Author's note: I'm so excited to see from reviews that there are a few non-yaoi-fan people enjoying this! Thank you for giving it a shot even though it may not seem like your sort of thing. I hope you all continue to enjoy it. Thank you again for all the positive comments.
Suggested listening: Various Artists "Lonely Hearts" or My Chemical Romance "Ghost of You" (If anyone ever took these suggestions seriously, it would fill my heart with joy. But it's optional, of course.)
Suggested beverage: ice water
"Do you plan to store all your swords in here?" Leon asked, eyeing the growing pile of Cloud's collection in the corner of the room. Leon's room wasn't large by any means, with all his Gunblades taking up so much space in his weapons' cabinet, he didn't see how Cloud's were going to fit.
"I'm not leaving them in a room with Sephiroth," Cloud answered plainly, dumping another armload of clothing, leather guards and knives onto Leon's floor.
"Maybe he doesn't even remember how to fight," Leon suggested, reclining back onto his bed with his hands propped under his head. "Probably wouldn't even know how to swing the Buster if you handed it to him."
"Well, I don't want to find out." Cloud opened the weapons' cabinet, grunting in disappointment at the lack of space. "There was more room in your dresser than in here."
"Well, I own more blades than pants," Leon laughed. Cloud tried to give him a smirk, but it was more of a brief softening of his grim expression. Leon frowned at the blonde's obvious discomfort.
"Hey," he said quietly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to sit up. "I know this situation sucks. Sephiroth wasn't exactly on my list of suitable housemates either. But is sharing a room with me really going to be that bad?"
Cloud sighed, closing the wooden door of the cabinet carefully so nothing would fall out. "No, of course not. I'm sorry; I didn't even ask if Aerith's little solution was okay with you."
"It's not how I imagined you moving in with me, but," Leon smiled, "I can imagine worse things. Come here." He held out a gloved hand, beckoning the blonde over to him.
Cloud finally did smirk then, rolling his eyes and pacing over to where the brunette sat. He let Leon wrap his arms loosely around his waist, pulling him into a sort of hug. Cloud's arms looped around his neck, his fingers playing with wild strands of dark hair. He dipped his head for a moment to inhale Leon's scent, calming himself with the familiar sensations.
"Thanks, Lee," Cloud murmured.
"My pleasure," Leon answered.
A small knock sounded on the doorframe. The two men looked up to find Sephiroth filling the open doorway, not quite willing to cross the threshold.
"Excuse me. It's just…you left this on the windowsill," the tall man said, holding out a worn paperback book in his hand.
Cloud reached out to take it, glancing at Sephiroth, but the man seemed unable to make eye contact. "Thanks," he said slowly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude," Sephiroth finally said, turning on his heel. "Good night."
Leon and Cloud exchanged glances as they listened to Sephiroth's footsteps fading away in the hallway.
The room given to Sephiroth was quite small and plain. With all of Cloud's belongings removed, the space was completely empty: no pictures on the walls, no curtains on the windows, nothing in the small chest of drawers. And Sephiroth owned nothing to fill the empty places.
He sat gingerly on the spindly old bed, testing the mattress to find it was fairly hard. No matter; he was probably used to that. Not that he could remember being used to anything at all, but if he had to guess, Sephiroth supposed he could handle more uncomfortable situations than a stiff mattress.
Since he owned no sleeping clothes, Sephiroth removed the too-tight clothing that the woodcutter's wife had given to him and folded the articles in a neat pile on the floor. He wanted to send the pants and shirt back to her, and it wouldn't do to send back a pile of rags, so he was trying to take good care of them. Sephiroth examined his bare feet, still filthy from walking through the woods and dusty streets. Aerith had left a full pitcher of water on the wash basin that, along with a clean towel, Sephiroth used that to attend to his feet.
