[it's been nearly a year since this odd friendship with vincent started—his next door neighbor, that is. to think it was all on a whim to get a signature for a renovation the apartment wanted to get done, but no one dared to talk to the man of apartment 13-B. there was something kind of really endearing about vincent; his want for solitude but not finding silent company unwelcome. there was something about their mutual love for lord of the rings that could really not compare to any other friends cloud has. not that he has many to boast about, but...]
[roche had come around, somehow managed to get past the lobby door, and tried to catch cloud in his apartment. they broke up five months ago, he needs to let it fucking go. it's the wild VROOM and PRRRR sounds echoing up the stairs that clue cloud to it, and has him dropping everything, locking his apartment, and knocking frantically on vincent's door. he slips inside the moment it cracks open—and he helps vincent in locking up.]
I'm not here.
[hushed, hurried, as he steps away. bare feet and wearing sweats and a tank top, he clearly just got out of bed recently (it's 2PM), and he's hiding behind a shelf, as if that would help him all the more in hiding than being inside this apartment would.]
[cloud waves frantically at vincent with one arm, chaos already curling around his ankles.]
[Cloud slips in like prey trying to escape a hunter. Maybe that’s not too far from the truth, even if Vincent is unaware of just what’s happening. The door closes, is quickly locked, and he hears strange vrrooomm noises echoing from just down the hall.]
...
[Turning to look, the younger man has already pressed himself straight against one of his bookcases, as though making his skeleton as vertical as possible will hide the fact that his arm and shoulder still peak out. Chaos, a dark-colored feline with bright green eyes, mewls around his feet, bumping his hindquarters against his friend’s leg.
There aren’t many who could get away with this. Not many who could barrel straight into his apartment without so much of an explanation, but Cloud has worked his way into the category of “friend” through their year of knowing each other, and it gives him the privilege to be—
Utterly confusing.]
Why are you hiding? I can see you.
[In case he's hiding from something.. in the apartment? Why else would he hide behind a bookcase?]
[he replies, voice still a hiss. at the cat's insistence to get attention (and so quick it was, too, having ran from its spot on the couch to greet cloud), the blond picks him up into his arms. almost like this were an automatic response.]
Cloud~! I know you're in there!
[the voice is melodic, but annoying at the same time, clearly intoned and holding a flair of dramatic as it lilts on the last syllables.]
Him.
[cloud manages to mouth, before roche raises his voice and pounds fist against the door of cloud's apartment.]
You can't ignore me for long! My heart beats under the eternal flame that you lit within. Cloud!
[it's too much. cloud feels the embarrassment sweep over him as he tries to make himself smaller and disappear behind the bookshelf. he can wait this out, like he always has, and maybe roche will leave soon.]
[Vincent gives Cloud a slow-eyed blink, as though he were a cat himself, but the sound of a voice resounding through the apartment floor demands his attention. He glances at his door — closed, locked — and wonders at who could be making this kind of ruckus, looking for Cloud.
Who even talks like that?]
The eternal flame you lit within. A lover scorned?
[Cloud didn’t seem the type — that’s surprising to him. But this man sounds stubborn and self-important, and most egregiously... loud. His brow knits at the sound of him stomping about outside.]
You can stay in here until he goes away. He has no reason to think you’re hiding with me, so you can unglue yourself from my books.
[unglue himself from the books cloud does, a little hesitant. this much is his dislike towards roche. the cat purrs in his arms as cloud manages to scratch between its ears. slowly, even as roche continues beckoning for him with his most annoying way of speaking, does cloud reach the couch and sit himself there, eyes still glued to the door.]
We broke up five months ago.
[that's almost half the time he's known vincent.]
[but—there's something reassuring about vincent standing between the door and himself. roche could be very aggressive, with an incredibly short temper and an even shorter fuse. it's really anyone's guess why he and cloud dated (they lasted 9 days).]
[everything's quiet outside after a moment, except that the pounding of a fist on door starts on vincent's door. cloud, for all he's skittish, is impassive, making eye contact with vincent and shaking his head no. don't do it. roche continues demanding for someone's attention.]
[Five months ago? He’s known Cloud longer for that, which means that he had broken up with this loud man, this complete and utter stranger, during the time of their acquaintance, and he had no idea.
