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In a grimy, shaded, backwater alley, slumped against its brick wall, is a dying hero. Among rotting scrap and dirty puddles of water from the morning rain, Sephiroth bled out. Dying, again.
Not alone in this plight, a red clad man stands off in the shadows, observing. Hesitant. Mournful.
“There’s nothing to fear,” Sephiroth rasps, to the presence, one long imprinted into his soul. “If I wanted you dead, I would have done it already.” a beat, then out steps the smiling figure.
Genesis borrows the dirty brick wall opposite of Sephiroth’s to rest against, arms crossed snugly over his chest. He rakes his eyes over his old friend’s state. The blood— he can't recall a time he’s ever seen Sephiroth bleed before, and now it stains the black leather generously, giving it a sickening shine. The sight stirs a LOVELESS quote in him, nostalgically. He doesn't consider if its even an appropriate way to greet an old friend, if he could even still call Sephiroth that.
“My Friend, the fates are cruel. There are no dreams, no honour remains.” The words feel hollow now, coming from him. He shakes his head. “You are in a bad way, my friend.” He doesn't just mean in the way that Sephiroth was clearly dying.
Sephiroth only chuckles, bitterly. He tilts his head back against the brick behind him instead, closing his eyes. “Perhaps. Is it really so bad, Genesis?” It was not a question of if, only how.
“Terrible.” He grinned, sweeping his gaze over Sephiroth, something unreadable in his eyes. “Is it really you?” he asks softly, looking away as if it would help tamp down that fluttering feeling in his chest, to. see his…friend…after so long. “Or am I talking to one of those degrading clones you like to puppet around?”
“It’s me,” Sephiroth confirms, though, not for much longer. “You have every right to kill me right now. I’m surprised you havent.” he croaks, leveling his gaze on Genesis again.
It pulls at his heart, to have those cyan eyes on him again.
“There’s no rush when you’ll meet the same end regardless. By my hand or another's, theres no difference, the outcome will remain the same.” Genesis muses, sounding a little far off. Maybe he did have the right to be angry with Sephiroth. Maybe he didn’t. “All that remains different is the time spent between. It’s been a while, Sephiroth. Were you expecting me to hold on to my anger as tightly as you do?”
Sephiroth seems to take a moment, either to digest his words, or because of his injuries. He grins. “I suppose you believe I’ve held it too tightly, then?” he asks, wry.
“I believe it cuts the palms of your soul, and will bleed you dry, friend.” Genesis mused. He brushed a few strands of red out of his eyes, rubbing at his temples slowly, thoughtfully. “Is it so hard to believe that I maybe missed you?” he asks, eyes lowered.
“You’ve always been so poetic,” Sephiroth sneers, weakly. He shifts on the ground— or perhaps it's a writhe of pain breaking through his facade of calmness— Genesis cant tell. “…You’ve missed me?” he tacks on, a little softer, a little more unbelieving.
“Yes. Once I could no longer scorn you, I began to miss you. Though, meeting you again like this…” Genesis trailed off, gazing seemingly through Sephiroth for a long moment, crossing his ams loosely over his chest. “I fear I am missing a man who I will never meet again.”
Sephiroth seems to understand his sentiment.
"You're not wrong," Sephiroth said quietly after several long moments of silence. "That man... no longer exists. I was naive when I was younger, and perhaps that was a good thing in the end. That naievty ended at Nibelheim."
Genesis wants to scoff, role his eyes, and shake the dying, stubborn man by the shoulders. He can do none of these things, however, and settles for letting out a long breath.
“I suppose it’s my fault, in a way, that you’ve become this monster.” He did speak the words hatefully or even bitterly. There was no pity in his words, merely a gentle observation. Recognizing his part in things. “I shouldn’t have said those things back in the reactor.” too little, too late.
He stares off down into the darkness of the alley. “This path you’re going down, Sephiroth, it does not hold for you what you want it to. There will be no reward at the end to fill that hole cut into your soul.”
