this change, he won't contain. slip away, to clear your mind.
title: lullabies [1798 words]
fandom: final fantasy vii
rating: pg-13ish
warnings: umm, idk ): language, general craziness on hojo's part
pairing: professor hojo/vincent valentine.
summary: set during turk!vincent era in nibelheim. ♥ for peacefulchaos. I HAVE A PROBLEMMMM, LEAVE ME ALONE.
Vincent wondered if Hojo controlled the hushed whispers in the dead of night -- the ones that echoed off the metal walls when he was trying to sleep, when he was twisting and turning in bed, when the sheets were holding him captive against his mattress. They might as well have been warning bells, he thought. They might as well have been designed to keep him up, to keep him worrying and wondering and questioning every flick of his eyes, every twitch at the corner of his mouth. It had been like that since day one, since Vincent first set foot in Nibelheim, since he first entered the lab, footsteps loud and clear and confident on the solid concrete beneath him. Hojo had smiled, and Vincent had stiffened, and the lab about them went silent as what was left of civility and good manners broke apart and fragmented around them.
He smiled, but it wasn't really a smile. It was a promise. A threat. It was detached, distant, and cold, and it had knotted something terrible in the pit of Vincent's stomach, had him desperately wishing he wasn't the only Turk in the entire building. Because, really, there wasn't anyone there to tell him that he was being stupid. There wasn't anyone there to tell him that he was being ridiculous, that he was letting his imagination get the best of him. There wasn't anyone there to say, "Well, yeah, Valentine, he's creepy, I'll give you that, but. He's harmless."
Harmless. Really.
Harmless, and yet Vincent never remembered being more panicked in his entire life than he was at that very second, at that very moment, where red eyes flitted over the material of his labcoat to meet solid steel (speckled with the hint of amusement) that simply stared back.
No Turks. Just him. One Turk in a building full of scientists who seemed to scorn his very existence, and it was probably the most unnerving experience of his entire life. Lucrecia had always been able to tell, had always been able to look past the stony expression on his face to gaze directly at the barrier of bundled emotions right beneath. Maybe that was why he opened up to her a little bit more easily than he had ever done with anyone else. Maybe that was why he preferred to spend the majority of his time in and around her company. Maybe that was why he could put up with the odd glances he'd receive from the other scientists whenever he made his way to her office to see her.
She was comforting. She was gentle.
And her smile wasn't one that promised torment.
---
The part that Vincent hated the most about working in Nibelheim was the fact that, often times, he ended up alone with the very same professor who he really wanted nothing to do with and who he really tried his best to avoid. It was too bad, then, that Hojo seemed to take great delight in the few moments where they were alone, where he could look up impatiently from his paperwork and let his pen slide down along the knuckles of his fingers to hit the hard oak of his desk as he glanced over to Vincent with something of a mockingly humbled expression. It was an expression that said, well. That said, look who I've found. That said, she's not the only one who can see right through you, Valentine. That said, I wonder what you'd look like shaking.
Predatory. Hojo was nothing but, and Vincent was predator-turned-prey in a situation that he really had no idea how to handle.
As a Turk, he was trained to know how to handle almost everything, to know what he was supposed to do everywhere and anywhere, no matter the particular details of the events that unfolded around him. Why, then, was it that he could not properly comprehend any brainwave of thought that stuttered to a quivering a stop whenever the last scientist exited the room, letting the door close silently behind him, as Vincent stood tensely by the frame? Why, then, did he have to fight the urge each and every time to pull out his gun, to palm the leather of his holster until he no longer felt sick to his stomach, when Hojo was so much as passing by him?
It was unnecessary, unneeded, and he didn't know what to do, should have reacted the way any other Turk would have (and that would have been by doing nothing), when Hojo was crossing the length of the room to brush his fingers along the papers that sat on the table that Vincent stood next to. Get a grip, he thought. Get a fucking grip, because he shouldn't have been biting back the urge to move a couple feet away, to sidestep off in the other direction. He shouldn't have been biting back the urge to defend himself from an attack that hadn't even occurred. And, sometimes, he'd think he was a little bit crazy, that he was seeing things that weren't really there, but then Hojo would smile again, and then Hojo would focus a little too hard on him, and Vincent would think, no. No. I'm not crazy.
Survival of the fittest, after all, and he was only doing what he needed to do to say alive.
---
At night, when it was late, and when he couldn't close his eyes without swallowing down the panicked sense of fear that built dramatically in his lungs as the hours pressed on, Vincent would sometimes patrol the halls of the building, would focus on the way his feet sounded when they were sliding along linoleum floors. It was always as Hojo slept, or it was always as Hojo worked away in the solitary confinement of his lab. Vincent tried his best to avoid the hall that led to the door to the lab, tried to avoid any possibility of ever running into Hojo during these moments of much needed aloneness, but there were times that he'd lose track of where he was. Where he'd make a wrong turn and end up at the door, anyway, peering through the glass window into a lab bright with secrets that only blinded him to ignorance.
