The Workaholic
(By "Freakin 2 Unlimited Songs" Zar)
(Warning: I am not responsible for any mental damage caused by reading this fic.)

There was nothing like being torn from one place that didn't understand you and ignored you, to a BIGGER place that not only ignored you, but didn't care at all.

He had a suitcase and a backpack with him when he stepped off the bus, and he felt painfully small amidst a large group of milling people, people who seemed to know where they were going. He stood there in silence for a moment, not sure of where he should go, and everyone seemed to be heading in different directions. He waited, his scarlet eyes panning over the crowd repeatedly, looking for some kind of focus, some kind of idea where he should go.

He adjusted his backpack as it began to dig into his collarbone and felt the aching in his back lessen for only a second, then return with greater force as the backpack slid back to it's former position. He sighed. He shouldn't have taken so many books with him, but he couldn't help himself. He had guessed from his previous situation that he would not be making many friends, and although he had not even gone to class, attempted conversation, or even met his roommate, he had a feeling that his assumption would be correct.

The claws on his metal arm creaked slightly and he slid his sweater over the golden metal. He never felt comfortable discussing the deformity, and he didn't want attention payed to it at the moment. All he wanted right now was to find a place where he could put his stuff down.

He walked forward slightly, his suitcase fortunately on wheels so it wasn't as much of an ordeal as his backpack, and looked towards the large, looming building in front of him. That must be where he was supposed to go.

Before he knew what was happening, the world flipped sideways sharply, and he cried out as his backpack overbalanced him, and he fell back onto the pavement, the grit digging sharply into his elbows even through his thick sweater.

Someone began shaking him.

He wanted to rub his head with his left arm, but decided at the moment that would be unwise. His right arm was pinned at the moment by....
Someone's backpack?

He opened his eyes and found sky-blue ones staring at his in concern and worry.

"Hey, hey? Are you okay? #$^#, 'm sorry, #%&#, this is just #$^#in' great..."

When he opened his eyes to get a greater bearing of where he was, he found that the weight that was on his right arm was from the person on top of him's backpack, which had slung off his shoulder from the impact. He guessed he was one of those kind of people who carried their backpack on one shoulder. As it was, their position was extremely incriminating, with the lighter-haired male's completely on top of him, holding onto his shoulder's and shaking him. He was wearing a light blue shirt and what appeared to be green khakis, and....

Flight goggles?

"Thank #$^#in' god you woke up, #$^#, I thought I was in some real #$^# there..." He seemed to be babbling angrily, apparently upset at himself and trying to hide it. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, shifting the backpack back onto his back. He held out his hand, which was covered with a thick glove. "I'm Cid, sorry for #$^#in' you up there, didn't mean it."

"Vincent..." He struggled to sit upwards, still disoriented from what had happened. He finally was able to rub his head with his free hand and thankfully found no blood of any sort. He was relieved, he had feared his contact with the pavement would be more damaging. It was at this point that he heard the mocking laughter around him, and noted Cid beginning to blush angrily. He took the gloved hand awkwardly. "I'm Vincent."

He shook his hand furiously and let go just as quickly. "Well, great to meet you, Vin, I really got to #^#%in' go though, sorry 'bout this, see ya!" With that, the blonde was up on his feet and running furiously. Vincent related instantly with what he was doing as he stood, enduring the laughter as stoically as possible. He felt like getting away from the mockery himself.

He brushed back his black hair from his eyes and resumed his journey towards the looming building, hoping there wouldn't be any more unwanted surprises.


After several moments of confusion, the office finally told him where to go, as if they expected him to know exactly where he was supposed to be the minute he got off the bus. He just knew his room number and dorm, he didn't know where they actually WERE. However, they looked at him like he was an idiot when he tried to explain that, so he just gave up and followed their directions.

When he got to his room, he found that his roommate had yet to arrive. He breathed a sigh of relief. Rooms had always been a big thing at his house, and he was glad that it would be someone coming into his room, rather then the other way around.

