Chapter 36 - Always a Next Time

January 1991

Sephiroth leaves HQ early on Sunday morning.

The building is quiet. Either the overachievers are still asleep at their desks or at home with their family. Since family isn't something that Sephiroth has, he's free to leave the building before nine in the morning. There is no one to notice. Glancing back, he tries to spot the Shinra apartments near the top but even he can't see the glass squares in the sky.

White frost covers his vision as he blows his breath out. He blinks and tries to release all the darkness. Anxiety is there as well, moving around in the back of his head. It is well at home there. Between Dinand and Hojo, his mind is filled with things that make his stomach turn.

The walk and the morning will calm things down for another week.

Winter is in full swing. The empty gray street is as abandoned as the rest of Midgar this early on a weekend. The snow is in piles. The streets have already been cleared overnight, the city work never stops. His coat pulls tight against his arms. It's the standard issue one from SOLDIER, black, long, matt against the sun. The wool is warm and silver buttons catch the light as he moves. He has no sense of fashion but he looks fine in all black. That's all he needs to know. After all this time, black is still his favorite color.

If it isn't for the backpack, he imagines he looks like an overachieving businessman going home after an all-nighter.

The coffee shop smells good as he opens the door. No one looks up. This place is stacked on top of itself, one squished floor on top of another. To his left, stairs lead up to the second floor where upstairs wood paneling covers every surface. Already it holds a desperate amount of students. In front of him, the bar opens with the usual crowd. Most of the people on the first floor come and go easily. It is the second floor where people stay.

"Seph!"

"It's still Sephiroth." He looks up. "Always has been, always will be."

Rafi rolls her eyes as she hangs over the second floor's railing. Her black hair rolls over itself as she hangs over the railing.

"You are such a stick in the mud," she says and waives a hand, "and here I was nice and bought you a coffee."

"And here I thought I was being nice to help you with your literature class."

She mutters something at him and disappears back over the edge. He waives at the barista and starts up the stairs. At some point, he will have to eat breakfast. He can't sustain himself on caffeine.

There was something about this place. The chatter is loud. The third step up creaks. The decorations of the tables are worn off. All this familiarity drowns the voices in the back of his head.

Rafi sits at their usual spot. He still works for the bookstore but only when a large shipment of books comes in. For his fifteenth birthday, he had gotten a tablet that had access to an entire library of books and that had stopped him working every weekend. Rafi wormed into his life anyways, annoying, insistent, steady and not caring for how the rest of the world had treated him.

No one would study with him at school. He mentioned it once to her.

And this had happened.

"I actually did the reading this time but first, coffee." She lifts a mug to him as he approaches.

He settles in the opposite chair, turning it around and leaning forward against the back. The backpack goes in the chair next to him. The stress loosens in his back. He sips the mug and the coffee works into him. It tastes good. Maybe he could live off this stuff. He tries to ignore the click of his medical band against the ceramic.

Rafi pokes at the cover of the book in front of her. Post-it notes dot the pages. There is hope that she will get the essay done today.

"You can do calculus two seconds faster than me but literature defies you," he says. The steam warms his face and after another drink, he has to put it down.

"I want to be in cashflow performance, not an English teacher."

"Alright."

"Don't 'alright' me. Help me find three instances of symbolism in this book."

He takes another drink. The floor is wet with the snow melting off his shoes and the smell of coffee is everywhere but the drilling eyes aren't here. No Dinand, no teachers, no classmates to find another thing wrong with him. Sure, the man in the corner is staring openly at his hair but he isn't being watched. His wrong posture in the chair isn't going to be corrected.

They blend in here, just two friends studying together.

One of those friends is now grumbling under her breath as she pages through it. "I've got some ideas but the essay part…"

"Okay. Let's talk it out." He puts the cup down.

The hours leave easily. He relaxes as they map out the structure of her essay. She builds the thesis without his help and then the backing argument. Her jokes and complaints fight the tension from reforming in the back of his throat. She doesn't really need him. Sometimes she does and Sephiroth has to push her hard to find the easiest things but not today.

Today, this is the excuse.

The laptops come out. He works on understanding Hughes' approach in using artillery weapons and she types away on the essay. He hopes it is the essay. It looks like it from the reflection of the readers she puts on.

Would this comfortable sensation be in his life more if he wasn't so different from everyone else?

Dinand's training makes him appreciate this more. Rafi isn't asking anything of him. Even sitting, he leans heavily on the back of the chair because of the red bruises on his stomach. Fully supporting himself for a long period of time would make the ache worse. His healing works quickly but only if he is rested and well.

Those two things haven't happened for a long time.

It's okay. The pain is part of him now.

Only through pain will he be able to improve.

Studying changes into talking and then the computers go away. The table clears and she pulls out the deck of cards. They have been using them so long that the edges are soft and the ace of hearts lost a corner. The game starts without a break in conversation. He deals and she chatters. This is simple. No complications, tests or injuries.

Rafi glances up from her hand. A question forms on her face and then she scrunches her eyes together, dismissing it.

"What?" He asks, "Did you find a way to win?"

"Still working on that. How is life? Like, really." She plays a seven and he frowns. It's not terrible for his strategy.

"Training goes as well as it can. Did you give up on being a social media star?"

Her hobbies constantly swap. He is one of the few things that she has kept.

"It got boring. I love selfies and filters but haters are going to hate," She says softly, staring at her cards. "When are you finally going to get on the internet?"

"Never. No time." He takes a now cold drink. "You should just ignore them. These haters."

"Says Sephiroth."

Half a laugh makes it out of him. The pile of cards grows bigger. Rafi takes the lead. When he glances back, she is still studying him. That question is back on the surface of her face and she's working over again. This isn't one of her fleeting remarks, this is something that is much deeper than that.

"What?" he asks.

She pauses. "Can I be honest?"

"Sure." He straightens, feeling the ache in his stomach. He scratches his neck but he's feeling for the collar of his shirt, seeing if it may have slipped. One of the bruises is close to his collarbone. The fabric is still in place.

Her cheeks go red. "I wasn't going to say anything. But you 100% still have aftershave on your face."

"Oh?" He resists rubbing his face and leans towards the table. She plays a card.

"For sure." A smile grows.

He tosses a card onto the pile. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"Because…" She can't meet his eyes and she shuffles her cards. "I wanted to use it as a distraction later."

A laugh is coming up in him. "Really? Is it working?"

"You tell me. Did I win?" She lays down her hand, a perfect set up to the ace of hearts. He frowns and brushes his face. There was something on his chin. That's embarrassing. She gives him a winning smile.

"Hmm."

"Stop pretending to be a bumblebee and show me those cards."

He puts them down. Her face turns. He had the better hand. She grumbles and sweeps all cards into a pile. They snap as she mixes them and stuffs them in her pocket. He lays his arms on the top of the chair and sets his chin on them, watching her. The rest of her items get stuffed in her backpack in a hurry.

"Always one step ahead," he says.

"Just shut up." There is no threat in her words.

"There is always next time."

"Yeah, there is always that." A laugh comes out of her. They are fine. She's not too upset then. He smiles, or tries to, as he stands. The bruises make that hard. They get glares from being loud. She shakes her head as she follows him. Part of him wants her to stay. This is normal. This is the only part of his life that feels normal but it's not meant to last.

There are too many things that are wrong.

"Look. Don't get yourself into trouble this week." He says.

She shrugs. "I always do."

And then she's gone and he sits back down, presses his forehead against his arms, and waits for everything to sink back over him.

Thank you for reading as always -Quin

Thanks to A for betaing this chapter. They are amazing. You can find their FFVII work on Twitter (AngealLovesYou).