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Chapter VIII - Lucrecia Crescent Was Her Name
“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

You were lying tiredly on the couch, flipping absentmindedly through the channels on the small TV screen. Your eyelids drooped slightly as exhaustion weighed on them; it seemed that your body hadn’t recovered yet from the occurrences of the past few days. You scowled as a sudden thought sprang to your mind. ‘My boss must be furious, for sure. I haven’t gone to work since the day of the accident. Oh man, he’s so going to kill me!’ You grimaced at the different scenarios that presented themselves in your head of the things that your boss might do to you or the very colorful choice of words that he might use to humiliate you for not showing up at your job, even when you hadn’t done so intentionally.

‘With my cellphone lost, I can’t even call him and explain what had taken place!’ Frustrated, you ran a hand through your hair, tugging at some of the tangled knots in your tresses. ‘I’ll just go there tomorrow and come clean with him. I’m sure he’ll understand…’ A dubious look displayed itself on your face, ‘or so I hope…’

You decided to forget about your current worries and enjoy the temporary serenity of the moment. As you were about to surrender yourself to the sweet slumber that had begun to slowly overtake your senses, the sound of the doorbell went off, pulling you from the state of laziness which you had no control over.

Dropping your legs off the couch, you forced yourself into a standing position and dragged your feet in the direction of the entrance. Not bothering to look through the peephole to check who’s behind the door, you twisted the door’s knob with your fingers and pulled it open. You had to blink a couple of times in order to wipe away the clinging tiredness that wore heavily on your eyes, but mostly to make sure that what you were seeing was real.

There he was, the mysterious man in crimson, standing at the entrance of your home, having his back slightly facing you. At hearing the door being opened, he turned to look at you.

“Vincent?” You breathed, surprise evident in your voice.

“Good evening.” He nodded respectfully.

“Hi!” A wide smile came to brighten your face. Vincent’s facial expression softened at seeing the easy smile that was spread on your lips.

“How are you feeling today?” He asked considerately.

“A lot better.” You replied, feeling grateful for the thoughtfulness he was displaying.

“That’s good to hear.”

Realizing, only then, that Vincent was still standing on the outer side of the threshold, exposed to the cool breeze of the autumn afternoon, you gasped: “Oh! Silly me! Please, come in!” You requested, stepping aside.

Vincent shook his head: “No, it’s all right. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Thank you, but I insist.” You repeated.

“Maybe some other time. You are still tired and need more time to yourself.” He reasoned.

“No, I don’t, I assure you. Besides, I really do need some company.” You said, but Vincent stayed quiet after this, simply locking his gentle gaze with your own. “Please, come inside.”

Vincent blinked once, probably contemplating your act of hospitality. It was most likely that he wasn’t used to being invited into other people’s houses, you assumed.

“We can sit by the fireplace… I know how much you enjoyed it yesterday.” You added, knowing all too well how much he admired the fire. Your attempt was met with silence yet again; however, even through the seemingly impassive look on his face, you could tell that his stubbornness was faltering gradually with your every offer. You went on persuading him: “I’ll make you some tea. A special kind I got from my hometown.” You grinned, knowing that you had just thrown your winning card.

Vincent rolled his eyes to that, but you could perceive the tiny smile that had made its shy appearance on his lips. “Fine.” He surrendered, stepping on the threshold and into your home. “Do you always do this in order to get what you want?” He questioned, following your lead further into the house.

“Oh yes. Always a winner.” You replied, the grin still showing on your lips.

“That’s quite the childish strategy, if you ask me.” Vincent commented.

You turned on your heel to face him and hung your hands on your hips: “It worked nonetheless. Didn’t it?”

With a poker face, Vincent answered shortly: “I guess it did.”

“And always will.” You chuckled and turned to usher Vincent into the living room. “Please, make yourself at home.” You gestured for him to find a seat on one of the two couches. “I’ll be right back with the tea,” and so you left Vincent’s side and made your way to the kitchen.
Vincent looked around the living room; he had been there just the day before, but he hadn’t got the chance to take a look around the relatively small yet cozy room. It had a warm ambiance to it, and the dark color of brown wood that prevailed over the creamy shades of some of the furniture added to its warmth. Two small couches were placed in the corner, perpendicular to each other, and next to each of them was a small coffee table. On the other side of the living room stood a big bookcase, on which shelves sat many books of different sizes, colors, and subjects. A few picture frames were displayed on those shelves, along with a couple of small statues and other decorative accessories.

Vincent felt himself being drawn automatically toward said bookcase. He undoubtedly possessed such a strong penchant for books. He looked up, his eyes scanning the spines of the books and their letterings. A gentle smile brushed against his lips as he recognized some of the titles that he was acquainted with. Shifting his sight to the next shelf, a photo frame that was leaning against the books caught his eye. Leaning closer to have a better look at the picture, he could discern your face there, but he failed to recognize the older man next to you who had his arm around your shoulders. Vincent blinked, gazing minutely into the picture. He was able to pick out the resemblance between the two persons. ‘_______’s father… probably,’ he assumed.

His eyes flickered to a lower shelf and there he found another frame. Vincent glanced briefly in the direction of the living room’s door, making sure that you were still in the kitchen, then reached to take the photo frame carefully between his hands. He stared intently at the two figures in the picture and he couldn’t refrain from smiling, even faintly, at the scene caught on camera. He recognized you right away, though you had been only a child when the picture was taken. Your 4-5 year-old self was laughing gleefully in the picture, sitting comfortably on the shoulders of the same man as the one Vincent had seen on the other photo, though he did look a lot younger in the second picture.

Vincent’s thumb slid across the glass of the frame, tracing the young features of your face with the tip of his finger. You looked very happy in the picture, contrary to the burdened expression that you have been sporting on your face lately. Vincent wondered about what had caused your genuine smile to ebb with time. And to say that this didn’t bother him would be a downright lie. Something inside him wished he could witness that beautiful, real smile of yours. For some kind of a reason, he cared… a lot more than he thought he could.
Not willing to get caught looking into your personal belongings, Vincent placed the photo frame cautiously back where it had been sitting, glancing at it one last time before turning away to sit by the fireplace.

**********

You sat on the floor across from Vincent, each one of you leaning against either side of the brick frame of the fireplace, and you sipped the hot tea carefully into your throat. You reveled in its sweet aroma as you breathed the warm steam that escaped the hot liquid’s surface. Vincent, who was enjoying his own tea as well, pulled the mug’s rim away from his lips and expressed with his typical low tone: “Thank you. This is good.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. I like it.”

You gave him a gentle smile: “I’m glad you do.” You reached with your hand to brush back a wisp of hair that had fallen to the side of your face, but you accidently let it graze over the covered gash near the temple of your head, which caused you to wince at the unpleasant contact. Vincent seemed to sense your sudden discomfort: “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” You nodded repeatedly, hanging the strand of hair behind your ear, “I’ll be fine.” You reassured him, raising the rim of your warm mug close to your lips. “It could have been worse.”

Vincent’s observant eyes remained locked onto you, taking in every detail of your calm face and – most importantly – every emotion concealed behind that inexpressive façade of yours. Sensing the intensity of his stare on your form, you tilted your head and found yourself caught in his mesmerizing orbs. Unwavering, his eyes held your gaze for a long while, which got you wondering about what he could descry by the simple scrutiny of the depth of your eyes.

He blinked after a while of silent observation and turned his sight away: “You say you’re fine, while in reality… you’re not.” He commented in a monotone. “What is wrong?”

Surprised by the accurate perception of the taciturn man, you pulled your gaze off him and looked ahead. You found yourself sighing. “It’s nothing.” You chuckled sullenly after that; you were still trying to be secretive about the thing that had been gnawing at you for days, even with Vincent being the only person to know about it. It must have been a habit of yours. Vincent had somehow figured out about your feelings for Zack, though you hadn’t even given the slightest hint concerning that matter. You had absolutely no reason to believe that Vincent wouldn’t understand the situation, for he had been showing understanding and consideration from the very beginning.

Taking another sip of your tea, you let out a sigh and muttered in a solemn tone: “They came earlier today… Zack and Aerith.” That seemed to capture Vincent’s full attention, and so you resumed: “They came to check on me since… you know, I had been missing for a couple of days. So... yeah. They told me that… uhm well... they’re going out. It’s… you can say it’s official now.” You explained in a seemingly nonchalant manner.

“Hmm,” Vincent acknowledged with a low hum, but his eyes were silently observing the disappointment that you had been hiding very skillfully. “I see…” He added, for once not knowing what to say.

A forced smile came to show on your lips: “They looked really happy. To be honest, they are perfect for each other…”

Vincent blinked then decided to voice his unspoken question: “What about you?”

You raised your eyes and met his calm gaze. You swallowed the heavy lump that had stuck to your throat before speaking, with the pretense that you didn’t understand the objective of his question: “What about me?”

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked, though his voice did hold a concerned tone to it.

