Title: Sephiroth and the Remnants

Authors: shadowededen and mydarkrosaline.

Fandom: Compilation of FFVII

Characters: One brave little Cloudy-wolf, a flame haired piece of shit, a foul-mouthed wildlife harasser/pilot, a vodka-swilling Vincent, a sweetly manipulative tabby cat, a startlingly homosexual Kadaj who does not want to go to school, a very godly Sephiroth, a Tifa out for buttsex, a cameo of Tseng in a car.

Warning: Language, innuendo, butchery of characters, some violence and mind-fuckery, some jokes in dubious taste.

Word Count: 12000

Disclaimer: See Chapter 01

Author’s Notes: We smell and stink on the updating process. This chapter broke our balls. Incidentally! The song ‘You Have’ is actually a Rammstein song with slightly edited lyrics, so don’t credit us for that. And the Jenova Project song that gets, what, a line, is meant to be ‘Aquarius’ by Within Temptation. There’s also a brief rip of Space Odyssey by Bowie in there somewhere. Oh yes, and the Remnants song that Cid flicks by is ‘Shut Me Up’ by MSI. Give credit as credit is due!

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Midgar, being the hotspot for everything in the entire world (except perhaps nature), held the largest stadiums in the world. The largest could probably swallow up a small town or two and leave a bit of room for a theme park. They’d been around in the old President’s time, and had been one of the reasons that Reeve had left Shin-Ra in the first place. He understood why one would want such massive stadiums if things like LOVELESS (The poem, play and the band, especially the band) were popular, but they hadn’t been top priority. The people living in houses built from scrap metal and duct tape were, Reeve had attested. President Shinra hadn’t been paying him any mind, however, and gone ahead with the plan.

Random exposition aside, it ought to be noted that our hero, Cloud, from his vantage point of a backstage arena pass, saw the genius in keeping these stadiums up and running. This was the biggest one, and it was packed. The show didn’t start for another hour or so yet, and it had been packed for the previous four. Some people had been camping in it. Everyone was crammed in together, breathing and somehow managing to be completely unaware that they were surrounded by a good few thousand other people who all had armpits. Cloud even noticed a few fans nearer the front who were staring, zombie-like, at the stage, waiting for the band to arrive.

He was giddy with excitement. Well, that was rather like saying that the sun was hot. Cloud was thrumming with excitement that started in the very core of his being and radiated out to be felt by anyone in, perhaps, the Northern Continent. He felt like he was waiting for the coming of god (and many would argue that he was – he’d probably do it himself) and that these were the last few moments before He showed His glorious Presence. It was painful, wonderful, and so damn exciting that Cloud was in danger of exploding into really small, really hardcore bits.

His body had been very reluctant to ingest much food, and he didn’t want to keep running to the bathroom, and so was being very careful with what he drank. It didn’t matter to him that no one would take his place – he had a wonderful vantage point and a VIP pass. He could even run down and see the band right now, he was aware. But he wasn’t going to let himself do that. He didn’t want to get in their zone and maybe ruin the mood that the younger three were clinging to. Sephiroth wouldn’t have anything ruined, of course.

As a result, Cloud was filled with that fizzing sort of energy that one got around the back of four A.M. and knew they’d pay for around one P.M. on the morrow. To anyone sitting around him, they’d notice the fevered look in his face. To anyone really looking close, they might even have seen that the blue glow in his eyes was looking a little greener than was usual.

No one was looking really close, of course. However, there was someone looking at Cloud – someone who Cloud had not seen, because his eyes had been fixed on the stage and the crowds beneath him. The mysterious watcher (no capitals this time, he wasn’t that Mysterious) grinned, a small curving of a mouth designed to smirk and leer, and took a few steps towards Cloud.

“Yo, partner,” came the drawl, “Long time no see, eh?”

Cloud tore his eyes away from the seething mass below, and did a double take.

Leaning casually against the balcony, dressed in the same uniform as most of the roadies, was a man only a few years older than Cloud, with flame-red hair that was messily tied back from his face. A pair of goggles were pushed into said hair (there must have been something about the Turks, Cloud thought, that meant they had no fashion sense outside of the suits – this, and Vincent’s getup, was a prime example), leaving Cloud free to see the bright blue eyes and red tattoos.

“Reno?”

“Oh so I’m remembered, huh?” grinned Reno, quirking an eyebrow, “Still a long time no see, eh, Spike?”

“Yeah,” Cloud said, momentarily shaken from thoughts of the band. Of course, talk of shit and whacks you in the face, and he remembered again, “You here to see them?”

“Here to see them? Heh.” Reno shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at the crowds, “Nah. Reno the Roadie’s got work to do at this concert.”

There was a pause. Of course there was a pause. Reno the Roadie? Cloud frowned. Things got jumbled up sometimes, it was true, but his memories of Zack dragging Cloud into a band with a helmeted youth behind the drums and a flame haired piece of shit behind the bass were not one of those things. He and Reno had preformed together. Reno had been awesome. Kunsel had attested, once when very drunk, that Reno was as awesome in all aspects of life as he was in bed, and shit, Spiky Strife, that was saying sumthin’, let me tell you. People had loved him. People had loved him even after he’d left the band to do work for Shin-Ra, work that may or may not have been entirely savoury.

Reno seemed to notice Cloud’s train of thought, and he waved his hand in front of his face, “Nah, see, I quit Shin-Ra. Kunsel was right – I couldn’t work with them after the shit they pulled with Zack. ‘Course, you quit Shin-Ra, then, well, you quit life. Or at least an easy one.” He rolled his shoulders in another shrug, “I don’t mind, yo. Reeve didn’t think I was good enough on my own, but I thought, shit, why turn down a chance at the WRO? So here I am. Roadie. Sephy and the Remnants. It all slots up, yo.”

Something caught in Cloud’s throat at the mention of Zack, and it was hard to push it away even after Reno had finished talking. The brave little Cloudy-Wolf tuckered on, however, and nodded his head in a “Right.” He had been about to follow that up with a “So what are you doing with yourself?” but realised that that would have been stupid, since Reno had just dumped his life story on him.

The flame-haired piece of shit just grinned again and shook his head, “Ain’t never been one to do much talking, yo. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, Reno the Roadie’s gotta skee-daddle – see if any of them princesses need me.” He screwed up his face, “That Yazoo. He’s the fuckin’ worst. Allergic to everything if you believe him. Screamed at me to toss the bowl of nuts out of his dressing room and clean the goddamn place out. Felt like telling him he could toss my nuts instead.” The grin widened when Cloud laughed, and Reno seemed appeased. “Yeah, well, see ya Strife. Call me sometime or somethin’, yo.”

With a toss of fiery, fiery red hair that everyone seems to fixate on even though he’d not the only damn redhead around (yo Cissnei, or, more importantly, Red XIII), Reno turned to the stairs that would take him back down to the crowds beneath and follow the fucking dangerous path to the backstage area. Yipes. Talk about having to deal with random battles. Cloud hoped he was all right for a whole half-minute, and then turned his attention back to the stage.

The crowds seethed beneath him. Cloud looked down from the balcony and was once again blown away by the sheer size of it. It wasn’t so much a sea of heads as a drowned planet full of them. If this was what it was like in Midgar, Cloud wondered how many people would even be able to fit in the other places. He was sure that more than half of this massive crowd would be going to see the other shows, after all.

