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The mirror speaks its truth, though Sephiroth will have no qualms if it were to lie.
Yes, lie to him. Tell him falsehoods for just a moment. For just a moment, feed him untruths, disillusion him just as Jenova once had. Tell him that his eyes do not shine with mako, bright and unnerving, sharpened like a cunning cat's. Tell him that his skin is not pale, a porcelain doll cracked and abandoned, a being that wears a human costume.
Tell him that he is not Sephiroth. Allow him to be something else for a mere moment.
The mirror screams at him. You are you! You cannot change! Unnatural creature that you are. Blessed by nothing, blessed by nothing . His reflection cackles. Sephiroth shakes. His reflection sneers. Sephiroth's fingers burn and ache. His mind briefly registers various physical sensations - warm, wet - and yet they all pale in comparison to his own thoughts drowning him.
"Sephiroth!"
Tifa Lockhart's voice echoes in his head, cradling his thoughts in the way a mother cradles her first newborn.
He turns to her, slow and calm as he can currently manage. She's not looking at him, but instead at his hands. He follows her gaze to see that the palms of his hands are bleeding. He's wearing no gloves, so he sees how the blood settles in the grooves of his fingers, seeps under his nails.
"Are you alright? I've been calling you, but you weren't answering."
She knows that he's not okay. He knows it, too, but it's customary for humans to ask. A sense of concern, Sephiroth has learned. The human desire to comfort and placate.
"I am fine." His lies have no weight. The tremble in his voice tells Tifa everything she needs to know.
"Do…you want me to get Cloud?"
Cloud. The answer to all of his plights, his soothing salve when the wounds open up and the scars ache too much.
"No." Another lie. It tumbles out his mouth, falling flat, and Tifa frowns. Another customary human behavior. Lies bring concern. Lies bring disappointment.
"I just need to…be alone for a moment," explains. He knows that he will not be left alone.
"Your hand is bleeding," Tifa says after a few moments. She fidgets with her own hands, ungloved and unharmed. "I'm…gonna get some bandages, okay? Don't leave."
Tifa retrieves the bandages and returns with first aid and Cloud. Sephiroth averts his gaze from them and chooses to look at his hands. They're stained with blood, as they have always been, as they will always be. It'll never be enough to cleanse them, though Sephiroth allows Cloud to come to him anyway, allows him to hold Sephiroth's hands gently while he wipes the blood away. Red drips into the sink, turning into a sickly pink as water swirls it into the drain. Cloud dries them and bandages his wounds carefully, delicately in the manner he does when Denzel or Marlene has a scratch.
And then he whisks Sephiroth away, past Tifa who looks as though she wants to say something; and past the children, whose looks of pity and concern sear Sephiroth's skin, yet another memory to weigh on his shoulders.
Cloud's room - their room, as Cloud always corrects him - is dark. The curtains are drawn close to keep out the too-bright sunlight. There's a candle that does little to brighten the environment. The flame is too small, too weak, and Cloud never remembers to extinguish it. It's dangerous to leave a candle lit, no matter how small the flame, and yet Cloud does nothing about it.
(It's dangerous to leave Sephiroth here, no matter how small his flame is, and yet Cloud continues to do nothing.)
In this dark room, Cloud sits close to Sephiroth, close enough that their knees touch and their fingers brush against one another. He doesn't say a single word; never does in these situations, instead choosing to wait for Sephiroth to speak. It's appreciated, Sephiroth admits. Tifa always tries to get him to express himself during her attempts to understand him. She never seems to realize that Sephiroth barely understands himself. The children are too young to understand the complexity that is Sephiroth. The best that they offer are tender hugs and warm smiles.
If Sephiroth listens closely, he can hear all of the small noises in the house. Cloud's heartbeat, slow and steady. His breathing, soft and delicate. The slight creak of the ceiling fan. The dishes being washed, the particular clink of shot glasses. The pitter-patter of small footsteps, the hushed voices of Denzel and Marlene – "stop eavesdropping" "i just wanna see if Sephy's okay" – and the eventual scurrying away when they hear nothing. The birds outside of the windowsill. The floorboards groaning. Sephiroth's own heartbeat, slow enough to the point that he might as well be dead, and perhaps this time he will rot in the ground as opposed to going to the Lifestream, flesh eaten by insects, bones deteriorating until there is nothing left; no small broken pieces, no dust, no microscopic particles to be discovered. Until nothing remains. Nothing.
"It is all too much."
Cloud doesn't speak yet; Sephiroth knows he's still waiting for just a little bit more.
He looks at Cloud, moving strands of his hair out of the way so that he can see all of his lover.
His eyes burn blue. Speckles of mako are still littered throughout. It is a beautiful sight, Sephiroth admits. All of Cloud is beautiful; from the light freckles that dust across his face to the scar marks his chests, long and jagged. He is a beautiful sight; Sephiroth knows that looking upon him is undeserved, and yet, selfish as ever, he cannot help himself.
Shame burns in his throat.
"This…attempt at life. It is all too much."
The Lifestream rejects him. The planet shuns him. Natural consequences of his unnatural existence.
A few minutes go by. Sephiroth says nothing more; it's not that he can say anything else. Thoughts elude him like death does.
