Nights the city is dark, the way I like it. 'Cause in the dark, everything is blurred, their outlines fading into one another so you can't see which is which, black from white and right from wrong, and the regret that rears its ugly head in the day slides away into the shadows, unseen, unheard and unnoticed. And then there's nothing but the rush of the wind and the quiet, the miles sliding away like silk under me and my bike, while above the neon lights flash as if there's no tommorrow.
Tonight's no exception, the same as usual. I pull up behind the diner, tugging the clipboard free from its netting. One last delivery to make, and my run is over. I pick up the package from the seat compartment and start for the door. It is suprisingly warm and oddly familiar. Like the presence of an old friend, comforting and near. Then I shake my head. Tifa, Cait, Cid, Vincent, Barret, Yuffie, Marlene, Denzel - I left them behind a long time ago. Besides, they wouldn't be able to find me. Not here, not now.
The cashier shoots me a cautious glance as I enter, boots squeaking on the grimy floor. "Whaddya want?"
I shrug,"Delivery. Guy by the name of..." I peer at the label in dim glow of the lone light bulb, and freeze. It can't be. He can't be here. Not him, of all people. Frank's words from this morning drift back through the haze of shock. "Oh. Yeah. I forgot. You're on in the North Sector. There's a last minute order, damn the guy. He wouldn't give his full name, just said he'd collect it at the Blue Moon and that you'd know him. Soren, I think it was. Friend of yours?" Soren. At first it hadn't registered, but now it made sense. It'd been Sephiroth's alias when he was on missions, not that it had mattered in the least of course. People had always known who it was. I swallow hard, trying to push back the instincitve surge of fear. It's just a coincidence, I think, the same name in a different place, but a different person, is all.
"You want to spend all night slacking your ass off, fine by me. Just clear off and do it elsewhere." The cashier is impatient, her words edgy.
"... I'm here to look for someone." Even the words are hesitant, weak, and I hate myself suddenly.
She turns away, disinterested and begins to scrub aimlessly at a spot on the counter. "When you're done." I can sense her thoughts, snipingly sardonic - Just another drifter.
I force myself to walk forward as neutrally as I can. Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm, when every single nerve in my body is screaming danger, telling me to get the hell out of the diner, as fast and far away as I can. But I don't. Danger was one of those things I'd left behind, like friendship. Or so I thought. And as always, I make the wrong decisions at the wrong time.
"Cloud." That voice, emotionless, yet so familiar, sent a shiver running through me. Please, no. I spin around, reaching vainly for a blade that is no longer there - and hasn't been for years. For the first time, I miss the comforting weight of First Tsurugi in my hand, and realise that even if I have it, it wouldn't be of much use. Not against him. I flinch, preparing to duck, expecting Masamune to descend with a vengeance.
"I've been waiting. Please, take a seat." Instead, Sephiroth gestures to a nearby table. With typical feline grace, he slides down on the worn leather seat, which creaks in the wake of his movements, then glances at me impatiently, "Well? I'm not armed, if that's what you're thinking. And you're safe. So long as you don't try to run, that is. I hope you're smart enough not to do so, Strife. Sit, or I'll have to make you."
Reluctantly, I sit down.My legs are coiled under me like springs, ready to flee at the slightest threat of danger, my body taught and tense like a bowstring. I curse my stupidity silently for not thinking ahead to arm myself before heading off on the delivery rounds. Frank's Beretta would have been a good choice. Except that it was too late. I glance left and right. My back is against the wall; I'm cornered with nowhere to run, except straight ahead, which is where Sephiroth is sitting, blocking the entrance. Great, Cloud. I just love your utter brilliance in situations like these.
"Cloud. Look at me." His voice is quiet, authoritative, and I have no choice, like as before, to raise my head. Damn you. Why did you have to appear?
"I'm not Cloud. I'm not who you think I am." I snap, embarassed at my weakness. "So can't you just leave me the hell alone!?"
"Really?" he inclines his head, as if genuinely surprised. "Then who are you?"
I freeze, caught momentarily in my own lie. "Tyder. Tyder McRae." Even as it rolls shakily off my tongue, I know that he knows. It's not the truth, any more than what Jenova fed him. A lie, bred out of desperation and fear and the need to forget and live, for myself and not others.
