Chapter 10 – Conversations

It was one of those weeks in which nothing seemed to go right at all. First, there had been that assignment in Mideel, fighting monsters in a disgusting heat that glued Cloud's SOLDIER uniform uncomfortably tight to his back. In his frustration over the humidity, Cloud had been a little careless, and, as a result, suffered a small injury to his left shoulder that remained sore in the following days. Then, there had been Roche, one of the two other SOLDIERs that were also assigned to the mission – which would have been perfectly fine, except for the fact that Roche could not keep his hands to himself and would not stop suggesting that they indulge in the local hot springs together ("Just wanna help you relax!"). And lastly, there had been the helicopter and boat rides to and from Midgar: while Cloud's motion sickness had mostly abated after the enhancements, the ghosts of the old nausea and claustrophobia only exacerbated the mounting frustration he had over this whole ordeal.

As such, when he finally arrived at his apartment at the end of the week, Cloud wanted nothing more than to just shower off the travel and sleep. He was so insistent upon it that he ignored the handful of phone calls from Zack that had started to buzz his PHS the moment the return helicopter descended back within cellular range. No doubt Cloud felt guilty for purposefully dodging his friend, but this night, he was just too tired to be within Zack's presence. In fact, he was just too tired to do anything at all, even think.

That was just as well. Thinking had not done Cloud any good. For if he allowed himself to, his thoughts consistently would wind down the same path – to green eyes and silver hair and an idiotic kiss and the fact that the man that haunted his headspace had hardly spoken a word to him over the course of the past six weeks. Whatever initial anger Cloud had toward Sephiroth's avoidance had transformed into fury at himself, for even continuing to allow the man into his mind. Every day, Cloud would inwardly declare that enough was enough, that the whole pathetic routine had to end, and every day, it was as if the very cells in his brain and in his heart just could not help it. It would not matter if he were on a mission, training with Zack and other SOLDIERs, or out helping Aerith with some errands in the slums. Even when he closed his eyes, Sephiroth would be there, the memory of him shooting jolts of quiet pain all through his body. Somehow, Cloud went from weakling cadet, to capable SOLDIER, to heartbroken fool, all in just over half a year, all because of one man, all because of one kiss.

But at least tonight, Cloud would be free from all that, because his exhausted body and brain simply craved a warm shower and, eventually, a soft bed. As he turned the knob, stepped into the tub, and felt the beads of water massage his sore back, Cloud let out a loud breath of relief. The shower felt like such heaven, and so, despite his enhanced hearing, it took him more than a few moments to register the sharp knocks coming from his front door. Cloud almost thought he had imagined it – but then the sounds repeated themselves, and the blond groaned at the thought of Zack barging into his apartment. The image of the boisterous puppy complaining about his failure to answer his PHS tested Cloud's already depleted patience. And sure enough, as Cloud wiped the soap suds quickly out of his hair and turned off the water, he could feel the last shreds of energy he possessed starting to swell into a heavy frustration, like a storm-driven flood against a levee.

Still, he knew better than to ignore Zack now – that it would only make matters worse. Cloud stepped out of the shower and reached for his towel, taking a few seconds to dry himself off. He was just about to exit his bathroom when the knocking echoed once more, and, suddenly, the floodgates of his aggravation cracked wide open.

"Oh, fucks sake, Zack," Cloud yelled, moving down the hall to his front door. "Gaia, I don't answer your calls for just one night and you—"

The rest of the words (and the curses) remained lodged in his throat, because when Cloud swung open the door, a head of silver – not black – was standing right at the entrance.

"Sephiroth," Cloud breathed. At the sight of the man, his face and neck suddenly felt warm, though he stubbornly told himself it was just the residual heat from the shower. Then, of course, the recollection of said shower made Cloud realize that he was standing in front of the General with nothing but a towel on, and inwardly, he thanked Gaia that the night was dark enough to hide the flushing of his skin.

Sephiroth, for his part, actually looked a little embarrassed. "I apologize," he began, eyes shifting away from Cloud. "This is clearly a bad time."

