Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cloud doesn’t do drugs.

It’s the one thing he swore never to touch. How could he when not a single school report card came back with words other than “quiet, but a pleasure to have in class” written in the teacher’s notes. Even bullies could only tease him through twisted compliments, their favorite insult being a derogatorily sneered pretty boy.

His mom never had to worry about Cloud falling in with the wrong crowd and getting hooked on something irrevocable. She must be peacefully passed on knowing that social isolation serves as the perfect peer pressure protectant.

Yet, right now, Cloud doesn’t think he’ll survive another day here if he stays sober.

“Strife! Where's that merger file?” one of the paralegals, Jessie, calls out from across the room. She was all upbeat and smiley when they first met earlier this morning, but now she’s frazzled, her hair coming loose from its high ponytail.

“Just a second,” Cloud shouts back, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk that’s piled high with case files and client requests.

The phones don’t stop ringing, each incessant call a potential crisis that needs immediate attention. Clients are nervous—for what, Cloud has no idea, but he can overhear some of them threaten to take their business elsewhere. He finally finds the file tucked beneath an LSAT prep book and hurries over, almost colliding with another intern rushing in the opposite direction.

“Watch it!” the intern snaps, but Cloud barely registers it, his mind already on his next task.

Jessie gives him a tired, strained smile when he finally hands the file. “Thanks, Cloud. Hang in there.”

Cloud nods, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, and restlessly glances at the clock. He hasn't taken a break since he got here. The stress is getting to him, a constant knot in his stomach that only tightens with each passing minute.

Working through the disarray that is this overcrowded bullpen, it’s almost impossible to look beyond the horde of overworked associates and clutter to what’s supposed to be a minimalist open office space atop a 50-story highrise. What Cloud does see, though, is zero privacy: coworkers breathing down each other’s necks with only partners able to escape into glass-walled offices.

Still, everyone else seems to be thriving despite the unending state of barely controlled chaos, but to Cloud, it resembles impending collapse. Again, he doesn’t know why. After all, it’s only his first day at Crescent Hewley LLP.

Just then, from the corner office, a towering presence emerges, commanding immediate attention. He walks briskly to the center of the room, his face and figure framed by a cascade of unending silver, expression unreadable. Cloud stands up straight, clumsily fixing his posture.

“Listen up,” the man announces, voice deep and steady, slicing smoothly through the raucous noise like softened butter. The room falls silent, all eyes on him.

“Who’s responsible for the latest press release? Our top clients are already beginning to panic,” he says, crossing his arms. He doesn’t raise his voice, yet each word is measured, carrying the weight of authority and expectation. He draws respect in a way that Cloud can only dream of grasping one day.

No one speaks up, so the room collectively holds their breath as the man glances around. His dark gray suit looks as if it’s still on a mannequin. Cloud can’t quite tell whether it’s Armani or Napoli, no, it’s probably some unrecognizable brand. And briefly, his gaze locks onto Cloud, who finally gets a clear view of the man’s face.

Piercing green eyes, sharp and intense, seem to see straight through Cloud. It’s scarily snake-ish, yet insanely attractive all the same, and complements his porcelain skin. He looks as though he should be nowhere near the corporate law scene, rather belonging in a Vogue editorial or a high-fashion, haute couture runway. Cloud feels a chill run down his spine but forces himself to hold that eye contact determined not to flinch under the scrutiny.

Cloud braces himself, almost expecting to be called out for some unintentional sin he committed mere hours in, but the man’s gaze simply picks up and sweeps the room again. “Whoever handled this, I want a full report and corrective statement on my desk by the end of the day. We need damage control, not more chaos.”

He turns and strides back to his office, the tension in the room easing slightly once he’s gone. The other employees exchange nervous glances before diving back into their work, that constant hum of stress still permeating the air.

“Who even was that?” Cloud asks, watching the others go back to cross-referencing documents and double-checking facts.

Dumbfounded, Jessie looks like she’s losing brain cells by talking to him. “That’s Sephiroth. As in Sephiroth Crescent. The managing name partner.”

Cloud’s eyes widen in realization.

“How’d you even get hired here? You clearly don’t know shit about the firm or even law,” she continues.

Cloud hesitates. “Oh, uh, I got a recommendation…”

Truthfully, it’s far more complicated than that, but he doesn’t really know where to begin.

Jessie simply rolls her eyes and mutters something akin to “Nepotism again, of course…” under her breath, her demeanor shifts to one of thinly veiled disdain.