His wisdom only earns him a sound of frustration from Sephiroth, and maybe he was preaching to a wall. Wasting his breath to a man too far gone.
"What else was I supposed to do, Genesis? What other pathway lies open for me?" Sephiroth paused for a moment before spitting a short laugh, harsh and almost sarcastic. "You were the one who quoted LOVELESS again, so tell me, Rhapsodos. Where does this 'story' end? What does 'the morrow hold?'"
And it stings. It slices into Genesis’ heart to hear the question. Because what answer could he give? Was there any that laid in such poetry?
And it filled him with anger. Years, spent trying to adhere his life to a story, to have Sephiroth brush it off in the past, only to use it against him like this?
He can help the step forward he takes, then, in that moment. His hands are clenched at his sides in fists of anger. “It doesn't matter— it doesnt matter what the morrow holds for you, it matters whether or not you’ll come to see it!”
“And why--“ but Sephiroth found himself interrupted by a sudden coughing fit. He clenched a hand against his mouth, covering a small spray of blood from view. Blood...he really was fading fast, wasn’t he?
Genesis took a half step back, his expression gentling instantly. He lowered his voice again, frowning with remorseful sadness. “Won't you go quietly? Do your delusions of this ‘Mother” really mean so much to you that you would die again and again for her? She who has done nothing but granted you half of her DNA spliced into you from conception?”
Sephiroth regards him silently, seeming taken off guard by the outburst. Or perhaps by the concern that undoubtedly leaked into Genesis’ voice despite his best efforts to appear the contrary.
“I can’t go quietly, you should know that by now-“ The coughing began again, even worse this this, a small amount of blood dripping down the silver haired man’s chin. He cursed quietly under his breath, eyes squeezing closed.
Something inside of Genesis breaks, and he can’t take it anymore. He approached, and knelt at Sephiroth’s side. “My friend,” he say softly, mournfully as he reached out to gently take his dying friend’s face in his hands. One tilted it upwards, the other ginger wiped away the blood staining his lips and chin with his sleeve.
“Find peace, or make it. Don’t continue to do this to yourself. The planet is not your enemy, nor is she at fault for the things that haunt you.” he brushed some hair out of Sephiroth’s eyes. “Nor, is she a prize for you to conquer in Jenova’s name.” he added a little more sharply, though not unkindly. More urgently than anything.
Sephiroth seems stunned into momentary silence, but he doesn't push Genesis away, thankfully.
"Peace..." There was only a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he repeated the word. "What do I...deserve peace for, exactly?"
Genesis continued to wipe away the blood on Sephiroth's face gently, while he gave his answer some careful thought. Finally, and after no significant amount of time, he had his answer. The words spilled forth easily. “That little boy they put on war posters and on magazines, he deserves peace.” he whispered softly, settling down further on the grimy alleyway ground, coaxing Sephiroth to lay his head on his shoulders.
“…and that cocky young man he grew into, who secretly mourned every causality of the men who had followed into battle after him and would not return home. He deserves peace too.”
"You..." Sephiroth found himself unable to form the words. He closed his eyes shut, his expression betraying just how much those words were affecting him. “I’m not sure if…that ’Me” ever truly existed.”
“He did. I know he did.” Genesis murmured, carding his fingers through Sephiroth’s hair, nails gently scratching at the side of his head. He leaned his head atop Sephiroth’s, cradling his dying friend. “I got to love him everyday, in you, my friend.”
He watched Sephiroth clench his hands tightly in his lap, letting out a shuddering breath and finally, truly leaning into him. He wasn’t strong anymore, he was far too weary and tired to be strong. All that was left in this moment was a broken, dying shell of a man.
And Genesis cradled him close, through his dying moments. “Quietly, my friend, go softly this time.” he crooned, voice barely audible, shaking in its own right with emotion. It was quite possibly the hardest, most painful thing to do; to let go. “I’ve got you.”
And he held Sephiroth, even as the man grew stiller, and his breathing grew fainter and for several hours after his body had grown cold. Stroking his hair, and promising him a peaceful after.