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At last, Sephiroth had gathered up enough power to claw his way out of the Lifestream once more.
He did not know how long it had been since he had last walked among the living, though it did not particularly matter. All that mattered was Cloud, his anchor, his everything.
Everything else could come later.
He followed the pull of Reunion, but something about it felt different. The world around him was different. He told himself that it didn’t matter, but he could not ignore how empty, how dead the world of Gaia was around him.
The deserts that had once surrounded the remains of Midgar had expanded. There was no life to be seen, only dry, cracked earth and red dust carried by the winds. At times, it grew so dense that it blocked out the sun, and even that seemed dimmer, somehow.
Nevertheless, he flew towards Cloud, the cells within him pulling at Sephiroth like a wailing siren, demanding his attention and drawing him in closer.
When at last he found Cloud, he found that he, too, was different.
He stood stock still in the middle of the wasteland, staring out at nothing. And when he turned to face Sephiroth, something in him nearly broke.
Cloud looked as if he hadn’t aged a day since he had last seen him. Yet at the same time, he looked so incredibly old. He looked tired, his face wan, the way he held his entire body showing just how weary he was. He was wrapped in a worn cloak, his swords nowhere to be seen.
How long had it been exactly since Sephiroth had last been on Gaia? Suddenly, it seemed to matter very much.
When Cloud raised his head and looked him in the eye, Sephiroth froze. Something was very wrong. Gone was the life in Cloud’s eyes, the fire and defiance that should have been there. He looked resigned to his fate. This was not the Cloud Strife that he knew.
He looked confused when Sephiroth did not reach for his own sword. He huffed at Sephiroth, and then spoke, his voice scratchy and as bedraggled as the rest of him, as if he hadn’t spoken in years or had anything to drink in longer, and perhaps he hadn’t, “Not going to fight me this time?”
Sephiroth simply shook his head, unsure of what to say, what to do in the face of this man who was so wholly wrong, so different from how he’d remembered him.
Another huff, but this time he sounded amused. “Fine with me. I’m too tired for that shit. Wouldn’t be very entertaining for you anyway—you’d probably kill me in five seconds flat.”
And that was wrong, too. The way he spoke, the lack of power in his voice, in his very being. Cloud should have been the most powerful thing on this planet, yet he had been reduced to a mere shell of himself.
Sephiroth made a strange noise in the back of his throat. He still did not know what to say, what questions to demand answers for. How had things gone so wrong? How had Cloud let himself become this?
He must have had a strange look on his face, because Cloud looked at him and laughed. He laughed and laughed, doubling over with the effort of it. He didn’t stop until he started coughing, and when he finally looked back up at Sephiroth, there were tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, though there was no mirth left on his face.
Cloud was serious, now. His voice was still strained, but it became stronger the more that he spoke, “Well, you got what you wanted. Gaia’s on her last leg. It’s just me left, and then you’ll have the planet all to yourself.”
Suddenly, Sephiroth found that he did not care for the planet, for the Lifestream nor its power. He had no interest in ruling over a world that did not have Cloud in it, no interest in its power if the cost of obtaining it was Cloud.
He did not know how to express this. He did not say a word.
“Still got nothing to say?” Cloud asked, tilting his head. Then, he looked to the ground, and spat, “Bastard.”
“Of all the times for you to be quiet. I haven’t heard my own voice in… a hundred years? I lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve heard someone else.”
“Cloud, I–” Sephiroth started, though he did not know what to say. There were no words for this situation, nothing that could change the path that they were already too far down.
He was interrupted, “You know what? Actually, I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”
Cloud’s gaze was blazing, fierce when he finally looked back up at Sephiroth. This was the Cloud that he wanted, yet his eyes were still dull beneath it all. Perhaps it was too late, even now.
When Cloud spoke, Sephiroth was captivated. He could do nothing but listen, to heed his words as if Cloud was the god and he was the disciple.
“You know, even after all these years, I never could forget about home. Living with Tifa and the kids—not even that felt like home to me. Home was Nibel cedar walls and ma’s home-cooked stew and huddling beneath wolf pelts to keep warm through the winters.”
Cloud paused to cough as more dust kicked up, and continued on, “Did you know Nibelheim had its own culture?”
He continued on before Sephiroth could answer, though it was clear to them both that he wasn’t actually meant to, “Of course you didn’t. I’m sure you didn’t care either. I’m the only thing left of my people now.”
There was another pause. Cloud cleared his throat and steeled his gaze, blinking away the water gathering in his eyes. “Ma used to weave. It was tradition in Nibelheim, to weave shawls and blankets and whatever else people wanted. They were used as courting gifts and for funerals and births and marriage proposals—just about anything we could make up an excuse for.”
