Archive of Our Own ^beta

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        “Are you sure you don't want to document your scripts?” the woman at the counter asked once more after he handed the papers back. Cloud shook his head, relieved it wasn't mandatory. She stared at him for another moment, delaying just that little bit longer to see if he changed his mind.

        Scripts , he thought, the mark of your soulmate. Initials written on your skin in their handwriting. Most SHINRA employees had theirs documented and added to the database when they first enlisted, to scan through existing scripts for a match, to analyse their handwriting in the hopes of finding their soulmate before they more than likely died in the line of duty. Somehow, it seemed like cheating.

        Besides that feeling though, there was another reason Cloud refused to enter his. The same reason he never used his real handwriting on official papers. Rather than his typical all capitals scrawling, he opted for teenage boy chicken-scratches as his mom had called it.

        “I'm positive,” he confirmed once more, seeing the clerk still waiting. He couldn't risk it, and he couldn't choose. Even if he did opt to have a photo taken, he couldn't choose which of his five scripts to show. Given how rare it was to have two soulmates, he'd rather not end up being experimented on. He'd heard the rumours. That, and if the database ever provided a match, how on Gaia was he supposed to tell them hey, just to let you know I have four more soulmates. Like that would go over well.

        His mother had been terrified the day he was born with five of them. You only got your scripts if both parties were alive, meaning his soulmates were either the exact same age, or older. Not to mention, there was no telling if any of them had other soulmates. Or if they would be jealous of Cloud's other soulmates. He just didn't see how this could work, and so he kept it quiet. That, and it wouldn't be fair to the others if he only put one script up.

        Shaking out of thoughts, he took the stack of papers when the woman finally realised he really didn't want to register his scripts, and made his way to the orientation, letting all thoughts of soulmates slide from his mind. He was a cadet now, on his way to being SOLDIER, like he'd always dreamed of. Regardless of his terror at being near General Sephiroth. Sephiroth No-Last-Name. S.

        Maybe it was someone else, but ever since the first broadcast he'd seen the General in, he had a sneaking suspicion who the fluid, formal S on his hip belonged to.

        The S was on his left hip, barely the size of his thumb. Thank Gaia the man's handwriting was so small, otherwise it might not be fully covered by his pants. Unlike the ridiculous real teenage chicken-scratch on his right side, just below his rib-cage. Anytime his shirt rode up that one was clearly visible. The looping cursive on the inside of his right thigh was much easier to conceal, and a small sweatband over his left wrist kept the straight, unconnected letters easily hidden.  His hair, thankfully, hung low enough over the back of his neck to conceal the single letter there as well. So now, his only concern was keeping them out of sight in the showers, away from the other cadets.

Chapter Text

Previously:  Now, his only concern was keeping them out of sight in the showers, away from the other cadets.

        That concern, it turned out, wasn’t something to worry about. There were stalls in the shower rooms, and no one bothered him there. Several of the other cadets used them, and everyone attributed it to them being country-boys. The locals and others from main cities were a lot less conscious about their bodies and used the communal room.

        What he should have been worried about was the one thing he completely forgot about. The mandatory physical evaluations done by the medical staff to assess initial health and fitness before training.

        Which is why he found himself now sitting in a rapidly shrinking line, panicking, and letting everyone cut in front while he hyperventilated. On the bright side, it meant everyone else was done and gone before it was his turn, and he was called into the spacious office where the exams were conducted. There were three people in the room, which he hadn’t expected either.

        One doctor, one nurse, and an auburn haired SOLDIER. Commander Rhapsodos. Fuck.

        “Before you go about getting shy and timid, cadet, I’m here as a formality. I have no interest in this exam, the results, or your small underdeveloped body. Now strip,” the SOLDIER First commanded before turning back to the book in his hand. He wasn’t paying any attention now, but as soon as the doctor or nurse let out a gasp when they found the marks one after another.... He couldn’t chance it.

        “If it’s a formality, can you step out?” Cloud asked, and tried his best to keep his voice from wavering. The Commander’s head snapped up immediately, leveling an incredulous stare at him. “I’m not self-conscious, I swear- it’s just- my scripts, sir!” He rushed. Rhapsodos halted where he’d been coming closer.

        “ Scripts, cadet? Not script? You opted not to document any,” he continued closer.

        He’s read my file?! Cloud thought in alarm, unable to come up with a response in time.

        “Intriguing. As far as I’m aware Angeal and I are the only multiples in SHINRA at the moment-”

        “I’d prefer to keep mine private. Sir,” he added in afterthought. He’d just interrupted a SOLDIER First Class. It seemed to do the trick however, as the man took a step back in thought. The doctor took the opportunity to speak up.

        “He’s in his right, actually. You only need to be here for the testing. Commander, would you leave for a moment?” he nodded at the nurse,  “Samantha, bring him back in once the scans are complete and his clothes are back on. I’m Doctor Neren…” he introduced, though Cloud only nodded as he watched the nurse escort the bewildered Commander out of the room. His attention only snapped back to the white coat once the doctor moved and locked the door behind them.

        “ I do actually have to be here though, and you’ll need to remove your clothes for the scans. It’s best to let me know where they are, if you’re comfortable.”

        “There’s no way around it then?” he asked, but there wasn’t any hope behind the question. Dr. Neren nodded. With a long sigh, Cloud bent down to start with the laces on his boots. “Please don’t mention this, or write it down anywhere. I’d rather not end up a lab experiment,” his shoes were off, followed quickly by his cargo pants and boxer-briefs. He made a circle with his fingers around the mark inside his thigh, belatedly realising GR could very well be the SOLDIER who was just in the room. That’d be ridiculous.

        When he did the same to the S on his hip, circling it, he heard the soft gasp but chose to ignore it, pushing onwards. As soon as he lifted the hem of his shirt, a murmured “Oh lord” escaped the man’s lips. Only silence met his ears as the shirt came off, and then the sweatband over his wrist which he held up for viewing. And just when the man clearly thought he was done, Cloud reached up with both hands to pull the back of his hair up and expose the solitary letter there as well, shivering slightly at the concept of exposure and the chilled air in the room.

        “Fuck’s sake Strife, you’re not hiding another one behind an ear or something are you? Get in the damn machine so we can get your clothing back on!” Neren huffed. His excitement was clear, but there was also apprehension in his tone as he gestured to the scanning bed. Cloud nodded and laid himself down on it, arms by his side. As it hummed to life and a bar began to make it’s way so slowly over him, the doctor continued to speak.

        “I can see why you’d be hesitant to strip down, now. Especially with Rhapsodos in the room. I don’t know whether to be jealous, pity you, or cheer you on. Bahamut kid, must’ve been a saint in your last life.”

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Previously: “I can see why you’d be hesitant to strip down, now. Especially with Rhapsodos in the room. I don’t know whether to be jealous, pity you, or cheer you on. Bahamut kid, must’ve been a saint in your last life.”

Genesis couldn’t hide the disappointment he felt at being forced to leave the room. It wasn’t often someone had multiple scripts, in fact he and Angeal were the only ones he was aware of at the moment. Sephiroth had never revealed if he had any, and Zack, for once, was very serious about concealing his own.

The simple fact this cadet had refused to document his, and had slipped up in saying scripts, was enough to spark his curiosity. He fingers were pulling the blond’s file up on his PHS before his mind realised what he was doing.

Cloud Strife, 16. Why on earth had a 16 year old been let into the cadet progr- ah, there, he browsed the entries. Flagged for early entry based on studies of increased mako tolerance in his hometown of Nibelheim. Meaning the science department is already aware of him. Frowning a little, Genesis made a mental note to keep an eye on the blond to ensure he didn’t conveniently go missing.

