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Sephiroth paces around the limited space of their tent, in untold anxiety.
Though looking at him like this, Angeal isn’t quite sure if it’s exactly that, at least not from what he knows about Sephiroth after a few years of knowing him; seeing the side that Shinra’s propaganda won’t really show, the one that wouldn’t have attracted anyone to join the military, really. The side that must be kept hidden, but that leaks out freely, especially when they’re left to their own devices, away from other people’s idolizing gazes.
Setting aside the ugly side of the conflict, the day had started just as normal as it could be, before that. Surely, Genesis had been relocated back to headquarters, leaving behind him a weird void that couldn't be filled, (and Angeal missed him more than what would be proper to admit aloud) but it couldn't be helped.
With or without him, the battlefield is still the battlefield, and Sephiroth is a cat in a cage; overstimulated but not stimulated enough all at once.
He faces him for a brief moment, the very incarnation of a haunting, then resumes pacing rather than reaching out and asking for help with whatever is on his mind, ever prone to bottling up. It troubles Angeal to watch, causing him to lose himself in the wonder of what could’ve happened to cause this, beyond Genesis’ departure.
“Sephiroth,” he says and the sound of his voice alone is enough to freeze Sephiroth in place for a moment, to turn him (more) unstable. “You're gonna dig a hole in the ground from walking in circles at this rate.”
Sephiroth contemplates the ground so intensely that he may as well be pacing in place, trying to dig that hole to hide into, albeit motionless.
“Hey,” Angeal tries again, standing from his watching spot to approach him, carefully lift a hand to Sephiroth's cheek and offer non threatening contact, “what's wrong?”
He finds that instead of answering, Sephiroth sinks into the contact with a sigh so deep that he may as well haven’t been sleeping at all for a week straight, his eyes fluttering closed with dark circles underneath. Perhaps, he really is that sleep deprived. There’s no such a thing as peaceful sleep in a war; they’re expected to be able to respond to any manner of attacks at any time, and Sephiroth even more so, unfortunately.
But gods, does Sephiroth look absolutely exhausted.
He moves forward, as if to faint, to which Angeal braces himself to catch him, but Sephiroth bends just enough to hide his face against Angeal's shoulder, instead. His breathing is unsteady, worrying.
But even so, he doesn't relent. Sephiroth stays awake, out of some sort of spite or an extreme sense of duty. Or both.
When his voice comes out of him, muffled and in a whisper, it does so with the same power to demolish an entire army which Sephiroth often displays on field, in its quietude. They are, however, not on the battlefield; less of a manslaughter and more of a heart shattering stab, it is.
“Angeal… I want to go home.”
“Then go? Contact headquarters and have them send you a chopper. I can cover for you.”
It’s just… it sounds so simple, and yet… Sephiroth chuckles half-heartedly at that, knowing better despite his state.
Returning to Midgar or even Junon means Hojo getting nosy about his business, and Hojo being nosy means, usually, a visit to the labs. Who even knows how long he'll stay there if he takes any steps in. No. Too risky.
Besides, if he goes, Angeal will be the only SOLDIER left in their camp. While Sephiroth trusts him with his life, to the point he would gladly rip his own heart out of his chest if he’s certain that Angeal could keep it beating on his gentle hands, he doesn't trust Heidegger to make good decisions. The man often sends more infantrymen when they have no need for the extra personnel, when more people means even more opportunities for losses on their end.
Heidegger doesn't warn about air strikes or anything else that may affect their side in addition to Wutai’s, either. Sephiroth despises him.
He desperately wants to go home, to bury his face on pillows that technically aren't his, per say, but that he’s got permission to access. Sephiroth wants to breathe in the scent of potted plants, fresh soil, books and just… collapse.
Not that he isn't already collapsing against Angeal's shoulder, sinking his weight against his body with all the heavy impediments hanging heavy on him.
If he leaves and any more of their men die…
If he goes home, only to find the plants uncared for… only for home not to feel like home…
If something happens to Angeal in his absence—
“I can't go, Ang… If I go—”
(Sephiroth doesn’t shorten names, usually.)