He shrugged off his backpack finally and began unpacking his clothes, folding them neatly into the drawers provided, and then digging into his backpack. He filled all of the shelves with his books, as many as he could possible fit, and put up one of his few posters, a giant picture of Cthulu, a creature created by one of his favorite authors.

Not sure of what else to do, he sat on the bed, picked out one of his books, and waited.

He waited for a while until the door was slammed open, and someone walked in, quietly mumbling to themselves.

He was wearing a dark purple sweater with no sleeves, and what appeared to be large metal bracelets. He couldn't help but stare at his hair. It spiked to the extreme in a style he had never seen before. The young man was mumbling underneath his breath as he shoved his clothes into his drawer hurriedly and threw his backpack on the bed, shoving his hands into his black jeans. He finally turned and noticed Vincent, who was curled in one corner of his bed, quietly reading.

"Oh, hello." The young man's voice was very quiet and flatline. Vincent cocked his head slightly. "I guess you're my roommate."

Vincent nodded, not quite sure how else to respond. He silently put his bookmark back in his book.

"Right, I'm Cloud. You must be Vincent, right?" Cloud shrugged and began heading for the door. "I'm going out. Do you want to come?"

Vincent shook his head quietly and watched the spiky-haired young man leave. He thought carefully for a moment.

He seemed somewhat quiet, almost angrily so. He wasn't sure what he was trying to hide or prove, but Vincent decided it would be best not to cross him, even if he was bigger then him.

He sighed and went back to reading.


Cloud immediately covered his side of the room with pictures and posters, mostly of his friends and motorcycles, but didn't seem to speak to Vincent much. They both were the quiet type, so this didn't really bother him.

The following days passed quietly as Vincent struggled to get his schedule under control and get everything sorted out. He went and noted which buildings he would have to go to on what day, and how long it would take for him to get there. Most of the time, however, he sat and read. When he slept, he had nightmares, which didn't surprise him. He had always had nightmares, ever since his parents had seperated.

When school finally started, his first class was at eight in the morning, which didn't really agree with him. Vincent was nocturnal. He woke, along with Cloud, reluctantly and headed to class anyway, bringing along his walkman. He fully planned to not be noticed, so he decided that quietly listening to "Billy and the Chocobo's" wasn't going to hurt anyone.

He sat down in the backrow, as he always did, and waited for everyone to arrive. He was early. He wasn't surprised.

Students filed in quietly, most of them exhausted and no doubt worn out from their first few nights of freedom. He turned his walkman on high power, so that he could hear nothing, and quietly sketched on his paper. Drawing was something that he generally kept to himself, as he believed that his own artwork was terrible, but it was something that he always did when he was bored.

He jumped when someone tapped him quietly and slid his headphones back, as he was accustomed to doing. He looked up, waiting for the stern look that told him to turn his music down, or keep the headphones off.
The confident face of Cid looked down at him, smiling awkwardly. His eyes had large rings under him, and he looked slightly wobbly. No doubt Cid had also enjoyed his first nights of freedom as well. His voice was rougher then it had been when they first met. "Hey, what d'you know, same class."

Vincent blinked as he remembered Cid in an instant, then nodded silently. He could go weeks without ever saying a word. Cid laughed and then gestured to the empty seat next to Vincent. He always kept at least two empty seats next to him. He liked his space, and he didn't really think anyone would want him sitting next to them anyway. "Mind?"

Vincent shook his head, and Cid flopped down in his chair, leaning back and sighing. "#$^#, this class is too #$^#in' early..."

Vincent was planning on turning his headphones back on and going back to drawing when he could feel Cid's presence near his shoulder. He could smell the faint presence of cigarettes.

"Hey, what'cha drawin'?"

"Mm?" Vincent hadn't expected that question and leaned back slightly so he could study Cid's face, which was already close to the paper. He was planning on explaining how his drawings weren't good, but Cid cut him off.

"#$^#, Vin, this is some good #$^#. Where'd you learn to draw like this?"