Vincent realizes that he doesn’t know so much about him at all. Beyond their shared time together, the endless array of movie-watching and book-discussions, the strolls through the park at night and too-early morning, he understands so little about what makes Cloud tick.
The proof of that is now pounding at his door, making vibrations run under his feet. He’s sure the tenants on the floors above and below would have something to say about this later.
Vincent meets his eyes, silent. Cloud silently tells him not to do it, to leave it be. Maybe he’ll go away.
He knows that people like this? They don’t. Five months later, and Cloud should know.]
Just sit there.
[And he turns, unlocks his door, and opens it just enough to peek through the slit of an opening, not swinging it wide all the way. His apartment is almost always dark, with the blinds drawn, and there’s not enough creeping sunlight to make out Cloud sequestered away on his couch, even if Vincent wasn’t blocking the view.]
Stop making so much noise. [—is his greeting to Roche.]
[vincent actually did it. the absolute madman. cloud sinks some more into the couch even if it were impossible for roche to see him, and just stays there watching. what are the chances of roche barging in? they're pretty high, and that's not something cloud wants vincent to deal with.]
[roche knocking on the door stops, at least, and the man with a mullet fixes vincent a look.]
I'm looking for Cloud. He's here, isn't he? I can feel it in my soul!
[vincent really dislikes loud noises... and roche is the epitome of that.]
[Roche is truly the patron deity of Loud and Annoying. Vincent avoids these kind of people like the plague, else the remnants of his soul try to wrest free of its mortal coil.]
He doesn’t want to see you any more. You’re not dating.
[that— seems to make roche shut his mouth for once. there's silence, eerily so, and cloud thinks he can see roche's internal fuse lighting up and getting ready to go. he doesn't like being told no necessarily, or not getting his way. the fact that he's here five months after a one-night stand and a feeble attempt at dating is enough proof of that.]
And who are you?
[roche looks vincent up and down, hand flat on the door, seconds from attempting to push it open—but he reels in the urge. just because he's a douche doesn't mean he's a criminal.]
[One hand is pressed against the other side of the door just in case Roche attempts to push past, but Vincent doesn’t appear too intimidated. In fact, the pause that follows isn’t due to trepidation, but rather a close examination of his options.
In the end, only one seems like the most effective way of putting an end to this conversation. That or it’ll all blow over badly, but he’ll face whatever stormy aggression is thrown his direction.]
Yes.
[A lie, but how would he know?]
Is that a problem? He’s moved on. You should, too.
[meanwhile, cloud, aggressively: uh. because he knows what's next.]
[laughter.]
[and then roche leaning in with all the bemusement in a world of, in fact, a lover scorned.]
Clearly we must have a race! Your motorcycle and mine, engines revving evermore as we make a path! [there are dramatics here, like roche touching his heart and swinging his arms about, like he's in a musical rather than anything else.] We'll speed through the night, and beyond—
[Vincent frowns when the laughter bursts from Roche so loudly that he’s sure the whole building hears it. What follows is not something he’s certain sure he understands; something about motorcycles, blazing a path ahead — a challenge?
Vincent doesn’t even own a bicycle, much less a motorcycle. There’s no need to be mobile when you spend 90% of your time indoors, holed up in one’s own apartment, and therefore he considers the whole spiel inane.
Does this man ever shut up? It wouldn’t seem so.]
…
[Vincent closes the door in Roche’s face, locks it, and turns to face Cloud.]
He’s pleasant.
[Sarcasm, dry as a desert and just as unrepentant.]
[—immediately as vincent closes the door. he's frowning, even if it's hard to tell in the darkness. by now, he has let go of chaos and has sat up from the couch, turning on the only lamp vincent has ever given him the right to turn on at any given time.]
And don't you think I know that? Geez. He needs to fucking get over himself. [cloud shakes his head in resignation.] Why'd you say that? Now he's not going to leave you alone.
[as if on cue, roche is out there doing random motorcycle noises and another monologue, as if unaware that the door was closed on him. the man is incredibly self-serving, and it'll take him a moment to realize or to give up. cloud just sighs, rubbing at his forehead and heading for the kitchen. he needs coffee.]
Coffee. I'll make some.
[yeah, he's inviting himself in, flicking on the kitchen light against the sink (it's not as intrusive) and getting to it.]
