Chapter Text
Who will Cloud get today: the reckless, brilliant lover or the strange, careful antagonist? Either way, Cloud knew what role he’d play: the nurse. Sephiroth had messaged him drunk for the third time in a month. Cloud fumbled to gather his things and hauled ass out the door within seconds of receiving the text. Where are my keys? he fretted, careening through his apartment, checking under stray magazines and decorative figurines. No luck here, or here, or even here. Fuck.
“But I thought we were going to watch Girl’s Life,” Tifa teased from the couch, scrolling on her phone in her matching black-and-white leopard print set, ankles tucked beneath her. Her hair, which had been recently dyed from pink back to black, fanned over the taupe pleather of her seat. “He can come spend the night again, if there are no other options. If it makes it easier on you.”
“No need,” Cloud responded. “I swear.” Could his keys be in the kitchen? “I’ll just check on him and come straight home.”
“Your keys are hanging off the coat rack,” she informed him, pointing in its general direction. "You really should keep them on a lanyard."
Oh, shit, they were there. “Thanks, Tifa.” Though he’d rather eat shit than use a lanyard. (Maybe it would work if he got a bunch of different colors.)
His roommate and childhood best friend flicked her wrist in an idle wave goodbye. “‘Cycle safely.”
Cloud climbed down the stairs of their apartment to Tifa’s bar, Seventh Heaven, where a throng of horny, flirtatious couples gathered to celebrate White Day. Fuck, Cloud realized. It’s White Day. Of course he fucking forgot. All the stores on Takeshita Street were closed, since it was well past eight. Lawson was open twenty-four hours, so maybe he could pick up some chocolate. Lawson chocolate for Sephiroth? Give me a fucking break. He’s going to think I’m destitute. On Valentine’s Day, Sephiroth had given him a vintage silk jacket from Issey Miyake and paid for a one hundred sixty-thousand yen shopping spree at ACDC Rag. I am destitute. He’d have to worry about his empty handedness later—there were more pressing matters. Cloud nodded at Tifa’s employees before hurrying out.
As always, Harajuku roared with life, even though the sky had turned as black as concrete. It was the middle of spring. Tourists from Fukui prefecture and Paris, France, alike flooded the streets, gawking at the LED displays and trying to avoid getting shoulder-slammed on a fine evening. He could tell them apart from the locals by the way they gawked at him; spotting a gyaruo was a part of their sightseeing. Cloud cut through the crowd and found his Hardy-Daytona waiting for him on the curb. And he was off. He rarely bothered with helmets; they ruined his hair, and on some days, it took him an hour to get the strands to stick out the way he wanted.
Sephiroth hadn’t bothered to give Cloud any information outside of a cryptic and, frankly worrying, I need you. Typical. But he had an idea where to find him. Praying his confidence was not unfounded, Cloud traveled twenty minutes to Kabukicho. Shinjuku exceeded Harajuku’s chaos by a measure of one thousand. Though traffic wasn’t awful tonight, finding parking was hell. It took another fifteen minutes for Cloud to finally walk through the neon gate of the red light district.
Warding off girls in Playboy Bunny costumes and waving away their “free” coupon flyers, Cloud made his way to Honeybee Inn. It looked like any other concrete host club on the strip, except the flawless side profile of the guy he’s been seeing for the past year was plastered on the side of the building. No. 1 Host: Sephiroth! read the billboard-size text. Cloud gulped at the thought of having to venture inside alone. It was an overwhelming place, somehow too dark and too bright at the same time. If he was lucky, maybe one of Sephiroth’s friendlier coworkers would steer him in the right direction. Though they’d all be too busy working to help him. He didn’t want to wait for his turn in their attention queues.
But as always, Cloud discovered Sephiroth slumped in an alley nearby, his grand and gorgeous frame reduced to a mound. Somehow, he still looked as stunning as he did in his poster. Maybe that was just in Cloud’s head. He was a mess.
“Hey,” Cloud said gently, kneeling beside him.
“Puppet,” murmured Sephiroth, head rolling to the side. A thin layer of sweat adhered his long silver hair to his forehead. “You are bound to me. You heeded my call.”
“No, you texted me.” He’d seen Sephiroth like this at least a dozen times, but it never failed to make his hands feel clammy and his chest constrict. He leaned toward Sephiroth’s neck and sniffed. The smell of alcohol blended with his usual cologne. “It’s too early in the night to be acting like a salaryman.” Cloud wished he had the presence of mind to bring electrolytes.
