Archive of Our Own

The mirror speaks its truth, though Sephiroth will have no qualms if it were to lie.

Yes, lie to him. Tell him falsehoods for just a moment. For just a moment, feed him untruths, disillusion him just as Jenova once had. Tell him that his eyes do not shine with mako, bright and unnerving, sharpened like a cunning cat's. Tell him that his skin is not pale, a porcelain doll cracked and abandoned, a being that wears a human costume.

Tell him that he is not Sephiroth. Allow him to be something else for a mere moment. 

The mirror screams at him. You are you! You cannot change! Unnatural creature that you are. Blessed by nothing, blessed by nothing . His reflection cackles. Sephiroth shakes. His reflection sneers. Sephiroth's fingers burn and ache. His mind briefly registers various physical sensations - warm, wet - and yet they all pale in comparison to his own thoughts drowning him.

"Sephiroth!"

Tifa Lockhart's voice echoes in his head, cradling his thoughts in the way a mother cradles her first newborn.

He turns to her, slow and calm as he can currently manage. She's not looking at him, but instead at his hands. He follows her gaze to see that the palms of his hands are bleeding. He's wearing no gloves, so he sees how the blood settles in the grooves of his fingers, seeps under his nails.

"Are you alright? I've been calling you, but you weren't answering."

She knows that he's not okay. He knows it, too, but it's customary for humans to ask. A sense of concern, Sephiroth has learned. The human desire to comfort and placate.

"I am fine." His lies have no weight. The tremble in his voice tells Tifa everything she needs to know.

"Do…you want me to get Cloud?"

Cloud. The answer to all of his plights, his soothing salve when the wounds open up and the scars ache too much.

"No." Another lie. It tumbles out his mouth, falling flat, and Tifa frowns. Another customary human behavior. Lies bring concern. Lies bring disappointment.

"I just need to…be alone for a moment," explains. He knows that he will not be left alone.

"Your hand is bleeding," Tifa says after a few moments. She fidgets with her own hands, ungloved and unharmed. "I'm…gonna get some bandages, okay? Don't leave."

Tifa retrieves the bandages and returns with first aid and Cloud. Sephiroth averts his gaze from them and chooses to look at his hands. They're stained with blood, as they have always been, as they will always be. It'll never be enough to cleanse them, though Sephiroth allows Cloud to come to him anyway, allows him to hold Sephiroth's hands gently while he wipes the blood away. Red drips into the sink, turning into a sickly pink as water swirls it into the drain. Cloud dries them and bandages his wounds carefully, delicately in the manner he does when Denzel or Marlene has a scratch.

And then he whisks Sephiroth away, past Tifa who looks as though she wants to say something; and past the children, whose looks of pity and concern sear Sephiroth's skin, yet another memory to weigh on his shoulders.

Cloud's room - their room, as Cloud always corrects him - is dark. The curtains are drawn close to keep out the too-bright sunlight. There's a candle that does little to brighten the environment. The flame is too small, too weak, and Cloud never remembers to extinguish it. It's dangerous to leave a candle lit, no matter how small the flame, and yet Cloud does nothing about it.

(It's dangerous to leave Sephiroth here, no matter how small his flame is, and yet Cloud continues to do nothing.)

In this dark room, Cloud sits close to Sephiroth, close enough that their knees touch and their fingers brush against one another. He doesn't say a single word; never does in these situations, instead choosing to wait for Sephiroth to speak. It's appreciated, Sephiroth admits. Tifa always tries to get him to express himself during her attempts to understand him. She never seems to realize that Sephiroth barely understands himself. The children are too young to understand the complexity that is Sephiroth. The best that they offer are tender hugs and warm smiles.

If Sephiroth listens closely, he can hear all of the small noises in the house. Cloud's heartbeat, slow and steady. His breathing, soft and delicate. The slight creak of the ceiling fan. The dishes being washed, the particular clink of shot glasses. The pitter-patter of small footsteps, the hushed voices of Denzel and Marlene – "stop eavesdropping" "i just wanna see if Sephy's okay" – and the eventual scurrying away when they hear nothing. The birds outside of the windowsill. The floorboards groaning. Sephiroth's own heartbeat, slow enough to the point that he might as well be dead, and perhaps this time he will rot in the ground as opposed to going to the Lifestream, flesh eaten by insects, bones deteriorating until there is nothing left; no small broken pieces, no dust, no microscopic particles to be discovered. Until nothing remains. Nothing.

"It is all too much."

Cloud doesn't speak yet; Sephiroth knows he's still waiting for just a little bit more.

He looks at Cloud, moving strands of his hair out of the way so that he can see all of his lover.

His eyes burn blue. Speckles of mako are still littered throughout. It is a beautiful sight, Sephiroth admits. All of Cloud is beautiful; from the light freckles that dust across his face to the scar marks his chests, long and jagged. He is a beautiful sight; Sephiroth knows that looking upon him is undeserved, and yet, selfish as ever, he cannot help himself.

