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Were you? [The subtle lilt of Sephiroth's voice says he's not buying it. Tseng has already established that he's not the sort to inconvenience others for his own sake. He's used to getting by on less; he hasn't even moved out of this pitiful apartment when a Turk can more than afford it. Sephiroth may not be the most socially proficient person, but he suspects he won't feel good about leaving Tseng to his own devices.]
...I will handle it. [At least then he'll know it's been taken care of.]
First aid? [If Tseng gets banged up as much he says, he must have a kit somewhere.]
Were you? [The subtle lilt of Sephiroth's voice says he's not buying it. Tseng has already established that he's not the sort to inconvenience others for his own sake. He's used to getting by on less; he hasn't even moved out of this pitiful apartment when a Turk can more than afford it. Sephiroth may not be the most socially proficient person, but he suspects he won't feel good about leaving Tseng to his own devices.]
...I will handle it. [At least then he'll know it's been taken care of.]
First aid? [If Tseng gets banged up as much he says, he must have a kit somewhere.]
[ It isn't so bad here. The state of the building ensures that none of his neighbors are co-workers, which affords him so much more privacy than those chic industrial-style flats that are all the rage now. The last thing he needs is for an associate to barge in for a house visit when he's, let's say, suffering a mild concussion and hungover all to hell.
Oh wait.
But this isn't so bad. He'll just say— ]
In the bathroom. I'll g—
[ —and catch Sephiroth's too-vivid feline gaze the second his muscles twitch to move. Something tells him that's just not in the cards. That part of him that stings whenever a polite overture is missed is screaming now. Imagine, letting a guest retrieve something for you in your own home. He does what he can and bows his head. ]
Thank you.
Oh wait.
But this isn't so bad. He'll just say— ]
In the bathroom. I'll g—
[ —and catch Sephiroth's too-vivid feline gaze the second his muscles twitch to move. Something tells him that's just not in the cards. That part of him that stings whenever a polite overture is missed is screaming now. Imagine, letting a guest retrieve something for you in your own home. He does what he can and bows his head. ]
Thank you.
[Look, maybe if you didn't keep trying to put your well-being on the backburner, said associate wouldn't have felt the need to barge in. --Tseng is quick learner, at least. Sephiroth will grant him that, and if he smirks at all, it's immediately obscured by a veil of silver hair as he turns.
Sephiroth makes a point not to linger anywhere. He has no inclination to be nosy, especially when Tseng is already practically squirming from how uncomfortable he is with the state of things. It's a quick in and out of the bathroom, first aid in tow.
He perches himself on the edge of the couch, adjacent to Tseng, and sets about stacking the necessary supplies next to them.
Alcohol swabs first.] May I? [A formality more than anything. Sephiroth isn't going to touch Tseng without his permission. If he has any sincere protests, speak now.]
Sephiroth makes a point not to linger anywhere. He has no inclination to be nosy, especially when Tseng is already practically squirming from how uncomfortable he is with the state of things. It's a quick in and out of the bathroom, first aid in tow.
He perches himself on the edge of the couch, adjacent to Tseng, and sets about stacking the necessary supplies next to them.
Alcohol swabs first.] May I? [A formality more than anything. Sephiroth isn't going to touch Tseng without his permission. If he has any sincere protests, speak now.]
[ Sephiroth's discretion is appreciated. Tseng is, of course, a Turk, so he does end up leaning over the couch to steal a glance or two at the legendary SOLDIER of world renown who is currently occupying his cramped closet of a bathroom. Is he the type to go through medicine cabinets, Tseng wonders. Because Tseng sure as hell is.
By the time Sephiroth leaves the room, Tseng has reaffected his 'casual' pose. Which is not very casual if you were to judge it by normal people metrics, but alas. Sephiroth takes a seat next to him and Tseng tries leaning against the armrest, which is a thing he totally does when he's home and yet still can't see as situationally appropriate. But neither is being carried home by the hero of ShinRa like a fainting damsel in distress, so Tseng figures he's already pitching a losing game here.
He waves a hand, a gesture to do as he pleases. At least he's not like that awful woman in the HQ infirmary with hands like a lumberjack and no sense of personal boundaries. ]
But of course. I appreciate it, thank you.