“A salaryman?” Sephiroth scoffed. “I am far more than such a simple thing as that. I am the indelible blight on your soul. Mother’s strength courses through my veins like a torrent. I am the night terror of—”
“Okay, dude,” interrupted Cloud. “Do you feel like throwing up or anything?” After a moment, Sephiroth shut up and shook his head. Cloud pushed Sephiroth upright. The host was wearing a leather h.Naoto vest that revealed his entire sternum. Clumsily, Cloud rubbed his gloved hand over Sephiroth’s exposed skin, hoping the friction provided some sort of relief. It was sixty degrees out, and Sephiroth tended to run cold. I should’ve brought a goddamned scarf, too, Cloud lamented. “Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I finding out tomorrow?” Sephiroth uttered more threatening platitudes. Cloud sighed. “Tomorrow it is, then. We’re going home together.”
The guy was clearly too unwell to go back to work, if he had clocked in at all that night. Looked like Cloud had to go back on his promise to Tifa.
“Your girlfriend despises me,” taunted Sephiroth, voice dripping with malice and provocation (though he leaned into Cloud readily).
“I’m gay, Sephiroth,” Cloud reminded him. “And don’t exaggerate. Tifa tolerates you just fine.” Rather, she liked Sephiroth; she had liked him ever since they had that vivid, half-hour discussion about Ma*rs patterns a while back. But now was not the time for specifics. Cloud hoisted the pitiful man onto his feet. “Everything’s going to be okay. Just come with me.” Despite his irritation, Cloud could not hide the affection in his words.
Traffic got worse on the way back to Seventh Heaven. Every time Cloud got stuck at a red light, he heard Sephiroth muttering into his ear with vaguely Shakespearean jabs. Not that Cloud knew anything about Shakespeare, beyond the one time Sephiroth tried to woo him with Sonnet 18. It didn’t work. (It totally did.)
“I am your destiny,” Sephiroth intoned, hoarse and gravelly, breaking through his typical silky tones. Cloud was really beating himself up for not bringing any Pocari Sweat now. “You cower before me, but our future is inevitable.”
“That’s sweet, Sephy,” Cloud said, inching his bike over the stop line. “Are you feeling okay? Does your head hurt?” Sephiroth only mumbled back, moving his head to press his cheek on the nape of Cloud’s neck. Cloud adjusted Sephiroth’s arms around his waist, making sure he was holding on tight. “Don’t let go.” It was comforting, feeling Sephiroth’s body pressed against him, but Cloud was loath to admit it.
He stumbled back to Seventh Heaven, Sephiroth tucked under his arm as though he were a tote bag instead of a person. A few of the bar’s patrons glanced at them quizzically. He made a futile attempt to glare at them before dragging Sephiroth up the stairs.
“I’m home,” he coughed as he kicked the door open. Sephiroth was fucking heavy.
Two girls greeted him back cheerfully—Aerith had come over. “Hey, Cloud!” she said from the sofa, turning around to face him. Her milk-tea brown hair was done in her usual long braid, and she wore the green Wonder Rocket blouse she was so proud to have thrifted a couple weeks ago. On the television, gals in curly wigs and floral-print mini skirts retouched their blush in front of vanities. Aerith beamed when she saw Sephiroth. “Hi, onii-chan! Tifa, you were right. Sephiroth’s spending the night, too.”
“I am going to kill you,” Sephiroth seethed, lurching in Cloud’s arms. “Gaze upon me and feel despair.”
“Oh, he’s in a mood today!” Aerith chirped.
“Come, both of you,” beckoned Tifa, not bothering to look at them. “Sit with us. You missed half the movie, but we still have plenty of popcorn.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Should I get him some water? Bufferin? We have the premium kind if he has a really bad headache.”
“I’ve got him,” Cloud reassured her, already hauling Sephiroth into his bedroom. “I think we’re going to tap out for the night.” They (save for Sephiroth) bid each other farewell until the morning.
Cloud brought Sephiroth to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom situated between his and Tifa’s quarters. It took forever to get Sephiroth out of his layers of clothes and jewelry, especially since he was in no condition to assist Cloud. It took even longer for Cloud to peel off some of his own accessories. The pile of mixed metals and fabrics accumulating by the sink was immense. Thank God Cloud had an extra case for contacts on hand. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have known what to do about Sephiroth’s lenses.