Shame burns in his throat. 

"This…attempt at life. It is all too much."

The Lifestream rejects him. The planet shuns him. Natural consequences of his unnatural existence.

A few minutes go by. Sephiroth says nothing more; it's not that he can say anything else. Thoughts elude him like death does.

Cloud touches his hand, slides his fingers in-between Sephiroth's, slotting together so perfectly as if they belong. And perhaps they do belong; their lives have been so intricately intertwined, a painstakingly woven web, that it is quite impossible to separate them. Fate feels so cruel in that regard, keeping Sephiroth with Cloud, knowing that they should not be together and yet, without fail, dragging them to one another over and over. Destiny is cruel, unforgiving.

Cloud squeezes his hand; the one gesture tells Sephiroth everything he needs to know. We'll do it together. You and me. He knows it's genuine because Cloud is genuine in all that he does.

Sephiroth gives a small squeeze in return. He'll try. He's unsure if he can do it for his sake, but he'll do it for Cloud. 

Night creeps in, covering the walls and floorboards until darkness reaches every corner. Sephiroth rises up the stairs slowly, a phantom moving through the house he haunts. He has finished cleaning up his mess in the downstairs bathroom, though both Cloud and Tifa assured him that he didn't need to. But he needs to, of course. They shouldn't have to clean up after his mistakes; they've already done so many times.

When he reaches his room, he finds Denzel and Marlene waiting in front of the door. The children give Sephiroth their good nights with big smiles and outstretched arms. Marlene hugs him, squeezing his leg so hard, pouring all of her love into him. Denzel does the same, and he lingers longer than Marlene. They do it every night, and Sephiroth returns their love with gentle pats to the head. He doesn't understand children - he never has. They possess an innocence that feels so unfamiliar to Sephiroth, a view on the world that he simply cannot connect with. 

Sephiroth indulges them for longer than usual, and when they are satisfied, they playfully swat at his hands and scatter to their rooms. He watches them go, listening to their giggles fade, and then descends into the darkness of his room.

He finds Cloud undressing. His shirt is already off, and even in the dark, he can make out the smooth scars across Cloud's skin. Scars that Sephiroth gave him, cruel gifts. Sometimes he kisses those scars, each one an apology, hoping he can make them go away.

"Heard Denzel and Marlene cornering you again," Cloud remarks, laughing for a moment. He kicks off one boot, then the other, tossing them somewhere into the shadows of their bedroom.

"One time they chased me so I could read them a bedtime story. And they purposely chose one of the longer ones."

"They are…very persistent. A trait they seem to have received from you."

"Hey!"

Sephiroth finds a smile upon his face. One inevitably forms whenever he's with Cloud; he simply cannot help himself.

He continues to stare at Cloud, observing the way his muscles constrict and relax. His slender fingers undoing his belts, each one falling to the floor with an unceremonial thump. Cloud is pretty. Even with the reminders of their past battles engraved on his skin, Cloud remains pretty. 

Cloud looks up at Sephiroth, looking right at his eyes. Sephiroth quickly turns away, ignoring Cloud's light huff of laughter and the way it squeezes his heart.

"C'mere, Seph."

Sephiroth listens, stopping right in front of Cloud. Cloud reaches a hand up and tugs at Sephiroth's collar.

"I can't be the only one naked here," he teases. 

Undressing is nothing for Sephiroth. It's different from Cloud's; there's nothing to be seen, nothing to be in awe of. And yet Cloud looks at him as if he's beholden to some miracle, eyes following all of Sephiroth's stiff movements, hunger shining in his eyes as if he has never eaten a day in his life.

To be wanted, to be desired. It'll never fail to make Sephiroth's heart ache in a way he cannot understand.

They make their way to the bed, with Sephiroth lying on his back and Cloud climbing on top of him.

"You're beautiful," Cloud murmurs, brushing his knuckles against Sephiroth's cheek. There is love in those eyes. A love so intense that nearly suffocates him. "Do you know that?" 

Sephiroth nods.

"Say it, Sephiroth. I want to hear you say it."

"I'm…beautiful."

Cloud stares at him for a while longer. Sephiroth doesn't know what he's searching for. He makes Sephiroth goes through those affirmations often - I'm beautiful, I'm loved, I'm worthy. Are they supposed to come true? 

Cloud gifts Sephiroth with a kiss on the lips, then a kiss on his neck, followed by a trail of kisses on Sephiroth's collarbone. Every press of Cloud's lips against his delicate skin makes Sephiroth gasp softly. 

He frowns when Cloud moves away from him. Sephiroth yearns for more: more kisses, more touches, more love. He is greedy, selfish: he wants all of Cloud, every single fiber of his lover's being. As undeserving as he is, he craves Cloud, an insatiable appetite.

"Please," Sephiroth pleads. "Continue."

