Unspoken
By mihoyonagi
Chapter 7: Thought
Every day became routine, but Sephiroth greatly enjoyed every moment of it, though he would dare never admit to such a thing. When the sun rose in the morning, Sephiroth woke and, carefully and quietly, made his way down the stairs and out the front door. There was a large space behind the house clear of trees and shrubbery where he would practice his many sword katas, honing and training his body back to the way it had been before, well, before it had washed up upon a shore in worse shape than if he had been dropped out of an airship with no parachute. His muscles were still stiff, but trivial things didn't bother him, and he swung his great katana with the precision of the master he was, despite how his muscles complained.
But it was only for practice. Though his sword and all that went along with it reminded Sephiroth of the many great sins he had committed, Masamune was something that could not simply be tossed out. It was Sephiroth's only material possession. The sword was a part of him, just as he was part of the sword, and one simply can't throw parts of oneself away based on bad memories.
Yes, he had committed many crimes. It was the sword in which cut life, though it was Sephiroth whom willed it to do so. The general had been given a second chance; why not the weapon that killed just as many as he did?
He felt, however, fairly awkward in the clothing that had been provided for him. Training in anything but his usual leather armor seemed very strange, but seeing as his customary attire was something that had been most likely been thrown out by the hospital staff, there wasn't much that could be done about his discomfort. It was nice, conversely, to be able to breath, and to move more easily in his new clothes. They were, of course, black, as Sephiroth felt that was the only color that suited him.
After his morning training, he would quietly sneak back inside, up the stairs, and into the bathroom that stood at the top of the stairs. The bathroom itself was large, what with two sinks, a large, clawed bathtub, and a separate room where the toilet stood, the two walls facing the outside nearly completely covered by fogged glass windows, and Sephiroth found it rather relaxing. He would start the water in the tub, strip, and cleanse away anything that didn't belong by means of the fragrant, homemade soap with flower petals inlaid inside the beeswax.
The filling of the tub always served as a wake-up call for Aerith, and as soon as Sephiroth turned off the water, he heard her door open, thusly followed by the soft sounds of her bare feet making their way down the steps. He would then finish bathing, and when he opened the door to his room there was always a new change of clean clothes for him laid out on his bed.
Sephiroth had to admit, internally, if nothing else, that while her constant cleaning and chores bored him, they also fascinated him. She had nothing written in stone, demanding that she do certain things, but she did them regardless, without complaint, and more often than not accompanied by a soft hummed song.
Donning his clean clothes, which were always black, much to his own delight, Sephiroth would then continue downstairs where Aerith would finish cooking their breakfast. While she finished, Sephiroth took it upon himself to make himself look useful, and thus began his daily chore of setting the table for both of them. Though he knew he did it completely wrong, he honestly gave it a try; homemaking wasn't his specialty, and he had never been taught what he believed to be frivolous things. He had been a soldier, not a housewife.
But, much to his own satisfaction, Aerith would always smile at what he had tried to do and thank him. He was pleased that she said nothing of it, and he felt relieved that he couldn't ask for help; not that Sephiroth would actually ask, of course. They would usually eat in silence, which the general preferred, considering Aerith's natural chatty behavior throughout the day, but every so often she would comment about the weather, or the animals, or some other small topic. Sephiroth would nod, and she would smile, as she always did.
After breakfast, Sephiroth took it upon himself to clean the dishes, since he knew not what else to do with himself while Aerith went outside and did the wash in the basin near the side of the house. He would much rather do the dishes than the laundry, but washing plate after fork after glass became far too mundane for him, and he began to ponder why on earth Aerith did such things every day. Her will, at times, mesmerized him; she always looked so happy while sweeping or folding or doing any other chore she set after. Was that what really made women happy?
Sephiroth would shake his head to himself after such silly thoughts; she didn't like doing chores any more than he did, he was sure, but she seemed happy to have his company, in or out of the house.
Once the laundry and dishes were set aside, the rest of the day was rather boring, as far as the standards went. Aerith would go on long walks through the woods behind the house, and Sephiroth, deciding that it was better than staying inside and doing nothing, would accompany her. It was those times during the day she would talk to him. She never spoke much of herself he noted, but she seemed very knowledgeable when the topic swayed to plants or flowers. Aerith could easily tell a poisonous plant from a harmless one, and she often plucked berries off bushes and plopped them into her mouth, then would turn and inform her walking companion that the ones in the next bush over were more ripe than the ones she had just ate, if he cared for some.
It was all mind boggling to Sephiroth, really. Nearly every day he would walk through the woods with the young woman whose life he had stolen in cold greed, yet she smiled at him, and talked to him. Women had always been a mystery to the great general, but Aerith blew his mind right out of the solar system and into the endless abyss known as outer space.
Lunch consisted of whatever he was craving for, and he found out quickly that, while she cooked him breakfast every morning, she was no more his maid than his mother, and certain things were left unto him to do. Not that he minded, of course. Having her company was relaxing, to say the least, but he couldn't depend on her for everything. He didn't want to, either.
