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The roar of Fenrir’s engine splutters to a stop when Cloud finally turns the ignition off, his legs protesting the stretch when he moves them from their cramped position on the bike. The sun is barely setting on the horizon, warm on his back as he kicks the stand to park the bike and runs a gloved hand over the paintwork fondly. The sunset is beautiful today, the rays glistening on the desert sand and casting a glow over the front of his house.
The house he’s spent the better part of a year trying to fix up since the end of everything. Jenova, Hojo, Shinra… the whole lot of them, dead and gone or, in Shinra’s case, repurposed to make up for all the damage they caused in the first place. It’s a shock every time he sees the house come into view, with the garden off to one side and the garage on the other.
The garden is a little drier at this time of year, but Aerith loves coming round with Tifa and the kids to keep the flowers growing when Sephiroth requests the help. It’s been a year long project but it’s definitely worth it to see all the little things the team have added over that time.
He can’t see them at this angle but he knows the small tractor from Denzel and the dolls house from Marlene sit in the centre of a miniature zen garden, courtesy of Yuffie and Vincent who contribute with various stones they find across the globe.
The rest of the garden includes a repurposed engine with a pane of tempered glass to act as a table, while bushes were carefully seeded and grown around the outskirts to help protect the more delicate flowers from the desert winds.
Red isn’t a stranger to the heat of the desert, a Cosmo native that he is, but he can often be spotted curled around the water fountain to watch the koi in the pond as Cait Sith braids another length of beads into his mane.
It’s not perfect but it doesn’t need to be. Just another little piece of the paradise they’re trying to make for themselves.
The garage was an obvious extension (because Cloud knows the only thing he loves slightly less than his husband is that bike) and Cid and Barrett often help out with the maintenance and upgrades. In fact, the most strenuous thing to date has been the house. Not in the rebuilding of it, but in making it a home.
Cloud looks up at the window where he knows the bedroom is and then across to the adjacent window which had become the study, wondering (not for the first time) how he ended up here. After they’d found a way to break the control of the Whispers, Cloud’s first thought had been to save Aerith. He hadn’t factored saving Sephiroth into the equation, but it was the fundamental turning point that had decided everything. The realisation that the General himself was as much of a pawn as the rest of them, a human vessel under Jenova’s control… no one deserved that.
It’s almost like it happened yesterday, watching Aerith pray as Sephiroth descended over her, the masamune poised to end her life. He’d seen it, the flash of fear in Sephiroth’s eyes as the blade trembled in his hands, fighting for control, to stop the murder of his Cetra sister, before he’d been swallowed up by Jenova again.
Needless to say, things hadn’t gone Jenova’s way. They had somehow managed to save Aerith and Sephiroth had been disarmed, the human in him shaken to the surface to rasp a desperate “thank you,” before he’d been blindfolded, gagged and tied.
Just because they’d managed to stop Sephiroth from his murderous rampage doesn’t mean shit has been any easier to deal with. The fallout was a mess with people fighting on all sides and Gaia itself was hellbent on destroying all traces of Jenova’s poison, SOLDIER included.
None of that included the rehabilitation of a man who’d been an experiment since he was born. Aerith had been instrumental in breaking Jenova’s hold on the General, but that alone didn’t give Sephiroth any idea of what to do with his life after everything was finished. The only remaining First in existence, not truly human anymore, but not a god either. How could he have known what a normal life was supposed to be like when his whole existence had been a lie?
It wasn’t easy (nothing worth fighting for ever is), yet somehow they’d made it work. Falling in love was another thing to work out, another piece of a convoluted 3D jigsaw with half the pieces still missing. Still, it wasn’t anything two ex-SOLDIERs couldn’t handle once they’d really buckled down to the idea, the feeling that maybe everything would be okay now.