Angeal tightens the embrace, hand sinking into silver strands and massaging the nape of the neck hidden underneath just so. If Sephiroth goes to Midgar, Junon or anywhere else, he loses this tiny bit of comfort which draws weak, tired sighs out of him and easily shatters his line of thought.
Not that Genesis is incapable of offering similar comforts despite their one-sided rivalry, of course. They're all friends, after all, and have always been quite… physical with one another ever since Sephiroth learned what their hugs felt like and what sleepovers entailed, whenever they all returned to headquarters. But by the nature of the retreat, Sephiroth supposes Hollander has him “hostage.” And Genesis is never much happy after medical.
Alas.
“Then stay, Seph. Have some sleep, I’ll handle things outside.”
“It wouldn't last,” Sephiroth warns him, “I’ll be needed on the field sooner or later, no matter what you do. And I’m a light sleeper too, on top of that.”
Though… the massage on the back of his head and neck do tempt him to fall asleep just where he is, even if it could be inappropriate in some way. Angeal is warm and soft… Angeal somehow smells like home even if the conditions of the camp aren't exactly ideal for that. Even if Sephiroth doesn't know what a normal home is supposed to feel like, exactly.
Sephiroth fights off a yawn but fails at keeping it at bay.
“You gotta at least try,” Angeal tells him; too soft, even though he feels that probably shouldn't, because somehow that makes Sephiroth melt a little in his arms and… gods.
As close as they are to one another, perhaps he shouldn't think of Sephiroth in that way. It’s dangerous with the way it can be spun around and used against them, especially in the field, with the ever ongoing war.
Not that he can really help it, though. They may not have grown up together the way he had with Genesis, but something about Sephiroth inspires the need to take care of him, keep him from destroying himself, even, which is not so different from dealing with Genesis’ antics. Something about Sephiroth, whose hair tips tickle the arm Angeal has around his waist, feels a little like freshly baked bread.
It is… surprisingly soft. A homecoming.
He doesn't quite realize he’s held on for longer than he should until Sephiroth is lifting his head off his shoulder and drawing back just enough to look at him.
Sephiroth… really should take a nap, at the very least; mere inches away, the bags underneath his eyes look painful, making the mako green even more vibrant as a result. The ring of mako green, really, because Sephiroth’s pupils look… rounder for some reason, at least for the fraction of a second that Angeal is able to see them, because soon enough Sephiroth’s eyes are closed and, before he can process exactly why, Sephiroth’s lips are on his; soft, sweet and a little hesitant. Perhaps a little sleepy. Just a teeny little bit.
He runs a thumb over Angeal’s chin afterwards, a little too shaky in face of the near lack of a reaction.
“You should try, too. Not sleep, I mean… growing out the beard instead of shaving it all. It would…” He swallows nerves, voice just nearly breaking but refusing to do so, perhaps out of some sort of spite for the awkwardness the situation presents. “It would look nice on you, I think. I don't know, I… I must apologize. Lack of sleep is probably keeping me from thinking straight.”
Though there's still hesitancy, as Sephiroth tries to make an escape. A regret without really regretting it, left unsaid.
Angeal takes his retreating wrist and kisses him properly.
And Sephiroth, even so sleep deprived to the point of allowing himself to show vulnerability so freely, learns fast. Too fast, in fact.
Genesis would probably have a field day with him.
“I should really go to sleep, or at least try, I believe,” Sephiroth says, more to himself than anything else, even if Angeal can practically taste the words against his lips. “Reality is starting to look too much like a dream.”
It freezes Angeal in place with the weight those words carry, with the endless flow of questions that can't manage to make their way out of his lips. The way Sephiroth describes it…
Since when?
Were you gonna say anything? Would you’ve kept bottling it up if not this tired?
Would you… with Genesis, too?
Almost as if there's nothing but desolation outside, the sound of Sephiroth settling down while Angeal stands there in conflict feels too loud. Too noticeable. But Angeal doesn't have it in him to pace around their tent as well.
