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Sephiroth is achy and tired. He isn’t sure what went wrong today, but he ended up with gunshot wounds in both arms and a long cut across his back.
The director said the mission was supposed to be simple.
“Easy” is what he said.
Sephiroth scoffs to himself, wondering if he’ll be able to shed his leather without help. He retreats to his quarters, waving off Angeal when he asks after him with concern in his eyes. Genesis looks up from his weapons, his wet-stone slowing to a stop along his blade. He masks his worry behind mild interest, hoping to conceal a measure of brotherly care.
It doesn’t work, but Sephiroth won’t deprive him of the illusion.
Leaving without answering Angeal, Sephiroth slips free of their keen eyes and into the solitude of his room. He’s just lucky his long hair covers the slice in the back of his shirt. Sephiroth grimaces, unzipping his jacket the last few inches and beginning the laborious process of dragging it off his shoulders. His advanced healing from the mako is working slowly around his wounds, but that doesn’t mean it takes the pain with it.
It takes almost a minute, but he eventually shucks the last couple inches of his sleeves from his wrists. His breaths tremble on the way out as he examines his wounds. Sephiroth doesn’t find himself injured very often, if at all, but this time, it’s hard to move through the pain. His wounds aren’t superficial, but they aren’t fatal either. He nods when he sees they’re scabbed over, moving into the bathroom to check on his back. Sephiroth pulls his hair over his shoulder, craning his neck to get a look in the mirror. He grimaces again, hissing through clenched teeth as he pokes at it.
Tender, but closed over.
Sephiroth takes it to mean he’s healed enough to shower. He could use a distraction from the pain, and a shower seems right in order. He’ll have to get his clothing mended, but it can wait until he’s feeling well enough to do so.
“You’re slipping.” he mutters to himself.
Of course, he doesn’t believe that for a second, but it’s the feeling in his bones at the moment. A feeling doesn’t make it true. Yet, the truth doesn’t change his clumsiness in the field today.
He manages to slide the rest of his clothing free, sitting down on the nearby stool to rest as he turns the water on for the shower. Cranking the knob all the way around, he lifts his left hand just enough to let the warming water fall across his fingers. His fair skin deepens into a pink against the heat, but he doesn’t turn it down. He welcomes the tingle. He deems the water satisfactory, plugging the faucet to bring the water to the showerhead and stepping under it.
Sephiroth accepts the mild pain as his penance.
Or, at least, he does until he reaches up to start working on his hair.
He winces as his elbows move above shoulder level, both arms sparking with pain. His back twinges when he lowers his head instead, as if telling him to stop. Sephiroth has always viewed strain as a trial, as bettering oneself until overcoming pain is second nature. In this case, it would be punishment, and he’s never been one to seek it for himself.
He’ll have to have help.
Sephiroth scowls to himself, stepping out of the shower. He dries his feet enough to walk into his room, digging around for the single pair of swimming shorts he owns. He wouldn’t own any at all if it weren’t for Genesis. Young and impulsive, the SOLDIER still takes part in many juvenile activities.
He searches for his phone and dials Angeal.
Out of the three of them, Angeal is the most paternal. He never had any children due to his career in SOLDIER, but he found something to protect in his companions. With both being adults, it morphed into something similar to an older sibling’s doting.
Angeal found something to love.
Despite everything that tells Sephiroth loving his surrogate older brother back is weakness, he never denies the feeling. Angeal has defended him, rescued him, and stood by his side enough to deserve it. Sephiroth trusts very few, but Angeal....
Angeal earned Sephiroth’s brotherhood.
Still..., it takes him a minute, dripping on the floor, the bring himself to call. “Angeal?”
The black-haired SOLDIER sounds groggy, as if woken from sleep. Sephiroth must’ve taken longer undressing and showering than he thought. “Sephiroth?”
“I... need your help.”
Angeal is quiet for a few moments, but Sephiroth hears quiet rustling. “Where are you?”
“My quarters.”