Vincent didn't know what to say. He just stared incoherently for a few seconds.

"Wish I could #$^#in' draw." Cid sighed and leaned his head into his hands, his elbows on Vincent's desk. He noted that he was still wearing those gloves. "All I can #$^%in' do is write, an' not well I might add..."

Vincent finally found his voice. "You can write...?"

Cid smiled cockily at him. "So it talks! Sure, I guess. I never showed anyone 'cause I think I'm pretty bad, but #$^#, you're really good at this."

"You really think so?" Vincent's voice betrayed nothing of his inner confusion.

"#$^#in-A. This one's really cute, if you're into that kind of stuff." He pointed to one of Vincent's small chibi's in the corner.

Vincent, if he was shocked before, was doubly-shocked.

If anyone saw his art, they described it as gothic, dark, bloody, and depressed. Even when he felt good, even when he tried to make his drawings light and happy, to match with his rare good moods, everyone saw them as dark, ironically morbid. No one had ever told him his drawings were cute...he had tried to for that several times, but had never really accomplished it...or had he?

He was more confused then ever now.

"You're really good, Vin." Cid smiled at him, his sincerity hard to doubt. "How'd you learn?"

Vincent finally managed to speak again, shaking his head softly and lowering his eyes. ", I'm not good, there are a lot of other people-"

"#$^# the other people." Cid crossed his arms and stared at him levelly. "You're #$^#in' good and that's that."

Vincent looked to one side, suddenly aware of his claw-arm. He knew that there were others in his class with stranger defects (he even saw one with a leopard tail) but he was extremely self-conscious about his own. He looked down at his left arm, making sure it was still completely covered. "I...thank you, I guess..."

"Y'probably don't remember my name." Cid cut him off before he could protest. "I'm Cid Highwind. I'm the clumsy #$^# who ran into you. Sorry 'bout that again..."

Vincent shook his head. "No, no, it's alright, really..."

"$^#%, wish I could draw like this..." Cid seemed to sigh slightly. "I'm not really good at anythin' tho'..."

"You said that you could write..."

"More like try." Cid shrugged and moved his shoulders off of Vincent's desk, leaning back in his own chair, hands behind his head. "Least you're good at somethin'..."

"Highwind, I'm sure-"

"Class!" The professor had arrived while Vincent had not been paying attention, and he immediately turned away from Cid, focusing his attention back on his paper. He found the pen he was holding in his flesh hand twitching, as if wanting to do something. Was he that thirsty for positive recognition that his muse had been rekindled just by a few kind words?

The class began, and it went on almost without further distraction, excepting a note passed to him by Cid, written in rough, scratchy strokes.

"Wanna read some of my stories? Where's your room?"

Vincent stared at it for a while, chancing a glance at Cid while he did so, finding the young man glancing ta him ever so often as well, as if wondering whether he had found the note at all.

He wrote down his room number on the note and passed it back. After all, what's the worst that could happen?


Most of Vincent's nights were spent flipping through channels with the sound way down, or reading while Cloud watched or worked. Tonight Cloud was out, so Vincent was laying on his bed, his arms spread out to his sides, staring at the ceiling. The more that he thought about it, the more he considered putting something up there that he could stare at at times like this.

There was nothing on TV to watch...

There was nothing that he felt like reading...

He felt himself breathe for a few moments, felt his spine curve away from the bed and meet it again, a curve that he was never able to fully get rid of comfortably when he layed down. He flexed his toes, streched slightly, but still felt no real compulsion to move.

He just felt like staring at something.

He wasn't sure when Cid was supposed to come, and perhaps that was why he felt so awkward. Was it because he didn't want to be doing something when Cid came? He had never done that before...

Then again, it had been a long time since someone had come to pay him a visit in friendship...

He wondered if they would be friends, but he felt somewhere inside him that he already knew the answer. Unlike a lot of people, Cid didn't trigger his inherent fear, his mistrust. He hadn't locked up completly in front of him, refusing to talk, and he hadn't reacted with anger, asking for him to go away. There was something disarming about him, but he wasn't sure what...