Cloud touches his hand, slides his fingers in-between Sephiroth's, slotting together so perfectly as if they belong. And perhaps they do belong; their lives have been so intricately intertwined, a painstakingly woven web, that it is quite impossible to separate them. Fate feels so cruel in that regard, keeping Sephiroth with Cloud, knowing that they should not be together and yet, without fail, dragging them to one another over and over. Destiny is cruel, unforgiving.
Cloud squeezes his hand; the one gesture tells Sephiroth everything he needs to know. We'll do it together. You and me. He knows it's genuine because Cloud is genuine in all that he does.
Sephiroth gives a small squeeze in return. He'll try. He's unsure if he can do it for his sake, but he'll do it for Cloud.
Night creeps in, covering the walls and floorboards until darkness reaches every corner. Sephiroth rises up the stairs slowly, a phantom moving through the house he haunts. He has finished cleaning up his mess in the downstairs bathroom, though both Cloud and Tifa assured him that he didn't need to. But he needs to, of course. They shouldn't have to clean up after his mistakes; they've already done so many times.
When he reaches his room, he finds Denzel and Marlene waiting in front of the door. The children give Sephiroth their good nights with big smiles and outstretched arms. Marlene hugs him, squeezing his leg so hard, pouring all of her love into him. Denzel does the same, and he lingers longer than Marlene. They do it every night, and Sephiroth returns their love with gentle pats to the head. He doesn't understand children - he never has. They possess an innocence that feels so unfamiliar to Sephiroth, a view on the world that he simply cannot connect with.
Sephiroth indulges them for longer than usual, and when they are satisfied, they playfully swat at his hands and scatter to their rooms. He watches them go, listening to their giggles fade, and then descends into the darkness of his room.
He finds Cloud undressing. His shirt is already off, and even in the dark, he can make out the smooth scars across Cloud's skin. Scars that Sephiroth gave him, cruel gifts. Sometimes he kisses those scars, each one an apology, hoping he can make them go away.
"Heard Denzel and Marlene cornering you again," Cloud remarks, laughing for a moment. He kicks off one boot, then the other, tossing them somewhere into the shadows of their bedroom.
"One time they chased me so I could read them a bedtime story. And they purposely chose one of the longer ones."
"They are…very persistent. A trait they seem to have received from you."
"Hey!"
Sephiroth finds a smile upon his face. One inevitably forms whenever he's with Cloud; he simply cannot help himself.
He continues to stare at Cloud, observing the way his muscles constrict and relax. His slender fingers undoing his belts, each one falling to the floor with an unceremonial thump. Cloud is pretty. Even with the reminders of their past battles engraved on his skin, Cloud remains pretty.
Cloud looks up at Sephiroth, looking right at his eyes. Sephiroth quickly turns away, ignoring Cloud's light huff of laughter and the way it squeezes his heart.
"C'mere, Seph."
Sephiroth listens, stopping right in front of Cloud. Cloud reaches a hand up and tugs at Sephiroth's collar.
"I can't be the only one naked here," he teases.
Undressing is nothing for Sephiroth. It's different from Cloud's; there's nothing to be seen, nothing to be in awe of. And yet Cloud looks at him as if he's beholden to some miracle, eyes following all of Sephiroth's stiff movements, hunger shining in his eyes as if he has never eaten a day in his life.
To be wanted, to be desired. It'll never fail to make Sephiroth's heart ache in a way he cannot understand.
They make their way to the bed, with Sephiroth lying on his back and Cloud climbing on top of him.
"You're beautiful," Cloud murmurs, brushing his knuckles against Sephiroth's cheek. There is love in those eyes. A love so intense that nearly suffocates him. "Do you know that?"
Sephiroth nods.
"Say it, Sephiroth. I want to hear you say it."
"I'm…beautiful."
Cloud stares at him for a while longer. Sephiroth doesn't know what he's searching for. He makes Sephiroth goes through those affirmations often - I'm beautiful, I'm loved, I'm worthy. Are they supposed to come true?
Cloud gifts Sephiroth with a kiss on the lips, then a kiss on his neck, followed by a trail of kisses on Sephiroth's collarbone. Every press of Cloud's lips against his delicate skin makes Sephiroth gasp softly.
He frowns when Cloud moves away from him. Sephiroth yearns for more: more kisses, more touches, more love. He is greedy, selfish: he wants all of Cloud, every single fiber of his lover's being. As undeserving as he is, he craves Cloud, an insatiable appetite.
"Please," Sephiroth pleads. "Continue."
Cloud smiles. A simple acknowledgement to Sephiroth's pleas, a simple promise that Cloud makes. His hands, rough and calloused from years of fighting, rest upon Sephiroth's chest, fingers splayed out as though Cloud is memorizing the texture of his skin, of every imperfection. This intimacy always overwhelms Sephiroth; for all new forms of love he faces, this type leaves him feeling everything at once. A hunger, a yearning, a desperation.
When Cloud drags his hand down his skin, fire spreading, blood burning, Sephiroth lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
And when Cloud's hand ghosts by his cock, sensitive to the touch as it is already pathetically weeping, Sephiroth sucks in a breath, holding back a whimper.