Your eyes were locked onto Vincent’s ruby ones for a few seconds before you tore them away. Your sad smile fell from your face after realizing that there was no point in pretending that you weren’t affected by the matter. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.” You breathed softly, “Aerith and Zack are my best friends, and they will always be so. I can’t let some stupid feelings disrupt this special bond we share. As their friend, I should support them and wish them happiness. I will try to forget… I know it’s going to be hard,” you looked back at Vincent, the tiny – pained – smile returning to your lips, “and it'll take time… but it’s the right thing to do.”

Vincent said nothing in response and decided to simply sip his tea in silence. In fact, he had no words to utter. He couldn’t help however but think of your disposition toward the matter. He secretly admired your willingness to sacrifice, to push aside the romantic feelings that you had for Zack, all for the sake of the friendship that you cherished. He even wondered how you managed to – so wisely and loyally – set your priorities, your treasured friendship being above everything else. But he couldn’t deny how concerned he was about your calm demeanor. He feared of what your strong, hidden emotions could do to you… how they could wreck you and consume you from the inside out, without anyone noticing the consequent damage. Yet still, he hoped that you would be able to handle the heartache better than he had done in the past. Somehow, your story reminded him greatly of his own. Two different stories that shared the same title…

Hurt…

Silence fell over the two of you for a long while, disturbed by nothing but the soothing crepitation of the fire and the occasional ruffling of clothes at the slightest fidgeting on your part.

It felt nice, sitting cozily in such a warm environment while enjoying some delectable tea with good company. You had barely had the time to sit down and relax like this, and whenever you happened to find some spare time away from work, you’d most likely spend it alone.
You never would have expected that Vincent Valentine – THE Vincent Valentine – would be the one to fill that loneliness or to break that boring routine of yours; and for that, you were thankful. It was nice of him. You hoped he liked the peaceful ambiance of your place of residence. You assumed he did, regardless of how small your apartment is.

So many things had occurred during the past couple of days, endless whirls of thoughts, questions and emotions that circled in your head. However, you found yourself lacking the words to speak, as though they had been somehow pulled out of your mouth and locked deep into your mind. All you could do was take quick glances from the corners of your eyes at the man who was sitting mere feet away from you, but then you’d tear them away from him so he wouldn’t catch your studious orbs over his form.

You were aware, however, that scanning him with physical eyes will by no means give away anything about the mysterious man that he is. Knowing him on a deeper level required some meticulous contemplation. His physical appearance: his clothes, his face, his hair, his taciturnity, told endless stories with blurred beginnings and unknown endings; yet none of them were written in a language that you could interpret. It was all sort of beguiling: you always deemed this man as “mysterious”, but since when were you interested in getting to know his person?

Not like you expected him to tell you his story. He kept it all hidden; he never showed what was dwelling within his soul, behind the somber mask which he refused to drop. Perhaps, that was the main reason that had attracted you to learn more about him. His looks that used to have a daunting effect on you didn’t matter to you anymore. In fact, you secretly admitted that he is quite the handsome man. And after experience – regardless of it being a relatively small one – you came to realize the greatness and depth of his character. His calmness, his solemn and respectful attitude, and his rationality, all molded with wisdom, were attributes that, combined, could be found in none else but him. His personality is a combination of qualities that are considered rare, if not extinct, in today’s world, which had you feel grateful that someone, as great as he is, still existed.

Yet sadly, that had brought him nothing but pain and isolation, you concluded. It is unfair for a wonderful being like Vincent to suffer the ruthlessness and cruelty of this mortal world. He deserved much better than that; but you couldn’t give him any better, even if you wanted to, for you yourself needed a hand to pull you out of the bottomless pit that you had long fallen into.

Perhaps, that was why you were completely wordless next to him. Time passed by and the silence was still the conqueror over your souls. It had grown awkward somehow. It was so quiet to the point that you were certain that Vincent was able to hear your every breath. Dismissing the slight discomposure of yours, you chose to turn your attention to the flickering fire and enjoy the gentle warmth it produced.

You didn’t have to wait too long for the silence to be shaken however, for Vincent’s low voice rippled through the quietude, drawing your attention: “Lucrecia Crescent.” He uttered.

“Hn?” You voiced, watching him curiously as he placed the mug on the floor.

“Lucrecia Crescent was her name.” he repeated. That name was able to ring a bell. You remembered her… the lady in the photo which you had found back at Vincent’s place. You had thought that the matter was all settled and that he had made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about it, but why was he bringing it up? You assumed that he was more ready to open up to you, so you didn’t stop him. “Lucrecia… Crescent?” You asked softly.

Vincent slid a hand under his cape and drew out that same photo of the mentioned woman. He held it for you so you could have a better look at it. “A… beautiful lady, isn’t she?” He breathed, bringing the photo in front of his face and gazing deeply into it. He had said that she was beautiful, but as he stared at the picture, his eyes were vacant from all signs of delight. His look was… empty? No, but they held a certain emotion which could very well be described as resentful. You hung your head low, looking despondently at the half-full mug that occupied your hands, and spoke: “Vincent, look… you don’t have to tell me about her if you don’t wish it.”

Discerning the gloomy aura that was looming around him, Vincent chose to cast it out and carry on with his story: “She used to be a scientist in Shinra Company,” he paused for a moment then resumed: “In which I used to work as a Turk.” He said the last part in a lower tone than before.

A Turk? You recognized the Turks as the Department of Administrative Research established by the Electric Power Company of Shinra, in charge of Black Operations and espionage. A group of skilled professionals, so dangerous that you didn’t want to mess with. “You were… a Turk?” You asked, astounded.

He nodded reluctantly. “Yes. But that was a long time ago.” He closed his eyes shut for the shortest three seconds before continuing: “I was assigned to supervise a certain scientific project, and that is how we became acquaintances.”

“You two were close?”

“I… don’t know.” He shook his head. “I can’t say. Our relationship was of a business type, nothing more. However, I think that… she saw me more as a friend than a mere coworker. And to that I was grateful.” Vincent’s words faded as he kept his eyes glued to the picture in his hand. You waited for a few moments, realizing that there was something keeping him from talking further, but then you went on saying: “Something tells me that…” you looked away, biting your lower lip worriedly, but gathered the courage to speak again: “that there’s more to it than mere business… or even friendship…” You studied his reaction before reluctantly adding: “To you…” You gulped, “…at least.”

Vincent’s eyes traveled to you, catching your own gaze for a short moment before turning to look back at the dark flooring. He took in a silent breath and shifted his attention to the burning fire: “Perhaps that was one thing I couldn’t see coming. If I had, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to grow more comfortable in her presence. I had not intended to surpass the bond of friendship, but by the time I finally became aware of the feelings that I had developed for her, it had already been too late to go back. Before I knew it, I… well…”

You gazed silently at Vincent, appreciating the calm look on his face, and you bit your lip knowingly. You understood his thoughts without them being voiced. Hesitantly, he went on: “I had attempted to deny it, but…” he shook his head, “whenever I happened to see her or hear her voice, I felt like…” he took a deep breath, clearly struggling to find the words to speak; or perhaps feeling uneasy about revealing so much about his past, especially the parts in connection with the matters of his heart. You tilted your head, resting it on the stone frame of the chimney while keeping your gentle eyes trained on Vincent, and you gave him a sympathetic smile: “You felt like falling in love again and again?” Your voice was tranquil as you spoke.

Vincent blinked once, finding no better words that could mirror his thoughts than yours, and he nodded slowly. He returned your tender smile with one of his own then chuckled humorlessly: “Yes. Something like that.”

Vincent sighed after his confession, feeling something within him slowly melting. Just like the wood logs in the hearth that were slowly but thoroughly being devoured by the scorching fire, the aged and immovable cage that encircled Vincent’s heart was beginning to crumble. For the first time in years, he could finally speak about the pain that had been gnawing away at his soul for longer than he could remember.

His eyes flickered in your direction: “I take it… you know the feeling.”

You placed your now empty mug down on the side and set your sight at the floor. You nodded diffidently: “I do.” You replied with a forlorn smile. The two of you fell silent for the next couple of minutes, but in order to escape the possibility of drowning into your own depressing thoughts, you managed to interrupt the silence and address Vincent with another question. “Was Lucrecia aware of your feelings?”

Vincent shook his head in the negative: “No. I don’t think she was. I had made sure not to show it, though I secretly had wished she would notice.”

You gazed at the changing shadows that danced in contrast with the fiery light that illuminated parts of Vincent’s face. That shapeless boundary between shades and light drawn on the man’s visage was incapable of diverting your attention from the strong emotions lying behind that mask of disguise that never slipped from his face. Loving someone so much but fearing to tell them… you could definitely relate to such situation. You hadn’t heard Vincent’s full story just yet; however, you were able to empathize with him.

His voice was a pitch higher than a whisper as he continued, as if he was ashamed of the way he felt: “Every time I had tried to approach her, something inside me would stop me on the spot. I didn’t have the courage to tell her. I had tried a few times, but then I would waver and back away at the last minute. However, one day, I thought I’d replace my spoken words with written ones.”

You shifted in your place, adjusting your body in a way where you could face Vincent fully while still leaning against the fireplace’s plinth. “The letter.” You stated.

“Yes. I was never good with words, so I assumed that a letter is more… expressive. But again, that was merely an assumption.”