Cloud smiles. A simple acknowledgement to Sephiroth's pleas, a simple promise that Cloud makes. His hands, rough and calloused from years of fighting, rest upon Sephiroth's chest, fingers splayed out as though Cloud is memorizing the texture of his skin, of every imperfection. This intimacy always overwhelms Sephiroth; for all new forms of love he faces, this type leaves him feeling everything at once. A hunger, a yearning, a desperation. 

When Cloud drags his hand down his skin, fire spreading, blood burning, Sephiroth lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

And when Cloud's hand ghosts by his cock, sensitive to the touch as it is already pathetically weeping, Sephiroth sucks in a breath, holding back a whimper.

And when Cloud's fingers enter him, rough and dry because that's what Sephiroth desires, tears form at the corners of his eyes, and he smiles despite himself, despite knowing that he does not deserve the way Cloud twists inside of him, exploring him, taking him apart and putting him back together. Broken machines need to be fixed, lest they be thrown away, and Cloud keeps fixing the always breaking down Sephiroth.

Sephiroth comes with a hiss of Cloud's name and a shattered cry. A mess pools on his stomach, but Cloud keeps going, stretching him further with a third finger, the burn keeping him aware though his mind feels dazed, foggy. Cloud pushes and prods at that sensitive spot and - it's too much, it's too much, but it's yet another one of Sephiroth's desires. Push him past the point where he can no longer feel. Push him past what he once thought was limitless.

Pain is pleasure, pleasure is pain, and Sephiroth drowns in it all. The tears tumble over another now. All of the emotions that swirl within him spill out, a beautiful mess, and Cloud laps it all up to make it his own, to take on everything Sephiroth feels onto his shoulders.

He comes again, weaker than his first time, but still enough to thoroughly make him another mess. Cloud pulls out of Sephiroth, takes his fingers and swirls around in the sticky filth on Sephiroth's stomach, smearing it up his heaving chest and spreading it across his reddened lips and blotchy cheeks.

Once Cloud seems to be satisfied with his little marking ritual, he bends down to kiss Sephiroth. The moment doesn't last long; it ends as quickly as it begins, and Sephiroth tries to follow, to taste more of Cloud and feel his tongue cradle his.

Cloud swipes his tongue across his lips - how do I taste to him? Sephiroth wonders - and rises from the bed, leaving Sephiroth to feel the aftershocks of their activities. His body is hyper aware of everything: the cool draft, the sweat drying from his body, the stickiness of his own come on his body. It is the reality of life; he's out of the small world solely shared between him and Cloud.

Cloud returns to him, as he always does, with a washcloth in his hand and a few other trivial items. Cloud's gentle in this regard: he takes his time to clean Sephiroth, soothes his aches with balms, eases the pain he craved with soft kisses and tender touches. This, too, is a reality of life. It's the slow ease from a high, his mind and body grounded. A reminder that he is in the present.

When Cloud is done with his work, he idly tosses them to the side and climbs over Sephiroth, moving and adjusting both of their limbs until he is settled against Sephiroth's side. The sounds of their breathing, now settled and synced, seem so loud in the quiet of their room. Cloud's fingers tap against Sephiroth's collarbone, rhythmic, and Sephiroth chooses to focus on that instead, on how the motions begin to slow down alongside Cloud's heartbeat, barely a trickle before it all stops and Cloud's hand rests listlessly on his chest.

Sephiroth doesn't sleep, not right away at least. Cloud always tries to lull him to sleep, but ends up falling asleep himself. It's endearing. An adorably human thing to do. Sephiroth can't do something like that, something so human and alive, but perhaps with enough practice, he can replicate it. Bring himself to do something adorably human, even if only once.

Sephiroth brings his hand to Cloud's still one. He presses it gently to his chest, hoping that Cloud can feel his heart beat, and falls asleep.

Tifa tells him he is doing well. He helps out with chores around the house, assists Tifa with managing the bar, keeps the kids company. He is what is deemed a "huge help", a title of the highest honor, it seems. It doesn't feel like a high honor. It doesn't even feel like much, but Tifa means what she says. She, like Cloud, is genuine. No matter how much he searches, Sephiroth has no reason to not believe her.

"Seriously," she insists. Her eyes sparkle the way Cloud's does when he wants you to believe what he's saying. Perhaps the result of their long-lasting friendship. 

Friendship. It was but a fleeting moment for him, it seems. Some of the memories of those days are hazy; others are clear, having returned to him slowly after his latest exit for the Lifestream. He frowns; thinking of the past frustrates him.

"I cannot thank you enough, Sephiroth."

"There's no need to thank me," he replies, avoiding her gaze and choosing to look at the floor, scanning his eyes over the grooves of the fading wood. Her praise is too much for someone like him; like needles, it pricks his skin.

His conversations with Tifa never last long. Most of it is due to Sephiroth; Tifa is too kind, too patient with him. Even when he returned once again, and she stared at him with wary eyes, she still spoke to him with a cordiality he did not deserve.

"You're always supposed to thank someone," she countered. "It's a good thing to show gratitude. I always have to remind Cloud of that, ya know."