And when Cloud's fingers enter him, rough and dry because that's what Sephiroth desires, tears form at the corners of his eyes, and he smiles despite himself, despite knowing that he does not deserve the way Cloud twists inside of him, exploring him, taking him apart and putting him back together. Broken machines need to be fixed, lest they be thrown away, and Cloud keeps fixing the always breaking down Sephiroth.
Sephiroth comes with a hiss of Cloud's name and a shattered cry. A mess pools on his stomach, but Cloud keeps going, stretching him further with a third finger, the burn keeping him aware though his mind feels dazed, foggy. Cloud pushes and prods at that sensitive spot and - it's too much, it's too much, but it's yet another one of Sephiroth's desires. Push him past the point where he can no longer feel. Push him past what he once thought was limitless.
Pain is pleasure, pleasure is pain, and Sephiroth drowns in it all. The tears tumble over another now. All of the emotions that swirl within him spill out, a beautiful mess, and Cloud laps it all up to make it his own, to take on everything Sephiroth feels onto his shoulders.
He comes again, weaker than his first time, but still enough to thoroughly make him another mess. Cloud pulls out of Sephiroth, takes his fingers and swirls around in the sticky filth on Sephiroth's stomach, smearing it up his heaving chest and spreading it across his reddened lips and blotchy cheeks.
Once Cloud seems to be satisfied with his little marking ritual, he bends down to kiss Sephiroth. The moment doesn't last long; it ends as quickly as it begins, and Sephiroth tries to follow, to taste more of Cloud and feel his tongue cradle his.
Cloud swipes his tongue across his lips - how do I taste to him? Sephiroth wonders - and rises from the bed, leaving Sephiroth to feel the aftershocks of their activities. His body is hyper aware of everything: the cool draft, the sweat drying from his body, the stickiness of his own come on his body. It is the reality of life; he's out of the small world solely shared between him and Cloud.
Cloud returns to him, as he always does, with a washcloth in his hand and a few other trivial items. Cloud's gentle in this regard: he takes his time to clean Sephiroth, soothes his aches with balms, eases the pain he craved with soft kisses and tender touches. This, too, is a reality of life. It's the slow ease from a high, his mind and body grounded. A reminder that he is in the present.
When Cloud is done with his work, he idly tosses them to the side and climbs over Sephiroth, moving and adjusting both of their limbs until he is settled against Sephiroth's side. The sounds of their breathing, now settled and synced, seem so loud in the quiet of their room. Cloud's fingers tap against Sephiroth's collarbone, rhythmic, and Sephiroth chooses to focus on that instead, on how the motions begin to slow down alongside Cloud's heartbeat, barely a trickle before it all stops and Cloud's hand rests listlessly on his chest.
Sephiroth doesn't sleep, not right away at least. Cloud always tries to lull him to sleep, but ends up falling asleep himself. It's endearing. An adorably human thing to do. Sephiroth can't do something like that, something so human and alive, but perhaps with enough practice, he can replicate it. Bring himself to do something adorably human, even if only once.
Sephiroth brings his hand to Cloud's still one. He presses it gently to his chest, hoping that Cloud can feel his heart beat, and falls asleep.
Tifa tells him he is doing well. He helps out with chores around the house, assists Tifa with managing the bar, keeps the kids company. He is what is deemed a "huge help", a title of the highest honor, it seems. It doesn't feel like a high honor. It doesn't even feel like much, but Tifa means what she says. She, like Cloud, is genuine. No matter how much he searches, Sephiroth has no reason to not believe her.
"Seriously," she insists. Her eyes sparkle the way Cloud's does when he wants you to believe what he's saying. Perhaps the result of their long-lasting friendship.
Friendship. It was but a fleeting moment for him, it seems. Some of the memories of those days are hazy; others are clear, having returned to him slowly after his latest exit for the Lifestream. He frowns; thinking of the past frustrates him.
"I cannot thank you enough, Sephiroth."
"There's no need to thank me," he replies, avoiding her gaze and choosing to look at the floor, scanning his eyes over the grooves of the fading wood. Her praise is too much for someone like him; like needles, it pricks his skin.
His conversations with Tifa never last long. Most of it is due to Sephiroth; Tifa is too kind, too patient with him. Even when he returned once again, and she stared at him with wary eyes, she still spoke to him with a cordiality he did not deserve.
"You're always supposed to thank someone," she countered. "It's a good thing to show gratitude. I always have to remind Cloud of that, ya know."
Tifa continues her chatter to him, moving around so frequently that his eyes find themselves focused on her again. Tifa moves purposefully, even around Sephiroth, reaching past him to retrieve an item, or politely asking him to scoot over.
How is she so sure of herself? Sephiroth was once like that, but he knows that was nothing more than a façade. An attempt at security, riddled with cracks that he once refused to acknowledge.
Sephiroth taps his fingers against his thigh. His gaze falls upon Tifa's arms, strong and yet capable of tenderness, and he spots the accessory on her forearm.