Usually, seeing Sephiroth naked, with his carnivore abs and unbelievably muscular limbs, was very sexy. This situation was a slight exception. Cloud helped Sephiroth into the tub and got the water running. Sephiroth looked huge in the bath. “Are you going to throw up?” Cloud asked the second time that night, as sternly and directly as he could muster. He had to repeat the question several times before it registered in Sephiroth’s mind. “No? Okay, good. Just let me know if you have to. Don’t vomit all over my room like you did last time.” Exhaustion replaced Sephiroth’s haughtiness, and he replied only with a huff of air. Cloud accepted that. “You’re definitely not going to drown in there. Just soak up. I’m going to get you something to drink.” But as he got up, Sephiroth grabbed his wrist, just a shred of awareness in his eyes. “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.”
Tifa and Aerith were already waiting outside his door. Cloud flinched back, startled. The girls laughed at him. “Water,” announced Tifa, handing him a cup. “I put a vitamin C tablet in there, too.”
“We can order him some food,” Aerith offered. “That Italian place he likes is still open. Or we can grab whatever’s left downstairs.” Weakly, Cloud nodded. Either would be fine. Aerith’s expression softened. “You should probably have something to eat, too, and take a break as soon as you can. Your eyeliner is starting to smudge.” She and Tifa went back to their movie. Cloud returned to the bathroom.
Sephiroth was still sitting in the bathtub, eyes closed, his head against the tile wall. He better not be fucking dead. “Sephy, wake up,” Cloud ordered, shaking him. “Drink this. Tifa got it for you.” Shockingly, Sephiroth obeyed, downing the glass when Cloud brought it to his lips. “We should at least wash your hair. There are like a million meters of it. It probably got all dusty when you were rolling on the ground in Shinjuku.”
He took the shower head from its holster and started running water through Sephiroth’s bewildering silver tresses. It was a miracle how he kept it so long despite dyeing it so often. These v-kei motherfuckers are insane. Cloud squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his palms and started haphazardly massaging it into Sephiroth’s head.
Then Sephiroth met eyes with him, a little murky and dangerous, but no less adoring—almost worshipful—the way he always looked at Cloud. Was there anyone else as beautiful as Sephiroth? His perfect lips. His perfect nose. His perfect eyebrows. Cloud could not help himself. He kissed Sephiroth’s perfect forehead.
Aerith had introduced him formally. She and Sephiroth weren’t actually blood siblings, but they might as well have been. They grew up together. Aerith’s dad took Sephiroth in when he was a kid, but Cloud didn’t understand all the details about that. As much as Sephiroth loved to talk about himself, he was not very adept at venturing into this part of his life. Aerith did not successfully supplement information, either. Something about a lab. Something about different last names. It didn’t have to be as complicated as they made it.
The first time Cloud caught a glimpse of him, Sephiroth was stalking the halls in Aerith’s house. This was a few years ago, back when Cloud was twenty. Cloud knew Aerith had a brother (close enough), but like any older sibling, he didn’t pay much attention to Aerith’s friends. Sephiroth stopped Cloud in his tracks when they crossed paths. He looked fucking amazing. Black Tornado Mart jeans with Gothic charms hanging from the distressed parts. A studded belt with a spray-painted meteor hammer swinging down the side. A leather coat that went down to his calves, cinched with a corset and accented with pauldrons. Silver hair as long as Rapunzel’s. He was carrying a pair of black platforms that probably would’ve put him over two hundred centimeters, if shoes were allowed in the house.
He was glorious, especially compared to Cloud, in his meager cheetah-print sweater, borrowed from Tifa. Cloud was deciding whether gyaruo or fashion in general intrigued him at all. This pushed him over the edge. So he had Sephiroth to thank for who he was today.
Cloud wanted to run away. Or tackle the guy. Or do something. But Sephiroth smiled at him, then passed by without a word. Cloud’s face had gone red for the rest of the afternoon. Sephiroth was the most beautiful, distinguished person he’d ever had the privilege to see in the flesh. Once, when he was twenty-one, Aerith had showed Cloud a photo of her and her brother at the beach. Indecorously, Cloud’s mouth watered at the symmetry of Sephiroth’s face. He had apologized profusely while wiping the drool off his chin. Aerith graciously accepted the excuse that Cloud was just excited for lunch.
He made every excuse to see Sephiroth whenever he went over to Aerith’s. Sightings were scarce. Cloud blamed Sephiroth for the list of v-kei exes he had accumulated over the next couple of years.
He had been suffering a historic dry spell for months when Aerith recommended a blind date. “Trust me,” she said with a wink, “he’s exactly your type.”