Dinner was, however, much like breakfast. She would cook for him, they would eat, and he would clean the dishware while she showered upstairs.
There were many good things to the cabin. For one, hot water was not a luxury, and for that, Sephiroth was thankful. No one liked to bathe in the cold. Just as well, electric lights were used to keep the house illuminated during the darker times of the night. There was no generator; instead, a large wooden wheel would turn, powered by the small stream that ran by the house and further into the forest. Because of the stream, clean water was always available.
The inside of the cabin was not overly decorated, either. Simple solid colored couches and chairs adorned the parlor, and hand-made oak tables and chairs were what they ate on in the living room. Few pictures lined the walls, and what did were merely landscape portraits. Plates and what not were neatly lined in cupboards in the kitchen, and what food they had received from the villagers was enough to stock the remaining cabinets full. Clean linen could always be found in the upstairs bathroom. Thankfully, two bedrooms were located upstairs; Sephiroth's being the one closest to the stairs, while Aerith's was the one furthest down the hall.
He had not yet seen the interior of the room she had chosen, but considering he respected her privacy as much as she respected his, he steered clear of it. While she delivered a clean change of clothes to him every morning, he had nothing else in his room, save for the old dresser in the corner, a mirror, and of course his bed. Sephiroth understood that Aerith greatly enjoyed his company, which was quite puzzling all on its own, and she wanted him to stay.
There was one thing in the cabin that Sephiroth liked, very much. In the corner of the parlor stood a tall, elegantly carved bookshelf. In his youth, Sephiroth hadn't been much of the reading type. He had been more interested in honing his skills. While he had attended school, just like any other child, he would only read books that had to do with combat, sharpening one's skills, weaponry, or other books of said types. This bookcase had anything but such books, and Sephiroth was glad; after reading one of the many bound works upon the shelves he developed a thirst for them, not caring what they were about, so long as they were richly detailed and had an even plot.
There was, however, something that made him weary while in the house. He and Aerith would turn in at the same time at night. When one of them began to turn off lights and lock the windows, the other would follow their lead until they were sure everything was safe and secure. Sephiroth knew that he could frighten off nearly anything that came knocking on the old, oak door, but he did what Aerith did to make her feel better. He realized that she knew she was safe, so long as she was in his company, but, regardless, Sephiroth locked the windows for her sake, if only to make her feel better. Once she reached her bedroom door, Aerith would place a hand on the doorknob, and then turn to the man whom she lived with. Her face would fall and become completely unreadable, but her eyes would speak with the intensity of the sun. Sephiroth was no expert regarding emotions, and instead found her stare rather frightening, and would become completely still as her eyes would seemingly seep into his soul. Then, without warning, she would speak.
"I forgive you, Sephiroth."
Sephiroth didn't think Aerith knew quite how much her simple words shook him, but regardless, she would say them every night before bed, then turn her head away and enter her bedroom, as if she hadn't spoken at all. And every night Sephiroth would lie awake in his bed and ponder what it was she had meant.
Forgiveness wasn't something he was familiar with, and because of such, Sephiroth hadn't the slightest idea how to react to what she said. Her words kept him awake long through the night, and weaved their way into his thoughts until they slowly lulled him to sleep. His dreams, however, were peaceful enough, yet when the sun woke him in the morning as it playfully waltzed across his bedcovers, Aerith's words still rang out in his ears.
Perhaps an answer would come with time? Though her words made him uncomfortable, he listened to her every night. The meaning of her statement eluded him, but for some reason he wanted to hear it. As they would walk up the stairs together, tired from a day of cleaning and cooking and walking through the woods, his heart would beat faster and faster until Sephiroth felt it would beat right out of his chest. He waited for her words, and he didn't have the slightest idea as to why; it as almost as if he needed to hear them. Words had always meant very little in the mind of the general, but he had yet to hear enough from Aerith.
At times, he wished he could respond to her. At others, he was glad his voice was gone, just so he was able to hear her speak her puzzling words to him before bed.
It was confusing, really.
But, that was life, and Sephiroth knew there was little he could do about it. Constant routine made up his day, and though he enjoyed the stability of it all, the world still beckoned him. Every day, while he and Aerith would walk through the woods behind the cabin, he noticed that she walked just a little farther than the day before. It was as if she was testing him, really. Did she believe he would simply leave, given proper opportunity?
He didn't want to. Sephiroth was enjoying what he had been given, and he wasn't soon going to let it go. Besides, staying in the company of the flower girl was pleasant, even if a little strange; a sinner and an angel under the same roof, living in harmony. It sounded more like a fanciful old wives' tale than reality, for sure.
Time never stands still, and people change, for better, or for worse. There was no mistaking the happiness that shone in the eyes of the chestnut-hair woman whom with he stayed.
Sephiroth had finally found a place he didn't mind calling home; a place where there was always a pleasant fragrance wafting about, whether the smell of the forest, or of the occasional rain shower; a place where there was always warmth radiating from, inside or out; a place to rest weary feet and sore muscles; a place he could easily fall asleep in, safe from the world around him, and just as well wake up the next morning.
For the first time in his life, Sephiroth was content.