The sounds Sephiroth made moving about the little room were loud compared to the pressing silence inhabiting the house. Everyone else must have gone to bed, Sephiroth thought, listening for any whispers or creaks in other parts of the brownstone. Any sound would have been welcome in this strange place, but everything remained quiet. Sephiroth sighed, slipping between the thin, cool sheets of the rickety bed.
His last thought before drifting off was that Cid had been wrong: they hadn't given him clean sheets. The bedclothes smelled like the pure sweat of young men.
The next morning, Aerith woke up early as usual. She was often the first one awake because she liked to move about the quiet house, reading or preparing breakfast before the others rose. So she was surprised to find Sephiroth in the downstairs common room at the computer terminal Cid had installed in the corner.
"Play it again, please," Sephiroth whispered to the screen in front of him.
"Of course, User Sephiroth," Tron's automated voice answered. A quick flash of pictures played out across the screen once more. Sephiroth leaned in closely, completely engrossed.
"Figured out how to use the computer?" Aerith asked from the doorway, startling the silver-haired man.
"Oh, Miss Aerith. Good morning," Sephiroth said, turning to her with a small smile. "Yes, Tron has been most helpful. He agreed to let me see the chronicles as you had suggested."
"I have limited his access to certain data," Tron spoke up. "I hope this is suitable, User Aerith?"
"Sure," she said, stifling a small yawn behind her hand. "I'm afraid I'm usually alone at this time of day. Have you been up long, Sephiroth?"
"I couldn't sleep much," he said, glancing down to type rapid commands onto the keypad. "I…had a few disturbing dreams."
"Oh?" Aerith moved to stand behind Sephiroth's chair, blinking at the images on the computer screen. Sephiroth's own face stared back at them, a picture taken years ago when he was still a General.
"You have quite a bit of information on me," Sephiroth said slowly. "The dreams I had last night seemed so vivid, I…I couldn't help but think they were real memories. I dreamt of terrible, terrible things. I had to know if it was the truth."
"And?" Aerith pushed.
"Everything Tron has shown me substantiates your claims." Sephiroth looked up at her, his green eyes cloudy now, no longer bright with Mako. "I killed. I killed you. Didn't I?"
"Yes. You did." Aerith gently pushed a strand of silver hair from his face. "But I got over it, right?"
Sephiroth shut his eyes tight, leaning his elbows on the control panel. "I don't understand. You shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't be alive. Things are happening that shouldn't be possible."
Aerith shrugged, her slim hands clasped behind her. "That is the world we live in." She stood there with him a long time, letting Tron show them pictures from the past.
"Okay troops, listen up," Leon announced at the breakfast table, consulting a list in front of him. "Yuffie and Tifa, you two can finish up at the north wall today. Cid, I want you to keep working on the design for the water filter. We're going to need that, the sooner, the better. Cloud, you're with me. We'll—"
Yuffie giggled into her bowl of oatmeal, interrupting Leon's instructions.
"Something funny?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing," she snickered. "It's just, we all know Cloud's with you. No need to brag about it during Assigning."
Cloud rolled his eyes. Tifa high-fived Yuffie. Aerith tried to look stern while serving pancakes. Cid laughed behind his calloused hand.
Leon ignored them all.
"As I was saying," he continued, "we'll get a head start on the south wall. Everybody clear?"
The gang got over Yuffie's joke and nodded, making to leave the table for the day's work. Leon grabbed his jacket from the pegs beside the front door, fishing around in its pockets for his gloves.
"Excuse me, Leon?" Sephiroth said, still sitting at the empty table.
Leon looked up at the man. He could feel Cloud pause beside him, but he gestured for the blonde to go. Cloud tilted his head in understanding and continued out the door.
"Is there anything I can do?" Sephiroth offered, stacking the breakfast plates neatly on the table.
"What do you mean?" Leon asked, shrugging his jacket over his shoulders.
"It appears you're in charge of this town's upkeep. Is there anything I can do to help?" Sephiroth asked.
Leon blinked. "I'm not sure...I can think of anything."
