."
But I do! I know you don't want to hear any of this, Vincent. But, please, be brave and face this with me. Don't interrupt...
"He's...he's not anything to me. It was just a first date. I...I..." What? I'm checking out the market on eligible men? "I was just a little lonely." God, this is coming out wrong. Vincent, I'm sorry.
He's still not looking at me, and I almost wish he was fidgeting. But Vincent never fidgets. "Tifa, you don't have to explain it to me." He doesn't sound angry, or even resigned. His tone almost lacks any inflection at all. "You don't need my permission to see people. You've already said you were thinking of dating others. It doesn't bother me what you do."
But that's not what your expression said when you saw me kissing him, I can't help but want to say. It does bother you, more than you want to admit. I wish you would just be honest with yourself. I wish I had the guts just to come out and call your bluff. "Vincent, you've just spent the evening ignoring me." There, that's a little more on track, though I know there is an uncomfortable blush climbing the back of my neck. "You weren't even going to walk me home. What can I blame that on, if not the fact that..." Say it, say it! "...that you saw me kissing another man?"
I can't help but glance up to see his reaction, and he does look a little stunned as if he didn't expect me to be so blunt. But the break in composure doesn't last long.
"You're mistaken, Tifa. Nothing has changed. You're implying jealousy where there isn't any."
I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but he's making me angry. I don't want to turn this into a shouting match. I just want us to talk. "Then you wouldn't have a problem if I continued seeing him?"
"Of course not."
"If I kissed him routinely on Lily's doorstep?" I'm a little surprised by the part of me that suddenly wants to hurt him. But I'm a little too angry to care right now. If he wants to do this the hard way...
"You can do what you like." I can hear it, Vincent, the edge to your voice. You can pretend to be unfeeling, but I know better.
And I'll bet it's not so hard to break through that composure you want to make others believe is unbreakable. "If I fucked him on a regular basis right here on my kitchen tabl..."
"Tifa!"
I can tell that both of us are startled by his outburst. For a moment he's staring at me as if he can't quite believe that he was the one who shouted my name. And then, before I can recover enough to say anything, he stands from the chair and starts toward my apartment door.
It's not a surprise, maybe, that his first impulse is to get away from me. But he can't leave now. This is when he runs off and holes himself away in his apartment. But letting him go at this point will be worse than if I hadn't said anything in the rain. Because he has all but admitted it, and he knows it as well as I do. It's almost a reflex when I push myself away from the counter and grab onto the upper part of his left arm.
Tight muscles, thin bone-structure, but as strong as wire cables. The same thing that has kept us from facing this has so far kept an unspoken agreement between us that we don't touch each other. I have broken so many rules today I can't help but believe we will need to create a whole new system of them. Instinctively trying to hold him back, and, not the weak girl I was before, I'm actually having a measure of success for a second. But then he's twisting away and I'm forced to switch tactics or give up. With a grunt, I give one last pull on his arm and then slip in front of him to keep him from getting to the door.
"Vincent..."
He glares at me as he is forced to a stop, and for a moment I can almost believe that he might simply push me out of the way. Not just anger, but that wary unease in his eyes, uncomfortable with what I can make him feel and afraid of what I might do.
"Vincent, wait. We need to talk!"
But I don't know how to get him to listen now, how to make him want to stay long enough to hear me out. I don't want Eike; I want him, and barring that I want his friendship. I might try to find love again, a boyfriend, someone to hold my hand, but I don't want to lose him because of that. I want the both of us to be happy. God, if he would just listen, maybe I could make him understand...
If he would just acknowledge the fact that we're attracted to each other and just agree to work from there...
But maybe...maybe I'm going about this the wrong way. Scared to death to take the risk, and afraid that he will just see it as another breach of trust. Filled with nervous anticipation about what it might mean or lead to.
Vincent...
He's wearing one of his loose black button-ups under his coat, and I can feel the heat of his skin through it. Running my hands around him and then pulling closer until I'm holding him, and there are a hundred thousands pleasant little chills shivering over me at the feel of being pressed up against him like this -- hard, lithe body, sharp hipbones -- and he realizes too late what I'm doing. Stiffens in my arms and automatically tries to back away, his expression changing. Wary fear, and anger...and something else in his eyes, now dominated by dark dilated pupils.
"This is what we need to talk about," I tell him, unable to disguise the tremor of tension in my voice. "This attraction we feel. It isn't wrong. Vincent, listen to me!"
He's pulling out of my embrace, levering my arms away with his elbows, and I can't hold on anymore. But I've made my point.
And if he wants to leave now, I'll let him. So far lost in the false comfort of denial that I don't know what else to do to try and reach him. Vincent, why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn?
