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year 5, quarter 3
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Angeal and Caius are both workaholics so I figured OF COURSE THEYD BUMP INTO EACH OTHER HERE
Thump, thump, thump.
The last nail finally leveled out, matching the others in the plank. A row of newer cedar wood connected with the old along a fence, a pile of old, broken planks sitting nearby. Angeal stepped back from his handiwork, wiping sweat from his brow as he admired a job well done. He waved to a man standing in the fence, who opened a paddock door and stood back as a few juvenile chocobos burst forth into the grass. The Soldier chuckled as he placed his hammer into his nearby tool bag, listening as the birds chirped excitedly among themselves.
It was days like this one where Angeal didn’t mind the change of pace in his work. Typically, he took on jobs as a mercenary, protecting those who needed it or slaying problematic beasts. It was easy to fall into that work, and though the jobs usually didn’t pay much, Angeal didn’t mind. Helping others was his main goal, after all. Yet, occasionally, he liked returning to his roots and taking on tasks he would have helped his father with as a child. Simple handyman work, repairs and easy builds, even helping to harvest fruit trees. He hadn’t yet dealt with the baggage involved in getting back into fishing, that was a problem for another day, but for now, peaceful work out in the country was just as nice.
Angeal bid farewell to the farmer after receiving his meager payment (he certainly charged less than the fencing companies in the city did), and made his return to Provo. He was dressed for hard work in a simple white shirt and carpenter’s pants, with a large bag of tools at his side rather than a giant sword on his back. At least, without the sword, he got less looks walking down Provo’s busy streets.
As he wasn’t present for most of the fight, Angeal was lucky to not be recognized by too many of Provo’s denizens after the catastrophic event between Cloud and Sephiroth. It made for getting out and about easier, but it didn’t help ease any of the guilt about the destruction. The Soldier hadn’t quite made peace for the trouble he’d helped contribute to, and had offered his help during the cleaning efforts. It was the least he could do, and it (thankfully) helped smooth things over between him and the people of the city. Everything that had happened afterwards, well …
Sephiroth had taken time to come around after he’d healed. Genesis seemed to have his own plans and life already settled in this new world, and either avoided Angeal in their shared dwelling or demanded to know where he’d been if he’d been gone too long. The dynamics between the three of them weren’t what they used to be, and perhaps they’d never be quite like that again, but the healing would take time. Angeal had hurt both of them horrendously. And now, they were all grasping at different bits and pieces of realities they either do or don’t remember, haunted by things that happened in their world beyond their time there.
The history Cloud had revealed to Angeal haunted him.
The Soldier shook his head, shooing away the complicated thoughts he’d managed to keep at bay while working. Instead, he let his boots carry him back to the aptly named Help Wanted Avenue, passing by the directory to check back in at the agency he’d taken the job from the day before. It was common courtesy to let them know he was finished, and perhaps they had some other easy carpentry work to take on. Or, maybe it was time to stop back in at one of the mercenary agencies. He drifted down the street, toward the mercenary agencies, pausing outside of his most frequented haunt as he pondered his next step.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
If it were anyone else staring at Sephiroth’s injured and prone form on the couch, they’d have no idea what was going through his head. What emotions danced subtly across his form as tensed muscles and an aversion to eye contact. Even in this rare circumstance, Angeal struggled – yet he knew. Sephiroth did not like to be seen in such a state. They could spend an eternity speculating what in Sephiroth’s non-existent-childhood caused this reaction, to hide and lick his wounds alone rather than have someone else there to help or care.
Sephiroth’s words came out weak, his voice struggling and quietly hoarse. Angeal bit his own tongue and resisted the urge, heavily so, to move forward and assist his friend as he struggled to sit up. His own glowing eyes turned to the wound on Sephiroth’s side, knowing it had to be causing him a great deal of pain simply breathing. Thankfully, it hadn’t begun to darken with blood. The wound hadn’t been torn open.
A sharp squeal jolted Angeal from his thoughts, and he was moving toward the offending teapot just as Sephiroth gave him the direction, “Stay there, I’ve got it.”. He switched the gas stove off, sighing as the teapot quieted down. In a way, it drew him back to the old days, making tea in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep and trying not to wake Genesis in their cramped, Soldier quarters. It took a few tries to find the tea bags and mugs – the kitchen was still unknown territory for Angeal other than the sink itself – but in moments he had two mugs of tea steeping.