It was when he couldn't see Hojo through the glass, when he couldn't make out his form in the room just beyond, that Vincent would nervously back away and eye the dark corners of the hall around him. Because if he wasn't there, then where else could he be, and Vincent didn't like to think of the possibilities, didn't like to dwell on the reasons, and so he'd sharply turn on his heel to leave.
Once, Hojo was waiting for him at the end of the hall, curious and wondering and a little impatient, and Vincent had brushed by him without a word, had choked back the muffled intake of breath when Hojo's hand lingered on his arm as he went. The touch was barely there at all, but it had been electric and jolting, and Vincent hadn't pried his own hand from the spot where he'd touched him until an hour or two later, when he was sure it wouldn't burn or ache when he'd pull away.
And then when Vincent finally settled down to sleep, when he was finally back in his room, he dreamt of smiles laced with poison and of quiet murmurs with sticky fingers on his burning arm that pulled him neatly into their web of tangled lies.
When Hojo slept (which was a rare occurrence anymore), he dreamt of puddled blood and of perfecting the art of Valentine's death.
---
Sometimes, the temptation to ask why became a little too much for Vincent to handle, and sometimes, all he wanted was to grab Hojo by the shoulders and shake the goddamn answer from him.
And, one day, it had slipped from his mouth without him even really meaning to ask it.
"Why, what, Valentine?"
He had hesitated, had paused a moment while his brain stilled and his throat went dry.
"I don't--I want to know why."
And it had been the only thing he was able to say, the only way he could properly word his question, because. Because how else could he ask it, when thoughts and reasons failed him completely? How else could he ask it, when Hojo already knew what he was asking, and when Hojo knew exactly why he couldn't say it?
It had always been a game.
"Why am I going to kill you?"
Yes. Yes, yes. I want to know why, I need to know why, please tell me why, because I don't understand, because it's not the way it's supposed to happen, so tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me.
"Because you're going to make it so easy for me."
The silence that followed was uncomfortable and pressing and louder than it should have been, and Vincent thought, I should have know, I should have figured, could have guessed that, even. His eyes trailed up the length of the walls to focus on the ceilings pitched high above him. Vaguely, he could make out the sound of Hojo settling down at his desk, of his pen scratching across the paper as he wrote.
"Because I can."
Because I want to know what you look like bleeding. Because I want to know what you'd sound like screaming. Because I want to know how long it'd take for you to stop breathing. Because I want to know how close it'd make me to you, if it'd make me hate you a little less, if it'd lessen the distance between us as I tore into you. Because I want to see your lips tremble, and I want to see your tongue fumble for questions unanswered when I run you through with a bullet. Because it could be perfect, and it could be momentous, and it could be memorable, and it's the only way to preserve you, to keep you hard and horrible and monstrous and wonderful. Because it'll hurt you. Because it'll destroy you.
Because I can. Because you won't stop me. Because. Because, and is that enough reason for you, are those enough answers, are you satisfied, does it make you feel better, are you counting down the days, the minutes the seconds the moments, until your death? Can you imagine it, can you picture it, can you see me picking your ribcage clean of muscle while you squirm and try not to cry and try not to lose consciousness and try to keep your heart from stalling? Do you think it'll be peaceful? Does it keep you up at night? Do you keep me with you always? Am I the reason you're crumbling, the reason you're falling apart? Is it worth it? Is she worth it?
"Because it'd be the perfect opener to a rather entertaining experiment."
Vincent looked back down, closed his eyes, pressed two gloved hands to his face, and Hojo smiled.
i might end up rewriting thissss tbh. not really satisfied with it. i think i need to add more disjointedness throughout the entire thing to tie up the shit that happens at the end.
OKAY WELL THAT WAS FUN.
in any case ): idkkkk. i don't update as much as i should, sry guys. I DROPPED BIOLOGY THOUGH. because lol yeah there was no way i was going to pass that class. i should have dropped it within the first week, really, when our teacher told us that really we should have taken chemistry before biology because of how much harder it was going to be now? i was like OH GREAT THANKS.
oh man i hate school. like, really, really hate school.
and i'm so hungry dslfksnlgknwelgknewlk
OH ALSO joined rivelata as vincent-bb ♥ no real opinion yet, but aesthetically and brandi are there, which AUTOMATICALLY MAKES THAT PLACE A+ IN MY BOOK. and i also joined because i sort of liked the lucrecia that's playing there. ): lol i just hope i don't end up disappointing her if i get distracted by purg (LIKE I ALWAYS DO, GOOD JOB CHELESY) and have to quit.
fandom: final fantasy vii
rating: pg-13ish
warnings: umm, idk ): language, general craziness on hojo's part
pairing: professor hojo/vincent valentine.
summary: set during turk!vincent era in nibelheim. ♥ for peacefulchaos. I HAVE A PROBLEMMMM, LEAVE ME ALONE.