[Vincent has plenty of practice ignoring what happens on the other side of his closed door. Though Roche continues to kick up a fuss with faux motorcycle noises and self-aggrandizing oratory, he shrugs it off it as if it were background noise, unbothered.
Crossing over to the couch, Vincent sinks into the cushion on the far side. Chaos pads over into his lap a few moments later, tail happily brushing against his chin. He nudges it away, automatically and as easily as any long-time cat owner.]
Say what?
[Cloud is free to make himself at home, to dig through Vincent’s appliances and belongings like they were his. He’s returned the favor in the other’s apartment more than once.]
[cloud gets to making the coffee, grabbing the french press and going about the whole process in careful steps. it gives him some sense of control, especially with roche still going on about whatever outside. it unnerves cloud, puts him on edge. it reminds him of his stupid mistakes, not to mention that the reason he decided to end things early with roche was how easily the man had dismissed zack. they both knew him—but suppose roche was only trying to take advantage of that emotional vulnerability to get in his pants.]
[his head hurts.]
[the smell of brewed coffee filters across the apartment, and some minutes in, cloud is bringing over a cup for vincent, too. he stays standing a moment, as if he's debating sitting down on the couch at all. hands around his own cup, he takes small sips at a time, careful of how hot it is.]
[The aroma of coffee is calming to him. The warmth, even more so as it coils around his nose, taking the mug from Cloud with an appreciative nod. Chaos settles next to him, lying down the way cats do, trying to press his entire dark-colored body against Vincent’s leg.]
No, I’m not.
[He peers at Cloud as he lifts the rim of the drink to his lips. The coffee is hot, scalding if he’s not careful, but Vincent takes only a small and testing sip. It warms him.]
But it should be enough to deter him. To know that you’re not available because you belong to someone else.
[The atmosphere has twisted itself into something strange. Like quietude and uncertainty hover around his friend who stands before him; heavy, lingering satellites.]
…You never told me you were dating someone. Months ago.
[stiffly, at the comment of not being told that he was dating someone, cloud sits down on the couch, just barely managing to not make a mess with the coffee swishing about in his cup. he's not awake enough for this, but it grips him so tightly, so heavily in his chest all of a sudden. he can talk about this, right?]
...it was a get together. Just a couple of beers, a speech or two, a toast, nothing fancy. I hadn't seen the guys in a while since I, uh, quit the force.
[he finds his hands shaking, and so places the cup just on the edge of the coffee table, pushing it gently with two fingers before he tangles his hands together.]
I guess it just got to me. I didn't want to be alone, so — [a shrug, and curling his hands behind his head and to the back of his neck. the knot in his stomach persists.] I know, terrible taste. I just... miss him a lot. Zack. It gets bad some days, and Roche just knew how to read me for the idiot I was.
[The coffee stares up at him, a dark shimmer as he listens. He gently jostles his mug to watch it ripple.]
Then Roche is an asshole for taking advantage of you. [Blunt, without heat, but harsh all the same. Vincent often tells it like it is, rarely softening his opinions for anyone. Especially when it comes to Cloud.
He glances at him, trails his eyes down his profile, up to his hands, to fingers that worry at themselves anxiously at the back of his neck. This is soft, raw territory. He knows to tread with a light step, even if he does not know exactly what the obstacle might be.]
You miss how things were?
[Was Zack representative of that? The bonds of a friendship unbreakable, until it was gone--? Cloud speaks as though it belongs utterly in the past. He has the look of loss in his eyes.]
[there's a faint smile at calling roche out, something cloud can appreciate. as if on cue, there's the banging of the man going down the stairs, eventually fading out as he'll unequivocally leave the apartment building—hopefully to never return. reflectively, cloud pushes back and presses against the back of the couch.]
Zack, he... died over a year ago. [his throat feels tight, but he says the rest with some kind of clinical steelness.] Died in the line of duty. Shot ten times.
We were best friends since the academy, even though he had a few years on me. When we ended up in the same precinct after I graduated, it was just... it was just really great. He was engaged, and he was looking forward to — to so much. [he looks up at the dark ceiling, his eyes glassy.] I was there when he died, protecting me, as always.