Even after everything, Cloud had to admit that Sephiroth looked so endearing, his green eyes forcing themselves to stay focused on something slightly above Cloud's head. The General was once again casually attired, in a black button up shirt and blue jeans. Cloud had not seen Sephiroth dressed in anything other than his usual uniform for the longest time, because they had not spoken outside of the work context for weeks. With that recognition, it then occurred to Cloud that he was currently supposed to be angry at Sephiroth, for that very reason. The heat of the anger then returned, simmering and seething, bolstered by his embarrassment.

"You think?" Cloud said, gripping the towel around his hip even tighter. "What are you even doing here this late?"

"Zack told me you weren't answering his calls."

Cloud groaned once more at the mention of Zack. "I'm surprised he didn't come barging in himself."

"I offered instead," Sephiroth said, looking down now. "Seeing as I owe you a conversation."

This was honestly the last thing Cloud wanted tonight. He debated shutting the door in the man's face, much like Sephiroth had been doing to him metaphorically over the last weeks. But there was something about the way Sephiroth's shoulders, usually straight and proud, were hunched in self-consciousness, about the way his glance flickered to Cloud, to the wall, and then back to the ground, in alternating hope and fear. It was weird to think that the great General, who everyone in the world thought was untouchable, was now so clearly affected – and by Cloud, of all people. He had to soften a little at the thought.

Of course, that did not mean that Cloud was going to let him off the hook. "Fine. Come in," he replied, stepping backwards to allow the man into his apartment. "I'm going to change first."

Sephiroth nodded, followed Cloud into the living room, and sat down on the same couch that the blond had occupied in his post-mako-injection state all those months ago. Cloud watched him for a moment, all long limbs, shifting apprehensively on that uncomfortable and clumsy piece of furniture. The picture somehow bordered on strong, awkward, and charming, all at once. Stop. Pull it together. Cloud silently cursed his addled brain, refocused by turning away and walking to his bedroom. He returned a few minutes later in a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

"So, talk," the blond said, as he moved to stand in front of Sephiroth. In a bid to keep distance, to keep his mind clear, Cloud dared not sit down, especially not this close to the man.

Sephiroth opened his mouth to say something, then shut it quickly. "I am not sure whether to begin with an apology or an explanation," he confessed.

Cloud crossed his arms. "I think I'll need the explanation to see if I'll accept the apology."

"That is fair," Sephiroth said. Then, as if finally noticing the chasm between them, he asked, "Do you want to sit?"

"No. Talk."

The General sighed and glanced downward at his hands. His voice was strained, unsure, frightened, like a man wandering a minefield. "What happened in Junon – when I kissed you – I was not myself that day. I was taking advantage of you, to gain some comfort. That was wrong."

It was supposed to be an attempt at reconciliation, at clarity, but the comment simply made Cloud a little angrier, and he knew exactly why. "So, your response to making that mistake was to avoid me for nearly six weeks after the fact?"

At the retort, Sephiroth nearly winced. "No. It was not – you were not a mistake. Believe me, Cloud. You were not. You are –" he trailed off, wrists rubbing on his thighs nervously. There were a few beats of silence, of wringing of hands, of downcast eyes, before Sephiroth finally whispered, "This is not going well. I am sorry."

Cloud stared at the man now. He was trying. It was clear from everything about him that Sephiroth was trying so hard, on something that they both knew he was far from familiar or comfortable with. The pain in the green irises, the crease of the brow, the tense and quick breaths – it was all there, all proof that Sephiroth was pushing himself far past his usual limits, all for Cloud. That fact was enough to help smooth down the sharp edges of Cloud's anger, of his humiliation, to remember that he owed the General enough now to at least try and meet him part of the way.

Slowly, the blond sank down to sit on the coffee table across from the couch. When he spoke next, his voice was calm, quiet. "No, I'm sorry, Sephiroth. Please, continue. I'll stop interrupting."

Sephiroth met his gaze now, a tiny bit of gratitude lighting his face. It did not look like Sephiroth had been sleeping much lately, the evidence of several nights of exhaustion and overwork marring the pale complexion. It was an indisputable fact that the General was beyond busy, particularly following Lazard's death. And yet, in spite of the millions of other things he likely had to do, Sephiroth was here, on a late Friday night, talking to Cloud, tryingfor him.