Vincent wondered if Hojo controlled the hushed whispers in the dead of night -- the ones that echoed off the metal walls when he was trying to sleep, when he was twisting and turning in bed, when the sheets were holding him captive against his mattress. They might as well have been warning bells, he thought. They might as well have been designed to keep him up, to keep him worrying and wondering and questioning every flick of his eyes, every twitch at the corner of his mouth. It had been like that since day one, since Vincent first set foot in Nibelheim, since he first entered the lab, footsteps loud and clear and confident on the solid concrete beneath him. Hojo had smiled, and Vincent had stiffened, and the lab about them went silent as what was left of civility and good manners broke apart and fragmented around them.
He smiled, but it wasn't really a smile. It was a promise. A threat. It was detached, distant, and cold, and it had knotted something terrible in the pit of Vincent's stomach, had him desperately wishing he wasn't the only Turk in the entire building. Because, really, there wasn't anyone there to tell him that he was being stupid. There wasn't anyone there to tell him that he was being ridiculous, that he was letting his imagination get the best of him. There wasn't anyone there to say, "Well, yeah, Valentine, he's creepy, I'll give you that, but. He's harmless."
Harmless. Really.
Harmless, and yet Vincent never remembered being more panicked in his entire life than he was at that very second, at that very moment, where red eyes flitted over the material of his labcoat to meet solid steel (speckled with the hint of amusement) that simply stared back.
No Turks. Just him. One Turk in a building full of scientists who seemed to scorn his very existence, and it was probably the most unnerving experience of his entire life. Lucrecia had always been able to tell, had always been able to look past the stony expression on his face to gaze directly at the barrier of bundled emotions right beneath. Maybe that was why he opened up to her a little bit more easily than he had ever done with anyone else. Maybe that was why he preferred to spend the majority of his time in and around her company. Maybe that was why he could put up with the odd glances he'd receive from the other scientists whenever he made his way to her office to see her.
She was comforting. She was gentle.
And her smile wasn't one that promised torment.
---
The part that Vincent hated the most about working in Nibelheim was the fact that, often times, he ended up alone with the very same professor who he really wanted nothing to do with and who he really tried his best to avoid. It was too bad, then, that Hojo seemed to take great delight in the few moments where they were alone, where he could look up impatiently from his paperwork and let his pen slide down along the knuckles of his fingers to hit the hard oak of his desk as he glanced over to Vincent with something of a mockingly humbled expression. It was an expression that said, well. That said, look who I've found. That said, she's not the only one who can see right through you, Valentine. That said, I wonder what you'd look like shaking.
Predatory. Hojo was nothing but, and Vincent was predator-turned-prey in a situation that he really had no idea how to handle.
As a Turk, he was trained to know how to handle almost everything, to know what he was supposed to do everywhere and anywhere, no matter the particular details of the events that unfolded around him. Why, then, was it that he could not properly comprehend any brainwave of thought that stuttered to a quivering a stop whenever the last scientist exited the room, letting the door close silently behind him, as Vincent stood tensely by the frame? Why, then, did he have to fight the urge each and every time to pull out his gun, to palm the leather of his holster until he no longer felt sick to his stomach, when Hojo was so much as passing by him?
It was unnecessary, unneeded, and he didn't know what to do, should have reacted the way any other Turk would have (and that would have been by doing nothing), when Hojo was crossing the length of the room to brush his fingers along the papers that sat on the table that Vincent stood next to. Get a grip, he thought. Get a fucking grip, because he shouldn't have been biting back the urge to move a couple feet away, to sidestep off in the other direction. He shouldn't have been biting back the urge to defend himself from an attack that hadn't even occurred. And, sometimes, he'd think he was a little bit crazy, that he was seeing things that weren't really there, but then Hojo would smile again, and then Hojo would focus a little too hard on him, and Vincent would think, no. No. I'm not crazy.
Survival of the fittest, after all, and he was only doing what he needed to do to say alive.
---
At night, when it was late, and when he couldn't close his eyes without swallowing down the panicked sense of fear that built dramatically in his lungs as the hours pressed on, Vincent would sometimes patrol the halls of the building, would focus on the way his feet sounded when they were sliding along linoleum floors. It was always as Hojo slept, or it was always as Hojo worked away in the solitary confinement of his lab. Vincent tried his best to avoid the hall that led to the door to the lab, tried to avoid any possibility of ever running into Hojo during these moments of much needed aloneness, but there were times that he'd lose track of where he was. Where he'd make a wrong turn and end up at the door, anyway, peering through the glass window into a lab bright with secrets that only blinded him to ignorance.
