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year 5, quarter 3
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The apartment was overly quiet, but it had been for weeks now, so Genesis barely noticed anymore. He made his own noise anyway--the scratching of pen against paper, the dripping of ink, his yelled triumph when he finally finished and threw his inkwell down on the table so hard that there was a satisfying shatter of glass. It hardly mattered anyway if he made a mess. There was no one to judge him for it.
Handwritten papers were scattered all over the floor in the kitchen, and Genesis gathered them up with a laugh at the sheer amount of them. It had taken weeks of work, but he’d finally written down the entirety of the Loveless stage play from memory, complete with scene and lighting directions. He just had to move north to copy it in a city with better technology, and then he would be free to share his work at theatres across Zephon. Truthfully, Genesis had been thinking of moving out anyway. He didn’t do well on his own, but sharing Loveless with the world sounded like exactly the change of pace that he could use.
This called for a celebration. Despite the mess that the apartment was in, the fridge was still rather well-stocked (cooking reminded him of a certain unnamed suicidal friend, and that was one of the few things he had been doing on his own), so he plucked a half-opened bottle of red wine from the fridge door before falling back on the couch. He didn’t bother to pour himself a glass and chose to drink straight from the bottle instead. Who was around to care? Maybe no one had ever cared.
“There is no hate, only joy, for you are beloved by the goddess,” Genesis toasted himself before taking a drink. It was getting dark in the apartment under the fading light of the sun--truthfully he wasn’t sure if he had paid the electric bill recently--and the lack of company tasted far more bitter than the wine.
How long had it been since Sephiroth had last seen Genesis? Weeks? It couldn’t have been more than five. Sephiroth felt his eyes ache with sleeplessness. In those weeks, he’d brought his body to the breaking point both from stress and his own rapidly firing mind. There could be no rest when his thoughts sparked with their own merciless precision.
Angeal. Where was he?
Sephiroth stopped outside the door, listening. He heard footsteps. Sephiroth had hoped that he’d find the apartment empty -- that he could have been the one to greet Genesis rather than the other way around. It seemed he hadn’t been so lucky. Knocking would mean giving Genesis the other hand. Entering would mean leaving himself vulnerable to attack. In that moment, the weight of their time apart fell heavily on his shoulders.
Surely, Genesis would understand. If he would listen. If he was reasonable.
Sephiroth sighed before he reached for his keys, inserting them carefully into the lock. He knew that stealth was pointless here, but he moved instinctively. Quietly. Understanding and reasonable were not words he would have used to describe Genesis. He braced himself for a burst of fire and the flash of a sword.
The living room was empty. The coffee table was cluttered with a few discarded books. The shelf was slightly misaligned. From the kitchen, he heard the bubbling of poured wine. Sephiroth did not set aside his sword as he stepped lightly inside, footsteps hardly clicking on the dulled hardwood floors. He started forward, pausing at the kitchen doorway. Inside was a flash of red.
Sephiroth reached inside his pocket, feeling at the folded paper within. He knew how his intel would sound. Genesis had been certain he’d seen Angeal die, and yet…
And yet Sephiroth was not one to discard wherever the trail would lead him.
He stepped into the open, watching Genesis carefully. A single sudden movement could be the only warning of his unpredictable anger.
”Genesis.” It was all he said, simple and quiet. He didn’t know if there was anything behind it. A greeting? An apology? No. It was nothing more than what it was. Genesis would have to complete the rest.
Genesis laid his head back on the couch, letting the pleasant haze of the wine wash over him. The bottle was cold against his bare arm--he’d left his coat draped over a chair in the kitchen since it wasn’t as if he needed it inside. He didn’t think he’d worn it much anyway since his venture out to the World Sight a few weeks ago. He’d been too busy working on the play since then.
“Ripples form on the water’s surface, the wandering soul knows no rest,” Genesis murmured to himself as he took another drink of wine straight from the bottle.
“Genesis.”