Cloud wants to interrupt, to explain how he’s actually a first-gen college student who only ended up at one of the city’s premier law firms at the insistence of a professor—someone who pushed an undecided, majorless Cloud into the legal field because of supposed potential. But before he can say anything, Jessie turns away, clearly dismissing him.

A mixture of frustration and determination settles over him momentarily, but Cloud brushes it off and refocuses on his work. He’s not here to make friends; he’s here to prove himself.

Cloud doubles down on his tasks, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he types up reports and cross-references case files. The hours blur together, the constant pressure and stress becoming a familiar, almost comforting, background noise.

His desk is strewn with documents and files, a tangled mess of legal briefs and case notes that seem to multiply with every passing minute. He’s tired, his focus wavering, but he pushes through, determined not to make any more mistakes.

He picks up a thick manila file labeled “Case Brief: Shinra vs. Avalanche” and shuffles through the papers. His hands move automatically as he files the reports to be digitized, desperate to get a breather or even a bathroom break before he doubles over in exhaustion. As he scans the documents, the clock on the wall ticks relentlessly, and Cloud feels a mounting pressure to finish before the end of the day.

Finally, he reaches a semi-decent stopping point and heads to the file room to return the folder to its cabinet. Closing the drawer shut, he stretches his arms out and walks over to his desk.

Just as he sits back down, he notices a tall figure approaching from the corner of his eye. It’s one of the mid-level associates, one who never bothered introducing himself, and he looks livid. Cloud’s heart sinks.

“Strife—” He cuts through the office’s racket, drawing everyone’s attention. The room falls silent, all eyes turning toward the commotion.

Cloud stands up quickly, anxiety knotting in his stomach. “Yes?”

He slams a file down on Cloud’s desk, causing papers to scatter. “What is this?” he demands, his tone icy.

Cloud glances at the file, his heart pounding. It’s the same manila folder he had just filed—“Shinra vs. Avalanche.” He had checked and double-checked the contents before returning it. “It’s a case brief. I filed it in the cabinet.”

The associate’s eyes narrow, his expression darkening. “You put it in the wrong cabinet. This was supposed to go into the active cases drawer, not internal memos. You’re so lucky I caught this before it went into the digital records.” His voice rises, each word dripping with irritation and frustration.

“I—I’m sorry,” Cloud stammers, feeling the weight of the stares from his colleagues. “I’ll fix it right away.”

“No,” he snaps, holding up a hand to stop him. “This isn’t just about fixing a mistake, it’s about your incompetence. This case is crucial, and your carelessness could have caused a major delay.”

Cloud’s face burns with shame. He swallows hard, struggling to find the right words. “I understand, and it won’t happen again. I’ll be more careful.”

The associate scoffs, shaking his head. “You’d better be. We don’t have time for sloppy work. This isn’t some college project, Strife. This is real life and real consequences.”

Even such a small mistake is magnified, put out of proportion, every critical glance from a colleague a reminder that he doesn’t belong.

Doesn’t belong in this firm, in his school, in this city even.

Moving to the city was like going from freshwater into saltwater. Cloud happens to be caught in an estuary of difference, swept by daunting tides of tension. People in big cities are unkind, Cloud realizes. Maybe not all—but there is that murkiness of less patience, fewer second chances. And from freshwater, Cloud is desperate to osmoregulate, to rid the city salt out his lungs, craving the crispness of home water.

But it’s impossible to adapt to a saltwater world when Cloud can’t even shake the feeling of inadequacy.

By the time the office starts to empty out for the evening, he’s exhausted, both physically and mentally. He never ended up getting that break he so desperately craved, skipping lunch for a granola bar while working. The only light now comes from the desk lamps and the cityscape visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Cloud packs up his things slowly, thinking about what to have for dinner. Maybe that food truck he saw on the corner since his energy is down the drain, cooking out of question. Walking out to the elevators, about to leave, Cloud catches a glimpse of silver hair out on the terrace.

Without thinking, he steps outside, bathing in the soft glow of city lights. The distant sounds of the bustling city below, taxis and trucks, chatter and laughter, are carried above.

Sephiroth stands near the edge, tall figure silhouetted against the night sky, a cigarette glowing between nimble fingers. Silver hair cascades down his back, shimmering in the light from the cityscape, and the suit jacket is off, hanging precariously from the sleek glass railing he’s leaning on. He looks serene, no longer stern but still subtly stressed, as he takes a drag and exhales slowly, the smoke curling up into the air.

