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Another late update, but at least another long one. Feedback is love, concrit (as always) is encouraged. Enjoy! :)


THOSE WITHOUT SIN

Chapter 4: Father and Mother


The next morning, they're fighting again. Sephiroth tries not to listen, but Genesis rarely spares his breath when he's in this mood, so it seems. Angeal is much more constrained, so the other part of the argument is missing, but Sephiroth can't exactly miss drawing his own conclusions.

It's about the past again. Last night seemed to be so well spent, with Angeal making more soup and them talking until the early hours of the morning. Sephiroth knew he'd regret it eventually, but after hearing Genesis' hurt tone pass through the walls, he feels many a thing, but going back to sleep isn't one of them.

By the time Genesis yells "You ruined my life!" Sephiroth decides it's time to get up and play the judge. Or at least a friend, if either of them need it. Though, as he gets dressed and enters the living room, all he finds is Genesis sitting at his unmade bed, fidgeting with his fingers nervously.

"He's in his room," he whispers, voice raspy from all that yelling, and Sephiroth forces the warmest smile he can muster.

"I figured as much," he says and Genesis snorts, those eyes moving from hurt to playful enough, more like daring.

"I'm not known for keeping quiet," he says with enough teasing to pull goosebumps over Sephiroth's skin, and instantly regret passes over the redhead's face. "Maybe I should leave," he says, his fingers stop fidgeting, but he turns the unease to his legs, jumps up from the bed, wants to walk, do something, like a trapped cat. He freezes as Sephiroth takes hold of his hand, looks at the man and then jumps back.

"And maybe you should stop blaming others for the mistakes you made in your life," Sephiroth finds himself snapping, the words too much even for his preaching taste. "Maybe you should let others help you," he tries to repair the crack, but it's obviously too late.

"You don't know anything about me, so stop pretending you do and you have the right to tell me how to live my life!" Genesis is close to screaming again.

"So, why not tell me?" Sephiroth shoots back, realizes his mistake the moment the words leave his mouth and Genesis' eyes flare with rage, but God above, he wants to understand.

"You want to know?" Genesis seethes with enough malice to drown in, his voice rising with each word. "I can tell you. I can tell you more than you ever wanted to hear, and it would do nothing, because you'll never know how it feels to stand in front of a bakery in the pouring rain and stare at the bread you can't have. To listen to your drunken neighbour beat his screaming wife, to shiver all night, unable to sleep because you no longer have the luxury of heating, to fuck someone because there is a knife at your throat..." his voice suddenly breaks, eyes wide, shocked at his own revelations, but Sephiroth's are wide too, terror, disbelief all too evident.

"Genesis..." he whispers, visibly hurt and hurting for him.

The other just shakes his head, rage gone, replaced by the usual controlled facade, but the hate is still there, underneath all that pain. There is something in the way he haughtily lifts his chin that is suddenly killing Sephiroth inside.

"If this is how God loves me, I would rather if he stopped."

"Don't say that." The words are simple, and they carry no emotion because Sephiroth doesn't know what to pour into them. Disgust? Pain? Hope? Pity? "He works..."

Genesis rolls his eyes, the chin close to trembling, but he's too proud for that. "At least try and say it like you mean it. You owe yourself as much."

"And maybe that's just it?" Sephiroth tries, just a bit hope in his voice, but he's not expecting much anyway. "Maybe you're here for a reason. Angeal tells me he ran into you by sheer accident. Maybe, just maybe..." One dry laugh from Genesis and Sephiroth doesn't even bother. He sighs instead. "Can I at least buy you breakfast? Please?"

It's in the little things, Sephiroth thinks, how Genesis' eyebrow curls, or how he bites his lower lip. For someone so well used to pretending, his face seems far too expressive. "You're paying," Genesis adds with a chuckle, but there's that underlying question – doubt.

"That's what I said," Sephiroth offers with enough warmth of his own. "Please, follow me."


The tavern is small, simple yet welcoming. The dim, orange lights give an illusion of warmth while outside the gloomy morning hangs low and heavy over a city that never trully sleeps, curled up on itself like a wild beast ready to attack if someone is careless enough to mistake the quiet for peace.

The waitress collects their empty plates with disinterest, dark, thickly lined eyes standing out dull and grotesque in her whitewashed face. She's probably just above thirty but looks much older, make up enhancing the early wrinkles of exhaustion. She's probably just waiting for her shift to end, so she can get her well deserved sleep.