And more than half of them had adorned themselves with the distinctive make-up used in the album art for Geostigma, in which figures had been made to look as though their bodies were decaying under the influence of a disease that mottled their skin with black. Some had even added the droplets using latex. Cloud himself had risked the heat by wearing a sleeveless roll neck (admittedly a zip through, thus allowing him to leave a space at the neck) so that he might show off his own – rather expertly done, he had to admit, although that had been helped along by the bruising left by Tifa’s frequent onslaughts. Masterful as she was with martial arts, she didn’t have much knowledge of her own strength, and always responded to her victim’s complaints with an airy ‘pshaw’.

But that wasn’t the point. Not that he didn’t love Tifa, he just believed (correctly, to be fair) that there were better things to think about, and the fact that he was getting to see Sephiroth and the Mother-Fucking Remnants from the best place in the whole damn venue was considered to be one of them. In fact, it was the best thing to think about.

There was no support band. They were well aware that they didn’t need one, were well aware of the fact that their support could have been the planet’s second greatest band and they still would have been forced from the stage from the screaming of thousands of impatient fans. There was nothing to do but wait, and the stadium was oddly quiet, quieter than it should have been perhaps, but it was that fevered, electric quiet, like the hum of fluorescent strip lights to that annoying someone (Genesis, Yazoo) who claimed to be ultra-sensitive to such things.

After a wait of half an hour (or less, or more, Cloud didn’t know, because he was too busy staring at the empty stage to check) the place descended into complete blackness, an impenetrable sheet of shadow, as though Darkness had been cast over them. No one thought to consider the fact that Sephiroth had a wide range of materia, all of them mastered, of course, because, like Cloud, they were busy staring at the empty stage.

And then shafts of pale jade light shimmered forth, illuminating the stage, shot with a bright, emerald green.

At first, it seemed that there was nothing for them to show. But then it became apparent that three figures had been revealed by it, statuesque and still. For a moment, it was entirely easy to believe that they were simply models of the band members, and then the music started, and they began to move with it, Kadaj’s hands gliding up the guitar neck with the introduction to For the Reunion.

It was longer than it had to be, longer than it was on the album, Cloud noted, waiting, waiting with a pained feeling of pure longing for the god – his god – to show himself.

When he did, it was even better than he could have dreamt of, better than he’d prayed for. His voice was glorious, divine, and then a single bolt of light shone down upon the form of Sephiroth, resplendent as ever in his black leather.

Cloud felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat. It did not shift from their throughout that song, or the next, or any of the others. In fact, Cloud did not regain the ability to breathe until the end of the concert.

It was sheer force of will that kept him alive.

His god’s.

--

--

Cid Highwind was a highly successful, happily married man, and there weren’t very many men on Gaia who you could give that label to.

Despite his dreams of going into outer space being crushed by Shin-ra and the woman he ended up marrying (The JENOVA Project did a song about it – “Shin-ra Control to Captain Highwind”, it went), he had never sunk below anything more than a dogged determination to get on with life and enjoy it, preferably while making it miserable for others. Only on a superficial level, of course, because he was also a big ol’ softie who liked seeing people smile. That was why he had opened up Highwind Airways, now run by his wife Shera, and it was also why he decided to leave Highwind Airways for Shera to run and go trotting all around the globe, getting up close and personal with Gaia’s most dangerous wildlife. ‘Dragon Hunter’ was one of the most popular TV shows out there, despite (or perhaps, because of) the insane amount of damage that happened to wildlife on the show.

He was idly watching himself, dressed in his traditional khaki coloured clothes, creeping over a rocky landscape and gesturing for the camera to follow him. He watched as he pointed over a certain ridge to find a sleeping male gryphon, its peacock feathers bunched and iridescent in the fading light.

“Crikey,” said Cid-on-the-TV, “Ain’t he a beauty? Look at the size. Check them feathers! He’s a right good specimen, he is!” The camera did a nice, long shot of the gryphon as Cid rattled on in the background, “Now, see, it’s not quite mating season yet, so this fella’s probably resting himself up before he has to go strutting to impress the females. Check out them tail feathers!” The camera obligingly zoomed in on the folded tail-feathers, “When he’s looking for a girl, he’ll spread those, and bow to her, trying to impress her with his good looks and charm, eh? Cor, what a great find!”

There was a beat, and the camera turned back to Cid-on-the-TV, who was smiling gently, enraptured by the wonders of nature presented to him. “Now,” he said after a moment’s quiet contemplation, “Let’s see how he deals with a little dynamite, will we?”

Cid-sitting-on-the-couch flipped the channel, bored with his own show by this point. He glanced across at his friend, whom the couch, TV and indeed, flat belonged to, but they raised no complaint.

That was the good thing about Vincent, mused Cid, flipping past a showing of Cribs, in which Barret led the populace around his humble abode. He never really complained when you crashed his place and took over the TV. Hell, all he did was toss you a beer and knock some shots back with you. Sometimes he’d even share his cigarettes. He was like every man’s dream woman. Only, y’know… penisier.

Flick. Flick. House was watched for all of five minutes before Cid got bored, at which the TV was changed to a music channel, where a young boy with silver curls spat into a microphone that he couldn’t wait for Cid to shut him up (in a minute minute, in a fucking minute). Cid obliged Kadaj by flipping the channel again.

“Here,” he said, taking a swig from the can of Nibelheim’s finest and glancing sideways at Vincent, “Why ain’t you with them kids right now? Ain’t you paid to make sure they don’t get up to shit?”

Vincent shrugged and scratched behind the ears of a small tabby cat that lay curled on his lap. He did it with his good hand, the claw curled around a small shot glass filled with a clear liquid from the Northern Continent. Several others littered the table before him, along with other things. Indeed, it was quite obvious to Cid that Vincent was living it large as a desirable bachelor. His apartment had an aroma of somewhat of old alcohol mixed with the type of smell of a person who didn’t wash his socks until they stood up on their own, with a faint, yet persistent, stench of cigarette and other drug smoke underneath.

It made Cid rather glad he had Shera to yell at him for getting like that. Gaia, but he loved that bitch so fuckin’ much.

“Sephiroth dismissed me earlier today,” growled Vincent, knocking back the shot and placing the glass back on the table without disturbing the cat, “Went back, reported to Reeve. Nothing much to say. Sephiroth’s sending Kadaj back to school, Yazoo and Loz were playing Wii Sports all afternoon, and Sephiroth himself was leering at Cloud Strife whenever he came on the music channels.”

Cid rolled his eyes and took another sip from the can, leaving the TV on a news station. “Tch,” he said, “Always knew that Cloud was a rump-raging-faery boy. A gentleman of the backdoor, one might say. Fuckin’ backgammon player. Someone who’d wanna fly his flesh rocket to –“

“I’m not breaking up with Hojo.”

“F’r fuck’s sake, man!” Cid snapped, causing the little cat to start, look around with curious green eyes, and then curl back up on Vincent’s lap for another sleep. “That guy ain’t shitting well good for you. He cut off your fuckin’ arm!”

“I got lots of pity sex.”

“That doesn’t make it –“

“From Jenova.”

Cid closed his mouth and thinned his lips. A man knew when he was beat. It was pretty sad to see Reeve mooning after Vincent like a lovesick puppy, and Vincent being oblivious like… a guy who slept in a coffin for a few decades and woke up to find that Angeal Hewley had curled his hair and applied some delicate cosmetics to his face. That, and Hojo just fucking creeped Cid out. Nefarious bastard that he was. And it wasn’t like Vincent really loved or cared about said nefarious bastard anyway. Might have done when he was screwing him along with Jenova and Lucrecia, but not anymore. They were just in it for old time’s sake.

“Look,” he said, carefully, “It’s not like if you break up with him he’s gonna… I don’t know. Fuckin’… swap your sphincter for an onion ring or somethin’. You can just shoot him in the head.”

