Chapter 3 – Blade
The weeks following the SOLDIER exam were a whirlwind. It only took a day before Cloud was told he had to pack his things, move out of the barracks and into the SOLDIER compound. The apartment he had been assigned was small, but a clear step-up from sharing a room with another trooper, not to mention the fact that he finally had his own bathroom. But he hadn't had much time to settle in. Just an hour later, Cloud was shuffled into the SOLDIER equipment room and fitted with three new Third Class uniforms that were just a tad too large (the quartermaster gave him a once over, and said, half-jokingly, "Well, most do tend to grow a little after the first few mako injections. Let's just hope that's the case for you.") H was also given his choice of a new orb of materia. The sword, Cloud found out, would come later, once he gained better mastery of basic technique. Until then, he was stuck with the standard-issue broadsword.
Not that Cloud minded. This was already beyond his wildest dreams.
The first thing he did when he finally returned home (to his own apartment), after the whirlwind of introductions and information, was call his mother. Cloud could hear her surprise, her joy, behind the crackling of the phone line. He imagined her, standing beside the only public payphone in Nibelheim, the receiver pressed against her face, sporting that wild smile he missed so dearly now. "I think I can finally send more money to fix the roof," he had said. She had replied, "I think you can keep more money to build a life."
He was emailed his schedule for the next few months later that night. Orientation, training classes, physicals, psych evaluations and eventual missions. Cloud was told that the reason for the up-tick in conditioning was to help prepare his body for the mako injections, which were to start about two months into the process. It was exciting, thrilling even, but the grueling tempo left extraordinarily little time for Cloud to feel anything other than exhaustion at the end of each day.
That did not stop Cloud from pushing, though. Though he was keeping up well with most of the classes, he found himself falling behind in sword technique, which frustrated him to no end. In response, he had taken to pestering Zack once more for training, ignoring the screaming of his muscles, the sweat that continued to irritate his eyes. It was slow progress at the start, but after two weeks of continuous work, Cloud could feel his instinct improving, his strength building. And yet, it was not enough, not for Cloud. With each swing of the sword that he forced out of his limbs, the blond was determined to keep going. After all, he had made it this far. He can and had to do more.
But despite his progress, more often than not, Cloud still had his ass thoroughly handed to him at the end of each spar. This one was no different. Zack had maneuvered, a subtle side-step that left Cloud wide open in his lunge forward. The taller man tapped the sword out of Cloud's hands with a gentle smack of the wrist, snatching the weapon as it fell out of Cloud's grip. The blond braced himself with his arms against the fall, catching his breath as he landed with a soft thud onto the training room mat.
"Ouch," Cloud said, mostly out of frustration. He shifted his weight to sit on his side, glancing up at his friend.
Zack grinned. He set aside the two wooden training swords and crouched down. "You good there, Spike?"
"What's it look like?"
"Like you're pushing yourself too hard."
Cloud rolled his eyes. He reached forward for his sword, but Zack only battered his hand away cheekily.
"C'mon," the blond insisted. "Again."
"Dude, no. Rest is an important part of training, too."
"Says the guy who used to do squats constantly during his off-time."
"I was a young, fresh and foolish SOLDIER recruit then. Now I'm old and wrinkly."
"And stinky," Cloud added. The blond then slowly moved to stand, despite the strain that was burning in his muscles, pleading for him to stop. "Again," he repeated, more insistently this time.
Zack schooled his face into his best serious Lieutenant expression, and was about to object a bit more forcefully, when the doors to the training room opened behind him. For the second time in less than a month, Cloud was greeted to the unexpected presence of Sephiroth, walking into the same room as him, with that same cool regard and graceful manner he possessed when he last appeared during the SOLDIER exam. The blond immediately snapped to attention, the heat in his body from the hour of sparring with Zack dying into a peculiar ice, like he was a scared animal in the face of a deadly wolf. Cloud supposed there was some serious truth to that metaphor.
Sephiroth's eyes flickered to Zack for a moment, before settling on Cloud, locking green with blue. Cloud felt the heat suddenly return, rising from his neck to his face. It almost looked like the man was searching for something, from the careful way his eyes wandered and scrutinized, though for what, Cloud had absolutely no idea.
"Zack," Sephiroth said in greeting, though his gaze remained squarely on Cloud.
"Seph," Zack replied, clearly surprised himself. He faced the General, though Cloud had noticed the subtle way the black-haired man shifted to keep himself between Sephiroth and Cloud. "Slumming it in the Third Class training rooms?"