"I'll be right here with your drinks," she says, but the cheerfulness of her voice is just as fake as the one created by the red and white checked tablecloths that are put on with the down side up to save on the laundry costs. Sephiroth just nods his head.

There is music in the background, not like they care to listen though. Genesis is drawing idle patterns on the serviette with his finger, waiting for the questions that flit around them so tangible in the stuffy air, but they are easier to ponder than to voice.

The waitress comes back with a colorful plastic tray and Sephiroth wraps his fingers around the hot china of the simple white cup, grateful for the distraction that buys him a precious few more minutes to figure out how to approach the situation. He is saved though by Genesis breaking the silence first, as if reading his mind.

"I was fourteen when I first realised that I could never be the child my parents wanted. At sixteen, I was foolish and hopelessly in love with my best friend," Genesis pulls out his lighter with the quirky purple apple on it and lights a cigarette, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. "Then one day they caught us. No possible misunderstandings, you see. Considering I was on my knees before him... When we were kids, Angeal swore to protect me, did you know that?" he suddenly laughs with bitterness, his arm making another one of those characteristic, sweeping gestures of his.

"Protect you?" Sephiroth muses, somewhat bewildered with the change in topic.

"Everybody but my parents knew I was gay," he redhead shrugs. "Not like I was hiding it. And trust me, there is nothing more sinister than a pack of children with a cause."

"I can believe that," Sephiroth nods, remembers kids he's seen in the church yard, standing around a frog, beating the bloodied creature with sticks and laughing. Is this why Genesis blames Angeal? For not being there to save him from his own stupidity? It doesn't even merit a question, the answers are all too obvious. Just as he thought.

"My knight in shining armour," Genesis reminisces with a touch of humour, the eyes suddenly sparkling with amusement, and Sephiroth thinks he has yet to see another person so quickly changing their mood. "Anyway, in the end, when I refused to be 'normal' again, they just came out with the facts. They weren't my parents, instead, they were just keeping me for the money they got from the state. From that moment on, I wouldn't have gone back if they would've begged for it."

"Your pride again..." Sephiroth shakes his head, but his mind can't stop lingering. Genesis is an orphan, just like him.

"And so what?" Genesis tosses his head, cinnamon tresses blazing to life with the motion. "If the world spits me out, I spit on the world. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, isn't that how it's supposed to be?" he adds with humour, challange, blue eyes sparkling over the rim of his cup as he takes another sip.

Sephiroth's gaze drops to those full lips, red with heat and promising the taste of spiced creamed coffee.

"Why would you condemn yourself willingly?" he asks, not quite sure whom he is addressing with the words.

"Damnation, salvation, such majestic words for such small things."

"How can you say...?"

"Why do people need you?" Genesis cuts in, a trace of impatience in his voice, like he is talking about something that should already be evident and Sephiroth frowns.

"What kind of question is that?"

"What do you think, why do they go to church every week, open their souls to you like they never do to another?" and the question actually makes him wonder, because the impetuous redhead seems so sure of himself, even though Sephiroth has no idea what point he is trying to make. It all seems so simple. Maybe a bit overtly so, and it makes his voice slightly hesitant as he replies.

"They come because of their faith, to find their peace and redemption, and our task is to help them along, listen to them and..." he trails off, because Genesis looks so amused, smile telling he expected nothing else, and it leaves him with a feeling of inadequacy.

"Do they, now?" Genesis asks smoothly, so knowing, so triumphant. He just leans back and waits for an answer in silence, cradling his drink with a smirk.

"Explain," Sephiroth finally relents when it becomes obvious the redhead is not about to say anything else and he can't force himself to say of course, even though he has a feeling he won't like what is coming.

"It's rather simple," Genesis shrugs, suddenly serious. "If you take a step back from all the decorative crap people hang on their ideals, you, the church, your faith and religion is nothing but an escape, a tool to warp an ugly reality into something prettier."

"Says the one who doesn't believe in anything," Sephiroth retorts, and Genesis lets a small, cynical laugh slip.

"Says the one who lives off the escapism of others. If you think about it, in a way, we are not all that different, father."

"Such bitterness," Sephiroth shakes his head, but words are not that easy to fend off, so he just goes on. "Just because you have seen darkness, it is foolish to discard the light. Mock the things you crave and you make a mockery of yourself."