No. He needs to handle things outside and keep their men in check. He needs to show that his recent promotion to First Class was justified, and that he can keep the casualties to a minimum, even as the war rages on. That he can protect people, too.
The whole reason he enlisted, even; because as capable as Genesis is, Angeal had still desired to keep him safe and out of trouble, even though… Genesis himself is trouble. Claiming Sephiroth as a rival when the subtle hero worship didn't seem to work, kind of trouble.
Kissing Angeal breathless when the news of their promotion to First Class came, then not really stopping with the kisses, kind of trouble.
Gaia.
Angeal needs to call him, but instead chooses to ignore that need in order to make sure folks stay as away from the tent area as possible. He wants Sephiroth to sleep, so his… hm, friend won’t have a breakdown on the field or put them all in risk, then beat himself over every single man he couldn’t keep safe. He’s seen Sephiroth mourn the fallen before, after all; the way Sephiroth sort of retreats into himself to keep it from affecting his performance on the field, only for his eyes to keep drifting towards whatever newest fresh grave the poor sods who couldn’t make it, but who were found whole, were buried at.
He needs Sephiroth to rest, somehow, even if just a little and he wants—
He wants to bury his hands in Sephiroth's hair and kiss him again and again, and again… Maybe whisk him away to Banora, along with Genesis, and let Shinra fight the war without them, because it’s already dragged on for so long that he also grows tired of it.
So exhausted from seeing Sephiroth trying to shut down his own needs and emotions, so tired of Genesis being away, that it wouldn’t take a lot to get him to quit, really.
Maybe he also needs to sleep.
Maybe… curling up next to Sephiroth wouldn’t be so bad. He could keep him warm and perhaps kiss him again whenever he wakes up.
He needs to stop thinking about Sephiroth’s lips and the implication of Sephiroth dreaming about kissing him, but it seems nearly impossible, as he touches his own chin in consideration.
His head is full of silly ideas, full of Sephiroth, really.
A beard, huh…
If it’s only a patch, perhaps… he could commit to it. So simple and normal of a suggestion, coated in sleep deprivation and nerves. And at the same time… wouldn’t that make him look older than what he is? Though if it’s just a little bit, he negotiates with himself, if only a little fragment of happiness in this war…
It’s too silly of a thought, but. Oh, well.
An infantryman hands him a list of supplies. He needs to contact headquarters.
“Oh, you bastard,” Genesis says over the phone, though the words aren't devoid of fondness, “you two had to do that when I’m not around? Really?”
Angeal deflates a little bit, though it goes unseen. In retrospect, he does feel a little guilty about it, despite their relationship being an open one, but alas…
“To be fair, he kissed me first.” And he should’ve been more responsible about it and made it clear that he wasn’t necessarily rejecting Sephiroth for not immediately responding, rather than dragging him into another kiss, but oh well. If Angeal allows himself to bask in that guilt, he will freeze and go nowhere useful with their call.
Much easier to recognize that he’s a bit of a hypocrite, knowing where his morals stand and what’s okay for him to do, but swimming against the current towards the undeniable allure of Sephiroth’s lips, anyway. To know that he's only making up excuses for his behavior.
“I don't care who started it, it's unfair,” Genesis says, “I’m not there to steal his kisses from your lips and it's infuriating.”
“Gaia, Genesis.”
“You don’t know what kind of gift you are even given with this, it’s just—” Genesis deflates with a sigh so intense that Angeal can picture his exact expression; can pinpoint the exact moment when Genesis realizes he’s breaking into the good old idolization again and tries to reel it back in. Like, gosh, have you seen him? He would probably say.
(And you say he kissed you? On the lips!?)
Clearly, both of them have always had some sort of crush on Sephiroth, bordering on stupidity. Though Genesis has always been way more open about his thoughts on the matter, while, perhaps ironically, Angeal has always tried his best to hide his; always considered all the reasons why acting on it would be a terrible idea. Bottling up, just like Sephiroth’s willing to do with most things.
