to which we desire

yet another night in which he feels the howling of winds descend upon him, desperate to seep into pale flesh. he settles in a pool of red, tucking his cloak closer and closer to his chest until he nearly submerges beneath the cloth. he glances at the campfire before him, staring deep into the gentle flames as they caress cool winds. shapes twist and pull, twirling into one another until he sees her standing there. image faint and bizarre, but enough that it distracts him from approaching footsteps. a hand rests, gentle, upon a shoulder. he blinks and the image is gone, swept away into fleeting memories.

vincent uncurls slightly, glancing momentarily at the hand that had touched him. a glove decorated in materia ... tifa.

he lingers close, most like a shadow, keeping an eye upon the man before him. the other seems tired -- more so than usual. even when he grips his sword through battle, his hands seem to tremble the slightest bit, the squeaking of leather deafening to listening ears. deep in thought, vincent pulls up close behind cloud, eyes glancing momentarily upon a golden crown. for a second he remains silent, unsure if he should pry into the other’s business. still ... he would prefer to know if cloud is capable of fighting further -- just in case.

@rosaguard​ asked: ‘ so… ’ the woman began as she joined vincent on the highwind’s deck, secretly grateful that the roar of the airship’s engine filled in the awkward silence between them. despite her desire to know the truth, aeris could feel her confidence gradually waning now that she was finally knocking on its door. deciding it best to speak her mind before she lost her courage completely, aeris blurted out one single question, ‘ did you happen to know a professor gast when you worked for shinra? ’

had he known she would approach, perhaps vincent would have found it best for him to tuck himself away in some shadowy corner, body and mind away from all that would remind him of all his torment. and though he thinks of this, he feels no trickle of regret pooling into his body. even if it hurts, he is no longer the type to run. rather, he turns the slightest bit, eyes cast down upon her questioning gaze. shinra, gast -- lucrecia. for a moment his thoughts fumble, but he soon gathers composure and eases out a sigh of deep thought.

          ❝   I still wish we’d have just ripped her throat out…                        but I 𝖲𝖴𝖯𝖯𝖮𝖲𝖤 you have a point.   ❞

    —   𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩.  for @drivenchaos·