Chapter Text
"Oh. You're... here."
Vincent looks up from the newspaper he'd been staring and then looks down again. "You mind?"
"Nah, it's fine," Cloud says, scratching the back of his head. "Just a little unexpected, is all. Something wrong?"
Vincent considers the words for a moment. Is there something wrong? Not... not necessarily. And yet, maybe. "Nothing to be worried about," he says finally and turns the page. He's not actually reading - most of the articles are about events in Edge and they hold next to no interest to him, aside from the latest stunt Rufus Shinra was trying to pull maybe. Trying to become the Mayor of Edge, now.
"Hmm," Cloud answers, looking him up and down. "Well," he says and then shrugs before stomping over to the small kitchen corner, to carry the purchases to the fridge. "If you're planning to stay, tell me now. I don't have enough food for two here."
Vincent is quiet for a moment. Normally he wouldn't stay. Normally, this would be a few hours visit maybe, a day perhaps at most, and no more than that. Normally, he'd be here and gone as soon as his business was done. Normally, though, normally he had a concrete business to conduct.
He doesn't this time. Just... just a feeling.
"I can contribute," he offers. "To food."
Though, now that he thinks about it, he isn't entirely sure he can. Money for food is usually not that big of a concern for him, as usually he stays out in the wilds and eats whatever he has at hand... so he doesn't exactly go out his way to carry money around. And he hadn't bothered with things like bank accounts in decades.
"It's fine," Cloud says, opening the fridge door and unloading his purchases inside. Mostly beer and microwave meals, judging by the looks of it. "Money's not issue - I just usually don't get more than I need day to day because I don't even know if I'll be here tomorrow... so I don't have much in way of extra around the house."
Vincent digests that for a moment and then folds the newspaper. Nothing interesting in it. "Still running deliveries."
"Mm," Cloud shrugs and then closes the fridge door. "It's something to do."
Vincent watches him as he puts the bag away, how he considers the kitchen corner. It's not much, just fridge, sink, a small portable stove sitting on the side of the sink. Not... precisely glamorous for one of the most well known, wealthiest men on the planet.
There'd been a time when Cloud lived lavishly. For almost two years he'd lived in the former Shinra villa in Costa del Sol. He'd made it into gossip rags, he'd been the most eligible bachelor of the year, people had always been after him for a scandalous scoop, hoping to spy him with a paramour...
Vincent honestly hadn't been surprised at all by how fast Cloud has grown tired of it. All that wealth and fortune and fame, and Cloud had instead gone to this little hole in the wall flat in Edge.
It's not big enough for guests, Vincent knows. there's one bedroom, the bathroom is barely big enough for it's small tub, and the pathetic little kitchen corner is in the living room, hardly big enough for any sort of cooking at all, never mind entertaining guests. Cloud is living so far below his means lot of people find it mildly insulting.
All in all it's not that different from the guestroom Cloud used to have in Seventh Heaven... except this place is by Cloud's choice. This is place he went out his way to get for himself. Why, Vincent can only guess. Some small wish for independence and freedom maybe, though coming from Cloud...
"What?" Cloud asks.
Vincent shakes his head and looks away. "I'd like to stay a while."
Cloud shrugs. "Alright. I'll get you a mattress or something."
Edge has changed both very little and quite a bit over the years. The place looks and feels the same it did in the beginning - even after all this time, the people are still ShinRa's and Sephiroth's victims, and they carry their hardships with them where ever they go. Edge is still makeshift bid for survival, a ramshackle attempt more than a true, concentrated effort of living.
But now, years later, it seems more by choice than necessity. The thrown-together look of everything has become a style, and though newer buildings had better construction materials and budgets and they do look better, they also have that air of being hard won. Triumphs of trials.
Vincent can respect that, though he can't say he understands it. Everywhere else, people have rebuilt from ground up, or they have reverted into the Old Ways. In Kalm all the new buildings look like they were build century ago, and the way they're building in North Corel makes it look like ShinRa never existed at all, never mind leaving such an impact in the region. Junon has embraced its re-awakened coastal culture and thrown everything it has into coastal economy too, and if they could they'd probably turn the Canon into a fish at this point...