“But now that I think about it…” you reasoned, “why is the letter still with you? Didn’t you give it to her?”

Vincent was caught by your question. The look in his eyes sank noticeably and his head drooped downwards. He remained wordless, even his very breath seemed to be trapped in the narrow confinement of his lungs. His lips opened slightly then sealed themselves closed; he tried to speak, to say something in response to your query, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. You took notice of his discomposure and you suddenly sensed a feeling of guilt crawling its way to your heart. You adjusted your position on the floor, bringing your knees closer to your chest: “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m asking way too many questions. Maybe I… I shouldn’t have…”

“No. No.” Vincent spoke, shaking his head. “It’s fine. It’s just…” He ran a hand over his raven black hair then rubbed the back of his neck: “I… I had intended to give her the letter, but… I couldn’t. It was…” He threw his head back and inclined it against the wall behind: “It was too late.” His voice was strained and barely controlled: “That same day in which I had planned to hand her the letter, I…” he heaved a small sigh as he continued: “I learned that… she had given her heart to someone else.”

Your eyes widened and your breath froze in your throat after hearing Vincent’s pained confession. Finally, through the fierce and intimidating appearance of Vincent that was growing ever so transparent, you became able to see the broken and vulnerable man that he really is on the inside. Your own heart felt like breaking into a million shards as you watched Vincent’s lips parting hesitantly, having a distant look abiding in his orbs: “I witnessed it all…” He expressed, “I saw how he had held her close… and how she had returned his affections alike. While I was sinking deeper in love with her, she was already bound to another man. Soon after that, she entered in a relationship with him, while I… all I could do was stand there and watch her slip away. I couldn’t do anything about it. In the end, I was nothing to her but the bodyguard that I was meant to be; a friend who could do nothing but wish her all the happiness she could get.” His head yielded to the dimness of the moment for less than a minute before gazing up ahead, looking at nothing in particular: “This is the story of Lucrecia Crescent, from my own perspective.”

It all seemed kind of unbelievable, impossible even. Vincent had told you his story as if he was telling your own. Comparing both your stories, they sounded very similar, almost the same – Same feelings, same heartbreak, same grief. “Vincent…” you were completely tongue-tied; you had absolutely no idea what to say. A whirl of sentiments was stirred inside your chest, a sense of empathy for Vincent along with another emotion, a stronger one that had a deeper impact on you than the first: that of guilt. Guilt for once believing in Vincent’s oblivion of the pains and scars that Love had the power to inflict.

The more time you spent with your new friend, the more you came to realize how wrong you had been about him. He actually had a more complicated yet meaningful life than you had thought he did. No wonder why – then – his face had forgotten the point of smiling, since misfortune had carved the stoicism of his visage and sharpened its every feature. You wanted to say something to ease his pain, which you weren’t sure how long it had bided within his heart, but you failed at finding the words.

You hugged your knees to your chest and sat there in silence. You could feel waves of the burning heat being emitted from the fiery hearth and stroking your legs, but you didn’t bother changing your position. You bit your dry lip, nervously nibbling on it until you felt the strong tang of blood when you unintentionally had your teeth sink sharply into the chapped flesh. You swallowed the dryness that clung to the palate of your mouth and hesitated before asking: “Is… is she happy?” You didn’t know why exactly your voice had sounded so shaky, but you had that disquieting intuition that the answer for your question was something you didn’t want to hear.

The deafening silence that you received in response for your question was more of a confirmation of the bad feeling that sat in the pit of your stomach. However, you were able to raise your sight when you heard Vincent shuffling in his place. Pushing himself away from the stone wall behind him, he turned in his place on the ground and settled cross-legged in front of you, all the while keeping his gaze low. He thought for a while, and you could perceive in the small twitches of his lips the tacit struggle to find the right words to speak. After a moment of contemplation, Vincent managed to utter the dreaded answer: “The man she had chosen… wasn’t the right person for her.” He spoke, unsure. “It’s not like I am any better… I couldn’t have brought her happiness either. But…” He swallowed, looking forlornly at Lucrecia’s photo that occupied his right hand. He continued: “She deserved better. I wish things had turned out differently, for her at least, but anyways… it’s too late for that.”

“Too late?” A troubled frown appeared on your brow, but you didn’t divert your eyes from the man before you. Sensing your unuttered questions, Vincent pulled his stare away from the old paper between his fingers and trained his calm gaze on you. He blinked once, finding his next utterance quite heavy on his tongue. He took in a small breath then opened his mouth: “She’s gone.”

Gone? You blinked. Like, gone? Forever?

You wanted to process the idea in your mind, but it seemed that you didn’t want to believe what you had just heard. Your heart didn’t wish to acknowledge that fact. You didn’t know Lucrecia on a personal level. All that you knew about her was from the small photo that Vincent possessed of her and what little he had told you concerning the beauty with the long brown hair. However, knowing that Vincent had lost his beloved for eternity caused your heart to bleed for him. You could only imagine the pain of losing a loved one, of becoming unable to see or feel them anymore, of realizing that all that remained of them was nothing but blurred and painful memories.

“I…” you dropped your shocked gaze downwards, overwhelmed by the newly revealed truth: “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know!”

“That’s all right.” He said quietly. “It’s all in the past now.”

Vincent held the photo of Lucrecia in his two hands, studying its fading colors with his eyes as if he was trying to memorize every feature and detail in the printed picture. His gaze was calm, but you could discern the despondent emotions behind his inexpressive look. His fingers tugged harder at the fragile paper of the photo as he whispered lowly, more to himself than to you: “It’s in the past… and that’s where it should remain.”

Vincent leaned closer to the fireplace and – before you could even blink – tossed Lucrecia’s photo into the burning hearth, leaving it to be ravaged by the consuming tongues of fire.

“What are you doing?!” You shot up from your place and knelt in front of the fireplace, nearly pushing Vincent to the side. As if utter shock had blinded your thinking ability, you unconsciously reached toward the fire, hoping to save the quickly burning photo from the hungry blaze. Fortunately, Vincent’s grip was quick to catch your arm before it could reach a dangerous proximity from the fire. “What do you think you’re doing?!” He reprimanded.

“It’s going to burn!” You exclaimed, stating the obvious. You still couldn’t digest the fact that Vincent had actually discarded the picture of his beloved to the fire.

“So you’ll burn yourself instead?” He spoke firmly.

“Why…” You let out a weak breath, “why did you do this?”

“I had to.”

“No! This… this was probably the last thing you had of her! You shouldn’t have done this!” You shook your head disapprovingly. “Now it’s…” you looked at the cinder that had at one point been the photography of Lucrecia Crescent. “It’s gone.”

“It’s about time I let go.” You heard him say. You turned your sight to Vincent to find him gazing at the flames. “I let her go. I want to be free. And if her memory was to be my confinement, then I must forget about her.”

“Will ridding yourself of the physical reminders of Lucrecia help you forget about her completely?” You spoke calmly, already knowing the answer to your own question. It was impossible. A person’s memory exceeds the limits of the scant emotions that material reminders can infuse us with. Physical things can be touched, but they themselves don’t necessarily have the ability to touch the heart or the soul. Mental pictures do, however: memories, thoughts, feelings… He wouldn’t be able to forget, you reasoned. He couldn’t forget, even if he wanted to. “Burning her photo will not heal your scars, Vincent. Turning her memory to ashes will not restore your burnt heart.”

Vincent said nothing in return, not immediately anyways. He scrutinized the pained expression on your face, wondering why exactly his action of burning Lucrecia’s photo has affected you in such a manner. He knew you were right, he knew it all along. However, he wanted to convince himself that it could work this way. “I know. This is only the first step. It’ll take time, I’m aware.” He spoke solemnly, releasing your forearm from his grip.

You looked down at your hands that were resting on your lap. You gulped thickly, feeling tears pushing their way to your eyes. You tried to suppress them, but your sight had already turned blurry. You bit your lip in an attempt to preside over the overwhelming emotions, but you couldn’t constrain the quiver that shook your body vehemently.

“_______?” Vincent’s voice alone was able to prompt more tears to well up in your eyes.

“I’m sorry!” You choked out, squeezing your eyes shut and leaving the crystal droplets to trickle down your cheeks.

A worried frown appeared on Vincent’s face upon seeing the pure tears wetting your face, and he didn’t bother to conceal the tone of concern that was accentuated in his voice. “_______, what is it?”

Your shoulders shook uncontrollably as pure tears flowed generously from your eyes. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t found that letter at your place, you wouldn’t have been so bothered by it to the point that you would throw it away! I really didn’t mean to do this! I didn’t know why I searched into something that isn’t mine! I shouldn’t have done that! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” You sobbed.

“_______.” Vincent didn’t hesitate to place a gentle hand on your shoulder and he addressed you in a compassionate tone, one you hadn’t heard coming from him before. “What are you talking about?”

You opened your eyes and looked at him, orbs glistening with thick layers of translucent tears, and you whimpered in between short, breathless gasps: “The letter… and the photo…”

Vincent shook his head: “How is this your fault?”

