Work Text:
The muffled noise of a voice talking was lulling Vincent to sleep. It was past his bedtime already.
The place he was hiding in was warm and soft and safe.
The rustling of fabric made him open his eyes and for a moment he was worried he would be discovered, black soft fabric pulled aside for the world to see him. Instead, a familiar hand peered inside, softly ruffled his hair and pulled the fabric closer to himself, making of Vincent’s hideaway a comfortable cocoon.
Vincent inhaled the familiar scent of the coat around him, a mixture of ink, old paper, a strong cologne and safety. After a couple of minutes he decided to come out of his hiding place, he parted the lapels of the long coat with his small hands and stuck his head out, a shiver ran down his body after leaving the warmth of his hiding space.
Vincent looked up and was met with his father’s own mahogany red eyes.
Grimoire Valentine was sitting in his studio, his desk was covered in books and papers full of equations and formulas, he had stopped writing and was now looking at Vincent with a soft smile on his face.
“Oh, what do we have here?” His father said and Vincent smiled as Grimoire lifted him and sat him on his lap carefully, pulling his chair back so there was enough space for the child to sit comfortably. “What is this peculiar looking piece of Materia?” The scientist analyzed his son’s face in an overly thoughtful way, pinching his cheeks softly and booping Vincent’s noise with his finger until the child giggled.“Hmm. Let’s analyze it!”
Grimoire got up from his chair, carrying his three year old above his head and spinning twice. Vincent giggled louder, he loved it when his father carried him. He knew those hands would keep him safe, they wouldn’t let him fall.
“Here. Can you tell me what is this?” Doctor Valentine asked his son as he sat down, he balanced the child on his lap so Vincent could see the paper he was holding with one hand.
Vincent recognized the formulas, they described “chemical elements”, a collection of C’s and O’s and other letters carefully arranged in figures. He didn’t quite understand what they were for or what all of them meant, but most of them were usually on both his mother and father’s notes.
Vincent noticed that next to the familiar figures, there were a series of numbers and odd symbols he hadn’t seen before. He supposed they were the reason father had been traveling so often again. Confident, he pointed at each familiar structure, naming them.
Grimoire smiled wide and kissed his son’s forehead. His pride translated to warmth in Vincent’s head. “Good. Very good”
Vincent didn’t understand quite well what his father did, he knew people recognized him in the busy streets of that big city they traveled often to and called him Profesor and Doctor. In their home, people called him Lord which confused Vincent because he had always called him “father” and he was secretly happy he was the only one allowed to do that.
“Are you leaving again?” Vincent asked and Grimoire nodded, grabbing several notes as Vincent made himself comfortable leaning on his father’s chest.
“Yes. Tomorrow, I have some experiments to conduct back in Midgard and Robert has way too many questions to be answered by telegram. I guess we have that in common him and I. Damn Shinras, once they get an idea inside their head…” Grimoire trailed off, reading his own notes and scribbling on several pieces of paper. “Yes, perfect…”
Vincent listened to his father go over his work, muttering to himself and writing numbers and symbols on a device on his left. The green screen came to life and recorded in black font the symbols and numbers on his father’s notes, the consistent click of the keyboard was slowly lulling him to sleep. Vincent grabbed a handful of the soft cloth that made the lapel of his father’s cloak and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.
The memory was faint and if Vincent could, he would cry but he was so tired. The drugs in his system were too much and he could barely lift his arm up to touch. The walls around him were cold and rigid, the clothes he had been dressed in felt unfamiliar but the cloth around his forehead was soft, softer than anything he had felt in years. Soft…He had to sleep and keep the demons inside. Soft, yes…soft like a memory of years long past, back when he was not a disappointment, not weak, not a monster…
Vincent closed his eyes, the now glowing red of them extinguishing to leave behind pitch dark and in darkness he slept, abandoned.