Tifa continues her chatter to him, moving around so frequently that his eyes find themselves focused on her again. Tifa moves purposefully, even around Sephiroth, reaching past him to retrieve an item, or politely asking him to scoot over.

How is she so sure of herself? Sephiroth was once like that, but he knows that was nothing more than a façade. An attempt at security, riddled with cracks that he once refused to acknowledge.

Sephiroth taps his fingers against his thigh. His gaze falls upon Tifa's arms, strong and yet capable of tenderness, and he spots the accessory on her forearm.

The pink ribbon. His eyes linger there for too long. Sephiroth knows what it stands for; he knew since the moment he saw it tied around Cloud's arm. All of his comrades wear one. It remains with them for eternity, a reminder of Her, a way to keep Her presence alive. She, whose name he cannot bring himself to say because how could he? He was Her murderer, simply put. There is nothing that can absolve him of that.

His skin feels itchy. Odd. Unnatural. As though it's plastic stretched over his muscles and his bones. Too big and too small. Why is he here? Why is he here? Sephiroth presses his nails against his thigh, feeling the hardness of muscle under the false skin. Too big and too small. Why does he wear this costume?

If he had remained dead, She would still be alive, isn't that right? 

A disgusting taste fills Sephiroth's mouth. His nails dig deeper. He wants it off, take it off.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

What isn't wrong? His existence that defies the natural order. His inability to simply die. He's in house where he is beloved by those that he hurt, those that he manipulated? Is this all just an illusion? A trick of the mind? How is it possible to be surrounded by children that would've died by his hand? How is he here with a woman whose existence he deemed a mere obstacle? How is he here with the very man whose life he ruined constantly, tortured and abused, and yet is loved by him? It's simply not possible!

It's simply not possible.

Take it off. Rip it off. Rend the flesh for it is useless. Shed the skin and –

"Stop!"

Sephiroth knows of that voice. Tifa. Tifa Lockhart. She is here? Yes, she is. He's here with Tifa at her home, with her family, in her world.

"Please."

He blinks. A haze hovers over Sephiroth as if he has awakened from a deep slumber. A squeeze on his hand registers briefly in his mind, and he looks down to see it is Tifa's hand joined with his.

"Talk to me. I…I know I'm not Cloud, but I can help, too. Please."

Fragility doesn't suit Tifa. Or maybe it does and Sephiroth has never noticed. Maybe his perception of her has been wrong. He has been wrong before, and he never realizes how wrong he is until he breathes his final breath.

Words remain stuck in the back of his throat, so Sephiroth speaks to Tifa with his eyes, guiding her to the ribbon. Realization sparkles like rubies in her eyes, but she keeps quiet. And they remain like that, hand in hand, in a silence so still that Sephiroth could swear the world itself has stopped.

"I…dream of her, sometimes," starts Tifa. "And sometimes she comes to me in my dreams. She can do that, you know. Something with the Lifestream and her being a Cetra. She doesn't do it often, but…I still cherish it when I see her. Makes me feel like she's never truly gone.

"And even when she's not visiting, she's still in my memories. We still carry our memories. I know you do, too. Your memories. Your regrets. Your grief."

Tifa shifts her hand so that her fingers slide in between Sephiroth's. They're a bit rough like Cloud's, molded from years of fighting and surviving.

"It hurts, Sephiroth. I know it does. But I think that pain is what lets us move forward? To persevere. We change, we start again."

"I…do not know how to do that. I do not know how to start again. I do not know how to…live."

Tifa nods.

"No one really knows," she responds. "But we try. We figure it out, make mistakes, learn from them. It sounds like a lot, doesn't it? But that's what it means to be human."

To be human? It has been so long that he doesn't even know where to start. How does one start anew? To live a normal life, a human life? Would the planet allow it for him? Would She allow that?

"I…I think she'll come to you, one day," Tifa continues. Like Sephiroth, Tifa finds herself unable to say Her name. "Like she does with me and Cloud. With everyone. You should listen to her when she does."

Sephiroth doesn't respond. Tifa gives his hand another gentle squeeze.

"I'll give you some space, okay?"

Her fingers start to slip from his - how long were they connected like this? - but Sephiroth swiftly clasps his other hand over hers.

"I…I would like to help you some more. If you find that amenable. Please."

Tifa's eyes shimmer. Is she holding back tears?

"Yeah. Yeah, you can help me. Of course. The dishes have to be cleaned. How about I wash and you dry?"

Sephiroth nods. He can do that. A simple task. A human task.

He feels the children staring at him. They don't do well at hiding; Sephiroth knew of their presence before they even settled behind the door frame of the living room.

The children are fond of him, though he's uncertain of why. Neither of them fear them. Denzel always looks at him with a mix of awe and curiosity. Marlene is unreadable. She always seems to be looking into him instead of at him, as though she recognizes someone he doesn't.

"Denzel. Marlene. You can come in, if you wish."

Shoes scuffle and little gasps echo, and soon the both of them waddle in, making their way to the couch and sitting on either side of Sephiroth.

