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Chapter Text

"Whatcha draaawing?"

Cold wood and splinter groaned beneath the shifting weight, Mako-blue eyes alight with a certain mischievousness that Zack Fair and only Zack Fair could deliver as he tried to catch sight of the open sketchbook in his hands. "Tried" being the operative word there, anyway, considering that open sketchbook was promptly shut before he could take a peek.

"Is that any of your concern?” Sephiroth asked smoothly, the cardboard cover shielding his unpolished lines and messy highlights and a myriad of other imperfections as he shrugged the curious teen off his shoulder and thought that would be the end of it.

Which, of course, it was not.

Why would it be?

"Aww, c’mon! Lemme see it!” Zack mulishly clung to his armor like a spiky-haired tick, trying and failing in a cartoonish endeavor to pry his hands off the sketchpad. "Why are you like this?!”

"I could ask the same."

“Seppph!”

”That’s enough; stop this nonsense.”

"Or what?”

"Or I will commandeer your SlayStation when we return."

Zack let out a gasp, the threat all too overpowering, those blue eyes widening in exaggerated horror as he immediately relinquished his hold of the sketchbook. But not before getting in a final you're insane pout before folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall, huffing in petulant punctuation.

"Spike, can you believe this man?!"

The helmeted teen glanced up at his name, sitting against the opposite wall as it vibrated and shook to the truck's jagged rhythm. He'd been watching the spectacle unfold without a word up until that point, admirably silent, the hefty armor veiling almost all of his expression. Only the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his inner amusement.

"What are you drawing, Sir?" Strife asked calmly, respectfully.

"Why I would be happy to show you, Cadet." Sephiroth responded with equal calm, reaching across the cumbersome space to hand over his sketchbook. "Because you asked so civilly."

"Oh, c'mon!" Zack exclaimed.

"Wow… this is really good, Sir!" Strife's voice shone bright with admiration as he flipped over the cover. "Like, super good!"

"Heh... Why thank you." Sephiroth allowed himself a small bout of pride, folding his arms over his chest as he smiled in satisfaction. Perhaps he would be lying if he said he didn't want the feedback... Though he still thought those shadows could be smoother.

"C'mon! This is killin’ me! Lemme see!" Zack reached over the truck to snatch the drawing, fingers eagerly wiggling—only for Strife to obediently twist aside and defend his work like a prized trophy.

"Wha—? Spike!"

"Nuh-uh. General said you couldn't see." The standard trooper helmets weren't long enough to veil the sheer smirk playing on Strife's lips, the likes of which turned even more devious as he lifted his chin to face him. "Can I show him, Sir?"

Sephiroth kept his arms folded, feigning an expression equivalent to that of someone deep in philosophical abstraction.

"Hmm..." The General pretended to think, calmly watching Strife play Keep Away with Zack's poor fingers. "l'll allow it."

"Sweet!" Zack grabbed the sketchbook mere nanoseconds after the approval left his lips, leaning back against the wall as he voraciously studied the drawing for himself.

"Oh man... This is fantastic, Seph! And look! He drew you, Spike!"

"What? No he didn't!" Strife exclaimed defensively. "He drew a Chocobo."

"Exactly!"

Sephiroth's stoic expression finally gave way to a quiet chuckle as he watched the coral flare on poor Strife's cheeks, amused by the familiar banter, straightening against the rumbling wall and finding himself most comfortable despite their congested mode of transportation.

Accompanied by Zack, Strife, and another infantryman who had volunteered to drive the truck, they were currently en route to a small town by the name of Nibelheim, sent across the continent on account of investigating a mysterious defect with their local Reactor. Reports had been rather vague on the matter—nothing much beyond "an abundance in monster spawns" and the flimsy suggestion that the Reactor may be the cause. Was it a flimsy reason to go on a six-something hour trip just to fix a potentially broken Reactor? Perhaps. But he just couldn't bring himself to mind, to dissect the mission and pick apart every nut and bolt of its logistics. He just couldn't seem to care the same way he cared some two-some months ago.

Because two months ago, of course, the article hadn't been written.

Oh, the article...

Sephiroth still couldn't believe himself the size in which such a stupid post in The MidgarMonthly had blossomed. Over ten thousand comments were left on that article, over four hundred letters he had received from every corner of the planet... It truly was magical. Magical and insane. Insane how one wonderful day of kindness and appreciation rippled out to almost every person in the city treating him in ways he never thought imaginable, treating him in ways that seemed as likely as a wish coming true upon a shooting star.

And that was to be treated like anything but one.

He was still respected, don’t get him wrong, and he would be lying if he said he didn't want that much as a military commander… But the respect was in such more (how does one say it...?) organic ways. Like being given handshakes at moderate speeds instead of Mach five, like locking with eyes that stared into his own soul instead of the Mako-green lava that fueled them. People still addressed him as "Sir”, but they didn’t stutter when the word left their lips; they didn't nearly run out of oxygen; they didn't say the word like it held the burning weight of a meteor plummeting to Gaia.

The only person he knew was displeased with his newfound normalcy was Professor Hojo, whom he hadn't seen since he stopped by his apartment with a box bursting with items from the since-abandoned Silver Elite. And "displeased" was nothing short of an understatement at that. He could practically imagine the man's vitriol every time he heard a new story from his associates about how he went grocery shopping without a paparazzi or was sharing fast food in the mess hall instead of seaweed in his room or was no longer his perfect little puppet hell-bent on fitting the perfect molds of a godlike figure for the sake of anyone but himself.

Though, the man had sent him a rather giddy email just last night.

My dear Sephiroth,

I know you blocked my other account. We will discuss… that display of disobedience at another time. As for now, however, I simply want to wish you a good time on your mission. Please, my boy… do take your time. Nibelheim is a wonderful place. A wonderful place indeed. I have a feeling you will do quite well on this mission. Exceptionally well, yes. Your very best one to date. Perhaps it will even be the mission where you shed yourself of that mindless whelp and finally make Gast proud.

Follow your instincts, boy. Always.

Cordially,

Hojo

Of course, it went straight to the trash can.

Speaking of trash cans...

The visible half of Strife's face had suddenly gone taut, flushed, and he pulled the on-board garbage can closer to his chest.

"You okay, pal?" Zack frowned, glancing up from the sketchbook as he set it down.

"Yeah... it's motion sickness. Just a little nauseous."

"Why don't you take off your helmet? That thing can't be helping ya."

Helmeted eyes glanced his way, head wobbling slightly. "Can I, Sir?"

Gaia... even the blond's voice was beginning to tighten.

Sephiroth easily nodded. "Permission granted."

With a sigh of relief gusting from Strife's lips, the boy reached up to remove his helmet and, careful not to scrape himself with the rim, began slowly lifting the cumbersome headgear from his skull, a shock of electric spikes bouncing out in all directions as he shook his head in a futile attempt to straighten them. Aqua eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting to the harshly dismal light of the vehicle as he lifted his gaze to face him in full.

"Thanks, Sir; good call, Zack."

Sephiroth smiled.

"Man, those things are stuffy." Zack folded his arms behind his neck, studying the metal sphere sitting like an egg in Strife's lap. "And ugly. Can't believe they make you wear em."

"It's almost as if they protect the unenhanced..." Sephiroth muttered sardonically, thinking that Strife would concur, only to feel a guilty prick in his chest as he watched the boy's chin dip instead. He didn't seem to be very amused by either comment.

"Yeah, well..." Strife's voice was like a half-chuckle, shoulders vaguely rising in a shrug. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't grateful for the thing."

"Whaddya mean?" Zack blinked.

Strife waited a beat before continuing, something inside of him seeing to dip in temperature as he pulled the trash can closer and sighed. "Well, um. You know how Nibelheim's my hometown... right?"

"'Course!"

"Yes," Sephiroth nodded as well, remembering the light that had flooded his trooper's eyes upon announcing their destination. He had initially thought, sitting in the mess hall sharing a cup of french fries with Zack and the boy, that the light had been a sign of excitement—of anticipation to visit his home. But Strife had been relatively quiet on the matter ever since they departed, now that he truly thought about it. And now he found himself wondering if he had misread that light or if there was any light to begin with at all.

And staring at the cadet now, gazing into those inclined blue eyes, he certainly didn't see them aglow. With or without Mako.

"Well..." Strife spoke into the trash can, gloved fingers clutching the rim. "When I left home—to go to Midgar, anyway...—I kinda had this dream, er... I kinda told everyone that I would return as a SOLDIER. As a First Class, too—the best of the best. Basically promised it, if I'm being completely honest. And, y'know..." There was that vague shrug again, even weaker and more sheepish than the first. "Here I am, sitting in a trooper uniform, not even having made it to Third. So I've kinda just been thinking... maybe I won't even bother taking off the helmet. Maybe I won't even bother showing my face. Because at least then, well, I don't know..."

Strife's voice had been reduced to a mere mumble, a painful mixture of regret and sorrow and a strain of venom that was aimed at no one but himself.

"At least then they won't know I've failed."

If a frown had already been weighing down Zack's lips, then it sank another six feet with those words alone. "Aww, buddy..." He slid off the bench to crouch at his friend's side, laying a soft but supportive hand on his shoulder. "You ain't failed nothing. Don't say that."

The trooper only shrugged in response.

Strange, the kind of numbness that seemed to envelope Sephiroth at that moment, how only half of his brain seemed to be listening to the kind words Zack was using to solace their comrade. The other half hardly even felt lucid; that was the half that was still processing. Digesting. Processing and digesting the single word that continued to ring in his ears like a serrated echo.

Failure...

What a harsh word. What a mean-spirited word. What a... what a poisonous, inaccurate word. From the moment he met Strife, Sephiroth had known him to be anything but brilliant. He was the only trooper to have mustered the courage to ask him to spar, had chosen him, and had chosen him over the holograms. He was able to keep up with him during their match; he had displayed excellent form and swiftness; he had burned bright with spirit and potential, and had only improved in their many training sessions since. The only thing he didn't have, as far as Sephiroth was concerned, was a tolerance to Mako. A tolerance to Mako, he repeated... the single most artificial thing about being a SOLDIER.

"Cloud."

Suddenly, both Strife and Zack glanced up, two blue eyes blinking in sheer surprise. And it took an embarrassing amount of time for Sephiroth to even realize the informal address that had slipped his tongue.

He carried on anyway.

"Don't put yourself down, my friend," the General continued firmly. "You are a wonderfully skilled SOLDIER; you know that. And so do I. You have proven that time and time again that you are more than capable of climbing the ranks in SOLDIER, that you are capable of surviving even the harshest monsters in the training room. It's not your fault that Mako has created a barrier for you."

He paused for a moment, gazing at the wide-eyed boy as the truck rumbled and purred, still feeling as if there was more that needed to be said. More that he wanted to do.

And so, he stood up, lifting his hefty form off the bench.

And he made his way across the truck.

And he stopped in front of the blond, his shadow a towering splotch of ink stretching over him.

And he lowered his hand.

And he rested it upon the boy's free shoulder.

And he crouched down, bringing his voice to a near whisper.

"You should be very proud of yourself..." Sephiroth said softly, gingerly. "Very, very proud."

…

Because I am too.

"Hey, um. Excuse me!" Zack tightened his grip on the trooper, who had been rendered completely and utterly speechless by now. "You hear that, Spike? You hear that? That's some sincere Seph right there. Hard to come by. So I hope you know that you are one special kiddo."

Strife still didn't seem to have the words. "I..." His voice had grown taut again, yet not with the viselike grip of nausea, two strong hands gripping both his shoulders as he shifted his gaze back and forth between the two SOLDIERs. "So... I shouldn't keep the helmet on?"

"You kidding?!" Zack exclaimed, and realized in that moment that there was nothing preventing him from ruffling the nest of yellow quills—the likes of which he did proceed to ruffle quite viciously. "Of course not! And besides, I'm sure your buds would be thrilled to see ya. How are they gonna feel that joy if you don't show your face?" Mako-blue eyes turned to wink at him. "Heck... if I didn't see Seph for over a year, then my bud came to visit me and I didn't even know...? That sounds like torture!"

Sephiroth couldn't help but smirk. "Well... perhaps 'torture' is a little hyperbolic," he chuckled softly. "But Zack does have a point, Cadet. I'm sure your loved ones would be overjoyed to see you."

At this point, the coral had resurfaced on Strife's cheeks full-flare. "Alright, alright..." He finally broke into a small, almost imperceptible smile again. "I won't hide.."

"Now there's the Spike I know and love!" Zack ruffled his friend's hair even harder, earning a couple of playful swipes from the Cadet.

"C'mon, Zack,” he blushed. “Cut it out!"

"What? This?" Zack ruffled the spikes even harder.

"Zaacck..." Strife swatted at him, but couldn’t stop himself from laughing. "Sir... can you tell him to stop?"

Call him evil; call him absolutely, irredeemably evil. Because all Sephiroth could do in that moment was shake his head, straighten back up, and let a warm smirk blossom on his lips as he left the poor Cadet to fend for himself against Zack's antics.

"Welcome to my world, Cadet." And that was all he said as he glided back to the bench, sitting back down with a comfortable sigh and picking up his sketchbook.

Hmmm... perhaps the Chocobo needed its feathers just a little bit more ruffled.

He was about to get back to drawing when he heard Zack flopping back on the bench beside him.

Ooooh! Back to scribbling, pal? is what he expected to hear. Maybe even a you're not gonna hide that thing from me again... are ya?" He even prepared himself for the obvious answers.

Yet, seconds passed, and Sephiroth didn't hear either one of those things being chirped. And what he received instead was Zack resting his head on his shoulder, a nest of feathery quills brushing his chin as he whispered so soft and so delicately that his words hardly made a sound.

"...Thank you, bud. About Cloud."

Sephiroth lowered his sketchbook, Mako-green eyes softening at his treasured friend's gratitude. “Of course..." he whispered just as gently. "He deserved to hear it."

Zack squeezed his wrist.

"...See? This is the Seph I wanted the world to know about," he continued gingerly. "You're a good soul, old pal... A really, really good soul.”

“Oh, please…” Sephiroth chuckled.

