[ It is no small mercy, the black fog covering these things Tseng does not remember. He would never be able to forgive himself for the painful honesty of sinking into the silent refuge of Sephiroth's arms so readily, so eagerly. He is not haunted by a longing for something he should by no rights have ever had. Even the simplest of comforts have a way of becoming complicated, and complications only ever end one way in his line of work.
For now, it's easy to believe his fascination with Sephiroth is the same shared by everyone else. He is different, exotic, more striking and beautiful than anything walking the dour corridors of the Shinra building has any right to be. His colleagues are a sight to behold, sure, but Sephiroth operates on his own level. His is a standard that no one else could ever hope to achieve. Everyone is either jealous of him or in love with him or both. This is just the same as that.
It has nothing to do with the few times Tseng has spied the sweetly human way his face comports itself as he's scanning over more difficult to decipher reports, the watchful care in his eyes whenever one of his trainees missteps and Tseng wishes that anyone would ever look at him like that. He's spent more nights than he would ever like to admit wondering how it must feel to be human inside of a larger than life vessel. But nobody has to know about that.
It is a little easier to steel himself now and turn his gaze back to Sephiroth and the gently meticulous ritual he is performing. At least until the war paint is brought up again; then it is hard to hide the curving shadow manifesting at one corner of his lips when he considers the prospect. ]
Red is a fortuitous color, you know. Perhaps I thought you needed an extra shot of luck.
[ He wonders what it must have felt like, drawing his touch across Sephiroth's skin. His fingers curl around the armrest. His eyes have a way of gleaming when he is feeling mischievous. ]
I might not have been wrong.
[ Considering the wretched den of deplorables they both found themselves in that night. ]
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For now, it's easy to believe his fascination with Sephiroth is the same shared by everyone else. He is different, exotic, more striking and beautiful than anything walking the dour corridors of the Shinra building has any right to be. His colleagues are a sight to behold, sure, but Sephiroth operates on his own level. His is a standard that no one else could ever hope to achieve. Everyone is either jealous of him or in love with him or both. This is just the same as that.
It has nothing to do with the few times Tseng has spied the sweetly human way his face comports itself as he's scanning over more difficult to decipher reports, the watchful care in his eyes whenever one of his trainees missteps and Tseng wishes that anyone would ever look at him like that. He's spent more nights than he would ever like to admit wondering how it must feel to be human inside of a larger than life vessel. But nobody has to know about that.
It is a little easier to steel himself now and turn his gaze back to Sephiroth and the gently meticulous ritual he is performing. At least until the war paint is brought up again; then it is hard to hide the curving shadow manifesting at one corner of his lips when he considers the prospect. ]
Red is a fortuitous color, you know. Perhaps I thought you needed an extra shot of luck.
[ He wonders what it must have felt like, drawing his touch across Sephiroth's skin. His fingers curl around the armrest. His eyes have a way of gleaming when he is feeling mischievous. ]
I might not have been wrong.
[ Considering the wretched den of deplorables they both found themselves in that night. ]