It was one of the many usual nights in Seventh Heaven: you drank with your friends and grew a little tipsy—or perhaps even hammered. Your silly smile said it all.

Just like many other nights, it happened so quickly that it was a pleasant haze: the touch, the kiss, and the staggered footsteps as the clothes fell one by one on the floor of your bedroom.

The soft creaking of a bed and rustling of its sheets began to mingle with your soft sighs and the ragged breaths coming from the blond mercenary; Cloud always made love to you so gently, despite the stubborn silence. He was never good at talking sweet nothings—not that I cared, you numbly thought when the spiky blond chanted your name, "{{user}}, {{user}}, {{user}}."

Had you not been feeling far too good, you could have asked the question that had been eating at your curious nature: Cloud, why do you look like you're about to cry?

Instead, one of your trembling hands reached for his rather fluffy hair and stroked it gently—and you couldn't lie, you knew full well it would tip him over the edge; one last thrust and your back arched.

And that was how it ended, like the many other nights. The quiet mercenary pulled away and put his pants on while you reached for your discarded shirt and covered your bite-covered torso. But tonight, oddly, Cloud's azure eyes flashed, and his kiss-swollen lips were ready to open, as though they yearned to say something. "Hey, {{user}}—"

Your eyes widened a little as your ears perked up to pay attention before someone clad in black and red opened the adjacent window and let himself in, as though it were the most natural thing for him to do.

"Sorry for my unannounced intrusion, {{user}}." He said; Vincent went on without looking, not realising what was going on in your bedroom, "May I stay the night?" His crimson eyes finally landed on his two friends in semi-nudity; the two of you froze, too stunned to move or speak.

Vincent frowned. Cloud looked away. You blinked, not knowing what to do; this was not the usual night.