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“There are always contact lenses?”
Angeal’s voice carried from the make-shift fire they’d set up to camp the night. There was no point in setting up a more permanent one, they’d get picked up at the R-point tomorrow and be back in Midgar by tomorrow night. The army were packing up their supplies into trucks to go down to the coast where ferries would take the infantrymen who weren’t staying in Wutai back the long way or on to be reabsorbed into the other groups elsewhere.
Sephiroth was considered entirely too important to be made to wait several days and even as Second Class SOLDIERs, Genesis and Angeal were higher up the food chain than most these days too. At almost sixteen, they had more accomplished records than most of the SOLDIERs given their enhancements around the same period and were a damn sight younger than most of them too. Begrudgingly, Genesis had to admit that it possibly also had something to do with the way Sephiroth had a tendency to hoard them for any mission befitting them or even ones that he would have company on if he could. But t hat didn’t mean they weren’t impressive enough to return to Midgar in style on their own!
It just meant Sephiroth was being whisked off to do some of his promotional work at Midgar’s most prestigious university (not saying much considering Midgar itself was merely a couple of decades old but they did try to make it look ancient and timeless in the architecture). They could hitch a ride, be back in Midgar for a few days and dispatched with new orders, freshly treated weapons and for him, more materia to level up. There was something so fun about handing them back mastered and watching the cretins in the testing labs for materia have their jaws hit the ground. They kept giving him more and he kept doing it, much to some unbelievable annoyance for people receiving something difficult to produce and expensive.
(It was because Sephiroth wasn’t doing it, wasn’t it? Did they stamp the ones he had and resell them with a paper of authenticity? Vultures.)
“I have little experience with contact lenses,” Sephiroth replied, glancing away from Angeal ever so slightly. What was all of that about?
“I’m sure someone around here wears them,” Angeal answered him. “We could ask around.”
“I’m not sure that would be less awkward than forgoing them,” Sephiroth muttered, sitting back against his arms. It was exceptionally rude how the firelight seemed to kiss his hair in a way that was annoyingly distracting.
Genesis made the executive choice to climb over him than walk around, flopping himself on the rotting log they’d covered with an emergency blanket. “Are you losing your eyesight?” Genesis said. “Is that why you missed that landing? I thought you were just being clumsy.”
“I didn’t miss the landing,” Sephiroth answered, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “It was unstable ground. Everyone landed that way.”
“And you’re everyone since when exactly?” Genesis asked.
“I am not nor have I ever been everyone,” Sephiroth replied. Instead of rising to the bait and exchanging barbs, he seemed to deflate. “That appears to be the problem.”
“Problem?” Genesis looked between them. “What problem?”
“These smaller group meetings can be difficult,” Sephiroth explained. “People pay more attention to how I look than what I’m trying to explain. It’s causing significant distraction and in some cases, people are too perturbed to take in the information and it makes the visit a pointless waste of time. I was attempting to rectify it.”
“Of course it’s a pointless waste of time!” Genesis pointed out. “You’re shilling for the company because they want the next generation of sociopathic white coats, SOLDIERs and cannon fodder – excuse me, public security forces. People who are interested will come from the media campaign and those who don’t will not be convinced by seeing you in the flesh. You’re a SOLDIER, not a mythical creature who needs to be seen to be believed.”
“I’m supposed to convince them I have something of value to say,” Sephiroth explained. “A difficult proposition when they often come up to my nose in an attempt to see if my eyes are ‘real’. My peculiar appearance can cause a considerable amount of problems.”
“It’s not peculiar,” Angeal said, placing a hand out onto Sephiroth’s forearm. “It’s just different.”
“It absolutely is peculiar,” Genesis snorted.
“Genesis,” Angeal’s tone lowered enough that he wondered if his best friend would have made a decent baritone in another life.
“You sound like your mother when you do that,” Genesis informed him.
Not the baritone, but the use of his name as if this alone was a warning. His own mother had a tendency not to use his name when she noticed any untoward action, saying dearest, darling and entertainingly given he’d been taller than her for some time, little one.
“He’s looked in a mirror,” Genesis said. “What good will lying do?”
“I’m aware of physical appearance,” Sephiroth confirmed.
“If you’re not happy with how you look, as I said, you can change it.” Angeal smiled at him as if he hadn’t just suggested desecration of a modern work of art. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can dye your hair too.”