Angeal kept his back to the living quarters, his eyes transfixed on the steaming mugs. If he looked at Sephiroth, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the worry from bleeding out of his eyes to his expression. He wanted to chastise the world’s greatest soldier. To tell him off for getting out of bed. To admit how worried he was about him. To question him about the man they fought together. To pester him to rest.
To apologize for abandoning him, so long ago.
Where to start? Knowing Sephiroth was comfortable with silence, Angeal let his thoughts ruminate while he silently counted the seconds, the minutes. He plucked the tea bags from the mugs after they’d steeped more than long enough and tossed them in the trash. He picked up the two mugs and made his way back into the living room, gently placing Sephiroth’s on the table as close to him as possible, to keep him from having to reach too far to grab it.
He pulled a chair in from the kitchen to seat himself in, so Sephiroth could keep the entire couch on the off-chance he wanted to lay down again. Not that he would, with Angeal watching him. The chair creaked, protesting under Angeal’s weight. His own cup of tea sat on the opposite edge of the table; steaming and mostly forgotten.
“After you finish your tea, you have to get back in bed,” Angeal muttered, knowing he sounded every bit the disgruntled and worried mother hen he’d always been made out to be. He crossed his arms over his chest, a finger tapping on his exposed and bruised bicep, “I'll carry you back in there if I have to. It's not often I have any advantage over you.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Time passed so slowly, and yet so quickly all the same.
After he and Genesis had done all they could for Sephiroth, and they were sure he would be alright, Angeal excused himself from the room. He was exhausted in all forms, still aching and dirty from the battle he’d returned from. There was a small, half bath off of the living quarters that the Soldier barely fit into comfortably with his bulk. The water took a long time to get warm. He made a meager attempt to clean himself up, scrubbing with a fresh rag at the grime on his skin.
His attempts must have frustrated Genesis, who told him to steal some clothing from Sephiroth’s room and use that shower to clean up. Exhaustion clung to the corner of his friend’s eyes as well – the amount of magic he used on top of their emotional outbursts likely having taken its toll.
Angeal merely silently did as he was told. Taking clothes off was more akin to peeling it from his skin. In the mirror, the Soldier saw the cuts, scrapes, and bruises that Genesis’s magic hadn’t been able to heal up. He blinked tiredly at his reflection, mentally mapping where he’d need to slap bandages on so that he didn’t ruin a shirt and a pair of pants. The shower was blissfully hot, and though Angeal pointedly ignored the fancier products of Sephiroth’s, he was content to scrub with a found bar of soap and use only one bottle labeled shampoo to get his hair in order. He was too tired to care how he smelled.
The steam of the shower had Angeal swaying where he stood, as aches and stiffness made themselves known once more. In his mind, the fight and the conversation with Genesis played over and over on loop. Too exhausted to focus. Hewley leaned against the wall of the shower, eyes heavy, and let the water pelt him until it turned cold enough to jolt him to shut it off. Toweling off was more difficult than it should have been, and dressing wounds felt like it took ages.
By the time Angeal emerged, dressed in a pair of sweats and a simple shirt that fit too snugly, the apartment was quiet. Genesis had either left or retired to his room for the evening. The Soldier drug his feet back to the living quarters, falling heavily onto the couch, and leaned his head back. The world quickly went dark behind his closed eyes.
Angeal jolted awake, eyes wide and muscles tight and aching. He glanced around, his chest rising and falling quickly. Oh. Right. Genesis and Sephiroth’s apartment. It was completely dark, the only light being from the gas lamps on the sidewalk. Hewley blinked at them blearily as his mind continued to wake, shaking off sleep all too quickly from his dose of adrenaline from waking suddenly. He reached for a lamp next to the couch, flipping the light on and giving the room a dim glow. There was no sense in going back to sleep just yet, he could already tell. His brain was already turning and turning.
Grunting, Angeal pulled himself up from the couch, feeling the full force of the tug and aches of his remaining wounds. He shuffled into the dark kitchen and poured himself the biggest glass of water he could find. He drank all of it much too quickly, before refilling it. The Soldier ran a hand through his lightly damp hair, sighing heavily. He could hardly focus on a thought or catch an emotion. He needed to clear his head. Angeal retreated from the kitchen, making his way to the front door and quietly opening it, letting himself back out onto the terrace.
The neighborhood was fairly quiet. The waning moon was still fairly high in the sky; perhaps around 2am. Angeal leaned onto the railing, his glass clasped between both hands, staring out at the still skyline. Buildings poked out from here and there. Blearily, he wondered if they’d changed what that skyline looked like from the building that collapsed.