Cloud’s gaze intensified, and he laughed, though it was a bitter thing. “I had this blanket Ma made me. It had your colors on it—your eyes on a silver crow. Since I was so obsessed with you as a kid, she thought it was funny. If only she could see how we ended up.”
Sephiroth took a step forward, his mouth opening as if to say something, anything, but Cloud stopped him before he could, putting his hand up in a clear gesture to keep quiet.
He took a deep breath and spoke, his voice finally settling into how it should sound, the voice that Sephiroth remembered, “I hope that wherever you end up after this… I hope it can be home for you, Sephiroth. I know what it feels like to not have a home. I understand now, why you went to the lengths that you did to find one, but I’m just… I’m too tired to do anything about it.”
This time Cloud’s chuckle was dry, and it rattled through his chest in a way that terrified Sephiroth. “It’s funny. This is probably the most I’ve ever talked all at once. Figures it would be because of you.”
And then… and then Cloud slipped through his fingers.
Sephiroth lunged forward to grab him, to keep him here with him, but it was too late. Cloud was fading away, dissolving into the Lifestream, and there was nothing he could do about it. Cloud gave him a last sad smile before his face faded away too, and nothing but dust remained.
With Cloud gone, Sephiroth was alone on this dying planet.
It felt like something inside of him had died along with Cloud. What was the point of sailing the cosmos without Cloud by his side? What was the point of any of it?
He would not stand for it. He could not go on without Cloud.
He would build a home for them both right here on this wretched planet. Things would not come to this again, and Sephiroth would not need to find a new planet to rebuild on if this one was alive, if this one had Cloud on it.
With that, Sephiroth tore Gaia apart and dove into the Lifestream as it sprung up around him. He absorbed its power and swam against its current, forsaking the future he left behind and damning it to never again exist.
Cloud was tired. He didn’t need as much sleep as a normal person to function, but he’d been running himself ragged on deliveries lately, and he may or may not have forgotten to stop and sleep here and there.
But today he finally had a day off. He was going to drive Fenrir out to the wastes, maybe fight some monsters, maybe even see if he could catch a chocobo or two, just for old times’ sake.
It was a good plan, really, so of course something had to come and ruin it.
He’d gone to visit Aerith’s church, to say hi and grab a few flowers for the kids. He walked out, hopped on Fenrir, and revved the engine.
He looked up, and he was so shocked that he almost fell off of his bike.
Sephiroth was just there. Hanging in the sky, his wing extended, almost casual even though there was nothing casual about him. He hadn’t even felt him until that moment, hadn’t sensed Reunion until they made eye contact and it slammed into him all at once with the force of a falling building.
This wasn’t Sephiroth’s usual style. This was just… wrong.
Sephiroth just smirked down at him, infuriatingly smug, and took off with a beat of his wing.
What? Where in Hel’s name was he going?
Cloud followed him, of course. He couldn’t let Sephiroth get away, couldn’t risk any civilian casualties if he decided to tear up Midgar for the nth time.
But Sephiroth led him out of the ruins of Sector 5, out of Midgar entirely. He flew on and on, occasionally sparing a glance back at Cloud to see if he was still following him, smirking every time he saw that he was. As if Cloud would just let him get away!
He led Cloud on what felt like a wild chocobo chase, past the wastes and almost to the chocobo farm, right where the green started creeping in.
And then he stopped.
It was so sudden that Cloud had to slam on Fenrir’s breaks, screeching to a halt so he didn’t hit the weird building they were now in front of.
Cloud waited for Sephiroth to do something, to start monologuing or pull out Masamune—something. But he didn’t do anything. He just floated in front of the shack he’d brought him to, as if he was waiting on Cloud.
Fine then. “What do you want, Sephiroth?” It seemed like as good a place as any to start.
Sephiroth grinned at him, but there was something… off about it, and that was saying a lot, coming from him.
None of this was Sephiroth’s usual MO. Where were the storms, the threats, the odachi slicing him to pieces?
Finally, Sephiroth landed, his feet touching somewhat solid ground. He was standing on the roof of the house or whatever it was supposed to be, and Cloud held his breath, waiting for it to crumble under his weight.
When it didn’t, Cloud waited for him to say something. But Sephiroth stayed silent, almost as if he was waiting to hear Cloud’s opinion. Well, if that was what he wanted, then Cloud would give it to him.
He examined the structure, the roof, the walls. He saw the nails that hadn’t been pounded in all the way, the crooked paneling, the windows that hadn’t been framed in right. Finally, he looked up at Sephiroth and said, “This is the shittiest house I’ve ever seen, and I lived in the slums.”