"I see you are doing the same," Sephiroth noted, acknowledging Zack fully. There was a slight amusement to his voice, one that knocked Cloud for a loop – Sephiroth, amused? It was a strange thought, though Cloud had to admit that that fact was in itself a little sad to admit. But the lilt in Sephiroth's voice also had the added effect of calming Zack down. The Lieutenant's shoulders relaxed, as if now convinced Sephiroth hadn't come looking to harm or hurt.
"We were just finishing up," Zack said. He turned to Cloud, with a conspiratorial expression, then gestured. "General, I'd like you to meet Cloud Strife, one of our new Third Class SOLDIERs."
Zack now stepped out of the way, allowing Cloud a straight view of Sephiroth. If seeing him during the SOLDIER exam was bizarre, then there existed no words that could describe the surrealness of this moment. The man before Cloud looked inscrutable, ethereal, intentionally crafted, like a blade that was designed to be beautiful just to highlight its completely deadly nature. At least, that's what Cloud noticed at first sight. But now, stepping closer to him, to take the man as he was, there was something else that was more salient.
It was the eyes. Behind the sternness, behind the cool façade – there was a sorrow. It was something that Cloud recognized in himself, as an angry and tempestuous child, staring at the mirror of the school bathroom after yet another encounter with playground bullies. It was the wonder of what he had done to deserve the bruises and taunts, of what was fair and what wasn't. It was the fear of being alone. And, even stranger, was this weird want glowing behind the look, that seemed like a prayer for another life, a better one, a freer one – and even more than that, a hope that maybe, just maybe, there was someone else now who could understand that dream for something more.
Then, Cloud realized what he was doing and tore his gaze away, kept his eyes on the tip of his scuffed boot. What was he thinking? Projecting his angst and issues onto Sephiroth, a man so far above him in ability and strength, who he had nothing in common with? He must have been hallucinating those connections, the exhaustion of his first two weeks playing SOLDIER tricking his mind and his vision. After all, he had idolized this man, dreamt about meeting him, joining SOLDIER, fighting by his side, gaining his acknowledgement. His fantasy of a life that was wider and brighter than the narrow wooden cage that was Nibelheim, was inextricably tangled with Sephiroth's image. But to think there was anything else was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.
Zack coughed a little too loudly at the stretched-out silence. That prompted Sephiroth to step forward. Whether he took Cloud's silence as unusual or not, the man didn't comment on it. Instead, the General stooped down, picked up the training swords that Zack had set aside earlier, and turned the handle of one toward Cloud.
"I believe you asked for another round," Sephiroth said, his voice smoothly interrupting Cloud's inner conflict.
Cloud whipped his head up, taking the proffered sword in hands that he hoped weren't shaking too obviously. He briefly glanced at Zack, who merely shrugged and began stepping back to settle in and watch the show.
"Kick his ass, Spikey," Zack called. Apparently, whatever earlier nervousness he had was now forgotten. Currently, the Lieutenant seemed thrilled, even mischievously amused. Cloud would have glared at his friend in annoyance, but at the moment, he was more concerned about not embarrassing himself irrevocably in front of the General.
Sephiroth swung the training sword lightly, once, twice, as if testing the balance. It was just shy of blasphemous to see the man wielding anything other than his iconic Masamune, but right now, Cloud was just grateful he wouldn't have to try and dodge that six-foot long reach. As it was, in his tired state, he was already going to have his work utterly cut out for him.
"Please begin when you are ready," Sephiroth said, settling the sword in his right palm and turning it so the point faced downward. It didn't matter that Sephiroth had elected not use his dominant hand, nor assumed a proper battle stance – Cloud knew that even with those allowances, he would still not be anywhere near the man's level. And judging by the look on Sephiroth's face, the concessions were made not out of any sense of condescension. It was clear that he wanted to see what Cloud was capable of, so Cloud focused instead on what he could do, running through a few opening maneuvers in his mind, before remembering Zack's advice to quit overthinking and rely on his instinct.
Well, here goes nothing.
Cloud leapt forward. The training swords clashed, the force reverberating through the blade and up Cloud's arm, which had already been aching terribly even before this challenge. Cloud pushed the pain down further into his mind, moved again and again, but no matter what he tried, Sephiroth always met him. They continued like that for a few moments, the sounding of their swords reverberating through the air. The entire time, Sephiroth was watching and waiting, his expression ineffably calm and composed, like a hunter who knew he had already captured his prey. But Cloud did not feel like he was a miniscule thing being toyed with. Instead, Sephiroth's eyes betrayed his sense of engagement in the moment. It was as if Sephiroth was waiting for Cloud to actually surprise him, and the mere idea that the General actually expected anything at all from Cloud was both unsettling and thrilling at the same time.