Sephiroth. He wondered how long it would take for him to recover from such a fight. Never had Angeal seen him struggle or second guess himself as he had in that battle with the mysterious blonde man. What had been going through his head? What was the other man’s motivation, his purpose? Where did he come from? So many unanswered questions. Angeal hung his head, leaning more of his weight against the railing as the bruising on his thigh complained loudly.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been on the landing before he noticed it. The sounds of movement. Angeal looked back at the door to the apartment, furrowing his brow. Had Genesis gotten up in the middle of the night? Surely that was who he was hearing. Angeal waited, listening to see if he went back to bed, but instead heard the creak of the couch’s wooden frame.
Frowning, he took a sip of his water, feeding his parched throat. Angeal set a hand on the doorknob and contemplated; did he want to have another discussion with Genesis right now? Would it be too much? Could he simply ask to have the couch back so he could go back to sleep?
Turning the knob, Hewley opened the door slowly. However, the sight that greeted him was not the one he thought he’d see. His eyes widened as he quickly stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind him without a second thought.
“Sephiroth? You … You should still be in bed,” the disbelief in his voice was only barely smothered by his mothering instinct, “Why are you out here?”
Why, more like how. Angeal could already feel himself fretting. Had he torn open any cuts that hadn’t healed completely? Had he bumped anything?
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
It seemed most of the fight had finally left the injured blonde. Though Angeal didn’t hear him move to lay down (which would have left him in the most vulnerable position, so he couldn’t blame the kid for not following that order, really), he did hear the creek and shifting of the mattress as the young man made himself as comfortable as his bruised and bloodied body would allow. The Soldier only dared a glance back at the blonde as he began to sort through the mess of bandages and healing supplies on the desk. No materia, so he’d have to do this the old fashioned way.
The young man took a breath and began to speak. Angeal found himself playing a quick, mental catch up – surprised that he was actually getting the story he’d asked for. Considering how much of a physical fight the kid had put up, he thought there may be more fight left in him mentally as well.
Two years after the war … A year and some change after Angeal’s death, then. Hewley kept his back to the blonde as he continued his story, hands fumbling with different dressings, antiseptics and irritation creams, picking out what seemed best for the young man’s wound.
Nibelheim was a middle-of-nowhere mountain town; that much Angeal was aware of. Shinra had a habit of throwing reactors in the middle of nowhere, where people wouldn’t argue about the source of power and jobs that came with it, not knowing the dangers that came with Shinra. He had only scratched the surface of Shinra’s madness, surely.
Slaying monsters around the reactor … It sounded like a simple enough mission, something any of them would have done back then. However, Angeal’s hand froze from unraveling a roll of gauze as he heard mention of experiments. People turned into creatures. He set aside the dressings he’d selected and measured out, and slowly turned back to the blonde as he made mention of that name.
Jenova.
Project G. Project Gillian. Infusion of Jenova cells.
I am perfect. The perfect … monster.
Angeal fixed the injured young man with a hard stare of his own, his own glowing eyes conflicted as he collected the thousands of angry, painful thoughts and memories and shoved them back into the mental box where they belonged.
“Unfortunately, it does,” he replied after releasing a long, held breath, “I know Jenova was thought to be a Cetra and used in … human experimentation.”
He moved forward slowly, closing the few steps of distance between them. He paused for a moment in front of the blonde, making a gesture to his ruined dressings, before placing a hand on his shoulder to begin peeling them away. One layer of dressings peeled away easily. Thankfully, the wound that had been pulled open was only oozing anymore at this point. It wouldn’t require much pressure for long to get it to behave.
“Are you telling me they kept that thing in Nibelheim’s reactor?”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Genesis replying back to his kind word of thanks without an immediate attack or sass was beyond rare. Words so precious, they were worth their weight in gold. But, words from the heart were fleeting, and within seconds, his dear friend had adapted back to their typical dynamic.
Angeal couldn’t help the smirk that came to his lips as Genesis chided him for forcing him to be mature. He didn’t dare look at Genesis though – that would be pushing his luck. If there was one thing his childhood friend detested more than being forced out of his own element, it was dealing with his own emotions. Genesis, who hid what he felt behind a mask. Sephiroth, who didn’t know how to express the differing emotions he felt. And Angeal, who wore what he felt on his sleeve. What a strange trio they’d made over the years together.
