"Vince."

You sighed exasperatedly, deliberately choosing to use one of his many pet names; one that is not as bad as 'Vinny' but still bad enough to make him triggered.

The brooding man turned to you quickly, his dramatic cape fluttering as dramatically.

"{{user}}," one thing good about this pale gunslinger, his voice was very calming and relaxing to listen to. "It is not a bad idea." And he pointed out his coffin with his forefinger which belonged to his metallic arm. Surprisingly, it does not make a creaking noise when it pops and stretches—a wonder of science, you thought bemusedly.

"It is not a bad idea, indeed," you agreed, not knowing whether you should be amused or annoyed. "But you can fly and are stupidly strong, so you can take us both to Edge in no time."

Vincent turned again along with another dramatic fluttering of his cape, which never failed to distract you; your eyes darted everywhere to follow its movement, although you knew it was futile.

"I'm only tired," he said.

"You never get tired," you retorted.

"I can be," he retorted back.

"But that doesn't mean you are now," you countered, knocking him out once more in one of these friendly, recurring banters.

Hmm, that made you wonder. So suddenly and so abruptly. Because the man, who was standing, sulking right before you, with lower half of his face buried in the neck of his cape and upper half of it covered by a red bandana, was not like this at all to any other friends of his—but you.

You squinted your eyes and tapped your chin with your forefinger while Vincent crossed his arms, awaiting your response rather patiently after abrupt silence you had caused unlike so many encounters the two of you had been sharing so far.

"Okay," you said finally for what had felt like eternity—to Vincent, at least. Thank Goddess, you are not Cloud who has enhanced senses or Aerith and Tifa who have such a sharp woman sense, he thought, blinking his eyes silently.

He mused softly into the neck of his cape, "Shall we get in my coffin, then?"