April, 1991

It took Shinra weeks to be comfortable putting Sephiroth in front of a crowd.

Sephiroth realizes now that he had no idea how much effort it would take.

Clarence spent two hours just teaching him how to smile. It is a painful thing with no teeth, no cheeks and all eyes.

Then came Sephiroth's voice.

Every part of him was molded and set into a new shape. It was intensive and unending. Even when he was not in training, Sephiroth found himself altered. He wakes up early now because he has to fix his hair. Two months ago, Sephiroth would have laughed. Now, he worries that if he lays in bed too long with his insomnia he won't have enough time to get it done.

Daily check-in photos were required until he perfected the style.

Part of him rebels even as he steps out onto the stage. It crawls up his stomach as the lights blind him.

But he bats it down. He will be the First Class SOLDIER that they want him to be. No argument. He has fought too hard for this already.

He's been doing this sort of PR work for what feels like forever. The black First Class SOLDIER uniform hugs him. They picked black because it contrasts with his hair. This is the feature Clarence says the public reacts to. The part of him that every bully latched onto is now celebrated.

He fights the urge to scrunch up his face as he walks to the mark. That was in his write up for his first performance.

From the stage, the people look like a gelatinous mass of bodies that scream in his direction. He takes a breath and draws his sword. It is the standard issue one, stocky and useful but dulled. The crowd cries out. It is strange. Shinra threw enough money behind him that he became an "overnight sensation" on the news.

The news, he learns, is directly controlled by Shinra.

Everything is fake. It's sick.

Someone announces who he is over the speaker. Then the SOLDIERs rush in from either side and attack. The one on the right throws lightning. The light crackles off Sephiroth's shield as it absorbs the impact. The other man goes close. The sword dives for his side. Sephiroth parries it before physically throwing the man back. His shout is hoarse as he falls back onto a mat.

Sephiroth sends a shock wave high over the crowd's head.

The mass eats it up the danger. They rush closer, pressing against the metal barricades that keep distance between them.

He steps back as a round of fire flashes in front of him. It's all a performance, practiced over and over until all three of them can do it blindfolded. He holds his face cold. That's the way that they want him. Cold and impressive presentation of a leader.

It doesn't matter. The show sells what it needs to. Sephiroth spins magic around his "opponents" as they continue to attack him. It is about the power of SOLDIER. He twists and rotates through the steps and the public love it. He remembers to keep himself tight to remove the extra movements that make him human.

It's over before he knows it. The other SOLDIERs fall on his pulled punches and dull sword hits and don't get up. Their panting makes it to his ears. His lungs roll smoothly in him. He's still okay. The stress hasn't gotten to him today. Clarence steps out from the wing and starts talking about how the screaming mass could become like Sephiroth.

Sephiroth concentrates on the angle of his sword and keeping a straight back. The eyes rove all over him, picking apart every part of his body so they can take pieces home.

He knows that he is supposed to soak in all of this and enjoy it. He expected himself to thrive under it. Instead, it is okay. The first time he did this, he did feel that thrill but it dims each time.

Sephiroth's mind wanders. The script of what Clarence says is imprinted in his skin. He craves the moments when he is alone as he stands in front of hundreds of people.

This isn't what he thought he wanted.

Clarence stops talking. The microphone passes to him.

"If it wasn't for Shinra, I wouldn't be alive. Life with SOLDIER makes me whole. I hope to see you in my ranks." He recites and spins the sword in his left hand.

The screams are higher pitched.

Clarence takes the microphone and continues. Soon, Sephiroth will be in charge of the whole piece but they aren't ready to give that over. Sephiroth doesn't blame them. He realizes that his free hand is in a fist and he forces the fingers loose.

No outward aggression should be perceived at any time in front of the public eye. He is confident, cool and collected.

He looks to the side as if to inspect something off to the right. It's a lie. His promotion photo shows a person that he barely knows in profile. They want him to replicate it in person. The breeze forces the bangs across his face and he brushes them away.

Artificial. The whole thing is artificial but it will help Midgar win the war. At least that seems to be real. Lazard sent him an email to his new official Shinra account congratulating him on the impact of his service. It tasted sour.

The background music dies and Sephiroth nods to the crowd and walks off the stage without a second look at them.