“No, I mean it…! Really. You’re always there for everyone. You’ve been there for Spike since the day you met him. Just like…” He paused for a beat, names and words unspoken jolting through the air like a firefly, before squeezing his wrist even tighter.

“Just like you’ve always been there for me.”

Always…

Sephiroth’s heart seemed to swell.

It was almost magical, really, for Zack to be saying such things… when he was the one who had managed to change his life. Even long before the article, long before this new phase of his fame. When he was the one who’d been determined to find a way into the cage that had encased him, who never stopped trying to find a way in even after the rugged start to their bond, who had proven to him that life could be beautiful even after a storm, who had recognized how much the man was aching inside, who had mulishly clung onto him, and who had never let him go since.

It was magical, really, to be told such a beautiful thing… when the only thing he seemed to be doing was reciprocating what was already given.

And yet.

There was another beat, a long one. A fragile one. And then Sephiroth squeezed his friend's hand back, the loving gesture veiled behind the cardboard cover of the sketchbook.

”And you know I always will be.”

…My best fr—

The man was about to whisper something more when, suddenly, in a serrated jolt, like a flash of fire before his eyes, a sharp pang slashed against his temples. Just a fleeting sting—a small burst of nausea, a tiny scrape and scythe. But it was enough to tear a quiet hiss from his lips as a hand flew to his forehead.

"Bud?" Zack blinked in concern.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

"Yes," Sephiroth winced, the pain already beginning to subside. "Merely a headache. Perhaps I'm getting a little motion sick myself."

"Oh? Well... we have been on the road for a while. Maybe you just need to stretch your legs a bit!"

"Heh?" Sephiroth peeled his hand from his head.

"C'mon! Squat!" And then, before Sephiroth could even get another word in, Zack had bounced up from his seat to begin the frog-like motions.

Up, down, up, down, up, down, up down—

"Alright, alright. I've seen enough." But Sephiroth couldn't hide the amusement in his voice. "Rein in it."

"No can do!" Zack continued to squat in his strangely endearing way. "Gotta keep the blood pumping!"

Sephiroth shook his head, mercury bangs swaying with the motion as let his gaze drift towards Strife.

"Kids."

The trooper smirked.

"Hey! I heard that!"

Sephiroth didn't get a chance to get a very necessary it was intentional off his tongue before the truck abruptly lurched, halted, the air exploding with the knifelike sound of screeching tires and sliding crates as Zack was sent flying backwards mid-squad. Strong arms caught him before he could crash.

"What happened?!" Sephiroth roared to the driver as he steadied a disoriented Zack against his chest.

"Something's in the road, Sir!" came the dire reply. "I think it’s a monster."

Chapter Text

His expression calm and steady, Sephiroth watched the last of the Disgorgons fall, the emerald light radiating from his eyes mirroring the ethereal threads that ribboned and weaved through the air in their ritualistic dance to carry the winged monster to the Lifestream.

He also watched with a quiet, proud smile as Zack and Strife shared a victorious high-five, Masamune never lifted from his side.

"Heck yeah!" Zack's exuberant cheer echoed like a firework through the rocky terrain. "That was amazing, buddy!"

Strife met his friend's palm with equal fervor, voice only slightly subdued by sheepishness. "...Y-yeah! I can't believe we did it!"

"Well, I can!" Zack's joy rippled into joyous laughter, using his other hand to give the teen a playful swat on the arm. "Got an awesome trooper fighting here beside me!"

Even under his helmet, having donned it for protection, the blonde's smile burned even brighter.

Sephiroth couldn't help but mirror it.

"Well done, both of you." Jagged ground and stone crunched beneath the man's boots as he approached his younger comrades, the last wispy remnants of the monsters fading like smoke in his wake. "I didn't even count a single hit taken on your end."

"Yeah ya didn't." Zack turned to face him with a blazing grin, giving the Buster Sword a little familiar twirl before effortlessly resheathing it in punctuation. "Those things didn't stand a chance; not with the moves this one was pulling off." He shifted back to the still-sheepish Strife, eyes electric with both awe and Mako. "Where did you even learn those attacks, buddy?"

"I believe that would be from me,” Sephiroth couldn't help but answer with a hint of pride and arrogance of his own, floating his gaze over to meet the helmeted blue eyes. "I thought you've watched us train before."

"Well yeah—but I didn't know you'd gotten this good with a sword!" Zack smiled at the small katana clutched comfortably in the teen's hand, peppered with dust and scales. "You can prolly take down Seph one day!"

That finally reaped a chuckle from the cadet. "Well, I don't know about that..." Strife rubbed his neck with his free hand, a bashful smile then curling into a smirk. "Maybe you, though."

"Yeah?" Zack playfully raised an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest. "Well, I'll have you know I've lasted six minutes sparring with Seph before hitting the ground."

"Seven minutes," Strife immediately followed—which was then incidentally followed by Zack's mouth falling agape, eyes going just as wide.

"Seven? Wha—" Zack turned his cavernous expression back to him, and Sephiroth couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at the surprise and playfulness of it all.

This was quite amusing.

"Seven minutes indeed," he repeated casually, silver bangs dancing in the chilly breeze that whistled by. "It may have even been seven in a half."

"Well darn!" Zack's incredulity gave way to another chuckle as he placed his hands on his hips, the light in his eyes and smile conveying not even the faintest trace of genuine envy. "What do you even need me around for! Think you oughta just make Spike your second in command."

"Huh?" Strife exclaimed, suddenly terrified.

"He's only teasing, Cadet." Sephiroth's lips curled into a smirk, reaching out to place a warm and loving hand on his lieutenant's shoulder. "As if he would ever relinquish the opportunity to always be around to bother me."

Zack continued to laugh, kind and true. "Yeah, you got me there." And then he threw his smile-smirk back at Strife. "Like lasting in the training room is anything to hoot about, anyways. Seph could kick both our butts blindfolded."

"Heh."

"Oh, no doubt." Strife lowered his arm back to his side. "I'd be screwed if we had to fight him for real."

"Ditto," Zack laughed, although suddenly not quite as exuberant as before. It was as if something dipped in temperature inside him—just a notch, a tiny little sliver of something cold breezing through his body. And when he turned back around to face him, his chuckles ebbing away, Sephiroth could see the raw and earnest sincerity swimming in Zack's eyes as he said it:

"As if that would ever happen, though... right?"

There was a beat, then Sephiroth responded just as sincerely, the ghostly, unspoken phantom of Again clenching his heart as he gazed back at the friend he'd long sworn with everything inside of him to always cherish and protect.

"Never," Sephiroth said quietly, tightening his hold on his best friend's shoulder. "Don't ever worry about it."

It took another beat, but Zack smiled.

"Hey!" Suddenly came the booming, concerned call of the other infantryman in the distance—and it was then that Sephiroth remembered all at once that the obstacle in their way had been long cleared. "Is everything alright?!"

"Oh—shoot! Everything's just fine!" Zack waved back, the speckle of guilt in his voice portraying the same embarrassing realization. "Coming back now!"

He turned back to him for another quick moment, smiled a signature Zack smile, and then began jogging back to the truck.

Cloud raced behind him.

"Hey! Wait up!"

But not before stopping in front of the man, his expression turning to something of warm and soft gratitude.

"Thanks, by the way, for letting me and Zack take those things on. Know it woulda been a lot quicker if you just handled it, but..." He paused for a beat, shifting against the stone as he grinned. "It felt really good to act like a SOLDIER. Oh! And thanks for bringing my sword—I'm really glad I got to use it."

And then he was off, catching up to Zack.

A smirk found its way back onto his visage as Sephiroth watched them go, watching the two young shapes jogging out over the rocks and bumping shoulders and chuckling and laughing and bounding back into the truck like the entire world waited there inside it.

That smirk turning into a fond smile, Sephiroth followed behind.

He would never let anything happen to them.

Only about forty minutes later the jagged stone and earth of the road softened into smooth, coppery dirt, and the nauseatingly bumpy rhythm of the truck finally quelled into something much more pleasant as the truck wheeled to a stop in front of the gates.

Zack was out before the doors even fully opened; Sephiroth waited for Strife to follow suit before instructing their driver to find a good and unobstructive place to station the truck, then was taking his first steps onto the wide backwater road that led to the gateway.

The heat of the sun felt good against his face.

Eyes soft, hair glittering like raw silver against the late afternoon light, Sephiroth made his way to where his team was standing—both Zack and Cloud having come to a stop under the gate's shadow, pausing to absorb, as if to bask in the fresh air and crisp sunshine and the victory of arriving.

"Ah, finally!" Zack stretched his arms over his neck, effortlessly voicing Sephiroth's point. "That sure was a journey. Like... how many hours? Ten? Fifteen?

"Six," Sephiroth corrected him, even though he knew good and well that his friend was only joking. He would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to have finally gotten out of the truck for good himself.

Obviously, however, neither of them could be feeling any more anxious than...—

"How does it feel, my friend?" Sephiroth turned his gaze to the helmeted teen. "To be home, I mean."

Strife took a moment to respond, taking a beat to gaze at the arching wooden letters of the village he'd left not all too long ago. His  his gaze briefly flickered to Zack, and then back to the sign, and then back to him, a small and honest smile dancing on his lips as he tightened his grip on his gun-exchanged-sword.

"...Good," he said at last, genuinely. "Really, really good. But also a little... I don't know... nerve-wracking. You know what I mean?"

For a moment, the response seemed so obvious—so easy. It almost slipped out of his mouth without him even noticing, without him even being able to process the true weight of what he was about to say, without fully feeling the sting of the words or the bitter taste of telling a lie.

I wouldn't know... I have no hometown was what he almost said—what one part of him seemingly wanted to say, what one part of seemingly wanted to bite out like crunching down on an acidic block of ice.

But he stopped himself.

Before the words could come out, Sephiroth stopped himself.

The warm, cozy darkness of a room with films playing in front of him; the awkward yet irreplaceable warmth of a young SOLDIER falling asleep against him during the very first scenes; sitting at a familiar table and eating greasy Wutain food, pizza, burgers, or whatever his friend wanted to order in for the night; sparring in the training room, feeling rushes of joy and adrenaline he hadn't felt in years; telling jokes by the vending machine; telling stories at lunch; feeling the toasty, cocooning velvet of a blanket being tucked around him, having fallen asleep on his best friend's sofa, hearing a gentle "goodnight, bud," against his ears, and opening one eye to see Zack quietly walking away.

It may not have been a "town", by definition alone.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't have a home.

"Yes..." Sephiroth said at last, a small smile budding as he nodded at the young cadet. "I do."

And he looked at Zack, who looked at him in turn, the jade eyes softening even further as he watched the sapphires melt in warm and intimate understanding.

"Although I'm admittedly not far from home often."

He was about to say something more when, suddenly, snapping him back to the present, a series of heavy footsteps came clomping like Chocobo talons from the distance, and Sephiroth turned around to see a middle-aged bearded man approaching the gates, jogging eagerly yet unhurried as his face danced with the shadows cast from his bobbing country hat.

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting," came the throaty, rurally-accented greeting as he stopped by the archway, smiling warm and pleasantly. "My name is Zander; I'm the mayor here. Completely forgot to check the time." And he let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle.

"Hey, didn't keep us waiting at all!" Zack immediately chirped, hoping to assuage the man's guilt as he would for anyone. "Just got here a minute ago."

"Ah—good, good." Zander put his hands on his hips and surveyed the three personnel. "May I ask whom I'm speaking to?"

"Zack Fair here, at your service." And Zack did a little salute to accentuate his point. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise." Zander gave a cordial smile in return, then shifted said smile until it was directed his way. A few semi-beats passed through the air as the smile lingered, as if he was waiting for him to say something. Waiting and waiting and waiting.

And then, in an almost embarrassing dawn of realization, Sephiroth realized he was.

...Oh.

Well alright then.

"Ah." Sephiroth reached out his hand in a cordial greeting, hoping it wasn't too obvious that he still wasn't used to... introducing himself. Prior to the article, everyone would spout his name before he could even mouth the first letter, would hastily voice all nine of them like they knew his name better than he did. Prior to the article, introductions were very one-sided.

Now, he was shaking people's hands, nodding cordially, and owning his name like it was His.

"Sephiroth."

"Yes, of course." Zander shook the offered hand, a steady and unhurried movement. "It's a pleasure to have you here, Sir."

Sephiroth nodded, the faintest traces of the smile still lingering. "Thank you."

"Of course, of course. And who is your third member, if I may ask?" Casually, Zander then turned his attention to Strife—who undeniably stiffened, hesitating, as the man's shaded eyes fell upon him with a curious smile.

Sephiroth followed the man's gaze, turning over his shoulder to face the poor helmeted infantryman.

...It's alright he was saying, encouraging. It's alright.

He gave his friend a small nod.

Zack gave Strife a large smile.

You got this, pal...!

And Strife looked between the two SOLDIERs, dithering…

Before suddenly reaching up, carefully placing his hands on his helmet, and that shock of yellow spikes bouncing statically from his head as blue eyes strained and blinked and adjusted to the light.

Zander's smile immediately brightened.

"Why... if it isn't Cloud Strife!" he chuckled in joyous surprise. "It's good to see you back. You look good in that spiffy military wear."

"Heh." Strife's gaze drifted to the dirt below. "...Thanks. It's good to see you too, Mr. Zander."

"He's a good Cadet," Sephiroth said, unsure of quite what pushed him to when Strife was already so flustered. Only that it felt right.

"Yeah he is!" Zack chirped, and Sephiroth couldn't help but smile a bit as the First gave his coral-flaring friend a bump on the arm. "Best Cadet around."

"I'm sure he is," Zander continued to chuckle, adjusting his hat an inch on his head. "Ol' Claudia's going to be over the moon to hear that."

"Oh yeah!" Zack's eyes came alight as he twirled around to Strife. "Isn't that your Ma? You should go totally visit her! Then I can brag all about you! Right, S... ep...h...?"

