Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If my life were a movie, I would imagine it starting out with a 80s rock anthem as you see me swerving dangerously on the road, out of my mind, and on my way to my own personal hell.  If my life were a movie, it would be placed in the categories of drama, horror, and comedy.  Comedy because my life, in and of itself, is one big fucking joke.  If my life became a movie, it would barely make any revenue at the theaters as people from all over the world would roll their eyes in disgust as they walked to the latest Spielberg screening next door. 

If my life had any meaning at all, it would be made into a movie. 

My life is not being made into a movie.  Therefore, in an ontological argument, my life is meaningless.

You might say movie stardom has nothing to do with my life’s value.  I can agree with that.  See, the thing is, my dream isn’t to become a household icon or a face on the largest billboard in Hollywood.  My dream isn’t to see the latest fad of an actor pretend to have my name.  My dream, however, is to be important.  Whether my importance is important is a philosophical question that summons the idea of the value of importance.  It plagues my thoughts constantly.  You might ask:  What the hell is this guy on about?  I would like to answer that question.  In fact, I’m sure my answer could be a great one.  I feel like my answer would have a twist to it though; not too simple, easy enough to understand on the surface, but if you look closer you fall into more questions.  Yes, that would make a great answer.  It reminds me of my life.

Speaking of my life, while we’re on the subject, it’s a brittle one.  I imagine it will be short, almost as short as a one of those early, crackling black and white films.  The silent ones that only lasted a few minutes before the projector would eventually give way due to the lack of technical advances.  That is my life.  Something fragile that is destined to fail; something too big and ambitious being controlled by a mind too small and frightened.  They say:  Man’s greatest enemy is himself.  You ask:  who are they?  Well, obviously they’re men; but how would they know?  Has every man picked apart his thoughts as viciously as I have?  Has every man succumbed to the tyranny within their skull as I have?  Has every man witnessed the world through my eyes? 

Are you asking yourself if I’ve lost my mind yet?  Not yet.

Like everyone else, my mind affects my life.  It can expand it or collapse it until nothing but pseudo-psychological babbles of insane theories of importance come to a bitter fruition.  Like everyone else, I think I can bring something to this world, whether it’s good or bad—though likely to be the latter.  Like everyone else, I’m one against myself.  Like everyone else, I struggle to find a place in this shit-speckle of a world, a place that brings meaning to my seemingly short existence.  And in this string of useless ramblings of man vs. mind, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am just like everyone else.

I am you.

I am not important.

--Cloud Strife

Professor Davis had a long, pensive pinch to his brow as he read the piece with intense concentration.  The old devil sat across from him, grumbling and huffing every few seconds at what Cloud imagined were errors.  A beaten mahogany desk, cluttered with exams and student papers, separated the two:  teacher and student, devil and demon. 

Cloud knew he was complete horse shit at writing.  It didn’t matter the type.  Fiction, non-fiction, biographical, auto-biographical…  Maybe it was because he always waited until the night before—sometimes even the mornings—to start.  Maybe it was because he received sick satisfaction at watching his Professor’s face blossom with red anger once he realized that Cloud only wrote one out of six pages—and sometimes not even on the required topic.  Watching Professor Davis’ cheeks flush scarlet, Cloud determined with twisted amusement that it was definitely the latter.

“Cloud.”  His voice matched his appearance:  Ancient, frail, and sickly soft. 

If there was one thing in the world that Cloud pitied more than the starving ethnics of Africa, it was old people.  Bones as delicate as unsullied, fluttering snowflakes—

—Wait, that image was too serene, too beautiful.  Cloud wasn’t taking this writing class just to give a bullshit image of a person who was miles past the age of serenity and delicacy. 

Let’s try that again.  Bones as brittle as the leftover scabs of dry, burnt bacon; their skin compared to the thin film on the surface of coagulated, spoiled milk, wrinkled from time.  And their feeble, weary minds, trapped in their own golden age where ignorance reigned, continued to mock the newer generation with condemnation.  Perhaps it wasn’t pity after all.  Perhaps it was detestation.

“The assignment was to write about the portrayal of women in 19^th century literature.  This is not only off topic, but inappropriate for this class.”  Another lecture wanted to crawl out of the poor man’s loose, sagging throat.  Cloud could see it in his faded eyes; he could see how much he craved for another tongue-wagging just to express his superiority.  He'd say nothing about the grammar, nothing about the creativity, nothing about the thoughts that were given; he'd say nothing that interested Cloud.  Nothing important.  So, before another dainty breath was wasted, Cloud interrupted.

“Professor Davis, if I may,” The young man gestured to the pile of papers laying neatly in a stack at the end of the desk.  Ignoring the protests, Cloud seized the papers and sifted through each one.  “Caroline says, ‘in her opinion’—which, let’s be honest, is probably Wikipedia’s opinion—‘the portrayal of women in 19^th century literature’—gotta’ love how she repeated the question in her answer—‘is mostly negative due to the inequality among genders at that time’.” 

Cloud blew a low whistle as he flipped to the next one.  “I’m glad that one lasted six entire pages.”

“Cloud, please do not read your classmates’ work—”

“Jeramiah said, ‘Women were depicted poorly in 19^th century literature as it reflected the unequal roles of both genders in that period’.  Wow.  What a relief he explained it in six pages because who knew, right?  Sarah is, and I quote, ‘certain’ that ‘women were treated unfairly’.  How certain, you ask?  About six pages exactly certain.  Tyler—”

“Your point is made, Cloud, but this was a required assignment, one you failed to complete and turn in.  In the real world, you don’t get to choose—”

“In the real world, we’re not going to be forced to write about something that we’ve learned in junior high.”  Cloud interrupted.  “So before you try desperately to educate me on ‘the real world’, let me tell you something, Mr. Davis:  the only ‘world’ you’re preparing us for is a generic, one-dimensional cesspool populated by a bunch of brainwashed, robotic idiots whose personalities have all but deteriorated due to your pathetic excuse of teaching skills.  But that’s okay, because at least we know how to write six fucking pages on women’s suffrage in 19^th century literature.”

It wasn’t like Cloud actually cared about what he was saying.  To be honest, he was apathetic to the subject.  He had heard a few students make these type of speeches in rallies before, so he merely adopted their idea, stamped a dramatic flair to it, and presented it angrily to his inept professor.  And it worked.

He was withdrawn from the class the next day.

***

This subject began to quake and stumble on his words like a diddling buffoon that accidentally tripped his way into a circus.  However, the circus had an audience of one, and the only skill being tested was intelligence.  Unfortunately for the stammering young man who looked five seconds away from an ambulance emergency, he lacked that skill.

“While I appreciate your interest in this course, I will have to decline your application for attendance.”  Sephiroth spoke.  The small man’s mouth gaped open and close in a mindless fit for words, but none came.  “I do not want to give you false hope by sending you home without an answer.  Please understand that you’re just not what I am looking for as an investigative journalist.  Not only for my class, but also my company.  I hope your future is bright, but unfortunately it isn’t with me.” 

There was no emotion to his tone.  If Sephiroth stood by one thing, it was giving people honesty and the respect they deserved.  He didn’t believe in sugar-coating, whether it had to do with news, information, or emotions in general.  There was no need for exaggeration of expression since he felt that it was more offensive rather than courteous. 

“Um…thank you for your time, sir.”

They always thanked him.  Sephiroth could charge an entire massacre on the city, and they would still probably thank him. 

The young man had trouble keeping his eyes in contact—well, he had trouble with pretty much everything, including talking—throughout the interview, so it was no surprise when he stumbled out of the room with his head down and eyes downcast.  Sephiroth found it hard to trust anyone who couldn’t at least look a person in the eye while they spoke.  He knew he wasn’t the loveliest man to have a sit-down with and chat about the weather, but at least have decent manners of professionalism.

One word to describe Sephiroth Crescent, you ask?  Oh, that’s simple.  Professional.  He wouldn’t be where he was today if he lacked his powerful work ethic, willpower, determination, and brute sense of proficiency.  For his age, his accomplishments might have seemed impossible—damn near unattainable—but after years of struggling, learning, and wearing the mask of success, he became it.  He became one of the world’s most popular and respected journalists who brought the importance of investigative journalism to a bright culmination.

And then you will ask:  What is investigative journalism?  Because any curious, intelligent, well-grounded, rational person would ask instead of using Wikipedia.  Investigative journalism, while it could be used for many forms of news, was the good side of media--the honest side of media.  It was what you would call the imaginary form of media; because unlike mainstream press, investigative journalism relies heavily on sources, proof, and unbiased evidence.  Because it depended strongly on fair, impartial treatment to everyone, so nearly anyone could be a target. 

Unlike CNN journalists where their main targets for destruction were right-wing nut-jobs and they praised and worshiped liberals’ every action.  Unlike FOX News journalists where they pinned the tail on the leftist donkeys and celebrated ‘conservative’ agendas and figureheads.  Both types of media brainwashed their audiences, causing them to emit hate towards one another; and they thrived on it.  They fed off the divide they created because more people listened to their garbage-spewing “news”.  Sephiroth was sickened by the bias, revolted by the intolerable disgrace the media had become and how the press became a dancing monkey for large corporations to control.  Because of mainstream journalism's overtake and its toxic regime, Sephiroth created something better.

But the word ‘better’ wasn’t good enough to what he did.  He made history.  He washed out the bias, the corporations, the liberals, the conservatives, the republicans, and everything that made the media a disgrace.  Sephiroth brought back the integrity of journalism.  He revived the honesty behind the word, instead of relying on brainwashing propaganda speech that filtered the truth through lies and deceit.  He brought back the truth.  He resuscitated the dying dream of investigative journalism and turned it into one of the world’s largest media factors.  And the greatest part wasn’t the fact that he accomplished all of this before he turned thirty, the greatest part wasn’t because he ranked as one of the richest editors in the world; no, the greatest part was that media began to fall back on more evidence and truth rather than prejudice and lies.  And that was because of him.

So if he changed history, you might be wondering why on earth he was cramped inside a small, dim office grading papers and interviewing students in the middle of Montana.  The answer can be split into multiple ones. 

First, he needed a break.  The life of a journalist wasn’t always research, write, and then reward.  It could be overbearing, stressful, and mind-numbingly painful, especially for the CEO of the media company, M.C.R. (Media Center of Reporting).  So, he appointed his assistant to temporarily run things as he took his professional vacation.  And that led to reason number two. 

Second, he needed fresh minds.  And what better way to find them than by teaching and getting to know them?  His company consisted of a wide-range of journalists that had been personally hand-picked by Sephiroth himself, so keeping a direct and constant contact with more potentials deemed helpful. 

And third, why did he choose University of Montana-School of Journalism of all places?  Simple, he graduated from there eleven years ago, and what better place to recruit from than his “birthplace”?

Sephiroth almost scoffed at the thought.  While he could select his interns, he couldn’t personally pick his students.  Therefore, he was stuck with dull, unintelligent robots that drooled every time he opened his mouth.  Not only that, most of the ones that had potential were let down by their unsightly physical appearance. 

Now, Sephiroth was not a shallow man.  In fact, when it came to romantic relationships, he wouldn’t say he actually had a preference at all.  But when in regards to the inner-workings of journalism, having an unattractive look did not help.

It was harsh, but like said earlier, Sephiroth was an advocate of the truth.

Right now, he was taking interviews from students that were desperate to attend his classes in the middle of the first semester.  Since he had achieved celebrity status, it was understandable that they would be nervous.  But what Sephiroth didn’t understand was the lack of ambition, the drive, and the energy that he craved for his company.  Hardly any of the insipid, naive creatures had stood out or made an impact on him.  He refused to let another brainless fan wander in his class just to gawk at him.  He only had a select few students in his course that continued to improve their potential.  But a select few in an entire class of supposedly striving journalists was laughable and embarrassing.

There was a knock on the door. 

Sharon Beatrice, one of the college’s academic advisors, stepped through--her blonde hair tied neatly into a clean bun as her glasses rested on her thin nose and rounded ears.  With a looming height and broad shoulders, the woman held an authoritative aura around her.  She was strict, to the point, and didn’t take any fuss from her students.  Sephiroth admired that about her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Beatrice.”  He greeted, gesturing her to take a seat.

“Good morning, Professor.”  And with her firmly planted into the chair, she sighed.  Her expression was drained and her eyes were pleading.  She wanted something.

“What is it?”

Holding out a manila folder, she explained.  “I have this student that needs to take another credit and I would like for you to at least consider him.”

Sephiroth rose a brow.  “Does this student have a particular interest in Investigative Journalism?”

“No, he doesn’t.”  Realizing her vague statement wasn’t enough, she said, “But he is willing to set up an appointment with you.”

Sephiroth wanted to laugh, but he kept his expression in check as he spoke sarcastically, “Well, I’m glad he’s clearing his schedule.”

“That’s not what I meant.  I’m sorry.  It’s just…”  Her face became defeated as she spoke.  “The reason I am coming to you is because other professors don’t appreciate his—er—behavior.”

“And what kind of behavior is that?”

“He can be opinionated.”  She paused.  “In a rude way.”

So she wanted Sephiroth to scare the living daylights out of an unruly teen with a loud, offensive mouth.  That didn’t sound appealing at all.  His job wasn’t to babysit whining rebels and discipline their misguided ways.  He was there to teach and to recruit, not tend to unwanted students.

“I am not a childcare agency.  If other professors are reluctant to take him, then he has to live with the consequences of being unpleasant.”

She thrusted the folder into his line of sight.  “Just read over his file.  He can be very bright…when he wants to be.”

Sephiroth took the weighted file from her dainty fingers and opened it.  Information sprawled out in neat ink about the boy in question:  Cloud Strife.  He made decent grades, excelling more in creative writing than factual.  That was a minus in Sephiroth’s eyes.  No picture, but there was a list of comments—mostly complaints—about his conduct.  The latest one came from a professor he actually knew.

“Professor Davis kicked him out?”  From what he knew about Davis, he was a sweet and gentle old man.

She cringed.  “It was a misunderstanding.”

“He apparently did the wrong assignment on purpose and proceeded to insult him.”  Sephiroth said deadpanned, raising a delicate, judging brow at her over the papers.

“Like I said:  opinionated.”

“In a rude way.”  Sephiroth finished with an unamused smile.

With a defeated sigh and a long look of desperation, she said, “Sephiroth, I know this is asking a lot.  But just give him a chance.  One interview and if you still decide to reject him, then fine.  All I’m asking for is a chance.  Please.”

To see this woman, who usually held the world beneath her as she walked, actually plead for this stranger’s education raised his respect for her tenfold.  But respect did not equal acceptance.

“You tell me he has no interest in my course, that he’s insulting to his elders, and that he has no respect for education; and you want me to make time for him?”  He might have been harsh, but he was done wasting his time with mindless students.  Not to mention mindless, obnoxious ones.

With a deep breath and sturdy gaze, she said, “Yes.  While he may be an unhinged young man at times, he can also be annoyingly clever.  Just read through some of his works, and you will see that."  She kept her hazel eyes direct.  "I believe he has the potential to impress you.  You just have to give him that opportunity.”

Sephiroth sighed and turned his attention back to the file.  He flipped through the pages, skimming over his written papers before stopping on one that almost bled from pen corrections and notes.  The notes were from Professor Davis, criticizing Strife's belligerence to the assignment.  He read over the paper quickly.

It was just mad ramblings of the value of importance.

“How philosophical.”  He said dryly, flipping the folder closed, and gave Sharon a hard stare before saying, “I’m leaving my office at five.  If you can send him earlier than that, then I’ll speak with him.”

Relief flooded her expression as a giant grin lifted her face.  “He’ll be here.”

“This doesn’t mean he’s in my class.”  Sephiroth reminded her.  “I won’t make that decision until after we’ve had a conversation.”

“Of course.”  But she smiled anyways and rose from her seat.  “Thank you, Professor.”

He didn’t say anything as she left.  He reviewed the files once more before closing them with a deepening frown. 

Sephiroth believed in the power of aspiration.  He believed that leading an ambitious life and working hard to fulfill hopeful dreams could make a person stronger.  It could develop a person into not some ordinary human, but someone extraordinary and essential to the world as a whole.  So, because of these bold beliefs and after raking his attention over Strife’s file, he had a horrid, sinking feeling that they were not going to get along.

And he sighed.   

 ***

As a kid, growing up in a drunken, unstable household in the middle of bumfuck-nowhere-Arizona, Cloud was never asked of his aspirations or his dream college.  In fact, adding to the list of the cliché, troubled childhoods that most stories need to have, his mother left before she even thought about asking.  You see, the truth about the college subject when it comes to young adults is that they rarely want to be asked about it.  So, when he was younger, Cloud liked to imagine that his father was just respecting his privacy and trying to decrease his stress levels by not asking.  

However, time is a funny thing.  It can change a person, morph someone into an entirely different being.  That was what happened to Cloud.  Time.  Over this wild, little thing called time, he realized that his father wasn’t respecting his feelings.  He realized his father wasn’t actually “cleaning” out his demons.  He soon realized that the other kids at school never spoke about their parents’ “daily cleansing” because they never experienced it.  Yes, throughout this slow crawl of time, Cloud became what he is now:  someone desperate to seek another life.  People also labelled him as an asshole, but he would rather go with the former identification—it looked better on the résumé. 

So he chose the most ambiguous, off-the-map college he could find that: 

One:  Would accept him and all his academic flaws.

Two:  Was literally across the country.

And three:  Focused on what he considered his dream job.

It was…University of Montana - School of Journalism. 

Now this was where it got complicated.  When he applied, he thought he enjoyed the act of writing about current events because he always had a strong opinion on said current events.  But Freddie Mercury enjoyed the act of unsafe homosexual sex and look where that got him.  But unlike Freddie Mercury, Cloud won’t die from something he loves, because after almost three years of journalism he has realized that he disliked it immensely.  To say he ‘hated’ journalism would be an exaggeration, but he would rather stick knives into his sockets and listen to cats fucking in the middle of a blizzard than be a journalist.  But it was too late.  Nearing the end of his junior year and buried in student debt, he might as well brave it out. 

His counselor, T.B.M.—Tall, Blonde, and Married—had suggested he take a journalism course as a replacement class for one of his English credits.  Investigative Journalism.  And given that it was the only class that still had open seats and whose professor was open to all types of people—including cynics—he had no choice.  But due to the late timing—it was nearing mid-terms—he had a scheduled appointment with his new professor before experiencing class.  Cloud hoped it was just to catch up with other students, but he had a nagging feeling it was going to be one of those “change your behavior or else” lectures.

And it better be life-changing because this guy’s office was on the other side of the fucking campus.  November in Montana compares to the center of an ice cube lodged up a frozen cow’s ass, stored in a meat-locker, in the middle of the North Pole.  Or maybe Cloud was still used to the dry heat of Arizona.  Or maybe his balls were so close to the frostbite stage that it began sending his brain in an over-exaggerating frenzy of metaphors. 

Cloud followed the directions T.B.M. gave him to a lone, generic study hall, glazed over with white as small specks of snow drifted down.  Cloud hugged his coat closer to him and reminded himself that maybe it was the time for a new one as wind broke through and sent a chill across his body.  Before he reached the front entrance, someone beat him to it.  Cloud forced himself to look away, shielding his eyes with the hood of his jacket so he couldn’t gape. 

The man was gigantic. 

Now, in all fairness, Cloud wasn’t a very big guy.  He didn’t have bulging, gym-trainer muscles or a tall, towering stature.  He was average height, with lean muscles wrapped with skin that could almost rival the snow on the ground.   Unlike the beast before him who could be America’s next top swimwear model.

The man was leaving the building, but still held open the door for Cloud who in turn murmured a quiet “Thanks” before taking refuge in the refreshing heat.  He felt his balls thaw out at the sudden warm impact.

“Dear Jesus.”  He cursed.  Why did he have to pick Montana of all places? 

There were a few students lurking outside of classroom doors, either waiting for their friends or just being a nuisance for people trying to walk down the halls.  Cloud never understood the idea of standing in the middle—

He found the office that apparently belonged to Professor Sephiroth Crescent.

Cloud held back a snort.  That couldn’t be his actual name.  Sure, he knew who he was.  Cloud has heard that name plenty of times given the career path he chose, but like his thoughts about journalism, he didn’t care.

He knocked twice before hearing a calm invitation from inside.  Compared to the hallways, Professor Crescent’s office seemed—and almost felt—homey.  It was warm, in colors and in temperature, with bookcases lining the walls being used more for file storage than actual books.  There was one window where minimal light peaked through half-drawn mahogany curtains, casting a soft, white glow on the figure behind the desk.  The rest was like every other office Cloud had the pleasure of visiting.  A large desk in the corner, two leather seats on opposite sides, a love sofa on the parallel wall for who knew for what purpose, and two dim lamps that attempted in producing a sophisticated aura—it failed.

The professor lounged casually in his seat, watching Cloud through calculating, unique green eyes that retracted a silver sheen in the white light from the curtains.  Adding to that was a mane of long, flowing silver hair that just barely caressed the floor.  And Cloud couldn’t help but think that he looked…good.

And by that, Cloud meant he was well below the average age of most professors and well above the average appearance.

“Please, sit.”  Professor Crescent gestured to the guest chair, seemingly annoyed that Cloud was lolling about and getting distracted. 

Cloud did as he asked, set his rugged bag on the floor next to him, and slipped the hood of his jacket off his head, causing his blond hair to look even more disheveled.  Now that he was closer, he could see the defined edges of the man’s jaw and the well-sculpted straight shape of his nose.  While Cloud’s features were of a more delicate sort, Crescent's seemed manlier, but still lean and not overly bulky.  Basically, it wasn’t what Cloud expected from a man who apparently flipped the entire core of journalism on its corrupt head.  He expected wrinkles.

After what felt like an hour of him watching Cloud’s every move—or lack thereof—he finally spoke.  “It seems that I am faced with a problem here.”

“Oh?  And what’s that?”  Cloud took pride in the fact that he actually sounded genuinely curious.

“It’s a week before mid-terms and you lack any grades for the class.”  He lifted a finger to his lips as if in contemplation.  He continued to stare.

“I just transferred.”  Poor choice of words, but what else was he supposed to say.  Sorry? 

As expected, Professor Crescent gave him an incredulous look.  “Yes, I know.”  He spoke as if he were talking to a rambling child, trying to console the useless blabbering with a participatory comment.  “You see, my problem—Cloud, is it?”  Cloud nodded.  “My problem is that I’m not sure what you could do to make up for lost time.  My students are almost done with their mid-term paper.  However, to give you this assignment so late in the quarter, well, it seems like I’m asking for a miracle.  And I don’t believe in miracles.”

Good, because Cloud wasn’t Jesus.  And he certainly won’t be creating any miracles with his shit writing.

“Well, I have a 6-page paper on the portrayal of women in 19^th century literature waiting in the wings if you want to take a crack at that one.  I assure you, it can be in many ways, miraculous.”  Just because Cloud failed to turn it in, doesn’t mean he failed to do it.

Crescent simply stared at first before his lips tugged crookedly into a smirk.  “Ah, the infamous paper.  As intriguing as that sounds, I would much rather have you write something for me.  Leftovers are never as good as the fresh ones.”  With another quick look, he changed the subject, “Where are you from?”

“Arizona.”

A quizzical brow rose.  “You don’t look like you’re from Arizona.”

“I spent most of my days inside.”  He clarified.  His complexion was far from tan. 

“Writing?”

No.  “Yes.”

He seemed to see through that lie pretty quickly.  “What did you do?”

“I read.”  Cloud said, watching as the professor still held that look of disbelief.  “Couldn’t afford video games and there was a library down the street.  I was quite popular.”  Cloud actually could afford video games, he just wasn’t allowed.  He decided to swerve around that truth.

“Was it a small town?”

“Unbelievably.”

“Near the Grand Canyon?”

Cloud bit his lip.  “Fortunately not.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I have a lot of enemies.”  Cloud grinned.

“So why did you come to Montana?”

And just like that, Cloud’s grin dropped.  “I never enjoyed Arizona.  I thought a change of scenery would be a step up.”

Crescent ignored the mood change and asked, “And was it?  A step up?”

Considering the fact he didn’t come home to more colorful bruises, then yes.

“I’d say so.”  He sighed.  Was this an interview or an appointment?

As if reading his thoughts, the professor explained.  “I’m only asking because this is how I would like to choose my students.  An investigative journalist, at least a successful one, should have an interesting personality, but also sustain an aura of control around them.  You never want to interview someone and then turn out to be the one being interviewed.  You also need to have a charisma that will keep them talking, not only because you asked but because they feel a desire to talk to you.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get to do this for my current class, so half of them I can’t be too sure about.”

So, basically, half of his class are a bunch of dimwitted losers.  At least, that’s what Cloud heard.

“So this is a test?”

“In a way.”  His eyes were studying him now, as if trying to decide whether to keep him or kick him to the curb.  Cloud stared back.  If there was one thing he was good at, it was staring contests and he’d make damn sure he’d win this one.

“Am I passing?”  He made sure to keep his eyes glued to his target, unblinking and unwavering.

“How do you think you’re doing?”  Crescent’s lips twitched in what Cloud assumed was amusement.  “And give me an interesting answer.”

If there was another thing Cloud excelled in, it was interesting answers. 

“Considering the fact that I managed to hold a decent conversation with a stranger with severe staring problems while I simultaneously defrost from walking almost a mile in the ninth circle of hell thanks to your bizarre, inconvenient location?  Well, I believe I’m doing quite well, Professor Crescent.”

The silver-haired man leaned back in his seat, surveying his potential student with a quirk to his lips and an arch to his brows.  “Call me Sephiroth.”

“Noted.”

“And you’re very honest.”

“It’s a flaw, really.”  Cloud admitted.  He took this time to let his eyes wander around the room once more.  There wasn’t anything eye-catching or particularly intriguing, but he would much rather stare at dusty books than partake in another eye-battle.  Once he returned his attention—after not finding a single object to fascinate him—he found the professor opening a manila folder with what Cloud imagined was his file.

“Earlier, I had the chance to read the latest paper you wrote for Professor Davis’ class.”  Sephiroth glanced briefly from the papers to Cloud before continuing.  “The one about the value of importance.”

Cloud wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh because of the backstory behind it or bury himself alive.

“He wasn’t too pleased with it.”

“Why is that?”  Sephiroth questioned, though not entirely engulfed in the conversation as he was in the paper. 

“It was five pages too short and on the wrong topic.”  Maybe one day he might regret it, but that day had still not come.

“On purpose?”  Sephiroth looked up then, his green eyes colliding with cerulean ones.

“Yes.  I thought you knew that.”

“I did.”  Sephiroth gave a flash of a tiny, barely there smile before returning to what Cloud assumed was his poker face. 

“Did you like it?”  Cloud was asking the questions now.  Sephiroth rose a brow, so he clarified.  “The paper.”

Sephiroth returned his gaze coolly.  “I enjoyed some parts and other parts I did not.”

“Well, it was only one page, so which paragraphs did you hate?”

Sephiroth cocked his head.  “The last two.”  After a moment of silence, he added.  “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

Cloud snorted.  “No, I already know why.  Probably something like ‘oh, Cloud!’” He faked some strange accent that has probably never seen the light of day until then, “’you are important!  Every star shines differently and you are one of those stars!  You are different!’  It’s just a bunch of politically correct bullshit that gives people false hope for an unattainable future.”

“So you think people are nameless?”

“There are approximately seven billion people in the world.  And I can name, at most, one hundred off the top of my head.  That includes celebrities, historical figures, and people I know personally.  So, yes, people in general are nameless unless they make a name for themselves.  I’ve just reasonably placed myself in the most realistic category.”  Cloud explained.  He wasn’t sure why he explained it, but he felt that it was needed.  That it was necessary to give his side of the story.

Sephiroth hummed in thought, his eyes were back in study-mode as they roamed Cloud’s face--as if trying to gather information, garner emotion, or whatever expression that Cloud wore.  Cloud hoped he didn’t find anything.

“I didn’t like the last two paragraphs because you asked too many rhetorical questions and, towards the end, you were trapped in a loop of repetitive phrases that ran its course a couple paragraphs earlier.  As far as the message behind it is concerned, while a bit too philosophical for my taste, it was still an interesting piece.”

Oh.  That was a waste of breath, Cloud thought.

“Do you want to take this course, Cloud?”  The subject changed and he was serious now.  The mood in the room shifted as this was the moment of truth.  Cloud opened his mouth but nothing came out.  “This is a course where your full attention is required at all times.  This isn’t just for a credit.  There’s an opportunity to make something of yourself through it.”

“Opportunity?”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed how out-of-place I am, here at this university,” Cloud scoffed at that understatement, “but I’m only teaching here temporarily for business needs only.  You see, I’ve recently opened up an internship program for young aspiring journalists.  I’m teaching this class in hopes to find three suitable interns for the winter and summer.  I plan on hiring one of them to my company before next fall if everything goes according to plan.”

“So, like a journalism version of the Hunger Games?”

Sephiroth almost smiled.  Almost.  “Yes, I suppose you could say that.  I believe competition brings out the best work in people.”

“Why should I even attempt it this late?”  It was a silly question, but for Cloud it held the most weight.  What was in it for him if he hadn’t even exercised his ‘investigative journalism’ skills yet?  Most of the class were likely miles ahead of him.

“While I haven’t seen any of your journalistic work yet, I have gotten to know you as much as the others.  Like you, I sat down with all of my students in one-on-one sessions and attempted to learn more about them.  Some impressed me, some didn’t.”

“What qualities are you looking for in your ‘perfect’ candidate?  Republican or Democrat?”

Sephiroth paused briefly in thought before he relayed the information.  “I’m going to be bluntly honest, Cloud.  I don’t care how great your grades are.  I don’t care how much money you have in the bank.  There are a few simple objectives that need to be met to be a successful journalist.”  Cloud waited.  “Appearance, personality, and intelligence.  Each of these are being tested as we speak.”

Cloud leaned in with artificial interest and a quirk to his lips.  “What’s my strongest attribute so far, Professor?”

Sephiroth remained deadpanned as he spoke.  “Personality.”

“I’m offended.”  Cloud gasped, rocking back into his chair until he stilled and asked the next question.  “Why appearance?  Don’t tell me you rate your students on a 1 to 10 scale.”

“Nothing like that.  To get information, sometimes it’s better to use looks rather than wits, especially for some of the more rural people of the area.”

“Seduction.”  Cloud simplified.

Sephiroth nodded then tapped his fingers twice on the desk before shifting back into his seat.

“So…just a heads up.”  Cloud said.  “The last thing I do when I talk to people is attract them.”  Look at that.  More honesty.

Sephiroth huffed in agreement.  “Seduction isn’t usually about what you say.  It’s about how you act, how strong your personality is, and how much you can emit that energy onto someone else.  All the while using your looks as a strength too.  It shouldn’t be a problem for you at all.”

He knew it wasn’t a flirt or anything as silly as that, but the fact that Sephiroth, his professor, openly admitted in finding him attractive was strange in all forms of the word.  So that’s why, after being stumped and smacked with a very large stupid stick Cloud responded with, “Cool.”

And the most genuine smile he has seen from Sephiroth appeared as it crinkled his eyes and dinted his cheek with a dimple.  “But you still need to work on your communication skills.” 

“Noted.”  Cloud brought back his wits and brain as he asked, “Does that mean I passed?”

“You’re definitely in my class.  But as for the internship, we’ll see.  I’m making a selection tomorrow, so you’ll at least find out by then.”

Cloud nodded.  He didn’t really care about the internship though; he just needed the credit. 

“Do you have experience in journalism?”  Sephiroth asked, just when Cloud thought their meeting had come to a close and he grabbed his bag. 

“No.  Unless you count nonconsensual gossip.”

“Thankfully, I don’t.”  Sephiroth said.  “Have you ever been arrested?”

Cloud snorted.  “Are you reading these from a teleprompter or something?”  He made a show of looking behind him to find a screen and then turned back to find Sephiroth still waiting for an answer.  “No.  I haven’t.  Not officially, anyways.”

Sephiroth lifted a brow at the ‘not officially’ part, but didn’t mention it.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Dead.  That was the first word that came to mind.  It was also the second word, so Cloud had a slight pause thinking of an answer that wasn’t ‘dead’, ‘dying’, or some variation of the two.

“Well, when I was ten I didn’t picture myself going to a journalism school.  Ten years is too long of a time to tell.”

Sephiroth didn’t like that answer so he altered the question.  “Where do you want to see yourself in ten years?”

Dead.  But, again, he couldn’t say that unless he wanted to see a shrink.  So he chose a more appropriate answer.

“Writing a book.”

“A book?”

Cloud shrugged.  “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.” 

Sephiroth hummed at his answer as he observed Cloud with careful eyes.

“Are these questions for the internship?”

“Yes.”

“And if I told you I wasn’t interested?”  Cloud queried.

Sephiroth simply put on a small, fake smile and said, “I’ll still consider you for the position.  I do with all my students, whether or not they’re ‘interested’.”

Great.

“I take it everyone in your class wants it?” 

“Seems like it.”  His watchful gaze was penetrating, daunting.  It was as if he were studying every word, every movement, every feature, and every emotion that Cloud offered.  And he gave nothing in return.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re intimidating to talk to?” 

Sephiroth’s lips twitched.  “No.  Not unless you’re telling me now.”

“I am.” 

“Well, I apologize.”  He certainly didn’t sound sorry.  “You seem to be doing alright though.”

“Thanks.  But it would help if you’d blink some more.”

Sephiroth chuckled, briefly breaking out of his poker face and into a smirk.  “I like the view.”

Cloud felt his cheeks warm from the unexpected comment and from the look he was being given.  He wasn’t going to respond to that and thankfully he didn’t have to as Sephiroth spoke.

“Do you have any questions for me before you leave?”

Cloud pretended that he was thinking of something, but in reality he just wanted to go home.

“No.  Not yet.”  He replied.  Sephiroth stood which brought Cloud to stand and gather his bag.  The professor held out his hand and Cloud completed the gesture firmly and professionally.

“Pleasure meeting you, Cloud.”

He let go as Cloud responded just as cordially, “It was nice meeting you, too.”

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

And that was how Cloud’s consultation with his newest professor ended.  It was brief, strange, and to the point.  Hopefully, that’s how his journalism class will go, but with more emphasis on the ‘brief’ and less on the ‘strange’.

As far as the internship went:  he wasn’t interested.  Not in the least bit.  Perhaps, if by some miraculous, dimwitted choice Sephiroth chose him as one of the potential candidates tomorrow, he’d try to reason with him and remove himself from said list.  But that ‘if’ was as big as Mama June after a Thanksgiving feast.  Not to mention, utterly unimaginable.  If Sephiroth had any sense of intelligence or pride for his company at all, he would ignore Cloud completely. 

And that thought was the one to lull Cloud to sleep that night.  It whispered of failure and worthlessness.  These were ideas Cloud could handle, these were the ideas he was used to.  The dreams of hope and being important were just that.  Dreams.  He knew better not to dream.

So as he drifted slowly off to the realm of sleep, he saw nothing but darkness and reality. 

Dreams were forgotten.

Chapter Text

Warning:  An extremely long chapter of Seph/Cloud dynamic and little plot.  A useless, rambling monologue for the sake of aesthetic.  Cloud’s use of metaphorical imagery has gotten worse.  And some “humor” may be offensive.  

 Chapter 2:  Investigative Journalism 101

Motivation.  Do you know the feeling when you get out of bed and you’re actually excited for the day ahead?  The feeling of jubilance that races through your bloodstream and electrocutes every nerve of your body into eager action.  That moment when you make fragile promises of productivity because in that single moment you are washed with a wave of pure inspiration.  In that moment, you contemplate an unsteady plan for a bright future because of that pull, the pull that begins deep within your conscience and heaves against the restraining grip of twisted reality in a tense match of tug-of-war.  The kind of tension that can leave aching, unforgiving thoughts to squeeze ruthlessly on your mind.  It turns like a violent twist to a rope, continuing to roll onto itself until that fragile rope snaps. 

And something wins.  Whether if it is reality or hope depends on your next actions. 

So have you experienced that feeling?

I’m only asking, because I’ve lost the war.

And I am not typing this for pity, for misguided sympathy just so that my beaten, bloodied ego can receive some form of compassion.  I am not asking for a tear or a prayer.  I’ve received plenty and they’ve done me no good.  My questions are not pleading for anything else but an answer.  Perhaps, this answer could be simple, straight-forward, like a “yes” or a plain “no”.  But, please, before you utter these simple answers, understand that I’ve lost. 

And what I mean by that is even simpler than your “yes’s” and your “no’s” or your meaningless prayers or your artificial tears.  Even simpler than a silly game of tug-of-war or a winding rope. 

I have lost.

I have given up.

I have nothing.

-Cloud Strife

Because of the inconvenient location of Professor Crescent’s class, the vast distance between his morning class (Foreign Study in Journalism), and the fact that Cloud still continues and forever will be a slow walker, he was late to his first day of Investigative Journalism.  Whether he cared or not was a question for the Gods, and since he didn’t believe in any Gods, the question will remain unanswered.  

He supposed making a tardy entrance might raise his limelight in Sephiroth’s eyes and benefit his chance of becoming an intern.  Or perhaps dampen his chances since the act of being late was unprofessional.  Either way, these thoughts were pointless as he had no interest in being an intern.  Since journalism to him was about as useless as that recent train of thought.

Thankfully, he arrived during the purgatory time.  This was the time when technically, according to the clock, class had started but the lecture hadn’t begun yet.  So, students were trapped in their own bubbles of conversation until the professor deemed it fit to begin the ritual to hell.

Cloud felt the prickling itch of scrutinizing eyes as he stepped in; he was an outsider, someone unrecognizable to the pack of territorial wolves.  And that’s exactly what they were:  wolves.  Sniffing and prowling the newcomer with curious looks, they whispered to each other.  The soft sound of hushed voices floated in the air like a low buzz from a fan.  Cloud avoided their prying gazes as he found an empty seat in the far right corner and casted a small glance in Sephiroth’s direction. 

If Sephiroth noticed Cloud’s entrance, he made an incredible effort in hiding it.  Or he just didn’t care.  Cloud placed a bet on his father’s life that it was the latter. 

Sephiroth was ethereal, even in the midst of plain wooden desks, ordinary objects, and the normalcy of classroom activity.  His magnificent presence garnered attention even if unwanted; it was always there, omnipresent in everyone’s minds.  Just by the simple action of reading a book, students were entranced.  Platinum hair cascaded in a waterfall of silk over his shoulders as his bangs delicately fell over his unique eyes.  His simple black suit didn’t seem simple anymore.  It was like a picture from an aesthetically pleasing Swedish fashion magazine—not that Cloud has read any of those, of course.  

Cloud fought off the spell, tearing his eyes away from the unaware figure to his fiddling fingers.

It didn’t take five seconds until his surrounding desk neighbors decided to hound him with introductions and questions.  It didn’t take five seconds until he offended almost every single one of them and they immediately stopped talking to him. 

One in particular, Marco—who wasn’t pleased with Cloud’s ‘Polo’ comment—was persistent though as he told his own personal story much to Cloud’s dismay.  He originally came from the foreign country of Mexico.  He explained to Cloud his reason of seeking a higher education and ambition to work for the best journalist in the world as a personal attachment.  He wanted to see his family again as they were undocumented and were deported when he was younger.  And hopefully he could write an informational article that might catch the sights of influential politicians—perhaps even the White House—and try to shine light on difficulties many people face.  Being a part of the largest media company in the world (M.C.R.) would surely help his efforts.

However, a topic such as that one is fragile, delicate, and one that holds too much weight of sensitivity that Cloud could handle at ten o’clock in the morning.  And not only was it too early for an emotional sob story, it quickly became apparent that Cloud had no business being in this class.  He realized that the ones up front, while definitely getting a good view, might have had other reasons of being in the war zone.  They were determined.  Motivated.  Each pulled by an inspiration to make a difference in the world through their words. 

And here Cloud sat, waiting for the class to not only start but finish.  He had no motivational speech to give the world.  He had no ambitious goal to achieve.  The only ambition he had was to receive his credits, graduate, and eventually die.

“So, why are you taking his class?”  Marco spoke his thoughts once he finished with his own depressing spiel about his family.  His deep brown eyes gleamed with a driving spirit; Cloud felt his insides twist at the sight of it.  It wasn’t a pleasant feeling nor was it a pleasant view. 

“I need a credit.”  Cloud admitted blankly, to which Marco choked out a laugh.  Apparently, he thought it was a joke.  But after a long, emotionless look from the blond, his laughter simmered into a dubious frown and he slowly turned away.

That went well.

 “Alright, let’s begin.”  Professor Crescent’s deep rumble of a voice vibrated through the room.  It was as if he stripped naked and began the hula dance because everyone immediately shut up, faced forward, and readied their writing utensils.  It was like a strange mind-control horror film that Cloud did not want to be a part of.

“Before I start the lecture, I would like to point out that I have chosen ten potential candidates for the internship program.”  He regarded his students coolly.  “I told you at the beginning of this course that I would make a selection by Mid-Terms based solely on your personality and charisma, while the final selection at the end of the quarter will be focused on writing and research skills.”  He met each pair of eyes dead on.  Some of them were too cowardly to meet his unapproachable gaze as they became curiously preoccupied in their own work. 

Cloud watched the students’ reactions with interest.  They didn’t seem scared, but more so intimidated.  Their faces garnered respect but their actions, their body language most importantly, were on edge.  They were holding up appearances in hopes of impressing, he realized. 

Cloud made eye contact briefly before he continued, “If you were not chosen, do not take it as an offense to your writing or your character.  I only chose this selection because they were the most impressive during our one-on-ones and in class.” 

Cloud’s gut turned in anxiety.  He hoped, prayed, and pleaded to those pesky Gods he didn’t believe in that he was not on the list.  Simply because:  one, we’ve already stated he didn’t want to be a journalist and everyone else in the class was much more deserving; and also, Sephiroth terrified him. 

He didn’t scare him in the typical way of being physically threatened.  Sure, he had more muscle and a bigger, taller frame than Cloud, but he was still just as lean.  What frightened him was his mind, his eyes, and his psyche.  There was something unreachable about it, something on the edge of revelation, but forever suspended behind a wall of the impenetrable steel that was his façade.  Cloud knew a façade when he saw one and that, ladies and gentleman—

Sephiroth didn’t wait for Cloud’s thoughts to finish as he began to recite the list:

“Harriet Yuna, Scarlet Richter, Michael Huldon…”

—is a façade.  His appointment with him was enough ‘Sephiroth time’ to last him his entire life, and he also didn’t need the entire M.C.R. fan-club to raise their pitchforks at him because he might have ruined someone else’s opportunity at a future.

“James Lyle, Vanessa Bran, Reno Smith…”

With each name, Cloud sunk lower into his seat.  His fingers ringing together in anxious turmoil as his stomach turned to the beat of his heart. 

“Winona Tal, Yuffie Kisaragi, Marco Hanzal…”

The foreign student released a long held-in breath as his body slumped in relief against his desk as he began to thank God.  And Cloud began to plead with the almighty being, promising God that he would attend church every—mostly every—Sunday and perhaps relinquish his habit of cursing.

“…and Cloud Strife.”

Fuck God, Cloud cursed inwardly.

There were a couple squeals and relieved sighs amidst the silence.  Cloud was pretty sure he was supposed to be one of them.  But he couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of dread soak nauseatingly into his bones. 

“Like I said, I chose this group because I feel like one of them could be a promising addition to my company.  You all have a future within journalism, but most are not with me.”

And people call Cloud the asshole. 

The rest of the class blurred as Sephiroth’s lecture mostly consisted on research methods, and there were two:  verbal and non-verbal.  Sephiroth explained the non-verbal as written documents like articles, reports, legal documents, lawsuit filings, etc.  Basically, anything material.  But in order to possess these so-called non-verbal methods of research, a journalist needs the other method:  Verbal.  And that meant interviews, casual meetings, and even seduction. 

The power of the body can sometimes speak louder than words.

He didn’t elaborate much on that topic, probably knowing that half of his class were love-sick, hormonal teenagers desperate for a naughty, cliché time with their professor.  Everyone loves a good teacher-student experience.  Also, Cloud was grateful that seduction played a smaller role in Sephiroth’s idea of research; because out of all 206 bones in his body, not one of them was seductive.

After a quick, “Dismissed,” class ended.  And Cloud decided to wait until they filed out to confront him.  But it seems everyone had the same idea.  About six students lined up at his desk, each having an “important” question.  But they weren’t really important.  It was more of a competition on who can stand out the most, which was ridiculous since that ship already sailed. 

Cloud sighed, stood behind the sixth person, and waited.  Marco and a student with flaming red hair joined behind him. 

“Congratulations, Cloud.”  He heard.

“Thanks.”  Apathy was never something he could mask. 

The lined shortened…in a way.  The people who already had their questions answered still huddled around the desk, listening in on the others’ inquiries or perhaps they felt invigorated in Sephiroth’s presence.  Cloud wasn’t sure what he felt near the man, but it certainly wasn’t invigoration.

“You made a mistake.”  He stated boldly once his turn came. 

Sephiroth rose a brow.  His uncanny eyes took in the blond with unidentifiable thought as his attention was caught.

“In my lecture?”

Cloud sighed.  “No, in your list.  I shouldn’t be there.”  There were a few gasps around them to which Cloud made a dramatic bow and said, “Yes, enjoy the show.  Look, Professor—er—Sephiroth, I’m not even sure I want to be a journalist, much less take up a spot I probably don’t deserve.  I think there are more worthy students that can take my place.”

Sephiroth studied him carefully as did everyone else, but unlike everyone else, he seemed amused.

“While I applaud you for being so considerate, I already knew you had little interest in journalism.  Like I said earlier, I chose you for your personality.”

“I don’t know if you ‘already knew this’,” Cloud mocked, “but my personality doesn’t get along with other personalities.”

Sephiroth almost smiled knowingly and that pretty much summed up the ‘no shit’ that was muttered from behind him. 

“You’re wasting your time.”  Cloud tried. 

Usually if you tell a businessman that they’re wasting their time, they’ll drop whatever they’re wasting their time on in a flash.  Sephiroth apparently wasn’t a businessman, or he was just fucking stupid.

“No, you’re wasting my time.”  Sephiroth countered before giving a very stern look that said this will be the last straw of this conversation.  “I don’t care what your interests are.  As the CEO of M.C.R., I am looking for people who will benefit me.  I don’t care if it benefits you.  You stood out, probably the most among the ones I interviewed.  Given that, I selected you as a potential intern and you will stay that way unless you drop out of my class or completely suck.  And I don’t think you’ll do either of those things, so kick, scream, do whatever, but don’t come to me and ask of this again because I assure you, my answer won’t change.”

“You can’t force me to be an intern.”

“I won’t have to by the end of this quarter.”  Sephiroth smiled sweetly, but it was laced with deadly venom.  “You’ll want it.”

Cloud’s jaw clenched as he held in a curse and realized that he still had a very silent, very stunned audience. 

He turned briskly away and walked to his desk to gather his things.  He heard a student continue the line of questions with a timid “When will the grades be posted?”

“When I get to them.”

Cloud strode it to the doorway with his bag over his shoulder.

Another voice.  “Are you doing extra credit?”

“No.”

One more started before Cloud made it to the exit, but it was immediately cut off.

“Oh, and Cloud?”

Cloud cringed.  He almost made it.  He slowly turned to find Sephiroth hidden away amongst the awaiting students, so it was a wonder how he managed to call his name in time.

“Yes?”  Cloud tried to sound as enthusiastic as possible, maybe pull on some nerves while he was still there. 

“Don’t try to disappoint me on purpose.  It will only get worse for you.”

Cloud held in his growing number of insults and marched out of the room with dignity and brand new enemies.  He’d much rather be a purposeful disappointment than an accidental one.

---

The next couple of weeks in his Investigative Journalism class were the complete and total definition of the word:  joke.  Honestly, it’s like T.B.M. had every asshole professor on speed dial just for Cloud.  Just so he could experience their “skills” that were somehow considered teaching.  She hated him.  Probably because he identifies her as “T.B.M.”  But that is no excuse to put him a class with the second coming of Satan.

Ever since he decided to take on Sephiroth in a one-on-one debate regarding existentialism a week ago, he’s been targeted for cruelty ever since.  Cloud would call it favoritism except he highly doubted Sephiroth considered him his top student.  His number one student for a vengeful vendetta?  Yes.  His number one for the class?  Definitely not. 

And it wasn’t like he cared about being the top student.  He didn’t want the internship.  He didn’t want to work for M.C.R., a company whose acronym was reminiscent of a dead, forgotten emo band from the horrible grunge rock days.  He’d rather sit under an incoming tarantula downpour of meteors than be reminded of that time.   

Cloud actually tried on not being a disappointment, but it seems that whatever he said about existentialism struck a nerve and now he has become America’s Most Wanted.  He should probably just switch back to calling him ‘Professor Crescent’ now, as he most likely lost his ‘first name honor badge’.

He was early today as he missed his morning class, so he had plenty of time to walk across campus—another notable blame for T.B.M.  Apparently, even considering his small steps—he isn’t a very big guy—and slow pace, he still arrived too early. 

Stepping up towards the doors of the seemingly vacant, bland building that perfectly illustrated his thoughts on Investigative Journalism, Cloud spotted the devil himself picking up a few fallen books for an elderly lady.  It was a sickly sweet sight for sure.  Cloud half-expected the man to break out in a sonnet, recite a few verses about internal youth, and donate to the nearest cancer charity.  That was how sickly sweet that moment was.  If the women of the class were to witness this, Cloud was sure they might have had a hemorrhage of the brain.

The entire student population is completely star-struck, not only by his position in journalism, but his annoying good looks.  Tall, brooding, and mysterious.  Every hopeless romantic’s dream, and boy did that class have a lot of them.  And by ‘them’ he meant hopeless romantics.  Not dreams.  The only dream they have is that fucking internship that he still didn’t want. 

Cloud walked up the bridge of steps, shielding himself with his jacket from the bustling wind.  It rustled and tangled his hair into a blond tornado of death while simultaneously burning his pale cheeks with a slight pink color.  Before he could make it to the entrance, someone beat him to it.

Sephiroth held open the door for him as they both took shelter inside.

Cloud took off his jacket and beat the snow off before laying it over his arm, all the while oblivious to the watching eyes and all the while muttering profanities like, “…have to walk through a fucking blizzard every goddamned day.  Global warming my frostbitten ass.”

“Do all Southerners hate the cold?”  Cloud almost jumped at Sephiroth’s deep drawl of a voice.  He looked up to find him highly entertained—as entertained as his vacant expression could get—by the apparent show he just performed.

“My heart just isn’t in it.”  Cloud sighed.  “They say the temperature of an area matches the hearts of those who were born there.”

With a deliberate once-over of Cloud and apparently remembering that he was from Arizona, he said, “I’m sure if they met you, they would retract that statement.”

Cloud held back a threatening grin that tried to claw its way onto his face. 

“I consider myself one of a kind.”  Cloud admitted breezily, passing Sephiroth on his way to the classroom.  He heard footsteps trail behind him.

“Many people would agree.”  It wasn’t meant as a compliment. 

Cloud gave him a look over his shoulder before he stepped into the room.  Surprisingly, he was the first student to arrive.  Unfortunately, he was the only one there with Sephiroth. 

The professor set his bag on his desk and began to pull out his notebook, laptop, and other essentials needed for the impending doom.  Cloud found a seat in the back corner, sat down, and dug out his phone for mindless internet scrolling.  Speaking of mindless internet scrolling…

“So, I read your breakthrough article on the Smith fraud.”  He said aloud, leaning forward in his seat.   Sephiroth kept busy with writing the date and his name on the board.

“Oh?  Did you want extra credit for that?” 

The younger snorted with a dry, humorless laugh.

“No, I just found it oddly interesting how your most popular article is your most boring one.”  Cloud said, gaining a good huff from Sephiroth.  “But I guess unveiling a corrupt, high-profile politician will do that.”

Sephiroth, now finished with his scrawling, turned to face him with scrutiny.  His silver hair fell along his shoulders at the movement.  “That it will.”

“How long did it take you to gather all your information and sources?”

“Three years.”

Cloud whistled lowly at the time-range, then with a look over Sephiroth’s entire frame asked, “How old are you?”

Sephiroth crossed his arms, causing the sleeves of his suit to tighten nicely over his muscles.

“Thirty-one. Why?”

Cloud would have guessed differently.  He shrugged.  “No reason.  You seem older.” 

Taking it a different way than Cloud intended, Sephiroth arched an amused brow and said, “Do I?  Is it the hair?”

“I meant mentally.  Physically, you’re attra—” It slipped.  “You look…good.”  Someone—anyone—could strike him down at this minute and he would probably thank them.  The regret must have shown on his face because Sephiroth’s lips tugged crookedly upwards; he was enjoying this. 

“Another attempt at extra credit, I assume?”  His eyes were laughing at him, living it up in Cloud’s embarrassment. 

“Did it work?” 

“No.”  Sephiroth, still smirking, watched Cloud like a cat stalking a mouse.  The blond broke eye contact, cursing himself as he did so.  But he couldn’t bring his gaze back as he felt his face warm from the attention.  “But I appreciate the effort…and the compliment.”

“Any time.” Cloud said nonchalantly.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Other students have confessed of him flirting or just being nice in a sexy way.  In fact, almost every day there’s a new story of his supposed charms.  Cloud, while hesitant to admit aloud, actually looks forward to those stories as he liked watching the girls’ expressions of jealousy if another had a juicier flirt.  He found it hilarious.  However, during the tale of when a student actually tried to seduce him, Sephiroth apparently rejected her and told her an important rule he goes by which was:  he didn’t sleep with or date his students. 

The things you hear when professors aren’t in the room...

“What are we learning today?”  He changed the subject, putting on a cheery, fake smile and tone; something that half of his classmates are guilty of in order please their Lord and Savior, Sephiroth.

“You’ll see.  I think you will actually like this topic.”  He half-leaned, half-sat on the corner of his desk as his lips twitched with an unspoken emotion.

“Clubbing baby seals?”

“No.”

Thankfully, Sephiroth understands sarcasm.  Anyone who doesn’t understand sarcasm would probably think Cloud is a psychopathic nut-job who gets off on baby seal deaths.  Cloud actually enjoys—well, he doesn’t have any problems with—baby seals as the tiny creatures have never affected Cloud personally or in any way, shape, or form.  This entire rant was just a disclaimer in order to clarify how much better Cloud’s morals are than what you think.