His breathing is a little heavy and he isn't looking at me as he takes the first few steps away, further into the hall. I drop my eyes, feeling ashamed of myself; but even more than that, feeling disappointed in him. Obviously I've misjudged my worth. It's good to know when to fight, when to stand up for something, or to someone. But it's also good to know when to give up. Zangan, where did you learn all of these lessons? I never asked you or, really, ever thanked you. If I ever become someone to be proud of, it will be because of you.
I can feel the seconds stretching, and then I know I've been waiting too long. Vincent...isn't pushing me out of his way, isn't running away, isn't trying to leave. I want to glance up to find out what the delay is, but I'm afraid to look and see that it isn't what I hope it is...that it isn't because he's willing to listen.
But he's there, leaning against the wall a little, slumped on his left shoulder. Still not looking at me, but his expression isn't the mask anymore. Staring at the baseboard heater, and after a moment he sighs, and I can't help but think it is for my benefit, to show me that he is resigning himself. I put a hand to the doorjamb and think about taking a step toward him, but then I mentally take the gesture back.
"Vincent?"
He closes his eyes and I catch the movement at his throat as he swallows.
I lick my lips, trying to sort out the direction of my words. "I'm sorry I did that. Maybe it was a little over-the-top. But I just wanted to make you listen." The kettle is suddenly whistling in the kitchen, but I force myself to ignore it. "We're attracted to each other, we both know it, but..." It's my turn to swallow uncomfortably. I've always hated confrontations and confessions. "...but you need to know that in the last month...I've started wanting it to become more than that between us." My voice is shaking and I have to force myself to loosen my grip when I realize how hard I'm holding onto the jamb, enough to whiten my fingers. "But I knew, too, that if I tried to change things between us, you would..." God, I can feel the tears there, a pressure behind my cheekbones. My throat feels thick, and I have to swallow again. "...you would get afraid, and run away from me. So, I was deciding that I would take Cloud's advice and start dating other people, so that we could keep our friendship the way it is. But I was going to explain it to you first, so it wouldn't be uncomfortable..." I blink back the moisture that wants to start escaping down my cheeks.
Vincent hasn't moved, but he seems to be listening. I just need to get this said.
And then, Vincent, please say something...
"I'm sorry if I hurt you." My voice is cracking, and the first tear makes its inevitable appearance. "I didn't mean for you to find out that way. But..." I wipe at the dewdrop impatiently, angry now for crying; I don't want to seem the weak little girl, and I don't want to make him more uneasy. "...but, I want somebody. And if it can't be you..." God, stop crying, Tifa! Take a breath, calm down. "Oh God, I want things to stay the way they are between us, too, but I don't know if they can anymore. If it can't be you, I think it's going to have to be somebody else. Do you understand?" I make myself wait too long for his answer before continuing, as if I hope to make him realize that I'm trying to be patient and give him his space to answer. "Please, say something."
"The water's boiling."
I feel a wash of helpless anger. Why does he want to make this harder? "I don't care about the damn water!"
"Then what do you want me to say, Tifa?" His voice is quiet and firm, and he's suddenly looking at me out of the corner of his eye. And I've thought it before: this is the real Vincent. This is Lily's Vincent. This is the honest Vincent who always knows more than he lets on. "That I don't want you to date other people? That I want things to stay as they are? That I want..." And then that fear seems to seep back into his eyes, as if he's suddenly aware of what he's saying. He glances away from me, back to the base heater against the wall. "You can do what you like. You don't have to explain your reasons to me."
"But..." Why isn't he understanding? "...but I don't want to lose your friendship!"
He looks at me again, and I almost want to take a step back from the hard glare in his eyes. "Sometimes..." A harsh whisper, more emotion than I've ever heard him use before. "...we can't have everything we want."
It stings, like he might've hit me, and I can't hold back the tears any longer. There will be no understanding. He's hurting, and he's bitter, and he's angry. And maybe, really, I was asking too much of him. To stand by and watch while I go out with other men, because he doesn't feel he can ever be that man for me, or for anyone? We're both selfish, and we both don't want to be hurt anymore. And he's going to make me choose. Choose between him, when I know I can't have him, and leaving him behind for a relationship with a lover.
But, really, is it a choice at all? I take a breath, though I can't look up to meet his eyes. "Then...I choose you, Vincent." I can almost feel it when he glances at me. I swallow the lump that is growing in my throat yet again. "I'd rather have your friendship, and be...alone the other way, than lose what we have together." God, Vincent, I love you. There's no question now. I love you, and it's breaking my heart. And I know I should let you go. But...when did I ever learn to let go at the right time?
"Tifa..." His voice still sounds harsh, angry, as if he suspects I'm just trying to one-up him. "...I'm not asking you to give up anything for me."
This time I look at him, but he's not trying to meet my eyes. My jaw feels tight, and it seems to take a lot of effort to open my mouth. "Why shouldn't I?" And I take a breath, know there are new tears in my eyes, feel the growing knot in my stomach. "I love you." And I can't help but bite my lip after this until I'm tasting blood on my tongue, as if some part of me unconsciously wants to inflict some punishment for the confession.
