This was written for Ceasar's Palace's Summer Camp Day 1 Challenge.

Vincent Valentine was tired and cold, so the warm light spilling out the large windows of the bar called to him even though he was late. Stepping out of the rain, he shook out his hair and swirled his cloak off his shoulders.

Behind the bar, a bored blonde looked at the intruder from under a thick fringe of bangs. "What can I get ya, Mister?" he asked, his voice hesitant as if speaking a second language he wasn't altogether comfortable with yet.

"Something that will warm me up from the inside," Vincent responded, hanging up his cloak, taking three long strides across the room, and sliding onto the stool in front of the barkeep.

"Visiting in town, Mister?" the blonde asked as he poured a shot of whiskey into a deep-bowled snifter, watching the red eyes of the man across the bar studying his every move.

"Vincent, my name is Vincent. I was, and now I'm on my way home. What do I call you?"

"Eric. The rain's not going to end any time soon. Have you considered a hotel for the night?" Eric measured out a fourth of a cup of cocoa powder, an equal amount of water, a pinch of salt, a pinch of sugar, and a splash of vanilla into a small saucepan and placed it over the single hotplate behind the bar. He stirred the mixture, the metal spoon scraping along the inside of the pot.

"I've been away too long and there are people waiting on me. A little rain won't stop me from getting home."

"Here for work?" Eric asked.

"More like a scavenger hunt that took on a life of its own. My husband is getting impatient for me to return."

Eric lifted an eyebrow. Vincent returned the gesture with a smirk. He took the glove off his right hand, holding the digits upright so he could display the simple band of silver. "Ten years in August."

Eric bit the inside of this cheek, worrying at it so violently that Vincent could see his jaw working. After a moment, Eric looked away and noticed the brown concoction in the pot was already boiling. He bent, retrieving a bottle of milk from under the sink and pouring it liberally into the recipe. He began stirring it again, but couldn't help but look again at the stranger's wedding ring.

"How long have you been in love with him?" Vincent asked.

"As long as I've known him," Eric replied.

"Two weeks? Six months? A year?"

"Put all of them together and you'll be in the right ballpark," he said, looking toward his work, as if the brew was somehow the subject of their conversation.

"And does he know?"

Eric laughed, a hollow, brittle sound that lodged in his throat, threatening to turn into tears.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" Vincent said, sighing. "Is he straight?"

"I… I don't know," he admitted, picking up the saucepan and pouring the liquid chocolate over the whiskey.

"That makes everything more difficult. Reno… I always knew his sexuality was flexible, so it was never a problem. For him, though, my preferences were a mystery."

"Whipped cream or not?" Eric asked, nodding at the drink. "How'd he do it then? Get up the nerve?"

"Whipped cream, because that's what Reno would pick and talking about him makes me nostalgic for home. It was raining," Vincent said, turning slightly to look out the large window to his left while maintaining eye contact with Eric as he shook the bottle of whipped cream. "We were alone before a crackling fire, nature took its course."

"Raining, huh?" Eric upended the bottle and depressed the trigger, spiraling a sweet puff of cream onto the top of the hot drink.

"Just like today. Will you see him tonight?"

"After I close," Eric whispered.

"I'm the only one here." Vincent indicated the empty room. "With the rain and the late hour, perhaps it's not worth staying open once I leave."

Eric nodded and filled a plain mug with a shot of whiskey and the rest of the chocolate before coming around the bar and taking the seat next to Vincent.

"Isn't it… hard?"

Vincent took a long measured sip. "Being with someone I love?"

"Being with anyone?" Eric chuckled.

Up close, Vincent saw that under all that hair, Eric was barely old enough to be in a bar, no less working behind one. He started to sigh, but stopped and concentrated on the boy's blue eyes, pale skin, and the old scars – white and waxy – that dotted his neck and shoulders.

"It is especially hard when old pains get in the way," Vincent replied, finally. "But, some people are worth taking that risk for."

The door opened, the bell tinkling as a slightly older boy came bounding in, shaking rain from his drenched red hair – hair that instantly reminded Vincent of Reno.

"Kōsuke," Eric breathed the name, like a prayer falling from his lips. Vincent smiled into his glass.

"Eric, I –" Kōsuke said, then suddenly stopped as he saw Vincent sitting at the bar. "Oh, I figured with the rain, you'd be here all by yourself."

"It was nice to meet you, Eric," Vincent said, gaining his feet and downing the rest of the hot chocolate in a single gulp. He threw some money on the bar – far more than was necessary – and retrieved his cloak. As he moved past Kōsuke, he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. "As I said, some people are worth taking that risk for… And redheads, doubly so."

He didn't wait for an answer, but slipped out into the dark night, pulling his cloak tight around his throat and heading into the direction of the blowing wind… and home.