Angeal wield The Rapier sword he had not held in a long time. Genesis had cared for it, but had later left it to be destroyed by the elements. The ruby Soldier had disappeared and all that was left of his memory was the Rapier. It cut through the air silently, the grip resting perfectly in his palm, and the decorated hilt locked his hand onto the weapon. It was a magnificent sword, but it was also a sword of pain. Through the trembles of the blade, Angeal could hear the faint complaint of Genesis. He was everywhere, even in the voice of a blade.
Angeal swirled around in a leap and delivered a deadly stab as he landed, focusing his movements to the very tip of the sword, brining about a destructive force that cracked the surface of the floor. The white wing shot out from his back like a daemon summoned at the moment of the very impact. White down filled the air like feathers of snow and was caught in the hands of a young man approaching the angel with cautious movements. Sweat was dripping down Angeal's face and his chest was heaving with shortness of breath as he panted;
"Why are you here?"
The voice was harsh and not at all welcoming, but Zack moved closer despite it.
"Why are you so angry all the time?" the apprentice countered with a question. "You always push me away. What have I done?"
Angeal grunted an incomprehensible comment and straightened his back. He didn't even bother to face Zack as he put the sword into its scabbard and walked out of the dojo. The brunet was left behind with just a feather in his hands.
The air was infected, their words were infected, their emotions and this whole relationship were infected. They kept a distance, they kept mostly quiet and they kept themselves locked away from interactions. Where was the Angeal that Zack could confide in, where was the warrior that taught him how to move and to fight, where was the friend and the comforting Angel?
The night had ascended upon them, once again surrounded by silence. It was their friend, it was their confidant, their only emotion… silence… emptiness. Zack lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, a quill tracing the lines of his abdomen as thoughts whirled in his head. Why was he brought back? He had not accomplished anything since his journey to the living. Sephiroth had pulled him away from Aeris in Death. Sephiroth had called for his presence and the warmth of their past friendship as the only source of light in the nightmare they were trapped in. Even in the hands of Perdition, the only thing Sephiroth had reached for when falling from the stars, was Zack's soul. The brunet, however, never felt bitterness over his fate of suffering next to Sephiroth. No, he accepted his fate in silence and wept black tears as the angel released all of his anger in consuming daemons. Now, Zack's heart was weeping for another angel, but this time not due to suffering in agony, but rather due to the bitterness and shame he was drowning in. The bitterness of his lack of power to capture Angeal and the shame he felt knowing he wanted to experience so much more each time they were near.
Angeal was leaning against the wall, listening to the silence in the room he had come to visit, but he dared not knock. Instead, he stood outside in the hallway, waiting. They were separated by a door, yet he could almost feel every breath Zack was taking. He imagined the deep breaths inside the velvety chest, the lips parting slightly as they always did when Zack was in deep sleep. Long, rich eyelashes framed deep, flirtatious eyes that often drew girls to his presence. Angeal had always admired Zack for his appetite for life, something he as genetically refined and mentally superior to humans could not accomplish. He had detested his heritage, the white wings on his mutant body and the powers he harbored. Yet, Zack always saw the benefits of it and many times attempted to paint a more romantic and glamorous picture of Angeal. Whenever Angeal degraded himself to a monster, Zack saw the angel, fascinated by the white feathers he so often liked to play with.
Angeal released a deep sigh. He could still remember the sensations of a gentle touch on his tired wing. He had never known his wing to be so sensitive to contact; it had immediately dampened his pain, taken the edge off his anguish and crushed his fears during that swift moment. How powerful such an emotion. Would Zack ever want to feel the weight of the massive wing again? Would he play with the feathers like he did at that time; arranging them and clearing off the dirt and dust from the battlefields? There had been nothing sensual between them, but with time those memories had become spiced by a craving for something more. Could he allow himself to take that step?
A knock on the door brought Zack to his senses. He sat up in the bed, weary as he was dragged from his shallow slumber, and approved entrance. Angeal stepped in, head hanging deeply between his shoulders and face veiled in something alarming; emotions Zack had never before witnessed. He had seen Angeal bitter and angry, but never confused as he seemed now. Zack scrutinized Angeal standing at a distance with his hands in his pockets and dragging his feet from the doorway to the middle of the room.
Seeing Angeal in his room ignited strange anticipation within the young Soldier, but he felt there was something in the air.
"What's wrong?" Zack asked and naïvely accepted a wordless shrug of an answer. Angeal said nothing, just walked up to the bed and sat down on the edge, knowing very well he was intruding on private emotions. He saw the quill on the bedside table, the barbs separated at sections and unordered due to brushing the feather against a surface. He reached for the feather and studied its features in silence, feeling it against his palms and then placing it against his lips. He closed his eyes, inhaling the fragrance of Zack's perfume caught between the barbs, reviving teasing images of what adventures the quill might have embarked on. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head of the tantalizing thoughts. Angeal was so absorbed he hardly heard the question Zack asked.
