Learning to Live

Author's Note: I do dearly apoligize for the lapse; there was a move (of me to another state, lol) in there, coupled with some other real life issues that kept Nadie and I away from our respective characters. But an update at last! And many thanks to the fans who've read and left little notations. They're muchly loved.



Please, read on and enjoy! ~SM






Vincent:



Valentine went stiff at Tifa’s whispered confession, crimson eyes flaring open wide on the heels of a swiftly indrawn breath. What? Hadn’t she…no, she’d said it herself, she’d never been with Cloud. His brain hiccupped. Jumbled thoughts frantically raced through the corridors of his mind as he waited for her to finally drift into sleep.



Perhaps a half hour later, Vincent disentangled their limbs and slipped from the bed, standing and plowing both hands through his ragged hair. He rubbed his face, wanting to just sink into the carpet and disappear. Tifa had been a virgin, for Planet’s sake…



Gods.



He silently rummaged for a pair of loose pants and headed for the kitchen to retrieve his pack of smokes and a beer from the refrigerator. Food he’d conjure later. A glance at the clock read 5:24 a.m. The rain had ceased earlier in the night and a dark dawn threatened the eastern horizon. Vincent sank down on a barstool and lit a cigarette, inhaling a deep breath of poison. His forehead smacked his hand as he groaned.



What in hell’s name had he done? By the Planet, he’d taken the most precious gift she could ever bestow upon some lucky sod fortunate to deserve it. Which sure as shit wasn’t him. Red eyes narrowed as Chaos snickered behind his ears. While wallowing in his guilt, he couldn’t help (with the prodding of a meddlesome demonic influence, naturally) but feel a large measure of pride that he was the first and only man to ever see Tifa Lockheart lost in the throes of unbridled passion.



The memory pulled an involuntary half-smile from his lips. Vincent’s body twitched, recalling the usage it’d undergone in the hours previous. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he shouldn’t fall to his knees in profound praise to have shared such a night with her and was nastily unable to squealch the surge of masculine pride that he’d had something Cloud had never possessed. Vincent chuckled, shaking his head and stubbing out the finished cigarette. He had no quarrel with Cloud as a rule, although he thought the boy a bit too absent minded and goofily genial for any serious-taking.



But he needed a breath of air. Taking his beer bottle, cigarettes, a handful of his current favorite hard candy (another human addiction) and maneuvering through the living room to fetch another tool from his desk, he padded back to the bedroom and crossed to the balcony doors, opening them and stepping outside into the crisp morning air. There was just enough light for a normal-visioned human to see clearly by but for Vincent’s sensitive lenses, this time of day was just fine.



He shook the excess water from the balcony table, deposited his things upon it and did the same to the comfortable deck chair, reclining with a sigh and propping his bare feet upon the railing. Striking another cigarette to life, he held it between his lips and stared over the railing, out over the ruins of the Shin-Ra building. Although most folks on this side of the complex complained bitterly of the view, Vincent actually enjoyed it. His mind’s eye recalled the Tower in all its former glory, identical to the poster hanging in his living room. It’d been the focus of his life once.



He mused and smoked, lighting another when the previous was gone. The ashes he merely flicked away on the morning breeze in true Cid-style, utilizing only one finger. Vincent was nothing if not observant. After half the beer was gone and three more cigarettes later, Vincent abandoned the nicotine and began on the small candies he’d brought, unwrapping one and popping it into his mouth. The fruity taste of watermelon instantly flooded his tongue. But it was sweet and knocked against his teeth as he sucked on it, reaching for the other things he’d brought outside: a sketch pad and a mechanical pencil.



Rather than actually draw in it, he gripped the pencil in his left hand, the digits shaky and fractious. Vincent’s brow furrowed in intense concentration as he began to write the alphabet, trying to relearn how to use his left hand.



Tifa:



How long she slept, Tifa didn't know. It wasn't nearly long enough, though, as her aching body told her. For this reason, she didn't look at any clock, trying to tell herself she'd slept long than she really did. Her unconscious mind had taken note of the absence of the warm body that should have been next to her, and Tifa groaned softly as she rolled over to find empty sheets. Panic filled her at first, and she wasn't sure why. Then, the partially open curtain that covered the sliding glass balcony doors revealed a figure sitting in a chair, and long falls of black hair and the one pale shoulder she could see told her who it was, bringing with it the memory of what he'd been to her last night.