[he snaps his mouth shut after that, lips thinning into an upset frown, like he's trying to keep himself from downright sobbing. but he retrieves the usual calm soon enough, shaking his head, curling hands into fists on his lap.]
It makes sense, then. Why Cloud looks like he's about to fly apart, barely held together by what willpower remains in the wake of loss. He knows the feeling, as well, to lose someone important to him; though their traumas were made of different degrees of hurt, and even Vincent is not sure he can adequately compare his to Cloud's.
But that does not stop the swell of empathy threading through him. The pang of his own heart, to watch him struggle to speak of it. A part of him feels terrible for it, and guilt (that old friend) gnaws at his bones.]
...Yeah.
[He is. An asshole. In case that wasn't driven home enough.
Silence again. Chaos purrs beside him.]
Sorry, I didn't know. We don't have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable. I... understand. But-
[Ah. He's no good at this.]
At the same time, you could have told me earlier. I would've listened then, too.
[because cloud kept everything very close to his chest. the memories of zack felt too precious and too fragile, and at the same time he wanted to forget everything about it. which is why he moved to this part of the city, opposite of the area where it all happened. it takes him forty-five minutes to make it to tifa's for his shift, but he doesn't care; it takes him even longer to be close to anyone else who knows about it, who knew zack, who knows how it affected him. but it doesn't matter.]
[here, he can be alone, and he can easily bury away the shame and guilt deep inside his closet and forget it's there at all.]
I moved here to get away from... all of that.
[except that fragments of zack where littered everywhere. in the books with Z.F. written on the cover, the figurines that belonged to him, the movies that they'd watch together, the picture framed in his room. the unopened text message that cloud refuses, still, to check. hovering always on his notifications list. zack fair hey cloud! there's this before cutting off on the preview.]
[but zack would have said so many things, too, about keeping cheery, always doing his best towards others. which is why when he was giving the unlikely task of befriending vincent, he took it on in stride. what's the worst that could happen?]
You would have gotten along with him. [it takes him a moment, but cloud turns his face towards vincent, once he's sure he's not going to look stupid.] ...completely different energy levels, but he really liked fantasy novels. He didn't look it, but he read a lot. It was difficult for him but he wanted to publish a book one day. His own fantasy world, his own characters... that kind of thing.
[ He makes music, but whatever. As long as someone's on their way to get him, he doesn't care. He finds himself a nice (big) tree trunk to sit back against, idly strumming at his harp.
If Vincent wants to find him, it won't be a difficult task - once he susses out where the giant chocobo is, an abandoned stable or racetrack or something similar in the midst of the woods. From there, he only needs to follow the music.
Charle may be drunk of the point of being able to walk straight, but he'd be a poor bard indeed if he couldn't carry a tune even while deep in his cups. The jaunty tavern song probably has no place in the deep, dark woods, but Charle's voice carries easily through the trees, smooth and deep and only a little slurred. ]
Here's to the poorest poet ♪ Who always pens the truth ♪ Players, writers and wand'rers ♪ The minstrels and their tunes ♪
I'd rather live an honest lifetime ♪ With those with nothing to lose ♪ Than waste a night knee deep in shite ♪ That's polished slick to look just right ♪ I'd rather live a lifetime in the company of foooooooools ♪
[A metal chocobo makes for a unique landmark, and it’s the first thing any sensible a one-man search-and-rescue party should focus on. Vincent does just that, rifling through old memory; eventually, he recalls and old racetrack with faded billboards, the paint beginning to chip at the edges. A great metallic chocobo at the entrance, dashing forward with a rider on its back, a promise of what’s to come for any who are willing to pay the gil to see.
It’s nighttime, so there’s not a soul around, save for a song that lingers through the air like a ghost. He knows, then, that he’s found him — he’d know that voice anywhere now, equal parts unique and annoying pervasive.
Moments pass. The branches of the tree above Charle’s chosen spot shudder and shiver. Vincent looks down upon him, though almost impossible to see the in the shadows.]
[ Charle is too inebriated and too caught up in his singing to notice Vincent appear, but it's entirely possible that even were he watching for him, he would not have noticed. Vincent is just like that. Also, he would most certainly have words for Vincent if he knew the other man found his voice annoying. He has the voice of an angel, thank you.