Cloud reached out one hand, and let Sephiroth take it, let the man's longer fingers enclose around his own. "I'll listen," Cloud said. "I promise."

Sephiroth let out a breath. "Okay."

He started at the beginning. He told the story, of the town on fire, of the dreams that started after Angeal and Genesis were initially presumed dead at Modeoheim. Of the sheer despair he felt in the lack of control, and of the secret thrill inside him at the exercise of unparalleled power and destruction. At that, Cloud's eyes widened a little, but the gentle strokes of Sephiroth's thumb against his knuckles reminded him of the way the man almost always sought permission before he touched, of his abundance of caution and care. That melted any worry, and Cloud found then that while there was fear for something in that moment, it was not of Sephiroth.

(For him, on the other hand…)

Then, Sephiroth spoke, honest and raw, about how the dreams had only compounded the doubts over his humanity, the same questions that began brewing in earnest as he researched the details of the experiments conducted on Angeal and Genesis. He explained that it felt as if his subconscious were trying to deliver a message that he could not translate, that he lacked the proper tools to understand, and that the disorder only made more egregious the mysteries at play regarding his life and history within Shinra and the Science Department. Cloud followed along, trying to wrap his mind around what seemed to be an ever-building conspiracy. He attempted to tie the strings together to Sephiroth's stories of his childhood in the laboratories, to the scenes he observed in Junon and Modeoheim, to the tidbits of information about Angeal and Genesis that even Zack rarely shared. It was an overwhelming mess, like jigsaw puzzle pieces scattered all over a hardwood floor, and in Cloud's tired state, he knew that complete comprehension would be an impossibility.

But that did not matter. None of those many details, however shocking or revelatory, mattered to Cloud. There was only one thing that did.

He waited until Sephiroth closed, quieted, then squeezed the man's hand. "Okay. That's a lot. I've got a ton of questions. But right now, let's start with one."

"Name it."

"How do you feel?"

Sephiroth looked at him. "I do not understand."

Cloud pressed further. "I mean, how are you feeling? With your dreams, with everything? How are you?"

The man did not say anything, but Cloud could see it, plain and clear, in those glowing green eyes. Anxiety, panic, pain, uncertainty, helplessness, hopelessness, exhaustion, grief, anger, madness, betrayal, sorrow. It was every terrible emotion, every horror, every trauma, destroying the man from the inside like a fire, all buried behind that expression. It was enough, simply, truly, enough. As soon as he looked at that face, there was nothing Cloud wanted more than to take some of that pain away.

"Oh, Sephiroth," he said. "I'm so sorry."

He was about to reach forward, move closer, but abruptly, like a frightened animal, Sephiroth pulled away. "You do not have to be," he murmured. "You should not be. I should be the one to apologize."

Cloud blinked, shook his head briefly, pushed past the momentary confusion. "Now, it's my turn to say I don't understand."

Shakily, the other man exhaled. Whatever confidence or comfort Sephiroth had tenuously built over the course of the last few minutes of speaking appeared to have vanished. The return of the nervous energy only made Cloud that much more apprehensive over what confession would come next.

(And it turned out, he was right to worry).

"Those dreams – I had begun to think they marked a destiny that I had no choice but to fulfill. But then, something changed, and I was suddenly free."

"What changed?"

Sephiroth looked at him, at his eyes, with that same thoughtful, expectant, searching manner that he had displayed the very first time they had met. It had utterly bewildered Cloud then. But now, with these next words, he finally understood.

"You. You were there, in my dreams."

Cloud's lips parted slightly in surprise. "Me?"

"It was before I met you. I saw you, your eyes. You were the only one strong enough to stop me. You cut me down, and you set me free."

The gears in Cloud's mind began to slow, grinding together, clamoring and clanging, as if his own brain were trying to cut the processing, prevent him from reaching the inevitable and painful conclusion.

Cut him down? Does that mean…?

"I kill you? In your dream, I kill you?"

