#but then say there’d be a time skip amounting to the same length of a gap year right

[xbomboi]

Growing Pains

as raven finally gets to be free from her shackles, apple silently chooses to shoulder all the pain that comes their way and bear the burdens of dealing with the horrors of the world so that raven can be happy. because raven has suffered so much and apple decides it’s only fair that she do all she can to prevent raven from any further suffering. it’s her way of atoning for all the hurt she caused raven, because apple knows raven has been and always will be a better person than her. to apple, if either of them deserves to smile, it’s raven.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

And in the end, it wasn’t you

John Wick x reader (A/n- I said I was doing it, so I’m doing it.)

Masterlist

Warnings- Angst.

Lately, every time he saw her, all he could see was that night; flashes of her in that dress of ivory satin, the one which hugged her curves so perfectly, danced around his mind the way she’d danced in his arms past two am. John could see the woman he'd fallen for, the one who he’d found love in and who he’d married because he was convinced that they were made for each other. They had to be, someone like Y/n didn’t just come into your life by accident. There was purpose, in their love and in their life together. The purpose being a lifetime’s worth of forever. She was supposed to be the woman he loved until his final breath and he was supposed to father her children.

But there they were, calling it quits.

After so many years, through aches and pains, sickness and in health, where he was at his worst and she'd still given him her best, it was over. After he’d stuck by her through the storms and been the velvet in the rough, they had both decided that it was over. There’d been too many fights, roads had split into different paths and he and Y/n had slowly started growing into different leading lives that stopped involving each other. She was no longer the woman that could look past the blood he trailed through the front door and John had evolved into a man that could no longer tolerate a love that sought to change him faster than he could change himself. They’d morphed into different people, maybe they’d always been different people But, at least back then it was easy to hide, be what each other wanted, not just a safe place to land, but also a sunrise after the darkest night and a rain after a drought. 

“Where have you gone?” Was what John longed to ask. Where was the woman that found happiness in him, the woman that had given him an incomparable happiness? It was hard to believe that the one sitting downstairs, waiting for him to pack the rest of his things, was the same one he’d itched to marry. Could people really change that much? Had he really changed so much? 

“I hate you!” Was what she’d screamed on the night they’d decided that separation  was the only way forward, and had come not too long after he’d yelled his biggest regrets; her. They’d been things said with carelessness, when hurting seemed more favorable than healing. John hadn’t meant to say that he felt stuck in their marriage, and he was sure that Y/n didn’t mean it when she said she never loved him. But they’d said those things anyway, and the words had cut so deep that they’d been ripped apart.

But before that night, before those long months where oceans of distance seemed to exist between them, there was an unmatched union. There was nearly a decade’s worth of happiness and an insurmountable amount of love. The kind of love that people dreamed about, the kind that John would have protected with his life,  the kind that he’d remember long after he’d left the walls that he used to call home. 

Giving the bedroom one last glance as he broached the ajar door, John felt a familiar sting at his eyes, accompanied with a pull in his chest. Part of him was being ebbed away, carved out so it would stay in that house, with her. It was the part of him that they'd caught in pictures still mounted to the cool beige walls; the part of him that would always love her. That little slice of his soul, hopefully, would find its home in the part of Y/n that still loved him. As John pulled the door shut behind himself, hoisting the final duffle bag up on his shoulder, the thought roused the slightest smile. It was nice to think that even if their marriage had been reduced to packed bags and a couple of hefty lawyer fees, there was still something that would remain untouched and untarnished by the pressure of time; their memories. 

When he finally reached the bottom of the stairs, John found that Y/n was still stationed right where he left her, on the living room sectional. Except then, she was armed with a glass of red, the bottle discarded on the glass coffee table, while on her lap laid open something familiar; a book he’d made her, to fill with pictures their best moments, “I thought you’d already that boxed up, I know you said you wanted to move some of that stuff to the garage.”

“I was going to,” Y/n looked up at him, eyes rimmed red and with tear streaked cheeks, “But it didn’t feel right, it kind of felt like I was trying to forget.”

Furrowing his brows, John let the bag slide down his arm, falling onto the hardwood floor with a soft thump, “Weren’t you?” He inquired, with no malice or harshness, but with a softness that he hadn’t used with her in a while.

“No,” Y/n shook her head, “Do you want to sit for a while? Have a drink with me?” He could tell she was trying to seem nonchalant, but her tired eyes pleaded with him and John couldn’t resist anyway. After packing himself up, the last thing he wanted to do was go sit in the condo he’d bought, it was empty and lonely. 

“Sure, I’ll go get a glass.” As he left for the kitchen, John thought he caught a wistful smile on her part. He was the only person in the world that knew the house as well as she did. It was their home after all. Upon his return, Y/n scooted to give him a spot next to her, proceeding to fill his glass afterwards. “I remember this,” he mused, glancing at the picture, “New Years.”

“Our first one together, yeah,” Y/n’s finger ghosted the corner of the photograph, and John thought that if he closed his eyes, he could still taste the champagne on her tongue and see the breathless smile she’d worn when they broke their lengthy kiss. “That night was the first time you said……”

“That I loved you……I remember,” John smiled fondly. She’d thrown a party on the rooftop of her apartment building, they’d both had so much to drink. Yet, like the kiss, he remembered it perfectly; her laugh, the way she’d shivered when a chilly, winter breeze passed over the city and how she’d leaned into his embrace when he put an arm around her. The words, they’d come so readily, without him having to think of it, it was a random truth, something he’d been feeling for a while before then and saying it, even for the first time, was second nature. He loved her; the way she giggled at the most mundane occurrences, every little quirk and even the tiniest things that others never noticed. He loved the way she felt in his arms, the way his name sounded on her lips, the way she made him happier than he’d ever been.

Sitting there, on that familiar sofa, the one he used to lay on with Y/n curled against his chest while their favorite movies played, John combated their good memories like he would any other enemy. Of course, she’d made him happy, and he’d done the same for her, but he and Y/n were at a road’s end. “I wanted to say it first,” she broke his thoughts, still staring down that picture. He’d made her that book, as an anniversary present after their first year together, it was one of her most prized treasures. Above the jewelry and the expensive trips, she’d always loved that leather bound photo album the most.  

“What?” He probed meekly.

“I wanted to say it first,” Y/n repeated. “I’d been thinking about it for weeks before that night, but we’d only been together for a couple months, and I didn’t wanna scare you off.”

Taking a chance, John placed his palm on her knee, rubbing his thumb along the rough fabric of her jeans, “It doesn’t matter who said it first,” his words were soft and her eyes reflected the lost affection that he held in his, “What matters is everything that came after.”