His excitement at perusing the information waned however as he caught sight of a scanned page with Strife’s handwriting. Most certainly not a match to the figures underneath his red glove, encircling his left wrist. It’s possible the cadet was purposefully altering his handwriting, but he’d let it slide for now. If nothing else, he could go talk to Angeal after this given Strife was the last one for the day.

Which must have been planned, now that he thought about it. Smart boy, Cloud Strife, smart boy.

But having two marks wasn’t worth going through such pains to hide. Yes, it was uncommon, but not extremely rare. It leaves him questioning what it is about the marks the blond is trying so hard to hide. Or… no, Genesis shrugs the thought away. Two marks is uncommon, but no one in documented history has sported more than that. Regardless, some small part in the back of his mind urges him into his next action.

The bottom of his coat swings wide with the speed he turns and stalks down the hall, PHS held to his ear as it rings, waiting for someone to pick up. When it finally does, there is silence on the other end, as expected.

“Tseng, I’m about to owe you a favour.”

“ Hn.”

“I need you to look into a cadet. Cloud Strife. Specifically his scripts.”

There is another moment of silence before a long sigh, and the click indicating disconnect as the Turk no doubt pulls up the boy’s file.

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Previously: There is another moment of silence before a long sigh, and the click indicating disconnect as the Turk no doubt pulls up the boy’s file.

        Reno doesn’t question this assignment. He doesn’t. At least, not out loud. In his head though, he’s wondering what the fuck put this kid on Rhapsodos’ radar in the first place.

        This scrawny blond kid who is currently pressing himself face first into the corner of his shower stall in an attempt to cover himself. As soon as Reno threw the door open, Blondie spun to face the wall and crouched down with his knees at his chest, left arm pinned between thighs and stomach, and right hand coming up to cover the back of his neck.

        “Don’t see what all the fuss is about-” he started to say, cutting off as soon as blue eyes peered over a shoulder at him and the fingers on the back of his neck spread just enough to see a script there. A solitary initial. He felt his eyes widen at the sight of an angled T, a very familiar angled T. He’s seen that at the beginning of a signature far too many times not to recognise.

        “I don’t know whether to tell you to run, or to take you to him. Honestly you’ll never get far, but I’m gonna have to tell ‘im either way,” Reno drawls, watching intently as those blue eyes widen and the fingers on his neck snap closer together, once again covering the script.

        “ Close the damn door, you asshole!” the blond hisses at him, and it takes a second for Reno to decide whether to leave and close the door, leave and leave it wide open, or stay inside and pull it shut behind him. He chooses the latter, closing the two of them into the confined space of the stall, tapping his mag-rod on one shoulder. 

        “Great, now who the bloody hell are you, what the fuck do you want, and did you see it?!” is all but shouted at him, except it’s more of a whisper shout because the guy clearly doesn’t want anyone overhearing this conversation.

        “A’course I saw. He just sent me down here anyhows. Not sure he knows ‘bout it though.”

        “You know who it is?” Blondie turns towards him slightly. Just enough he can see the edges of another script, a big one, curling up the side of his torso. Not enough of it to make out the letters though.

        “Duh? That’s Bossman’s writing, recognise it anywhere. Even if we weren’t trained to mem’rise buncha people’s handwriting. You got another’un peeking out the side there yeah?” Reno gestures his mag-rod at the visible bits of the second script. “Lemme see it? Maybe I can help ya out yo.”

        “I- actually, I don’t think I can do this on my own. Can you start with a towel? And somewhere a little less public?” comes the response, a little panicked but Strife is masking it well. “I um, I could use some help. With this,” he nods down at the body he’s mostly covering. Seems like a fairly large mark all things considered so it isn’t surprising he tries to keep it hidden.

        “Sure sure, just a seck,” Reno confirms as he slips his weapon back in the holster at his hip, cracking the door open. He waits a second until someone audibly walks by, reaching out to rip the towel from around someone’s waist and slamming the door shut with a grin at the blond. He can hear shouting from the other side, a few bangs on the stall door, but the tension dissipates with laughter from the rest of the showers and the person eventually continues on. He hands Strife the towel. “Name’s Reno by the way. Of the Turks. Fancy meet’n ya.”

        “Can’t say the same. I’m Cadet Strife, but at this point you can call me Cloud,” the blond says as he reaches for the towel with the same hand he’d been covering his neck with, carefully wrapping it around himself before standing so Reno never gets a good view. Too bad. “Now is there somewhere more private we can talk?”

Chapter Text

Previously: “Now, is there somewhere more private we can talk?”

        It doesn’t take long for the fluorescent red head of hair to guide him away, quietly out of the showers. They don’t stop at the dorms or duck into a shady supply closet like Cloud expected and instead step into a hallway he never knew existed before. The corners in SHINRAs labyrinth like layout cast shadows ever so perfectly to disguise it, but it leads into a narrowing hallway with a small elevator at te end. He ignores the close quarters in favour introspection and deciding how comfortable he was with showing someone his scripts. Something his mother had strongly encouraged him not to do under any circumstances.

        It’d just be a hell of a lot easier to have someone on his side, and it isn’t like he’s got much choice at this point. A Turk of all people, has seen at least two of his scripts and personally knows who one belongs to. That seems like a good place to start.

        His thoughts are interrupted as the doors slide open and Reno guides him out, down an empty common space, and into a quiet apartment with Sinclaire on the door. Reno catches him looking at it and squints at him from the side.

        “t’s my last name yo, but say it and loose your tongue. Won’ need it when you’re ‘round Tseng anyway,” the Turk mutters, before one of his eyebrows loses composure and lifts briefly in surprise. He probably hadn’t meant to say the name, but Cloud’s mind latches on to it, rolling it over and repeating it in his head.

        It’s fitting, his brain decides, short and concise, crisp like the solitary letter on the nape of his neck. Tseng.  

        But then he snaps back to reality where Reno is watching him carefully and he has to remember that this is a Turk, and he’s heard the name Tseng before. In a cadet lesson about department heads. Leader of the Turks.

        Cloud loses any breath he had and has to take more in a small gasp as the realisation hits of not just one but a number of his scripts. A realisation, no, a dream he’d had when he was younger and first saw a poster of Sephiroth. It just hadn’t seemed possible but looking back now it was too much of sheer improbability to be a coincidence. Not with the last piece of the puzzle slotted in place because he hadn’t known anyone with a single initial matching the last mark at his hairline.

        The stoic, formally fluid S on the corner of his left hip, smaller than thumbprint. The expansive scribbling of an immaturely written ZF spanning a majority of his torso on the other side. GR in looping cursive decorating his inner thigh on the right. Straightforward, unconnected lettering inside his left wrist listing AH. The T for Tseng of the Turks recently identified on the back of his neck. In his wildest dreams, maybe he’d considered it, but never seriously. He’d never let himself hope, but now… what were the chances? And with a veritable handwriting dictionary standing next to him. It wouldn’t be like using the directory if he already strongly suspected the identities. Reno would simply be verifying it for him, right? Blowing out a puff of air before locking eyes with the redhead, Cloud dropped his reservations and for the first time, let out his thoughts.

        “Reno, you said you have to memorise handwriting,” Cloud said as he moved towards the door, “And I’m going to assume Turk apartments have no surveillance inside them,” he added switching the deadbolt to lock it and taking another breath before turning around to catch Reno’s nod. “I swear to the Nibel gods you will die if anyone finds out what I’m going to show you, and I’ll fucking know it’s you because for the first time in my life I’m showing someone other than my own mom.” 

        “Sounds serious yo, but you don’ need to strip, I already saw ya in the showwwww… wow. Okay. I get it,” Reno stuttered as his jacket dropped to the floor and Cloud held up his wrist. Cloud couldn’t contain the grin when he used his next line.