Somewhere, near the tail-end of his sentence, Zack's voice seemed to float away. It seemed to drift apart—as if it were dissolving into static, as if he was being slowly dipped underwater. Liquid seemed to fill his ears; nausea seemed to rise and pulse in his psyche. And fragments of dialogue seemed to crash within it like green and sickening tides in the sea.

...Ma.

ls that your Ma?

She'd be over the moon...

Ma...

Is that...—?

And something sharp slashed against his temples.

"Hnnn."

Another small hiss tore from his throat, inadvertently cutting off the conversation he couldn't hear above the water. It felt like the same jagged scythe from the truck, the same bitter sting. Only that it was fiercer, deeper, as if scraping something far more raw and visceral and vulnerable.

"Whoah... Seph!"

Firm hands were suddenly on his shoulders, steadying him, anchoring him in the sea...

And the familiar voice pulled him back to the surface again.

Sephiroth blinked, then blinked again, opening up his eyes to see the concerned sapphires gazing into his own.

Gaia..

"Hey... you okay?" he asked again, this time a little quieter. "Scared me a little."

It took a moment, but Sephiroth nodded.

The headache was already gone.

"I'm fine," he said, and that much wasn't a lie, urging neutrality back into his voice as he straightened again. "I'm fine. It's simply... been a long trip."

"I can imagine," Zander commented, his own voice tinted with a hint of concern. "Why don't you check in at the inn? Rest up for tomorrow."

There was no reason to concern Zack with something as trivial as a migraine, nor was there a reason to taint Strife's experience here.

"Sounds smart to me,” Zack nodded, tossing a brief but grateful smile. "Seph?"

Well... so much for not concerning his friend. Sephiroth knew that tone. That was Zack's "yeah I know I'm like your junior and everything but you're still my bud and it's my job to take care of you" tone, and there was no arguing when Zack played that vocal card.

"Agreed," Sephiroth nodded, not that he particularly had any other plans regardless. "That would be nice."

He almost walked away, through the gates, before remembering one crucial detail.

That would have not been good.

"Strife," he said then, turning over his shoulder to bestow a quiet, knowing nod to the Cadet. "Consider yourself off-duty until tomorrow." And the man paused, waiting a beat, letting the aching throb in his heart pass before continuing.

"Please... Feel free to visit your family."

Then he was walking away, through the gates, and into the quint little town, the air around him completely unruffled and unchanged as he glided his way to the inn.

But not before he heard the frantic clomping of young footsteps behind him.

"I'll meet ya at your house, Spike!" Zack called out behind him. "Just gonna make sure Seph is okay."

The sun beginning to melt into the horizon, metal springs squeaked and squealed as Zack sat on the mattress beside him. It was a twin bed that they sat upon—one out of two in the room—but there was still more than enough space for them to rest comfortably shoulder-to-shoulder, a slightly thick silence filling the quaint little space around them.

Zack smiled as he gazed idly at the window.

"Cute town, right?"

Sephiroth's own eyes traveled outside, the panes gilded, his voice low.

"Indeed."

Zack stretched his arms over his head, blinking curiously. "You think the article reached here?"

A smirk resurfaced on the man's lips as he turned back to his friend. "Heh. Considering that the innkeeper gave me the choice between the suite and this room, I would say there's a decent chance."

Zack mirrored his smirk, lowering his arms, blue eyes beaming with genuine pride. "Yeah, you're probably right. Guess the people have been pretty chill here too, now that i'm thinking about it."

"Very," Sephiroth agreed with a nod, inexplicably grateful that the days of being swarmed by locals on missions were seemingly behind them. Yes—residents had smiled, their eyes had widened, maybe a star or two flashing in their eyes as he had walked by. But what was most important to him was the fact that those stars were fleeting. Like comets they flickered by, a brief and ethereal streak in their gape, before the sky in their eyes returned to normal and they relaxed again and they allowed him to carry on with nothing more than tossing him a polite, respectful grin.

It still felt so surreal.

He gazed at Zack for another moment, his own eyes softening.

"You really changed my life... You understand that, correct?"

Zack shifted back to him, the smirk on his visage melting into a warm and proud smile. "Aww..." he beamed. "Well, that was the plan! I'm just glad it kicked in so fast." And he reached out, draping a loving arm around his shoulder. "'Bout time everyone treated you right."

"...Heh," Sephiroth said again, until his gaze inadvertently floated back to the window as if drawn. A couple of beats drummed through the air then—neither speaking, only staring, the silence still humid and carrying an almost smoggy weight. And it was only a matter of time before the air became too stifling to breathe in.

"Hey..." Zack's voice had grown softer, tender. "Is something eating you?"

The jade eyes were still fixed on the window as he considered Zack's question, wondering exactly how he could word it, another "I'm fine" climbing up his throat and ready to depart. Which would have been a perfectly adequate response, had he not been talking to someone who knew how to read him better than anyone else on the planet.

And he just couldn't bring himself to lie.

"...Is Cloud with his mother?"

"Yeah," Zack nodded softly, and it was clear from the flicker in his eyes that he was beginning to understand. "Does that make you feel a little off?"

There was another brief swath of silence, Sephiroth dipping his gaze from the window to stare at the intricate designs woven into the carpet below.

"...I suppose it does," he said quietly, delicately, And then he was suddenly shaking his head like there was an infectious tick that needed to be cleansed, needing to purge the cruel and meaningless and selfish thoughts from his mind.

"I'm... I'm just glad he has her."

"Hey, hey..." Zack didn't miss a beat, immediately sensing what was unspoken like a man who could see the dead, leaning closer against him and squeezing his armor-shed shoulder. "It's okay to feel what you're feeling, bud. You don't have to force yourself."

...Heh. Maybe Zack knew him a little too well.

Sephiroth's gaze continued to hover above the carpet, the faint trace of amusement quickly corroded by the bitter feelings deciding to stir like acid in his heart.

"...I wonder what it's like," he couldn't help but say, almost impulsive, "to have a parent to return to."

He couldn't see them anymore, but Sephiroth could practically feel the way Zack's eyes ached and throbbed with sympathy.

"Jenova," he said quietly. "That was the name of your Ma... right?"

Catlike slits ephemerally throbbed, dilating then shrinking again.

And he returned a silent nod.

And he remained silent for several beats.

And his body seemed to melt as Zack wrapped both arms around him, resting soothingly against the crook of his neck.

"She'd be so, so proud of you, Seph..." came the kind, gingery whisper. "Jenova... she would tell you every day how proud she is of you. Every day she would see what kind of amazing, kind, honest person you are. Every day she would, bud... Every single day." And he squeezed him tighter, pouring every beat of his aching heart into the embrace.

"She would see what I see, pal. And she would love you, too."

...Love you more than anything.

Strange, really, how words were always the most elusive when you needed them most. They always came rushing out when they were unnecessary, when they were useless and unwanted. But then they refused to flow in times when they were called for.

Something wet flickering in the emerald eyes, he leaned into his best friend's touch, and said all that he could muster.

"...Thank you."

Bzzzt!

Suddenly, the abrupt sound of a PHS buzzing severed the serenity of the moment, and Sephiroth would be lying if he said he was a little disappointed to feel Zack's arms unraveling from him to answer the device.

That was, until he saw Zack's eyes light up even brighter than the screen.

"Hey! You'll never believe it!" the First eagerly started. "Spike just said that his Ma made dinner just for you—garlic shrimp and pasta!"

Like reflex, Sephiroth's gaze snapped up from the floor. 

"...Really?"

"Ay, that got ya going!” Zack's lips bloomed with a smirk, punching his arm teasingly. “Said we can come over whenever. Everything's all ready."

Curiosity eclipsing all else, Sephiroth cast a fleeting glance at the window to see the sky ablaze with sunset. Perfect—all signs pointed towards it being an appropriate time for supper.

Especially considering what said supper contained.

"We don't have to, pal..." Zack's smile had dimmed a little as he turned back to him. "Really. If it makes you more comfortable, we can stay. I'll get some soup for us—"

"No..." Sephiroth shook his head, and he was unable to feel the weight of the parasitic thoughts any longer. "It's alright. We can go."

And he gazed calmly at Zack, gazing into the concerned sapphire eyes with a steady, honest, mended light.

And Zack knew he meant it. 

"Well... awesome then!" The First brightened up again as he typed an affirmative to Strife. "Let's head over now; I'm starving."

Chapter Text

There was an obstruction.

Like a clogged artery in an organism’s system; like a boulder smothering the entrance to a tunnel; like a gruesome, hideous monster lurking in the labyrinth of His mind, guarding its core, driving away each and every attempt to snake through those twisting corridors and reach the beautiful center of what was rightfully hers.

Yes, there was an obstruction.

A blockage.

A roadblock.

A guardian...

She knew there was.

Oh, yes, she did...

Something was fighting against her, repelling the ghosts of thoughts she had so preciously conjured; raking out the seeds she had taken so much time to plant; willing her away as if she were a fatal plague in need of purification rather than the sole desire that He had yearned for every night of his life. And it was not long that she had grown rather tired and vexed at the mysterious pulse battling against her own rippling sensations, the strange and foreign vibrations that countered her own with heartbeats of something unreadable, intangible, and enigmatically warm against the arctic pocket of bitterness wherein she dwelled within his brain. She didn't understand it—the sheer, infuriating force blocking her will and yet was not the Will of her prey because she knew that Will was some of the weakest of any of her subjects since her own creation.

This "battle" had been going on for quite some time, of course. Her species had no such measurement of such things—only that she knew she always endeavored to claim her territory when He was asleep, fighting to slither between the cracks in his facaded mortar and coo her mesmeric whispers into his ears. She had been successful only in the realm of His slumbering subconscious, having mastered the art of manipulating and kneading the nightly array of images His sleeping mind constructed, effortlessly able to mold them to her desire when they weren't anchored by the inexplicable gravity that drove her away in waking time. She was too weak to reach him then.

Too weak.

Too far.

Too distant...

Until all at once, He wasn't.

He was close now.

So close.

So very close...

Closer than they had ever been since the buddings of His conception.

So close that she could feel Him...

His breath, His heartbeat, His thoughts...

His fears, His insecurities—

His desires...

She could feel them all, suddenly thick and tangible within the nebulous expanse that encompassed her. She could see them—she could see them all. And for the first time since the first breath of oxygen entered their lungs, she knew what to do.

A mother.

A mother.

He wanted a mother.

How pure, how fascinating...

How so very vulnerable...

And so, with this newfound knowledge, she tried to reach him.

"Hnnn."

And it had worked.

A strum, a graze, a pulse... She had elicited a genuine reaction from him, at last breaching the mortar that she could never and snaking through those labyrinthine channels and reaching its beating cen—

And it had stopped.

Drawn away, purified, exiled from His awakened psyche.

And back into the blackness she went.

It was the gravity, the monster. She knew it was. Oh, oh yes she did... It was the same burst of warmth, the same enigmatic current ripping her away from her prize.

Only this time, she didn't let it go.

She didn't let it pass by.

This time, when the force fought back, she did something she had never been able to do before.

She looked through His eyes.

She glimpsed into His world.

And she saw it.

… 

Oily, jutted hair; electric-lit eyes the color of her blood; a scar running across the rightmost side of the he jaw as if a pair of blades had incised the terrain of vulnerable skin.

It was a human.

A human.

... 

Pitiful.

Pathetic.

And oh-so very Amusing.

Threaded between bone and blood, imbued into the fibers of His very being as unshakable and fundamental as the strands of code that made her treasure's biology. For one to even think she could simply be eradicated from his existence, unraveled and unplucked from the helix like a tainted tress of hair... Only the archaic minds of Mankind would have the sheer, destructive arrogance to cling onto such a laughable illusion.

It was their own arrogance that allowed her to have such unadulterated, fresh prey to begin with.

Connected at brith.

Sewn into his bloodstream.

Nestled and grafted into His cells.

It had been quite an enlightening experience rifling through His conscious mind, combing through dreams and memory like an endless library wherein she possessed every tome to His life, learning information she had never imagined about her host and absorbing them as a leech would on a cattle's blood—all because there was no frontier stopping her now, that iron barrier finally broken by their sheer proximity and connection.

She relished in her feast.

She relished in her reading.

Books, documents, records...

Thoughts, memory, emotion.

She learned them all.

She learned everything.

Fragments of scalpels, blood, syringes.

Fire, smoke, and islands.

Shards of red, blue, silver.

All dancing as one.

Then stabbing, betrayal, and desertion.

Wings, grief, and yearning.

Loneliness.

Anger.

Hatred...

Hatred towards a human, a young and vulnerable human.

Blame, vitriol, loneliness...

Fury, grudges, fighting...

"I HATE YOU!"

So, so much hatred...

"YOU MADE ME DO IT ALONE...!"

So, so much.

"You're naive! BLIND."

"Like HELL you're a hero...!"

So...

"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! NOW!"

So...

"It should have been you who I had to kill..."

...

...

Only that hatred didn't last forever.

Rather than tearing them apart, destroying them, the venom that had flowed through their veins had been purified. And she saw it happen—the gradual and saddening degradation of such hated, watching the burning pain of such a sight through the sacrifice of her mind's eye. Deliciously jagged memories of screams and tears and violence deteriorated into apologies and lamentation and promise; hands striking skin dissolving into a feeble arm wrapping around cotton; tears of raw anger weakened into tears being absorbed in a leather coat; beautifully whetted roars of blame and fire and poison dulled into the useless edge of a lifelong promise to never relive such emotions again.

As much as the venture through such deteriorated memories shredded her own being, it was ultimately worth the soulful sacrifice in the end. Never would she have been able to find the throbbing weakness in the monster's body without such a search; never would she able to finally come arrive at a solution that will finally allow her to claim to her prey, devour Him whole, and finally gouge out all the acidic emotions that bound Him to his body. Never would she finally be taking the first steps into getting her delicious vengeance on this planet for sealing her away.

His hatred may have been extinguished, smothered to mere embers...

But embers could be ignited again.

She had finally learned of the accursed, foul, wretched bond that had been keeping her and Sephiroth apart.

“My best bud…”

And she was going to sever it forever.

