Rating: PG-13 (to be safe)
Characters/Pairings: Yuffie, Vincent, Yuffie/Vincent, refers to Vincent/Lucrecia
Word Count: 565
Prompt: Phrases- #17- Take a back seat (10_inspirations)
In the end she resigned herself to this- this was what she had signed on for, and this was how it would be. No use in complaining, no use in worrying. This was what it was, this was how it would be, this was her fault to and this had become their destiny. As hurtful as it was, she had known this from the beginning- you can’t overshadow the past, and you can’t make someone forget, no matter how hard you try to make them to. The past always rules our actions, always dictates to us how we feel about things in the future, and letting go of the past it one of the hardest things in the world to do.
She tried, at first, to make him forget what had been and would never be again. She used soft words and small smiles, the touch of her small, small hands, but his scars were so much more than physical and his pain ran far deeper than she could ever imagine. He would drink in her words, trace those smiles with his calloused fingertips, watch her gently trace the physical reminders of a past that would forever haunt him. He never pushed her away, but that wall he built never faltered. He would watch her behind haunted eyes- eyes he loved to pretend were empty and devoid of emotion, as he liked to pretend his heart was- and say nothing, watching her try to break free whoever- or whatever- he used to be.
He couldn’t count how many times he tried to convince her that her actions, those sweet, caring actions, had been all in vain. She was searching for a part of him that had died, trying to awaken something that was sleeping inside of him, but nothing slept there anymore, and any chance there might have been at him being alive once more had vanished in the dark of his coffin. How fitting, he thought, that the only part of him that should have been able to be cared for lay dead in a coffin.
She had always insisted that part of him wasn’t dead, that he had merely cast it aside as though it were, and insisted, time and time again, she could awaken him. And those were the times he would take her small hands into his and tell her that she didn’t have to see the death to know it was real. No love, no comfort, no compassion lived inside of him, that the only thing that drove him was anger and revenge- making amends for his mistakes was the only destiny he had anymore. Inside he was a dead cell.
That was when the tears would come, softly at first, rolling down her cheeks, her lip quivering in a way that almost made what little bit of a heart he had left break. He would let her cling to him desperately, fingers tracing the scars across his back, begging him to let her in, to live again. She promised him things would get better, that he could be happy again, all he had to do was let her in, let someone in. But he didn’t answer her, never answered her in times like that. He would merely let her cry against his chest, awkwardly stroking her dark, soft hair.
She always would play second to a person long gone.