Skipping a couple of pages, Y/n flipped to an achingly fond memory; the two of them, on the roof of the Continental, right after their wedding ceremony. She was wearing the same dress he’d been thinking off earlier, that simple ivory one with lace flowers sewn sparsely about the fine satin, that sported an adorable tea length skirt that opened out like something of a fairytale when John had spun her during their very first dance as husband and wife. “Like this,” he mused, scanning the page filled with other memories from that day. The moment they’d cut the cake and she’d kissed frosting off his cheek, when she’d tossed her bouquet of red and white roses to the small gathered crowd and then one from the end of the evening, when most of the guests had dispersed and they’d taken one final picture, shot from behind, with his suit coat draped over her shoulders and Y/n tucked into side as they looked out at the sky, She’d pulled him in that night and then every other that they’d spent together until their separation. 

“You’ll find that again,” Y/n sniffled, laying her hand over his, still stationed on her knee. The comfort that the gesture brought was the same soothing warmth that every other touch of hers had. At least that hadn’t changed. “And she’ll be…..she’ll be amazing, I hope…..” Blinking away tears, Y/n glanced away, “I hope you love her, and she loves you, as much as we loved each other in the beginning. And I hope it lasts forever.”

Was she really willing to let him go that easily? Because John knew that it wasn’t the same for him, and as selfish as it was, he knew that he was dreading the day when Y/n found someone to replace him. “Do you really mean that?” He gasped sharply, restraining the glassy sting in his eyes. 

Her lips quivered and all it took was the slightest flutter of her lashes for the first tears to break free. “No,” she broke down, breath catching loudly as Y/n still struggled to contain her sobs, “No, I don’t.” Reaching out, she laid a hand on his hollowed cheek, heaving, heavy breaths dominating her chest, “I’m so sorry.”

Leaning over, letting the book fall haplessly to the rug, John gathered Y/n’s shaking frame in a hug, finally crying with her. Her heart thumped erratically against his chest and her embrace was one he’d missed. “I’m sorry too,” he smoothed his hand over her hair and she burrowed into his neck. John’s lungs burned and he knew for certain that he’d never cried like that. Sure, there were quiet tears on the night they’d decided to separate, then a few sobs muffled with his fists after he’d signed the papers. But that evening, in the dim living room, the tears felt like acid raining down on his cheeks, his throat felt like it had been set ablaze and there weren’t any amount of deep breaths that he could take to remedy the tightness in his chest. 

They stayed like that for a while, tears drenching their clothes and when they finally pulled away, still caught in tangled arms, John suspected that his eyes and nose were just as red and as swollen as Y/n’s. Still, she was so beautiful, and because old habits die hard, he leaned in and she let him. Y/n let John get so close that he could smell the wine on her breath and almost feel the air parting her lips. 

One last kiss. 

It tasted just as he suspected the last one would, like unmatched and indescribable pain. No bullet, bruise or knife could inflict an ache so severe. And in an attempt to quell the hurt, John tried to go in for another, but that time, her arms deserted his broad frame. “We shouldn’t,” she admonished, scooting backwards on the sofa.

Desperate, John reached out, brushing some hair away from her face, “Why not?”

“Because,” she sighed heavily, slumping her shoulders, “Every time I see you, I miss you-"

"But I'm right here," he caressed the side of her face, knowing better than to be hopeful but throwing caution to the wind and doing it anyway, "It doesn't have to end like this."

"It does," her voice broke, and pulling away reluctantly, Y/n stood, taking a deep breath, "I know you might think you haven't, but you've changed, John. And I know when you look at me, you see that I've changed too. We're not the people we used to be. And I still love you, I do, but I'm in love with the man I met all those years ago, and you're still holding onto to the woman I used to be. And that's okay, cause somewhere, in the past, in our memories, they still have each other. But us, we can't do that. We can't expect to hold onto parts of each other that are gone, after we've grown into the people we are now. I know it doesn't make sense, and I hate it," her voice dropped to a sorrowful whisper, "But it won't be fair to either of us if we go on and forget the reason why we decided to split up in the first place."

As he stood letting the coffee table act as a barrier between them, John down casted his head, "You're right," he admitted even if it was eating away at him. Ready to say his final goodbye, John headed towards his bags, still sitting under the threshold of the room. "For what it's worth," he turned to her after he'd collected his things, a fresh set of tears gathering in his eyes, matching the moisture in Y/n's pretty orbs, "I still love you too." 

They lingered, eyes locked for a moment, before John turned to leave again, and during his walk to the front door, a pin could drop in the basement and one would hear it from upstairs. It was the eerie quiet before the storm, and as John pulled the front door shut behind himself, the rains came and even from outside, he could hear Y/n's gasped sobs echo around the house, complimenting the stifled ones he'd try to deny himself as he got in his car. 

********

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[foxstens]

time to talk about totono (beware the spoilers)

i knew it was a masterpiece from the very beginning, and i guess the reason for that is the atmosphere. i have never come across a vn that builds atmosphere so effectively, whether it be through the use of music or it’s absence, or the beautiful but ever-so unsettling art, or a mix of all of those. but that very atmosphere is probably what made me want to continue reading even if i was terrified of what was ahead of me

and yet, i only gave it a 7. there’s a few reasons for it. such as the fact that the music, though it works very well within the vn, there’s only one track i really like on its own, and in fact there were times even during the vn that i found the music annoying.

then there’s the protagonist who i won’t really elaborate on bc he barely has a role in the story, and he’s so ugly even though he doesn’t even have a face. i hate him with a passion and he doesnt deserve to be part of such a great story.

then there’s its structure i guess. like going in i was excited bc it’s listed as being a medium-length vn but it only has two love interests so of course i expected both of them to get equal amounts of focus and development. yea no.

other than the atmosphere aoi was hands-down my favourite part of it and i was so looking forward to her route, to have quite moments with her and fun moments with her and for her to get to change and become a /character/ instead of a plot device.

but i never quite got that. because she just doesn’t get enough screentime. like her personal quirks and her opinions and her speech patterns and the way she wears her uniforms and her life /in this world/, they’re all so interesting and i wanted to find out about those. i wanted her to receive character development in other ways than being a love interest.

and even her being a love interest could’ve been done so much better. i just didn’t feel it. when the big dramatic part of her route hit i didn’t feel as attached to her as i should’ve, and i wasn’t rooting for her relationship with the mc at all. tbh most of the emotions i felt during the confrontation scene were just because of how well that scene is done in general. 

so i was very much prepared for aoi to become one of my favourite female characters but it didn’t happen because the story decided that the other love interest deserves so much more screentime.

which brings me to the third and biggest reason that i can’t give this vn a 10. miyuki herself. 

i hated her from the first time  i saw her; i didn’t like her face or the colour of her hair or eyes or her hairstyle or her voice or anything. but i kept going, scared shitless, waiting for her to kill the mc or for me to warm up to her.

and i did warm up to her a tiny bit once i got onto aoi’s route and she acted all nice and  shit. but then the ending happened and i was so happy because i had called it from the very beginning.

and then it cemented itself as a masterpiece even more with how terrifying that ending scene was. and i loved it.