"Ah." Sephiroth rose from the table, collecting the dirty dishes. His posture was stiff and his movements, jerky. "I find that hard to believe."
"Look, I'm sorry," Leon said, combing a hand through his hair in frustration. "I'd love to have another hand on the team. But I can't make the others work alongside someone they don't trust. No offense."
Sephiroth sighed, his shoulder slumping. "None taken. I understand."
Aerith stepped out of the kitchen, taking the dishes from Sephiroth's hands. She eyed Leon quizzically, before smiling up at Sephiroth.
"Don't worry," she assured him. "There's plenty of work around the house you can help me with. There's cleaning and cooking and gardening and…" She cast a look over the woodcutter's hand-me-downs that Sephiroth still wore, trying to keep her smile light. "And maybe a trip to the seamstress is in order."
Though it wasn't cold out, Aerith gave Sephiroth a hooded cloak to wear on the trip to the market.
"Just to hide the indecently tight clothes you're stuck wearing," she joked.
Sephiroth sighed heavily, putting the hood up to cover his long silver locks. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Aerith just didn't want the townspeople to see him.
"Miss Aerith, excuse me for pointing this out," Sephiroth commented as they wove through a maze of back alleys on the way to the market, "but eventually, at least the seamstress will have to see me. I doubt she won't recognize me, and I don't want to cause any trouble for you."
"Nonsense!" Aerith laughed. "Don't worry about a thing."
They walked quickly through the marketplace, passing humans, large white talking ducks, and a few tiny fairies buzzing lazily outside an ice cream parlor. After passing what looked to be a handful of decent tailors, Aerith hustled Sephiroth into a dimly lit shop. A small elderly woman sat behind the counter on a tall stool. She set down a cup of tea and called, "Hello, who's there?"
Sephiroth squinted in the gloom to see her milky white eyes. Aerith had brought him to a blind seamstress.
"Aerith…" he groaned.
"Shush. Say hello to Mrs. Wedge. She makes the best clothes in town," Aerith said, nudging him towards the counter.
"A new one, eh?" The old woman reached out her gnarled hand and pushed the hood of his cloak back, threading her fingers into his loose hair. "Hm, a tall boy, yes? Very nice." Her hands stroked along his long jaw, measuring it with her touches. "Don't be frightened," she said as Sephiroth flinched slightly. "This is just how I look at people. What's your name?"
Sephiroth glanced at Aerith, who bit her lip and furrowed her brow, gesturing for him to say something.
"Zack," Sephiroth spat out. "My name's Zack."
"Oh, well, any friend of Miss Aerith's is welcome here, Zack," Mrs. Wedge laughed, sliding down from her tall stool to stand before him. She was a tiny woman wrapped in a black shawl, her white hair pulled back into a neat bun. "So what can I do you for?" she asked, hands on her hips.
"He needs everything," Aerith broke in. "Pants, shirts, belts, boots, the whole kit and caboodle."
"Fantastic!" Mrs. Wedge clapped her hands. "Let me just get my measuring tape and I'll be right with you." She shuffled off towards a back room, leaving them alone for a moment.
"How does she measure and sew if she can't see?" Sephiroth whispered.
"You'll find out," Aerith answered in a hushed voice. After a moment, she added, "…Zack."
Sephiroth ducked his head. "It was the first name I could think of. He was in my dreams last night."
"So you knew him?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. Everyone I dreamt was fuzzy and washed out, like ghosts in snow. Sometimes I walked through the dream without being able to control myself, like I was a doll on strings. Other times it was like watching a story play out from behind a plate glass window. Things on the other side were muffled and blurred." He shrugged. "But Zack…he was the only good thing I dreamt about. He was kind to me."
"Here we are," Mrs. Wedge said loudly, bustling into the room with her arms full of supplies. "Why don't you pick out some fabric for the boy, Aerith?"
"Any preferences?" she asked Sephiroth as she strayed over to the stacks of colorful silks and cottons lining one wall.
"Maybe black?" Sephiroth ventured, letting Mrs. Wedge wrap her measuring tape across his chest.
