To say that the caretaker was overjoyed was both an understatement and a hyperbole.

He was in great relief and bursts of smiles when he heard from his son that he didn't mind the change in scenery, the fact that he was content with the more.. physically relaxing atmosphere over the constant sight of blood, grime and the screams of death under his blade. Sure, he was dealing with children who were half-pint brats who didn't know better, it was a night and day difference from the former life he had to live.

But Vincent was also not one to express happiness in terms of.. the giddiness, or the abundance of energy that tempts him to fly across each wall. He was not that kind of person to use such associations upon. To say that he didn't care or was completely reserved about it was also wrong.

It was rather difficult not to bunch the youthful boy in his arms and tell him he was so proud to have him for a son, his offspring, the fruit of his loins by the woman he so cherished, adored, loved. Sephiroth was Lucrecia's last rites, her final gift to him before life would take her away—before Hojo snagged and shagged the life out of her.

He could never forgive that bastard, that.. sorry excuse of a human being—no, he was not human, that was a demon. Sephiroth will never have to see that fiend again, not under his watch. For the intelligent man that Professor Faremis was, he couldn't understand why he would accept Hojo under his wing—at least Hollander, the inferior of the two, had a better head on his shoulders. While he had a good mask, Vincent could see it in his eyes that he did care for his patients.

Hojo was just..

Time was shot like an arrow from a bow and months went by.

Sephiroth was now under his care for more than half a year, and with time, the two were steadily improving. Vincent did not feel as outcasted as he started off when he was using every ounce of his will to block the urge to coddle his son, and Sephiroth was beginning to understand how to speak with expressing his thoughts rather than factual observation. Of course, it was not perfect, and the boy couldn't articulate his feelings as well as a regular child could, but it was getting there.

"Vincent, tomorrow.. I am staying later at school to hang out with Hewley and Rhapsodos, is that alright with you?" the boy asked in a hushed voice, holding a fork and a knife in each hand and making his food a pile of cubes.

The boy's table-manners was still a laughing matter. The poor guy was in a debate with himself as to how he should hold a silver fork, what size was appropriate for the most efficient bite and how much he should cut into his food to enjoy. Vincent imagined that he was left with mushed up processed—could he even call it food? He didn't have control in the slightest bit.

Being here, he was finally given some autonomy. He could go wherever he wanted in Midgar, hang out with his friends, study whatever course he chose to his calling, and live in a place where cameras and needles didn't haunt him. Moreover, outings were not limited to taking up arms and ending lives of another family.
He finally has a say in his life, and that, Vincent was glad to be able to give.

"Of course, stay as long as you like.. just don't go where there is danger." Lips curved into a little smile as he responded.

He couldn't deny such a request knowing Sephiroth never asked. He could trust the students: Hewley and Rhapsodos. While he never had the chance to properly speak with them, his son has, and he was very comfortable with them. They opened the gates that were shut closed, giving Sephiroth a new world to step into—how could he deprive the boy of that?

Besides, it was out of the question that the two students could "corrupt" him. They were minors, they needed to be protected from those of the outside: chummy adults who basked in drink and played around with birds. If Hewley was as disciplined as Sephiroth once described him, he would make sure they would never step foot in a place like that. If Rhapsodos was as disinterested in outside matters as Sephiroth claimed, then he would not suggest such rendezvous meeting areas. It was likely they were meeting in a library or a gymnasium: both were to his friend's tastes.

When the warning flags came up that Rhapsodos and Hewley were sparring with Sephiroth in the gymnasium, he knew he had to take a stand once more before the Principal has Sephiroth be segregated from all peers and have private lessons—back to Square 1, if you must. Knowing that his son valued those two people for a very long time now, having spent a year with the two kids and being unable to cease thinking about them on almost every subject that was brought up, Vincent had to stand in their defense. He didn't mind it, the two kids were not causing his offspring harm, they were indulging his need—expanding his horizon without getting rid of one of the only things Sephiroth was known to excel at.

Combat.

As Sephiroth was dangled between the two boys and trying to learn their language, they took the time to dance by his lead; to train themselves enough to point friendly blades to him and sway to the music of their swords, of the wind and the thrill of life and death's boundaries.