Chapter Text

Compared to the other quaint little homes encircling the village, Strife's residence didn't appear much different from a purely physical standpoint, which probably explained why he and Zack found the young cadet waiting for them on his porch as they made their way down the coppery stretch of dirt road. Sundown had already begun to bathe the town in a rich orange tint, the temperature long having dipped into something biting and brisk, and Sephiroth couldn't decide whether it was guilt or something more that made him fiercely hope that Strife hadn't been waiting for them in the cold for too long.

Because, really, he had taken at least nine long minutes to get ready after Zack sent the affirmative text messa...—

Oh, good. Strife was wearing his scarf.

"Hey, Spike!" Zack waved as if he hadn't seen the boy an hour or so prior, jogging ahead the last few steps to reach the bottom of the porch, oily spikes dancing and swaying with the dusky breeze. He put his hand on his hips as he admired the house, whistling kindly. "This is such a neat little place you got here."

"Aww... well. Heh. Thanks." Strife shyly rubbed his neck, peeling his elbows off the railing. "It's really not all that different from the others."

"Sure it is!" Zack chirped.

"How?" Sephiroth raised an eyebrow, closing the distance between himself and the porch steps. "Every house looks the same."

"Well, aren't you just one to flatter."

"I'm merely being objective," Sephiroth grunted, although a quick smirk at Strife told the cadet that he was only quipping. A neat little place it was indeed—even if for no other reason than because he knew the person who lived within its walls, which was something he could only say for very few residences across the planet.

"Apologies if I offended you."

"Oh! None taken at all..." Strife chuckled, although the ripples of amusement didn't last too long before he was bringing his hand back to his side, the sheepishness in his gaze giving way to a gentle and genuine concern. "...Everything okay, Sir? Is your head feeling better?"

Sephiroth couldn't help but smile a little, touched by his trooper's earnest inquiry. Strange... how even with the article's influence, he almost seemed to forget what it was like for multiple people to care so authentically about his well-being.

It really was nice.

His expression soft, Sephiroth returned an honest nod, one of the rare times wherein he truly meant the assurance he was giving. "I'm just fine. Thank you, Strife."

"Of course," came his heartfelt response, watching Strife balance his body back over railing." Maybe you were a little drained from the trip?"

"Probably," Sephiroth concurred, his gentle gaze drifting toward the smiling First at his side, both gratitude and fondness glimmering in the emerald waters. "Regardless... you can thank our friend for restoring my spirit."

Sapphire eyes met his own with a beam, cheeks slightly coral against the cold. "Wha? Aww, shucks... I didn't do nothing."

"Untrue," Sephiroth chuckled. "Don't listen to him, Cadet. He is the sole reason why I'm here right now."

"Se-eeph..."

"Oh! Believe me," Strife joined in on the affectionate assault. "I know, I know. Zack has helped me out of a slump more times than you can imagine."

"Heh. Is that so?"

"Totally! Every time I needed some confidence, some cheer, every time I needed a friend... Zack has been there. From the moment we met in Modeoheim."

"Mmn. I can relate very well."

"Guyyysss!" Zack had broken into quiet laughter by now, shoving him slightly in an obvious attempt to shut his commander up. "You're smothering me here...!"

Sephiroth echoed the humorous song, grateful that most people seemed to be tucked into their homes by now, continuing to regard his best friend with a fondness and amusement that even the few still scattered about would have trouble believing.

"Heh. Perhaps it's time you had a taste of your own medicine."

"Oh, can it!" Zack playfully swat at him.

"Mmn. I will not. I think you should experience some karma. Don't you agree, Cadet?"

Strife's smile grew lovingly mischievous. "Absolutely."

"Cloooud!"

"Very well." Sephiroth pawed away another one of Zack's swats. "Perhaps I should start by saying you are admired by every soul in ShinRa."

"Second that!"

"This is cruel, guys!"

"Oh. And let's not forget that you remedied my loneliness when I need a companion most."

"Seeeeeeeepphh!" Zack slumped defeatedly against his shoulder, a doughy smile on the verge of melting right off his face. "You're gonna kill me! Stooppppp!"

Sephiroth very much didn't want to stop, soft and loving chuckles continuing to bubble and bubble from his throat. Why did no one ever tell him how good it felt to verbally asphyxiate others with affection? Zack had surely done the same to him enough times for him to figure out how enjoyable it must be. Very mean, granted, but enjoyable.

"You should know an eye for an eye is my policy."

"That still doesn't mean you should kill your best buddy!"

"Why not?"

"You tell him, Sir. I think it's a perfectly logical murder motivation."

"Oh, c'mon...!"

Laughing still, Sephiroth was about to enact more of his love-laden revenge when, abruptly, cutting through their conversation like a velvet knife, the door to Strife's house came flying open in a burst of golden illumination—

"My Shiva! How long have all you poor boys been out in the cold? Come inside!"

—immediately followed by the worried voice of a tall, blonde woman standing on the threshold, golden bangs quivering in the breeze, azure eyes scanning all three personnel with an air of... of what?... of sheer something that Sephiroth had never felt emanate from a complete stranger before.

...

And it made him stiffen.

"Mommm." Strife was the first to react to the voice, hopping off the railing with a faint resurgence of sheepishness. "We're totally fine. Don't worry."

"Well, yes, I won't worry about you, you little polar bear. But what about your friends?" She surveyed the two SOLDIERs down the porch, another serrated breeze cutting by just to prove her point, though that didn't stop the smile from blooming on her lips as she saw the position he and Zack were in—that of "gooey-faced lieutenant slouching over his pinkish commander's unarmored shoulder."

...

Now this was just awkward on multiple levels.

"Oop!" Zack peeled off his shoulder in order toss the woman an assuring smile, white teeth flashing against the fiery dusk. "Sorry for worrying ya, ma'am. We were just fooling around. All's good here!"

The woman—Strife's mother, excuse him—nodded warmly in understanding, appearing genuinely assuaged by Zack's energy. "Ah! Good, good. I'm glad you were having some fun." She then gestured inside her home, beckoning toward the warm yellow curtain behind her. "Please, though, come in! Dinner's all ready. Oh—StormCloud! Help me set the table, would you?"

...Alright. Sephiroth's muscles loosened a little upon seeing the sheer color that Strife's cheeks flared to.

"Um... yeah! Coming!"

As the two blondes disappeared into their humble abode, Sephiroth felt his arm being squeezed, turning slightly to find Zack's gaze pulsing with that same concern and sympathy from back in the inn, lips weighed into a vague frown.

"...You okay?" he practically mouthed, his voice hardly above an airy whisper. "Felt ya tense up a little."

Sephiroth waited a beat before responding. "...Yes," he ultimately assured, still mainly meaning it, emerald currents calm and steely against the brittle air. "I'll be fine. It was merely a... strange reaction. A startle. I was caught-off guard."

Admittedly, Zack didn't look entirely convinced by the logic, though not unconvinced enough to protest. "'Kay..." he nodded in understanding. "I'm here though, pal. If you at all feel wonky at any point... just lemme know. I'll think of an excuse."

Sephiroth's lips curled into a vague smirk. "Thank you..." he said sincerely, more grateful than he would ever be able to display, emerald eyes softening as their Mako-light danced with shards of blue. "But I think I'll be able to handle a little bit of 'wonky.'"

He had already committed to spending supper time with the Strifes, way back in the inn, and that is precisely what he would to do. Anything less than full completion of said supper would be a devastating boxing glove to his pride.

Amused, Zack mirrored his gentle smirk, a transparent sign that he knew Sephiroth was being truthful. "Alright, alright. Just wanted to make sure." He padded his arm for emphasis, expression then blossoming into an eager smile. "Now let's go get some grub!"

The house.

Smelled.

Divine.

Had anyone been looking close enough, they would have seen the feline slits in his eyes balloon into glimmering obsidian moons amid the green, almost immediately engulfed in the delicious and toasty aroma of his favorite meal the moment he stepped through the door. Such a scent was even enough to rival that of the Turk's lounge when he had visited; the only difference was that Strife's house, perhaps based purely on its structure, was just so much... what was the word...? so much cozier. The warmth from the kitchen burned through the entire abode in a thick bubble of flameless heat, ribboning through the foyer and dining room and circulating all throughout the wooden bones of the house, all complemented by the rhythmic sizzle of the fireplace that graciously breathed its own snugness into the air.

Captivated, glistening black saucers gazed around the room, absorbing all its humble trinkets and quaint decorations, admiring the aged strips of wood that lined the floors, the polished wooden table that had been set for four, the little coast of cobblestone that divided the kitchen from dining room..

What a neat little place indeed.

"May I take your coat?" Mrs. Strife's voice reined him back to the present, cordially extending her arm with the expectation that he would shed the only layer he was currently wearing above his torso.

...

Well.

This was also awkward.

"Oh—" Sephiroth's gaze fell to his leather attire, swallowing silently upon remembering that he had closed it. "I'm... I'm not exactly—"

"Oh! This guy doesn't believe in shirts," Zack finished from behind him, sensing that he was struggling to complete the sentence naturally. "He don't got nothing under that coat."

"Well—" Sephiroth straightened, willing the sheepish color off his cheeks as he scoffed. "I wouldn't say it's a matter of believing..."

"Sure it is," Zack playfully gave his arm a poke. "Right, Spike? This man is a shirt non-believer."

Setting the last plate on the table, Strife's head popped up at his name, flinching with only a nanosecond or two of hesitation before the mischievous smirk from earlier came crawling back. "I mean..." he said slowly, purposefully. "I've never seen you wear a shirt, Sir."

Green eyes widened in cold, stinging betrayal. "Strife..."

"Well, it's true!"

"Ye-eaaah! That's my buddy!" Zack hopped over to the table to give the blond a high-five, so brutally backstabbed by his own trusted student, watching the two younger teens laugh and tease and exchange more high-five variants than he ever thought existed.

And it was in that exact moment that Sephiroth knew he really would be just fine.

"My lord..." Mrs. Strife couldn't help but break into quiet laughter at their antics. "Y'all are adorable. Please, forgive me for asking! I certainly don't see a problem with a man deciding to wear a coat instead of a shirt."

The tension leaving his soul like sullied water down a drain, Sephiroth allowed his expression to soften into thorough amusement, wholeheartedly appreciating the validation of his perfectly acceptable attire. Seldom did he ever receive it from anyone else other than the two personnel currently committing treason on him.

"Heh. Thank you, Mrs. Strife." Sephiroth turned toward the woman with a thankful nod, smirk only slightly veiled by his tidy bangs.

"Please, call me Claudia!" laughed his cheerful response. "You'll make me feel old with this 'Mrs' business. Which reminds me—I haven't even properly welcomed you! How rude is that?" She extended her hand, smile bright against the cozy dimness, not a shard of fear or hesitance present in the cloudless blue eyes.

All of which was mirrored when Sephiroth accepted the gesture, even more naturally than he'd done with Mayor Zangan.

"Thank you for coming, Sir! It's a pleasure to have you."

"The pleasure is all ours. But let's be mutual with the casualties." He offered the briefest hint of a smile, inarticulately grateful to be in a place where he could be so casual. "You are more than welcome to refer to me by my name. Incidentally..."—Green eyes drifted toward the table, finding Zack and Strife now engaged in bubbly conversation, mirthful laughter rippling out into the room.—"That young man is my lieutenant, Zack."

"Huh?" Zack's head shot up at his name. "Oh! For sure! It's great to meet you, ma'am! Thanks so much for having us!"

Claudia's smile continued to burn bright, radiating with an aura almost as soothing as the sizzle of the fireplace behind them. "Of course, of course! Thank you for coming. Please, take a seat. I'll bring dinner right out."

The food.

Smelled.

Divine.

Sitting between Zack and Strife (as, heh... both wanted to sit next to him), Sephiroth did his best not to look too entranced by the steaming pot of pasta when it was set upon the table, green eyes only mildly following its every move as Mrs. Strife—Claudia, excuse him—served generous helpings of noodles onto each of their plates. A polite round of "thank you(!s)" exchanged from all three personnel, and Sephiroth's torture came to an end as the trio were permitted to dig in.

Which he did, of course, with only the upmost dignity and class.

...

Sephiroth inconspicuously licked a piece of fish from his teeth.

"Oh man..." Zack forked another piece of pasta from his plate, voicing his thoughts with an animation and cheer that Sephiroth never could. "This is delicious, ma'am!"

Sephiroth licked another piece from his canines his agreement.

"Please, you're too kind." Claudia's warm chuckle rang like a melody across the table. "I was so excited to make it. Had all the ingredients ready ever since Cloud wrote to me that y'all were coming for a mission."

"Really?" Zack swallowed another tangle of noodles.

"Of course! Didn't want you hardworking men to come all this way without at least getting some good retribution." Her tender smile floated the General's way, the flash of pearly teeth gentle and subtly humorous, oceanic eyes still aglow with that soft yet fire-hearted energy. "I know it's not much, Sephiroth, but I do hope you can enjoy a taste of your favorite meal away from home."

Stiffening slightly, green eyes blinked in gentle surprise at her remark.

...But it tastes like home were the words that reflexively climbed up Sephiroth's throat at that moment, obstructed only by the tight seal of his lips as he swallowed his own snarl of fish-laced laces. And thank Gaia he was swallowing. How strange it would have been for those syllables to escape. What... what did they even mean? What did home even taste like? Surely the pasta didn't taste like greasy strips of potato or breaded Chocobo from the mess hall... right? No—no of course not. It was merely the warmth that tasted familiar, the same toasty, velvety fire that purred in his heart when he sat in the cafeteria sharing fried food with his men, the same comforting aura that ribboned around him like the silky threads of a cocoon…—

Alright. He was taking far too long to respond.

Sephiroth pretended to swallow another round of pasta, offering their host a slow and gentle nod as he conjured up his reply. "I do indeed enjoy it," he said quietly, improvising. "Thank you very much for your kind consideration."

"For real!" Zack added on with a playful elbow. "I can see it in his eyes; little things makes him happier than some five-star-fish pasta. You just improved this guy's day tenfold!"

"Aww." Claudia bubbled with another melodic giggle. "I suppose that was your whole point."