Cloud stills at the sight of metal glinting in the dark, two shining bands of platinum, but continues, reassured that the rings are on Sephiroth’s middle and pointer fingers. With that, he’s drawn in. The chill night air hits and his shoes shuffle against the tiled concrete on the terrace.

Without really meaning to, he ends up at the edge, looking down and getting lost in the view of this urban utopia whose threshold he finally managed to cross, yet can’t quite settle in.

“Not here to smoke?” Sephiroth’s voice is deep, smooth like a freshly pulled shot of espresso, waking Cloud up to where he is and who he is with. Sephiroth takes another pull, silently assessing Cloud’s unprepared presence.

Cloud fumbles awkwardly, patting around his suit jacket pockets for a pack of cigarettes that doesn’t exist. He can feel the weight of Sephiroth’s gaze, sharp and inquisitive. “Well, I guess I forgot them,” he mumbles, trying to mask his nervousness. “Gotta go.”

“Here, have one of mine.” He holds out a sleek silver case, opening it to reveal perfectly arranged cigarettes. The sight of them so neatly over-organized only adds to Cloud’s anxiety.

Nearly faltering, Cloud takes the cigarette. He immediately puts it in his mouth, trying to act casual as if this is his everyday, that he’s a seasoned smoker with dirt-colored lungs.

“Just a moment,” Sephiroth says, his voice low and smooth.

Sephiroth steps closer and leans in, flicking open a fancy lighter, the same sterling as his case and hair. That silver hair cascades over his shoulder, a few strands brushing against Cloud’s face, making his heart race. The scent of Sephiroth’s cologne, woodsy and fresh, mixes with the faint, acrid aroma of tobacco, creating an intoxicating blend. The small flame dances in the night air, and Sephiroth’s eyes glint from the flickering fire as he lights Cloud’s cigarette.

Reflexively, Cloud instantly inhales the smoke, trying to maintain his composure with Sephiroth’s pressing proximity. But his eyes immediately water, chokes, pulling the cigarette out to cough. The taste is harsh and bitter, nothing like he imagined, burning his throat like strong cough syrup.

“You don’t smoke, do you?” Sephiroth says, amused with a slight upward tilt of his lips. Even his smile is sleek, cat-like and composed.

Cloud feels his face heat up in embarrassment, the flush creeping up his neck. “Of course I smoke,” he lies, trying again. This time he takes another drag and slowly pulls the smoke into his mouth. He avoids inhaling too deeply, fearing the burn that choked him earlier, just letting it collect dumbly in his mouth instead.

After a few moments, he opens up to let the smoke simply fall out. That clearly wasn’t right either.

Sephiroth chuckles, a deep, rich sound that makes Cloud shift on his toes and squirm. “You don’t have to pretend,” Sephiroth says, serpentine eyes twinkling. “It didn’t even reach your lungs.”

Sheepishly, Cloud looks down. He finally admits, “It’s my first time...”

Something indiscernible flashes in Sephiroth’s eyes, he’s looking at Cloud a little too strangely before his expression softens slightly. “I’ll show you.” He takes the cigarette from Cloud, placing it back between his lips. “Inhale, but not too much,” he instructs gently, almost coaxing.

Sephiroth touches Cloud’s throat, guiding him. “Feel it right here? Let it travel down to your lungs.” His hand moves down to Cloud’s chest, laying flat there. Cloud can’t even remember how to breathe, forget smoking, his lungs losing their purpose as Sephiroth presses firmer against his sternum.

“Now let it out,” Sephiroth says, his voice close to Cloud’s ear, the warmth of his breath brushing against Cloud’s skin.

Cloud’s eyes still water, and he feels choked up, but the sensation of the smoke isn’t all that unpleasant this time. He breathes it out slowly, feeling a cooling sensation in his chest escaping with the smoke. The city lights blur slightly as he blinks away the tears.

The smoke wafts out in front of him, quickly escaping to the upper stratosphere while a satisfying fuzziness seeps into his brain. It reminds Cloud of a wintery day, watching his warm breath puff out for a rapid, fleeting second—proof that he is, in fact, alive and breathing—while the biting cold numbs his face pleasantly.

“Good boy,” Sephiroth murmurs, his tone warm with approval. “Now you know how.” With that, Sephiroth steps back, leaving Cloud feeling dazed and lightheaded, more from the praise than the cigarette.

Heart pounding and head spinning, Cloud watches Sephiroth slip his jacket back on and walk back inside. The terrace feels both vast and small, the city beneath endless, and that lingering scent of smoke and cologne already addictive.