        “But wait, there’s more.”

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

        “-gotta be shittin me, this’s the best thing in weeks yo,” the Turk was doubled over, not quite on the floor but laughing hard enough he might fall over. “Fuckin all of them, oh, this is priceless. Cloudy-”

        “Don’t call me that-”

        “I can confirm, you are literally gold. Not one but all four First Class, and Tseng on top of that,” the redhead continued to laugh as he swiped Cloud’s PHS from his pocket and entered his own contact. “He ain’t gonna wanna share with SOLDIER boys though so I don’ know how this’s gonna work out.”

        “That’s what I’m worried about! That’s why no one can know! Especially not the Science Department, I don’t want to be a lab rat!” Cloud swore under his breath, but Reno had paused his cackling laughter to look heavily reflective.

        “Actually, hang a sec,” the Turk lowered the hand with Cloud’s PHS in it to stare at the ceiling for a moment before recovering. “It’d make more sense to tell’em yo. If no one knows and Professor Creep Show finds out, you ain’t got no one lookin for ya. I steer clear a that man but them SOLDIERS, they’d bust you outta his lab in a heartbeat if they knew. Dunno how Tseng would react but Bossman’s got a mad possessive streak if ya know what I mean.”

        “I can’t just walk up to every First Class SOLDIER and say Hi, I think I’m yours! They’ll take one look at my scrawny ass and laugh it off as a prank. That’s just… Reno, I don’t think I can handle a rejection like that. Not from them.”

        “At’s why we go ta Tseng first. An’ I guarantee, you say Hi, I think I’m yours and he’ll never let you go. C’mon, let’s go find him.”

        “What?!”

        “No time like now, ain’t that what they say?” Reno tossed over his shoulder as he all but dragged Cloud from his apartment by the wrist.

Chapter Text

Previously: “No time like now, ain’t that what they say?” Reno tossed over his shoulder as he all but dragged Cloud from his apartment by the wrist.

        Cloud is all but dragged through yet another door and veritably slung towards a dark wooden desk, stumbling and catching himself just in time to avoid colliding with it. His surprise and anxiety takes him three steps back before his eyes latch onto the person seated behind the desk, a Wutaian man whose face betrays nothing. At least until a stray hair falls into his face and thin lips press lightly together. Cloud considers it the closest thing to a sigh he might ever see from this person, but his attention is quickly drawn back to the mans deep charcoal eyes. Indifference, exasperation, tiredness. 

        Cloud’s gaze only drops to the nameplate on the desk when the man starts to speak, and he can’t help it that even in standard print the name staring back at him terrifies him. Unprepared, unplanned, in a lowly cadet uniform, this was not the way he imagined meeting anyone whose handwriting matched the marks on his skin. Not at all. Especially not with the Commander of the Turks. Reno would suffer for this later, he decided.

        “Reno, in what definition of the word observe, did you hear kidnap? This is not within the mission parameters you were given.”

        “Aww, Boss, you know I wouldn’a brought him here if it wasn’ import’nt,” Reno drawled before shifting to a more serious tone, his accent suddenly gone. “You owe me one, Tseng. Sorry Cloud,” he offered with a wink, and then he was gone, the door shifting closed behind him. Leaving Cloud alone with the Turk Commander. Unexplained. As in, Cloud would either have to lie, at which he is terrible and to a Turk it would never work, or explain the reason Reno dragged him into the man’s office when he should be heading to the mess hall for the flavourless sludge they served as dinner.

        As if in reminder, his stomach grumbled in the quiet of the office, clearly drawing Tseng’s attention as he studied Cloud from head to feet and back up again. He fought his nerves down, trying to find a way out of this. He wasn’t ready to meet any of them, he really wasn’t. He was supposed to be older, stronger, more-

        “Cadet Strife,” Tseng startled him, gesturing to the couch against the wall of his office and rising from behind the desk. “Since Commander Rhapsodos brought you to my attention in the first place, and Reno so kindly brought you to my office, have a seat. There are some questions in need of answering.”

        “S..Sorry Tseng- Sir! Sorry sir. I get the feeling I’m not supposed to be on this floor. He didn’t exactly give me a choice,” Cloud nodded, taking a seat and looking anywhere other than the man now occupying the other side of the couch. “I haven’t… done anything that’s gotten me in trouble have I?”

        “No. Relax Cadet, this is not an interrogation. You made Commander Rhapsodos curious, and he turned to me for subtlety in investigating the matter. Reno was, unfortunately, the only one available at the time, and is incapable of going undetected-” Tseng paused as Cloud failed to muffle a snort. “He was not discreet, I take it.”

        “Only if that’s what you call cornering someone. Naked. In the shower.”

        “Unfortunately, that approach has worked in his favour several times in the past. I apologise for his abruptness if it caused you alarm.”

        “Well, I’d rather talk to someone face to face than have them spying on me. I don’t know what Commander Rhapsodos told you, but I don’t have a choice. I have to protect myself.”

        “He made no mention of a particular reason to look into your scripts, only requested that we do so. His curiosity is understandable, given he has two of them,” Tseng offered. Cloud had a feeling his reaction was more than enough for Tseng to confirm whatever suspicions he had. His eyes had widened in surprise automatically, air pulling into his lungs fast enough to cause a whisper. 

        “Two?”

        Tseng nodded.

        “Does he know who they are?”

        “I don’t believe that’s pertinent to the conversation, and perhaps I shouldn’t say this to a cadet, but no. He knows only one of them. He and Angeal Hewley are the only SHINRA personnel recorded as having more than one script.”

        “Commander Hewley too?”

        “He likewise, only knows the identity of one. Cadet, I would assume you have an additional script as well given this line of questions. Reno’s typical erratic behaviour indicates he’s found something interesting, so care to share?”

        “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, sir. Only three people in my life have seen them, and Mum warned me not to let that number increase if I can help it, unless I’m sure it’s one of them. And even then, I… I’ve always been scared. How they’ll all react. I mean, what is it like to suddenly find out you’ll have to share your soulmate? What if I have their mark, but they don’t have mine?”

        “More than one script is not unheard of, Cadet. Many people maintain relationships outside of soulmate bonds as well. Sharing partners is perhaps more accepted here than in smaller towns. I can help you locate them, or simply get Rhapsodos leave you alone, but it will be easier if you were to show me.”

        “That’s the thing Sir,” he dragged a hand down his face, scratching the back of his neck. The mark itself wasn’t itching, but his awareness of it was more apparent than ever. Visions of becoming a lab rat flickered through his mind, and the echo of Reno’s earlier idea. Lifting his other hand to rub both on the back of his neck, he took a deep breath. No time like now, Reno had said. 

        Decision made, Cloud dropped his hands to fists in his lap and stared at the solid coloured rug beneath his feet as he spoke. “Reno would be laughing at me, if he were still here. I can’t believe this is the first time I’m saying this out loud.”

        “I have more than one, sir,” he turned away on the couch, his back to Tseng. “I have five. And,” he continued, lifting a hand back to the nape of his neck and sliding it up to pull the hair out of the way, “ I think I’m yours.”

Chapter Text

        Previously: “I have five. And,” he continued, lifting a hand back to the nape of his neck and sliding it up to pull the hair out of the way, “ I think I’m yours .”

        Silence. Soft, warm silence in the office of the Turk Commander as Cloud held the hair from falling down over his hairline. Tseng isn’t sure how long they sat there, too reserved to make the first move. He’d expected his soulmate to be Wutaian, to never meet them after he left. Not a Cadet. Not Cloud.

        Even saying the name in his mind left a feeling in his chest that he could only describe as home. As belonging. As want, a need to care and protect, to shield. And darker feelings, to possess, consume. To own. A single sentence and his mental walls collapse, an immediate infatuation taking their place.  