那条粉色的丝带。他的目光在那里停留得太久。Sephiroth 知道它代表着什么；从他看到它系在 Cloud 手臂上的那一刻起，他就知道了。他所有的战友都戴着一条。它将永远伴随着他们，作为对她的提醒，一种让她存在的方式。她，那个他无法让自己说出名字的人，因为他怎么能呢？简单地说，他是她的凶手。没有什么能让他摆脱这一点。
他的皮肤感到痒痒的。奇怪。不自然。仿佛塑料覆盖在他的肌肉和骨头上。既太大又太小。他为什么在这里？他为什么在这里？Sephiroth 用指甲按压大腿，感受着假皮下肌肉的坚硬。既太大又太小。他为什么要穿这身装扮？
如果他当时死了，她还会活着，不是吗？
一种恶心的味道充满了 Sephiroth 的口腔。他的指甲挖得更深了。他想把它弄掉，把它弄掉。
“嘿，怎么了？”
什么没有错？他违背自然秩序的存在。他无法简单地死去。他在一个被他伤害、被他操纵的人所爱的房子里？这一切都只是幻觉吗？是心灵的诡计吗？怎么可能被那些本应死在他手中的孩子们包围？他怎么会和一个他认为只是障碍的女人在一起？他怎么会和一个他不断摧毁、折磨和虐待，却仍然被他所爱的男人在一起？这根本不可能！
这根本不可能。
脱掉它。撕开它。撕裂那无用的血肉。蜕去那层皮，然后——
“停下！”
Sephiroth 知道那个声音。Tifa。Tifa Lockhart。她在这里？是的，她在。他和 Tifa 一起在她的家里，和她的家人在一起，在她的世界里。
“请。”
他眨了眨眼。一片朦胧笼罩在 Sephiroth 身上，仿佛他从深沉的睡眠中醒来。他感觉到手被轻轻一握，这感觉短暂地印在他的脑海中，他低头一看，发现是 Tifa 的手与他的相握。
“跟我说话。我……我知道我不是克劳德，但我也可以帮忙。求你了。”
脆弱并不适合 Tifa。或者也许适合，而 Sephiroth 从未注意到。也许他对她的看法一直是错的。他以前也犯过错，直到他咽下最后一口气，他才意识到自己错得有多离谱。
话语仍卡在他的喉咙深处，于是 Sephiroth 用眼神与 Tifa 交流，引导她看向那条缎带。领悟如红宝石般在她眼中闪烁，但她保持沉默。他们就这样手牵着手，沉浸在如此静谧的沉默中，Sephiroth 几乎可以发誓整个世界都已停止转动。
“我……有时会梦到她，”蒂法开始说道。“有时她会在我的梦中出现。你知道的，她能做到这一点。与生命之流有关，还有她作为古代种的身份。她并不经常这样做，但……当我看到她时，我仍然珍惜这些时刻。这让我感觉她从未真正离开。”
“即使她不来看我，她依然留在我的记忆中。我们依然承载着我们的记忆。我知道你也是。你的记忆。你的遗憾。你的悲伤。”
蒂法移动她的手，让她的手指滑入萨菲罗斯的指间。它们有点像克劳德的，粗糙而坚韧，是多年战斗和生存的痕迹。
“很痛吧，Sephiroth。我知道的。但我认为正是这种痛苦让我们能够前进？坚持下去。我们改变，我们重新开始。”
“我……不知道该如何做到。我不知道如何重新开始。我不知道如何……活下去。”
Tifa 点点头。
“没有人真正知道，”她回答道。“但我们会尝试。我们会去理解，会犯错，然后从中学习。听起来很多，不是吗？但这就是作为人类的意义。”
成为人类？已经太久远了，他甚至不知道从何开始。一个人如何重新开始？过正常的生活，人类的生活？星球会允许他这样做吗？她会允许吗？
“我……我想总有一天她会来找你的，”蒂法继续说道。像萨菲罗斯一样，蒂法发现自己无法说出她的名字。“就像她对我、对克劳德那样。对所有人都是如此。当她来找你时，你应该倾听她的话。”
Sephiroth 没有回应。Tifa 再次轻轻地握了握他的手。
“我给你一些空间，好吗？”
她的手指开始从他的手中滑落——他们这样连接了多久？——但 Sephiroth 迅速用另一只手抓住了她的手。
“我……我想再多帮你一些。如果你觉得可以的话。拜托了。”
蒂法的眼睛闪烁着。她在忍住泪水吗？
“是啊。是啊，你可以帮我。当然可以。碗碟得洗干净。我来洗你来擦干怎么样？”
Sephiroth 点点头。他能做到。一个简单的任务。一个人类的任务。
他感觉到孩子们在盯着他看。他们并不擅长隐藏；Sephiroth 在他们甚至还没在客厅门框后安顿下来之前就已经知道他们的存在了。
孩子们很喜欢他，尽管他不确定为什么。他们都不怕他。丹泽尔总是带着敬畏和好奇的眼神看着他。玛琳则让人捉摸不透。她似乎总是在看透他，而不是看着他，仿佛她认出了他不认识的某个人。
“Denzel。Marlene。如果你们愿意，可以进来。”
鞋子摩擦声和轻微的喘息声回荡着，很快他们俩蹒跚着走进来，走到沙发旁，分别坐在 Sephiroth 的两侧。
“我们……我们想来看看你，”丹泽尔解释道。玛琳点头表示同意。
“你看上去很伤心，Sephy。”
悲伤。如此简单的词汇，却蕴含着更深层的意义。
