Chapter 3 - Come Closer, Stranger

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Ansem pulled himself together, refraining from insisting that Sephiroth wear his jacket again in case it rained more. He pulled at the edge of the mirror door and found the stairway again, where they both ascended back up into the dusty, abandoned study. Sephiroth looked around for a minute, then continued on as though nothing in the room interested him in the slightest.

What fascinated Ansem the most about him was the swiftness of his recovery, the long-limbed ease of his stride as he moved gracefully across the floor as though he honestly had a place to go. Walking behind, he quietly enjoyed the luxury of watching the subtle shift of his legs as he took each step.

(Stop that, you idiot!)

And then he was drenched with rain as they came to the surface, pelted at once with the familiar driving rain. But it was particularly hard now, huge pelleting droplets that soaked him to the very bone at once. Yet before he even thought of himself, he moved to Sephiroth's side.

"You stubborn, idiot man... I told you to take my jacket," Ansem snarled against his ear, tearing off his trenchcoat and throwing it over his shoulder. "Come on!" And he yanked him toward the trail that he spotted a few seconds before, and together they headed down the mountainside toward. Ansem blindly followed the Seeker relic's detailed map, sliding sometimes down the hill, having to wait at the bottom of the muddy path until Sephiroth made his slow way down afterward.

Sephiroth seemed tolerant of his crude handling. In fact, he was silent until they reached the edge of the mountains, where he simply stopped and plopped down onto the water-choked grass that had tried to grow while the sun had been out. Ansem crouched down next to him, adjusting the jacket over his shoulders.

"Almost there," he whispered to him softly. "There's someone in that town named Sydney. He'll take us in... I promised him I would return with you. It's not far."

"I don't think I've met him before..I don't..I don't remember," Sephiroth mumbled slightly, his hair hanging over his face. Ansem lifted him, and brought him forward the rest of the long way, across the fields and through the hole in the fence.

Ansem was exhausted once more by the time he stood again on the doorstep of Sydney's house. He waited as he stood there in the rain, supporting Sephiroth's weight until the door opened at last. But instead of Sydney, he saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair, long hair, streaked bloodred, in a simple silk Japanese shirt and leggings.

"I-Is..S-Sydney home?" Ansem demanded through chattering teeth.

"Yes... he's inside, but he's sleeping. I'm an old friend of his... come in."

Ansem walked inside, and this new man did not make any move to help him guide Sephiroth into the living room and down onto the floor, where a soft mattress lay spread out before them.

Sephiroth layed down instantly, and remained for a few seconds until he moved again. He rolled, languished in the blankets, pulling them around him. Ansem watched him for a few seconds, too numb from cold to really notice how much he needed to get warm. A hard shove pushed him onto the mattress also, and Sydney was there with his odd-colored companion, replacing his drenched clothes with something warmer.

Ansem could not argue. He was beneath the blankets now, tucked securely beside Sephiroth who seemed to have fallen asleep once again. Ansem himself could not close his eyes. He stayed awake, even after Sydney curled in the couch beside Roj (the man with the black with red-tipped hair and slightly pointed ears, and almond-shaped eyes).

He couldn't let himself sleep, even when he was so warm. Sephiroth so close... He remembered his anger, that dangerous madness.... and the Darkness over which he held sway, so cunningly, effortlessly.

Ansem admired him, and in so many more ways than one. He watched him sleep when Sydney and Roj retired to their own rooms, his eyes traveling longingly over his features, his fingers aching to touch his hair.

God, how can he be so beautiful? And how can I be so pathetic? Ansem thought privately, tucking his arm beneath his pillow. He pushed forward slightly, gasping silently as his leg rested against his thigh. But Sephiroth was completely unconscious, oblivious.

"Good," he whispered softly, slowly lifting his hand. "You need your rest..." He touched the soft smooth locks, and pressed closer, breathing in faintly the stranger's scent. He smelled like rain, and underlying that the subtle cologne of man.

"I can't really sleep," Ansem continued out loud to himself. He rolled over underneath the blankets, away from him, and spoke to the fire. "I've got so much on my mind... thinking about how to get out of here... where to go... if I want to stay here and live with Sydney and his odd lover. I definately don't want to leave you. I've still got Seeker on me, so maybe you and I could continue our journey and look for others. That is, if it'll EVER stop raining..."