They aren’t that much different from one another, in that regard.
“So where is he right now, darling? For you to be calling me like this instead of occupying your lips with his…”
Angeal finds that he wants to dig a hole in the ground to hide in, because he can feel the heat getting to his cheeks any time Genesis makes even if just a little allusion to that. It makes him regret telling Genesis about it, though not completely. He really needed to talk about it to someone or he would’ve gone insane and Genesis would need to know, anyway.
He tries to swallow embarrassment and a dozen complications both.
“Hopefully sleeping,” he lowers his voice, just in case someone is around to hear him, “I don't think he’s been sleeping at all for a whole week.”
“Shit…” Genesis mumbles.
“I don't think I should have—”
“No, no, no, don't even start with that. It was him who initiated it and you didn't want him to feel rejected, right? I would slap you if you had sent him off to bed like that.” He rambles, but the annoyance at his current predicament grows. His voice turns almost venomous, like a beast hoping to bite. “I would if I wasn't stuck here with goddamn Hollander of all people. Ugh.”
It's less that Angeal laughs at him for it and more at the absurd nature of their situation; he’s on the phone telling Genesis that Sephiroth and he shared a little moment together, anxious about it because it didn't happen in the best of circumstances… worried about Sephiroth’s lack of sleep, and Genesis is stuck a whopping continent away, unamused.
Genesis groans at him. The eyeroll can definitely be felt, even if unseen.
“Sorry, sorry, it's just—”
“You’ve been anxious, darling?”
“Yeah, guess you could say it. I miss you. My head feels like it's running on dumbapple juice without you around.”
Even if this war sucks, Angeal wants to say, but keeps himself from doing so, for several reasons.
(If not for the war, would the two of them have ever met Sephiroth? Probably not.)
“Well? Doesn’t it always?”
“Gen,” Angeal says in warning, though it’s fond; a smile making it over the phone with the way the name rolls off his lips.
“You know it’s true. You were on top of my tree when we first met… doing who knows what. And you fell on top of me, even.”
“Not exactly my fault a cute redhead decided to pass right underneath that tree.”
It’s smooth. Perhaps too smooth, he thinks, but it makes Genesis giggle on the other side of the line, so Angeal counts that as a small victory; anything, whatever he can manage, just to make Genesis happy. Angeal would hand him his own heart on a silver plate if it would put an undefeated smile on Genesis’ face forever.
Not that he would be allowed to do so, even if he could.
He knows what Genesis is like, always yearning to conquer things on his own over being served them. It’s more likely that he would yank Angeal’s heart out of his chest rather than being offered it all prettily.
In fact, it already happened; Genesis has enough reign over it that Angeal’s heart skips a beat or two at his giggle.
“So,” Angeal tries asking, taken by sheer curiosity, “did Hollander say anything on why you're being held hostage or…?”
“A scratch of all things. He keeps acting as if it’ll kill me or some shit and won’t elaborate on it. I feel fine, ‘Geal. But nah, gotta stay over for observation or some other dumb thing. Ugh.”
“Sounds like a pain. Did you ever get home before that?”
“Your plants are fine, if that’s what you’re asking. That puppy boy you were training the other time has been taking care of them.”
Angeal chuckles at that. It feels like the nickname is starting to take hold, if even Genesis is sticking to it over the boy’s name.
“You mean Zack?”
“That’s the one, yeah. I have no clue whether or not he’s good at it, but… nothing seems like it’s dying or out of place, so at least there’s that.”
There’s absolutely no way to know whether that’s a good or a bad thing unless Angeal somehow goes to Midgar or bothers Genesis for pictures of the place, and the latter is out of question with Hollander keeping him and Angeal’s refusal to place a burden on Genesis at all costs.
Regardless, there are more pressing matters at hand.
“But could you at least rest before Hollander—”
“Nope, not at all.”
It should be near morning in Midgar. Genesis and Sephiroth both are going to be the end of him, honestly. Angeal sighs at the thought.