Scarlet Richter was the next arrival.  Cloud guessed she was always Sephiroth’s first arrival because the look she gave the blond young man was brutal.  Her blue eyes narrowed on her already narrow face.  She wasn’t stunningly gorgeous or even that beautiful, but Cloud could see some attractive features trying to break-through her stern expression.  With pinched, finely plucked brows and a sour expression of disappointment, she lowered herself into the seat directly in front of Sephiroth’s desk.  She adjusted her suited dress around her before leaning towards the preoccupied professor.

“Hi, Sephiroth.  How was your weekend?”  Cloud was a few seats behind her so he wasn’t able to see her face, but he imagined that she began fluttering her lashes like a sweet, seductive princess.

Sephiroth nodded in her direction, eyes peering down at his notes as he answered noncommittally, “Fine.  Yours?”

“It went swell.”  She sang.

Unsurprisingly, she didn’t get too far in her conversation with Sephiroth as his answers were merely monosyllabic phrases that rivalled Tarzan’s vocabulary. 

So, she turned in her seat and asked the blond, “How was your weekend?”

Cloud blinked.  “Fantastic.”

Her expression dampened at his unenthused, sarcastic tone. 

“Have you always been in this class?”

“No.” 

“When did you transfer?”

“A couple weeks ago.”

“Why?”

Cloud sighed.  “Because I’m a masochist and I like to endure pain.  So, please, keep talking.”

“I…”  She started, but then his words finally sunk in along with their meaning and with a hurt, dejected look, twisted around.  Sephiroth gathered his papers on his desk with pursed lips and left the room without a word.

Silence.

One by one, the herd of cattle filed in, increasing the volume in the room with buzzing, new gossip and more stories of Professor Crescent’s flirtations.  And just like the cows Cloud compared them to, they ate up every morsel of delicious stories like fresh food.  Perhaps, if Cloud were a sociable and attention-seeking undergraduate with hope for the future, he might have played along and recounted his own stories with Sephiroth.  But he isn’t.  And he won’t.

Class begun when Sephiroth reentered the room with grace and his magnetic presence.  Silence washed over the students like a wave of muted air.  Like always, they sat upright and their attention was primarily focused on the man who lounged casually at his desk as he greeted them with his cool, steely gaze.

“Good morning, everyone.”

“Good morning.”  Everyone replied, much to Cloud’s fascination.  It was like he jumped ship of reality and landed into one of those 80s science fiction films where suddenly everyone were robots.  It was eerie, but incredible.

“I hope you had a pleasant weekend.”  He sounded as dead as Cloud felt inside.  “Before we begin, I would like to announce that tomorrow and next class, I will be holding interviews with the selected ten potential interns.  Hopefully, I’ll narrow it down to five by next week.”

Cloud immediately rejoiced.  Now was his chance to not shine and hopefully make Sephiroth realize his foolishness in selecting him in the first place.  It might have been a foolish plan, perhaps one that made his future in this class and his dynamic with Sephiroth even worse, but Cloud couldn’t help the feeling of not belonging.

“We’ll be doing something different today to test your skills in, not only in verbal reporting, but also how well you write under pressure.”  Sephiroth started, crashing Cloud’s internal parade of thoughts.

“I want each of you to take out a sheet of paper,” Sephiroth instructed, and after a rustle of papers being pulled from bags and books, he continued, “Write down an unbiased claim of a current event that has happened near you, where you live, or perhaps to you.  Make sure there is enough evidence to support it.  Get started.”

The clash of pens meeting papers echoed throughout the room as Cloud held his, unmoving.  Didn’t Sephiroth say he would actually like this topic?  See?  Cruelty.  Cloud casted the man a fiery glare only to find him watching Cloud with an entertained smirk.  He was tempted to write about Professor Davis and the lack of integrity and creativity left in education, but he felt as if Sephiroth was expecting him to do that.  Cloud didn’t particularly like being predictable.  In fact, when put in this type of situation, especially among arrogant people like Sephiroth, he preferred yanking on nerves by being impulsive.

“And if you are unable to write anything, then you shouldn’t be in my class.”  Sephiroth added, silver-green eyes still trained on the blond.  They challenged him, dared him into a duel of wits and picked apart his thoughts like it was a game.  It was a cruel game, but Cloud met it with defiance and a spark of inspiration.  He straightened his posture for a show and began to write. 

He wrote with vigorous anger and slight pleasure, scrawling a jumble of words and metaphors on the page that probably didn’t make any sense.  His writing never did make sense, but it never stopped him from doing it.

Half an hour later, Sephiroth’s deep drawl broke through the sound of scratches.  “Pens down.”

After a frenzy of clicks, there was silence.

“Do I have any volunteers willing to share?”

Scarlet abruptly stood.  Her speech was brief and to the point; at least, Cloud guessed it was.  He tuned out after the introduction.

Reno, an outgoing man with flaming hair to match, popped up from his seat as soon as Scarlet sat down, like a strange, altered version of Whac-A-Mole.  And Cloud was suddenly grateful for the ambitious ones of the class.  His desire to publicly present his piece was as desirable as a moldy block of cheese in a Chinese sweatshop.

There were two other desperate seekers for Sephiroth’s attention, which presented, putting more effort and longevity to their statements and evidence.  Sephiroth didn’t seem too impressed, but he never does.

“Now that the volunteers have shared, and I thank you for that,” Sephiroth said with apathy.  His tone seemed just as bored as Cloud in church, “Time for the rest.  Just name your case and give a brief explanation.  We don’t have time for a speech.”

Cloud didn’t write his paper for an audience, and once again he sank in his chair.

“Marco.”  Sephiroth announced much to Cloud’s relief.  The Hispanic boy stood and presented his case title of his own personal issue dealing with the deportation of his family.  Cloud didn’t pay too much attention to that side of politics, but even he was willing to admit the fragility and horror of it.  He almost felt sympathy for Marco.  Almost.

Sephiroth, probably intrigued by the claim, requested, “I would like to read a fuller, more in-depth version.”

Marco nodded enthusiastically, but before he could sit back down, Sephiroth instructed, “If you could, Marco.  Choose the next presenter, please.”

Marco grinned, turned, and said, “Cloud.”

And you know that tiny wave of sympathy that snuggled its way into Cloud’s heart a few seconds ago?  It’s gone.  Dead.  Buried into a pile of flaming hatred.

Sephiroth lifted his eyes over to Cloud’s tiredly and gave an expectant eyebrow raise.

He hated this class.

Cloud reluctantly stood.  With a deep breath, he smiled.  It was bright, wide, and laced with contempt as he introduced himself and his topic.

“Good afternoon, everyone.  My name is Cloud Strife,” He spoke with a smooth, fluid grace as he feigned the appearance of confidence, “and I would like to present the following case:    Journalism Professor Suffering from an Egomaniacal Disorder Threatens Student’s Plans for World Peace.”

There were a few choked laughs and muffled giggles.  Cloud watched Sephiroth lean back into his seat, giving him his full attention.  His expression:  not amused.

“It’s self-explanatory.  And don’t worry, Professor Crescent,” Cloud knew he should probably keep his mouth shut, but that look of scrutiny was just fuel for the horrific machine that was his tongue, “It’s based off of personal experience with plenty of enough proof.” 

“I’m sure that ‘proof’ is unbiased.”  Sephiroth offered sarcastically.

“The laws of the world are based off of biased norms, so finding my claim biased or unbiased makes no difference on if it’s true.”  Cloud retorted as green eyes narrowed in a challenging, irritated glare.

“Your partiality and over-exaggeration on the subject can lead to false accusations.” 

Cloud snorted.  “While I may be prone to exaggeration, I can assure you after weeks of research that this professor has already proven himself to be a real pain in the ass.”

Unfortunately for Cloud, Sephiroth decided to twist his words and emphasize on the ‘pain in the ass’ part more than the blond would have liked.

“I would suggest stepping away from metaphors in journalism, unless this phrase applies literally.  In which case, an explanation is definitely wanted,” After a meaningful, dirty sweep down Cloud’s entire body, Sephiroth’s eyes returned as he said, “Perhaps a description as well, especially if this ‘pain’ was self-inflicted.”  His lips turned into a devastatingly attractive, smug smile.  He cocked his head to the side as if to say ‘please, continue so I can turn your arguments into innuendoes and silently laugh in your face’.

“I rest my case.”  Cloud muttered more to himself than anyone, but loud enough for Sephiroth to hear.  He sat down, ignoring Sephiroth’s self-satisfied gaze.  He could still feel heat in his cheeks from the intimate suggestion and he knew people would be talking about this later. 

“Very well.”  Sephiroth chuckled.  “Next presenter, if you may, Mr. Strife?”

Cloud was tempted to call on God so he could smite Sephiroth into nothingness, but knowing his luck, God might remember all the horrible shit he has said about him and smite Cloud instead.  Not really wanting to be turned into a worthless pile of dust at the moment, Cloud gave the only name he could remember:

“Yuffie.”

Yuffie was a very petite, outgoing young woman with a personality as sharp as a whip.  Cloud never spoke to her, or even made eye contact, but she stood out like a sore thumb amongst all the other women.  Unlike the other ladies in the class, Yuffie still held that childlike charm about her, not only character-wise, but by appearance too.  With a slight frame, dark pixie-cut hair, and large, dazzling brown eyes, she didn’t look a day over thirteen. 

She was nineteen.

“Thank you, Cloud.”  A slight pink color graced her cheeks as she smiled.  “Hi, guys!  I’m Yuffie Kisaragi…”

She gave her introduction and title.  Her high, cheerful voice shifted the awkward mood of the room into something more comfortable for Cloud.  Her eyes darted back to him when she sat down, her smile growing.  If Cloud ever had a sister, he imagined that she would be a lot like Yuffie.

It wasn’t until class ended and Cloud began packing his notebook into his ratty schoolbag when Yuffie approached him.  She stood proud and “tall”, gazing up at him with a wide smile. 

Cloud blinked.

“Hey!  We haven’t really formally met yet.”  She said, holding out her hand.  “I’m Yuffie.”

Cloud returned the gesture briskly, her fragile hand felt breakable in his grip.

“Cloud.”  He muttered and turned his attention back to cramming his belongings into the sack.  His disinterest didn’t waver her expression as she spoke excitedly.

“Nice to meet you!  I really liked your topic.”  Then she stammered.  “I-it was…different.”

Cloud huffed a laugh at her pathetic attempt at small talk, but he was the last person that wanted to listen.  He tried stepping around her but she was persistent and her smile was beginning to look forced.

He sighed. 

“Thanks.  I enjoyed yours too.”  He couldn’t remember what hers was about to be honest, but if lying got him past her, then so be it.

It didn’t.  She gasped with excitement and jumped once in place before spewing, “Really?  Thanks!  I was kind of scared because I wasn’t sure what to write about because nothing much happens where I live.  But then I was like, if I’m going to report on something it’s got to be important.  So I decided to write about my missing cat, Yuna.  She disappeared a couple months ago.”

“I wonder why…” 

It was like one continuous sentence of uninteresting, high-pitched gibberish.  Cloud suspected her of having some sort of sugar problem because there is no way a human being is that hyper. 

“Right?”  Sarcasm was lost on her.  “I swear my creepy neighbor with the weird hair did something.  He always takes pictures of me when he thinks I’m not looking too...”  She drifted off.

Cloud couldn’t help but feel a wave of revulsion rattle his stomach at that situation.  Not only does she look like a middle-schooler, but taking pictures without her permission or her knowing is on another level of disgusting.

“Have you told anyone?”

“I’m telling you.”  She smiled innocently, but deep behind her eyes was a developing plan that Cloud did not want to be a part of.

He scoffed.  His revulsion only went so far.  “I think you should ask someone more qualified.”

The crowd of people surrounding Sephiroth’s desk was thinning out, and Cloud was desperate not to be the last one there with him.  He attempted once more to dodge Yuffie, but she stepped in the way again, this time with a pleading hand on his arm and an anxious look in her eye.  It was like a completely different person stopped him.

“Cloud, please.  No one takes me seriously.”  And with a downcast look to her feet, she said, “I don’t have any friends and you’re the only person that actually cared enough to talk to me.”

Not because he could help it. 

But, goddammit, she looked absolutely miserable.  Remember when Cloud said she reminded him of a sister that he could’ve had?  Well, fuck that thought and fuck his crumbling wall of bitterness because he began to fall for it.  He was succumbing to the brewing tears and quivering lips of despair.

With a frustrated groan, he asked, “What do you want me to do?”

It couldn’t be anything too outrageous, could it?

She quickly snapped out of her hopeless, wretched mood and smiled brightly at him.  This stranger Cloud literally just met a minute ago, looking at him like he was her long lost best friend, wrapped her arms around his torso in a surprisingly constricting squeeze.  That was it.  Cloud officially hated Montana.

She released him from her iron grip.  “Thank you so much!  I’m picking you and Reno up tomorrow here at noon!”

What?  “Wait.  What?  I thought you said—”

“See you later, Cloud!”  She sang, skipping her way out of the room and out of Cloud’s sight. 

It was like being hit by a five-foot-tall tornado of annoyance as Cloud just stood there in shock.  Reno?  She didn’t say anything about the red-head in her pathetic speech of having ‘no friends’.  Did he just get played by a thirteen-year-old midget?  Well, if his dignity didn’t fly out the window earlier, it was certainly gone now.

It wasn’t until a deep, rumble of a voice from beside him spoke that he jumped—literally—out of it.

“Do you have a question, Mr. Strife?  Or are you stalling?”  Sephiroth peered up at him from his desk with his signature expression of apathy.  A couple students—Scarlet and Marco—stood to the side of him, watching Cloud with snarky amusement.

Cloud blinked.  “Stalling?”

“Yes.  The paper.”  Sephiroth pointed to a stack of loose-leafs at the corner of his desk.  “It’s for a grade.”

With dread, he asked, “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”  He mocked.  And with a small quirk to his lips, he said, “And I must say, I am very interested in reading yours.”

If this day couldn’t get any worse…

Cloud slung his bag on the professor’s desk with a loud clunk, ignoring the ruckus it made to the papers, and proceeded to dig noisily through it.  He found his assignment immediately, but just because he was a stubborn asshole stricken with a sudden wave of immaturity, he decided to shake the bag a few more times.  It banged against the surface in rowdy clunks, knocked over Sephiroth’s writing utensils, and whisked the other documents into a complete disarray.  Pencils and pens spilled out across the desk as Cloud “found” his paper.

Sephiroth watched the disruptive display in calm, unamused silence.

“I’m glad you were able to find it, Mr. Strife.”  Sephiroth said dryly.  Cloud guessed they were not on first-name basis anymore. 

“So am I, Professor Crescent.”  He gently placed his assignment on top of the other skewed ones and picked up his bag.  “So am I.”

He forgot about the other two on-lookers for a moment as he faced off against steely, narrow green eyes that locked him into place.  They were almost cat-like, how they appeared so menacing and wise at the same time.  They didn’t blink, flicker, or show a trace of emotion.  They just watched him underneath a wall of complete indifference. 

A brow rose.  “Anything else you would like to destroy?”

“No, I’m sated.”  Cloud replied, breaking their struggle of eyes as he walked away. 

Thankfully, Sephiroth didn’t try to talk to him again.  Thankfully, he made it out of the room without spilling his entire vocabulary of insults.  Thankfully, he managed to be out of eyesight before slamming directly into another body.  His father always told him to stop watching his feet while he walked.  Maybe he should’ve listened.

A pair of strong hands steadied his unstable body as an amused voice chuckled above him, “Woah, there.”

Cloud, once recovered, found a pair of blue-green eyes sparkling with laughter.  The man had unruly black hair and a nice, mature face that reminded him of the everyday modern movie star.

“Thanks.”  Cloud muttered, stepping back to survey the man in the suit.  He was definitely not a professor, unless he decided to pull a ‘Sephiroth’ and start his own bachelor recruit.

“No problem.”  He beamed with utter happiness, shooting Cloud a 200-kilowatt smile.  “Name’s Zack.”

“Cloud.  Sorry about that.”  The handshake was brief and so was Cloud’s patience as he attempted to leave the conversation, manners be damned.  He wanted to go home.

But, like Yuffie, Zack was persistent.  He stepped in the way and Cloud didn’t have the option to physically move him.  He had a good few inches on the blonde as he peered down with a slight look of recognition.

“That name’s familiar.  Are you in Sephiroth’s class?”

“Yes…” 

Zack grinned.  “I knew I recognized it from the list.”  Noticing Cloud’s curious expression, he explained, “I’m his assistant.  I’m running things temporarily while he looks for interns.  He keeps me updated with his top ten.”

“Oh.”  Well, that made sense.  Maybe he could talk to Zack about how much he hated journalism and how he didn’t want to be involved in the internship.  He seemed like a nice, understanding fellow with a good head on his shoulders that wasn’t manipulated by a large, compensating ego—wait, Cloud was still in the top ten?  Before he could respond, Zack interrupted.

“Nice meeting you, Cloud.”  He said sending him a wave as he marched down the hall to Sephiroth’s classroom.

“Yeah, you too.”  The blonde mumbled miserably and strode off into the freezing season of winter in Montana. 

After a month of teaching, lecturing, spending his days offering his knowledge and experience, Sephiroth found that being a professor was probably one of the worst jobs anyone could ask for.  Much less, the worst idea for a so-called “break” from his real, enjoyable career that he was desperate to go back to.  Like many professors who hate their job, it was mostly due to the students. 

Sephiroth’s students consisted of extremes.  There were the extremely dedicated ones, the lustful ones, and then the one annoyingly attractive, crass student that was neither dedicated nor particularly lustful.  He just had a mouth that could spit fifty words per second and none of those words were pleasant.  Sephiroth could list an entire page of pleasant actions that mouth could do.  But before he dwelled too long at that unexpected thought, he was gratefully interrupted.

“Geez, Seph.”  Zack announced his presence with his usual friendliness.  “You aren’t making a habit of pissing off all your students, are you?”

He must have met Cloud.

“No.  Just one.”  He replied with a sigh.  From his peripheral vision he saw a movement and was reminded that they were not alone.  “This is Marco and Scarlet, some potentials.  And this is Zack, my assistant.”

The couple seemed thrilled at the introduction as they each grasped Zack’s hand with a sturdy grip and smiled brightly at the man.  Sephiroth didn’t have too many thoughts about them other than the fact they are part of the extremely dedicated group of students.  Scarlet, while on the obsessive side, continues to be punctual with her attendance and her work.  And Marco has a work ethic that would go to spoil if Sephiroth were to just ignore it.  A determination as great as his shouldn’t be wasted away, especially if that willpower was lacking in others.

But, while they were excellent students, Sephiroth wasn’t in the mood for a friendly chat or giving them an extra career boost by letting them in on business secrets.

“I would like to speak to Zack alone, if you don’t mind.”  He made sure to put enough emphasis on ‘alone’ to let them know that it was more of a demand than a request.  But it didn’t matter either way.  Sephiroth could request a half-whole milk, no foam latte, with whip, and extra cinnamon just out of a whim and he’d probably end up with five an hour later. 

“Already got them trained, huh?”  Zack grinned once they were gone.  He proceeded to lounge on one of the students’ desks.

“Most of them.”  He grunted.  Deciding he didn’t want to talk about the rambunctious blond or his unforgiving mouth, he asked, “Any news on the Hojo case?”

Zack nodded.  “Yes, actually.  While he’s still being as cautious as ever with his information and ‘friends’, one of our sources got some intel.  He’ll be attending and sponsoring the Helena Art Exhibit next week.”

Sephiroth’s brows pinched together in confusion.  “An art exhibit?”

That didn’t sound right.  Why would a suspected scientist of an illegal drug trade have any interest in public appearances or even art? 

“Hobby, maybe?”  Zack supplied, unintentionally answering his thoughts as well.

Sephiroth scoffed.  “Doubt it.  He knows what he’s doing.”

He fooled them once, so a second time wouldn’t be entirely unbelievable.  But Sephiroth protested—hated—the idea of losing.  He abhorred the idea of an obvious corrupt man roaming the streets and making millions of dollars solely because they lacked enough evidence.  It was moments like these when Sephiroth wanted to forget all about the evidence, the honesty, and the entire idea behind investigative journalism that he holds so dear just so he could see that vile creature rot in the pits of prison.  That’s how much he hated losing. 

“Get me an invitation.”  He told Zack who nodded in return and lifted himself from his seat with more force than necessary.  The swift movement rustled the papers on the desk, causing one to drift to the floor.  Zack followed it, grasped the paper, and skimmed it with interest.

He barked out a laugh, his body swaying backwards at the action.

Sephiroth didn’t need to look to know whose paper that was.

“Damn.  What did you do to him?” 

With a sly grin he replied, “Just a little encouragement.”

***

There wasn’t much to do when Cloud got home besides sulk on his broken couch that was infested with more lumps than Mama June—but probably less comfortable.  His apartment illustrates the perfect image of his mind:  dark, empty, and depressing.  Not only was it the cheapest complex he could find and afford with a coffee shop salary, it was the dirtiest, foulest, roach-infested dumpster anyone could imagine.  In fact, Cloud was sure the inside of a homeless prostitute’s underwear was more sanitary than this shithole.  And it had nothing to do with his cleanliness.  No, he blamed the moth-eaten fabric of his couch, the nests of critters inside his walls, and the flickering, dim lights on his pathetic excuse of a landlord.  If Cloud could even give him the title of a landlord. 

But he was too tired to bitch about his living arrangement and his mind was too busy.

His thoughts circulated with flashbacks of the day’s most terrible moments and the top two included Sephiroth.  Even if he was interested in journalism, he was certain the internship would still be null and void in his mind because of that man.  There was something about him that bothered Cloud; something about his eyes, his façade, and the way he spoke.  It crawled under Cloud’s skin, unnerving his entire sense and understanding of humanity.  It wasn’t like Sephiroth was a robot or inhuman, but something seemed off.  He was too…pristine, even in the midst of sexual innuendoes, he still held that aura of superiority and perfection. 

Sure, the man definitely had an ego, but it was a natural kind that didn’t need to be pushed.  He flaunted it because he knew he could, he had the right.  And that pissed Cloud off even more.  The fact that he has the right to look down on him, peer at him with those ridiculously alien eyes and consider himself better because he simply, truthfully is, was vexing.

And the most bothersome of all is the repetitive phrase of ‘what if’.  The last thing Cloud wanted was that damn internship, but strings of tiresome questions plagued his mind like: ‘What if I’m offered one of the positions?’, or ‘What if Sephiroth considers me a top student?’, or ‘What if I’m actually skilled?’

He scoffed at the last one.  Yeah, and Jesus wore UGGs on the way to his crucifixion.  These thoughts were the worst.  These were the ones that inspired him, that gave him hope until reality sets in and destroys every morsel of optimism left in his body.  It crushes him to think about it.  It divides his mind until he’s partaking in an internal civil war of ‘you can’ and ‘you can’t’.  He can be a journalist, his mind would say and then it would turn around, ripping the mask of hope from its crookedly disheveled face as it spat on him, and laugh at his foolishness.  It would mock him for days with that voice.  That voice of disappointment he knew all too well.  The one that spoke with demented fervor of hate and pulled cruelly upon his dreams only to slash them like a butchered pig.

Oh, what a perfect metaphor for his future and his life.  A spoiled, rotting piece of meat that used to have the potential to be something; even if that something was consumption, at least it was important to someone.  But now, it hangs there dreadfully swinging on the rusted hook of fate, never going forward. 

That was his life. 

And he was going nowhere.

Chapter Text

Warning:  A sweet monologue about unicorns and friendship.  Some “humor” may be bad and/or offensive. 

Chapter 3:  Shrimp Alfredo Pasta

Unicorns are legendary mythical beasts, popular in European folklore, which are said to have the magical powers of healing sickness.  They are ethereal beings, prided on their graceful beauty and unique image to the extent of economic commercialization.  Little girls and boys from all over the world visit these creatures in their slumber, excited by their fictitious existence and forgetful of anything realistic.  For instance, the realism of ponies dim in comparison because they hold the burden of being flawed in some way—and ruined by overly disturbed grown men with questionable tastes in fetishes. 

Unicorns are perfect in the eyes of imagination.

Friendship is like believing in unicorns.

The idea might seem fantastic and a way to improve one’s meaningless life by having something special to hold on to.  But once those unicorns become realistic, so does the realization that those animals are just like every other animal on Earth.  They roam the world in just as much clueless confusion and doubt as the rest of us.  Unicorns might excrete colors of the rainbow, but the truth is, underneath all of the dazzling pigments and sensational vibrancy, it’s still just shit. 

Friendship may have that beautiful mask to the cure of loneliness, but underneath that mask is a desperate succubus of selfish intent.

It holds the winning flag of irrefutable illusions.   Those illusions paint desperate pictures of an everlasting bond that can withstand the worst of times.  However, the only time it can withstand is middle school, and if one is lucky, half of high school.  I have learned no one really has a genuine friendship.  Because friendship is just another term for the funeral-obligated or the people that feel an expectation to write a eulogy even if they haven’t been in touch for years. 

It involves humanity’s crave for attention.  It’s at the vital core of our selfish nature to be in the spotlight.  To have a friend is to have someone tend to your feelings and your ego, but only if you return the favor…

Cloud Strife

There comes a time in your life when you have to stop thinking, step back, and ask yourself:  What am I doing here?  The answer doesn’t come easily.  In fact, the answer may come in different forms of what you want to hear.  Sometimes, it lies to you, telling you that you were meant to be where you are, and it comforts you with a false web of hope.  And you listen because it’s easier than attending the honest thoughts, the ones that tell you to turn around and to stop wasting your time.

However, Cloud knew better than to entertain those pesky, optimistic bouts of hope.  He knew the damage it could inflict on his already ravaged mind.  He took pride in knowing where to go and where to stop.  He pauses life when it expects too much and he rewinds it to a simpler time. 

That’s what he wanted to do now.

He wanted to go back to his garbage can of a home, sleep until noon, and wake up hating his existence like every other day.  That scenario seemed much more reasonable than this.

When Yuffie said she needed Cloud’s help, he sympathized with her.  He felt as if the small woman deserved better than a perverted, peeping neighbor snapping photos of her at random times.  So he opted to help like a good citizen he was.  Not because she took irritation’s human persona and tripled the effect until he succumbed. 

No, not at all.  In fact, he could have stayed home—something he was fantasizing right now—but he opted not to, out of the curious goodness of his heart.  He joined her and Reno in a small silver Toyota Camry with only a few questions.

“What the fuck are we doing and why did you lie to me?”  Cloud closed the door.  Perhaps if he was smarter, he would’ve asked the question before closing himself into the entrapment of the unforeseeable future.  But Cloud failed to think of that because he unfortunately wasn’t smarter. 

He, however, felt some relief in finding the red-head behind the wheel.  Remembering Yuffie’s ridiculous hyper attitude from the day before, he decided that keeping her away from anything mechanical that controls human lives was the best decision.

“I didn’t lie to you, Cloud.”  She chirped from the passenger seat.  Cloud buckled himself in the back, cautious.  “I simply forgot to mention Reno.”

“By the way, I’m Reno.”  The young man with the vivid auburn hair grinned at him through the rear-view mirror.

Cloud blinked.  “So do you or do you not have a photo-happy neighbor?”

“I do.”  Yuffie twisted in her seat to face him.  “I didn’t lie about anything.  I just avoided mentioning Reno because I knew you’d help if you thought I was alone.”  With a bright smile, she said, “And I was right.”

Manipulating, little groundhog…  Cloud’s blue pools of distrust squinted.

“So what do you need me for?”

That was the right question.  Her smile suddenly turned into a devious grin, altering her young appearance into something older and craftier.  Turning back, she ruffled through several shopping bags at her feet before finding what she was looking for and offered the item to Cloud.

“I need you to put this on.”

“No.”  His answer was immediate and possibly the smartest thing he had done all day.  He didn’t have to look in the bag to know it was clothing.  And he didn’t want to know what kind of clothing it was.  His wild imagination did enough.

She dropped into a pout, her brown eyes pooling with sadness and her lower lip plumping over until she adopted the appearance of a twelve-year-old girl again.  The girl from class who genuinely seemed heartbroken from his dismissal.  The one that deceived him into helping her just by a single expression of hopelessness.  Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me, Cloud thought as he hardened his gaze.

“Fine.”  She huffed, succumbing to the stubborn flaxen-haired man, and threw the bag on the backseat floorboard.  “Here’s the plan…”

She recounted the “plan” to him.  Cloud concluded that she was making it up as she went or perhaps she was actually insane because the “plan” was ludicrous.

“Let me get this straight.”  Cloud held up a hand to pause her nonsense ramblings.  “You want me to befriend your disturbing, lurking neighbor with a camera strapped to me while you and Reno look in on the other side of the street?”

Yuffie nodded.

“For evidence?”

Another nod.

“What kind of fucking evidence would this guy possibly have that would lead you to come up with this shitty plan?”  He was one second away from throwing himself from the vehicle.

“Photographic evidence.”  She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You do realize it isn’t illegal to photograph someone without their consent.”  Sure, it’s disgusting, but Cloud didn’t make the laws.

“I know that!”  Yuffie grumbled, and then with a defeated expression said, “I just want to know why.”  With a few moist, timely blinks she asked, “Wouldn’t you?”

Cloud closed his mouth after he realized he had nothing to say back.  If some bored, troubling man took pictures of him all day, he supposed that he would be curious as to why.  But still, this so-called plan was pushing Cloud’s limits of reason.

“And we also thought,” Reno spoke when Yuffie seemed too preoccupied with emotions, “that if you were brave enough to constantly piss off Professor Crescent, you’d be willing to do anything…”

Someone, anyone, please take the largest baseball bat, wrap it in barbed wire, set it aflame, and repeatedly strike Cloud until he becomes a swollen red blob of worthlessness.  He would rather suffer through that than this tightening squeeze of obligation constricting around his heart.  He was actually being coerced into this ridiculous, faulty plot of disaster.   He didn’t have to be a psychic to know he would regret this later.

Cloud reached down, taking the plastic bag into his hands—briefly considered wrapping it around his head—and removed the items. 

It was a suit.  A black one with a simple black tie and matching glossy shoes.  It reminded him of the Men in Black movie except his situation wasn’t as epic or life-saving.

But it still exceeded his expectations.  But to be frank, his expectations were so low that a pink, furry bunny suit with rainbow polka dots and a bushy cotton tail would have exceeded them.

“Whose funeral am I going to?”  He couldn’t help but think that it might be his own…

By the time Cloud dressed himself in the suave attire, they arrived a couple blocks down from Yuffie’s house and began to set up the technical equipment.  Reno joined him in the backseat to position the audio wires under his clothes and attach the camera pin to his suit collar.  The device, dressed inside a wolf emblem, was as small as the tip of Cloud’s finger, so it was a wonder how it provided the high caliber quality they received.  Reno waved his hand in front of the blond as he watched the television screen—a G.P.S. monitor—tape his movement.  He was entranced.

Reno wasn’t a bad looking guy.  With thin features and a lanky build, describing him as drop-dead gorgeous would be a lie, but he was still a nice sight for the eyes.  However, his appearance didn’t garner Cloud’s approval.  It was his care-free attitude towards almost everything.  It made it easy to hold conversations with him because unlike 98% of the human population, he appreciated Cloud and his off-handed comments.

“How did you learn to do this stuff?”  Cloud questioned, buttoning his dress shirt.

“My old man taught me.”  Reno grinned and tore his attention away from the monitors to lay back against the seat.  “Thought I’d be a productive member of society and put my skills to good use.”

Cloud snorted.  “And what skills am I offering besides stupidity?”

The red-head’s smile widened and he ruffled the blond spikes as he teased, “Why, Cloud!  You’re offering your irresistible good looks and your humungous, brave balls of steel.  You can bet your ass that I would never do what you’re doing.  I bet that guy has a shrine of her somewhere.”

“Yeah.  And hopefully a sacrificial altar waiting in the wings.”  Cloud grumbled as he “fixed” his gravity-defying hair.

Reno broke out into laughter and clapped the moody blond on the back.  At that moment, Yuffie opened the door with a bright smile.  It only widened at the sight of him.

“You look great!”

“I feel great.”  Cloud mocked with sarcasm.  He slipped out of the warm cocoon and into the crisp chill of the mid-day afternoon and adjusted his clothes.  The wintry weather seeped into the thin fabric of the suit, coating his body in chills and prickling goosebumps.  The cold distracted him from his thoughts until two lithe arms wrapped around his neck and a small body pressed against him briefly.

“Thank you for doing this.”  Yuffie exclaimed against his neck with genuine gratitude.  She let him go and moved her hands to straighten his suit and tie like a mom sending her son off to prom.  This was why Cloud avoided having friends.  Well, one of the reasons.  “Just think of this as practice in investigative journalism.”

Her attempt at encouragement only struck him with even more dread.

“How long is this supposed to take?”  Cloud questioned.  “My appointment with Sephiroth is at two.” 

He almost forgot about it to be honest.  All of this talk about mysterious neighbors, false disguises, and secret cameras shifted his attention away from the impending interview.  It wasn’t just an interview either; it was the interview.  The one where he planned to show that stubborn fool just how irrational he was by selecting Cloud.  But he had to do it in a subtle way, in a way that Sephiroth would merely be disappointed and not vengefully pissed.  In other words, Cloud actually had to show up. 

“About half an hour tops!”  Yuffie supplied eagerly, pushing Cloud into the direction of their target.

“Don’t die.”  Reno supplied with a sharp slap on the ass.  “If you do, you might actually make Sephiroth happy.”

Cloud ignored his unhelpful encouragement and physical form of comfort as he approached a weathered down house that seemed so out of place that Cloud felt like he was entering a completely different dimension.  Unlike the other matching homes of Yuffie’s suburban neighborhood, this one was chipped away, beaten, and almost breathing out a silent plea for death.  Cloud could imagine the groans and creaks during the windy, winter nights whispering unpleasant nothings into the owner’s ear.  No wonder the guy was bat-shit.  This house made Amityville Horror seem like Barbie’s playhouse. 

The ice on the steps crunched beneath his feet, adding to the desperate sounds of the old wood.

He knocked three times, taking a long deep breath of frosty, clean air.  He exhaled out and watched his breath create a cloud of weightless fog before the door whined as it opened.

A man stood halfway behind his door and halfway out, his upper body peeking through like a crippled sock puppet.  Unlike Sephiroth’s natural shine, his hair was a dull shade of platinum and it fell loosely around his faded green eyes.  These green eyes didn’t have a trace of silver, instead they were replaced with specks of blue; but they were just as eerie and off-putting.  His features were boyish and lean, and Cloud gathered that he could have been attractive if he tried.

“Can I help you?”  His voice opposed his appearance as it came out gritty and husked.

Cloud smiled sweetly at him, giving his best look of harmless innocence as he spoke his rehearsed line softly, “Hi, there.  I’m Cloud Smith.  I’m sorry for bothering you, but I attend a private school out of town and for our journalism class we’re doing a piece on suburban lifestyles.  I’ve tried, but failed, to interview anyone as they all seem to be too busy.”  He gave a dejected look, peering down at his feet with a nervous bite to his lip, making sure to keep his eyes from blinking in hopes to create some moisture.  He hoped the freezing temperature at least put a blush to his cheeks.  “I was hoping, if you have the time, maybe you could help me?”

Cloud lifted his now watery blue eyes to gaze at the man with a hopeful expression.  There was one thing that Yuffie and Reno didn’t consider:  what if he didn’t let Cloud in?  Cloud will surely have a hard time gathering “evidence” if he were stuck outside in the fucking cold.

An involuntary shiver shook Cloud’s body, and that seemed to bring the other man into action.  He widened the opening and gestured for him to enter.

“Come on in.”

Cloud ushered a quick thanks, blinked away his stinging eyes, and followed the invitation with a small smile.  That smile struggled desperately to stay as he took in his surroundings.

Cloud stepped through into a warm, disturbing dimension of late 1980s memorabilia and dozens of roughly painted canvases of religious figures lining the walls and cluttering the floors.  Aside from the unblinking portraits of Jesus Christ that seemed to judge Cloud with every passing second, the house held a quaint, almost relaxing aura from the inside with the warm colors and a low-hanging chandelier that made the area glow.  But he couldn’t un-see the tiny, unblinking Virgin Mary’s decorating the wooden floors and tables.  He couldn’t un-see the cliché placement of a bear rug in front of the fireplace or the ancient television set on the adjoined wall decorated with more indescribable paintings. 

Cloud briefly wondered, out of the religions depicted, which condemned idolatry.

“Wow.”  Cloud stated as he had a momentary stare-off with a Buddha.  “You’re very…religious.” 

“No, I just collect them.”  The man corrected as if it were a usual hobby to turn his home into a miniature monastery.  He held out his hand with a welcoming smile on his face.  “I’m Kadaj.”

Cloud returned the gesture before lying sweetly, “You have a beautiful home, Kadaj.”

“Thank you.”  It was like he flipped the switch on his personality because now he was as joyous as Yuffie.  “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“No, thank you.”  This wasn’t some 90’s comedy sitcom, Cloud thought bitterly and moved his attention to the other set of staring eyes in the room.  “Is that real?” 

Kadaj turned his attention to the bearskin with crooked teeth and glass eyes and nodded with a grin.  “It is.  Would you like to try it?”

“Try it?”

“Lay on it.  It’s very comfortable.”

“Er…I’d rather not.” 

For the record, Cloud didn’t consider himself an environmentalist.  Firstly, being an environmentalist is a costly lifestyle.  Secondly, every time one of those ASPCA commercials flips on, instead of being stricken with sorrow, he’s reminded of how much he hates Sara McLachlan and he abruptly changes the channel.  Thirdly, he had to care and he just wasn’t spiritually built with that much compassion.  Blame those religious figures on the walls for that one.  But according to his own personal statistics, he was almost completely sure suggesting a guest to lay on a relic from a dead animal carcass was somewhere in the beginner’s handbook of How to be a Serial Killer.  

He decided not to dwell on that thought too long for he might bolt from the premises.

“Have you lived here long?”  Cloud inquired curiously as he let his eyes roam around the wooden paneled room that was cluttered with canvases, blankets, and small everyday trinkets—and a bear-skin rug.  At least it felt like a home and not like the production set of a horrible suburban sitcom.  That could be a main point in his fictional paper he never had to write, he mused silently.

“Five years.”  Kadaj moved to the couch area, Cloud following behind him, and sat down.  “Are you in high school?”

“Yes.” 

“Private school, you said?”  Kadaj leaned back, his posture entirely too comfortable.

Cloud avoided the urge to shift under his gaze.  “Um, yes.  On the outskirts of Helena.”

“The Academy?”

Cloud didn’t know what school he was referring to but he nodded anyways, hoping Kadaj wouldn’t take note of his wolf emblem in disguise.  He doubted his microscopic amount of luck included the miraculous ability to change an entire school’s mascot.

“I heard they’re a smart bunch.”

With a sweet smile, Cloud added with a bit too much honesty, “I can only hope that statement is true.”

Kadaj shifted forward in his direction, moving closer as he stretched his arm casually along the back of the couch next to Cloud’s shoulder.  The motion made the blond inch back in order to keep a steady space between them. 

“Do you live in the area?”

“No.”  One thing he learned from Sephiroth:  take control and ask the questions.  “So, five years is a long time.  What made you want to live in a suburb?”

“The area here is…different.  I grew up in the small country state of Kansas, so I wanted a new experience.”  Kadaj clarified.  If this story were true, Cloud wondered if Kadaj had any doubts about the sudden change in scenery like Cloud had been having for the past two years.  It wasn’t like he sympathized with him, but he couldn’t help to piece together their similarities. 

“Country to city.  That couldn’t have been an easy transition.”

Kadaj’s already relaxed body seemed to melt into the furniture as he chattered on, “Yeah.  It was something to get accustomed to, but the car ride was the hardest part.”  He groaned at the apparent nauseous memory. 

Cloud wasn’t sure how that had any importance but he digressed, “Doesn’t it get a bit cramped sometimes?  I’ve never had any neighbors so I wouldn’t know.  I just assume…”  Cloud trailed off.

“No, it doesn’t get crowded at all.  I happen to like my neighbors.”  And it was this moment where Cloud decided that he liked Sephiroth’s unnerving, watchful gaze more than Kadaj’s.  His dull green eyes didn’t stay on Cloud’s; they roamed his face and his figure as if sizing him up for a skin suit.  It made his entire body stiffen on edge, ready to take a flight or fight response.  “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”  Cloud lied again but this time he had to ask, “Why?”

Kadaj smirked.  “I bet you’ve broken a lot of hearts.”

“Not as much as I have bones.” 

Kadaj found his words endearing since he chuckled.  The highness of his voice affected its tone, causing it to sound more sinister than appealing.  Cloud hoped his spy camera was still working because he had a feeling he was one step away from being chopped into small pieces and stuffed under the floorboards.  But almost immediately after that thought past, Kadaj stood.

“Would you like a tour?”

No, Cloud would not like a tour.  He would like to leave, but considering he went through all the trouble to get here, he might as well brave it out.  That should be his motto:  brave it out.

With a smile he hoped didn’t look forced, he nodded and followed Kadaj to the kitchen.  They stopped in every room and the silver-haired man would talk about the furnishings, the redecorations he had made, the sophisticated paintings that lined the hallways—most of them were just colorful splatters—and the history behind some of the smallest mishaps in the architectural structure. 

Overall, Cloud would rather sit with Freddy Kruger in a secluded room full of chalkboards than this.  But he made sure, through the pain, he caught everything on camera and appear at least a little interested in what the man was saying.  He occasionally gave a smile or an encouraging question that would spur another tedious topic of interior design or a pseudo-philosophical speech about a paint splatter.  Either way, Cloud was being tortured and he knew it had to do with Karma.

But once they came upon the last door of the hallway, and the last room of the tour, Kadaj clapped his hands together and faced Cloud with excitement.

“And lastly, my bedroom.”  Kadaj gave a meaningfully long look over Cloud’s lean, fitted form before opening the plain wooden door.  Cloud didn’t know what he expected—okay, yes he did.  He expected little girls swinging from their necks, a bucket of voodoo dolls in the corner, a deep freeze with a hefty secure lock hanging from the handle, and a stripped, stained bed with restraints lining the sides. 

However, thankfully, his expectations let him down this time as he stepped into a small, beige room decorated with Christmas lights and a dressed, queen sized bed. 

He released a breath as he took in the normalcy.

“So, what do you think?”

“I like it.  Very festive.”  Cloud uttered and then with a smidge of sarcasm, “I’m sure Jesus appreciates it too.”

Kadaj didn’t seem to like that joke as his proud smile deflated into a thin line of distaste.  Cloud concluded that his humor was only endearing in small—very minimal—doses.  Unfortunately for the rest of the world, he still didn’t care.  But this time was different as two other people counted on him to make a good impression.  He was actually being relied on, so he attempted to save their obvious mistake in trusting him to be pleasant by apologizing.

“Sorry.  My mouth has no filter sometimes.”  That was the most honest answer yet.  However, the mere mention of his mouth brought Kadaj’s full attention to it.  His gaze became discomforting, long, and dark as he stepped forward.  The dank, stifling smell of oak and sharp cologne seeped into the air Cloud breathed.  Cloud’s skin itched, his muscles tightened, and his heart thudded with distress, warning him of the uncomfortable proximity of their bodies. 

“Forgiven.”

Before Kadaj could get any closer, Cloud stepped back into the hallway, pretending to find a lone painting of a woman on the wall fascinating.

“Wow.  This one’s beautiful.”  He breathed more out of relief than awe.  “I bet it was expensive.”

Cloud highly doubted any of Kadaj’s art collections were expensive.  Most of them, Cloud could probably do himself, and his art skills were worse than his journalism skills.  Damn near terrifying.  Kadaj followed his line of sight and grinned, apparently not put off by Cloud’s avoidance of touch.

“I made it.”  He stated proudly. 

Cloud, now surprised, took another look at the piece and observed the dull saturation of colors, almost as faded as Kadaj’s eyes.  The heavy brush strokes were visible, Cloud didn’t know if that was intentional or not; but he decided not to bring it up in case he might hit a nerve again.  The young woman seemed shy as she averted her eyes away from the audience to her folded hands in her lap.  A small, innocent smile shaped her lips and a blush faintly coloring her cheeks.  It was no Mona Lisa, but the application of skill was more noticeable in this one than the others in the hall.  In other words, it didn’t look like five toddlers accidentally discovered the effects of throwing paint on a canvas.

“You’re very good.”  Cloud supplied, slightly being honest.  If it weren’t for the overwhelming vibes of terror he created within Cloud’s skull and the mere fact Kadaj tried to seduce an apparent minor, he could have been an interesting person.

“Thank you.”  His grin grew as an idea struck.  “I could paint you sometime.”

Cloud would rather—actually he couldn’t think of a ridiculously detailed heinous act he’d rather do because he was too busy finding a scapegoat.  “I don’t think I could hold still long enough.”

At least he provided an honest answer.

Kadaj shook his head with a laugh.  “No, maybe not a life painting, but from a photo.  You have great features.”

With a risen brow—another tip from Sephiroth—Cloud subtly ignored the compliment and asked, “You’re a photographer too?”

“Yeah, well, not professionally.  I do it as more of a hobby.”

Like snapping random photos of your seemingly underage neighbor sort of hobby, Cloud thought. 

“May I see some?”  It might have been too forward, too suspicious, or maybe too interested, but Kadaj seemed thrilled at the question.  He led the blond back down the hallway, through the universal holy sanctuary—the living room—and into the kitchen.  Unless there was a secret trapdoor inside one of the cabinets, then Cloud blanked on any possible reason why they stood by the island table.

Kadaj, however, tugged open a drawer from one of the counters and searched noisily for whatever object he targeted.  Cloud’s imagination flitted with images of a butcher knife, a gun, and multiple torture devices that made the Spanish Inquisition look like child’s play.  The suspense to the object in question put his nerves into a metaphorical blender.

With a victorious “A-ha!” Kadaj emerged with a small rectangular box, flipped it open, and pulled out a square-shaped card.  

“I’m actually presenting some of my work at an exhibit.  I would love it if you were to come check it out.  The more people, the merrier.”  Kadaj informed, holding out the small rectangular card with extravagant calligraphy on one side that said:

You are formally invited to:

The Helena Art Exhibit

“Thanks.”  Cloud detested the idea, but he had no choice but to fake a gracious smile and slide the tiny paper inside his chest pocket.  It wasn’t like he was actually going to go anyway.

“I’ll try to make it, but since it’s on a school night—” Cloud stopped his excuse as his eyes widened at the recollection of school.  College.  Sephiroth.  His appointment.  He dodged around Kadaj to check the time on the stove.

1:45pm.

He held in a very lengthy, colorful curse as he smiled tightly at a confused Kadaj.  “Um, you know what?  I actually forgot I have to be somewhere at two…”  He said as calmly as he could.  But the other must have seen the growing panic in his eyes.

“I can drive you.”

“No!”  He almost yelled.  “No.”  Cloud lowered his voice, forcing his lips upward in a calming smile.  Directing Kadaj to a journalism college rather than a private high school would not be a good idea.  Directing him to a furious Sephiroth would be an even worse idea.  “No.  I can manage.  Thank you for your time, but I shouldn’t take any more of it.”

Kadaj escorted Cloud towards the door, an eager hand roaming down his back in the process.  If Cloud wasn’t preoccupied with thoughts of an angry, murderous professor, he would have protested the action.  But gruesome images and futuristic classroom torture distracted him, and therefore the foreign hand stayed glued to his lower back.

“You’ve been very helpful for my project.”  Cloud said once he made it to the door.

“It was no problem.  I enjoyed it.”  Dull green eyes watched him expectantly as if there was something more Cloud had to do before he left.  The blond, clueless to what that could be, wrenched open the rickety door and stepped over the threshold away from the leeching hand.

“It was nice meeting you, Kadaj.”  And then he darted, down the worrisome stairs and across the street.  Manners, mission, and man be damned.

Cloud was still out of breath from running and still deciding on what to put in his will.  It was 2:04pm and Sephiroth had probably begun writing his obituary by now.

He will not only disappoint Sephiroth—even though that was his plan—but royally piss him off.  There was a difference between disappointing him and infuriating him.  The entire three days after their existentialism argument, Sephiroth tormented him and that only happened due to annoyance.  Anger could be a completely different class experience.  An experience Cloud didn’t particularly want to be involved in.

Cloud grunted as he began to tug the wires out from under his shirt.

What’s the worse Sephiroth could do?  He tried to ask himself in an attempt to calm his nerves.  After a frenzy of disturbing, gruesome images flitted through his mind, he decided that the attempt failed.

Yuffie turned to face him, eyes almost damp.  “Are you sure you don’t want us to help?”

“We can vouch for you, man.”  Reno helped.  “The guy scares the shit out of me, but…I’ll vouch.”

Cloud snorted, almost touched by their willingness to help.  Almost.  “Believe me.  I can handle it.  I already survived Ted Bundy’s pedophilic homo relative, I think I can stand a few lectures from Professor Ego and his Magnificent Locks.”

But, God, he hated lectures.  He only had to endure one from Sephiroth so far, but it continues to be the bane of his existence and a reoccurring nightmare.

“Okay…”  Reno sounded hesitant on his answer, but he dropped the subject.  Instead he chortled, “So, are you going to the exhibit?”

With a heated glare, Cloud gritted.  “No.  I am not.”

Yuffie turned with a whine.  “But, Cloud—”

“No.  We did this silly adventure to understand why he was taking pictures of you.”  He clarified.  “And now we know.”  He shrugged carelessly as he added, “It’s a hobby.”  Cloud refrained from finishing his thoughts of other extracurricular hobbies that can be included.  He didn’t need Yuffie to have a mental breakdown in the car.  His social tolerance was beginning to run low on fuel and he needed to save the rest of it for Sephiroth.

“But what if he’s using my photos at the exhibit?”

“Then you’re famous, and you should be happy.”  Cloud concluded crassly to which Yuffie huffed.  She turned in her seat away from the blond, emitting a silent aura of pouting.  And like most things about life, he didn’t care.

They arrived at the college campus shortly, but to Cloud it felt like an hour.  Yuffie’s silent treatment lasted the rest of the ride, so all he was left with was Reno and Reno’s “funny” stories.  If it were any other time and Cloud wasn’t on the way to his impending afterlife in hell, he probably would have enjoyed his tales.  But Cloud felt his clock ticking and his heart racing with each passing second.

It was 2:15 P. M. when the small, compact car rolled to a stop in front of the familiar building.

“Don’t die.”  Reno repeated his words from earlier as Cloud took a deep breath and climbed out the vehicle into the chilly, frigid air.  The empty hall echoed his footsteps as he approached the office door.

If Sephiroth was surprised, he didn’t show it.  The man sat at his desk, alone in the dimly lit office, in full concentration over a stack of student papers.  Unnatural green eyes didn’t flicker to Cloud in acknowledgement until the younger reluctantly closed the door behind him. 

One silver brow rose as a frown tightened his lips. 

His eyes swept over Cloud’s suited attire and he spoke coldly, “This brings a whole new meaning to fashionably late.” 

Cloud shifted under that bouldering down gaze.  “I had…a meeting.” 

“Yes, you did.  And you were fifteen minutes late.”

Cloud took the initiative to take his seat, never breaking eye contact for fear that the pen in Sephiroth’s hand might somehow accidentally end up in his jugular.  Like an obnoxious middle schooler with a premature crush, he rambled.

“I know, but…I honestly didn’t mean to be late.  I lost track of time, some guy kept hitting on me, I couldn’t find a bus stop, and then I forgot my phone so I had to go back…”  He drifted off once he realized Sephiroth wasn’t buying into any of it.  He just calmly watched him with a deepening frown and unamused eyes.  That expression felt wrong, off.  Cloud’s earlier imaginations of Sephiroth’s face of disappointment never held this much weight.  That weight struck Cloud with the need to say something, perhaps words to sooth the tension.  “I’ll make it up to you.  Maybe avoid sensitive topics like existentialism for a start.”  He mumbled the last part and then immediately reverted back to sorrowful once he saw those brilliant eyes narrow. 

He said nothing.

The lack of frigid temperatures made it impossible to conjure up any false tears, so Cloud took the last resort by being bluntly honest.  “Don’t be angry and make my life a living hell.” 

Nothing.

And then, like a miracle begotten from those elementary painted religious artworks, an idea sparked.  “Or we can cancel the interview if you think that’s best.  I know punctuation is key in the professional world…I’m obviously not cut out for it.” 

Silence.

Cloud waited for Sephiroth to speak but the slow, aggravating tick of a clock became his only proof that he could still hear.  His expression held nothing for Cloud to grasp onto, like looking at an impenetrable wall of steel.  It wouldn’t budge, crack, or submit to the offer of subordination, and Cloud felt his nerves grate together with impatience.

“Are you going to say anything?” 

Sephiroth didn’t blink.  “No.” 

“Why not?”

He tapped his pen on the desk and crudely said, “Begging improves the spirit.”  Before Cloud had a chance to see red and have that anger spew regrettably from his mouth, the professor continued, “And the interview will not be cancelled, much to your disappointment and failed attempts to disrupt it.”

“A reschedule then?”  If so, Cloud opted on skipping that one just out of spite.

Sephiroth must have read his thoughts as he leaned back against his seat with his studying gaze still in place.  “No.  Since you are already present, we shall have it now.”

Cloud rose his brows and mimicked Sephiroth’s casual posture.

“Fine.”

“Good.”  Sephiroth cocked his head as he thought of his first question.  “What is my favorite food?”

Cloud blanked and sputtered out his own questions to balance out the lack of answers.

“What kind of question is that?  How would I know?”  A part of his sick, twisted mind wondered if it was a roundabout invitation to dinner.  Another part of his mind told him he was going straight to hell for even thinking about it, especially after his recent adventure into a spiritual holy ground.

“This interview focuses on testing your skill in breaking down a person’s wall to gather insight or information.”  Sephiroth explained calmly as if expecting the questions.  “Your job is to use a variety of social conducts in order to discover a fact about myself.  In this case: my favorite food.”

“And if I get it right?” 

Sephiroth’s lips twitched in amusement before saying, “Try.”

Challenge accepted, Cloud thought and cast a long look over the other’s figure in observation.  Cloud concluded that beneath the pristine, ironed layers of his suit, Sephiroth packed some muscle which only led to the idea of healthy eating and daily exercise.  And given that Cloud’s mind is quick to jump into a steaming pot of negativity, he quipped out an answer.

“Let me guess, one of those vomit-inducing vegan meals only served in the most prestigious of restaurants where a translator is required to actually pronounce the name right.”

“No.”  Sephiroth rubbed his fingers together mindlessly as he spoke.  “Try again.”

“Can I even pronounce it?”

“I should hope so.”  He answered, a slight tilt to his lips threatening to appear.