It would take work from all three of them to not let the bonds of their friendship fracture again. Angeal could only hope that Genesis and Sephiroth were as willing to give that a try as he was, despite the searing pain it caused them to confront what happened in the past.
Genesis drew Angeal from his heavy thoughts, saying in his own dramatic, chiding way that yes, he could continue to stand Hewley after their traded, angry words. Angeal dared a glance out of the corner of his eye, catching his friend’s near-smile over the flow of magic that radiated through Sephiroth’s body. A lifetime of memories between them flashed through Angeal’s mind in an instant, and he couldn’t help the small, quiet chuckle that escaped him.
“Yeah. We’ve made it work for a long time.”
Emotionally spent, Angeal kept quiet as he continued to clean the dirt from Sephiroth’s skin. Perhaps it was the mental exhaustion, but he could almost swear Sephiroth felt a bit warmer under his fingers, his color a little darker than he had been before. It was likely just from Genesis’s magic, he reasoned, but the desperate part of Angeal hoped that, perhaps, their conversation had soothed their seriously injured friend. All three of them had long roads of recovery ahead of them, each for differing reasons. But, perhaps this time, they’d travel those roads together.
Angeal could only hope. But, he was feeling more optimistic now than he had in quite some time.
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Hi sorry it's been a thousand years, have a tired Ang
Genesis’s fury burned as hot and wild as Angeal remembered it; whether fondly or guiltily. The red head was always filled with passion for everything that he did, and with it, that very same passion spilled out and spread like a fire spreading over an accelerant. Terrifying, powerful, fast, and fascinating to behold – from a distance. Instead, the flames licked at Angeal’s skin and righteously burned him. He was the rightful target for this anger. He expected it. He earned it. Every piece of vitriol, every rising note, every jab and insult.
So, when the fire began to suddenly, and quickly, wane, the Soldier found himself confused. Hewley furrowed his brows as Genesis continued to speak, about Zack, about the years in-between, about …
How Angeal must have felt.
Slowly, the Soldier turned back around to face his dear friend. The distance between them was so small, and yet, it felt like they were fields apart. Angeal’s shoulders fell slack, exhaustion taking the place of frustration, bitter sadness creeping into the corners of his heart. To hear Genesis admit that he’d been selfish, well, Angeal couldn’t rightfully admit he hadn’t wanted to hear that at one point or another in their lives. Genesis was inherently selfish, but it was as much a quirk as a character flaw. In a way, they’d always balanced one another out. Angeal, giving too much, and Genesis, giving too little. Genesis helped to stay his hand when Angeal was stretched thin, and Angeal helped encourage Genesis to lean into the small, simple gestures that could make someone else’s day at very little cost.
Now, here all three friends were; broken, beaten, with hearts as raw as open wounds. Were they all monsters, truly? That remained to be seen. But, they were certainly all a mess in more ways than one.
“Maybe we’ve all been monsters at one point or another,” Angeal spoke softly, as if raising his voice any higher would disturb the fragile tranquility that came after their tempers had simmered to a still pool, “But … we don’t have to be. Not unless we choose to be.”
I never thought you were truly a monster, were the words left unsaid across Angeal’s heart, unable to escape his lips, We were both scared and in pain. I know that.
He didn’t want to push his luck with Genesis. It was hard enough for his friend to admit any mistake, no matter how large or small, and they’d certainly put themselves through the ringer during Angeal’s admittedly so-far short visit. Wanting to shift the pressure off of Genesis, Angeal moved the few steps back to Sephiroth’s bedside, grabbing the wet rag and wringing it out to go back to tending to his friend’s dirtied skin.
“Everything you said just now … I know that wasn’t easy for you to admit,” Hewley muttered, rubbing the rag gingerly against a particularly soot-laden area around Sephiroth’s temple, “Thank you, Genesis.”
Through the pain, through the emotional exhaustion, under the grime and blood, brimmed that little bit of hope. His own ridiculous optimism. The next time Angeal spoke, he spoke from the heart, breathing life into that tiny, insignificant blink of hope.
“Second chances are rare, almost impossible to come by. I know I’d like to use mine to … make up for lost time, more than anything else. If you think you can stand me after all this.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
The blonde man was still as defiant as he could muster, despite the obvious pain of his injuries. Angeal knew he was hiding how much his body was aching and burning and throbbing, even through the fresh prickle of blood. There were few people in the world that could hold a hate that strongly, and the Soldier had really only seen it on a few faces. The warriors of Wutai, taken as prisoners of war. Spies, screaming at him as he wrestled them out of their hiding holes. Genesis, as he spoke bitterly about what Shinra did to them before they were even born.