“You’re not keeping me from resting, y’know that, right?”
“Still, you should, instead of being on the phone. If you don’t, you might give Hollander an excuse to keep you there for even longer.”
“Whatever. I’d like to see him try.”
“Genesis—”
“Just… stay on the phone until I fall asleep then, darling?”
Even though he sighs again, Angeal lets out a little “Alright,” and lingers, offering casual input here and there until he can practically feel Genesis slipping away into dreams.
Lingers even though he shouldn't, because what if he gets a business call? What if they get attacked? What if that's the last time he’ll hear from Genesis in his whole life? Angeal doesn't muse aloud about those thoughts, but they linger, too.
Genesis, when sleepy, always mumbles sweet nothings if he has access to him.
Angeal savors them as much as he is able to.
Sephiroth is easily found the next day, running over strategy with the troops. “We’re to avoid unnecessary casualties”, Angeal hears him saying, while musing on the fact that a single sleeping session can’t possibly fix an entire seven or so days or missed rest.
The dark circles are still there under Sephiroth’s eyes, though he carries on as if he’s alright, or at least better at disguising it than yesterday.
He notices Angeal there, from the way their eyes meet for a moment, but he doesn’t interrupt what he’s doing and doesn’t react much. Not that Angeal expects him to, not in front of the troops, at least; material that’s prone to feed the imagination of gossipy cadets, whose captain is absent due to Heidegger's incompetency, is also material prone to make to enemy forces. And Gaia knows what they would do with that knowledge.
Angeal doesn’t envy the one or another infantryman who definitely swoon at Sephiroth’s statement that he won’t let anything happen to them, meant to relax the troops and improve morale so they can focus on their job instead of thinking about the monsters Wutai has been deploying later as reinforcements, a big reason as to why SOLDIER is involved in the conflict at all. But he doesn’t judge them, either, fighting against himself to stay professional, rather than giving in to the undeniable allure of Sephiroth giving orders and being serious about things. The allure of the previous day’s events, that absolutely come to mind.
The realization that Sephiroth isn't wearing his usual turtleneck underneath his coat, which… is quite the sight, really. Makes it absolutely fair to swoon, though perhaps Sephiroth doesn't realize the effect that much alone has on others.
“Dismissed. Regroup at ten hundred.”
The infantrymen disperse with some difficulty, gaze lingering on Sephiroth, though trying to disguise that very fact. They would definitely eat him up with looks alone until nothing is left, if they could.
Angeal waits patiently for things to calm down before approaching. It seems as though Sephiroth had been waiting, too.
“Commander,” he says, with a hint of fondness disguised in that need to stay professional; infantrymen are still in hearing range. “The northern base has sent us valuable intel… We must discuss it.”
It’s rare to see Sephiroth lie so blatantly like this and yet… there it is.
The fidgeting with his pen to disguise the slight trembling of his hands, the green gaze which refuses to connect, his bangs serving as an improvised half curtain, as he tries his best not to be too obvious while faltering, all the same.
It’s a wonder how he isn’t blushing, given how pale he is.
“In private, General?”
“In private, yes. Follow me.”
Without the safety of having a pen on his hand to fidget with, Sephiroth’s hands tremble a little more. Either that or Angeal is way too attuned to Sephiroth’s body language, given what happened the previous day.
What Angeal can’t be attuned to, however, is the way Sephiroth mentally curses himself for leaving Masamune in their tent. Had he taken it with him when he woke up, he would have something to hold onto to calm his nerves right now.
Perhaps all of this is a mistake.
If only he could have slept more, if only the liberties of regular soldiers also applied to him.
If only his brain hadn’t been so worn down—
If the dread wrapping itself around his chest can just settle for a moment just so he can think, rather than stressing himself over the prospect of what exactly they must discuss inside the tent; over the need to come up with some sort of hierarchy on their own, too, due to Heidegger’s incompetence, even if they’re the same rank… Even as he considers Angeal to be as capable in battle as himself.