There was a weighty pause. Then, in a tone that brokered no uncertainty, "Yes."

It was like the threads of the evening, already tight and tense, suddenly snapped. Cloud stood up, nearly tripping over himself and the coffee table. The mere thought of it – of Sephiroth dying, and by his own hand – it was surreal and ridiculous and unfathomable and excruciating, like someone had ripped open his chest and tore out his still beating heart. In the next moment, Cloud thought of Zack, how the happy young man spent the weeks following the events in Modeoheim trying to hid his own tears from everyone in the world. He thought of Sephiroth, and how the fissures in his stoicism broke wide open after confronting Genesis in Junon. All at once, the feelings, the memories, the facts, the everything instantaneously tumbled down, chaotic and deadly, like the avalanches that occasionally plummeted from Mt. Nibel. Cloud attempted desperately to hold on to something, but he found that it all moved too quickly for him to grasp. No matter what he tried, his mind just scorched right through: Sephiroth dead. Sephiroth alive, with those tiny smiles he rarely shared. Sephiroth dead. Sephiroth with the gentle way he could hold Cloud's hands. Sephiroth dead because of him.

The blond was moving before he even realized it, backing up and away from the couch. "You said this was before we met, right? Did you find me because of your dream?" Cloud asked, the words just spilling out of him like a speeding train. Then, the real implication dawned on him, the inexorable crash.

"Did you find me to kill you? Is that why you trained me? To make me your murderer?"

Surprise, shame, and sorrow all flashed across Sephiroth's face. The man looked away. "I don't know," he admitted.

It made a cruel and twisted sense in Cloud's mind. Sephiroth's two closest friends had died. He had spent his life in service to a company that treated him as nothing more than an attack dog to be unleashed when required and muzzled when not. Even in the man's dreams, he found no mercy – only images of a monster that would burn out the entire life of the Planet. And then unexpectedly, there appeared some semblance of hope for a different path, for freedom?

"Oh, Gaia," Cloud said, his hands starting to shake.

Sephiroth stood up, stepping closer to him, but not quite touching. He was speaking quickly now, as if trying to get everything out before Cloud's mind reached its breaking point. "It might have been part of it, but I swear to you, it was not all. I was trying to understand what was happening, who you were. And then I met you, and got to know you, and everything changed."

"How?"

Those hands moved, slowly, just hovering around Cloud's face, waiting. Unconsciously, Cloud found himself leaning a little into their touch. Sephiroth felt tender and safe and the blond nearly sobbed at the thought that he would ever be the one to end this.

"I had wanted to learn why you were so special – and it turns out, it was in every possible way."

"Stop. That's too much. That's—"

"The truth, Cloud. The truth. I do not know how else to explain it. I do not know why I began having these dreams or why you appeared in them or what they mean. All I know is that they brought me to you, and I have not stopped thinking of you since."

Cloud stared at the other man, challenging. "Then why did you avoid me after Junon? Why didn't you talk to me?"

Sephiroth's eyes bore deeply into him in return. The man leaned forward, pressed their foreheads together, whispered, "I was afraid. I realized the depth of my attachment to you, and how painful the idea of losing you would be. But I also feared that if the prophecy in my dreams would indeed to come to pass, it would bring you the very pain that I nearly suffered that day – and I never want to hurt you like that. Ever."

And then, one of those hands began to snake its way down the small of Cloud's back, pulling him closer just as he did in Junon. It felt warm there, in that embrace, tempting enough to melt in. But the blond held back, braced himself against the taller man's chest. After all, there was still one important point to address.

"So, you have no intention of dying like that, right?"

Sephiroth closed his eyes, breathed, honest and true. "Not anymore."

They were definitely going to have to talk about the fact that there had been that intention to begin with, but Cloud decided to table that discussion for later. "I still have so many questions," he admitted, though his fingers were now beginning to curl around the strands of silver hair that were falling in front of Sephiroth's face.

"As do I," Sephiroth replied. "And while I do not have much in ways of answers, I would still like to apologize. For avoiding you, for my cowardice, for not telling you this sooner, for everything else."

