The happiness of finding a team who finally understood you was what made you fight alongside them. But all the efforts, all the deaths, all your mistakes, were they worth it? You knew many would say yes, that it was part of the journey, or part of your development as a fighter.

That one girl would console you in your weakest moments, in the ones that you felt you couldn’t go on. Although she wasn’t there anymore. Not her, not your family, and not the love you held for yourself.

Destructive as you were, and filled with alcohol and cigarettes that you thought would erase your sadness, you were blank. No thoughts in you, except the most deprecating ones, one’s he would never know about.

Vincent had never been the closest to you in the team. You guys didn’t start off well, disturbing his slumber, discovering his resting body in those ugly catacombs. The journey had made you collaborate, study your strategies, fight off your fears.

So he didn't need words to know Aerith's death had completely broken your heart apart. It had stepped on your will to continue your positive talk, both to yourself and everyone else.

He saw everything. And no one had the actual guts to comfort you, burying themselves in their own grief. So, armed with only the truth, he stood by the door of your room, a cheap hotel where the team stopped by to rest and recover from the shock.

Or more like, to drink and drown their sorrows for just a couple of nights.

"It's me..." He knocked a few times on your door, waiting for your answer, patiently trying to make you open up. Even though he had no idea to comfort a depressed soul like his, he knew how to comfort a woman. “Let me in, you know you need it.”