As it is, Charle is startled right out of his song, a sudden and wrong note plucked out on his harp as the bard jumps. ]
By the Fury's tepid bathwater, Vincent! Do not sneak up on me like that!
[ Hist curse is shouted vaguely upwards, since he can't see his companion(?) in the gloom. ]
[It isn't the timbre of his voice so much as the association -- that cocksure grin, their first encounter with endless questions lobbed his way -- that categorizes it as a potential annoyance in his head. No getting around first impressions.
Not that this impression isn't much better, but at least even a drunken Charle had the sense to remain in one spot while Vincent roamed the woods like a dark spectre looking for him. Vincent lingers on his branch, gazing down at the man with the tattered edges of his cloak swaying in the breeze. One moment, he's there-- the next, the sound of leaves shivering, and the cat-like landing of boots pressed aginst the grass, too quiet.]
I didn't.
[Sneak up on him, he means. This is just how he rolls.]
[ Just because the intent to sneak isn't there does not mean that arriving somewhere near-silently is not sneaking. It's still very much sneaking! He blinks in confusion when Vincent vanishes from his vision only for his voice to sound in front of him, on the ground. Charle jumps for a second time, and nearly flings his harp at the man's head, only aborting the motion when he remembers he needs the instrument to make a living. ]
Stop that! And what business is it of yours how much I drink, hm?
[Strange how Vincent gives off the impression that he'd somehow avoid a harp to the forehead, even though said harp isn't thrown, and even though he stands there unmoving and unimpressed.]
You're too easily spooked.
[Is he bullshitting? Is he serious? Good luck finding out, with the majority of his expression hidden beneath that high, crimson collar.]
And it's business of mine when I'm the one who has to haul you away from here.
[That metal, gauntleted arm extends; an offer to help him stand.]
[ He gives Vincent a sour look for a second – he is not too easily spooked, Vincent is the one being a dramatic bastard and seemingly teleporting everywhere. Not that Charle has any room to talk about dramatics, so he holds his tongue at least.
Instead, hie expression smooths into something bordering on helplessness, a wide and hopeful smile accompanied by wide and hopeful eyes as he takes that offered hand and gets to unsteady feet. ]
However much alcohol it takes for you to carry me daintily away like the delicate flower I am – that’s how much I’ve had to drunk. Drink.
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finalflight2020-05-21 12:59 pm
real cosmic scorpio vibing
[roche had come around, somehow managed to get past the lobby door, and tried to catch cloud in his apartment. they broke up five months ago, he needs to let it fucking go. it's the wild VROOM and PRRRR sounds echoing up the stairs that clue cloud to it, and has him dropping everything, locking his apartment, and knocking frantically on vincent's door. he slips inside the moment it cracks open—and he helps vincent in locking up.]
I'm not here.
[hushed, hurried, as he steps away. bare feet and wearing sweats and a tank top, he clearly just got out of bed recently (it's 2PM), and he's hiding behind a shelf, as if that would help him all the more in hiding than being inside this apartment would.]
[cloud waves frantically at vincent with one arm, chaos already curling around his ankles.]
galaxy brains
...
[Turning to look, the younger man has already pressed himself straight against one of his bookcases, as though making his skeleton as vertical as possible will hide the fact that his arm and shoulder still peak out. Chaos, a dark-colored feline with bright green eyes, mewls around his feet, bumping his hindquarters against his friend’s leg.
There aren’t many who could get away with this. Not many who could barrel straight into his apartment without so much of an explanation, but Cloud has worked his way into the category of “friend” through their year of knowing each other, and it gives him the privilege to be—
Utterly confusing.]
Why are you hiding? I can see you.
[In case he's hiding from something.. in the apartment? Why else would he hide behind a bookcase?]
no subject
[he replies, voice still a hiss. at the cat's insistence to get attention (and so quick it was, too, having ran from its spot on the couch to greet cloud), the blond picks him up into his arms. almost like this were an automatic response.]
Cloud~! I know you're in there!
[the voice is melodic, but annoying at the same time, clearly intoned and holding a flair of dramatic as it lilts on the last syllables.]
Him.
[cloud manages to mouth, before roche raises his voice and pounds fist against the door of cloud's apartment.]
You can't ignore me for long! My heart beats under the eternal flame that you lit within. Cloud!