"Sorry?" Zack blinked, lowering his elbow

"Your article!" Strife supplied from the warrior's left. "Ma was telling me all about it: the thing was the headliner of the local papers when it made its rounds here. Everyone was glued to it."

"Aww man... really?!"

"Didn't we already have this discussion?" Sephiroth eyed his friend in newfound amusement, secretly glad the spotlight was only tangentially related to him now. "Your ludicrous writing spread its influence all around the world. Where do you think all those letters came from?"

"Yeah... I guess!" Zack rubbed his neck with a chuckle, the poor SOLDIER clearly a little flustered. "Guess I just didn't expect it to, I don't know... blow up like it did. Thought it'd might change the minds of some ShinRa employees, maybe a few dozen folk on the street, but..."

"You'd be surprised," Claudia sagely smiled. "All it takes is a single match to start a huge fire. Small acts of care tend to feed into others, create ripple effects. Never underestimate how much good one little something can do."

"And a lot of good it has done..." Sephiroth couldn't help but confirm, bringing another spoonful of noodles to his mouth, feline eyes drifting side to side to eye both his companions. "I don't even think I would have met your son if not for the article."

"Oh..." Strife turned back to his plate, suddenly seeming like he wanted to dissolve into the table, the familiar display of sheepishness earning him a quiet chuckle from Sephiroth. "I, uh..."

"Is that so?" Claudia's eyes widened with sapphire stars. "I always thought you met him through Zack here."

"Oh, no..." Sephiroth's expression softened into an affectionate smirk. "He was one of the very first people to ever approach me after the article's release. The very first person after Zack to ask me to spar, rather than train with the holographic duplicates we have back at ShinRa. And I can safely say I am very, very, very grateful that he did."

Strife wiped his face with a napkin.

Claudia's smile broadened tenfold.

Zack's smile was even wider.

Sephiroth smirk became even more sincerely mischievous.

"I do mean it, too. What an honest and kind young man. Always putting his best effort forth in training; always so determined; always so resilient."

"Oh man..." Strife was masking his face behind his hands, a flustered smile winking through the youthful fingers. "Make it stop..."

"Mmn. And what potential he already illustrates. He even recently told Zack and I that he felt a little crestfallen to return home without the title of SOLDIER..." Sephiroth's eyes mellowed as he thought back to the truck, remembering the reassurances and contradictions that still rang loud and true inside him, green ponds gazing at the young boy and all that he had accomplished in such a short swath of time in ShinRa.

"And I told him that you should already be so proud of him... Just as I am."

When the arms wrapped around him, Sephiroth hardly even got a chance to react. The movement happened so suddenly—so fast. One moment, he was gazing fondly at his student, watching him bury himself in his palms; the next, a blur of golden spikes rushed toward him, and the young trooper was enveloping him in a tight embrace, the feathery head burrowing into his coat as if it were a warm, leathery den, clutching him tight. Clutching him fiercely. Clutching him like only one other person in his life had ever clutched him before.

And it was only moments later that he was returning the delicate hug, the instincts singing to him in their long-learned tune, months upon months of practice teaching him how to do the art just right.

The fact that he could have someone else who would embrace him...

"Aww man...” Sephiroth could practically hear Zack cupping his cheeks, voice rattling with laughter. "This is TOO precious."

"You're telling me." He watched Claudia put her hand over her heart as he lifted his gaze from the yellow nest, Claudia's eyes the brightest they had ever been, his own smirk long melted into a genuine smile. "He rarely even hugs his mother."

"Mooomm..." Cloud's voice was muffled by his coat, much to Sephiroth's amusement.

"Right?" came Zack's cheerful agreement. "And Seph doesn't even hug me back half the time."

"Be quiet..." Sephiroth chuckled good-heartedly, much to Cloud's own amusement, gingerly unraveling his arms as his friend straightened back up against his chair. The sheepishness on his face had completely given way to a true, grateful smile.

"...Guess that makes me pretty grateful for Zack's article too..." Cloud laughed quietly, tossing his smile toward his other spiky friend, still slightly pink from his clearly impulsive display of thankfulness.

Not that it did anything but brighten Zack's grin. "Happy to serve then!" he laughingly chirped, flashing one of his signature mock-salutes in the process. "Anything to make my buddies' lives even better."

"Oh, StormCloud..." Now it was Claudia's turn to give her son a loving squeeze on the arm, the vaguest hint of a snuffle hidden in her voice. "You have no idea how happy I am that you made such wonderful friends..."

As touching as the sentiment was, both he and Zack couldn't help but exchange a loving smirk at the nickname, watching Cloud's cheeks burst into fiery orange all again.

"StormCloud?" Zack repeated good-heartedly, just a little too far from his friend to poke the trooper's arm, finally able to address the doting moniker.

"Yeah, yeah..." Cloud blushed. "Just a nickname my Ma uses. That's all."

"Yeah! And it's adorable."

"No, it's not... It's embarrassing."

"Heh. I understand your sentiments, my friend." Sephiroth let his gaze drift back toward Zack, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "This one also took it upon himself to give me a nickname."

"Wha? You don't like 'Seph?!'"

"Hmph. Desensitization, is more accurate."

"Yeah? Well you only call me by shortened name!"

"By your request."

"Yeah, yeah." And there came those loving swats again. "Don't act like you wouldn't find it weird if I called you by that stupidly long name of yours."

"It's five more letters, Zack."

"And two syllables."

"Dear Gaia..." Silver bangs danced in amusement as Sephiroth shook his head, swallowing another spoonful, the truth of his feelings as well hidden as a black Chocobo in snow.

He would find it extremely weird indeed.

As the two continued to banter, Cloud chirping in every now and then wit a sharp quip of his own, Claudia continued to to beam at their (alright... maybe a little adorable) antics, a proud mother hen watching the trio playfully squabble and spat. Nickname this, technicalities that, stop messing up my hair and more swatting and more laughing... All was but a repeat of the warmth he felt swell in his chest so often, the velvety pulses he felt in the mess hall, the loving cocoon that wrapped around him wherever he seemed to go now. It was the feeling of safety; Nibelheim… the feeling of trust; it was like... the feeling of friendship.

Home.

"C'mon... where are ya, pal...?"

Sephiroth sat on the foot of his bed, expression serenely amused, watching Zack sift through his hefty duffel bag on the parallel mattress in search of something of grave importance. Night had long fallen by the time they left the Strife's residence, their hunger satiated by delicious food and dessert, Cloud deciding to stay in his old (decoration-stripped) room, leaving him and Zack to happily share a humble one back in the inn.

"Did you pack him?"

"'Course I did!" Young hands pawed through shirts and pants and socks. "Just gotta... Aha! Got ya!"

Blue eyes gleamed like moonshine against the cozy darkness of their inn room, gentle amber lamplight accentuating the blaze-orange fabric that swathed the small dragon plushie in his hands, two beady eyes and a threaded smile mirroring Zack's youthful visage as he squeezed the plush toy in his arms.

"See?" Zack blinked, almost doelike. "You think I would forget Muffin?"

Folding his arms, Sephiroth couldn't help but smile at the sight, watching Zack cherish his childhood toy as if it were a slab of precious metal. He would never forget the day that he found the small plush tucked under Zack's covers, the utter sheepishness that had eclipsed his friend's expression, the way he had assured the young First that it was nothing to be ashamed of... Not at all. So many things Zack had endured; so many horrible, horrible scars that he bore from the past, scissored into his skin and mind. To see a piece of childlike innocence still alive, still unextinguished, untainted from all that had happened, so different than the storms that had soiled his own youth...

It meant everything to him.

"Heh. Of course not."

His grin still lingering, Zack slid the duffel bag off the mattress with a bulky thud, Muffin still tucked under his arm, peeling back the milky stretch of sheet and linen and rolling his cozily-dressed body into bed.

"Man..." Zack's voice trailed off with a leonine yawn. "I'm bushed. Gonna sleep like a log tonight."

"Good." Sephiroth gave a slight nod as he rolled back the covers himself, mattress springs squeaking and groaning when the heavy shaped eased himself under the blankets. "We have a long hike ahead of us tomorrow. Get some rest." He could already feel the gravitational pull of sleep tugging at his eyes, beckoning them to close, happily answering the sirenlike call as glowing green gems slid shut.

He heard Zack flick off the lamp between them, the deep blackness behind his eyes becoming all the more rich, the soothing shuffle of the linens rustling as his friend flopped back into bed.

"...Bud?"

"Mmn?" Sephiroth hummed in acknowledgment.

"I had a really good night tonight."

Sleep encroaching, a tranquil smile spread across the man's lips. "Likewise."

There was a beat of silence, pensive.

"Were you okay? Y'know... from earlier."

The mattress groaned as Sephiroth turned onto his side, breathing contently. "Yes..." he assured, nestling deeper, thankful that the words tasted true as they left his tongue. "I was just fine."

He could hear Zack smile.

"Good."

Shifting, Sephiroth let his soft smile curl into a smirk. "You know you don't have to be so concerned... correct?"

"Heh. Yeah, I know... But I'm still gonna worry about ya anyway."

The warmth purred too bright in Sephiroth's heart for the smirk to not melt back into a smile, another serene breath whistling from his lips.

"...I know."

He heard Zack shift, tucking the blanket closer, the soft sound of Muffin grazing sheet and pillow as his words left in another yawn.

"G... o... oodnight, pal. I love you so much..."

Even with the warm beckon of Sleep carrying him away, soft and soothing threads that wrapped around his mind, pulling him close, pulling him under... Sephiroth submerged with a smile.

And he sank, descending.

Down into the blackness.

Tendrils reaching.

Whispers cooing.

Venom injecting—

...SEPHIROTH!

—into the shelter of his dreams,

I HATE YOU...!

and Memories.

Chapter Text

.

.

.

Opening his eyes, Sephiroth found himself staring into darkness.

Nothingness.

No—that was a lie; he was simply staring at nothing, considering the long, sterile stretch of hallway before him was completely vacant, as was the rest of it that raced on behind his back, reaching into shadow, bleeding into blackness. The windows lining the leftmost side of the corridor were similarly drenched in the same inky color—a thick, moonless span of night that gleamed with not even a single star or Reactor, almost like the outside scenery had been erased entirely, like it was some soulless curtain to fill the backdrop of the world he was currently standing in. Speaking of which…

Emerald eyes glanced around, scanning left to right, those feline slits sharp and curious as they digested rthe abandoned corridor—the ShinRa SOLDIER corridor, he realized in full, which only served to further fuel his confusion as he continued surveying the gloom, the enigma. Seldom was any section of the building this silent; normally, it was abuzz with at least a few SOLDIERs or infantrymen standing on guard, even patrolling the base. There should never be a wholly deserted hallway—not when there were still reports of Wutain spies in the city, not when Headquarters had been raided only just a handful of months prior.

So… where was everyone?

Sephiroth’s gaze flickered behind his bangs, flickering once more between the two shadow-swallowed edges of the corridor, trying to piece together even the tiniest shards of logic, wringing his brain for memories and details that wouldn’t trickle out. Everything was blank; how he got here, why he was here, where he was going… Was he searching for something? A missing cadet? A loose monster? He couldn’t possibly be patrolling, right…? He hadn’t independently done so in at least a month; he… he always had Strife with him, or another one of his men—or, or his lieutenant, of course…

Where were they now…?

Perhaps if it were years ago—maybe even mere months—he wouldn’t be able to decipher the cold, creeping feeling that breathed into his skin just then; he wouldn’t recognize the hollow, sinking feeling that weighed down his gut; he wouldn’t be able to compartmentalize the uncomfortable tautness that was closing in on his chest, making him shrink, making him feel small. 

He would deny the loneliness with everything he had.

Generals don’t have friends…

But that was then.

And I don’t want any.

The past.

Memories 

Another world.

…Never again.

He didn’t have to fight it anymore.

Smiling faintly at the thought, Sephiroth reached into his pocket, searching resourcefully for his—…empty. Empty? Why was it empty? He always kept his PHS securely in his coat pocket; did… did he leave it somewhere? You… His quarters? The office? Are… Mnn, no matter. He would just have to search the building himself, wander back in the nebulous direction from which he came.

Alo…

Surely he would find someone along the way—

…ne.

—Right?

“Sephiroth!”

In an instant, Sephiroth’s heart jolted—jolted for a second, a breath, maybe even less—…before the true nature of the voice hit his ears. Before the underlying tones scraped against his mind, tore into his skull, slamming into his soul like a bullet.

“SEPHIROTH.”

He whirled around.

Zack…?!

And the hands slammed into him, too.

He hit the wall hard, his skull colliding with unyielding metal, a brutal echo exploding into the air from the impact; equilibrium was immediately lost, agony and ice bursting into his head, nausea sloshing, eyes squeezing shut against the violent, sickening vibrations…—

“YOU….!”

—…And he was nearly blinded when he opened them again.

“What is WRONG with you?!!” A blaze burned in those mako-blue eyes, brighter than any artificial lifeblood could ever make them, the incandescent flames spread all across his visage—twisting it, consuming it, engulfing every inch of that kind, loving countenance in furious fire. “Just… just WALKING out like that? What? You… you can’t handle it! You can’t take it…?!” He balled his fists into clumps of cement, his entire body stiffened, bristled, practically hunching forward because his body was so laden with anger, with venom…

Sephiroth could barely even recognize him.

“That… that ceremony was for HIM, goddamnit! HIM…!” Zack spat, snarled, his voice reverberating like knives against the walls. “You couldn’t even be bothered to stay? Speak? No… no you just get up leave! Walk out of his own goddamn FUNERAL…!”

Fun… er… a…

Funer…

Funeral…!

And all at once, Sephiroth understood.

He knew why the hallway was so empty.

The man tried to open his mouth, tried to speak, tried to say anything…—

He couldn’t speak.

Why… why couldn’t he speak?!

“I...” Zack’s hands looked like they were on the verge of snapping, of crumbling from the tension. “I trusted you… you know that? I... I thought you...” He shook his head, violently, his loose cowlick whipping his face with the frantic motion. “First Banora, now—now... GOD… I should have known then. Should have figured that you don’t give a damn about anyone but YOURSELF…!”