Then, Sephiroth paused, those green eyes of his asking for permission. Between the haze of his exhaustion and the intoxication of the mere presence of the man in front of him, Cloud could hardly sort through the labyrinth of his own mind. There was just so much he still did not understand: not just about the dreams or why they had occurred or why he was even in them, but about Sephiroth himself. Certainly, he had learned a great deal about the man – his capacity for kindness, his patience, his grace, all characteristics that stood in stark contrast against the perfect weapon that Shinra painted. But the reality was that there was truth on both sides of that scale. Sephiroth was a study of paradoxes, a mystery of a man, evidently even to the General himself. For all his prowess and intelligence, he was often cautious and uncertain. And if those dreams held any meaning, portended any destinies, then the man holding him now was to be the one to destroy the word (and he would have to be the one to stop him).

But somehow, in that moment, the fear that Cloud logically knew should be there was missing. Perhaps it was the way those hands felt around his waist, controlled and careful and caring, or the way those eyes looked into his, full of promise and affection. In the end, it was enough, to make Cloud think that maybe, just maybe, they could find another way.

His blue eyes shifted up to stare into green. Cloud stood on his toes, leaned into those lips and said, softly, "Okay."

That night, when Sephiroth dreamed of fire, it was something else entirely. Instead of an all-consuming inferno that raged and burned until nothing, but death, remained, the flames were contained in a hearth that ghosted a pleasant warmth over his skin. He was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, knees up, shoulders relaxed, and he felt oddly untroubled, in a manner he hardly remembered ever being in his lifetime.

In fact, he was feeling many things he had rarely felt before. There was warmth, of course, and comfort, settling deep in his bones. But there was something more than that – a quiet happiness, like those brief moments he had as a child when Professor Gast would read to him, or the wonderful exhaustion that overcame him after a thrilling spar with Genesis and Angeal. It was almost as if every good moment he had ever had, though few and far between, was bundled up into his chest, pushing away any sense of the usual loneliness and doubt and anxiety.

It was peace.

The feeling was so sweet, but it was also so foreign, that Sephiroth simply had to take a cautious look around. The living room unfolding from the fireplace was spacious and rustic, with wooden floors and furniture and an exposed beam running across the ceiling into an open kitchen. There were washed dishes drying next to the sink, a vase of flowers sitting on the table, empty coffee mugs at two of the seats. The details told a clear story: this was someone's home. Someone lived here, ate here, tended to the fireplace here. Everything about the scene was at once surreal, strange, and yet wonderfully familiar. But how could he reconcile the logical fact that he had never been here before, against the lightness in his chest that said here, out of all the places on Gaia, was where he was most comfortable?

(Was this what it felt like to belong?)

The obvious question then began to creep in his mind, but before he could formalize it, two arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck from behind, and from the corner of his eye, Sephiroth recognized that sunflower blond hair almost immediately.

"What are you thinking about?" Cloud whispered, with a gentle kiss to the back of Sephiroth's head.

There was no resistance, none at all. Sephiroth could feel himself sinking into that embrace. What had he been thinking about? He had been thinking about how nice it would be to live in a place like this, to feel like he had a home with two dirty coffee mugs and a vase full of flowers and a fireplace, a place that was warm and full of color and not cold and sterile and dark and unfeeling like the laboratories and training rooms of his whole life. He was thinking about how it would be nice to build a home like this, here.

But even in his dreams, Sephiroth was too afraid to voice that thought aloud.

Luckily, the Cloud in his dream seemed to understand. The blond moved to sit beside him, curling their arms together. The silver-haired man let himself breath in the scent of Cloud's hair – it smelled like pine, like warmth, like sun. In fact, it smelled a lot like this room they were sitting in.

"Is this your home?" he asked quietly.

Cloud curled their fingers tighter together. His eyes were dazzling in the firelight, and for a moment, Sephiroth was reminded of the proud and beautiful defiance of that crystalline blue against flames that were much angrier. Sephiroth decided he preferred this beauty, still strong, still proud, but welcoming and reassuring and content and happy. The other Cloud was mesmerizing, but this – this was breathtaking.