The mask falls off. He hands the sword to a stagehand and rubs his face in the darkness of the wings. He needs water and a nap but there is so much to do and he has no time to do it. He has an English assignment that is due tomorrow and he hasn't even started it. It is late afternoon. PR likes to keep him after a promo to go over the corrections for next time. His limbs drag.

When was the last time that he slept well?

What was that like?

"Oh, it is so hard to be famous, isn't it?" Someone asks from below.

Sephiroth pauses on the steps, the fingers dragging off his face. It can't be. Orlin stands at the foot of the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest. He's smiling, completely so out of context of HQ. Everything familiar has been gone from Sephiroth for so long that seeing him hurts.

"Orlin," Sephiroth almost shouts and the rest of the stairs disappear beneath him in a blur.

His heels scuff as he stops himself just short of hugging Orlin in his momentum. Wait. He shouldn't do that. He can't be that excited. He's not supposed to miss anyone. He's strong and independent now. He's supposed to be a man.

"Woah, kid. It's been a bit. Come here." Orlin's grin grows and he puts his hand on Sephiroth's shoulder. He isn't ready for the sturdy grip and the drag forward. He stumbles into his chest as Orlin squeezes him close. The embrace is so welcomed that Sephiroth finds himself pressing in closer to him without a thought.

"Dumb Shinra, cutting out our lessons." Orlin's hand goes into Sephiroth's hair, messing it up. "And what the hell happened to your head? Did they force your hair in a blender and then introduce you to gel?"

Warning bells go off in Sephiroth's head that he is acting all wrong but he smiles and knocks the hand free.

"I don't know. It's the 'look' I guess."

He laughs. "Come on, you got time for me? I'll walk you back to HQ. We can pick up drinks. Boring ones since you are still underage."

"Let me go change."

It isn't long that Sephiroth watches the crowds clustered around the car that he isn't getting in. They don't see the teen with a backpack and converse slip out the back. He hurries away towards the back of the building. Orlin moves from a nearby lamp post. He looks as inconspicuous as a clown in his SOLDIER fatigues.

"So, you wear hats now." Orlin nods at the cap that hides most of Sephiroth's hair.

Sephiroth shrugs. "I have to."

"So being a celebrity is hard, huh?"

"It kinda is."

Orlin snorts and turns away. "Let's get a drink."

Sephiroth's throat closes and he nods. Nerves flood him. What is he even supposed to say? He's been talked to so much. Nobody had waited for him to say anything. He stared at his shoes and took his orders. Plus, Sephiroth knew that Dinand was angry because of the cut lessons. Maybe Orlin was the same way?

Orlin takes the lead, walking them away from HQ. It isn't even close to a logical path. They put their backs against the Shinra building looming off in the distance. Worry vibrates in him.

"We'll go to the ritzy place with the expensive brands. I'll treat," Orlin breaks the silence.

Sephiroth realizes he has been studying the top of his shoes and saying nothing. He's not the Hero of Midgar here. He's just himself and that is unnerving.

Sephiroth nods again. Rocks are in his mouth. Why is he feeling so shy but happy after the surprise disappeared? He sucks in a breath. He tries to get things straightened out and they can't be. He stumbles along.

Orlin's hand lands on his shoulder again and stays there. "Kid. Lighten up. Get out of that head. Black cherry? Still your favorite, right?"

Oh. Sephiroth looks up. Orlin knows that about him. The tension in his back falls a little under the weight of the hand on him. Is it actually safe to be here? Can he say things without being scolded or ignored? Theoretically this is true. He knows it. He is not performing but he has been so tense, so observed, that anything else feels wrong.

"Yeah," Sephiroth says back and it hurts to push it out.

Orlin squeezes his shoulder.

"Excited for our first lesson back next week?"

"Absolutely." That came out quicker.

Shinra cut his schedule to ribbons. Everything that is "nonessential" disappeared. Clarence parades him around so much that if he isn't in front of a crowd, he's at school or desperately keeping up with his homework. The more he thinks about it, the more his body and stomach aches from the stress.

After the attacks came more and more often, R&D issued him emergency pills. He carries them with him at all times. He's fallen asleep in class more times than he can count too. The sad thing is, unlike other students, the teachers don't bother to wake him up.

A couple girls walk by them and Sephiroth eyes them as they make their way to the store. One glances his way but she skates over him in anonymity. Orlin sighs and slips his hand away.