Sephiroth leans against the chair languidly, studying me quietly. The lamplight illuminates his features, tracing deep shadows and sparking off his silver hair. He looks no different than he was when he died, five years ago, except that his green eyes are clear and free from Jenova's mad thrall. It's hard to believe that so much time has passed, so soon. Still, I'm distrustful. He's dead, and by all reasoning, he shouldn't be here. And he shouldn't be talking to me, either. Suddenly uneasy, I flip the package in front of him. "Here's what you wanted; if you don't mind, I'll be going. No need for payment." I rise to go, not meeting his eyes.
I'm flung back onto the seat before I can even take a step forward. A pale hand grasps my wrist with surprising strength. "I thought I told you not to run... Tyder Mc Rae? I'm not done with you. Not yet." His vice-like grip is painful, and I find myself wincing. I bite my lip to fight from yelling. I won't yield. Not to you. Not ever. His emerald eyes flash in anger, and I know that he can break my hand if he wants to. Or even tear me apart.
"Go on. You want to kill me; go ahead." I glare at him, my free hand balling into a fist, spitting out whatever defiance I still can muster, knowing it won't be long before I expire. There's nothing much to live for anyway. This, surprisingly, has the opposite effect. The anger is replaced swiftly by another emotion, something I can't quite decipher. The General has always been reserved. Sorrow, or remorse, perhaps? It's hard to recall Sephiroth ever being completely human. He releases my wrist like it's a hot coal and returns to his original position.
"Sit. And don't test my patience by doing foolish things." his voice is curt, the edges raw. "Open the package. It's for you."
I drop back down, rubbing my wrist. It feels like it's on fire, and I can already see the dark bruises forming in the outline of his fingers. Damn him. Gingerly, I reach out with my good hand and tug the package towards me, staring at him guardedly.
"Open it. Or are you too afraid, Tyder? Or should I say more accurately, Cloud Strife?" His eyes bore into me, mocking me, smirking. Gritting my teeth, I rip open the packet, eyes never leaving him for an instant. I don't trust you, you idiot.
And so I do not realise when it slips into my hand, white and smooth and cool. It is the white materia, the one which I had fought for so hard - only to lose. I feel the familiar power of the materia, immense, like a bottomless ocean. Waiting to be mastered. To be used, for good or for bad. "...Why?" the question, unbidden, slips from my lips.
He stares at his hands, nervously interlocked on the table. "I... don't know. Because it was - is yours?"
I narrow my eyes. Sephiroth has never said 'I don't know." He always had an answer. It wasn't like him to just leave things hanging. This much I know. Yet, at the same time, I know that he's putting himself in a dangerous position. Physically, he is stronger than I am, but with the materia, I'd be the certain victor. And why not, since we are enemies? Bur, for some reason, I don't. Maybe I'm past that already, those five years. I don't know, and I never will.
"Thank you."
He looks up, startled. "Why?"
"For giving me the materia. Though I don't know what to do with it."
He shrugs. A pause.
My cell rings. It's Frank. Most likely another delivery. I'm used to it.
"Tyder? Good - you're still up and runnning. There's another call. East sector, street fifty-two. Some old woman. Apparently her son sent her something. Can you bike to the East branch to collect it? Atta boy. You'll get overtime for this." Frank is growly as usual.
"I've got to go." I say softly, putting the phone back into my pocket.
Sephiroth does not reply. He sits, silver mane hanging over his face, casting it into shadow. I stand cautiously, making ready to leave. I pass by with no resistance. I'm halfway to the door before he catches up. Out of nowhere, a hand grips my collar, pinning me against the wall helplessly. I'm trapped again, and I feel an involuntary surge of fear. What the hell!? Sephiroth gazes at me a long while. His breathing is ragged and there is that odd emotion in his eyes again. "Cloud... I... I lied. I couldn't not have given you the materia. Mother - she would have killed you. She can have me, but she will never harm you, not if I can help it. Because..."
His lips brush against mine, and in that instant, all I can think of is Sephiroth; the scent and taste of him, sweet and softly pining. Then he pulls away, the despair anew in his eyes, "I love you, Cloud Strife."
And then he is gone, into the night, the shadows and the silence. I love you, Cloud Strife. His words echo forlornly. And I to you, the same, ever since the beginning.Goodbye.
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And in the morning, when I wake, I find a single black feather on my windowsill. The edges curl softly in my hands, like a smile, a secret between us both.
"I will never be a memory."