As if I could forget, her mind sighed. Hours ago, or maybe not as long, she seen a side of him that she'd never envisioned, both literally and figuratively. Lithe and defined, a contrast of dark and pale, willing submission and fierce dominance, Vincent had been better than anything her inexperienced mind could conjure.



Another small movement brought a wince as she experimentally rubbed the insides of aching thighs. How was she going to manage crawling out of bed? The cuts on her forearm that Vincent had been so ashamed of were the least of her pains. She was sure there was rug-burn on her ass, and between her legs it felt as if someone had taken a battering ram to her. Oddly enough, with a blush and a small, wry chuckle she noted she still ached in other ways, far less painful yet no less profound.



Her eyes watched what she could of her lover through the balcony door, the overcast sky of a dark morning making it hard to tell the time of day. My lover...



Guilt tried half-heartedly to wiggle into her thoughts, but she was still too lethargic and fuzzy in the head to let it gain a foothold. Until his loss of control, she'd been set on having him again. If that hadn't have happened, would we be fucking even now? A sighed moan into the pillow came at that thought, accompanied now by all sorts of memories: his scent, stronger upon the covers than last night, his moans and cries of ecstasy, his sinful words and his firm, deliberate touch...



Tifa found herself wishing he'd come back to bed. What was he doing out there, anyway? She fought the urge for just a moment, before caving in and ever so carefully rising from the bed, wrapped in a sheet to waddle to the door, watching him.



Is it going to be weird now? She couldn't help but worry what his morning-after reaction might be, so for the moment, she just waited.



Vincent:



The muscles of his left hand spasmed, but Vincent kept at his work, teeth grinding into the candy as his hand jerked and he damn near dropped the pencil. Nostrils flared as he took a breath for patience and began again. Over and over, the scrawled letters slowly resembling something legitimate. He didn’t think he was up to words yet, but he tried, deliberately printing out his name in the blocked letters. He attempted other names as well, to practice further coordination; Cloud Strife, (although he scowled at that one), Barret Wallace, Cid Highwind, Red XIII, Reeve Tuesti, Tifa Lockheart…



He paused after the last one, seeing the name at the end of the semi-neat column of words. Resting his hand against the paper, he sighed, wondering what would transpire when she woke. Vincent knew she had to be tired. All that adrenaline from the previous events… Stop it, he told himself. She’ll wake, smile and hug you, then you can offer breakfast and take her home, end of story. Gaia knows you’ll avoid the bar for weeks, until you convince yourself you’ve gotten over what happened and can look at her without imagining her on top of you, moving like she did, moaning for more…



He snarled and his fingers jerked, crumpling the paper. Enough of this madness, he firmly commanded his treacherous mind. Shoving those breathtaking thoughts back into the vaults of his conscious, Vincent returned his concentration to his work, returning to the alphabet with a clean sheet of paper.



A bit later, so engrossed in his practice was he that he didn’t hear the brief whisper of bedsprings as its occupant rose from the mattress. But the whisper of the sheet as it drug across the carpet caught his ears and he stilled a moment, slightly tilting his head in awareness. The sounds paused; Vincent’s lips slightly curved in a bare smile.



“Good morning, Tifa,” he said quietly, clearing his throat which was partially dry due to the candy. “Sleep well?” He didn’t pause or turn, merely kept to his work.



Tifa:



Tifa slid the cracked door open a little more and stepped onto the balcony, drawing the sheet around her a little tighter, shoulders and arms left bare. Her feet met wet brickwork and slapped quietly in the puddles as she crept around him. She was silently thankful that no neighbors were out this morning.



Standing near his side, her eyes wandered to the crumpled pieces of paper and the sketch pad and pencil he held.



"Not long enough," she replied truthfully with a small blush as to why. One hand held the sheet over full breasts still tender from his attentions while the other brushed back tendrils of hair behind her ears.



"You must not have slept very long at all," she observed quietly. She turned to sit on the edge of the table, looking down at him somewhat shyly. “Is everything ok?"



Aside from the fact that last night we fucked like animals all over your apartment and you're probably having regrets, her mind added silently, though she hoped it was wrong. Still, a little of that worry showed in expressive, dark eyes.



Vincent:



Tifa moved into his vision and Vincent glanced up at her, pausing in his scribbling. One shoulder shrugged slightly.



“I didn’t,” he replied; voice the normal modulated inflection, smooth and careful. Needing to have something to do other than just ogle her, standing beside him wrapped in the black silk sheet, tousled and well-loved, Vincent transferred his pencil to the other hand and started to carefully sketch the Cerberus pendant.