Cloud huffed out a quick breath and decided on Plan B. 

“Vegan at all?”

“No.”

“Vegetarian?”

“No.”

“Mexican?”

“No.”

“Italian?”

“No.”

“Ethiopian?”

“No.”

“Not a fan of crickets?”

“Cloud.”  Sephiroth reprimanded with his first name. 

The blond sighed in defeat.  “The souls of unborn babies?”

Cloud wasn’t the only one in the room with a thin patience. 

“You aren’t trying, so let me motivate you.”  Sephiroth said as he pulled out a notepad, scribbled out a few words, and returned his attention to the curious, yet anxious student.  “With every failed attempt, I take off a point from your overall score in my class.”  Cloud gaped as he continued with a brief striking smile, “As a reminder, if you fail, you won’t receive a credit.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Sure, I can.”  Sephiroth’s voice was calm with undertones of violence beneath it.  “Consider this as a fill-in assignment for the ones you have missed due to your late attendance in the quarter.”

Cloud clenched his teeth together in frustration and watched the rising swell of satisfaction overcome Sephiroth’s expression as not a single retort left the blond’s mouth.  Instead, he focused his energy in getting that damned credit, whether his dignity would survive or not.

 “I suppose I can’t guess then?”

“Taking into account your earlier guesses, I can tell you with utmost confidence it would be a bad idea.”

Cloud was starting to miss his short answers.

“I can’t bribe you either?”

“No.”  Sephiroth leaned towards him and put his elbows on the desk, peering at Cloud with a heavy gaze.  “But you can humor me and tell me what you would bribe me with?”

Cloud shifted forwards and gave the best dazzling and charming smile he could manage this late in the day.   “I was thinking dinner.  Your choice.”

And then the most unexpected, extraordinary thing happened.

Sephiroth laughed. 

His expressionless mask broke under the impact and his eyes sparked with humor.  It wasn’t the booming kind or the one that made people fall out of their seats in hysterics.  It had a simple chorus, deep and slow like a sensual rock ballad.  Cloud refrained from thinking too much of it and cast his thoughts into a more acceptable route, like passing this assignment.

“While I appreciate the attempt, I cannot accept your bribe, Cloud.”

“Worth a shot.”  He sighed.  “I doubt my budget could pay for your preferred meal anyway.”

“You overstate my appetite.”  Sephiroth simply stated. 

Cloud snorted.  “Yeah.  And prison bread with a glass of sewage water would understate it.  You know, if you’re planning on being this vague throughout, you might as well give me a zero.”

A silver brow rose on his smoothly sculpted face.  Cloud briefly wondered if he looked that intimidating when he questioned Kadaj.

“You are only receiving what I am getting.”  Sephiroth tilted his head.  “If you want details, then you must give me details first.”

“What?” 

Sephiroth lifted his pen and stroke a mark on the notepad, indicating that Cloud lost a point.

“If you’ve been paying attention in my classes, you would know.”

Cloud resisted the urge to pull at his hair and stomp his feet like a petulant child.  How fitting would that be, because that’s exactly how Sephiroth made him feel as he subtly scolded him with his accusations and he left more questions unanswered. 

Cloud shifted in his seat under the waiting gaze. 

Sephiroth expected an answer, a great one too.  Cloud despised the idea of expectations, especially ones that anticipate greatness, the one thing he lacked.  It summoned the feeling of anxiousness and most of all desperation to gain control again or maybe a desperation to abandon post and leave the country.  So, to help his mind from the answers it seemed to not have, he decided to put the train back on its crooked tracks by spouting nonsense it did have.

“Socrates once said that the only absolute truth we’re certain of is that we know nothing—”

“Cloud.”  Sephiroth cut in with an edge of exasperation to his tone.  “If this incoming subject is irrelevant to our interview, then the next deduction to your grade will be catastrophic.”

The student paused in thought, watching those intense eyes narrow with a beckoning dare.  Cloud knew he wasn’t bluffing, but he continued anyway.

“Socrates was wrong.”  He said, taking note of Sephiroth’s unmoving hand.  “To say we know nothing would imply we don’t know what we love.”

“…”

“There’s also the idea of keeping a cherished moment to yourself and the thought that if you were to share it with other people, it would become tainted or ruined.  Or they wouldn’t understand the experience.”  Cloud averted his eyes to the papers on the desk, the stack of manila files next to them, and anywhere besides the green pools of scrutiny.  “I think I can agree with that.” 

Cloud wanted to stop talking, but his mouth carried on without a care.  “Perhaps, Socrates shared too much and he eventually forgot what he cherished.  Maybe that led him to believe in his theory.”  He lifted his focus back up to find Sephiroth listening intently.  “I don’t want to believe it.  I want to have a certainty of what I love, which is another reason why I’m hesitant in sharing.”  After a long break of silence and wordless staring, Cloud spoke, “Fried pickled chicken.”  A pause.  “It’s my favorite meal and I give you permission to try it.”

Blue and green met in complete silence, the clock’s minute hand continued its mission of being the only sound in the room.  Slowly, Sephiroth’s lips curved into a soft, barely there smile and the pen in his hand was laid down.  Cloud hoped Socrates was burning in the fiery pits of hell, because he started this pathetic confession.  His eyes flickered to the door, tempting the idea of bolting from that intruding gaze.  The one that felt as if every wall, mask, and façade were transparent and he could see every insecurity, every unanswered question, and every answer left unsaid.  Before he could entertain the thought further, Sephiroth’s deep timbre of a voice interrupted.

“Shrimp alfredo pasta.”  He said, his gaze never wavered.  “And you have my permission.”

Chapter Text

Warning:  Shorter monologue.  Shorter chapter.  Some “humor” may be offensive and/or bad. 

Chapter 4:  It’s Like a Heat Wave!

The concept of progress presupposes an intended outcome.

These outcomes are usually ones of happiness, fulfillment, and success.  For instance, to gauge a person’s progress in life is to ask them how happy they are or how successful they think they are.  If they intend to live a happy life, but they’re about to step off the Empire State Building and onto clueless pedestrians; then their progress in life probably isn’t doing too well.

My intended outcome is to be important.

My progress is undetermined.

--Cloud Strife

“What’s your name?”

“Cloud.”

“Cloud?  Like the things in the sky?”

“Only the dark and depressed ones.”

Barrett’s Seventh Heaven, a daytime coffee shop and nighttime bar, took refuge in a small compact building in the midst of the busy industrial area of Helena, Montana.  To deem the placement unfit would be arguable since they find more commerce from hard-working businessmen preparing for their day—and drowning out their day—than any other coffee shop in the area.  Cloud liked to believe it resulted from Barrett threatening each and every CEO into some kind of contractual submission as that would have been a more noteworthy story.  However, according to critics and customers alike, they actually provide high quality service. 

If only payday was as high quality…Barrett was so tight with his money and firm with orders, Cloud almost felt as if he were working in a cheap Korean shoe factory under the strict, personal supervision of Kim Jong-un.

Cloud didn’t have much else to do before his shift ended besides clean the tables and keep the owner’s daughter, Marlene, company.  Much to his dismay, the girl was six, too curious for anyone’s good, and hell-bent on destroying his peaceful Saturday morning.

“You aren’t dark!”  She argued, naively calling attention to his freakishly pale skin. 

“That’s why I make coffee and not food.”  He replied dryly, wiping the crumb remains from the last table away.  His quip flew over her limited understanding before she bombarded him with more inane questions.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Cloud returned to his post behind the bar and began to organize the station in mindless action.  Marlene sat upon the tall stools in front of him, dangling her legs over the seat.

“No.”

“I can be your girlfriend!”  She chimed in a sing-song voice, a toothy grin following the declaration.

“No.” 

“Why not?”  Marlene whined.  Her grin dropped to a pout and her arms crossed her chest in defiance.

“Because you’re young and you should find someone your own age.”  Perhaps telling his boss’s six year old daughter to seek out a romantic relationship wasn’t his brightest moment, but it got her to drop the subject.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Then why don’t you have a girlfriend?”  The subject has resurrected.

“Not interested.”

Marlene gasped dramatically before whispering, “So Daddy was right?”

Cloud rose a brow at the question, wondering just what nonsense that titan of a man had told his gullible daughter.  “Right about what?”

However, instead of giving him a decent answer, she opted to lean back, twiddle her thumbs, and with a nervous giggle, she sang, “Nothi~ing.”

Before he questioned her again, a loud, baritone of a voice erupted through the air.

“I ain’t payin’ you extra, Strife!  Your shift’s over!  Get on!”  Barrett nearly shouted from the back doorway, his massive build blocking the entrance completely and his massive voice rattling Cloud’s eardrums.  Thankfully, there were only two customers in the vicinity, but Cloud made a mental note to call Tifa to see if she heard it from Arizona.

Cloud wasted no time in collecting his things, which were his jacket and phone, before giving a half-ass salute at his waiting boss. 

Said boss, Barrett, took on the human persona of a Milky Way candy bar.  Now, this statement wasn’t meant to be taken in the context of a racial dictation simply because of the color of his skin.  Cloud, rather than focusing on color, aimed to compare textures in a combination of the metaphorical and literal sense.  In other words, like a Milky Way candy bar, Barret was tough on the outside and soft on the inside.  As cliché as it sounds, it was the best description Cloud could think of at the moment.

But he was anything other than sweet, at least to Cloud.  As far as his daughter was concerned, there seemed to be nothing he refused to give her.  Like all fathers that love their children, Barrett proved guilty of doting on her and excessively spoiling her.  He told Cloud once the day he adopted her, it was the day he could never love another woman again.  Deep down—way deep down to inner sanctum core of his pinky toe—Cloud almost wished he could be reminded of having a father as caring as Barrett.  But it just reminded him of the disappointing failure his own father turned out to be. 

Shaking those haunting thoughts from his head, he waved a lazy hand over his shoulder before stepping out into the pleasantly cool environment of scrambling pedestrians and cringe-worthy promotional billboards.

According to the weather channel, Montana was going through a surprise heat wave in the middle of October.  Usually when Cloud hears the term “heat wave”, he imagines the suffocating and unbearable heat Arizona would usually have during its hormonal stages of temperature.  He also reminisces of that god awful, cancer-inducing song by Martha Reeves & the Vandellas, but that’s beside the point.  The point is:  Montana was actually bearably cool that day.  It was so bearable that he decided to take a mindless stroll through the downtown area of the city, soaking in the much needed rays of the sun. 

Perhaps Cloud should take back his bitter arguments against global warming and instead welcome it with open, thawed out arms.  He didn’t necessarily strive for fresh air nor did he particularly enjoy the outdoors, but he had the choice of breathing in the rare, warm Montana breeze or inhaling asbestos from his corroding apartment walls.  He decided the former option would better benefit this uncommon, but nice phenomenon.  

With his coat hanging loosely on his shoulders and his eyes scouting the expansive area with internal criticism, he strolled along the moderately cluttered sidewalk with ease.  He ignored the curious, intrigued looks from female—and even some male—passerby and continued his mindless journey as he listened occasionally to nearby conversations and the soft taps of feet against the pavement. 

His exploration continued peacefully until a flash of bright red caught his attention in his peripheral vision.  Cloud halted to a complete stop to peer suspiciously across the street at the familiar figures.   They were crouched low on the ground against the brick wall of Men’s Warehouse below the expanse of windows, exchanging conversation.  He briefly wondered how much pity money they gathered from misinformed strangers thinking they were homeless.  It wasn’t too much of an imaginative stretch.  Statistically, the population of homeless citizens has been on a steady rise in the state of Montana.  It must be the heat wave.

Curious and albeit amused, Cloud crossed the street with little caution and approached the duo with a question.

“Has Kadaj run you out of your home already?”

Reno and Yuffie’s heads snapped up at him, apparently caught off guard by his arrival.  Yuffie let out a squeak before clutching onto Cloud’s coat and yanking him with surprising strength down to their level.  Cloud yelped in surprise before casting a glance around them, searching if any passerby assumed he was being mugged. 

Not a second look was given as they passed.

How hospitable…

“What are you doing here, Cloud?”  Yuffie half-whispered and half-spoke.  The inner battle between the two must have been a tough one.

“I work nearby.”  His annoyance at being manhandled leaked through his words, but didn’t hold his attention for long as he raised awareness to an alarming observation, “Why are you sitting on the ground?”

“We’re hiding.”

With a scoping look at the strolling strangers, Cloud remarked, “You aren’t doing a very good job.”

“Not from them!  From the inside!”  Yuffie clarified and made a show to lift up slightly and peek through the above window.  She immediately pulled away.  

“Why?”  He wanted to laugh, but he figured it could wait until he knew the whole story. 

“I fucked up.”  Reno joined in. 

Yuffie huffed.  “Reno accidentally stole something from someone and…”  She trailed off, gesturing to their current predicament. 

It was like a train wreck, he just couldn’t walk away from it, so he continued to feed his curiosity, “Who?”

“We’ll tell you everything if you help us.”

He was not that curious. 

Cloud ripped himself from Yuffie’s grasp and began to stand.  “Oh no.  Never again.”

Last time it ended with a pedophilic version of Nightmare on Elm Street and Cloud was the unlucky blond character that fell for every trick in the book.

But once he was back on his feet, facing the windows and accidentally peeking inside, he saw it.  He saw why they were crouched below like homeless, starving chumps and he saw what lurked on the other side.  As if someone shot out his kneecaps, he abruptly dropped back down with murderous intent.

“What the hell did you steal from Sephiroth?!”

After a string of shushes and guilty cringes, Reno pulled out a familiar looking card from his coat pocket and thrusted it into Cloud’s vision.

Sephiroth Crescent

You are formally invited to:

Helena Art Exhibit

If it weren’t for the printed name at the top, Cloud would have assumed it was his own invitation.  What are the odds Sephiroth was invited too, he mused.  Now that he thought about it, the coincidence was terribly suspicious, but he failed to reign in the reason as to why yet.

“I had my interview earlier today and he had to step out before it started.  Business reasons.”  Reno explained in his usual carefree tone, but there was still an edge of anxiety laced in his words.  “I saw this on his desk sticking out from a folder and picked it up because I recognized it from yours.  I didn’t mean to steal it, but he returned before I could put it back.”

Cloud asked the most obvious question.  “Why didn’t you just give it back to him?” 

“And let him know I snooped around his things before I even had a chance to be interviewed?  No thanks.”

“And the better option is to stalk him?”

Reno sighed.  “I panicked, told Yuffie, and she came up with a plan.  Now here we are.”

Cloud respected Reno.  He did.  But he couldn’t have been that foolish.  “And you went with it?”

“Hey!  I have a great plan!”  Yuffie argued, crossing her arms in offense.

Cloud scoffed.  “Let me guess, one of you distracts him and slips the card into his coat pocket.”

Reno shrugged his shoulders.  “That’s pretty much about it.”

“Maybe he’s not going and you’re playing I Spy for nothing.”  Cloud tried to help, but it seems he was a little rusty since Reno didn’t appreciate it.

“And what if he is and we’ve royally screwed up his life?”

Cloud snorted.  “If his life is art, then there’s not much hope for him anyway.”

“Cloud, be serious.”

The honest, terrible truth is that he was.  But he sighed to please them and relented, “Fine, who’s doing the slip?”

“You wanna do the honors of flipping a coin to see who the lucky winner is?”  Reno offered.

Cloud knew this was going to end disastrously for them which is why, with a devilish grin, he answered, “I would love to.”

Reno dug out a spare quarter from his wallet and dropped the coin into Cloud’s waiting palm. 

After they announced their bets, the blond flicked the coin into the air, watched it spin with sick amusement, and caught it at its downfall.  He smacked the coin onto the back of his hand and, for the sake of entertainment, slowly removed his other hand to unmask the unlucky draw.

Reno silently cheered at the revelation while Yuffie whined.

“Oh, please, two out of three.”  She pleaded.  “In plus, it wouldn’t make any sense for me to be in Men’s Warehouse.”

“Sure it will.  Make up a story.”  Cloud supplied, flipping the coin mindlessly.

“Cloud…”  She begged, drawing out his name. 

“Say you have a brother and you need help picking out a suit.  Easy.” 

“Could I ask you for a favor?”

“Absolutely not.”  He returned the answer quickly, knowing full well what the favor was.  He had enough Sephiroth time for one week.  There was no way in hell he was going to strike up a conversation with Ego Incarnate, especially on such a nice, warm day.

“Please!”  She begged again.  But Cloud ignored her and handed the coin back to Reno. 

Reno, who apparently didn’t understand the meaning of the term “Bro Code”.

“You know, it would probably be more effective if you were to do it, Cloud.”  He conceded and continued to betray the blond as he explained, “I mean, it would be suspicious if I were to do it since I was just with him a couple of hours ago.  And Yuffie, well, she isn’t a good liar under pressure and Professor Crescent is the living definition of the word intimidation.”

“And I’m the living definition of the word ‘no’, so good luck.”  Cloud attempted to stand again, but his action was thwarted by Yuffie who, once again, pulled him back with a deadly serious look on her face.

“I’ll pay you.” 

Cloud narrowed his eyes at the girl’s proposal.  He did need all the help he could get with the rent, not to mention groceries and supplies for school.  Money is everyone’s weakness.  He cursed himself inwardly for even thinking this through and outwardly for asking, “Dammit.  How much?”

Her round face brightened at his question.  “What’s your price?”

“Hundred.”

“Done.”  She agreed as fast as he made his demand which almost made his jaw drop.

“Seriously?”  They couldn’t have been that desperate to avoid the man.  Sure, he was intimidating as hell and daunting to talk to, but—whatever.  He was getting paid.  Perhaps he should quit his job and become the official spokesperson of Lord Sephiroth.

“I would have gone for two hundred.”  Reno stated and slipped the invitation into Cloud’s hands. 

“Good luck.”  Yuffie wished him as he lifted himself from his crouching position…again.  Who needs a workout regimen if you have two dimwits as friends?  Cloud briefly blanked at the word ‘friends’ and shook it off as a mere slip of the mind before he dropped the card into his pocket, pulled open the entrance door, and strolled inside. 

Sephiroth was in the far right corner, dressed in a casual attire of dark jeans and a long sleeved button down shirt.  His overcoat dangled across his right arm as he sifted through a set of solidly colored ties with a look of severe concentration on his face.  Silver hair ran across his back like smooth silk and, for a second, Cloud stopped mid-step in amazement.  Leave it to Sephiroth to still look godly while doing the most mundane of tasks.

Once out of his momentary stupor, Cloud made sure to keep his distance and act interested in a displayed business suit towards the front of the store.  It covered a mannequin’s physique from head to toe in intricate, organic designs that reminded Cloud of those cheap Lisa Frank coloring books.  It had to have been made from the individually plucked hairs of unicorns weaved with the remains of Jesus’ shawl because it costed more than Cloud’s tuition plus his debt.  Rich people, he thought bitterly.

“Welcome!  Are you looking for something in particular?”  His fake interest apparently caught the eye of one of the store clerks as the chubby figure approached him.  He was surprisingly shorter than Cloud, but his width made up for what he lacked in height.

“Just looking.” 

“Oh, okay!  Well, my name is Wedge.  Let me know if you need anything.”  He was gone before Cloud had a chance to respond.  It wasn’t like he was going to respond anyway.  If there was one thing retail workers should get accustomed to, it’s unpleasant people. 

The blond cast another glance toward the tie section and immediately regretted it.  Sephiroth was walking towards him, a few black and grey ties in tow, with his attention solely on the lingering student.

“Have you acquired a sudden fascination with suits now?”  Sephiroth greeted him with a small quirk to his lips and playful tinge to his eyes.  Now closer, Cloud could see that the man’s buttoned shirt wasn’t being used to its full potential as the first few buttons were undone, revealing a milky expanse of a seemingly toned chest.

“Have you developed a grudge against buttons?”  He retorted, looking up at the towering figure.  He never realized how tall he was…

“No.  Would you prefer me without them?”  His deep, caressing tone didn’t help with the way he worded his question.  In fact, it sounded downright dirty.  Cloud felt his skin warm and he cursed every religious entity for making him blush at any sign of flirtation.  It was like he walked straight out of a cliché Japanese anime—A.K.A.: it was biologically ridiculous.

“Nope.  I like your buttons.”  If Sephiroth was expecting a grade-A response that only Harvard intellectuals would have the ability to give, he was shit out of luck because Cloud was in a temporary state of being pathetic.

The man chuckled at the obvious lack of creativity.  “That’s good to know.  Are you in the midst of sight-seeing?”

Cloud was beginning to wonder if the innuendoes were intentional or if his mind was forever imprisoned in a gutter.

“I work down the street and my shift just ended.  I decided to enjoy the warmth and maybe do some random shopping.”  Most of it was true. 

Sephiroth eyed the mannequin Cloud was staring at earlier before stating, “You’re definition of random shopping is…expensive.”

Cloud snorted at the understatement and at the notion that Sephiroth Crescent, the man who had five hundred dollars’ worth of ties on his arm, just accused him of overspending.  “I think you mean ambitious.  I’d have to sell my spleen on the black market to even touch a thread.”  Not to mention cross his heart and speak…how many Hail Marys? 

Sephiroth rose a brow at the remark.  Cloud gestured to the handful of ties and shifted the attention away from himself.  “So, are you picking out next week’s lucky contenders?” 

“Just one.”  Sephiroth tapped the solid black one with a finger, his gaze briefly leaving Cloud’s face in the process.

“What a rebel.”

“I’ll let you know when I purchase my motorcycle.”  Sephiroth replied dryly.  His sarcasm was appreciated though as Cloud rocked on his feet with a playful smirk tilting his lips.

“Starting your mid-life crisis early then?”

“It’s better to overcome it than ignore it.”

Cloud grinned.  “I heard movies weren’t allowed.”

“It’s a strict historical documentary diet.”  Sephiroth remarked, watching the other with growing amusement as Cloud chuckled.

“Make sure it’s the really cheap, disregarded ones no one cares about.”

“Like women’s suffrage in 19th century literature?”

For the second time that day, Cloud erupted into a bubbling laughter.  Perhaps he should invite Professor Davis, he thought.

Sephiroth’s lips curved into a pleased smirk and let his eyes wander Cloud’s face in consideration, as if he were contemplating a thought that raged war inside his mind.  Cloud was experiencing a similar dilemma, one that focused on how he was supposed to slip the invitation into Sephiroth’s coat without him noticing.  He figured a manly hug was off the table—or just any type of intimacy in general—because Cloud was a strong promoter of personal space, especially around unapproachable men with long silver hair and strange green eyes. 

Since Cloud has only experienced the accompaniment of a suit and tie twice in his life, he asked lamely, “Are you going to try it on?”

Sephiroth cocked his head to the side, entertained by the naivety of the question.  “Just the tie?”

“Yes.”  Cloud answered before the second implication of Sephiroth’s words hit him.  “I mean, with a suit of course.”

“Of course.”  He was laughing at him behind that smug, carefully developed expression.  He wondered how long it took to perfect that look in front of the mirror.  “But I’ve bought this brand and size before, so there’s no need to worry.”

“I wasn’t worried.”  Maybe he could salvage some of his pathetic remains of masculinity before he moved on to Plan B.  He wasn’t sure what exactly Plan B involved, but it had to be better than acting like a nagging housewife. 

Before Sephiroth could reply, a shrill ringtone interrupted, bringing their conversation to a momentary halt.  Cloud didn’t mind the intrusion, in fact, he welcomed it as it gave him more time to think of Plan B.  However, the ringtone in question, was most definitely questionable as he distinctly remembered on hearing that specific one when he was a toddler.

As if he were thrown back to the embarrassing days of Pokémon, Cloud saw Sephiroth pull out a Nokia from his pocket and proceed to answer the incoming call.  The conversation lasted long enough for Cloud to step back and take a long look at his surroundings, hoping to appear disengaged from whatever discussion was being held.  He mindlessly tinkered with a hanging bow tie as he listened in.

“No.  It should be in the office.”  Sephiroth spoke lowly, but Cloud was still close enough to hear him clearly.  However, given he wasn’t a visually crippled superhero, his hearing failed to be exceptional enough to pick up the other end.  But he could make an assumption that something went wrong.

“I’ll be there shortly, but you’ll have to run a pick-up.  No.  I placed it in the file.”

Cloud’s head snapped up.  Didn’t Reno say—?

“I’ll find it.”  Shit.  Cloud couldn’t help his jaw drop at the stern declaration and the implication behind it.  His gaze was met with watching green eyes that narrowed at whatever expression Cloud couldn’t mask in time.  He prayed it wasn’t guilt.  “I might be late.”  With those final words, Sephiroth ended the call.

Cloud felt his unwavering attention coming down on him like a heavy boulder of scrutiny.  Desperate to call off the unnecessary stare down, he responded nervously, “You know, technology is an external evolution of mankind.”  With a quick look at the outdated phone in Sephiroth’s hand, he added, “Darwin would be disappointed.”

The quip didn’t change Sephiroth’s searching expression, nor did it garner a response.  “Wedge.”  He raised his voice, summoning the meek worker like a slave.  He handed the ties over and ordered, “Put these on hold for me until Wednesday.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Fair will pick them up.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“I would like the black noir to be dry cleaned before then.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cloud watched the back and forth scene of submission in relief.  Those piercing, strange eyes found another target.  Wedge, as if his ass was on fire, hurriedly fumbled in collecting the clothing and obediently followed the strict orders Sephiroth began to list for him.  He wondered if Wedge submitted due to his job as a retail worker or because Sephiroth scared the living daylights out of him.  Cloud wouldn’t hesitate to choose the latter.

“Has your random shopping pit-stop run its course?”

Cloud blinked out of his thoughts once he realized the question was directed towards him.

“Yes, sir.” 

Maybe it wasn’t the best time to be a smartass, but time doesn’t wait for anyone.  Cloud knew Sephiroth’s mood had changed for the worse since the call, and he also knew his tendency for being an asshole would likely make it worse.  But he was determined to at least distract the man, for better or for worse. 

He was also determined to finish this fucked up delivery service that was lasting longer than he thought it would.

Cloud followed behind Sephiroth through the doors, hoping Reno and Yuffie were gone from sight.  One surprise was efficient enough for the day.  He passed the threshold and glanced to his left, spotting two figures duck into the nearest alley. 

Sephiroth slipped the coat over his broad shoulders in one swift movement before he turned to face the blond in commendable lighting.  The sunlight illuminated his flawless, porcelain features in a way that made the statue of David look like a Gerber’s baby.  Ethereal green flashed in a flurry of shining silver against the bearing down rays of the sun as the platinum strands from his bangs swayed nicely around his carefully sculpted face—

Cloud was staring.

A skeptical look in his eyes drew Cloud out of his momentary—somewhat embarrassing—train of thought.

“What?”

Sephiroth crossed his arms and held onto his closed off expression as he replied, “It’s nothing.”  With another quick pass over Cloud’s face, he spoke, “I have some business to attend to, so it seems our conversation about updated technology will have to wait.”

The joke was there; although, it didn’t reach his tone.  But Cloud had other issues to worry about besides the ever-changing mood of Sephiroth.  Mainly, the issue of the man about to walk away without the invitation in his pocket.

“W-wait!”  Cloud reached out in an attempt to stop him and held lightly onto his arm.  Green eyes flickered to the contact then back up to blue, no doubt questioning his sanity.  Cloud immediately let go and spouted out the first sentence that came to mind, “I have a question…about investigative journalism.”

There were two things wrong with that statement.  One, even if Cloud had a question prepared, there was no way he could slip the card onto Sephiroth’s person without him noticing.  And two, it was so obviously bullshit that a brain-dead, liberal donkey with cataracts and a rubber nose could sense it from a mile away.

A silver brow rose in detection of the lie.  “As much as I would love to see you scramble for one, I’m regrettably in a hurry.”

Cloud caught his arm again, this time his hand stayed.  For a brief—extremely microscopic slip of a second Cloud noted the hard edge of muscle beneath the cloth.  He immediately threw that observation out the window and hopefully into a burning pile of amnesiac-inducing trash. 

Cloud, still panicking, had another idea.  It was a stupidly, rash idea that only belonged in the show 1000 Ways to Die.  Such an idea should be banned from every state, country, and continent.  Out of all the ideas he had stored away in case of emergencies, he chose this one. 

In a quick haste, he caught Sephiroth by the collar of his coat—accidentally catching a few strands of hair—and pulled him forward.  The last expression Cloud saw was genuine bewilderment before he reached up on his toes to bring their lips together in a crushing kiss.

Sephiroth’s lips were soft, as soft as the hair Cloud currently had between his fingers.  It was a nice contrast to the sharp, closed kiss they were partaking in.  For a brief quarter of a second, Cloud felt a returning pressure move against his own mouth.  But he didn’t have time to think about that.  He used the distraction to drop his hand from Sephiroth’s collar, reach in his own pocket to retrieve the invitation, and swiftly drop it into the other man’s coat.  During that time, Sephiroth’s hands lifted to cradle Cloud’s face gently before he drew away.

And it was at that moment, as Sephiroth peered down at him with utter sympathy looming in the mystic green, Cloud realized he royally fucked up.

“Cloud…”  He heard him say softly with blatant empathy.  His thumb caressing the flushed smooth skin, as if trying to console the blond from the rejection.  “You’re my student…” 

Hesitantly, Sephiroth’s gentle fingers dropped from Cloud’s betraying cheeks and he stepped back.  Cloud blinked, trying to sift through the self-inflicting insults and questions in order to find a reasonable solution to the mess he had created.

He found one. 

 “Um…sorry.”  With those mumbled words, he brushed past the looming, pitying figure and towards nowhere in particular.  He didn’t look back as he steadily increased the distance in utter confusion. 

The confusion did not stem from the outcome.

The rejection was expected.  Considering other stories students had passed during class, he knew Sephiroth would refuse any type of romantic affection.  So that failure didn’t bother him.  He knew the rules, he accepted the rules, and he followed the rules because his interests were laid elsewhere. 

Except until today. 

Cloud broke the rules.  And he didn’t know why.  Why, out of all the options and routes he could have taken, did he take that road?  It wasn’t as if he liked Sephiroth in that way.  Absolutely not.  Sure, he was undeniably attractive, but Cloud prided himself on his aversion from romantic relationships and crushes in an attempt to be different.  He despised the thought of being included in Sephiroth’s hormonal fan club.  But he fucked it up because now Sephiroth probably thinks he’s just another lovesick puppy in heat.

Cloud sneered at the thought.  Who cares what he thinks, he tried to convince himself but a tightening pressure only squeezed out more questions and worries. 

He refused to question himself anymore, and he certainly didn’t want to worry about what Sephiroth thought of him.  To assume someone as important as Sephiroth Crescent would spend a second even thinking about someone so insignificant like Cloud was laughable. 

You’re my student, Cloud reminded himself of those words.  He replayed them over and over like a religious mantra.  That’s right.  He was a student.  There was no place for him in any professional world, especially on the same level as Sephiroth.  He was beneath him on the Totem Pole of Life and he would remain that way.

Unless you take action, something told him.  But he merely scoffed.  A voice of encouragement was the last thing he needed now, so he brushed the thought aside in hopes for a better one.

He needed a distraction.

As if God was also taking pity on him and perhaps apologizing for all the awful shit he has been doing lately, his wish was answered…in a bittersweet way.

“Cloud!”  He almost groaned at the ringing voice coming from behind him.  Reluctantly, he slowed to a stopped and turned on his heels to find Reno and Yuffie approaching him.  If his mind wasn’t still so clouded with thoughts of impending depression, he would have seen the cautious way they stepped towards him.

“Hey, buddy.”  Reno greeted in a half-nervous, half-chipper way.  That was all it took for Cloud to realize they saw what happened.

“Jesus Christ.”  He muttered and held out his hand in a demand, “Where’s my money?”

Yuffie perked up at the reminder and unhooked her wallet from her belt loop.  Pulling out Benjamin Franklin’s face, she thanked him, “Thank you, Cloud!  You really helped us out and we appreciate it—”

Cloud snatched the dollar bill from her offering hand.  “Don’t get used to it.”

Before he could turn to leave—because this was not the distraction he had in mind—Reno stopped him.

“Hey, Cloud.”  Reno spoke, his dark emerald eyes holding an unspoken trust to them as he told him, “Thanks.”

Cloud gave a nod, somehow unable to respond crassly.  He then paused in thought, contemplating on if he should share the information he eavesdropped on.  With a sharp thought of ‘who cares’ he revealed, “And by the way, it seems like whatever plans Sephiroth has at the exhibit is for business purposes.  I overheard a phone call of his.”

“Business purposes?  Like journalistic?”

The blond shrugged.  “Guess so.”

“You think he’s there because of Kadaj?”  Yuffie expressed, horror written over her features at the thought of being next door neighbors to a future headlined serial killer.

“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions.”  Cloud warned, knowing if that were to happen another plan would be set in stone and they somehow always manage to bring him in the middle of it.  Each time, however, it seems to get worse.

“Well,” Reno started, “it isn’t a very far conclusion to jump to, Cloud.”

Cloud casted a glare.  “Yes, it is.  For all we know, Kadaj is a lowly artist trying to make a living.  What good would writing about someone as unimportant as him do the CEO of the largest media company in the world?”

“Maybe there’s a bigger picture.” Reno suggested to which Cloud gave a dubious look.  “And you know damn well there’s something off about the guy.”

“I never said he didn’t have issues.”  They could at least agree on something.  “It’s just a far-fetched idea.”

“But it isn’t impossible.”

Yuffie decided to chime in to the conversation.  “We can always investigate...”

“No.”  Cloud sent her a stern glower.  “I’m not getting involved in any more of your so-called plans.” 

“But, Cloud, you’re the only one of us that has an invitation.”  She prodded.

“We aren’t journalists.  We’re students.”  He argued but he could already tell an idea had sparked and she would do everything to put it into action.  “We should stick to learning.”

“And what better way to learn about the field than to immerse yourself in it?”

“I meant in a classroom away from potential Ted Bundys.”  He snidely retorted, but he was too late.  She was almost as stubborn as him, if not more.

“So you’d rather sit around listening to Professor Crescent’s incredible stories than make one yourself?”

He would rather play Twister on a spiked floor with the actual Ted Bundy than be in the same room with Sephiroth at the moment.  But that was at the moment.  Come Thursday, his opinions might change.

“I don’t know what incredible story you’re expecting, but I’m sure it will end with me regretting it…again.  So, no.”

Reno snorted beside her.  At least someone found humor in the worst of times.

“Cloud, man,” The red-head said, “It can’t get any worse.”

Famous last words.

“I beg to differ.”  He muttered and then with a sigh, “Why can’t one of you take the invitation and do it yourself?”

“He knows me.”  Yuffie said.  “And Reno, well, I think people would know if he were invited or not.”

Of course.  There’s always an excuse.  There’s always a reason that ultimately boils down to Cloud trekking on these ridiculous quests.  And there’s always the consequences that come with it, so it was a wonder—perhaps the eighth wonder of the world—on why he asked his next question.

“Hypothetically, if I were to go, what would I get in return?”  It might have been a selfish question, but his dignity and self-respect were on the line; so fuck decency.  “And if you say shit like friendship or an ‘incredible story’, then I’m out.”

“How about money?”  Yuffie suggested and Cloud wasn’t displeased by it either. 

Like last time, “How much?”

“Two hundred.”

The price could be altered given the absurd obstacles he would likely face, Cloud determined to himself, considering the proposal in silence.  He could already predict Sephiroth was going to be a problem, not to mention Kadaj.  Join the two together in the same room, it’s a recipe for disaster and a long overdue mental breakdown.

“Four hundred.”  Again, fuck decency.

With a quick approving glance shared with Reno, Yuffie grinned in satisfaction.

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

Warning: A confusing monologue. Questionable opinions and tastes on art. Plot. Some "humor" may be offensive and/or bad.

Chapter 5: Exhibition Unknown

Art.

To put it simply, art is a subjective form of expression through any type of media. Whether it's paintings, drawings, multimedia, writing, etc., art can be in many ways used to portray a person's emotions.

For instance, if you see a giant splatter of black ink on an empty canvas and attempt to make a snide remark about how useless it is; you may offend 'the artists' and possibly hurt their overabundant feelings. That—useless—splatter of black ink just may identify as one of their main struggles in life, a 'dark' experience they went through, or perhaps it's a metaphor for some pseudo-psychological conundrum they believe to be thought-provoking; but, overall, it's actually just a fucking black splatter on a white canvas.

Because artists are disturbed and emotional beings, lower on the food chain and higher on the pole of social sensitivity, they have become something I dare to not dream of being: laughable.

You may think I'm being hypocritical.

Yes, I am a writer and I write to illustrate an emotion.

But I am not an artist.

-Cloud Strife

Monday. Its bleak, hazy eyes opened with weary hesitation as the looming sun found a new solace over the sleeping city of Helena, Montana. Rays of golden warmth trickled through overcast clouds and into the streets like a calm stream of thick honey on a smooth path to awaken peaceful slumbers. Soft, morning light began to caress the vacant shadows in abandoned alleys and tickle the sensitive eyes of unaware citizens through the panes of their windows.

More importantly, it flowed carelessly through the streets, among early risen businessmen, over the tall standing billboards—and under the tall standing billboards—around desolate brick corners to illuminate the eastern face of a high, worn down complex of seven stories. One window in particular on the third floor failed to prepare for the onslaught of pouring light. The rays charged through the risen blinds in a heedless attack, showering the estranged, cluttered clothes on the floor in a glowing yellow. It painted a hue of gold over the wild mess of overused T-shirts, underused sweaters, and worn pants that littered the wooden floor and hung from every surface and hook in the vicinity. A single twin bed that nestled a home in the far corner of the depressing room hosted a curled figure with clutched, secure blankets over his lithe frame. A nest of bright flaxen hair protruded from the sheets in wild disarray, and if anyone were to peek inside they would likely assume the figure lay sleeping.

But Cloud Strife wasn't sleeping.

His churning mind wouldn't let him as it suggested any type of means and excuses to stay far away from class.

He was currently contemplating on spending the rest of his life as a monk, hidden away in a monastery with no contact to the outside world. Granted, he would have to surrender his colorful vocabulary and his dignity, but luckily for him he didn't have much dignity left.

However, the closest he has ever been to a monastery was on his ridiculous adventure into La Casa de Kadaj—also known as the other reason he wanted to stay in bed until death. If having to finish a course with a professor whom he made things awkward with wasn't enough to send Cloud to the nearest hole in the ground, then surely his upcoming event with a potentially insane pedophile with religious identity issues will. Hell, he might even buy the shovel.

It may seem like an overreaction, but anyone with a working brain would exercise the right of planning an escape to avoid further humiliation.

But there was something that overrode his desire to bury himself in the woods. It flooded his motives with a tangible taste of bravery and a hint of stupidity. This emotion heaved him from the comforts of his bed in shaky determination. It brought him to complete his morning tasks of a shower and a simple bowl of Fruit Loops—the cheap, store brand kind that took a few extra chews in order to effectively swallow it down. This emotion managed to suede him into tugging on a pair of black jeans and a large, enveloping hoodie before he grabbed his coat, bag, and his wits before leaving the apartment.

This emotion was pride.

While Cloud lacked pride in certain areas of his life, he liked to think he had plethora of it in others. So, why not make this situation a shiny example?

It wasn't until his morning class ended when his so-called pride turned into cringing anxiety. The long, time-consuming trek across campus didn't help his wringing nerves nor did it help the overloaded questions his mind kept tumbling about.

Why did he care? That was the headliner, the show's star question. Because he didn't care about what Sephiroth thought of him. That much deemed irrefutably true. And because of that, he couldn't put a place on what exactly had his heart racing and blood pumping in nervous energy.

He reached the bland, ivory building two minutes prior till class started. Surprisingly, he wasn't late. It must have been the increased adrenaline due to his erratic heart and distracted brain that somehow encouraged his legs to move at a faster pace.

Stepping inside the classroom, Cloud noted Yuffie and Reno huddled around the empty area where he usually sat. Cloud would make a snide, internal comment comparing them to a sexually transmitted disease, but he lost that train of thought due to another presence in the room.

Sephiroth was in his usual position, at his desk with a thick book opened midway. His hair swayed and shone brightly under the fluorescent lighting, giving a pleasant contrast to his dark suit. But those eyes, almost sheltered by loose strands of hair, flickered up from the inked pages towards the sound of the door closing and found Cloud.

The green pools of coldness watched him briefly in complete indifference before they left. As if he saw no one, his attention reverted back to the lengthy novel in his hands and he flipped the page.

Whether if it was out of relief or frustration, Cloud sighed, strolled to his designated area, and slumped himself into his seat.

It was as if it never happened, Cloud thought. At least, that's what Sephiroth made it seem like. If that were the case, Cloud most assuredly would be grateful as it would be one less plague to his mind.

But it wasn't the case. It drew far from that case. Because the idea of relief and gratitude when Cloud was concerned became a fictional concept.

Throughout the entire hour and a half, not one glance, not one acknowledging word, not even a smidgen of a hinted comment was thrown Cloud's way. In fact, he could have jumped on his desk, performed a chanting ritual, and storm out the door without as so much as a look. Sure, Cloud's most desired dream in that class was to be invisible, but if it stemmed from purposeful avoidance, it merely just brought on frustration and a bit of guilt.

But, more importantly, it pissed him off.

It was just a fucking kiss, Cloud internally hissed, unable to keep a steady glare from following Sephiroth's every move. The professor's lecture became background noise as a war of frustrated rage welled on inside Cloud's head. Not even a good one either, he tried to convince himself as he traced back the memory with bitterness. It wasn't like he burned his house down or killed his family dog.

Perhaps his massive ego couldn't handle the notion of being touched by someone as irrelevant as Cloud. Oh, his poor, unfortunate image, almost tainted by the likes of an inexperienced, no good student. The blond let out a dark, amused huff which earned a strange look of concern from Reno beside him. And then came the idea of Sephiroth treating him like dirt was because, not his ego, but Cloud himself.

Before that thought carried on to a self-pity session, Cloud threw it far from his mind into a locked box of other insecurities he didn't particularly feel like attending to at the moment.

"I'll have the next selection of potential interns ready by next week." Sephiroth's low, rich voice broke through his internal bickering. Well, at least Cloud didn't have to worry about obtaining a spot on Sephiroth's grand ship of dreams. That opportunity flung itself out the highest window and plunged headfirst into a concrete slab of fate. And, for some itching, unidentifiable reason, Cloud wasn't as relieved as he thought he would be.

Class ended and, like always, a line to Sephiroth's desk began with a frenzy of useless questions to go with it.

Cloud, knowing the only response he would likely get was a noncommittal grunt, slipped through the jumbling sea of fans and out the door without as much as a look. Two could play at that game.

The next couple of days turned out to be exact replicas of Monday. Whatever grudge Sephiroth held against Cloud seemed to be a lengthy one as he continued to avoid the student's existence with surprising success. Each day passed on like the last and it wasn't until Thursday made its grand entrance when Cloud refused to attend his classes.

Firstly, he had to prepare for an evening out with Kadaj and his predictably ridiculous artwork—God help him. Secondly, Cloud wasn't sure how many days of a bitter Sephiroth he could handle before he accidentally dives into an all-out verbal attack. Thirdly—well, there wasn't a thirdly, but there should be.

After Sephiroth's session had ended, Yuffie and Reno dropped by Cloud's apartment to ready their equipment and "help".

"Woah. You live here?" Reno cautiously poked one of the lumps on the couch before plopping down on the cushions before Cloud could warn him of the consequences. A disturbingly loud screech met the three's ears, and Reno delicately lifted himself to his feet in silent, baffled alarm.

"Do you have a cat too?" He grimaced as he inspected the couch for any animals that met a fatal end.

"No, that's just the couch." Cloud muttered and placed the bags they carried in next to the door. "Make yourselves at home."

"It's a…" Yuffie started, her large doe eyes gradually taking in the duct taped windows, hole-infested walls, and cluttered, excessive items littering the floor. She blinked before casting a small, hesitant smile. "It's a…nice place."

Reno coughed into his hand.

Cloud snorted. "It's a shithole. But it does its job, I guess."

After they adjusted and removed the necessary items from the gigantic, heavy duty trash bags, the three of them went to work.

Reno assisted Cloud with the technological aspects of his attire—mainly the camera pin attached to his chest pocket and the audio wire beneath his shirt—and Yuffie cooed at the outcome while setting up the monitors in front of the couch.

"So, Professor Crescent is probably going." Yuffie chimed from the couch as she tinkered with a faulty television monitor.

"You think I forgot?" He retorted, grimacing as Reno applied the cold tape and wire to his bare chest.

"Well, no…But I figured we—you should avoid him tonight…"

Cloud huffed a laugh, causing Reno to accidentally place a piece of tape near a nipple. "I've been practicing, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Without warning, the red-head ripped the recently applied adhesive from his skin, causing a surprised yelp to slip from Cloud's mouth. "Hey! What the hell?!"

"Calm down, Mr. Sensitive. It wasn't like I got any hair." Reno grinned, proud of his comment, as he once again applied the tape. This time, it was in the correct spot.

"But if he finds you there, he might ask questions." Yuffie returned to the subject of Sephiroth.

"And? What do you want me to do? Handcuff him to a wall and threaten him to keep quiet?" Cloud questioned at the absurdity. "If finds me, he'll likely ignore my existence like he has been doing for the past four days."

A brief silence washed over the three in internal thought before Yuffie softly whispered, "Was it…at least good?"

Like a crack of lighting, Reno barked out in hysterical laughter. His body doubled over as his high tone carried over the usual silent room. Only when he saw the grim face of Cloud did he try to calm his amusement.

"Brief." Cloud replied bitterly. "Like this topic."

It neared six when the technological equipment was finally connected and prepared for the incoming night. Cloud rubbed his palms against his hands in nervous energy as unwanted predictions of the future ahead crawled into his imagination. Mostly, it involved images of sacrificial chants in front of clustered painted canvases of religious figures; and Cloud was the one being sacrificed. But, luckily, his mind was set at ease at the reminder of Sephiroth being there, and his usual grace would likely distract them from any type of ceremonial murder.

He wore the same suit from their first adventure, plain and ordinary black with a matching tie. The good thing about business suits was that they all looked the same, so having Kadaj question Cloud's wardrobe quantity wouldn't be an issue.

Reno was assigned the designated driver as he and Cloud left the apartment, leaving Yuffie alone, and embarked on the fateful journey.

The exhibit took place in the more luxurious part of Helena, near the intricately designed architecture that scraped against the clouds and stood proud amongst the traffic. Resting between two looming towers was a smaller industrial building with walls mainly made of glass. White granite steps lead up to the colorfully lit entrance, signaling a line of well-dressed attendants to the doorway.

Cloud immediately knew he did not fit in.

Appearance wise, he blended well. But after walking through the moderately sized crowd and eavesdropping on their refined conversations, he decided he was definitely far from home. Maybe after he buys a penthouse in California, purchases the latest model of a Prius, and begins preaching about politics like he was going to be the future president of America, he could fit in.

But he would be damned if he ever decided to live in a liberal, expensive shithole like California and drive a fucking Prius.

He approached the doorman, holding his invitation in the man's sight to which he gave a swift nod and opened the glass door. Since the front of the building was mostly transparent, the inside held no mystery. Cloud knew there was something ironic about the idea, but he was too distracted to find out.

Pillars of snowy granite stretched in magnificent beauty towards the top of a twirling, pristine staircase that rested gorgeously like a fairytale design in the middle of the open area. The glossed floors were more reflective than Cloud's own silverware as they mirrored the complex mural paintings depicting tales of sorrow on the surface of the ceiling. Cloud has never been to the Sistine Chapel, but he imagined this was what it would be like. To stand in complete awe and amazement at the colossal sight. If Cloud were a complete sap like the other artistic dweebs that tripped over their feet in wonder, he might have been overcome with a mist in his eyes. However, while the titanic weight of beauty burdened his heart, he was far from being the next emotional hipster with too much time on his hands.

Most of the spectators were older, around the age of the time where they start to seriously consider life insurance—or they should start as some of them were close to their deathbeds already—and after enjoying a spur of conversation with their designated guests, they made their way up the swirling staircase to embark on Exhibition Unknown.

Before he could attempt to climb the great staircase himself, he heard a terribly familiar voice call his name from behind him in jubilance. Cloud was hoping to have at least a spare moment alone before being thrust into the chaos, but unfortunately, that moment had already passed.

He let out a soft, exasperated sigh.

He turned on his heels, preparing a welcoming smile, and greeted the man with false ease.

"Kadaj. It's nice to see you again."

Kadaj approached him a bit too closely in his light grey attire that only dulled his hair even more. The man caressed Cloud's arm in light response as he eyed the blond approvingly.

"Cloud…You came." His scratchy voice began in a sultry tone. "And you look ravishing."

Considering Cloud wore the same outfit the day they met, he briefly questioned the authenticity of the statement. But remembering Kadaj had a knack for a younger audience…

"For some reason, I don't doubt you think so." Cloud spoke teasingly, but his meaning was quite the opposite. He met those lustful green eyes before he cast a searching look around the building, hoping to call attention off their current topic. "It seems like this is a popular event."

Kadaj beamed at the compliment and proceeded to lead Cloud up the stairway. A hand rested on Cloud's lower back in the process like their last encounter, and he dreaded the idea of it being a recurring theme. Kadaj must have been part French as he had a wild fascination with awful art and a lack of personal space.

"It is! The Helena Art Exhibit is the most prestigious showcase in the state, you know." He revealed. "Which is why I would love for you to meet someone special to me who made it all happen."

Oh dear God, if he had a relative, Cloud had better get a raise. He wasn't ready to meet the family of questionably insane cradle-robbers.

Cloud, masking his dread, threw a sidelong glance his way as he questioned, "Special to you?"

Apparently Kadaj took this inquiry in an entirely different way than intended. He chuckled and with a bone-chilling rub that was meant to soothe, he lightly teased, "Jealous already?"

Cloud held his tongue like a lone man trying to control a leashed lion.

Kadaj continued anyway, "No need to worry. He's my father and the host of this exhibit. You two will get along just fine though. He has the same sense of humor as you do."

Cloud highly doubted it.

They reached the second floor which was decorated in large meticulous paintings of expansive, vibrant landscapes. Each work of art pulsating with punching colors of splendor reached out to Cloud in a welcoming embrace.

"The second floor centers on the theme of being outside or being free." Oh, the irony, Cloud thought. Cloud could imagine all of these apparent artists huddled in their cramped, city-scraping studios trying to depict nature or freedom, but the closest they've ever been to it was through the four inch screens of their phones. Just a bunch of mock-intellectual pieces attempting to channel their inner "artist" but the only art they've encountered was the art of dreaming too damn much.

"The third floor has the theme of education." Cloud planned to skip that floor.

And then with a pause, Kadaj grinned. "The fourth floor is my own gallery."

Knowing he would be forced into another holy sanctuary of Jesus Christ and His extra disciples, Cloud held back a groan. Instead, he gave a supportive smile.

"Just when I thought my luck was running out."

"It's only started! But first, you have to meet my father." Kadaj stated boldly amidst the silence and led Cloud through a hallway of more vivacious paintings.

The corridor led to another expansive, circular area with two or three sculptures lined in the center and framed photographs hanging on the walls. Kadaj trailed the blond to a slim man near a singular painting. His long dark hair was pulled neatly into a bind, his eyes were worn with knowledge, and his face held evidence of time.

But his smile…so crooked and disheveled. It brought Cloud's skin to a chill even under his jacket. He took in the eerie grin with silent caution. If he was anything like his son, Cloud made sure to keep his distance and perhaps invest in a chastity belt.

"Father, I would like you to meet Cloud Smith." Kadaj introduced him to the scarecrow of a being. Cloud acknowledged him with a nod and a forced tilt to his lips before extending his hand hesitantly.

Cold, frail fingers enveloped Cloud's in a surprisingly tight squeeze as he greeted, his grin still holding true, "Please, call me Hojo. I've heard quite a lot about you."

Cloud hoped his 'hearing' only extended to limited knowledge because anyone in that family tree signaled a red flag of warning inside Cloud's head. He briefly wondered what kind of fertilizer was used to create such a family tree.

Poison, he concluded. Definitely poison.

"I pray it was all good." He returned in the sweetest manner he could, but the man lost interest in his words as he abruptly turned to face the nearest artwork.

"Tell me, Cloud. What do you see in this?" Hojo questioned without even a second glance.

Cloud, raising a brow at the surprise interrogation, analyzed the painting briefly in thought. It was simple: a flurry of black and blue squares amidst a white canvas. In all honesty, Cloud could have made it with enough paint and a sufficient amount of rulers.

"Do you want the truth?"

"Of course!"

Cloud released a long overdue sigh before he commented, "I see squares. That's it."

"Ah, but what color?"

Cloud could see where this was going. It headed to a place he dreaded. It drove to the area of pretentious artistic opinions on irrelevant pieces of so-called art. A blob of grape jelly could mean an existential crisis as far as these nut-jobs were concerned. It was ridiculous and absolutely conceited to make believe a theory in order to fluff one's lack of intelligence.

"Black and blue." Cloud answered, holding down his irritation to its lowest level. But it resisted as he retorted, "Or are you going to tell me color is subjective in the mind of the beholder?"

Hojo twisted to cast Cloud a blank look before saying, "All art is subjective."

The blond held back a dubious scoff as he returned with less annoyance, "Not all."

The other man crossed his hands behind his back and leaned forward with curved, chapped lips.

"Where are you from?"

Cloud sometimes wondered how people could tell he wasn't from Montana. His skin tone surely didn't give anything away and he never heard anyone comment on an accent before. But then again, Montana was flooded with pretentious wannabe do-gooders with a self-fluffing ego that would rival Narcissus himself; so maybe that's why he stood out.

"Arizona." He answered, watching Hojo curiously.

"Ah…Have you lived here long then?"

"Three years." Long enough, Cloud replied internally.

Hojo nodded in acknowledgement as if he were listening to the news station on the radio. "Have you made any friends?"

What a strange question… Cloud blinked a couple times before hesitating, "Er…I prefer being alone."

And then a wide, splitting smile that revealed a set of teeth too white to be real spread across Hojo's face. "A handsome boy like yourself should be quite popular."

Okay, this family officially had issues and he wanted to leave. Cloud tried to come up with a response, but the only word that screamed and begged to be said was 'Bye'.

"Have you seen Kadaj's work yet?" The subject change almost derailed him, but he held tightly onto his sweet façade by lifting the corners of his mouth.

"No, not yet." And Cloud was not in a rush to see it either. Kadaj, however, had a different mindset as he found Cloud's arm and began to steer him away.

"Oh, wait!" Hojo's frail voice halted their steps—much to Cloud's relief—and said, "I would like to accompany you with another guest if you don't mind."