He couldn't allow them to be punished for being Sephiroth's friends, for reciprocating his interest, to invest in what he liked. Sure, Sephiroth did not enjoy killing, but a good battle had him feel alive. His eyes that were a vacant green grew brighter, sharper and much beautiful when he was ready to knock someone down in a fight. He needed an opponent that could match him in skill or strength, with dexterity and endurance to withstand the blows they were going to be bashed with.

When he discussed it with Sephiroth, he was able to elicit the fact that Rhapsodos and Hewley have piqued that interest, they have the potential to be his equals in combat if they practiced a little more—he thoroughly enjoyed their competitive spirit and need to strive for better rather than throwing the blade down and giving in.

The satisfaction he could get by overpowering them… Vincent omitted the last thought, taking into consideration the context of it. These two boys who were now being scolded for their recklessness—were his responsibility as they took the task of helping Sephiroth. They have earnt his respect to be spared, not only for his son, but for their own use.

During this meeting, he met the two boys for the first time and instantly found himself drawn to them. They were exactly as Sephiroth described them to be: underdeveloped children who had good heads on their shoulders. Hewley was as calming and reasonable as he appeared to be, apologizing for going against mandate while pushing forward the unconstitutionalities of that rule. Rhapsodos was as clever and shrewd as he claimed, making the perfect weeping child's innocence that compelled the Principal to hear their half before deciding on a punishment for them.

The two were still very young and yet.. they had promise. Sephiroth found these two children of Banora to be the only worthy peers of his, the only ones he wanted standing by his side or under his shadow, and Vincent was going to make sure they did.

"Sephiroth's development depends on these two, Sir. If they were to be parted, there is a chance that our Prodigy will go astray." This was enough to firmly bark for the Principal to have his toupee flying straight up in the air, eyes wide and bulging as he ignored Hojo's protest.

That expression of anger dressing your face, I shall savour. So very human.. for a damned monster.

Vincent sneered at him when those sinewy features crumpled together, brows knitting and teeth gnashing. How bloody satisfying it truly was.

After that, it was a breeze for he and the children. A good mission accomplished.

It was rather amusing how they were showering him with praise after, words of gratitude to be the only breaths escaping their lips when he should be the one thanking them for Sephiroth. They were not instructed to be around the boy, they simply chose it—and they chose well. Sephiroth had never smiled more than he did now, his eyes had the dancing lights returning day by day, and his posture less cardboard and stiff.

He even joked a couple of times!

And when he expressed his gratitude to them, they glanced at him as if he bestowed the goddess' blessings upon them. Maybe for their youthful minds, he did.

When the silver-haired boy found his two friends one time after class, his eyes lingered on their activities.

Perched on the hilly grass of the ShinRa dormitory courtyard was Rhapsodos, huddled to himself as he sat cross-legged, book on his lap that he read with such intent, nothing else mattered in his vicinity. Hewley was in a position similar, laying on his stomach beside him, stacking a couple of books so that he could write.
Were they doing the thing their instructors called "homework?"

As his feet met the grass, softening the loud taps of his boots when they trudged over the tiled floor, Hewley's gaze darted to him. Rhapsodos didn't shift, merely flipped the page within that cream-covered book he often read.

"Sephiroth, come on over!" the boy's concentrated glance bloomed into a bright smile as he lifted himself a little to gesture with his hands in invitation. His other hand remained on the piece of paper that he was writing on, protecting it from the wind that dared to blow it away. "Don't be a stranger now.."

The youngest of the three gazed at him quizzically, as if questioning if he was welcomed or not. His answer was a rapid beckon of his hand: a silent confirmation that spoke louder than words. Sephiroth complied, figuring it was going to be obsolete to keep pressing on—they appear to be irritated at the fact that he does not speak unless permitted, sit alongside them unless invited.

It has gone on for a year like this, and Sephiroth still found it difficult to simply slide his way around his two friends and chat as if he mattered to them. For all he knew, it was just another way to drop his guard before the Buster Sword or Rapier would make its way around his waist.

