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There are 7 match sticks left in the box of matches he keeps, and he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t burrow under his skin and make his eye twitch. But it does.
It’s the sort of thing Hojo hates. His ‘little eccentricities,’ as he calls them. Sephiroth long ago learned not to pay any mind to the thing making his eye twitch. He takes out one of the match sticks anyway and throws it away unused, just to make the number better.
He almost wishes he hadn’t, after. Because then his apartment is perfect again. Balanced, and clean, and empty. And he is alone.
He stands a moment, looking at the six match sticks, then one by one throws the rest of them away, never struck. He slides the box closed and places it in the small tower of other used match boxes. He never has thrown them away. He doesn’t know why. Candles are one of the very few luxuries he indulges in. His very first was a gift from Genesis, after they came back from the war. Now he keeps many, like pets. He memorizes their scents. Their shapes. The way they burn. And he watches them die.
And he stacks his empty match boxes. One of the nice things about no longer living in the labs. There is no one to see. There is no one to mind.
And then there is nothing else to distract him. He tugs his glove off, just to look.
“1” says his hand.
He hates odd numbers. He puts his glove back on.
A chirp from his pocket. Thank the gods, a distraction. He wanted to scratch his palm off and see if it re-grew without the tattoo, and that was not a useful allocation of his time.
“Hi Seph!” The message read. “Are you busy? Want to come over?”
Sephiroth blinked at it. Checked the number. Zack’s.
/'Uh, you know you can put my name in, right?’/
/'I will remember the numbers.’/
/'Really? Wow! I haven’t remembered a phone number in decades.’/
Zack’s number had two sevens, a nine, a three, AND a one. The only even number was a solitary two. Sephiroth hated it. He could have changed the name, like Zack said, but he still would have known the number was there.
Most people with phone numbers he didn’t like he simply deleted from his phone. But Zack…
Well, he thought, glancing to the stack of match boxes. Not everything made sense. Sometimes something annoying was good.
“Alright.” He texted back. “Should I bring food?”
“I was gunna cook!” Zack replied. “But I know i make a mess, so if you want to give me 45 minutes I can get it all cleaned up too!”
“I will clean if you cook.” Sephiroth replied.
Besides. If he didn’t, he’d just have to clean after Zack anyway, if he was going to spend any time there. Work was enough. Enough of a mess, enough of a disaster, enough of biting his tongue and hiding his twitching eye. It was all so tiresome. Since Genesis and Angeal left it was all so–
A chime. He blinked. Opened his phone again. Zack.
“You okay?”
He looked at the message a long time. Scrolled back up to see what he’d said wrong. What had given it away. Nothing he could see. How did Zack always know?
“See you in 10.” Sephiroth said in reply rather than commenting on it.
“Okay! Talk to you then!”
Sephiroth hesitated in his kitchen a moment longer. Scrolled back in his phone. Found what he was looking for. Months ago now. A hesitant request from him.
/'u want 2 eat?’/
/'Zack. I prefer full sentences if you please.’/
/'Really? Okay, man! Sorry about that! Do you want to get some grub?’/
Sephiroth felt… Something. Looking at it. That usual spike of annoyance at seeing the shorthand, but… But something different, looking at it in isolation. As a turning point. Before it, all of Zack’s sloppy, quick messages. After it, long messages. Zack typed them with his tongue sticking partway out. Sephiroth had seen him do it before, while he was texting from across the room at a Shinra party. Trying to rush through spelling out every word.
But Sephiroth didn’t like shortcuts, so Zack had stopped using them. It was just that simple to him. Sephiroth wondered, suddenly, irrationally, what Zack would do if Sephiroth showed him the number on his palm. If he told him how much he hated it. If he…
He took a deep breath and turned to leave his empty, perfect apartment. He stopped only to blow out his current candle. A sad nub now. Almost finished. Almost burned away.
Zack was cooking when he got there. It smelled divine. Sephiroth didn’t waste time pretending that the moderate disaster zone of Zack’s kitchen didn’t bother him.