And in his own eyes, staring at his reflection, realizing that every last cell in his body was as monstrous as the next.
The young man finally decided to speak, but what came out of his mouth was … almost unintelligible. Angeal made no effort to hide the confusion on his face, furrowing his brows together as the blonde spat more and more terrible things that hardly made sense. Nibelheim -- the Soldier had seen the name of the town on map years ago, when he was in the area on assignment. Why would Sephiroth have been there and killed everyone? How could he end the world with a meteor?
The only word that made sense, that stung just as much as it ever had, was monster. In a flash, he saw the black wing on Sephiroth’s back the day he found his friend. Of course, it only made sense that Sephiroth was some sort of experiment, the same as he and Genesis. Different, yet the same. Angeal bit the inside of his cheek as the defensive retort fought to leave his throat. How many years would need to pass, how many deaths did he personally need to experience, before he would come to terms with being a human experiment? A monster in human skin.
Angeal released his cheek from his teeth, tasting iron as he exhaled, “It sounds like we’ll be here for a while, then. Other than the bit about monsters, nothing you said made any sense to me.”
He couldn’t let the blonde just sit there and marinate in his new spilled blood, though. Sighing, Angeal pinched the bridge of his nose before reaching down and wrenching the young man up by his arm. He moved quickly, dragging the injured man along behind him as he approached the lodgings they were outside of. Clearly, someone had healed him to the best of their ability, and thus there were more bandages and other such items inside.
And no one else was around. If they were, they’d be keeping an eye on their injured, stubborn patient.
“My name is Angeal,” the Soldier explained as they crossed the threshold into the dwelling. On the nearby desk lay plenty of wrappings, bandaging and more, “You might as well have a name to put to your second-most hated face.”
He released the blonde, before removing the Buster Sword from his back. He propped it against the wall, before motioning toward the young man to go lie down.
“You keep talking, and I’ll fix you up,” Angeal explained, as he quieted the storm of questions and worry brewing in his chest, “For context, the last major event that happened before I di-- before I woke up here … The Wutai War ended a few months ago. Sephiroth was still nothing but a First Class Soldier, and as far as I’m aware, Nibelheim was still there.”
He picked up a roll of wrapping, turning it over in his hand. Everything that happened with Genesis and himself had been kept hush-hush, per Shinra’s beautiful record with keeping secrets. So that their public image wasn’t ruined. But, the entire world remembered when the war with Wutai ended. It was the best starting point he had.
"I need to know what happened after all of that. I need to understand."
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
The blonde clearly didn’t want to hear a word he had to say.
Angeal watched as the young man’s expression somehow accumulated even more hate and fury. It seemed near impossible for such a thing to occur -- if it weren’t for the fury in his eyes, the blonde would have a naturally gentle face. His body, even under the heavy bandaging, said he was on the younger side, and yet his eyes said he was much, much older and experienced than he should have been in life. What had he seen or heard that would put such a fire in his gaze when it came to Sephiroth? Surely, if Sephiroth was a mass-murdering psycho, Angeal would have been aware of it.
You weren’t there for everything, a small, insignificant voice reminded him.
The man raised his mutilated bat weapon to be even with Angeal’s face, and the Soldier lowered his arms, watching the blonde over the ridges of the nails in the wood, “I’m not your enemy right now. Not unless you make me.”
Apparently, it was exactly what he was to the injured young man. The blonde’s face filled with righteous anger, his lips curled back into a snarl, and with a guttural, pained yell, he swung the bat with all his might. It was slow and clumsy, and Angeal could have chosen to side step the attack and let the young man stumble forward along with his momentum.
Instead, the Soldier quickly rose an arm and allowed the bat to make contact. The nails dug into his skin, scraping it away to drag blood through. Angeal didn’t flinch, didn’t wince. With the bat’s momentum stopped, he grabbed it with the same hand he’d blocked the attack with, and easily wrenched it out of the blonde’s hands. Angeal threw it far behind him, close to the exit of the garden, listening as it clacked loudly against the stone.
“You opened up your stitches,” Angeal pointed out to the pained blonde, nonchalant, before pressing a palm to the man’s chest and shoving him, forcing him back onto the bench only a few steps away, “Like I warned you you would.”
He watched as the bandages around the young man began to slowly seep and stain red. Angeal crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at the disobedient supposed once-soldier before him, “If I was here for any nefarious reason, I would have broken you in half the moment I arrived. So, I’ll tell you again -- I’m just here to talk.”