If that was indeed the case, the blond was determined do his best. He switched his stance, this time to let his foot connect instead of the sword. Sephiroth anticipated the change in tactic easily, stepping aside in a graceful motion and reaching forward to grasp at Cloud's wrist and twist the blade out of his grip. The sword clattered to the ground and he let Cloud go, stepping back to increase the space between them as he did.
The whole thing only took about three minutes, maybe four. The quickness was what annoyed Cloud the most. He stumbled backward, but kept himself upright, wringing out his wrist for a moment to loosen the joint up. Sephiroth continued to watch him. He wasn't impressed, Cloud noticed. He was still searching. What does he want? Why is he here? Why does he care? The thrill of Sephiroth's attention had settled into irritation, and though some part of Cloud knew it was mostly at himself for failing to make a memorable show in the spar, he couldn't help but channel the frustration toward the utterly bewildering man in front of him.
Cloud stooped down, picked up the sword, and put himself back into his fight stance. "Again," he said, blue eyes hardening into icy steel.
Sephiroth's eyes flicked up to look at him now. And there it was, a tiny change in the gaze. Surprise. The blond could have smiled, if he weren't so tired and so focused on trying to get through the next five minutes. He could hear Zack chuckle from his corner of the training room, though his mind barely registered the noise over his blood pumping wildly in his own head.
Sephiroth paused, then lifted his sword, a motion meant to signal his readiness. The blond did not wait for another second – he leapt forward once more.
The process repeated once, twice. Each time, it would only take a few minutes for Sephiroth to disarm Cloud, though the blond tried his absolute best to throw in a few unusual moves in hopes of delaying the inevitable. Not once did he manage to land a hit, not even close. The third time he hit the mat, Cloud scrambled to get himself upright, though his arms and legs literally felt like they were being burned alive. Breathing had become just short of impossible, as if even his lungs were too exhausted to keep up with his body. But in spite of it all, or maybe even because of it, Cloud forced himself to stand up, sword at hand.
"Again."
This time, Zack stepped forward, but Sephiroth held up a hand to stop his Lieutenant. He kept his eyes locked with Cloud's, as if attempting to make sure the message came across loud and clear. "Not tonight," he said.
Cloud was about to protest, when the implication of Sephiroth's words hit him like a truck and stunned him into silence. Sephiroth turned and tossed the training sword in his hand back to Zack. He then looked at Cloud, his silver bangs wisping in front of his eyes just so, preventing Cloud from reading his expression clearly.
"At eighteen-hundred tomorrow, come to the First Class Training Room."
Then, the man left the room as suddenly as he came, leaving Zack and Cloud in the stunned silence.
"Dude," Zack said, after several beats. On his face was a mixture of worry, concern, but also of clear delight. "What the hell did you do to the General?"
In response, Cloud allowed himself to fall backward against the mats, the exhaustion, bewilderment and the everything of the last half-hour weighing down his limbs.
"I have absolutely no idea."
Unfortunately for Cloud, Sephiroth did not reveal anything else in the following weeks. Every evening, after whatever training classes or missions Cloud had scheduled for the mornings and afternoons, he would meet the General in the First Class Training Room (it would always be empty, save for the man himself; as Zack later explained, Sephiroth could scare the other First Classes from the room with his presence alone). They would exchange swords for about an hour, maybe two, depending on Sephiroth's discretion. The only words they would exchange would be interspersed between their spars, and merely comprised of terse commentary from the man.
Strengthen your stance, do not overextend your reach, watch your footwork, change your grip.
Sometimes, though very rarely, the clipped sentences would be accompanied with physical corrections. Sephiroth would step behind him, adjust Cloud's stance, how he held his sword. Each time Cloud would marvel at how a man who not a minute earlier displayed such speed and such power could possess such a careful touch. The General always seemed to be concentrating heavily in those moments, almost as if Sephiroth was determined not to break him. The thought made Cloud wonder just how much Sephiroth was truly holding back.
