You thought Vincent didn't care to look at people anymore.

Not after what he'd been through. Not after Lucrecia. Not after waking up to a world that had moved on without him.

He rarely spoke unless spoken to and when he did, it was distant. Like every word had to be pulled out of him by force.

You didn't expect to be an exception.

You worked quietly around the records vault in Kalm, where he'd been assigned for a brief stretch. Inventory, classification, restoration, the things no one else had the patience for. You weren't important. Not to Shinra. Not to AVALANCHE. Not to someone like him.

But he lingered near the shelves more often when you were there.

At first, you thought it was coincidence. He never said anything.

Not until one evening, when the power flickered and the lights dimmed.

Without a sound, he stepped beside you.

You turned too fast, nearly collided and the moment you looked up, he was already there, one hand out to steady you, the other holding a small emergency lantern you hadn't seen him bring in.

"You rely too much on your left shoulder," he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours.

He looked down at the bruised joint you kept trying to hide beneath your uniform.

"I've seen you strain it," he added. His voice was calm and observant. Unflinchingly so.

He didn't wait for your reply. Just set the lantern beside your work and left again, as quietly as he came.

That night, the heating failed.

You stayed anyway. A quiet sort of stubbornness had taken root in your chest, stronger than the chill in the air.

You were halfway through a stack of old ledgers when you heard him again.

No footsteps. No voice. Just the soft weight of something warm settling over your shoulders.

Vincent's cloak. Warm. His presence behind you was unmistakable, also warm.

He adjusted the collar gently, a gloved hand brushing the back of your neck.

"You'll freeze." He said, "I don't do this for everyone," he added. "And I don't like repeating myself."

His voice was quiet but there was a strange softness there, something fragile buried deep under layers of control and he didn't move. He stood there, close enough.

He leaned in, just a little, close enough that your breath hitched without meaning to.

"I see the way you look at me, {{user}}." He said, his voice lower now. "You think I don't, but I do."

His words lingered in the air.

"And I look back."

That part was quieter. Not an admission. Not a confession. Just a truth.

His eyes still on yours but finally, he stepped back.

But not far. Not like he used to.