No… The silence asphyxiated him, clasped his lungs, squeezing the poor, desperate organs with viselike, fatal pressure—making his chest burn, setting it aflame. I… I…—

“Couldn’t fight them?” Zack could somehow read his lips, the inferno in his eyes scorching, raging, all-encompassing. “Because you’re a COWARD!” he continued spitting. “You hear me? COWARD! COWARD…! You made ME fight them! HIM! You did! And... and then you go and walk out of his funeral?” The First looked like he was on the verge of tears now, the blaze burning so bright that it was leaning steam, mist. “What kind of... what kind of guy are you...?!!”

Y… u…

Yo… u…

You…!

This time, Sephiroth didn’t even attempt to say a word.

…

Not when nothing Zack said was a lie.

Angeal… Angeal was dead; he had been killed; he had been killed by Zack’s own hands, because he had refused to go to Banora, to Modeoheim, to face the ghosts of his past, to be brav—

“Not gonna speak… REALLY?” Zack venomously hissed, taut muscles on the cusp of bursting, whipping his head aside to mutter icily toward the ground, “Hero... some goddamn hero you are… Can’t believe I ever thought…”

Sephiroth could only watch the tormenting display, his heart twisted into unfathomable angles, slashed into aching ribbons. 

But… wasn’t he… wasn’t he Zack’s hero?

…

At least, that was one of the only times when the title held any weight to him.

Sephiroth’s throat continued to burn.

He… he didn’t know what was going on—he just needed it to stop, please… He needed this torture to stop. He couldn’t speak right now, clearly, as agonizing as that was, but... was there anything he could do? Anything at all? Anything that would show how much he… he cared? Anything at all to comfort him…?

Crunching down on his lip, Sephiroth reached out his hand, reaching for Zack’s shoulder as he continued to glare at the cold, hard ground.

Zack… you always were my—

Zack’s eyes snapped up, mist dampening his eyes in an acidic boil of tears.

“Don’t... don’t TOUCH ME!”

The hand came quicker than Sephiroth could react, shooting up from the young First’s side, flying toward him in a blazing meteor that flew across the air and connected with his cheek, sending him stumbling backwards—crashing back into the indented wall, hand flying to the soreness, clutching his stinging skin as if a knife had pierced the tender skin…

He looked up after a disorienting amount of time, wounded.

Zack’s eyes were too misty to see any remorse.

“I... I hate you...!” Tears rivered down Zack’s cheeks, the burning streams glistening against his own skin, the beads of liquid making it shine like poisonous stars. “I HATE you… I HATE YOU!”

And the words echoed, plunged into him, ripped apart every last shred of ribbon until there was nothing left.

No… 

“I HATE YOU…”

Sephiroth’s chest splintered.

No…!

I HATE YOU...

He clenched his teeth.

Like he ever forgot.

No…

Like he ever would.

No…!

He hates you

Shaking.

Hates you.

Tensing

Hates you.

Blurring.

Hates you.

Hates you.

Hates you.

Hates you.

HATES YOU.

NO!—————!

.

.

.

Sephiroth awoke with a sharp, stinging gasp—green eyes flaring open against the darkness, feline eyes ballooning to saucers, thrust back into the warm, blackened reality that he had drifted out of in the first place, then struggling for a few beats to actually digest it, to breathe…

Inhaled, exhale; inhale, exhale; inhale, exhale; inhal…e, ex… hale…; in… hale… ex… hale….

Sephiroth let out a long, gusty, relieved sigh, closing his eyes, then gingerly opening the emeralds again to digest the world around him: the velvet window, the contours of lamplit homes outside, the beautiful stars ornamenting the sky…

His chest finally slackened.

…Right. Yes. He was in the inn—the Nibelheim inn. He wasn’t even in Midgar right now, and he most certainly wasn’t standing in the middle of one of its corridors, surrounded in suffocating shadows.

Alone.

Even in the rich gloom of the inn, Sephiroth’s mako-lit eyes sliced through it like butter, and it was with this nocturnal vision that he turned his gaze aside, cleaving through the blackness to see Zack sound asleep in the parallel bed, clutching Muffin comfortably in his hands.

I HATE YOU…!

His eyes softened, shimmering with melancholy.

For as much as he wanted to brush those bitter, painful words aside as a dream—a nightmare—he couldn’t bring himself to deny it, to omit it. Anything of the sort would be nothing less than complete and utter dishonesty—a dismissal of his own feelings, a veil that he would be pulling over his own eyes in the pretense of a dream.

Not when that “dream” was really a memory.

A mem ory…

Silver brows furrowed as Sephiroth rubbed his temple, tiredly kneading the aching pulse beneath. Mnn… his head felt so heavy, so suddenly. He needed to take a walk, to clear his mind… Yes, just a quick walk, and then it was back to bed. 

Almost robotically, Sephiroth peeled the blankets off himself, and it was only a few seconds later that he found himself gliding across the room, his bare feet completely unfazed by the chilly footboards, floating off toward the door—the effort seeming to become less and less strenuous with every step he took, just a walk… as if he was slowly detaching from his own bones, that’s all he needed… and shedding from his skin…

………

But not before passing Zack.

He froze, equidistant from the door and footboard, something seemingly pulling him in both directions at once, like he was trapped in molasses, like he didn’t want to move yet drawn toward some magnetic force that he couldn’t explain—a strong, gravitational pull, an enteral thrum in his veins, a strange, visceral urge of something inarticulable, something powerful…

Powerful, anyway, but not enough to override his instincts, and Sephiroth felt his bones tether back to his body as he made his way toward his treasured lieutenant.

Silently, he glided to Zack’s bedside, standing a good distance away to give him some space, but enough to admire just how precious his friend looked in the state: the kind, blue eyes shut in slumber, his visage calm, flameless, the loving pulse in his heart beating in his chest...

The blemishes on his cheek. 

Sephiroth’s heart twisted taut.

Somewhere, on that skin, there was his invisible handprint—a bloodless mark, a stain. He had slapped Zack, brutally, sending him stumbling to the ground, leaving a bruise for several days, marring his spirit. He was not the passive, victimized man his dream had made him out to be. He had instead fought back, let all his pent-up pain and fury cascade out of him. He had, in that moment, turned into a complete and utter monster.

And to even think of hurting him now…

I love you so much, bud…

As his friend let out a hazy, sleep-drenched mumble, Sephiroth leaned down, gingerly pulling the blanket snuggly over his friend, covering his exposed shoulders in the gauzy warmth of the linens, tucking him in.

A smile budded on Zack’s lips.

“Mnn...”

And as Sephiroth mirrored the gentle expression, he thought about just how precious forgiveness really was.

Chapter Text

Sephiroth didn't wake very easily that morning.

As soon as the threads of raw, gleaming sunlight splashed onto his face, beckoning his eyes open, the man wanted nothing more than to snap them shut like a broken PHS. He was all too familair with the sensation behind his lids: heavy, hazy, even vaguely swollen. A lack of a restful sleep, no doubt. He was also cognizant enough to know that a lack of restful sleep usually came hand-in-hand with a lack of energy throughout the day, leaving him in a rather zombified state that, quite frankly, he would prefer not to hobble around in right now.

Mumbling unintelligibly, Sephiroth stifled the sigh building in his throat, dissolving into the pillow instead.

Maybe… maybe he could just…

Some birds chittered in the distance. One swept by the inn window, gliding past the panes in an elegant black shadow. Sephiroth groggily traced the winged shape behind his bangs, watched it soar high above a porch—a roof, a chimney, the water tower, the serrated shape of the mountains...

He blinked away a splotch of haze, narrowing his eyes.

...Gaia, what was he doing? So what if he slept poorly the previous night? He was still here on an assignment, a mission. It was his duty to inspect that Mako Reactor and ensure everyone's safety. It was his duty to push through a bit of fatigue, to be a leader. A SOLDIER. A General.

And he would.

It wasn't like before... He knew it wasn't. This wasn't a pattern; this was an anomaly, a fluke. Everyone had poor nights. He could manage, truly. Sincerely.

A faint smile budding at the thought, Sephiroth let out a yawn, sweeping aside his disheveled bangs as he peeled back the blanket and willed himself out of bed.

Across from him, Zack was still sound asleep—as well as having managed to somehow melt his body off the side of the mattress, with one foot grazing the floor while the other was still neatly tucked under the blanket, Muffin still nestled snugly under his arm.

Sephiroth's smile bloomed against the sunlight.

Well, at least someone was sleeping well.

Fondness eclipsing his fatigue, the man made his way to his friend's bed, unceremoniously ruffling the shock of charcoal hair.

"Wake up, SOLDIER."

"Mmnn..." Zack's brow furrowed and twitched, swatting sleepily at his hand. "F've more minutes..."

"Come now. I already slept rather late myself."

"Nghh..."

"Do we have to leave without you? Come on, Fair. That's an order."

"Hnnnn..." Zack made a petulant sound of resgination, cracking his eyes open with a yawn. "It's so eaaarly..."

"It's seven-sixteen."

"Yeah."

Sephiroth's smile curled into a smirk, withdrawing his hand as Zack began to rise, at last. "See? This is why I don't know why you joined ShinRa."

Muscles popped and cracked as Zack stretched behind his back, Muffin plunking on the mass of blanket behind him. "Meh..." He yawned again, mouth cavernous. "My school used to start pretty early; it's not all that different..." Then, blinking away the aftermath of haze, he mirrored Sephiroth's smile. "Besides, you know exactly why I joined."

Sephiroth canted his head, amused. "Oh? Do I?"

"Sure ya do." The bedsprings squeaked and groaned as Zack slid himself off the mattress, gazing up at him with glimmering blue eyes, rich with memory and playful, irreplaceable sincerity. "It's 'cause I wanted to meet my hero, duh...!"

Even if he had been suspecting such, a blossom of warmth burgeoned in his chest anyway, and Sephiroth's smile immediately—

"Not gonna speak… REALLY?” Zack venomously hissed, taut muscles on the cusp of bursting, whipping his head aside to mutter icily toward the ground, “Hero... some goddamn hero you are… Can’t believe I ever thought…”

—faded, wilting like a petal in a drought.

The man's eyes flickered, darkened.

The warmth was extinguished in seconds.

"...Seph?" Zack ventured, clearly confused, likely wondering why his kind-intended comment had suddenly glaciated the room. "What's wrong?"

Gaia, he sounded so guilty...

Sephiroth shook his head, kicking himself for letting the memory resurface, praying that Zack would let it go. "Nothing. Just another headache." A quick-witted response, and hopefully an opaque enough one, masquerading the truth rather than being founded on a lie. He had experienced an unsoliciated headache yesteday, after all, so perhaps it would...

But Zack was already studying him, those blue eyes surveying his soul with the same intelligent lens that he had come to know so well, that he should have known better than to underestimate. His concerned confusion morphed into a concerned frown, sensing the unspoken tension in the air, detecting the unwanted toxins that had seeped into his body overnight.

"...Hey," he started, sincerely. "Did you sleep okay?"

Sephiroth averted his gaze, caught at a corner, contemplating his response. Zack would let it go, truly, if he knew he wasn't in the right mood to talk—especially first thing in the morning, his mind still raw and vulnerable. Though the man had to wonder it that's what he wanted right now, if it was worth letting his nightmare ebb on its own, hoping the ugliness left in its wake would dissolve away by itself. Would it truly fade away then? Fade away without getting it off his chest? Such hadn't been the case when it came to memories with Genesis and Angeal, albeit this did have a bit of a different flavor, when the person questioning him was directly involved with...

Sephiroth turned back to his dear friend, his eyes inadvertently falling upon the scar on his cheek, that permenent memento of a memory. A memory so fierce that it had briefly tore their budding friendship apart, ripping it to shreds. A memory that was likely far more painful for Zack than it was for him, considering Angeal's circumstances, even if they both suffered tremendous grief from the experience. Was it truly worth reminding Zack of all of that? Would that be selfish, cruel? Or would Zack even risk asking, if he knew the answer had the potential to be so jagged...?

"Bud?"

Sephiroth's eyes flickered, softened, and he made his choice:

"No," he admitted. "I did not."

Zack's frown deepened. "Lost in thought?"

"...Not exactly."

A poignant beat. "Nightmare?"

Sephiroth reached for his temple, kneading the terrain of sore skin. Of course Zack would puzzle that out so quickly, when he was the one who helped mend his less than stellar sleeping habits. No other soul in ShinRa had ever sat him down, noticing he was a zombie all the time, asking why he slept so poorly...

But even back then, during the worst of his mental plagues, he never quite had dreams like this. Why now? Why here? What was with this town, causing him such disorientation? Things were so much better now, so different. Why would he ever, even subconsciously, remember such a tumultuous time of his life?

A hand on his shoulder reined him back to the present, grounding him.

"Seph? You with me...?"

Blinking, Sephiroth peeled his hand from his temple, his eyes clearing behind the exhausted haze, the haze fading away.

As did his headache fade under his friend's soothing touch.

"...Do you remember," Sephiroth started, a strew of glass on his tongue as he spoke, "the day of Angeal's funeral? Our interaction?"

Zack's frown darkened, his eyes eclipsed by a cold and cutting flash of memory, yet he never let go of his shoulder.

He only tightened his grip.

"Is that what you dreamed about?"

Sephiroth nodded, silver bangs swishing against his face. "...Yes, and very vividly."

There was another beat, and Zack's gaze drifted to the floor, silently snapping the pieces together. "...We were both so angry that day, huh?"

Sephiroth closed his eyes, breathed deeply through the smog. "That, we were..." He shook his head, however, and quickly added, "But that was some time ago."

Zack lifted his gaze at that, his somber frown curling into a weak smile. "...Yeah, that's for sure. We weren't pals back then."

"Hmph,” Sephiroth grunted, vaguely amused, green eyes opening against the gentle daylight. "I suppose not..." But his amusement didn't last very long, a guilty dagger plunging into his chest as he dipped his chin, mako green narrowing in shame, flashing with wistfulness. "Albeit none of that was an excuse for laying my hands on you."