In contrast Edge stands as a reminder and testimony to the things they'd lost - to the harm ShinRa did. It doesn't even try to rise above it, not really - instead it looks like it was just last week that the Meteor almost came down, like the rebuilding is still slowly coming along.
It's been years and Edge refuses to recover. It's already one of the biggest cities on the planet, not quite as bid as Midgar used to be, but growing fast, and it refuses to heal or grow or better itself. It's a battle scar, and it refuses to be anything else.
It's a type of resistance, Vincent supposes. And if people of Edge are something, it's resistant.
Cloud Strife is, and will probably always be, the strongest human being to ever have lived. Even now he could lift buildings if he wanted to, even know he could kill people with mere flick of his fingers. Even now, he radiates Mako and Mana in a way that makes him seem... more than human.
He lives a quiet life, though. With the transport industry long since recovered, he doesn't have that much work anymore, his delivery business isn't nearly as busy as it used to be. Mostly he seems to spend his days in quiet, either aimlessly wandering around Edge or the ruins of Midgar, or tending to the pond and the flowers of the long since collapsed Church... or he stays inside, reading, watching television, not doing anything.
His life is slow, Vincent observes, slowed down to a crawling hours and days, intermittently broken by requests for help, or the rare high priority, high risk delivery to another continent or something of the sort. One would think the man is bored.
Cloud doesn't seem to be. He makes instant food, drinks a beer or two a night and lounges about on the small balcony, watching the shadow of Midgar's ruins hanging over Edge.
He's reticent and all but retired... but he seems content.
"What?" Cloud asks when Vincent has looked at him too long.
"Do you miss it?" Vincent asks.
They're sitting on the floor of Cloud's living room - the couch has to be pushed aside to make room for Vincent's mattress and in the end they'd stopped putting it back in place, leaving it sitting in awkward place next to the wall. It leaves an open, empty space in the front of the balcony door that should seem desolate, but somehow ends up inviting.
The morning light warms it, making it apparently ideal for Cloud to read in, and in the evening they can sit there and almost see the stars over Midgar.
Cloud looks down at the can of beer in his hand, turning it and reading the label. "Sometimes," he admits. "But I'm happier with those days in the past."
Vincent nods in quiet, understanding agreement.
They'd had purpose once. They'd been people with goals and strife and meaning, once. And with each year it's easier to remember the strength and volition it gave them - and forget the uncertainty and pain. Logically they know things are better now. Logically they know things were bad then.
"I don't like beer," Vincent says, looking at the can in his hands. He's taken off his glove and the aluminium feels cool to his fingers.
"I'll buy you some wine, then," Cloud says, and looks at him. For a moment he looks like he might ask.
But in the end he doesn't and they spend the rest of the evening in comfortable silence.
When Cloud is out on a delivery or the rare monster hunting mission, Vincent goes to Seventh Heaven. It's different these days - more a cafe and a restaurant than a bar it used to be, more comfortable rest stop than rough hewn sanctuary.
Construction workers come there for their lunch and there are people there just to get their daily dose of caffeine. Tifa, Vincent notes, has invested in some state of the art coffee machines, which chug along at comfortable hum and fill the whole place with smooth scent of freshly brewed coffee.
"Here you go," she says as he sits by the counter - because the place still holds onto its roots, and has a counter. "Double espresso with double cream."
"Thank you," Vincent says and accepts the cup. He looks up at Tifa, notices the glow of her skin and the imperfections under her eyes, the wear and tear of years and contentedness of being exactly where she wants to be, and then he looks down again.
"Cloud's out again?" she asks with the studious casualness of person who tries not to be too interested.
"Delivery to north continent," Vincent answers. "He'll be out for couple of days." then he considers it for a moment. "I can... pay for my own tab in the mean while."
"Don't worry about it, Vincent," Tifa laughs and leans her elbows onto the counter, smiling at him. "Even if Cloud didn't have a tab a mile long here, I wouldn't charge you."