"We…we wanted to check in on you," Denzel explains. Marlene nods in agreement.

"You look so sad, Sephy."

Sad. Such a simple term, and yet it's so much deeper than that.

"I suppose I am sad, little Marlene."

"Well, you're family now , ya know," Denzel explains. He doesn't quite look at Sephiroth, instead messing with a string hanging from his shirt sleeve. It must be difficult for Denzel to address feelings, too. If he looks closely, Sephiroth recognizes bits and pieces of himself in Denzel.

"Tifa says that we're a family, and you're with us, so you're a part of this family."

"Yes! We're here for you now!"

Marlene chirps, a songbird singing in the early morning. She is far too bright for someone like Sephiroth, but he finds himself unable to look away. And Marlene looks straight at him, never breaking eye contact for a second. Such bold confidence at her young age. Perhaps being around a bold and fierce mix-match group has shaped her that way.

He doesn't respond right away. How could he explain his plight to them?

"I have made mistakes," he begins. "And…I regret those mistakes because they have hurt people. I cannot fix what I have done."

Denzel and Marlene exchange looks at each other. They seem to be saying something that Sephiroth can't understand.

Marlene stands up on the couch. Sephiroth holds onto her hand as she wobbles for a moment. He's not sure if he should nip this behavior in the bud, but the look on Marlene's face - her eyes serious and a pout stuck onto her face - prevents him from saying anything.

"Everybody makes mistakes, but if people forgive you, then they forgive you! And you have to forgive yourself, too."

His mistakes are grave; they have followed him from countless deaths and rebirths. How could he forgive himself? Redemption has long been out of his reach.

He doesn't know how to forgive himself. He's not sure if he'll ever learn how.

Marlene softens, smiling as she jumps and plops down onto the couch, with Sephiroth holding his arm in case she bounces right off. She seems pleased with herself and Denzel laughs, attempting to follow Marlene's footsteps, though Sephiroth stops him by putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him back down.

"Can you watch a cartoon with us?" Marlene asks. "We managed to convince Cloud to let us stay up a little later."

"Tifa as well?" Sephiroth questions.

The kids blink at him.

"Um…" Marlene starts.

"Well…" Denzel adds.

"Do not worry. I won't say a single word."

He agrees to watch the program with them. The bright lights and silly sounds are oddly fascinating. Sephiroth finds himself enjoying the show's simple plot. It's a decent distraction; his thoughts are on the absurdity of the characters, their adventures in their nonsensical world. He has never gotten to watch anything like this before. Cartoons were not for someone like him. Time could not be wasted on such silliness.

Marlene and Denzel fall asleep halfway through the second episode, but Sephiroth stays awake for it. And the third one. And the fourth one and fifth and sixth until his eyes grow heavy and sleep calls to him.

Sephiroth is surrounded by flames.

He is in Nibelheim, watching the house crumple and turn into ash. The smell of bodies fills the air, making his nose wrinkle. He has lived this scene over and over. He knows every detail, knows every scream, knows when every life ended.

For once, the flames hurt him. They lap at his skin, burning him, peeling the layers away until the muscle is exposed. The smoke makes his eyes water. Where can he go? He needs to leave. He must find his mother. 

Mother. Mother. What mother? That can't be right. She never was such a thing. 

He's dreaming. Nothing more than his mind making him relieve his sins. Screaming is futile; there'll be no one to help him. He will die like everyone else.

Sephiroth closes his eyes. And when he reopens them, he is staring up at a blue sky.

Where is he now? This is no longer Nibelheim, but it is nothing he recognizes. He sits up, finds himself sitting in a field of flowers. This surely cannot be heaven? That is not a place for him. 

"Are you alright? That was an intense dream."

He knows of this voice. After all these years, he has not forgotten.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. Take a moment. It's okay. You're okay now."

She is standing over him, concern in her eyes. She is standing over him, alive, breathing, full of life.

Words have failed him. He knows that dress - her blood stained it. His sword pierced her flesh, took her life away with no mercy. Why is she here?

Her hands hover over his face. He can't move, he can't move. 

"Sephy's having a nightmare. What do we do?"

"Wake up. I'm sorry. Everything will be okay. I will come back another time."

She cradles his face the way a mother cradles her upset child. She is soft, soothing like a floral fragrance, gentle with his delicate form. Tears well up in his eyes. No, no - he cannot have this.

"You go get Cloud. I'll get Tifa!"

It's Her. Her.

Aer–

"Sephiroth! Wake up!"

His eyes snap open. Cloud is standing above him. There are voices in the background - high-pitched and distorted as jolly music plays in the background. 

"You were screaming," Cloud says, moving closer to Sephiroth. His steps are slow, deliberate, similar to approaching a scared wild animal. "Marlene came to get me."

He reaches out toward Sephiroth, but he squirms away from it. Cloud reels his hand back.

"Don't touch me; I am a monster."

His heart is beating in his throat. He needs to vomit. He needs to choke. He needs to –

"Die. She should have let me die."