Zack's eyes saddened now, sympathized. "...You were in pain, Seph. And I pushed your buttons—"

"Irrelevant," Sephiroth grunted. "You were still under my command, and it was my job to protect you." He swallowed, masking the sound behind another scoff, self-deprecating. "It was inexcusable... horrible. I lost control back then, but I should have been stronger, more intact. And the thought of ever letting such rage take over, with you and Strife so trusting in me, after all the kindness you and the world have shown—"

He was cut off then, calmly, yet abruptly, by another tight squeeze on the shoulder.

"...Seph," Zack started now, an undeniable ache and sympathy sopping from his voice. "...I don't ever want you to worry about that, okay? You said it yourself: that fight, that was ages ago... and we were both hurting. We didn't understand each other at all, and didn't really try to..." He gave another soft, quiet smile. "But now I know ya, and I know you would never hurt me, or Cloud, or anyone on this planet who didn't deserve it. That's not who you are, pal. You would do anything to protect the people around you. Heck..." His smile broadened, brightened. "Why do you think I even wrote that silly ol' article, if I didn't think you deserved all that love and kindness...?"

Silence, as the question lingered, blanketing the room in its soft, heavy, purposeful embrace.

Not that Sephiroth got a chance to even remotely form a response before, suddenly, Zack placed his other hand on his shoulder, and he found himself being pulled into an impromptu, early-morning, Zack-Fair-style embrace, with those ruffled black quills brushing against his neck and face burying into his shoulder, holding him close, squeezing him tight.

"...Things are different now, bud," the First murmured. "But you're still the same Sephiroth, and that is the Sephiroth I trust with my life, ya hear? And there's nothing in this world that'sever gonna make me think any different..." He smiled against his shoulder, his eyes deepening, a meld of nostalgia and something More flashing through those sapphires as he added, letting them fall shut, "I love you, Seph. Always. And I mean it..."

I love you...

I love you so much, bud...

I love you, I love you, I love you...!

And the warmth was reignited, a swell of velvet fire blossoming in his chest even brighter than before as Sephiroth returned the embrace, sinking into Zack's own shoulder, unable to fight the smile that utterly melted his countenance. The flames bloomed through his body and soothed his soul, thawing away the last, tiniest fragments of ice that had frosted over his heart from the night before, burning his uninvited doubts to the ground.

...Of course things were different now, with Zack in his life.

Zack would never hate him.

Zack would never betray him.

Zack would never stop filling his life with joy, with purpose.

Zack would never stop believing in him.

Letting his own eyes fall shut, Sephiroth squeezed him tighter, and reciprocated the words that were long overdue to say:

"...I love you too, Zack."

The man thought his ribcage was going to snap with how tight the next squeeze came, so sudden and fierce

"...Aww, Seph..."

Oh, pardon him—it was actually Zack's voice that was on the verge of snapping, not his ribcage.

Either way, the young First shook his head, offering him one last good squeeze before pulling back, folding his arms over his chest.

Sephiroth had never seen such a doughy grin.

"...It's too early for all this mush, okay?" Zack laughed, blinking a few times for good measure. "I can't take it."

Sephiroth couldn't help but chuckle as well. "I concur..." Then, allowing a bit of authority to weave back into his voice, canting his head, "You get dressed now; I'll be in the washroom."

Zack shot him a playful smirk. "Oh! So I'll see ya in like twenty minutes?"

"...I'd estimate twenty-five, depending on tangles."

As Zack broke off into another quiet laughter, bending down to fish through his clothes, Sephiroth sailed on into the pearly-white of the bathroom, easing the door shut behind him. Immediately, he spotted his reflection in the mirror: smiling, glowing, and healthy. Awake. His eyes didn't even appear to ache anymore, as if their leaden weight had been lightened by his previous conversation, all the soreness kneaded out with a few gentle squeezes and many kind words. There were no shadows under his eyes, just as there hadn't been in weeks, months. His complexion was well, a nourished beige that complemented his gleaming tresses, the thin strands like raw silver under the winking lights of the washroom...

He smiled brighter, picked up the brush he'd left on the sink, and began raking the gentle teeth through his hair.

...Mnn. Only a few knots, it seemed. This shouldn't take very long at all.

A handful of clouds had gathered by the time he and Zack walked out of the inn, side by side, making their way through the open roads that webbed through the village. There weren't many townsfolk up and about just yet, and it quickly became apparent that those who were outside were simply engaging in their normal everyday lives—drying their laundry, taking out the trash, watering their plants, etc. Not a single eye was gawking as they glided by, not a single pointed figure, not a single crowd that was clustering by their scheduled rendezvous place.

In fact, the only people who really were waiting there included—

"Hey, Spike! Hey, Mayor!"

...Heh, yes. Exactly.

Sephiroth watched as Zack sped on ahead, meeting Strife halfway with a cheerful high five, unable to hold back his amusement as he started towards the much calmer Zander—who smiled cordially at his approach, country hat bobbing with the sudden lift of head.

"Ah, Sephiroth! How are you feeling?"

His smirk softening, Sephiroth returned a warm nod in thanks. "Much bettter, fortunately."

"Good, good," Zander nodded in turn. "Truck ride must've just taken a toll on you; it's a long one from Midgar."

"Absolutely," Sephiroth agreed, green eyes then traveling towards his helmeted friend. "Good morning, Strife; I see you arrived here nice and early."

The Cadet blinked at his name, helmeted eyes shooting towards him. "Oh? Yeah! Good morning, Sir! I just live closer than the inn, that's all."

"Hmph," he chuckled. "Of course."

"Alsooo," Zack chimed in, nudging Strife's elbow, "guy had a few tangles."

Sephiroth could picture the mischievous glint behind Strife's helmet, playful yet kind. "Oh yeah?"

A scoff, equally playful, as Sephiroth tilted his head. "Yes, I did have a couple. Albeit someone was also struggling to find his other sock before he left."

Strife flicked his smirk towards Zack.

"Oh yeah?"

"Sock?" Zander raised an eyebrow.

"So!" Zack chirped in diversion, the Buster Sword clanging as he ambled off towards the exit. "We gettin' this hike started or what?"

"Patience," came Sephiroth's immediate reply, vaguely chuckling. "We leave when our guide arrives."

Then, of course, as if summoned—

"Sephiroth, Sir!"

The voice was slightly distressed, slightly desperate. A plea. Sephiroth turned around at once, his instincts jolted, emerald eyes widening as he saw a middle-age man jogging towards him, his red shirt cladded with a coffee-brown vest and hair pulled back in a bouncing knot.

"Brian," Zander began, suddenly sounding exhausted, "I told you everything was—"

"Sephiroth, please." He blatantly ignored the other, coming to a dusty stop in front of him, placing his hand on his heart. "I must insist that I take you up the mountains. My daughter isn't—"

"Dad!"

Before Sephiroth could process and respond to that statement, yet another figure came darting into view—a girl, this time, black-haired and appearing close to Strife's age, whom Sephiroth assumed was the child of this anxious man. She immediately put her hands on her hips as she came to a halt before her father, her own country hat dipping with the motion.

Her father started before she could: "Tifa, listen, you can still back out. You don't have to do this—"

"I'm going," she insisted, not a beat later, "and that's that!"

From the sidelines (while rather uncomfortable being in the middle of this), a half of Sephiroth had to admire the girl's vehement spirit, watching the father and daughter delve off into a minor spat. The other half of him wondered it he should step in, if that was even his place, considering this wasn't a ShinRa personnel under his command—just a simple family matter. Not even Zack, who rarely held anything back, didn't seen to want to intervene, awkwardly rubbing his neck. And as for Strife...

Wait, Strife?

Where was Strife?

Concern seized siezed Sephiroth's heart, just for a beat, before turning over his shoulder and quickly spotting the young Cadet—who was hiding behind him, head dipped, hiding in his shadow.

Sephiroth frowned. "What's wrong?"

Another beat, and Strife bit his lip. "I, uh... I know that girl," was all he said, and it didn't take much deduction to know that their guide here was placed on a much higher pedestal of importance in Strife's mind, that this wasn't as easy as an obstacle to overcome than revealing himself to Zander or Claudia.

The man's frown deepened, sympathized, thinking back to their conversation in the truck, back to their kind embrace in Strife's house last night. "...You don't have to do anything that brings you discomfort, my friend."

Strife didn't get a chance to respond before the girl—Tifa, yes—came clomping towards them, apparently having broken away from the argument on her own accord, and Sephiroth turned back around to see those fiery eyes burning against the clouded daylight.

"...Besides," she said, continuing a conversation that Sephiroth had clearly missed, "There'll be two SOLDIERs with me. I'll be fine!"

He heard Strife shift a little behind his back.

"But, Pumpkin," came her father's desperate protest, "don't you remember what happened the last time you went up there...?"

"That was years ago, Brian," Zander sighed. "She's old enough to make her own decisions."

"Thank you!" Tifa's hands fell back to her hips, bright gaze focusing on his own now. "Sorry about all that, Sir. I'm Tifa—and I'll be your guide for today."

"Tifa..." Her father tried, one last time, and Sephiroth had to sympathize with the man as he glanced up, gazing at that poor, defeated, even vaguely frightenend expression. He couldn't help but feel guilty, leaving him to stew in such discomfort as they hiked through monster-addled mountains, especially when he was the one to hire a guide in the first place—albeit not knowing she was so young. And while from a child's perspective, he could see that kind of concern being stifling, he just as easily understood the desperate need to protect one's loved ones. He likely understood it more than his own mind was even letting on.

And the fact that this was one of Strife's dear friends, too...

"...Are you sure it's safe?" Zack was asking her now, continuing to rub his neck. "Don't get me wrong: I totally trust your skills, but—"

"Don't fret about it," Sephiroth decided, an executive decision, and one that drew the attention of everyone in their immediately vicinity—specifically Brian's, whom he locked eyes with, hoping to assuage his concern. "I understand your qualms..." he started, empathetic. "Truly, I do. I don't know what I would do if one of my men got hurt under my watch." Faintly, he nodded towards Zack, silently sharing the nod with the two infantrymen behind him. "But you have my word that I won't let anything happen to your daughter. I have some highly skilled personnel with me. Nothing should be able to harm us, so long as we stay focused." A punctuated nod, firm and reassuring. "And that is my sworn job to ensure that."

You'd do anything to protect the people around you.

Imperceptibly, he placed his folded hand on his heart, listening for a beat.

Anything...

Zander was smiling now, casting a kind yet knowing Look towards the speechless man. "Well, Brian? What do you think?"

Tifa mirrored her mayor's smile. "Yeah, Dad. What do you think?" Subtly, she turned towards him, her grin broadening as he whispered, "Thank you, Sir. Dad needed to hear that; he's been stressing all week."

Sephiroth had to chuckle a bit at that. "Heh... Of course."

By the time he glanced back up, it appeared that Brian had finally made up his mind, those anxious eyes alleiviating a decent amount as he gazed at his daughter, scratched his neck, then let his hand drop with a faint, satisfied, grateful smile.

"...Alright then. You've got me. 'Suppose I can't argue with that." He nodded towards the crew, taking a few steps back, pointing his finger in a way that almost reminded him of Zack. "You just better keep your word now."

"Trust me!" Zack chirped, flashing his own assured, proud smile towards him, "He will! Seph here never breaks his promises." Then, grinning even wider, more eager, "Guess we're off then?"

Smiling himself, Sephiroth chuckled, taking one last scan of his team—Zack, Tifa, the now-silent Strife, Sinclair... Yes, all here, all accounted for. He turned back to Zack, nodding in affirmation. "Off we go." Repeating it even louder to the crew, they then began to ascend the stairs, waving a quick goodbye to the villagers behind them as they took their first official steps into the Nibelheim wildern—

"Hey, wait!"

Sephiroth paused, halting on the penultimate step, turning around to see Zack gripping his shoulder, blue eyes alight with inspiration.

"...What is it?”

"Look! At that guy over there!”

Following his friend's gaze, green eyes spotted the person in question immediately: a young, spry-looking man with a camera around his neck, casually chatting with another villager, paying no visible mind to the SOLDIERs about to depart.

...Heh.

Now he understood.

"Hey." Tifa bounded to their current step. "Everything okay?"

The two SOLDIERs exchanged a glance.

"Only if you want to, bud," Zack assured. "No pressure."

A featherlight smile still clinging to his lips, Sephiroth's only response was a quiet chuckle. "Heh... For prosperity." Raising his hand, he then called down the steps, "Excuse me! May we take a photograph, please?"

Chapter Text

Sephiroth never knew that something as simple as breathing could feel so good, that inhaling generous gulps of mountain air could cleanse his soul in ways he never thought possible. He’d always been an outdoor person (at least, when he was finally able to explore outside the labs), but he supposed he underestimated just how utterly tight Midgar’s air could be, with the way it had its viselike hold on the chest of anyone who walked through the thick, astronomically polluted city.

Ascending Mt. Nibel was not only a welcoming experience, he found, but a cathartic one. A liberating one. He glided across the sprawling landscape like a silver-black feather, drinking in every splotch of color that painted the world around him, admiring every fang of rock and all the rivers that ribboned through the scenery in glittering, crystal veins. Shadows of birds and other winged creatures streaked the earth as they soared by, powerful pinions flapping, and Sephiroth couldn’t help but follow them—up and up and up, green eyes tracing their angelic shapes as they sliced against the clouds, winging through the sky, disappearing over the iron crown of the Reactor.

So free.

So unburdened.

So untethered.

So...

“Okay, this is getting framed the second we get back to Midgar.”

And then, each and every time, he was anchored back to the ground, brought back to his beautful present before his thoughts could fully drift away, before he could be taken with them.

Sephiroth smirked.

“I thought you used up all your frames,” the man hummed, glancing at Zack, who’d been admiring the photograph taken of their team for the past seven minutes or so. His friend had wanted to keep a physical copy (which in itself had taken some time to develop, but what was the rush?), and now Zack could hardly put it down, smiling at the snapshot of time like it was a precious slab of gold—only much more valuable, priceless.