[it's too much. cloud feels the embarrassment sweep over him as he tries to make himself smaller and disappear behind the bookshelf. he can wait this out, like he always has, and maybe roche will leave soon.]
no subject
Who even talks like that?]
The eternal flame you lit within. A lover scorned?
[Cloud didn’t seem the type — that’s surprising to him. But this man sounds stubborn and self-important, and most egregiously... loud. His brow knits at the sound of him stomping about outside.]
You can stay in here until he goes away. He has no reason to think you’re hiding with me, so you can unglue yourself from my books.
no subject
We broke up five months ago.
[that's almost half the time he's known vincent.]
[but—there's something reassuring about vincent standing between the door and himself. roche could be very aggressive, with an incredibly short temper and an even shorter fuse. it's really anyone's guess why he and cloud dated (they lasted 9 days).]
[everything's quiet outside after a moment, except that the pounding of a fist on door starts on vincent's door. cloud, for all he's skittish, is impassive, making eye contact with vincent and shaking his head no. don't do it. roche continues demanding for someone's attention.]
no subject
Vincent realizes that he doesn’t know so much about him at all. Beyond their shared time together, the endless array of movie-watching and book-discussions, the strolls through the park at night and too-early morning, he understands so little about what makes Cloud tick.
The proof of that is now pounding at his door, making vibrations run under his feet. He’s sure the tenants on the floors above and below would have something to say about this later.
Vincent meets his eyes, silent. Cloud silently tells him not to do it, to leave it be. Maybe he’ll go away.
He knows that people like this? They don’t. Five months later, and Cloud should know.]
Just sit there.
[And he turns, unlocks his door, and opens it just enough to peek through the slit of an opening, not swinging it wide all the way. His apartment is almost always dark, with the blinds drawn, and there’s not enough creeping sunlight to make out Cloud sequestered away on his couch, even if Vincent wasn’t blocking the view.]
Stop making so much noise. [—is his greeting to Roche.]
no subject
[roche knocking on the door stops, at least, and the man with a mullet fixes vincent a look.]
I'm looking for Cloud. He's here, isn't he? I can feel it in my soul!
[vincent really dislikes loud noises... and roche is the epitome of that.]
no subject
He doesn’t want to see you any more. You’re not dating.
[Point blank bluntness.]
no subject
And who are you?
[roche looks vincent up and down, hand flat on the door, seconds from attempting to push it open—but he reels in the urge. just because he's a douche doesn't mean he's a criminal.]
His boyfriend?
no subject
In the end, only one seems like the most effective way of putting an end to this conversation. That or it’ll all blow over badly, but he’ll face whatever stormy aggression is thrown his direction.]
Yes.
[A lie, but how would he know?]
Is that a problem? He’s moved on. You should, too.
no subject
[laughter.]
[and then roche leaning in with all the bemusement in a world of, in fact, a lover scorned.]
Clearly we must have a race! Your motorcycle and mine, engines revving evermore as we make a path! [there are dramatics here, like roche touching his heart and swinging his arms about, like he's in a musical rather than anything else.] We'll speed through the night, and beyond—
[he's just going to keep going. cloud facepalms.]
no subject
Vincent doesn’t even own a bicycle, much less a motorcycle. There’s no need to be mobile when you spend 90% of your time indoors, holed up in one’s own apartment, and therefore he considers the whole spiel inane.
Does this man ever shut up? It wouldn’t seem so.]
…
[Vincent closes the door in Roche’s face, locks it, and turns to face Cloud.]
He’s pleasant.
[Sarcasm, dry as a desert and just as unrepentant.]
no subject
[—immediately as vincent closes the door. he's frowning, even if it's hard to tell in the darkness. by now, he has let go of chaos and has sat up from the couch, turning on the only lamp vincent has ever given him the right to turn on at any given time.]
And don't you think I know that? Geez. He needs to fucking get over himself. [cloud shakes his head in resignation.] Why'd you say that? Now he's not going to leave you alone.
[as if on cue, roche is out there doing random motorcycle noises and another monologue, as if unaware that the door was closed on him. the man is incredibly self-serving, and it'll take him a moment to realize or to give up. cloud just sighs, rubbing at his forehead and heading for the kitchen. he needs coffee.]
Coffee. I'll make some.