By the time Sephiroth leaves the room, Tseng has reaffected his 'casual' pose. Which is not very casual if you were to judge it by normal people metrics, but alas. Sephiroth takes a seat next to him and Tseng tries leaning against the armrest, which is a thing he totally does when he's home and yet still can't see as situationally appropriate. But neither is being carried home by the hero of ShinRa like a fainting damsel in distress, so Tseng figures he's already pitching a losing game here.
He waves a hand, a gesture to do as he pleases. At least he's not like that awful woman in the HQ infirmary with hands like a lumberjack and no sense of personal boundaries. ]
But of course. I appreciate it, thank you.
[Sephiroth doesn't have "normal people metrics", given that he essentially grew up in a lab and is a weird mess of a man underneath all that cool collectedness. He's not judging; he has no room to judge. Upon Tseng's agreement to be tended to, Sephiroth merely hums and gives him a nod before peeling the gloves off his hands. He doesn't particularly care to get ointment and the like on them.]
Do you recall anything?
[He doesn't know much; he only showed up in time to see Tseng knock himself silly. It's mostly easy conversation to keep Tseng distracted. Probably unnecessary, but a force of habit when Sephiroth is dealing with injured troops under his care.
All the same, he reaches up and brushes the wayward strands from Tseng's forehead, smoothing them to the side of his temple and holding them there. A haphazard bun, indeed. His other hand brings up an alcohol swab, running across the wound with a delicacy that may or may not be surprising from a fearsome general.]
Do you recall anything?
[He doesn't know much; he only showed up in time to see Tseng knock himself silly. It's mostly easy conversation to keep Tseng distracted. Probably unnecessary, but a force of habit when Sephiroth is dealing with injured troops under his care.
All the same, he reaches up and brushes the wayward strands from Tseng's forehead, smoothing them to the side of his temple and holding them there. A haphazard bun, indeed. His other hand brings up an alcohol swab, running across the wound with a delicacy that may or may not be surprising from a fearsome general.]
[ There is nothing about this that isn't unexpected. The fact that Sephiroth is here for a wellness check is only the prologue to a vast and storied tale of contingencies Tseng would have never thought to plan for. The tenderness with which he tends Tseng's wound is only as bizarre as his reaction; he doesn't know that Sephiroth's elegantly tapered fingers sweeping over his face will cause his eyes to draw closed, his head to tip just so before he catches himself. It is simply not a thing he had to guard against before. He's never known anyone to treat him this way, full stop.
Now he knows, and now his heart has taken up residence in his throat, thundering like a hurricane rolling in. Now he's not quite sure what is worse: that momentary lapse, or having nowhere to look but those monstrously beautiful eyes. ]
Ah.
[ He tries looking elsewhere. ]
Yes. I remember the bar. And the... incident.
[ So it shall be named. ]
As I inferred, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. But I do not recall ever seeing you. I... can't imagine that I would have been pleasant in that state. You have my sincerest apologies.
Now he knows, and now his heart has taken up residence in his throat, thundering like a hurricane rolling in. Now he's not quite sure what is worse: that momentary lapse, or having nowhere to look but those monstrously beautiful eyes. ]
Ah.
[ He tries looking elsewhere. ]
Yes. I remember the bar. And the... incident.
[ So it shall be named. ]
As I inferred, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. But I do not recall ever seeing you. I... can't imagine that I would have been pleasant in that state. You have my sincerest apologies.
[Sephiroth is nothing if not astute; Tseng relaxes into his touch - just for a moment - and immediately plays it off afterword. If it had been nothing more, Sephiroth might have written it off as a mistake, but the way Tseng struggles to maintain eye contact with him says differently. He chooses - mercifully, perhaps - not to bring attention to it.]
I see. [A beat.] It wasn't unpleasant.
[In actuality, Tseng was relatively easy to deal with, trying to smear Sephiroth's face with "war paint" notwithstanding. But once Sephiroth lifted him up and cradled him in his arms, the other man seemed to have no issue sinking comfortably against him. ...Tseng is always calm and refined, but that's the closest to peaceful Sephiroth has ever seen him. For most of the journey, Tseng's head remained propped against his chest... and for most of the journey, Sephiroth made it a point not to think about the warm, blooming sensation in his ribs it bore. What a couple of touch-starved fools...