He closes his eyes and starts to shake his head, and then he stands from the wall, both of his hands fisted at his sides. His expression is so like a scowl, but I admit that I have no idea what's going through his mind. And, feeling light-headed and so nervous my teeth are chattering, I give in to my instincts on this one. And step up in front of him.
His hair is still damp from the rain and in a ponytail, but...those silly strands, never long enough to be pulled back, and too fly-away sometimes to stay put behind his ears. I lift cold fingers I know are trembling and sweep that hair gently out of his face, like I've been tempted to do so many times before. "Is it..." I swallow. "Is it so hard to believe?"
Never been here before. Never come this far. Even with Cloud, I never managed to be honest enough with him to bring us to this place. And I'm so afraid not to know what happens next. But almost surprised when Vincent opens his eyes. Only the third time I've ever been close enough to spot the brown flecks in his irises. And there is no wall there -- no bitterness, no anger -- but there is fear. Fear, and a kind of weary, defenseless honesty, as if he might be so tired of pretending, as if he really does wish this could all be made right. "Tifa, there is a part of me that wants it." No more than a whisper. And I know, I *know* as well as I know anything, that he isn't finished speaking.
But I can pretend to misunderstand. Get up on my toes and brush his mouth with my lips, not quite a kiss. And it makes me shiver, makes his eyelids flutter, and I want more. "Then take it." I do it again, but this time I linger for a second until I feel his unsteady breath against my face. He's closed his eyes tightly, his hands are still fisted, I see a tell-tale tremor in his shoulders, the twitch of his self-control against me. But he's not running away. Yes, a part of you wants this, Vincent. And I'm not Lucrecia. "I don't want to hurt you. I just want the both of us to be happy." Again. "And, I think..." One more, and coherent thought is starting to flee from me. "...this way, we both could be."
"Tifa..."
But I don't know if it's a protest, or an agreement, or simply my name on a wave of something purely physical. Because then he kisses me. And I forget everything else. I forget the tears on my cheeks; I forget that there are probably rational reasons why we shouldn't be; I forget that I might be taking advantage. I've wanted him for so long it feels like forever, and his skin feels so good under my fingers. Too many buttons for my faltering grip, and it's hard to believe I'm not dreaming, that it might really be Vincent's shaking hand trying to untuck my shirt.
Oh...oh yes. Don't let me wake up. There it is, on your face, Vincent. You can't hide it. You want me, too.
We...we're never going to make it to the bedroom.
* * *
The kettle has finally boiled dry.
This changes everything. And I don't know what he's thinking. Or what he might start thinking when he's awake enough to think. Drowsing with me on the floor, on his back, and I'm lying on his right arm with my head on his shoulder, absorbing the clean, musky smell of him -- shampoo and soap and his own skin. And I don't want to wake him up in case he tries to leave.
But I have a bed, Vincent. We could sleep there. Let's help each other up and stumble under the blankets, curl up together for the warmth of another human body and know deep inside ourselves that we'll never be able to live again without this.
"Vincent?" It feels so good to nuzzle my nose against the underside of his jaw, against his neck, because it fits so well. "Vincent?"
"Hmm?"
"There's a bed. In the other room."
"Hm." He takes a breath, and I feel his chest rise and fall, his ribs pressing into the soft part of my arm. "Sorry. Next time."
And I can't help but chuckle a little into the crook of his shoulder. That's not what I meant. It's not what I meant. I don't care where we are. I just meant for sleeping in. That's all.
Next time... Oh, Vincent. Are you aware enough to know what you've implied?
Maybe next time, tomorrow, and it'll be your apartment. Finished supper and cards and Lily will ask if you're going to walk me home. And I'll stand and walk to your chair and kiss you. Kiss you like I don't have any doubts. Kiss you to rewrite all of the rules. Kiss you until you melt against my mouth, until you're willing to be brave, until we both know it's a promise to work on it and not hurt each other. And tell her...
I'll tell her...
'I think...'
I don't care where we are. It doesn't always have to be comfortable. You just have to be there. And as long as you can do that, I'll be there, too. I'll never be Lucrecia...
'...I'll just...'
....and you'll never be Cloud.
'...stay here...'
Good-night, Vincent.
'...tonight.'
* * *
The end. As together as I can get them without going through every obstacle and argument they are undoubtedly going to have. I feel sorry for people who *do* have complicated relationships. This part was frustrating to write. But worth it. *grin*
Thanks so much for reviews, for this little fic and my last one! Now, it's finished. And I hope to keep reviewing other people's fics. Don't know when or if I might write something else. But thanks, all the same, for all of the encouragement! I feel like my writing has gained something from the Fanfiction.net experience.
See ya!
---thelittletree