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When Cloud had first conceptualized Fenrir, he had been a boy. Barely ten years old, pretending to tinker away at his mother’s motorcycle alongside her, fascinated by the gears and mechanics of it all. It only continued on into adolescence; learning to ride and maintaining the beat-up old bike Claudia had given him for his birthday – that barely worked unless he gave it a good kick and words of encouragement. But it didn’t matter because it was his and he took pride in it.
Fast forward to the day of graduation. College had been painful enough – there were too many assignments, not enough practical tests for his liking (Cloud could hear Tifa berating him already for the wholly untrue statement), and on top of the dreams, he’s lucky he managed to graduate at all.
The dreams. What used to be innocuous reflections of his unconscious state turned into something more from an early age. A woman on her knees, praying. A man with long, flowing silver hair plunging a sword through her chest. A man with a gatling gun in place of where his hand should be, a talking red dog...that talking cat.
(The last one, he blames on his Professor; that had clearly entered subconsciously thanks to Professor Tuesti’s pictures of his beloved pet cat that he kept on his desk.)
Part of Cloud has always wanted to tell someone, but who would he tell? Who would believe him? His mother would be so upset to hear of the dreams he’s had about her, never mind all the rest of the death and destruction. No, some things are best kept secret – he’s done it all his life, what’s a few more decades or so? Repression has always been one of his stronger suits.
The only good thing to come out of the dreams had been the motorcycle. Sleek and modern in a way he had never seen before and every time Cloud awoke, he rushed to sketch what he could recall from the hazy visions, eager to bring it to life one day. And with help from those closest to him, he has finally managed to bring the first prototype to life.
Riding to campus had been a dream; smooth and far quicker than it had any right to be, Fenrir is quite literally a dream come true for Cloud and he’s more excited to show it off than he is about graduating. The only problem is that all the people who know him have already seen it – so really, he can only blame his ego for wanting to linger in the carpark, watching all the other graduates come in.
Really, he should go get ready. His mother has already shown up, as had his friends – all he’s achieving is looking quite idiotic, crouched down by Fenrir, pretending to tinker with a panel. Already Cloud has gotten a few nods and whistles, enough that it feels even more ridiculous to be lingering out here for so long. Why does he want to show it off so badly?
A shadow falls across him and Cloud cranes his neck to look up, shielding his eyes from the sun. The person is tall, dressed neatly in a suit with a slicked-back ponytail.
“Nice bike.”
Nibelheim. Fire. Galian Beast. Sephiroth. Chaos.
Cloud shakes his head, quickly looking down. Just because the voice sounds familiar doesn’t mean anything. Just because one of his dreams had managed to come true doesn’t mean anything – he’s always had a vivid imagination. “Thanks. Been workin’ on it for a while.”
For a moment, there is silence, the sun starting to truly make itself known against Cloud’s skin. Hadn’t he wanted this attention from…
“Did you name it?”
“Fenrir,” Cloud replies, almost automatically. There’s a sharp inhalation, that voice sounding it out slowly in a way that be described as sensual if only due to the pitch of his voice. Masculine, raspy – familiar.
“Fenrir...so, you’re one of Tuesti’s students, I take it?”
Unfortunately, that grabs Cloud’s attention and he finally rises to his feet, coming face to face with the stranger. Well, face to collarbone – the shadow truly hadn’t been exaggerated in the slightest, with a face straight out of one of his dreams.
Vincent.
“Uh...you know him?”
The man nods, his lips curling upwards ever so slightly into a smile. Cloud can practically see the red cloth covering the lower half of his face, his wild, black hair barely tamed by a red bandana. That means nothing though – he’s seen Tuesti’s husband in his dreams, most likely because he’s seen him on campus, which would make sense that the same logic could apply to this stranger as well.
Right?
“Reeve is an old friend. I’m Vincent. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of being acquainted.”
A million thoughts run through Cloud’s mind, centered around potential pleasure in getting ‘acquainted’ with this man with too-red eyes and a face that he can already picture in the throes of said pleasure. How perverted of him; flushing, he quickly shakes the outstretched hand, doing his best to stop himself from saying anything wildly inappropriate.
Vincent Valentine. The rest of the name completes itself for Cloud – he must have heard it somewhere. Clearing his throat, he can’t help the smile that starts to tug at the corners of his mouth, an odd giddiness rushing through him.
“Cloud Strife. Nice to meet you.”
Vincent’s hand lingers in his for a beat longer than feels normal, his fingers uncurling in what can only be described as a sensual manner. Fuck. It doesn’t help that he’s practically haloed in the rising sun, giving him an oddly ethereal appearance that has Cloud spellbound long enough to completely miss the words that come out of his mouth.
“...something.”
“Huh? Sorry, I…” As soon as Vincent reaches up, Cloud half-expects...well, he’s not sure. He’s definitely not expecting the other man to pull the tie of his hair out, revealing it to be a loosely wound pink ribbon. Without it, he looks even more like the man in his dreams – though that’s not why Cloud is unable to speak again.
He watches as Vincent reaches around him, tying the ribbon to the handlebar on Fenrir. And for a split second, Cloud can smell lilies in the air.
“Vin…”
“So you remember?” Vincent lets out a stuttering breath, cheeks pinking ever so slightly. “It’s always a gamble...there’s never any signs. At least this time I am not stuck under the Manor –”
“Cloud! Honey, it’s starting soon.” Claudia’s voice cuts through the tense atmosphere before Cloud can even formulate a thought. He turns in the direction her voice came from, spotting her waving him over.
“I gotta…”
“Go. I’ll find you later.” The certainty in those words make Cloud feel like Vincent could find him any time, no matter what. Nodding, he looks between the ribbon and Vincent briefly, before walking towards Claudia. Whether anything comes of it is irrelevant – no matter how brief and strange the interaction had been, his future already feels brighter for it, inciting the same feeling that he’d felt when he first finished the prototype for Fenrir.