[yeah, he's inviting himself in, flicking on the kitchen light against the sink (it's not as intrusive) and getting to it.]
no subject
Crossing over to the couch, Vincent sinks into the cushion on the far side. Chaos pads over into his lap a few moments later, tail happily brushing against his chin. He nudges it away, automatically and as easily as any long-time cat owner.]
Say what?
[Cloud is free to make himself at home, to dig through Vincent’s appliances and belongings like they were his. He’s returned the favor in the other’s apartment more than once.]
no subject
[his head hurts.]
[the smell of brewed coffee filters across the apartment, and some minutes in, cloud is bringing over a cup for vincent, too. he stays standing a moment, as if he's debating sitting down on the couch at all. hands around his own cup, he takes small sips at a time, careful of how hot it is.]
[his stomach's in knots.]
You're not my boyfriend.
no subject
No, I’m not.
[He peers at Cloud as he lifts the rim of the drink to his lips. The coffee is hot, scalding if he’s not careful, but Vincent takes only a small and testing sip. It warms him.]
But it should be enough to deter him. To know that you’re not available because you belong to someone else.
[The atmosphere has twisted itself into something strange. Like quietude and uncertainty hover around his friend who stands before him; heavy, lingering satellites.]
…You never told me you were dating someone. Months ago.
no subject
...it was a get together. Just a couple of beers, a speech or two, a toast, nothing fancy. I hadn't seen the guys in a while since I, uh, quit the force.
[he finds his hands shaking, and so places the cup just on the edge of the coffee table, pushing it gently with two fingers before he tangles his hands together.]
I guess it just got to me. I didn't want to be alone, so — [a shrug, and curling his hands behind his head and to the back of his neck. the knot in his stomach persists.] I know, terrible taste. I just... miss him a lot. Zack. It gets bad some days, and Roche just knew how to read me for the idiot I was.
no subject
Then Roche is an asshole for taking advantage of you. [Blunt, without heat, but harsh all the same. Vincent often tells it like it is, rarely softening his opinions for anyone. Especially when it comes to Cloud.
He glances at him, trails his eyes down his profile, up to his hands, to fingers that worry at themselves anxiously at the back of his neck. This is soft, raw territory. He knows to tread with a light step, even if he does not know exactly what the obstacle might be.]
You miss how things were?
[Was Zack representative of that? The bonds of a friendship unbreakable, until it was gone--? Cloud speaks as though it belongs utterly in the past. He has the look of loss in his eyes.]
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Zack, he... died over a year ago. [his throat feels tight, but he says the rest with some kind of clinical steelness.] Died in the line of duty. Shot ten times.
We were best friends since the academy, even though he had a few years on me. When we ended up in the same precinct after I graduated, it was just... it was just really great. He was engaged, and he was looking forward to — to so much. [he looks up at the dark ceiling, his eyes glassy.] I was there when he died, protecting me, as always.
[he snaps his mouth shut after that, lips thinning into an upset frown, like he's trying to keep himself from downright sobbing. but he retrieves the usual calm soon enough, shaking his head, curling hands into fists on his lap.]
Roche worked with us. He's such an asshole.
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It makes sense, then. Why Cloud looks like he's about to fly apart, barely held together by what willpower remains in the wake of loss. He knows the feeling, as well, to lose someone important to him; though their traumas were made of different degrees of hurt, and even Vincent is not sure he can adequately compare his to Cloud's.
But that does not stop the swell of empathy threading through him. The pang of his own heart, to watch him struggle to speak of it. A part of him feels terrible for it, and guilt (that old friend) gnaws at his bones.]
...Yeah.
[He is. An asshole. In case that wasn't driven home enough.
Silence again. Chaos purrs beside him.]
Sorry, I didn't know. We don't have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable. I... understand. But-
[Ah. He's no good at this.]
At the same time, you could have told me earlier. I would've listened then, too.
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There wasn't much to talk about.
[because cloud kept everything very close to his chest. the memories of zack felt too precious and too fragile, and at the same time he wanted to forget everything about it. which is why he moved to this part of the city, opposite of the area where it all happened. it takes him forty-five minutes to make it to tifa's for his shift, but he doesn't care; it takes him even longer to be close to anyone else who knows about it, who knew zack, who knows how it affected him. but it doesn't matter.]