He hadn’t heard the door. Had he been too engrossed in his thoughts, or had the intruder been that deadly silent? It came to the same thing as he nearly choked on his sip of wine and looked up. The apartment was fairly dark with all the lights switched off and only the dim glow of the sunset spilling in through the windows. Still, he’d recognize the greenish glow of those cat-like eyes anywhere.
“Sephiroth.” It was in response to his own name. For a moment, Genesis was still as he tried to sort out the tangle of emotions that reared up at the sight of his silent friend. For just a moment, blinding rage won out. Leaping to his feet, he hurled the wine bottle directly at his head. Sephiroth would duck--his reflexes were better than what anyone else alive had, Genesis knew that--but he could only hope that the man would get splattered in red wine when the glass shattered on the wall behind him. Let him spend an hour trying to detangle his hair. He’d deserve that.
The anger fizzled out as quickly as it had come and he was left with shaking hands and scattered thoughts. He could scream at Sephiroth. Throw a hissy fit. Spend an hour chasing him with both sword and Fire Materia in hand while he hurled his favorite Loveless quotes about betrayal at him. But for once in his life, he felt like one sentence said it all.
”Sephiroth.” The two met eyes, and for a moment, Sephiroth thought that the encounter might play out reasonably. And then Genesis through a bottle at his head.
Sephiroth reacted faster than the thought could connect, slipping sideways on instinct as the glass brushed past his bangs. It shattered against the wall behind him, showering him in red droplets and bits of glass. Sephiroth remained as expressionless as ever. He still had his sword at his hip. Though he doubted he’d need it.
Genesis was entirely unguarded, only half dressed with his coat missing. He didn’t have any armor or materia, and his hair was strangely limp without its usual styling. Had he caught him sleeping? There was a blazing rage in his eyes, the kind usually followed by fire and bloodshed, but it dulled quickly. Behind him, the wine slid down the wallpaper in rivulets.
”I thought you were dead.”
Sephiroth’s eyes pricked with surprise. More than the rage or the violence, this struck him far colder. It was simple. Plain in a way that Genesis never was. Sephiroth hesitated, uncertain. He couldn’t quite meet his eye.
”There was a diversion,” he said. It sounded unsatisfactory somehow -- as though he were missing something. Angeal would have told him what that was. He turned away.
”I met the Turks in Sonora,” he said. It was blunt. Self-evident. ”They promised me information, but led me into a trap. Once I’d neutralized their enemies, they talked.”
About what, he didn’t need to say. He wouldn’t admit that he’d come with questions on his past and left with nothing. He refused to mention just how well he’d been played. It was the only predictable outcome when setting oneself against the Turks in matters of deception and subterfuge. He’d left it with the only lead that really mattered. For this, even Genesis would have to forgive him.
Sephiroth closed his eyes, the weight of the words already on his shoulders. ”Angeal is alive.”
Of course the great General Sephiroth was too good for apologies. Genesis’ scowl deepened as Sephiroth rationalized his absence and offered excuses but gave not one word of regret or any indication that he recognized he’d done something wrong. Torensten may not have had phones, but Sephiroth could have found the time to write him a damn letter if nothing else! Instead he’d apparently been gallivanting up in Sonora with hardly a thought for who might think him to be dead.
“Well obviously they led you into a trap! It’s what the Turks do.” Maybe he should have been surprised that they were here, but Genesis and Sephiroth had already speculated that Shinra likely had a presence in this world. This was just confirmation of that, and Genesis was too mad to express any interest in what those suits had to say.
“My friend, do you fly away now? To a world that abhors you and I? All that awaits you is a somber morrow, no matter where the winds may blow,” Genesis quoted before biting out. “You can’t ever admit when you’re wrong, can you?”
Still, it was Sephiroth’s final words that finally pushed Genesis off-track. It actually forced him back a step and left him blanching up at his friend across the room, forcing his lips open even though he was at a loss for words. “You’re wrong,” he managed to choke out, and something about how hoarse his voice sounded reignited his rage.