“我想我是难过的，小玛琳。”
“嗯，你现在是家人了，你知道的，”丹泽尔解释道。他没有完全看向萨菲罗斯，而是摆弄着衬衫袖子上垂下的一根线。对丹泽尔来说，表达感情一定也很困难。如果仔细观察，萨菲罗斯能在丹泽尔身上看到自己的一些影子。
蒂法说我们是一家人，你和我们在一起，所以你也是这个家庭的一部分。
“是的！我们现在为你而来！”
Marlene 欢快地叫着，像清晨歌唱的鸟儿。对于像 Sephiroth 这样的人来说，她太过明亮，但他发现自己无法移开视线。而 Marlene 直视着他，一秒钟都没有中断眼神交流。在她这个年纪，如此大胆的自信。也许周围有一群大胆而激烈的混合团队塑造了她这样的性格。
他没有立即回应。他该如何向他们解释自己的困境呢？
“我犯过错误，”他开始说道。“而且……我为这些错误感到后悔，因为它们伤害了别人。我无法弥补我所做的一切。”
丹泽尔和玛琳互相交换了眼神。他们似乎在说一些赛菲罗斯无法理解的话。
Marlene 站在沙发上。Sephiroth 握住她的手，她摇晃了一会儿。他不确定是否应该立即制止这种行为，但 Marlene 脸上的表情——她严肃的眼神和撅起的嘴——让他什么也没说。
“每个人都会犯错，但如果别人原谅了你，那就是真的原谅了！你也必须原谅自己。”
他的错误是严重的；它们伴随着他经历了无数次的死亡与重生。他怎能原谅自己？救赎早已遥不可及。
他不知道如何原谅自己。他不确定自己是否能够学会。
Marlene 软化了，微笑着跳起来，扑通一声坐在沙发上，Sephiroth 则用手臂护着她，以防她弹出去。她似乎对自己很满意，Denzel 笑了起来，试图跟随 Marlene 的脚步，尽管 Sephiroth 用手按在他的肩膀上，将他引导回原位。
“你能和我们一起看卡通片吗？”玛琳问道。“我们成功说服克劳德让我们晚点睡。”
“Tifa 也是吗？”Sephiroth 问道。
孩子们朝他眨了眨眼。
“嗯……”玛琳开口道。
“嗯……”丹泽尔补充道。
“别担心。我一个字也不会说。”
他同意和他们一起看节目。明亮的灯光和愚蠢的声音出奇地吸引人。萨菲罗斯发现自己很享受这个节目的简单情节。这是一个不错的消遣；他的思绪集中在角色的荒谬上，他们在荒谬世界中的冒险。他以前从未看过这样的东西。卡通片不适合像他这样的人。时间不能浪费在这种愚蠢的事情上。
Marlene 和 Denzel 在第二集中途睡着了，但 Sephiroth 一直保持清醒。第三集也是。第四集、第五集、第六集，直到他的眼睛变得沉重，睡意袭来。
Sephiroth 被火焰包围。
他在尼布尔海姆，看着房子倒塌并化为灰烬。尸体的气味弥漫在空气中，使他的鼻子皱起。他一遍又一遍地经历这个场景。他知道每一个细节，知道每一声尖叫，知道每一个生命何时结束。
这一次，火焰伤害了他。它们舔舐着他的皮肤，灼烧着他，剥去一层层皮肉，直到肌肉暴露在外。烟雾使他的眼睛流泪。他能去哪里？他必须离开。他必须找到他的母亲。
母亲。母亲。什么母亲？这不可能是真的。她从来就不是这样的存在。
他在做梦。不过是他的大脑让他重温自己的罪孽。尖叫是徒劳的；没有人会来帮助他。他会像其他人一样死去。
Sephiroth 闭上了眼睛。当他再次睁开时，他正凝视着一片蓝天。
他现在在哪里？这里不再是尼布尔海姆，但他认不出这是哪里。他坐起身，发现自己坐在一片花海中。这肯定不是天堂吧？那不是他该去的地方。
“你还好吗？那是个很激烈的梦。”
他知道这个声音。这么多年过去了，他依然没有忘记。
“嘿，嘿。没事的。慢慢来。没事的。你现在没事了。”
她站在他身旁，眼中充满关切。她站在他身旁，活着，呼吸着，充满生机。
言语已无法表达他的感受。他认得那件衣服——她的血染红了它。他的剑刺穿了她的肉体，毫不留情地夺走了她的生命。为什么她会在这里？
她的手悬在他的脸上。他无法动弹，他无法动弹。
"塞菲在做噩梦。我们该怎么办？"
“醒醒。对不起。一切都会好起来的。我会改天再来。”
她像母亲安抚不安的孩子一样捧着他的脸。她温柔如花香，轻柔地对待他脆弱的身躯。泪水在他的眼中打转。不，不——他不能拥有这个。
"你去接 Cloud。我去接 Tifa！"
是她。她。
Aer–
"Sephiroth！醒醒！"
他的眼睛猛地睁开。Cloud 站在他上方。背景中有声音——高亢而扭曲，伴随着欢快的音乐在背景中播放。
“你在尖叫，”克劳德说着，向萨菲罗斯靠近。他的步伐缓慢而谨慎，就像在接近一只受惊的野生动物。“玛琳来找我了。”
他伸手向 Sephiroth，但 Sephiroth 扭身躲开了。Cloud 收回了手。
“别碰我；我是个怪物。”
他的心跳到了嗓子眼。他需要呕吐。他需要窒息。他需要——
"Die. She should have let me die."