There is anger in those azure eyes again, flashing like thunder as the cup hits the table and Genesis rises, hands balling into fists. "Perhaps, I live in darkness... but at least I don't have to lie day after day while looking them in the eye. Good day, father."

"Genesis," he calls after him, but the redhead is already taking his leave without a backward glance. With a small curse (God may forgive him) Sephiroth throws a few bills on the table and hurries after him.

To his surprise, Genesis is standing just a few steps away, leaning to the wall of the building, features lit by the faint glow of the violently orange end of his cigarette. His other arm wrapped around himself, his solitary form appears so forlorn, so easy to crush, and Sephiroth slows down his steps as a fleeting ache constricts his chest despite everything.

"I'm sorry," guilt makes it easier to say the words, the reward in the wobbly smile Genesis grants him with in return, even though his eyes remain fixed on the thin strip of sky visible from between the tall buildings.

He should probably say something more, don't let the silence stretch, but his social skills have always been a little less than adequate, and no experience in the world has prepared him for this. Like anything could prepare someone to interact with Genesis, so passionate, so mercurial, he thinks with a wry half-smile.

A few kids pass them by with huge school bags, chatting animatedly. They spare them a few curious, wide-eyed glances, but by the time they turn the corner they are already back to their little gossips about their classmates, carefree and ignorant. For a moment it strikes him that once Genesis must've been like that too. Before all... all that.

"I should apologize as well. I was selfish," that familiar melodic voice reaches his ears, startling him from his musing.

"I've yet to meet someone with more right to it," Sephiroth says warmly, but Genesis shakes his head, stubs out the cigarette on the wall and lets the butt fall to the ground.

"Someone once told me you can know a good man by the things he is afraid of losing," he steps closer to the priest, looking up from under a veil of auburn tresses. "He also told me I should learn to keep my mouth shut," he adds with a faint smile, and Sephiroth chuckles.

"And what is it you are afraid of losing, Genesis?" he asks then, and the redhead leans close in a gentle waft of cinnamon, clove and tobacco with a small, derisive laugh, his hot breath ghosting over Sephiroth's skin. It feels like an eternity, just standing there like that. He can feel the heat of Genesis' body, making him shiver, making him close his eyes as his heart starts racing, anticipating something, waiting for the redhead to do something but dreading it at the same time.

"I never said I was a good man, Sephiroth. Don't fool yourself into thinking otherwise," Genesis breathes in a sad, shushed whisper, then the heat is gone together with the sense of his presence, and by the time Sephiroth opens his eyes, all he captures is a glimpse of Genesis' coat as it disappears in a side street.


The night is unpleasant, not just because of the cold. It's just somehow tacky, clings to the skin humid and... Not like it matters, Sephiroth sighs as he steps out of the house. It is late, no more buses to take, the last train long gone, but it is a priest's duty to always be there for the faithful, and the departure of one in the witching hour cannot be discarded for reasons of comfort. If only he wouldn't have to walk through the streets all alone, but fiat voluntas tua.

He wraps his coat tightly around himself, shoves his hands into his pockets, because even with the gloves, his fingers are threatening to just simply freeze. His gait is sure and steady, thoughts going back to the small flat he had just left behind. Dingy, so achingly poor, home to four kids now without a mother.

He murmurs a quick prayer under his breath for the poor soul.

A car drives past, then more as he nears a more active part of town. One of the seediest quarters of all, with the cheap little shops mostly ran by immigrants and bars that never close.

There are homeless people huddled up under a single spread sleeping bag. The dog that obviously belongs to them lifts its head as he walks past, clever, alert eyes following his movements and suddenly he wishes he had something on him he could give to the loyal guardian.

A bus speeds by, going to some other city, perhaps. The faces staring out the window are blank, wrinkled by fatigue, some of them young, university students going home for the weekend. There are men talking in front of a bar, faces gruff and puffy from alcohol, cigarettes dangling between their fingers. One of them bumps his shoulder against him, no way unintentional, but apologizes with a barely moving tongue when he sees the cross dangling from the priest's neck.

He thinks he recognises one of them from mass, tries not to dwell on it. He should probably tell the man to go home to his family, but looking at them like this, he is not so sure anymore. So he just nods and continues walking.

He looks up at the crossing, one foot already on the road when he notices him, and for a moment he doubts his own eyes.

Genesis.