Stalking across the room, Genesis grabbed Sephiroth by the stupid leather straps across his stupid bare chest. It was the only thing that gave him a tiny bit of leverage as he glared up at the taller man. “I don’t care what the Turks told you. Angeal is dead. And you want to know why? He wanted to die! And instead of doing it himself, he became the monster he hated and forced Zack to kill him. That’s where his honor led him in the end.”
Genesis felt like he’d lost the strength to yell at Sephiroth even though there was much more that he could tell him. How it felt to miss both of their deaths. How he’d spent four years alone and losing his mind underground after he thought that he’d lost his chance at recovery once they were gone. How they’d forced him to rely on Zack of all people.
Letting go of Sephiroth, Genesis dropped down onto the couch, rubbing his temples and muttering a line of Loveless to himself in an attempt to calm down. He felt a headache coming on.
He reacted as Sephiroth could have expected to news of the Turks. Of course they had led him into a trap. Sephiroth couldn’t admit he was wrong. Sephiroth had expected the trap just as he’d expected Genesis’ scathing poetry. He’d known and yet he had acted anyway. He’d known that whatever trap they’d sprung that he would survive and return their attacks threefold.
And so he had. For all except Cissnei. His fist tightened on the letter in his pocket.
For a moment, Genesis was quiet. There was shock there. The same that Sephiroth had felt, he thought. And then Genesis spoke.
”You’re wrong.”
He heard Genesis marching towards him and then he grabbed Sephiroth forcefully by his leather harness, wrenching him forward. Sephiroth returned the look, frowning. There was a fire in Genesis’ eyes. More than that, there was pain.
”I don’t care what the Turks told you,” Genesis snarled. ”Angeal is dead And you want to know why? Because he wanted to die.” Sephiroth’s brow furrowed. A suicide? Angeal? It wasn’t possible. Not for the strong, sensible man that Sephiroth knew.
”That’s where his honor led him in the end.”
The fire died in Genesis’ eyes. He dropped his grip, stagger back as he rubbed his temples. He was tired. Perhaps he had been tired for longer than Sephiroth knew. Genesis fell into the couch, muttering poetry. Sephiroth straightened.
”I didn’t take them at their word,” he said. He strode towards him, pulling the slightly crumpled paper from his pocket. He offered it to Genesis. ”I investigated their lead. There were witnesses. And he left behind this.”
He hesitated. The lead was strong, he knew, but the situation was still too absurd to believe at face value. Angeal, on a date. On Valentine’s Day no less. He sighed. ”It’s his handwriting,” he said. ”It couldn’t be a forgery.”
Sephiroth was silent and let Genesis yell at him, which only made his temper flare a little higher. Why was he always so calm and collected? Why couldn’t he yell back? Anyone else would have, but not the great general Sephiroth. He always had to be perfect.
“Can’t you act like a human for once?” Genesis muttered, leaning his head back on the couch with his eyes closed. Sephiroth had only just arrived, but Genesis was already done with both him and the ridiculous direction that the conversation had taken. Unfortunately Sephiroth didn’t appear to have taken the hint.
Genesis opened his eyes and squinted at him with a glare. “Witnesses that were probably already influenced by the Turks,” he muttered while rolling his eyes, but he was forced to pause when his friend offered him a piece of paper. “What’s this supposed to-?” Genesis broke off as the hearts surrounding the event name at the top attracted his attention. The Siren’s Call.
Sitting bolt upright, he scanned the questions and answers, feeling a lump in his throat at the familiar loops and curves in the neat cursive writing. He didn’t need Sephiroth to tell him where he’d seen it before. He’d seen it every day on the organized shopping lists stuck to the fridge door with a magnet back in their shared apartment. Angeal.