Vincent looks at the cup, the swirl of cream. There'd been a period of time, just little after Seventh Heaven started serving as much coffee as it did alcohol, when Tifa marketed the place by doing coffee art. She'd never been exceptionally good at it, but she'd learned couple of cute illustrations she could easily do with cream - and she's still doing them.
There's a heart drawn in cream on Vincent's espresso.
"I have been thinking about... employment," Vincent admits, carefully extracting the spoon from the coffee, trying to avoid damaging the illustration.
"A job? You?" She asks with surprise. "That's... interesting. What kind of job have you been thinking of getting?"
That's the thing. They are the Heroes Who Saved the Planet - several times now, even. Any employment any of them could reasonably think of, they were bound to get if not for any reason then because of the fame and publicity it would bring their employers.
Hence why most of them are self employed or unemployed. Except perhaps for Yuffie, who technically works for her father now. Cid and Barret both have their own companies, Nanaki does whatever he does in Cosmo Canyon which technically can't really be called employment. Tifa runs her own establishment and Cloud runs a delivery business, albeit a not very busy one.
Vincent, for many years, has done... nothing. And to be honest he hasn't really felt the lack of employment. He hadn't needed money to survive, after all, and what services he could offer are largely unnecessary these days. He could, perhaps, do monster extermination like Cloud occasionally does, but...
Vincent lifts the coffee and takes a sip of it. It's strong and has enough sugar to give normal man high blood pressure. Tifa knows how to make it just right.
She tilts her head, leaning her cheek onto her knuckles. She doesn't have calluses there anymore; the skin of her fingers has softened in disuse over the years, both above and below. "I understand, you know. Cloud is the same."
"Is he," Vincent answers, though he knows he is. That's why... that's why he sought to stay with Cloud, rather than at Seventh Heaven where there was infinitely more space.
"He told me once that it wasn't restlessness," she says and looks away. "Or dissatisfaction. It took me a while to believe him, but I think understand now. There's just nothing there for you now, right?"
Their quests are long since over, losses recovered from and grievances avenged. Time won't bring back what they lost. It won't bring back what they had or what they found when they were on those quests, going after those revenges.
It had taken Vincent longer than Cloud to get there, but she's right. He's done grieving for his life, for Lucrecia, done blaming ShinRa. Time has passed. And there's... nothing there, anymore.
"Do you have any suggestions?" Vincent asks.
Tifa smiles at him and it's not sad. It's something nostalgic that looks like it might be sad, but it isn't. Fondness, edging on the fringes of loss. "I think that's something you need to figure out for yourself, to be honest. I was never like either of you. I never felt that drive."
And so, she'd never lost it either.
Vincent nods and drinks his coffee. He's not disappointed - he had no expectations, really.
But it would have been nice for once to get the answer just handed to him.
Cloud comes back eventually, with new stains on his trousers and new dirt under the soles of his boots, but otherwise unchanged. Vincent watches from the side how he washes his clothes and then sits back to observe Cloud doing regular maintenance on his motorcycle.
It's all almost ritualistic, how Cloud goes about it. Beat by beat, he settles back in after a long trip. Throw clothes into the washer, have a microwave meal, grab a beer, and then a box of tools. Cloud changes the oil of his motorcycle probably more often than is strictly speaking necessary, and his motorcycle more endures than requires maintenance at this point, that's how often Cloud goes about it. It's one very well maintained piece of machinery.
It's like meditation, probably. Cloud loses himself into the well rehearsed motions of the work, and he seems to want for nothing.
Vincent sits by the wall of the ramshackle apartment building, watching him from the shade. Once, Midgar had been in constant shadow of heavy blanket of clouds, as Planet tried to cover the injury, tried to scab over the wound. Now Edge is a scar, and sun shines on it, almost relentless in its brightness.
It doesn't seem like a place he would like to stay in. Vincent isn't overly fond of sunlight, his eyes are too sensitive to it, his skin burns easily now, and even with his physiology wearing leathers and capes in the dry heat of Edge is uncomfortable.
Before, less than year ago, he wouldn't have stayed here. Even Kalm is better than Edge - it gets sun, yes, but not to the extend of Edge, and at least in Kalm there was wind to cool the air. It came down from the mountains, along with the little mountain brooks and rivers, that humidified the air, made it bearable. In Kalm, air is fresh. In Edge, it's dry and oppressive.