“Vincent, I wasn’t supposed t-…”

“_______, you are blaming yourself for something you did not do. Alright, you found out about Lucrecia, but that is not the reason why I burned her picture.”

“You had been keeping it for years…” you countered, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, “Why is it now that you decided to dispose of it?”

“I’ve told you already… I had always wanted to forget her, but I had had no courage to take a step. I can’t dwell in the past forever. _______,” Vincent brought his right hand to your tear-stained cheek and resumed speaking, “I needed to do this. I did this out of my own will and full conviction. It is not your fault, all right? Don’t be hard on yourself, please.”

Your lips trembled as another streak of tears rolled down your cheeks. Trying to swallow your never-ceasing tears, you tilted your face against Vincent’s palm and rested your hand on his forearm. Without giving it any thorough contemplation, Vincent pulled you toward him, holding your body close to him. In immediate response to his kind gesture, you let your arms wind around his neck and hid your face in his shoulder. Vincent felt your delicate frame shaking in his arms, and it worried him greatly; so he tightened the lock that his arms had formed around you, inviting you deeper into his embrace.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his crimson cloak, seeking more of the unusual warmth that Vincent’s body provided you with. You could already feel a sense of security coursing through you from the moment he had brought you into his arms, and didn’t seem to fade or weaken in potency for the whole period that you were engulfed in his presence. You sniffed, breathing his scent that oddly resembled that of fire and fresh wood. “I’m sorry for all the hardship that you had to go through.” You whispered.

“Me too.” He replied. “I know that you’re hurt too.”

You lifted your head and supported your chin on Vincent’s shoulder. “I think… you’re right.”

“About what?”

You pulled away and sat back with your legs bent underneath you. Using your hands, you wiped the stains of fresh tears from your reddened cheeks then answered: “That it’s best if we forgot. It’ll save us the heartache.”

Vincent chuckled lowly and nodded his head. You entwined your fingers over you lap and turned your head to look at the source of heat. The photo that Vincent had tossed in there had already been turned into ashes, but you could still picture in your head the beautiful lady that had resided in Vincent’s heart for an untold amount of time. You kept gazing at the formless tongues of fire but then chose to speak in a warm voice: “I know… I might not have the right to judge her or criticize her in any way, since I know little to nothing of the matter... but, with all due respect to Lucrecia…” You paused, pulling your sight from the fire to meet Vincent’s ruby eyes, and at seeing in them the keenness to know your thoughts, you continued: “I think… her decision was not a wise one.”

Vincent blinked, wondering about the reason that made you come to this conclusion. Sensing his unvoiced query, you resumed: “I… I didn’t mean it that way! I just… I am certain that Lucrecia must have regretted her choice. She had the option to choose a better man, a better life. It was right before her eyes… you were right before her eyes.” For a reason unknown to you, you began stumbling over your words, finding yourself growing more discomfited with every word leaving your mouth. “I do not know the circumstances that had pushed her into choosing another, but… but if I were in her shoes…” Your sentence came to an abrupt stop at the immediate realization of what you had just said. You had accidently let it slip from between your lips and it was too late to take it back.

You lowered your head and looked at your hands that were nervously lying on your lap, trying but still failing to hide the ardent blush that was quick to invade the heated skin of your cheeks. Your lips were pressed together into a thin line in an attempt to restrain any more words from escaping.

You were very aware – however – of the pair of crimson eyes that were locked onto you. Your unintended utterance surely had captured his full attention. He was looking keenly at you, trying to figure out your words that had faded away before them being articulated. But upon gleaning nothing from your facial expression but utter embarrassment, Vincent chose to prompt you to express your thoughts by repeating the same last words that had left your mouth: “If you were in her shoes…”

You parted your lips only slightly but no words could be spoken, so you responded to his query with silence. You shook your head a little, not willing to reveal the thoughts of your heart. But Vincent for some reason, wished to know. He didn’t show it plainly, but he indeed had some sense of curiosity. “_______...” He asked again, tilting his head a little so he could have a better look at your face: “If you were in Lucrecia’s place… what would you have done?” He repeated.

Chewing on your bottom lip in a nervous manner, you raised a hand and fixed a loose lock of hair behind your ear. You forced your eyes to look up into the deep gaze of the man who sat across from you, and you reluctantly spoke the words that Vincent had been waiting to hear: “I… I wouldn’t have abandoned you for another.” You paused, wanting to examine Vincent’s reaction to your statement. His eyes widened just a fraction. He was clearly stunned by what you had said, and it caused you to feel more embarrassed than you had already been. But you managed to convince yourself to make your thoughts clear to him. “I would… I would have treasured you. Vincent, I know that we hadn’t really conversed in the past… but from the short amount of time that I have spent with you, I can already tell that you are an amazing person. You’re… you’re different from most people, if not all of them.”

“Everyone can see that I’m different. It’s quite evident.” He interrupted.

“No, no. I didn’t mean it in that respect. When I said ‘different’, I was referring to your personality, your qualities. Vincent, you are… one of a kind. I must admit, I had been very surprised at first to experience how… caring and considerate you actually are. I… I am truly happy and lucky to have a good friend like you, Vincent. I wouldn’t give you up for the treasures of the world. I promise.” You could feel that your face was dusted with a lovely shade of red, but for some kind of a reason you didn’t regret telling all that to Vincent. All that you had confessed was the truth, quite the embarrassing truth to say the least. However, you had that strong intuition in your head that Vincent needed to hear something like that, to know that someone depended on and trusted him… that a friend is willing to support him and stand by him the same way he did them.

You couldn’t fight the stubborn blush that colored your cheeks after noticing that Vincent’s calm eyes had been steadily trained on you, gazing deeply into your own eyes. After a while of silently scrutinizing you, he blinked, lowering his gaze from you, and you could perceive a shadow of a smile making a timid appearance on his lips. He looked back at you then raised his hand, placing it gently on your shoulder for a brief moment: “Thank you.” He simply said, withdrawing his hand and sliding back to where he had been sitting before, his back against the stone frame of the chimney.

You contemplated his calm demeanor for a moment then addressed him, unsure: “I thought you would get mad at me for what I had said… concerning Lucrecia.”

He held your gaze with his inexpressive one and asked: “Why would I? You hadn’t said anything wrong.”

You shrugged. Vincent scooted over and signaled for you to join him. You hesitated for a second there but ended up complying, sitting on the ground next to Vincent. He draped his arm over his bent knee and spoke in a solemn tone: “You keep assuming that I would easily get mad at you for every single thing that you do. You make me seem as if I’m a difficult kind of a guy. It’s not quite fair on your part, you know?”

“It’s… it’s not intentional, I promise!” You defended, still trying to suppress the rosy bloom that had spread on your face.

Vincent chuckled lowly: “I know.”

You felt sleepiness crawling its way to your senses, submitting your body to a state of lethargy. You had gone through a great deal of trouble during the past couple of days, and it seemed that your body hadn’t recovered from the exhaustion just yet. You felt like falling asleep right then and there, but at the same time didn’t wish to lose consciousness while Vincent was still present. You let your body lean closer toward Vincent and you pillowed your head on his shoulder, not failing to notice the familiar sense of tranquility that seemed to overflow every time you came close to him. You knew that this comfortable position was by no means going to help you awaken your senses, but you couldn’t resist the inviting coziness.

Vincent’s breathing was silent; you could faintly feel his shoulders moving along with the steady motions of his chest as it rose and fell with every breath. His stillness, the rhythm of his breathing, his very presence had a calming effect on you. It was so soothing that you had started slowly drifting to slumber, but the soft rumble that you felt as Vincent’s voice sounded in his throat brought you back to consciousness. “_______?”

“Mhm?” You hummed.

“Do you think… it is all right to fall in love again?” He asked, almost hesitantly. You lifted your head only slightly from Vincent’s shoulder and tilted it to look at the profile of his face. You remained silent for a minute, ruminating on Vincent’s question. Your eyes fluttered away, looking distantly ahead of you. “I,” you spoke, your voice flowing serenely from between your lips, “I believe that everyone deserves a second chance in love.” You let your head lean back against the man’s shoulder, appreciating the opportunity to bask in the warm presence of your long-haired friend. “And I’m sure that you deserve it more than anybody else.”

Vincent chuckled lightly at that: “You think so?”

A gentle smile stretched at your lips: “I do.”

Vincent felt your body relaxing against his side, which helped instilling a sense of peace in him, a feeling he had forgotten the taste of for a long period of time. And he couldn’t be more grateful for that. Tentatively, he moved his arm behind you and rested his large hand on top of your head, inviting you closer to him. “Thank you… for being a good listener.” He expressed, gratefulness evident in his deep voice.
“Don’t mention it. I wish I could help more.”

“Believe me, you’ve helped… even more than you know.”

.

.

.

.

.

“By the way, I’m going to buy a new phone tomorrow, since I lost the one I had. It’ll be cool to exchange phone numbers. What do you say?”

“But… I don’t have a phone number.”

“What?!”

“Or a phone.”

“You’re kidding. Right?”

“No.”

.

.

.
“This is hopeless…”

“I know.”