"Black? Oh! That Cloud boy is always coming in here asking for more black!" the seamstress exclaimed. "Black boots! Black shirts! Black pants! Black guards! Black, black, black. And that Leon is no better. Sometimes I think those boys are going to a funeral every day of their lives."
Aerith giggled. "Something else, then?"
"Grey?" Sephiroth tried.
Mrs. Wedge let out a disappointed wail. "Grey? Are you trying to fade into the background? Quick, tell me what color is this hair?" she asked, grabbing a handful of Sephiroth's locks.
"It's silver, ma'am," he answered, allowing the woman to lead him around the shop like his hair was a leash.
"Silver! I imagine when you walk around with it down like this, it's like a beautiful cape. And you want to dress the rest of yourself in grey?" she scoffed, patting her hands along the stacks of fabric as if searching for one by texture alone.
"Or black," Sephiroth said, smirking.
"Not on my watch, you won't," Mrs. Wedge said, nodding to herself. "Sure, a few black pieces here and there, but you will have the most complete wardrobe in the entire Garden. Not like those palate-impaired boys I have to deal with. Now, Aerith, help me find some blue wool, red cotton, pear silk, brown leather…just pull down whatever looks good to you. But no grey!"
"Yes, Mrs. Wedge," Aerith said, saluting her giddily.
"Now where was I? Ah, measuring, yes," the seamstress muttered, whipping her measuring tape out once more. "Arms up, please."
Sephiroth allowed her to wrap the tape around his chest and neck, down his sides, his arms and waist. Every time Mrs. Wedge tightened the measuring tape around his body, she'd murmur something to herself. Sephiroth couldn't imagine what she could be muttering, since she couldn't see the numbers on the tape and hadn't asked for him to read them aloud.
Then a flash of movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly to see pins and buttons flying through the air, diving amidst scissors and fabric that moved by some unseen hand on the worktable. Needles threaded themselves with snake-like thread, making quick work of seams along the cut fabric. Sephiroth looked over at where Aerith was perched on a bench, swinging her feet happily and watching the spectacle as if shirts always sewed themselves in Radiant Garden.
"Right, that's fine for a few shirts," Mrs. Wedge spoke up, interrupting Sephiroth's wonderment. "Now for pants." And the old woman fell to her knees fluidly to take measurements of his legs.
On the other side of the room, Aerith pointed to the old woman and mouthed "mage" to Sephiroth. The long-haired man shook his head in disbelief. It seemed that everyone in this town had magical powers. Everyone except him, now.
They left Mrs. Wedge's with a sizable order of pants, shirts, sweaters, coats, belts and a pair of boots (black, to Mrs. Wedge's dismay). The new boots were on Sephiroth's feet, and his second-hand clothing had been replaced by tan pants that had more pockets than he knew what to do with and a simple dark blue T-shirt.
"You look nice," Aerith commented, pulling the cloak hood up for him as they left the shop, since Sephiroth's hands were busy holding packages.
"I can't possibly afford all this," Sephiroth said, looking at the boxes wrapped in brown paper that he held. "I only have a few coins that the woodcutter's wife gave me."
"Don't worry. I have a budget for just such an occasion," Aerith said, finger raised triumphantly in the air. "Let's call it the 'Amnesiac Wardrobe Fund.'"
"You don't have to be so nice to me," Sephiroth mumbled. "I get the feeling I was never very nice to you."
"I wouldn't be a very good example for you if I treated you poorly, right?" Aerith grinned. "Give the others some time, and they'll come around too."
Sephiroth thought of the cold blue eyes that tracked his every move around the house, from the keystrokes at the computer terminal to the salt shaker on the breakfast table.
"Even Cloud?" he asked, adjusting his grip on the pile of boxes in his arms.
"Yeah, even him," Aerith answered, her smile bright. "Come on, I'll buy us some ice cream."
And that was how Sephiroth made his first friend in years.