        It isn’t until cold fingertips brush skin, tentatively, that he realises he’s moved at all. The light contact startles his soulmate, and his arm retreats in concern. 

        How fragile is this person in front of him? Young, a cadet, and yet so concerned over his soulmate’s reaction. Reactions, as there will be more to come. More he’ll have to share Cloud Strife with. Moving forward, he replaces his fingertips a moment later by wrapping himself around the blond, warm in his hold, arms crossing Cloud’s chest to pull him closer.

        This, Tseng thinks, is danger. Dangerous. Extremely so. Resting his forehead on Cloud’s soft spikes, he’s already calculating the risks of having a soulmate, of anyone learning who Cloud is, but he can’t bring himself to let go, inhaling the sweet smell of wheat and honey. 

        In Midgar, soulmates are commonplace. Scripts are registered, matches are found. It isn’t unusual for someone to meet their soulmate early in life and have the rest to live with them, to grow old together, but in Wutai, a soulmate is sacred. Rarely found. Something he thought he’d never have, never hold.

        It occurs to him his silence may have alarmed Cloud, and he goes to speak. Now that he’s found Cloud, he doesn’t intend to let him slip through his grasp.

        Except.

        “ Did you say five?” he slips into his native language. He only realises it as Cloud turns around in his grasp, timid and confused. Repeating it again so Cloud can understand, he lifts the hem of his shirt with one hand to reveal his own script, small and soft lettered over his right hip. “Did you say five?”

        Cloud nods, and there is a part of Tseng that demands he hide the blond away, keep him to himself. That part finds balance however, in the knowledge that Cloud would never truly find happiness with Tseng alone. A soul split six ways will never be content at a distance. 

        Tseng once would have died for Shinra. Now he has something to live for. It's in his blood to protect.

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

        It's three hours later when he hears himself say "Move in with me," before his mind can catch the words, watching Cloud freeze and soft, baby blue eyes widen. They're seated in the back corner of a small Wutaian restaurant on the plate, tucked into a warmly lit booth as Cloud begins to build the muscle memory for utilising chopsticks. Tseng had offered to locate a fork but the blond insisted, having found a new interest in Wutaian culture.

        They've had the argument already over Cloud choosing to stay in the Cadet Program on track to become a SOLDIER. Cloud had been adamant, and despite Tseng's wishes his argument was valid. They might be marked for each other, but it still takes time to get to know one another. Cloud doesn't know him, not yet, and Tseng has no idea how strong Cloud really is. The blond isn’t willing to let go of his dreams for him, at least not yet. Tseng understands, but isn’t of the same view.

        Still, he makes the offer with every intention of winning the next argument as the blond successfully raises gyoza to his lips, thoughts clearly flickering through his mind. 

        In the brief time since Reno delivered Cloud to his office, they'd immediately relocated to a less populated area, away from prying eyes and he'd learned that Cloud took time to process new ideas. Push too fast and meet the stubbornness of a wily chocobo. Give him time to consider and he's more likely to come around.

        "Remain a Cadet if you want to, but move into the Turk apartments. The Cadet dorms are not secure. If anyone were to discover my script, or those of the others," a subject they'd chosen to leave alone until in the privacy of his own home, "It can be used against you, and you as leverage against us. You are my first and only weakness, Cloud. I want you to have space, when you need it, but I want you safe. I can make the necessary arrangements."

        “What am I supposed to tell the others, then, when I meet them? I think, given recent events, I know they are. All of them. As a kid it was too much of a coincidence I convinced myself it was only a dream, but what do I say? Hi, you’ve got my letters but I already moved in with the other guy? You don’t think that will spark an argument?”

        “Not one the Turks can’t win,” he answers in turn, face flat.

        “Even against SOLDIERs?” Cloud says a little too loud, and a few heads turn their direction. “Sorry,” he put his chopsticks down, wiping his hands on the napkin, “I think we need to get this over with before anything else.”

        “Very well,” Tseng rises from the table. Gesturing at the staff for a check, he speaks quickly in Wutaian to prevent Cloud from so much as thinking of paying or splitting the check.

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

        Not twenty minutes later, Tseng sits in his apartment and watches as slowly, his life becomes increasingly complicated. When Cloud had mentioned SOLDIER he hadn’t considered this possibility, and he regrets not allowing his mind to think about it.

        Not one, but instead all four of the SOLDIER Firsts. Why couldn’t it have been four Turks and one SOLDIER?

        Cloud snorts as he pulls his shirt back down from Zack Fair’s scribbly chicken scratch, and offers “I don’t think I could manage with you and Reno,” and Tseng wonders when he started speaking his thoughts out loud. A terrible habit. A deadly habit, in his line of work. He’ll have to work on it but in the present moment he has other concerns. Including the Science Department.

        “On that point we agree.”

        “I don’t know how any of them will react. I don’t know if the marks go both ways, and I’m really relieved yours does, but I’m just worried. Actually, I’m terrified. Mum was terrified the day I was born. Who has five soulmates? Especially if they are who I think they are. Tseng, I’m seventeen. There are so many ways this could go wrong. I don’t want to be trapped inside an apartment the rest of my life, but I definitely don’t want to end up as some sick lab experiment-” Under no circumstances is that to be allowed, Tseng’s thinks as Cloud carries on, though he rises to approach the blond.

        “Not to mention the others are super strength soldiers that can, and probably will, hurt me unintentionally because of the strength difference, or their fans, or any of their enemies-” it’s clear Cloud has more to say, has thought about this over a lifetime and had no one but his mother to share his fears with, if Tseng understands correctly.

        By the end of his small rant, Cloud is breathing harder, eyes watering as he fights back tears, but Tseng ignores it in favour of holding the blond against his chest, staying calm. No doubt Cloud has thought this through a thousand times, thought of the possible outcomes as Tseng has begun to do, but at the moment he is here with Tseng. The Turk Commander. A man feared by many and excellent at turning situations like this around to his benefit. This, at the very least, is something he can help Cloud control.

        They make their way to the couch with Cloud leaning heavily on him, exhausted after the emotional outburst. The blond curls up against his side as Tseng begins to think, and plan, but first he repeats his earlier question as a statement. 

        “You’re moving in with me.”

Chapter Text

Previously:  The blond curls up against his side as Tseng begins to think, and plan, but first he repeats his earlier question as a statement. “You’re moving in with me.”

        When Cloud wakes, he isn’t back in the cadet dorms as he might have expected. Daylight is filtering in through soft, green drapes, into a warm room filled with dark wooden accents. Traditional Wutaian style, he assumes, in what he vaguely recalls Tseng’s apartment.

        He might have been surprised to find his belongings at the foot of his bed, but the note from the first soulmate he’s met indicates they were delivered last night after he had fallen asleep. Another favour Tseng will owe to Reno, to his distaste. The smooth, formal lettering is a comfort, though the letter itself is brief. Cloud isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do, now, because he’s fairly certain he can’t walk out of the Turk residence unhindered. He contents himself with lying on top of the soft covers, enjoying the blended scents of tea and cinnamon mixed with whatever detergent Tseng’s sheets are washed with.

        The instructors are probably having a fit with his absence, Cloud muses, imagining Hawkins’ face if Tseng showed up to excuse him from classes. Not that he assumed Tseng would, but he’d have to ask for a note to take back tomorrow for having missed some of the lessons.

        For now, he’s happy to sleep for a while longer.

        Tseng, however, sits contemplatively in his home office mulling things over, knowing the first obstacle will undoubtedly be Genesis. The email from the auburn First sits unopened in his inbox, but he can read enough from the subject line to know the man still waits for answers. More urgently now that Cloud Strife’s living quarters have been relocated to the Turk apartments. 