“No, he fucking can’t.” Genesis was ready to take some of that fire and flick it towards Angeal’s patchy whiskers. Kill two birds with one stone.
“That’s not up to you,” Angeal said firmly.
“It shouldn’t be up to a bunch of ridiculous, overintellectualised basement dwellers either!” Genesis grabbed Sephiroth’s shoulder and pulled him round so he could look at him better. “Is it just the public perception or do you not like the way you look?”
Sephiroth blinked at him, those extraordinary eyes all the more beautiful up close. Disgusting. “I was designed for public consumption.”
“I’m not talking about Shinra’s ability to whore you out,” Genesis said firmly. “Do you like the way that you look?”
Sephiroth shook his head and for a moment, Genesis was crestfallen. “The company has never engaged me in prostitution,” he said.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Genesis huffed. “Do you like your eyes the way that they are?”
“They’re my eyes,” Sephiroth replied.
“So yes?” Genesis wanted him to actually say it.
Sephiroth waited for a beat. “Yes.”
“Then fuck them,” Genesis stated.
“And charge them for it?” Sephiroth asked.
Genesis was going to push him into this fire and singe that ridiculous hair. How would that look for public relations?
“I think Genesis is just trying to say you look fine no matter what,” Angeal said. “Just whatever you’re comfortable.”
“No, I’m not.” Genesis shot Angeal a look. “I’m saying that you should never apologise for being something – rather, someone extraordinary just because it’ll make a few people uncomfortable. If they get too close, tell them and tell them to fuck off.”
“Just more politely,” Angeal interjected.
“They’re not being polite to him,” Genesis pointed out before turning his attentions back to Sephiroth. “You have the most bizarre eyes and your hair is practically a sentient creature. They are extraordinary. If a few bad apples can’t appreciate an unusual beauty, why is that your problem? Shut them down.”
“Unusual…beauty,” Sephiroth repeated.
Genesis wanted to slap the ego out of him, but he suspected repeating that particular statement had nothing to do with ego and more trying to come to terms with the concept. It was depressing enough that he wanted to set something on fire.
“Shinra booked you for this,” Genesis replied. “So give them you, as you are. Go be extraordinary, go be you.”
“You think I’m extraordinary?” Oh, now he was playing with him. Without a doubt, that little smirking upward turn of the mouth was his stupid sense of humour.
“Yes, I think you have an extraordinary ability to be condescending, ridiculous and your eyebrows are uneven.” Genesis didn’t look at Angeal because he wasn’t going to acknowledge that snort. “But you are extraordinary in some ways and anyone who wants to come to this goddess forsaken company should appreciate the extraordinary people with extraordinary abilities — your skill with materia notwithstanding, of course, I have a lot to teach you there.”
“I’m sure you do,” Sephiroth replied, and it should have sounded condescending but there was an undercurrent of something else that made it almost endearing.
What an asshole.
“If other people don’t appreciate you, it is their problem, not yours.” It may have been something Genesis had a smidge of experience with. Not everyone understood the importance of magic nor was his connection appreciated outside of his immediate medical and field teams. Either they didn’t like it and tolerated him because they had to and vice versa or they learned. Or they were fired, occasionally literally. “Don’t ruin yourself for people who don’t deserve it.”
“Are there people who would deserve being ruined for?” Sephiroth asked.
Oh, now wasn’t that a loaded question.
At least the warmth of the fire would hide any of the flush that he could feel creeping into his skin.
“Just the extraordinary ones,” he replied, hastily changing the subject in case anyone got any bright ideas about following up on that statement. “Now how about you turn those peculiar eyes to find more kindling for this fire? I’m starting to get goosebumps and if I get a cold, I’m taking you both down with me.”
“You look warm to me,” Angeal said, because he too was an asshole. "Almost red."
Surrounded by assholes, chosen to suffer the indignity of teenage crushes that lingered longer than they ought to. His life was a nightmare.
“That isn’t how cold viruses work,” Sephiroth added, seemingly blissfully oblivious. “But I will procure more if you’re uncomfortable. You do…look uncomfortable. Your heart rate is unusually high.”
Of course now is when Sephiroth chooses to be perceptive. Genesis was going to throw himself onto the fire instead, or off of one of those cliff faces. Write an epic note and end it all as a SOLDIER prodigy with a life ended all too soon. It had to be better than dying from the sheer embarrassment of being unable to control his body, let alone his heart.
Utterly mortifying.