To Be Continued…

Description
Chapter VIII - Lucrecia Crescent Was Her Name
“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

You were lying tiredly on the couch, flipping absentmindedly through the channels on the small TV screen. Your eyelids drooped slightly as exhaustion weighed on them; it seemed that your body hadn’t recovered yet from the occurrences of the past few days. You scowled as a sudden thought sprang to your mind. ‘My boss must be furious, for sure. I haven’t gone to work since the day of the accident. Oh man, he’s so going to kill me!’ You grimaced at the different scenarios that presented themselves in your head of the things that your boss might do to you or the very colorful choice of words that he might use to humiliate you for not showing up at your job, even when you hadn’t done so intentionally.

‘With my cellphone lost, I can’t even call him and explain what had taken place!’ Frustrated, you ran a hand through your hair, tugging at some of the tangled knots in your tresses. ‘I’ll just go there tomorrow and come clean with him. I’m sure he’ll understand…’ A dubious look displayed itself on your face, ‘or so I hope…’

You decided to forget about your current worries and enjoy the temporary serenity of the moment. As you were about to surrender yourself to the sweet slumber that had begun to slowly overtake your senses, the sound of the doorbell went off, pulling you from the state of laziness which you had no control over.

Dropping your legs off the couch, you forced yourself into a standing position and dragged your feet in the direction of the entrance. Not bothering to look through the peephole to check who’s behind the door, you twisted the door’s knob with your fingers and pulled it open. You had to blink a couple of times in order to wipe away the clinging tiredness that wore heavily on your eyes, but mostly to make sure that what you were seeing was real.

There he was, the mysterious man in crimson, standing at the entrance of your home, having his back slightly facing you. At hearing the door being opened, he turned to look at you.

“Vincent?” You breathed, surprise evident in your voice.

“Good evening.” He nodded respectfully.

“Hi!” A wide smile came to brighten your face. Vincent’s facial expression softened at seeing the easy smile that was spread on your lips.

“How are you feeling today?” He asked considerately.

“A lot better.” You replied, feeling grateful for the thoughtfulness he was displaying.

“That’s good to hear.”

Realizing, only then, that Vincent was still standing on the outer side of the threshold, exposed to the cool breeze of the autumn afternoon, you gasped: “Oh! Silly me! Please, come in!” You requested, stepping aside.

Vincent shook his head: “No, it’s all right. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Thank you, but I insist.” You repeated.

“Maybe some other time. You are still tired and need more time to yourself.” He reasoned.

“No, I don’t, I assure you. Besides, I really do need some company.” You said, but Vincent stayed quiet after this, simply locking his gentle gaze with your own. “Please, come inside.”

Vincent blinked once, probably contemplating your act of hospitality. It was most likely that he wasn’t used to being invited into other people’s houses, you assumed.

“We can sit by the fireplace… I know how much you enjoyed it yesterday.” You added, knowing all too well how much he admired the fire. Your attempt was met with silence yet again; however, even through the seemingly impassive look on his face, you could tell that his stubbornness was faltering gradually with your every offer. You went on persuading him: “I’ll make you some tea. A special kind I got from my hometown.” You grinned, knowing that you had just thrown your winning card.

Vincent rolled his eyes to that, but you could perceive the tiny smile that had made its shy appearance on his lips. “Fine.” He surrendered, stepping on the threshold and into your home. “Do you always do this in order to get what you want?” He questioned, following your lead further into the house.

“Oh yes. Always a winner.” You replied, the grin still showing on your lips.

“That’s quite the childish strategy, if you ask me.” Vincent commented.

You turned on your heel to face him and hung your hands on your hips: “It worked nonetheless. Didn’t it?”

With a poker face, Vincent answered shortly: “I guess it did.”

“And always will.” You chuckled and turned to usher Vincent into the living room. “Please, make yourself at home.” You gestured for him to find a seat on one of the two couches. “I’ll be right back with the tea,” and so you left Vincent’s side and made your way to the kitchen.
Vincent looked around the living room; he had been there just the day before, but he hadn’t got the chance to take a look around the relatively small yet cozy room. It had a warm ambiance to it, and the dark color of brown wood that prevailed over the creamy shades of some of the furniture added to its warmth. Two small couches were placed in the corner, perpendicular to each other, and next to each of them was a small coffee table. On the other side of the living room stood a big bookcase, on which shelves sat many books of different sizes, colors, and subjects. A few picture frames were displayed on those shelves, along with a couple of small statues and other decorative accessories.

Vincent felt himself being drawn automatically toward said bookcase. He undoubtedly possessed such a strong penchant for books. He looked up, his eyes scanning the spines of the books and their letterings. A gentle smile brushed against his lips as he recognized some of the titles that he was acquainted with. Shifting his sight to the next shelf, a photo frame that was leaning against the books caught his eye. Leaning closer to have a better look at the picture, he could discern your face there, but he failed to recognize the older man next to you who had his arm around your shoulders. Vincent blinked, gazing minutely into the picture. He was able to pick out the resemblance between the two persons. ‘_______’s father… probably,’ he assumed.

His eyes flickered to a lower shelf and there he found another frame. Vincent glanced briefly in the direction of the living room’s door, making sure that you were still in the kitchen, then reached to take the photo frame carefully between his hands. He stared intently at the two figures in the picture and he couldn’t refrain from smiling, even faintly, at the scene caught on camera. He recognized you right away, though you had been only a child when the picture was taken. Your 4-5 year-old self was laughing gleefully in the picture, sitting comfortably on the shoulders of the same man as the one Vincent had seen on the other photo, though he did look a lot younger in the second picture.

Vincent’s thumb slid across the glass of the frame, tracing the young features of your face with the tip of his finger. You looked very happy in the picture, contrary to the burdened expression that you have been sporting on your face lately. Vincent wondered about what had caused your genuine smile to ebb with time. And to say that this didn’t bother him would be a downright lie. Something inside him wished he could witness that beautiful, real smile of yours. For some kind of a reason, he cared… a lot more than he thought he could.
Not willing to get caught looking into your personal belongings, Vincent placed the photo frame cautiously back where it had been sitting, glancing at it one last time before turning away to sit by the fireplace.

**********

You sat on the floor across from Vincent, each one of you leaning against either side of the brick frame of the fireplace, and you sipped the hot tea carefully into your throat. You reveled in its sweet aroma as you breathed the warm steam that escaped the hot liquid’s surface. Vincent, who was enjoying his own tea as well, pulled the mug’s rim away from his lips and expressed with his typical low tone: “Thank you. This is good.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. I like it.”

You gave him a gentle smile: “I’m glad you do.” You reached with your hand to brush back a wisp of hair that had fallen to the side of your face, but you accidently let it graze over the covered gash near the temple of your head, which caused you to wince at the unpleasant contact. Vincent seemed to sense your sudden discomfort: “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” You nodded repeatedly, hanging the strand of hair behind your ear, “I’ll be fine.” You reassured him, raising the rim of your warm mug close to your lips. “It could have been worse.”

Vincent’s observant eyes remained locked onto you, taking in every detail of your calm face and – most importantly – every emotion concealed behind that inexpressive façade of yours. Sensing the intensity of his stare on your form, you tilted your head and found yourself caught in his mesmerizing orbs. Unwavering, his eyes held your gaze for a long while, which got you wondering about what he could descry by the simple scrutiny of the depth of your eyes.

He blinked after a while of silent observation and turned his sight away: “You say you’re fine, while in reality… you’re not.” He commented in a monotone. “What is wrong?”

Surprised by the accurate perception of the taciturn man, you pulled your gaze off him and looked ahead. You found yourself sighing. “It’s nothing.” You chuckled sullenly after that; you were still trying to be secretive about the thing that had been gnawing at you for days, even with Vincent being the only person to know about it. It must have been a habit of yours. Vincent had somehow figured out about your feelings for Zack, though you hadn’t even given the slightest hint concerning that matter. You had absolutely no reason to believe that Vincent wouldn’t understand the situation, for he had been showing understanding and consideration from the very beginning.

Taking another sip of your tea, you let out a sigh and muttered in a solemn tone: “They came earlier today… Zack and Aerith.” That seemed to capture Vincent’s full attention, and so you resumed: “They came to check on me since… you know, I had been missing for a couple of days. So... yeah. They told me that… uhm well... they’re going out. It’s… you can say it’s official now.” You explained in a seemingly nonchalant manner.

“Hmm,” Vincent acknowledged with a low hum, but his eyes were silently observing the disappointment that you had been hiding very skillfully. “I see…” He added, for once not knowing what to say.

A forced smile came to show on your lips: “They looked really happy. To be honest, they are perfect for each other…”

Vincent blinked then decided to voice his unspoken question: “What about you?”

You raised your eyes and met his calm gaze. You swallowed the heavy lump that had stuck to your throat before speaking, with the pretense that you didn’t understand the objective of his question: “What about me?”

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked, though his voice did hold a concerned tone to it.