There was a little laugh, and it sent Sephiroth's heart completely off rhythm.

"You dork. It's our home," Cloud said, and then he leaned forward and sealed that hopeful promise with a kiss.

Then, Sephiroth awoke, the feeling of Cloud and that fireplace slipping away from him like water from his fingers. For a hazy moment, he almost mourned for it, until he realized that there was a spike of blond hair tickling the underside of his chin. The sleepiness began to fade, and in its place came a much more solid impression of reality: he was not in some mysterious house, but in Cloud's apartment, the blond himself now snoring softly with his head buried in Sephiroth's shoulder. It was almost too similar to his dream that it nearly caused Sephiroth to startle, but he stifled the shock in favor of not stirring the blond from what was likely a much needed rest.

The events of the night before began filtering back into his mind. After their conversation, he had carried Cloud into his bedroom, their lips finding purchase against each other's the entire way through. But they had not done much more than that, because as soon as Cloud's back had hit the bed, exhaustion barreled through him. It then occurred to Sephiroth that Cloud had just returned from a week-long mission in Mideel, and Sephiroth had fumbled out another apology for his behavior and tried to remove himself. But instead of telling him to leave, of letting him go, Cloud kept his arms around Sephiroth's shoulders, and only sleepily smiled in return.

"Stay," he had whispered, kissing him one more time. "I don't want you to be alone anymore."

He had said those words so easily, guilelessly, truly, that there was only one response that Sephiroth could give. So, he stripped off his shirt and jeans, climbed into bed next to the blond and was rewarded with the most pleasant dream and sleep he had had in ages. Something swelled in his chest at the thought – Sephiroth wasn't sure if it was fear, hope, anxiety, desire – but all the same, he pushed it down quickly. There was time to examine those thoughts and those feelings later. Right now, all he wanted to do was rest here for a while longer, because while the dream had been beautiful, this reality was even sweeter.

With a tiny murmur, Cloud began to stir against him, the spikes of his hair brushing against Sephiroth's skin. Slowly, the blond blinked himself awake, and then pulled slightly away in order to gaze up at him properly.

"Hello," Cloud said, smiling. "You stayed."

"You asked me to," Sephiroth replied. One of his hands slowly crept up, began tangling gently into soft blond locks.

"Mmhm," the blond hummed in response, leaning into the touch. For a few pleasant seconds, they remained like this, wrapped in the sheets and in each other. Then, Cloud's expression changed, darkening into something more serious. "Can I ask? What did you dream about?"

Sephiroth met that gaze. Even in the fog of sleepiness, even in the darkness of the room, the blue remained brilliant and bright. There was a part of him that realized then that he may likely never tire of staring into those eyes.

"You. Always you. But it wasn't a nightmare. It was much more hopeful than that."

Cloud softened. He pressed a light kiss to Sephiroth's shoulder, before shifting just a little closer.

"Good, I'm glad," he said.

Sephiroth smiled into the kiss that followed, let himself indulge in the softness of Cloud's lips. His hands wandered down to that waist again, so amazingly small in his grasp. The kisses were slow, gentle, but then Cloud became a little more insistent, challenging, and that was enough to prompt Sephiroth into taking further action.

In a few swift motions, he grasped the blond by the hips and flipped them over, pushing Cloud down onto the bed. The smaller man responded to the move with a soft gasp, a tiny whimper, a sweet moan, and the noises were just too delicious to resist. Sephiroth took Cloud's chin and kissed him back, deeply, sliding his tongue against and into those parted lips. All the while, Cloud continued to make those breathless and enticing sounds with each touch, with each meeting, the blond's arms moving upward to circle around Sephiroth's neck and shoulders, to tangle in his silver hair. For the next blissful moments, they stayed sweetly touching lips and tongues and hands, only breaking apart every-so-often to look into each other's eyes and mark the desire, the affection, so plain, so clear, so unhidden, now, finally, so real.