The walk back to the tent feels too short lived, Sephiroth thinks, as he holds the flap up just for the need of grabbing something, anything, to calm down his hands and waits for Angeal to get inside before going in, himself.
(He wants to run away, he wants to disappear, he’s stuck in a cage.)
Well, how to even start, really?
“You're not wearing the turtleneck,” Angeal points out and somehow saves him the trouble of a conversation starter.
Saves him from himself again, as he’s willing to do, just as he’s always done.
And yet—
“It was making me feel suffocated. Does it… hn. Does it bother you?”
“Not really,” Angeal sounds a little carefree about it as he says it, but they both know this is a distraction from the real matter at hand. Again, it saves Sephiroth from spiraling onto himself and into all the noise in his head… but at what cost? “You should do what feels more comfortable for you. Besides… it seems to increase the troops’ morale, so it’s not exactly a bad thing.”
It takes a few moments for Sephiroth’s gaze to shift to his own boots, catching the meaning of that. Oh. Of course they would stare. He suddenly feels too self conscious about it.
And they’re dodging the topic.
“Yesterday…” Sephiroth starts, hesitates, refuses to look up. “I didn’t mean for things to go like that. It was… selfish of me, I shouldn’t have— Well. You shouldn’t have encouraged me further, either, but I…” He sighs, clearly nervous. “It really wasn't the way I intended for you to find out.”
“But you did intend for me to find out,” Angeal can't help but pointing it out.
“Perhaps. I’ve thought of it often, but… I’m unsure. Technically, we shouldn't, because in a war like this, if something were to happen…” Sephiroth’s gaze drifts away enough that it ends fully covered by his bangs, half forgotten by a sigh escaping his lips as well. “Shinra wouldn't allow it, either, and Hojo is a menace, but I…”
To hell with Shinra then, Angeal wants to say, but keeps it to himself, instead, as Sephiroth drifts off in uncertainty. If not for Shinra, the two of them wouldn't have met, at all. Not to mention how nice it is to be able to send some money back home, even if his mother very much disapproves of the path he’s chosen for himself.
But at the same time… it clearly puts Sephiroth in a crisis of sorts.
“Shinra doesn't need to know, then,” he offers in spite of himself. “If that's what worries you and if you want it to be more than just a kiss. We could keep it a secret, and… I don't know if it helps, but I don't plan on dying on you anytime soon.”
Sephiroth risks looking towards his general direction just briefly, no eye contact. There's some color to his cheeks, at last.
“You may not plan to,” he says, “but it may happen regardless of our wishes. And I… I’ve come to dread the thought of living in a world where you no longer are. You and Genesis both, that is.”
Oh. Alright, then. That at least answers one of Angeal's questions, making Genesis included in… whatever this has become. Angeal doesn't really have a name for it just yet; doesn't know whether or not Sephiroth would be into the idea of things being open, allowing them all to see other people if the need arises… doesn't know if he wants to see Sephiroth pursuing anyone else other than Genesis and himself, either.
Maybe his crush on Sephiroth is much worse than what he thought, bordering on selfishness.
Regardless, Angeal extends a hand out to him, the movement easily capturing Sephiroth's attention. His hesitant gaze lingers on it.
“If we protect each other, it would be less of a risk of that happening, no?”
Sephiroth, in turn, reaches out slowly; fingers just barely grazing Angeal’s hand as if still flirting with the concept presented to him, still considering a further pursuit of it beyond just sleep deprived impulsiveness. Angeal waits patiently without saying a thing, giving Sephiroth time to make a decision or conclude that it’s not yet time to decide.
Which would be fine, as well, but Sephiroth fully commits.
He holds onto the hand offered to him and comes closer, to press his head against Angeal’s shoulder just as he did the day before.
(His heartbeat is unsteady, a little too loud.)
“I’d rather you not risk your life for my sake,” Sephiroth nearly whispers, “but I guess we could… it could work. A little like that time back then.”
“Masamune?”
A nod, which feels more like nuzzling, really, and a bit of a hum.