“It’s not possible.” Genesis was angry again, but he wasn’t sure at who. “I was there Sephiroth! I went to this event!” It had been a bust truthfully. He’d been paired with Mateus, and while the man was certainly beautiful, he was way too hung up on some Lior guy for anything worthwhile to happen there. Still, that was beside the point right now. “Anyway, why would Angeal want a blind date? He’s more likely to sleep with a geranium than a woman.” The thought of Angeal with some mystery person made Genesis wish he had another bottle of wine to throw. Purely because it was odd of course. He wasn’t self-aware enough to dive any further into wondering why he didn’t like it.
Still, what was the point of forging something like this? And how would someone have managed it when there shouldn’t have been any samples of his handwriting in this world? Genesis was off the couch by now, and he found himself unable to look away from the slip of paper as he paced back and forth in thought. “My friend, do you fly away now? To a world that abhors you and I? All that awaits you is a somber morrow, no matter where the winds may blow.” It was the Loveless quote that he had always most associated with Angeal, and he suddenly whirled back towards Sephiroth with his shoulders bowed in reluctant, angry acceptance.
“What are we supposed to do with this?” He asked, though what he really meant was what am I supposed to do with this? Sephiroth still couldn’t remember what had happened between all of them, and Genesis didn’t want to be the one to tell him how things had ended between them.
Oh yes, you see, Angeal and I fought each other, and then he decided to go off and die. He couldn’t bear to live as a monster, but I was the same thing as him. We all were.
Even Sephiroth knew that "Let's be friends with the Turks" wouldn't go over well
I knew mine was a special existence
Even Genesis couldn’t deny the evidence. His eyes caught on the paper. Sephiroth saw the shock, confusion, and then sudden urgency. Genesis shot forward, pouring over the note as though it was the last gasp of a dying man. Sephiroth watched wordlessly. They both knew the implications.
”It’s not possible.” Once again, anger rose in Genesis’ voice. ”I was there, Sephiroth! I went to this event!”
”What?” Sephiroth’s lips parted in surprise. Genesis had gone? That was less of a surprise than Angeal, but Sephiroth’s eyes furrowed at the thought. What all had he missed? And how could they have passed so close by each other?
”I don’t know.” Sephiroth was quiet. In truth, he had no idea why Angeal would attend something so outlandish. It wasn’t like him. They both knew it, but the facts were undeniable. Maybe neither of them had known him quite as well as they’d thought.
Genesis stood, stowing the note away as he paced across the apartment like a tiger around its cage. He muttered a furious line of poetry. Loveless, Act 3.
”What are we supposed to do with this?” Genesis turned sharply on his heel, brandishing the paper almost accusingly. Sephiroth’s eyes darted away. He’d been the one to break their peace.
”I don’t know,” he said again. It was honest. Too honest. The reasonable part of him -- the Angeal part -- prompted him to say more. ”There were witnesses,” Sephiroth added. ”He’s carrying the buster sword.”
It wasn’t right. Nothing Sephiroth said ever was. He turned away so he wouldn’t have to see the flare of anger in Genesis’ eye. Give solutions, not feelings.
”Reconnaissance,” Sephiroth muttered. ”We know his location and his time of arrival.”’I could ask the Turks.’ The thought came and passed behind tightened lips. Sephiroth had never known how to appease Genesis, but he knew enough to keep that idea to himself.
Sephiroth seemed awkward, like he was unsure of himself or what he could possibly say to appease Genesis. He felt as if it should have given him a sense of power over the silver-haired man. It wasn’t often that he had the upper hand over Sephiroth or that his friend would admit to feeling out of control, but the victory was a hollow one. Perhaps it was because both of their thoughts weren’t really here in their shared living room. Genesis’ were dwelling with their mutual friend who appeared to not be as dead as they had thought.
Four years underground. Why did you never find me if you were alive?