Normally, Cloud would have bristled at such treatment, but in truth, he was grateful. Fatigued was not a strong enough word to cover how he felt each night, when he finally climbed into bed. To be pushed even further would probably be too much – and while Sephiroth was a tough teacher, he was far from cruel. In fact, Cloud would even characterize him as caring, which was such a strange thing to reconcile against the stories of the man's merciless efficiency on the battlefield.
More importantly, under Sephiroth's tutelage, Cloud could feel himself progressing, and rapidly. Now just over a month into the SOLDIER program, the difference became starkly evident, particularly in his sword technique classes. Compared to Sephiroth, the other Third Classes were leagues slower, and while the blond was not delusional to think that he could properly track Sephiroth's movements, he had begun to find that he was perfectly capable of doing so for his peers. Cloud could anticipate them, see just where they were moving to next, and his body, so used to the practice and Sephiroth's strict pace, reacted with muscle memory and instinct. It even got to the point that he could occasionally best his instructors, which was light years away from what Cloud had been capable of doing when he first joined the program.
But on the flipside, the other Third Classes were not oblivious. SOLDIER was a small program, after all, and everyone was prone to talk. Many of Cloud's peers noticed his improvement, and while the friendlier ones responded by inviting Cloud to join them for lunch or dinner in exchange for tidbits of Sephiroth's advice, there were still those who made less-than-kind comments about his "training sessions" with the General. Their insinuations were aggravating, and yet Cloud now found those type of comments much less bothersome than they were back in the trooper barracks. Because now, he was a SOLDIER, and he was growing the strength and the skill to prove it.
In all, Cloud could say that he was happy, for the first time in a while. The better pay meant that his mom could now both fix the roof and the backyard barn. He had managed to make some tentative but decent friendships with some of his other Third Class peers. Zack still met up with him for the occasional mission and light-hearted training session, as well as pizza and video games whenever the First had downtime and was not spending it with his girlfriend.
The only portion of his life that felt just a little awkward, like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit into the picture, was whatever the hell was going on with Sephiroth. Cloud had run his SOLIDER exam and that first encounter in the training room over and over again in his mind, scrutinizing his interactions carefully to see if he could find a hint of what he had done to catch the man's attention. This became an even more pressing exercise once Zack had explained to him that in all of Sephiroth's years at Shinra, the General rarely showed anyone anything more than deliberate disinterest. In fact, it had taken a few weeks in Wutai for Sephiroth to even acknowledge Zack as a capable SOLDIER in his own right, and Zack had the benefit of being the protégé of one of the few men that Sephiroth genuinely trusted.
But Cloud's own self-investigation had turned up nothing. He could not figure out why the man looked at him with such level of expectancy. He was always searching Cloud for something and it was both infuriating and frightening – because it kept the blond constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the expectation to sour to disappointment. The truth was that Cloud did not want this to end. He had dreamed about meeting Sephiroth, learning from him, growing to become as strong as him. That was the far-fetched goal he had set out for himself as a scrawny teen that managed to clamber his way across the continents to Midgar. And for all intents and purposes, the edges of that goal seemed to be landing into place. But it was just too good to be true. And despite his growing confidence in his own abilities, there would always be a part of Cloud that would remember how the villagers of Nibelheim looked at him, with such scorn and derision, as if he would never amount to anything ever in his life.
That was the paradox: it was what fueled him and what he feared would eventually break him. And right now, what Cloud worried about most was that one day, Sephiroth would come to see what Nibelheim saw, and end the dream, as swiftly and as suddenly it had been gifted to him.
It was almost getting too much, the jolt of fear (you are nothing, nothing) that rushed through Cloud whenever he fell onto the training room mat, after another failed attempt at landing a single blow on the General. Still, Cloud would scramble to get up, try again, prove that he was worth this time and effort. All the while, Sephiroth would continue to regard him with that same cool expression, his eyes the only thing betraying his expectation – an expectation that confused, enraged, motivated, hurt and concerned Cloud, all at once.
But he would not let Sephiroth know any of that, for fear of ending this strange dance.
Instead, Cloud would say, "Again."
And if Sephiroth deemed it fit, the General would merely tilt his head and accommodate him.
They were about to repeat the steps again, one evening after another tiring few rounds of sword sparring, when Cloud suddenly found that he could not get up. He tried to brace himself, use the momentum to push up off the training mat, spear through the fire and strain in his arms and legs, when something twisted in his right wrist, shocking pain up his trembling arm. He found himself unceremoniously collapsing back onto the mat, and Cloud couldn't help the nearly sobbing cry that tumbled right out of his lips.