Vincent had ducked his head down and was pouring himself another shot of the Northern Continent stuff, shaking with silent laughter that Cid decided he was too good a friend to let the stoic bastard know he’d seen. The cat – imaginatively called ‘Tabby’ – uncurled herself from Vincent’s leather clad legs and trotted over to Cid, where she looked up at him with eyes that said: I am a cat. You love me. Aren’t I cute? Yes. You want to pet me. Please pet me. I’ll make you feel loved. He glared down at her for a short while, but then simply shrugged and began to pet her. One thing he’d learned in all his years of getting up close and personal with Gaia’s most dangerous was that you could never best a cat.

“Well, fuck me for caring, then.” He announced, taking another swig of his beer, which was slowly running out. “Y’all can fuck that greasy, nefarious bastard all you like. Just don’t tell me about it. Cissy.”

“Indeed,” Vincent said, red eyes narrowed as he watched Cid pet his cat, “Because I had every intention to. You, Reeve and Nanaki.”

“Nanaki…?”

“Red.”

“Oh yeah.” Cid rallied, “Well, fuckin’ don’t.”

You must pet the cat, came the purring as she bumped her head against his hand. He obliged.

“How’s Shera?” Vincent asked, reaching over and stroking Tabby’s back. Cid shrugged.

“Doin’ alright,” he said, “Gets the weirdest fucking cravings though. Like you wouldn’t believe. Wanted toast with chocolate and mango spread for dinner. I swear to the fuckin’ Lifestream, man, that kid is gonna be fat and she’s only gonna have herself to blame.”

“Mm,” Vincent nodded, “Sephiroth’s mother had very strange cravings when she was pregnant with him. Kept wanting to eat dry pasta with nutella on it.”

The space explorer-turned pilot-turned wildlife harasser chose not to dwell on the subject of Sephiroth’s birth, instead choosing to say, “Women. Fuckin’ glad I can’t get pregnant.” He didn’t want to open a huge can of worms regarding Sephiroth’s parentage. Vincent could never seem to make up his mind who the biological parents even were.

“Our recap for the News at Ten,” came the voice of the reporter into the apartment. Cid paid him mind for the first time, “Thousands dead at the Midgar showing of the first ever Sephiroth and the Remnants concert. Thought to be largely caused by severe crushing, though experts have said that several of the bodies seem to show signs of knife or even gunshot wounds. Many are still in hospital, suffering severe trauma. But everyone agrees that it was a blinding show!”

Huh, thought Cid, talk of shit and it whacks you in the face. He finished his drink, and then blinked. Wait, thousands?

“What the shit?” He said, gesturing to the TV screen. Vincent stopped petting the cat, his red eyes smouldering intently.

Were they a little bloodshot?

“It’s been happening since the release of Geostigma,” he growled, softly, “Why do you think Reeve wants them tailed?”

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Sephiroth’s bedroom was a sight that not many people could claim to have seen. There were a few one could name of the top of one’s head – Angeal Hewley (drummer of LOVELESS), Genesis Rhapsodos (guitarist and primadonna of LOVELESS), Zack Fair (Lead signer of ‘The Unprompted Rigidities’ – his band SOLDIER’s unofficial name), Gwendolyn Stefan (A rather popular RnB artist), Liz Sylar (formerly the most beautiful actress in the world) and his family (who were rumoured to be rather close). Four out of the six mentioned were dead (two by Sephiroth’s own doing, but you can shut up about that because he’s godly), of course, and only one of them had been in said room since Sephiroth’s return.

Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo could have described Sephiroth’s bedroom easily. There was a large bed right in the centre of it. There was no headrest, but the head of it was touching one of the stark white walls, the Masamune held in place just above it. The room was almost completely white, and there seemed to be no other furniture. The bed was right in the centre, as said, and there was an even space of exactly eight feet and five inches to the walls on each side of it. Indeed, the brothers could have easily described it in about a paragraph. And a relatively short one.

Sephiroth was currently in his room, and accompanying him was Kadaj. Despite the rumours, Kadaj wasn’t lying on the bed with his knees bent towards his shoulders. He was sitting cross-legged on the covers, digging into a bag of lime-flavoured crisps and watching his brother with intent green eyes. Sephiroth was reaching out for one of the panelled walls and pulling it aside, revealing a sneakily hidden wardrobe which he’d taken to having ever since Angeal and Genesis got high and decided to go on a panty raid.

“So,” Kadaj said, his voice laden with friendship and ghastly respect and generally something someone does when they’re hoping to appeal for something, “This totally not-date with Cloud. What’re you wearing?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” his brother replied after eyeing him for a moment, bordering on suspicious. Even if you were perhaps the only person on Gaia who could really cow Kadaj, it was never wise to let your guard down around him. It hadn’t been personal experience that had taught Sephiroth this, but he’d had to pull Kadaj away from ripping out several throats in his time, and so had learned to keep some form of guard up. Even if Kadaj really was no match for him, and would never be.

His brother seemed shocked, no, appalled by this lack of consideration. He was flexing, straightening up like a snake ready to strike. The distress was evident on his face – the entire image was one which should have been both frightening and saddening: Sephiroth was faintly amused by it, especially when Kadaj only became more distraught at the way his lips curved.

“Haven’t thought? What do you mean, you haven’t thought?”

”I mean, young one, that I have failed to consider an outfit.” The smile quirked his lips again as Kadaj dug through his bag for more of his favoured lime crisps, as though they would aid his injured soul. Sephiroth’s eyebrow raised fractionally. “Don’t eat too much. You’ll spoil your dinner.”

There was silence for a moment, as there always was when Sephiroth did something parental. Kadaj secretly liked it, but was not going to admit that. Ever. In a million years. For a moment, they simply watched each other.

“I hate Yazoo’s cooking,” Kadaj tested sullenly.

“I cooked in advance,” Sephiroth retorted, the two of them affectedly cool.

“Fine then.” The bag was set aside, and Kadaj shuffled forth to sit at the end of the bed. “So, what’re you going to wear, brother?”

“Does it matter?”

He tilted his head away to avoid chuckling as that vein in Kadaj’s temple gave a particularly vicious twitch.

“Does it matter?” Kadaj snapped, “Of course it matters! Have you never been on a not-date before?” Sephiroth’s eyebrow raised, but Kadaj ploughed on before the elder could shoot the exact same question at him. “You’ve got to dress down, but do it really sexily. So it looks like Tifa doing her ‘hi, feel free to ogle respectfully’ pose, only, y’know, toned down.” He blew a puff of hair upwards, flicking his fringe out of his eyes for a moment before it flopped back into place. Given as it was nearing the end of the night, the curls were slowly creeping back in.

“So, go for something good, big brother,” he continued, “something that Mother would’ve liked.”

From any other family, this would have been a weird thing to say. Of course, this was the… Hojo? Crescent? Valentine? Calamity? All four? No last name family? Sephiroth’s family? Let’s go with that one.

From the top, now:

For any other family, this would have been a weird thing to say. Of course, this was Sephiroth’s family, so that didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because he was godly. If god’s mother wanted to approve of what he was wearing, you didn’t make fun of it. In fact, you were grateful that god’s mother approved very much of tight black leather and open shirts.

Sephiroth just smiled in reply to Kadaj, “Mother would like everything I choose.”

The teen twitched, but he shrugged, “Well, you do have good taste. So choose something. It’ll be swell.”

That ghastly friendship and sycophantic love was dripping from Kadaj’s tone again. It was rather disgusting, all things considered. He had to learn to be better at persuasion.