        He’s quite aware Cloud will take time to warm up to the idea of meeting another soulmate so soon. He’s also fully aware how excruciating the wait to meet one’s soulmate can be, having never expected to find his. Though he would much prefer having platinum spikes and soft cerulean eyes to himself, it would mean intentionally preventing soulmates from meeting and that he cannot abide by.

        Quite the conundrum, he leans back into the leather office chair as he contemplates. For the first time in so long, he isn’t sure what he’s expected to do. He can’t guarantee what Cloud would prefer, but he’s certain Genesis will continue to push for explanations Tseng has no right to deny him. Not just Genesis either, he reminds himself, though it would be hard to forget. Five.

        Ah, that settles it. Of far more importance at the moment is ensuring Cloud’s safety and protection. The largest threat is one he’s been meaning to take care of for years, but never had a vested personal interest in removing.

        Now he does.

        As he rises, pushing the situation with Rhapsodos down the priority list by one, the jacket to his suit slides off his shoulders, down behind his back. He collects it as he heads for the bedroom. Cloud is resting, peacefully clinging to Tseng’s pillow. He doesn’t stir, nor would he in the silence of Tseng’s footsteps. Perhaps tomorrow they will order furniture for the guest bedroom, soon to be Cloud’s, but for now he allows the pleased warmth to curl in his chest at the sight while grabbing the carefully folded set of clothing alone in one of the dresser drawers.

        A uniform he hasn’t touched in many years, one he swore to never dawn in service to SHINRA and still never will, but selects today in honour of his own life, his own choices.

        When he leaves the apartment, minutes later, no one is there to witness a black shadow slipping down the hall. Even if they were, it would go unmentioned. Turks are loyal, first and foremost, to their commander. Their current loyalty to the company is the result of following Tseng. Even Reno would not question, at the sight of the smoke gray mask over his face, any action Tseng is about to commit. 

        In his pocket is a keycard, the only one of its kind, without a SHINRA logo. It let’s him into the Tower stairwell without the expected beep as the locks disengage. Through the private elevator from the basement floors to the space concealed within the thickness of the Plate. 

        Once, he would have considered giving Sephiroth this honour. Once, when he had nothing to lose. Sephiroth would not have been subtle, however, and repercussions would follow. Penalties to Sephiroth would in turn cause concern for Cloud, something his culture will not allow. There need be no cause for separation from any part of Cloud’s six splintered soul. Through every door a shadow slips towards its target as he passes unnoticed by the whole of Midgar, out of sight from any surveillance.

        Into the labs.

        When he leaves, without alarm, without a trace, he retraces his steps calmly. He passes a SOLDIER, once, whose eyes barely flicker in his direction. He swipes a tray of coffee, left carelessly on an accessible counter as he passes, and returns to the apartments.

        Elena, in the hall, takes three attempts to focus her attention upon him, caught in the first place only by the drink carrier and the soft aroma of coffee. She says nothing as one of the cups is pressed into her hand, a small smile in thanks gracing her face, before she continues on her path, back the way he’s just come.

        Cloud still sleeps, soundly, as he showers and places the uniform and the rest of his laundry in the washer on the other side of the apartment. He can’t imagine the emotional tax his soulmate must have felt his entire life at the prospect of meeting five soulmates, and expects Cloud to sleep a while longer yet. 

        It gives him time to process, sort through the thoughts beginning to wander through his mind now the immediate threat is taken care of. He knows this is only the beginning of what he will do to protect his soulmate. Now, however, he prepares for whatever reaction Cloud might have as he calls Rhapsodos. When the auburn First picks up, following dramatic exclamations at how long Tseng kept him waiting for answers, he hesitates no more than a moment.

        “Keep quiet. Come alone.”

Chapter Text

Previously: 

When the auburn First picks up, following dramatic exclamations at how long Tseng kept him waiting for answers, he hesitates no more than a moment.

“Keep quiet. Come alone.”

        Genesis isn't sure what to make of Tseng's brief message, but it sends a pulse of interest down his spine that has him wondering just what Tseng found. His PHS clicks off, leaving no time to respond or question the Turk, though he knows he'll get answers upon arrival. He'd patiently waited for Tseng to finish uncovering whatever he could. If patiently counted obsessing over the cadet's file and carefully observing his handwriting on the scanned copies of his enrollment papers, none of which were consistent enough to be thoughtless muscle memory.

        It hasn't gone unnoticed that Cloud Strife's living quarters have been updated to Turk housing, and the curiosity burns regardless of the difference in writing style between his own script and the blond's files. Multiple scripts are rare enough. That's the sole reason he's unconcerned at the thought of attending the Turk's apartment alone, as requested.

        It’s clear, upon his arrival, that Tseng left little time between calling him and informing Cloud Strife that he was on his way, evident by the shouting he can hear through the walls as he approaches. The blond is angered, and the Turk Commander is strongly encouraging him to share the rest of his scripts with Genesis when he arrives. The rest of his scripts. Fascinating. He pauses long enough outside the door to hear Tseng say he won’t force Cloud to expose himself, but that it would be beneficial for their own mental health if not for Cloud’s own. Split souls aren’t meant to stay separated when they’re so near to each other. 

        Without further delay, he knocks impatiently on the Turk’s door, ignoring the skeptical shiny bald head of Rude peering out of his own door at him, and triumphantly storms inside when Tseng opens up and gestures him in. He’s met immediately by searing cobalt eyes and a flat stare from across the room, where Strife sits cross legged and arms crossed on the sofa, leveling him with a pinched expression. Genesis knows without a doubt that Tseng would not require someone to expose their script to anyone other than a recipient, regardless of how the Turk himself came to know of them, so he wastes no time in baring his hand from beneath its glove to reveal the capital lettered CS.

        Of all the possible soul meetings, he had not expected to find their third among the cadets. He had not expected the immediate appeal of soft spikes and expressively cold eyes. Most of all, he was not expecting such a sorrowful reception as Cloud lowers his head to hide his blues, but not before Genesis can see the concern in them. “You have nothing to be afraid of from me, sweet. We’ve been patiently waiting, so raise your head,” he moves forwards to stand in front of the blond, only more confused when his hands find purchase on the boys upper arms and tremors echo through the muscle. 

        “Tseng?” he turns, only to find the Wutaian quickly withdrawing an outreached hand as though he was unaware his hand had initially moved. “What in the name of the Goddess is going on? He’s not sick, is he?” turning to Cloud he rephrases, “You’re not terminal are you? I won’t stand for it, you’re not allowed to go when I’ve only just got my hands on you. I have so much to share with you. Talk to me love, what am I missing here?” Genesis kneels to have clear view of Cloud’s face.

        “Can you move back a bit? I really wasn’t expecting to deal with this yet,” comes quietly out of the blond, a baleful glare sent in Tseng’s direction, and Genesis will consider later the calm tone.

        “I’m disenclined. In fact I’d rather move closer,” the auburn rises to turn and plant himself on the couch, pressing the entire length of his side to Cloud’s, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, crossing one leg over and draping his torso around small shoulders to encompass the clearly disgruntled cadet. “Now enlighten me, so I can keep ahead of the gargantuan rumor mill in this place, what is it we’re worrying about?”

        “When you say we’ve been waiting, is Hewley’s script the same as yours?”

        “Yes love. Whether or not you have his, we’re a triad. He will love you as I do. Were you worried about having a pair? It’s not unheard of-” he’s cut off by a dry huff, the kind that accompanies painful humour.

        “I’m not worried about being a triad. I’m worried about being experimented on, and if I’m not then I’ll be yanked around in a sextet.”