For a horrid, nightmare of a second, Cloud assumed the guest would be another relative of theirs and he began to quickly conjure up an escape plan. But it proved not to be the case as Hojo peeked above Cloud's shoulder and signaled whoever was to join them over with a raised arm.

"Dr. Hojo." That voice! That deep, sensual tone of rich velvet that sent dozens of iced splinters down Cloud's back came from behind him, and Hojo strolled passed the frozen blond to greet the newcomer.

"Mr. Crescent! I am glad you were able to make it."

Cloud didn't turn around. Hopefully, Sephiroth would be too distracted by Hojo and his whack-job of a son to notice him. God, he would rather go on an adventure with the entire inbred family and their dead ancestors than spend the evening with Sephiroth.

Hojo's words rang from behind him, "I would like you to meet my son, Kadaj."

Just admire the painting, Cloud, he told himself as he concentrated heavily on the effortless blobs of squares.

-Seriously, how the fuck was that art?

"Pleasure."

And then, "Also, I hope you don't mind if Kadaj's friend accompanies us?"

Cloud's blood ran cold as he held in a staggered breath. He could almost hear Yuffie and Reno screaming 'abort mission' from the other side of town, but he held his ground, no matter how hard his heart hammered in his chest, and he turned on his heels.

Their eyes met in what seemed like complete silence, like one of those moments in a cheap Lifetime movie—not that he had watched those of course—where the two main characters are trapped in a slow motion gaze. Except this gaze didn't hold the sweet longing of love.

Green pools of indifference widened slightly, transforming from being apathetic, to shocked, and then finally to fumingly pissed.

Cloud saw his usual relaxed jaw clench underneath the smooth, shaven skin; and his usual calm mouth tighten into a thin line. An escape was far from imaginable now. Cloud approached him with slow, cautious steps before extending his hand in greeting.

"I'm Cloud Smith. Nice to meet you, Mr. Crescent."

For a moment, Cloud reveled in joy at the sight of Sephiroth being disrupted from his typical façade of cold apathy. But the joy was short-lived when he realized anger would definitely be worse, especially if it were casted towards him.

Sephiroth gripped Cloud's hand with a tighter pressure than necessary, his eyes burning holes through Cloud's skin as he spoke coolly, "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Smith." He let go harshly.

At least he was playing along…and he was speaking to him.

Kadaj interrupted. If he could sense the waves of resentment rolling off of the other man, he didn't show it as he explained unhelpfully, "He attends a school on the outskirts, isn't that right, Cloud?"

The blond gave a tight smile and nod.

"Oh?" Sephiroth cocked his head to the side as he questioned with mock curiosity, "For journalism?"

Cloud tilted his chin up in defiance as he replied coldly, "No. I heard journalism professors ignore their students."

Hojo guffawed into a sickening sound of what Cloud guessed was laughter. But it just reminded him of the noise his couch made if he applied too much pressure.

Sephiroth then turned to Hojo with a forced smile and equally intense eyes. "Shall we?"

Cloud followed the group mindlessly through the maze of pretentious paintings of freedom and even more cringe-inducing historical "portrayals". Occasionally they were stopped by excited passerby who seemed absolutely thrilled to be in Sephiroth's presence and asked for a quick picture. Sephiroth would, in his indifferent manner, would politely comply. This was the first time Cloud had seen Sephiroth's celebrity status in action and it genuinely shocked him because how could a journalist be so…famous? It's the look, something whispered at the back of his mind, but he shook the poisonous thought away. But, while it was shocking at first, after the next twenty or so times—he lost count—he grew annoyed. Not only by the random pit-stops but the ear-bleeding nonsense that left Hojo's mouth.

The blond scoffed as Hojo explained a painting of a lone woman in a blood splattered uniform as a 'portrayal' depicting one of the first women in the army. Cloud highly doubted the realism.

"It's more along the lines of political propaganda." Cloud argued, unable to take anymore fluffed nonsense. "Pretty much all contemporary art consists of trying to sway the audience's opinion on a topic."

Hojo paused in thought as he sent Cloud a curious stare before commenting to Kadaj, "You found an opinionated one, haven't you?"

Cloud opened his mouth to remind the group that he was still in the vicinity, but Sephiroth cut in.

"Although, propaganda can be used for historical documentation. Whether or not they are meant to persuade, they can still portray a specific time or era." Green eyes watched him carefully. It was like Cloud warped back into class as he held that same edge of challenge within those all-knowing orbs.

The blond almost snorted in derision, but he kept his comment to himself. He was supposed to be sweet and charming. Getting into an argument with Sephiroth—no matter how tempting—about contemporary art would surely ruin that façade.

So with a false shy smile, he cooed in defeat as he blinked innocently, "I suppose you're right."

A brow rose at the apparent show before he returned nonchalantly, "I often am."

Silver-green eyes glinted with victory while pools of blue narrowed in disdain. Kadaj clapped his hands together, breaking the tense contest of wits effectively.

"Fourth floor it is!" Kadaj announced excitedly and with a hand on the blond's back, led the group to their last destination.

It seemed like the flight of stairs leading up to the fourth floor were shorter than the rest or maybe the heightened sense of dread warped the time it took to get there. Hojo and Sephiroth were trailing behind Cloud and his touchy companion, Kadaj, as they were entranced in hushed conversations.

But the need to strain his ears to hear them became a lost subject as they reached the final floor.

Almost like the time he first stepped inside Kadaj's home, it was a completely different dimension, a different world. Cloud, for the first time since he arrived in Montana, was tempted to turn around, forget everything—even his personal belongings—and purchase the quickest flight back to Arizona.

His jaw dropped and the only thought that crossed his mind: this was not worth four hundred dollars.

Like the other galleries, this one was encompassed within a large, expansive circular area with occasional posts lining the walls. However, unfortunately, that was its only commonality as the lights were off and the area was merely lighted by the flat television screens that hung linearly, each separated by a thick wall divider, making the presentations into more of a cubicle experience than anything.

Cloud was surrounded—wholly encircled—in dozens of enormous, bright screenings of raunchy, indescribable pornography.

Gradually, with every glance casted at each screen, he felt his bravery leave him more and more. Fortunately, the media art didn't include sound so the room was enveloped in totally still silence. But the silence grew until all that remained was the option to analyze the "art work".

"This one is my favorite." Kadaj walked over to a cubicle section that included a LED monitor with high definition displaying two fairly attractive men taking pleasure in each other's sweat-slickened bodies. "You can almost feel the passion."

Cloud gaped like a virgin at his first encounter with nudity. While it may not have been his first time seeing a person naked, some other type of innocence still remained.

"It's quite…provocative." Sephiroth's deep timbre came from behind him and the man stepped forward to get a better view as if the screen wasn't fifty inches of pure porn. His face held no emotion, nor shock as his façade had returned.

The two embracing lovers moved in a steady rhythm now, their mouths staying connected in intense heat until air made itself an important factor to keep going.

"It's to show the different types of lust a human can experience." Hojo explained. But Cloud didn't want an explanation, he still wanted to leave. "This one, in particular, includes another emotion though. That's what makes it special."

Kadaj nodded at his father's comment as he finished, "It is love."

At that, Cloud noted the gentle caresses of their fingers, the fond gleam that shone brightly in their eyes as they parted for air, and the silent words of affection that, while he couldn't hear it, he imagined they were speaking vows of adoration and commitment. It was as if the camera became invisible and they were partaking in something more personal and touching than a pornography film. Cloud felt even more uncomfortable watching it.

So he moved to the next cubicle screening. This one involved a man and a woman, each in the uncontrollable throws of wild, unadulterated passion as she rocked above him; his strong, capable hands kneaded with want at her ample breasts. Cloud watched the girl arch her back and gasp for air, her eyes glazed from intense pleasure. And then she smiled, a soft one of adoration before swooping in for a lengthy kiss. For a moment, Cloud was stricken by a strange familiarity at the sight, but he couldn't place what exactly pulled at his memory.

"What is your gallery called?" Either Sephiroth was genuinely interested in learning the inner workings of Kadaj's unstable mind or he figured asking questions would be a good distraction from the orgasming men.

"I have left it untitled." Kadaj pronounced with pride, thinking the idea was brilliant. "Human emotions, particularly lust, are just so fickle…"

"…A single name cannot define it." Sephiroth finished smoothly.

"Exactly!"

Cloud wondered if he were to make a soundless exit, would they even notice. But that velvet voice cut in before he could make a step.

"Do you agree, Mr. Smith?" If Sephiroth was trying to be an asshole, he succeeded, "Or are you the type of person that believes all actions of affection are commonly defined as…let's say: manipulative."

Cloud blanked at the heavy question, his mind too distracted by the situation at hand to fully understand his meaning. "What?"

Other viewers made their way into the dark room of questionable entertainment, distracting the hosts with inquiries of genuine curiosity or poorly hidden horror. Either way, the family pair didn't seem to mind as they flipped on their eerie charm and began to preach about the fragility of human emotion.

Sephiroth stepped closer so that his narrow, green eyes shone with silver under the flashing lights.

"Shall I elaborate for you?" The condescending tone did not go unnoticed as Cloud clenched his teeth in irritation.

Sure, Cloud knew his actions were going to have unpleasant consequences, but he couldn't help but think his stony treatment was highly unnecessary.

Sephiroth held his glare in cold apathy as he continued with another step, this time he was close enough to murmur, "Or do you prefer another method of delivery?"

"If the method is jumping off the nearest cliff, then by all means, be my guest." Maybe it was harsh, a bit too violent, but his pompous tone and indifferent façade pulled at the blond's nerves the same way a doctor would pull at an untended wound, painfully and unforgettably.

Sephiroth didn't react badly to the bitter retort, instead he cocked his head as he spoke snidely, "Should I check my pockets before I jump?"

Fuck.

Green eyes drifted down to Cloud's lips and he leaned forward, his warm, sweet breath brushing against Cloud's burning skin as he gently spoke, "Or should I wait for a kiss?"

Oh, fuck.

Cloud sucked in a breath, eyes widening with unexpected shock as his mouth hung agape. He likely looked like a complete fool, and now that he thought about it, Sephiroth's ridiculous questions seemed to make more sense. But how did he know! Cloud remembered very clearly that Sephiroth was completely clueless of the agenda after the fact. Actually, if memory served correctly, he seemed to believe Cloud had a romantic infatuation with him rather than a plan of mischief. Did he find it then put the pieces together? Did he know all along and just tricked Cloud into thinking otherwise? To play with his head in his own manipulative, cold way of his.

If that was the case, then why would he treat him like some transmitted disease for the past few days? So many questions, and he had a strong hunch that Sephiroth planned to not give him answers.

The man watched Cloud with careful precision as he waited patiently for a response. But, unluckily for him, Cloud, still dazed at the revelation, was out of the right responses.

"I…I don't…know."

One patronizing brow rose as Sephiroth remarked, "Is that so? I was under the impression you knew everything."

With that snide comment and heated gaze that boiled the blood underneath his already flushed skin, Cloud picked up his jaw and brain from off the glossy floor and bit out, "Not as much as you, apparently. And just for future reference, is there anything else that may damage your pathetic ego? I need to write it down so I can avoid—"

"Better question: why are you here?" Sephiroth's interest in the blond's antics were as low as Cloud's patience for humanity.

"I love art."

Honestly, with an imagination so intricate and wild at times, Cloud wondered why he was such a terrible liar.

Sephiroth's eyes flashed dangerously at the clearly false statement as he gritted, "I genuinely respect you for your intelligence, Cloud. Please do not insult mine. Did Kadaj invite you?"

"We happen to share the same tastes in things." The words were out before he even thought about any implications that came with it, but Sephiroth did.

With a risen brow and glance to the naked lovers in the background, Sephiroth chided, "I never pegged you as a sexually fascinated being, Cloud."

Cloud tried not to take that as an insult to his sex life, but he assumed that was exactly Sephiroth's intention. But he couldn't argue back or make a bold, rational statement because it would just be a lie. And it had been already stated Sephiroth was a living, breathing lie detector. The last thing he needed was his professor knowing about his sexual activities, or lack thereof.

So, he did what he usually does in these situations. He replied sarcastically, "Surprise."

"Indeed." A corner of Sephiroth's mouth struggled to rise, but he deemed too stubborn to let it. So, finally, there was a crack in the impenetrable anger.

But Cloud wasn't finished, he wanted answers too dammit! However, out of all the questions he had swirling in the abyss of his mind, he tested the waters with, "Why have you been avoiding me?"

God, he sounded like a character on the show about desperate housewives…

He didn't know what Sephiroth must have seen in his eyes, but it made the man falter in his words for the first time since he had known him, "I…apologize for that, Cloud. But it is important for me to know why you are h—"

"Mr. Crescent!" Hojo announced his presence with open arms, turning both of their attention away from the other, "Shall we take a stroll? You don't mind, do you, Cloud?"

With a firm shake of his head and a withering glance to Sephiroth, he answered in a nonchalant tone, "Not at all."

"I look forward to another conversation," After those parting, clipped words, Sephiroth joined Hojo in their own epic adventure into the world of obnoxious art.

Good, maybe he would suffer just as much as Cloud has been suffering for the past hour.

"I hope you know a raise is in order." He told Reno and Yuffie through the fabric of his shirt. He obviously couldn't hear them, but he pictured Reno snorting in humor and Yuffie slumping in her seat in defeat at his demand.

Not only had his already tense relationship with Sephiroth become even tenser, he had managed to etch his name onto Sephiroth's list of untrustworthy people—perhaps it was even in bold italics—and anger him more than he had ever seen. Granted, it was in Cloud's God-given DNA to piss people off beyond belief, but it was different if that person held the world of media in the palm of their hand, as well as his own future.

Hah! What future?

Cloud turned toward the repetitive, digital screen in bitter thought. His future was just as bright as Kadaj's hair, dull and lifeless. The best he could hope for was a nice, sturdy box to live in on the happiest corner of a traffic-less street. Maybe he could sell his body to a porn agency. At least they seemed happy…

Familiarity struck again as he watched the scene of two lovers play out for the second time. Why? What had he seen in this that he had seen before? Cloud prided himself on not being one of those hormonal, post-pubescent nerds with a laptop loaded with an embarrassing search history. He was not that type of person. So, the fact that it was porn deemed unjustifiable. Something else tugged violently at his memory, begging him to come to a conclusion, but his other thoughts were too much. There was a traffic block and it prevented him from any access to his preferred destination.

"You must like this piece." Kadaj's voice broke through his churning mind from beside him. Cloud commended himself for not jumping in place like a frilly, teenage girl and instead acknowledged the unexpected appearance with a sidelong glance.

"It's…charming." The sarcasm was too strong to hold back, but luckily for Cloud, Kadaj didn't notice as his attention for conversation fell elsewhere.

"I find it very underrated among the others. There's something so simple about it that it becomes unique."

Dear God, not another speech about human emotion and its vitality. Cloud was almost drained from his speech stamina and his reign over his sharp tongue was becoming even harder to control. Maybe he should call it a night; it was obvious Yuffie's pictures were nowhere in sight, and surely not a viable topic of discussion.

"I guess." Cloud commented blandly, hoping his lack of interest would bore Kadaj into leaving him alone so he could return to his home of pathetic misery.

It didn't. "I've been meaning to ask you this for some time, Cloud…"

Oh, no. Not another tour. The blond turned, finding Kadaj's intense gaze already on him. "What is it?"

"I've been using the same models for quite a while, so I was hoping you could assist me?"

Cloud sputtered out his response unintelligibly, "I-In porn?!"

When Cloud made the point of selling his body, it was not a dream of his; therefore, his dreams did not come true.

An earth-shattering, ear-splitting laugh hammered its way through Kadaj's lips, the high pitch making it sound like a shriek of horror rather than a laugh of pure amusement.

"Of course not!" He chuckled, "For paintings. Father insists that I add fresher faces."

Cloud ignored the way he called his dad by the word 'Father', as if he were talking about some religious entity—knowing Kadaj, he probably was—and instead focused on a more pertaining question.

"Paintings?" An idea sparked, "That reminds me, you said last time that your paintings were going to be on display here. I haven't seen any."

Smooth.

A never before seen emotion premiered in Kadaj's usually lifeless, eerie eyes. Cloud wanted to place it as sadness, a form of rejected sorrow, but it was gone before he could decipher any further. The man snapped back into his usual aura of excitement as quick as it disappeared.

Once again, Kadaj clapped his hands together and admitted, "Yes, well, Father said they wouldn't fit with the theme of my gallery, so maybe next time." And then with an eager smile, "So, is that a yes?"

For once, Cloud actually thought about his response. For once, he thought about what the future might bring if he accepted the offer. Maybe if he were to do this modelling job, he could find out where Yuffie's photos were and why they were being taken. And then, done. He would be done with these silly quests, done with pulling the fury strings of Sephiroth, and more importantly, done with Kadaj and his obsessive nature. However, as much as he would love to be rid of all of his problems by a couple snaps of a camera, he refused to strip his clothes and become a nude puppet.

"What would I have to do?" Cloud queried curiously, crossing his arms as he thought more on the idea.

"Just a few pictures in my studio."

"Clothed?"

Kadaj chuckled and with a smirk Cloud could have lived without seeing, he purred, "If you want…"

Cloud definitely wanted.

"Am I getting paid?" Another important question.

"However much you want. Within reason, of course."

For the love of all that was holy and divine, Cloud couldn't believe the words that crawled out of his lips and into Fate's book of irreversible stupidity.

"Sure, I'll do it."

And with that said, Kadaj's grin grew from hopeful to something Cloud would never erase from his memory.

The Helena Art Exhibit deemed absolutely worthless when it came to finding out about Yuffie's pictures and their use. In fact, Cloud could have stayed home and watched sports anime; at least that would have provided him with enough gayness and awful plotlines as much as the exhibit did. And he could have stayed inside.

However, to say the experience was an absolute bust would be a lie, as he had another quest to embark on. Although this quest could be the one to end all quests. It could be the final boss, in video game terms. While he wasn't too stoked on being the next Calvin Klein model, he certainly found joy in the idea of this all being over.

Speaking of over, Cloud lounged at his desk the Monday after the exhibit, fresh from a weekend of trying to forget, and waiting like the rest of his colleagues for Sephiroth to appear. The professor had sent an email notice to his class that morning indicating he might arrive late, so there they sat, in idle conversation or on their phones. As if the idea of walking out never occurred to them.

But to Cloud, he couldn't stop thinking about an escape.

Who knew if they were on speaking terms, or if Sephiroth was to continue his temporary career in acting as if Cloud didn't exist? To be honest, Cloud had small hopes that he would at least spare him a glance or maybe a challenging quip.

"So…when is your photo session with Kadaj?" He could tell Reno was straining not to laugh, but it only annoyed Cloud more.

"Who knows? After Sunday school, probably." Cloud replied dryly, causing the red-head to chuckle next to him. "He's supposed to text me a time and date."

Yuffie, arriving late, flew quickly into the seat in front of him, a dazzling, charming smile splitting her pixie face as she, once again, thanked him, "Thank you, Cloud! And I didn't even ask for it…"

She continued on, but Cloud had already heard that speech before when he made it back to his apartment. Actually, he had heard it several times, and each time it got sappier.

"…I knew all along you were a good guy…"

God, where the hell was Sephiroth anyway? He didn't know how much he could take of this constant droning of friendship and fairytales.

As if summoning the demon with his own psychic powers, Sephiroth, dressed in his usual attire of a black suit while holding his case of files, entered the room in his own godly presence. Silver flew behind him like his very own superhero cape—it looked better than it sounded—and his shining green eyes held nothing but timeless mystery. Everyone went silent with rapt attention as he unloaded his things onto his desk, paying his students no mind, as if they were woodland critters with no effect on his conscious or thoughts.

Yuffie flipped forwards, ending her charade of sentimental nonsense to pull out her notebook and prepare her pen for an intense writing session.

"Good morning, everyone." Sephiroth greeted, finally casting attention to his engaged audience, and like every morning in Investigative Journalism, he made sure to make eye contact with each student, testing their willpower of eye battle.

Even Cloud.

Bright emerald met cerulean and Cloud almost sighed out a long, held breath of relief. He hated to admit it, but the past few days of Sephiroth avoiding him and declining any form of argument had somewhat dulled his already foul mood. He blamed the lack of enthusiasm other professors had for a nice, healthy banter. Because of their incessant need to berate him for even attempting, Cloud had to rely on Sephiroth.

That was it.

"I hope you had a nice weekend." With that bored tone, Cloud found his sincerity hard to believe. "I spent mine coming to a conclusion."

Oh, no. Not this again. Another list of interns, but this time Sephiroth was supposed to narrow it down to five. Once again, Cloud's insides churned and he sunk pathetically in his seat. But this feeling of anxiety seemed higher, felt crueler as it twisted his stomach, tightened his lungs, and scorched his skin.

"Through the ten I had interviewed, only three were capable in answering my questions." Sephiroth spoke gravely, as if it were a matter of life or death—well, to most of the students it was. Cloud, however, was still replaying the word 'three' in his head. Three? Cloud couldn't have been included. The number was too small, too specific for someone like him. Sephiroth must have miscounted or told Cloud a lie when they announced their favorite foods. There must have been a mistake.

"However, I have selected who I feel has the most competence for this field and determination. If I do not announce your name, please come to me with any questions regarding the reasons of your dismissal after class." Sephiroth slipped a paper from his case and held it gingerly as he read, "Marco Hanzal, Scarlet Richter…"

Two out of five, Cloud thought, and then there was Reno and Yuffie who probably had a high chance. Although, they never told him how they did during their interviews.

"Reno Smith…"

Even if Cloud had grown accustomed to being alone and liking the feeling of loneliness, he still couldn't help but give the barest of smiles at the red-head. God, maybe Yuffie's sappiness was rubbing off on him.

"Yuffie Kisaragi…"

The girl gasped in her seat, turning to Cloud in a look of horror and excitement as there was one last name…that Sephiroth didn't call.

"And that's it." His deep voice broke out brusquely, startling five of the potential contestants and one confused blond.

For some odd, unexplainable reason that dug its vicious claws through his insides and into his vulnerable psyche, Cloud was helpless to feel…disappointed.

Chapter Text

Warning:  All “humor” may be offensively bad.  So much Sephiroth/Cloud.  Some tiny fluff, but not enough to induce vomit.  May need wine to understand the monologue.  May need a brain scan if you’ve made it this far. 

Chapter 6:  Might as Well

You never know you’re a prisoner unless you have a prisoner’s mind.

According to Plato, someone who has been living in a cave their entire life will never know it’s a cave unless they been outside.  One may never understand the light if all they know is the dark.

I like to believe I know both sides, that I’m aware of each.

However, I choose to reside in one more than the other because I feel more comfortable.  While Plato may have been speaking about education and enlightenment, my own conclusions can point to the idea of importance.

While I’ve never experienced such a feeling, I do know of its existence.  I find myself imagining it, though quickly erasing those contaminated dreams before they can infect my mind with an incurable disease of hope.  That nasty, wicked feeling which can cripple a man into insanity.

So, while I know of the outside and can imagine its beauty, I choose to find solace in the cave.

--Cloud Strife

There is a theory called social Darwinism which refers to the evolution of social conduct within a society that attempts to explain how humans adapted socially and economically.  The lowest, earliest stage of this theory is called low savage, and throughout humanity’s existence, it had developed over several stages, eventually concluding to the present stage, social civilization.  During the period of low savage, however, humans were unable to communicate through languages, writing, or any type of means due to their lack of knowledge.  In other words, low savage usually refers to the age of the caveman. 

And as he sat tensely in his seat, scowling at his professor who occasionally would send him a noncommittal look back, Cloud had determined that Sephiroth might have been behind on the evolutionary scale of social conduct.  He was no anthropologist, but some truth sparked to his surely valid conclusion given Sephiroth’s earlier words.

Cloud, while inexplicably disappointed at first, had begun to soak into the juices of rejection like an open wound would burn under the immersion of rubbing alcohol.  It fizzled into a burning bout of anger.

And that’s it.

How ostentatious!  What an entirely conceited notion to announce to his students.  As if the remaining six were to beg like starving dogs for maybe a taste of hope.  Cloud had very few things he would not do and one of them was to plead with someone so narcissistic that Narcissus himself would call him a narcissist.  In fact, Sephiroth might have enjoyed that previous sentence since it had his God-given personality woven into it three times. 

 “Are you going to set up a meeting with him?”  Reno whispered beside him while Sephiroth continued a lecture about how to incorporate legal documents into a research method—because college students apparently couldn’t read.

“Fuck no.”

“Cloud…What if he wants you to?”

“There’s a famous song by the Rolling Stones that can answer that for you.”  In which case, if by some scandalous reason, they grew up uncultured and uneducated, he added, “You can’t always get what you want.”

In plus, if Sephiroth wanted him as a potential intern, he would have assigned him a spot instead of playing some sick, twisted game of Please the Leader.

“Well, do you want it?”

Cloud was taken aback, not only by the question, but because he realized his first response wasn’t to shut the entire conversation down by expressing his disinterest.  Throughout his experience within this cesspool of dementia-inducing course, Cloud had convinced himself of his indifference regarding the internship.  In fact, he had repeatedly reminded Sephiroth of his stance, but the man deemed too stubborn to listen.  And Cloud, much to his dismay, had grown to anticipate that reaction—well, until now.

There was a long pause before Cloud forced out a scoff, “I’d rather join Kadaj in a pseudo-spiritual pornography session.”

Usually, Cloud spoke in a softer, quieter tone as he was far from flamboyant or loud; however, his desperation to deliver his words in the most honest way proved to be louder than expected.  Unfortunately, his regrettable words travelled to ears that weren’t meant as a target, which earned him a few giggles, a snort from Reno, and one unsympathetic professor.

“Speeches aren’t until finals, Mr. Strife, so please refrain.”  Sephiroth commented dryly, casting Cloud a deadpanned look. 

At any other time or any other day, Cloud would have responded and returned his own retort, perhaps include some philosophical nonsense about freedom of speech and how it was his right to express his thoughts.  But, while he looked forward to bantering with Sephiroth again, he was currently not in the right mood.

This mood differentiated from the rest of his miserable slopes of unhappiness.  This one stemmed from an aching sense of frustration, something that once beckoned him with small bouts of hope, yet now pulled savagely on his esteem.

And then there was the dizzying tornado of confusion that only added to his frustration.  Because for the life of him, he could not understand why Sephiroth had chosen to acknowledge his existence again.  He knew for a fact he didn’t reveal anything at the exhibit that would cause the man to forgive and forget.  He expected their relationship to worsen if that was even possible.  Yet, a small part of Cloud hoped that Sephiroth dropped his grudge and returned to their normal dynamic of useless bantering.  But, even if he had only known him for a month, Cloud knew that ‘pardoning without consequences’ was not in Sephiroth Crescent’s Book of Favorite Phrases.

Cloud turned back to his papers, pointedly avoiding those expectant eyes that waited for some sort of smartass comment.  When none came, Sephiroth continued his lecture smoothly.

If it were another day, Cloud would have felt childish at his attitude of petulant silence, but that slight sense of pleasure of doing something unexpected reduced his care to a bare minimum. 

Once Sephiroth swerved into a personal example regarding the importance of documentation, Reno leaned back over to whisper, “Maybe he’s testing you…”

The blond gave an incredulous look.  Testing him for what?  To get on his knees and beg Sephiroth for a future?  If that was the test, then he was destined to fail.

Yuffie, finding it a fitting time to join in, slightly twisted in her seat to murmur in an oddly serious tone, “You should talk to him after class, Cloud.”

Maybe it was just Cloud, but the idea of loyalty began to take the shape of an overweight, skinned cow with bipolar issues.  In other words, loyalty never looked in worse shape than it did then.  He almost felt betrayed by their incessant suggestions.  Of all the ridiculous missions he had done for them, they were hell-bent on sending him into the jowls of a man that swung on more foul moods than feminists on social media.  Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but Cloud had difficulties discerning Sephiroth’s daily state of mind, especially currently. 

The prodding and pushing only got worse near the end of class to the point Cloud jolted out of his seat when Sephiroth announced dismissal.  The blond planned to leave his so-called teammates behind, hoping to drown out the encouragement that came with them, but Yuffie’s persistence was an incredible force, one that could likely be used in the highest rank of military as she, with Reno, followed the blond behind every step.

But once he made it to the building exit, a small hand reached out to halt his escape, catching the sleeve of his shirt.  Large doe eyes met cerulean with nervous energy.

“It could be important.”  She said solemnly, her eyes eventually cast guiltily to the floor from the heated glare she was being given.  Something about her unusual change in behavior and her grave tone didn’t sit right with Cloud as suspicion curdled its way to the surface.

“What did you do, Yuffie?”  Blue eyes squinted at the shame that touched her cheeks with red.  “Why were you late today?”

Yuffie was one of those students who believed that being tardy for a paid college course was the equivalent of never using an expensive app on a phone.  That and she was one of those students who highly respected Sephiroth to always arrive on time.

Some relief came to him once he saw Reno throw a confused look at the tense girl.  At least he wasn’t the black sheep of the situation.

“I…”  She started hesitantly, her eyes darting to the floor before meeting his with direct determination.  “I told him everything.” 

Cloud froze, his mouth opening to say something, but all it did was hang dumbly in silent surprise.

Some small, microscopic part of Cloud rejoiced at the idea because that meant the entire mess was off his shoulders and onto Sephiroth’s broad ones, but the majority of him twisted with trepidation at the thought of the enigmatic professor being involved.  Sure, he was certainly a valuable asset to have, being a major, renowned journalist with the entire world media at his fingertips.  But Cloud was hesitant since his inclusion would mean an increase in time with him.

Reno, equally as shocked, sputtered in a barely contained whisper, “What the hell?!  Why?!”

Yuffie bit her lip, wrung her hands together, and stood her ground as she spilled, “I had to, okay?  I felt like it was my fault that they were on bad terms.”  Guilt.  What a nasty disease.  She turned to Cloud with a genuine expression of empathy as she spoke rather softly, “I didn’t want to jeopardize your future because of it.  So, I told him.”  A flicker of brown eyes to her feet signaled her next mumbled words, “And then he thanked me…”  With a rush of jumbled words, she finished, “and requested to speak to both of you.”

Cloud came close to groaning from internal agony, but Reno did it for him, “Oh, God, we’re going to be flayed!”

“He just wants all of our sides to the story and…well, you’ll see.”  All it took was one heart-to-heart with Sephiroth, and Yuffie had already developed his use of cryptic messages.

“When?”  Cloud, with every blood cell of his being, prayed it spanned for months but—

“After class, so now.”

—his luck was shit.

“Can we…go together?”  Reno prodded, his hope for survival apparently depended on if Cloud was in the room with him.

The blond snorted.  “I think I’ll just make it worse.”

No matter if Sephiroth and he were on speaking terms again, he still likely had an edge of bitterness towards the young man.  The shortage of the intern list was proof of that. 

“Guys…”  Yuffie tried to interject, but was ultimately ignored.

Reno flung an arm around Cloud’s shoulders in a brotherly embrace as he led them down the hall towards the office of doom.

“No, Cloud.  You see, he’ll be too distracted with chewing your hide, he’ll likely forget about little, ole me.”  Reno explained next to his ear to which Cloud shrugged off his arm and slowed his steps. 

See?  The death of loyalty.

Noticing Cloud’s reluctance, Reno then decided to maneuver his way to victory with another path, “But it won’t be too bad if I’m there, right?”

Cloud snorted.  “Wrong.  Lions never wait for gazelles to leave the area before they start devouring their cousins.”  And in this scenario, Sephiroth was the lion, they were the gazelles, and Cloud knew his regrettable actions had put him at the very top of the main course menu.

“Well, thankfully, we don’t live in fucking Africa so—”

“Guys!”  Yuffie chimed in again, finally turning the heads of both men.  “He meant individually.”

A short silence washed over them before Cloud turned to Reno with a dazzling smile and a gesture for him to go forth.  “You know what they say:  age before intelligence.”

Groaning, Reno, who happened to be older, argued, “Pretty sure it’s age before beauty, Cloud.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, “Order is still the same.”

“God, you’re a dick.”  Reno muttered as he strolled off down the hall to the awaiting door of dread.  “Might as well get it over with.”

Cloud didn’t plan on staying nor did he plan on having a sit down session with Sephiroth the Omniscient, so with a turn on his heels, he began his escape.

“You’re going to wait outside?”  Oh, yeah.  Yuffie.

He grimaced, momentarily forgetting about her persistence on the meeting. 

And that led to his internal conflict of to lie or not to lie.  If he lied, he could go home, sleep, and temporarily avoid his conversation with Sephiroth without any confrontation—at least until the next day.  If he chose to tell her the truth, she would attack him with her weapon of misty eyes and a professional guilt trip to boot.  Now that he thought about it, neither sounded too pleasing.

With a frustrated sigh, he turned back, found an empty spot against the wall, and slid down until he sat on the cold linoleum floor.  “No.”  He mumbled, then repeated Reno’s words, “Might as well get it over with.”

‘Getting it over with’ came with a prerequisite of sitting on the floor for two straight endless hours and Yuffie sending relentless reassurances to his self-esteem.  Not only was Cloud’s ass close to rivalling the flatness of a preteen late-bloomer, Yuffie’s constant chattering of encouragement was having the opposite effect.  While the intention was slightly appreciated, Cloud found it highly unnecessary as his self-esteem had taken form of the grim reaper over the years—forever dead and dying with no chance of resuscitation.  So her efforts were futile as his heart was taking shape to become its very own drumline.

“…And he wasn’t cruel to me, so you shouldn’t have to worry about—”

“Yuffie.”  Cloud interrupted brusquely with fingers massaging his temples.  “I’d rather listen to inbred banjo music than hear any more assurances.  Stop.”

For a moment, he hoped he wasn’t too harsh with her, but that moment quickly passed as she sighed beside him and gave him a small, knowing smile.

“That’s why he likes you, Cloud.”  Her voice was too cheery for her words.  Her words that didn’t make a lick of sense to the confused blond.  “You’re honest.”

“Reno?”  The red-head never said otherwise, so Cloud only assumed they were—

“No.  Professor Crescent.”

Oh, God.  Here they went again with the reassuring nonsense.  Cloud almost prepared to dig out his phone and search for the first entry on depressing violin music to drown out Yuffie’s incoming speech and also express his inner emotions.  However, before he could swap the speeches for screeching terror, the door to Sephiroth’s office finally opened and out came a grinning Reno.

Well, that was reassuring.

“What did he want?”  Probably not the best first question to ask, but it got the job done.

Reno shrugged as he plopped himself down next to Cloud, banging their knees together in the process.  “Just an overview of our escapades.” 

“Hmph.”

“I decided to give him the videos as well.”  Reno added.

“Why does he want them?” 

“You’ll see.”  Another one bites the dust.

“It took you long enough.”  The blond muttered, lifted himself off the ground, and snatched the pathetic excuse of a book bag off from the ground.  The feeling returning to his bottom as he did so. 

“Yeah, but y’know what they say:  third time’s the charm.”  Reno winked up at him.  Cloud chose not to respond, but instead shake his head, dust off his ass, and amble his way to the office.

It was almost like the first time they met.  He walked in, taking in the dim setting and golden light from the window, and Sephiroth, while his attention remained buried within his papers, still had that relaxed, yet composed posture as his elbows rested on the surface of the desk and his hands together under his chin.  How professional…

His voice was its usual deep timbre as he chided, “Knocking is a valuable skill to learn.”

Cloud hadn’t even begun his interrogation and he already fucked up.  Great start.

“Sorry, I forgot.”  Cloud closed the door behind him as Sephiroth’s eyes flickered to his.  If Cloud didn’t know any better, it seemed as if Sephiroth was surprised.

Cloud took his seat across from the watching professor, dropped his bag to the floor, and reluctantly met his eyes after they averted.

Leaning back into his seat, Sephiroth mused, “I didn’t expect you to show.”

“Makes two of us.”  Cloud replied and unconsciously matched the other’s posture as his back met the leather of the seat.  After a minute of silent, inquisitive staring, Cloud decided he couldn’t handle two hours’ worth of it, so he cut to the chase, “What do you want to know?”

A brow rose.

Cloud explained, “About the Kadaj thing?”

“From you?”  Sephiroth questioned and with a tap of a finger he answered noncommittally, “Nothing now.”

Okay, Cloud did not sit out in the hallway for two hours, flattening his ass and listening to Yuffie’s presidential speech for nothing.  After a clench of his jaw, he gritted, “Yuffie told me you wanted to speak with me.”

Green eyes observed him with calculative thought before he spoke, “I do.  However, I already obtained the story of your extracurricular activities from your friends as well as a video, so your side would be redundant.” 

Sidetracked, Cloud asked, “Why do you want information on Kadaj?”

“It’s pertinent to a case I am working on.”

“And that is?”

Sephiroth gave him a small, barely there smile before responding lightly, “That subject is for later.  I wanted to speak with you about the internship.”

Cloud blanched.  He was not prepared for this conversation.  Relaying his story about religiously confused whack-jobs and their strange ‘Father’ obsession?  Sure.  Discussing his decaying future?  No, that had to wait.

“I assumed that discussion had met its end this morning.”  Cloud had tried to not let his bitter vibe from that morning through, but it deemed impossible.

Sephiroth tilted his head, a question flickering in those emerald depths but he didn’t ask it.  Instead, he said, “I chose four for a reason.”

Cloud snorted.  “Yeah.  I hope so.”

“Most of the reason had to do with you.”

Cloud hadn’t expected that answer.  He was leaning more on the side of ‘none of the others stood out, including you’ answer, not ‘because of you’.  So, albeit dumbly, he tested, “What?”

“Admittedly, you were on the list.”  Sephiroth confessed, his piercing orbs watching Cloud as if he didn’t want to miss any flicker of emotion.  “However, after the circumstances of the stolen card and seeing you at the exhibit, I removed you.  I believed you were…untrustworthy.”

“Wait.”  Cloud interjected, somewhat amused at the insinuation.  “Did you think I was a spy?”

Sephiroth’s lips twitched.  “While you were suspicious, you garnered too much of my attention to be a ‘spy’.  I didn’t know what to think.”  His serious expression took place again as he continued, “Ms. Kisaragi then came to me this morning and answered my questions.  Afterwards, I was left with a difficult decision.”  A pause.  “I eventually chose to leave the fifth spot open.”

“Fight to the death?”

Sephiroth ignored the interjection and with a crippling gaze of severity, “More like leaving the opportunity of a future there for someone who genuinely wants it.”

Cloud swallowed his next retort for something honest.  “Are you saying I don’t want a future?”

“For someone who values importance as much as you do, it’s alarming to find your motivation for success at a bare minimum.”  Sephiroth discarded his mask of indifference in replace of something more personal, closer, and more human than Cloud had ever seen him.  And his words, those haunting things that struck too close to the truth, banged fervently inside the blond’s head.

Apparently realizing Cloud wasn’t going to say anything, Sephiroth continued, “You’re a clever young man, Cloud, potentially the top of your class, and while you hate to admit it, you do enjoy journalism.”  Cloud opened his mouth to argue, but Sephiroth wouldn’t let him.  He relayed in a quiet tone, “So that’s why I’m leaving it open.  If you want it, show me you do.  If you don’t, there are five other students willing to take it.”

There was a long silence.  It was the kind that stretched until Cloud could almost hear it ringing, singing more than the cluttered mess of thoughts that flooded his mind with disembodied hope.

Finally, Cloud spoke.  “You expect me to beg?”

Sephiroth sighed, exasperated by the blond’s reluctance.  “I expect to select someone who will use this grand opportunity to its fullest potential and not waste it.  If that is your definition of begging, then yes, I expect it.”

Before another word could be said, Sephiroth lifted himself from his seat and started to gather his papers into a tidied briefcase.

Thrown off course by the sudden action, Cloud queried curiously, “Going somewhere?”

“We are.”

“We?”  Cloud hoped wherever they were going, it had multiple exits.  His stamina for contemplating on his future was running too low for another breakdown on Cloud’s withered ego.

“I am meeting a friend for lunch.  I would like for you to join.”  Sephiroth slipped the strap of his case of his shoulder as Cloud hesitantly came to his feet.

“Lunch?”  Great, now Cloud was only capable of monosyllabic phrases.  He would have added something craftier, but his confusion had blocked any access to that part of his brain.

Sephiroth finally sent him a slightly annoyed look—Cloud wasn’t the only one with a grudge against monosyllabic phrases—and answered, “Yes.  I’m hungry and we still have things to discuss.”

“Can’t it wait?”  He could only handle so much turmoil in one day.

“No.”  The answer was quick, simple, and unbelievably stern as Sephiroth brushed past him with thrown words over his shoulder, “It should be brief,” and left Cloud to reluctantly follow after him.  Reno and Yuffie were gone—as Cloud expected—as the duo walked down the halls to their ‘brief’ lunch.

Sephiroth’s idea of ‘brief’ consisted of a hike through the campus—because owning a sports car deemed useless to millionaires unless for show—and crossing the four lane, busy highway to a small diner café.  Halfway there, Cloud remembered that he left his bag in the now locked office, to which Sephiroth responded with a nonchalant, “You can get it afterwards.”

Their conversation during said trip was limited to awkward small talk that better suited a cheap, Disney chick flick and short silences, while Cloud tried desperately to keep up with Sephiroth’s long-legged strides.  The consequences of being short were burdening and induced a fit of annoyed complaints from the struggling student.

“Goddammit.  I know you’re hungry, but slow down.” At those words, Sephiroth paused in his steps, allowing Cloud to reach his side, and then began walking again but at a slower pace.  “For fuck’s sake,” Cloud muttered, “Like racing a cheetah.”

Perhaps he should inform Reno that they might have been in Africa after all.

A sigh was heard.  Sephiroth’s appreciation for vulgar language teetered on nonexistent.

“You should learn to control that tongue of yours.”  He reprimanded, throwing an accusatory glance towards the target with the foul mouth. 

Cloud snorted.  “You gonna’ teach me, Professor?”

For a moment, Cloud thought the retort was brilliant, an absolute masterpiece of a comment that could have been framed and hung in every literary museum like all of his smartass comments should be.  But that moment quickly passed and turned into a tense silence of regret as he grimaced, brought his eyes to his moving feet, and hoped God had built enough pity over the years to strike him down now before it was too late.

He hadn’t.

The rest of the journey was in terrible, aching silence that had Cloud wishing the people in their cars would forget about vehicle manslaughter and just end his life once and for all.  He would even write a note for the police to pardon them from their gratuitous deed.

But they didn’t.

It wasn’t until they crossed the busy intersection—underneath looming industrial buildings similar to the ones near Barrett’s Seventh Heaven—that Sephiroth finally spoke to him.

“He should already have a table for us.”

Cloud didn’t know who ‘he’ was, but he hoped he had a place in his heart for crass blonds.

At the corner of a short building strip and on the other side of a hectic highway was Midgar Café, a small, homey diner that welcomed Cloud with the delicious scent of buttermilk pancakes and freshly cooked bacon.  His stomach responded greedily as his nose breathed in another deep intake of the intoxicating aroma.  Ramen Noodles and Hot Pockets only went so far in feeding the bottomless pit that was his stomach.

Like most diners Cloud had the money to visit, this one was bright with artificial golden light and burgundy colored booths that lined the walls and windows, surrounding an expansive area of circular tables.  The bar, holding a fair amount of people, sat towards the back and stretched from one wall to another. 

“Over here.”  Sephiroth gestured to a secluded booth near the corner next to a spread of tall windows.  In the booth—well, out now as the man jumped to his feet at the sight of them—was someone very familiar.

“Cloud, right?”  The dark-haired man gleamed, taking Cloud’s hand in a brief shake.

“Yeah.  Zack?”  Cloud was surprised he even remembered.  They only had barely of a minute of a conversation when they spoke.

The raven nodded and gestured to the booth, “Have a seat.  I haven’t ordered yet, so take your time in choosing something.”

Cloud slid into the booth opposite of where Zack had been sitting and almost jumped when Sephiroth joined beside him.  Their arms brushed at the movement. Once Zack sat down across from them, Cloud immediately opened the menu.  His search, however, ended once he saw the prices.

“Jesus.  Are they serving the meals of Bethlehem?  How is a pancake worth twenty dollars?”  Cloud could probably make one just as good with enough flour and water.

“Quality demands quantity, Cloud.”  Sephiroth informed with a slight raise of his lips.  And then a glimmer met his eyes.  “In plus, I’m paying, so have whatever you want.”

Holding back a retort that regarded the topic of charity, he turned his attention to Zack who eyed him curiously.

“So, Cloud, how’s college going?”

Fucking terrible.  “Okay, I guess.”  He replied at the same time Sephiroth shifted, his arm once again brushing Cloud’s side and the scent of sweet, expensive cologne delicately permeating the air around him.  While a pleasant, welcoming scent, Cloud barely had any room to move without rubbing himself on his teacher.  Surely, there was more room on the other side and Cloud didn’t have to suffer the notion of becoming a human pancake--oh, the irony. But after a quick look around Sephiroth, it seemed his shoulders were broader than Cloud thought.

“What classes are you taking?”  Zack seemed genuinely interested.  Usually when someone strikes up a conversation about Cloud’s academic life, they only do it for the sake of talking.

“Foreign Study in Journalism, Investigative Journalism, Anthropology, and Advanced Creative Fiction II.”  Cloud’s classes, while low in numbers, proved to be strenuous as the year went on.  In fact, he was just reminded of an Anthropology essay that was due the next day.  There went his night of doing absolutely nothing.

“That’s awesome.  Have you taken any of Davis’ Literature classes yet?  I had a blast in those.”  Apparently, Zack was also a graduate, but unfortunately his experience with Professor Davis differed vastly from Cloud’s.

Sephiroth decided to chime in with his own input, “Yes, Cloud.  How was your time in Davis’ class?”

Where the hell was the waiter?  Cloud cast the man a foul glare as he bluntly responded, “Miserable, but brief.”

“Really?”  Zack didn’t seem as disappointed as Cloud thought he would be.  “Why?”

Sephiroth gave the blond an odd, expectant look, one that either meant ‘be honest’ or ‘be nice’.  So, he chose the road most traveled.

“Because he is an overly aged hypocrite with no skill in the art of teaching, nor is he fit for anything other than a wheelchair in Montana’s greatest senior care establishment.”  Maybe honesty had been a bad idea, but Cloud had decided in the midst of his spiel that he didn’t care.

However, his lack of caring began to dissipate as silence engulfed them and Zack stared, surprised, and Cloud didn’t want to turn to see Sephiroth’s reaction—though the man should have been used to it.  Maybe Davis was a mentor to Zack and Cloud had offended him to the point of absolute quietness.  If Sephiroth weren’t in the way, now would have been a great time to slide out and away from this moment.

And then Zack’s body started to shake as his mouth struggled violently to hold in an incoming laugh—it failed.  Boisterous chuckles lifted the mood of the area and Cloud found it an appropriate time to look over to find Sephiroth’s lips quirked in amusement, his green eyes focused on the menu.

Once he calmed, Zack announced with a grin, “You’re funny.”

Honestly, Cloud could have taken it as an insult to his opinion, but he chose to roll with the moment of hilarity as it offered a break from any awkward tension.

“That’s something I’ve never been called.”

“Ripped a laugh outta me.”  Cloud assumed Zack was the type of person who would laugh at anything, so he noted to never let his ego grow when the man found one of his ‘jokes’ hilarious.

Before he could respond, the waiter decided to show.  She was Cloud’s age, dirty auburn hair pulled back, a nice face, and a bright smile.  Her brown eyes—though not as doe-like as Yuffie’s—switched frantically between the three, unable to decide who to address more. 

“Hey, guys.  M’ name’s Jesse and I’ll be your server today.  Can I start you off with a beverage?”

Zack was the first to order, “I’ll have a milk.”

Cloud faked a cough, hiding a surprise jolt of chuckles behind his hand.  Zack, while seemingly upbeat, was a toned, built man that likely had every woman in the state drooling at his feet.  So, the order of a simple glass of a children’s drink struck a chord of hilarity within the blond.

“Hey, keep your opinions to yourself this time.”  Zack threw back lightly with a playful wink.

Cloud had already prepared a retort, but Sephiroth cut in before he had a chance, “I’ll have a water.” 

Jesse eyed Cloud as she asked, “And what about you, babe?”

“Water for me too.”

Jesse put a hand on her hip, leaning to the side casually as she grinned down at the blond.  “You make my job easy.”  And with those teasing words, she strolled off, leaving the three men in brief silence.

Sephiroth broke it as he turned to Cloud—their arms touching—and informed, “I’ve already told Zack a summary of you and your friends’ encounters with Kadaj. But if you don’t mind, it would be appreciated if he were to know the entirety of it.”

So, that was why Sephiroth toted him along, and their ‘discussion’ was just a drab recap.  Cloud should have expected him to give his side after all; but he also assumed there was a different intention, one that regarded the internship more than Kadaj.

“So you’re helping your friends do…what with Kadaj?”  Zack began. Cloud wished they would stop calling them ‘friends’.

“Paid help.”  He clarified.  “They compensated me…the second—well, third time.”  Cloud gave a quick sidelong glance in Sephiroth’s direction, watching those emerald eyes narrow.

Zack only waited for more, staying silent and staring ahead, fully attentive.  With a deep breath, Cloud revealed everything from how he got pulled into the messy plans, to Kadaj’s home of holy horror, to Sephiroth’s mishap of his stolen card—though he made sure to leave out how he managed to give it back—and finally to the exhibit where he explained his ‘modeling’ job, Kadaj’s growing taste in terrible artwork, and his ‘love’ for his father.

Zack, with the occasional hum of response, listened thoroughly, soaking in the blond’s words in rapt attention.  Their drinks arrived during his bout of story time, but he didn’t have a chance to replenish the dryness of his mouth because the questions began once he had finished.

“Did he say anything about his father’s business to you?”

“No.”  Cloud was tempted to tell them to watch the videos and see for themselves, but he assumed they would ignore his suggestion.

Sephiroth turned to him.  “While you were with him, did he seem reluctant on certain topics?”

How was Cloud supposed to know?  How was he supposed to help if he didn’t have a clue on why he was being interrogated in the first place?  Holding his thoughts from being too explosive, he calmly asked, “What topics are you hinting at?”

“Anything that caught your eye.”

Fucking cryptic God of useless answers, Cloud thought bitterly.  However, once he delved into his palace of memories, he recalled a certain instance.

“When I asked why his photographs weren’t being displayed he seemed…distressed.”  Cloud spoke, but he was certain this piece of info would be worthless.  “Something about his father not wanting them up as they didn’t ‘fit’ with the theme of outrageous porn.”

And also, that sudden strike of familiarity he felt when he watched that one displayed video of the man and woman, though he held his tongue on that theory.  He didn’t want them to jump to the conclusion that the only reason he had déjà vu was because he was an overly hormonal boy with too much time on his hands—which was far from the case.

Sephiroth must have seen his brain scramble behind his blue eyes since he rose a brow and prodded, “Anything else?”

“No.”  He lied and, with his own inquisitive look that he hoped appeared as daunting as Sephiroth’s, he threw back his own question, “Now, are you going to tell me why I’m here, being interrogated like a crime suspect?”

“You haven’t told him?”  Zack seemed surprised at the revelation which had Cloud feeling that the man maybe cared about the blonde’s sanity.

Sephiroth, with nonchalant indifference, leaned back into the seat—once again brushing his arm against Cloud’s—and said, “Just his friends.”

Cloud chipped in with his own smart words, “Well, by all means, tell me nothing since you seem to be a fucking pro at it.”

The professor shot him a dangerous look, one that reminded him of his displeasure around vulgar language. 

Cloud turned away from it, shifting in his place, consequently rubbing their sides together in the process—noting the rigid muscle—and slung his hands on the table.  The sudden, wild movement knocked his wrapped straw from the surface.  Cloud watched in a dreadful grimace as it bounced off Sephiroth’s knee before landing gracefully between his feet.

Meanwhile, during Cloud’s clumsiest moment of the day, Sephiroth hadn’t noticed as he began to explain, “Zack and I—along with a few other trusted employees—are investigating Hojo…”

Dammit, it just had to land in the most unfortunate spot—well, at least it didn’t fall between Sephiroth’s legs.  Taking that thought as a plus, Cloud paused Sephiroth’s anticipated explanation with a raise of the hand before apologizing, “Sorry, let me just…”

Sephiroth, with both brows risen, gave him a curious look. 

Considering that as a pause, Cloud bent under the table and over Sephiroth’s sturdy thighs before he reached for his straw.  He felt his cheeks heat at what the sight must have appeared as above the table, but he quickly canned it and locked it away before more disturbing images took over.  The legs underneath him stiffened and a strong hand gripped his arm, but it didn’t haul him back like he thought it would.  Instead it rested, the warmth of the touch radiating through their clothes, and Cloud finally snatched the troublesome straw from the floor and attempted to lift himself up.

Without thinking, he grasped the nearest ledge for leverage—but this ledge, while firm and resilient, had a soft layer of satin-like cloth blanketing it.  For a moment, Cloud almost snorted at the idea of their booths being made of satin because it was only fitting with the debt-inducing pancakes.  But then, because the texture of satin was more slippery than Free Willy, his hand slipped backwards.  And his fingers drifted over what felt like hardened, rippled muscles that tensed sharply at his touch.  The hand on his arm tightened, and he heard an audible intake of breath above him.

Sephiroth pulled him up, while it wasn’t rough, Cloud reminded himself to check for bruises later anyway due to the pressure of his fingers.  Looking down, he realized his treacherous hand had ultimately groped the entire length of his professor’s thigh, stopping near the inner crook—and if Cloud were to be completely honest with himself instead of willing away unwanted memories, he was sure he felt another bulge of muscle at his fingertips.

Likely redder than the booths they were sitting in, Cloud snapped his attention to Sephiroth’s stiffly composed face and equally walled eyes, and he held up the teleporting straw for all three to see.

“I found it.”

Sephiroth dropped his hand from Cloud’s upper arm, letting it drift to where the blonde’s own hand still rested against his inner thigh.  Wrapping his digits gingerly around the misplaced wrist, Sephiroth murmured tightly, “Among other things…”   

And then he removed Cloud’s frozen hand from a place no student should ever explore, positioned it between them, and snatched his touch away as if the contact scorched his nerves like a sizzling pop of freshly cooked bacon.

Cloud pondered if it seared like his own palm that felt close to boiling—he assumed it must have been from embarrassment.

Zack started to cough as Cloud began to conjure up various, intricate plans of escape or death.  Most of the plans included both:  an escape and then death.  Dear God, maybe he should participate in one of Kadaj’s pornography videos, he already had a head start.  And with his college professor, no less.  Given the taboo scenario, he could probably get a raise.