He didn't want to do that. Such action was foolish and not Sephiroth like.

"Are you simply going to drool over us or are you going to sit beside us?" Rhapsodos called, bright eyes narrowing on his with a little smirk, book snapped shut under his hands. Sephiroth glanced at him, unsure if he was drawn to him or hesitant to make that step forward. There was something about the boy that… didn't rub off wrong, but it was more of a feeling that he somehow wronged him. There seemed to be something that barked at him that Rhapsodos was not going to stay with them for long.

"I'll—" the plaguing thought grew, cultivated like a healthy root when given water and enough sunlight to become a magnificent tree. There were spots in his vision, a flash of white before he was able to see his friends still seated, Hewley sitting up with eyes of concern. Were they trying to reach out to him in some way? As his mind began to swirl a bit more, he couldn't keep his gaze level upon cerulean that now lowered, unreadable as the closed book.

Closing his own eyes, he ran a hand over his temples. Good God, it was hurting. It was as if a being has encroached through the walls of his mind. Something has found its way into him, breaching the defenses that he believed Rhapsodos and Hewley had broken with their welcoming presence, with their kindness...

No.. they were not to blame for his birth of weakness. They were merely giving him what he sought all these years when he was holed up in that room of white and black, where he was smothered by his father and uncomfortable lab-beds. Where he was nothing but a puppet—they were not holding his strings.

They returned it straight up back to him, not to Hojo, to Sephiroth.

There was no way he could pin it upon them that he was being compromised. He chose to let this be his life, where he wouldn't be in the battlefields, not killing people twice his age and caliber, constantly trying to wipe the crimson off his clothes, hair and blade that never seemed to go away no matter how hard he scrubbed.

He chose to let his guard down.

While his mind spun round and round, it was not hard to hear three sets of voices ringing around. One being a strange, feminine one that giggled faintly, the others being his friends.

"Gen, what's happening to him?!"

"I don't know! I didn't use a spell or any of that.."

"Well, can you use one?"

"I could try.. it could hurt him more."

More of a woman's giggles.

"Maybe take him to the infirmary." Hewley broke through the woman, entering Sephiroth's line of hearing. Rhapsodos giving a helping hand.

"And send him to freaking Hojo!? No way!" it was then he felt arms circle around his body, dropping on a surface rather soft. It was clear that he hadn't fallen on the tiled ground that would bruise his skin, so rough and unpaved. Hearing three thuds meant all three of them fell.

He wasn't relying on sight for the fear of only seeing what was darker than black, spotting and the disappointed faces of his friends. He couldn't find it in him to voice his concerns to them—unsure of what was even happening to him. What was this woman to him who laughed in his pain? Who was spitting at his misery, goading it on and on?

All that was within his knowledge was that it had nothing to do with his two companions. They were pushing her away somehow—their arms so warm against his freezing, stiff body, the sounds of their vocals so beautiful and inviting, it was taking the shrill ones of the feminine one away.

She was growling the more they tried speaking to him, murmuring encouragement to be alright, and that everything was going to be fine, they will not leave. When did Sephiroth ever need those words he was clinging so tightly to? Never did he have a heart for soft nothings when he was dispatched with soldiers to combat fellow human beings, not once did he think they were suffering the same as he?

He was eliminating the evil, after all. That was the conviction of his beautiful blade that stood by his side so tall and marvelous, brilliant and so dearly missed in this moment.

When did another set of human beings become as impactful as his odachi? It was a surprise to him how he strung his arms around wherever he could, reminding himself of the familiarity of Rhapsodos' slim waist that he held one time ago when he returned after a failed mission. That boy so warm, mixed with the cool chills of Hewley who was.. damn, he was so strong, so full, so impressive.

It was the opposite to Rhapsodos who could snap like a twig under his superior strength. Hewley could very much match his caliber of physicality—if Sephiroth was the kind to pump more muscle. The raven-haired friend's embrace felt like a secure, protective one that went so well with the oldest boy's hold that allowed the silver-haired boy to pour all of him inside. One was permitting him to lay himself bare and attain the control he so needed in his life, and the other enclosed him, reassuring him that he would not be stopped, that he would be protected even in moments where he is in authority.