Aerith booked him and his blind date a time slot at a rococo-themed cafe she used to frequent back in her EGL days. (“Do I need to dress, like, hime gyaru or something?” Cloud had asked—to which Aerith replied, “Nope! Come as you are!”) When he saw Sephiroth waiting for him at a two-person table, sitting straighter in recognition, Cloud nearly swiveled on his heel and left.
What the fuck? echoed as a mantra in his head as he slid into the seat in front of Sephiroth. Aerith, what the fuck? “Hello, Cloud,” Sephiroth said. The way he spoke turned Cloud’s knees to jelly. Good thing he was sitting down. “You look great.”
Sephiroth thinks I look great. Is he fucking lying? He’s looking down at my shoes. They’re so dirty. Stains show up too well on canvas. Why didn’t I notice? I’m wearing socks from AliExpress. I should’ve put on the ones from Uniqlo. “Yeah,” replied Cloud. “I mean, thanks. I mean, you look incredible.” He was wearing a similar outfit to the one Cloud saw when they first bumped into each other. The memory made Cloud dizzy. He and Sephiroth were a strange sight amidst all the lace doilies, pink carnations, and dainty pastries. “We’re so… you know, we… we are…” Oh, my fucking God. He waved his arms aimlessly, hoping they’d finish his sentence. Cloud was typically stoic on first dates. He was stoic all the time. With Sephiroth, that persona crumbled.
“I understand,” hummed Sephiroth. “We do not blend in very well here. Aerith has a sense of humor.”
Cloud melted. “She seriously does.” So he’s hot and respectful, too.
Sephiroth, despite the legend he’d amassed in Cloud’s mind, had a way of disarming him. The contrast was fucking wild. Everything about Sephiroth oozed cool. The way his bangs framed his face. The sharp green of his serpentine contacts. The rhythm in his deep voice. Yet he was making a concerted effort to be amicable, down-to-earth, and engaging. He had dozens of questions; he smiled and laughed at all of Cloud’s dumb anecdotes as though they were the most elucidating stories ever told. Sephiroth was a magnet made just for Cloud. He did his damnedest not to swoon at every statement they exchanged. Still, it was much easier to talk to Sephiroth than he imagined. He wasn’t an untouchable subcul mannequin god. Their conversation tumbled into an endless stream of lighthearted anecdotes and newly formed inside jokes. It was as though they were old friends, and this was their umpteenth time meeting. Aerith should’ve set them up sooner.
The sex was fucking awesome, too. Cloud normally didn’t hook up after the first official meeting, but come on. Cloud had carried this crush with him for eons. Tifa wasn’t at the apartment—she had gone out with Aerith. Cloud sucked Sephiroth off on the couch. He was enormous. Cloud couldn’t even fucking deepthroat him. His lack of a gag reflex was typically something men praised him for. Sephiroth praised him for other things. “Fuck,” he groaned, stroking Cloud’s hair. “You’re doing so fucking well.” Profanity sounded like music, coming out of Sephiroth. Tears burst at Cloud’s eyes as he slurped on him, using his hands to help, nude lipstick and pinkish lipgloss leaving obscene rings on Sephiroth’s length. Cloud choked. Sephiroth caressed his cheek. “Slow down if you have to, baby.”
The nickname alone could’ve made Cloud release in his pants. They did make it to his bedroom, which was a calamity of stray clothes and aluminum cans—Cloud wasn’t expecting a guest. He did not give a fuck. Cloud had no idea how Sephiroth was going to fit in him, but after excessive quantities of lube and four fingers of prep, he managed. Untouched, Cloud came all over Sephiroth’s chest after only a couple pumps. It would’ve been embarrassing if that didn’t mobilize Sephiroth to lift up Cloud’s legs and drive into him like a jackhammer. Cloud’s toes curled and brain liquefied as his cock spurted weakly once again. Sephiroth’s stamina was unbelievable; it took him forever to cum. Or maybe it took ten minutes.
More than anything, Sephiroth was a fantastic kisser. He brought their lips together as he came, dragging his teeth over Cloud’s lower lip. Then he licked into Cloud’s mouth, tilting Cloud’s chin up with a finger to get a better angle. They moaned into each other. Sephiroth moved away, and Cloud protested with a tired whine, eyeing the string of spit between them. Then Sephiroth nuzzled Cloud’s face, pecking his cheekbone and temple. Their sweat mixed together like glitter. The intimacy almost made Cloud get hard again (though unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—he didn’t).