He let those words sink into the air a moment, before continuing as he towered over the broken and busted warrior, “I’d be happy to go inside and stitch you back up, as long as you give me the information I’m here for.”
A beat passed, and Angeal took a step toward the proverbial landmine, “Sephiroth did something to you. I’m here to find out what, when, and why.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
Angeal knew the look the blonde gave him well. Glowing blue eyes burned right back at him with an unspoken fury, a deep and dangerous hatred. It wasn’t the look of cornered prey, but of a predator staring up at a stronger version of itself, knowing death could be near. Hewley released a held breath, keeping his palms facing the blonde in a clear show of good faith. Not that the smaller man was in any shape to be of any threat.
Yet, the young man forced himself up from the bench with what little energy he had to possess. Angeal immediately shook his head, silently asking the blonde to back down. He had to be held together with nothing but tape and stitches at this point, and yet the injured man still hunched to his feet with his strange weapon at his side.
The blonde would never make it more than two steps without collapsing, surely. Even with a weapon, Angeal felt no fear, but instead concern. He couldn’t very well interrogate the kid if he ripped himself in two first. How could he prove he’d come there with no ill-intent, though? The Soldier grimaced watching the blonde shakily lifting the nail-bat to point it directly at him, though they still stood a good, measured distance apart. The sheet that slid off of him revealed the horrific state of injuries he’d sustained from the fight -- including the very obvious one Angeal had dealt to him personally.
The blonde spat some strange words at him (grave robbing?), but Angeal kept his expression neutral as he gently gestured his palms downward, urging the man to lower his weapon, “No one asked me to come here. I’m only here to ask you some questions, and then I’m leaving.”
Hewley took a couple of cautious, slow steps forward, “Please, sit back down. We both know you’re in no state to be moving like that. You’re going to rip open your stitches.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
That wasn’t difficult to do with Genesis, but typically he was fairly decent at dodging them. The redhead flew up at him at a speed that shouldn’t he shouldn’t have been capable of, considering his size, and Angeal took a startled step back in order to dodge his friend’s suddenly wild, gesticulating hand gestures. He could barely open his mouth to protest before another cure spell was thrown at him; the warm, gentle feeling of wounds closing up and healing over a stark contrast to the fire the Soldier felt he was currently under.
Genesis stalked off in the opposite direction a few paces, and Hewley wasn’t sure if it was safe to go after him or not. He stood still, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the continuation of the blaze. His gaze fell to the floor, unable to watch the ravaging emotion that surely flew across his friend’s face. Angeal had always intensely felt shame, ever since he was a young child. It never got any easier, with age or even death.
Two friends, destined to fight.
Yet, Genesis knew how to press every single one of his buttons. It suddenly felt like they were back in Modeoheim, at the end of the road, with a chasm between them of all that had gone wrong, and all that was wrong with the world. Instead of building a bridge to rescue Genesis from the other side, however, Angeal had turned and walked away that day. He’d given up. Fled, and forced Zack to deal with Genesis and then himself.
The coward’s way out.
The shame combined with the still-existent anger -- not with Genesis, but with himself. Angeal looked forward, back to his furious and dearest friend, his own eyes blazing as he unintentionally raised his voice as he pointed at Genesis, “You don’t get to tell me how to feel! You weren’t the only villain in that story!”
The pain seared across his chest, like opening an old wound that never healed right. Hewley stepped forward, intent on making himself heard, “I forced Zack to fight you instead of doing it myself. And then I forced Zack to kill me so I wouldn’t have to live with everything that happened -- with the knowledge of what we were and what I'd let happen!”
Angeal’s pointed hand trembled as he curled his fingers into a fist, swinging it back down toward his side. Fury burned brightly and coursed through every part of his now-healed body, eager for release, “I left you to suffer alone, instead of staying to try and stop you, to try and help you like I should have.”
He turned away, cursing under his breath as he ran a frustrated hand through his dirty hair. Angeal knew this day would come, he knew this very moment would happen, but he was in no way prepared for it. The urge to run away was just as powerful as it had been back then; so much easier than facing what he was.
Angeal kept his back turned, but glanced over at Sephiroth, seeing Genesis out of the corner of his eye only, “I hardly deserve to be here for either of you considering what I did to you.”
How long can you swallow the pain? Before it comes round again, And a shadow in the valley will lead you to them, So don't follow.