Without looking up, he groped around her for another piece of candy, putting the wrapped piece between his teeth and yanking it free to slide in his mouth. Sucking it, he answered, “Everything’s well, Tifa.”



Now he did glance at her and his eyebrows furrowed, seeing the forlorn worry marring her face. He stopped his doodling.



“What is wrong?” Vincent lowered the sketch book to his knees. “Do not be afraid to tell me, Tifa.”



Tifa:



She paused in search of careful wording, then found that, after the previous night, tact might not bee too much of an issue. With a soft sigh, she slouched on her perch, hands now folded over her thighs and worrying at each other.



"I just... I don't want..." No no no! Starting out all wrong.



Another sigh, then she broke his gaze to look down at a small puddle, showing her skewed reflection.



"Vincent... are things going to be, you know, different now?" I don't want you to just pretend you didn't scream my name half the night.



"I mean, I don't want things to be..." She searched again for a word, and found the closest match to what she wanted. "... fake." I don't want to pretend you didn't make love to me.



Teeth chewed her bottom lip, releasing it soon as she realized its tenderness. Gods, was there any part of her he'd left untouched, not pleasantly crushed, caressed or kissed?



Vincent:



Well, what in Planet’s name was he supposed to say to that? It hadn’t been covered in all his former training. He stared up at her, at a loss. Such a loss. He could assuage one misgiving, however.



“Tifa,” he began quietly, inclining his head to catch her eye, “it wasn’t fake. I swear it.”



But he was unable to keep that earnest gaze and looked back to his sketch pad. The faded marks on his back tingled, making him minutely shiver, although he’d blame it on the slight morning breeze that wafted their hair and the sheet. He chose careful words before speaking.



“…I don’t know what you mean by ‘different’. Last night,” was quite possibly the most incredible but damning experience you’ve dared to dream, gunslinger, “…was,” Gaia, not wrong, do you want to make her cry, you bastard? “…special to me.” Better, you idiot.



Shaking his head a bit to clear rampant thoughts, he went on hesitantly, staring at her hands fisting in the sheet but made no move to touch her.



“…and I like to think for you, as well.” He couldn’t help the slightly clinical tone that crept into his voice. “You needed the stress relief, the chance for a release, of sorts.”



He heard Chaos snort in exasperation. I don’t blame her if she throws your soddy pathetic ass over the balcony, gunslinger. Do us all a favor, jump yourself.



Tifa:



At his admission, she relaxed the slightest, then her brow furrowed and before she could think of what she was saying, she was speaking. "Did it look like something that simple?" Her voice didn't rise, but the edge was definitely there, frustrated with him.



"Vincent, I was screaming your name." She at least had the presence of decency to blush, but that's where the virtue ended. "I didn't take you for just those reasons, Vincent. You make it sound like you were little more than the booze we swilled." She calmed with a sigh and a hand to her forehead.



"It... was special for me too, Vince. Probably a lot more than you know." Do you realize what you're saying? She didn't, not fully. What about Cloud? Do you want this to continue?



Flashbacks came rushing at her. Strong hands and nimble fingers on her breasts, hot tongue invading her mouth, narrow hips bucking beneath her as a breathless baritone breathed and growled ragged moans...



She flushed a deeper shade, turning her head and admonishing herself for snapping at him, for being so damned emotional about this. Honesty pushed the next whisper from her.



"I just don't want us to act like nothing ever happened."



Beyond that, Tifa had not the faintest clue what she did want. Yes you do. He's sitting in the chair in front of you. The voice was suffocated quickly.



Vincent:



Vermillion eyes narrowed just a fraction but Vincent sighed and sat back in the chair, gazing out over ruined Midgar.



“I know you didn’t, Tifa.” With a heavily exhaled breath, Vincent rose from his chair, placing pad and pencil in it and turned to her, arms crossed and hip lounged against the railing.



“How would you wish us to act, Tifa?” he asked bluntly. “You cannot tell me you love me, for you do not. And I sincerely hope that you realize Cloud’s reaction should it ever come to light. I will not say it was a mistake, because I do not think it so, but I cannot put any other value upon what happened other than the alcohol, the circumstances and a mutual need we both shared.”



He stood unswerving, gazing down at her. “A simple meeting of flesh, little more.” He firmly slammed the lid on any other whispered cadences threatening his ears.



Tifa:



Tifa hated herself for the tears that formed in her eyes. She hated him for saying the truth, too. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't know what she'd wanted to hear, but that wasn't it.