Sephiroth just frowned at him. He looked… disappointed, but not mad or anything dangerous. Maybe even a little confused.
When Sephiroth finally spoke to him, his voice was somber, more than Cloud had ever heard it. “This place… is yours. I made it for you.”
And then he just… flew away.
Before Cloud could even think about getting back on Fenrir, he was gone, completely out of sight. He wondered if Sephiroth had even tried when Cloud was chasing him earlier.
Cloud was confused, to say the least. What kind of ploy was this? This wasn’t Sephiroth’s usual style, and he had no idea what to do about any of what had just happened.
With a sigh, Cloud looked back at the house in front of him.
In truth, it wasn’t all bad. It had good bones, at least.
He’d been meaning to move out of the bar for awhile now. He could fix this place up. It would save him the money on rent or having to buy a place, even though money wasn’t really an issue for him.
There was no point in letting good cedar like that go to waste, really.
They were all excuses, and he knew it. He didn’t know why he did it, but he sighed and walked up to the house. Time to get to work.
Sephiroth had been spending more time in the Nibel region as of late than he would have cared to.
It had taken him more time than he would care to admit to cut down and treat the wood he had used to build a home for Cloud, and after his obvious rejection, he had gone straight back to the mountains, wanting to be as far away as possible from Midgar and Edge and perhaps even Cloud.
Though he would never admit as such, he found Cloud’s rejection… deeply humiliating. He refused to face him until he was over such an undignified, human response. It was beneath him, truly.
Being out of the Lifestream after having spent so long in its grasp came with difficulties. It was strange, having a physical body again. Though he did not have the typical needs of a living being—food and water and rest—it was still an adjustment. He also had to re-acquaint himself with the way that time flowed in the living world.
Three months had passed before he realized that he hadn’t checked in on Cloud since his poorly received gift. That was much too long to go without seeing him.
After watching Cloud—his Cloud—wither away and die in front of him in that future that he would never allow to come to pass, he would not take his presence for granted ever again. He would continue to provide for Cloud no matter what he said or did. He would give them both the home they had always wanted, even if Cloud rejected him time and time again.
And so Sephiroth returned to the house he had built for them to share, intending on correcting his mistakes if they truly were as egregious as Cloud had said.
He had expected to find it in a state of disrepair, perhaps even having become the home of a wayward monster.
So it was a surprise to find that Cloud had actually settled in to stay. He never would have hoped for such an outcome, not after the way that Cloud had made his opinion on its shoddy construction known.
But it seemed that Cloud had yet again proven to be as resourceful and strong as Sephiroth knew him to be. He did not realize that one of Cloud’s many skills was apparently homemaking in the most literal sense of the word.
The house looked like a proper home now. The roof had been fixed, the windows were properly sealed, and Cloud had even re-paneled the exterior.
Sephiroth approached, unsure of how to deal with the swell of emotion he felt in his chest. He raised a hand to knock at the door, and then lowered it.
Cloud had made his rejection clear the last time. If Sephiroth wanted to do things properly, to bring Cloud the happiness that he deserved, to ensure that the light would never leave his eyes, there was much more work to be done.
As he made his retreat, he noticed that Cloud had also added a welcome mat, though it was failing to live up to its namesake. It read: “Fuck Off.”
Sephiroth smiled to himself. That was the Cloud that he knew.
He returned to the Nibel region with his head held high, unlike the last time he had come running back here for want of anywhere else to go.
It was time to implement the next phase of his plan. The Cloud in the future had told him of cedar paneling and home-cooked stew and a blanket his mother had woven for him. That was what home was to Cloud.
Sephiroth could not provide him with all of those things, but he could certainly try.
He had done extensive research on the once-proud Nibel people’s culture, affronted by the future Cloud’s (correct) assumption that he had known nothing about it.
It was hard to track down the information in a world that had all but erased the original town’s existence. He could have gone further back in the flow of time, of course, but somehow that felt like cheating.
After all of his research, he deemed that a “traditional” Nibel stew consisted of wolf meat, root vegetables, and hearty spices. Most of those things Sephiroth would have to obtain from others, but the meat, at the very least, he could provide for Cloud himself.
Hunting down and killing a Nibel wolf was more trouble than he cared to admit.
It wasn’t killing it that was the issue, but rather how he killed it.
The first wolf he came across was sliced cleanly in half by Masamune. Unfortunately, this meant that its organs had been ruptured, spoiling the meat. It was a quick, clean kill for all intents and purposes. All but this very specific, very important purpose.
Next he tried materia. First fire, for it was what had bound his and Cloud’s fate together since the beginning. Unfortunately, fate was not always so generous.
