Unspoken
By mihoyonagi
Chapter 18: Vow
The comforter in which his body rested under was too scratchy, the mattress he laid atop was too lumpy, the sheets he laid between had little holes here and there, and the pillow he rested his head against was too soft, yet the general had never fallen asleep faster and rested deeper in his entire life.
Aerith told him that the room he had been granted was her mother's room, for when they had entered the house she was nowhere to be seen. Sephiroth was at first alarmed. What if her mother were to come home and find a strange man in her bed? The flower girl had laughed at his fear and assured him that her mother was out of town. She reminisced, informing the general that she had completely forgotten Elmyra had taken a small child, Barett's daughter Marlene, to the small town of Kalm before Aerith had left Midgar in the times before. Recalling how her mother had always wanted to be free of the slums, Aerith was sure she had decided to stay in Kalm, where the Shinra hadn't taken over and polluted the city.
It was early morning before the general was roused from his deep sleep by the sound of tiny footsteps traveling down wooden stairs. It was so early, in fact, the sun had yet to rise, though the house remained faintly lit due to the neon street signs that littered the area just outside Aerith's house.
Rolling upon his side, Sephiroth shifted his weight and prepared to enter sleep again. He, however, opened his eyes when he heard the front door open and close as though someone was trying very hard not to be heard. Knowing he wouldn't get back to sleep with Aerith outside of the house, Sephiroth groggily sat up and pushed the covers of the bed away, setting his feet on the cool wooden floor. Wishing he had the vocal ability to growl, he rubbed his eyes as he groped the floor, searching impatiently for his boots.
What was that infernal girl doing out of bed in the middle of the night? Didn't she know that this was Midgar? Midgar! Of all the places in the world she chooses to have a late-night stroll, she decides Midgar. Sephiroth fought the urge to strangle his pillow. Deciding that tightly wrapping his hands around his pillow and attempting to relieve it of its fluffiness was the least productive thing to do, Sephiroth stuffed his feet in his cold boots, stifled his annoyance, and headed for the door.
'Trust her to check her garden in the middle of the night.' Sephiroth, obviously annoyed, folded his arms as he stood in the doorway of Aerith's slum house, watching her weave her way through the small garden.
She stopped near the end, her back still turned to him, then knelt down to her knees, nearly collapsing to the earth. Her shoulders went slack, her arms fell to her sides, and she hung her head.
Sephiroth was at her side in an instant.
He reached his hand out to grab her shoulders, preparing to turn her around and make sure she was alright, but she lifted her head when he neared her. Surprised, Sephiroth stopped only a few paces short, his hand still hovering in midair, fingers spread as if he were reaching to save something precious.
"I didn't want to wake you up, that's why I went outside." Her voice was cold and distant.
He waited, still frozen.
"I've always been alone, you know that? Growing up I never had any friends because everyone thought I was weird."
Sephiroth flexed his fingers, uncertain of what to do.
"I always had one reliable friend, though, who never thought I was weird." Aerith's voice was slowly cracking, despite the fact that Sephiroth could hear her effort to hide her emotions.
Slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes were swollen, and hot, silent tears had burned trails of glistening moisture down her porcelain cheeks. Her bottom lip trembled and her emerald irises shimmered with threats to spill more precious tears when her eyes met his.
"I can't hear it anymore. It's abandoned me."
Sephiroth watched as she bit her lip, trying to hold her tears back from him. Aerith lowered her head after several drawn out moments of eye contact, her bangs shielding her glistening eyes from him.
What, in the name of everything as round, red, and precious as summon materia, was she talking about? Couldn't hear what? Who had abandoned her?
Slowly easing up, Sephiroth dug into his pocket for his notebook. Upon further inspection of his pants, he realized that he had left it on the small bed stand next to where he had been sleeping. Curses.
"The planet!" she cried, frantically looking up to him and searching his eyes. "I could hear it back in Mideel! I could hear it, even thought it was faint! But now I can't hear it at all!"
Hunching over, Aerith buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Sephiroth was at a complete loss.
He hadn't the slightest idea she could hear the planet. Was that what it meant to be a true Cetra? What did the planet say? Was it a single entity, or was it merely the souls of the departed speaking as one? Could she, then, talk to the dead?
If there was one thing Sephiroth couldn't stand, it was ignorance regarding things that held important places within his life. The frail flower girl who knelt before him, spilling her tears on the earth at his feet, however much he didn't like to admit it, was important to him, but he didn't know a damn thing about her. Believing that attempting to comfort her was the only available option at hand, Sephiroth slowly lowered himself to his knees and sat before her.
Sighing heavily, the general placed his hand on Aerith's tiny shoulder.
Slowly, she pulled her face from her hands. Her eyes were puffy and red, swollen with sadness and fear, and she looked up at him as would a lost child. Sucking in a deep breath, Sephiroth tried his best to smile at her. What was accomplished, however, was a small tug at the corner of his mouth and a small twitch of his left eye. Smiling, it seemed, was something he was unaccustomed to, to say the least.
