It was winter. The Gongaga province experienced bitter winters in the years after Meteor – scientists said that the gravitational pull of the wretched thing had altered the way the Planet went around the sun – and the new houses were built with this in mind.
Their house had thick stone walls and fireplaces with wide hearths in most rooms, heavy curtains, rich dark woodwork, and wingback chairs with tapestry upholstery. There were wall-sconces and stained glass and a deacon's bench in the front hall. Winter storms would whistle and hoot in the eaves and every so often tear a slate shingle from the roof, and in the summer morning glories and moonflowers grew over the verandah. It was a pleasant place to live no matter what the weather was like.
Sephiroth came across her in the library. She was curled up in one of the window-seats (for there were few things she loved about the house more than the window-seats, unless it were the roses in the garden) and had wrapped up in the velvet drapes. A book on organic gardening lay on her lap, and the firelight gave her chestnut hair ember-coloured highlights.
She was asleep. She had spent the day making an enormous amount of moose stew for the town potluck next Tuesday, slicing carrots and potatoes and celery, adding herbs and spices and the carefully cubed moose, and then setting it to cook in the huge stewpot she that had been a wedding gift from her mother. Then she had sat down in the comfortable old chair in the strange little nook next to the refrigerator with a good novel, getting up occasionally to stir, taste, and add things in tiny and carefully-measured amounts; then to adjust the heat and chase him out of the kitchen with her ladle when the smell of stew reached the far end of the house.
Now she lay in the window-seat in the library, where bookshelves reached to the ceiling and gilt gleamed, where overstuffed loveseats hinted at hours of reading and rolling ladders gave access to the highest shelved, and where the scent of leather and paper and fire mingled with the subtle hint of the woman's perfume – a fresh, green, and damp scent with faint undertones of sandalwood and cedar. The library was Sephiroth's favourite room, and he spent more time there than he should have. There were old photographs of the professors Gast and Lucrecia, sepia-toned and catching them in the middle of their work on his desk, and his diploma from the University of Midgar was framed on the wall, but she had imprinted her personality here as well – the vase of white roses on the coffee-table was the most obvious.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed gently and the moon came out from behind a cloud, throwing its pale light into the room. A black bar of shadow from the windowframe fell across her perfectly arched nose. The stars were burning with that peculiar intensity that only happens in the heart of winter, when the air is so cold it hurts the lungs and the blackness of the sky goes on forever. The only sound was the crackle of the fire and the slow, soft breathing of the woman and the man.
He walked over to her and sat on the floor, wincing as a floorboard creaked. The moonlight was shining on her hair and he had a sudden desire to hold her in his arms while she slept. While she was beautiful at any time, there was something particularly fetching about her vulnerability at this moment. He wanted to protect her, shelter her from the woes of the world and keep her safe.
Sephiroth reached out and carefully brushed aside her bangs. Her emerald earrings burst into green fire as she moved a little and caught the light. He had spent an entire week searching for stones the exact colour of her eyes and planned to give her a matching necklace for their next anniversary.
She stirred again, and he ran a finger across her cheekbone. She reached up, found his hand, and lightly held it, then settled again.
"It's alright, Aeris," Sephiroth murmured. "I just want to watch you sleep a little while longer."
"Standing there, the moonlight in your hair tempting me, makes me want to hold you, hold you again." Black Tape for a Blue Girl, 'Griffith Park'
Author's Notes: Yes, I know that this is unadulterated pap. I still like it. I haven't written any fic in more time than I care to think, so be gentle with me and review!