It was late before Cloud finished cleaning out the transport while the sniggering infantrymen merely watched him, gloating that he had somehow fallen afoul of their General. Like all of the other Army grunts, they loathed the MPs and liked any excuse to give them hell.
And Cloud did make a rather tempting target.
He, of course, ended up in a fight, and knocked three cold and bloodied two more before Sephiroth's sharp voice brought it to a halt with a simple, soft, "Private Strife, are you quite finished?"
Cloud popped up to attention with the others, all of them flushing furiously and ashamed to have been so caught out.
Sephiroth merely stood in the open doorway of his tent, the flap held with one stiff arm, the wind blowing that sheet of silver hair around him. He looked like a god to them, a halo of lamplight surrounding him, the moonlight glinting off of his pauldrons and eerie green eyes.
"Well?" he mildly asked, and Cloud stiffly moved away from the scuffle and past him into the tent, hearing the flap close with a snap that made him jump a little.
He waited to be berated for fighting, but Sephiroth retuned to his desk and whatever he'd been doing on his computer, taking no notice of him.
Frustrated and angry and still hurt from earlier, Cloud angrily stripped off his sweated-stained clothes and used the shower set up in the corner, furiously scrubbing his skin until he turned pink in the rather cold water. He dried off and went to his sleeping bag, rolling into a naked, angry ball of sick nerves and hurt, on the verge of tears and not even understanding why.
He had just started to hit that hazy point of almost-sleep when Sephiroth spoke, startling him. Bleary, he poked his head out of the sleeping bag and peered in the direction of the desk, startled to find Sephiroth standing right next to his cot.
"Sir?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes.
"I said you should thank private Dai for setting your things up for you, Strife," he repeated, staring down at Cloud's exposed face. He was soft with sleep and utterly edible, his little cheeks softly flushed and his big blue eyes glassy.
"I will, Sir, thank you," he murmured, blinking slowly in a way that would some day become his trademark, a look that would make him irresistible when time put mass and maturity on his delicate little frame.
Sephiroth touched his cheek with a gloved hand, his look unfathomable to the boy.
"I forget," the man softly said, brushing the back of his curved fingers over Cloud's cheek.
"Sir?"
"How young you are," Sephiroth said, and smiled softly at him. It wasn't the tight, forced smile he'd given Dai—it was a true smile, stiff with lack of use.
Cloud subsided unhappily, lowering his eyes. He turned away from that hand, from that smile, and pulled back into the shell of his sleeping bag, rolling to face away from Sephiroth, face burning with embarrassment. Just that soft touch and he was undone, ready to throw himself at Sephiroth's booted feet and beg. He tucked his head into his folded arms and breathed deeply, slowly, trying to control himself and the threatening tears.
Cloud had to remind himself that the General didn't even register his existence—Cloud was an object he was forced to keep from harm's way, like a transport or his computer. Just a thing with even less use than those other things. What had Cloud done, after all? Shot a few Wutain guerillas? Sephiroth could've easily handled those men himself, Cloud had merely been a distracting target.
"Oh-ho," Sephiroth laughed, his low voice purring. "Such temper, Cloud."
The boy ignored that baiting tone, but froze when Sephiroth murmured, "You won't make it as a SOLDIER with a hide that thin."
Angry now, Cloud snapped, "I won't be a SOLDIER anyway, Sir! Not being so weak."
There was silence. Maybe he was shocked that Cloud spoke back, maybe he was merely considering what Cloud had said.
"Good," he finally said. "You consider your flaws—now you know what to improve."
Cloud went utterly still, sudden hope fluttering in his heart.
"You'll make an excellent SOLDIER, Cloud," Sephiroth said. "At least you don't require the amount of babysitting as your little squad leader, Dai. Luckily, Angeal lives for such things."
Cloud's eyes widened, sudden warmth flooding him. Tentatively, he poked his head out of his sleeping bag again and looked up at Sephiroth, trembling uncertainty on his little cat-face.
"Really, Sir?" he whispered.
Sephiroth chuckled a little and cupped his pointed chin, tipping Cloud's head back and saying, "Thicker skin, Strife—it will serve you well."
He let go of Cloud's chin and moved to his own cot, stripping with lithe, efficient movements and snuffing out the light. After a moment of rustling in the darkness, Cloud suddenly felt those strong fingers on his sleeping bag zipper and it was peeled from him, Sephiroth merely silently untucking him.
Cloud didn't so much as squeak when he was pulled out of his sleeping bag and up against the broad expanse of the General's chest. Cradled like a child, he was carried to the man's cot and gently deposited.
Sephiroth slipped into the sleeping bag next to him, moving him over and zipping it closed.
Cloud trembled, not knowing what to make of it, his vulnerable and easily-swayed little heart thudding away in his chest. With uncertainty that drew Sephiroth like a siren song, the boy cautiously fit himself to the man's lean body and trembled sweetly when he was embraced.