"She? Sephiroth, who are you -?"

"I killed her, I killed her."

The noises grow louder. Adventure, adventure, let's save the world! He tried to save the world once. But instead, he hurt it. He hurt the planet and everyone on it. He is no savior. Just a monster born to hurt, to kill.

Sephiroth collapses and crawls past Cloud, ignoring the call of his name as he reaches the source of the noise. The lights flicker; the characters sing and dance. They are so happy. Happy and alive.

With a scream, Sephiroth clenches his fist and slams it against the colorful sight before. There are sparks, sputtering out like a dying breath, and then everything goes black.

Gone. It's all done. He has done what he was born to do.

"I killed them," Sephiroth whispers. "Just like I killed her."

"You saw Aerith, didn't you?"

Sephiroth snaps his head up. Cloud? Where did he come from? His savior, his enemy. His solace and his downfall. Everything has always revolved around Cloud, hasn't it? Just like the planet around the sun.

"I need you, Cloud."

Sephiroth can taste the desperation on his tongue - bitter and foul. It's pathetic. He's pathetic. But still he yearns. He wants - no, needs - to forget. Even for a moment, he needs to forget. All of his pain, his sorrows, that ache in his heart that begs for his death.

"I need you."

He's on his knees. He feels Cloud's soul touch his: so tender, soft, waves of love. How gentle, so gentle, but it is not what Sephiroth wants. No, he wants not kindness, not forgiveness, not redemption.

"Kill me. Please. I need you to kill me."

Cloud kneels before him. Holds Sephiroth's hands with a gentleness that makes Sephiroth want to scream.

"No."

No? Does he not even deserve to die? If not that, then what is his punishment? Living? He is not made for living. Please, give him any other punishment than that. Please do not grant him life.

"I want you to breathe, Sephiroth. Breathe."

The voice that sounds like Cloud's feels distant, muffled. Someone approaches them and – ah, there is a child that looks like Denzel. And another that has Marlene's form. And this woman who has taken on Tifa's features also comes to him. They play the roles of humans so much better than he ever could. He's envious. Humanity surrounds him and yet it eludes him.

There's so much pity in their eyes. Pity for the poor creature. Pity for the machine that has finally reached the point of no return. Unfixable, useless - just throw him away. Will they grant him his wish? Ah, but he is tired now. So, so tired. 

Arms wrap around him. Sephiroth hears crying - it echoes, far and close, loud and soft. Whose tears are those?

He is tired. Something is dripping down his cheek. His vision is blurry; where did everyone go? He still hears sobbing?

Who is crying and why do they cry?

Why do they cry?

"He's asleep right now."

"What should we do?"

"We stay with him, Tifa. Stay by his side."

"I…just…I don't feel like I'm doing enough. I want to help him.

"I know."

"Tifa, Cloud, is Sephiroth going to be okay?"

"He will, Denzel. He has been through a lot. It takes time to heal."

"I want to give him a hug."

"You can't right now, Marlene. He's resting."

"But –"

"We'll check in on him soon, okay?"

"I love him. He's our family now. But I don't think he believes that."

"He does. It's just…hard for him to accept. He's been without love for a very long time."

"I love him. Can you let him know that, Cloud?"

"Yeah, can you tell him that I love him, too?"

"We can all tell him together, okay?"

"Okay."

He rises from his slumber, slithering from underneath blankets and pillows. He's in his bedroom, but attempting to recall how he got here brings nothing but headaches. The curtains are drawn, but he can tell it's morning by the way the light filters through the edges. Something is shifting close by. Sephiroth turns over, a dull ache settled in his bones, and finds that Cloud, his Cloud, is next to him. Just a sheet covers his sleeping form; he's never been fond of having too many blankets on him.

He hears something else, so he forces himself to rise, carefully and quietly so as to not disturb Cloud.

Denzel and Marlene are sleeping on a makeshift bed composed of pillows and comforters too big for their small frames. Tifa is not too far from them. She sleeps against the wall, huddled in a chair with a few blankets.

Memories of last night resurface. He feels sick; he must've scared them terribly. But they are here with Sephiroth now. They have taken him upstairs, spent the night with him to make sure he wasn't alone. They witnessed his sadness, his pain, his agony.

And yet, they are here.

They have stayed with him. Despite everything, they have stayed with him.

Denzel shuffles, his eyes blinking awake, and Sephiroth makes eye contact with him.

"He's awake!" Denzel scrambles to get up, fighting the blankets as best as he can, causing Marlene and Tifa to wake as well.

"Sephy's awake!" Marlene calls, and she too struggles before she's able to get up, following Denzel onto the bed. Tifa rises, greeting Sephiroth with a "Good morning" before also joining them on the bed.

"Damn, you guys make a lotta noise."

Cloud grumbles a few choice words, but the smile in his voice is evident. Then, Sephiroth sees it as Cloud sits up and leans in to place a chaste kiss on Sephiroth's cheek.