BUT THEN IT KEPT GOING. the entire vn getting messed up and being unable to save and having lost all my saves and not knowing what was happening and her talking directly to me at times - that was all fun. it became considerably less fun when i was stuck in this endless loop replaying the same scenes making slightly different choices at times, using the ctrl button more than i ever have in my entire time.

in real time i probably didn’t spend more than 3 hours in that hell but looking at her face all the time not knowing when it’d end going to the cat shopping a million times was incredibly aggravating. and when i looked up a walkthrough i found out this was called endless loop #1 and there’d be some plot happenings when i managed to choose my way out of it but then there’d be an endless loop #2 waiting for me. 

so after i got out of loop #1 i looked up its various endings on youtube then promptly deleted it. i appreciate so many things about this vn and it definitely feels like it’s a classic already, but the focus on miyuki really breaks it for me, and i can’t help imagining just how much better it would’ve been had aoi received even a fraction of that focus. D:

language-wise it felt quite easy i think. the fact that aoi’s lines are only written in kana is a bit unusual but personally i found it helpful because oftentimes what she says is repeated by others and written in kanji, which i really liked. she does use a fair amount of onomatopoeia which you might love or hate, but other than that the language is pretty simple as far as i could tell. i didn’t understand even close to half of the narration but i never felt like i was lost or missing out or something (except that one time i did a high skip and a new choice popped up without any context whatsoever lmao). i definitely feel like i learned a lot.

[apositivelifeaffirmingway]

Holding On and Letting Go

Alex Manes Appreciation Week:    Day 5: what-if (with tiny a side of AU thrown in)  [Mature/Explicit]

What if, when Jesse Manes burst in on Alex and Michael in the tool shed, he'd smashed Alex's hand instead? What if, instead of Alex, it was Michael who enlisted in the Air Force?

 ( AO3 link )

"Alex."

Alex froze, his hands hovering over the ‘artifacts’ he was in the process of rearranging, attempting to make room for some new thing Grant had found on the dark web that he wanted to add to the display.

That voice. His voice; it sent an electric energy traveling up the length of him - from the tips of his toes to the tips of his fingers and back again. Alex had forgotten how much he'd missed it. Both the voice and the feeling it elicited; he'd forgotten how much he’d suppressed the loss, how well he’d been able to ignore the giant hole in his chest that had appeared when Michael had left.

Alex turned, slowly, preparing himself to set eyes on him again, the first time in almost four months.

“You’re back.”

He must have come straight from the airport, because he was dressed in fatigues, a giant duffel and an overstuffed camo print backpack both lying discarded at his feet. His hair was cut short, what used to be a wild mess of curls now tamed and combed back from his face. Alex involuntarily flexed his right hand, the memory of the feel of Michael's curls in his fingers overwhelming him.

"I'm back," Michael echoed, his expression slightly clouded, his brow slightly furrowed, his tone cautious.

Alex felt a pang of guilt, though he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t the one who’d run away… Still, he took a step toward Michael, pulling the visor off his head and tossing it to the ground as he flashed back to their first kiss. It wasn't lost on him that they were in the same section of the museum, the same cheesy displays surrounding them. Really the only thing different now was them.

"How are you?" Michael's eyes flickered from Alex's face to his hand and back again.

Alex, who had only just had the cast removed from his hand a week prior, raised his left hand up and slowly flexed his fingers, internalizing the dull, lingering ache, ignoring the tightness in the tendons from the permanent scar tissue that would prevent him from ever pursuing a career in music...

The surgeon had only been able to do so much...the damage had been extensive.

"I'm okay," he replied, dropping his hand and meeting Michael’s gaze.

It wasn't a lie, not really. He was okay. He was managing, anyway. His father was locked up and his brothers were coming around, being semi-supportive and growing more so as time passed. Alex was surviving, moving past the trauma. He certainly didn't intend to work at the UFO Emporium the rest of his life...he still had plans and dreams and they didn't seem as impossible anymore, even if he had to adjust his expectations to fit his new reality.

"I tried to write you," Michael said, dropping his shoulders and jamming his hands into his pockets before looking away, "so many times. But I didn't know what to say. I feel like that -," he turned his head back and nodded at Alex's injured hand, "- was entirely my fault. I shouldn't have ever stayed in that tool shed."

Michael’s hunched posture was in direct conflict with the authority and respect his uniform demanded and Alex, who had grown up surrounded by military and the supposed steely strength it implied, felt a pang of sadness.

Taking another small step towards Michael, lessening the distance between them, Alex shook his head, the sting of tears behind his eyes.

"This,” Alex lifted his scarred hand into the space between them, “wasn’t your fault. My dad is a homophobic monster. It was his fault. Only his fault," Alex's voice rose slightly, hoping Michael would understand...hoping Michael would know that he didn't blame him for what Jesse had done that day.

Michael nodded, but he looked unconvinced and that broke Alex's heart. It wasn’t fair, the amount of damage and destruction his dad had caused the last few months. It made Alex seethe with anger, and also regret.

Alex had spent weeks blaming himself after Michael left Roswell. He was convinced he was the reason –even after everything they went through after the day Jesse had found them – that Michael was just too traumatized to even look at Alex let alone be in the same town and so he bailed. It took Alex a long time, and the support of friends, to get over what his dad had done to him. Even if those friends still didn’t know who it was that had been with Alex the day Jesse barged in on them…

When Michael had left Roswell it had been sudden and unexpected, at least for Alex. After Jesse had attacked them in the shed, shattering Alex's hand with the hammer, they'd not seen each other for nearly a week. Alex had literally been in lock-down (recovering from surgery and downing painkillers). Even when he was finally lucid enough to go anywhere he wasn’t allowed out of the house. Jesse wouldn't let him leave and expressed to him, more than once, using all sorts of colorful and cruel slurs, that Alex was to keep his '%*#^ mouth shut' about what had happened. Not that anyone would believe it if Alex told. Jesse Manes was a pillar in the community. A respected military man who was third generation Roswell-ian.  

Alex knew the implied threat was real; the tone in his father’s voice more than enough to deter him from attempting to sneak out. Even when his father would pass out from drinking too much, Alex didn’t dare try to leave. His father had never hurt him so badly before, the majority of the violence at home prior to that day mostly verbal, with the occasional hard shove against a wall, or a direct punch to the gut; bruises that were easily hidden by clothes and always assumed to be the result of the occasional bullying he experienced at school. Alex had seen his dad mad before, but never as full of blinding rage as when he’d bust through the tool shed door. Alex attributed the excessive drinking, which was also new, to the violence of that day. He found himself hoping, as messed up as he knew it was, that his dad felt guilty for what he’d done.

Alex knew he’d never really know. Their relationship was too fractured; there was too great a power imbalance and too much disappointment directed towards Alex. His father would never deign to lower himself to admit any regret or shameful feelings regarding his behavior, and the fact Alex even wanted him too was his own burden to bear.

Then, about a week later and after one too many glasses of whisky at the Wild Pony, Jesse chose to drive the handful of miles home from the bar, causing an accident that killed three teenage girls, one of which was Rosa Ortecho.