The older man hums, continuing to rustle. It sounds like he’s getting dressed, so Sephiroth waits patiently for him to be ready. Angeal hums quietly. “Just stay put. It doesn’t sound like you’re dying, but I’ll be there in a few.”
Sephiroth makes his way back to the shower, sitting on the stool again and waiting. The remaining water on him is freezing now, his skin cooling to match. He doesn’t like it.
He steps into the shower again just to warm up. He stares down at the swim shorts, feeling a bit childish.
He doesn’t want Angeal to see him like this. He’s supposed to be the greatest SOLDIER who ever lived, and now he can’t even wash his own hair properly. Not only that, he was injured in the field and didn’t bother to mention it. Angeal will worry over him. Quietly, of course, but he’ll worry.
Sephiroth stiffens when he hears knuckles wrapping on his bathroom door. “Yes?”
“It’s me. Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
Angeal enters, putting his honor beside the door with a metal clank. Just in case. That’s what Angeal would say. His instincts to defend put him between his two younger “brothers” more often than he’d like, but he does it all the same.
“You gonna come out where I can see you?”
Sephiroth scowls, staring down at the bottom of the shower. “No.”
Angeal makes a noncommittal noise, likely shrugging. “All right, then.” His boots make no sound as he takes the two steps to the curtain. “Have it your way.”
The younger man makes no attempt to hide himself from Angeal while he anticipates the curtain opening, standing straight with his gaze down – submissive. He knows lying to Angeal and Genesis was a mistake, and he’s paying for it now. He just has to hope Angeal will forgive him for his pride. Genesis would not have, but Angeal might.
The curtain is pulled back, rings clinking softly as they clatter over the bar.
“You were hit.” Angeal pulls his gloves off, plugging the tub and letting the water return to the faucet. He gently prods at the healing gunshot wound in his arm with a frown. “Sit.”
Sephiroth quietly does as he’s told, settling down on the rim with his back to Angeal.
For a dreadfully long time, the black-haired SOLDIER says nothing, staring at the slice in his back. Sephiroth almost can’t take the quiet, but he’s trained himself to be patient. He knows what’s coming even if his heart doesn’t want to accept it. He may not seek punishment, but he’d be a fool not to sense it.
He hates the silence, feeling like a child yet again – chided, with a guilty conscience. It’s not a sensation he likes, and certainly not one he plans to repeat.
“I’m not angry with you.”
Sephiroth shifts, looking down at his ankles where the water is welling up higher and higher. His slick hair sticks to his drying back. He wants the heat.
He wants the sting of regret.
“I need you to move down into the water for me.”
The younger man obliges, again doing as he’s told without a word. On a normal day, he might have something sarcastic to say, but now is not the time. Sephiroth knows he’s not one to be overly cooperative, unwilling to admit weakness.
“What do you need done?”
Sephiroth hums softly, shaking his head at himself. “I... couldn’t reach my hair.”
Angeal doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t scold. Instead, he pumps shampoo into his hand and tells Sephiroth to wet his head. The younger turns, leaning back into the water with a quiet grunt. His back hurts, inhibiting his progress. Angeal puts a hand in the scalding water, frowning, but saying nothing. He gently guides Sephiroth upright again, taking the younger man’s hair in his hands. He’s careful not to pull on it, working the soap into the younger’s scalp with careful hands.
The silver hair is uncooperative, requiring more soap than Angeal figured it would. Sephiroth isn’t surprised. The black-haired man’s plight draws a wry smile across his lips.
Angeal is careful to keep the soap out of his eyes, not wanting to make his discomfort worse.
“You’re awfully quiet.”
Sephiroth’s shoulders pull inward and the smile falls from his face. He’s not so prideful he can’t see he was wrong, but that doesn’t mean he wants to admit it.
“You’ve been taking care of yourself a long time. It’s not unusual to feel a little useless not being able to this time.”
“It’s not that.” Sephiroth grits out.
Angeal waits.
“I should not have ignored your concern." He murmurs, his voice far too quiet. Sephiroth hates that it makes him feel like a coward, but it needs to be done. He can’t leave their friendship like this: festering, like an open wound.