Then, just a little daring, Sephiroth's right hand dipped a bit lower. His fingers teased against the hem of Cloud's shirt, lifting up slightly, fingertips brushing the heated skin of that torso. He then paused to wait for tacit permission. But that was where Cloud appeared to stop, his body tensing in uncertainty. His flushed face stared up at Sephiroth with a little bit of regret and a lot of embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," Cloud murmured. "I just…it's fast, and there's so much we still need to talk about." He looked afraid for a moment, as if worried that Sephiroth would take this hesitance as weakness, as an insult.

But that worry was utterly unfounded. After this night, there was no turning back. Sephiroth knew he would wait forever for Cloud, do anything, say anything – and all Cloud had to do was ask. The complete surrender was a thought that once frightened him, went against every bit of engrained discipline and control that had been trained and tortured into his body. But if that dream and this morning were anything to go by, he would be hard-pressed to find anything as perfect as this.

"It's okay," Sephiroth whispered back. He hoped that the look on his face and the gentle manner with which he now kissed the blond's cheek showcased every bit of affection and adoration he had. He shifted off the blond, repeated for emphasis. "It's okay."

In response, Cloud smiled in relief, pushed himself up on his elbows to sit upright on the bed next to him. For the following minutes, they sat in comfortable silence, letting themselves calm their furious heartbeats, slow their breaths. Sephiroth waited until Cloud signaled that he was ready, which the blond did with a quiet laugh and a glance upward at him through twinkling eyes.

"As it was, there is something I neglected to mention last night," Sephiroth said.

"What is it?"

Sephiroth paused. He looked at Cloud now, with a little more deliberate focus, which made the blond sit straighter in attention. "I did not want to start with it, to make it seem like I was trying to distract you from the conversation we needed to have. But there was a reason that Zack was calling you insistently last night, and it was to offer you congratulations."

He watched, waited for the meaning to sink in. Cloud's brow furrowed at first, but then the tension seemed to melt away and in its place was a spark of joy, of excitement, of elation. The look that Cloud offered him now, the shimmer in the blue, the easy slope of his shoulders, the unguarded grin on those lips – that was a sight Sephiroth would remember, cherish, forever.

"I'm a Second?" Cloud asked.

"Congratulations."

Suddenly, Cloud was in his arms once more, pressing kisses all over his face in between peals of laughter. "I can't believe it. I can't – oh, Gaia. Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you – you and Zack both." Cloud ran his hands through his blond hair, almost tugging at the strands in disbelief. "I can't believe it!"

Softly, the silver-haired man smiled. "You deserve it. There is no one who doubts that."

"But if you hadn't taken an interest in me, if you hadn't—"

Sephiroth moved forward to silence that untrue thought with a kiss. "It was your work, Cloud. This is your accomplishment."

Cloud bit his lip, evidently still intent on turning that thought over in his mind, but at the very least, his stunning smile remained on his face. "I still can't believe it," he said softly, then laughed again. The young man moved off the bed and began pacing around the floor, in search of his PHS. "I have to call Zack and my mom, I have to—"

And then, he stopped moving, his hands dropping to his sides.

Sephiroth peered at Cloud, curious at the sudden change in demeanor. "What is it?"

The blond turned to him, earnest, gentle. "Is it wrong for me to be happy about this? It would not have happened had you not had those dreams. I don't want to be grateful for something that makes you suffer."

There was that feeling again, that swell in Sephiroth's chest, and he finally realized what it was. It was that day he after his promotion when he found Genesis waiting in his new office, lounging atop the couch that was meant to be his gift. It was the first time Angeal invited him over for dinner, specifically making it a point to cook his favorite dish. And now, it was Cloud, remarkable even in his sweatpants and T-shirt, all hope and promise and freedom and every good thing Sephiroth had ever secretly wanted in his life. It was as if the trials of his past, the pain he had endured, suddenly found meaning. There was now a purpose to it all, and it was standing before him, illuminated only by the sunlight that was streaking through the curtains.

Sephiroth reached out his hand for Cloud to take, which the blond did without a second thought. "And if I happen to be grateful to them, too, for bringing me to you?"

Cloud looked up at him and grinned. "Then I guess I just have to make it worth it," he said.

Another hopeful promise, sealed with another beautiful kiss.