Wordless, she brushed right passed him, through the door, closed it and the curtain and stumbled into the bed again to bury herself under the comforter. She kept herself as silent as could be, but hot saline tears soaked the pillow as she wallowed in her misery.



What the hell did you expect, Tifa? You knew it was just for the night. You knew it wasn't some beautiful thing you could keep forever in more than just a memory. That's Vincent. And you're Tifa Lockheart, and everyone knows you're meant to be with a man who may never give you what you had last night. That's why Vincent did it. He needed it, you needed it, and that's the whole fucking story.



Breath came ragged again, but for entirely different reasons than the earlier hours of the morning. She was tired, and sore, and lonely again. She didn't want to deal with this now. Ever.



Why did I go out there, then?



The answer didn't come, but her silent sobs tapered off to occasional sniffles beneath the shield of blankets she'd made. Emptiness began to form in her heart, and a small amount of numbness. It was a wonderful night. She'd just have to be thankful for the memory, and leave it as just that.



Vincent:



Vincent stood outside for a long moment after Tifa fled, head lowered and unseeing eyes staring at the wet bricks. What had she expected?



Her dreams to come true, he realized with a sinking heart. Tifa was innocent enough to believe that one night of screaming passion was enough to heal all wounds, to change people, to create the garden of love and sunshine she longed for. Vincent’s hand painfully gripped the metal railing. Well, life didn’t work like that.



Hating to have been the one to shatter that dream for her, Vincent just plowed a hand through his hair, gathered his instruments and went back inside, hearing her sniffles but unable to fathom how to stifle them. Another of life’s lessons, he thought darkly. Tossing the beer bottle in the garbage, he put everything else back on his desk and went about straightening the living room. The coffee table’s top was shattered, thanks to his impatience last night. His lips thinned as he righted the frame and placed it out of the way.



Vincent silently cleaned up the glass, taking care to make sure every last shard was gone. He didn’t own a vacuum cleaner (he utilized a cleaning service), but swept what he could and picked up the rest by hand. Took him about half an hour and by the time he was done, manners were prodding him sharply. Pausing by the bathroom, he gazed at himself in the mirror, more than ever hating the visage that stared back at him, expressionless as ever.



He’d made her cry.



His hands clenched atop the porcelain counter. Brushing his teeth, he forwent shaving but contemplated a shower. A fresh wave of guilt assailed him as he spied Tifa’s still-damp clothes slung over the shower door. Shit. Grinding his teeth, he took her garments and tossed them in the dryer then padded back to his bedroom, glancing within. He spied the still-covered lump in the middle of his bed and sighed. His body was telling him what an ass he was while his brain was congratulating him on a good choice made. Valentine fought with both of them; why did it have to be so complicated?



Crossing his arms, he glanced down at his toes then back to the bed. “Your clothes are in the dryer, Tifa,” he heard himself saying. “They will be done in about fifteen minutes.” Blinking, he realized that his other pair of pants was still lying in a forlorn heap in the living room, along with her ripped underwear. A silent groan accompanied the thought.



Tifa:



She'd just begun to doze again when his voice woke her, bringing back the source of her current problems. She didn't move for a moment, and contemplated feigning sleep. So, he'd put her clothes in the dryer.



All the sooner to get me up, take me home and avoid me at all costs, no doubt. So this was why people either avoided one-night-stands all together, or had such a casual view of sex that allowed them to hold not the slightest attachments. The long cry she'd had did wonders for taking the edge off her pain, at least.



Fine, Vince. If you want it like that, if you want me not to care, then I won't. About anything. Though knowing this was impossible, as caring was too much of who she was, Tifa could try, one thing at a time. Mentally she checked off things in her head, discarding them one by one, for now.



Shame. She sat up with a sigh, covers and sheet thrown off as her feet touched the carpeted floor. A hand plowed through messy hair as she spoke in a soft, expressionless tone without looking at him.



Cares for his feelings. "Thanks, Vince. If you don't mind, I think I need a beer. Then a shower. I'll be ready to go after that."



Decency. She stood, seeing no point in post-sex blushes anymore. After all, he'd done plenty more than see her, already. She brushed past him in the hall, making her way to the kitchen and pulling the desired bottle from the fridge. Gaia, I'm going to sleep all day when I get home...