"She? Sephiroth, who are you -?"
"I killed her, I killed her."
噪音越来越大。冒险，冒险，让我们拯救世界吧！他曾试图拯救世界一次。但相反，他伤害了它。他伤害了星球和上面的每一个人。他不是救世主。只是一个生来就为了伤害、杀戮的怪物。
Sephiroth 倒下并爬过 Cloud，无视对他名字的呼唤，朝着噪音的源头爬去。灯光闪烁；角色们唱歌跳舞。他们如此快乐。快乐而充满生机。
随着一声尖叫，Sephiroth 紧握拳头，猛击眼前五彩斑斓的景象。火花四溅，如同垂死的呼吸般喷涌而出，随后一切陷入黑暗。
Gone. It's all done. He has done what he was born to do.
"I killed them," Sephiroth whispers. "Just like I killed her."
"You saw Aerith, didn't you?"
Sephiroth snaps his head up. Cloud? Where did he come from? His savior, his enemy. His solace and his downfall. Everything has always revolved around Cloud, hasn't it? Just like the planet around the sun.
“我需要你，Cloud。”
Sephiroth 能尝到舌尖上的绝望——苦涩而恶心。真是可悲。他真是可悲。但他依然渴望。他想要——不，需要——忘记。哪怕只是一瞬间，他也需要忘记。他所有的痛苦，他的悲伤，心中那乞求死亡的痛楚。
"I need you."
He's on his knees. He feels Cloud's soul touch his: so tender, soft, waves of love. How gentle, so gentle, but it is not what Sephiroth wants. No, he wants not kindness, not forgiveness, not redemption.
"Kill me. Please. I need you to kill me."
Cloud 跪在他面前，以温柔的姿态握住 Sephiroth 的手，这种温柔让 Sephiroth 想要尖叫。
"No."
No? Does he not even deserve to die? If not that, then what is his punishment? Living? He is not made for living. Please, give him any other punishment than that. Please do not grant him life.
"I want you to breathe, Sephiroth. Breathe."
The voice that sounds like Cloud's feels distant, muffled. Someone approaches them and – ah, there is a child that looks like Denzel. And another that has Marlene's form. And this woman who has taken on Tifa's features also comes to him. They play the roles of humans so much better than he ever could. He's envious. Humanity surrounds him and yet it eludes him.
There's so much pity in their eyes. Pity for the poor creature. Pity for the machine that has finally reached the point of no return. Unfixable, useless - just throw him away. Will they grant him his wish? Ah, but he is tired now. So, so tired.
Arms wrap around him. Sephiroth hears crying - it echoes, far and close, loud and soft. Whose tears are those?
He is tired. Something is dripping down his cheek. His vision is blurry; where did everyone go? He still hears sobbing?
Who is crying and why do they cry?
Why do they cry?
"He's asleep right now."
"What should we do?"
"We stay with him, Tifa. Stay by his side."
"I…just…I don't feel like I'm doing enough. I want to help him.
"I know."
"Tifa, Cloud, is Sephiroth going to be okay?"
"He will, Denzel. He has been through a lot. It takes time to heal."
"I want to give him a hug."
"You can't right now, Marlene. He's resting."
"But –"
"We'll check in on him soon, okay?"
"I love him. He's our family now. But I don't think he believes that."
"He does. It's just…hard for him to accept. He's been without love for a very long time."
"I love him. Can you let him know that, Cloud?"
"Yeah, can you tell him that I love him, too?"
"We can all tell him together, okay?"
"Okay."
He rises from his slumber, slithering from underneath blankets and pillows. He's in his bedroom, but attempting to recall how he got here brings nothing but headaches. The curtains are drawn, but he can tell it's morning by the way the light filters through the edges. Something is shifting close by. Sephiroth turns over, a dull ache settled in his bones, and finds that Cloud, his Cloud, is next to him. Just a sheet covers his sleeping form; he's never been fond of having too many blankets on him.
He hears something else, so he forces himself to rise, carefully and quietly so as to not disturb Cloud.
Denzel and Marlene are sleeping on a makeshift bed composed of pillows and comforters too big for their small frames. Tifa is not too far from them. She sleeps against the wall, huddled in a chair with a few blankets.
Memories of last night resurface. He feels sick; he must've scared them terribly. But they are here with Sephiroth now. They have taken him upstairs, spent the night with him to make sure he wasn't alone. They witnessed his sadness, his pain, his agony.
And yet, they are here.
They have stayed with him. Despite everything, they have stayed with him.
Denzel shuffles, his eyes blinking awake, and Sephiroth makes eye contact with him.
"He's awake!" Denzel scrambles to get up, fighting the blankets as best as he can, causing Marlene and Tifa to wake as well.