"Hoi, Angeal…"
"Mmm?"
"What's wrong?"
A sigh escaped and a dejected look emerged. "I don't know. Nothing I guess, just trying to find the reason to why I am here."
Zack nodded and took his previous place in bed. He leaned back against the bedpost, sinking deeply into the pillows. "You too, huh?"
Angeal released yet another sigh in confirmation and without a second thought, joined the brunet in the bed. He kicked off his shoes and moved next to Zack, noticing the young Soldier had been watching some comedy on the television. The flat-screen was located at the foot end of the bedpost as a retractable part of it, typical of Zack's character of always being up to date with modern equipment, especially if it regarded things that would make his free time as relaxed as possible. The set of remote controls for every electronic gadget in the room as well as voice-guided lighting was just another example of his boyish fascination with expensive toys.
"So what's on," Angeal mumbled casting longing looks towards a can of cold beer on a table on the other side of the bed. The glance was responded to as if it had been an inquiry, and so with the can in his hand, Angeal started following the comedy Zack had mostly slept through. They sat quietly next to each other. It was almost like the old times, but still there was something different. This difference manifested as a delightful tingle of anticipation in Angeal's belly. Butterflies if you wish; something befitted a youth, not him. Yet he had no will to fight it and allowed for his senses to savor all they could register; the bitter yet pleasant taste of the beer, the sweet smell of Zack's newly washed, frizzy hair, the wrinkles on his black pajama top, which was a former tee-shirt with torn sleeves and a large tiger printed on the abdomen, and of course his trousers that were baggy to the extent of something that resembled a potato sack. No matter, the young man was handsome and could wear even such a thing quite well. Suddenly, a forbidden thought hit Angeal and he had to release Zack with his gaze in order to grab hold of the reins of his wild imagination.
"Don't look that way!" he reprimanded himself introvertly and ripped his gaze from the tiny trail of hair peeking through the gap between the lining of his trousers and the top. The angel focused on the screen, trying to replace the images in his head with those flickering past his eyes. Slowly, a minute turned into two, and soon into an hour chasing after the next as the Moon peaked in the sky.
Nothing more was said between the two men, but nothing had to. Zack had drifted into sleep, opening a window of opportunity for Angeal to still his curious eyes. He slid down next to Zack, but kept a distance not to border to the audacious in case the brunet woke up.
The angel rested his weary eyes on the calm expression of the snoozing youth as long as he could. The room was dimmed, the screen giving of a faint flickering light as the scenes changed, and the bed was increasingly comfortable, pulling him into its soft embrace. Zack slipped deep into the night and his skin erupted in goosebumps, tiny, organic mountains of sensitive flesh revealing the cold that swept over his torso. Angeal took a deep breath, fighting the antagonism building up inside. No! He was not to give in and turn away like he always did; just this once he wanted to do something for Zack in gratitude for everything he had done.
The angel endured the sharp pain cutting through the flesh of his back as the white, enormous wing extended into the air and cautiously ascended upon the sleeping brunet like a heavenly quilt. With his vision saturated with every little feature of Zack, Angeal spoke softly to the brunet knowing very well Zack wouldn't answer or even hear his words.
"You know," he began with a tired voice. "I never forgot what you did for me. I'm sorry I asked you to end my life when I was the only support you leaned against when times were hard."
Zack snoozed on with regular, heavy breaths, only breaking his patterns when swallowing and chewing in his sleep. Angeal smiled and arranged his wing to cover more of the young body.
"You haven't changed a bit," the elder Soldier snorted fondly. "You still are that wild, little pup I tried to straighten out. But you know what, Zack?"
Angeal leaned a little closer, lips brushing gently against the soft earlobe framed by that bushy, raven hair; "You did damn well and you kept your honor pure."
Angeal almost trembled as he took the decision to rest his head so close to the curve of Zack's neck, but it made him feel alive just like old times when sleeping under the stars and talking about the wonders and mysteries of life. Zack never sacrificed his honor, no matter the temptation. He even followed Sephiroth to the pit of Death to hurl the daemons off his back when the darkness came. Zack wasn't like Angeal, a coward who chose to die by the hands of his friend because he couldn't accept his heritage, which carried the name of his own mother. Instead of making the best of his powers, Angeal had unleashed them upon himself. Zack had been right all along. He was an angel, a symbol of hope when nothing else existed.
Zack sighed deeply, and turned to his side digging his head deep into the pillow to find a good position. As the wing slipped off his body, a fumbling hand moved about, subconsciously groping for that warm cover he searched for. Angeal smiled as the brunet moved closer, rolling the wing over his body to cover every inch from the cool air.
"You haven't changed a bit," Angeal repeated and closed his eyes. "Yeah, you're still a pup even if you are a decade older."