Turning away to pick up his menu, Sephiroth softly cleared his throat and spoke rather rigidly, “As I was saying, we are leading an investigative story on Hojo, Kadaj’s father.”

Cloud, now pressed as far against the window as he could manage, fought desperately to contain his violent thoughts of perversion and his traitorous heart to ask a decent question, “And what's Hojo doing that needs to be investigated?”

Honestly, it was better than he thought it would be.

Now done with his wave of sudden sickness, Zack answered, “Illegal drug trade.”  After a risen brow from the blond, he continued, “A few years back, well—to put the story short—we found evidence of the crime within protected emails.”

“Did someone out him or something?”

“An anonymous source did, yes.”

Cloud just wanted the entire story, he didn’t thrive on playing a guessing game.  “And then what happened?”

With a sigh, Sephiroth clarified, “Given that this information is confidential, I am unable to explain everything.  However, I will tell you that your compliance has been most helpful—”

“What?”  Cloud blurted.  “You make me go through a damn audiobook, but you refuse to give me more than two pathetic sentences?”

“Cloud.”

“Are you at least going to tell me how I’ve helped besides digging up memories I’d rather forget?”

Sephiroth casted him a deadly glare, the tension from earlier still evident on his face as he spoke coolly, “As you said, Kadaj seems very loyal to his father.  It may lead to him being involved.”

“So, it’s a family business.”

“More or less.”

Cloud briefly wondered, now that he spent a fair amount of time with Sephiroth, if he were to walk out of the diner only speaking in cryptic messages.  It seemed contagious as far as Yuffie and Reno were concerned.  And, while Cloud detested the idea of illegal distribution of whatever drugs they were speaking of—Cloud didn’t ask as he knew he would only receive a shitty answer—he found the situation rather underwhelming.

“Why would you waste years on some drug case though?  Seems like there are other more exciting scandals being thrown around lately.” 

“This one is different.”  There was a strange gleam that sparked in the silver-emerald depths of thought.  A look that overrode his recent dark wall of indifference and burned with a desperate rage.  Cloud knew that look and understood it.

It was a challenge.  And of course Sephiroth wanted to pursue it, to dominate it just like everything else in life, and to show a public display of victory when he eventually won.  The man makes a living off winning and peering down from the top of the social ladder.  So, to find someone like Hojo, a mere scientist with artistic issues and a troubled son, push back and refuse to submit to his ever-looming presence, it must have sparked an obsessive challenge within him. 

Cloud was hesitant to decide if he wanted to be involved in such a struggle.

The rest of the lunch passed in a torturous crawl of long, sufferable minutes and Cloud, while some awkward tension had disappeared during their conversation, still felt that constant buzzing of awareness.  He was aware of every shift, every accidental brush of their clothes, every glance of green, and every mindless movement of those fingers—he sounded like a hormonal teenage girl.  He hated this feeling.  As if he were trapped in a world where thoughts only pertained to one being, and that being was Sephiroth.  God, the man didn’t need another deranged student to constantly think about his every action, his ego might take off into another dimension—especially if he knew Cloud was the one stuck inside a vortex of unstoppable thoughts.

Once they finished their meals and conversation had run low, they said goodbye to Zack, who gave the blond a brotherly—and almost painful—pat on the back, and Cloud reminded Sephiroth of his bag that was locked in the office.  While he would’ve been content on leaving the article to avoid more awkward instances, his homework and his determination to receive his credits had him marching beside Sephiroth on a quest of retrieval.

—A very silent quest of retrieval.

There was a saying that read:  you don’t know you’re a prisoner unless you have a prisoner’s mind.  Putting this into context, Cloud never knew what true silence was until he had to hike back to Neverland with his now stoic professor.  In fact, he was almost certain his earlier run-ins with awkward silences were just fragments of the real deal.  Cloud made a mental note to never, under any circumstances, ever, touch his professor—not on the hand, on the arm, and definitely not on the leg—

Without a word, they entered the plain white building.  Their footsteps were almost as loud as Cloud’s thoughts.

Sephiroth took out his keys, the ringing jingle echoing off the barren walls, and unlocked the door.  Cloud stepped in first, flipped the switch to ‘lighten’ the pitch black area, and bent down to collect the tattered bag.

Questions littered and polluted his head, beckoning him to say something or ask anything, and he planned to.  As he turned around, Cloud readied his mouth for an onslaught of questions that would make the FBI look like the teletubbies trying to form a decent interview.  He already had a list regarding not only the awful silence, but about Kadaj, Hojo, the internship, and even his placement in the class. 

But once he saw him, standing merely a foot away with a dark, watchful gaze that eyed Cloud in silent reflection, his words jammed in his throat.  If he were to avoid internal conflict, Cloud would blame his own lack of response on a change of mind, perhaps he could blame it on a sudden bout of illness which would explain the steady rise in temperature.  But honesty never came at an appropriate time, especially to himself. 

He shifted under the heated green watch and averted his eyes downwards, clutching his bag as he let his eyes drift over the tall, looming form.  Sephiroth, fitted to absolute perfection in his tailor made suit that hugged his frame elegantly—he almost laughed at how pristine he looked as silver traces of hair hung like a delicate, sheen curtain near his cat-like, narrow eyes.  Some strands stretched to the slope of his shoulders while other nestled next to his jaw, framing his sculpted features in the most spectacular way.  And his lips, appearing as soft as a—wait they were.  Cloud remembered quite vehemently the texture and how surprised he was when he came to know of their softness.

Once again, cerulean flickered up to meet endless emerald, and Cloud finally realized they had spent a good minute staring at each other in complete silence.  He decided—reluctantly—to break it, “Are you going to avoid me now?”

Neither of them were expecting that question.

A silver brow rose, though his eyes seemed to be in a different moment.  “Pardon?”

“Nothing.”  Cloud muttered.  It was a hopeless cause to get any type of straight answer out of a man who might have been raised by Shakespeare’s ghost, so Cloud chose to drop the subject and move on to a different one.  One that involved leaving.  “Thanks for…”  Cloud lifted his bag to finish his gratitude, but ended up ditching the gesture once Sephiroth stepped forward.

Even if Cloud tried to step back, the chair behind him wouldn’t allow it; so he braced for whatever Sephiroth planned.  Craning his neck to meet his professor dead on, he tried to search for any clue as to what the enigmatic man had rolling in his complicated mind, but nothing came.

“I attempted to cut ties with you because, as I said earlier, you were untrustworthy at the time.”  Sephiroth answered and bent down, their faces were so close as their breaths danced to the beat of Cloud’s quickening heart.  His attention wavered to Cloud’s lips as he murmured distantly, “And it might have been for the best since…”  A pause before he lifted his eyes and tilted Cloud’s head with a lone finger under his chin as he spoke with just as much of a caress as the finger heating Cloud’s flesh, “You’re attracted to me.”

Egotistical, self-loving, piece of—

Cloud swatted the intruding hand from his face, his blue eyes blazing with annoyance, but most of all anger.  Sephiroth didn’t step back, he merely watched the show; however, no amusement flickered nor was there any humor in his expression.  He was deadly serious, and that had the blood underneath Cloud’s skin boiling to a degree that could reinvent another theory on normal body temperature.

“I’m more attracted to a rusted lamp post in the middle of a sewage swamp in the arm pit of Thailand, you self-centered prick.”  Cloud snapped, though he didn’t get the anger or frustration from Sephiroth that he wanted.  What he wanted was for Sephiroth to throw an insult back, maybe laugh at him, or drop the subject altogether by taking back his boldly stupid claim.

But all he did was observe Cloud in his own mystical way.  Green eyes swallowed every emotion that had the displeasure of premiering on Cloud’s face, as if he were partaking in some sick science experiment to know how Cloud ticked.  The brilliant green of usual indifference glinted with calculation and dark emotion as they drifted back down to parted lips in momentary thought. 

For a sliver of a microscopic second, Cloud suspected it might have been desire that had Sephiroth so close and so…different.  But the insinuation behind any type of desire would mean the Great and Holy Sephiroth found the Lesser and Disgraceful Cloud sexually alluring.  Knowing full well that the only being Cloud attracted was disappointment and the only action he’d ever seen Sephiroth do was build his ego, he concluded that it was not lust; it was a test.  A test to determine if the man had caught another one in his snare of attraction.  Almost as if this were a case to assert one more victory in.

And Cloud—while sometimes lacking in the field of pride—prided himself on the fact that he was not one of those mindless dweebs that dreamt of sexual fantasies with his professor.  Even if he had kissed him, accidentally touched him in questionable places, found himself occasionally staring at him out of amazement, felt his nerves bundle at their current proximity—

Before Cloud could continue his somewhat contradictory thoughts, Sephiroth spoke coolly with eyes still attentive on his face, “I have a proposition for you.”

A blond brow rose in question at the apparent subject change—Dear God, he was even turning into him—and Cloud couldn’t help but glance down at the lips that moved.  It was common curiosity.

“What is it?”  Did the proposition include the act of distance because they were still so incredibly close?

It did.  Sephiroth stepped back, allowing the blond to suck in a much-needed breath, and threw Cloud another long careful look before proposing, “If you continue to assist me with information on Kadaj, the internship spot is yours—as well as information regarding the case, of course.”  Sephiroth paused as he took in Cloud’s stunned reaction in silence, then continued as he plucked his case from the floor, “I’ll give you time to consider it, but in the meantime, I’d like to keep this between us.”  Cloud must have imagined it but he swore he saw Sephiroth’s lips tilt into a smirk under the faint light as he added, “And if the internship doesn’t suit your fancy, we can find something else just as gratifying.” 

In sum, Cloud was rendered speechless and indecisive as he parted with Sephiroth, climbed inside the cluttered bus, and eventually stumbled into his ragged apartment.

One thought—one nagging, incessant emotion—locked his lips into silence and his mind into a numb vortex of spinning, useless questions.  It brought him face down on his stiff, creaking mattress with a dreadful groan and had him contemplating his future more than he had ever done.  This emotion left him curling into a fetal position underneath the soft barrier of blankets as he entertained the poisonous questions with ineffective answers.

This emotion was his worst enemy.

It was hope.

Chapter Text

Warning:  Some “humor” may be the opposite of defensive and good.  Some fluff.  Some angst.  Some plot.  Some content not suitable for children (see rating).  And if you are a child and you’ve made it this far, stop destroying your brain cells and read an actual book.

Chapter 7:  I Want, I Want, I Want (But that’s Crazy!)

Free will is a false concept.

There is no such thing as freedom to one’s mind because human nature, education, and culture do not allow it.  No one has the freedom of thought because others always shape their thoughts.  Teachers, parents, and close ones cultivate my mind into something they want.  My mind is merely just a figment of others’ choosing. 

My thoughts, no matter how hard I try to break from the mold and transform myself into a unique individual, are like yours simply because we have been taught how to think, what to say, and who we are as a people.

You may tell me that choices in life give me the freedom to think for myself.  But those choices are only available from outsiders and my decisions are only shaped from past experiences.

And because of this, my choices and decisions shall remain restricted to who I am.

And I am no one.

--Cloud Strife

Fate.

Fate had a sick, twisted sense of humor in that it only appeared to remind Cloud of its horrid, unwanted presence.  Like a recurring disease, it continued to illustrate just how atrocious his life really was by placing him in circumstances he’d rather not be in.  In fact, he was sure fate had a vendetta against him because he merely existed.  Perhaps as he crawled out the womb, screaming and kicking, he left some sort of imprint on the world—wait, no.  That would imply his life had value and meaning.  While his existence had been heavy with disappointment and failure, it wasn’t to the point of being important.  And for Cloud, that seemed worse.

Not only did his life encompass more shit than an entire barn of laxative-induced horses, it still wasn’t enough shit to garner him status.  He was in second to last place in the race for happiness, which ultimately meant no one cared.

“Why do you look like someone shot your puppy?”  Well, maybe Reno cared, Cloud mused but then remembered Reno tended to be curious on subjects he would later deem uninteresting.  Now that he thought about it, it summed up the job of a journalist quite perfectly.

They sat, side by side, on the chilled hallway floor across from the investigative journalism classroom, waiting on Sephiroth to arrive and unlock the door.  Cloud, who was excused early from his morning class after finishing his test, arrived first.  And like suspicious clockwork, the others showed soon after.

Yuffie lined his left as Reno sat by his right and Cloud held his phone above his knees so that both could read his most recent text message:

I’m free to do our session this Saturday at 2!

Bring tights if you have them. ;)

-Kadaj

Reno broke into a wild fit of rowdy laughs that echoed off the walls and directly into Cloud’s reddened ears.

“I don’t wear fucking tights.”  Cloud growled.  “And I don’t plan to.”

Yuffie, trying to mask her amusement and attempt a more empathetic approach, rested a reassuring hand on the blond’s shoulder and said, “Well, it is a fashion trend now, Cloud…”

Since when was dressing up in an attire suited for flamboyant gay men who dreamt of becoming Napoleon Bonaparte a trend? 

“No.”

“It could be important.”

Hardly.  Cloud scoffed, “It could cure cancer for all I care; I’m not doing it.”

“But you already agreed.”  Yuffie.  Why was she always right?

Still huffing with dimming laughter, Reno supplied unhelpfully, “It’s just another way of getting you out of your pants.”

Cloud sent him a withering glare, but it never reached the level of death he wanted it to as he was distracted in the process.  Shining ebony shoes with enough gloss to put Scarlet’s lips to shame, stepped into view.  And as blue eyes slowly took in the ironed black slacks, perfectly measured suit, and strands of silver hair that escaped from a hold in the back, Cloud slumped in dread.

How the hell was he so quiet?

“I hope your current conversation doesn’t pertain to your writing assignment…”  A sharp look at the Rolex watch on his wrist, Sephiroth finished, “which is due in twenty minutes.”

“Of course not, Professor Crescent!”  Reno strained a grin.  Apparently, his one-on-ones with Sephiroth hadn’t calmed his awe-inspired fear of the man.  He then announced with a harsh pat on the blond’s back, “We’re just discussing fashion options for Cloud.”

Green eyes surveyed the blond in scrutiny. 

It had been a few days since their ever-looming conversation in the office, so as Sephiroth watched him in his indifferent gaze, Cloud was reminded of that other look he received.  The one that held an entire world of unknown clouded emotion after announcing his ridiculous theory on Cloud’s attraction.  The one before he gave his unexpected proposal to which remained unanswered—Sephiroth made sure to check each day by asking him.  That color and emotion which darkened those usually brilliant eyes haunted Cloud’s memory and thoughts, churning out more questions and less answers.

Among the questions unanswered was Sephiroth’s idea of payment. 

Yes, the internship option weighed heavily in Cloud’s mind.  However, his instinctive reaction to suppress any cause for hope deterred him away.  He might as well dig out the root of optimism before it grows into a looming tree of regret. 

And then there was the other option of repayment.  This one lurked in the darkest corners of Cloud’s mind, occasionally reminding him of the unknown ‘gratification’ Sephiroth hinted at.  At first, he assumed the man meant money.  But—even if Cloud had only known him for a couple of months—he knew Sephiroth had another extravagant idea.  Perhaps he could ask him and finally conclude his internal debate, but he sensed the answer would be more than he bargained for.

“I would suggest a better bag then.”  Sephiroth contributed to their conversation of fashion as his eyes found the said tattered object laying in a pathetic lump at Cloud’s feet.

Like a mother protecting her child from verbal abuse, Cloud brought the item closer to his body with his feet in an attempt to hide it from cruel judgement.

“It has been through a lot.”  Cloud defended.  Only he could call his bag ugly…which it was.

“It appears so.”  The man then turned from his students, took out his keys, and unlocked the door to the dimension of learning.  All three hopped to their feet and followed their professor in, footsteps scattering as they found their desks.

Yuffie turned in her seat to whisper, “You think you’ll be doing erotic poses?”

Cloud found himself much happier thinking the opposite, so a frown took place as he replied deadpanned, “No.”

Reno snorted.  “I don’t know, Cloud.  You might land yourself a modelling job for some homosexual harlequin novel cover.”

“I’ll send you a copy, you incessant goo of—” 

 “Cloud.”  The blond jerked his head up at his name.  A boiling pit of hope that his professor hasn’t been listening to their conversation rose to the surface before he could suppress it.  Sephiroth gestured for him to approach with a wagging index finger. 

Cloud knew this moment.  This was the time Sephiroth asked for an answer, and like the other three times, he would say:

“I haven’t decided.”  Cloud told him once he reached the front desk.

Sephiroth leaned back to survey his student thoughtfully before announcing, “I’ll need an answer by the end of the week.”

Cloud nodded.  He hated this.  This feeling of not knowing what would happen if he made the wrong choice—or even the right one.  Because he knew from experience that everything happened for a reason and, usually, those reasons presupposed an outcome he’d rather avoid.

Before Cloud could turn back to sulk in his seat in drowning thought, Sephiroth raised a hand to halt him.

The man reached inside a drawer to his left and pulled out two small cards; one, however, lay snug inside a white envelope.  He handed the cards to the puzzled blond as he explained the bare one marked with inked digits, “If I am in my other office when you have an answer, just call this number.” 

Cloud rose a brow.  “Is this your personal number?” 

“No…”  A pause.  And then a smirk tilted his lush lips before he plucked the card from Cloud’s hand, laid it on the table, and began to write a set of numbers underneath the current print.

Nice penmanship, Cloud mused internally before the implemented action struck him.

Once it did, Cloud stumbled for words, “I-I wasn’t asking for it, just…”

Sephiroth handed it back when finished and warned, “Be wise with it.”

Cloud hoped his cheeks didn’t show his embarrassment as he nodded dumbly.  He doubted he would even use it, much less spread it around like a gifted disease.  Thrusting the cards into his pocket—momentarily forgetting about the second one—Cloud turned on his heels and strolled back to his seat.

It wasn’t until halfway through the lecture that he remembered the envelope.  So out of boredom, he drug it out of his coat pocket and popped the flap open.  There were two pieces inside.  One was flimsy like photographic paper and the other stiff like a credit card.

Cloud, due to his inner greed, focused on the credit card—

No, it was a gift card.

Choco’s Chicken.  What kind of BDSM fast food restaurant did Sephiroth recommend to him?  Confused and albeit entertained, he lifted the other paper, its backside up and read the beautifully etched print.

A date with the ‘object’ of your attraction. 

I recommend the fried pickled chicken. 

It’s quite delicious.

For a moment, Cloud was stunned to find Sephiroth remembered his favorite dish—though to be a journalist, it was often required to have a decent memory—and slightly surprised that fried pickled chicken was served this far north. 

A smile growing, Cloud flipped the photo around and doubled into ringing laughter at the image.  His obnoxious laugh interrupted Sephiroth’s lecture, turning heads to see what insanity the troublesome student was up to now. But after a quick look to the struggling blond, Sephiroth continued without a reprimand, gaining the attention of his oh so dedicated disciples once again.  Though, there was a slight quirk to his lips that gave him away.

Cloud held, within his hands, a photo-shopped picture of a rusted lamp post in a swamp-like area.  And at the bottom right corner lay a badly edited sign that said ‘Welcome to Thailand’.  It was probably the worst Photoshop job he had ever witnessed and he wondered how much Sephiroth paid the artist to do it. 

If it was more than ten dollars, Cloud would insist on a refund.  But with a knowing grin towards the distracted professor, he placed the card within his pocket and pointedly ignored his inner questions of doubt and anxiety.

Admittedly, it was a nice gift.

---

Saturday came too fast.

And no, he did not purchase any tights.  Call him an anarchist, a rebel, a fiend against the law of art, but Cloud had standards, dammit!  These standards would be implemented under a strict sense of stubbornness and a struggling will to clutch onto what was left of his withering dignity.  And his poor, poor dignity, if it had eyes, it would demand an optometric surgery for a hasty removal. 

And if Kadaj had any problems with Cloud’s choices of wear, the blond would—this time—set his foot down without another word of doubt or second-guessing. 

Reno and Yuffie, like their first escapade into the realm of religious confusion, set him up in what they referred to as a ‘completely different and eye-opening’ suit. 

The suit had stripes. 

That was it.

Reno joined him in the backseat to help with the technology, but as he reached to unbutton Cloud’s shirt to apply the sound wire, the blond blocked his hand.

“If I’m going to change clothes in there—which is a high possibility—it might be too risky.”  He warned and then tapped the camera emblem already attached to his coat.  “I’ll just bring in a visual.”

The red-head thought it over for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and nodded in agreement.  “Good point.”

Yuffie wished him luck after crushing him in a brutal hug, and like a strange moment of déjà vu, Reno slapped his ass in encouragement as he said, “Strike a pose for me.”

Dick.

Kadaj didn’t waste any time in coming to the door and letting the blond in.  In fact, Cloud barely had time to deliver a second knock before it swung in a cringing screech and revealed a well-groomed—as well-groomed as he could get—Kadaj who gave a lecherous grin as he took in Cloud’s appearance.

“Please, come in.” 

Cloud stepped over the threshold into the familiar room of strange paintings.  He gave a small, polite smile, and couldn’t help but awkwardly wave to a staring Jesus.  His Karma meter was almost overloaded, so if he could gain any kind of retribution points, he at least had to try.

However, given the familiar territory and remembering the tour, Cloud asked, “Are we holding the photo session…here?”

“No, no.  My studio is in the basement.”

Cloud almost laughed, thinking the statement was a joke on an overused cliché used in typical horror novels.   But after surveying the confident, eased look on Kadaj’s face, he realized he may have made a mistake in not including sound.

“Perfect.”  He held back a dry tone and replaced it with cheer, almost too cheery to the point he sounded like a living cartoon character.  Since when did he have a fucking basement?

Kadaj led him down the hall, towards his bedroom as Cloud watched his feet in churning thought.  Why didn’t he show him his supposed studio during the tour of terror?  Cloud could have skipped five entire chapters of his life if he were to see it back then.  For fuck’s sake, he could have avoided most of his confrontations with Sephiroth—

“Here it is.”  Kadaj stated proudly, gesturing to a small, compact room within his bedroom.

“That’s your closet.” 

Luckily, the scenario of being trapped in a closet—Cloud knew there was irony in that phrase—and tortured by maniacal man with issues remained forever unseen as Kadaj chuckled and slid the hanging clothes to the left, revealing a door.

At this moment in particular time, Cloud assumed this might have been a dream.  Or maybe he was just a character in a horribly written horror novel that intended to adopt every cringe-worthy cliché in the history of thrillers.  No wonder Kadaj didn’t show him this during the tour.  If he was freaked out by the hanging iconographic paintings of the world’s entire database of religious figures, then perhaps leading him to a secret basement of pornographic art would be the last nail in the coffin.

Figuratively and maybe literally.

The door led to a downslope of steep stairs, lit by dim hanging bulbs that were quite fitting given the situation.  But as they descended, the area began to brighten in fluorescent, white light that gradually met his eyes so he didn’t have to squint.  Once they reached the actual room, Cloud noted that almost everything was white. 

A white changing curtain, a white background, a white stool, a white marble floor, and a white pair of tights and a see-through undershirt.  Towards the far-left corner was a desk of hanging photographs and cluttered papers of what Cloud assumed to be ‘artistic notes’.  But while he wanted to ask about the desk of mystery, his mind still reeled on another important factor.

“What’s that?”  He pointed to the tights and the flimsy, transparent undershirt with a risen brow.

Kadaj turned to him with an excited smile, clapping his palms together as he announced, “Your wardrobe!”

Fuck no it wasn’t.  “Um, I thought I was going to wear what I brought…”

“While you look stunning in what you have on, I have a theme.”  Kadaj explained, picking up the questionable wardrobe and extending it out for Cloud to take.  The blond didn’t move.  “It involves the idea of angels and demons, and how humans perceive them.”

Cloud wasn’t surprised at the theme, but how was a flimsy leotard even close to a human’s perception of an angel? 

“No offense, but I don’t picture angels wearing something you would find in a hermaphrodite’s closet.”  Maybe it was all in offense.

Gratefully, Kadaj only smiled at his words and explained, “Exactly!  Our perception is just that.  We live life assuming what we think is true, but we never ask ourselves ‘what if’?”

Cloud disagreed.  He asked himself that question every day of his life.

Kadaj continued, “What if angels seek out happiness and love through pleasure?”

Cloud didn’t know too much about religion, but he knew for a certain fact that Kadaj just encountered the idea of blasphemy in the highest order.

“So…you think angels are sexual deviants?”

With a laugh, Kadaj shook his head.  “Of course not, but this is my point.  People are so closed off on the matter of asking ‘what if?’, so I chose a subject that might have them think deeper.”

Cloud blinked.  “And what are demons then?”

Kadaj grinned in a slow, mischievous way that had Cloud’s skin prickle with unnerved energy.

“Pleasure too, but out of lust.”  And then with a wink, “You’re going to love the outfit for that one.”

Cloud wasn’t sure of a lot of things in life, but he had a strong feeling he would question his entire existence once he sees the demonic garments.

“But it isn’t ready yet, so we’ll have to schedule another session for that one.”  Before Cloud could object, he thrusted the angel outfit into the blond’s hesitant arms and gestured towards the changing curtain that wrapped around in a cylindrical shape.  “It should be a few poses, so it won’t be too long.”

A hand drifted down the length of Cloud’s arm as he spoke, dull green eyes brightened in enthusiasm and a tongue darted out to coat dry, chapped lips.  Those eyes lowered on Cloud’s dreading face and the blond found this moment a good time to walk away.

Which he did.

Once inside the cylinder of soft cotton, he made sure there were no gaps or breaks among the curtains before he started to strip.  Why was he even doing this?  Didn’t he promise himself to put a stubborn foot down and save his dignity?  But as he removed his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and started to unzip his trousers, his answer remained in the void of mystery.

“Oh, and underwear isn’t needed!  Don’t worry, everything is washed!”

Oh.

Cloud took a brief moment to breathe.  In and out, in and out as he let the cool air of the conditioned room fill his lung in gradual breaths.  It might have been ragged, but he felt the strange energy slowly release itself from his tense body.

And then he was naked.

Subconsciously, he rubbed a thumb over the area above his right knee, pushing away the memories that flooded with the motion.  What an emotional, pathetic moment he had to encounter, as if he were one of those people who shuddered in fear from a memory.  It was cowardly, and if not pitiable, then it had to have been a wretched sight.  Snatching his fingers from his knee in a conscious protest, he slung the stupid transparent shirt over his head.

And as he bent down to collect the dreadful tights, a shine reflected in his peripheral vision.

Looking over at the distraction, he felt his jaw drop and his face flush with scarlet.

He forgot about the camera attached to his jacket, which coincidentally was pointed in his naked direction.  Dear God, kill him now.

Letting out an embarrassing squawk, he kicked his removed shirt over the lens, covering his body from onlooking eyes.  Maybe they were decent enough in turning away…Cloud chose to not dwell on that bout of hope for too long.

After slipping on the tights, which took longer than any appliance of clothing should ever take, Cloud opened the curtains.  The material hugged in places that he never wanted to be hugged and still didn’t as he tried to adjust himself in the tight space of cloth. 

Now reminded of the camera, he grabbed his coat and placed it on a table near the setup, praying the angle was a good one.

The setup consisted of a white backdrop that stretched towards the ceiling, curved at the floor, and expanded about ten feet from that angle.  One large cone-like light stood on a tripod, close to the edge as a small light sat near the back of the setup.  Kadaj altered and adjusted a gigantic circular mirror as Cloud approached.

The blond pulled at the tights awkwardly as he spoke, “How quick is this going to be?”

Kadaj turned and his expression went from surprise to one of devilish, animalistic intent.  Cloud, while oblivious to most expressions of desire, knew what this was.  Though one-sided, the air was thick with it as clouded green raked over Cloud’s body—unfortunately covered in a garment that left no work for the imagination.

The younger shifted on his feet, about to blurt out some ridiculous offensive insult if the silence grew.  But it didn’t.

“You are…marvelous!”  Kadaj beamed, his eyes still murky with lust as they drifted down.  “Just perfectly exquisite in every way!”

While he appreciated the compliments to his form, Cloud’s top priority was to find evidence for Yuffie and end this day once and for all.  So, he ignored the attempt to fluff his ego and walked to the center of the staged area.

“Where do you want me to stand?” 

Kadaj closed the space between them to position him with greedy hands that lingered for too long at his waist.  The touching was unnecessary and more so uncomfortable as a pose developed.

Cloud held back a grimace as slithering fingers slid to his knees and pushed at the inner areas to part them.  He felt like a human doll, one of those artist puppets that the user manipulates before drawing it.  He had no voice in the matter and Cloud happened to like to use his voice.

“Can’t I just do my own poses?”  Though the suggestion wasn’t a very brilliant one, it helped distract his mind from wandering hands that wouldn’t stop ‘positioning’ his thighs.

“Oh, no.  I have a certain idea I’d like to accomplish.”

Cloud wished this idea ended with haste.

After a few more adjustments—thankfully nowhere too personal—the pose was finalized.

And Cloud felt fucking ridiculous.

Even if standing, he knew it appeared erotic as his legs were parted, one positioned behind him so that he placed some weight on his toes.  His hips were slanted, back arched, head tilted, one arm outstretched to the side with fingers in a reaching pose as his other acted like another person’s, holding his chin.

“Can you lower your eyelids?”

Cloud narrowed his eyes.

Kadaj chuckled at his naivety, “No, as if you were looking at someone you loved.”

For fuck’s sake, Cloud wasn’t an actor.  Was there a specific look to love?  Did it involve actual hearts in the eyes or did he have to tattoo a sonnet to his forehead?

Trying a different approach, Cloud lessened the harrowing look of disdain and opted for something more peaceful. 

It hadn’t worked.

“Have you ever been in love, Cloud?”

This was supposed to be a photo session, not a therapy session.  Cloud was tempted to drop the pose and explain, but he didn’t want to go through the torturous step of uncanny touching again.

So, holding onto the pose tightly, he responded with reluctance, “Never.”

A pause.  And much to Cloud’s surprise, Kadaj remained very professional as he answered, “Well, imagine someone you’ve been attracted to—or have dated—and pretend like you’re in the same room with that person.  That it’s just the two of you and there are no restrictions to expression, no one watching, no one judging.  You can say anything, do anything…and feel anything.” 

While good advice, Cloud hadn’t been attracted to a person since Tifa in junior high and that relationship ended terribly.  So, she was out of the picture in regards to imagination.

“Use your eyes to express it.”  And then Kadaj added such simple words, words that would mean nothing to a casual viewer; but for Cloud it sparked an image.  This image was unwanted but its appearance stayed like a cancerous cell infecting other thoughts around it.  It spread across his cheeks in a guilty blush and embraced his mind in a tight squeeze so that the only option was to endure it. 

It was an image of emerald-silver eyes with glistening strands of silver brushing the tips of long eyelashes.  These eyes were imaginary, they were figments of Cloud’s subconscious want, and he had no choice but to look into them.  Gazing into the unreality of mysterious green, Cloud found them other-worldly as they watched him with just as much intensity as the real ones would.  But these were different.  These had another color to them that he had never seen, something that tinted that breathtaking green into a hue of undeniable desire.

The silver within them glinted in what Cloud considered an aching longing and it swirled with a growing heat that gradually lurked into Cloud’s blood, raising the hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck with anticipation.

They were getting closer, green wholly enveloped his vision and he imagined the warm whisper of sweet breath on his lips.  It almost tickled him as they suspended above his skin at a torturous distance.  Cloud parted his lips, waiting for that moment of softness, the moment of importance to rain down on him like a soft blanket of comfort.  Yes, that’s what he wanted right now.  Comfort, importance.  Something warm to hold onto, to be held.  No one was looking, so it was okay.

It was okay.  No one was watching, those eyes whispered to him as they got closer.

For him, during this moment, it was acceptable to want this, to want to feel something close to him—oh so warm and gentle as the caressing green embraced him in—

Snap!

Cloud jolted, almost stumbling off balance, and broke his pose in a startled freeze.  Kadaj had taken the photo and was now grinning from ear to ear in blissful satisfaction as he watched the blond with a tinge of pride, but overall desire.

Cloud felt…exposed.  As if he reached inside himself, tore open the most inner barred feelings, and threw them into the world of reality for everyone to judge and scrutinize.  They weren’t allowed to though.  These were his thoughts.  No one could touch them nor cast their nosy, unwanted eyes onto them.  He’d be damned to turn into one of those pitied creatures who revel in coddled, false sympathetic attention.

So he straighten his stance, tightened his fist, and squared his jaw as he said, “How many more poses?”

Turned out, there weren’t many more.  Kadaj was so pleased with the first one—and Cloud had already walled away his innermost ‘desires’—that he decided seven deemed an appropriate amount.  After allowing Cloud to change back into his original suit and scuttling off towards the cluttered desk, Cloud reentered the cylindrical tube of cotton and slipped on his clothes.

This time, he remembered to cover the camera.

Once finished, he joined Kadaj at the desk of mystery, his curiosity leading him to snoop as the other transferred the photos from his camera to a simple laptop.  Photographs laid in disorganized piles, and scraps of paper with small writing dotted the surface occasionally.  Blue eyes scanned the images of random beautiful men and women, each in an attire with a specific them, some noticeably younger than others.  But he didn’t find what he was looking for.

Kadaj set the camera on the desk, his eyes distracted by the screen as he murmured praises like ‘so good’, ‘gorgeous, beautiful, spectacular!’.  The motion knocked a few pictures onto the floor, and Cloud instinctively followed and relinquished them.

All it took was a simple, noncommittal glance to the recent victims of escape.

Cloud’s heart began to hammer and his mouth dropped open at the image in his hand. 

There it was.  There she was. 

Yuffie.  Her pixie face scrunched in frustration as she stood casually by her mailbox, skimming through a set of envelopes.  It was from such an awkward angle, Cloud only guessed it might have come from the inside, perhaps through a window.  And that only furthered the sentiment of eeriness and the urge for him to leave.  But, he couldn’t yet.  Not only had he come all this way, endured so much mortification, he also had an obligation.

Sure, he may not consider them as friends, but he knew them.  He knew Yuffie’s innocence—well, excluding her manipulation skills—her natural, sometimes false state of happiness, and her similar situation of loneliness.  While Cloud got by just fine without other people and embraced the cold feeling with welcome, Yuffie craved more.

So, she didn’t deserve this.

Given his train of thought and never really skilled at keeping his mouth shut, Cloud let loose a low whistle as he commented like a lustful man would, “Who’s this?  She’s quite something to look at.”  And added, “Now this would have been a perfect model for you.”

It got Kadaj’s attention.

The other man stood from his crouched position on his computer and looked over Cloud’s shoulder at the image.  If he was threatened by its discovery, he didn’t show it as he smiled in soft remembrance.

“Yes, quite the beauty.”  His dainty, cold fingers slipped over Cloud’s to gently take the photo away as he spoke in his tone of unusual cheer, “I intended her to be my model, but then I met you.”

Cloud was cast a flirtatious grin, but all he could do was stare blankly at the man.  And then he met him? 

“You just dropped her?”

Kadaj laughed off his comment and announced, “Yes, she was fine with it.  Don’t worry!”

What a beautiful lie.  If Cloud had Kadaj’s skill in lying, he could likely fool even Sephiroth.  It was so well-said and smoother than Cloud could ever achieve himself, that if he didn’t know Yuffie, he might have believed him.

“Oh.”  Cloud managed, stuck in a momentary wave of shock.  A part of him—a very small, miniscule part tinier than a flea’s leg—had wished Kadaj took her photos for some artistic reference, nothing malicious or with a darker intent.  But now, as he obviously lied, the truth of the matter laid in the hands of a murkier path.  One that Cloud was now fully involved in.

Although glad he replaced Yuffie in the spot of uncomfortable situations, Cloud had a curdling feeling that it would just get worse down the road.  That road involved more mishaps, mysteries, and subjugated humiliation than he could ever imagine.  And while he could live life content on just imagining it, something tugged violently at his conscience, his being and thoughts.  It purred and whispered of answers to curious questions, questions that had been dug from the grave of past experiences and weighed the blond down to a heap of puzzled confusion.  Oh, curiosity was such an awful disease as it infested his mind with prodding, unanswered questions, like dangling a juicy, bloody steak in front of a ravenous tiger but always out of reach.  And Cloud, the tiger in this situation, had been teased for so long and now he wanted that fucking steak.

He wanted answers.

“I have to go.”  Cloud announced, his decision sparking a new path for the day.

Kadaj snapped his head from the computer screen and held up both hands for Cloud to wait.  “One second!  I want to give you a copy!”

Cloud would much rather dive into a pool of rusted nails and snakes than receive a reminder of his modelling experience, but Kadaj insisted vehemently and so he waited…impatiently.

The man tapped the enter key and from somewhere underneath the disarrayed desk, a printer started to buzz to life.  It must have been the latest model as it was quick to spit out the photograph.

After receiving the ‘gift’ and an accompanied walk back to the front door—a hand on his lower back of course—Cloud darted down the street towards Reno’s Camry.

Once inside the comforting warmth of the vehicle and behind the walls of protection, Cloud slumped backwards and dutifully relayed the entire story to patiently waiting ears.  Though, he made sure to extract the part of his wild imagination regarding green eyes and focus more on Yuffie’s picture.

“But I never knew about the modelling!”

“I know that.”

“Why would he say that?!”

“Because he lied.”

A look of absolute horror crossed her features before she cried, “I’m so sorry, Cloud!  It’s all my fault you might be in danger.  Oh God, what if he wants to make a skin suit out of—”

“First of all,” Cloud interrupted, not wanting to hear her brutal theories of Kadaj’s intentions.  “Don’t apologize.  Secondly, yes, it is your fault but I was stupid enough to go along.  Thirdly, just stay away from skin suit conversations.”

He already had haunting thoughts of Ted Bundy-Kadaj, he didn’t need a Buffalo Bill version.

“Sorry.”  She apologized which earned her a quick glare.

But Cloud had other things to do besides chastise Yuffie on her overwhelming tendency for apologies. 

He took out his phone, ignored the curious looks from his car-mates, scrolled through his short list of contacts until he found his target, and pressed call.

Pushing flittering images of hazy green eyes aside, he waited through five rings until a click was heard and Sephiroth’s voice came through, deep and brazen.

“Crescent here.”

What a shit greeting.

“Is that really how you greet people?”

There was a short pause on the other end before he spoke again, smoother, “Cloud.”  Wherever he was, it was eerily silent. 

“Are you at the office?”

“Yes, but not at the school.  Why?”  Even over a static reception, he still held the world in the palm of his hand with just his voice.

“I need to speak with you.” 

“You are now.”  Cloud could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

What an asshole, he thought and grumbled, “I meant in person.”

“Have you come to a decision then?”

“Yes.  But I have some things to show you.”

Another pause.  “Involving Kadaj?”

“Yeah.”

A rustle was heard and then, “Very well.  You have the address.  Tell the receptionist your name and she’ll let you through.”

And just like that, the conversation was over as a sudden click popped into his ear.  Cloud should probably lecture him on the act of social manners.  Ha!  Maybe he should also school him on how to be a hypocrite.

On the way, Reno had guided Cloud through the steps on downloading his video recording on a portable disc.  Much to Cloud’s dismay though, Reno had failed to upload any editing software to his piece of shit computer, so the blond had to rely on his sense of memory and fast-forwarding skills when he showed Sephiroth.  They had enough awkward moments already, he certainly didn’t want to showcase an accidental strip tease.

While they were wholly confused as to why they made a pit-stop at M.C.R.’s Helena headquarters, Reno and Yuffie—perhaps feeling obligated now—made no further comment on the subject. 

Well, except for Reno.

“So, are you like fucking the professor or…?”

Cloud choked on a fresh breath of air as Yuffie reprimanded with a sharp “Reno!”

“What?  They’re obviously sneaking around and you know as well as I do that—”

“For fuck’s sake, Reno.  No.”  Cloud bit out and attempted to ease his voice as he partly explained, “I can’t say right now, but it has to do with the internship.”

Yuffie gasped in excitement, hope filling her eyes more than it had ever touched Cloud’s existence.  “I knew it!  I knew he had a soft spot for you, Cloud.  See?  I’m always right and if you need any advice for any kind of future situation, I am here for—”

Cloud was out the car before she finished.

Only so much torture could be handled in a day and a pep talk from two of America’s most outlandish citizens counted as an overload.

M.C.R. Helena Headquarters towered with recently washed glassed reflections, steel industrial pillars lining the sides, and massive letters perched at the soaring top that read ‘Media Center of Reporting’.  It had to have been the tallest building in the city—knowing Sephiroth, it likely was—as Cloud had to arch his back to catch a glimpse of the sun-speckled sign.  If the intent was to make passerby feel small and insignificant, it worked.

The inside was just as intimidating as the outside.  Pristine, marble floors, suited men and women with perfectly pulled back hair, and a small set of stairs that led to the front desk—because one act of back-arching wasn’t enough. 

As he walked up to the blonde receptionist—how cliché—Cloud noted the excessive use of silver within the area.

“May I help you, sir?  Did you have an appointment?”

Cloud, temporarily distracted by the reflecting surface of almost everything, snapped his attention to the petite woman with a name tag that read ‘Elena’.

“I’m here to see Sephiroth.”  After a raise of a brow that said ‘wait in line’, the young man added, “I’m Cloud Strife.”

Understanding brightened her subtly attractive features as she smiled, lifted a desk phone to her ear, and dialed a number with blurred speed.  At least she had talent.

“Mr. Strife is here.”  Professional and without a tinge of lust that Cloud expected.  How strange…  “Yes, sir.”  Placing the phone back into its mount, she simultaneously ripped a piece a white sticky note from its case and jotted down a number.

Handing over the recent writing to Cloud, she informed, “He’s in room 635.”  And with a smile, “I recommend using the elevator.”

Cloud gave her a dry look as he muttered, “Thanks.”

Like he was going to climb six flights of stairs for a man who wouldn’t lift a finger to at least send an escort.  Now, Cloud had to navigate his way through a maze of mirrors that would put every Bruce Lee movie to shame.

After finding the elevators—which were towards the back of the building—Cloud stepped inside, avoiding eye contact with his co-passengers, and waited.  He waited in a torturous crawl of time as whoever oversaw the music must have had a terrible past and an even more terrible taste in tunes.

The sixth floor didn’t come soon enough—and Cloud was agreeably delighted to know Sephiroth wasn’t one of those CEOs that insisted on occupying the top floor.  Maybe his ego wasn’t too bad after all.  With a swift look at the spread of silver and flow of mirrors, Cloud quickly tossed that thought aside.

Room 635 proved to be another surprise for the blond as it wasn’t an actual room at all.  Well, it had four walls and a door, but the inside lacked in most things rooms should have.

Like lights and space.

It reminded Cloud of those security rooms in movies where the camera would pan over a sleeping security guard as mischief would take place within the monitors.  Except these monitors displayed a very familiar sight.

Cloud’s videos.

“Fancy setup.”  The blond remarked to Sephiroth, who sat in a cushioned office chair watching Kadaj through Cloud’s point of view.

The man didn’t turn as he responded, “Quite.”

“Find anything interesting?”  Cloud approached the table of controls and monitors that made just as much sense to him as K-Pop music did.  Finally, Sephiroth inclined his head to cast the blond a bored look before returning his attention back to the screens.

“Not yet.”

Wasn’t he just loaded with conversation today, Cloud thought sarcastically as his eyes skimmed over the monitors.  They each showed a different moment.  Some displayed Cloud’s first encounter with Kadaj as others showed his time at the exhibit.  It appeared just as awful as he remembered.

“Well, if you’re bored, I’ve got a new one for you.”  He dug out the enveloped disc and waved it next to Sephiroth’s head.  Said man flicked his eyes from the object to Cloud as an interested brow rose.

“Oh?  And when did this happen?”

“Today.”

“Your modelling went well?”  Cloud would have bristled in annoyance at the amusement ringing in his tone, but he was too busy on cultivating a strategy to avoid the beginning parts of the video.

“I have a knack for it.  I just may abandon journalism.”

Seizing the disc away in a swift motion, Sephiroth spoke, “I take it something happened?”

The professor removed the recording from its case and Cloud attempted to reach for it, not ready for a movie night yet.

“Yes, but you can’t keep it.”  His attempt to relinquish it failed as Sephiroth simply moved it out of reach and sent Cloud a strange look.

“Pardon?”

“This video involves images I’d rather not let anyone see—”

Either Sephiroth didn’t get the memo or he was just an asshole as he slipped the disc into a third slot of the wicked machine.  “I’ve seen plenty of ‘images’ in my time, Cloud.  I can manage.”

Kadaj’s face from earlier appeared on one of the larger monitors and death seemed like an appropriate action to take.

Cloud never considered himself a hypocrite, but he realized a stubborn attitude in other people besides him didn’t sit well with his self-aggrandizing pride.

“Sephiroth.”  The warning that came from his mouth and the stern tone behind it turned the silver-haired man to face Cloud in interest.  Now that he had his attention, “At least let me skip to the end.  That’s where I found Yuffie’s picture.”

Both brows furrowed at the newfound information as he stood and prodded for more information, “Did you question him about them?”

“Yes, but he lied and said she knew.”  Cloud just wanted to fast-forward the recording.  That’s all.  A systematic walk-through was at the bottom of his priorities at the moment.

He attempted to swerve around the towering figure and stop the playback, but strong hands held him in place as more questions flooded the tense air.

“Lied?  What exactly did he say?”

Those same green eyes peered down at him, reminding Cloud of his earlier, guilty imagination into the emerald world.  They obviously weren’t darkened with desire this time, but still held a glint of wonder, as if he wanted something else.

Oh, right.

An answer.

“He told me she was supposed to be his model, but he found me instead.”  Cloud rushed out in a jumble of words as he saw Past-Cloud descending the staircase.  “And that she didn’t mind, but I can skip to the end and show you if you want—”

“Oh, hey Cloud!”

Sephiroth dropped his hands from the blond’s arms as Cloud twisted to find Zack grinning at the doorway.  Well, at least he had a fucking audience to his very first recorded strip tease.  Most people had to suffer it alone.

See?  Fate.

Cloud offered a glum, “Hey.”

Zack was still as handsome as the other two time they crossed paths.

“Didn’t know you were stopping by.”

“I came to deliver something.”  For once, hope clouded his mind as he asked, “Are you staying?”

“Nah, I’ve got paperwork.”

“Which should be on my desk by tonight.”  Sephiroth finished for him as a small sliver of relief relaxed Cloud’s stiff posture.  One down, one more to go.

“Yeah, yeah.”  Zack brushed off the order like a teenager would after a parent reminded them of chores.

Cloud chose this opportunity of distraction to slip silently around a reprimanding Sephiroth and onto the complicated machine fit for a science fiction movie. 

Now, which one was the time slider?  Cloud poked at a familiar button, but the action only altered a different monitor.  For fuck’s sake, this thing required the assistance of Spock and his disciple of computer nerds to even activate the power switch.  How the hell was—

Cloud twisted a knob at the far-left bottom of the table and he almost fell to the ground in overwhelming relief as the video quickened its pace the faster he turned it.  Flittering over his conversation with Kadaj and his walk to the cylindrical curtain, Cloud felt a victorious smile tug at his lips.

“What are you doing?”  Long, gripping fingers grasped his wrist and pulled his hand from the knob, effectively spinning him around to meet an irritated Sephiroth.

“I’m trying to save myself from a world of humiliation,” Cloud tugged against the steel grip and added, “so if you don’t mind…”

Another tug, but it was pointless.  Those strange, captivating eyes were born with curiosity, with a need to know everything surrounding them.  A journalist had been trained to exercise this skill of inquisitiveness to the point of incessant use.  And Sephiroth was the guiltiest of it, using his powers of wonder and scrutiny to educate himself on the most mundane of topics.  Because he could.  Because no one could challenge him.

Not even Cloud, as he watched those experienced eyes flick past him and onto the exposing scene that played out.  Turning around would be redundant as he already knew what was being shown.  He saw it in Sephiroth’s expression as emerald eyes widened in shock, his hand tightened on his wrist, and the silver in his eyes reflected the image.  And God, those enchanted orbs were so brilliantly lit as they focused intently on Cloud undressing.

Air stilled and Cloud could hear his own breath quicken with anxiety as he watched his professor watch him.  A different him.  One that obliviously discarded his pants and reluctantly stripped himself from his boxers, revealing all there was to show.  The main attraction had been fully bared as Cloud saw those eyes hone in with heady interest.

Silence became suffocating and the grip on his wrist began to numb Cloud’s fingers as Sephiroth’s jade eyes swirled with various colors.  Speckles of silver were almost gone as they gradually dissipated the longer Sephiroth gazed.   

Cloud knew that look.  What a familiar one it was, but while hooded in murky green, it still differed from his imagined one.  This real one lacked the gentle warmth, the compassion, and the vibrant colors of embrace that Cloud had subconsciously conjured.  Oh, heat was there but it burned instead of comforted, it scorched the screen with unadulterated desire.

And then those fiery eyes finally became aware of Cloud’s physical presence—all of his physical presence—as they raked in slow, intoxicating heat over the lithe, frozen body.  Cloud fought against the helpless feeling that buried itself within his conscience.  He despised that feeling, refused to let it overcome him as he watched those daunting, burning eyes engulf his body with a palpable want.

“I tried to warn you.”  Cloud attempted a bravado of graveness, but his voice sounded small compared to the looming silence. 

Green eyes snapped to his.  And for a moment, Cloud thought he might have been angry, but his thoughts on Sephiroth’s current stance in emotion halted in a staggering freeze.

Sephiroth gripped the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape, and held him in place as he swooped down to collect a startled gasp with his own devouring lips.

The force knocked their momentum backward and Cloud’s lower back coincidentally slammed against the built-in table’s edge, eliciting a sharp intake of breath at the stinging pain. 

Cloud clutched onto Sephiroth’s broad shoulders—trying to find some sense of balance in this overturned world—as their mouths slotted together in a panicked frenzy of wet, carnal kisses that involved more tongue than any of those pornos Cloud saw at the exhibit. 

As Sephiroth demanded and dominated his lips, Cloud had no choice but to enforce his own rules of aggression.  Lifting his bottom on the desk for a better angle from above, he fought back against the intruding tongue with his own.  A thrill of electric waves shuddered down his spine, activated his skin on high alert, and charged his blood with high voltage lust as he felt strong fingers seize his waist and reposition him on the table into a lower, more submissive situation—legs parted and head tilted for Sephiroth to control.

Cloud would have found their actions of domination amusing, but the heat that curled in a restricting hold around his abdomen constrained any other feeling besides reckless desire.  And oh, it was as reckless as Cloud could ever imagine as they bit, pushed, pulled, and challenged each other with their own ideas of gratification.

Yes, it was definitely gratifying—

Gratifying?  That word.  That simple, single word held more meaning behind it than its very own diction.

As if the sturdy, steel walls came crumbling down around him and washed the cold Montana air over his burning skin in a quaking avalanche of reality, Cloud gasped and pushed back against Sephiroth’s hard chest.

Their kiss broke and before Sephiroth could reconnect his hungry lips to Cloud’s, the dizzied blond rushed out in a heap of words, “The internship.”

Sephiroth paused in his advance and Cloud clarified, to himself and to his professor, “I want that option.”

He could question his own answer later, because now he was distracted by the swimming pools of green being enveloped in gradual shock.

And Cloud knew it wasn’t because of his words.  What had they just done?

Sephiroth, with the purest expression Cloud had ever seen him hold, snatched his hands away from the younger’s body in a blur of motion as if it physically hurt him to touch Cloud. 

Pushing away and distancing himself with just as much speed, he cast the blond a hardened, barely composed stare as he clipped, “Very well.”  And with a clenched jaw and still slightly bewildered eyes, he gestured towards the door and demanded, “You can leave now.”

Any other day, Cloud would have lashed out at the harsh order and perhaps lecture the man on the significance of parting words, but he wanted to leave just as much as Sephiroth wanted him to.  The air was too stuffed to think—or even breathe—as he slid off the desk onto jittering legs in silence and passed the stoic professor without a single glance.

Shock rendered him incapable to think straight, halted his brainpower to the absolute minimum, and hazed his surroundings even as he made it back to Reno and Yuffie.  They questioned him on his apparent state, but he answered them numbly—in fact, he couldn’t remember what he said.

It likely worried them, but maybe tomorrow he could explain.

Yes, tomorrow.

He could dwell on everything tomorrow.

Sephiroth, Kadaj, the internship, Yuffie’s picture, the Hojo case…they could all wait until tomorrow.

Chapter Text

 Warning:  What is this monologue?  Some humor may be offensive and/or bad.  Angst.  Plot.  A lot of internal struggles.  Not sure how business arrangements work, so just roll with it.  And there’s something about using parenthesis in a title that makes it seem craftier than it really is.

Chapter 8:  Please Don’t Speak (But If You Do, Keep It in Parenthesis)

Our entire imagination is the product of thought.

Our entire reality is the product of thought.

I have come to the realization that thought is a product of awareness. 

And awareness is a product of perception.

This seems silly, almost obvious.  But while it is a simple observation, it holds more truth to my life because my awareness of certain ideas and human interactions are only shaped by how I perceive them.  I perceive them through naïve eyes, therefore I have no choice but to listen to these pesky thoughts and hope they may be in the realm of reality.

Because no one wants to live in a dream unless they’ve seen the other side.

-Cloud Strife

There is a term called ‘spreading activation’ which, in the language of psychology, primarily defines as the idea of one memory being activated due to the stimulation of another.  For instance, the utterance of one word may lead to a memory that induces a recollection of another word.  This specific idea of triggered remembrance plays part in humans’ everyday lives, as they chat with friends, family, and co-workers.  Each word spoken may prompt a small glimpse from their past and perhaps start more conversation.

Since he lacked any viable family, friends, and considerate co-workers, Cloud had been unfortunate enough to experience this in a different light—in a way most people would want to avoid if possible.  But Cloud struggling to avoid disaster was almost as useless as this entire rant of psychological bullshit he was currently entertaining.

Almost as useless as his attempts to predict Sephiroth’s next mood swing.

In fact, it was almost as useless as Sundays.

Sundays never offered much for Cloud.

While brighter than any other day—maybe due to the secondhand wave of cheerful vomit being projected from the sanctity of lurid, scattered churches among the area—Cloud found himself hating Sundays.  This type of hate wasn’t induced by said churches or their people of one-sided praise, nor was it inflicted by its untimely placement before Monday.  Focusing more on internal struggle than external, Cloud hated Sundays merely because it was just another day of his putrid existence.

Not only that, he had to work on these days.

But this Sunday was especially cruel.