"Sephy's awake!" Marlene calls, and she too struggles before she's able to get up, following Denzel onto the bed. Tifa rises, greeting Sephiroth with a "Good morning" before also joining them on the bed.
"Damn, you guys make a lotta noise."
Cloud grumbles a few choice words, but the smile in his voice is evident. Then, Sephiroth sees it as Cloud sits up and leans in to place a chaste kiss on Sephiroth's cheek.
They all can barely fit on this bed. Sephiroth occupies most of the space, so everyone huddles close to him. He's certain they make for an odd sight.
"Okay," Marlene starts, "on the count of three. One…two…three!"
"We love you!"
The group hug is less hug and more of a tumble: Cloud hits his head on the headboard, and Tifa nearly falls off. Denzel accidentally kicks Marlene, and Marlene retaliates, and a game of footsies begins.
Sephiroth watches this all transpire before him, watches the way Tifa braces her hand against his shoulder, trying to balance herself; watches the way Cloud curses at rubs at his head, only to curse again as he gets trapped in Denzel and Marlene's antics; watches as the children scramble closer to him, hoping that he'd protect them from Cloud.
It's an absurd moment, but humans live for the absurd. It is a part of their existence to be odd, to face the silly times alongside the bad times. To create chaos and see the beauty in it. It's incredibly human, and Sephiroth is in the midst of this incredibly human moment.
And in the chaos of this human moment, he laughs.
Everything stops. Sephiroth doesn't know why his body's doing this; his shoulders shake and his stomach hurts and the corners of his mouth reach toward the sky. Little chuckles escape him, and then they grow bigger and bigger and louder and louder until tears form at the corner of his eyes. Big tears that roll down his face. Is he crying now? Or is this still laughter? Is he happy or sad? Sephiroth does not know, and yet he still laughs.
And everyone joins him in this laughter. Because what is laughter but yet another human moment? The culmination of all that they have gone through rolled and stuffed into this one singular moment?
Despite everything, they laugh with him. Despite everything, they have stayed with him.
Despite everything, they have loved him.
"Now you just garnish with a bit more mint and add a Key lime round and - ah! Perfect."
Sephiroth looks down at the creation Tifa taught him how to make: a key lime mojito. He has no particular inclination to drink alcohol, but Tifa says this is the best way to keep his hands busy. That's all he's been doing for the past week: busy hands means focused thoughts, Marlene tells him. He's been playing dolls with Marlene, helping Denzel with homework, creating concoctions with Tufa, and helping Cloud tinkering with his motorcycle. He knows nothing about anything - busy hands for him meant polishing his sword, cutting down his enemies, carrying the bodies of the dead - but he's learning, and that's what Cloud says matters the most.
"You might become better than me. Might."
Tifa giggles. Her laughter is a sweet sound, ringing in Sephiroth's ears so pleasantly, a soft melody. She's laughing around him, speaking with him as she does with her other friends.
"We'd have to get Cloud to judge, but he might have trouble choosing between me and you. Maybe Cid. He enjoys every vice ever. Or maybe –"
"Are we friends?" Sephiroth interrupts.
Tifa seems to be genuinely taken aback, but it fades as quickly as it appears, and Tifa gives him a warm smile.
"I feel like we're friends. I want to be your friend, if you'll let me."
"Why?"
"Because you need a friend in your life, and…and I want to be that friend. So, please, let me be that friend for you."
"I have tried to kill you, you know."
"I know. But that's in the past now."
Sephiroth frowns. How easily can one leave things in the past? He struggles with that, still, but as with everything else, he is still learning.
"I didn't trust you at first," Tifa admits. She fidgets with hands, her eyes not quite meeting his. The admission doesn't hurt him; her doubts were made clear as day, ranging from her wary looks when he was with Cloud to keeping the children from getting too close to him.
"But there's something different. Something sincere."
Tifa sighs. She leans against the counter.
"I could see that you were trying. And I figured I had to try, too. That if Cloud could forgive you, then maybe I could, too. And I have forgiven you. The only one that hasn't forgiven you is you, Sephiroth."
He's reminded of Marlene's words from that night. Marlene had told everyone about it, and now he's working on forgiveness. It is a difficult task, but he finds himself willing to try, for once.
"I'm tired. And you're tired too. But as long as we have our loved ones, then we'll be okay."
Tifa turns to face Sephiroth. Her smile reaches your hand.
"Come here. Give me your hand."
When he approaches her, she doesn't flinch. And when he holds his hand out, slow and hesitant but willing, she reaches out to him and clasps onto him with a sureness and gentleness that slows his heart.
And when Tifa pulls him into a hug, he memorizes this new feeling - her gentle but firm hold, the lavender scent of shampoo. His hands hover over her, unsure of where they should land, but they eventually settle for the small of Tifa's back.
"We'll be okay."
Sephiroth finds himself nuzzling against the crook of Tifa's neck, but she doesn't seem to mind. She seems to welcome it instead, hugging him tighter.
Perhaps this is what it's like to trust. Perhaps this is what it's like to be trusted.
"We'll be okay," she tells him. Her voice trembles against him.
"We'll be okay," he repeats.
For once, he can believe that.
