Harshly, Sweetly You
By: Phoenix Dayze

Disclaimer: I don not own Final Fantasy or its characters. Not even Zack

Oddly enough, it was raining. Sephiroth had expected the day to dawn bright and clear and damnably sunny, like Zack. Or at least, how Zack usually was. Lately the younger man had been disturbingly quiet, his regular rowdy behavior giving way to silent shiftiness. And where he used to be brash and in Sephiroth's face all the time, Zack had taken to averting his eyes and mumbling, and that was when he wasn't avoiding Sephiroth altogether. Sephiroth shook his head. Something was wrong with Zack. Maybe he was sick. Or worse, maybe Zack hadn't really recovered from the traumas he'd suffered in Wutai after all. It hadn't been that long ago. Zack had actually been promoted to Second Class on the field, receiving leave long enough to get his Mako treatment, acclimate to the stronger dosage, and come back stronger and faster than ever. In Sephiroth's opinion, it was something that should have been done long before they'd left, but Hojo only listened to one man's advice. His own.

Looking in the mirror, Sephiroth studied himself one last time and wrinkled his nose. He felt awkward and out of place without his uniform, but buying the faded denim jeans he now wore had been the first thing Zack had asked of him since coming home. Sephiroth had felt so relieved to see a hint of the old, incorrigible Zack flitting beneath the surface, that he had let the boy bully him just long enough to feel justified in giving in so easily. Although he had to admit, the black silk shirt, which he left unzipped to mid-chest, felt almost scandalizingly good. He wasn't sure that he could ever remember wearing anything that wasn't leather. In that light, Zack had amazingly good taste. He was comfortable.

Sephiroth sighed, and tied his hair back. With all the time that had passed, all the shit that had happened, none of it had changed how he felt about his lovably crazy bastard of a subordinate. If anything, his feelings had grown, intensified as he watched Zack maturing right before his eyes. Watched Zack change, learn, fight, kill, take a stand, do his job, win, live, break on the aftermath, push it back, choke it down, come out on top again. Yes, he'd been with Zack through all of it, and he loved him for it. Zack had become a man. And he was only sixteen years old.

Sephiroth cursed, glancing down at his watch. He was late. Late to a very important meeting. He smiled. A sixteen year-old's birthday party.

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The Second Class housing block was unusually quite, and that was more than enough to set Sephiroth on edge. He'd expected noise, drunk teenagers, naked grinding, anything and everything but this. There was supposed to be a rather large, alcohol-laden party going on here, and yet...the place seemed deserted.

Confused, Sephiroth waded through the cluttered halls, following the nameplates until he came to Zack's door. Lieutenant Fair/Corporal Davis. He knocked lightly, and when there was no answer, he pulled his all-access keycard (Thank you, Lazard) out of his pocket, and swiped it over the sensor.

After the tell-tale click, Sephiroth opened the door and stepped into the room. It too was empty. That was strange. But stranger still, was that somehow, Zack's side of the room still came off tidier than his roommates, despite the fact that all the other man's things were packed into a few small boxes. Corporal Davis had been reassigned and was shipping out to Mideel in a few days. Zack hated the fact that he was losing his roommate, and had come to Sephiroth angry and distressed. Sephiroth had comforted Zack as best he could, but in the end, when you were a SOLDIER, you had to learn to let go of people sooner or later. Besides, Zack was getting a new roommate almost immediately, a Private fresh from boot camp. Sephiroth almost felt a little sorry for the kid. Most cadets roomed in the barracks, not with SOLDIERs, and especially not with Zack. But the barracks were full, and Zack would have a spare bunk.

Pointedly ignoring what that thought led to, Sephiroth stole a moment to look around. He'd never been in Zack's rooms before, and he was curious. And he didn't think that Zack would mind. Unlike most SOLDIERs Sephiroth had known, Zack's sword wasn't proudly displayed above the bed like he'd expected. Instead, it was on the floor, slid just under the head, easily within reach, and, should he need to reach it, he would draw much less attention to himself just letting his hand fall, than reaching up over his head. Smart. Practical. And not at all the vain little jackass Zack had shown himself to be.

Unable to stop himself, Sephiroth lifted Zack's pillow—just to see—and was pleased to see a small black handgun. Just in case you fail to awaken before your assailant is actually on you. Sephiroth allowed himself to feel a small moment of pride. Zack had always boasted that he'd never use any weapon other than his sword. And while mirroring the sentiment, Sephiroth had spent several hours explaining to Zack about responsibility, being prepared, and knowing your enemies. He was glad to see that something had gotten through.