He finally did roll over, reaching out one of his thin arms to take the pad of paper lying near him. He took his pencil and sat up, leaning against the wall. He rested the paper against his knees and began sketching lightly, his pencil barely scraping the paper before darting back up and striking again. His style was odd, he knew that.

The figure that quietly and slowly materialized underneath his pencil was thin and dressed in black, his hair short and light. Vincent sighed and stared at it, not even completed, and tossed the pad off the side of the bed, turning onto his stomach and staring at the wall. He couldn't even draw people correctly...they always came out looking so morbid, so sad. He didn't understand why. He tried to capture the light and happiness that other people seemed to be able to access, but he could never get it completely...

However, Cid had said that he could see it...maybe he couldn't? Perhaps he was turning a blind eye to his own work.

He threw the pencil along with the pad of paper. He hated his drawings.

There was a thump on the door, then a cough and a series of lighter knocks. He pushed himself up and hopped onto the floor, going to the door, not sure of what to expect.

The shorter young man was dressed in ragged, torn clothing, with chains hanging from his pockets and his hair spiked up, still mainly held back by his goggles. He was smiling, a cigarette giving off a gentle curl of smoke. "Heya, Vin! How's it goin'?"

Vincent wasn't sure what to say. He was dressed differently then he had seen before...he hadn't expected it. "Hello..."

"Woah, Vin!" Cid pushed his way past him and closed the door, not waiting for Vincent to invite him inside. "You changed what you're wearin'!"

Vincent looked down. He had been wearing mostly black and dark colors before, along with a larger sweater. He had foregone that currently for a black sleeveless shirt and black jeans, these more ragged and torn then the ones he had been wearing before.

"Holy #$^$!" Cid's eyes widened as he jumped onto Vincent's bed, bouncing around for a while before laying on his stomach, staring at Vincent. "Didn't see your arm either!"

Before Vincent could turn away to hide the deformity, Cid's voice came to him. "#$^#, that's cool. How'd you get that?"

Vincent just gaped at him for a while, causing Cid to smirk in a confident way. "Heh, you're too easy to #$^# with, Vin. That claw thin' IS really cool tho'." Cid bounced backwards until his back was against the wall, giving Vincent enough room to sit down.

"You think so...?" Vincent's fingers brushed against the metal. "I don't like it..."

"Aw c'mon Vin, don't get like that." Cid was staring around the room, taking in everything at once. He noted the window and bounced off the bed to open it, tapping out some ashes as he went. "I know too many #$^#'s that act that way."

Vincent wasn't sure how to respond, so he layed back on his bed, staring at Cid as he breathed a cloud of smoke out the window. "You said you wanted to show me your stories...?"

"Aw #$^#..." Cid turned and rubbed the back of his head. "You really want t'see 'em that bad? They suck @#%..."

Vincent smirked softly. "I thought you didn't like it when people acted that way."

Cid walked back to where Vincent was lying, sitting on the bed so that his back came in contact with Vincent's side as he began typing at the computer nearby. "Blah blah blah, smart@$%. Give me a sec', I have to find 'em..."

Cid was a remarkably fast typer, which somewhat surprised Vincent. He hadn't taken him for the type at first. He personally didn't care for computers, but Cid used it as if he had been born with the knowledge.

Cid put a hand in his spiked hair, then looked back and forth irritably. "Man, you really want t'read 'em that bad? #$^@, I should've put that other one up..."

Vincent pushed Cid out of the way slightly and leaned in front of the computer so he could read the text. Cid began walking around in circles, then tapping his foot repeatedly. He finally just gave up and threw his hands upwards.

"#$^#, I can't stand here, #$^#, I'll be back soon." He then left the room, his feet shuffling.

Vincent understood the kind of anxiety that surrounded having to be present while others evaluated your work and didn't protest when Cid began to wander around the hall. He nudged the door shut with his foot and lay on his stomach, focusing his eyes to read the off-white text on black.