He stared into the flames, listening beyond the crack and pop of wood for the rain. Strangely, it never came. The droning hiss of water on saturated earth never fell on his ears. He tensed for one moment as though doubting his own ears but he didn't hear it. In spite of the temptation to get up and see for himself whether the rain had ceased, he silently rejoiced in the silence and closed his eyes.

"You know, it's...funny. I'm still talking... but you're fast asleep. I know some part of you might be still awake. The part that cares. You were like me back in that torture chamber in the mountain. When I woke up and found myself surrounded by nothing, bathed in nothing, *being* nothing I felt a consuming hatred so deep it almost destroyed me," he went on. "Somehow, I found the purpose to move on. There had to be *something*. I had to *do* something. To make something out of nothing, by the way, is a rare gift."

Seconds passed as he moistened his lips and breathed deeply. He felt no stirring from the man other than the sound of his breathing. Ansem slid one thin hand down toward his own thigh and rested it there, his fingertips brushing along the tender flesh of the inside. He felt the response, a subtle pressure, a slow crawling warmth in his loins and his hand twitched away like a spider back into the open.

"Sydney wanted me..." he said suddenly, in a voice too soft so that he could barely hear. "His loneliness is infectious. I wanted to share his existence with him...but, not alone. There had to be more. I don't like to be alone. Perhaps I need people to be around me... a lot of people who I can relate to..."

He trembled slightly before he stilled his nerves and shook his head, brushing his hair out of his face. "I'm going to be quiet now... I don't want to wake you up..."

And he was quiet.

* * * * *

Sephiroth pulled free of the blankets slowly, his limbs stiff but slowly recovering. His body ached like he'd swum free through all Nine Gates back to the land of the living. He trembled slightly as he sat, one leg tucked underneath him.

He pressed his hand against his forehead lightly, his hair spilling loose down across his naked shoulders. He brushed it back, turning slightly to catch the sight of the stranger, the struggling hero who had saved him from the mouth of insanity. His eyes softened, the strange serenity with which Ansem's face held was strangely softening to his disgust. Not quite disgust but... fascination.

He thought he had dreamed the same dream last night that he had for the eternities in Hell he had spent. But he couldn't remember. Events blurred together in time and space, becoming unimportant flashes of torment that he pushed from his mind completely. This wasn't quite death nor was it living. He watched this creature's face because if he had looked anywhere else, madness would have sunk its talons into his mind and tore the remainder of his sanity away.

In such a face, he found peace where there was little to be found. He frowned slightly before he looked away and peered toward the stairs.

"I'm sorry, little angel," he murmured to the sleeping man. "But I have to see about this... Sydney..."

He stood up, stealing a sheet to wrap around his narrow waist. He wore nothing else besides that was worth covering anyway. He slunk to the foot of the stairs before he continued upward, glancing down again past the railing into the room where Ansem slept.

The bedroom was not hard to find. The door was cracked open and as he neared it, he saw the foot of the bed, the crumpled sheets and the pale, nude boy-creature named Sydney, his leg sprawled across the tanned individual's stomach. Hair tousled, eyes closed, the faint traces of a smile on his bruised lips.

Sephiroth backed away after a few seconds, before turning to retreat back down the stairs. He shook his head as he sat down again, tucking the sheet around his legs. His eyes were drawn to Ansem, and met a cold, burning metallic orange gaze.

"He awakes," Ansem said quietly, his deep voice resonating strangely from his reclined position. "How do you feel...?"

"Stiff, sore and cold..." Sephiroth tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear and sat back slightly. He arched a slender silver-white brow. "Why were we sleeping on the floor together?"

"That's how we ended up... I should have warned you before," the other man replied as he looked toward the ceiling with barely disguised amusement. "Sydney likes to take the clothes off of any man he meets."

"So I have observed. Why am I naked?"

"Your clothes no longer served their purpose. I think Sydney burned them." Ansem pushed himself up, and stood up to climb out of his sheets. He seemed nervous about something before he turned toward him, standing in simple, clean breeches. "Did you hear me say anything...at all, last night?"

Sephiroth met his gaze again and suddenly lost himself in it. He almost forgot what he'd asked. He shook his head. "..No, I didn't."

But had he?

Dreams were funny... you think you hear someone...but it's not certain if it was real or part of his twisted fantasy. He shook his head again, pulled his eyes away.