And of course, Sephiroth did not fall for it. Even more so than he’d usually fail to, because he was blinking at his youngest sibling with something like bemusement. “For a start, no, I have never been on a not date. I wasn’t even aware somebody had been pathetic enough to name these things. For the next thing, are you roundabout comparing me to Tifa Lockhart?”

He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. A distinct suspicion had settled in the back of his mind - that Kadaj’s neuroticisms were going to inevitably rub off on him. Truly an undesirable situation.

“You do it,” he said after a pause, gesturing vaguely at the wardrobe as he leaned back on the end of the bed, his younger brother vaulting up from where he sat to rake eagerly through Sephiroth’s clothing – all monochrome, aside from a few articles in shades of grey or a dark green.

“Oh wow,” Kadaj spasmed, rubbing his cheek reverently against a silk shirt, “This is like, vintage.” He stopped abruptly, held the garment at arm’s length with his fingertips, lest his evil bodily oils harm it. Sliding it back onto the hanger, he tucked it back into the closet, and now skimmed through the items within much more carefully, now made aware of the treasure contained within.

“Well?” Sephiroth drawled in his oh so elegant manner, flicking his sheet of silver hair back over a shoulder.

“I’m thinking,” Kadaj hissed at him. At least he didn’t have to worry about trousers. All Sephiroth owned were leather.

He skimmed his fingers over a particularly fine pair absently before moving back to the shirts. With his head of slowly curling-hair on one side, he began riffling through them quickly and elegantly, looking somewhat less like a rabid cat than usual.

“Nyuh, nyuh,” he chuckled to himself, after a moment’s silence, “As if the mass murdering going on at our concerts wasn’t enough, you’ve got to do something that’ll create female suicides all over the world. Mother will love this.”

Sephiroth raised a perfectly metrosexual eyebrow at that, which Kadaj could quite clearly feel. He stepped back from the hidden wardrobe and tapped his lips with his fingers.

“Well,” he said, after a pause, “What’s the best way to ensnare Cloud?” He glanced sideways at his brother, which was again pretty impressive seeing that Sephiroth was behind him. “What does he like best on you, and deny that. Heh… nyuh. Would drive him completely crazy, right?”

The god propped his chin upon the upturned back of his hand, elbow resting atop his knee. His smile was calm, nonchalant, and predatory – that glaze was coming over him, making it quite clear that his mind was else where. Or just a bit more settled in the bed rather than perched on the end.

“I think that so long as I’m clothed we will be pandering to that specification,” he said, oozing sexuality. Kadaj was used to it, as all three of his brothers could do it, and he knew his Mother had been able to, even if he hadn’t quite developed the power yet. Were he not so immersed in the wonderful bounty of clothing, he would have bristled at that, and probably started sulking again. As it was, he was too delighted.

“The matter is in your hands,” he said benevolently, as if he was doing his younger brother a great favour. He was, in a way. He saw the way Kadaj’s face lit up at the words, the idea that he had a little bit of power going straight to his head, just as Sephiroth had known it would.

“We-ell,” Kadaj began, turning back to the clothes with a startlingly homosexual flourish, “Let’s go by texture. Something to go with the leather.”

Sephiroth smiled at him gently, running a long fingered hand through his hair, and turned his attention instead to the promise in his head of getting Cloud into bed.

Soon, Sephiroth. It has to be soon Sephiroth, the voice growled at him, perhaps around a cigarette, over the high neck of its trench coat.

It will be soon. Hush.

“… some kinda leprosy, or maybe it was lupus. I don’t know,” Sephiroth found himself tuning back in on. Kadaj gave a fluid shrug of his shoulders and finally seemed to draw something out of the cupboard, “Anyway, if we’re going for annoying the shit out of Cloud, then cover up. I bet this is fitted to you and besides, it’s knitwear. That emo fag loves this stuff.”

The article the youngest was holding out was indeed knitwear – a rollneck, plain black, completely unadorned. Considering what else Kadaj could have chosen in there, this one seemed a little odd. There was absolutely no maybe about the fact that it would be fitted to Sephiroth, and there was no doubt that the sight of it instead of skin would frustrate Cloud endlessly. Along with the rest of the world. Including, if you believed rumours, the rest of the family. Especially Yazoo.

“Put that one on,” Kadaj attempted to Demand, only he couldn’t because he did not have The Voice. It reminded Sephiroth, fleetingly, of Genesis, which made him smile, because Kadaj had hated that drama queen. The boy’s effort was, much like the second-best’s had been, admirable, but simply endearing more than anything else. Sephiroth liked to think of things in such a way that one knew one should hate him for, only one didn’t because it was Right that he thought that way.

“Follow it up with your leather trousers. Maybe pull most of your hair into a tail, leaving some strands against the rollneck. See, everyone loves your hair,” Kadaj allowed the garments to drop onto Sephiroth’s lap, and he reached over to run his fingers through long silver hair. The action was almost as tender as a lover’s caress. And Kadaj wondered where all the incest fic in the bandom was coming from. “They just want to stroke it. Think it’s perfect. Of course it is. Mother gave you it. But everyone loves seeing it so loose and fanning out. So think of the frustration at tying it all back.” He stepped away and tilted his head, “Actually, we could go kinda-sexy librarian here. Like Mother was in that… video…”

Kadaj shuddered there, and Sephiroth’s serene expression darkened a little. Despite the fact that any of the siblings would, with no gun pressed to their heads, admit that their Mother was one of the most fuckable things on the Planet, that video was still a Jenova Project video.

“Anyway yeah,” Kadaj said, pulling himself out of the memories and reaching behind Sephiroth to loosely hold some of the silky-smooth strands back, letting some fall loose. Teasing. Like the hair was a kind of metaphor for Sephiroth. It’s restrained. Wait until you see him loose and wild. Yowza.

“Slip on your reading glasses and you’re all set for that look. What do you think?”

Sephiroth didn’t respond for a moment, his deadpan expression fixed rather numbly upon Kadaj. Kind-sexy librarian. That look. Kadaj had claimed bisexuality, but it seemed pretty certain that Mother wouldn’t be getting grandchildren out of him. Perhaps she’d have more luck with Loz or Yazoo.

But he was digressing now, and if he didn’t steer himself away from that train of thought he’d likely have her whining at him for offspring, and it wasn’t that he didn’t adore her with every fibre of his being until the end of time which would of course be caused by her divine self, it was simply that they’d been through it several times. Back, in the days when he was doing three men at once and Jenova couldn’t understand why her precious child was doing all that rutting and getting no brood from it.

Doing as he was asked, mainly to appease Kadaj over anything else, he retrieved his reading glasses – delicate wire rimmed things - and slipped them up his nose, enough so that they did not interfere with his sight but did not look ridiculously low.

“Fine,” he said, rising to his feet, “Might I leave now? Are you done playing dress up with me, or is there more?” He smiled indulgently, cocking a brow at his youngest sibling.

“I can play dress-up with you some more?” Kadaj breathed, his eyes seeming to go glassy for a moment as he clasped his hands in front of himself, as if praying. Sephiroth, godly, all that. The worrying thing was that this was Kadaj who was doing it, who, if not setting himself up to be the one cast down from god’s presence, was rather determined to meander vaguely lower.

He snapped out of it soon enough, and then nodded, “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Wow. Cloud doesn’t know? And you’re taking him out for drinks. Is he socially retarded or something?” It was a bit rich, coming from the sons of Jenova herself, but that was how it worked. They might be socially retarded, but they were filthy stinking rich, mind-bogglingly successful and smokin’ to boot. Cloud was only one out of the three, so didn’t get the excuse.

“He’s kinda hot anyway,” Kadaj said, in a way that made it entirely obvious that he’d rather like to bone the blond himself, “So good luck with that!” He bobbed there for a minute or so longer, grinning stupidly. Sephiroth allowed it to go on for another minute or so, and then he couldn’t take the pathetic stuff anymore.