His free arm finds its way around Angeal’s waist and lingers there, claiming it as a home of sorts, somewhat inviting more contact. A hand running through silver hair makes him melt a little.
Maybe he needs more sleep still, though the circumstances don't allow for it.
And yet, if they're settling this and deciding how to go from there, even if just a little bit, perhaps there's no harm in being a bit impulsive about it.
“A little after Masamune,” Sephiroth says, “I… started to think about you, about us, really. It took me a while to realize why, exactly.”
“But that means— For years, really? Sephiroth…”
“I know,” he whispers, instead of properly addressing the reason for hanging onto the feelings for so long without trying to make a move. Is there a time limit for not telling? He wonders, without having a proper frame of reference for it. It’s not like he liked anyone else that way, before, to really know how to handle any of that.
That kiss, at least for him, had been enough of a confession as it was.
“Can I k— hmph!” Angeal starts but is quickly cut off by Sephiroth kissing him, almost as if he could guess the rest of the question, when actually, he’s just jumping to the assumption that Angeal means to scold him for it, somehow.
He can’t handle being scolded right now; the inevitable eye contact afterwards is already too much as it is.
“General, sir, are you in there?” A voice calls from outside.
Sephiroth tries his best not to jump out of his skin, his hand tightening around Angeal’s almost as if he’s holding onto an anchor not to drift away to sea.
“Yes?”
“The men have gathered outside, sir. We’re ready to depart at your command.”
Shit. Well, yeah… he’ll have to brief Angeal into the operation on the way and hope it’s not suspicious.
For someone who preaches about honor and good conduct, Angeal sure is bold to steal another kiss from him before they have to get out of that tent and back into what Shinra expects of them.
Though it’s worth it, for it keeps morale high until Genesis comes back, walking into their tent almost with a vengeance and going right for Sephiroth’s lips without a word beforehand. A sight to behold.
“You're not wearing the turtleneck,” Genesis notices.
“Well—” Sephiroth wants to explain, but is kept from doing so.
“About time! Let me wear the turtlenecks under coats, instead.”
Angeal, somewhere near them, tries to muffle a chuckle. When Sephiroth notices it, he suddenly has Genesis’ coat on his lap, and Genesis has darted towards Angeal, kissing him until they're both desperate for air.
Maybe it's because he’s still young to a certain degree, but the sight alone does things to Sephiroth that he can't find words to describe without embarrassment.
And it’s hard to find time to be embarrassed like that when there’s so much to discuss, much to catch up. Not only about them, unfortunately, but also about that war, ever ongoing.
Sephiroth feels tired (no amount of sleep seems to be enough to patch the wounds the conflict leaves) but he keeps thinking on the possibility of an after, on the chance that, even as he’s to continue protecting people, that it’s not like this anymore.
So that maybe he’s able to actually rest.
The view of the ocean in the distance feels somewhat liberating, even though in the end, Sephiroth’s well aware that all of it is fake, contained within the safety of the VR training room which cages the three of them.
He stands in place and savors it, anyway; this little moment of respite between them that isn’t to last long, for the war still rages on and it’s so painfully easy for Shinra to simply send them away in different missions, different battles, whole continents apart for who even knows how long.
Genesis recites them the good old poetry, as he’s willing to do. The one they've heard from him countless times before.
(And yet, they never tire of his voice.)
Angeal’s gaze sticks to Sephiroth, as his ears are already lent to Genesis, and he muses on how long they’ve known each other, using Sephiroth’s hair length in his head as a calendar of sorts.
Sephiroth turns to catch him staring, the kind of smile that's so good to kiss away clear as day on his face.
He has a bit of a banter with Genesis about Loveless; and he isn’t exactly wrong at that. Genesis does recite from it a little too much, even if it’s to the point it becomes endearing, rather than an annoyance. It’s almost as if it’s part of his soul, laid bare for the two of them to see.
It shouldn’t really matter that he’s been reciting it a little more than usual recently.
Poetry aside, they fall into their usual dance with ease, blissfully unaware of what’s to come next.