Cloud looks back to the garden and shakes his head, as though that’ll stop him from his musings, shouldering his rucksack (now empty after a long delivery day) before heading to the front door. Inside, he can just about hear the sound of music from the radio, a smooth, bluesy piano ditty that he knows his other half prefers on a quiet evening. He eases the door open to not disturb the calming atmosphere and slips inside, putting his sword and rucksack down before removing his boots.
There’s the sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen and Cloud glances up to see his husband leaning against the doorframe, his long silver hair tied up in a neat bun and his tresses tucked back behind his ears. A scant glance is given to the apron (‘kiss the cook,’ really, Seph?), jeans and short-sleeved t-shirt before taking in the smile on the other man’s face. “Welcome home, love,” Sephiroth says, wiping his hands neatly with a dish cloth before coming to greet Cloud properly.
It’s a familiar greeting, but one Cloud looks forward to every time he’s been forced to leave for a few days. Sephiroth’s lips are soft when compared to his own, still dry and chapped from the desert sand, but Sephiroth simply deepens the kiss and pushes into Cloud’s space until there’s scarcely an inch between them. He hasn’t even had a chance to remove his gloves yet, but he doesn’t care when he’s wrapped in strong arms and pulled close. Any concerns over the state of his clothing is thrown out the window as he accepts his welcome, reaching up to curl his arms around Sephiroth’s neck and shoulders.
Neither of them press for more, not right now; Cloud thinks it’s perfect, what with the way Sephiroth has tangled the fingers of one hand into his spiky locks to stroke across his nape while the other presses into the small of his back. A slight groan and shudder from Cloud breaks the moment when Sephiroth’s talented fingers find a particularly vicious knot, causing his husband to smile into the kiss and pull away.
”Can’t have been that many monsters on the trail if you’ve spent most of the time hunched over that motorcycle,” Sephiroth teases, but it’s gentle because his fingers are already working around the knot, testing its give.
Cloud smirks and then groans again when some of the tension around the knot loosens. It’s not perfect and he already knows Sephiroth is planning a proper back rub later to ease the rest of it, but it’s the thought that counts. “Hardly ever need to dismount for them anymore,” he replies.
There’s a knowing hum from Sephiroth and then they’re kissing again at Cloud's insistence, just a bit longer because it’s been a tough few days and he’s missed this. The peace and quiet of their lives on Edge’s border, far enough away from the humdrum of the town to give them the feeling of privacy without it veering into outright isolation. Yes, there’s always a chance that one of the team might drop in, but it’s usually announced with notice so they have time to - ahem - finish whatever they might’ve been doing.
Cloud might have thought to correct his friends’ assumptions on his sex life in the past (it not like they’re doing it every day), but it’s nice to have the notice and so he puts up with the good natured ribbing when it arises.
Sephiroth ends the kiss again, the hand curled in Cloud’s hair slipping forward to brush back his fringe and cup one cheek. “Why don’t you take a shower?” he suggests quietly. “Dinner is almost ready.”
The reminder of food brings the rumbling in Cloud’s stomach into sharp focus and he’s vaguely surprised at how hungry he is. “Smells good,” he says, peering around Sephiroth’s shoulder into the kitchen and spotting the casserole dish through the oven window. “Is that venison?”
Sephiroth gives an affirmative hum and pulls back, resting his hands on Cloud’s hips. “Yes. I made the stew with the blackcurrant jelly the children made for us last year. It’ll be ready by the time you’re done with your shower.”
This time it’s Cloud who hums his affirmative, tucking an errant strand of Sephiroth’s locks behind his ear again. A quick “Be right back,” is all that’s needed and his husband backs away into the kitchen, throwing Cloud a wink and a smirk when he artfully slides his hands into the oven gloves. The sight makes Cloud scoff in amusement, unable to resist his own grin at the image of his past arch-nemesis decked out in the kitchen like he was made for it.
It’s a damn sight better than what he was before, Cloud thinks; to see that face smile without hate and look into natural green eyes that are clear and free from any influence outside of Sephiroth’s own choices. Just as it should’ve been from the start.