"I missed you. I didn't know what to do without you for a second there," he chuckled, "Don't worry. Shinra found out about me being idle real quick and sent me out, solo, on a mission meant probably for four or five. It took me a while to complete."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "It's confidential but let's say, I didn't get enough of anything and was left out to dry but screw them, I did it anyway and delivered."

"Oh."

A flicker of worry cuts him. Sephiroth watches his shoes again. It is too good of a moment to ruin it by asking more questions. He tries to think of something to say and fails. They walk in silence. Orlin hums a tune under his breath.

They wander down to the road. Sephiroth closes his eyes for a moment. It feels so familiar to be here with him, almost like his old life is back.

Enlistment is the talk of Shinra. Who has signed up to become part of the army and who hasn't. Sephiroth watches the news and what he hears inside the building. The pressure is on everyone in Shinra. When Dinand signs his war contract, it ripples out. It is no secret that Dinand was instrumental in putting down unrest around Midgar. He was reassigned after taking some brutal hits and then retired loudly to train the next generation.

His iconic long sword and grit are going to fight Wutai.

It makes Sephiroth nervous in a way that he doesn't understand. He's excited to see his trainer fight in a real battle but Dinand was the part of his life that he was looking forward to leaving behind the most. Now his training can continue overseas. He has seen him in passing a few times since his early entry into SOLDIER. He's been angry and terse, demanding that Sephiroth change his schedule.

He can't.

So Sephiroth continues to practice on his own but it won't be enough. He'll never be enough.

Orlin hasn't mentioned enlistment for Wutai. That silence spreads further than the signatures on contracts. When the day comes, he's unsure of what Orlin will do. He has no ties with Wutai. He grew up outside Midgar. Orlin only shrugs when he is asked and jokes that war doesn't suit him.

Sephiroth's eyes search out the white materia that Orlin carries on him, especially when he says he cares nothing for Wutai. It is always slotted and ready for use. He knows that it has been carried down through Orlin's immigrant Wutai family lines. Sephiroth has only seen the actual summon a few times but it takes his breath away in the beauty of it.

Sephiroth isn't sure that Shinra won't force Orlin to go. He is the one of the few SOLDIERs that aren't on board.

But if he doesn't go, he gets to stay and not get hurt.

Orlin will protect Midgar instead.

There is something in that as well.

"Well, have you said it yet?" Orlin asks after they buy the drinks and slowly start the drag back to HQ.

The soda is cold in Sephiroth's hand. They walk side by side. No one has spotted him yet. He wonders if that might stay that way. Doing this feels like a dream. It's going to end but he's not ready for it yet.

"Said what?"

"Fuck."

"No." Sephiroth finds himself laughing. It hurts.

"Fuck. It is easy. Rolls off the tongue real nice."

"No."

"Fuck."

"No."

Orlin leans close to his ear. "Fuck."

"Stop." Sephiroth shoves him away without thinking. Orlin stumbles. Fear spikes his heart and he pauses. He has hit one of his teachers. Even though Orlin is laughing, he's not sure.

"Okay, okay." Orlin's face is smiling as he rubs his arm. "I'll lay off. For now. Have you picked out a suit for graduation yet?"

"Mariella and I went to the rental store and picked it out. The gown comes in next month," He says carefully.

"The cap is incredible."

"I know." Sephiroth gives in. It is okay. Everything eases quietly. This is not Dinand. He can smile. "I'm excited for it. School has gotten so much harder since I am tired all the time."

"Have you told Mariella about that?"

"It's not a medical thing. I'm not sleeping." He regrets this by the way that Orlin's eyebrows raise.

"Kid…"

"Yeah, I know."

The innocent feeling crumples. Sephiroth drops his head back down. He shouldn't have said that. He ruined this. He shouldn't have said anything. Orlin's sigh makes him look back up.

"Come here."

A big arm swings over his shoulders and pulls him close as they continue walking. Sephiroth allows himself to press into his side. It's a weakness to do this but he can be selfish for once. The support does more than just physically holding him up. It makes everything ache less.

Orlin only pulls away when Shinra's security cameras would have spotted them.

It's a few days later that Sephiroth realizes that it's too late in the night. He knows it because he can't stop yawning and rubbing his eyes.