This day in particular followed a specific Saturday of regrettable actions that left his already razed mind to implode in doubt and anguish.  Add that with serving middle-aged, snobby businessmen and their hipster, unappreciative children, Cloud had deemed it the Day of the Damned.  Because that was exactly what he classified himself as:  damned—damned to spend the rest of his life in this hell.

Exaggerating again?  Maybe, but after a long, suffering night of internal anguish—and external if he were to count the purple bruise on his back—he had the right.

“Now, you go and sit.  Think about what you did and I’ll be back to hear an apology.”  Barrett, along with a sullen, red-eyed Marlene who barely came up to his waist, marched through the front glass door, the bell acknowledging their presence with a shrill ding.

Marlene did as she was told and sat across from a busy Cloud, a timely sniff breaking the silence occasionally.

How pathetic, Cloud thought, watching the small girl blink away several tears from her eyes as she bent her head down in obvious shame.  Barrett disappeared within the back area, leaving the blond with a very distraught six-year-old.

Great, like this place needed more doom and gloom.

Instead of attending to the girl or joining her in a wild display of distressed emotions like he was tempted to, Cloud carried on making his triple caffeinated mocha expresso that could restart even Abe Lincoln’s rotted heart back into action.  While he might have put himself in danger of an incoming ambulance emergency, he needed the energy after last night’s bout of sleepless panic.

A night that consisted of a playback of cold-spoken words and heated, physical touches.

Cloud gingerly rubbed at the physical memory on his lower back.  A little warning would have been nice, he thought bitterly.  Once he saw Marlene gazing at him with a look of sorrowful wonder, he dropped his subconscious movements but it was too late.

Her brown eyes flicked to his back then up again as she murmured, “Are you hurt?”

Cloud paused briefly at the unexpected question before shaking his head.

“It’s nothing.”  Those eyes blinked sullenly again and returned to the shining surface of the bar—Cloud was great at his job—and once more, sniffled.   Her pathetic display of emotions coaxed out the curiosity in the blond as he sighed, “What happened with you?”

With a quivering lower lip, Marlene casted a guilty look to him and mumbled in the barest of voices that Cloud had to lean in to hear, “I got into a fight at church.”

Cloud’s struggle to keep from laughing failed as he chuckled out, “With who?”

“Another girl…”

“Was she your age?”

“She’s seven.”

Ah, the age where kids believe the world was self-revolving and only their thoughts were the universal truth.  Perhaps Sephiroth never grew out of that stage.  Deciding he didn’t want to think about Sephiroth at the moment, Cloud shook the insult from his mind and prodded for a distraction, “What happened?”

“She told me Daddy’s skin is too funny for him to be my daddy.” A sniff and then louder, “But he is my daddy!  I told her, but…”

Cloud, with his ‘superior’ journalism skills, put the pieces together quickly.  Pity never garnered much attention from him, so he couldn’t say he pitied the girl.  There was nothing to pity.  Aside from ignorant little shits with speech issues, her life had more happiness to it at this point than Cloud had ever had—and will ever have.

“You hit her?”

Another snuffle of guilt before she whispered her apparent felonious crime, “On the arm…”

“You fiend.”  He replied with heavy sarcasm, but perhaps that wasn’t the greatest choice of words because her lips began to quiver again and her doe eyes began to water with remorse.

“She started it!”

Maybe it was because of his own growing problems, he felt as if he should have the satisfaction of solving at least one—no matter if it was someone else’s.  Or maybe his internal bitterness had reached its limit of durability and demanded some release onto a deserved target.

Because while he understood why Barrett had reprimanded her faulty actions, understanding never stopped his mouth or his own opinions.

He lowered himself to the table on his elbows, eyes narrowed in complete seriousness as he lectured with a low, deadly voice, “Well, you can tell that insignificant inbred speck of Satan that the next time she falls into a slur of sociocultural fabrication and biased, ignorant claims, you will see to her punishment fit for the Spanish Inquisition, relinquish all rights to hide her skin, and sell it to the cheapest bidder.”

Perhaps calling an elementary girl an ‘inbred speck of Satan’ was pushing it, but—fuck it.

With a long, silent stare, Marlene attempted, “So-so-cult-er-al?”

Oh, right.

She was six.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Cloud pushed his expresso towards her as he muttered, “Never mind.  Just aim for the throat next time—”

“Strife!”  Barrett’s heavy, headache inducing voice shattered Cloud’s thoughts and turned his head.  Marlene, now with a small smile on her otherwise gloomy face, began to suck down his heart-pumping drink with enthusiasm.  At least one person felt better.  “What kind of nonsense are you teaching my daughter?”

The large, dark man crossed his massive arms, a deep frown marking his features as he cast a stern glare at the blond.

Any other day, Cloud might have said an apology to keep his job, because money for him was as scarce as his dreams of success.  But, that aching bitterness boiled beneath his skin and ricocheted off his tongue like an uncontrollable whip.

“I’m teaching her defense and a lesson that just because her dad likes to play basketball more than others, doesn’t make him any less of a father.”

That came out nicer than he anticipated.  Too nice.  Nice enough to induce a grimace as he tried to conjure up a stinging insult to counter it.  But, sadly, nothing came.

Maybe he was losing it—his sharpness, his credibility as a stoic, cynical young man who pisses people off more than helping them.  Any more ‘help’, he might as well change his major to a fucking psychiatrist.

Barrett blinked at his employee—and like a crack of thunder rolling in from the east, he erupted into a fit of ridiculously loud laughter, the kind that vibrated the table Cloud was leaning on and rippled the remaining bits of his expresso.

—Jesus, it was almost gone.

“Alright, kid.  That was kind of funny.”

Why was everyone insisting that his words of honest truth were hilarious all of a sudden?  What happened to respecting an opinion or just respect in general?

“Any time.”  He muttered back, slumping onto the counter before snatching his depleting concoction of adrenaline away from a now jittering Marlene.

“You look more depressed than usual.”  Barrett came to sit next to his daughter and flicked an unruly blond spike to catch the young man’s attention.  “Why’re you so down, boy?  School gettin’ to you?”

Cloud scoffed at his attempt for comfort and returned with a dry, humorless tone, “My professors are a nightmare.”

A nightmare with a wicked tongue, hazy green eyes, and a—

No, Cloud corrected himself, a nightmare with dominating issues and a lurking problem that somehow had to do with Cloud.

“Yeah, they can be tough…”  Cloud winced at the reminder of just how ‘tough’ Sephiroth could be as Barrett continued, “But they’re just trying to help you learn.”

Ha!  Sure, he learned just how naïve he really was.  He learned that Sephiroth’s intentions were neither caring nor did they come from a professional standpoint of being his professor.  But there was that small voice, the one whispering sweet nothings of hope that told him ‘at least someone wants you’.  With a surely pathetic sigh, he gave into that poisonous thought.

Yeah, at least he was wanted, wasn’t he?  No, no, of course not.  Sephiroth didn’t want him.

Cloud supposed his posture and attitude worsened during the duration of these venomous thoughts because Barrett watched him with growing pity.  Like a drowned puppy in the trafficked streets of life, Cloud appeared wretched.

But then again, it did get him Barrett’s sympathetic words of, “I’ll let you leave early, how about that?”

Straightening his posture, Cloud tested with his sadness taking a backseat, “Paid leave?”

If there wasn’t money involved, Cloud lost interest.  And now he understood the manipulation pros that Yuffie utilized so well—except Cloud’s wasn’t intentional; which, from a masculinity standpoint, was worse.

A contemplative stare switched from Cloud to a still smiling Marlene, and with that simple look to his daughter, Barrett broke, “You’re gonna make it up one day!  But, yeah, go ahead.”

Cloud didn’t doubt it, but he grabbed his coat anyway, gave a quick nod to the family duo, and headed for his apartment to stew in the juices of more torturous memory and self-inflicted doubt.

Though, the churning, violent quakes of doubt were often centered around his crumbling sense of self-worth, it altered slightly in that—yes, he was still insignificant, but now he had another voice of whispering, ambitious ideas.  This voice spoke of importance and placement within the world and through other people’s eyes—like emerald-silver ones that shown with unsurmountable want.  But that voice was lying to him, trying to resuscitate his withering sense of hope, but Cloud refused to revive it.

Sephiroth didn’t want him.  The man who held the world in the palm of his hands, who brought people to their knees in complete silence and admiration, who was treasured internationally as a hero for mainstream media—someone with so much importance in the world could never want someone like Cloud, the complete opposite who held nothing but bitterness and disappointment.

But that aching soreness in his lower back argued against his self-demeaning thoughts, reminding him of the desperate, hungry assurances that maybe—just maybe—Sephiroth might have held some inner longing—even if that longing turned out to be just mindless, careless lust.

Dark green eyes reflected back into his mind at the mere mention of Sephiroth’s impure intentions—those hooded orbs of swirling heat and carnal desire, ones that destabilized the blond’s entire imagined notion of what they might have looked like.

Though, his imagination was a funny, little thing.  It restricted reality and imposed the unrealistic.  His naïve idea of desire was almost laughable as it was too pure compared to the real thing—the one that burned his skin, constricted his insides with a swarming fire, and overtook his mind with an entirely different being.  A being that mindlessly returned Sephiroth’s actions like another lustful student with no self-respect because…

‘Because you’re attracted to me’.  No, Cloud refused to believe that.  Not only were those the self-centered words from the man himself, but one carnal session didn’t mean anything—for him or for Sephiroth.

God, look at him!  Not only could he be a model on the next homosexual novel cover, he could probably write one from experience.  Cloud Strife, the unimportant rebel who actually thought Sephiroth Crescent might have valued him.  How cliché, he should just skip to the tragic end where he stays in his perpetual state of despair as Sephiroth continues with his busy life.

But he couldn’t, could he?  Because as much as abandonment tempted him, he already agreed to temporarily assist that so-called busy life with the internship.

And how foolish of him to even accept it without a second thought.  Better yet, what was he thinking?  Maybe that lurking option of gratification would have been the better choice.  Perhaps that option included some form of stability instead of the gnawing sense of failure that kept clawing its way back into his conscience, like a leech ready to drain him of a chance for success.  Success?

And what kind of success was he hoping for?  Importance, that was right.  He craved it, ached for it.  And, Sephiroth, the living definition of the word, dangled this idea in front of him with wicked intentions.  Sephiroth, the man who had everything…no, he didn’t want Cloud.

As if fate had decided to rub salt on his wounds of aching bitterness towards his professor, his mindless walking had led him directly to the intoxicating smell of fried chicken.  Looking up at the source, Cloud almost groaned at his horrid luck.

Choco’s Chicken, with its vividly colored sign featuring a smiling baby chick—something Cloud found amusing due to its ironic distaste—and its bold, curved lettering that mimicked the logo on his gift card, stood proud with flittering customers among a somewhat gray part of the city.  What a joke, he thought as he stepped inside the warm shelter of delicious aroma.

Like many fast food restaurants, booths lined the windows and circular tables scattered the open floor while the people in line shifted on their feet awaiting their turn to order.

Deciding that he needed some source of happiness on this dreadful day, Cloud joined the line, his order already chosen.

The cashier was young and not very attractive with her heat frizzled hair from the kitchen and red-splotched cheeks.  Likely trying to pay off her college debt as well, she gave Cloud a long look before stammering out, “H-hello, sir!  Welcome to Choco’s Chicken.  Who—er—what would you like?”

Cloud ignored her mistakes as he replied coolly, “Number eight, eight piece, a large fry, and a large root beer.”  This was America, dammit, and Cloud could feel his stomach begin to devour his other organs.  The strange girl fumbled with the touch screen tablet, and after what seemed like minutes, she finalized his order.

“25.45.”

No wonder they sold gift cards.  It was a gift just to receive a single fry.  Cloud slipped the card from his wallet and handed it to the red-faced cashier.  After a quick swipe, she began to give it back.

The blond shook his head.  “No need.  Just throw it away.”

Hazel eyes widened as she sputtered, “B-but it still has money on it.”

Cloud snorted.  “Yeah, probably three cents after being practically robbed.”

“N-no, sir.”  His rudeness hadn’t affected her—though she was likely used to it—as she pushed the card across the counter towards him as she informed, “There’s still 275 dollars left.”

Cloud choked on his own air, causing the poor girl to jump in place at the loud, brash sound.

“What the fuck?!”

What kind of individual—who should be in their right mind—would give anyone three hundred dollars for chicken?  Obviously, someone with a sugar daddy kink, his mind whispered back.  At that infectiously awful thought, Cloud turned redder than the cashier, snatched the loaded card from the counter, and stood to the side to wait for his food.

Three hundred dollars.  Cloud knew the man had as much wealth and fortune than the pope, but this edged more on the line of pleasure payment if anything.  It was just a gift, he told himself, but adding the extravagant gift with what happened the previous day wrecked the blond into another internal turmoil.  Might as well give Cloud a stripping pole and a bucket for Sephiroth to throw chicken in, because with the direction his mind was headed, that seemed like a foreseeable future.

After receiving his food from a worried employee, Cloud found a secluded booth near the window and began to eat in silence.

And as he placed the warm, crunchy goodness of fried pickled chicken in his mouth, letting the sharp flavor embrace his taste buds in the most intimate way as it glided richly over his muscle, Cloud forgot about Sephiroth.  He forgot about Kadaj, Hojo, the internship—hell, he almost forgot where he was.

His stomach engulfed each bite with pleasure and begged for more.

It wasn’t until his last piece was in his hands a loud, startling thump on the nearby window caught his attention.  And, man, did he regret looking up.

Yuffie waved excitedly at him as Reno stood by her, one wave of the hand, before he opened the restaurant’s door and they clambered inside.  Were they ever apart?

Yuffie slid in the seat opposite of him, bouncing in the process with a large grin spreading her petite features in the brightest way possible that Cloud actually winced.  Or maybe he wasn’t in the mood for a chipper conversation with the human incarnate of his latest expresso drink.

Reno followed after her, exasperated.  Cloud almost felt for him, but their interruption of his meal smothered any sympathy that might have risen.

“Cloud!  We knew you worked close by, so we came to find you!”  Yuffie announced, information on something dying to escape her lips.

Cloud snorted, not interested.  “You know, there’s a great invention called a cell phone.  It’s been around for about, I don’t know, forty years.”

Reno sighed, “She wanted to talk to you in person.”

“Yes!  Guess what?”

Cloud hated guessing games, but he played along for the sake of a quicker end.  “You were banned from Starbucks?”

She couldn’t even pull off a great pout as her lips were permanently etched in a beaming smile.  “No, you remember my cat, Yuna?”

Vaguely, but Cloud nodded anyway.

“She came back!”  Yuffie damn near squealed.

“In one piece?”

“Of course, Cloud!”

With a sigh, Cloud entertained the most obvious question, “How is this important?”

“Because Kadaj didn’t take her like I thought he did.”  Yuffie explained as if the answer was written right in front of him.

Cloud scoffed, “Kadaj is more likely to steal a statue of Jesus from the nearest church than your cat.”

A real pout overtook her lips as she slumped at the blond’s words.  “It’s still good news…”

“For you maybe.”  Cloud responded and after watching Yuffie’s once explosively bright face dim little by little the more he spoke, he groaned in defeat.  “Fine, I’m glad you got your cat back.  Happy?”

A toothy grin answered him.

Reno chuckled at the blond’s bland look, “Professor Crescent was more pleased to hear the news than you and he only wore his one expression.”

Cloud tensed in his seat, lowering his eyes to his food in a glower.

“You spoke to him today?”

“Yeah, one of the videos got deleted.  Some dumbass apparently sat on the control table and corrupted the second disc.  I had to give him another copy in person since email is ‘too much of a risk’.”  Reno attempted to lower his voice to a deep baritone, failing miserably at impersonating Sephiroth.

Cloud blanched and attempted to hide his guilt by finishing off the last piece of chicken, noting the blur of Yuffie’s hand and a stolen fry in its pesky grip.

“Didn’t they have their own copies?”

“Yeah, but the original got corrupted, Cloud.”  Reno said it as if were supposed to mean something, like Cloud was an expert in technological disasters.  It seemed like he knew more about causing them than fixing them. 

“Whatever.”  He grumbled.

“So, speaking of Professor Crescent…”  Yuffie started off with hesitance before confessing, “He told us…”  For a moment, Cloud froze in absolute horror of those words, thinking that his cliché rendezvous story had been exposed like pre-teen gossip, but before he could spout some crazy denial, she continued, “about your deal for the internship and how you had to keep it a secret.”

Well, it was better than the alternative.

Reno grinned.  “Oh, yeah!  Now, we’re going to be sidekicks.”

Cloud snorted at his idea and quipped, “Just you two.  I get to be the main character.”  And then with a smirk, “Sephiroth can be an extra.”  A little kick to the ego never hurt anyone.

Not too thrilled at the blond’s rendition, Reno scoffed, “Alright, Mr. Hero, what’s next in your plan to save us from the wicked Weiss’s?  Black tights this time?”

Cloud’s smirk dropped and with a flick of a crumb towards a now laughing red-head, he returned childishly, “Sure, I’ll ask your dad for a pair.”

Reno chuckled, dodged a crumb, and played along.  “Hey!  Black tights are a family tradition, y’know?”

“Oh?  Then you must be related to Kadaj.”  Cloud quipped with a growing grin.  “Make sure to ask ‘Father’ for religious renovations when you get home.”

“Right after we set up our pornographic art business.”

“And stalk questionably aged blonds?”

With a wink, Reno retorted, “If I rolled that way, you’d be first on my list, sweet-cheeks.”

Yuffie sighed, “Only you two would make a joke out of this.”

Reno slung an arm around the petite girl, a hand reaching up to pet her head like a glum dog.  “There, there.  There’ll be no more pictures or future paintings of you anymore.”

Cloud snorted.  “You’re welcome.”  Now he was going to be the next subject hanging on Kadaj’s hallway of peculiar painted portraits—except his likely won’t be as innocent as that girl’s…

Wait, the girl?

As if finally seeping little by little through the hazy mist of suffocating thoughts about Sephiroth, a dimmed, unused bulb slowly blinked into a brilliant glow.  That persistent, ever-looming thought that had been itching and scratching at the surface of his memory for days finally crawled out of it hidden cave and into the light.

Oh, the beauty of spreading activation.

“Fuck!”  Cloud gasped, breaking the other two apart and sending every eye in the vicinity their way.  The portrait!  That lonely painting of the shy, mysterious woman with her head down and longing eyes casted to her bare hands in secluded sorrow.  Hanging in Kadaj’s hallway, taunting Cloud with a vague sense of remembrance, and now he finally did.  He remembered.  That small, simple smile that tugged at his memory while he watched Kadaj’s attempt at short films at the exhibit.

Playing that pornography video back in his head—the one that prickled Cloud’s mind with a distant recollection, he was washed with an overwhelming sense of eureka, but he had to prove it.  It had to be her.  Cloud’s memory, while lacking when it came to educational studies, proved a sturdy tool for extracurricular activities.  And this, he had a tangible, almost overwhelming feeling that he was right.  She had to be the same girl.

—Would Sephiroth know by now?

“Jesus, Cloud.  You wanna get us kicked out?”  Reno’s words meant nothing as Cloud tried desperately to put pieces together, but—goddammit!  Those emerald-silver eyes blocked his train of thought with their own wall of mist.

With a frustrated groan, he demanded, “I need to see the videos.”

Reno blinked.  “Okay, sure.  I’ll give you some copies tomorrow.”

“No, now.”

“Er…I’m not driving all the way back to my place on some whim—which, by the way, what’s wrong?”  Curious eyes were on him and he struggled for an explanation.

“She’s the same girl.  I think the one in the porno is the same person from the painting in the hallway.”  But why?  Sure, he could come to the simple conclusion that Kadaj and her might be close in some way, but that answer felt too…clean.  After the complications surrounding Yuffie’s photograph, any innocent explanation felt lazy and too easy of an answer.

“So?  Maybe they’re friends.”  Reno came to the same conclusion, but Cloud had set his mind on another path.

“Do you happen to have identification technology?” Cloud wasn’t sure what the actual term was, but Reno understood.

“No, I’m not in the FBI.”  Reno returned, a strange look in his eyes.  “Though, Sephiroth might have access to it.”

Yuffie joined in with her unnecessary suggestion, “We can go to the Headquarters.  Maybe tell Professor Crescent, ask him for some help, and he has the videos too.”  She smiled, “A win for all of us.”

Reno shrugged, “Kill two birds with one stone.  Not a bad idea.”

It was a tremendously awful idea.

Suddenly, Cloud’s ambition to find more information drained.  He’d rather walk to Reno’s place barefoot in the snow, develop gangrene, lose six toes, and fight off a pack of ravenous wolves than be in the same vicinity as Sephiroth.  Now that he pondered more on the alternative subject, perhaps after his future failure in journalism, he could invest in a travel plan for Alaska, so if he were to freeze to death in agony, he could do it without the overbearing shadow of Sephiroth Crescent.

“I’d rather not.”

Yuffie growled, making a show of pulling her hair in exasperation as Reno clarified her dramatics with, “You guys still hate each other?”

It wasn’t exactly hate, just better to avoid him at all costs—especially now that Cloud’s brain had been scrambled into a pathetic heap of doubt, anger, and embarrassment.  “No, I find it unnecessary to see my professor every fucking day of the week.”

Yes, Cloud really hated Sundays now.

Reno rolled his eyes in an obnoxious manner before lifting himself from the booth and gesturing the blond to follow, “Well, it’s necessary now, don’t you think?”  Before Cloud could return with his stern answer of ‘no’, Reno added, “In plus, he might tell us about the Hojo investigation…”

Yuffie: “Yeah, Cloud!  Don’t you want to know what’s been going on behind the curtains?  See what Hojo has been doing that has Professor Crescent on the prowl?  I’m sure it’s more than just drugs…”

See, the horrid, unexplainable truth about manipulation was that it always found a way to work.  It could work on anyone, even stubborn, cynical, malicious blonds who were diseased with the essence of curiosity—what a crusted wound of an emotion on the human psyche.  It could infect people with more questions than answers and lead them down spiraling paths of despair.  It was this emotion that had Cloud respond with a grunt and a defeated slump of his shoulders and follow the conniving duo out of the restaurant and onto the path to M.C.R.

And it appeared just as obnoxiously pretentious and egotistical as the previous day.

Nothing had changed—not that anything would within a night—well, besides Cloud’s sense of self-respect and career path.

Elena, with her flaxen hair and trained smile, greeted them with ease.  “Do you have an appointment?”

Didn’t she remember him from yesterday?  Wait—that would mean Cloud was memorable.

Taking that into account, Cloud reminded her, “I’m Cloud Strife.  We’re here to see Mr. Crescent…if he’s around.”

Once again, she stared as if he escaped from Montana’s Mental Health Ward.  “He is.  Would you like to set up an appointment?”

No, Cloud would not.

“Yeah, in five minutes.”  He snorted.  “Just for an expert opinion, should I use the elevator this time?”

“Sir, that isn’t possible—”

“Elena, it’s fine.”  That smooth baritone of pure, rich velvet flowed from behind them.  “Move my noon meeting to two.  Tell Zack I am back from lunch and he is to substitute in for the Greyjoy’s.”

Wincing, because he didn’t have enough time to prepare for his sudden presence, Cloud turned around to find the man—perfectly tailored as always—tapping away on his prehistoric phone as he addressed them coolly, “You three, follow me.”

As if his path was pre-programmed, Sephiroth led them to the elevators with his concentrating eyes still focused on the device.  Cloud slowed his steps so that he lurked behind him and more near Reno and Yuffie.  If an elevator ride was in order, he’d rather be stuck in the middle with those two than awkwardly beside Sephiroth.

However, his luck had no bounds when it came to show him just how unlucky he really was.  The small square space of the elevator already had a substantial amount of people boarded and Sephiroth, being the ‘gentleman’ he was, held the automatic door to a forceful open so that his guests could come and go.  Cloud entered after Reno and Yuffie, and Sephiroth followed, standing beside him with his phone still a number one priority.

With all these mirrors, Cloud expected the man to be somewhat distracted.  He held in a darkly amused chuckle at the insulting thought.

“Press Floor 100, would you, Cloud?”

How cliché.  The CEO who occupies the top floor in order to look down upon the world, scrutinizing the ants that scurry to and from their shitty jobs.  With more force than necessary, Cloud jabbed the circular button, watching it glow along with the rest of designated destinations.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Crescent.”  A man from the back greeted with an excited breath and then followed the rest of his idolizers in a chorus of palpable ass-kissing.

“Good afternoon.”  His noncommittal answer was enough apparently as the audience gleamed in satisfaction.  With a sigh, Sephiroth concluded whatever was happening on his phone, and shifted to slip it into his coat pocket.

His arm brushed Cloud’s shoulder, reminding him of the lack of space present between them, but also reminding him of the strength of those arms and of him entirely—the strength that effortlessly lifted him by the waist and spread his legs to control him with a bruising intensity as his heat surrounded him—as his hips found solace between his thighs and his tongue danced with his own to an erotic tune of desire.  Cloud felt that same burn crawl with vicious intentions inside his veins—

Another brush—no, it was a touch—as someone maneuvered their way through, pressing the blond to his tall, sweetly scented frame.  Cloud suspected, given his own job, he might have smelled like coffee and doom.  But his mind was sidetracked from the topic of nasal senses and more focused on vivid memories.  More images, more memories, and more suffocating awareness poisoned his conscience.  The arm moved against him like a steel barrier as Sephiroth slipped his hands into his pockets and Cloud returned to the dimension of yesterday.

Sephiroth shifted to the side, allowing more space between them.  Cloud wasn’t sure if he was thankful or suspicious for the movement.

Once the passenger was off the lift, Cloud sidestepped even further away near the corner, bumping into a smirking Reno.

“Something funny?”  Cloud muttered, slightly twisting his body to face the amused red-head.

With a shake of his head, Reno dropped his smirk and stared straight ahead.

By the time they arrived at the top floor, Cloud was ready to descend back down and walk home.  The three students followed Sephiroth through a maze of glass walls—which to this day remained useless in Cloud’s eyes.  Whoever the architect was that decided a divider meant to induce privacy should be transparent, should be banned from all architectural archives and perhaps burned at the stake.

Okay, maybe the last bit was reaching too far into his bitter mood, but at the time, it seemed appropriate.

Sephiroth’s main office was at least protected by hanging, electronic blinds, so if privacy was needed, a twist of connected knob would shut out the world and the peeping eyes that went with it.

Nifty, yes, but Cloud still hated glass walls.

Unlike his college office that barely had an ounce of light or space, this one spanned more square feet than Cloud’s entire apartment, and the addition of natural light coming in from the windows with white fluorescents enhanced the area in blinding luminescence.  A large, metallic desk hoisting a desktop computer twice the size of Cloud’s television sat in the middle, pointillism paintings lined the side opaque walls as did sofas and sitting areas for what Cloud assumed was for more laid back meetings.  Pristine and tidied, the centered desk held nothing but a few closed files and three guest chairs fronting it.  What a coincidence…

“Have a seat.”  Sephiroth said, following his own orders as he descended into the magnificent cushioned chair made for gods only as it was a throne.  Meanwhile, Cloud sat in possibly the most curvy, cheapest chair mankind could ever create, farthest to the left as Reno took the middle one, Yuffie stuck with the right.

The ache in his back became a minor buzz as he found comfort.

The comfort was short-lived.

Sephiroth opened a drawer, taking out three manila folders, and slid one to each student over the shining metal surface.  Look at that, a reflective surface, Cloud mused, before opening the file.  What met him was a flurry of small, fine print with enough horribly long words to remind him of his latest science class.  What was this?  A guide to rocket science?

With a closer look at the title, Cloud understood with a soft, “Oh.”

“This is a bilateral non-disclosure agreement, which means if you sign, you will be expected to keep all information regarding the subjects outlined within the content to yourself and from any third parties; as will I.”  Sephiroth explained, but Cloud remembered this vaguely being a topic of lecture in one of his classes.

Green eyes held each student with equal intensity as he continued, “If you breach this agreement, you will be facing a minimum of six months’ jail time with a fine up to fifty thousand dollars.”  Cloud felt his throat constrict at the number, and what number it was.  That was more than his tuition and add that to being thrown in jail—Cloud never considered himself a delinquent before.  Homeless and in debt?  Sure.  But he had a feeling his type wasn’t welcomed—or maybe too welcomed—behind bars.

If Sephiroth noticed the three’s rising tension, he didn’t comment on it as he relayed, “I am under the same obligations, therefore the same consequences apply to myself.  I have already signed each paper; however, if you choose not to, that is your choice and I will not think any differently of you.  But, if you refuse, you must leave your ‘endeavors’ behind as well as this building.”  A humorless smile graced his soft lips, “And while this is a difficult decision, I am a very busy man and pressed for time, so make it quick.”

What an asshole.

“So, this means we share information with each other?”  Yuffie questioned, her small voice barely reaching Cloud’s ears.

Sephiroth had no problem hearing her as he answered in his brisk tone, “Yes.  Think of it as symbiotic relationship.”

Cloud remembered that from his science classes as well.  Except those relationships usually involved one creature feasting off the crud of another animal’s teeth.  Cloud had a feeling, in this scenario, they were the scavengers and Sephiroth was the one getting a free dentist appointment.

Reno had no problem with the deal as he plucked a pen from the three that were linearly laid out and signed his name under Sephiroth’s signature.  And wherever Reno went, physically or mentally, Yuffie was sure to follow as she scratched her own name onto the dotted line.  Like a pair of meerkats, their heads turned to Cloud, who in turn cast an unsteady look to a waiting Sephiroth.

Indifference at the surface, of course.  Was there ever a time when that façade failed to make an appearance?  Yesterday, Cloud answered himself, but that topic was toxic.  It transformed those careless green eyes into hooded, dark ones and those still fingers into forces of sexual desire.  But he couldn’t let himself think about it because those emotions, those actions were completely vacant from the Sephiroth in front of him now.

This Sephiroth wasn’t the one who gave Cloud three hundred dollars for a lifetime supply of chicken.

This Sephiroth was the chief executive officer of the world’s most popular media agency who was taking a spare moment of his ‘busy’ time to garner as much information as possible—not because he cared about the three’s career, but because it deemed most beneficial to him.

This Sephiroth was also testing him.  Cloud felt it in those narrow eyes that didn’t budge nor blink, they watched—watched him churn through decisions like a mischievous feline would stalk a struggling mouse.

A corner of those cruel lips that were devouring Cloud’s just yesterday twitched into a twisted smirk and his haughty, smooth voice vibrated the air with arrogance, “Do you need a moment?”

That was all it took.

Cloud suppressed the anger that threatened to spew, held his venomous tongue, snatched a pen from the desk, and damn near punched his name onto the line.  The blond slid the papers with a bit too much force across the frictionless surface, but Sephiroth effortlessly caught the packet before it dived off the other edge.

“Very well.”  Sephiroth concluded and gathered all three folders in his hands before setting them aside, ignoring a burning cerulean glare.  “Since you all have agreed,” This time a thicker, heavier file with etched scribbles on the folder and scattered sticky notes slapped against the metal top, a crack of sound whipping through the air.  “This is Hojo’s investigation so far.  I’ll give you two days to read this over.”

For fuck’s sake, Cloud didn’t have a photographic memory.  How in the—

“As stated in the agreement, this remains between our two parties.  Is that clear?”  Nods answered the authoritative question and he continued, “Consider this as an opportunity to stand out from the rest of your intern competitors.”  A humorless smile touched his lips, and Cloud wanted to see it drop like an anvil.

“None of us caught your eye yet, Professor?”  Perhaps it edged more on the suicidal line than bravery, but Cloud felt the gnawing bitterness from that morning come to a full fruition.

Sephiroth’s casted Cloud a hard, withering look, one that warned him to steer clear from that dangerous, forbidden territory.  It sent a sharp, electric thrill through Cloud’s burning blood, starting from his toes and rocking its way up as he reveled in Sephiroth’s brief show of irritation.

“Not yet.”  He replied as coolly as the brisk wind outside.

It never happened, Cloud thought.  Fine, he could live with that, but why?  Why would he even start it just to ignore the moment later?  The frustration was gone from Sephiroth’s features as he changed the subject, “Now, was there a reason to you three being here?”

Cloud, momentarily forgetting their dispute, jumped in his seat at the recollection and leaned forward.  The speed pulled on the bruise, but he ignored the dull pain as he demanded, “Yes, I need to see the videos.”

A brow rose.  “Any particular reason?”

“No, I just feel like walking down memory lane—”

“Cloud.”

Noting Sephiroth’s patience for sarcasm was at its bare minimum, Cloud clarified, “The portrait of the girl in the hallway.”

“What about it?”

“I…it’s the same girl from one of the videos at the Helena Art Exhibit.”

Sephiroth leaned in, resting his elbows on his desk as he questioned, “In your first video, her face was cropped from view.”  Another consequence of being short.  “Are you sure it was her?”

Cloud wanted to be sure.  In fact, now that he raised this much fuss over the subject, it would be highly embarrassing if he wasn’t.

“I think I’m sure.”

Deadpanned, “You think?” 

With a frustrated sigh, Cloud suggested, “I was at Kadaj’s place in the third video, did you see the painting in that one?”

A pause before Sephiroth dryly stated, “That one remains to be studied.”

Cloud heard a shuffle next to him as Reno shifted in his seat.  If anyone should feel anxious, it was Cloud.  But all that transpired was a red tint to his flesh, unwanted, dirty images, and memories of Sephiroth’s skillful touches.  Green eyes took in his guilty blushing with calm observation before flickering to the silent duo.  “I can escort you to the sixth floor.  Though, have you considered they may be in a distinctive relationship?”

“Yep.  Been there.”  Reno answered.  “And if it is her, we were wondering if you could, like, find out who she is?”

Sephiroth blinked in a blank expression as he said, “I’ll have someone look into it if that’s the case.”  And with a tap on the five-inch thick folder, he informed, “Make sure to take this with you as you leave.”  Reaching inside his pocket, he pulled out his ‘phone’ and requested, “If you could wait outside for me as I make a call, it would be appreciated.”

A brief moment of stillness passed before Reno hesitantly lifted himself, seized the file, and strolled to the door.  Yuffie, after giving a nervous smile, followed, and threw Cloud a panicked glance as he remained.

While he had entire stacks of books containing actions he would rather do than speak with Sephiroth alone, he couldn’t bear another sleepless night of wondering ‘why’.  So, firmly glued to his cushioned chair as the door clicked to a close, signifying they were alone, Cloud struggled for words.

Sephiroth perhaps knew, maybe felt that tension rise as Cloud watched him with wonder and confusion.  Lowering his phone, he met that gaze head on before he resigned.

“I suppose we should talk.”

Cloud blinked at the indifference in his tone, as if he were addressing a pesky client on the details of business.

With a hardened expression, Cloud tried to keep his voice just as direct, but it came out softer than he would have liked, “You kissed me.”

Firstly, that wasn’t what he planned on saying. Secondly, he sounded like one of those whining teenage girls in romantic sitcoms, which led to his third point:  his masculinity had officially become miniscule.

However, the words packed their punch since Sephiroth leaned forward, eyes heavy with the first sign of fatigue, and their focus bouldering down on the blond with a trained concentration, as if trying to hold his eyes up—but it failed.  Those emerald orbs flicked to Cloud’s lips before returning and he replied with no more emotion than a pen, “I apologize for that, Cloud.”

Cloud didn’t respond so Sephiroth leaned in with a little more sincerity in his voice, “Truly.  Not only was it unprofessional on my end as your instructor, it was unspeakable and wrong as someone of my position and authority.”  As Sephiroth spoke, his eyes became another dimension of burning intensity.  “To inflict such actions upon one of my students is forbidden for a reason, Cloud, and I do not wish to take advantage of you, nor have it happen again.”

Cloud knew he was being genuine, he could see the guilt swimming in those intense pools of green, but he didn’t answer what Cloud had been questioning all night.

“Why?”  Cloud saw his brows come together in inquiry, so he prodded more, “Why did you do it?”  Green peered at him.  Cloud’s heart was pumping more than usual, whether it was due to the gallons of expresso he downed earlier or the sudden wave of anxiety that came with his next question, “Do you…want me?”

God, what a pathetic question! —but what if?  Exactly, what if?  What if Sephiroth wanted him, even if in the physical sense?  What would Cloud do, say, how would he react?  Obviously, he would turn him down—ha!  Like last time?  His thoughts shot back at him as they reminded him of how affected he was, how heated his skin felt with every flick of Sephiroth’s tongue inside his mouth, with every eager push of his hips between Cloud’s welcoming thighs—but was it what he wanted?  It felt like a never-ending shockwave shaking his core and rattling his mind instead of what he pictured, imagined. No, but his imagination was a fake, a false image of something that likely never even existed.  How naïve…

Sephiroth, at those words, reigned in whatever emotion he had laid out earlier and replaced it with nothing as he replied with a sudden coldness that chilled Cloud’s skin with rejection, “What I did was merely on a whim of frustrated emotions, Cloud, and you happened to be there.  I see you as my student.  Anything else would be a lie.”

So simple, so elegantly cool, yet it left more unresolved tension than before.  A whim…as if anyone could have been in Cloud’s shoes during the moment of his lustful undoing and it wouldn’t have mattered.  Cloud was there, and so Cloud was kissed.  And Cloud was still unimportant.

“That’s some fucking whim.”  Cloud spat with his bitter anger from earlier becoming more of a habitual occurrence.

Maybe it was due to the careless way Sephiroth said it, or the fact that he basically admitted to using Cloud like some puppet of pleasure, but Cloud had come to the final decision that he was done—done with questioning Sephiroth’s motives, actions, and barely-there emotions.  All he received in return were headaches and a sudden dependency on coma-inducing amounts of caffeine.  Not to mention, why should he even care?

Sephiroth surely didn’t, and Cloud had reveled in solace by being apathetic to others’ feelings.  And here he sat, asking a god of self-flattery if he found any promise in someone else.  Yet, the only promise he seemed to have found was a potential fuck.  Not even that, more like a whim for a potential fuck.  Oh, but defining it as potential would be wrong too.

Cloud, with his lack of knowledge on this subject and unrealistic imaginations to further his naivety, was far from potential.  And while he never described himself as one of those sentimental saps that kept locks of hairs in boxes or photographs of special moments, he would be damned to jump in bed for the first time with a man with raging control issues, a self-inflating ego, and hourly mood shifts.

Much less, would he dare to entertain him with a wild reaction.

Therefore, Cloud, suppressing his anger and rising from his seat, replied in his usual smooth tone as an underlying layer of venom laced his words:

“Next time, when one of your ‘whims’ occur, make sure I don’t ‘happen to be there’.  I can still taste the arrogance from your tongue.”

Green eyes narrowed at the insult—good—but Sephiroth chose not to comment on it as he stopped Cloud from turning with now soft words of sincerity, “I hope you can forgive me.”

Maybe he did mean it, but Cloud had already established within himself that spending a second of thought over Sephiroth’s intentions was likely a waste of time that would only end in bitter consequences.

The blond snorted, “Already forgotten,” was all he said as he turned on his heels and strolled towards the exit in what he hoped was a calm pace.

Once Cloud opened the door, Reno and Yuffie scrambled away from it like characters from early cartoons, their legs spinning more than they actually moved.

“Hear anything interesting?”  Cloud muttered to the guilt-ridden faces and stood across from them to wait.  While Cloud had a tendency for irrational actions and an urge to leave Sephiroth in the dust by accessing the videos himself, he decided that would be too much of a reaction and might end in an amused Sephiroth rather than an enraged one.

Reno answered blankly, “Pretty sure it’s soundproof.”

Sephiroth had the three waiting for what seemed like an hour, though after a hasty glance at a hanging clock, only five minutes had passed.  Stepping out from his office, silver hair flowing behind him as his façade took reign over his expression, he guided the students back to the elevator in silence.

The silence became so present in Cloud’s ears, it began to make noise—a soft hum of electricity that sung in low symphonies of palpable tension.  This tension was unrecognizable as its strong constricting arms around each person as they boarded the suspended box of doom.

That is, until Sephiroth broke it.

“Cloud,” He turned to the blond beside him, peering down at him with considering thought as he stated, “I spoke with Hojo yesterday.”

Cloud blinked, not sure if this was a statement that begged for him to reply or just to listen.  Given that Cloud enjoyed the act of speaking his thoughts: “Okay?  Are you becoming Kadaj’s godfather now?”

Like always, his caustic comment was ignored.

“I am to attend a dinner next week with him and his son.”  Sephiroth still watched him intently as if expecting a response.

“Why?”

Sephiroth’s voice lowered to a disdain as he said, “He has been trying to prove his innocence to me—”

Cloud scoffed, “Kissing your ass, you mean?”

“I suppose that’s another phrase for it.”  Another questioning look.  “Among the conversation, he told me Kadaj was to invite his ‘handsome blond friend’.”  Blood rushed from Cloud’s face as he stared.  “Has he asked you yet?”

“No.”  But he still had another modelling session with demonic, sexualized garments and the perverted creep, so the question didn’t seem far off.

Sephiroth nodded, turning away before requesting, “I’d like you for to accept if he does.”

While he didn’t need to be told to do so, Cloud couldn’t help to question the strange prompt.

“Why?  Isn’t it dangerous for us to interact in front of them?”

“Do you doubt your acting skills, Cloud?”  That wasn’t the answer Cloud hoped for, but it hardened his features and set his jaw in challenge.

“No, I’ll do it.”  Cloud announced, tilting his head in stubbornness before tearing his eyes away from Sephiroth’s ethereal profile and letting the silence engulf them.

Like the previous day, Room 635’s only light source came from the flickering lights of monitors displaying Cloud’s entire adventure into the world of strange art and family members.  His eyes were automatically drawn to the small space of desk that once held him up for Sephiroth’s pleasure, but that memory was supposed to be forgotten, so he ripped his mind from that dangerous trip and focused on another alarming priority.

As if he were in his own version of heaven, Reno let out an excited whistle as he beat Cloud to the comfortable ebony chair and took in the sophisticated equipment with a glazed expression of pleasure.  Now Cloud understood Kadaj’s explanation for the look of love as the red-head roamed his eyes over each control almost like Sephiroth did—

Goddammit!  With a frustrated grunt, Cloud pushed through between the looming silver-haired complication and a wide-eyed Yuffie, bent over the monitors, and told Reno, “Go to the third video.  Find the part when I leave, you might be able to see the full painting.”

“Uh, yeah.  Just let me figure this out…”  Reno, while a technophile at heart, still needed to be trained with a handbook.  Cloud gave him a sharp, irritated glance, but was quickly interrupted as a warm body fitted to his side and slender fingers nudged his unaware hand away from a curious looking button.

“This particular one proved to be disastrous the last time it was pressed.”  Sephiroth murmured above his ear before raising his voice for Reno to hear, “Since you’re so willing, Mr. Smith, I suggest you flip your section to visual three and use the dials underneath to skim through.”

“Yes, sir.”  Reno, with a concentrated look upon the controls, did as told and the previous day flickered to life in front of him.  Hopefully, his fast-forwarding skills were better than Cloud’s or else another ‘whim’ might take place with an audience this time.  Cloud could have snorted at his internal musings; however, he felt that lurking, stifling presence come nearer.

Cloud hadn’t turned to look, but Sephiroth’s muscular body inch closer as he hovered over the blond’s shoulder, silver hair brushing his cheek.  “We’ll find the match in the exhibit.”

“Towards the end.”  Cloud directed and after a few minutes of silent watching and waiting with anticipated breaths, it was there.

An image of the painting, illustrating a woman of isolated emotions gazing down at her fragile, prim hands as a delicately shaped smile graced her lonely features.  Beside it was another image.  This one displayed a woman wearing nothing but her own skin as she smirked down at her lover with a familiar heat possessing her longing eyes.

While differing in a noticeable change in age and attitude, the outcome was undeniable.

It was a match.

Chapter Text

Warning:  Some “humor” may be offensive and/or bad.  Also, I am not a scientist, nor a journalist, nor a philosopher; if you are in one of these professions, then apologies from me and the entirety of the human race.

Chapter 9:  There’s A Good Reason Why This is A Bad Idea

There is an ancient Indian religion, one of the many first monotheistic religions, which practices the absence of desire, possessiveness, lying, and violence.  In other words, actions like sex without procreation, carnivorous consumption, and owning anything such as a home or even clothes are considered breaking these vows they had made.  Therefore, they wander in their bare, uncovered skin, sweeping the path they walk in an attempt to save any smaller organisms from their steps, and occasionally borrowing a roof from anyone willing.

While it can be done for their God, their absence of desire and anything related to human fulfillment saves them from the one thing all human beings fear:  disappointment.

I am not a religious person.  They are simply myths created to coddle the human species’ fear of death by promising the weaker-minded a future of bliss.  However, while I have no intention on placing my faith in their feeble imaginings, I can understand the attraction to extinguishing such desires and embracing the absence of disappointment.

Life without disappointment is a happy one.  You cannot argue with me; there is no point.

To live a life without desire, without possession, means that you could never set yourself up for a rejection.  There will be no instance of losing something valuable since there is nothing to lose.  Disappointment serves no purpose in this world of self-discipline.

It’s a peaceful world—a happy one.

I would like to live in that world, even if it means succumbing to nothingness.

-Cloud Strife

“Hojo Weiss became a ground-breaking pharmaceutical scientist by developing a pill that could rebalance the serotonin and norepinephrine in the brain—the chemicals that if imbalanced, would result in depression.  This specific drug, formulated by the genius of one man and his team of assistants, had been proven to be useful among many tests involving nonhuman subjects; however, it had been recently confirmed by M.C.R. journalist, Sephiroth Crescent, that after a long period of substance intake, its symptomatic effects could inflict a strain on the organ that results in migraines, dementia, internal bleeding, and sometimes death caused by hemorrhaging.  Experiments and further studies with this drug have been postponed indefinitely—”

“Cloud, are you even listening?”  Yuffie huffed, pausing from her own personal audiobook of Sephiroth Crescent’s grand accomplishments against a cliché mad scientist. 

A bland story like that one could debut as a main window display in the cheapest Japanese comic store—wait, no.  Cloud usually never relinquished his distasteful remarks, but Sephiroth’s case didn’t deserve that much of an insult.

“No.”  Cloud replied in his careless tone as he sunk further into the backseat, thinking if he were to disappear from the rearview mirror maybe he could disappear altogether—

—According to Socrates, physical beings aren’t in the realm of existence, only ideas exist.  Therefore, if he put his entire mind to the idea of not existing, perhaps on some miraculous chance the idea of him not existing would exist. 

Given that every other plan he had cultivated in his pathetic life proved how pathetic his life was, he gave up on that quest and replied haughtily:

“I’ve already read the entire thing three times.  And guess what?”  Yuffie turned in her seat, lured in by her intrigue in guessing games.  “It hasn’t changed since.”

It had been almost a week since the three received the investigation file for Hojo and his questionable actions.  It was a week full of redundant information that couldn’t excite the most rambunctious person on the planet—also known as Yuffie Kisaragi—nor did it relate to anything involving Kadaj and his mysterious photographs.  The only interesting question that arose was why Sephiroth, someone with a company’s worth of lackeys capable of finishing this mundane case themselves, continued to exert his “godly” focus on it.

Hojo, a conniving scientist who finds a fascination in distributing illegal, harmful pharmaceuticals, had somehow found a way to wrap Sephiroth Crescent around his bland felonious crimes.  Granted, they were villainous indeed, but Cloud recalled during his M.C.R. research—a task of curiosity he succumbed to after joining the class—he found other drug trade cases being broadcasted that weren’t investigated by Sephiroth.  So maybe the obsession leaned more on the man rather than the topic.

But why Hojo?

“Shouldn’t you be stretching in preparation for your sexy time with Kadaj?”  Reno, the designated driver, offered a pleasant reminder on why they were in the Camry to begin with. 

Reno and Yuffie had graciously carpooled him from his job—much to Barret’s surprise that Cloud had actually acquired some resemblance of ‘friends—and to his current destination.

Like last time, Cloud received a text detailing a date and time, along with an unnecessary flirtatious wink emoji.  Like last time, dread weighed his shoulders down in a slump as his imagination offered him images of what his next attire would look like.  It ranged from transparent monk drabs to a BDSM leather suit that would put every fictional superhero to shame.

“Gross, Reno!”  Yuffie reprimanded, slotting the classified documents between their seats before turning back to Cloud, “Don’t worry, Cloud.  I’m sure it won’t be that bad—”

“Make sure to get a better angle when you strip this time.  I’m sure it’d be worth a lot of money.”

Before Yuffie could silence her friend, Cloud scoffed in a retort, “Give me half and I’ll point you to a willing buyer.” 

At this point, Kadaj’s infatuation with Cloud’s body was becoming a universally known fact.

Reno chuckled in front of him, glancing in the rear-view mirror with a mischievous grin as he teased, “No doubt you have plenty.”

Cloud left that comment alone, unsure if it was intended to be a compliment on his features or an observation on how many people liked his features.  Either way, he’d rather not further the subject because a conversation about his own physical attractiveness was less interesting than the Hojo case—in other words:  pretty fucking boring.

Once parked a few houses from Kadaj’s place, they prepared for another meddlesome endeavor.  Except, this time, the air around them felt stiffer—anxious as they plugged in wires, positioned the monitors, and lectured Cloud on keeping his opinions to himself.  These actions, while a regular occurrence now, moved at a conscious pace, making sure each piece of delicate technological equipment found its appropriate home.  Silence blanketed the warm coven of internal thoughts, each student in midst of double checking and fumbling about just to appear busy.  This time, as the heat from the vents wrapped around them in what was supposed to be a safe embrace, it felt constricting.

This time was irrevocably serious.

Cloud, once prepared for another nightmare to come, left Reno and Yuffie in the warm cocoon and stepped out into the crisp breeze of the November air.  The frigid ice under his glossed shoes crunched beneath his weight as did the worn steps leading to Kadaj’s creaking porch.  A sharp wind broke through the thin, silky fabric of his suit and whistled through his untamable hair.  He desperately needed a hair-cut—

“Cloud, you’re early!”

Fuck, he was?  “I am?”

Kadaj didn’t appear as dreadful as Cloud felt.  His mouth widened into his now signature, cat-like grin. 

Moving to the side, he purred, “I don’t mind.  Come in.”

Cloud relinquished himself from the cold and into the atmosphere of modern technological advancements and brow-raising memorabilia—also known as heat, home insulation, and Kadaj’s bizarre collectable items.  The fact that Cloud could admit to everything appearing as they did during his last visit set an uneasy sense of familiarity within himself.  Perhaps he could give the tour to Kadaj’s next victim…

Speaking of uncomfortable situations…

“So, I’m dressing as a demon this time?”

With a familiar clap, Kadaj nodded enthusiastically.  “Yes, my depiction of a demon to be more correct.”

A two-bit cross-dressing prostitute with only three dollars and a condom seemed to be the most prominent image in Cloud’s mind.  But his mind and thoughts were far from allowed when it came to speaking with Kadaj, so he reigned in his venomous tongue, hummed lowly in acknowledgement, and followed the exuberant fellow to the basement. 

Sephiroth would have been proud of that hum. 

He averted his eyes from the painting as they strolled through the hallway, careful not to distract himself with tempting, curious thoughts of that mysterious woman.  Sephiroth had said he would look into finding her identity, but it had been a week and still nothing new had come up.  Maybe she was no one, as Sephiroth seemed to believe.  He constantly told Cloud of this theory.  But Cloud, while he tried to avoid his usual backfiring instinctive reasoning, continued to insist on her importance in the case.  She was too much of a coincidence.  Add that to Kadaj’s lie about Yuffie, there was something off—and it was enough for Cloud.

A familiar bright setup with draping white curtains, blinding fluorescent lights, and a far off cluttered desk greeted Cloud once again like a hated step-mother trying to embrace him in her sagging, cellulite arms. 

In other less descriptive words, Cloud felt a sickening pull in his stomach as his feet carried him closer to a pile of—

—Was that leather?

Once again, he was at that awful moment where his wicked imagination was slowly turning into a reality.  Like a dramatic movie cut, his bewildered eyes took in the silver tangled chains, the carefully folded pile of black glossy leather with an unnecessary amount of zippers, and large black combat boots that seemed almost impossible to lift. 

After a few more silent blinks of shock, he finally voiced without thinking, “Am I cosplaying as an RPG character today?”

Kadaj joined him at his side with a laugh and a shake of his head.  “No, no.  This is the visage of a demon—my interpretation.”

“I thought your interpretation included more seduction and less…comic-con.”

Kadaj casted him a mischievous look, one that reflected a specific knowledge that overpowered Cloud’s own.  “You don’t find leather alluring?”

“I…”  It wasn’t as if he refused to answer, but instead, for a rare moment in time, he didn’t have one.  Cloud didn’t have any specific memory of lusting over someone in clad leather nor had he even dreamt of such a thing.  “I never gave it much thought.” 

Kadaj, with a knowing smile and a sharp gleam to his dull eyes, nodded and gestured to the chains.  “Some of them are clip-on piercings.  After you’re done with the main attire, I’ll help you put them on.”

Again, he was surrounded by a white, flimsy curtain, only accompanied by a distasteful outfit and a growing feeling of anxiety.  However, after removing his own jacket, he placed the camera face down at the recollection of what transpired before.  He sure as hell didn’t want to go through that mess of events again.

Thankfully, the undershirt was made entirely of a thin cotton so most of his bare chest was free from chaffing, though the same couldn’t be said of the unrealistically tight squeeze of the pants.  Cloud didn’t consider himself a towering figure of muscle, but he was certain Kadaj might have gone two sizes too small, even for his lean body. 

After multiple, trying hops in an attempt to pull the waistband of leather above his thighs, he succeeded.  He squirmed uncomfortably to fit the rest of himself into the small area where his ass was supposed to be and, given the lack of space, he encountered yet another problem.

“God-fucking-dammit.”  He muttered out in breathless defeat. 

Being a man had costs and this constricting circumstance cost him his freedom.  After a few moments of maneuvering and deciding on the left side, he carefully pulled the straining zipper into place and released an exhausted breath.  Cloud slipped on the form-fitting leather coat, decorated in studs and clinking chains, and gathered his own belongings before stepping out.

Upon seeing the blond bundle of tangy leather and irritated skin, Kadaj found the true meaning of a blissed-out overreaction.  Eerie green eyes transformed from calm dullness to quaking currents of want as they raked over Cloud’s form.  His tongue swept over his lips in animalistic hunger as the blond approached. 

With a slight falter in his step, Cloud recognized that familiar look as he remembered seeing it in another pair of green eyes.  The gazing, while Cloud would like to think it had no effect, had him hesitating with his words.