She padded back into the living room, taking the time to admire the start he'd made on cleaning it up while she popped the bottle cap off with her thumb, ignoring the bite at its tip. She took a healthy swig and spotted her ruined thong on the floor, next to his discarded clothes. A shiver ran through her. She’d been so enthralled in his body then that she hadn't felt the fabric slide down her other leg. She'd only torn one side to get it out of the way. She picked up the little piece of white cotton and turned with the intent of putting it in the trash can.



A small, sharp pain in her left foot caused her to curse and she hopped to the couch to dig out the tiny sliver of glass Vincent had missed. Great, she though. She hadn't realized it ‘til then, but her feet had been the only parts of her that had made it through the night just fine, before now.



Flopping back against the abused leather cushions, Tifa huffed and almost laughed at herself. Just finish the beer, jackass. Sure as hell can't do any more damage. Well, one could hope.



Cloud. It popped into her head in the same line as the other things she could make herself stop caring about. And in that moment, the one pleasant thing was that the confused, numb state of her mind made it easier not to care about him. She didn't know whether to be thankful or concerned, and settled on just swilling her drink in long, thoughtful gulps.



Vincent:



Only in his imagination did Vincent feel the room’s temperature drop twenty degrees to freezing. But it was good, that she not stay hidden beneath the covers for long. Another step on the road, he thought cynically. He let her pass by him without moving, remaining where he was for several minutes afterwards.



Finally emerging into the kitchen, Vincent’s brows lowered to see Tifa hopping around in the living room, then flop on the couch dispassionately. Vincent automatically rummaged around in the kitchen, calling softly over the bar, “Would you like breakfast? Or perhaps stop somewhere and get something to eat?”



Tifa:



Her stomach gnawed at the rest of her insides in response, but Tifa just sighed dispassionately and took the last swallow of her beer. Beer that did not make her stomach any happier.



"What've you got?" The idea of walking anywhere with thighs that cramped, nethers than ached and a foot that throbbed was not appealing in the least. She dreaded just getting to the car, as it was. At the bar, she had a few healing concoctions and a cure materia, and she'd use one or the other to get through the rest of the day. She didn't bother asking if Vincent had anything, she knew he probably never needed it.



Bare legs stretched before her naked body as Tifa inspected the skin, finding more places hurt than actually showed. Funny, how sex did that. But the pleasure was more than worth- She cut that little thought off in a hurry.



Vincent:



“Bread, pastries, eggs, waffles, rice, instant soup” none of which he ever ate, Shera had loaded him up with groceries his last week trip to Rocket Town, telling him he needed to “take better care of yourself, Vincent.”



“Leftover Chinese takeout,” which actually sounded appealing, “apples, corn flakes and…oatmeal,” he answered, finishing his inventory of the refrigerator and cabinets. Deciding for himself, he pulled the leftovers from the fridge and went about spooning the stuff on a plate. There was more than enough if she wanted to share and he tossed the container after putting the plate in the microwave, returning to lean elbows on the counter as he waited. His own stomach was growling but he couldn’t help staring at Tifa’s extended legs from over the couch, all he could see of her presently.



Long limbs that had clenched his waist so very tightly as she bucked- Snarling to get the image out of his mind, he jerked open the refrigerator and retrieved his pitcher of icy water, not deigning to bother with a glass as he drank straight from the jug. His house, by damn.



Tifa:



She was about to answer that cereal would be just fine, before her nose caught the scent of eggrolls and lo mein noodles, and her stomach practically screamed that it had found what it wanted.



"Leftovers sound good," she replied, just before the 'ding' of the microwave sounded. Setting her empty bottle on the floor, Tifa eyed the small wastebasket next to the desk, set against the far wall. The ruined panties she'd kept clutched in one hand were given a thoughtful look, then her left index finger hooked the elastic of the side still intact, while her other hand pulled back on the fabric. She took careful aim and the released, the fabric sling-shotting across the room like a flimsy rubber band. It landed just shy of the can.



Another huff and her head flopped against the sofa's back once more. She noticed the dryer's buzz at the other end of the house, but wouldn't bother to dress until breakfast and a shower was accomplished.



Vincent:



After refilling the jug and returning it to the fridge, Vincent smoothly took the now-warm plate from the microwave and sat it atop the bar. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tifa gingerly get to her feet and start towards the kitchen; perhaps she’d heard the dryer chime as well. But one black eyebrow lifted slightly as she just waddled, that was the only term to describe the lurching gait, to the living room-side of the bar, easing atop a stool. Vincent’s lips twitched.



So, comfortable with our nakedness, are we? And to think, all that maidenly modesty just shot to hell. Well, it was none of his business.