"Strife," Sephiroth called. The man was at his side immediately, the wooden training sword strewn aside and clattering to the ground. Cloud could hardly pay attention, though, to whatever Sephiroth was doing. The blond gripped his wrist with his left hand, trying to steady his breathing and hide the pain deeper, but he realized forlornly that now, there was no place for the hurt to go.
"I'm – ah – I'm alright, sir," Cloud replied, hating the way that his voice sounded shaky and breathless. He could not bring himself to look at Sephiroth now, worried that this was it – this was the breaking point, this was where all good things come to an end.
"Are you injured?"
Cloud ignored him, hoping deflection would work. "Let's go again." He tried to tuck his knees and stand up, but this time Sephiroth lifted his hands to press down gently on his shoulders, evidently realizing that words would get him nowhere. Cloud froze, if only out of surprise due to the sudden contact.
"Let me see," Sephiroth said, and though the statement was an obvious command, the General's gloved fingers tentatively brushed Cloud's wrist, almost as if asking for permission.
Cloud could do nothing else but nod. Sephiroth moved slowly, taking Cloud's wrist in his right hand, and his fingers with his left, using the leverage to maneuver the joint in circles. There were tiny flickers of pain from the assessing motions that left the blond wincing, which Sephiroth seemed to take note of. Finally, the man stopped, though he did not let go of Cloud's hand.
"You may have sprained it, though it does not appear that it is serious. I have a Restore in my office, and that should take care of it, if you would not mind following me."
Cloud blinked at the odd choice of words. If you would not mind. What exactly did that mean? Still, the blond shook his head, slowly drawing back his wrist toward his own chest, breaking contact with Sephiroth. "Sir, if it's no trouble, I think I can just ice it when I get back to my apartment," he said.
There was a shift in Sephiroth's countenance now, a slight creasing of his brow, an odd imperfection – though what it meant exactly, Cloud did not know. "That may not be enough," the man cautioned. "You have been pushing yourself significantly, and this may lead to further injury if not properly taken care of."
Cloud met the General's gaze carefully. Part of him hated this – that his weakness led to this, and he wanted nothing else but to bolt out of that room and bury his head into his mattress to escape the embarrassment. But if Sephiroth was right, Cloud could not afford to exacerbate the damage further, not when he was just starting out, not when he was finally positioning himself as a real SOLDIER. As it were, if tonight would be the last time Sephiroth would be willing to train him, he might as well let his time with the man last a little longer.
So, Cloud nodded, allowed himself to be pulled upright by the General to avoid putting more weight on his hand. Sephiroth picked up both training swords, stored them in their proper place near the entrance of the room and gestured for Cloud to follow him to the elevators. The blond did so, boots shuffling quietly along. He noted how Sephiroth slowed his considerably longer stride to allow him to keep pace, the pattern evident all the way from training room, to the elevator, and then to the man's office.
Sephiroth flicked on the switch near the door, and soft, yellow light gleamed from the ceiling and from the lamp stationed just so at the right corner of the desk. While the man moved toward the back corner of the room, which contained a small, but impressive display of materia and equipment (a mini-personal armory, Cloud realized), the blond took a moment to scan the space. The office was as impeccably maintained as the man itself, with two chairs placed in front of the desk, a leather couch and a coffee table toward the center, and filled bookshelves lining the left and right walls. But what really caught Cloud's attention was the view behind the desk: the wall was all glass, with Midgar lights sparkling and twinkling from below. It was so enticing that Cloud did not realize he had crossed the whole threshold and walked his way over to the window to get a better look until he had already done so.
"Strife," Sephiroth said. The man had a green glowing orb in his left hand, which Cloud recognized was probably a fully mastered Restore. "Your wrist, please?"
"Sorry, sir," Cloud said, still not quite tearing his eyes away from the city. Midgar smog prevented any such clear view of the stars above, but the way the city and its buildings were alight below made it almost seem like the universe had flipped up-side down. Cloud had never seen anything like it. The whole visage was just beyond what anyone in small-town Nibelheim could have dreamed of.
Sephiroth seemed to realize the source of Cloud's preoccupation. "Yes, this view. It is my favorite thing about this office."
That finally tore Cloud's attention away from the glass, the fact that the man suddenly, and without warning, shared an oddly personal detail about himself. The blond found himself wanting to encourage that effort. "Yeah, I can see why. The city, it looks so beautiful from here."