Alex was finally free.

Alex left the house for the first time in a week on a mission to seek Michael out, and he found him at Sanders Auto. He’d just started working there right before the tool shed incident. Michael’s face, upon seeing Alex, was full of concern and relief and sadness and joy. Alex could read it all, because he felt all the same things. They’d embraced, holding each other for a long time. The news about Jesse was all over town, Alex didn’t doubt Michael knew. They didn’t talk much that day, which suited Alex fine. He wasn’t ready to face what had happened in the tool shed, or what his father had just been responsible for; he was fine with ignoring all of it for one blissful moment.

Things progressed rather quickly after that. Jesse was charged with three counts of vehicular homicide, pleading guilty (he had no other choice – there were multiple witnesses to his presence at the bar and Mimi DeLuca expressing gleefully all over town, to anyone who’d listen, how she’d happily testify to how many drinks Jesse consumed that night; not to mention, his blood alcohol level was well over the legal limit). The judge sentenced him three days after the accident; twenty years with an opportunity for parole after ten.

It was outrageous, the sentence he’d been handed down. He’d cost three young women their lives, and it seemed that wasn’t worth more than a guarantee of ten years prison time. Alex had gladly joined Liz and Arturo and the families of the other girls in protesting the sentence. But their protests didn't matter. The judge’s decision was final as he stated he’d taken into account the 'upstanding nature' of Jesse's life in Roswell (up to that point), as well as his 'outstanding service to this country' (even though he was shortly thereafter dishonorably discharged).

After the sentencing Alex had felt a deep pang of guilt for having never reported his abuse. His father might have been sent away for much longer if there’d been record of his cruelty; if everyone knew how disturbed and violent and homophobic he really was.

Alex also avoided the Crashdown after that, ashamed of his connection to the man who’d killed Liz’s sister. Even after he learned Liz had left town, deciding to skip graduation, he couldn’t bring himself to face Arturo. At least not yet.

Alex was 18 when his father was sent to prison - an adult by legal definition - so he was allowed to continue to live in the house where he'd grown up. His first night there without Jesse, he'd packed up all the photos and awards and ribbons and medals; everything military or Air Force related went into boxes and into the tool shed. Alex wouldn’t be returning there for escape; the tool shed was tainted with the violence of that day, and Alex’s reason for needing a place to escape was locked away. It was freeing, erasing his father from the house.

It was only a few days later, after Jesse's sentencing, that Alex asked Michael if he wanted to stay at the house, too. He didn't use the words 'move in', he just mentioned that there were a lot of empty bedrooms. Plenty of room for him to stay if he didn’t want to sleep in the back of his truck anymore.

Michael accepted Alex’s invitation, though hesitantly, making it very clear to Alex he was just crashing, and might decide to leave at any moment. That was fine for Alex; all he wanted was to know Michael was safe and had a place to go that wasn't the back of his truck.

They didn't kiss, or embrace, or even touch each other in any way for almost a month. In fact they didn’t even see each other all that much. Michael worked early shifts at Sanders, and Alex worked late shifts at the museum. When they did see each other it was usually just to sit in a comfortable silence, sometimes filled with idle chit chat, sometimes more meaningful words exchanged – though that was far more rare. Sometimes Alex would find Michael staring at his cast with a pained look on his face. Alex wanted to say something in those moments to alleviate what he assumed was Michael’s guilt, but Michael would quickly look away when he noticed Alex watching him, and Alex never could quite figure out the right words to say, anyway.

Some nights Michael wouldn’t come back to Alex’s at all. The first time Michael didn’t come back, Alex felt in a panic, imagining some Air Force pal of his dad’s having done something to him – even though Alex had no reason to think that. All the airmen that knew Jesse had been nothing but supportive of Alex, a few of their wives even bringing him some frozen meals.

As it turned out, Michael had gone to the Evans’ and so from that night forward, if Michael ever didn’t come back to the house, Alex had to assume he was with Max and Isobel.

It was hard, though. Being so near Michael but not touching him or kissing him. Even after the traumatic end to their first time, Alex wanted nothing more than to rekindle some of the innocent joy they’d had in their connection. Alex had never felt anything more powerful or more right than that day with Michael. It was a feeling Alex supposed he might end up chasing forever and he could only hope he would find it again, or more specifically, that he would find it again with Michael.

But Michael kept his distance, and Alex didn't push, even though it was all he thought about. Even though late at night, alone in his bedroom, he would touch himself, letting his good hand wander all over his body while the memory of he and Michael played over and over in his head. Knowing Michael was on the other side of his bedroom wall made the want all the more powerful.

It was the Fourth of July holiday when things changed, when they finally came back together. They'd spent the day at the Evans'; Max and Isobel had hosted a barbeque and most of their graduating class was there. Alex hung out with Maria and they talked about the postcards they'd each received from Liz as she’d road tripped across the country (Liz also sending Alex a very nice letter telling him she didn’t blame him for his father’s actions, and saying she hoped they would see each other more when she returned. Alex felt somewhat healed after that letter). Michael, Alex quietly noted, spent most of the day huddled with a depressed looking Max.

When it had come out, after the accident, that Rosa had been Jim Valenti's daughter and not Arturo's, Liz had rescinded her invitation for Max to road trip with her and instead she'd taken Kyle. It’d seemed odd to everyone, but she'd insisted to Maria that it wasn't romantic, that she didn't think she could ever be with Kyle like that again, not after finding out the truth about Rosa. But Liz didn't talk about Kyle in her postcards, which made Alex doubt her resolve with regards to Kyle had held out. Maria had more faith in her, and teasingly chastised Alex for not thinking better of their friend. In any case, Max was a depressed mess over it all, and Michael was seemingly his emotional crutch.

It warmed Alex's heart to see Michael be there for his friend. Michael had a big heart and a caring nature and it was one of the things Alex liked best (loved) about him. Even if he wished Michael were at his side instead of Max’s. But no one knew about them (and they weren’t even officially a ‘them’; they’d just had one magical, momentous night. It wasn’t Michael’s fault that it was all Alex could think about). It never seemed to be the right time to talk about it or confess it, either. So Alex held it in, trying not to stare too much or too long. Trying not to attract the attention of Maria, or Max, or Isobel. Trying not to let on he had fallen hard for Michael Guerin.

Alex sometimes thought Maria knew, just by the way she'd look at him, but she never asked. So 'museum guy' remained a mystery to her, and Alex continued to keep the more intimate details of that day to himself.

Things were noticeably different with Michael when they'd returned from the barbeque. Rather than retreat to the room he’d been sleeping in as he usually did, Michael followed Alex to his bedroom. Alex let him, curious and hopeful about what it meant, and when he turned to ask what was going on, Michael was on him, hands grabbing and pulling, lips hot and wet and hard and desperate and Alex let his question die on his lips as he eagerly accepted Michael's advances, his own hands grabbing and pulling until he had Michael held so close he could feel his pounding heartbeat against his own chest.