He would always remember the night he commented on Zack’s collection of photographs, sitting on that cozy sofa of his and taking note of all the frames that adorned Zack’s shelves, consoles, and counters. Not a superfluous amount, of course, but enough to be noticeable, to wordlessly explain what values Zack held dear and what he prioritized in life. He remembered saying that he appreciated the decor, faintly smiling, and he remembered Zack smiling back as he picked one up, gave it a fond look, and joked:

If there was a fire, and I had to scramble together things to salvage, you better bet I’m taking these with me...

Which was saying a lot, considering he was standing right in front of his SlayStation.

“Yeah, well,” Zack laughed now, keeping a steady pace beside him, “I’m just gonna have to buy some more.” He elbowed the older man, smirking. “You don’t have any more of Tseng’s check to spare, right?”

Sephiroth canted his head, raw sunlight scintillating off the mercury threads. “Mmn? You want me to donate more of my Gil to you?”

“Aww, c’mon. You haven’t given me alllll that much.”

“Didn’t I just buy you a kangaroo ball two weeks ago?”

“Yeah! For a half-bday gift!”

Sephiroth shook his head, smirk never faltering.

“Gaia...”

“My lord,” Tifa chimed in from ahead, whipping her head around to grin at the bantering SOLDIERs. The young guide had done an excellent job steering them through the mountain thus far, so much so that they were already nearing the bridge. He certainly had made the right decision in entrusting Mr. Lockhart’s daughter.

“Didn’t expect to get such good entertainment during a supposed business trip. Keep it up!”

Sephiroth scoffed, good-heartedly. “I only respond to his nonsense.”

“Not true.”

“Very true.”

“What?” Zack laughed. “You don’t say stupid things sometimes?”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Yeah, because calling this a ‘business trip’ in the mission info ain’t stupid.”

“What are you talking about?” Sephiroth grunted, amused as much as he was confused. “This is a business trip.”

“Dude, no it’s not.”

“Then what is it?”

“A field trip!” Zack proudly exclaimed, much to the amusement of Tifa. “Duh.”

“A field trip?” Sephiroth parroted, unimpressed.

“Yeah! We’re on a trip, and”—he glanced around, blue eyes scanning the rocky terrain, the scattered brushes and thickets—”we’re walking through a field... kinda.”

“Ah, yes. Your logic is flawless.”

“Whatever,” Zack chuckled, his footfalls crunching into the ‘field’ below, returning to the photograph and smoothing it over. His smile bloomed all over again. “I think this pic is enough to prove my point.”

Sephiroth hummed, countenance relaxed. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“‘cause you’re having fun, bud. Just look at ya.”

Obliging Zack, Sephiroth spared an easy glance at the photograph, head tilting at a fond angle.

Not that he needed to actually look at the evidence in order to believe it.

Standing there, basking in the morning sun beside Zack and Tifa, was a man he almost didn’t recognize, almost didn’t believe was there. A pure reflection that rippled in the lamination like silver in still water, the neatly-brushed threads brushing over his jade eyes—calm, half-lidded, content. His hands weren’t fisted, his posture wasn’t tense. And while he wasn’t charismatically folding his arms over his chest or waving a country hat, he was still relaxed, still unburdened. Unstressed.

He was enjoying himself.

He was happy.

He was smiling...

Not huge, not overwhelmingly bright, but There. Visible. A thin-lipped grin that the sun illuminated like candlelight, that was warmer than a blaze against the ember-orange sky, softer than the flames of a campfire.

No wonder Zack cherished this so much.

“...Mmn,” Sephiroth hummed, green eyes floating to meet blue. “I do agree that this one deserves a frame.”

Zack beamed. “Yeah? So you’ll lend me some dough?”

Sephiroth was the one chuckling now, low and melodic. “Heh... perhaps before that, you can ask if Stri—” He paused then, realizing his mistake, realizing that Tifa was in earshot and would likely ask questions that the cadet would rather she not.

“I, uh... I know that girl,” was all he said, and it didn’t take much deduction to know that their guide here was placed on a much higher pedestal of importance in Strife’s mind, that this wasn’t as easy as an obstacle to overcome than revealing himself to Zander or Claudia.

Sephiroth frowned at the memory, glancing back at their group photo, only this time with the intention of spotting Strife—who stood in the far corner, helmeted, his bright blue eyes smothered by that cumbersome armor, the nest of Chocobo hair hidden under metal and shadow. He was completely indistinguishable from their other infantryman, filling in the sterile contours of that sterile role, completely blending in. Fading into the background. As if Strife was forgetting how much he did indeed stand out, how much he shone with or without Mako burning in his eyes.

It was heartbreaking.

“Ask who?” Tifa inquired, sensing more to the sentence.

It was rare nowadays, but Sephiroth gulped down his feelings, rapidly shaking his head and amended his comment with, “merely a friend of ours.”

Inconspicuously, he spared a glance at Strife, who silently trailed behind their squad, helmeted eyes locked on both the ground and the team he was assigned to assist. He hadn’t said a word their entire trek thus far, likely to shield his voice from familiar ears. Nor had he wanted to assist in taking down the early monsters they encountered (the likes of which Sephiroth could assume was for the same reason). Zack had equally respected Strife’s wishes of anonymity, but he also could tell his friend was vaguely disappointed that he couldn’t banter or smite enemies with him, that he couldn’t have the same fun slicing dragons as he did on the truck ride here. And Sephiroth just as equally wanted to see his talented protégé in action.

Alas, it really wasn’t their business, nor was it their place to intervene without Strife’s permission.

“...So, how long have you guys known each other?”

Sephiroth snapped to attention, catching the threads of the conversation Zack and Tifa were having in his stupor, blinking back into focus.

Zack was already tackling the question at full speed.

“A heck of a long time!” he proudly chirped, and Sephiroth only had a nanosecond to react before Zack was slinging an arm around him; he relaxed into the touch a picosecond later. “A solid couple years now.”

Tifa gaped, digesting this. “Seriously?”

“Serious as a Shred attack!”

That reaped a laugh from the girl, but the marvel never quite left her eyes, never dimming. “That’s honestly incredible,” she giggled. “I mean—I thought, I don’t know... childhood friends or something.”

“Why’s that?” Sephiroth had to ask, his curiosity instantly piqued. That had to be the first time anyone ever... well, not questioned his and Zack’s bond, but had ever made such a remark about it.

Tifa shrugged, not unkindly. “Y’all just seem a lot closer than than, to be honest. Didn’t think that Zack could write all that stuff about you after only two years. Plus”—she smiled, nodding towards his arm-slung shoulders—”you two look inseparable.”

Another warm laugh. “Well, I sure follow him everywhere!” Zack quipped, leaning fondly against his shoulder. “My buddy Kunsel calls me a flea.”

“He does?” Sephiroth raised a brow, chuckling.

“Yeah! All the time!” Then, lacing in some mischief, “Because you ain’t never scraping me off, pal. Stuck with me forever.”

“Mmn. I don’t know about that.”

“Yeah?” Zack teased. “Wanna bet?”

“No, I just think a ‘flea’ is bit of a harsh term, nnm? Something a bit more... mutualistic, perhaps, is more accurate.” He smirked, jade eyes gentle. “A clownfish, yes. That suits you.”

“Did you seriously just call me a clownfish?”

“Yes, and it’s fitting,” Sephiroth insisted. “They provide nutrients to sea anemone, making it a beneficial relationship.” Not to mention, he added silently, that sea anemone produce a painful sting, with the clownfish one of the only creatures who could endure it...

“Oh!” Zack laughed, but it was clear that he was touched by the implications, squeezing him even tighter. He flashed an electric smile. “So it’s not because I’ma complete nut?”

“Oh, no. I simply thought the Clown part was obvious.”

“Heeeey!”

“See?!” Tifa exclaimed, eyes alight with amusement, “This is what I mean! You two have the energy of old friends.” She smiled, chocolate hair whipping against a pleasant breeze, a flock of birds chittering overhead. “I’m curious: how did you two become so close, anyway?”

Maybe it was the wind, maybe it was the stretch of tree-cast shadow they had to walk through, but the temperature seemed to dip—just for a second, a breath. A fleeting chill that crawled through Sephiroth’s bones, making them stiffen in his skeleton, making him pause. Making him think.

Making him remember.

...

Where is Angeal?!

He would never betray us!

How could you be so naive?!

How could you be so cold?

Grow up!

Shut up!

Get out of my sight...!

I HATE Y —

But before his head could ache, before the poisonous echo could reach him, he felt Zack’s arm tightening around his shoulder—anchoring him, securing him, keeping him grounded. Just like before. Just like always.

“...Things are different now, bud,” the First murmured. “But you’re still the same Sephiroth, and that is the Sephiroth I trust with my life, ya hear? And there’s nothing in this world that’s ever gonna make me think any different...” He smiled against his shoulder, his eyes deepening, a meld of nostalgia and something More flashing through those sapphires as he added, letting them fall shut, “I love you, Seph. Always. And I mean it...

He took a deep breath, purified the smog in his lungs, and released it once they sailed out of the shadow, back into the crisp sunlight.

“...A mutual friend,” Sephiroth said at last, the words less jagged than he initially imagined. “We met through circumstances revolving around another SOLDIER.” Not too vague, not too specific. He couldn’t exactly divulge the chaos ShinRa had so brutally tried to cover up, unless he had any intentions of endangering Tifaand her hometown, of causing a second Banora. The company didn’t take kindly to leaked information.

Thankfully, however, his answer was enough to satisfy, and Tifa simply gave an understanding hum in turn. “I see... And did this friend, like, set you up or something?”

Sephiroth paused at that, his dour thoughts coming to a standstill as the question—theimplications—slammed into him with all the force of an Elfadunk stampede.

…Erm.

Erm.

ERM—

“Nah,” Zack answered now, either wildly oblivious or opting to not even entertain the thought, bless. “Kinda just happened, y’know? Serendipity and all that jazz!” Then, softening the mood, “It is kinda crazy, though, how time works! Two years seems like a decade now. Guess that’s what happens when you have good buddies!” He gave him another good squeeze. “Right, pal?”

The fond, amused smirk resurfaced at that. “Absolutely.”

Though it really was crazy, Sephiroth thought, how close he and Zack had grown in such a relatively short amount of time. And while it wasn’t without bumps, without incidents and emotions that both withheld and accelerated their bond, it was still only a fraction of their lives, and a life that Sephiroth couldn’t even imagine without Zack. Was that truly just serendipity, or was that something more? Something deeper? He had certainly known Angeal much longer, almost a decade; the same applied to Genesis.

And it wasn’t as if there was nothing to expedite their friendship, unless an entire war wasn’t enough?

Or was time simply an irrelevant factor altogether?

His eyes softened, unsure of the answer. Unsure if he would ever get an answer. Angeal and Genesis had their own agendas, their own mired logic to what they did, and Sephiroth had long resigned to the fact that he would never understand them. He didn’t know where Genesis was, what he was doing—but, perhaps, that was for the best. Why talk to hollow ears? Why play with poison? He would always cherish the bittersweet days before everything imploded, but he would just as bitterly accept never seeing the man again.

Subliminally, he found his gaze drifting back to the photograph, still clutched preciously in Zack’s free hand. A photograph that Sephiroth would have never existed (or would’ve existed begrudgingly), had Zack not brightened his life the way he did. The article would have never existed, nor would it have reached as far if written by a stranger, because no one knew him like Zack did. Angeal and Genesis had come close, had taken a good glimpse behind the mask, but Zack was the one to shatter it entirely.

He knew him better than anyone.

Glancing back to his company, a gentle smile settled on his lips, listening to the pleasant exchanges between Tifa and Zack—chiming in every now and then, springboarding off of Zack’s comments, embellishing his playful anecdotes about their friendship with his own perspective, his own relevant details

“Yes... Zack did indeed find his lost PHS in the fridge.”

When it came time for a a monster to interrupt them, he allowed Zack to take charge, ricocheting any debris that threatened his team as Zack sliced and slashed and flipped and cheered. They worked in perfect harmony, a coordinated dance with their blades: step by step, swing after swing, move after move. The sky sang with rhythmic metal and crackling pulses of materia, sparks and spells spitting into the air like mythical fireworks, setting the world ablaze with color. With light. With life.

He was having fun.

“Does he always do that?” Tifa laughed, watching as Zack twirled the Buster Sword over his head, sheathing it with a proud, animated flair.

Sephiroth huffed, grunting fondly. “Yes. Every time.”

“Oh, Gaia.”

“Hey! I hear ya!” Zack shouted over the crumpling Kyuvildun, but he was laughing as well, shooting another mischievous smirk at Sephiroth. “You making fun of me, bud?”

He let out another grunt, silver bangs swaying as he titled his head, considering. “...It’s a little taunt-worthy.”

Someone chuckled, snorted.

Strife.

Sephiroth smiled.

“Sheesh!” Zack was teasing now, burly arms crossed as he sauntered his way back over. “You’re real mean today, you know that?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! First you hog your own Gil, then you call me a clownfish, and now ya poke fun at my lil’ victory dance?” He swatted at him, playfully sour. “I thought you liked me or something.”

Sephiroth didn’t even flinch, didn’t miss a beat. “Mmn? Is that so?” Then, hardly able to help himself—

“Wha? Seeeph.” Zack’s voice melted, cheeks flaring to a magma-like red as Sephiroth ruffled his hair, tousling the obsidian spikes. He swatted at him again. “C’mon...!”

Everyone was either laughing or giggling now—Zack, Tifa, Cloud, the other infantryman, and likely all the animals and creatures watching them from the encompassing mountains, watching as Zack retaliated with a fierce, love-laden hug. Was it an act of vengeance? To embarrass him in turn? Sephiroth didn’t know, but he didn’t fight back, letting Zack reloop his arm around his shoulders as they continued towards the bridge, as the wooden structure finally revealed itself through the sun and stone.

Business trip he had wrote in the mission logs. A brief business trip to the town’s Mako Reactor...

Alright.

Alright.

Perhaps it was a little stupid.

“Oh wow, that thing looks ancient…”

…

Just a little.