“Er…so don’t you have more accessories?”

Kadaj clapped his hands together at the supposed reminder.

“Ah, yes!”  Kadaj removed one piece from the pile.  It dangled from his hands in a long rope of small connected chains, ending on both spectrums with tiny makeshift clips.  Approaching the cautious blond, he reasoned, “This is a lip chain.  Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.  It’s going to clip to your lip like a piercing and the other end is going to clip onto one of the chains on your jacket.” 

With a brilliant, anticipating smile he snapped one end to a dangling loop on Cloud’s stiff shoulder and reached to finalize it.

Cloud jerked away as he saw those fingers near his lips. 

“I’ll do it.”  Cloud muttered, ignoring the brief frown of rejection from his touchy companion and took the clip from his hands.  Once comfortably snapped onto his lower lip, Kadaj started with the rest.

The process took longer than Cloud would have liked, but it was eventually completed.

And there Cloud stood, dressed in ridiculous amounts of leather, constricted at the legs, and tangled in an excess of chains, spikes, and fake piercings that irritated his skin and clinked together with the tiniest movement.  Chains hung from the lobes of his ears, lips, and the choker on his neck, each connected to a specific metallic loop on his fitted jacket. 

After his tongue accidentally swiped the metal in his mouth, he questioned warily, “Are these sanitized?”

“Of course, of course!”  Kadaj chuckled before maneuvering Cloud to stand in the middle of the designated area.  “I clean everything after use.”

“Wait, what—”

“I’m kidding!”  One of his high-pitched laughs followed as Cloud stared unamused. 

Maybe on a better day with someone sane he would have smiled at the joke, but Cloud found that his sense of humor had depleted like his blood flow to his feet. 

Humorless, cranky…Oh, God—maybe he was turning into Sephiroth.  No, Sephiroth wouldn’t be stupid enough to be talked into this mess, nor would he even agree to dress up as a Gothic twink.  He would ‘kindly’ decline, give his famous sharp look of superiority, and the beggar would have no choice but to succumb to his might of opposition.  If only Cloud could level up to that higher rank of asshole, then maybe he could avoid playing dress up.

“Now, Cloud, this is a representation of lust.”  Kadaj interrupted his thoughts from behind the professional camera hoisted on a tripod.  “Lust is a simple emotion, contrary to its enemy, Love.”

“If it’s so simple, then why do you believe there are different kinds?”  Cloud didn’t want to start an argument, but he was only human—a human with curious thoughts.  “If I recall correctly, your museum piece portrayed different types of lust.  That sounds pretty complicated to me.”

As if waiting for that question to be asked, a proud Kadaj gave a small smile.  Damn, Cloud could already smell the sentimental bullshit coming…

“It’s simple in its purest form, which is desire.  However, it is how it’s created that makes it different.”  Kadaj explained, dull eyes looking up in thought as he continued in wonder.  “Lust is so fickle.  There for a moment, but in the next, it’s gone.  Anyone could be a victim to it.”

Cloud sighed.  Perhaps at one point he cared to know—like half a minute ago—but now, as Kadaj developed that wistful look in his eyes, he realized he didn’t care.

“So, you want me to be quick?  No problem.”  Cloud retorted with a snort.  And while Kadaj did smile at his rude interruption of the moment, it was tight and humorless.

And then those eyes narrowed in curiosity as he asked a question Cloud was hoping would never come.

“Have you ever experienced lust?”

Last time, Kadaj asked about love, which Cloud had an honest and straightforward answer of ‘no’.  But now, as he shifted in his uncomfortably chaffing pants and jingling accessories, he hesitated.

“Er…I don’t know.”  Firstly, he didn’t want to answer because he would have to admit something he’d rather be buried with once he died.  Secondly—well, no.  There was no ‘secondly’.  Cloud’s dwindling pride was the only thing that mattered at the moment.

Visibly, Kadaj wasn’t pleased with the answer, but he let it go as he explained, “Okay, well, let’s see what you can do first and we’ll go from there.”

Cloud could do this.  It couldn’t be too hard to act provocative.  He had seen plenty of billboards and commercials hire over-the-top models staring seductively in the camera without doing anything too scandalous.  There was no need to dig up memories better forgotten when Calvin Klein models existed.

So, putting a thumb through an extremely tight belt loop that threatened to guillotine his digit rather than hold it, somewhat biting his lip which resulted in a loud clank given the metal hanging on, and staring into the camera with lowered lids that felt more like squinting than anything, Cloud had effectively assumed the most awkward pose in history. 

If Kadaj took a picture, it could have made the books.

“Um…no.”  Kadaj’s lips seemed to have a slight struggle on what to do, but they eventually made it back to their regular, natural position.  “Just relax, Cloud.”

At the request, Cloud rose a brow.

“Let your arms hang and pretend that I’m not even here.”  With that grin, Cloud found the last part was going to be a tricky one.

But he avoided Kadaj’s face—and presence—and turned his head.  He observed the buzzing fluorescents, the draping white curtains, the disheveled desk in the corner hosting a number of evidential stalking photos, and eventually found specks of dirt on the ground contrasting with the light color. 

Like stars, they scattered the place in a speckled design, peppering the otherwise cleanly place with a hint of dirtiness.

Cloud liked to think of it as a metaphor.  But not one of those awful metaphors people may use to strengthen their appearance as some top-notch English scholar because they believe analogies are sophisticated and artful.  No, this metaphor was simple, relatable, and—it reminded him of Sephiroth.

The dirt on the ground reminded Cloud of Sephiroth. 

Just the realization of his thoughts almost had him cackling, but he refrained because it wasn’t an insult.  At least, that wasn’t the intention.  He found the connection because of what he knew.  Sephiroth, on the outside and to the public eye, was the perfect man.  Intelligent, handsome, objective, kind—when it wasn’t Cloud—, strong-willed, professional, and wealthy.  Every man or woman strived to be him or be like him.

But Cloud knew that was only a façade because he had seen it break.  He had seen Sephiroth succumb and show his real colors.  His colors of pride, arrogance, and desire…  That clean image of perfection became soiled with specks of dirt.  But Cloud was unsure if that made him fascinating like the floor or if it ruined him. 

Only a sentimental, lonely freak with no standards would say ‘imperfections are beautiful’.  Cloud refrained from scoffing at such a thought.  Please, imperfections aren’t beautiful, just evidence of being human.

Maybe that was why he had such a difficult time placing Sephiroth’s faults.  He was human.  Damaged, broken, and just like the rest. 

Except, at least he was important.

“Perfect…”  Kadaj’s purr broke Cloud’s trace, jolting his body to a tighter position.  “I didn’t intend on having an aura of gloom with this theme; however, in a poetic way, it works.”  He mused outwardly, talking to himself as Cloud picked his brain off the floor.

“Poetic?”

“Mhm.  Lust, demons, darkness…put them together, you’re bound to find…” He trailed off until he finished in a quiet whisper, “…misery.” 

His voice had grown cold, like the sudden chill against Cloud’s skin.  Those dull green eyes lost any light remaining and stared into a past that Cloud couldn’t see.

“Father calls it a symptom of lost love…”  Barely above a soft murmur, but enough for Cloud to pick up.

“Kadaj?”

A few blinks.  “Hm?”

“Are you okay?”  Cloud masked his wariness with a false tone of concern.  God, at least keep it together until I leave, Cloud thought.

“Fine!”  He chirped, his eyes back to their unusual color as he grinned, seemingly forgetting about his mental lapse into a eighteenth century romance novelist.

Cloud stared.  “Right.  Well, let me change…”

As Cloud stripped, Kadaj spoke from the outside.

“I hope your parents don’t mind me keeping you during the weekends.”

What a strange thing to say.  Then again, Kadaj always had a way with weird conversation starters.

“No, they don’t care.” 

--Damn these pants!

“Oh?  For an only child, I figured you would be on a leash.”  Kadaj relayed.  “Would they care if you stayed out tonight?”

Cloud paused in his struggling. 

“No…they won’t…”  He better get paid in more than chicken for this.  Cloud finished putting on his suit, placing the leather and chained garments aside, and emerged from the curtains.

Kadaj stood by the cluttered desk, printing out Cloud’s recent job.  Like he needed another reminder of his time here.  He already had his first photo stashed away like an unwanted disease in a place no one would dare to look.  Yet, in no time at all, Kadaj had gifted him another one with spoken words of:

“To complete the puzzle.”

“I’ll be sure to place it with the other one.”  Out of sight.  Cloud didn’t dare to look at the image as he slipped it into the pocket of his trousers.  “So, what are tonight’s plans?”

“Father has invited us to dinner.”  Ah!  The infamous dinner that Sephiroth warned him about.  Cloud briefly wondered how infuriated the man would be if he refused to go.  “He’s bringing a guest.  You remember Mr. Crescent, don’t you?”

“Vaguely.”

Kadaj seemed pleased with his answer, “Not many people would say that.  He’s going to join us, so I hope you don’t mind—well, if you want to go…”

As much as Cloud enjoyed irritating the oh-so-perfect journalist, he decided to agree.  Not because of Sephiroth, but because of his own theories and questions which he still searched answers for.

“Of course.  I would love to.”

Dinner consisted of a restaurant snuggled deeply into the heart of the frigid, night city of Helena, Montana.  Buzzing lights sprinkled the streets and so did very few people as this night was one of the coldest of the year.  Cloud, only protected with a thin suit coat, wrapped his arms around himself as he followed Kadaj out of the car and into the sharp chill of unforgiving weather.

“Do you need my jacket?”

“No, I’m fine.” 

Thank God his teeth weren’t chattering yet.  The last thing he needed was to be seen as a fluttering damsel in the wind.  Luckily, they didn’t park far from their destination as they shortly approached an upper-class restaurant that usually required a reservation two months in advance.  However, nowadays, Cloud associates himself with the most influential—also most disturbed—people of the world, so an invitation deemed useless.

La Festa Divina.  Because anything in Italian sounds fancier. 

Kadaj led the way through glass doors into a warmth supplied with a light background of somber violins and an extra dose of snooty entitlement in the air.  With golden arches, intricately crafted tables made out of wood that could only be found in the most unreachable forests within the rarest trees, and walls painted with murals of ancient mythology—because a subtle image of Chronos eating his children could make any normal person hungry—La Festa Divina became, in Cloud’s eyes, the epitome of high class life. 

Maybe if Cloud had been gifted a trust fund from his father instead of disappointment, he would have fit in.  But at this moment, as he trailed behind Kadaj to find an already appointed table, he sunk into the more than honest thoughts that said:  yes, he was an outsider.

“Cloud!  I’m pleased you could make it.” 

Cloud blinked out of his thoughts to come face to face with the man of the hour and the subject of everyone’s distress, Hojo Weiss. 

His slicked back hair pulled at his multiplying wrinkles as he smiled a bit too sweetly and stood from his seat in a proper display of manners.  He wasn’t the only one at the perfectly square table.  Sephiroth also stood, towering over the hunched man in an intimidating display of power, his long hair loosely pulled back into a hold behind him with only a few strands breaking free to frame his sharply defined face.  Unlike the “sweet” smile from Hojo, Sephiroth gave a curt nod and introduction.

“I believe we have already met.  Mr. Smith, is it?”

“Just Cloud.”  He blurted out before taking the seat across from his professor.  If he intended to keep his meal down, then having Sephiroth mostly in view was his best option.  “I’m honored to be invited.”

Father and son relaxed in their chairs.

“Any friend of Kadaj’s is a friend of mine.  You are more than welcome to join us.”  Hojo was certainly full of smiles tonight.  “We haven’t ordered yet, so please take your time.”

Cloud busied himself with his menu, hoping the flimsy, laminated object had some magical shield against awkward small talk.  It wasn’t the case.

Hojo was a curious being like the rest of them.

“So, how is school going, Cloud?  Do you have any colleges in mind after you graduate?”

Oh, right.  He was back in high school, which meant in a general sense, he should be indecisive.

“I haven’t decided yet.”  Blank stares only encouraged him to talk more, so he added, “Maybe law.” 

If there was one career path he never wanted to pursue, it was the life of a criminal pretending to be honorable.  Socrates would consider that unjust.

Sephiroth tapped a finger onto the smooth surface as he coyly asked, “Journalism doesn’t interest you then?”

“I prefer being useful to society.”  Before he could back pedal from his retort, Hojo gave a holler of laughter that sounded more like a pack of ravenous hyenas bickering over a meal than a genuine laugh.

Another tap to the table.  “I see.  But you’re also interested in photography?  Dr. Hojo had mentioned it earlier.”

“I…”  Cloud trailed off, unsure where Sephiroth wanted to go in the conversation.

Kadaj answered for him, “Yes, he’s been assisting me with modeling for one of my projects.  A natural for the camera, I say.”

Sephiroth rose a brow.  “Oh?  A lawyer and a model?  That’s very ambitious of you.”

Judging by the small arrogant quirk to his lips, Sephiroth was highly entertained. 

“Yes, well, I know what I want.”  Cloud replied, taking a sip of water that was already ordered for him. 

“Quite determined for your age.”  Hojo remarked.

“Mhm.  I try to avoid meaningless whims if possible.”  Cloud replied nonchalantly.

If there was a highlight of this day, it was watching Sephiroth’s caustic smirk drop.

“And how did your session go today?”  Hojo added to the sudden interrogation with genuine interest in his tone. 

“It went well.”  Cloud answered shortly, but taking in another silent wave of expectation, he continued, “Although, I’m starting to sympathize with leather-clad superheroes.”

Sephiroth tapped a finger.

With a soft chuckle, Hojo leaned into his seat and praised the cause for Cloud’s troubles, “I saw the final design, and I must say how rich, yet subtle the piece was.  Quite mesmerizing.”

The blond snorted.  “Subtle?  In what aspect?” 

Cloud found nothing remotely subtle about the garment of hellish torture.

“The theme of demonic nature.”  Hojo replied easily, as if sensing this conversation on the horizon.  “The theme of lustful desire, so strong and powerful—heady and intimidating in presence, yet it still remains the most curious emotion of all.  Well, aside from love.”

Love versus lust was apparently a major topic in the Weiss household and artful endeavors.

“Leather is not very inviting nor comfortable, but it draws people in anyway.”  Kadaj explained.  “My design is meant to pull people’s attention away from everything else, almost like the emotion it portrays.  Lust drives human beings into paths that, to others, may seem perilous.  But we’re blinded to that fact, because all we see is what we want.  And when people gaze upon your picture, Cloud, they will want to see someone seductive and calling for them.  They will receive that, react to it, and ignore the overall presence of someone suited in rough texture and harsh accessories, because what they will feel is purely blind lust.”

Kadaj’s words sunk slowly in Cloud’s consciousness before he spoke, “And when they look upon the other one?  Will they feel love?”

Hojo, once again, broke out into animalistic laughter and shook his head, “No, no, of course not!” 

“How so?”

“It isn’t that simple.  This emotion takes time, they would have to have a personal connection with your photograph to even feel the slightest warmth of love.”  Hojo paused before fixing Cloud with an inquisitive look as he questioned, “Have you ever been in love?”

“No.”  Cloud’s answer was once again quick and to the point.  But that didn’t seem to bother anyone this time as Hojo turned to a peering Sephiroth.

“And you, Mr. Crescent?”

Sephiroth rose a corner of his lips to the older man and replied coolly, “I haven’t had the appropriate amount of time to spare.”

Cloud figured that was the answer, though he was sure Sephiroth had plenty of points in the demonic department.

“Well, when you do have time to spare, and when you’re older, Cloud, you’ll find yourself on a slow ride down a long road.  And it isn’t until you stop, you will realize that you’re in love.”

Cloud tried to hold back his scoff, he did.  But the atmosphere was too suffocating with its aura of happiness, rainbows, and overall sentimentally stuffed bullshit for him to sit idle. 

“If only Walt Disney were alive to hear that, you could have inspired ten more films.” 

Sometimes, Cloud wondered how he was still alive and not laying in a ditch with his tongue forcibly removed.  But, under the silent circumstance from an annoyed Hojo and pursed Kadaj, it did summon a rare chuckle from the one and only Sephiroth as he lifted his hand to signal a waiter.

“Ready to order?”  The woman’s bright smile and chirpy tone somewhat lessened the tension in the air.

“Please.”  Sephiroth sent her a warm smile, one that Cloud had only seen during times Sephiroth had to wait for a student to finish a question or answer.  It was his impatient smile, hidden underneath a thick layer of fake friendliness.  Also known as a key ingredient expression for a high class man of his stature.

Because Cloud had been playing twenty questions with Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit, he never had the opportunity to select a suitable meal he would enjoy.  So, not to take too much of their precious time—and because Sephiroth’s look of impatience was more influential than he cared to admit—he chose the first one he saw.  He didn’t know much in Italian, but he did know to steer clear away from anything that said ‘calamari’.  Cloud simply refused to eat anything with more than four limbs.

Time passed with the occasional small talk and boring updates on work-related issues until their dinner arrived. 

Luckily, Cloud ordered something that looked recognizably like seafood pasta.  Without a spotting of octopi suckers or snail goo, Cloud began to eat. 

Conversation continued. 

During appropriate moments, Cloud would give a laugh, a smile, a shocked ‘oh no!’ expression if the situation called, but overall, he was undoubtedly bored.  He attempted to be intrigued by Hojo’s most recent scientific development, but with the excessive talk of chromosomes and molecular structure of DNA—sometimes diving into the chemical structure of love itself because of course—Cloud was reminded why he had not taken the scientific career path.  Instead, he got to be forced to listen to someone who did.

Sephiroth, however, seemed enthralled as his attention never wavered. 

And given that Cloud knew what Sephiroth looked like at the moment, it was safe to say, Cloud’s attention was wavering. 

It wavered to Sephiroth’s luminous emerald eyes, intent in focus as Hojo spoke.  Cloud’s attention drifted down the man’s stupidly sculpted features of a sharp nose and shapely lips, so pink and soft.  It wavered across the fine line of Sephiroth’s jaw until resting upon his occasionally tapping finger.  Long, slender, and perfectly connected from the carpals to the metacarpals, his fingers—no, his hand even—appeared elegant, yet manly in largeness.  That hand could probably wrap around Cloud’s throat without a smidgen of air between those enviable fingers.  Even the nails were pristine, shining with nothing more than light and natural beauty.

Tap.

Cloud returned to Sephiroth’s face—mainly his lips.  For a brief moment, he replayed the feeling of those same lips on his.  The soft, silky texture even under bouts of animalistic passion returned to Cloud’s senses.  It was a coveted mouth.  Many people wanted to touch it for themselves, kiss it, or taste it…like he did.

Cloud immediately squashed that pathetically false feeling of importance before it infected his mind with fantasy.  It was just bad timing, as Sephiroth said.  None of it actually mattered.

Deciding that those lips were destroying his mood, Cloud moved up and instantly regretted it.

Questioning green met wandering blue.

Sephiroth was watching him and Hojo rambled on, back on the topic of love’s molecular structure.  But it was just background noise as Cloud froze, caught in his creepy, overly long once-over.

A silver brow rose in question as if asking ‘why the hell are you staring at me in the middle of an important dinner?’

And since Cloud didn’t have an appropriate answer to theoretical Sephiroth’s question, he abruptly averted his eyes down to his food and began to eat.  He avoided that lingering gaze like his life depended on it.  Usually, he would challenge it, but as of now he felt the guilt of looking weigh down on his stubborn pride like an anchor.  It was just best to let it pass.

“Are you enjoying your meal, Mr. Smith?” 

Or not.  

Cloud snapped his eyes up to Sephiroth’s amused ones.  At least he found Cloud’s wavering funny rather than annoying.  Although, neither one wasn’t anything to be proud of.

“Please, call me Cloud.  Mr. Smith sounds like a completely different person.”  Cloud returned, hoping his wit would throw Sephiroth off of his trail of lingering guilt.

A deep chuckle reverberated through the air and Sephiroth contended, “Very well, Cloud.  I only asked since you’ve barely touched it.  Is something distracting you?”

Hojo and Kadaj were now watching in peaked interest.  They became witnesses as Cloud refrained from immaturely flicking a shrimp at that smug face, but instead bit his lip to hold back an insult as he twirled his fork around his bowl.

“I…”  And then with quick thinking and subtle acting delivery, Cloud dropped his eyes down to his food in a forlorn look as he mumbled pathetically, “I just remembered I left my wallet at home…”

That was a lie.  His wallet was sitting snugly inside his suit jacket, but Sephiroth and company didn’t need to know.  In plus, his plate alone almost cost a whopping fifty dollars.  There was no way in hell he was going to pay for that.

With a deliberate sorrowful look to a now highly entertained Sephiroth, Cloud requested, “I can pay you back…”

Any gentleman who didn’t want to be seen as a giant, selfish, money-hungry cock would offer to pay with no questions.  And Cloud was betting on Sephiroth being that gentleman as they both held back their smirks and had a brief stare-off, daring the other to look away.

Kadaj opened his mouth, likely to offer his own money as assistance, but Sephiroth beat him to it, low and cool as usual, “It’s fine.  There’s no need for repayment.”

Cloud smiled, probably more victorious than genuine, as Sephiroth surrendered.  And, if Cloud had to put a number on it, it was the first time he had ever won anything against Sephiroth.  Thank the universe for the man’s consistent sense of aggregated pride and public image because Cloud’s ego was swelling with triumph.

And it continued to swell as their tickets came and Sephiroth collected Cloud’s receipt with his, handing it along with his card to the waiter.

It wasn’t until they were all outside, standing towards each other in the brisk, windy air, when Cloud realized he had a problem.

How the fuck was he supposed to get home?

Reading his thoughts, Kadaj offered, “Do you need a ride?”  And as if the idea was hilariously unthinkable, he laughed, “I still don’t know where you live!”

With the wind piercing his flesh in icy slaps, his coat flapping around and absorbing small flurries of snow, and his teeth jittering like a chatterbox, Cloud was still absolutely certain he would rather walk home.

“I can call a parent.”  ‘Parent’ as in Reno and Yuffie who were hopefully still spying through the camera attached to Cloud’s suit.

Kadaj seemed visibly troubled by his words, his brows furrowing and his lips turning into a frown, but it was only for a brief moment before he abruptly wrapped his arms around the startled blond and squeezed him tight.  The unwelcomed warmth from his body soaked into Cloud’s limp, unmoving one in waves of heat.  Cloud saw Hojo smile fondly like a father would when a child did something cute. 

He wondered what he did in his past life to deserve such treatment in this one.

And then Kadaj let go, stepping back and letting the distance replace the warmth with biting cold.

“Thank you for helping me in my project, Cloud.  You’ve been a perfect fit for my theme.”  Kadaj said, a wide splitting smile spreading across his face.  “I hope you’ll be available for more projects to come…”

Every instinct in his mind, body, and soul screamed the word ‘NO!’ for Cloud to repeat, but…the case.  His entire purpose and use to Sephiroth was his connection to Kadaj.  If he were to throw that away, Cloud would be potentially forfeit something that might be considered important.  Not to mention, while he wouldn’t admit it aloud, he found himself curious about Kadaj and his possible involvement in this tedious case.

So he found himself saying, “Sure, no problem.”

Not only Kadaj, but both of the Weiss’s broke into elated grins and shining sparks lit their eyes as Cloud agreed to any future ‘artistic’ plans.

Now, Cloud was waiting. 

Inside the waiting room of the oh-so-sophisticated restaurant that served him overpriced scallops and shrimp, Cloud had just said a farewell to Hojo, Kadaj, and Sephiroth—the same Sephiroth who took his own glamorous Mercedes whose price alone could feed the entire starved population of Africa. 

Sending a text to Reno in case the red-head didn’t see that Cloud was stranded, the young man reclined onto the bench, closed his eyes, and recapped his hectic day in a simple sentence.

There was something very wrong with the Weiss family.

That was it. 

Maybe he guessed it all along since Cloud was naturally a judgmental—opinionated—man of many thoughts.  However, now he was certain that their obsession with love, lust, and young high-school kids officially ranked them as disturbing.

Maybe it was genetics.  Perhaps Cloud could ask Sephiroth to do a background check on their family tree to discern how many of their relatives ended up scrapping dried cum off prison floors.  If Cloud had to take a guess, he would aim at almost all of them.

No matter that though. 

One, because Cloud wanted that image to be washed from his mind immediately.  And two, someone was trying to get his attention.

“Mr. Strife?”

Cloud opened his eyes at the rumbling baritone of supreme manliness.  Not the Sephiroth kind of deep though, no his was gruff, gritty, and husky, matching his appearance in an astounding way.  From head to toe, this man was in all black.  Black shoes, black pants, black shirt—with a black coat—black sunglasses, and even dark skin—possibly darker than Barrett.  And like Barrett, he was about five times bigger than Cloud and likely taller.

Yet, there was something oddly familiar about this guy, but Cloud failed to recollect a source.

“Um…yes?”  Given the recent description, Cloud deserved to be a bit intimidated as this gigantic specimen knew his name.

Since the sunglasses hid his eyes, Cloud had a hard time detecting a hint of emotion as the big man stated gruffly, “The car’s waiting for you.”

Cloud blinked.

“Er…who the hell are you?”

“Mr. Crescent’s chauffeur.  I am to drive you home.”

He seemed unperturbed at the blond’s crassness, but that didn’t bother Cloud as he had another issue.

“Sephiroth?” 

A nod answered Cloud’s question. 

The large chauffeur turned on his heels in silence and opened the restaurant’s door for him.  Cloud, still in a temporary state of shock, followed quietly with furrowed brows. 

Outside, parked in a reserved place beside the curb, was an extended version of an Audi. 

Cloud wasn’t a car person.  He left that for the hyper-masculine, overcompensating real men who believed engine knowledge can make a girl wet.  While Cloud never had any experience with either of those things, he was almost certain they didn’t correlate.  But he did know of Audi’s four circle symbol, and that more than two doors on one side of a car was too much for a normal vehicle.

The burly man with the glasses once again opened a door for Cloud, the last door on the lengthy black limo.  And within the dark cavern on the other side, sat a technologically distracted Sephiroth who had apparently gotten a new phone.

For a reason that likely stemmed from being gingerly escorted into a limo hosting a multi-billionaire CEO, Cloud felt like Julia Roberts about to venture off with Richard Gere on a quest to find scandalous love.

And fuck his brain for that god-awful analogy.

Once he slid into his seat, the door closed beside him and he peaked a glance at Sephiroth.  During Cloud’s entrance, the man had put down his phone and graced the blond with all of his scrutinizing attention.

“Your place or mine?”  It was, in all honesty, a terrible joke that Cloud immediately regretted the moment it left his lips. 

But then a light tug at the corners of those shapely lips turned Sephiroth’s mouth into a small smile as he said, “Yours first, but directions are needed.”

At that moment, Cloud realized he would have to show Sephiroth, who likely had a penthouse in Beverly Hills, his pig sty of an apartment.  And it just didn’t sit well with him.

“You know what?  I texted Reno a while ago, he should be here any min—” 

Before Cloud could reach for the door handle, Sephiroth interrupted with a sigh as he urged, “Cloud, just give Rude the directions.”  And with a more meaningful look that had Cloud shifting in his seat, he added lowly, “I won’t be coming inside if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It wasn’t just the inside though—

But those eyes!  Those green pools of flaming intensity that burned every idea and wish into Cloud’s head as if he were some string puppet designed to bow down to his every will.  And goddammit, Cloud was bowing.

“Fine.”  He grunted, averting his eyes before he could see Sephiroth’s smug look.  He relayed his information to the gruff man up front and then leaned back in his seat, intending to gaze out the window for the next twenty minutes.

Sephiroth had other plans.

“One reason I wanted to speak with you alone, Cloud, is because I have information on your Jane Doe.”

Cloud’s attention snapped back to Sephiroth, questions already bubbling to the surface.  But with a risen hand, the man gestured for him to wait.

“Her real name is Eliza Dunway.  She has family in Beach, North Dakota—her parents to be exact.  After brief contact with them over the phone…”  A pause as Sephiroth gave Cloud a look, “they claimed she disappeared about a year ago.”  His mouth set in a grim line as he continued, “No traces were left for police to investigate.”

Disappeared?  But her pictures were literal decorations for Kadaj’s house.  How could she have been a missing person if—

“It isn’t rare for a young woman to leave their past behind and embark on a new life.”

“A life of porn?”  Cloud snorted in disbelief.  “That isn’t something people set out to do in life, Sephiroth.”

“It doesn’t matter.  All evidence—or lack thereof—points to a willing leave.”

“But…” 

As much as Cloud wanted to argue to the contrary, he had nothing.  No matter how much Sephiroth’s words grated on his mind, he was right.  It would be the safest bet to assume she ran away, but there had to have been something else.  And that something gnawed at Cloud’s thoughts with a teasing irritation, like an incurable rash—the more he scratched at answers, the more he itched with questions.

Sephiroth sighed, leaning forward to catch Cloud’s eyes again, and with a stern tone he relayed, “However, since I knew such information would displease you and render you useless in focusing on anything else, I organized a small trip to North Dakota for Tuesday and Wednesday.  Her parents agreed to a few questions.”

“Wait, what?”  Cloud gaped because of course Sephiroth was able to pull strings, but also because… “Am I going?”

“If you would like.  If not, I can take Reno or Yuffie.”  Sephiroth reclined into his seat before pulling out his phone from earlier and warned, “But just one of you.  That’s quite enough.”

Cloud blurted his answer before he processed his own thoughts, “I’ll go.” 

Technically, the Eliza thing was his finding, so it would be ridiculous if he were to back out.

Sephiroth shot him a quick acknowledging glance before informing, “Good.  I hope you know it is a seven hour drive—”

“We’re not flying?”

“No.”

“Could you at least buy me a ticket and I can meet you there—”

“Cloud.  There are no flights from Helena to Beach, nor are there any to Bismarck for a timely arrival.”  With a constrained expression that Cloud was certain appeared as holding in evil amusement, Sephiroth concluded, “Therefore, a fairly lengthy road trip is in order.  Does that change your mind?”

Honestly?

“No, it doesn’t.”  Who knows?  Maybe fourteen hours in a car with Sephiroth could strengthen their blossoming friendship…or perhaps result in a gruesome murder.

Either way, due to his mantra of ‘I’ve come this far, so fuck it’, Cloud found himself going along with it.

“Very well.”  With a satisfied tug of his lips, Sephiroth put away his phone once again—which reminded Cloud that he had to ask him of his technological update—and said, “I’ll pick you up Tuesday morning around seven.  Be ready.”

“Pack clothes?”  What a stupid question…

“If you prefer wearing them.”  A small glint of absolute mischief reflected in Sephiroth’s green eyes.

Cloud squinted at the untrustworthy sight as he replied cautiously, “I do.”

Conversation simmered and the steady, healthy buzz of the car’s engine kept the sound alive.

Just when he thought the silence was going to last, Sephiroth spoke again.

“You’re doing well…with this case, I mean.  You handled dinner…well.”

While the compliment lacked detail—likely due to lack of experience in giving them—the intent behind the words meant so much more.  Cloud would have liked to say that he didn’t care for Sephiroth’s approval, nor did his opinions matter; but that small spark of importance overshadowed any bitter denial his mind tried to conjure.

“You too.”  Well, his response could have been better, but he was still startled and in shock.  Blame Sephiroth’s untimeliness in handing out praise.

With a tug of his lips and a soft gleam in his eyes, he studied Cloud carefully.

That look, so sincere, yet dangerous as it flickered down Cloud’s face; it was a wonder on what went on inside his guarded mind.

“You should smile more.”  He advised as if giving an assignment.

Cloud snorted at the comment, wondering just what the hell was in the sparkling water of Montana.

“Thanks for the advice.”

The vehicle came to a slow stop in front of an unsightly familiar building of taped windows, corroded structures, and several stories of jacked-up meth heads. 

Ah, home sweet home.

Cloud didn’t know what to expect as Sephiroth’s reaction, perhaps a sympathetic look that said ‘so you’re the receiver of all the charities I donate to’ or maybe a mocking joke.  Well, the latter one, Cloud knew he would never do.  That damned public image wouldn’t let him.

Instead, Sephiroth said nothing.

Instead, he unbuckled his seatbelt, turned to face a very confused and terrified Cloud—because he hoped to all the fictitious Gods that Sephiroth didn’t plan on going inside—and reached for the blond.

“What are you…?”  Cloud started, but eventually trailed off as Sephiroth got onto his knees in front of him, his face levelling perfectly with Cloud’s as his hands slipped inside the younger’s coat.  Frozen, Cloud held in a very embarrassing squawk as warm fingers brushed up from the bottom of his ribcage, caressing his sides through the thin material of his shirt and flipping his stomach into a fluttering frenzy.

Mischievous green eyes held his as he heard that low baritone break the tense silence, “You should know I have no patience for lying.”

For a temporary moment, the words were jumbled and incoherent in Cloud’s mind.  He heard ‘lying’.  Lying where?  Lying down?  Why was Sephiroth touching him like this and talking about lying down somewhere?  Shouldn’t he be advocating the idea of space and abstinence? 

Actually, that was a good idea.  These touches were igniting sensations Cloud would rather not experience again.  One more blunder of that kind of mistake, he was sure to dig graves for himself and for his dignity.

Cloud started, placing his hands on the broad, sturdy shoulders.  Before he could nudge Sephiroth away, the man retracted his wandering hands.

A small, victorious smile shaped his lips as he said, “Debts are always better paid off early.”

“What?”  And then Cloud saw it.

A familiar palm-sized rectangular, leather case within one of Sephiroth’s hands.

Cloud’s wallet.

Skilled fingers flipped open the traitorous case with ease to flip through spare ones, a lone five dollar bill, and Yuffie’s remaining mission payments of two fifties.  What a coincidence. 

“I believe your linguini all’astice was around fifty, am I correct?”

Cloud gaped in silence for a brief moment before he collected his mind and accused with a slight push of his palm against Sephiroth’s shoulder, “You gave me a three-hundred dollar card for fucking chicken, and you want me to pay you back for a little pasta dish?”

“The card was a gift.”  With a raise of Cloud’s wallet, he added, “This was theft.”

“No, it wasn’t.  You paid on your own will.”  Cloud narrowed his eyes in stubborn pride and cocked his head to ask snidely, “Should I search your clothes to find the signed receipt?”

“No need for that.”  After plucking a fifty from its cozy home and slipping it into his own coat pocket, Sephiroth closed the wallet and offered it back in the palm of his hand.  “This belongs to you.”

Cloud dropped his hands in defiance, refusing to take back something of his that had been tarnished by the hands of greed and evil.

“By all means, take the other fifty.  Perhaps you can pay for your next hair treatment.”

All that immaturity got was a hearty chuckle that vibrated the air around them and glinting green eyes that told him that he had been defeated.

“Very well.”  Turning the wallet in his fingers, Sephiroth eyed Cloud curiously as he asked, “What would you do to get it back?” 

Cloud blinked, thrown off by such a vague, sudden question.  So vague, that it had multiple answers to go with it.  He shifted, a knee knocking into Sephiroth’s hip in the process but the other paid no mind as his full attention was on contemplating blue.

At that moment, with Sephiroth propositioning him with cash on the line inside his fancy, unattainable car, Cloud came back to his earlier comparison to Pretty Woman.

And he laughed.  A loud, embarrassing one that shook his body with bounces and pitched his voice into another octave.  Perhaps he should have been crying since he wasn’t the rich, handsome, billionaire in this scenario, but the desperate street whore.  However, he always had a different sense of humor. 

Both brows risen at the rare show, Sephiroth cocked his head in entertained confusion.

Without thinking, Cloud leaned forward and collected stray, dangling strands of silky silver hair between his fingers as he spoke in humor, “Taking the Richard Gere persona a bit too far, aren’t you?”

Now aware of the situation, Sephiroth frowned, lips falling slightly lower than usual as he reached to hold and pull Cloud’s wrist away.

“I’m not asking for sexual favors, Cloud.”

“I know.”  The mood, along with Cloud’s amusement, had dimmed.  All he could see was the familiar burning eyes and all he could feel was a burning grasp around his wrist. 

“You’re my student.”

Those words didn’t hurt in the sense that Cloud wanted more on an intimate level.  No, they hurt in the sense that even as he knew they weren’t equals, he felt his work alongside Sephiroth could alter his image as someone more important rather than just a silly student playing dress up with the big kids.

But even so, even as he ached to lash out in a verbal war and bury Sephiroth under all of his hypocritical, contradictory bullshit; and perhaps lecture His Godliness on the appropriate manner on how to treat said ‘student’ (i.e. don’t participate in a hearty make-out session on a whim), Cloud held his tongue for once.  For once, he thought ahead and above his own sparked emotions, knowing that if he were to ensue on such a sensitive topic, then his trip to Beach would be cancelled.

So with a deep calming breath and gently taking his wrists out of Sephiroth’s loosening grip, Cloud forfeited, “Of course.  How could I forget?”

Before he could move away, Cloud felt cool fingers hold gently onto his chin and lift his face to stare at very troubled green.  This green, so dim in comparison to their usual allure, stormed with brewing frustration…torn between two opposing sides and in the midst of an all-out war.  Cloud watched as those eyes drifted down.

And this was it.  The contradiction of the night.  Cloud’s own personal embodiment of the term ‘emotional whiplash’.

And he waited foolishly for it to happen—for another whim to suck him into another cyclone of disaster and disappointment—with parted lips and hesitant eyes.

But it never came.

A thumb barely caressed Cloud’s lips as Sephiroth uttered his soft words of conflict.

“Maybe because I keep forgetting.”

Chapter Text

Warning:  Some humor may be offensive and/or bad. 

Chapter 10:  Tricks Are Not for Kids

In elementary school, worksheets were given at the beginning of every year.  They asked vague personal questions to file each personality into categories.  Such actions never brought me joy, nor did they generate some premature self-identity peace.  However, even after completing hundreds of worksheets the same way each time, there is a ninety-nine percent chance I will still experience a mid-life identity crisis. 

No matter how many times I describe myself, no matter how many words I use, no matter how many metaphors I can pull from my imagination to give you some inkling of who I am, I still find myself full of contradictory thoughts.  These vacant, careless words that I have written for myself are only desperate scratches at the surface.

The idea of identity is too exaggerated now.  Today, people hold onto their image as a golden trophy, something to be paraded around like a banner of how ‘special’ they are.  And the rarer—the most eye-opening one—is the always the better.  It has become a competition, and I am in second to last place.

But even in this age of self-promotion and praise of being different, no one gives a fuck.

Because the silly notion of a set identity is a false security for shallow, cowardly people.  These people like to hide behind their painted, perfectly sculpted image and live their life by a fabricated ideal.  So why should anyone with reason care? 

I identify as nothing.

I am honest.

I am a liar.

--Cloud Strife

The population of Montana consistently grew each day, surpassing its previous record and reaching new heights, as people built their lives and families upon the ultimately frozen soil.  They used this soil to trek to work, in sometimes knee-touching bouts of snow, and walked their shaggy pets during days when the temperature was just above freezing.  These people, so rich in variety and so limited in intelligence—because anyone with a working brain wouldn’t want to live in Montana—have flooded the state with their misplaced pride and abundance in thick, winter coats.

However, while it grew at a steady pace, Montana still ranked as forty-forth in the nation regarding population—turning Montana into America’s untouched freezer.

But even as it remained a state of social neglect, it was still better than North Dakota.

North Dakota ranked as forty-seven.

Over the course of three incredibly silent hours and eighteen minutes, Cloud had begun to ask himself:  among the scarce population of Montana, why was he the most unfortunate? 

Not only had he embarked to a state three ranks worse than his usual discomfort, his companion for the lagging trip was the cause for multiple close calls to mental breakdowns.

Sephiroth had picked him up from his apartment at the break of first light Tuesday morning, sporting his spotless silver Mercedes and his signature façade of nothingness. 

If sleep hadn’t claimed his mind and soul, Cloud would have participated in some social ritual to remove that wall.  However, after loading his luggage into the trunk and slipping into the passenger seat with his pillow in hand, he abruptly fell back into a slumber.

Cloud vaguely remembered greeting the man. 

A bump in the road rocked his lounging body.  The harsh rays of fresh sunlight charged through the windows and attacked his resting eyes with an unwelcome burn.  After a quick glance at the dashboard clock, Cloud realized he only slept for three hours. 

It was supposed to be seven, but he could improvise.

By improvise, he meant:  attempt to fall back asleep.

However, his eyes were open long enough for Sephiroth to look over and catch him in the act of scheming.

Green eyes briefly scanned his disheveled appearance before returning to the road. 

“You’re awake.”

Cloud blinked before wiping at his eyes—and at his mouth in case he slept too well—before adjusting his seat and body at an upright position.  He couldn’t contain a long, forcibly silent, yawn from escaping.

“I was worried I had kidnapped a corpse.”  Sephiroth added, his deep voice coated with warmth.  Cloud quickly realized that the warmth was amusement.

“Where—”

“Almost to Lavina.  We have a few more hours left.”  Sephiroth answered with a sidelong glance.  “I bought some snacks back in Townsend in case you’re hungry.”

Cloud followed Sephiroth’s gesture to the backseat with hazy eyes, finding three stuffed plastic bags of various kinds of potato chips, chocolate bars, and enough candy to stock a fat kid’s secret drawer. 

“Um…thanks.  Went a little crazy, didn’t you?”

“I’m not sure what else you favor besides fried pickled chicken.”  Sephiroth replied, a small quirk to his lips.

Cloud was sure a gluten-free vegan with a peanut allergy could find something satisfying in that pile, but he digressed.

“It’s fine, thank you.”  Realizing he had said ‘thank you’ twice already and probably looked like a fool, Cloud added smartly, “And if we happen to find a Choco’s Chicken on the way, I’ll pay for it.”

A deep soft chuckle mixed with the low buzz of the running heat.

“I’m sure you will.”

A silence washed over them. 

Cloud wanted to cleverly mention if Sephiroth used that stolen fifty-dollar bill as the junk food money.  But he would rather avoid mentioning any conversation from that night.

He had enough trouble removing it from his brain to sleep, but it kept resurrecting like some ill-fated Messiah. 

‘Maybe because I keep forgetting’. 

That wretched devil on his shoulder reminded him, even imitating Sephiroth’s whiskey tone—smooth, yet burning. 

And it burned. 

Cloud’s cheeks, flesh, and insides heated as Sephiroth stroked his lips and confessed. 

Cloud wanted to boast about how he had a quirky response and how he felt nothing but a physical touch that barely lasted a second. 

But he didn’t. 

Not one lashing word, nor one indifferent feeling overcame his senses.  How he wished it did. 

Instead, he was struck with an intense stare that froze his body, but warmed his skin. 

As much as he wanted those indifferent thoughts and actions, he was helpless to uncontrollable bouts of ‘what ifs’ and churning electric pulses that pounded his heart into a frenzied drumbeat.  Cloud remembered hearing the racing thumps, tasting the dryness of his mouth, and watching Sephiroth’s eyes amidst the darkness.  They glowed, even amongst the lightless night. 

He recalled his jumbled thoughts.  Some begged him to run or change the subject and others begged him to invite the man inside.  Oh, how ridiculous the latter was!  If he did somehow manage to bring Sephiroth into his apartment, then what?  What did he really expect to happen? 

Those brief thoughts were never explored to the full extent.  The implication behind his crazy idea only dawned on him once they parted ways in silence.

Not only would Sephiroth finally witness the garbage waste Cloud lived in, but he would likely expect more action than anticipated.

In the car, looking over at him and his sheen, loose silver hair, Cloud found no traces of his latest confession on his sharply defined face.  There was no evidence of him admitting his suppressed desire—

Desire?  Was that it? 

To assume anyone actually ‘desired’ Cloud was far-fetched—unless Kadaj was involved; but that particular silver-haired tick desired anything under the age of eighteen.  So, he didn’t count.

Sephiroth, on the other hand, wanted…

Well, Cloud was unsure what the man really wanted.  An obedient student?  Yes.  A hard-working intern?  Yes.  But given his recent words of confession, neither of the two seemed true anymore.

Perhaps he saw Cloud as an equal?  Ha!  That was even more delusional than Cloud’s theory of sexual desire—

But it wasn’t a theory.  That same filthy demon returned, creating more circles for Cloud to spin his thoughts on.  While inexperienced in the areas of attraction, he was relatively aware of Sephiroth’s gaze and how it sometimes lingered.  Ever since their brief moment in the computer room, those impenetrable green eyes were vulnerable to the tempting act of looking.

And Cloud ignored it, brushing it aside as he found it meaningless. 

At least until Sunday.

And now all those glances in the classroom, the burning feeling when their eyes eventually met, and the thick atmosphere that Cloud once blamed on awkward tension—it became too evident, too real.  Monday was that horrid day of clarity.

Like reading a mystery novel, Monday was the page of revelation on who the real culprit was.  It was that suspicious, hooded character that never had much screen time in Cloud’s thoughts, but it still snuggled closely to his conscious.  And it prowled there yesterday, squeezing tight every time Sephiroth threw him a look—tighter when Sephiroth spoke to him about their travel plans.

It edged on something foreign—dangerous—and as much as Cloud wanted to deny the possibility, he couldn’t ignore that clutching presence.  The hood fell away now and he begrudgingly understood.

For once, he didn’t want to understand.  He wanted to revert back to being clueless.  But the seed of anticipation had been planted when they kissed.  That hooded figure was born.  It embraced him and reminded him of how good it felt, how invigorating it was when their mouths and hips slotted together.  The shivering fire that surged through his veins like molten lava and turned over everything in its path morphed into a feeling of empowerment, of pleasure—and he felt wanted.

It was addicting, like shooting up the latest kick of a drug, and being yanked into a swirling reality of buzzing bliss. 

That was the identity of the mysterious lurking figure.  It was attraction, lust, and—even worse—anticipation.

Cloud wrung his hands in his lap at the thought.  His fingers twisted together as his imagination took him to another world—a world of hypothetical imagery that was more fitting for a pining school girl than Cloud.

But he blamed it on Sephiroth. 

In fact, he blamed almost everything on Sephiroth. 

It was probably a deep psychological problem to be honest.  But even if he did have mental issues, he would put all responsibility on Sephiroth.  If he were to ever seek professional help, he would make Sephiroth pay for it. 

He enrolled him into that damned class.  He forced—manipulated—Cloud into agreeing to the internship.  He was responsible for whatever skulking tension that hummed between them, like an unsteady electric charge ready to spark and set fire to all in its path.

Yet, the most frightening of all, Sephiroth was responsible for Cloud’s willingness.  The feeling of being wanted, the quaking rush of heat and power, and just the physical sensation of being touched, it felt too good.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind if it happened again—

No.  No. 

Cloud snapped his attention to his busy fingers, trying to suffocate whatever path his mind was on.

Never.  Sephiroth wouldn’t allow himself to succumb to such carnal vulnerabilities again.  And dammit, neither would Cloud!

Maybe because I keep forgetting…

Instant replay. 

As if Cloud left the repeat button on and lost the fucking remote, because the entire cycle of thoughts restarted like they never happened fifty times before.

He needed a distraction, something to deter his mind away from such a dangerous, echoing topic—especially when the star of that particular topic was a mere foot away. 

The silence became problematic.  It created too much dangerous room to think. 

Desperate not to fall into its trap again, Cloud started:

“What is your opinion on Gerbner’s cultivation theory?” 

Well, that wasn’t exactly the conversation he had in mind. 

A theory that relied heavily on perception and world ethics seemed too pretentious for an early morning conversation.  A request for music would have been better.  Damn his subconscious.

But it got Sephiroth’s attention…and swerved Cloud’s betraying thoughts.

A strange, questioning look was given before Sephiroth responded, “It depends.”

“On?”

“The audience, of course.”

Of course.  As if the answer was as obvious as Cloud’s desperate need for a distraction.

“The audience…why?”

“Because if not for their vulnerability to media, they wouldn’t believe the world is a violent place.”

Interesting, not because Cloud’s mind was successfully being sidetracked, but more-so the idea that Sephiroth—savior of mainstream media—seemed like he blamed the people he ‘saved’. 

A plot twist, indeed.

“But, correct me if I’m wrong,”—which he wasn’t—“you started your career based on the idea that the media was too powerful.”

“No, the media was too toxic—especially for those with gullible minds.”  Sephiroth explained. 

The great, honorable Sephiroth uncovering his hidden truth.  Even through all his faith in justice, honesty, and his contempt for bad journalism, he had uncovered the true enemy of journalism:  the audience. 

The irony never tasted so bitter.

“So, that’s it?  Your overall opinion on the general public?  That we’re helpless retainers for bad information?”

“I believe one of your beloved philosophers mentioned ‘humanity craves conflict’.  That makes them susceptible to poisonous media.”  He spoke.  “People want drama and they’ll pay for whatever biased story they want to hear.”

And while he was giving a lecture, Sephiroth’s tone held no authority, no underlying taste of superior rank of knowledge.  It seemed as if they were merely speaking, discussing useless opinions like any other pair on a road trip.  The easy-going nature of their talk dampened the heavy fog of tension that held Cloud’s body in a vice-like grip.

“Media itself is merely a malleable variable of our own human nature.”  Sephiroth continued, his baritone voice joining the chorus of vibrations within the car.  If it were any other person droning on about some broken philosophy too early in the morning, Cloud would have silenced them with a hearty ‘shut the fuck up’.  However, Sephiroth rolled over his words in such a delicate, yet intimate manner that lolled Cloud deeper into the conversation.  It was an unfair play, like a spell, as he had no control but to listen.  “Because of our fascination with conflict, whether intentional or not, we are more inclined to believe the worst.  People are drawn to controversies, and media helps to feed that craving.”

Cloud smirked.  “And you’re giving us a diet then?”

“Not necessarily.  There will always be a reasonable amount of problems in the world, I’m just simply removing the falsities.”  A quick, teasing look to Cloud was given before he said, “Or in metaphorical terms, I am cleansing the food before intake.”

A laugh broke from Cloud before he had a chance to swallow it down and embrace the ideology of self-respect.  Too late.  Once his chuckles subsided, Sephiroth’s true meaning kicked in.

Strange.  How did he doubt the people that praised him, the same people that would break their backs just to get attention?  How could he see them in the same light as Cloud saw them? 

Cloud had his reasons which proved how weak people were, revealed their imperfections, and pulled the innocent veil off their wretched faces.

“Do you not agree?”  Sephiroth questioned, reminding the blond of his silence.

“It depends.”

A chuckle.

“On?”

“Well, I’m part of the audience.  You don’t think I crave conflicts, do you?”

Sephiroth flashed Cloud a wicked glance.  “Considering your bad habit of starting arguments, then yes.  I do.”

“I don’t start—”

“Your unusual topics for small talk cause them.  Shall I give an example?”  He proposed. 

Cloud snorted at the dig, to which he defended, “I figured since I would be spending an extra fourteen hours with you, I should get to know you better.”

From the corner of his eye, Cloud saw a smile form on the damning lips.

“And did Gerbner help with that?”

“He did.  I’ll send him a thank you letter.”

“He has been dead for years.”

“A prayer, then.”

This time, Sephiroth’s chuckle leveled up to a deep, melodic laugh before he returned, “For some reason, you don’t strike me as the type that prays.”

“Perhaps it’s because of my inborn desire for conflict.”  

Now Cloud was awake and—in a completely unironic way that had nothing to do with Sephiroth’s doubt in humanity— he was enjoying this banter.

“Perhaps.”  The mischievous quirk to Sephiroth’s lips and the sizing flicker of his eyes over Cloud’s face had the blond retracting his stare.  “And since we are entertaining such personable questions, I believe it is my turn, is it not?”

That plan certainly backfired. 

Before Cloud could backpedal their conversation into something more comfortable, Sephiroth carried on, “When we first met, your interest in journalism was below minimum; yet you intended to major in it.”  A pause as Sephiroth focused his attention on passing a sluggish vehicle.  He tapped a finger on the steering wheel and said, “Admittedly, I am very curious to know why you targeted such a college that focuses on the field, especially one that is located so far from Arizona.”

Cloud surveyed his options which precisely added up to a total of two. 

The truth or the lie?  While Sephiroth might have been the advocate of truth, Cloud surely wasn’t.  However, something about having a civil, almost friendly conversation with the Enigma of the Year beckoned him to try.

“It seemed like the perfect choice.”  Cloud remembered the day when he decided to attend University of Montana - School for Journalism, how excited he felt to leave and how he promised to keep his choice and his departure his own little secret. 

It wasn’t like his pathetic, sore excuse of a father cared.

“I mean, it’s a bit colder than what I prefer, but…”  But?  According to the rules of ‘Being Vague Yet Honest’, there were no ‘buts’.  “UM offered more scholarships.” 

Too blunt?  Probably.  Too textbook?  Absolutely.  And he had a lot more where that came from, “At the time, choices were limited—for financial reasons.  And I wanted it…to the extent of going on a cross-country hike.”

His answer edged on a prewritten script for a dreary lead movie role about an ambitious life in poverty.  Luckily for Cloud, those movies tended to end quite well.  Unfortunately, his life script teetered more on the comedic relief role than the lead.

Sephiroth let his predictable answer hang dreadfully in the air, as if mulling over each syllable to find a lie.  Clever enough, there wasn’t a lie to be found.  So, he continued with another question, “And you then lost interest?”

Cloud paused, mulling over his own mindset over the past three years, before answering with an honest, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Homesick?”

“No.”   He winced.  His answer was too quick, too strong and loud over the quiet buzz in the car.

Sephiroth casted him a sidelong glance before he spoke amongst the tension, “And where is your interest now?” 

…to be needed, wanted, important…

“…the case.”

Sephiroth nodded, pleased.  “Good answer.”

“I aim for the best.” 

Sephiroth didn’t respond, letting the static sound of tires on asphalt fill the air and accompany the silence.  Cloud found himself gazing out of the window towards the blur of white and brown.  The tall, slender stature of pine trees, speckled with globs of snow, lined the road like a towering wall of sinus irritants.  Within the nice warmth of the car, Cloud could admire the beauty and magnificence of such a sight; but he knew the truth behind it.  Like most things in nature, beauty only lasts for a short time.  With extended exposure, it can wither away and expose its true dull image.

However, while the excitement was only temporary, Cloud still found himself wondering about other unseen sights and how long their grand appearance could impress him.

“You travel a lot?”  Cloud heard himself ask, reaching back to pluck a candy bar from the backseat.

“I go where my job takes me.”  Sephiroth answered and with a quick glance, “Do you have a place in mind?”

Cloud paused in thought for a moment, and realized even after his imaginings of distancing himself from the boring life of Montana, he never thought of a specific destination.

“No.  I guess wherever my job will take me.”  Cloud repeated quirkily before taking a bite of the sweet, delicious taste of his Milky Way.