The Nibel wolf burst into flames, its meat burning to a crisp in an instant, its fur turning to soot and creating one of the most foul stenches Sephiroth had ever had the displeasure of experiencing.
No fire, then.
Perhaps a poison materia could work. It would kill the wolf more slowly, so he hoped that it would be less damaging to the meat.
It was only after Sephiroth had killed the wolf and began to cut into it that he realized that the meat would surely be tainted. This was not suitable to feed to Cloud.
Finally, he settled for a clean decapitation. The next wolf he came across fell to a single slash, and then it came time to skin and clean it.
This, Sephiroth knew how to do, though it had been many lifetimes since he had had to use such a skill. He would not admit to being out of practice, however. It was not altogether dissimilar from fighting—his cuts still had to be clean and precise—though he had to use much more restraint.
Masamune also did not make for a very good carving knife.
Finally, after much trial and error, Sephiroth had won. He had successfully obtained Nibel wolf meat. It had been a long and arduous task, but for Cloud, he would do anything.
However, if he saw a Nibel wolf ever again, he would maim it in the most painful way imaginable.
Cloud was woken up in the middle of the night by the smell of smoke.
At first he thought it was a nightmare, which would’ve been strange because he hadn’t had one of the ones about Nibelheim in a long while.
With a jolt, he sat upright in bed. It wasn’t a dream. Something was actually on fire.
Holy shit.
Cloud ran out of his bedroom, still in his ratty oversized t-shirt and boxers.
His kitchen was on fire.
His kitchen was on fucking fire.
Sephiroth was there too, which probably should have been his main concern, but all he could focus on was the fact that his goddamn kitchen was on fire.
Okay, in fairness, it was really just the stove. But if Sephiroth was involved, then any fire was a bad thing, and he didn’t trust it not to spread if he looked away for even a second.
“Sephiroth! Are you trying to burn my house down? Once wasn’t enough for you?” He yelled. He wasn’t entirely sure if Sephiroth had even noticed he was there. He seemed pretty focused on whatever the Hel he was doing in Cloud’s kitchen.
In an overly dramatic movement that lacked the kind of urgency the situation deserved, Sephiroth turned around to face him.
Behind him was a giant pot full of… something.
Cloud was cautious as he got closer. He pushed Sephiroth out of the way with his hip, surprised when he actually moved but way too worried about his kitchen to really dwell on it or the fact that he’d willingly touched him.
He turned off the burner, and then looked into the pot. Whatever had been in there was nothing more than a pile of ash. The sides of the pot were charred, remnants of what was maybe once food stuck to the metal.
Cloud looked up at Sephiroth, then down at the pot, and up at Sephiroth again. He looked… pathetic, in all honesty. He was staring back at Cloud, his eyes wider than normal. He was trying so hard to keep his usual blank look, but Cloud could see the way the corners of his lips were pulling down.
Without looking away from Sephiroth, Cloud asked, “What the Hel were you thinking?”
Sephiroth took a breath, and then his face went blank. Cloud usually could get a pretty good read on him, but not even poking at their weird S-cell link gave him a clue as to what he was feeling. When he talked, his voice was flat, “Indeed. This was clearly a failure.”
He sighed and walked around Cloud and then just… walked out the front door.
Cloud stood there for Gaia knew how long, probably with a stupid look on his face. He didn’t bother trying to follow him, too focused on trying to wrap his mind around whatever had just gone down in his kitchen.
With a sigh of his own, Cloud hauled the pot off of the stove and into the sink. He muttered under his breath as he started scrubbing away at it, not really saying anything at all.
It probably would’ve been easier to just throw the thing out. But Cloud was never one to let something go to waste like that. His ma had taught him better.
It was becoming more and more clear to him that Sephiroth sorely needed someone to teach him better. Cloud would have to whip him into shape again.
Sephiroth waited two days before returning to Cloud’s home.
He owed him an apology. Or perhaps a new pot. He owed him something, at the very least.
However, when Sephiroth arrived, he found that Cloud was not home. His behemoth of a motorcycle was gone, which meant that Cloud, too, had left.
Before Sephiroth could take his leave, he noticed something on the porch.
Cautiously, he approached. Had someone left something here for Cloud? Did Cloud have a suitor competing for his attention? This… this simply would not do.
However, when Sephiroth saw what was on the porch, he grew confused.
There was a cooler filled with ice, and in it a glass container that held the very same Nibel wolf stew that he had tried and failed to make the night before last.
Surely, it could not be for him. Surely, Cloud had left this here for one of his silly little friends.
There was a note taped to the lid of the container, and Sephiroth could not help his curiosity.