Before he knew it, an hour had gone by. Cid had created his own world, a world that focused completely on the sky, one where everyone was able to fly. The freedom was staggering, but although such an environment seemed so light, the story focused around one whose wings had been clipped, and could never fly. It was dark, involved, and complicated, and Vincent could place himself in the main characters shoes more easily then he thought he would.

He jumped when Cid tapped his shoulder. He looked even more awkward then before and shrugged, laughing nervously. "Stupid, huh? I make up this #$^#in' crazy #$^# before I sleep, that's why it doesn't make any god#$^# sense..."

He turned away and rubbed the back of his head, his blond spikes making a slight rustling noise. "I write 'bout real #$^#in' stupid stuff..."

Vincent turned to face him, staring at him very seriously. "This is one of the best things I've read, Highwind. I am not lying to you."
Cid turned and looked at him, sitting on the bed next to him, looking down. "Y'think so...?"

Vincent nodded.

Cid smiled and laughed slightly. "Highwind?"

Vincent scratched his head, his hair coming free to fall in front of his eyes. "It's a habit I have, I was taught when I was little to refer to everyone by their last name..."

"Serious?" Cid pulled himself up on the bed and crawled over Vincent, setting himself up in Vincent's favorite corner, folding his knees up and putting his arms across them casually. Not prepared for the contact, Vincent stared at him for a moment, but didn't say anything, only getting up himself and going to sit next to Cid near the corner. "That's pretty weird..."

"Yeah..." Vincent sighed and folded his own knees near his chest. "I've been weird my whole life. Even more so after my parents separated..."

"You too?" Cid responded automatically. This caused an awkward pause where the two stared at eachother. They fidgeted, not sure of what to say until Cid finally broke the silence. "I mean...#$^#, it was over me, really...'m a #$^#in' brat, if y'can't tell." Cid smirked to himself and gestured to his shredded clothing. "I really #$^#ed with 'em both tho', but I didn't think it'd do anythin'...I mean, every kid does that, right?..."

He looked down. "I guess they couldn't handle me, so they jus' said '#$$@ it' an' left. M'fault, really, but..." Cid tried to shrug carelessly, but Vincent could tell this was something that bothered him a lot. "Doesn't really matter t'me anyway, I didn't need 'em..."

Cid was tracing circles on the bedspread. Vincent sighed softly. "I don't know why mine decided to divorce. It seemed so...random to me. They seemed so happy, but perhaps I was just being unobservant...I don't know. They split and my mother got possession of me...that was a long time ago..."

"I got m'#$%#in' #$^# of an uncle. He had a stick up the #$%, that's for sure." Cid smiled slightly. "Heh...'s kind of funny when you think about it..."

"What do you mean..." Vincent let one leg slide free, staring at the fabric of his jeans as it bunched up around his knees. Cid moved out of the corner so he was facing Vincent more, kneeling instead of curling up.

"I mean, jus' th' fact that both our families #$%#ed us. That kind of thin'."

"They..." Vincent was about to protest when he realized that he really agreed. He shrugged. "I suppose you're right..."

"Hey Vin, if you don't mind me askin'..." Cid moved to the edge of the bed and leaned over the edge, feeling around underneath. He came up with a piece of paper and a pen, putting them in Vincent's lap before keeling back holding his head. "#$^#in' dizzy spells, I #$^#in' hate those mother#$%#in' #$^#-suckin' sons of-"

Vincent cut him off before he could continue his swearing rant, taking the utensils with his hands quietly. "Dizzy spells...?"

"Yeah, the $%@%ers." Cid growled to himself. "Those #$%#in' doc's said it wasn't a 'serious' #$%#in' problem..." He paused as if thinking about something. "#$^#er's think that pills solve every #$%#in' problem on the god#$%# planet, stupid..."

