Gods how he now hated Nibelheim.
The town was dead long ago as far as he was concerned, not that it ever was much of a safe haven to begin with. The winds were as silent as a gravesite despite the laughing, children who were growing up there, and the homes were in ashy rubble even if the townspeople were forever repainting their dwellings as rain dulled the color. It was all a twisted illusion no matter what the residents of now believed.
And still, he always went back.
Well, he had always been something of a glutton for pain and punishment; a red blooded, Mako-eyed, masochist for obscure comic relief. He wouldn't be who he was without it and was reminded of that fact daily.
How he's wanted to tear down his world and start rebuilding, piece by piece, but as wonderful a thought as that was, it's better to live in a broken world all your own than to deal with the fear of destroying one that wasn't meant for your presence to begin with.
The first steps into town were the same as years before. Cautious strides past the first homes, a pause, and a look around. His expression was almost child-like, with none of its usual jaded arrogance, and his eyes were clear.
This was home. It would always be as such, whether he would ever be able to accept it or not.
Slowly, as there seemed to be no need for rush at all these days, he made his way towards his own house. Still half expecting his mother to be there, hesitantly poking at him, throwing around a motherly comment or two while never making eye contact, and repeating his name as if she kept forgetting as one would a word they were in need of looking up. She had long since took to feigning as though she understood her son, entertaining his obvious desperation for normalcy, acting like she wasn't painfully lonely even if he was there with her…
Pretending that she didn't regret keeping the burden that he was in her life.
The private moment of disappointment when the wooden door creaked open and nothing but floating dust particles that were illuminated by the dimming light of the setting sun were there to greet him wasn't hidden. His shoulders slumped forward a bit, eyes closing briefly after an exhale of air left parted lips.
Mildly he wondered if the dull sting behind his eyes was what could have once long ago been the sign of possible tears to come…no, it was just his aching head. There was no desire to go over how human he could be classed as anymore anyway. Actual beautiful humans would never question such a ludicrous thought to begin with.
A hand that had aided in the killing of many innocents for the name of what was 'good' slid from the doorknob as he walked inside, nimble fingers twitching before curling slightly against the palm. His mind was a whirlwind of inclinations that battled for sole attention; of all the counter attacks he wanted to give or the words he wanted to take back or finally…actually say, to various members of his disbanded group and others made important by means of force of some kind.
The termite worn door was left open to let the floating dust out; apparently they weren't there to keep him company. They were merely trapped. …The irony.
He actually had to point out to himself whilst un-strapping his sword from his back and letting the weapon unceremoniously fall to the floor with a loud 'clanking' sound, that dust locked in a room wasn't much of an irony; as particles of dirt could not feel. Neither the irony itself or the desire of man's duel nature, to which he was forced to ignore far too much.
The desire to love and hate, nurture and neglect, create and to destroy. No one can only love, nurture, and create for a lifetime without mistake or outburst…and mistakes are made…and violent outbursts are had.
Arms spread wide, the home's only resident allowed himself to fall backwards onto the bed, knees bent over the side with feet still touching the floor. It was an awkward position, bound to grow very uncomfortable eventually, but for the moment he was living in it was a perfectly suitable form to stare at the ceiling. Foggy blues made the roof seem to quiver and roll in waves that made him dizzy, if he didn't blink after some seconds, to return the vision to normal once more.
Having adolescence abruptly stolen, the swings of passionate emotions were never taught how to be controlled, merely stuffed away as every question became easier to dance around. Pain was easy to forget if the events in question never occurred, the words of venom, never spat. That is, until memories began to seep and drip through the tiny cracks of his hardened psyche to scare the living hell out of him, snatching the shielding veil away before the desperate grip could be tightened.
Though…that was better than not being able to recall something that wasn't meant to be forgotten in the first place. A nagging memory that can be reached for but just not grabbed.
Closing his eyes tightly, he wiped his mind fresh when the random thoughts began to clutter and let them start anew.
You think problems will just go away thinking about them? You can't change anything by just sitting back and looking at it.
Oh. Zack. At least…that's who he always thought had said that to him in his head. Sounded as something Zack would say. He was always go-get-'em, well-liked kind of guy; optimistic but not to the point where he couldn't be taken seriously if and when the situation arose.
He never thought he and someone like Zack could have ever have been friends, he was always the opposite of the traits that were Zack's personality. Sometimes it just takes the circumstances to bond people.
Locked away with only one other SOLDIER comrade, turned kindred spirit, turned the only real friend he ever truly had. It hurt just how much he owed his friend…for so much, and that no matter what he could ever do, he could never fully repay the debt.
Knowing Zack, he'd probably just ask for a drink and call it even.
Aeris was always so sweet and innocent, it's a joking wonder how she ever got with the likes of him.
In another lifetime maybe he would have wondered if she could have been the 'older girl' his mother was adamant about. As little as she knew of her son, she apparently knew he was something that needed to be taken care of in his of-age years, possibly to be the caretaker and solace that she wasn't.
Aeris never dwelled too long or stayed when she couldn't be more help. She never believed anyone, including him, was a lost cause. Someone else said they didn't either…
…Tifa.
Tifa was always untouchable, so distant...like the stars she loved to watch.
She was that bright star, the most luminous one, the focal point that began a brilliant constellation. But the brightest star burns out the fastest doesn't it? He was always terrified of speeding up the process, of being the reason if her eyes began to dim too soon. His shadows weren't his friends and her getting enveloped in them at any point wouldn't be fair.
Still, like anything untouchable there was always that yearning to try to stretch beyond the limit just to see how close you can get to something you cannot have.
It felt, at times, that the stories of him were somehow accurate, that he somehow always did come out on top and he would eventually get what he subconsciously wanted. He could go through so much without a scratch. A physical scratch of course, it was amazing that only the visible battle scars seemed to be the ones that counted to some people…
As the teen years were spent locked away as a guinea pig, the rules of courtship for adulthood weren't gone over well enough to repeat either. What could have been an statement intended to aid in his personal realizations can come across as manipulation, or a passive move for attention felt like a shove away; rejection. Or worse, if everything comes too easy, words spill out too fast, and actions are uncontrollable. So inexperienced as to how 'easy' can be possible without a catch, his fear is brought to the surface once again.
Fear then sparks the two natural reactions; fight or flee.
There was another who he used to think of as untouchable, stronger, faster, greater than he, albeit in different ways, who now wanted him also now;
…Sephiroth…
Hands flew up to press against his temples, eyes squeezing shut as he tried with the last ounce of mental strength he had left in him to push out that name for the night, and all the strain that name would reiterate. No…his head hurt too badly to try that again right now.
Forefingers rubbed languidly in a circular motion until the tension started to subside before he concluded that was enough attempts at thinking for the evening.
The muscles in his biceps tightened and flexed when his hands pressed down and back against the bed, taking the lazy way out by dragging and scooting his body backwards on his arms until his head met the pillow. He would just go to sleep…yes, sleep.
While it wasn't intended, it was a natural child's outlook; that everything would be better come the next sunrise. That choices would be made more obvious, grudges put to rest, anger forgotten, and life ready to be lived yet again. Free of the ties that bind and haze that blinds.
That he could be able to feel free to love and free to sin.
After all, it's only human.