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They left just before sunset. The hike wouldn't take long—no more than a hour, Cid promised, and Vincent believed him. The man had made this journey many times by himself, knew the path and the skies. Why Cid wanted his company tonight remained a mystery, but he was happy enough to follow.
It was a beautiful summer night. The heat from the day was finally relaxing into something that was at least tolerable, if not actually quite pleasant. The light faded faster under the trees, rich greens slowly shifting into dusky shades of blue. The fireflies hadn't yet started to come out but—
Cid swore under his breath, swatting at his arm. "Goddamn mosquitoes," he muttered. "Always forget how bad they are here."
"Hmm."
"Hm?! That's all you have to say?"
Vincent lifted his shoulders, let them drop. "They do not seem to care for my blood."
"Probably 'cause they bend their beaks tryin' to get through your armor."
"Proboscis," Vincent corrected absently.
"Bless you," Cid said, like he thought Vincent had sneezed.
Vincent frowned. "The ...beak. It's called a proboscis."
"Probok—aw, hell with it." He shook his head. "Hope you don't mind if I keep callin' it a beak."
"The mosquitoes might."
Cid blinked at him, startled, and then burst out laughing.
"Perhaps that is why they keep biting you," Vincent suggested.
"Uh huh. And maybe that's why chocobos always try to bite you. Maybe you should start callin' their beaks proboscises, too."
Vincent narrowed his eyes and Cid grinned irrepressibly. He had to look away and hope Cid didn't catch the small answering grin that was tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps you should keep your proboscis out of my business."
"If you think callin' my nose a proboscis is gonna keep me from bitin' you, you have another think coming."
Vincent did not want to think about Cid biting him. In fact, he was already having too many thoughts about it now.
"Whatever the reason," Cid grunted, slapping absently at his neck, "you're a lucky bastard. Little blood-sucking shits." He flicked a dead mosquito off his skin with a grimace.
Vincent let out a huff. He would not describe himself as lucky by any stretch. And it seemed that whenever luck was on his side, it was always the bad kind.
Except... he was here, wasn't he? Walking along this overgrown path with Cid, as the sun gave way to the stars and the trees gave way to tall grass. A few fireflies had started to emerge, lighting their way with their ethereal glow, flickering like their own private stars in slow motion.
The sun was already below the horizon by the time they reached their destination. Cid fiddled with his phone for a second before handing it over to Vincent.
Vincent took a step back, startled, pulling his hands up and away. He did not get along well with technology. Surely Cid knew that by now?
"Just want ya to hold it," Cid told him reassuringly. "That's all. Just need someone to shine the light on the grass while I get us set up."
Hold the phone. He could probably manage that, at least. He took it gingerly and aimed it in Cid's general direction, watching as the man pulled out a blanket and a couple of bottles of homemade cider under the artificial light.
"There," Cid said in satisfaction, hands on his hips. He surveyed his work for another moment before relieving Vincent of the cell phone. "Now all we gotta do is wait for the stars to come out." He sat down, absently scratching at his neck. "And for these tiny assholes to go to bed." He helped himself to one of his bottles of cider, passing the other over. Vincent took it, the fireflies danced around them, swaying with the blades of grass, and the world turned and grew darker. The catch of Cid's lighter scratched in the night, the red glow of his cigarette joining the fireflies, its scent familiar and almost welcoming, now. The warm darkness of night wrapped around them like a thick blanket, keeping the world at bay. The space between them felt closer, somehow. Like Vincent could reach over and touch him, press his hand against Cid's and feel his warmth.
How often had Cid come to this clearing to sit and gaze at the stars? How often had he sat here alone?
Vincent leaned back and let himself look out at the stars, his mind drifting into the dark places between the points of light. When he came back to himself, he found his eyes were on Cid, watching him take in the night sky. He followed the peaks and valleys of his face, the contours where his skin was a reflection of the starlight and shadows even the stars couldn't touch.
It was odd to see him so motionless. Even when he was sleeping, his body was animated—snoring, shifting, stealing the covers. But now, his whole attention was captured by the never-ending field of stars. It was an entirely different side of Cid, private and personal, hidden from view. It felt like sitting next to the dark side of the moon.