Rather than offer her a plate, he offered her a fork and pushed the plate between them as he leaned his left arm on the counter and speared a teriyaki covered broccoli floret with his own fork, taking a firm bite. The urge to engage in nonsensical conversation was surprising, he realized with a blink.



Normally not one for small talk, Vincent didn’t want Tifa to remain this cold towards him. It hurt his heart, but perhaps it was better that she think him a bastard and a lecher. Then he couldn’t hurt her by not being able to give her what he himself didn’t possess. So he kept silent, eyes on the plate, taking a bit of this and that, leaving the larger portions for her.



Tifa:



The growling in Tifa's stomach eased in contentment as she ate, surprised a little that he didn't get her a separate plate. It seemed strangely... close, to share one with him.



Albeit not nearly as close as him rutting you all over the floor and you sucking his cock like a pixie stick. That, she did blush at, for just a moment. When she realized how hard he was trying not to look at her, Tifa watched him. One arm leaned on the tiled surface, breasts pressed against it as she sighed and stabbed another forkful of noodles. He didn't know how to handle this any more than she did. And it was probably safer for him, being cold. It didn't stop her from hating it, but words from the night before reminded her why he probably retreated like this.



Tried to make them love me. Couldn't.



So he'd given up. He was right that whatever there had been, love had little to do with it. Understanding was there, affection, need, all under a healthy dose of lust. But love... she was sure that if it ever happened to her, she wouldn't know how to identify it. Not now. All Tifa knew was one sided pining that had come a bit too late to be fulfilled. Oh, she loved Vincent, certainly. She loved all her friends, and hoped they felt that way about her. But the kind of love she wanted now wasn't what was sitting in front of her.



What sat there, pushing and picking at the contents of their shared plate, was a man filled with doubts and suppressed emotions that just happened to share his pain, then his need, with her for a night. Now, he was feeling the regrets, no doubt. She wanted to stay mad, stay cold, but the way his face looked as he so studiously kept his eyes on his plate pushed her to break the silence.



"I'm sorry." She blinked at what came out, but it had been the most natural thing. She ate another bite, then looked at the plate as he had while she clarified between chewing. "For this morning, I mean. I don't really know what I expected."



Vincent:



Vincent lowered his fork, studiously keeping his eyes downcast. “No need,” he replied. “The…situation is anything but comfortable, I’d think.”



He released it, done eating. Although far from full, he just wasn’t hungry anymore. Food before noon tended to give him indigestion.



“You expected everything, Tifa,” he said slowly, daring to meet her eyes for a brief moment before scrutinizing the pattern of the countertop’s tile. “The fairy tale. Which you deserve.”



Piano-long fingers carefully laced together, calloused and scarred digits overlapping. “I truly wish I could be your hero, Tifa, in some wistful part of my mind. I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer any woman, let alone one as lovely as you. My life, though infinitely better than before, is still not one to be shared and I myself…” He sighed. “…still have too many burdens to carry to even dream of such.”



Vincent paused for a moment, then glanced at her, giving his small smile. “But that’s of no matter. I enjoyed last night, as I think you know, and am profoundly grateful you shared it with me.” By Gaia, he was trying.



Tifa:



She felt patronized by some of his words, but guessed that, by the way he viewed himself on such a low level, he thought they were true. She sighed and ate another mouthful, this time careful to swallow before replying. It gave her enough time to think on her words.



"Vincent, you don't have to give me your reasons, though the effort isn't unappreciated. You'd rather things just be like always, and that's ok."



She knew they wouldn't be, she'd never be able to look at him without some part of her recalling what his moans sounded like, what his body looked and felt like beneath all those layers of control.



Tifa sighed and continued, "And to be fair and clear, no. I didn't expect you to sweep me up and profess undying love, Valentine. I'm not that stupid. I just..." Her fork clattered to the plate as she let it go and leaned now with both arms on the bar top.



"I just didn't expect the door to be closed so suddenly." One hand rubbed her temple. Well, what did you want, Tifa? A fuck-buddy? Wasn't a bad thought, but one she tried hard to ignore.



She realized, as if in a moment of clarity, that what she'd hoped for was warmth. Not true love, not distance or walls, but acknowledgment as something, anything more than a pair of tits that had been fun for a while. She knew that wasn't really fair, Vincent didn't treat her unkindly. The way he acted now was his only defense against possible harm.



But how the hell am I a threat? she wondered.





To be continued…