And yet, Vincent doesn't want to leave.
"Hey, hand me the spanner?" Cloud waves an oil stained hand from under the motorcycle, and Vincent gets up to get it. He crouches down beside the blond man, his once leader, and watches how Cloud works. The man's pulled on an oil stained shirt, the one he always wears when doing maintenance, and it's leaving oil stains on his stomach where the shirt rides up.
Cloud tans in the oppressive heat of Edge, which considering that he's from Nibelheim is curious. Tifa doesn't tan in the slightest, she's almost as pale as Vincent is, but Cloud is almost bronzed. Zack Fair's artificially transferred genes, perhaps.
Sephiroth, Vincent recalls vaguely, was as pale as death in all his forms.
Cloud drops the bolt and curses as it rolls away. Vincent reaches over him to pick it up on his talons, dropping it on Cloud's belly.
"Thanks," the blond says, picking it up blindly and leaving more oil stains on his shirt and then going back to work.
Vincent gets up and goes back into the shadows, to watch him.
At some point, Vincent starts picking up after Cloud. It's not that Cloud leaves much of a mess - he doesn't have enough possessions to make a mess. But there is the occasional beer can or dropped sock, and Cloud only does house cleaning once in month or two, when the dust becomes actually visible.
The meagre amount of mess doesn't bother Vincent - but it's something to do, to put the empty can into the recycle, or to pick up the discarded clothes and put them into laundry. After a while, he starts doing the dishes unprompted, he figures out how to work the washing machine, and hangs the laundry after wards.
"You don't have to," Cloud says.
"Mm," Vincent agrees, folding the clean clothes meticulously, piece by piece. It takes him a few tries to get it right, to get the creases out - but he has no hurry anywhere, so he takes the time to do it right.
"Vincent," Cloud says.
Vincent looks up. Cloud is leaning to the wall that separates the living room from the entrance hall, just between the little kitchenette in the corner and his own small bedroom. His arms are folded, muscles still so well defined that he looks like he's maybe starving a little, and he looks...
Vincent waits, waits for him to ask
Cloud frowns a little at him. Then he looks up, at the ceiling lamp. "You wanna go eat out tonight?" he then offers. "Not at Seventh Heaven, some other place."
Place where they wouldn't be required to make small talk with the owner - where it would be just them, eating out.
Vincent looks down at the shirt he's holding - Cloud's shirt. He himself doesn't have much in way of clothing, aside from what he wears. His leather trousers and jacket can't exactly be washed, and if he'd put his cloak into the washer, he'd probably get back only its shredded remains.
"I don't have clothes," Vincent says, instead of saying no, instead of saying that he'd prefer to stay inside. Stay... home.
"Let's go buy you some, then," Cloud says and pushes off the wall.
After a beat of hesitation, Vincent gets up too. He puts the laundry away, before they go.
Cloud would finance Vincent a whole wardrobe change if he asked for it, and it wouldn't make a dent in the man's funds. Vincent refuses it, and he refuses the overeager help of the clothing store's sales clerk too, who sees them and then sees Gil signs, and in the end Cloud watches with something like amusement while Vincent selects clothing.
Vincent doesn't get a whole wardrobe change – but he does get something to change into. A two sets of black slacks, socks and shoes to match, a dress shirt, a tie, and after moment of thought, a black jacket that reaches mid thigh. He tries it all in the store's changing booth, pulling on gloves over his mangled and healthy hands and then stares at his reflection for a moment. Then he takes his bandana off too, letting his hair fall down to his face.
It's the strangest thing that he doesn't look like a Turk. He doesn't look anything like a Turk.
Quietly Vincent folds his leathers, bundles it all up in the ragged red cloak, sets the golden gauntlet on top of it. He would need to ask a bag for the shoes, now that he's changed to dress shoes instead. Cloud is waiting for him when he pulls the curtain aside, and his eyebrows lift slightly at the change of clothes.
"Nice," is his only comment, though the way he looks up and down speaks volumes.