If you’re gonna make stew, at least do it right.
The note was not signed, but Sephiroth instantly knew who it was from. Cloud’s handwriting was endearingly messy, and he swore he would keep the note until the end of time.
He could not say the same for the stew, but he would savor each and every bite.
With careful, reverent hands, Sephiroth reached for the glass container. He still wasn’t entirely sure it was meant for him, but who else could Cloud have intended it for, truly?
Cloud had done what Sephiroth had failed at. He was providing for him, housing and feeding him, doing all of those things that the Cloud in the future said he had wanted.
There was just one thing Sephiroth had left to do, and for Cloud, he would gladly do it.
Cloud woke up and stretched, his bones popping as he moved. He’d pushed it a little too hard over the last few days with back to back deliveries.
It had been… a week? Since he’d been home. There was some leftover stew, at least. It was probably still fine to eat after a week and some change, right?
He made his way into the kitchen in his probably-clean boxers and sleep shirt (it had passed the sniff test, okay?), and started up the coffee maker. It would take a bit before it was ready, so he padded out to the living room to go stare at the ceiling.
Cloud stopped in his tracks. Sephiroth was in his house. Again.
He was standing in the middle of the living room, looking so out of place yet oddly at home.
It was too early for this shit. He hadn’t even had his coffee yet.
“Sephiroth,” he acknowledged him. He should probably fight him. Or something.
He should at least be mad that he’d just invited himself in again, and it was probably a bad thing that he wasn’t instantly on the defense the way he should’ve been, that he wasn’t reaching for his sword, that he was still relaxed.
Instead, all he could do was sigh.
Before he could make himself at least try to kill Sephiroth, boxers and all, he saw that he had something bundled up in his arms. He was holding onto it protectively, like a broody chocobo hen with her eggs. Cloud barely suppressed a laugh at the image of Sephiroth in that weird form of his with all of the wings sitting on an egg and pecking at anyone who got close.
“What’s that?” He grunted.
Sephiroth handed it over without a word, hastily stuffing it into Cloud’s arms.
He was curious now. He unraveled it, holding it up to see. It was wider than his arms could reach, so he spread it out on the couch to get a good look at it.
It was a blanket.
There were two birds on it. One of them big, the other small, the two of them nestled up against each other. One of the birds was gold with blue eyes, and the other one was silver with green eyes. A bit on the nose, if you asked him.
It was almost fraying just from Cloud laying it out. There were loose threads all over it and a few holes in the weaving and the borders were all scraggly.
Cloud looked up at Sephiroth who just stared at him, not saying anything. He looked weirdly nervous and kind of hopeful.
Did he have any idea what this meant? How would he even know? Cloud searched his eyes, looking for something there, thinking he just might find it. He felt Sephiroth reach out over their mental link, and even though Cloud reared back from it, he knew.
Damn him, the bastard knew.
Cloud wanted to punch him for pulling this stunt.
So why did he kiss him instead?
He didn’t really know why, but he sure as Hel wasn’t going to stop. Sephiroth made a happy little noise in the back of his throat, and Cloud stood up on his toes to kiss him harder.
It felt good. It felt better than it had any right to. It felt… right.
Maybe this wasn’t so bad.
Later that night found the two of them on the couch, though Sephiroth was hogging most of it. He was sprawled out across it, his head propped up on Cloud’s shoulder as he watched him work, his pupils blown out wide. Cloud hadn’t known they could do that. It was kind of cute, actually.
The blanket was spread out over Cloud’s lap and onto the floor. His hands were busy, and he’d already stabbed himself in the finger a few times. It’d been awhile since he’d had to sew anything, but he at least knew what he was doing.
He’d had to dig out a tapestry needle for this, and he couldn’t get an exact match to the thread Sephiroth had used, but it would be good enough for now.
Cloud worked slow and careful. Ma had taught him to do this too, had told him to always do things right and not cut corners, else it’d come back to bite him in the ass later.
He patched up the holes, evened out the borders. He cut the loose threads, and made sure they wouldn’t unravel. As he worked, he kept stealing glances at Sephiroth, at those wide eyes of his. Cloud wasn’t sure if all of that wonder was directed at him or the blanket.
He shouldn’t be indulging Sephiroth like this, shouldn’t have even let him stay.
Yet here he was.
If Sephiroth really wanted to do this… then Cloud would try too.
Nibel traditions were harsh, unyielding, just like the people. If Sephiroth wanted to do things the Nibel way, then Cloud would make damn sure they’d do it right. This wasn’t the home he knew once, but he thought that just maybe, they could make this even better.
As long as Sephiroth stayed out of the kitchen.