Theft

The Courtesy

A knock sounds on his door. Vincent's eyes lift briefly from the page, before shooting down. The knock persists, thwacking rebelliously against his eardrums, as if daring him to try reading another line of his book.

Vincent rises begrudgingly from his seat. He peers through peephole, grimacing as his suspicions are confirmed. It's Yuffie, the insufferable thief. Through the pinprick of glass, her childish appearance is magnified into a comically round shape, her doe-like eyes engulfing half of her face. She knocks again, her tiny—but formidable—fist colliding against the door enough to nearly take his eye out.

Vincent's absolutely certain that she will continue to pester him until he opens the door. Still, he is uncertain of whether opening the door is the best course of action. He is considering the alternatives when Yuffie squats next to the doorknob, producing a lock-picking apparatus from one of the pockets on her bright yellow utility belt.

Vincent represses a sigh of annoyance and opens the door. Yuffie shoots up from her crouch immediately, and the lock-pick disappears from view like a puff of smoke. Her expression brightens upon seeing him, in a way Vincent is not yet quite used to seeing. "Hiya, Vince!"

His eyebrows draw together. He will make this quick, clear, and concise. "No," he says. Before he can swing the door closed again, her foot catches it.

"Wait! You didn't even hear me out yet!" she protests, duffel bags swinging from both hands.

"I can deduce that you are imposing your presence at my current residence due to some recent off-limits-topic altercation you had with your father. The answer is no, Yuffie."

She splutters for a moment, but when she sees him make for the doorknob, she doesn't bother with civility and jams herself through the doorway. "I did not walk all the way to your backwater hole just to get—"

"You did not walk all the way here," he replies contradictorily. Yuffie stares at him, eyes squinted stubbornly against comprehension. "The feathers," he elaborates.

Her eyebrows lift in understanding. Yuffie hastily beats the tell-tale chocobo feathers off her butt with one hand.

"Now, please remove yourself from my doorway."

Yuffie thrusts her chest out in defiance. "No, Vinnie," she replies curtly in a volume that borders on a bellow, "you should remove your door from my boobs."

Vincent's hand rests threateningly on the doorknob. He could simply take her by the shoulder, turn her out, shut the door, and be done with it. But he doesn't.

Vincent knows courtesy when it sees it. That Yuffie's bothering with it is an anomaly in itself. With a silent sigh, he lets her in.

After all, if he doesn't, she will only end up jimmying open his windows again.

A/N: I would pay good money to see a romantic comedy movie revolving around these two, because they would just be so wrong and right for each other. And the things they would do. My poor shipper heart. I promise I'm still working on all three Yuffentine projects (yes, even Meet Mr. and Mrs. Con). Thank you for being so patient with me.

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