“What?” He demanded. Kadaj looked stunned. He rallied.

“Do I really have to go to school?”

“Yes,” Sephiroth responded automatically, “You start on Monday, and you are not, under any circumstances, getting out of it.”

He crossed to the door, and shot his brother another sleek smile, “Your dinner is in the fridge and requires gentle heating.” A dark amusement was laced in his jade eyes, “It’s a salad.”

With a languid wave he exited the room, leaving naught but an indolent ‘I’ll be back later’ in his wake.

--

--

“You can’t wear that on a date, Cloud,” Tifa said disparagingly, alighting from the bed to tug the roll-neck up over his head, “It’s almost moth eaten, for crying out loud!”

“I hadn’t been planning to,” he muttered sullenly, but was cut off midway as the buxom brunette gave an outraged shriek at the mess that was his wardrobe. Cloud winced, rolled his eyes, and sat down, defeated, upon the bed.

“It’s – all – creased!” She ejaculated at him, “What are you thinking? Ooooh, tomorrow we’re sorting this out, buddy boy! Every bit!” Battling through a drawer of tangled jeans, she eventually settled on a dark blue pair, slightly faded over the knees. Smart but casual, she decided. Just right. Chucking the item at him, she began searching for a shirt again. “Okay, we need understated sex…”

“Tifa,” Cloud said, rolling his eyes, “This isn’t a date. I’m not gay,” Liar! “and neither is he,” Oh you just know you’re bullshitting now, Strife! “He’s just interested in my music,” That you make in BED, sonny-jim-laddy-boy! “And – I mean – and,” He blushed. The voice that had been plaguing him gave a wordless cry of extreme triumph, and Cloud raised a mental middle finger at it. “He’s brilliant. That concert, Tif’. You should have been. It was amazing. The passion he puts into his music… if he could get any more in, everyone in that stadium would have been burnt to crispy critters!”

Tifa paused, holding what may once have been a sleeveless roll-neck but was no just a ball of creases, and simply looked at him for a long moment. Then she turned back to the wardrobe with an airy, “Mm-hm, sure hon. But you still have to dress up for this totally not-date.”

“What the hell is a ‘not-date’?” Cloud griped. He was certain that Sephiroth wasn’t getting this kind of treatment.

“What you’re going on! Now, do you think the charcoal gray would be better than the light blue?” She ploughed on before he could even shrug, “We want something casual but sexy. I don’t think this black one would do, see.”

“Tifa,”

“But maybe the red…? Nah, not with those jeans. Blue or gray Cloud?”

“Tifa.”

“What do you think he’ll like better? He’s a bit monochrome himself, isn’t he?”

“Tifa.”

“Probably doesn’t like that in his dates!”

“For the last time, Tifa, we are not going on a d-“

“Oh Cloud! You’re gonna lose your butt-cherry tonight!”

Cloud dropped the hand he’d been reaching out to grab her shoulder with and stared, mouth agape, at her. She shot him a brilliant smile and threw one of the tops at him. “Try it on!” She grinned, which was then followed with a “I bet it’ll be delicious!”

It took several moments for Cloud to really figure out how it was he moved after that, the words ‘butt-cherry’ and ‘delicious’ ringing in his head. His fingers had gone decidedly numb, and so had the rest of him, a futile attempt to block it out. If anything, it had only become worse.

“Come on, baby girl, try it on!”

Glowering at her all the while – even through the fabric – he pulled the article on over his head. Tifa was switching to appraisal mode, arms folded under chest, but he was already pulling his boots on.

“Well fine then, you look edible enough.”

“Are you going to go home before I leave?”

“You rude little asshole!” She grabbed him around the neck and promptly started rubbing her knuckles furiously against his hair. After a momentary scuffle she was gently shoved off, allowing her victim to rise to his feet, bristling like a wet cat. “I’ll go, I’ll go. Knock ‘em dead, sweetpea, and you gotta call me afterwards and give me all the citrus scented details, mmm? I’ll only accept one excuse!” She winked at him, and pranced from his room, leaving him to wonder if he was the only person on Gaia who currently knew that Aerith existed and that he was in a relationship with her.

He gave a defeated little sigh, about to move to the living room to ask why the hell she hadn’t pissed off yet. He was in the doorway when he heard her squeal. “Oh! Oh-oh-oh!” Tifa cried, sounding like one of those odd NPCs from a Zelda game, “He just pulled up outside!”

All thoughts of smacking Tifa upside the head were gone (not that they would ever seriously be entertained anyway). Cloud’s face went bloodless. Sephiroth had agreed to come get him, and he, being a manly guy, had thought nothing of it. Tifa, however, was here. And she would think something of it. Namely that Sephiroth was going to lay Cloud down and fuck his brains out, citrus-scented hair falling over both of them, and that she was going to get all the details.

Well, she’s right about one thing, at least!

Listen, Cloud said, gritting his teeth, Will you shut up? There’s enough mess in here without you making it worse.

Do you even know who I am, Cloudy-boy?

…I have a sneaking suspicion, Cloud admitted glancing downward briefly, but then he followed it with So just shut up. I’m with Aerith. Aerith. I love her. She turns me on. Not Sephiroth.

Whatever helps you sleep at night, you cockblocker.

The voice was suddenly replaced by Tifa’s exclamation of “Oh. Oh this is so a date, Cloud. He’s done himself up for it and everything. I just wanna pull his hair out of that fussy ponytail and pluck myself some tasty cherries!”

Cloud blinked, “… fussy ponytail?” He asked, and was unable to really explain why that image frustrated him somewhat.

Her hands were on his shoulders, propelling him to the door, and he went without struggling, pushed along easily, his expression blank. It had now struck him that he was in fact going to be meeting Sephiroth as a friend. They were going to be going out as friends. That was incredible. Unbelievable.

Part of Cloud’s mind, the rabid fanboy that wasn’t quite as rabid as the other bits of rabid fanboy, mentally gave every other fan on Gaia the finger. Ha ha. Here I go to see the Great Sephiroth.

Up you all.

The door was knocked upon, and he found Tifa nudging him to open it. But he couldn’t. Sephiroth was right there. Right there.

Tifa opened the door, did an odd little bob that was suspiciously like a curtsey, and smiled up at the (godly) form of Sephiroth.

“I’m just leaving! Play nice, okay?”

Sephiroth offered a smile as his reply, watched her skip down the corridor, and turned his attention back to Cloud. All onto Cloud. The smile grew.

“Are you ready to go, Cloud?”

The phrase “A-GHIK” would not have constituted for an answer, so Cloud didn’t speak for a moment or so, knowing that it would be all he would be able to say. Sephiroth was standing in his doorway. Sephiroth. The Sephiroth. He’d deigned to do this for Cloud. He’d come up to him and suggested they met up sometime. Cloud had fizzed so delightedly once he’d gotten out of his shock-induced coma and found words. The Great Sephiroth wanted to be his friend. The Great Sephiroth actually felt that Cloud was worth getting to know.

That train of thought ran through Cloud’s head as he looked at him, but he slowly found that it was being pushed out by the travesty that was Sephiroth completely covered up. And since when did he need to wear glasses? Cloud had always been sure that the man’s eyesight had been 20/19.4.

It was pretty hot though.

In a non-gay way of course.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding once when he had control over himself again, “Yeah. Let’s mosey.”