They all can barely fit on this bed. Sephiroth occupies most of the space, so everyone huddles close to him. He's certain they make for an odd sight.

"Okay," Marlene starts, "on the count of three. One…two…three!"

"We love you!"

The group hug is less hug and more of a tumble: Cloud hits his head on the headboard, and Tifa nearly falls off. Denzel accidentally kicks Marlene, and Marlene retaliates, and a game of footsies begins.

Sephiroth watches this all transpire before him, watches the way Tifa braces her hand against his shoulder, trying to balance herself; watches the way Cloud curses at rubs at his head, only to curse again as he gets trapped in Denzel and Marlene's antics; watches as the children scramble closer to him, hoping that he'd protect them from Cloud.

It's an absurd moment, but humans live for the absurd. It is a part of their existence to be odd, to face the silly times alongside the bad times. To create chaos and see the beauty in it. It's incredibly human, and Sephiroth is in the midst of this incredibly human moment.

And in the chaos of this human moment, he laughs.

Everything stops. Sephiroth doesn't know why his body's doing this; his shoulders shake and his stomach hurts and the corners of his mouth reach toward the sky. Little chuckles escape him, and then they grow bigger and bigger and louder and louder until tears form at the corner of his eyes. Big tears that roll down his face. Is he crying now? Or is this still laughter? Is he happy or sad? Sephiroth does not know, and yet he still laughs.

And everyone joins him in this laughter. Because what is laughter but yet another human moment? The culmination of all that they have gone through rolled and stuffed into this one singular moment?

Despite everything, they laugh with him. Despite everything, they have stayed with him. 

Despite everything, they have loved him.

"Now you just garnish with a bit more mint and add a Key lime round and - ah! Perfect."

Sephiroth looks down at the creation Tifa taught him how to make: a key lime mojito. He has no particular inclination to drink alcohol, but Tifa says this is the best way to keep his hands busy. That's all he's been doing for the past week: busy hands means focused thoughts, Marlene tells him. He's been playing dolls with Marlene, helping Denzel with homework, creating concoctions with Tufa, and helping Cloud tinkering with his motorcycle. He knows nothing about anything - busy hands for him meant polishing his sword, cutting down his enemies, carrying the bodies of the dead - but he's learning, and that's what Cloud says matters the most.

"You might become better than me. Might."

Tifa giggles. Her laughter is a sweet sound, ringing in Sephiroth's ears so pleasantly, a soft melody. She's laughing around him, speaking with him as she does with her other friends.

"We'd have to get Cloud to judge, but he might have trouble choosing between me and you. Maybe Cid. He enjoys every vice ever. Or maybe –"

"Are we friends?" Sephiroth interrupts.

Tifa seems to be genuinely taken aback, but it fades as quickly as it appears, and Tifa gives him a warm smile.

"I feel like we're friends. I want to be your friend, if you'll let me."

"Why?"

"Because you need a friend in your life, and…and I want to be that friend. So, please, let me be that friend for you."

"I have tried to kill you, you know."

"I know. But that's in the past now."

Sephiroth frowns. How easily can one leave things in the past? He struggles with that, still, but as with everything else, he is still learning.

"I didn't trust you at first," Tifa admits. She fidgets with hands, her eyes not quite meeting his. The admission doesn't hurt him; her doubts were made clear as day, ranging from her wary looks when he was with Cloud to keeping the children from getting too close to him.

"But there's something different. Something sincere."

Tifa sighs. She leans against the counter.

"I could see that you were trying. And I figured I had to try, too. That if Cloud could forgive you, then maybe I could, too. And I have forgiven you. The only one that hasn't forgiven you is you, Sephiroth."

He's reminded of Marlene's words from that night. Marlene had told everyone about it, and now he's working on forgiveness. It is a difficult task, but he finds himself willing to try, for once.

"I'm tired. And you're tired too. But as long as we have our loved ones, then we'll be okay."

Tifa turns to face Sephiroth. Her smile reaches your hand.

"Come here. Give me your hand."

When he approaches her, she doesn't flinch. And when he holds his hand out, slow and hesitant but willing, she reaches out to him and clasps onto him with a sureness and gentleness that slows his heart.

And when Tifa pulls him into a hug, he memorizes this new feeling - her gentle but firm hold, the lavender scent of shampoo. His hands hover over her, unsure of where they should land, but they eventually settle for the small of Tifa's back.

"We'll be okay."

Sephiroth finds himself nuzzling against the crook of Tifa's neck, but she doesn't seem to mind. She seems to welcome it instead, hugging him tighter.

Perhaps this is what it's like to trust. Perhaps this is what it's like to be trusted.

"We'll be okay," she tells him. Her voice trembles against him. 

"We'll be okay," he repeats. 

For once, he can believe that.

"You seem happier."

Sephiroth looks up from his book - a romance drama that Tifa found at a thrift shop. The genre isn't that particularly entertaining so far, but Tifa has been purchasing any book she can find to help with his newfound hobby.