“No.” Angeal answers, his tone both soft and firm. “You shouldn’t have.”
Sephiroth lowers his proud head as much as he can, grimacing when the action pulls at his back. Still.... Angeal deserves to know Sephiroth is actually listening to him.
“But, like I said, I’m not angry with you.”
The younger man isn’t surprised. Angeal is very self-contained, and he’s slow to agitation. So very unlike Genesis.
Sephiroth closes his eyes, relaxing under his friend’s hands. The bath continues to fill, eventually reaching his upper ribs. Angeal turns the water off, telling Sephiroth to lean back again. He turns, dousing his hair with water. Angeal rubs at the soap while his hair is submerged, careful not to get water in his charge’s eyes.
Sephiroth always wondered how a SOLDIER could be so gentle.
Angeal pulls his hair out of the water, keeping it away from the suds while he beckons the younger to sit up. Sephiroth takes the direction to sit on the edge of the tub, watching his friend unplug it. He turns around, putting his wet feet on the mat as Angeal wraps a thick towel around his shoulders. He uses a thinner one to twist around his hair.
“Come on.”
Sephiroth rises, feeling warm and cloudy. He’s almost... light-headed.
“Steady. We’re just going to your bed.” Angeal murmurs. He slides a hand around the younger man’s elbow, carefully directing him into the main part of his quarters. “Easy.”
Angeal dries his upper body, opening his dresser and pulling a thin cotton shirt from the top. They’re all long-sleeved, but Sephiroth looks like he’ll start cold-sweating without one. He helps him get his arms in the shirt, putting a hand to his forehead when he notes the glazed expression on his face.
“Sephiroth, are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine.”
The older man doesn’t mask his concern, but he realizes it’s just the effect of the water. He knew it was too hot, but Sephiroth hadn’t seemed to mind. His skin is still red, especially his fingers and toes.
Angeal hands him underwear and sweatpants, placing a careful hand on top of his head before turning to give him the space he needs to change. Sephiroth thanks him under his breath, the words so quiet, they barely reach Angeal. If he didn’t have enhanced senses from the mako, he doubts he’d have heard it at all.
Sephiroth informs him when it’s safe to turn around, his long hair still inside the towel, though it’s draped over his shoulder now.
“You’ll be healed by morning. Just rest.”
The silver-haired man nods silently, scooting back in his bed with a little help from Angeal. He pulls the towel from the younger’s hair, finding it dry enough to avoid soaking everything.
Sephiroth looks up at Angeal, those strange slitted eyes grateful and warm.
“Sleep, Sephiroth.”
The younger man nods, closing his eyes as Angeal drops a thick blanket overtop of him. He feels a hand on his shoulder, full of gentleness and forgiveness. Its weight is surprisingly nice, and Angeal's smile portrays itself through the silence.
He doesn’t want it to go away, but he doesn’t know how to ask Angeal to stay.
Angeal turns off the light and Sephiroth drifts into oblivion. He doesn’t dream, but then again.... He never wants the dreams he does have. They would not have been a blessing for him.
Sephiroth wakes in the morning with bleary eyes.
Angeal’s honor is resting beside the door to his quarters. The silver-haired man blinks, uncurling a little bit to search for the SOLDIER it belongs to. The chair to the right of his bed – he doesn’t remember a chair being there – is occupied.
Angeal.
On the floor, between his knees, Genesis is sleeping quite soundly. His auburn hair is a mess. Sephiroth isn’t concerned about his presence, but he does wonder if Angeal told him what happened.
“Go back to sleep, SOLDIER.”
Sephiroth blinks, looking to Angeal. Comforting blue meets bewildered green.
“That’s an order. I’ve informed command we’re on leave.”
The absurdity of Angeal giving him orders doesn’t escape him. Angeal’s eyes contain mirth and stubbornness. He’s not about to let Sephiroth get away with disregarding his well-being this time. Even together, the two of them are no match for him, but Sephiroth has a feeling Angeal would be willing to fight dirty in this case.
For once, Sephiroth has no inclination to argue.