After a short bout of quiet reflection, Sephiroth spoke lowly, “With who?”

Another detail Cloud never thought of.  Working for a major media company like M.C.R. was every aspiring journalist’s dream, yet the hesitation still lurked.  Of course, Sephiroth was questioning him in an objective manner and not offering such a position to an undergraduate.  But either way, it short-circuited Cloud’s brain in a halting wave of something so nauseous, so unforgiving—that awful emotion that he was determined to squash before it could fester into a growing unattainable dream.

Hope.

Hope for an actual future.

But even through his efforts, he still found himself responding, “Whoever wants me, I guess.”

Cloud dared a look at his studious driver behind the protection of his lashes, just in time to see those green orbs flick towards him.  They remained in a sturdy lock until Sephiroth’s unusually brilliant eyes drifted over him in a heady, familiar gaze. 

If not for the palpable intensity he fell under, Cloud would have thrown caution about watching the road.  But the warm air between them became hot and the soft buzz of silence crackled in the same tension from earlier.

Maybe because I keep forgetting…

Cloud bit his lip, hoping that pain could sway where his perverse head was going, and he broke away from those tempting eyes.  All it reminded him of was that night, and that night only brought back memories of desperate touches.  How those darkened eyes drank in his own, threatening to engulf—

“Zack certainly does.”  Sephiroth interrupted, green eyes returning to the road ahead.

Cloud sent the driver a firm look before retorting, “Well, that’s all the approval I need, isn’t it?”

“Are you looking for my approval?” 

His tone reminded Cloud of when they first met during their make-it-or-break-it interview—professional and completely withdrawn.  Such a tone put the interviewee in the hot seat.  If they answered ‘yes’, they were desperate shoe-lickers.  If they answered ‘no’, they were haughty assholes.  Classic fucking Sephiroth, asking manipulative questions to avoid answering one himself.

Cloud huffed a laugh and cast his attention out the window, refusing to fall into that trap.  Instead, he answered in his own way, “Approval doesn’t equate desperation.”

“I never said it did.”

“You implied it.” 

Now it was Sephiroth’s turn to huff, “Then you misunderstood me.”

“Fine.  Then, what’s the right answer?” 

“There is no right answer.”  Sephiroth chuckled, apparently finding Cloud’s frustration humorous. 

Holding back an expletive, he returned, “For you, there is always a right answer.”

“Again, you seek my approval?”

“I’m seeking advice.”  Cloud gritted out.

“Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Why are you asking me double-edged questions?”

Sephiroth insisted, “Cloud, a simple yes or no would suffice.  I’m not attempting to trick you.”

“Fine.”  Cloud forfeited with a justification.  “Approval is necessary in the workforce—so, yes.  I guess I do at times.”

“You shouldn’t.”  Sephiroth concluded soundly and sent a teasing look his way. 

Three more hours, Cloud told himself as he refrained from pummeling the smirking driver into Dante’s Last Circle of Hell. 

And may he be tortured with his own verbally manipulative devices.

--

The Dunway’s house was imbedded within an icy expanse of fields just a few miles from the great town of Beach. 

And trust the forty-seventh ranked state of North Dakota to name their frostbitten town “Beach”.  Even so, calling it a town seemed to exaggerate it as well.  If five weather-stained buildings copy and pasted from a western movie was considered a civilized town, then that was Beach.

It took less than a minute to drive through the commercial area and the “traffic”—which merely consisted of one stoplight.  Given that they acquired the only vehicle in a fifty-mile radius that wasn’t a truck, Cloud wondered if Sephiroth felt as out of place as he did now. 

Everything was muted in color and in atmosphere; it reminded Cloud of Kadaj—with his lifeless eyes, pasty skin, and dull hair.  If he were to step into the mind of Kadaj, Beach seemed like an appropriate setting—albeit with the occasional billboard of Jesus Christ.

Even the scattered people, with their slender frames and ashen complexions, lingered outside grocery store doors or against their lifetime pickup trucks like purposeless fogs—almost out of place, yet perfectly adapted to the dullness of their environment.  Eerily, they paid no mind to the physical, rolling embodiment of wealth that was Sephiroth’s silver Mercedes.  As if Cloud peeked in from a different world through a one-way window, they continued with their simple tasks in obliviousness.

Perhaps Cloud should have been grateful that they didn’t seem to care—it resulted in less chances of socializing.  But a part of him—the small annoying part that needed to know everything—was curious to know how these people acted.  Were they as listless and dead in conversation as they were moving?

“Lively bunch.”  Cloud remarked, feeling himself sink further into his seat as they passed a large dusty brick building that was apparently a school. 

He dreaded what the children looked like.

“It’s a small town.”  Sephiroth replied in a simple tone, apathetic to his surroundings.

Cloud scoffed.  “I came from a small town and it was nothing like this.”  He straightened himself upright once they left the ‘populated’ area.  “This is…disturbing.”

Cloud was just waiting for a scrawny, buck-toothed inbred in a greasy tattered shirt to welcome them with an off-tune banjo.

“Hm.”  Sephiroth hummed.  “Of all things, I never thought an old, dusty town would be the one to bother you.”

“Believe me.  It isn’t the only one.”

Five minutes down the stretched linear road, bordered by snowy fields and occasional electric posts, was the Dunway house.  It sat at the end of a winding gravel driveway, collecting drifting flakes of snow on its shingled roof.  As Sephiroth closed the distance, Cloud noted the old Victorian structure that shaped the wooden peach house as it stood tall among the flat frosted ground.   A fenced porch, decorated with bright musical wind chimes, wrapped around the building in a majestic hold.

Unlike the gloomy town, the Dunway house was bright, open, and the two people standing on the top steps were actually aware of the spotless Mercedes pulling in.

The woman, with wavy dark hair down to her shoulders and a casual attire of slacks and a long-sleeved T-shirt, was the first to descend from the porch.

Before Sephiroth could open the door and embark on their true purpose, Cloud halted him with a question.

“Is there anything I shouldn’t mention?”

Sephiroth’s hand paused at the handle before he looked over at Cloud, a strange, unfamiliar expression shading his features before disappearing altogether.

“Just be mindful.”  He said.

And they stepped out into the brisk, biting cold.

Mrs. Dunway, a small lady with several marks of aging on her pale skin, welcomed them warmly as she offered the pair a hot beverage.  While Cloud wouldn’t mind an extra dose of caffeine—especially after sitting through five excruciating hours with the cause of all his current problems—he figured following Sephiroth’s experienced footsteps was the most ‘mindful’ option.  So, when Sephiroth politely declined, Cloud did as well.

He was briefly reminded of those loud, colorful parrots that mimicked their owners’ every word.  And before his imagination could take him further into a world of forbidden imagery, Cloud turned his attention to Mr. Dunway, who stood proudly in the same place on the top step.

Thin, receded hair crept back to the rear of his oily skull; and a bulbous, cratered nose swelled his otherwise thin face.  Dressed in dark trousers and a tucked in wrinkled shirt, Mr. Dunway greeted his guests cordially.

“Mr. Crescent, nice to finally meet you.”  His voice wasn’t as deep as Sephiroth’s, nor as pleasant. 

“Pleasure is mine.”  Sephiroth gripped the man’s hand briefly before he gestured to Cloud.  “My partner, Cloud Strife.”

It was silly, stupid, and high on the scale of overreactions; but Cloud felt his chest lurch at the title.  Wasn’t it too equal?  Too generous of a description?  Couldn’t he have just said ‘assistant’ or ‘intern’?  Maybe Sephiroth wasn’t aware of what he said or likely didn’t care given his usual state of apathy. 

Cloud put his best effort into masking his surprise as he took Mr. Dunway’s cold, clammy hand with forced grace.

“You look a bit young.”  He bluntly stated.  Sunken eyes surveyed the blond carefully.

And while the familiar statement begged for a nasty retort regarding how proper bathing regiments reduced chances of sickly pores and receding hairlines, Cloud gave a quick look to an expectant Sephiroth before he held his tongue and replied sweetly, “Compliment taken.  Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, let’s get inside.  It’s freezing!”  Mrs. Dunway dodged around the stalling men and heaved the front door open before motioning them to enter. 

Cloud didn’t realize his fingers were tingling with numbness until he stepped inside the cozy warmth.  His eyes were met with calming colors of soft grey and light honey tones, buzzing under the golden glow of hanging lights.  A sturdy carpeted staircase with a wooden railing was to the left and stretched to the second floor.  The surrounding walls were lined with soft landscape paintings.

It reminded him of an average, modern day movie set.  And this movie depicted a perfect family, with a perfect daughter, in a small quaint town nestled snuggly and obliviously in safety’s arms.  However, much to everyone’s shock, the daughter disappeared.  And all the parents were left with was their perfect house and reminiscent memories of when their lives felt complete. 

It was oh-so-perfectly average.

Cloud followed the group down a short hallway through double doors and was greeted by a dimly lit study.  Much like Sephiroth’s college office back in Helena, it attempted to harness a sophisticated mood, but all Cloud felt was a lackluster attempt that appeared like the rest of the house:  average.

He sat with Sephiroth on one leather sofa as the Dunway’s took the other across from them.  Said leather loveseat, deemed too small—at least for Cloud, who made an effort to ignore the slight physical consequences. 

It was as if they were holding an interview, a very solemn one that could easily end in disaster.

“I want to thank you for taking the time in speaking with us.”  Sephiroth began.  To any other person, he might have sounded genuinely grateful, but Cloud knew this was his power being utilized.  The power of tricks and manipulation from the same man that condemns it in media…if only he could laugh at the irony.  “I know it must be difficult, so I intend to make this as brief as possible.”

“When we spoke on the phone, Mr. Crescent, you told me that it was a definite conclusion that she ran away.”  Mr. Dunway spoke, his voice cool compared to the warm temperature.  “So, why insist on a visit?”

Sephiroth, unblinking and unperturbed at the audible irritation in the man’s voice, responded evenly, “You must know that I am a man that takes great pride in finding the truth.  Therefore, I never close a case if I see it’s still open, even if it is just a sliver.”  A pause.  “I am here to finalize my doubts, concerns, and revelations in order to bring final closure to the case and also to your family.”

Mr. Dunway remained silent as he gave a tilt of a nod.  Apparently, his stubborn attitude held as much weight as bulimic stick bug.  Cloud surmised it partly had to do with being on the other end of Sephiroth’s unwavering stare. 

Sephiroth continued, “We’ve unanimously concluded that her disappearance was a definite cause of a willing leave; however, there are still questions left unanswered that I would like to settle.”

Mrs. Dunway, with her fingers tangled together in anxious knots, spoke up in a quiet tone, “What questions?”

“I’d like to ask you about her personal endeavors and relationships; if she had any close friends or—”

“She was a shy girl.”  The father interrupted curtly.  The gravel in his voice sounded like grating metal against concrete.

“That’s a no?”  Sephiroth tapped a finger. 

“She had trouble making friends.”  Mrs. Dunway revealed, her eyes downcast to her hands in some guarded memory.  “She was always so quiet, so independent.  And this is such a small town, so having a withdrawn personality like she did…people just overlooked her.”  Her eyes drifted back up again, this time meeting Cloud’s in sad wonder.  And then she sighed with a small smile barely stretching her face as she preened, “My, you’re so handsome.  Both of you…You don’t see many good-looking faces here, y’know?”

Arrow, meet target.

Cloud sported a charming smile as he replied loosely, “I take it no one caught her eye, then?”

She waved off the question with a hand and a soft chuckle, “Oh, no!  She always told me she preferred men in suits.”  She laughed.  “Those types are a foreign breed here.  Though, she would have liked you.”

Cloud guessed she grew to ‘like’ anyone now, especially if the pay was good.  He smartly decided to keep that remark to himself.

“Foreign, but not completely gone.”  Sephiroth said, a polite tilt to his lips.

“Very true!”  She agreed, a smile widening on her thin face.  After casting quick roundabout looks to the unusual pair, she prodded, “Are you two just business partners?”

Cloud felt every blood cell in his entire body make a quick and hasty race to his cheeks as his jaw ceremoniously dropped.

Thankfully, Sephiroth had it—like almost everything in life—under control.

A deep chuckle left his lips before he clarified, “Just business partners.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry.”  She giggled out of embarrassment.  “I just assumed, since you’re both very—um—handsome, it must have been in the genes.”

Cloud blinked. 

Though, if he were honest and if he also inhabited a town of unsightly, humanoid blobs, perhaps seeing decent-looking people would inspire some absurd theories too. 

“Don’t worry.  We hear it a lot.”  Lie.  He wondered if it physically pained His Holiness to tell such a ferocious fib?  “Though, it does remind me; do you know of any family members that Eliza may have been close to?  Perhaps close enough to share secrets?”

“No.”  Mr. Dunway returned to the conversation.  “She never met her grandparents; and Elaine and I are both without siblings.  If she had any secret, she would have come to us.”

The strict, sudden tone of his voice set Cloud’s nerves on a ticking time bomb.  With every syllable gritted out, Cloud felt himself internally grimace and tighten onto whatever threatened to spill out.  There was something so off, yet so familiar with how he spoke—like an unforgiving whip trying to cut anything in its path.

“And did she?  Have you ever heard her mention anything that struck out as odd to you?”

The silence that came afterward was brief, almost not even there, but Cloud noticed it.  He noticed the light smile on Mrs. Dunway’s face struggle for appearance and how her fingers fiddled frantically with the ends of her sleeves.  Her dark hair fell over her eyes, shielding them from Cloud as her husband answered in gruff finality.

“Not a thing.  She wasn’t much of a talker.”

Well, this tedious train of conversation began to embark on the path to fucking nowhere.  They were talking in circles and now they were back to where they started.  The ‘shy girl’ schtick was noted and recorded in Cloud’s memory, but surely she communicated with at least one person.

The perfect, quiet girl from a perfect family who had no secrets?

One trait of Cloud’s that habitually turned out for the worst was his lack of patience.  His tolerance for repetitive answers and grumpy, old men proved to be a fickle thing—i.e. Professor Davis.  Add the two together, he might as well have been walking on a thin beam during a hurricane.  His fall was inevitable.

So, to save their seven-hour drive from a disastrous end and to calm his rising nerves, he requested amiably, “The drive here was unbelievably cramped,”—much like his current seating—“do you mind if I use your restroom to freshen up?”

And just like that, Mrs. Dunway chirped from her seat, the sullenness washed from her face as she stood, “Not at all!  Here, I’ll show you to it.”

Cloud joined her side, but not before casting a curious glance to Sephiroth.  He met green head on and for a moment, Cloud thought he was going to halt the blond from going anywhere, but the man only nodded in small approval and returned to more inquiries that had a ninety-nine percent chance of being useless.

Mrs. Dunway guided him in silence down the short hallway, past the staircase, and outside a closed door underneath a broken bulb.  Shaded from light and turned from Cloud, the small woman stood still with a tiny hand placed on the doorknob and her head bent down in thought.

Cloud was never a comforting person.  Moments of compassion happened to be rare considering his life really only consisted of himself.  But, for ‘mindful’ purposes, he still attempted to sound genuine as he gently touched her shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

She jumped, almost startled, and laughed it off in a silly wave.  “Oh, yes.  Sorry, it’s just so tiresome these days.”

“I understand.”  No, he didn’t.  But it was better to be nice and coax out more information.  Before a sudden bout of grief overtook the woman and rendered her completely useless, Cloud prodded, “Your husband said Eliza wasn’t much of a talker…was she a writer?”

Mrs. Dunway gave him a curious look.  “No, she liked—um—taking pictures.  Sometimes, I like to think she went off on a cross-country photography mission and forgot to tell us.  She was always so forgetful…” 

“I’m sure she couldn’t forget you.”  Perhaps that was a tad too sappy, too TLC daytime sitcom for such a harrowing reality; however, it seemed to have worked.  

—Trust TLC to handle any form of amnesia with delicate care.—

A wistful look overcame her face before she gazed up at him with a rise to her shoulders and a brave small smile.  There was something so unmistakably vulnerable in her expression though, so honest and familiar.

“Do you think so?”

Lie, Cloud.  For some reason, he heard that in Sephiroth’s voice.  His voice was naturally soft, but he managed to butter it up even more with a sugary-sweet, “Of course.”

“Some say I failed—maybe I…wasn’t enough for her to stay.”

Oh dear God, why did Cloud decide to embark on a solo mission again?  Of course Sephiroth got the unemotional side of the stick.  There wouldn’t be any continuity with Cloud’s luck if the positions were switched. 

So, there he stood, blinking at a mentally fragile housewife on the brink of a breakdown.  Her eyes were cast downward again, the smile from earlier faded, begging for another pick-me-up.

Be mindful.  Be mindful.  Be mindful.  The mantra was on repeat.

Cloud placed a gentle hand over her shoulder, the cotton soft under his hesitant fingers.  “It’s…okay.”

And while she was at it, perhaps her self-inflicted guilt would inspire her in fulfilling some requests.  Nothing like a low emotional moment to squeeze out a few favors.

“May I—” Before Cloud could finish his request to see these infamous proofs of photography, Mrs. Dunway recollected herself.

How timely.

“My, you are so pretty.”  She announced once again, her cheeks flushing pink and eyes swelling with sparkles.  The earlier bout of emotion never happened.  “No one in Beach is pretty, you know?” 

Oh, he knew.  Cloud was no doctor, but he was almost positive that complimenting his looks in the midst of discussing her vanished daughter wasn’t part of the five stages of grief.  That same supposed grief Cloud attempted to ease was nowhere to be seen. 

Was it even there at all?   

Their conversation took an unexpected turn. “Strangely feminine, yet somehow with a hint of masculinity,” She observed, as if promoting some knock-off product on an infomercial—if she added ‘visibly uncomfortable’, she would have nailed it.

“I’m sorry?” 

“Oh, excuse me!” She brushed a flustered hand on his arm.  “You were just being so kind…”  Those dainty, slender fingers slid lower with intent as her voice warmed with a sultry charm, “I thought…I should too…?”

Before her ambitious hand got too close to its goal, Cloud stepped away in a jerk.  A rejection so forthright and exposed usually garnered some type of flustered apology, yet it never came.

Cloud watched her in perplexed amazement, while also preparing himself for the worst.  A clearly senile old woman was the last obstacle he expected for the day.  Watching her weathering cheeks flush pink, he wondered if she saw what he did.  If he had to place a wager, he would guess a big no.

He smartly remained silent until her supposed embarrassment turned giddy—like a scheming child trying to use their innocence as a charm.  

“Here we are…”  Like a song, except far more desirable to turn off.   There was a pause—so thick that Cloud felt his insides shrivel in discomfort.  She waited for him to say—or do—something.

Maybe at that moment in time, under the obviously perfect conditions to implement it, Cloud could have mustered up his inner, professional journalist side, slipped on the Sephiroth persona, and seduced the poor old woman into more answers. 

However…journalism just wasn’t worth it anymore. 

He had learned his lesson not to indulge the perverse some time ago.

“Thanks.”  Cloud maneuvered his body around her perked form, careful not to let a thread of his coat touch anything of hers.  Just in case…

Almost as quick as his Milky Way breakfast tried to lurch up his throat, Cloud slipped inside the room, shut the door, and immediately locked it.  A held breath finally released once he heard soft clicks tap further away from his cage.  Why did he feel as if he escaped a mauling from a bear?—a shriveled grizzly with no motherly incentive to advance.

Motherly.  Ha!  Comparing her to a bear would only stand as a compliment.  A cougar, then?

Perhaps Cloud shouldn’t scoff or cast crudity into the situation, but his sanity would only stretch so far until dialing into his natural habitat.

But his habitat was infected now—diseased with a certain ailment only diagnosed to those who were human.  And Cloud, with his damned circling thoughts, was absolutely human.  Because even as he felt his balls shrivel at the thought of being touched by the personification of desperation, he knew what she felt.  That feeling of being wanted—desired—it truly brought purpose into such a pathetic life.

So fuck Nietzsche’s theory of humanity’s crave for conflict.  Humanity didn’t crave conflict, it craved attention.  Only when attention wasn’t wanted, conflict would rain down like hell.  However, Cloud avoided those pesky bout of problems with smooth success, like an agent sliding into his state of comfort in order to devise the next plan.  He did what most grown men would do if faced with an outdated adulteress…

He hid.

However, as much as their pristine, traditional bathroom—and current protective ward—assisted in prolonging his valued innocence, it wasn’t the place Cloud had in mind. 

Flicking the lock and easing the creaking door open, Cloud gathered the rest of his wit and misplaced bravery.  He made sure his footsteps were light as he snuck through the hall, slow with shallow breaths.  The aged oak wood beneath his feet threatened to groan with each progression.

Eliza’s room had to have been upstairs, but there was zero chance he could slip past by the wide open den without being caught.  Shutting down a heated advance from Martha Stewart’s sex-crazed cousin was enough excitement for one day.  So, he avoided the risk—hats off to his so-called bravery—and took the shorter route to a room further down the hall.  A golden hue of light streamed from the slightly ajar doorway, painting a warm line across the relatively dusty oak floor and up the pale wallpaper.

Listening for any approaching noises, Cloud paused and stilled his hand on the doorknob.

Only the muffled buzz of conversation could be heard.  Apparently, Sephiroth had a knack for stretching out any conversation without complaint.  Thank God for naturally charismatic professors.

Amen, Cloud thought as he stepped through the doorway to an office.

Average.  How predictably average it all was. 

The room was small, compact, just large enough to fit in a desk, a plain leather chair, and two parallel bookcases.  Cloud couldn’t even compare it to Sephiroth’s office, because as much as he criticized the man for his dull visual attempt at superiority, at least he tried.

Barren walls, an almost untouched desk—and if Cloud had to take a guess, he would surmise the drawers probably held little to nothing of importance.  He surveyed the neatly placed books on the shelves, none of them stood out.  Few of them Cloud knew like John Locke—hah!  How fitting for such a blank slate of a room.

Hardly any of them had been touched if he took into account the thick layers of dust.  It matched the rest of the house, or at least the rooms he had seen. 

A part of him—the large inner detective part—deflated at the sight.  There were no photographs, no newspaper clippings of the investigation—nothing regarding their only child’s disappearance.  Cloud tapped the spacebar of the computer’s keyboard, bringing the monitor to life.  As expected, a default photo of a fantastical landscape in some bumfuck region of Greenland appeared.

How disappointing.

However, that other side of him—the cynical, cruel side that dug its nasty claws beneath anything unsuspecting to find a flaw—had a feast.  There was no such thing as perfection—and for some, even in this dull, lifeless town, there was no such thing as average.

Eliza was a photographer?  Where were her photos?  Did they gather all her belongings together and hide them?  Was the reminder too painful?—Ha!  Such an excuse belonged in his underused compartments of sympathy.  After discovering the questionable priorities of Mrs. Dunway, Cloud was safe to assume their daughter’s photographic remnants were hardly significant to them then or now.

Average.  To say any of this stood out as average at this point would be utter bullshit.  Average would be replacing those misty, waterfront paintings in the halls with gleaming family portraits.  Average would involve the Dunways in tears over the prospect of their daughter’s case encroaching on unsolved.  None of this was average.

Only an oblivious fool would consider this questionable scenario as unsuspecting—ignoring the fact, that two minutes ago, Cloud was the unsuspecting idiot. 

Not to say they were suspects—no.  Cloud wouldn’t go as far and pin such a heavy weight on their careless, unburdened shoulders.

They were only guilty of apathy.

And Cloud, with his previous ambitions depending on a picture-perfect family, resigned his theory of malicious actions—surrendering in bitter defeat to Sephiroth.  Of course he was right.  Who was Cloud to argue with the God of Journalism?  Lest he be struck down by a bolt of truth, and fate wasted no time in delivering that blow.

If not for the mundane reality of awful parenthood, Cloud could have rejoiced that he had actually uncovered something valuable.  But how valuable was that information if it staled the case and basically had already been considered a plausible option?

Not very fucking valuable.

Call him selfish—an inconsiderate prick even—but Cloud, deep down, in the roots of his diseased personality was still a journalism student.  He had been trained to prioritize proof over sentimentality—courtesy of none other than Sephiroth, who he once again blamed for yet another sucker-punch to his self-esteem.

—Add one more therapy session booked under his credit card.

In fact, Cloud wouldn’t put it past the man to plan this lengthy trip just to say ‘I told you so’. 

Cloud released a heavy breath.  He needed to return to the den.  A part of him, the petty devilish side, wanted to test how long Sephiroth could withstand the two problematic parents—perhaps he could take a personal bet on how long Mrs. Dunway could keep her hands to herself. 

But he refrained.  Instead, he remained “mindful” of his situation and made a swift exit from the office.

Hopefully, his absence became just as unnoticeable as their daughter’s imprint in their house.

Walking in, he assumed it did.  Sephiroth stood at the fireplace with the Dunways beside him, studying a photo-realistic painting of a struggling fish.   As much as Cloud wanted to see Sephiroth pretend he cared about Mr. Dunway’s adventures with aquatic sea-life, Cloud’s patience had been through enough. 

Sephiroth seemed in the same place too as he turned to acknowledge Cloud with a pointed look—one only the blond recognized as annoyed.

Good.

“Feeling better?”  Mrs. Dunway expressed her dubious concern from beside her husband.

“Of course.”  Cloud gave a tight smile.  “Thank you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine!  Will you two be staying for lunch?”

Before Cloud could even open his mouth to attempt an answer, Sephiroth cut in, “No.  Your hospitality has been a blessing; however, we have a fairly long night ahead of us.”  After a shared look with Cloud, he continued with his own business-like manners, “We planned to question a few of the residents here at Beach before we left.”

They did?

“Is there anyone in particular we should seek out?”  Sephiroth repeated a similar question from earlier, and Cloud knew he was going to receive a similar answer.

Ask and he shall receive, “Eliza never spoke to anyone she didn’t know.  She was an introvert—I think that’s what you call ‘em.” 

“Mrs. Young from the grocer sent us a lovely bouquet of flowers once the newspapers were printed.  Her husband is the pastor of our church, and every Sunday they pray for us.”  Mrs. Dunway recounted in admiration.  “They’re such kind people, aren’t they, John?”

“Hm.”  Mr. Dunway grunted back in approval.

Cloud could only imagine the glee and prayers she would get if Eliza was found rotting in a ditch somewhere.  Certainly, it would make the front page—

“Very well.”  Sephiroth adjusted his suit as he took a step in Cloud’s direction.  Green eyes met blue.  “We should get going if we plan to leave before sunset.”

Considering the fact they still had the entirety of tomorrow for travel, Cloud found his urgency unusual.  Did Sephiroth arrive at the same conclusion too?  No, he was already there—days ago, trying to convince Cloud.  And now, Cloud joined him in being fully convinced.  His stubborn pride—what little remained—had been beaten with the reality Sephiroth threw at him.

Eliza ran away.

How clueless he had been—

The Dunways escorted them out the front door, well-wishes leaving their mouths but all Cloud heard was his chaotic thoughts.

Sephiroth knew.  Of course he did.  He was considered one fact away from being omniscient. 

“Have a safe trip, dear.”  Cloud heard Mrs. Dunway from beside him.  He felt her dainty hand press against his arm and linger for attention.  If he weren’t in another mental place, he likely would have entertained a caustic internal remark—perhaps chide the woman on personal space and while he was at it, he could invite Kadaj to the lecture.

But those were just sub-thoughts.  Just as his quick slip from her hold and his easy smile were actions on cruise-control.

Cloud barely reacted to Mr. Dunway’s farewell, something along the predictable lines of: “Be careful out there.”  Except gruff, and not nearly as practiced as his oh-so-meticulously crafted wife.

In the car first, Cloud waited for Sephiroth to finish his final conversation with the parents. 

Why bother?  Anything they had to say deemed useless—an absolute dead end in a maze full of facades and deception.  And if there was anything Cloud hated more than impossible puzzles, it was forged answers.  

Speaking of deception and puzzles, Sephiroth slipped into his seat with an acknowledging look towards Cloud.

“Are you ready?”

Cloud cast his attention to the old Victorian house as he nodded.

Once back on the road and backpedaling through the dreary fog of Beach, Cloud broke the silence, “Look, I’m no specialist, but this entire town needs to be evaluated and possibly placed under quarantine.”

“That’s hardly appropriate, Cloud.”  Sephiroth chastised with a careful look.

“It’s honesty.”  He retorted, and with a questioning peek to the side, he tested: “And if the grocer is anything like Mrs. Dunway, I’ll let you handle it.”

A soft sigh.  “We aren’t stopping.”

“You lied.”

“I did.”

“And you already knew.”  Cloud spoke in his usual manner of calm, except he let that accusatory slice leak through.  And given Sephiroth’s keen ability to deconstruct a conversation, it didn’t take long for the man to realize the situation.

“I did.”  With a quick observing glance to an unusually perturbed Cloud, he finally assessed, “You’re upset with me.”

The blond snorted.  “Upset?  No.  I enjoy sitting seven hours in a car just to be proved wrong.  It’s fun.  I’ll take it up as a hobby.” 

A thick pause permeated through the air, pulsing with thought. 

If this attested to be the extent of how far he went—literally—to prove his accuracy, Cloud hesitated to imagine what he would do to hide his errors.  Probably ignore them and pretend they never happened…as Cloud also knew from experience.  Neither one set his agitated mind at ease.

“I informed you before we left, this trip was meant to relieve your suspicions.”  Sephiroth relayed.  “Whether or not the conclusion met your standard of approval, I had no control—”

“Bullshit.”  It came out more as an automated response rather than something well thought out.  In fact, Cloud didn’t have a stinging remark to say back.  Unfortunately, all he had left in his arsenal of irritation-induced responses was a scrambled concoction of word-vomit, “You just…--if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t have driven seven hours to bumfuck-nowhere and tried to uphold a conversation with the Stepford Goons.  Reno, Yuffie, Scarlet—if it were anyone else—you would’ve sent some passive-aggressive email about your own fucking theory and stamped this shit as ‘solved’.” 

Cloud found out that once he began spew his over-cooked thoughts onto the very unwelcoming table, it wouldn’t stop.  “But, for some sadistic, egotistical reason of yours that only Socrates may be able to explain, I had to endure a pointless melodramatic skit that I could’ve stayed home and watched on fucking Primetime T.V.” 

After a heavy breath that he soon released in a strangely therapeutic huff, Cloud finished in a bitterly spoken after-thought, “But I sure hope it was worth it.”

And then there was the silence, the still kind that illuminated every other mundane sound around them.  The crunch of the tires against asphalt became a steady strum, like a bored guitarist spending too much time on the ‘bottom’ string.  But most especially, his own spoken words.  And dear God, he should have stayed quiet because the next seven hours were going to be miserably long and tense.

Cloud, testing his bravery, snuck a peek at the object of his verbal breakdown.

And fuck him sideways from five different corners because Sephiroth was smiling.

Once again, forgetting his very recent bout of worry, Cloud dryly remarked, “I’m glad I could amuse you.”

Inquisitive green eyes were quickly cast towards Cloud’s direction, his charming smile faded into something smaller.  But the traces were still there. 

The smug prick was laughing at him.

“You’re right.”

Well, someone call God and tell him he made a mistake, because Cloud was actually right—

“If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have to infiltrate several systems of facial profiles, track down a nameless woman, and drive seven hours for a confirmation regarding the nature of her disappearance.”  Before Cloud could open his mouth, he continued coolly, “And yes, I was relatively aware that she had willingly left.  However, if I recall correctly, I had already told you of my doubts and explained how our trip was solely to put your suspicions at rest.”

“You—”

“Pray tell, with your utmost honesty that I know you’re capable of, how you would have reacted if I merely told you to ‘get over it’?”

For a rare moment, Cloud didn’t have an answer.  Well, he did.  But he hated it—he hated how much it proved Sephiroth’s accuracy.  Because they both knew, if Sephiroth demanded to drop his own theory, a swarming mess of arguments would ensue.

Hold off on that call to God after all.

Cloud didn’t answer.  No, he refused.  And that itself was enough for Sephiroth.

“As I thought.”  The man’s smile returned, smug and oh-so-knowing. 

Another look passed Cloud’s way, but he said nothing.

The remaining ride to their next stop was silent and pregnant with thought.

-

Since Sephiroth was an organized man who carefully predicted common necessities like food, sleep, and personal space, he arranged prior to the trip.  Two separate rooms at a motel in Miles City greeted Cloud as Sephiroth rolled to a stop in a nearly vacant parking area.  While the town was bigger than Beach, it still held that aged, weathered feel, something Cloud would see in a Clint Eastwood movie rather than in reality.

While Sephiroth checked them in, Cloud stretched his legs and body, reaching for the darkening sky in an attempt to pop his aching back.  The price of Sephiroth’s grandiose Mercedes definitely did not compensate for its comfort.  Due to his movements, his coat came undone and sent a wash of cold air through the thin cotton of his shirt.   Like a recoiling snake, he snapped back into a huddled position in an effort to regain the warmth.

And what a sight it was.

“This isn’t a dance arena.”  Sephiroth’s voice rang from behind him.  Cloud spun to find him approaching with two keycards in his hand.  Holding one out, he said, “This one’s for you:  Room 156.  It’s next door to mine.”

Storing it in his pocket, Cloud nodded.  “Thanks.”

“Are you hungry?”

“A bit.”  Actually, Cloud was sure his stomach was one burnt calorie away from devouring his spleen.

Silver strands of hair flitted uncontrollably around Sephiroth’s features, sometimes lifting close enough to touch when he stepped forward.

“Does take-out sound fine?”  There was something in those green, peering eyes that held Cloud still and obedient as he nodded his head.  They watched him in concentration, attentive to every blink, every involuntary shiver, and every fogged breath that left his lips.  “Good.”  And then he turned on his heels, gathered his bag from the trunk, and headed towards his room.  Cloud watched him walk in smooth strides until he paused in his step and twisted to say, “Coming?”

Startled at the call, Cloud rose a brow. 

By the time he had his own luggage in hand, Sephiroth had already entered Room 155, leaving the door wedged open enough to emit light onto the concrete walkway.  Was that an invitation?  Well, surely it had to be since he was ordering take-out.  They were eating together, weren’t they? 

During Cloud’s overthinking escapade that rightly belonged in a cheap teen-drama show, he approached the opened door in unsure steps.  It wasn’t until he stood in the escaping light that he regained his senses and his frozen balls.

Once inside, he closed the door behind him—human courtesy after all—and drank in his surroundings.  One double-sized brown bed with four fluffed pillows—he decided not to dwell on the fact that it was the first thing he saw—a small desk with two unstable chairs to the left near the heater, a television that better suited Kadaj’s 80’s memorabilia collection, and an open doorway to a brightly lit bathroom.

Sephiroth stood in that doorway with his newest phone to his ear as he recited two average orders for what Cloud imagined was Chinese food.

Just the thought of teriyaki chicken sprinkled in a large bowl of lo mein noodles accompanied with sizzling bits of more delicious chicken was enough for his beastly stomach to awaken in loud hunger.

And that was the sound that greeted Sephiroth.

The man turned, eyes flitting to the source of the demonic noise, and controlled a smile, “A bit?”  He repeated Cloud’s earlier claim on his level of hunger.

“A bit…more than the usual glutton.”  Cloud finished, hoping his mouth could outdo his traitorous stomach.

Sephiroth chuckled, leaning against the doorway in absolute elegance, and surveyed the blond.  “You can put your bag anywhere.  Just remember to take it with you when you leave.”

Cloud realized that he was still holding it tight in one hand. 

Oh, he must have looked like a complete fool with his roaring organs, oversized coat, and awkward stance—like a starving hoodlum waiting for a scrappy handout.  Quickly, so the image wouldn’t last too long, he dropped his luggage, discarded his coat, and began to move. 

Like an intense choreographed move that seemed more challenging in his head than it actually was, Cloud lowered himself to sit on the mattress’s corner.  Realizing there were two perfectly, disintegrating chairs beside the compact table, Cloud cursed at himself.

Before he could change his seat, Sephiroth stepped forward, grabbed the back of that potential murder contraption and pulled it closer to sit.

“I am curious,” Sephiroth started, ignoring the blond’s inner turmoil and external stiffness.  The beginning of this conversation already set Cloud’s anxiety into overdrive, “What made you believe she ran away?”

Because she had every reason to. 

With no friends, no family—at least not one that gave a fuck—and no chance for a decent life in such an abysmal town like Beach, why would anyone want to stay?  Sure, her path now wasn’t exactly what one would call ‘inspiring’—but, well, there was no ‘but’.  Cloud wasn’t interested in defending her actions, rather than to explain them.  In the most simplistic of answers, and likely most knowledgeable:  because Cloud was in her shoes once.

Because he did something similar.

Cloud realized his silence became heavy.  Weighted with answers or hesitation—maybe both—either way, he needed to end it.  Sephiroth’s eyes began to narrow in their familiar way of discern—picking apart his every tick and emotion.

What would happen if Sephiroth knew?  Would Sephiroth, a man that preached on devout realism, express some form of coddling pity? 

Cloud could only imagine.  That poor blond guy—what a mess!  He not only lived in a rentable garbage can fit for diseased junkies, but it was a wonder how he could fit all his childhood baggage in such a small, infested area!  Rent for a hoarder had to be costly, no wonder he was so poor.

“I…”  Cloud started, but all of his endings were too deep, too close.  But even in his one hesitant word, he saw that glint—the look of a world-class journalist at work.  All Sephiroth needed was one more inch of delicious bait to fully hook himself onto, but Cloud hastily snatched that opportunity away and snapped a lid onto his overturning thoughts. 

Sinking back into where he was most comfortable, he let out a scoff, “I’m pretty sure it was the moment Mrs. Dunway mistook herself as a twenty year old prostitute.”  A pause.  “…Maybe it runs in the family.”

A silver brow lifted in interest.  Any earlier suspicions of Cloud he had disappeared.  “Please explain.”

Oh God, did he have to? 

“I tried to console her—get a few details on Eliza in the process—but she was on a completely different brain wave apparently.”  After another expectant look, Cloud shut his eyes in embarrassment and confessed, “She came onto me and offered—er—favors.”  He opened his eyes, finding Sephiroth still attentive with furrowed brows.  “Add that to the fact there were no pictures of her, no trace of her—nothing in that house.  It’s like she didn’t even live there…”

“Hm.”  Sephiroth hummed.  “I admit, I didn’t expect them to be so…odd.”

Odd was an understatement. 

“And your time with Father of the Year?”  Cloud asked.

“Uneventful.”  He replied dryly.  Cloud didn’t doubt it; perhaps, he should ask Sephiroth some tips on ice fishing since the man had been freshly educated.  “However, questions were answered.”

“Just one.”  Cloud reminded him, the bitterness from earlier coming back into his tone.  “And now we’re at a dead end.”

Sephiroth tilted his head.  “Are we?  Because, technically, she’s still missing.  Aren’t you interested in finding her?”

Maybe she didn’t want to be found.

“Sure, but her relation to Hojo is highly unlikely now.”  Cloud said.  “What does a runaway porn-star enthusiast have to do with a drug case?”

“She knows Kadaj.”

Cloud scoffed.  “Yeah, well, I know Kadaj and I can assure you I am not smuggling drugs up my ass.”

Sephiroth leaned forward, either really immersed in their current argument or trying to work off his frustration at the blond’s stubbornness.  He reasoned, “You’ve only just met him.  She’s likely known him for a year, maybe more.”

“So you’re saying they’ve recruited her?”

“No, however, she probably knows more than we do.”  His voice held that familiar tone of concrete truth—as if every word had a faithful purpose, and no one could be silly enough to question it.  “Any information is information worth looking for.  We shouldn’t rule her out just yet.”

“Sure.”  His effort to sound convincing had drained.  While Cloud still doubted her involvement and importance, his argument deemed too futile to defend anymore.  Damn Sephiroth and his equally—if not more so—stubborn persona.  He felt like Mr. Dunway, being maneuvered into a conversation he was inevitably going to lose.

Although, the ragged old man likely deserved the abuse of verbal power; Cloud, on the other less fortunate hand, didn—

Still cool fingers brushed underneath Cloud’s chin, tilting his head up to meet intense green.  Surprised at the familiar touch, Cloud remained still as Sephiroth assured, “It wasn’t completely meaningless.”  Those silver-green pools were encompassing, swallowing him whole into unforeseeable depths of…intrigue?  “We know more than we did yesterday.”

Entrancing eyes flitted for a moment as Cloud willed himself to speak, repeating his question from earlier, “Fourteen hours in a car worth it to you?”

With a curve to his lips, “You’re not bad company, Cloud.” 

What was that?  No, not the devilish smirk that would send every hormonal being into a debilitating shock—nor the deceiving southern direction those eyes were taking.  Cloud heard something.  From the back of his crowded thoughts, it reminded him.

Maybe I keep forgetting.

But even with that redundant reminder and his realization of the déjà vu he was currently participating in, Cloud didn’t move.

“Thanks.”  That must have been the sixth time he thanked him…in one day.  Perhaps he should forward Gerbner’s letter to Sephiroth too.  Thank them both for the unsought progression of an ‘honest’ conversation.

The tender hand retreated without a word and Cloud felt himself able to breathe again. 

So pathetic, he should come with a warning. 

Attention:  Small, insignificant touches may induce paralysis.  See lack of dignity and pride for more details.

Taking that blow to his unfortunately bruised—and barely there—ego, Cloud attempted to do some patchwork, “Although, I was half-dead throughout most of the drive…”

And it likely had everything to do with Sephiroth’s opinion. 

“Very true.”  Sephiroth concluded with amusement, albeit confirming Cloud’s suspicions.

Moments of light conversation—interesting topics of what was on motel cable—floated around until the sweet, welcoming sound of four heavy knocks on the door interrupted them.  Cloud’s hungry organs twisted in anticipation as Sephiroth greeted the cold, shaking delivery boy at the door.  Frost speckled his stringy brown hair and decorated his coat in October flakes.

And Cloud thought his life sucked.

“Drive safe.”  Sephiroth uttered before closing the door on the sputtering boy.  He briefly wondered how much of a tip he received—from Sephiroth, it could have been worth it.

Yet, as the delicious scent of teriyaki and seasoned chicken permeated through the room, Cloud blanked on any previous thoughts. 

They both sat at the table in silence.  Food was the main priority, at least for the starving blond.  His taste buds celebrated in the golden flavor, sending his brain thank you letters of pleased joy.  Happiness could be measured by success, and there was a certain type of fulfillment in this moment.  Or maybe Cloud just enjoyed food.  Either way, he succumbed to the flavor, the sweetness, and the oh-so-regal concoction of noodles.  Perhaps he was one step away from a third-world hunger himself, because even the rubber-textured chicken didn’t seem too bad.

Sephiroth joined him in their quiet dinner—strangely, the silence wasn’t the awkward kind Cloud expected when alone with the man.  Occasionally, Cloud found himself looking up, sending glances across the table.  Finding the silver-haired man in his own secluded world of food and thought, Cloud refocused back on his side. 

A bite. 

Another.

And then his attention flickered again.

This time, he met unwavering green.

Suddenly, Cloud remembered their early staring contests, the ones of stubborn domination and endurance; those kind, he enjoyed and actively participated in because at least he had a chance.  This was different.  This involved more guts, more bravery than Cloud actually had.

And it beckoned for that lurking figure again.

That newly acquainted burn sizzled from the depths, invincible against Cloud’s constant attempts to smother it. 

Cloud hated it, that swarming feeling of unbridled anticipation—what even was he expecting?  Another bout of amnesiac whims and potentially confusing words?

Fuck that.

Mustering up all of his bravado and side-stepping that intense flurry of warmth, Cloud broke the silence and announced, “I’m done.”

Perhaps it was too direct, too rushed considering the heavy weight of the atmosphere.  But, any longer underneath that piercing hold of searing emotion, Cloud was sure to be trapped—bound to something so unpredictable and unknown.  And his curiosity only extended so far in one day.

Sephiroth rose a brow and eyed the small remains of noodles before returning to Cloud, who—desperate to do something—began to clean his mess.  Taking in the blond’s swift change in mood, he casually commented, “No need.  I’ll take care of that.”

And he stood, his presence all the more unavoidable, as he waited for Cloud to do the same.

“You’re finished too?”  Cloud supposed keeping up a lousy conversation would help reduce whatever palpable tension lurked in the air.  And it seemed just fine earlier…

It had to have been Cloud.  Surely, it was just him that fell victim to these situations of inner conflict, assuming more than what reality offered. 

“Quite.”  Sephiroth answered, short and reserved, effectively ending Cloud’s pitiful attempt at small talk.  Well, he tried.  ‘A’ for ‘absolutely stunning effort with no result’.

Standing, he cast his attention to every other part of the room, avoiding just one.  Busy eyes scanned the neutral walls with freshly applied paint—so new, Cloud could still see the residual shine that would soon fade over the years—and small white splotches of bleach speckled areas of the carpet.  The bed—no, the lamp shade dulled in comparison to the walls.  It hadn’t been renovated apparently.  Oh, and then there was the door, seemingly farther than what Cloud remembered.

Did it move?

“Are you alright?”  Low enough to soothe, but close enough to stir up that simmered flame. 

Finding Sephiroth with arms crossed—that shirt fit him well—and an inquisitive brow, Cloud immediately nodded as words tumbled out in a practiced lie, “Just tired.”  An expectant look prodded the blond to continue with his sorry excuse, “It’s been a long day.  I should get some rest…”

From the very recognizable expression of incredulity, Cloud knew he didn’t buy it. 

The only result Cloud had been dealt was a silent walk to Room 156 with Sephiroth behind him.  A brisk, chilled wind whipped at his garments, stinging his uncovered hands and weighing down the bag strapped to his shoulder.  Granted, their rooms weren’t miles apart—hell, five steps managed just fine—so the ‘walk’ was short-lived. 

Cloud figured the silence would be ending soon…

Unless, Sephiroth found him pathetic enough to chaperone five fucking steps.

Cloud inserted his keycard, fighting off the tremors that threatened to shake his body.  Montana definitely deserved its embarrassing rank of population failure. 

The door opened.

Sure, North Dakota had its fair share of disappointment and lackluster visuals; however, based on Cloud’s internal assessment alone and the experiences within each dreadful area, he honestly had to say:  Fuck Montana—

“Cloud.”  The sudden deep call of his name spun him in place.

Sephiroth was close—so close, Cloud’s arm bumped into his chest when he turned.  Darkness surrounded them, the streetlamps nearby were the only source of illumination.  Cloud felt that early show of courage shrink in despair, slowly inching deeper within the caverns of his subconscious.  Trust his inner nerve to abandon him in his times of need.

Faint, golden light caressed Sephiroth’s fine, sculpted features as shadows found solace in the smooth slopes—they worked together to paint an inhuman show of magnificence.  Green eyes seemed almost black under the night sky, small glints of their usual emerald color flickered amidst the murky shades.

Cloud found himself staring back at the man, realizing he failed to respond.

“Hm?”

He felt his face burn, whether from the sharp slice of the wind or Sephiroth’s heavy gaze bearing down on him. 

“I should apologize.”  He finally spoke, exhales coming out in tufts of fog.  His usual aloof expression twisted into one of frustration. 

Cloud prepared himself for most things in life, but another ‘honest talk’ with Sephiroth had to wait.  It had been a long day.

“Apology accepted.”  He raced out.  “Although, it isn’t necessary.  I should’ve realized—or at least prepared for—the outcome of a her running aw—”

“Not that.”

A blink.  “Oh, well, never mind then.”

Sephiroth blatantly ignored the blond’s confusion with narrowed eyes.

“If you’re uncomfortable due to my words to you, please tell me.”  Spoken like a true professional, steady and forthright.  However, Cloud had a slight problem on deciphering what he meant.

“I don’t understand…” 

“I realize my admission from the other day had been sudden, and perhaps taken the wrong way.” 

Oh, a long day indeed.  That lurking elephant in the room made another grueling return—this time, they both acknowledged its presence.  Cloud almost winced at the incoming words, he knew them so well.  In fact, he had enough knowledge on the subject, he could end this conversation himself.

“I know.”  Cloud cut off any future words of déjà vu with his own recited response, “If there is one person on this green, oxygen tank of a planet you don’t want, it’s me.  And I completely understand.  I hear it all the time.”—At least, now he did.  Another thank you letter should be sent...along with an invoice of his psychiatric bills. 

“Cloud…”  Sephiroth began, he looked on the verge of strangling the blond; yet with a soft sigh, he visibly relaxed and questioned with a stalwart gaze, “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No.” 

His answer came quicker than his thoughts.  In fact, the latter had to play catch-up to figure out why he said it so fast and so assuredly.  Uncomfortable was too strong of a word—no, it felt wrong entirely.  Sephiroth inspired many reactions and feelings, some had been admittedly unpleasant; however, he had never been unsettled—AKA his permanent emotional standing with Kadaj and the entire population of Beach. 

Sephiroth watched him sort through his internal musings, no doubt trying to find the truth in Cloud’s very hasty response.  But that was it—as honest as he could get.

At least with his words.

Remember that sulking, fleeing sense of bravery from earlier?  It was back, with perfect timing and no doubt potentially catastrophic execution.

Reddened and almost numb hands reached out to hold onto the rough wool of Sephiroth’s coat, stroking the scratchy texture mindlessly.  Cloud felt himself move closer, even if it was just another inch within the space between them.  He refused to look up, keeping his attention solely on his own hands. 

Gripping tight, not sure what else could have been done, Cloud hesitated.

Was this it?  His master plan?  Hanging on his jacket and invading his personal space?  Wow, what a real innovator of social progressions.

A blanket of warmth covered both of Cloud’s hands as Sephiroth took them in his own, and he began to pull them away.

“I was going to show you.”  That came out just as wrong as Cloud hoped it wouldn’t.

Sephiroth paused, his dark eyes carefully assessing the situation the blond had just created.  A totally absurd situation that could have gone in two different directions.  Cloud wanted to curse at himself and slam his worthless brain onto the pavement. 

Sephiroth watched—no, stared down at him, his face unreadable and brief.  Brief because Cloud quickly averted his gaze south, only to find his hands still being held in a gentle warmth. 

The image sparked a new flame underneath his skin—it almost irritated him at how gooey it made him feel.  Like an over-excited teenager gushing over a lucky mistake.  Sephiroth probably forgot to let go—he was a forgetful person at times.  No doubt, if he realized, it could induce another wave of redundant reminders.

Therefore, Cloud did it for him and pulled free.

Finally he could look up—only to have his vision blurred with murky green.

There it was again, that pause in time which rendered Cloud frozen with internal shouts and gasps.  Distance became scarce, and so did rational decisions as he stood still, held under the pretense that something might happen.  Why he waited, he couldn’t answer—at least, not at the moment.  His earlier bout of awareness blinked from existence, replaced with that shackling monster he recently became acquainted with.

It teased him—fooled him occasionally—dangling that forbidden piece of hope before him as if parading a caged animal.  Already with a taste of how it felt, that hungry beast craved more.  The frigid breeze had no effect around them as it collided with an impenetrable barrier of electric heat.

Sephiroth leaned closer, tipping Cloud’s head at an angle with a tender touch beneath his chin.

Surely, no normal heart could beat so erratically, so wild and audible.  He felt weak, buzzed from either his blood pumping at an irregular rate or from the lack of oxygen to his brain.  Breathing felt like a distraction, a second priority task compared to being caught beneath such a heavy gaze.

Said gaze drifted down, as did Sephiroth.  Warm tufts of breath tickled Cloud’s own parted lips as they paused, waiting for a surrender that never would come.  His mouth, so sensually sculpted and tinged with pink,

Cloud wanted to press forward and end this torturous game of weak wills.  He never had much pride anyway, so fuck it.  But there was something so conflicted in those ethereal eyes above that stopped him from attempting any bold action. 

Silver clouds in those now forest orbs stormed with conflict; hesitation was so undeniably present, it became contagious.  Cloud felt it:  the obstacle of thought, weighing down so heavily under the chunky words of ‘what if’.  

And boy, Cloud certainly fed them well.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do—needed to do in this moment of frozen decisions.  Moving wasn’t an option.  So he started to speak, only to be halted.

Cool flesh—the pad of Sephiroth’s thumb—slipped between their reluctant mouths and pressed against Cloud’s lips. 

Cerulean eyes widened, fluttering in shock, as Sephiroth closed the distanced and softly kissed the other side.  Just a brush of contact, a single sliver—but it was enough.  A dizzying flurry of sparks swirled maniacally inside him, as if someone had stuffed his body with rolling fuzz—it tickled as it sent a shivering wave through his body.

A thumb.  A single digit became a doorway to an insatiable, growing intensity.  It would not open.  And it would not budge.  However impenetrable it seemed, it could still be knocked at.

So Cloud kissed back, unyielding against the cool flesh and deep enough to graze Sephiroth on the other side.  That alone sparked new interests, new ways of maneuvering.  The manmade barrier, pesky in its duty, pushed harder now and drove his lips further apart until it began to sink in.  A fire so hot and loaded with promiscuous promises whirled deep within him.  Like fuel to an unruly flame, it ignited an uncontrollable wildfire.

Cloud, on instinct—as this situation was never prompted of him before—tested it with his tongue, tasting the natural salty flavor of skin and the sweet, short exhales from Sephiroth.  It felt so wicked and sinful.  Just knowing and being aware of the implications—the imagery behind it sent another coiling warmth to blossom across his flesh. 

Sephiroth’s thumb pulled out and danced across Cloud’s bottom lip, coating the cool skin with his own saliva.

A sigh.  And Cloud was sure it came from Sephiroth.

It did. 

He removed his hand from between them, letting it slide back down to rest at the blond’s neck.  A brief pause stilled the frigid air, quiet enough for Cloud to hear his own heartbeat drum wildly in his ears.

Too dizzy to pinpoint what exactly went on behind those hooded, clouded eyes, Cloud only assumed it mimicked his resonant voice.

“Goodnight, Cloud.”  So soft and gentle, like the fingers that trailed off as he stepped away.

Those simple words could have easily been recited in effortless apathy—or played along with the recurring idea that nothing ever happened with a false tone of sincerity.  However, Sephiroth proved to be a man of many mysteries—good and bad.

But this one particular mystery set Cloud’s slumbering temper to a hazy, groggy wake.  This one linked arms with his many other problems and jogged merrily around in his tired mind.

Another wave of cold.

For some unexplainable, profound reason that he wasn’t interested in soul-searching for at the moment—therefore joining his other problematic emotions in the pit of his subconscious—Cloud came face to face with his own mystery too.

Funnily enough, they were the same.

Similar in meaning, but oh-so-different in form.

One sat with shame and confusion, while the other thrashed against the walls in bitter anger.

It was Cloud’s closest friend, but he still remained wary of it.

Disappointment.