For a moment, the blond considered pelting down the corridor and downstairs and out of the building, grabbing Fenrir, and driving himself and his beloved motorbike off a cliff. It seemed the only option in this situation. He’d just said the phrase “Let’s mosey”. He’d just said it to Sephiroth, who, if you’ve forgotten, was Great and Godly and other such adjectives all given Proper status.

Sephiroth merely smirked a little, and gave a casual flick of the chin down the corridor, where the sound of Tifa’s heels had already disappeared. On one hand, Cloud thought, she might have made a quick exit because she was so convinced this was a date (which was stupid), or - and here his trail of thought soured - she was hiding behind something in the hopes of getting pictures.

The coast appeared to be clear as he walked with Sephiroth, part of his mind desperate to keep him walking beside the ex-general (he needed to seem less like a fanboy and more like possible friend material because even if that was like so totally not going to happen he didn’t want to be laughed at) whilst part was unshakably convinced that one should walk behind Sephiroth at all time, because for a start he was the general and Cloud a cadet, for another thing it seemed sinful to not watch the ass, and, of course, Sephiroth was Godly and made Cloud unable to think in any manner but run on sentences.

Abruptly, he became aware that Sephiroth’s gaze was turned on him - raised eyebrow, quirked mouth. It made him shudder because he couldn’t tell if it denoted private laughter or not.

“How have you been?” Sephiroth asked, so casual it made Cloud feel both entirely at ease and totally on guard, leaning against the wall of the elevator.

Once again, the phrase “A-GHIK” would not have constituted as an answer. Cloud didn’t speak again for a little while, trying to calm himself and not seem too flustered and sweet merciful Gaia on a pogo stick this was Sephiroth in the elevator with him.

With a faint blush colouring his cheeks (though of course, since Cloud was so pale, the blush wasn’t so faint), he finally pulled himself out of those thoughts long enough to answer the question.

“I’ve been all right,” he shrugged. There’s our brave little Cloudy-wolf again, tuckering on as always. He was staring rather fixedly at Sephiroth’s boots, and to be perfectly honest if Sephiroth demanded that Cloud get down on the floor and lick them clean, he would only have asked if he wanted the soles tongued too. And if he asked him to suck him off, well, Cloud would only drop to his knees and do it with gusto. But he totally wasn’t thinking of that and hadn’t been picturing it while listening to ‘On Your Knees’ (Track Four on Geostigma, 4:53 minutes long) at all and for Gaia’s sake he was in the elevator with Sephiroth.

“I finished recording a video not long ago,” he continued, blushing a little more intensely, furious at himself for being such a queer which he wasn’t honestly that wasn’t semen on the CD covers for Seph – Shiva’s sake! “Should be released soon. Hope it’s good.”

And with those words, something that felt like ice landed in Cloud’s stomach and beat its way through him. Oh Gaia. That video. Tifa had said that Sephiroth had been watching. That thought made the icy spark of fear course through Cloud, but also brought undeniable thrill. Sephiroth had been watching him. Him. Cloud. He’d thought he was worth watching. So, even if his blush intensified all the more, so too did the small smile that had sneaked onto his lips.

“But I heard you’ve seen some of that already, so nothing new.”

Sephiroth made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat and nodded, that elusive, unreadable smile gracing his face once more. “Highly entertaining,” he said, still infuriatingly ambiguous, “I enjoyed what I saw.” It was clear, at the very least, that he wasn’t lying. He had enjoyed it.

I enjoyed it.

Quiet, you. Patience, I said.

Bodily voices hushed for the time being, he looked at Cloud again, briefly eyeing the little wolf-head stud in his ear. He watched the blond until Cloud plucked up the courage to chance looking back at his face rather than his boots - he waited as Cloud squirmed under his unflinching gaze, then rewarded the attempt at eye contact with a smile. It seemed like it would be the most effective way of training him, after all.

“I got your album on tour,” he continued eventually, “my beliefs were confirmed. You’re very good, Cloud.” All of the pauses were purposefully long and awkward, tailor made by Sephiroth to make Cloud writhe in almost physical discomfort. This was partially because of Sephiroth’s need for control, partially because when it came to the matters of the mind he could be quite sadistic, and predominantly because Cloud looked damn adorable when he was trying to shrink away out of sight.

Part of Cloud was convinced Sephiroth was lying. This was the part of Cloud that most people who knew and loved him wanted to smack him for, because it was the part that made him say things like ‘I’m not fit to help anyone’ or ‘I let you die’ or ‘one devotion to an empty moment, can you stay tonight?’ – that sort of thing. Those people who did want to smack him would have been pleased to notice that for once, this part was beaten down. Pleased, even if it was by the fanboy part that proclaimed that nothing Sephiroth said was a lie, it was truth, it was right, and he was in elevator with Sephiroth for Gaia’s sake.

“Thanks,” he said, quietly, after a long (and uncomfortable) pause, “You… don’t know how much that means to me,” he added, well aware that Sephiroth probably did. He raised his eyes to his again, and was rewarded once more with a smile. It emboldened him.

“Tifa said you’d been watching me film it,” he added, back on the subject of the video. “I didn’t believe her at first,” came the confession, “since she seems pretty certain that I want – “ he shut up then. Shut up tightly, because the follow-up to that sentence was I want you to pound me like yesterday’s beef and he was not going to say that, and in any case it wasn’t true.

Even if he knew Barret and Aerith agreed with her in that respect.

Assholes. Cloud attempted to stop himself pouting. It was a jolly good attempt, but Sephiroth was the type of omniscient bastard (read: god) who knew anyway. It was either ten times worse or entirely alleviating that Sephiroth just kept smiling calmly at him. Cloud couldn’t decide.

But it didn’t even matter right now, because Sephiroth’s tongue had slid over his lips before he spoke and oh hi Cloud! The voice was back, the Southern Belle with a perpetual ‘8D’ face. He willed it away, but it was stronger than he was. Lookit that mouth go, huh Cloud?

“Huh?”

For a moment, he was stunned. This only intensified when he realised it was him that had made the sound. Sephiroth noted this, given as his colouring went from Nibelheim pale with a blush to puce in a matter of seconds. Leading him to his car now, he smirked at him fleetingly. It was almost vicious, and his teeth glinted like those of a predator.

But he was just smiling when Cloud blinked, and so he supposed he must have imagined it, meanwhile Sephiroth eyed his vehement attempts to stop trembling in something that looked almost exactly like anticipation.

“I said,” he repeated, opening the door for Cloud to slide into his car and crossing to the driver’s side to get in himself, letting the wait hang in the air, “she was right. She ran into me outside, after all. Quite… Bubbly, isn’t she?” Porsche started and not driving down the street, Cloud had a moment where his eyes saw only white, and all he could hear was a frenzied in his car in his car in his car!

“I was glad I got to meet you at the WRO,” he went on, placid as ever, sparing a moment to eye Cloud, “I’d been looking to do so.”

In his car in his car in his car in his – oooooh really now?

Cloud blinked slowly, trying to shut out the voice. He put a hand to his head and kept it there, hoping it looked like he was merely leaning his head there. Sephiroth would probably see right though it, of course. Cloud wouldn’t have had it any other way in his fantasies, after all. Except maybe with less clothes and more groping. No. Right? No. Still straight. Always straight. Always had been. Heh.

“I’m glad.” He said, bluntly, not rudely and not coolly at all. It was abrupt, as if more words wanted to tumble out of his mouth and he had shut it just in time to trap them. He kept it shut for a moment or so longer before trying again. “Well, uh, you know that. I’ve always been a fan of you…r music.” He realised it was a little late to add that in, but just saying ‘of you’ made him seem like those freaks in the Silver Elite. Who, by the way, had some information wrong. Berks.