Gait sure, ever so graceful, hands tucked deep inside his pockets and one end of the white scarf languidly whipping by his side with the force of his movements. A street lamp casts a faint halo of light around him, glints off his hair in a brilliant shade of copper, and suddenly all the world narrows down to that thin back. Before he knows what he is doing, Sephiroth's steps gain speed, keeping up with the redhead.

Genesis should not be here in this neighbourhood, not in this hour. Nor should he, Sephiroth thinks, but dismisses the thought as he sees another group of unshaven, crude men standing around a door, harsh, artificial light from inside turning their faces into threatening masks of shadow and light. Without thinking, he pulls closer to Genesis, but the unease lingers like a heavy mantle that does nothing to ward off the cold of the night.

The drunk cat calls ring harshly vivid and indecent in the small alley and Sephiroth tenses, but Genesis retorts with easy insouciance without a breath of pause. It hurts somehow, to know this is nothing new to him.

Maybe he should just turn around and leave. He can't even be certain why did he come, and the lack of a tangible reason makes him feel awkward and out of place. He should just go home, to the small, cozy living room, hot tea, books, Angeal, and...

Genesis stops before a door that is leading to the basement of the building. Usually, there are bars in these shoddy little holes, but there are no bright lights on here, no signs on the dirty wall. The redhead raises a hand to knock, peeling paint crumbling to the ground at his touch from the weathered metal door.

When it opens a few seconds later, there is music throbbing out into the open, carrying with it faint, oily green light that gives Genesis' skin a loathsome pallor as he disappears into it, like a hollowed spirit descending into Hades.

He has no words for what he is feeling, more than curiosity and less than fear, paralysing mixture that freezes him to the spot, nervous restlessness thrumming through his muscles, the cross like a burning weight under his coat and when the rotting metal door starts closing, he bolts, slips into the crack, left hand gripping it to a halt.

Even through the gloves he can feel its acrid cold, the surface raspy and porous, but it ceases to matter the moment he looks into a pair of dull grey eyes. The man is bulky, perhaps twice as wide as him and a few inches taller, clad entirely in black. Sephiroth feigns indifference and would move on were it not for that enormous body shifting to block his way.

"Haven't seen you here yet," the Cerberus of the place declares, voice deep and the eyes blinking slow, threatening.

He should say something, but the surreality of the whole situation is freezing up his throat, furtive voices wailing in his head, telling him to turn around and leave, but there is something in him that would not allow such cowardice.

"Don't fret Pete, he's with me," silky, laughing voice reaches his ears, and his gaze flutters to the source as if waking from some strange dream.

Genesis is standing at the bottom of the stairs, divested of his coat but substituting the warmth with an arm lazily flung around his waist that belongs to a skinny, tanned young man with a dark complexion, hooking his thumb leisurely into a loop on the redhead's jeans.

Sephiroth can only hope his face is just as blank as usually as he fights to tame the nameless maelstrom inside. "Thank you," he says levelly, and Genesis tosses his head with smug defiance, smiling.

The outfit is really becoming of him, dark, tight pants and a clingy, light shirt occasionally letting a strip of pale, flawless skin show below the waistline. Like this, his body does not appear so much thin but rather wiry, almost fey, sleek in its sensually graceful movements. Not like he is staring.

Genesis leans into the body next to him, flashing a beguiling smile. "Buy me a drink, would you? I'll be right there."

The dark eyes of the other travel to Sephiroth, he can feel the suspicious displeasure in them as they regard him with clear scrutiny, but the stranger finally makes a noncommittal hum and leaves in the direction of the bar. The air seems lighter, the tension is far from lifted though.

Genesis pulls him into the small anteroom to the toilets, the stark black tiles highlighting the anger and accusation on his face. "Why are you here?"

He wants to laugh, because he honestly has no idea. In the end, he just smiles, forced as it is. There is only one thing to be said, even though it feels so useless to say it. "Come back with me, Genesis."

Those blue eyes stare back at him wide and stunned for a moment before the chuckle slips, so bitter, so fake.

"Is it better to be a kept boy then? Suits your morals better?"

"Don't be like that again." Why is he so beseeching, so weak? He has the greatest power behind him, and yet when he looks into those eyes it all seems to dissipate. He can't change people, he can't make them see... not when they don't want him to.