Sephiroth got them cleaned up afterward. He used one of the washcloths Cloud had just taken out of the dryer, but again: he did not give a fuck, and he had no strength to protest even if he wanted to. He bathed in the afterglow, still blissed out. Once they got all the stickiness off them, Sephiroth got back into bed and pulled Cloud into his arms. They cuddled for a while, naked, Sephiroth’s chest making a fantastic pillow. From across the room, Cloud saw the clothes he and Sephiroth had been wearing earlier, neatly folded and placed on his desk. Best date ever.
Though he tried to conceal it through dark-colored outfits and a deadpan expression, Cloud felt like he was on top of the world for the rest of that week. He and Sephiroth never stopped texting. Sephiroth was funny, and polite, and Cloud enjoyed the attention from someone he regarded as a hero. He appreciated the gifts, too. On more than one occasion, Sephiroth ordered food to Cloud’s door and sent him spare change for trinkets. (More than change. Once, Cloud mentioned he wanted to buy something from Rick Owens one day. Sephiroth mailed him the brand’s biker stooges. Very flattering.) Sephiroth even had flowers delivered to his apartment. Seventh Heaven smelled like gardenias for weeks. None of Cloud’s previous relationships courted him at all. This felt like the start of something. So it was a particularly staggering revelation when, during a walk to Laforet, he saw Sephiroth sitting outside an okonomiyaki restaurant with an older woman, listening to her with rapt attention.
Cloud’s throat dried up. That’s probably his mother. But he knew what Aerith’s parents looked like, and the woman in front of Sephiroth was not one of them. She didn’t look like she was just his friend, either. From the way she nodded at him and leaned forward at every word he spoke, she acted infatuated. She was probably not so different from Cloud at the rococo cafe.
So Sephiroth was a married man. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time Cloud found himself in this scenario. It was definitely the worst. I am going to kill myself. Cloud pulled himself away from the scene, disregarding the cavern in his stomach. He would’ve probably cried, right then and there, on the way to the fucking mall. Then Sephiroth looked at him through the glass, equally as astonished. He excused himself and hurried outside, where he took Cloud’s shoulders and pushed him down the block to an alleyway. They were well out of sight from the restaurant.
It was all Cloud could do not to run away. “This is not what you think,” Sephiroth said. “I didn’t intend for you to find out this way.”
Off to an astounding start. Cloud wrenched Sephiroth off him. “Are you out on a date?” He shouldn’t feel like exploding. It wasn’t as though they had discussed exclusivity post-blow job. “I get being closeted. But if I’m about to be your wife’s homosexual homewrecker, then maybe you should’ve let me know before you start galavanting with her in my neighborhood. You know where I live.”
Sephiroth had the audacity to chuckle. “It’s nothing like that,” he said. “I have five minutes before I have to get back. I want to tell you what I do for work.”
Cloud rolled his eyes. “What, are you like a hooker, or something?” And Sephiroth grinned slightly at that. “What,” Cloud echoed, his jaw going slack. He was literally joking.
“Well.”
Being with Sephiroth turned his brains to mush. Maybe the guy was emitting pheromones or something. “No way. So we went through all this without you even thinking to ask me if I was okay with it.” He honestly would’ve been, if he was made aware prior. This was Sephiroth, after all. But still. Wait a second. Cloud lowered his voice to a hiss. “And we didn’t use a condom! What the fuck? I fucked a hooker without a condom? That’s immensely fucked up. You should have said something! Do I need to get tested for—for something? I’ve never done that before. I don’t even know how I would seek that out. Does Aerith know? She couldn’t have. ‘Cause she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t set me up with a hooker who is also kind of her brother.”
No wonder you had the resources to send me all this shit. Is that why I found you appealing—why you felt so attuned to me? You have occupational training to be a decent chatting partner. And sex pest. He didn’t dare utter that.
“Aerith didn’t,” Sephiroth said, reaching back to pet Cloud’s arms, as though to ground him. It worked halfway. Sephiroth had really nice-feeling hands. “And she knows what my job is. It’s not as intense as you suggest, and you needn’t worry about me having other sex partners. I do not, and until you, I haven’t for a while. That woman is one of my highest-paying clients, so she was able to redeem a daytime outing with me. But there will be nothing physical between me or anyone else, save for you. I work at a host club. I am a host.”
A host, Cloud mouthed. “Like for parasites.” The joke fell flat on its ass. Cloud corrected himself, “You go on dates with old ladies while they ply you with overpriced alcohol.”