Sephiroth stepped closer, taking Cloud's wrist into his hand once more. "Hm," he said, starting the spell. Cloud began to feel the magic wash over him, the tingling in his wrist warm and soothing. When he was finished, Sephiroth paused for a few moments more to examine the joint, just to make sure there was no lingering injury.
"Not all that glitters is gold," Sephiroth murmured, though Cloud was not sure if he meant to say that thought aloud.
He did though, which only made Cloud even more curious. It had occurred to the blond that he was spending all this time with this man over the past handful of weeks, and he still hardly knew anything about him that wasn't from the rumor mill or constructed from Shinra PR. Maybe it was time he tried to learn more.
"My mom sometimes says the same thing, about Nibelheim," Cloud said, trying to prolong the moment. "Everyone talks about the magic of a small town, but it can be suffocating, sometimes."
Sephiroth's green eyes flitted to Cloud's blue, and the blond could see a little bit of wonder in the edges of that gaze. It was similar to the first time they properly met, in the training room, searching and expectant. But there was nothing malicious about it, and it lacked the edge that made the blond so nervous before. Cloud questioned if it was just the aftereffects of the cure spell that made him feel, strangely comfortable and safe in the moment.
"Is that why you left?" Sephiroth asked, and Cloud couldn't help the odd swell in his chest when he recognized that Sephiroth seemed to want to keep talking, too.
Cloud nodded. "Yeah. It wasn't all bad, but it wasn't all good either. I didn't fit in, really. I always wondered if maybe I was meant for something else."
The response was startling, sudden, and sweet, and it made Cloud's world grind to a complete halt. Because then, the General smiled, just an upturn of lips that was so subtle Cloud was almost sure he imagined it. He also realized that Sephiroth had yet to let go of his wrist, because the man had gently squeezed it for a moment before releasing him. The odd spark in Sephiroth's eye, the small smile – it all seemed to indicate that the man had found Cloud's comment amusing, like an inside joke that the blond wasn't privy too. It would have irritated Cloud, had he not been distracted by the fact that he somehow managed to make General Sephiroth, Demon of Wutai, smile.
"Strife, if you are looking for confirmation, you needn't search hard. Zack was right, about you being a great fit for SOLDIER," Sephiroth said, stepping back. He regarded Cloud with a serious and genuine expression. "Your skill is impressive, and your ability to persevere and learn, even more so."
The words were almost too much to handle. All Cloud could manage in reply was a quiet, "Oh." The blond could feel his cheeks heat up immediately at the compliment. He cursed inwardly at himself – he was not some idiotic fan, not anymore, despite the poster that still hung in his childhood bedroom. He tried to force his brain to process, his mouth to say something else, and managed a garbled, "Uh, thanks, sir?"
For his part, Sephiroth seemed to pick up on the discomfort, and backtracked to explain himself. "I only mention it, because you need not push yourself as hard as you do, especially this early in your SOLDIER career. I do not wish to cause you injury."
The mere notion that Sephiroth would blame himself even marginally for what had happened today made something twist in Cloud's chest. "You didn't. That was me. You're right, I need to take better care of myself." He paused, made sure the General was looking straight at him, so that the assurance would stick. "I will, sir. I promise."
Sephiroth appeared to take him for his word, nodding once. "Good. Then have a good night, Strife. I'll see you tomorrow. Will you need assistance getting back?"
Cloud shook his head, watched as Sephiroth put away the Restore materia and returned to sit at his desk, lighting up his monitor. He took the movements as a sign that he should probably leave, but there was something that was still bothering Cloud. He could not quite put his finger on it, though, and did not want to overstay his welcome, so he began walking toward the door, wracking his brain, and hoping it would come to him before he left.
Luckily, it did, like a sudden lightning bolt, the moment Cloud opened the office door to leave. He turned around, combat boots clicking with the movement on the hardwood. "Sir?" he said, perhaps a little too loudly, because Sephiroth looked slightly startled. The man glanced upward.
"Yes, Strife?"
There it was, the thing that was bothering Cloud all day. "You can call me Cloud, sir, if you want to," he said, waiting and watching for Sephiroth's reaction.
There was no mistaking it this time – it wasn't subtle. Bewilderment, wonder, surprise. It was soft, and, Cloud had to admit, a little endearing too.
"Then, please, call me Sephiroth," the General replied.
It was now Cloud's turn to smile. "Good night then, Sephiroth," he said, before exiting the office and closing the door behind him. His heart didn't stop thumping, until long after he made his way into his apartment and tried (and failed) to fall asleep.