"...It is my understanding that you like, um, pumpkin soup?" It sounds more awkward than Vincent intends for it to be, but this whole...being a father thing is still new to him. He stands there, container in hand, holding it out like some kind of offering. "Tifa made it. Told me you would like it. I'm not much of a cook, unfortunately, but I thought you might be hungry anyways." Tifa, in fact, had shoved the container into Vincent's hands and told him that he better bring it himself, but what's the difference?

Well, shit.

It should be expected. It really should. From what Cloud has explained, Jenova has reared her ugly head once again, trying to use this version of Sephiroth as a conduit. It makes sense, he thinks. Perhaps the vessel she uses grows weak, or maybe it's just easier to manipulate him this way. Vincent frowns, tapping his foot as he thinks. There's a million explanations, and not one really fits as well as it should.

Regardless of Jenova's motivations, they need to protect Sephiroth at all costs. It would be easy to keep an eye on him in shifts, just to make sure that she doesn't dig her claws in him. Cloud might be out of the question. While he's doing infinitely better, who's to say how much sway Jenova might have over him when the time comes?

Nosferatu || Accepting

"Don't say that. It's not true." Vincent is quick to reply, placing a hand on Seph's shoulder. "I think this would've happened regardless of your arrival. While we may have believed that we destroyed Jenova in her entirety last time...I am not surprised that she's returned. As long as anything of Sephiroth remains in the Lifestream, she will keep coming back. Like a cockroach."

He doesn't want to see Seph blaming himself for all of this. Sure, his arrival may have ill-timed, but maybe Aerith waited until now for a reason. Maybe she knew that they would need him, that the only way Jenova could truly be defeated was by making Sephiroth face himself. It's a lot to put on the boy's shoulders, so Vincent doesn't voice these thoughts. Not yet, anyways. But he has every reason to believe that he's correct.

Settling dust || Accepting

"Tifa--I'm fine." Even though the injuries Vincent sustained would be horrific for a normal person. Anyone else would be begging to lay down. Not him, however, sighing as he's made to sit down in a nearby chair. Vincent, by now, is comfortable in his immortality, but it's a bit awkward whenever it comes up and he has to explain it.

So when she pushes up his sleeve and there's no scars or wounds or anything of the sort, just smooth skin, he huffs out a breath. "I told you I was fine...due to the experiments that Hojo so graciously did to me, I no longer get hurt like a normal person." As he says this, he pulls his sleeve back down, suddenly very self conscious about it.

Sunday funday || Accepting

Vincent blinks, surprised by the sudden offer. Perhaps he shouldn't be. His relationship with Tifa has quickly progressed beyond friendship, which is something he never really fathomed. He swallows hard, half wondering why he feels so nervous. Maybe it's because he hasn't been intimate with someone since Lucrecia and the thought of baring himself both physically and otherwise scares him a bit. Isn't that funny? He can stare death in the face without blinking but intimacy is the thing that puts him on edge.

Still, he clears his throat and nods, standing yet still seeming to hesitate. "I can...if you really would like for me to." He just has to be sure. He can hardly stand the sight of himself. Would Tifa feel the same once she sees him? He shouldn't think about that, though. He should just think about the fact that she's offering to begin with, making the first move where he could never bring himself to.

"I wasn't sure if you took it black, but there's sugars and creamers here if you need 'em," she says and adds a packet of sugar into hers. Normally she would add honey, but supplies are limited; she's thought about bringing her own, those little packets of honey she would need to peel back the cover on, but Tifa is aware that her circumstances don't always allow her to bring the comforts of home with her, wherever she goes.

She sits next to him, tired and weary, but safe and whole. His presence is a comfort she can bask in, one that makes her feel like she can relinquish the need to always be strong for others.

"Any new year's resolutions?"

Tifa looks at the clock that's sitting on one of the bedside tables, noticing the hour. She can already hear people gathering in groups, the occasional firecracker going off before midnight outside. Perhaps, under different circumstances, she would have joined them, in the festivities, but Tifa does not feel a connection to these people—the villagers that now call this place their home are not the ones she knew growing up. The actors she and the others had seen, before Vincent joined them, were long gone when they returned a second time; however, she does not doubt that maybe some of them have returned when it came to looking for a safe place to stay.

"I've got a few, but I can never seem to follow through with some of them." At this she scoots a little closer until the side of her leg is pressed against his. She can feel the poking of his armour against her leg, but Tifa does not pull away.

In a bold move, she rests her head on his shoulder, holding onto the steaming cup of coffee as she lets it warm her hands.

Vincent glances down at the cup of coffee when it is offered to him, letting out a soft breath. When was the last time he had coffee? Such things aren't a necessity to him anymore. He doesn't tire, doesn't eat, doesn't really need much in the way of sustenance. However, he does remember that he used to drink it black, back before everything that made him monstrous. "This is fine, thank you, Tifa." While he doesn't move to drink it, the mug is warm against the chill of his hands.

Such an odd situation they've landed themselves in. While Vincent has grown closer with the others over the years (finally allowing himself that much), he had never really imagined anything beyond a surface level friendship and an ally when needed. He's always preferred being alone, but now that he's had this opportunity to grow closer to Tifa, well...he isn't exactly complaining.

"Hm? Just to survive," he says simply, shrugging. The idea of setting goals to reach just because the year has started all over again has never appealed to him. "I don't think we should ask of ourselves any more than that."

To survive. To live. To exist quietly or do what you'd like. While he alive, it's not exactly conventional. He hasn't felt the beating of his own heart in years.

Vincent looks out the window as voices carry up from the village. These people all have their own lives, their own wishes and desires. It's odd to think about, so he doesn't, instead focusing on the fact that Tifa is now resting against him. He doesn't mind.