“Hey, good evening!” Zack said, beaming up at him. “I’m making us tempura!”
“What’s the occasion?” Sephiroth asked, even as he closed Zack’s flour bag, clipping it closed neatly and putting it away. He knew where it went, because he’d organized Zack’s kitchen a month ago on one of their dates.
“Dunno,” Zack said, tilting his head as he looked down at his frying batter. “Just felt like a good tempura day.”
“Would you like your hello kiss?” Sephiroth offered after a moment, aware it was a tradition that meant a great deal to Zack.
“Yes please,” Zack said, tilting his head back with a broad grin.
Sephiroth kissed him softly. It didn’t bother him anymore. The inelegance of it. The imperfection. When it was Zack, it was hard to mind.
“I put sake out on the table if you want some.” Zack offered, fishing a perfectly crisp looking fried shrimp out of the oil. “And I’m making some veggies too if you’re feeling like shrimp are inefficient today.”
“They are.” Sephiroth said, arching an eyebrow. “But I suppose they are occasionally worth it.”
Zack laughed. Sephiroth watched his hands work. Breading the next piece of his fried platter. How he moved with one hand beneath it to keep from dripping egg on the counter. He knew he didn’t bother when he wasn’t there. He was Zack. He was a whirlwind of messes, one after another.
But Sephiroth didn’t like messes. So Zack had cleaned his apartment. Had started changing his habits. Had started typing in full sentences.
“If there was something I didn’t like about myself,” Sephiroth blurted after a moment. “What would you tell me to do?”
“Um… I dunno.” Zack said after taking a second to process that. He leaned his hip against the counter, tilting his head and almost crossing his arms before he remembered they were eggy and instead holding them awkwardly in front of himself. “I guess change it. If it wasn’t, like, dangerous? Is something bothering you?”
Sephiroth hesitated. Stupid, stupid, stupid, dangerous, don’t…
He pulled off his glove.
There was a long, long moment.
“Your tempura will burn.” Sephiroth warned.
“Is that why you always wear gloves?” Zack asked, tearing his eyes away.
“Yes.”
“Fill me in? What does it mean?”
“Something for Hojo’s notes.” Sepiroth said. “He did not expect his first Soldier candidate to turn out well, I assume.”
“He tattooed you?” Zack asked.
Sephiroth watched the handle on his strainer bend under his tightening grip.
“I don’t remember it.” Sephiroth said, hoping to ease his concerns. “I was young.”
“He tattooed you as a KID?” Zack asked, even louder.
“Zack.” Sephiroth said. Stared straight at him until Zack took a slow breath and calmed down.
“Sorry.” He said. “I’m angry for you. But that’s not what you need, huh. You don’t like it?”
“No.”
“Because it was against your will?”
“Because I do not like the number.” Sephiroth replied, feeling shame prick at him. “Odd numbers… Make me uncomfortable. I am aware it is foolish.”
“I don’t think it’s foolish to dislike something.” Zack said after another moment of processing. “I can’t STAND the smell of licorice, and people act like I’m crazy. Can I see?”
Sephiroth pushed his hand closer to Zack. He’ll put it in the oil, said the part of him that always seemed to be ready for the worst. He’ll hurt you.
He won’t, Sephiroth reminded himself as Zack almost took his hand, then realized his own hands were still eggy. He watched, waiting, as his boyfriend scrubbed his hands clean. Counted to 20 seconds while he did it. Let out a breath when Zack didn’t skimp.
Zack’s fingers on the tattoo were a surprise. They made him shiver. But he… He almost liked it. The feeling of it…
“I guess squeezing in a tiny two over here to make it 'twelve’ wouldn’t help?” Zack asked, laughing awkwardly as he tapped the side of Sephiroth’s palm.
“Uneven.” Sephrioth agreed, rather sadly. “But I appreciate the impulse.”
“Still.” Zack looked back to his palm. Hesitated, then leaned down to give it a soft kiss, right over the number. Sephiroth drew in a slow breath, watching him. “It must be annoying. I’ll try to help think of ways to help. Okay?”