"What do you see?" Vincent asked quietly.
Cid blinked back from the night sky, his focus narrowing from the galaxy of stars to the man beside him. He pushed himself half upright, resting his weight on his elbows, and glanced at Vincent. Even in the dark, he could see the grin that pulled at Cid's mouth. "Besides the stars?"
"In the stars," Vincent corrected. He let out a short breath of frustration. Words never meant enough. "When you look at them."
Cid let himself sink back into the ground, his eyes returning to the heavens. "What do I see, huh," he mused. He was quiet for so long Vincent thought he'd forgotten the question or had perhaps fallen asleep, but when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "I used to look up at 'em when I was a kid. Daydream about what was out there, so much space you could go and keep goin', yanno? All the problems I had seemed small in comparison. No matter how much shit I was goin' through, the stars were always there. Shining." He fell quiet for a moment, before adding, voice soft, "Lookin' up there's like comin' home."
Vincent's chest ached, words tangling together in his throat. Home. How long had it been since he'd had one to return to?
Cid shifted, turning on his side to face Vincent again, breaking through his thoughts. "What about you?"
Vincent cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the words that had gotten stuck. "Mm?"
Cid nodded up at the sky. "What do you see?"
He let out a breath. "I… am not sure I should say."
"Why the hell not?" And despite the words, Cid sounded more curious than anything.
"I do not think you will like it."
One of Cid's shoulders moved almost imperceptibly in a shrug. "Your opinions are your own. Havin' 'em ain't gonna change the way I feel."
"I am not sure the point of sharing them, then."
The small shrug again. "You don't have to. But I wanna hear them if ya do." Vincent opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Cid continued. "I wanna know you. Just because I think one way doesn't mean I can't appreciate your way, too."
"Hmm." Vincent wasn't sure he believed that, but he looked out to the stars, anyway, searching for his own answers. Weighing the difference between Cid's truth and his own. Finally, he took a breath and said, voice as quiet as Cid's. "I see the origin of a monster, of an obsession, of a disease. I see the empty space where the end of the world used to be."
Cid let out a huff of breath, like he had dropped an unexpectedly heavy burden onto him. "Shit," he said finally.
"…I also see you, Cid Highwind," Vincent added, voice low but firm. "The twinkle of stars, winking in the distance. Constellations and patterns ever-changing with the seasons, but there nonetheless, all made of the same stuff." He took a breath. "A more sure compass to guide those lost in the dark than any built by men."
Cid let out an unsteady laugh. "You sure you're still talkin' about me?"
"Yes," he said simply.
"Damn," Cid muttered, running a hand through his hair. Vincent was glad for the dark. He didn't want to know the expression on the man's face right now.
"And perhaps—" He broke off, hesitating. It felt too much to admit, even to himself. But the close intimacy of the night and the comforting quiet of Cid's attention, drew it out, like an indrawn breath waiting to be released. "Perhaps I see the stars in you, Cid Highwind, because here, with you, I—" he swallowed "—I feel like I am home." He wondered if Cid could hear his heart fluttering in his chest, banging itself against his ribs like a moth chasing a light.
"Ya don't say," Cid said finally, inanely. "How 'bout that."
"I—" Vincent started. "If I overstepped—" and fell quiet at the brush of Cid's hand against his, a gentle, steady pressure, warm somehow even through his glove.
"Just—give me a moment, would ya?" He let out a soft huff. "And here I thought—"
Vincent stopped. He almost stopped breathing.
"Never knew how ya felt about it, is all."
Vincent closed his eyes, and a moment later, Cid's voice asked, "This alright? My hand on yours? Thought maybe we could—be home, here, together. For at least a little while longer, anyway."
Vincent turned his hand under Cid's, his palm up. Squeezed, briefly, and was rewarded with a squeeze of his own in return and Cid's relieved laugh.
"Glad you're here, Vince."
"As am I," Vincent agreed and was pleased to realize it was true.