Emotions are messy. Illogical. At best, he and Tseng are acquaintances. They've casually moved in and out of each other's circles at Shinra, but nothing concrete. Nothing that would indicate closeness or the potential for it. To Sephiroth, it makes no sense why such feelings would strike him now-- out of the blue.
And yet, here he is in Tseng's apartment, going out of his way to tend to a man he hardly knows. ...Maybe he wants to change that-- not knowing Tseng. He's not sure-- he's trying not to dwell on it. But he's here, whether it's logical or not, and he's at least going to see this little mission through. Once satisfied with his cleansing of the wound, Sephiroth reaches for the antibiotic ointment.]
You were quiet, mostly... beyond the fascination with bestowing war paint upon me. A byproduct of the concussion, perhaps.
I see. [A beat.] It wasn't unpleasant.
[In actuality, Tseng was relatively easy to deal with, trying to smear Sephiroth's face with "war paint" notwithstanding. But once Sephiroth lifted him up and cradled him in his arms, the other man seemed to have no issue sinking comfortably against him. ...Tseng is always calm and refined, but that's the closest to peaceful Sephiroth has ever seen him. For most of the journey, Tseng's head remained propped against his chest... and for most of the journey, Sephiroth made it a point not to think about the warm, blooming sensation in his ribs it bore. What a couple of touch-starved fools...
Emotions are messy. Illogical. At best, he and Tseng are acquaintances. They've casually moved in and out of each other's circles at Shinra, but nothing concrete. Nothing that would indicate closeness or the potential for it. To Sephiroth, it makes no sense why such feelings would strike him now-- out of the blue.
And yet, here he is in Tseng's apartment, going out of his way to tend to a man he hardly knows. ...Maybe he wants to change that-- not knowing Tseng. He's not sure-- he's trying not to dwell on it. But he's here, whether it's logical or not, and he's at least going to see this little mission through. Once satisfied with his cleansing of the wound, Sephiroth reaches for the antibiotic ointment.]
You were quiet, mostly... beyond the fascination with bestowing war paint upon me. A byproduct of the concussion, perhaps.
Edited 2020-05-18 14:26 (UTC)
[ 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. ]
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. ]
[Not quite so merciful for Sephiroth, however. He might echo those sentiments, that the quiet hunger to feel that weight in his arms and a head against his chest again (and not just anyone-- Tseng) just unnecessarily complicates things. ...It doesn't make it any less prevalent a wish.
And it's funny, really, that Tseng should be so fascinated with him... because he's quite beautiful in his own right. An elegant mix of contradictions. A fair visage that contrasts with a strong jawline. Graceful lips that often press into a stern line. Fine, angled brows that furrow into daunting scrutiny. Long, immaculately kept hair (except, of course, for the endearingly messy bun it's currently in). Of everything, however, Sephiroth finds that he's drawn to his eyes. They're vivid and sharp-- a rich, dark brown often hiding imperceptible secrets. Always chilly, always calculating... but right now, they're subtly warmer.
...Perhaps Sephiroth has spent more time studying Tseng than he'd willingly admit-- and if he pauses his meticulous first aid routine, letting his eyes and touches linger more than they ought to... Well, he doesn't bring attention to it.
Tseng offers a bullshit excuse and a shadow of a smile. Sephiroth, in turn, curves his lips similarly, humming a soft laugh. In hindsight, it probably beckoned more than a few odd stares and certainly some questions-- Tseng bleeding from his forehead and tucked away in the arms of Sephiroth, who sported several messy streaks of that blood on his cheeks.]
Perhaps. Quite the place you wound up in.
[He dabs some ointment on his fingers and begins smoothing it along Tseng's forehead, taking care not to poke and prod the injury too much.]
Is that a regular occurrence for you?
And it's funny, really, that Tseng should be so fascinated with him... because he's quite beautiful in his own right. An elegant mix of contradictions. A fair visage that contrasts with a strong jawline. Graceful lips that often press into a stern line. Fine, angled brows that furrow into daunting scrutiny. Long, immaculately kept hair (except, of course, for the endearingly messy bun it's currently in). Of everything, however, Sephiroth finds that he's drawn to his eyes. They're vivid and sharp-- a rich, dark brown often hiding imperceptible secrets. Always chilly, always calculating... but right now, they're subtly warmer.