“Okay,” Sephiroth said, the thought that had been churning in his head slowly starting to crystalize.
“You wanna set the table?” Zack offered. “I’ll finish up, and we can eat some and talk. Food always helps me think better.”
Sephiroth nodded, pulling his glove back on. The place Zack had kissed still felt warm. Better. Almost as if it had been electrified somehow.
I want to make him feel like that, Sephiroth thought as he set the first fork down at the table, and he froze at the thought, staring down at nothing at all, then turning slowly to look at his gloved hand. Still tingling and warm, when minutes ago he could only think of getting it away from himself.
I want to make him feel like this, he thought again, more strongly. He wanted to give Zack a moment he could look at like Sephiroth looked at the change in text messages. He wanted Zack to feel safe showing him what hurt. He…
Oh…
He loved him.
The tempura was delicious. Sephrioth ate the shrimp and the vegetables, and could hardly keep up with their conversation he was so busy inspecting that feeling. Poking it. Prodding it. Waiting to see if it would abandon him.
It didn’t. Not even when Zack suggested that they remove his glove and try drawing on additions to the tattoo to see if that made it better.
Just like with the phone numbers, Sephiroth still knew the '1’ was there, but Zack’s sloppy pen marks had turned it into an unsteady '4.’ Sephiroth had not told him that '4’ was unlucky in some cultures. He was too touched by the gesture.
And he was resolved to find the perfect moment to show Zack how he felt.
It took him another month. In that month, when his hand annoyed him, he offered it to Zack, and Zack drew something new. Once he turned it into a tiny sword.
/'What’s this at the top, then?’/
/'That’s the hook! For snagging your opponent right at the end! It’s a vicious weapon!’/
Once he made it into a tower, and drew a princess leaning out of it. At least, that’s what he said he’d drawn. It had devolved into scribbles fairly quickly. Once he’d even turned it, daringly, into an 'F.’
/'You’re giving me a failing grade?’/
/'What? No! For Fair! Like me!’/
And each time, Sephrioth had thought 'I love you,’ and it hadn’t gotten less true. He just needed the moment to be… Perfect.
So he did what Zack had taught him to. He took a risk.
“You got me a present?” Zack asked as Sephiroth walked with him down the hallway upstairs.
“It is your birthday.” Sephiroth said flatly. “I always get you a present.”
“But you don’t HAVE to.” Zack laughed, bumping into him lightly.
“I like to.” Sephiroth replied, watching Zack open the door to his room where the gift was waiting.
The new sword was gleaming right where he’d left it, resting on the tabletop. Broad and vicious. With little flares at the ends.
“It is simply called the Iron Blade.” Sephiroth commented as Zack stood stock still beside him. “It could be upgraded with more materia slots, but it will serve you well if you choose to wield it.”
“But…” Zack said softly after a long moment of staring, one hand inching up to touch the buster sword still strapped to his back. “Why?”
Sephiroth was careful. Took a deep breath. Reached out to rest his hand on Zack’s shoulder. Gently.
“Because you carry a heavy burden,” He murmured, glancing to the sword, thinking of Angeal. “And I… I would like to give you the option to be free of it.”
Zack lifted his eyes off the sword to stare at him. His eyes were shining with tears, and Sephiroth couldn’t understand what emotion was swimming in them. Couldn’t understand if he’d gotten this right or wrong. Didn’t know enough about people, enough about the world, or relationships or gestures or–
“Seph,” Zack whispered, sounding choked up. “That’s… That’s so nice…”
Sephiroth stared at him, then carefully cupped his face in both his hands, bending to give him a soft, careful kiss.
“I love you.” He whispered, and Zack dissolved into tears. Threw his arms around him and held on for dear life.
“I love you too, you sap!” Zack cried into his shoulder.
Zack Fair didn’t always carry the iron blade. But as the months passed he did more and more. These days, when he texted Sephiroth, the phone displayed his name. Sephiroth would always know what numbers lay behind the letters, but he was beginning to find some fondness even for them. Purely through association.