Vincent pulled his legs back up and took a book of his shelf for backing, quietly speaking as he did so. "They gave you pills?"
"Yeah, t'#$^#in' 'control' m'mood swings an' th' dizzy spells, altho' they don't do jack #$^#. I still think it was m'parent's way of gettin' back at me, #$^#ers..."

"Mood swings...?"

Cid laughed suddenly, startling Vincent slightly. "You haven't #$^#in' noticed yet, Vin? I can't hold a mood for more then two seconds at most...#$^#, they say I got somethin' wron' in my head that makes it hard for me to concentrate, but they're full of #$^#."

Vincent wasn't sure how to respond. "They thought you had a...learning disorder...?"

"@#%@ yeah..." Cid leaned back on the bed, his head on the pillow, so he could look up and see Vincent against the wall. "I jus' #$#^in' hated school, that's all. #$^#ers. Hate 'em all."

Vincent decided to change the topic, not sure of what to say. "Why did you bring me this...?"

"Oh, right." Cid snapped his fingers. "I was wonderin' if you could draw..." Cid's speech tapered off slightly, as if he wasn't sure how to phrase what he wanted to ask. Vincent smiled slightly.

"Draw your characters for you?"

Cid smiled back at him. "Right. You got th' perfect #$^#in' style for 'em, jus' like how I see 'em."

"Really?" Vincent began sketching, his movements quick and light. "You picture them that way...?"

"Sure as @%$%. That's why I saw what you was drawin' and I was like 'that guy, he's got some major #$^#in' talent, he can make 'em real for you' and I asked you what you were drawin' an' stuff."

"I don't have any talent..." Vincent brushed some eraser fragments away. "I just draw for fun..."

Cid made a derisive noise. "Whatthe#$^#in'ever, Vin. Thanks for doin' this for me, tho'."

"It's no problem at all." Vincent began to picture what he was drawing in his head, the form coming out on the paper slowly in all the "wrong" ways. "You are a great writer."

Cid stumbled over his words for a moment before deciding on what to say. "@$^@, everyone before thought I was 'disturbed' an' all that #$^# 'cause I didn't want to live in their little #$%#ed world, stupid #$^#ers. I didn't really show 'em t'anyone, 'cause no one really understands. They thought I was a 'freak' or whatever..." Cid was trying to sound angry, but Vincent could hear tones of sadness underneath his voice. "Stupid #$%#s wouldn't know a story if it bit them in the #$%..."

Cid propped himself up on his elbows and leaned in closer to Vincent, looking at the piece of paper excitedly. "How's it goin'?"
"Here, see?" Vincent turned the paper so he could see it. "I'm not done yet, but how's that?"

"Great, great, $@$@in' perfect!" Cid seemed ecstatic. "This makes everythin' so much more real, this is #$%#in' awesome..."

"Do you want to live in your world...?" Vincent turned the paper back towards himself and began to put in details. "It was different...but it had it's problems as well..."

Cid shrugged. "It's not that I'd want t'LIVE there, really...I jus' think it'd be a neat place if it really was there. I like the place a lot, even tho' it's really #$^#ed in some ways..."

"It does seem like a nice place, despite the setbacks you point out in the story." Vincent worked quietly. "Every place has it's setbacks..."

Cid smiled and leaned back against the wall. "#$^#, y'know it's great t'be able t'talk t'someone who isn't a #$^#in' moron?"

Vincent smiled at that. "I must say likewise."

"Y'don't think I'm stupid 'cause I can't stay focused long, do you?" Cid turned onto his stomach and looked up at Vin, wincing slightly as a minor dizziness overtook him. "A lot of people do, I mean a #$^#in' ton..."

Vincent shook his head slowly and brushed his hair behind his ear. "No, that never occured to me."

Cid put his arms on the pillow and rested his chin on his hands. "This's great, #$^#in' great, finally got someone who doesn't think I'm a #$^#in' moron..."

Vincent brushed off his drawing and handed the paper to the blonde young man. "Here. Again, I must say likewise."