Aerith's eyes sparkled with uncertainty for a sheer fraction of a second, but when she realized that he was attempting to comfort her, she returned his smile with a warm and gentle one of her own. He had seen her smile many times before, but never with such a look in her eyes. Reaching her arms out in front of herself, Aerith dove at him.
Not expecting such a show of emotion from the flower girl before him, Sephiroth fell backwards, one hand circling around Aerith's back to support her, the other falling behind him to catch his fall, despite the fact that he was already sitting down. Burying her face in his chest and curling up like a frightened animal, Aerith began to sob into the chest of the great general.
Sephiroth had been at wit's end before. Now, he was completely dumbstruck.
By placing his hand on Aerith's shoulder, he realized that he had sealed some sort of pact with her; you may be without the planet, but I am, at the very least, here for you. Sephiroth had known this before he had reached out to touch her. He hadn't, however, anticipated such a reaction.
Her arms pressed against this chest, she let her tears fall into his shirt. They seeped into the thin fabric as if it could soak up her fears and leave her nothing but happiness. Such was not the case, however, and Aerith grabbed a handful of the cotton and sobbed harder, unable to hold any of her heart in for a moment longer.
Still rather dumbstruck, but having partially returned to reality, Sephiroth shifted to a more comfortable position and merely let Aerith weep. If there was one thing he knew about women, it was never to interrupt them when they were having a good cry. He let out a small sigh and began running his hand up and down her back in what he hoped was comforting.
Thinking back to earlier that day, Sephiroth reminisced over the kiss the child, Zella, had given him. It had been awkward, but it had, none the less, made him feel content. Hoping what he was doing was the right thing, Sephiroth ran his hand up Aerith's back until it came to rest on her head. Slowly, she raised her tear stricken eyes to gaze up at him.
Leaning forward, Sephiroth lightly pressed his lips to Aerith's forehead. His eyes spoke the words he was otherwise incapable of conveying. 'Everything will be alright.'
Aerith had stopped crying long enough to look confused, which had struck Sephiroth as a good thing. The fact that he had actually succeeded in surprising her, in turn, had surprised him. He completely and unintentionally tried at another smile, though because it wasn't forced it wasn't nearly as awkward or twitchy.
She sobbed harder, and buried her face, once again, into his chest.
As he sat with the flower girl pressed snugly against his chest, Sephiroth began to contemplate things he had never bothered to pay attention to; like just how tiny Aerith really was. He had always known her to be small and delicate, but when she was pressed against him and his hand on her back, he began to realize how fragile she truly was. He was entranced with the fact that his hand covered such a large potion of her back. The fingers that dug into his shirt, though as iron-like as they could seem at times, were thin and reminded him of the claws of a newborn chocobo, and her wrists seemed as slight and frail as paper. He marveled over how easily she could break, yet how sturdy she tried to be.
Sephiroth came to realize something; Aerith was as delicate as the flowers she looked after.
When her breath began to come in short gasps, she coughed and tried to calm herself. She stilled until the only sign she remained alive was the slow rise and fall of her chest. Sephiroth shifted, having long lost feeling in the arm that was supporting his and Aerith's weight. He had hoped the movement would allow Aerith to realize that he was growing uncomfortable, but when she didn't move, he grew curious. Adjusting his head only slightly, Sephiroth noticed Aerith's eyes were closed and her expression relaxed; she had fallen asleep.
Hoping, for the love of materia, that she didn't wake, Sephiroth maneuvered into a position that allowed him to scoop Aerith up into his arms. A large surge of various emotions pulsed through his body as he stood with Aerith in his arms. He shouldn't touch her- it wasn't right of him. He was a sinner, and she was an angel. Such tainted flesh as his surely wasn't fit to even look upon the flower girl. But when she shifted in his arms and made a soft cooing noise, tightening her grip on his shirt for a sheer instant of time, Sephiroth felt a strange sensation course through his veins and warm his body. He suddenly felt that, even if for just an instant, everything was right with the world.
Opening the front door of Aerith's house proved to be less of a chore than he had originally anticipated, what with the body of the flower girl resting snugly in his arms and all. As truth would have it, she was so light in his hands that Sephiroth was worried he was holding her too tightly.
He entered her room, the first time he had seen it since they arrived. Fond childhood memories littered the walls and the top of her dresser and desk. Small chocobo plush figures of various colors lined the shelf above her bed. Her comforter was white and trimmed with lace, and her walls were dusted with the honey-light glow of the moon. Pictures signed with Aerith's small, neatly-dotted handwriting invading the left-most bottom corner were plastered all over the wall; her church, smiling faces of people who lived in the slum, children playing with broken toys who looked as though they were having more fun than children with toys that properly worked, the train station, and, most present of all, flowers of every shape, size, and color.
Once he had tucked Aerith safely into the covers, he silently strolled to the wall and began to look through the pictures. One in particular caught his eyes.
It was of Zax.
Judging by his pose, chopsticks hanging from his mouth and by his classical 'what?' expression, Aerith had captured him completely unprepared.
Slowly, Sephiroth pulled his eyes from the picture on the wall and let them rest upon the sleeping flower girl in the bed at his feet. Silently, despite the fact that nothing could ever hold him to it, he made a vow.
'I'll never hurt you again, nor the ones you hold close. I promise.'