The clothes quickly come off, both Michael and Alex pulling and tugging and kissing every newly revealed patch of bare skin until they were both naked and hard and rubbing against each other and when Michael pulled back slightly to grip both he and Alex in his fist, pumping them together as he pressed heated kisses to Alex's neck and collarbone. Alex gasped, sparks of white spotting his vision.

Somehow they made it to the bed, Michael on top of Alex, his hips pressing and grinding and Alex felt like he might pass out because of how good it felt. It was good. So, so good. His memory of being with Michael nowhere near this level of intensity. His skin was on fire, his senses heightened so that every brush of lips on skin left a blazing trail of white hot nerves that sung out with pleasure. Alex let Michael take control of it all, happy and willing to be an instrument in his hands.

Alex hummed with pleasure as Michael’s touch traveled his body; he felt like he was floating in the clouds while simultaneously drowning in a vast sea of pleasure. When Michael stopped and pulled back, his face slick with a sheen of sweat and his pupil’s exploded wide with desire. Alex swore he could see straight into Michael’s soul. Alex felt himself lose his breath. The man was a vision and Alex wanted him always and forever.

"Are you okay?" Michael asked, his voice husky and thick.

"Don't stop," Alex nodded as he reached his good hand to cradle the back of Michael's head, threading his fingers into the thick mass of curls and pulling him down into a deep kiss. His injured hand was mostly forgotten, Michael's touch more of an effective painkiller than any pill could be.

When asked, Alex directed Michael to the bedside table for condoms and lube.

Michael moved to put the condom on Alex, a reversal from their first time. Alex grabbed his wrist to stop him, silently questioning if he was sure. Michael just grinned and winked, gently pulling his wrist from Alex’s grip and sliding the condom on before moving a loosely held fist up and down him a few times to tighten the condom. Alex closed his eyes while a soft moan escaped his lips; the sudden shock of cold startled him and when he opened his eyes he saw Michael squeezing ample amounts of lube on him, spreading it up and down his shaft before putting more on his fingers and applying it to himself. Alex wanted to ask him again if he was sure, if he was ready, but Michael moved too quickly, straddling Alex’s hips and lowering himself onto and then all unspoken words faded from Alex’s lips as he succumbed to the ecstasy of the feel of Michael all around him. Alex elicited a long, deep moan; Michael was so tight and felt so good.

When Michael’s weight had settled Alex opened his eyes and the expression he saw on Michael's face, the way his damp curls framed his face and stuck to his forehead almost brought Alex to tears. He was so beautiful, so open, so giving. His expression one of....love? Dare Alex even think it possible? They barely knew each other, could they even be in love already?

Michael’s features, soft and relaxed, tightened slightly when Alex shifted beneath him. But then Michael was the one moving, his hips rolling and his hands splayed out on Alex’s abdomen as they both moved with soft, breathy moans escaping both their mouths.

Alex felt it all, every slight shift and move. When Michael tightened around him he gasped loudly before sitting up and with his good hand he gently but urgently pushed Michael to the side, flipping him to his back so Alex was now on top.

They settled and Alex pulled back slightly before pressing in again. The soft moan that came out of Michael's mouth nearly sending Alex over the edge. He was so close already, he knew he had to go slower or he'd come before he’d even given Michael the chance to get there.

Alex laid down fully on top of Michael, pressing their bodies together as he let his good hand thread into Michael's hair. He rolled his hips, slowly moving in and out, pressing in as deep as he could, bolstered by the guttural pant of breath that came from Michael each time he did.

The very definition of heaven was how Alex felt at that precise moment.

Michael's legs shifted and he wrapped them around Alex, Michael’s hands lighting at Alex’s waist, then his ass, massaging and gripping and pulling Alex even closer - as if it were possible for them to be any closer.

"Harder," Michael groaned breathlessly, and Alex buried his head into the crook of Michael's neck with a grin, moving harder and faster.

Last time, their first time, had been sweet if not a little bit awkward and a little bit clumsy. That was okay, though. Neither of them had known exactly what they were doing and it took a little time for them to really figure out each other’s bodies.

But this time was NOT like last time. This time was pure desire unleashed; no awkwardness, no hesitation, no clumsiness. Michael knew all the right places to touch, and his boldness led Alex to respond in kind. But there was something more to it, too, and Alex could feel it. Michael was holding nothing back, and not just his sexual desires but his emotional desires, too. That was what made the look on his face so scary and exhilarating; in that moment Alex saw what he meant to him. He could read it in Michael’s eyes, in his smile, in his touch. Michael loved him - there was no doubt of it.

Alex's pace quickened, fueled by a young love that still contained all possibilities. An unwritten future stretched out in front of them.

Alex bit softly at Michael’s neck, his jaw, before capturing his mouth with a kiss he hoped conveyed the intensity of his emotions. He was so close, and even though he wanted to slow down to make sure Michael was with him, he couldn't. He needed to get there and the fact that Michael's voice was murmuring in his ear, encouraging him with soft punctuated groans to go harder, go faster, wasn’t helping.

Panting and moaning together, Alex thought maybe they could actually come together but then he felt it building, cresting, he so moved to pull out but Michael held on to him, wrapping his legs tighter and gripping his ass harder. Alex had no time beyond that because then he was coming, groaning Michael's name and biting his neck and pumping his hips while the waves of orgasm washed over him. It was nearly more than he could take and he wondered if he'd pass out it felt so good...

It was over quickly, yet also seemed to go on endlessly. Slowly regaining his senses, he felt Michael, still hard, between them and even though he never wanted to separate their bodies again, even though he never wanted to remove himself from Michael’s embrace, he slowly pulled back, watching Michael's face and feeling oddly happy as Michael's expression clouded when Alex pulled out of him.

Pulling off the condom, Alex tied it off and tossed it to the floor before sitting back on his heels. He was still between his legs, Michael’s knees wide apart to accommodate Alex. Michael was hard, so hard, and Alex stared happily at the naked, open visage of Michael for a long moment before reaching out and griping him tight. Michael's reaction was instant as he sucked in a breath, his hips thrusting up and down and then he was fucking Alex's hand. Alex let him thrust, varying the pressure of his hand ever so slightly as Michael chewed on his lip and elicited soft, breathy moans.

They watched each other, eyes locked, Michael lifting his hips to push in and out of Alex's fist. It was almost more intimate than what just happened. When Alex relaxed his hand, releasing him, Michael stilled. Not speaking, they just stare.

Leaning down slowly, Alex pressed a kiss to the head of Michael’s cock and Michael sucked in sharply. Smiling, Alex took all of Michael into his mouth.

"Oh, fu-," Michael gasped, his hands flying to thread into Alex's hair and he was gripping and pressing and Alex was letting him fuck his mouth.

Alex worked his mouth on Michael, responding to the gasps and moans and the tightening grip of his hair. It didn’t take long before Michael loudly groaned, pushing Alex off him and coming, his chest now slick with more than sweat.