He smiled slightly, even though the butterflies were still rolling about in his stomach as if drunken. “So hearing that from you… I… Mm.” He nodded. “Thanks.” He gave himself credit that he wasn’t tripping up, and was glad that Tifa wasn’t here. She’d be using this exchange to write bandslash, complete with build-up that had all the subtly of a mythical WEAPON monster with toothache.

“But…” Cloud shrugged again, “Why? I know you liked – liked Zack –“ he didn’t plan to dwell on it, “but we never really… spoke.” Mainly because Cloud couldn’t. And, predictably, thinking about Zack made Cloud think about how little like Zack he was, and how maybe if he was more like him Aerith and the whole world would like him that bit better. Which, of course, made him feel inadequate and pointless.

Shithead.

“I’m not that great,” he angsted, looking down, “Nothing… special.”

Sephiroth’s smile slipped minutely, and he found himself spiking an eyebrow in Cloud’s direction as he drove. There was, of course, no danger of crashing. By this point it’s unlikely that even crossed your mind.

“Then why are you here?” He asked, as though thoughtful, a droll smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m not in the habit of wanting to take out just anyone, you know.” His tone held something quietly admonishing, before he laughed again.

“You think far too little of yourself,” he mused aloud, looking to the road again. Midgar had an abysmal traffic system with its labyrinthine road network. Learners usually went to the nearest towns outside of it in order to learn how to actually drive. And then decided it was better there and moved permanently. Upper Midgar wasn’t big on the whole friendly residential scheme, aside from some scattered apartment blocks stuffed into every sector, and a selection of townhouses at the outside of Sector One, which had started off as apartment blocks, bought out by the rich and famous (Shin-Ra executives really) and knocked through to make houses. It was, of course, one of these that Sephiroth dwelled in.

“You’ve got talent. There’s a song or two of yours I’d be interested to try myself. You don’t seem like a total moron. He used to babble about you endlessly. I was curious, I suppose.”

I’m here, Cloud found himself thinking a little numbly, because according to Tifa, you want to spread my legs and fuck me ‘til I’m sore and bleeding, and you’re just too smooth to do it any other way than ‘wooing’.

That was the first thought that passed through Cloud’s head at Sephiroth’s first question. The second thought, which started just after ‘you think far too little of yourself’, wasn’t really one that he had expected. He couldn’t quite shake the image of having to brace himself against a table whilst Sephiroth thrust relentlessly into him, holding him up when his knees gave way. It caused another puce flush to erupt over his face. Not, of course, that it did anything for him – Liar, dahling! – but the thought was incredibly private. And he supposed he could see why some people would like the image – if you liked guys it might not be that bad. And he didn’t. Heh. Just for the record. Didn’t like them. And was getting kind of sick of having to validate that where Sephiroth was concerned.

Anyway, it was probably a good thing that these totally not-gay thoughts had blotted out the mention of Zack, for it would have sunk Cloud into yet another stupor of festering post-hardcore anguish, and that might have ruined the chances he had to impress Sephiroth. Interpretation open. They had also blotted out the mention that Sephiroth wanted to cover a few of Cloud’s songs, because that would have made him explode, and the car was really too nice for that sort of mess. Again, interpretation open.

He gave a half shrug, grabbing onto the last thing he remembered (and no, that wasn’t an image of white fingers on his hips and silver hair spilling over his shoulder) and hoping he wouldn’t make himself sound like a total tosspot

“Nothing to be curious about,” he said with a shrug, still fighting the blush, “Just ask and I’ll say.” He chose this moment to sneak a glance at Sephiroth, who was looking between him and the road. Rather than worry for his safety due to the fact that the man behind the wheel wasn’t paying attention to the road, his heart just swelled and he thought Sephiroth is so damn cool.

“Where are we going?” He asked, not sure if he had before.

“Somewhere in Sector Eight I was very glad to discover still existed.” Rightly so. He’d been devastated to find his previous tailor had died, because Sephiroth, in his denouncing of his own humanity five years ago, had neglected to remember that men nearly one hundred would not live for long at all. As it was he was stuck with some Gongagan who drawled about how sleepy he was and was constantly trying to get him to don a poncho because they ‘make you happy, sí sir, and this is so your colour, very you, sir, holy hell I’m so sleepy.’

And the leather trousers were nowhere near second skin enough for his tastes, even if aforementioned Gongagan was pretty damn skilled with a needle – and deserved props for being able to see despite the shadow cast by his hilariously wide brimmed hat. Thus he had donned an old pair tonight, because those were snug. He liked them snug. And he knew Cloud did too. Happy days, as Zack used to say. Traitorous bastard.

Before his expression soured he looked at Cloud, and managed to keep the smile on his face.

“Oh right,” came Cloud’s reply, noticing the tiny drop in Sephiroth’s smile and wondering about it. Should he ask him how he was? It seemed a bit sacrilegious, asking Sephiroth how he was doing when he’d already said he was fine. That and Cloud wasn’t the type to ask anyway; he was simply the type to worry.

On the other, brighter hand, he was pretty giddy at the idea of going to a place which was supposedly one of Sephiroth’s old haunts. Well, no, he was giddy anyway, but it was only intensified by such a thing.

“I’ve never really been to a pu – bar. Restaurant. Type thing.”

As true as it was he couldn’t help but cringe at the way he worded it. Hopefully Sephiroth would kick him out now, so he could bounce along the road, hopefully get run over, smacked into a lamp-post, and wake up in the Lifestream and say to Zack ‘The Chronicles of Zackland sucked and I hate that I couldn’t stop reading them’.

He wanted this to happen because being pinned by a dead Zack was better than being roasted alive by a living Sephiroth, don’t you know. You pleased with our subtlety yet?

Hopefully not, because there’s likely a lot more where that came from.

Sephiroth tilted his head just slightly so that he was able to watch him again, because as a pastime, watching Cloud was pretty entertaining. He tried to be so stoic, but his face failed him. It was so expressive that he encountered a vast range of different expressions, all of which he tried and failed to stifle. It was made even more amusing by the fact that Sephiroth was quite sure Cloud had no knowledge of the fact that he was doing it.

He smiled. It was a worrying look, once again because it was totally ambiguous. Cloud’s humiliation already weighing heavy on his shoulders, he took it for granted that it was mocking. But Sephiroth didn’t laugh, nor did he comment.

He did, however, smirk at how Cloud had turned faintly puce. It was supposed to be more comforting than it was – a lot of Sephiroth’s methods of Emulating Humanity turned out that way. At least he made an effort. Occasionally. It was more than the bastards deserved as far as he was concerned. He was quite fond of Cloud though, in an odd way. Where Zack Fair had been the type of person who everybody crushed on at some point, Cloud was the one everyone dreamt of noogieing. There was something infinitely noogiable about him.

“Are you alright?” He asked, after another of those long pauses tailor made to have Cloud squirming, not that it was necessary.

For while he might have looked infinitely noogiable, Cloud was also beginning to look slightly green around the gills. Motion sickness had hounded the man ever since his childhood and combined with the lurching of his stomach and jiggling of his nerves caused by Sephiroth, it was coming into play here. Cloud hated how easily he was succumbing to it – always had. Most modes of transport had him like this (motorbikes motherfucking excluded, of course) and he was mortified to be feeling it around Sephiroth.

He compressed his lips into a thin line and nodded, a feverish blush creeping over his cheeks, feverish not because of the motion sickness but because of the nerves. The slightly green tint to his skin was all thanks to the motion sickness. The one good thing about it was that the damn Southern Belle seemed to have shut up for more than ten minutes.