Your eyes were locked onto Vincent’s ruby ones for a few seconds before you tore them away. Your sad smile fell from your face after realizing that there was no point in pretending that you weren’t affected by the matter. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.” You breathed softly, “Aerith and Zack are my best friends, and they will always be so. I can’t let some stupid feelings disrupt this special bond we share. As their friend, I should support them and wish them happiness. I will try to forget… I know it’s going to be hard,” you looked back at Vincent, the tiny – pained – smile returning to your lips, “and it'll take time… but it’s the right thing to do.”

Vincent said nothing in response and decided to simply sip his tea in silence. In fact, he had no words to utter. He couldn’t help however but think of your disposition toward the matter. He secretly admired your willingness to sacrifice, to push aside the romantic feelings that you had for Zack, all for the sake of the friendship that you cherished. He even wondered how you managed to – so wisely and loyally – set your priorities, your treasured friendship being above everything else. But he couldn’t deny how concerned he was about your calm demeanor. He feared of what your strong, hidden emotions could do to you… how they could wreck you and consume you from the inside out, without anyone noticing the consequent damage. Yet still, he hoped that you would be able to handle the heartache better than he had done in the past. Somehow, your story reminded him greatly of his own. Two different stories that shared the same title…

Hurt…

Silence fell over the two of you for a long while, disturbed by nothing but the soothing crepitation of the fire and the occasional ruffling of clothes at the slightest fidgeting on your part.

It felt nice, sitting cozily in such a warm environment while enjoying some delectable tea with good company. You had barely had the time to sit down and relax like this, and whenever you happened to find some spare time away from work, you’d most likely spend it alone.
You never would have expected that Vincent Valentine – THE Vincent Valentine – would be the one to fill that loneliness or to break that boring routine of yours; and for that, you were thankful. It was nice of him. You hoped he liked the peaceful ambiance of your place of residence. You assumed he did, regardless of how small your apartment is.

So many things had occurred during the past couple of days, endless whirls of thoughts, questions and emotions that circled in your head. However, you found yourself lacking the words to speak, as though they had been somehow pulled out of your mouth and locked deep into your mind. All you could do was take quick glances from the corners of your eyes at the man who was sitting mere feet away from you, but then you’d tear them away from him so he wouldn’t catch your studious orbs over his form.

You were aware, however, that scanning him with physical eyes will by no means give away anything about the mysterious man that he is. Knowing him on a deeper level required some meticulous contemplation. His physical appearance: his clothes, his face, his hair, his taciturnity, told endless stories with blurred beginnings and unknown endings; yet none of them were written in a language that you could interpret. It was all sort of beguiling: you always deemed this man as “mysterious”, but since when were you interested in getting to know his person?

Not like you expected him to tell you his story. He kept it all hidden; he never showed what was dwelling within his soul, behind the somber mask which he refused to drop. Perhaps, that was the main reason that had attracted you to learn more about him. His looks that used to have a daunting effect on you didn’t matter to you anymore. In fact, you secretly admitted that he is quite the handsome man. And after experience – regardless of it being a relatively small one – you came to realize the greatness and depth of his character. His calmness, his solemn and respectful attitude, and his rationality, all molded with wisdom, were attributes that, combined, could be found in none else but him. His personality is a combination of qualities that are considered rare, if not extinct, in today’s world, which had you feel grateful that someone, as great as he is, still existed.

Yet sadly, that had brought him nothing but pain and isolation, you concluded. It is unfair for a wonderful being like Vincent to suffer the ruthlessness and cruelty of this mortal world. He deserved much better than that; but you couldn’t give him any better, even if you wanted to, for you yourself needed a hand to pull you out of the bottomless pit that you had long fallen into.

Perhaps, that was why you were completely wordless next to him. Time passed by and the silence was still the conqueror over your souls. It had grown awkward somehow. It was so quiet to the point that you were certain that Vincent was able to hear your every breath. Dismissing the slight discomposure of yours, you chose to turn your attention to the flickering fire and enjoy the gentle warmth it produced.

You didn’t have to wait too long for the silence to be shaken however, for Vincent’s low voice rippled through the quietude, drawing your attention: “Lucrecia Crescent.” He uttered.

“Hn?” You voiced, watching him curiously as he placed the mug on the floor.

“Lucrecia Crescent was her name.” he repeated. That name was able to ring a bell. You remembered her… the lady in the photo which you had found back at Vincent’s place. You had thought that the matter was all settled and that he had made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about it, but why was he bringing it up? You assumed that he was more ready to open up to you, so you didn’t stop him. “Lucrecia… Crescent?” You asked softly.

Vincent slid a hand under his cape and drew out that same photo of the mentioned woman. He held it for you so you could have a better look at it. “A… beautiful lady, isn’t she?” He breathed, bringing the photo in front of his face and gazing deeply into it. He had said that she was beautiful, but as he stared at the picture, his eyes were vacant from all signs of delight. His look was… empty? No, but they held a certain emotion which could very well be described as resentful. You hung your head low, looking despondently at the half-full mug that occupied your hands, and spoke: “Vincent, look… you don’t have to tell me about her if you don’t wish it.”

Discerning the gloomy aura that was looming around him, Vincent chose to cast it out and carry on with his story: “She used to be a scientist in Shinra Company,” he paused for a moment then resumed: “In which I used to work as a Turk.” He said the last part in a lower tone than before.

A Turk? You recognized the Turks as the Department of Administrative Research established by the Electric Power Company of Shinra, in charge of Black Operations and espionage. A group of skilled professionals, so dangerous that you didn’t want to mess with. “You were… a Turk?” You asked, astounded.

He nodded reluctantly. “Yes. But that was a long time ago.” He closed his eyes shut for the shortest three seconds before continuing: “I was assigned to supervise a certain scientific project, and that is how we became acquaintances.”

“You two were close?”

“I… don’t know.” He shook his head. “I can’t say. Our relationship was of a business type, nothing more. However, I think that… she saw me more as a friend than a mere coworker. And to that I was grateful.” Vincent’s words faded as he kept his eyes glued to the picture in his hand. You waited for a few moments, realizing that there was something keeping him from talking further, but then you went on saying: “Something tells me that…” you looked away, biting your lower lip worriedly, but gathered the courage to speak again: “that there’s more to it than mere business… or even friendship…” You studied his reaction before reluctantly adding: “To you…” You gulped, “…at least.”

Vincent’s eyes traveled to you, catching your own gaze for a short moment before turning to look back at the dark flooring. He took in a silent breath and shifted his attention to the burning fire: “Perhaps that was one thing I couldn’t see coming. If I had, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to grow more comfortable in her presence. I had not intended to surpass the bond of friendship, but by the time I finally became aware of the feelings that I had developed for her, it had already been too late to go back. Before I knew it, I… well…”

You gazed silently at Vincent, appreciating the calm look on his face, and you bit your lip knowingly. You understood his thoughts without them being voiced. Hesitantly, he went on: “I had attempted to deny it, but…” he shook his head, “whenever I happened to see her or hear her voice, I felt like…” he took a deep breath, clearly struggling to find the words to speak; or perhaps feeling uneasy about revealing so much about his past, especially the parts in connection with the matters of his heart. You tilted your head, resting it on the stone frame of the chimney while keeping your gentle eyes trained on Vincent, and you gave him a sympathetic smile: “You felt like falling in love again and again?” Your voice was tranquil as you spoke.

Vincent blinked once, finding no better words that could mirror his thoughts than yours, and he nodded slowly. He returned your tender smile with one of his own then chuckled humorlessly: “Yes. Something like that.”

Vincent sighed after his confession, feeling something within him slowly melting. Just like the wood logs in the hearth that were slowly but thoroughly being devoured by the scorching fire, the aged and immovable cage that encircled Vincent’s heart was beginning to crumble. For the first time in years, he could finally speak about the pain that had been gnawing away at his soul for longer than he could remember.

His eyes flickered in your direction: “I take it… you know the feeling.”

You placed your now empty mug down on the side and set your sight at the floor. You nodded diffidently: “I do.” You replied with a forlorn smile. The two of you fell silent for the next couple of minutes, but in order to escape the possibility of drowning into your own depressing thoughts, you managed to interrupt the silence and address Vincent with another question. “Was Lucrecia aware of your feelings?”

Vincent shook his head in the negative: “No. I don’t think she was. I had made sure not to show it, though I secretly had wished she would notice.”

You gazed at the changing shadows that danced in contrast with the fiery light that illuminated parts of Vincent’s face. That shapeless boundary between shades and light drawn on the man’s visage was incapable of diverting your attention from the strong emotions lying behind that mask of disguise that never slipped from his face. Loving someone so much but fearing to tell them… you could definitely relate to such situation. You hadn’t heard Vincent’s full story just yet; however, you were able to empathize with him.

His voice was a pitch higher than a whisper as he continued, as if he was ashamed of the way he felt: “Every time I had tried to approach her, something inside me would stop me on the spot. I didn’t have the courage to tell her. I had tried a few times, but then I would waver and back away at the last minute. However, one day, I thought I’d replace my spoken words with written ones.”

You shifted in your place, adjusting your body in a way where you could face Vincent fully while still leaning against the fireplace’s plinth. “The letter.” You stated.