Genesis wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“The buster sword?” He gave Sephiroth a sharp look as his friend outlined what he had learned from witnesses who had seen Angeal attend the event. “That’s the strangest part of what you’ve said then. Zack was the one to wield it last from what I saw.” Did that mean Angeal’s spiky-haired puppy had gotten dragged here as well? Genesis had little doubt that Zack would have been thrilled to see his mentor alive and would have been only too happy to return his sword. The boy didn’t have a resentful bone in his body, so he probably hadn’t even brought up how he’d been forced to kill Angeal first. Even Sephiroth would be all smiles at their reunion. Genesis would be the only unreasonable one. The only one who wanted to yell at him for what he’d done.
He wanted to yell now to be honest.
Sephiroth suggested that he wouldn’t be hard to track down, and Genesis knew that he meant it. They’d both done missions in reconnaissance work back during their time with Shinra. Genesis had found it to be dreadfully dull, though Sephiroth had excelled at it as he had with everything. Someone with a sword like Angeal’s was memorable, and people were inclined to share their memories if you found what they wanted and persuaded them right. Angeal would be easy to find if they wanted to.
Did he want to?
“You want to go to Provo.” Genesis looked back down at Angeal’s dating information sheet with a groan before he flopped boneless on the leather couch, a line of Loveless rising to his lips. “Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul. Pride is lost, wings stripped away. The end is nigh.” His eyes caught on the spiral patterns in the plaster ceiling, and his last words were said in a mutter. “What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
”The buster sword?” For some reason, that was the most unreasonable part. ”Zack was the one to wield it last from what I saw.”
”Zack?” Sephiroth’s eyebrows furrowed. Why would Zack Fair have inherited that sword? Angeal’s honor? The one possession he had ever really cared for? That sword was the first thing he’d ever learned about Angeal. The third class Soldier had been broad, talented, and always carried a sword far too large for his then-teenage frame.
It was a hindrance. Nothing but a weight to drag him down. And yet, Angeal had always insisted that it couldn’t part from him. Sephiroth had thought that he might have made second at least six months earlier had he lightened himself of that weight. Angeal was nothing if not stubborn.
”You want to go to Provo.”
Sephiroth raised his eyes to Genesis. His friend had read him well enough. Despite their differences, they had experience in common -- experience and time. Genesis fell back onto the couch, quoting one of his favorite lines. ’Pride is lost. Wings stripped away.’
Sephiroth felt his own wing twitch. They had lost their pride some time ago as well as their honor. There was nothing left between them but memories. There was nothing left for Sephiroth but the friends he clung to more desperately than ever. There was no ShinRa to tear them apart. What would it be like to live without that ever-looming presence?
No schedules. No missions. No long months on his own, burying the thoughts that would lead him back to their side. Sephiroth’s eyebrows furrowed.
He hadn’t liked the empty expanse of time that swallowed him now. But if they were all three together...Maybe then…
It could be bearable.
Sephiroth glanced to Genesis. ’What if he doesn’t want to see me?’ Sephiroth frowned. It seemed like a strange thing to say, and something stranger to worry about. No matter how they’d been torn apart, he couldn’t imagine it.
”It’s Angeal,” he said simply. He thought that was enough.
Sephiroth walked towards the door, loosening the sheath of his sword as he went. He set the masamune carefully against the wall. Not in his room. It bothered him there. Still, it felt right somehow. Genesis was vulnerable, half clothed with his loose-fitting pants and lank hair. Sephiroth could lower his guard as well.
No matter how it made him twitch.
”We’ll take an airship in the morning.” His feathers ruffled as though in a kind of subconscious protest. Sephiroth huffed at them. ”We should conserve our energy,” he said. ”The tracks might be cold.”
He’d spent too much time in the air. For once, he wanted to feel human.
Sephiroth twisted his gloves at the wrist. He was tired suddenly in a way that he wasn’t often. His body had a way of denying sleep. How long had it been since he’d last rested?
”We’ll find him,” he said. It was their new mission -- a self-proclaimed one. No matter the stakes, Sephiroth had never failed.