Michael’s eyelids were heavy as he slowly blinked; Alex watched him flutter them a few times before his eyes shifted and he peered up at Alex through his eyelashes. They looked at each other, their breathing slowing and evening out, matching. It wasn’t awkward, or embarrassing. It was comfortable, and felt…well, to Alex it felt like home.  

After a few minutes, Alex moved to get up, his shifting weight causing Michael to sit up and grab his arm.

"Don't go.”

"I'll be right back," Alex smiled, pulling away and heading to the bathroom, returning with a hot, wet washcloth.

Michael was lying back, but he sat up when Alex walked back into the room. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Alex gently pressed Michael back down onto his back before proceeding to wipe him clean with the cloth. Michael's hand was on Alex’s arm the whole time, feeling up and down and around, massaging his muscles, working around his shoulder and upper back. His hand wandered as far as it could reach, all while Alex gently cleaned him up.

It was a level of intimacy Alex didn’t think he'd ever get to experience, and certainly not with Michael. Their first time had been special, up to the end anyway, but for Alex their second time would be the one against which all other times would be measured. Alex knew that without a doubt. And he wondered if it would always feel so magical (Ethereal? Cosmic?) when he and Michael were together. He hoped so...

"Thank you," Michael said, after Alex had cleaned him up.

They were lying together in bed, still naked, legs intertwined. Alex's head was resting on Michael’s chest, his left arm draped across Michael’s body. The weight of the cast on his hand pulling slightly and sending a dull ache up his arm, but it was nowhere near uncomfortable enough for Alex to relinquish the moment. He could live like this forever, safe in Michael’s embrace.

"It's no big deal," Alex responded sleepily, with a quiet yawn that elicited a soft, light laugh from Michael.

"I didn't mean about just now," Michael said softly after a stretch of silence, and from his position Alex could hear his heart rate quicken.

Alex nodded, squeezing Michael with his left arm and with a small smile he pressed a series of soft kisses to his chest.

"I'll treasure this night," Michael added, his hold in Alex tightening as a he pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

"Me too," Alex replied, closing his eyes against Michael’s soft touch, his hand lightly tracing lines up and down Alex's back and he can’t remember, when he falls asleep, if he said the words out loud or just thought them; ‘this was the best night of my lift’.

There's bright morning sunlight streaming through the window when Alex wakes.

He feels satiated. Satisfied. A little sore in his legs. Stretching, he reaches out but finds the bed beside him cold and empty. Sitting up he listens but hears nothing other than the creaky quiet of the house around him. His bedroom door is ajar, and looking around his room Alex can’t see any of Michael's clothes. Alex climbed out of bed, pulling on a pair of shorts and hurrying to the room where Michael had been sleeping only to find all his things are gone.

Alex was confused. Hurt. Did he do something wrong? Walking back through the house, he found no trace that Michael had ever even been there. Returning to his bedroom he stood in the doorway looking around his room. That was when he finally noticed the note; the white paper blending in with the white pillowcase.

Walking slowly towards the bed, Alex felt apprehension start to creep in, unsure if he wanted to know what the note said or not.

He was scared to know.

But he has to know.

Alex,

I meant what I said last night. I'll treasure our night together. But I have to go. I'm enlisting in the Air Force and ship out to boot camp today. I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd try to talk me out of it and I really don’t think I could ever say no to you. Please take care of yourself. I will see you again.

Michael

And that was the end of it. Until now.

They were standing roughly an arm’s length from each other, their positions reminiscent of their first kiss. Alex was having a hard time separating the memory of that day six months ago from the present. He felt like he should be saying to Michael ‘Okay, talk’.

"Why'd you do it? Why'd you enlist?" Alex asked instead, not bothering to try and hide his hurt and confusion.

Michael's expression shifted, and he cast his eyes down. Alex hoped he felt guilty, at least a little.

Alex had spent days after Michael had left feeling angry. He felt lied to, and used. And he didn’t even have anyone he could talk to. He didn’t know what Max or Isobel knew; Liz was gone, but he couldn’t talk to her, or Maria, anyway because he’d never told them about Michael to begin with. He wouldn’t out Michael just because he’d been left feeling like a jilted lover. They weren’t boyfriends, they’d made no promises…but none of that was of any comfort to Alex, who still felt abandoned.

It had taken Alex a bit of time to move on; knowing Michael would be back, knowing without a doubt he’d see him again and have the chance to confront him about the way he left; that was what gave him the strength to move past the hurt. Or at least he’d thought he’d moved past it.

"I joined up to protect myself," Michael responded, looking up again and Alex could see pleading in his expression, he could see a yearning from Michael for him to understand.

But Alex didn't understand; this was all seemingly out of the blue. Michael had never spoken positively of the military, in fact he'd outwardly criticized it many, many times.

"To protect yourself from what?" Alex asked, apprehensively.

"I found something, when I was staying at your house," Michael paused, "In the tool shed. In your dad's stuff. A folder of old photographs from 1947. From the crash. The UFO crash. Photos of your grandfather."

"What?” Alex leveled an incredulous look, a smile playing on his lips because...this was a joke, right?

But Michael’s expression never wavered, and Alex felt the absurdity he felt about what Michael was saying fade. He was being serious, and Alex didn’t know what to make of that.

“Michael-," Alex arched his brow and sighed before looking down and shaking his head. Why would Michael go back to that shed? And why search through his dad’s stuff? And…UFO’s?

Alex felt a seed of anger start to blossom in his gut. If Michael couldn't even be honest with him...

"Alex," Michael took another step closer, his hand lifting Alex's chin so they were looking each other in the eye, "I'm serious."

And for whatever reason, Alex’s doubt began to fade and he started to believe him. He wasn't sure he believed the UFO part (though his granddad had been stationed in Roswell in the late 40s…), but he believed Michael's motivation; he believed Michael believed it and for the moment that was enough.

“Fine,” Alex sighed and Michael dropped his hand, “So? What does a UFO crash have to do with you, or joining the military? Do you actually believe in that stuff?”

Alex sensed he’d said the wrong thing as soon as the words were out of his mouth. There was a shift in Michael’s expression, microscopic though it was, and Alex saw it. His guard went up; not completely, but it was there. Alex could see hesitation in Michael’s expression.

“Sorry, I-,” Alex started but was cut off.

"I'm an alien, Alex. And if your dad ever gets out of prison, I'll be in a position to protect of us from him and anyone else who might want to hurt us."

“You’re…what? Us? Who is us?" Alex stumbled, choosing to ignore for the moment the giant bombshell Michael just dropped on him.

"Me. Max. Isobel," Michael said, slowly, and Alex stared, the realization all this was really happening starting to sink in, things beginning to make sense to him.

“We found out your dad was part of a secret military project studying the crash and when he got sent to prison it was the perfect opportunity to try and find out more,” Michael said, slowly, and Alex felt his heart sink.