        “...excuse me?” Genesis pulls off the blond to hold him at arms length. Two is rare. Three is unheard of. Five is impossible.

        “Yeah. That was Mom’s reaction too. And Tseng’s.”

        “Tseng? What does that even mean-”

        “You, Tseng, and Hewley are three of five.”

        He looks to Tseng, only to find himself in shock seeing the Turk nod in confirmation. He had hoped that his and Angeal’s scripts were mutual with their third, and he had considered their third might have someone else’s script, perhaps two. Were that the case they could fall into a platonic relation as one-dimensional bonds often do. But for Cloud to have five scripts including mutual bonds with Angeal and Genesis himself… “And Tseng? Your bond is one dimensional or mutual?”

        “Mutual.”

        Insanity. This is insane. “ Ripples form on the waters surface. This is unprecedented. How is it even possible? I know there is very little understood about scripts but how does something like this happen? Show me,” he looks expectantly at Cloud, reaching for the hem of his shirt “Show me the others. Do you know who they are?”

        “I know, yes,” Cloud bats his hand away, tugging the sweatband off his wrist to reveal a familiar AH that Genesis has seen all his life. He turns to lift his hair where the T is briefly, before gesturing at his inner thigh. “Yours is here. I am not taking my pants off in front of you.”

        “Even if I’d like to confirm it myself?” he adds saucily.

        “Tseng can confirm it for you. Not only am I seventeen, didn’t you say I’m not your type? You don’t need to change your preferences just because we’re soulmates,” Cloud spits out.

        “Where on earth did you get that idea love? I have many types. And if Tseng is allowed to see, I don’t see why I’m not!”

        Cloud’s response is absolutely drenched in sarcasm, and Genesis knows this dynamic will blend seamlessly into their interactions, much to Angeal’s consternation. “So you don’t remember trying to get a peak, and having… what was it you said, no interest in my small, underdeveloped body? ”

        Tseng snorts at this, and recognising the conversation is flowing easier now moves to the kitchen to start a meal.

        “I have never said that!” 

        “Are you calling me a liar?”

        “Yes! Or- what?” Genesis stumbles, seeing Cloud’s shoulders shake, but this time he can see in Cloud’s expression it is out of humour, not fear. He is thankful for the reduced tension, glad to see the blond relaxing more, leaned back into the couch. But “I can’t decide if you’re playing with me or serious dear. When would I have said that? We’ve only just met!”

        “Oh no, you won’t get out of it that easily. You were at my physical. I had the doctor kick you out.”

        “I- okay I might have said something to that effect, but not because you’re unattractive! Do you have any idea how many snot nosed cades try to show off and attract my attention? The one before you was practically stripteasing me! I hadn’t even looked at you yet! And stop side-tracking me, who are the other two?!”

        “I’m not telling you,” Cloud answers, and Genesis mentally reels back at the seriousness of the tone. “I know you’ve read my file, probably multiple times by now, so you know where I’m from. I don’t consider myself superstitious, but Nibel culture follows the old pantheon. We abide by their rules. I want to meet my soulmates organically, when I’m supposed to. It’s why I didn’t document any in the first place. It’s cheating. I feel guilty enough that Tseng knows all of them.”

        “Tseng seems to have all the benefits given you're already living with him. He'll have to compromise,” Genesis drapes himself over thin shoulders again and turns to Tseng, “You'll have to compromise. You don't get to know everything and live with him! He should move in with me!” the auburn declares indignantly.

        “ He damn well gets to decide where he lives, and I'm not about to become the center of that gargantuan gossip mill you mentioned. It's terrifying. Do you have any idea what cadet hazing is like when you're trying to hide five scripts?!” 

        “Hazed? You're being hazed?! I need names! I'll have them kicked out of the program immediately-”

        “Absolutely not! That's only going to give them more to talk about-”

        “I can make it look like an accident then! A few well places firaga-”

        “What- No? Are you trying to expel them or kill them?!”

        “Or I suppose we can promote you early, though Angeal may complain-”

        “No! Tseng get in here, how do I make it stop?!”

oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo

        By evening, Genesis agrees to be patient. Cloud knows who the others are either through Tseng or intuition and is deliberately choosing to wait until he encounters them rather than seek them out. The auburn will respect his wishes. In exchange, he demands Cloud allow him to bring Angeal so they can meet. This isn’t something he is capable or willing to hide from the first love in his life, and he wouldn’t dare prevent Angeal from meeting their third.

        It irks him to leave the Turk apartments alone, after spending hours wrapped around the warmth of Cloud’s core, but he has his own ruminating to do, and a conversation to be had. It isn’t Cloud’s number of scripts he considers a gift of the Goddess, but Cloud himself as a gift to each of them. Yet gifts must be cared for, and treated with respect. Protected from damage. These are the thoughts he departs with, acknowledging that of all people, having Tseng fully aware is the safest possible situation. All Turks are loyal to their leader. The same cannot be said for all of SOLDIER.

        Five.

Chapter Text

Previously: It irks him to leave the Turk apartments alone, after spending hours wrapped around the warmth of Cloud’s core, but he has his own ruminating to do, and a conversation to be had. It isn’t Cloud’s number of scripts he considers a gift of the Goddess, but Cloud himself as a gift to each of them.

        It took many years for Angeal to reconcile his ideals of honour and trust with the corporate greed of Shinra. Many days of grey decisions and wondering if there was any good to be found in a company that trapped living, breathing people under an oppressive steel sky, living in poverty and sickness, facing discrimination and danger. From the first step into their apartment, the faint scent of apples and spice brings him comfort, as it has after every mission he takes under the plate, and as it has since the earliest days of their childhood. Genesis is his reminder that abandoning the company, abandoning their missions, means more than escaping. It means abandoning the people who request those missions, the people who depend on them. Genesis is his reminder that working for a monstrous company does not make SOLDIERs themselves monsters. That they can choose to use their strength to help.

        He knows Genesis is home, but it surprises him to see the redhead leaned against the floor to ceiling window and framed by the edges of sunset. It’s a view of green smog and eternal city lights he often ridicules, and he’s undoubtedly aware Angeal is home, but doesn’t turn from contemplating the scenery below the tower. Angeal is expected to puzzle out what’s occupying his mind, then. It doesn’t take long, while he pulls the Buster off it’s harness to store, for him to see sitting open on the coffee table the prized first bottle of Banora Wine ever produced. It’s the bottle Genesis claimed he was saving for when they meet their third, to share a piece of their childhood together with the one who couldn’t be there. His arm never makes it to the sword rack, and instead the pommel on the Buster’s handle crushes the toes of one foot where he’s dropped it in shock. 

        “It’s him,” he says without question, because Genesis has ranted of nothing else as of late. Only of the intriguing cadet who had a SOLDIER First kicked out of the exam room. A cadet with the right initials. Genesis nods without verbal response, but Angeal can see the corner of his mouth curve softly into a smile from his side profile. “You confirmed it? Tseng confirmed it?” hope creeps into his tone. 

        A laugh echoes off the window and Genesis finally turns around, lifting the wine glass in his hand in a toast from across the room. “Yes, it’s Cloud,” the name is practically purred. From the moment Genesis had met the blond, that name had floated around the apartment. They had murmured quietly and hoped, knowing Tseng would provide them the truth, but it couldn’t have prepared him for the sudden weight and warmth in his chest, a happiness so strong the remnants of regret and frustration from the day are burnt away.

        In his haste to celebrate, he forgets the Buster is over his foot. Forgets the family heirloom that weighs more than his student. In an event Genesis will undoubtedly never let him forget, he even trips over it. Fortunately, the Banora bottle escapes his trajectory as the auburn swipes it with his free hand. The coffee table is, unfortunately, not so lucky. 