"Again?" Genesis mocks with ire. "This is me, Sephiroth, like it or not, don't say I didn't warn you. I'm not one of your helpless little lambs you can string along and nor do I want to be. I don't need you to save me and I will not be caught up in your one-man crusade."

There is silence, broken, widening. What can be said in the face of so much spite?

Genesis' face softens then, and he steps closer, too close almost, his fingertips caressing down the length of a silver bang framing his face, so much in the eyes, too much, not enough.

"Go home, Sephiroth," he says quietly, gently. "Forget it..."

He doesn't reply, his hand moving as if on its own, sliding into that mass of red hair, soft and silky flames between his fingers. Genesis' face is so close, so open, so vulnerable with question in his eyes. His skin is smooth, addictive under his thumb, and for a moment, his lips tremble as they search each other's faces, closer, closer until that plush mouth is on his, under his, parted, hot, inviting.

It tastes like fire, like the smoke of precious incense, heady and potent, all-consuming like the flames of Hell, Genesis' tongue soft and slick against his, his breath sweet and scalding. The kiss shivers through him, slow, deep, yearning, and he pushes the redhead away like he's been bitten by a poisonous snake. Maybe he was.

"How dare you?" Sephiroth asks with barely contained rage, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The next moment, he is torn between his anger and the want to reverse everything, to pull Genesis between his arms and shift them back to mere moments ago where he couldn't see the sadness, disappointment and shock in those blue eyes. But then, in less than a blink, it's all gone, hidden under even more defiance as Genesis steps just a bit away, those hips swaying as though they earn his living. Which is exactly what they do, Sephiroth reminds himself bitterly.

"And how dare you?" The tone is accusatory, but also mocking, which seems to be the redhead's default state when he's hurt, but it's also too annoying, and Sephiroth is far too shocked to react sensibly to the entire situation. "Rat holes don't like holier than thou like yourself, father. Now, if you'll excuse me, bacon won't bring itself home on its own." With a simple turn, Genesis is already leaving the room, and Sephiroth might have tried to stop him, if he had the time. Like this, the priest remains frozen there, listening to loud music cut his ears for a second, then stop as the door swings back shut, his arm extended towards it, but it's too late now. Too late.

Sephiroth ends up waiting, for a few moments thinking Genesis might reconsider, but once he pulls himself together and gets back to the loud, the crowd, heat and sin, the redhead seems nowhere to be found. And Sephiroth doesn't remain looking, because he's furious and he needs to vent. And there's only one person who truly is to blame, for everything, until the end.


"Angeal." The word is simple, an accusation as much as a call, but the sound of door shutting after it is not. Angeal jerks himself from the letters on the page, leaves the book on the table as he rushes towards the sound, thinking something is amiss. Of course, seeing his friend's face so hurt, so furiously bitter, confirms more than that, and Angeal sighs, partly with relief that no one seems to be dead, and partly because Sephiroth still comes to him first when he needs to confess something pressing his heart.

"He's working again."

And Angeal blinks, buys himself some time to think this through. "Why do you care?"

The question takes Sephiroth by surprise, and he pauses, right in the middle of taking his coat off, still furious and flushed from the freezing cold outside, as well as the feelings he obviously doesn't fully comprehend. Lucky for him, Angeal thinks. He sometimes wishes to have been sheltered as much. There is perhaps a second of pure honesty, innocence on that face, but quickly Sephiroth pulls himself together, as he pulls his scarf off his neck, and suddenly, Angeal realizes, he's much less beautiful than in those short sheltered moments he sometimes succumbs to.

"And why wouldn't I? It's my job to..."

"Your job?" Angeal can't but joke about it. Something as holy as the call, and Sephiroth hides behind sheer professionalism. The Cardinal surely trained him well. "I suppose it's the job you care for then, is it not? Your personal failure incarnated standing right there, reminding you that there's no..."

"He kissed me." There was certainly nothing that could have stopped Angeal's accusatory rambling as these three words. They seem to have frozen him in time, and he just stares as Sephiroth's cheeks remain crimson, and Angeal wonders whether it's really the cold, or...

The moment Angeal manages to pull himself together, he allows his body a long sigh, then he leans to the armrest of the sofa, the closest thing he can find to keep his knees from failing him, because that would be much more embarrassing right now than simple jealousy he seems to be incapable of hiding.

"And how do you feel about it?" Angeal tries to keep his voice warm, but the reaction he gets is far from it. Sephiroth stares at him in bewilderment, eyebrows sliding up as he laughs, quite dryly at that.