“Yes. I was never good with words, so I assumed that a letter is more… expressive. But again, that was merely an assumption.”

“But now that I think about it…” you reasoned, “why is the letter still with you? Didn’t you give it to her?”

Vincent was caught by your question. The look in his eyes sank noticeably and his head drooped downwards. He remained wordless, even his very breath seemed to be trapped in the narrow confinement of his lungs. His lips opened slightly then sealed themselves closed; he tried to speak, to say something in response to your query, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. You took notice of his discomposure and you suddenly sensed a feeling of guilt crawling its way to your heart. You adjusted your position on the floor, bringing your knees closer to your chest: “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m asking way too many questions. Maybe I… I shouldn’t have…”

“No. No.” Vincent spoke, shaking his head. “It’s fine. It’s just…” He ran a hand over his raven black hair then rubbed the back of his neck: “I… I had intended to give her the letter, but… I couldn’t. It was…” He threw his head back and inclined it against the wall behind: “It was too late.” His voice was strained and barely controlled: “That same day in which I had planned to hand her the letter, I…” he heaved a small sigh as he continued: “I learned that… she had given her heart to someone else.”

Your eyes widened and your breath froze in your throat after hearing Vincent’s pained confession. Finally, through the fierce and intimidating appearance of Vincent that was growing ever so transparent, you became able to see the broken and vulnerable man that he really is on the inside. Your own heart felt like breaking into a million shards as you watched Vincent’s lips parting hesitantly, having a distant look abiding in his orbs: “I witnessed it all…” He expressed, “I saw how he had held her close… and how she had returned his affections alike. While I was sinking deeper in love with her, she was already bound to another man. Soon after that, she entered in a relationship with him, while I… all I could do was stand there and watch her slip away. I couldn’t do anything about it. In the end, I was nothing to her but the bodyguard that I was meant to be; a friend who could do nothing but wish her all the happiness she could get.” His head yielded to the dimness of the moment for less than a minute before gazing up ahead, looking at nothing in particular: “This is the story of Lucrecia Crescent, from my own perspective.”

It all seemed kind of unbelievable, impossible even. Vincent had told you his story as if he was telling your own. Comparing both your stories, they sounded very similar, almost the same – Same feelings, same heartbreak, same grief. “Vincent…” you were completely tongue-tied; you had absolutely no idea what to say. A whirl of sentiments was stirred inside your chest, a sense of empathy for Vincent along with another emotion, a stronger one that had a deeper impact on you than the first: that of guilt. Guilt for once believing in Vincent’s oblivion of the pains and scars that Love had the power to inflict.

The more time you spent with your new friend, the more you came to realize how wrong you had been about him. He actually had a more complicated yet meaningful life than you had thought he did. No wonder why – then – his face had forgotten the point of smiling, since misfortune had carved the stoicism of his visage and sharpened its every feature. You wanted to say something to ease his pain, which you weren’t sure how long it had bided within his heart, but you failed at finding the words.

You hugged your knees to your chest and sat there in silence. You could feel waves of the burning heat being emitted from the fiery hearth and stroking your legs, but you didn’t bother changing your position. You bit your dry lip, nervously nibbling on it until you felt the strong tang of blood when you unintentionally had your teeth sink sharply into the chapped flesh. You swallowed the dryness that clung to the palate of your mouth and hesitated before asking: “Is… is she happy?” You didn’t know why exactly your voice had sounded so shaky, but you had that disquieting intuition that the answer for your question was something you didn’t want to hear.

The deafening silence that you received in response for your question was more of a confirmation of the bad feeling that sat in the pit of your stomach. However, you were able to raise your sight when you heard Vincent shuffling in his place. Pushing himself away from the stone wall behind him, he turned in his place on the ground and settled cross-legged in front of you, all the while keeping his gaze low. He thought for a while, and you could perceive in the small twitches of his lips the tacit struggle to find the right words to speak. After a moment of contemplation, Vincent managed to utter the dreaded answer: “The man she had chosen… wasn’t the right person for her.” He spoke, unsure. “It’s not like I am any better… I couldn’t have brought her happiness either. But…” He swallowed, looking forlornly at Lucrecia’s photo that occupied his right hand. He continued: “She deserved better. I wish things had turned out differently, for her at least, but anyways… it’s too late for that.”

“Too late?” A troubled frown appeared on your brow, but you didn’t divert your eyes from the man before you. Sensing your unuttered questions, Vincent pulled his stare away from the old paper between his fingers and trained his calm gaze on you. He blinked once, finding his next utterance quite heavy on his tongue. He took in a small breath then opened his mouth: “She’s gone.”

Gone? You blinked. Like, gone? Forever?

You wanted to process the idea in your mind, but it seemed that you didn’t want to believe what you had just heard. Your heart didn’t wish to acknowledge that fact. You didn’t know Lucrecia on a personal level. All that you knew about her was from the small photo that Vincent possessed of her and what little he had told you concerning the beauty with the long brown hair. However, knowing that Vincent had lost his beloved for eternity caused your heart to bleed for him. You could only imagine the pain of losing a loved one, of becoming unable to see or feel them anymore, of realizing that all that remained of them was nothing but blurred and painful memories.

“I…” you dropped your shocked gaze downwards, overwhelmed by the newly revealed truth: “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know!”

“That’s all right.” He said quietly. “It’s all in the past now.”

Vincent held the photo of Lucrecia in his two hands, studying its fading colors with his eyes as if he was trying to memorize every feature and detail in the printed picture. His gaze was calm, but you could discern the despondent emotions behind his inexpressive look. His fingers tugged harder at the fragile paper of the photo as he whispered lowly, more to himself than to you: “It’s in the past… and that’s where it should remain.”

Vincent leaned closer to the fireplace and – before you could even blink – tossed Lucrecia’s photo into the burning hearth, leaving it to be ravaged by the consuming tongues of fire.

“What are you doing?!” You shot up from your place and knelt in front of the fireplace, nearly pushing Vincent to the side. As if utter shock had blinded your thinking ability, you unconsciously reached toward the fire, hoping to save the quickly burning photo from the hungry blaze. Fortunately, Vincent’s grip was quick to catch your arm before it could reach a dangerous proximity from the fire. “What do you think you’re doing?!” He reprimanded.

“It’s going to burn!” You exclaimed, stating the obvious. You still couldn’t digest the fact that Vincent had actually discarded the picture of his beloved to the fire.

“So you’ll burn yourself instead?” He spoke firmly.

“Why…” You let out a weak breath, “why did you do this?”

“I had to.”

“No! This… this was probably the last thing you had of her! You shouldn’t have done this!” You shook your head disapprovingly. “Now it’s…” you looked at the cinder that had at one point been the photography of Lucrecia Crescent. “It’s gone.”

“It’s about time I let go.” You heard him say. You turned your sight to Vincent to find him gazing at the flames. “I let her go. I want to be free. And if her memory was to be my confinement, then I must forget about her.”

“Will ridding yourself of the physical reminders of Lucrecia help you forget about her completely?” You spoke calmly, already knowing the answer to your own question. It was impossible. A person’s memory exceeds the limits of the scant emotions that material reminders can infuse us with. Physical things can be touched, but they themselves don’t necessarily have the ability to touch the heart or the soul. Mental pictures do, however: memories, thoughts, feelings… He wouldn’t be able to forget, you reasoned. He couldn’t forget, even if he wanted to. “Burning her photo will not heal your scars, Vincent. Turning her memory to ashes will not restore your burnt heart.”

Vincent said nothing in return, not immediately anyways. He scrutinized the pained expression on your face, wondering why exactly his action of burning Lucrecia’s photo has affected you in such a manner. He knew you were right, he knew it all along. However, he wanted to convince himself that it could work this way. “I know. This is only the first step. It’ll take time, I’m aware.” He spoke solemnly, releasing your forearm from his grip.

You looked down at your hands that were resting on your lap. You gulped thickly, feeling tears pushing their way to your eyes. You tried to suppress them, but your sight had already turned blurry. You bit your lip in an attempt to preside over the overwhelming emotions, but you couldn’t constrain the quiver that shook your body vehemently.

“_______?” Vincent’s voice alone was able to prompt more tears to well up in your eyes.

“I’m sorry!” You choked out, squeezing your eyes shut and leaving the crystal droplets to trickle down your cheeks.

A worried frown appeared on Vincent’s face upon seeing the pure tears wetting your face, and he didn’t bother to conceal the tone of concern that was accentuated in his voice. “_______, what is it?”

Your shoulders shook uncontrollably as pure tears flowed generously from your eyes. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t found that letter at your place, you wouldn’t have been so bothered by it to the point that you would throw it away! I really didn’t mean to do this! I didn’t know why I searched into something that isn’t mine! I shouldn’t have done that! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” You sobbed.

“_______.” Vincent didn’t hesitate to place a gentle hand on your shoulder and he addressed you in a compassionate tone, one you hadn’t heard coming from him before. “What are you talking about?”

You opened your eyes and looked at him, orbs glistening with thick layers of translucent tears, and you whimpered in between short, breathless gasps: “The letter… and the photo…”

Vincent shook his head: “How is this your fault?”