        Long into the night, Genesis sleeps soundly in his arms while Angeal revisits the day's revelation. No, revelations .

        Cloud Strife is their third, and bears their scripts in return. Gen’s high on an inner thigh, which the auburn lamented he hadn't been granted permission to view, and Angeal can't fault Cloud for denying so long as Tseng's confirmation backs that detail up. His own initials to be found on the inside of a small wrist, kept hidden by a simple sweatband. The left wrist, mirroring the flat CS on Angeal’s own left wrist. He finds some sense of pride in having a mutual mark in the same location.

        Then there is Tseng's involvement. Tseng, the Turk Commander, who has seen both of their marks. One of which is in a sensitive location. On their underage soulmate.

        Yet he is trained to follow logic and must not jump to any conclusions without additional information. The same information Gen had been honest about withholding from him under the context it would be better to hear from Cloud himself. 

        “That's where it gets a bit complicated, Love. He's Tseng's too. There's more to know but it isn't my right to share,” he'd said, puttering about the apartment to light scented candles that still flicker in the present moment. He should rise to snuff the wicks before sleeping, but he loathes disturbing Gen's rare deep sleep, and knows he himself will be awake to ponder and plan for some time longer.

        He's Tseng's too.

        So Cloud's initials exist somewhere on the Turk. He would think it a lie, an attempt to fool them, an unforgivable prank, if it weren't the three of them. Each a Commander in their respective departments. There had certainly been attempts to imitate their scripts in the past by overzealous fans, but Genesis has never been fooled. Tseng would never be fooled by a tattooed script, coming from a culture scripts are so revered in. And who would attempt to convince the Turk Commander they shared such a bond if it weren't true?

        Still, he must question what more there could be to this situation that Genesis felt the complexity beyond his right to share. Perhaps Tseng has another mark, someone they know. Or Cloud's interest in them is non-existent. He puzzles no further, sensing the downward trend in his thoughts. Tomorrow he will find the answers. 

        Tseng, Genesis informed him, has invited them to dinner with himself and Cloud at the Turk apartments. Under Tseng's request, Cloud's living quarters had been relocated away from the barracks, far more private and secure. A risk to take for both parties, should anyone of importance becomes curious over such minute details, but a higher reward should anyone find Cloud to be a weakness in the Turk Commander's unshakeable facade. Angeal understands this immediately, though he begrudges the Wutaiian for utilising his spare bedroom rather than any of the enumerable empty Turk apartments. Knowing Cloud's scripts and depriving the SOLDIERS the opportunity. Yet again, it would draw more suspicion if a cadet moved into a SOLDIER First’s apartment.

        So for the first time, Angeal uncharacteristically delegates tomorrow's mission to Zach, messaging an apology and offering his own next day off the rotation in exchange, citing he will explain in person, and not expecting a response until morning. Tomorrow, he will observe Cloud from afar as he has avoided doing from the moment Genesis said the blond’s name.

        When his PHS pings softly with a string of shocked, celebratory, and thumbs up emoji, he snorts, threatens to have Kunsel hide Zack’s game console unless the youngest First gets some sleep, and eases out of bed to pinch the candle wicks and dim the light for the night.

Chapter Text

Previously : For the first time, Angeal uncharacteristically delegates tomorrow's mission to Zach, messaging an apology and offering his own next day off the rotation in exchange, citing he will explain in person, and not expecting a response until morning. Tomorrow, he will observe Cloud from afar as he has avoided doing from the moment Genesis said the blond’s name.

        The training schedule for Cadet Block 4 is hastily scribbled on the small paper in Angeal’s palm as he makes his way to lower levels for a vantage point of the outdoor track. First Call was at 5:30, and he knows all Cadet Blocks will be on the field at 6am, fifteen minutes from now. He had thought it may help in SOLDIER candidate evaluations to arrive early and observe how the various squads and cliques appear. By social circles, with their squad mates, or alone. Whether just before, precisely at, or just past the expected time, though he certainly hopes they’ve learned not to show late for physical training. It surprises him to see anyone on the field this early, but somehow the platinum tufts maintaining a sedate pace around the track perimeter don’t seem out of place at all. Cloud Strife’s slow jog appears to be a waking warm up ritual.

        All Cadet Blocks complete basic physical training for the first hour each day, before filtering off for breakfast or, in some cases, additional sleep. By 8, classes begin on rotation until lunch at noon. Block 4, including Cloud Strife, cycles through History of Shinra Corp, Materia Theory I, Materia Application I, and Hand To Hand in the first half of the day. Angeal doesn’t intend to be seen observing, given the attention it would draw and disrupt his casual surveillance, so he can’t easily watch during classroom hours, but including this first hour of PT there are three periods where there are either windows or observation rooms he can hide his presence in.

        As cadets begin to appear, some bright eyed and at attention and others half awake, no one joins Cloud along the track. No doubt reserving energy required for physical classes later in the day, but it strikes him immediately that no one approaches the blond at all. A fact that does not change, over the course of the day.

        He watches in contemplative silence, sees the way other cadets look at Cloud. Overhears the snide remarks. For two hours leading up to lunch, he wants nothing more than to enter and scoop the lithe little thing up, away from his bullies, get him out of the cadet program and away from danger. Gen’s words echoing in his head, about respect, and that he doesn’t have the full picture yet are all that stays his hands. Instead, he makes note of their names and vows not to forget them, should he find a reason to excuse any of them. 

        The lack of social engagement is, historically, not a good indicator for SOLDIER hopefuls. The others seem to do little more than talk about Cloud from a safe distance, but there is no confrontation or altercation he can interrupt. Cloud similarly seems to lack a reason to respond so long as there is no escalation to physical bullying.

        It both relaxes him and makes him somewhat depressed when Cloud retrieves a fabric wrapped box from his locker and bypasses the lunch lines serving ambiguous meat and gray sludge. Unwrapped, from the distance he can see, it contains a dark lacquered bento box that he suspects Tseng provided, and he quashes the slight curl of jealously at providing Cloud’s meals until Reno’s entrance to the cafeteria distracts him from the thought. No wonder none of the other cadets approach with ill intent, he thinks, barely reacting as if this occurrence is common.

        It’s made clear, during his observations, that he is not the only one watching Cloud Strife. There is at all times a Turk in the vicinity. Cissnei, undercover in a secretarial uniform. Katana subbing in as an instructor in the latter half of the day. Most of them blend seamlessly into the environment as their training dictates, and it’s only because he knows them, knows their faces, that he can pick them out. He wonders if this will continue when Cloud makes it to SOLDIER 3rd. If he will see any of Rude’s alternate identities listed as a transport driver, or more Turk presence on the mission roster. Wonders if, possibly, this could be the bridge between two departments Sephiroth has been wracking his brain over for a number of years despite the corporate politics forever implying Turks and SOLDIER are not on good terms.

        Reno seems to have taken a different approach, though, from his coworkers, and Angeal can’t say he’s surprised. The redhead doesn’t bother to hide himself at all. He saunters up to Cloud’s table, draping himself over one of Clouds shoulders and reaching for something out of the bento box. Angeal chuckles, smiling lightly when the hand is smacked away, glad that at the very least Cloud has someone he’s that comfortable with. It gives him hope that some day he can introduce the blond to Zack and see a similar at ease comfortability between the two. 

        For now however, the urge to cook bubbles up and he seeks out Tseng himself, gracing the Turk floors with his unexpected presence, if Elena’s expression is anything to go by. It’s clear the Turks know of Cloud and Tseng’s connection, but aren’t aware of Cloud’s connection to Angeal. The two departments might not be on explicitly good terms, but they aren’t on bad terms either. He’s thankful for that as he’s lead to the darkly stained door of Tseng’s office and delivered with two swift knocks.The door is opening before his Turk attendant has even turned to leave, but Tseng’s dark focus is locked onto Angeal without regard to the departing Turk. He’s greeted with a nod, and brief “Hello, General.”

