[ Even as his body responds to Sephiroth's proximity - by holding on to him tighter, closer, even if he doesn't make that tender while he can see the tension and fury from a mile off, and it needs to come to a head before proper sweetness can begin growing once more - his eyes widen at the words. Not in hurt, or offense. Not even pity. But, for the first time in a very, very long time, Angeal feels proper anger that is not directed at himself, his eyes flashing for a moment. Goddess-damned Jenova, and all who inflicted her on this kind soul.

The anger is not at all directed at Sephiroth, on the other hand, so his voice is still calm, or at least contained. ]

A fool I am, for fucking up so badly. But what I am not is what made us what we are. Neither Shinra, nor what they dabbled with without understanding - and so I am not here to take from you. [ Because they have all taken and taken and taken from Sephiroth, until, yes, Angeal can well believe Sephiroth has little enough to give, and even less to give him. At least right now, little beyond pain, that is, one way or another.

But Angeal is used to his own pain, and he can take Sephiroth's, support him. ]

I am here to give to you, instead.

Starting with giving all of myself to you.