Title: Defining Normality
Fandom: Final Fantasy 7 (Crisis Core)
Characters/Pairing: Angeal/Genesis
Rating: Light R
Notes: For Rowan The ending could be better; it feels too abrupt for my liking, but oh well. :( I figured it was about time I wrote something for these two that wasn't in an RP. Around 800 words-ish.

Angeal does not think himself any expert in sciences, even those of the mind. He knows nothing of psychology or neurology or sociology or even psuedopsychology, and so he never pretends that he fully understands some of the things that go through Genesis' head. Not for lack of wanting or trying, of course – but the question always, always comes up in their arguments without him meaning to, 'Genesis. What were you thinking?'

And, oh, Genesis tries to explain. Explain things he would not bother with for anyone else, but for Angeal, he does his best and – oh, how every thought is its own, crystal fragment reflected upon a wall, and the light skews every image, distorts and twists until he can make neither head nor tails of it. Warped images, warped consciousness, warped hopes and dreams of a boy that claimed loud and proud once upon a time, I want to be a hero.

He leaves SOLDIER to spare Angeal from it all; he knows his mind is failing him faster than his body and so perhaps he justifies it as a Good Idea at the Time because where his mind wanders, Angeal cannot follow. He'll have none of it, and he tells himself he won't return until it's all been fixed. A cure resides there, somewhere just out of his grasp, he knows it and somehow or another he will find it and life can return to normal.

Although when has life ever revolved around a concept of normality for them?

But his logic is less than perfect anymore (was never terrific to begin with), and his selfishness flares at the most inopportune times, and so it really isn't all that long before he's returning to home to parents that never wanted him to leave in the first place. It's not them he wishes to see, at any rate; he goes because he knows Angeal will come. Angeal will always follow, as he always has and always will, and where he cannot go he will wait at the edge and stare skyward, into clouds and blinding sunlight, waiting for Genesis to return.

Partner, Genesis says to him, arms spread wide even as the puppy stands to one side, confused and gaping and – he is of little concern, Genesis decides, and he steps past them to leave the small house and of course, of course Angeal follows. Lost in his selfishness, Genesis permits it, as he always does. You missed me, he whispers later against fine, dark hair, and Angeal makes a soft, noncommittal sound in his throat as his mouth trails over familiar skin, chest to clavicle to throat to jaw – and he sighs as Genesis' hands trace patterns across his broad shoulders, up and down his back. Familiarity. As close to normality as they ever get.

They're both sick, Angeal knows. Genesis' deterioration is faster than his own given the nature of their exposure to the cells that are killing them. But where else, he thinks, should he be than at the side of the man he's always kept pace with? Where Genesis goes, he will follow.

If he must be a monster, then they will be monsters together, and yet he looks at Genesis lying beneath him and sees nothing of the sort. Nothing but Genesis; dark red hair (it doesn't look so dark anymore) splayed out across faded pillow cases and bright eyes (more pale than bright) and face flushed, lashes lowered, every movement of hips and hands and the groans such gestures draw out... so very human. Genesis. Insane, lovely, human Genesis who is no more a monster now than he ever has been. Angeal can accept such a fate for himself, but not him. Never for him.

Later, he watches Genesis watch the trees outside their window, and he murmurs something Angeal can only scarcely make out; words of Goddesses and gifts and death and salvation, all chanted like a mantra, over and over and over – and his mind wanders and his words trail off, and Angeal can do nothing more but drop his head to rest upon the other's chest and listen to the steady thrum of his partner's heart.

Steady, steady.

Normal. Human.

He says Genesis' name and receives no answer. Lifts his head to look at the other, watch him watching out the window still, lost in whatever silent recesses of his mind he retreats to that bring him peace. At least, Angeal hopes it's peace; the thought of Genesis suffering beyond his reach tugs at him painfully. Sympathy and guilt with an influx of pained and helpless thoughts and realization that even his best efforts to stay with him will not always ensure success beyond a physical level.

There will always be places Genesis will wander that he cannot follow.