...Perhaps Sephiroth has spent more time studying Tseng than he'd willingly admit-- and if he pauses his meticulous first aid routine, letting his eyes and touches linger more than they ought to... Well, he doesn't bring attention to it.
Tseng offers a bullshit excuse and a shadow of a smile. Sephiroth, in turn, curves his lips similarly, humming a soft laugh. In hindsight, it probably beckoned more than a few odd stares and certainly some questions-- Tseng bleeding from his forehead and tucked away in the arms of Sephiroth, who sported several messy streaks of that blood on his cheeks.]
Perhaps. Quite the place you wound up in.
[He dabs some ointment on his fingers and begins smoothing it along Tseng's forehead, taking care not to poke and prod the injury too much.]
Is that a regular occurrence for you?
[ It's not a bad feeling at all, working a laugh out of Sephiroth. It makes him feel powerful in a different sort of way, the same swell of pride in a more profound key. Tseng loves the way it sounds. ]
No. Last night was a... special occasion.
[ There are many secrets Tseng keeps that no one else needs to know. Just like how Sephiroth does not need to know that it was a jealous despair drove him to a sub-plate booze shanty, where he'd—erroneously, it seemed—believed that he could wallow in his foul mood in the comfortable anonymity of an unfamiliar crowd.
Besides, it hardly matters anymore. That mood is gone, replaced by something far lighter. Turns out you can drink all your troubles away. Or maybe it's the concussion—whatever.
He tilts his head to rest his chin against his curled fingers, watching. The rattling AC has kicked on again, and it's giving Sephiroth's silver locks a reason to rustle in that ephemeral way, the same way moonlight dances across the black waters of a midnight sea. He's always wondered what it must feel like, what a singular pleasure it might be to stroke his fingers through the endless fall of it. ]
I didn't crash one of your secret haunts, did I?
No. Last night was a... special occasion.
[ There are many secrets Tseng keeps that no one else needs to know. Just like how Sephiroth does not need to know that it was a jealous despair drove him to a sub-plate booze shanty, where he'd—erroneously, it seemed—believed that he could wallow in his foul mood in the comfortable anonymity of an unfamiliar crowd.
Besides, it hardly matters anymore. That mood is gone, replaced by something far lighter. Turns out you can drink all your troubles away. Or maybe it's the concussion—whatever.
He tilts his head to rest his chin against his curled fingers, watching. The rattling AC has kicked on again, and it's giving Sephiroth's silver locks a reason to rustle in that ephemeral way, the same way moonlight dances across the black waters of a midnight sea. He's always wondered what it must feel like, what a singular pleasure it might be to stroke his fingers through the endless fall of it. ]
I didn't crash one of your secret haunts, did I?
[A special occasion.
That could mean a lot of things, but Sephiroth gets the sense that it's likely none of his business.
Whatever the case, Tseng seems to slowly be coming around, feeling more comfortable. Comfortable enough to casually watch him when he couldn't bring himself to maintain eye contact several minutes ago. He tilts his head just so, propping his chin against his hand, and... it's enough that Sephiroth pauses to stare back. It's then that he becomes acutely aware of their proximity, of how Tseng is looking at him. It's very subtle-- and if he weren't painfully observant already, Sephiroth wouldn't have noticed. But the quiet way Tseng's eyes rove over his face, his hair, does something strange to his chest-- as if his heart is rebelling against his rib cage.
He questions it - because he always questions the sincerity of others and their interests in him - and pointedly returns to his task. He... is not good with feelings. Certainly not ones like this. It didn't go well for him, the last time he started feeling like this, and he's leery about repeating that mistake.]
Mm. I don't drink. [And even if he did, there's not much point to it. Several dozen of Hojo's invasive tests have found his metabolism to be abnormally fast and highly resistant to most things.] I was searching for an errant puppy. [By which he - of course - means Zack. Angeal lost track of him, and somehow Sephiroth got roped into it, and-- well.] Finding you was a pleasant accident. Your company is preferable, even when inebriated.
[He doesn't actually mind Zack, but he knows better than to make that public knowledge. He'll leave the puppy wrangling to Angeal.]