        “Tseng,” Angeal pauses, trying to formulate the words he needs as he’s gestured inside to the spare seating. He’s certain the company has no listening devices in Tseng’s office, but that doesn’t mean the man won’t have his own. Better sage than to take any risks. “Genesis said we’re invited to dinner tonight?”

        “It was suggested.”

        “I was hoping I could try my hand at a Nibel recipe, but I don’t want to disturb your kitchen.”

        “So long as you clean up after yourself, you’re welcome to use it,” Tseng reaches absentmindedly for a drawer, rustling it’s contents. “I cook often, it is well stocked.”

        “Thanks, I’ll… need to be over a couple hours early if that’s alright? The meat needs time to soak, and I don’t know where everything is.” That’s truthfully the biggest ask, and why he’d hesitated to follow Genesis’ implication. Turk apartments standing separate, with their own security, are not a normal space SOLDIERs find themselves in, least of all on their own without the accompanying Turk,

        “Would you like assistance?” Tseng startles him, and he’s about to decline until something in Tseng’s eyes has him pausing. “I will be returning in time for dinner but I have work to finish here. Cloud will be home before me and is familiar with the kitchen,” and suddenly Angeal can identify the softened undertone never heard before from the leader of the Turks. Recalls that this man is fully aware of their circumstances and it truly is theirs when Tseng also bears Cloud’s script. Understands that despite any professionalism maintained between the two of them, neither is interested in upsetting the balance in favour of proximity to their soulmate.

        Oh. 

        Oh.

        He’d be alone with Cloud? It’s the first thought he’s put into how their fist meeting will happen. What had he been expecting? To have Cloud waiting at the table while he cooked and served? To have the food set and ready before Cloud arrived? In either circumstances he hadn’t considered that Tseng would not feel the need to be there. And Genesis’ mission was expected to run late. He could have a little time to talk with just Cloud. See how it felt, maybe hear more about what Genesis had hinted at.

        “Yes. I think… That would be nice. Will you let him know?”

        “Certainly”, Tseng lifts the keycard he’d pulled from the drawer, tapping it on a contact encoder. “This card will grant you access through the main apartment doors and my door exclusively,” he clicks the mouse a few times, “and will deactivate at 9pm tonight.”

        “I know training isn’t done until 5, but I’ll be over at 4 to get started if you’re comfortable allowing me in your home,” Angeal retrieves the card from Tseng’s outstretched arm, slipping it into his pocket.

        “That won’t be an issue. We may not share a mark, Angeal, but you are tied to mine and I to yours. We are comrades, not rivals. Though if I find you’ve destroyed my kitchen there will be consequences.”

        “It’s an incredible skill to threat and joke in the same sentence Tseng. I’d love to learn it from you,” Angeal parts with, unable to temper his smile as he turns to leave..

        Later, reviewing their interaction, he thinks this had been the plan all along and Tseng had pulled one over on him. Cloud’s arrival in the oriental styled apartment held little fanfare, with sounds echoing from the hall of boots being removed and motion off towards one of the rooms. The sheer startlement when the blond emerges and spots Angeal in the kitchen makes it perfectly clear Tseng had opted not to inform him, which he briefly expresses frustration over, but is quickly soothed with the knowledge that he would have been a nervous wreck the whole day if he had known.

        Angeal can only feel the hot flush in his face at Cloud’s cough, interrupting him from blatantly staring at the wrist he hasn’t released after clasping a small hand in greeting. He knows his initials hide beneath the sweatband on it, feels the coarse terry fibres an intrusive barricade to an intrinsic connection. He makes no move to shield the letters on his own wrist, plainly visible to the blond at the current angle. They don't need to address their scripts directly, not when they are mirrored. Not when they both already know.  

        Instead, Cloud tells him cooking is something he can focus on, since his ma taught him, and asks what he needs help with. The question rouses his attention from lifelong longing, back to the pots on the stove, and with a smile he passes over the recipe he’s printed off.

        Cloud’s stifled laughter, shortly after, reigns his awareness back into the present situation with the grace of a sudden spring rain shower, and it feels like he’s woken up for the second time in one day, despite being fully awake.

        “That’s not a Nibel recipe,” mirth has crept into Cloud’s tone, lifting the page briefly.

        “It’s not?”

        “Well, it’s a Nibel inspired recipe but people in Midgar overuse spices. Here, let me,” Cloud reaches for a drawer, pulling out a pen and leaning over the counter to modify it. ”Nibel stew is about the flavour of the food itself. It’s simple and hearty, not meant to be complex overly flavoured. You make it with whatever vegetables you have, and you marinate the meat with jam and peppers.”

        When he hands the page back, most of the spices are crossed out. The broth is replaced with water and a small amount of milk. He’s written jam and peppers as an alternative to the red wine the recipe called for.

        “Well then,” Angeal chuckles despite the minor embarrasment, “I think I can work with that.”

        Banter flows easily after that, as they move around each other. Cloud has left the stew in his hands and begins to make pull-apart bread affectionately called Drakbollar. Angeal nearly chokes when Cloud explains the literal translation is Dragon Balls, because the bread is soft and dragons are cowards. He has to question it, once he can breathe again. 

        “That’s not the reputation they have at all! You’re not saying you’ve encountered Nibel dragons are you?”

        “Everyone in Nibelheim has,” the blond says nonchalantly, kneading the dough in front of him. “For locals they’re just big lizards. They get in the way sometimes so we lure them around with jerky. I guess it’s happened so many generations they recognise Nibel blood. Non-natives should definitely stay away though, since they won’t smell right.”

        “What about the wolves?!”

        “Giant puppies to me, lethal to you.” 

        “Is there anything in Nibel range as dangerous as it’s reputation? It sounds like locals have nothing to fear,” Angeal laughs. “That’s an incredibly long-term technique to keep outsiders away.”

        “Just the cold,” Cloud murmurs, dropping ice cubes in a tray to place beneath the bread pan in the oven.  

        They’re at ease with each other in the kitchen, something Angeal rarely experiences given Genesis’ tendency to start fires on purpose . Banter has flowed back and forth from the Nibel range to Banora, through cooking styles to small town cultures and why they both ended up at Shinra.

        By the time Tseng arrives, they’re seated at adjacent edges of the table sipping oolong while the stew cooks. His entrance is quiet, but the air shifts and Cloud seems to sober, preparing himself for more serious conversation.

        “How much, exactly, did Genesis tell you?” Cloud reaches an arm out, and Tseng approaches to take his hand, sliding behind the chair to press his forehead into platinum tufts.

        “That you’re ours, mutually. And Tseng has your initials.”

        “Hmm. I’m surprised he left it at that, he’s very theatrical.”

        “He’s respectful, when he feels it’s important. And knows it’s better to listen from the source, not second hand.”

        “I hope you feel the same. Its.. It feels very exposing to share things like this. Tseng’s script is also mutual,” Cloud taps the back of his neck.

        It takes him several moments to parse that sentence, pause to analyse their expressions. Or Cloud’s at least, given Tseng’s impassive face “..What?” 

        “Tseng’s script is also-”

        “No, I heard you, I’m just a little- no, a lot surprised. I’ve never heard of someone having three-”

        “Five-,” Tseng corrects

        “-Five scripts befo-,” Angeal corrects and continues, before halting mid sentence.

        Cloud glares at Tseng.

        “You're sure this isn't a drunk tattoo?,” he says with some moderately histerical suspicion, but knows with Tseng’s involvement, it isn't.