Not because of the alien stuff – which to be honest was still too absurd to even wrap his head around – no, it was because that meant…

“Did you only stay with me so you could snoop through my dad’s stuff?” Alex took a step back, his resolve crumbling as his heart started to crack. He’d been invested, he’d had real, true feelings for Michael and if it turned out they weren’t really reciprocated…well Alex wasn’t sure he could handle that.

“No. No!” Michael started to shuffle closer, but stopped when Alex held up his hands.

“No. I didn’t,” Michael clenched his jaw.

“Okay, maybe at first that was the plan, but I stayed because I wanted to. I found that stuff the first night I was there. I could have left right then, but I stayed. I stayed. For you.”

Alex crossed his arms and leveled a hard stare at Michael, trying to make sense of the changes in him. The Michael standing before him had gone through basic training; had been brainwashed by the US military complex. Alex might not be in, but he knew how it went. His dad was in (or had been), his brothers were all in. He’d seen firsthand how they’d each been changed after going through basic.

But Michael…the longer Alex stared the more he saw the same Michael he knew four months ago; the one he’d always known. The one he’d had the greatest night of his life with.

"I’ll always stay for you. And come back for you. And protect you," Michael added, "I'll always be here to protect you from him or anyone else. I refuse to ever let anything like that,” Michael indicated to Alex’s hand, “happen again."

"Alien?" Alex questioned, trying to hide the ridiculousness he felt in saying the word; seeing Michael stiffen slightly before he nodded, never breaking eye contact with Alex.

"I’ll tell you everything I know," Michael said softly, arm reaching out to gently grip Alex's bicep, and when Alex didn’t pull away he smiled.

Aliens. An alien. Michael.

Alex softened, relaxing his posture and arching his brow slightly.

The one thing Alex knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was he didn't want Michael to leave again. He didn't want Michael to walk away, or look away, or stop touching him. Alien or not, it was Michael, and that trumped everything else.

Michael let go of Alex's arm and Alex immediately reached out to grasp Michael's hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin on the back of his hand. Alex looked at their hands, Alex’s showing the visible scars of the physical damage from their first time together, Michael’s showing the undetectable scars of a possible coming war, the potential scars of the unknown future that lay ahead of them.

"Okay," Alex breathed, looking up to meet Michael's gaze again.

Alex was nervous, and curious. He was scared. Not of Michael (or the others) but of the unspoken intention behind Michael being in the Air Force and what that might mean. Alex was scared for Michael. And he hoped he was making the right decision; he hoped they both were making the right decision.

And even if they still barely knew each other, Alex knew enough (Michael was an alien! That was huge!). Alex knew he was safe with Michael and that Michael would never hurt him or allow him to be hurt; Alex knew Michael was safe with him, and apparently Michael knew that too. It made Alex feel so incredibly happy to know Michael trusted him enough to reveal such a big secret to him.

"Okay?"

Alex nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched Michael's eyes move down to his mouth then back again.

"I love you, Alex," Michael murmured softly, invading Alex's personal space as he wrapped his arms around him and kissed him softly, tenderly.

Alex wanted to say it back, but thought he'd just enjoy the kiss first. There'd be time to say it back after.

AO3 link

[leonawriter]

To Change A Sombre Morrow (chapter nine)

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Characters: Genesis, Angeal, Cloud... Hollander.

Summary: Communication is key. Sometimes people are trying to help, and sometimes, they really... aren’t.

...

Angeal found him once he had made a strategic retreat back to his own rooms.

Having arrived still with his coat blackened in places and in a bad mood, he'd been blessed with the sheer amount of people who had suddenly found somewhere else to be, and he had showered, leaving his shoulder free of bandages for the first time in over two weeks, made a quick report to Lazard, pointed out that he'd not arrived yet by the time Hojo's alarms had gone off for something being wrong at the reactor, he'd had every right to be exhausted. 

But instead of kicking his boots off and collapsing onto his bed for a few hours, there he was, sitting on his old sofa with his coat in his lap and a heavy duty needle and colour-matched thread in his hands. 

"Well. That's not something I'd ever imagined you doing in your down time."

Genesis' hand slipped, and he swore when the needle jabbed his thumb instead of the leather. Now that he knew that his degradation hadn't truly stuck as he'd thought it had on his return to the past, it wasn't as much of a disaster as it could have been, but the anxiety of wondering how much the new wound would take to heal caused his heart to skip a beat.

A single Restore should have cured most of what he'd suffered in the reactor, but Vincent had been vocal about how much had been needed. Which was aggravating, which made him question why he was doing this, rather than handing it in to be repaired professionally, now that he could in fact do that, but...

"I had to learn," responded eventually, once he'd accustomed himself to Angeal's presence again and managed to get back into the flow. "You understand."

They couldn't exactly expect other people to fix the clothes they'd ripped apart when their wings had burst forth and they'd either forgotten or been unable to make allowances for anything in the way. 

He smiled, bitterly, at the remembrance of how it had been him and his own damn words that had caused Angeal to gain his wing - wings, there'd been two of them, though still on the same side - in the first place.

"Actually, no. I can't say that I do." Genesis stilled. Remembered that of course Angeal wouldn't know. This Angeal hadn't been through that. Idiot. "But fixing things is a useful skill to have."  If only fixing the rest of this messed up situation I'm in was as easy as fixing my coat, then perhaps I would call it a skill. "By the way, what caused that?"

Angeal motioned to the tear that Genesis was still mending. It was a good thing he'd already changed into a different set of clothes, or Angeal would have the other hole, the one in his shirt, to worry over as well.

"Nibel dragon," he lied, not meeting Angeal's eyes as his attention was back on his work. "The same reason why the coat is burned in places."

It wasn't as though the dragon he'd accepted the mission to go out there in the first place for hadn't been fearsome in its own right; it simply had not, however, been enough to cause as much of a challenge as some of the monsters he'd faced that had been mutated by Sephiroth's will. Even as he was, it had been perfectly manageable for a SOLDIER First Class of his calibre.

Angeal seemed accept the story however. Which was a relief.

"All right," Angeal said. "You look like whatever you faced back there, you..." he sighed. "Just, so long as you know you can come to me if you need to get anything off your chest. Sometimes dealing with things on your own isn't the only honourable thing to do. That's what we have friends for." 

Genesis' hands stilled, but he found himself unable to say anything in response until Angeal had already left, at which point he held his head in one hand, knowing that the rest of the tear would have to be put off, given the way his hands were now shaking.

If you knew what I have done, and what I know - about us both - then you wouldn't say such things. It might be better for both of us if I never tell you. 

Visions - memories - of Zack, broad-shouldered and with Angeal's Buster Sword a central part of his silhouette, came into his mind. A symbol of his failures. 

Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul, pride is lost... would you still consider yourself a monster and throw yourself on another's blade if I weren't trying to turn you against everything you once stood for?

He found it ironic, that he could still grieve a man lost long ago when he could walk out into the corridor and be face to face with him within a matter of minutes.