It was.. comforting. The boy realized another time that he truly wanted this more often. To have the control on something in his life, and the other.. to be protected. He wasn't going to be robbed of what he wanted any more.

A small hand ran through his hair, roaming from the top of his head to his scalp. It wasn't Hewley's, for he knew this caress from the year before. That one that allowed himself to be crushed it if it meant saving grace.

"Open your eyes, Angel." The boy, Rhapsodos sweetly purred, bringing that title as if he knew it crossed Sephiroth's mind.

In what felt like a friend sandwich, he really didn't want to comply. What if he opened his eyes only to see he was imagining things? What they call "dreams"?

"If I open my eyes.. will it all go away?"

He was aware of the cruelty he implied with his inquiry, but he had to know it won't. This was not a side-effect of something his father had administered into his bloodwork, he was not imagining that his two friends were at his sides, arms softly curled around him, feeling their breaths so close, Rhapsodos' heart beat in the front and Hewley's at the back of his head.

This tranquility was too intimate, to beautiful to be a mere hallucination. He was begging for this to be real, to truly be.

"What will go away, Seph?" Hewley muttered, gentle and confused.

"This." When he answered, he was bewildered by how it did not sound anything like him. The pitch, the tone, the doubt didn't suit him.

"Poor little Sephiroth.. we won't go away unless you want us to." How was it that Rhapsodos held all answers he wanted to hear? That boy could barely hold himself, so stringy and lithe as Sephiroth was and yet, knew when to step in and talk. He gave Sephiroth a reason to trust him—heck, Vincent trusted Rhapsodos, and that was something else.

If anything, the silver-haired boy found from his current caretaker, it was that he was a huge skeptic. He had been wronged, betrayed and thrown aside. By who? The elder never seemed to share. Sephiroth couldn't extract that information from him no matter how long he spent time with him.

He believed this auburn boy could—the same way how he had gotten Sephiroth to lay his heart low.

And Rhapsodos couldn't handle that without Hewley to keep him safe as he conducted himself. Had he been alone, there was a chance he would be strapped onto a bed and have his brain pulled straight out of his head, fill it with substance and slay him. He could imagine it just now—Hojo would not keep this clever boy alive, he would've used him in every possible way before leaving him to die, bound and gagged in a baseline with droplets of water pitter-pattering from the ceiling.

Hewley was the reason why he was able to ground himself, to keep from birthing damage from his dangerous ways. That raven-haired boy was by his side at every step, and Sephiroth would be pretty foolish of an observer if he did not know that Hewley cared immensely for the boy. Rhapsodos was only calm and collected with Sephiroth for he was a learning child—a quick one. Hewley would've been the one to show him the ropes if he hadn't been an interesting subject.

Even now, it was the raven-haired boy who suggested the logical decision to send him to the infirmary knowing that Sephiroth's father could take care of him. He was a doctor after all.. he had to have expertise in the field. Had this been a physical injury he suffered from, he would agree. He would not complain or gripe about going to his father if it meant getting the job done.

Rhapsodos' answer to that had come as obvious as a grey elephant in the lab—he vehemently disdained Doctor Hojo, and he was the only one who could blurt that out with confidence. If the boy was with some other student, they would've ratted him out, blackmail him to do their bidding as no one wanted to get on the bad side of Doctor Hojo, not even Sephiroth. Hewley was going to suffer with him if it had come to the chase.

If that was not friendship, he wasn't sure what was.

Sephiroth opened his eyes with a smile, purely affectionate as he landed his gaze first on Rhapsodos who had that smile that had him sigh in appreciation, then to Hewley who smiled with nothing but amazement. Sephiroth had no idea he was able to say this, but he really, really liked his friends. They were so young, so out in the open, so unguarded and.. wholesome. That light in their eyes, the innocence in their figures, the purity that only a child could cling to before it is swiped away by bigger hands..

He wanted to preserve it for them.

With the way Rhapsodos' breath seized in his throat, and how Hewley's smile grew, he knew he didn't have to ask if they felt what he had.