That could mean a lot of things, but Sephiroth gets the sense that it's likely none of his business.
Whatever the case, Tseng seems to slowly be coming around, feeling more comfortable. Comfortable enough to casually watch him when he couldn't bring himself to maintain eye contact several minutes ago. He tilts his head just so, propping his chin against his hand, and... it's enough that Sephiroth pauses to stare back. It's then that he becomes acutely aware of their proximity, of how Tseng is looking at him. It's very subtle-- and if he weren't painfully observant already, Sephiroth wouldn't have noticed. But the quiet way Tseng's eyes rove over his face, his hair, does something strange to his chest-- as if his heart is rebelling against his rib cage.
He questions it - because he always questions the sincerity of others and their interests in him - and pointedly returns to his task. He... is not good with feelings. Certainly not ones like this. It didn't go well for him, the last time he started feeling like this, and he's leery about repeating that mistake.]
Mm. I don't drink. [And even if he did, there's not much point to it. Several dozen of Hojo's invasive tests have found his metabolism to be abnormally fast and highly resistant to most things.] I was searching for an errant puppy. [By which he - of course - means Zack. Angeal lost track of him, and somehow Sephiroth got roped into it, and-- well.] Finding you was a pleasant accident. Your company is preferable, even when inebriated.
[He doesn't actually mind Zack, but he knows better than to make that public knowledge. He'll leave the puppy wrangling to Angeal.]
[ If Tseng was only privvy to the Sephiroth's wariness of him and his intentions, he'd likely encourage it. The few people he trusts personally are only considered so because they never stop disproving what he considers a career-appropriate sense of paranoia. He is a Turk, after all, and it's likely that if Sephiroth himself were to take a step out of turn and fall out of favor with the Shinra elite, then it'd probably be Tseng's gun flashing in the dark, quietly disposing of him before he became a bigger threat to public security.
Tseng is sure that would never happen, but that bottom line will always be there. Either way, none of that has any bearing on simply sharing a pleasant conversation, which is precisely what they are doing right now. Just talk, uncomplicated. This is fine. And if his gaze drifts to the plush curve of Sephiroth's lips while he is speaking, that's fine too, it can be easily explained, he has a concussion after all and his eyes—clearer and brighter than ever—haven't been the same since. So.
Anyway, his brow lifts, ever-skeptical. ]
Hm. You'd prefer my company over the illustrious Mr. Fair.
[ Of course he knows who Sephiroth is talking about. All of Angeal's nicknames for new recruits trickle down to the basement levels eventually, where the rest of the black suits can titter over them in the fluorescent dark. Tseng's smirk is mostly concealed by his hand, but there's a touch of it in his gaze, anyway. ]
I'm not certain whether or not that's an honor or the lowest bar ever set for me.
Tseng is sure that would never happen, but that bottom line will always be there. Either way, none of that has any bearing on simply sharing a pleasant conversation, which is precisely what they are doing right now. Just talk, uncomplicated. This is fine. And if his gaze drifts to the plush curve of Sephiroth's lips while he is speaking, that's fine too, it can be easily explained, he has a concussion after all and his eyes—clearer and brighter than ever—haven't been the same since. So.
Anyway, his brow lifts, ever-skeptical. ]
Hm. You'd prefer my company over the illustrious Mr. Fair.
[ Of course he knows who Sephiroth is talking about. All of Angeal's nicknames for new recruits trickle down to the basement levels eventually, where the rest of the black suits can titter over them in the fluorescent dark. Tseng's smirk is mostly concealed by his hand, but there's a touch of it in his gaze, anyway. ]
I'm not certain whether or not that's an honor or the lowest bar ever set for me.
[All evidence to the contrary.]
Alright, what're the terms.
Alright, what're the terms.
[Nope. Sephiroth was born a winner. Except for the part where his dad's a lunatic and his mom's a giant crystal and his other mom's an alien. But otherwise, yeah. Totally.]
Hm...
Something enticing. Sweet, perhaps.
A taste of something highly coveted.
You.
Hm...
Something enticing. Sweet, perhaps.
A taste of something highly coveted.
You.
[Oh Sephiroth. You were born as something, and then they made you something else.]
You want to eat me?
You want to eat me?
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