It didn’t shock him. If Sephiroth was fully a prostitute, it shouldn’t have shocked him, either. Plenty of people in fashion circles worked in nightlife. It was difficult to get a job at a Japanese company if you refused to follow the dress code. Or any code outside of general subcul standards, for that matter. Tifa ran Seventh Heaven, but before that, she worked at a few retail boutiques. Aerith did remote nursing for a health website. Cloud had been attending art school until he dropped out. Now he was doing whatever.
“My clients are adults of all ages,” Sephiroth said, “and I try not to overdo it with alcohol, unless my match is insistent. If you are amenable to continuing with me, it is only fair you know my line of work. It is unconventional and involves plenty of… emotional entanglements. They’re never mutual. I’m good at what I do. But I don’t want you to feel compelled if this is something you will be unhappy with. We can end our interactions here.”
“Wait, wait.” Bewilderment filled Cloud. This was too new and strange for him. “Continuing with what?”
“A relationship with me. A real one, that is.”
Okay, Cloud was definitely going to die. This guy was so forward. “H-how do I know you’re not trying to make me into a customer?” It felt like it would be hurtful to ask, but Cloud needed that clarity.
“Did you pay for this exchange? For any exchange you’ve had with me? And last I checked, only women can visit male host clubs. You’re pretty, but you’re not a girl. You’ve racked up quite a bit of my message and data rates, I’ll have you know.”
Never in his wildest fantasies did he ever envision this happening to him. “Yeah. You picked up the bill at the cafe last week. I didn’t forget.” He kind of forgot. A couple of years ago, this would’ve been curtains for him. He would ride off into the sunset, followed by plastic rainbows and unicorns. But he knew better than to tie himself to someone after one measly date, even if it was phenomenal, and even if it was with his dream guy. “I don’t care what you do for a living. But we just met. I don’t want to rush into things.”
Sephiroth’s face betrayed no emotion. “You’ve known Aerith for several years.”
“Yeah, but that’s Aerith. You and I need to get to know each other. Like, I just found out what field you’re in. We really should take this slow.”
Take this slow, as though Sephiroth hadn’t been physically inside of him, protection-less (which despite Sephiroth’s reassurances was ill-advised, now that Cloud actually thought about it), a couple days ago. But Cloud felt proud of his restraint and stuck with himself. It made sense. If his reaction to seeing Sephiroth with a woman was any indication, Cloud was a jealous type. He had to really mull over about how he felt about a potential partner flirting with other people, even for pay. Maybe he could do that after he bashed his head into the wall a couple times.
It doesn’t matter to me, Cloud decided. None of this matters. He’s not going to be my partner. He’s something else.
A few long seconds passed before Sephiroth responded. “I’m satisfied with that.” He took Cloud’s hand and kissed it, even though passersby could see them any minute now. Cloud flushed. The cavern in his stomach became a pit of butterflies. “We’ll take it slow.”
They had been taking it slow for a year and a half. Who fucking knew what was going on between them now.
Cloud had put his kind-of boyfriend into the spare sweatsuit he kept for when Sephiroth stayed over. But once he got Sephiroth out of the bathroom, Cloud felt the fatigue down to his bones. He passed out in his underwear. The backs of his earrings poked his skin. He had brushed his teeth for two seconds—both Sephiroth and Tifa were sticklers about dental hygiene—but he hadn’t bothered to take off any of his makeup.
Way too early in the morning (or perhaps still late at night), he woke up to Sephiroth staring at him, more attentive than a guard dog. “That would’ve freaked me out,” Cloud said, clearing the sleep from his eyes, “if you didn’t do that every time we slept together.” Sephiroth combed through Cloud’s hair with his fingers. (He really liked Cloud’s hair, even when it was matted with gel and bang mascara.) In turn, Cloud cupped his palm on Sephiroth’s cheek. “Are you back now?”
He was. Cloud saw it in his eyes. Praise fucking be. “Did I cause you much trouble yesterday?” Sephiroth wanted to know.
“Nah,” Cloud lied. He did not have the heart to discuss it now. “The most we did was interrupt Tifa and Aerith’s movie night. They were nice about it. But you know you get super weird when you’re drunk like that. Handle your liquor better, man. That’s your whole profession. You should feel grateful I’m around.”
“I should.” Sephiroth turned his head to kiss Cloud’s thumb.
Cloud prayed the room was too dark for Sephiroth to see how red his face got. “We should really get more shut-eye,” he suggested. “Let’s talk more about it tomorrow. You’re probably spent.”
“You more than me, Cloud.” Instinctively, they reached for each other, embracing, their bodies amalgamating into one shape, so no one would know where Sephiroth ended and Cloud began.