The words swim on the page. The quiz tomorrow is on the post-revolutionary reaction of the establishment of the plates of Midgar. Ironically enough, the thing that Dinand was probably part of. The clock ticks towards four. Right after school today, PR had taken him to a news station to do a recording about some of the bonuses of joining the army. It now includes getting a free higher education after the contract is up. He overheard someone saying that they are offering it because they are expecting large amounts of casualties. It makes Sephiroth's skin crawl.

His eyes keep staring at the smaller brown book he took out from the research library.

His phone's screen lights up.

Bored. Send selfie.

He grasps the phone and pulls it over his textbook. He knows that he shouldn't allow himself to get distracted but Rafi has been a constant. He doesn't bother to smile as he takes the photo. His green slitted eyes look back at him and he wishes that they were normal. It is just another thing that Wutai has taken away from him.

The picture sends. He sighs and closes the textbook. Rafi types for a moment and disappears. His back aches and he drags over the smaller book to keep himself awake.

The bookmark leads him back to the page with an Ancient summoning wisps of green energy.

Terrible selfie. Try again.

He snorts. She sends her own. It looks similar to his: a desk in the background, a novel broken back in front of her and deep bags under her eyes. He addresses what might be wrong with what he sent and is not sure. So he sets the phone against the desk and takes a black photo.

If her standards are high, he needs to lower them. It is only a few seconds after he presses send that his phone starts ringing. He groans and then leans into his chair to take the call.

"Not funny," she says.

"Funny," he says and his voice cracks.

A pause. He feels his eyes dip and he focuses on the title on the page "Bringing Materia to Life''. When the words blur, he reaches for the SOLDIER toy on his desk. The right arm jammed years ago but the left on twists in its socket.

"What are you working on?" She asks.

"Studying." Not entirely untrue if he looks at the book in front of him. Ever since he had met the child Ancient in the hallway, he has been doing a slow study of them. "You?"

"Reading progress quiz."

"Are you just doing the reading now?"

"Shut up. It'll be fresh in my mind."

He chuckles. The toy goes back on the desk next to his lamp.

"I saw the press thing today."

He goes silent.

She continues, "you doing okay?"

Sephiroth leans forward on his forearms and massages the space between his eyes with his fingers. He hates these questions. He wishes no one would ask because he doesn't know how to answer. Rafi actually means her question. Mariella writes down his answers for data purposes. Orlin skates over any problem until it smacks him in the face and Professor Hojo…he realizes he is holding his breath and lets it out.

The funnest thing is he isn't even sure what press event she is talking about. There had been so many.

"I say it because you were weird. Like you did everything you were supposed to but-" she pauses, "I dunno."

"Please don't watch any of that stuff," he says finally.

"But I know a Real Life War Hero now. I haven't actually seen you since February so I want to see you somehow."

He rubs his tongue to the top of his mouth. "It's not a good idea."

"Seph-"

"I haven't fought in a war yet. I haven't killed anyone yet. It's all fake. Propaganda."

He works the fingers harder into his skin as she pauses on the other end.

"Well that sucks."

He turns towards the phone. "What sucks?"

"I thought I knew a real war hero. I guess I'll just hang up now." He can hear the laugh and tease in her voice. "That's the only reason I talk to you, of course, to get second hand fame. This sucks. I've been planning this for years."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that." He rubs his head. Stupid. He shouldn't just agree with her. It sounded so soft and sad. It sounds like it oozed out of a crack in the wall that he's built up. Sephiroth isn't supposed to be that way.

"Be here Saturday afternoon around 5."

He winces. "I've got a press dinner."

"You little shit."

"Sunday? Same time?" He wakes up his tablet and glances at the time on the calendar. It is blocked off for studying. He can do it afterward.

"Fine. I'm buying fried chicken. You get the soda. We will have a good time."

"Okay. I should get back to this."

"Night, Seph."

He pauses. "Still Sephiroth. Good night, Rafi. Stay out of trouble."

"Ha. Someday you'll accept that nickname. Promise. As for trouble? I always do. Night." The line goes dead.

He adds the event to his calendar. Dinand's first session sits red and bold Saturday afternoon. Seeing Rafi Sunday afternoon will give him a little hope that maybe he'll survive his first session back with his SOLDIER trainer.

It had gone fine with Orlin.

Maybe Dinand would be the same.

He could hope.