"You seem happier."
Sephiroth looks up from his book - a romance drama that Tifa found at a thrift shop. The genre isn't that particularly entertaining so far, but Tifa has been purchasing any book she can find to help with his newfound hobby.
"It's a good thing that you found something you enjoy," she says. "As time goes on, you'll find more things you like. And it doesn't have to be permanent! Things can change."
Reading is an enjoyable task, though his eyes make it a bit difficult at times. Tifa has suggested reading glasses, but he's not too fond of the way they look on him. Cloud chooses to sit with him, settling next to him on the couch. Their knees touch.
"Do I really?"
"Yeah," Cloud responds, nodding. "You're reading for enjoyment, you tell bedtime stories to the kids. And Tifa says that you're making very good drinks, which gotta be, like, the highest honor ever."
"I am learning from the best."
"Oh?" Cloud smirks. "So you think Tifa's the very best, huh? I'm sure she'll love to hear that."
"Please don't tease me," Sephiroth mutters, hiding his face with his bangs. Cloud chuckles, giving a soft apology while moving Sephiroth's hair out of the way.
"You also like stargazing. It's gonna be a little too cold to do that soon, so you won't be able to drag me out in the middle of the night anymore."
He once wondered what was held within those stars, if he could make it his own.
"You can wear a scarf."
"That doesn't stop it from being cold outside."
Sephiroth chuckles. They settle into a comfortable silence, only broken by the occasional page turn or by Cloud adjusting himself until he's leaning against Sephiroth's shoulder.
"Hey, Seph?" Cloud starts. Sephiroth feels a light tug on his hair and he turns from his book to see Cloud playing in, spinning silver strands around his fingers.
"Yes, Cloud?"
"You know we can go stargazing when you want to, right? We can do anything together."
"I know."
Another moment of silence passes, then: "You know I love you, right?"
"I do."
"I wanna hear you say it."
"You love me," Sephiroth says, lowering his head slightly to place a kiss against Cloud's forehead. "You love me as I love you."
Cloud smiles and returns the kiss. And when Cloud deepens it, lightly pulling at Sephiroth's hair to urge him closer, Sephiroth places his book to the side. Reading is an enjoyable hobby, but he enjoys Cloud even more. His love will always be permanent.
In his dreams, he is surrounded by flowers. Yellow ones, green, blue, red. As far as the eye can see, there are flowers carefully cultivated, treated tenderly and blooming with love.
He knows this place. He knows who is here.
"Hello," he calls out. "Aerith?"
"Well, hi there, Sephiroth."
He turns around to find her standing behind him. She is smiling sheepishly at him, hands behind her back.
"I'm sorry for before, I really am. I don't think you were ready to see me then. I just didn't want to see you suffer."
"But I have caused your loved ones nothing but suffering. I…have caused you suffering."
"I see nothing but Marlene braiding your hair. I see Denzel admiring you. I see Tifa teaching you, and I see Cloud loving you. Are you gonna deny that?"
Sephiroth shakes his head. Cloud has told him that there is nothing that can get past Aerith. "She just…knows," he says. And she knows indeed. She knows everything about him, more than he'll ever know about himself. A true Cetra through and through.
"How have you been feeling?" she asks him.
"Sad," he replies, honest in his answer. "But happy, as well."
Aerith nods sagely.
"It's okay to feel sad. But it's not okay to bottle it up. You have family with you to talk to about it now."
Aerith pokes at his chest. Twice. Her finger is small and slender, but it surprisingly hurts.
"I'm serious. You and Cloud have a bad habit of keeping things to yourself. Don't do that! Let it out! Let it free. He's already gotten this lesson from me multiple times, so hopefully he knows the deal by now."
Sephiroth blinks, still a little thrown off by the poke. Aerith laughs for a bit before it tapers off into a chuckle and settles down into a sweet smile.
"I don't want to see you here for a while, okay? You have people that need you. You have to stay with them. Live out your life with them. Live your normal human life."
Sephiroth nods. "I…I understand."
"Good. I'd just kick you out, anyway. Now, it's time for you to go. We'll see each other again soon, okay?"
A breeze blows the petals into the air. Flowers obscure his view. Soon, he'll wake up from his dream. Soon, he'll be back with his family.
"Thank you, Aerith," he whispers.
He doesn't get a response, but that is alright. She has heard him, he knows it.
The mirror shows that his hair is a bit messy. Maybe he'll let Marlene comb it out and style it today. She's been begging to put his hair into pigtails. He can already hear Cloud's teasing.
His skin is a little pinker, his eyes a little brighter. Running errands with Tifa and Cloud has him outside more. The mirror shows him this truth; he is accepting of it.
"Hey, Seph!"
He turns to see Cloud peeking into the bathroom. He's dressed casually today; there are no deliveries to be made, so he's chosen to spend time at home.
"It's my turn to make breakfast today. You wanna help me?"
Sephiroth nods in response. Cloud smiles and heads off to start getting things ready.
This is what starting over is like, isn't it? Preparing breakfast, moving slowly through the days, some good and some difficult. Never a set routine, day to day to day. To live a normal life. A human life.
Sephiroth smiles. It's a customary human trait. It fits him well.