It was when he couldn't see Hojo through the glass, when he couldn't make out his form in the room just beyond, that Vincent would nervously back away and eye the dark corners of the hall around him. Because if he wasn't there, then where else could he be, and Vincent didn't like to think of the possibilities, didn't like to dwell on the reasons, and so he'd sharply turn on his heel to leave.
Once, Hojo was waiting for him at the end of the hall, curious and wondering and a little impatient, and Vincent had brushed by him without a word, had choked back the muffled intake of breath when Hojo's hand lingered on his arm as he went. The touch was barely there at all, but it had been electric and jolting, and Vincent hadn't pried his own hand from the spot where he'd touched him until an hour or two later, when he was sure it wouldn't burn or ache when he'd pull away.
And then when Vincent finally settled down to sleep, when he was finally back in his room, he dreamt of smiles laced with poison and of quiet murmurs with sticky fingers on his burning arm that pulled him neatly into their web of tangled lies.
When Hojo slept (which was a rare occurrence anymore), he dreamt of puddled blood and of perfecting the art of Valentine's death.
---
Sometimes, the temptation to ask why became a little too much for Vincent to handle, and sometimes, all he wanted was to grab Hojo by the shoulders and shake the goddamn answer from him.
And, one day, it had slipped from his mouth without him even really meaning to ask it.
"Why, what, Valentine?"
He had hesitated, had paused a moment while his brain stilled and his throat went dry.
"I don't--I want to know why."
And it had been the only thing he was able to say, the only way he could properly word his question, because. Because how else could he ask it, when thoughts and reasons failed him completely? How else could he ask it, when Hojo already knew what he was asking, and when Hojo knew exactly why he couldn't say it?
It had always been a game.
"Why am I going to kill you?"
Yes. Yes, yes. I want to know why, I need to know why, please tell me why, because I don't understand, because it's not the way it's supposed to happen, so tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me.
"Because you're going to make it so easy for me."
The silence that followed was uncomfortable and pressing and louder than it should have been, and Vincent thought, I should have know, I should have figured, could have guessed that, even. His eyes trailed up the length of the walls to focus on the ceilings pitched high above him. Vaguely, he could make out the sound of Hojo settling down at his desk, of his pen scratching across the paper as he wrote.
"Because I can."
Because I want to know what you look like bleeding. Because I want to know what you'd sound like screaming. Because I want to know how long it'd take for you to stop breathing. Because I want to know how close it'd make me to you, if it'd make me hate you a little less, if it'd lessen the distance between us as I tore into you. Because I want to see your lips tremble, and I want to see your tongue fumble for questions unanswered when I run you through with a bullet. Because it could be perfect, and it could be momentous, and it could be memorable, and it's the only way to preserve you, to keep you hard and horrible and monstrous and wonderful. Because it'll hurt you. Because it'll destroy you.
Because I can. Because you won't stop me. Because. Because, and is that enough reason for you, are those enough answers, are you satisfied, does it make you feel better, are you counting down the days, the minutes the seconds the moments, until your death? Can you imagine it, can you picture it, can you see me picking your ribcage clean of muscle while you squirm and try not to cry and try not to lose consciousness and try to keep your heart from stalling? Do you think it'll be peaceful? Does it keep you up at night? Do you keep me with you always? Am I the reason you're crumbling, the reason you're falling apart? Is it worth it? Is she worth it?
"Because it'd be the perfect opener to a rather entertaining experiment."
Vincent looked back down, closed his eyes, pressed two gloved hands to his face, and Hojo smiled.
i might end up rewriting thissss tbh. not really satisfied with it. i think i need to add more disjointedness throughout the entire thing to tie up the shit that happens at the end.
OKAY WELL THAT WAS FUN.
in any case ): idkkkk. i don't update as much as i should, sry guys. I DROPPED BIOLOGY THOUGH. because lol yeah there was no way i was going to pass that class. i should have dropped it within the first week, really, when our teacher told us that really we should have taken chemistry before biology because of how much harder it was going to be now? i was like OH GREAT THANKS.
oh man i hate school. like, really, really hate school.
and i'm so hungry dslfksnlgknwelgknewlk
OH ALSO joined rivelata as vincent-bb ♥ no real opinion yet, but aesthetically and brandi are there, which AUTOMATICALLY MAKES THAT PLACE A+ IN MY BOOK. and i also joined because i sort of liked the lucrecia that's playing there. ): lol i just hope i don't end up disappointing her if i get distracted by purg (LIKE I ALWAYS DO, GOOD JOB CHELESY) and have to quit.