The tear in the leather was fixed before he could be called back into the public eye, to paperwork and meetings. Just the same as how he had always been frustrated with his inability to do more delicate work when he had made his first attempts years ago now, the repair was serviceable, but clearly visible even from a distance, and especially so if one knew that there was not supposed to be a jagged line of crimson thread, made all the more obviously out of place by how his coat had no other scars to it.

Back when he had first learned, it had been out of necessity, since it was hardly as though anyone else around would fix an ex-SOLDIER's clothes. And a coat that recognisable would be a liability, to take to an outsider. So he had learned. Because it was - had been - one of the few things he had thought to take with him, that he'd been able to and wanted to keep, when he'd left.

...

"You know, you don't have to keep going around in that tattered old thing. The world's hardly all that friendly to Shinra anymore, but there's places and people who don't care, for one reason or another."

They'd been walking down the streets of Kalm, and although it was broad daylight and the glow in their eyes from the mako in their blood wasn't so visible, people still looked at them - both of them - with suspicion.

"I'm offended. You think so little of my handiwork?"

"Huh?" Cloud's eyes had widened at the fact that Genesis had, indeed, made the repairs himself. Ducked his head and looked away. Genesis had wondered far too many times how this hesitant person so lacking in self-confidence could be the same one who had saved the world multiple times, and then defeated him, too. "Sorry."

Genesis had sighed, irritated. 

"No, you are right in one respect. It has seen better days. But it is also useful like this." The place where his wing came out at, he had left open, having tired of having to seal it closed each time he'd flown, was an inches-long buttonhole hidden under the length of his hair. Other places, he'd added pockets and pouches for useful items and materia. "And besides, I set aside my pride as a SOLDIER once already. Dressing as anything else would feel like - pretending to be something that I am not."

Angeal would ask me where my honour had gone, I'd imagine, he'd thought to himself. 

"Well, I was never really in SOLDIER," Cloud had said, and there was none of the pain or regret that usually coloured the words. This time, at least. "But... pride like that. It reminds me of him."

Genesis hadn't said anything to that. It had been clear who'd been meant by it. Zack was someone they both had in common, after all.

It would be a while before either of them spoke again, and when they did, it would be because yet another person had given the two of them a look Genesis had used to connect mostly with the way people reacted when his forces had gone into a town - suspicion, distrust, sometimes outright hatred, and a healthy dose of fear. All of which had been, in retrospect, completely warranted.

"They look at you the same way they look at me," he'd remarked bluntly. "Don't they know who you are?"

Cloud had stopped in the middle of the street, and his expression when Genesis had turned back to face him again had been flat acceptance. It had been odd, in a strange way, the way in which that expression now reminded him uncomfortably of Sephiroth.

"I'm no-one special." Which was a blatant lie if ever he'd heard one. "They look at you and they see Shinra, they don't care if you were in it just for the money, or because you thought you could do some good, or if you enjoyed it. They don't care if you saved the world. Shinra damned us all, and I'm not going to resent them that."

And Cloud had given him a look, much like Sephiroth had done sometimes - though at the same time, it was completely different, completely open and at the same time, so very hard to get a read on - and started walking again, leaving Genesis far behind and trying to catch up, trying to understand what had just been said.

He had always associated 'hero' with widespread adoration, the way that Shinra had made Sephiroth into a hero, the way that the hero was beloved of the goddess and all he met.

The idea that this, too, was a simple fantasy was a bitter pill to swallow. Yet at the same time there was some heavy part of his heart that had already begun to understand that this would be the case some time ago. 

...

He felt fingers grasp at his arm through the leather of his coat as he was walking down the corridor to his office, and it's only the disorienting, lurching feeling of knowing that he isn't there as an intruder or fugitive that reminds him of when he is, that holds him back from slamming Hollander into the wall.

It's a close thing, though. Very close. He still brushes the hand away a little more forcefully than he usually would with the non-enhanced, and feels dark satisfaction from the way Hollander winces.

"This had better be important."

Never mind that he suspected he knew exactly  what this was about. 

The scientist's eyes narrowed, watching him warily as he shook out his hand - and those were things he could see more clearly now, in ways that he'd been blinded to before. Hollander had never had his interests at heart; it had always been about his own selfish desires... and his own need need to survive above all else.

"You think just because you went off like that, no one would figure something was wrong, is that it?"

I was right.

"Nothing is wrong."

"Your friends certainly thought there was something up, the way they were worrying."

And that is just the sort of low blow that would have me come crawling back to you, time after time. The constant, steady stream of Hollander telling him, time and time again that he was the only one that could possibly save Genesis, could possibly figure out how to find a cure.

"Oh, and I suppose that you were worried as well, were you? Save your breath," Genesis said, lips twitching into a snarl.

Hollander had the gall to shake his head, as though Genesis was simply some unreasonable child. Knowing the scientist's role in his very existence, perhaps that was all he would be viewed as - until the day came when Genesis no longer needed to pretend to love the Shinra Company like he had done before at this age, and Hollander could find himself with Genesis' Rapier through his chest for crimes he clearly had every intention of still carrying out.

"I don't think you understand just how serious this is - if what seemed like it should've just been a minor injury was bothering you so much back then-"

"You don't seem to have been listening to a word I've been saying." The words came out dangerously low, his wing just itching to be released and spread itself for extra dramatic effect. "I had an infection." True enough, if Jenova could be considered a virus. "I got better. And now, you and your concern are... unnecessary."

How long had he wanted to say those words, to see the reaction on this man's face, when he revealed, even in as thinly veiled a way as this, that he had found the cure that Hollander had been unable to in all his years of searching? 

The look of shock that he'd been after was tempered by doubt, but Hollander was shaken. 

Perhaps a normal infection, a normal wound, could be healed with time and enough healing magics, but degradation...

"Went to someone else, did you?"

Genesis rolled his eyes. Not in the way you're thinking of. You never did take the concept of the Gift of the Goddess seriously. Why would you now? 

He turned his back on Hollander, pointedly turning himself back in the direction of his office. 

"Infinite in mystery is the Gift of the Goddess. We seek it thus, and take to the sky."

He only made it a few paces away when Hollander's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"That's it, isn't it? And - your coat. Interesting place for a repair job."

For a terrifying moment, Genesis' blood turned to ice, and he forgot to breathe. It had, after all, been Hollander who'd known that the results of Project G would be prone to mutation. He hadn't even seemed entirely too surprised to see a wing sprout from his back, only citing curiosity that there was only one.

They stood there, Genesis knowing that his reaction was all but a complete admission, and Hollander unwilling to give any ground, seconds stretching by for far longer than they had any right to, before a Second Class came racing past, knocking the tension out of the air and letting Genesis breathe again as well as pick up his feet to keep moving.

It doesn't matter what he knows or doesn't, he reassured himself. All that does, is that he knows that I will not be going along with whatever he says, just because he thinks that he has some form of power over me. 

...

AN: For reference, Hollander is completely barking up the wrong tree on everything other than his suspicions that Genesis was degrading, and also that the repair is hiding the existence of some form of mutation.