Cid took the paper carefully and sat up, smiling broadly. "Can I really keep this?"

Vincent nodded.

"Alright!" Cid hopped off the bed, leaning against a post for a second then coming back to his center. Vincent studied his face during his movement and noticed slight twitches in his face. He was blocking out all signs of showing pain...

"Are you going?"

Vincent's question cause another awkward silence, where Cid toyed with the top of the paper and Vincent fidgeted. Cid finally turned back towards him.

"Do you want me to? I mean, if you do, I will, I mean...I jus' thought y'know, you'd want me out of the room or somethin', 'cause..."
Vincent shook his head and leaned back. Cid took the invitation and crawled back onto the bed, the paper carefully placed on the desk. He sat next to Vincent, and the dark-haired young man reached over and picked up the remote for the TV.

"Hey Vin, how old are you?" Cid looked at him as the TV flickered on. Vincent blinked.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I'm always #$#@in' younger then everyone around me, it's a big pain in the #$%." The way that Cid pronounced the obscenity caused Vincent to laugh slightly. "So I was just curious."

"I'll be nineteen this October..."

Cid muttered. "#$%@, not again. $^@# you, you old man."

Vincent laughed out loud at that. Cid smirked and continued. "Yeah, I've seen you an' your old man buddies all laughin' behind my back, you sick old #$^#s, I'm onto you! I'll get you yet! 'Cause if the heat doesn't kill th' old people, I wiiiiiilllll."

"Stop, stop!" Vincent wasn't used to laughing and he tried to keep his voice under control. "You're terrible."

Cid leaned back and stole the remote from Vincent efficiently. "That's right, I'm lookin' for trouble with a capital Cid Highwind, buddy!"

Vincent laughed again, and Cid began flipping through channels.

The hours went by quickly and easily, the two commenting and laughing at things that came on, making them funny if they weren't originally. Vincent felt more at ease then he ever had before and even made comments that he normally never would have made.

It was only the sound of the key in the lock that reminded them that Vincent wasn't the only inhabitant of the room.

"Oh, my roommates back..."

"#$^#. That ruins all our fun." Cid gave Vincent back the remote. "I should probably go anyway."

"Alright..." Vincent wasn't sure how to feel. "You should come by again sometime, it was fun..."

Cid nodded and smiled, hopping off the bed just in time to collide with Cloud as he was entering.

"Woah, sorry buddy." Cid slid past him and was gone within a moment. Cloud watched him go, rubbing where they had collided with an odd expression on his face.

"Who was that...?"

Vincent paused for a moment, placing the remote back on the desk, where he noticed that Cid had left his picture. "A...a friend."

"Right." Cloud walked across the room and picked up his bag, turning around again to head out. "I'm going out again."

Cloud had learned, even in such a short time, that asking Vincent to come with him was useless. Vincent watched Cloud turn and go, the door clicking behind him.

He slid the piece of paper off the desk and looked at it, thinking about Cid's reaction to his scribbles. His drawings really did seem to make him happy...

He drew a few more of the characters that showed up in the story around the edges of the main one in the center, then a small attempt at a chibi version of himself in the corner. As usual, it looked far too depressing, and he sighed. He slid off the bed and pulled on a black jacket, opening the door. He wasn't sure where Cid's room was, but considering he had nothing better to do tonight, he was going to find it to give him his drawing.


It took quite a bit of work to find out where his room was. He asked information and even resorted to asking his classmates if they knew where he was. As it turned out, Cid lived about two dorms away, a fair walking distance. Vincent didn't mind particularly and felt more relieved after he knew where he was going.

He was holding the paper in one hand, feeling the slight breeze rustle it against his metal claws. It was still late summer, and the air was warm, the night clear. It was a nice night for a walk, so Vincent enjoyed the physical activity.

He entered the dorm and headed up the three flights of stairs that were required to find his room. Noting the noises from downstairs and the random shouts he heard, this dorm was far more active then his own.

Cid's room should be somewhere near the center...