[here, he can be alone, and he can easily bury away the shame and guilt deep inside his closet and forget it's there at all.]
I moved here to get away from... all of that.
[except that fragments of zack where littered everywhere. in the books with Z.F. written on the cover, the figurines that belonged to him, the movies that they'd watch together, the picture framed in his room. the unopened text message that cloud refuses, still, to check. hovering always on his notifications list. zack fair hey cloud! there's this before cutting off on the preview.]
[but zack would have said so many things, too, about keeping cheery, always doing his best towards others. which is why when he was giving the unlikely task of befriending vincent, he took it on in stride. what's the worst that could happen?]
You would have gotten along with him. [it takes him a moment, but cloud turns his face towards vincent, once he's sure he's not going to look stupid.] ...completely different energy levels, but he really liked fantasy novels. He didn't look it, but he read a lot. It was difficult for him but he wanted to publish a book one day. His own fantasy world, his own characters... that kind of thing.
@dramaticflair
Don't have a lantern? Can't use a little fire magic?
[Actually.]
Forget that last part. I'll come take a look. Make some noise or something.
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[ He makes music, but whatever. As long as someone's on their way to get him, he doesn't care. He finds himself a nice (big) tree trunk to sit back against, idly strumming at his harp.
If Vincent wants to find him, it won't be a difficult task - once he susses out where the giant chocobo is, an abandoned stable or racetrack or something similar in the midst of the woods. From there, he only needs to follow the music.
Charle may be drunk of the point of being able to walk straight, but he'd be a poor bard indeed if he couldn't carry a tune even while deep in his cups. The jaunty tavern song probably has no place in the deep, dark woods, but Charle's voice carries easily through the trees, smooth and deep and only a little slurred. ]
Here's to the poorest poet ♪
Who always pens the truth ♪
Players, writers and wand'rers ♪
The minstrels and their tunes ♪
I'd rather live an honest lifetime ♪
With those with nothing to lose ♪
Than waste a night knee deep in shite ♪
That's polished slick to look just right ♪
I'd rather live a lifetime in the company of foooooooools ♪
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It’s nighttime, so there’s not a soul around, save for a song that lingers through the air like a ghost. He knows, then, that he’s found him — he’d know that voice anywhere now, equal parts unique and annoying pervasive.
Moments pass. The branches of the tree above Charle’s chosen spot shudder and shiver. Vincent looks down upon him, though almost impossible to see the in the shadows.]
You write it yourself?
[The song.]
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As it is, Charle is startled right out of his song, a sudden and wrong note plucked out on his harp as the bard jumps. ]
By the Fury's tepid bathwater, Vincent! Do not sneak up on me like that!
[ Hist curse is shouted vaguely upwards, since he can't see his companion(?) in the gloom. ]
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Not that this impression isn't much better, but at least even a drunken Charle had the sense to remain in one spot while Vincent roamed the woods like a dark spectre looking for him. Vincent lingers on his branch, gazing down at the man with the tattered edges of his cloak swaying in the breeze. One moment, he's there-- the next, the sound of leaves shivering, and the cat-like landing of boots pressed aginst the grass, too quiet.]
I didn't.
[Sneak up on him, he means. This is just how he rolls.]
How much did you have to drink?
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[ Just because the intent to sneak isn't there does not mean that arriving somewhere near-silently is not sneaking. It's still very much sneaking! He blinks in confusion when Vincent vanishes from his vision only for his voice to sound in front of him, on the ground. Charle jumps for a second time, and nearly flings his harp at the man's head, only aborting the motion when he remembers he needs the instrument to make a living. ]
Stop that! And what business is it of yours how much I drink, hm?
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You're too easily spooked.
[Is he bullshitting? Is he serious? Good luck finding out, with the majority of his expression hidden beneath that high, crimson collar.]
And it's business of mine when I'm the one who has to haul you away from here.
[That metal, gauntleted arm extends; an offer to help him stand.]
I won't do it again.
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Instead, hie expression smooths into something bordering on helplessness, a wide and hopeful smile accompanied by wide and hopeful eyes as he takes that offered hand and gets to unsteady feet. ]
However much alcohol it takes for you to carry me daintily away like the delicate flower I am – that’s how much I’ve had to drunk. Drink.