"I did not regard my affinities towards an obvious violation, Angeal, don't be preposterous," Sephiroth lies, or at least Angeal hopes he does. He's too hard to read sometimes.

"I'm well aware of the fact that Genesis has his..." Angeal makes a gesture with his arms, and it looks a bit grotesque, albeit meaningless enough. "But are you actually telling me that nothing happened between you that might have prompted him to..." Angeal realizes his voice is much louder than he'd like it to be, and Sephiroth seems terrified of the reaction he most certainly did not predict, not even in his wildest dreams. He tries to keep himself together, because Sephiroth mustn't see him being torn at the seams. "Are you alright?"

Sephiroth ends up chuckling, dryly once more, but definitely far more comfortable than just a minute ago. "Don't exaggerate its meaning, it was just a kiss."

"A kiss between two men," Angeal warns gently.

"It meant nothing," Sephiroth attacks, but to him attack is the best defensive strategy.

"Nothing?" Angeal repeats, needs to assure himself, seems more likely. "Absurd as it may seem, this was your first kiss, Seph, was it not?" He pushes teasing into the words, but fails miserably, and hopes to God Sephiroth doesn't notice it.

"Absurd as it may seem," Sephiroth offers flatly. "Why do I have the feeling you're digressing on purpose? We offered him a place to stay, a shelter, a home, and yet the first chance he gets..."

"You can't save everyone," Angeal interrupts with a sigh. "I sure as hell know I've tried."

Sephiroth folds his arms over his chest. "Forgive me for being blunt, but I can't exactly say you broke your back over helping your friend."

"I have more than one friend, Seph," Angeal ends up blurting out, and he hates himself for liking honesty more than lies. It's been too long anyway. "Besides, Genesis knows our door is always open to him. We can't tie him up to the bedpost, despite the fact it'd keep him off the street."

"If this were you, I can't think of a moral or legal boundary that would stop me from saving you," Sephiroth interrupts, sounding as though he's back in seminary, and Angeal can't help but laugh.

"I can," Angeal adds, and hates himself for it, enough to need to break away, so he pulls himself from his half seated position and tries to flee the room, even though he feels Sephiroth's scrutinizing gaze upon his back.

"You're a pathetic excuse of a friend." Sephiroth is hurt, confused, bitter, and Angeal knows it, but some words just sting too much.

"When will you stop seeing the world as your own personal playground?" he snaps, voice far too loud for this hour. "When will you realize that there are things greater than you, things you have no effect on whatsoever? Stop trying to be a god damned dictator in the name of justice!"

"And why don't you stop putting Genesis on a pedestal?" Sephiroth snaps back, much more collected than Angeal could ever dream to be. "Just because you see wings on his back doesn't make him an angel. They don't sell their bodies for money."

"Oh, shut up!" Angeal snaps, screams at him, and Sephiroth obeys out of pure shock. He has never seen his friend lose his temper so much before, that much is obvious, and Angeal wishes he hadn't, but it's too late now. "You speak of things you know nothing about!"

Sephiroth opens his mouth, but Angeal goes on without giving him a chance to defend himself.

"Have you any idea what he has been through? Do you honestly think he is doing it because it's so much fun?"

"I..." Sephiroth starts, but Angeal turns away with a bitter chuckle.

"I can't expect you to understand," he shakes his head, and Sephiroth feels so much weaker, so much more human, guilty. "I shouldn't have screamed at you."

"Why, sorry for wasting your time, father. I will not impose my incapability on you any longer," Sephiroth responds, acid in his tone, but he is past the point of caring. If this is all Angeal regards him as, then what is the point?

He turns to leave, but Angeal's voice stops him after a few steps.

"Seph, you must know that I..."

The phone rings shrill and indifferent, cutting his sentence, and with a sigh, Angeal walks to the side table and picks up, eyes on Sephiroth, silently apologising.

"Father Hewley speaking."

He should probably just go, leave after all Angeal had said to him, but Sephiroth finds himself just standing there, waiting for whatever revelation was just underway. He sees clearly as worry spreads on that powerful face, just to turn into full blown terror a second later.

"Is he all right? Yes. I will be right there. Thank you," he puts down the receiver slowly, still trying to shake off his shock. Then he looks at Sephiroth, his voice faltering. "Genesis has been hospitalised."