"Ah...I talk in my sleep..that's all. But you were so fast asleep, I doubt you heard anything." Ansem turned away and hunched his shoulders. Sephiroth looked on, watching him move purposefully across the room to a closed door. He opened it to reveal a closet, and started sorting through pants and shirts. He tossed a few pairs of pants down. "Try these on. They might just fit you..not sure..."

Sephiroth reached over to take up a pair of the pants. One of them were simple khakis and another pair were snug, faded jeans. He looked at Ansem, who had his back to him, still flipping through an assortment of shirts, pants, and jackets.

"What I would *love* to know," the man said from the closet, "is how he can get clothes like these in a world like this?"

Sephiroth returned his eyes, running his hands lightly over the fabric. A very good question, he thought to himself. Then he stood up, clutching the sheet around himself. He cut into Ansem's mumbling with a short, "Where is the bathroom?"

"Do you want to take a shower?"

"That would be preferable, yes." Sephiroth frowned, irritated.

"Yes, wouldn't it? Considering you smell like mud and you're twice as dirty," Ansem replied light-heartedly. He emerged with three pairs of shirts and boots, and he shoved them into Sephiroth's arms. He pointed toward a door. "It's in here. Go wash yourself."

Bewildered and annoyed, Sephiroth balanced the clothes, held the sheet around his waist, and moved into the bathroom without much problems. He shut the door behind him once he was inside. He fiddled with the shower, cursed at the confounded workings of the pipes and finally deciphered the letters etched into the faucet handles (which looked like hieroglyphs to him).

He spent twenty minutes under the constant heat. He washed his hair, squeezing the dirt-colored water from it. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as a moan of delight escaped past his lips.

"Enjoying yourself," said a quiet voice behind him, "'little angel'?"

He shot around, grabbing onto the wall-hanging that held the shampoo and conditioner. He glared into the pair of eyes through the rippling glass and snarled, "What gives you the right to come in here!?" Then he realized what he'd just said, and paled slightly. "That meant nothing," he snapped, spitting water from his mouth.

"I go wherever I please," Ansem replied smoothly. The eyes burned through the glass, kept him from looking away until he backed off toward the door. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't pass out, that's all." He sounded slightly hurt, but hardly threatened.

Sephiroth emerged after Ansem had left and dressed in clothes provided for him. His skin tingled and the air was saturated, what with all the steam trapped in the room. He stepped out of the bathroom and into the hall, rubbing his hair vigorously between his hands with a towel. He saw Ansem, dressed in fresh clothing, crouching over the fireplace and restoking it with as much logs as possible.

He flinched slightly when he saw him. Then he stood up, snatched a brush from the coffee table and started toward him. The willful look on his face was both intimidating and amusing as he twirled the object between his fingers.

"I hope you used a lot of conditioner," Ansem sang in his smoothest, deep voice as Sephiroth folded the towel across his arm.

"I had expected as much. And you don't have to brush my hair." Sephiroth stepped toward the ktichen, but stopped when Ansem caught his arm and yanked him toward the couch.

"I *am*," he insisted and pushed Sephiroth onto the floor. Ansem sat on the couch, and took Sephiroth's hair across his lap.

"I could kill you for doing this, you know," Sephiroth rumbled slightly, though his voice was not angry. It was pleasure that echoed through it.

Ansem leaned close and smirked, whispering into his ear. "Your world has strange customs, Sephiroth."

Ansem worked from the bottom toward the top, layer by layer, smoothing out the knots and snarls that came with having such long, unruly but undoubtedly the most beautiful hair the magic researcher had ever seen.

Sephiroth reached back, sliding his fingers around his wrist to stop him. "Thank you. I should keep you around, simply to brush my hair. My personal hair dresser," he jested softly, tilting his head back to look at him. He actually smiled, for the first time since before he could remember. It was odd...

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" Sephiroth asked him, for they had sat thus, staring at each other as though neither had seen another person in their lives before.

"N-no, I mean... ahh... I'd like to do that, but for the simple fact that perhaps we should not. Let us become friends first," he stammered, sliding back from the couch. He pulled his wrist free and then stood up, shaking the brush out and tugging a few pieces of silver hair from it. He marveled at the glossy strands, his eyes fixated for a few seconds. "You could sew these into something."

"What?"

"Your hair. It's beautiful. You could use them like thread, twine them together perhaps, and make them into something else." Ansem twirled the strands about the handle of the brush securely, and watched as the firelight dances on the metallic luster of each shimmering strand.

Sephiroth watched him. Then stood up, and said at length, "You're a strange creature, whoever you are..."