“Fine,” our brave little hero replied untruthfully. A part of him (read: most of him) was well aware that Sephiroth would know it to be a white lie – not because it was very obvious, you understand. Sephiroth would know because that was what Sephiroth did. That, made wonderful music, slaughtered an entire people, mothered his little brothers and gave Cloud a raison d’être. Anyway, he realised that Sephiroth would know he was bullshitting, and so swallowed and added, “Just motion sickness.”

“That’s lucky,” Sephiroth seemed to smirk, and once again Cloud thought about dying in some overly elaborate fashion to escape the shame. One of those long pauses lasted, during which Cloud was picturing himself tying lead weights to his feet and throwing himself into a river, before Sephiroth said “We’re here.”

He was watching him with one silver eyebrow raised, and Cloud found himself staring back, far too doe like than he’d usually be comfortable with. Why was he being watched? Why was he staring back like Bambi may, if he was more post fucking hardcore?

But Sephiroth only smiled a fraction and nodded, as though he’d confirmed something (Cloud’s welfare, as it happened, not that he’d be informed of that) before sliding out of the car, which was parked before one of Midgar’s many tall buildings. Cloud looked up at it for a moment. Midgar never ceased to make him think of a jungle, a forest, all the plants striving for light and survival.

Whilst Sephiroth wasn’t looking, he drew a recorder from his pocket (one of those ridiculous little click and speak things that Tifa had personalised with chocobo stickers) and clicked, before speaking into it, in a soft, distant voice, the voice of the artiste. “Forest. Striving for the sun. Striving to live, to survive. Don’t make it, you die. You’re nothing.”

“Are you coming, or should I just leave the air conditioning on in my car?”

--

--

Cloud stumbled slightly drunkenly into his apartment a few hours later, mind fizzing and heart fit to bursting. In one hand he was tucking away the key to his apartment, and in the other, clenched tight, he was holding a piece of paper with Sephiroth’s phone number neatly penned onto it. For when you want to talk, the silver haired god had said, smiling in a slightly leery manner as he had pressed it into Cloud’s hand. Cloud had scribbled his on the back of a napkin and then stared into his flirtini, wondering about how amazing life is when Sephiroth wanted to speak to you.

He’d had a few flirtinis that night – not enough to make him absolutely sloshed, but enough to give him a pleasant buzz. This buzz made him feel that he didn’t have to rationalize being a straight man and buying flirtinis and feeling kind of thrilled when Sephiroth bought him some as well. Thrilled in the way that made the Southern Belle proclaim triumph (she had said something along the lines of “I will never go hungry again!”).

But now he was back home, and his Sephiroth filled brain was only going Sephiroth Sephiroth Sephiroth and not at all letting him consider phoning Tifa like she would undoubtedly bitch in the morning that he had promised to. He simply made his way over to his sound system and turned it on, letting the sounds of ‘For the Reunion’ wash over him.

Cloud had been stumbling to and from places ever since Zack had died. At one point, he’d even managed to convince himself that he had been Zack, and it had taken Tifa to catch him out on this and gently persuade him back to himself, and then into therapy. Aerith had supported it, but Cloud could never shake the feeling that she had always been comparing him to Zack. He often wondered, somewhat angrily, why she thought someone who left her to bang Angeal Hewley and Genesis Rhapsodos was a better boyfriend than he was, but then would agree with her in the same heartbeat. He felt a let down to practically everything. He felt like he had been dead those past years.

Someone out in the street was blasting a Jenova Project song from their car (it was Tseng, actually, but Cloud wasn’t to know this). As it drew nearer, the sound eclipsed the beginning of “You Have” (Track Two on Geostigma, 3:55 minutes long). A scowl flashed across Cloud’s face, but then he heard Jenova’s voice singing the line “You make me feel alive”. It was haunting in its beauty (and rare, for a Jenova Project song, to have no mentions of sex and monsters and sex with monsters), and Cloud found that it, his favourite song by Sephiroth’s Mother’s band, rounded up what he felt about the man himself.

Sephiroth made him feel alive. He was the only thing worthwhile.

And if you readers thought that that was some bad juju, you’re going to be thrilled to know that as the car cruised by, ‘You Have’ was audible again. Sephiroth’s voice, low and as haunting as his mother’s had been, singing out ‘Will you until death does sever, be obliged to her forever?’

“Forever,” Cloud breathed alongside Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo, his eyes glowing a faint green in the darkness.

--

--

The lights were still on. This was a bad sign. If the lights were on, it meant they were still up. If they were still up, it meant Kadaj was still up, and he had school tomorrow, didn’t he know how imperative to efficiency it was that he got a good night’s sleep?

He locked the door behind him, and found Kadaj materialising in front, grinning brightly.

Too brightly.

“Hi,” he said, his voice so abrupt as to be likened to a pneumatic drill, and took a breath before he started rattling off. “How did it go? What was it like? Did you sleep with him? Did you kiss him? Does he worship you? Nyuh, nyuh, we just stayed home, nyuh. Watched tv. Nyuh. Cid Highwind blew up some Jumpers, nyuh, you should have seen it, we taped it though, wanna come watch, nyuh, Mother’s really awesome isn’t she? Why don’t you – nyuh – come into the sitting room and tell me how awesome she is ‘cause I meant you know more than I do nyuh do you want some chocolate cake we have left overs, nyuh, nyuh.”

Sephiroth waited until the cackling giggles subsided, eyeing Kadaj levelly all the while. Kadaj grinned. Sephiroth’s brow rose incrementally higher.

“What did you do?”

“What?” Kadaj gave another laugh, folding his arms over his chest and avoiding eye contact. “Why would you say that, nyuh, I mean, nyuh, we’ve just been watching tv like I said, nyuh, oh and played some Mario Kart, nyuh, Yazoo’s crap at it, nyuh, ny –“

“You’ve been eating pizza, haven’t you?”

“No, not, not really, I mean –“ Kadaj slumped, defeated. “Yeah. Salad sucks!”

“Healthy eating is important, Kadaj.”

“I know.” He kicked his foot. “I’m sorry.”

It was over too easily. Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed.

“What else did you do?”

The laughter restarted, bubbling forth from Kadaj’s throat like a really annoying indoor water feature.

“Nothing! Nyuh, nothing at all!” He was backing up, as though to block Sephiroth from going upstairs. Instinctively, Sephiroth started moving forward. “Can ah – can – nyuh – you show me how some moves for Souba? Or um – um – whatdoyoulike – cooking! Show me cooking! Or let’s go talk about Mother, nyuh, kay?”

“Get out of the way.”

“Wha – why? Why, Seph? Let’s stay down here. Come on. Party time!” Kadaj started moving; apparently trying to emulate the ‘interpretive dance’ that Yazoo was so fond of. Sephiroth glowered at him. He wasn’t very good, for a start. “Please stay here? Or um – hey, can we go look in your wardrobe again?”

“Have you got a girl here?”

“A girl? Me? Nahahaha, nyuh, hell no Seph, big brother!” He punched Sephiroth on the arm, putting on his best endearing look. It was hideous. “Why’d I have a girl? I’ve been uh – studying! Yeah! And getting my stuff ready for tomorrow!”

“I thought you were watching tv?”

“Studying nature! Yeah! Nothing teaches you about nature like Cid Highwind, nyuh,nyuh, nyuh…”

Sephiroth gently shoved him aside and started stalking upstairs.

“Hey! Hey, come back!”

Kadaj scrambled after him. It was too late. His bedroom door was thrust open, the light went on.

Kadaj’s girlfriend, Clarissa, lay on the bed. She was fully dressed, which was a blessing. She was also, however, apparently unconscious, and there was a bite mark on her neck. It was bleeding.

Sephiroth sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Behind him, Kadaj tittered.