Vincent runs a hand over the tie and hums. It is nice, he decides.
There's little less awed staring by bystanders when they leave the store, Vincent carrying his new and old clothes, and feeling a little less like he's stuck in his own past.
The business of eating at a restaurant doesn't turn out all that exciting. They get a table by the window and order wine and eat steak and they don't talk much. The silence isn't as comfortable as they're used to, though. The quality is subtly different, altered by the restaurant's atmosphere. It feels… official and secretive.
Vincent looks at Cloud over his wine glass and wonders. There's part of him that is waiting, still waiting, always waiting, for something he can't name. The next thing, good or bad, that would change the status quo. The rise of Sephiroth, the discovery of a new organisation looking to take advantage of people, development of new, life changing technology. There's always something that alters their lives.
Or there had been. But Sephiroth hasn't risen in years, Rufus Shinra has settled onto his tracks and old tricks of politics, Reeve has finally figured out what he wants with WRO and is doing semi good job at it. The world is… calmer now.
According to Bugenhagen, the Planet is on the mend. Maybe that has something to do with it. The Planet is on the mend, the monster populations are shrinking down, things are calming down. Maybe it has an effect on the people too, Lifestream reaching inside them, installing its calm to them. Vincent wouldn't be surprised if it affects them stronger, Cloud and him, considering what swam in their veins.
Cloud looks back at him and arches his eyebrows in silent query. Usually, Vincent would look away, avoid the purposeless eye contact, avoid the quiet challenge.
He doesn't look away.
He's still waiting, and something about the look Cloud gives him makes his heart beat harder. It's a bit like jealousy, because Cloud no longer feels the urgency that Vincent now knows so intimately thanks to its sudden, ringing absence. It's a bit like want too, because Cloud is content and Vincent isn't. He thought he was… but he isn't.
"I've been thinking about getting bigger apartment," Cloud says and looks away, at his own glass of wine. He doesn't even like wine, but he got some anyway. "With two bedrooms. What do you think?"
It's not even subtle.
Should I invest in this or is it temporary. Are you staying or are you going to eventually leave.
Vincent looks down and takes a breath, scenting the wine. It's… rich, by post-Meteor standards. Ten years old maybe, from Mideel vineyards. He releases the breath and then looks at Cloud, sitting there in reasonably nice clothes, clean jacket and button up shirt. He looks strange. He looks like an adult.
"Bigger kitchen would be nice," Vincent finally admits. "I… used to cook, a little. I have been thinking of trying my hand at it again."
Cloud stills for a moment in the act of lifting his glass. Then, resolute, he lifts it and drinks. "Alright," he says, a little unsure. "Two bedrooms and bigger kitchen. We'll… see what we'll find, then."
Vincent nods and swallows and neither of them dare to say anything else for the rest of the dinner for the risk of disturbing the new reality settling over them.
Their new apartment has bigger kitchen, separated from the living area by a kitchen island. It has two bedrooms that face each other, a bathroom with enough space to turn around even with the washing machine and dryer, and a balcony they can set up a small table and set of chairs to.
Vincent stands in the kitchen for a long while after they've officially moved in and he just breathes in the scent of the room, trying to get used to how different it is from Cloud's old place. No mould here, no rust – this building is new, post-Meteor. It's nice – and probably nowhere as cheap as Cloud's previous place. He feels a little guilty about that, for a moment.
Then Cloud is there, his hand on Vincent's back just for a moment as he steps around him to get a drink from the fridge. Vincent exhales and it settles.
The clothes he'd worn from his grave to here are packed away in his closet, sealed in a plastic bag, inside a cardboard box. He'll look them sometime, he know, he'll take them out and he'll remember his history and the pain he endured and the direction it once gave him. Maybe one day he could even come to terms with it.
Right now, though, he's here.
He's just here.
"I'm thinking spaghetti for dinner," Vincent says, half recalling that he used to like it when he'd been younger.
"Sounds good," Cloud says, opening a can of beer with a snick and taking a drink. "I can go to the store for you if you need something."
"No," Vincent says and looks at him. "I already have all I need."