It smelled new. New and a little – synthetic – somehow. And it scratched. Not much, more a rasping over his skin than a true scratching. It would go away once he'd washed it a few times, but for now, it was uncomfortable. He slowly smoothed over the front with one hand, tracing the ridges and dips of the material with his callused fingers. It was… different, somehow. The old one had been comfortable, worn in, soft and pliant. This was… stiff. Somehow heavier than his old one. As if duty and responsibility had been invisibly woven into this version, like it had not into the old one.
There was no difference in fit – it was tailored to him perfectly. And yet he felt like he was wearing a new skin: still tight, unknown, strange. Yes, of course he was quite happy that he was wearing it! But it meant a step into a life quite different from his previous one.
His steps slowed until he came to a full stop in front of one of the large picture windows. The man looking back at him in the reflection wasn't the man he'd been this morning, or even half an hour ago. Outwardly nothing had changed – his face still as wide, his shoulders broad, his hands large, and his body well-muscled – but inside, there was a subtle difference.
At first, he couldn't pin it down. Then it finally dawned on him. It was the color. Where up to now he's always worn purple, now he wore black. The black of a SOLDIER First Class. From now on, all decisions that he made would be his alone – he would stand and fall by them. No one would tell him *how* to do something, only expect that he accomplish it. Now he would command instead of follow. He would be at the forefront of whatever need ShinRa had for him.
Had he truly wanted this? This responsibility? Not only for himself, but for all those others that would be placed under his care and command now? Their health, their lives, even in some small ways their happiness would now be in his hands. Was this what he had been hoping for?
Suddenly, he had to lean against the glass, his knees buckling, his heart stuttering, all the blood rushing out of his head, making him feel as if he would faint at any moment. This was it. There was no going back now. No "Oh, I made a mistake, I don't want the job anymore!" He had achieved his dreams. Would he be able to fulfill the demands that they would place on him?
He raised his head again to lock mako green eyes with those of his reflection. For a long, silent moment, he searched for his answer. For the strength to wear the uniform that he had been granted this day. Then the memories of all the training, the hoping, the studying, the perseverance and the successes of the last year crashed over him. The sweat, the blood, the tears, all had contributed to making him the man he was today. To help him reach this moment: the moment when he would take up the burden of command, so that others could live their lives better, safer, happier.
Angeal straightened slowly. His hands smoothed again over the black sweater, ran gently along the new leather straps holding his armor, and straightened the belts around his waist. He studied his reflection again: straight, tall, shoulders thrown back proudly, head high. All that was missing was the sword. And for the first time since he had joined SOLDIER, Angeal felt worthy of carrying the Buster Sword, and all it stood for.
Taking a deep breath, he turned away from his smiling reflection and walked briskly down the corridor, his heart much lighter than before. Genesis and Sephiroth were waiting in their new quarters to help him celebrate. To usher in this new life that he was starting today. His smile broadened to a wide, happy grin. He was very much looking forward to living every minute of it.