"It's a good thing that you found something you enjoy," she says. "As time goes on, you'll find more things you like. And it doesn't have to be permanent! Things can change."

Reading is an enjoyable task, though his eyes make it a bit difficult at times. Tifa has suggested reading glasses, but he's not too fond of the way they look on him. Cloud chooses to sit with him, settling next to him on the couch. Their knees touch.

"Do I really?"

"Yeah," Cloud responds, nodding. "You're reading for enjoyment, you tell bedtime stories to the kids. And Tifa says that you're making very good drinks, which gotta be, like, the highest honor ever."

"I am learning from the best."

"Oh?" Cloud smirks. "So you think Tifa's the very best, huh? I'm sure she'll love to hear that."

"Please don't tease me," Sephiroth mutters, hiding his face with his bangs. Cloud chuckles, giving a soft apology while moving Sephiroth's hair out of the way.

"You also like stargazing. It's gonna be a little too cold to do that soon, so you won't be able to drag me out in the middle of the night anymore."

He once wondered what was held within those stars, if he could make it his own.

"You can wear a scarf."

"That doesn't stop it from being cold outside."

Sephiroth chuckles. They settle into a comfortable silence, only broken by the occasional page turn or by Cloud adjusting himself until he's leaning against Sephiroth's shoulder.

"Hey, Seph?" Cloud starts. Sephiroth feels a light tug on his hair and he turns from his book to see Cloud playing in, spinning silver strands around his fingers.

"Yes, Cloud?"

"You know we can go stargazing when you want to, right? We can do anything together."

"I know."

Another moment of silence passes, then: "You know I love you, right?"

"I do."

"I wanna hear you say it."

"You love me," Sephiroth says, lowering his head slightly to place a kiss against Cloud's forehead. "You love me as I love you."

Cloud smiles and returns the kiss. And when Cloud deepens it, lightly pulling at Sephiroth's hair to urge him closer, Sephiroth places his book to the side. Reading is an enjoyable hobby, but he enjoys Cloud even more. His love will always be permanent.

In his dreams, he is surrounded by flowers. Yellow ones, green, blue, red. As far as the eye can see, there are flowers carefully cultivated, treated tenderly and blooming with love.

He knows this place. He knows who is here.

"Hello," he calls out. "Aerith?"

"Well, hi there, Sephiroth."

He turns around to find her standing behind him. She is smiling sheepishly at him, hands behind her back.

"I'm sorry for before, I really am. I don't think you were ready to see me then. I just didn't want to see you suffer."

"But I have caused your loved ones nothing but suffering. I…have caused you suffering."

"I see nothing but Marlene braiding your hair. I see Denzel admiring you. I see Tifa teaching you, and I see Cloud loving you. Are you gonna deny that?"

Sephiroth shakes his head. Cloud has told him that there is nothing that can get past Aerith. "She just…knows," he says. And she knows indeed. She knows everything about him, more than he'll ever know about himself. A true Cetra through and through.

"How have you been feeling?" she asks him.

"Sad," he replies, honest in his answer. "But happy, as well."

Aerith nods sagely. 

"It's okay to feel sad. But it's not okay to bottle it up. You have family with you to talk to about it now."

Aerith pokes at his chest. Twice. Her finger is small and slender, but it surprisingly hurts.

"I'm serious. You and Cloud have a bad habit of keeping things to yourself. Don't do that! Let it out! Let it free. He's already gotten this lesson from me multiple times, so hopefully he knows the deal by now."

Sephiroth blinks, still a little thrown off by the poke. Aerith laughs for a bit before it tapers off into a chuckle and settles down into a sweet smile.

"I don't want to see you here for a while, okay? You have people that need you. You have to stay with them. Live out your life with them. Live your normal human life."

Sephiroth nods. "I…I understand."

"Good. I'd just kick you out, anyway. Now, it's time for you to go. We'll see each other again soon, okay?"

A breeze blows the petals into the air. Flowers obscure his view. Soon, he'll wake up from his dream. Soon, he'll be back with his family.

"Thank you, Aerith," he whispers.

He doesn't get a response, but that is alright. She has heard him, he knows it.

The mirror shows that his hair is a bit messy. Maybe he'll let Marlene comb it out and style it today. She's been begging to put his hair into pigtails. He can already hear Cloud's teasing.

His skin is a little pinker, his eyes a little brighter. Running errands with Tifa and Cloud has him outside more. The mirror shows him this truth; he is accepting of it.

"Hey, Seph!"

He turns to see Cloud peeking into the bathroom. He's dressed casually today; there are no deliveries to be made, so he's chosen to spend time at home.

"It's my turn to make breakfast today. You wanna help me?"

Sephiroth nods in response. Cloud smiles and heads off to start getting things ready. 

This is what starting over is like, isn't it? Preparing breakfast, moving slowly through the days, some good and some difficult. Never a set routine, day to day to day. To live a normal life. A human life.

Sephiroth smiles. It's a customary human trait. It fits him well.