“Vincent, I wasn’t supposed t-…”

“_______, you are blaming yourself for something you did not do. Alright, you found out about Lucrecia, but that is not the reason why I burned her picture.”

“You had been keeping it for years…” you countered, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, “Why is it now that you decided to dispose of it?”

“I’ve told you already… I had always wanted to forget her, but I had had no courage to take a step. I can’t dwell in the past forever. _______,” Vincent brought his right hand to your tear-stained cheek and resumed speaking, “I needed to do this. I did this out of my own will and full conviction. It is not your fault, all right? Don’t be hard on yourself, please.”

Your lips trembled as another streak of tears rolled down your cheeks. Trying to swallow your never-ceasing tears, you tilted your face against Vincent’s palm and rested your hand on his forearm. Without giving it any thorough contemplation, Vincent pulled you toward him, holding your body close to him. In immediate response to his kind gesture, you let your arms wind around his neck and hid your face in his shoulder. Vincent felt your delicate frame shaking in his arms, and it worried him greatly; so he tightened the lock that his arms had formed around you, inviting you deeper into his embrace.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his crimson cloak, seeking more of the unusual warmth that Vincent’s body provided you with. You could already feel a sense of security coursing through you from the moment he had brought you into his arms, and didn’t seem to fade or weaken in potency for the whole period that you were engulfed in his presence. You sniffed, breathing his scent that oddly resembled that of fire and fresh wood. “I’m sorry for all the hardship that you had to go through.” You whispered.

“Me too.” He replied. “I know that you’re hurt too.”

You lifted your head and supported your chin on Vincent’s shoulder. “I think… you’re right.”

“About what?”

You pulled away and sat back with your legs bent underneath you. Using your hands, you wiped the stains of fresh tears from your reddened cheeks then answered: “That it’s best if we forgot. It’ll save us the heartache.”

Vincent chuckled lowly and nodded his head. You entwined your fingers over you lap and turned your head to look at the source of heat. The photo that Vincent had tossed in there had already been turned into ashes, but you could still picture in your head the beautiful lady that had resided in Vincent’s heart for an untold amount of time. You kept gazing at the formless tongues of fire but then chose to speak in a warm voice: “I know… I might not have the right to judge her or criticize her in any way, since I know little to nothing of the matter... but, with all due respect to Lucrecia…” You paused, pulling your sight from the fire to meet Vincent’s ruby eyes, and at seeing in them the keenness to know your thoughts, you continued: “I think… her decision was not a wise one.”

Vincent blinked, wondering about the reason that made you come to this conclusion. Sensing his unvoiced query, you resumed: “I… I didn’t mean it that way! I just… I am certain that Lucrecia must have regretted her choice. She had the option to choose a better man, a better life. It was right before her eyes… you were right before her eyes.” For a reason unknown to you, you began stumbling over your words, finding yourself growing more discomfited with every word leaving your mouth. “I do not know the circumstances that had pushed her into choosing another, but… but if I were in her shoes…” Your sentence came to an abrupt stop at the immediate realization of what you had just said. You had accidently let it slip from between your lips and it was too late to take it back.

You lowered your head and looked at your hands that were nervously lying on your lap, trying but still failing to hide the ardent blush that was quick to invade the heated skin of your cheeks. Your lips were pressed together into a thin line in an attempt to restrain any more words from escaping.

You were very aware – however – of the pair of crimson eyes that were locked onto you. Your unintended utterance surely had captured his full attention. He was looking keenly at you, trying to figure out your words that had faded away before them being articulated. But upon gleaning nothing from your facial expression but utter embarrassment, Vincent chose to prompt you to express your thoughts by repeating the same last words that had left your mouth: “If you were in her shoes…”

You parted your lips only slightly but no words could be spoken, so you responded to his query with silence. You shook your head a little, not willing to reveal the thoughts of your heart. But Vincent for some reason, wished to know. He didn’t show it plainly, but he indeed had some sense of curiosity. “_______...” He asked again, tilting his head a little so he could have a better look at your face: “If you were in Lucrecia’s place… what would you have done?” He repeated.

Chewing on your bottom lip in a nervous manner, you raised a hand and fixed a loose lock of hair behind your ear. You forced your eyes to look up into the deep gaze of the man who sat across from you, and you reluctantly spoke the words that Vincent had been waiting to hear: “I… I wouldn’t have abandoned you for another.” You paused, wanting to examine Vincent’s reaction to your statement. His eyes widened just a fraction. He was clearly stunned by what you had said, and it caused you to feel more embarrassed than you had already been. But you managed to convince yourself to make your thoughts clear to him. “I would… I would have treasured you. Vincent, I know that we hadn’t really conversed in the past… but from the short amount of time that I have spent with you, I can already tell that you are an amazing person. You’re… you’re different from most people, if not all of them.”

“Everyone can see that I’m different. It’s quite evident.” He interrupted.

“No, no. I didn’t mean it in that respect. When I said ‘different’, I was referring to your personality, your qualities. Vincent, you are… one of a kind. I must admit, I had been very surprised at first to experience how… caring and considerate you actually are. I… I am truly happy and lucky to have a good friend like you, Vincent. I wouldn’t give you up for the treasures of the world. I promise.” You could feel that your face was dusted with a lovely shade of red, but for some kind of a reason you didn’t regret telling all that to Vincent. All that you had confessed was the truth, quite the embarrassing truth to say the least. However, you had that strong intuition in your head that Vincent needed to hear something like that, to know that someone depended on and trusted him… that a friend is willing to support him and stand by him the same way he did them.

You couldn’t fight the stubborn blush that colored your cheeks after noticing that Vincent’s calm eyes had been steadily trained on you, gazing deeply into your own eyes. After a while of silently scrutinizing you, he blinked, lowering his gaze from you, and you could perceive a shadow of a smile making a timid appearance on his lips. He looked back at you then raised his hand, placing it gently on your shoulder for a brief moment: “Thank you.” He simply said, withdrawing his hand and sliding back to where he had been sitting before, his back against the stone frame of the chimney.

You contemplated his calm demeanor for a moment then addressed him, unsure: “I thought you would get mad at me for what I had said… concerning Lucrecia.”

He held your gaze with his inexpressive one and asked: “Why would I? You hadn’t said anything wrong.”

You shrugged. Vincent scooted over and signaled for you to join him. You hesitated for a second there but ended up complying, sitting on the ground next to Vincent. He draped his arm over his bent knee and spoke in a solemn tone: “You keep assuming that I would easily get mad at you for every single thing that you do. You make me seem as if I’m a difficult kind of a guy. It’s not quite fair on your part, you know?”

“It’s… it’s not intentional, I promise!” You defended, still trying to suppress the rosy bloom that had spread on your face.

Vincent chuckled lowly: “I know.”

You felt sleepiness crawling its way to your senses, submitting your body to a state of lethargy. You had gone through a great deal of trouble during the past couple of days, and it seemed that your body hadn’t recovered from the exhaustion just yet. You felt like falling asleep right then and there, but at the same time didn’t wish to lose consciousness while Vincent was still present. You let your body lean closer toward Vincent and you pillowed your head on his shoulder, not failing to notice the familiar sense of tranquility that seemed to overflow every time you came close to him. You knew that this comfortable position was by no means going to help you awaken your senses, but you couldn’t resist the inviting coziness.

Vincent’s breathing was silent; you could faintly feel his shoulders moving along with the steady motions of his chest as it rose and fell with every breath. His stillness, the rhythm of his breathing, his very presence had a calming effect on you. It was so soothing that you had started slowly drifting to slumber, but the soft rumble that you felt as Vincent’s voice sounded in his throat brought you back to consciousness. “_______?”

“Mhm?” You hummed.

“Do you think… it is all right to fall in love again?” He asked, almost hesitantly. You lifted your head only slightly from Vincent’s shoulder and tilted it to look at the profile of his face. You remained silent for a minute, ruminating on Vincent’s question. Your eyes fluttered away, looking distantly ahead of you. “I,” you spoke, your voice flowing serenely from between your lips, “I believe that everyone deserves a second chance in love.” You let your head lean back against the man’s shoulder, appreciating the opportunity to bask in the warm presence of your long-haired friend. “And I’m sure that you deserve it more than anybody else.”

Vincent chuckled lightly at that: “You think so?”

A gentle smile stretched at your lips: “I do.”

Vincent felt your body relaxing against his side, which helped instilling a sense of peace in him, a feeling he had forgotten the taste of for a long period of time. And he couldn’t be more grateful for that. Tentatively, he moved his arm behind you and rested his large hand on top of your head, inviting you closer to him. “Thank you… for being a good listener.” He expressed, gratefulness evident in his deep voice.
“Don’t mention it. I wish I could help more.”

“Believe me, you’ve helped… even more than you know.”

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.

.

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“By the way, I’m going to buy a new phone tomorrow, since I lost the one I had. It’ll be cool to exchange phone numbers. What do you say?”

“But… I don’t have a phone number.”

“What?!”

“Or a phone.”

“You’re kidding. Right?”

“No.”

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“This is hopeless…”

“I know.”

To Be Continued…