Then, something else caught his eye. Underneath the gun was a solitary sheet of ShinRa stationary. Raising an eyebrow, Sephiroth bent down and picked it up. Scrawled in what would be painstakingly legible script for Zack, was his name, followed by a brief note.

Seph,

Plans got a little altered. Sorry I didn't call. Don't ask, but I'm on the helipad. Lose the watch. I'll wait.

Zack

Ps. Please come.

Sephiroth frowned. The helipad? What the devil was Zack doing up there? That was Shinra's own personal hunting grounds, if Shinra caught him, he could very well have Zack discharged on grounds of trespassing alone. And what about his party? He had assumed, mistakenly it would seem, that Zack had been looking forward to this. But apparently not if Zack was willing to just forget about it—forget about his friends, forget about begging Sephiroth to go, and just... Be Zack? His mind informed him. A fleeting, Zack-induced terror seized him, and Sephiroth drew dangerously close to chickening out. Maybe he should just go back to his rooms, lock the door, and pretend he'd never been born? His eyes fell on the note again. Please come. And he sighed. He couldn't do that to Zack. Not even if it killed him. One never knew with Zack's plans, particularly the ones you never saw coming. And on the plus side, maybe he was finally getting back into the swing of his old self?

Reaching down, Sephiroth flicked open the clasp on his watch and tossed it, almost nonchalantly, to Zack's pillow. Then, squaring his shoulders, he headed off to the helipad and prayed that all of Midgar wasn't about to come down on his head.

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Getting to the helipad was no problem for Sephiroth, the guards quickly shuffling aside to give him an unnecessarily wide berth. He was the Silver General after all. But Sephiroth couldn't help but wonder how Zack had managed it. The boy really was…something. Life with Zack around was…treacherous, at best, unpredictable, troublesome, and more than a little frustrating. A small smile tugged at Sephiroth's lips as Zack's face flashed in his mind, incorrigible grin and all. Well, he if he could somehow manage to keep Zack by his side, the ups more than outweighed the downs. Not that he would ever let Zack know. Keeping Zack curious and on his toes was a kind of instinctual pleasantry on his part. As well as keeping the man in the dark about his feelings. But now…

Sephiroth stared at the cold, metal door that opened out onto the rooftop. On the other side, Zack was waiting for him. And it was quiet, too quiet, and he knew, knew at that moment that the only one waiting for him was Zack, that Zack was alone up here. Except for him. And he had been invited. By personal invitation. Written in Zack's very own, actually legible, hand.

Sephiroth took a moment to mentally smack himself for being what, for all intents and purposes, sounded like a sentimental schmoop. Zack had an uncanny, masculinity-crunching way of bringing that out in him. And on that note, the fact that he had been dressed for the part hadn't been lost on him. He'd been attired, in advance mind you, to fit into whatever role Zack had him slotted for in his latest game. Which was fine. As games went, Zack was fairly predictable, had been for the two years they'd known each other; Zack teasing and pushing his luck, trying to evoke a specific reaction from the "aloof, stoic, 'stick-up-the-ass' General", and Sephiroth fell into that role easily and comfortably, even if it wasn't, precisely true. But Sephiroth didn't know this game, which was a little unnerving. Since they'd met, Zack's games had never changed. And in true form, here he was, technically trespassing on ShinRa property, about to go out onto a deserted rooftop to meet a man who was most definitely trespassing. None of that was really surprising. Not to Sephiroth. Not anymore. But traditionally, Zack should have been getting shit-faced with his peers in what would arguably have been the most tasteless, extravagant version of a ShinRa party ever conceived. But he wasn't. He was here. Why?

Reaching out, Sephiroth put his hand on the doorknob, and realized that he couldn't turn it. A cacophony of 'what-ifs' echoed in his head, some of them unbearable. But Zack was worth the trouble, worth the worry and frustration he put Sephiroth through. Wasn't he? He had been in the past. Whatever evil the little devil's mind came up with that he usually practiced on the General, there was always something…Zack-like…on the end of it that made Sephiroth not really mind so much. To his own detriment, of course.

With that conclusion, Sephiroth did what any good General would do. He opened the door and stepped out onto the helipad.

Tbc…