Chapter Text

With pitch blackness obstructing his sight, he hears it first. A low crackle, distant and almost mistaken for rumbling thunder. It grows louder, the sound snapping against howling wind. Feels it next, the faintest of heat emanating onto his face, warm like a ray of summer sun but with a sinister threat to singe his eyelashes.

At last, he sees it.

A blood orange sunset dances wildly around him. Screams—piercing, desperate cries—echo through the inferno, and Cloud is gasping for breath. He’s crawling forward on his forearms, but the fire only burns hotter. He needs to escape, but he’s drawn in, can’t stop himself from moving closer and closer.

The flames flicker and shift, morphing into an entirely different light: the soft glow of a silver lighter. The screams fade away, replaced by the sound of a metallic clicking, the intermittent spark, and a low, steady voice guiding him through the darkness.

“I am your everything⸻nothing to fear.”

Vision clears, and the turmoil melts away, leaving only the gentle radiance of that tiniest fire and the silhouette, standing tall and unyielding in the shadows. Cloud blinks, eyes bleary as he makes out a shadow of… a single wing? But when Cloud reaches for him, the heat diminishes, the darkness recedes.

Something shatters. Light floods in.

The unsettling scene still clings to Cloud’s mind like cobwebs well after he’s woken up. He sets his French press on the counter, its glass carafe catching the morning light and glinting softly. His memory of it is already fuzzy, but vivid at the edges of his consciousness—a destructive blaze giving way to Sephiroth? Cloud’s not completely sure it’s him, but who else could have that long of silver hair or smooth of a voice.

One day in and he’s already having freaky dreams about his boss.

Sighing, Cloud pours in some steaming water. At least the cryptic nightmare woke him up earlier than normal and he’s grateful not to have to rush through the morning for once, giving him the chance to scroll through his phone mindlessly while waiting for the coffee to brew.

He pauses, his thumb hovers over the screen, transfixed on a headline: “The downfall of Crescent Hewley.”

[Midgar] — Crescent Hewley LLP, formerly Crescent Hewley Rhapsodos, officially announced the departure of Genesis Rhapsodos, Senior Partner. The firm is renowned for its dedication to excellence and client service and remains committed to upholding the highest standards of legal practice.

Rhapsodos, who has been an integral part of the firm for over five years, contributed significantly to the firm’s growth and reputation, particularly in the areas of corporate litigation and international trade law. Originally a name partner, Rhapsodos stepped down from the role a year ago, possibly alluding to him creating distance distance from the firm some time ago.

However, following rumors of Shinra Electric Power Company considering hiring Crescent Hewley to represent them in the ongoing Shinra vs. Avalanche case, Rhapsodos quickly left the firm and is now allegedly joining Avalanche’s legal team. More information to be revealed as the situation develops.

Cloud freezes while reading, unsure of what to make of it. The fact there was once a third name attached to the firm is news enough to him, but a name partner leaving the firm to join an opposing legal team case seems almost too dramatic to believe. He tries to piece together what this could mean for the firm and for Sephiroth, who must be dealing with the fallout and betrayal the most.

Before he can process it further, his phone buzzes in his hand, breaking the silence of the apartment. Cloud looks down, and it’s a number he doesn’t recognize calling.

“Hello?” Cloud answers, trying to shake off the surprise from the article.

“Jeez, finally. Took you like five rings when it should’ve only been one. Anyway, I need you to get to the office now.” It’s Jessie’s voice, all clipped and strained. Weird, Cloud doesn’t remember giving out his number to her, but he’s already on his feet to get ready.

“Everything’s a mess. We’re scrambling to sort things out, and I need all hands on deck,” she continues, tense voices and rustling papers audible in the background.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Cloud replies, trying to keep his voice calm despite the anxiety mounting in his bones.

“Well, hurry up. Sephiroth wants documented updates on all active cases and any potential fallout. Don’t make us wait,” Jessie snaps. Cloud’s stomach does a little flip at the mention of Sephiroth’s name, at the thought of seeing him again so soon.

“Got it. I’m on my way.”

“Good,” Jessie says before hanging up abruptly. Cloud stares at his phone for a moment, the call already disconnected. A heavy knot sinks in his stomach.

The ride to the office is a blur, and the subway car is crowded, but Cloud barely notices, lost in his thoughts as he grips the metal pole for balance. The lights flicker overhead, casting a harsh glow that catches his reflection in the window—disheveled and a total mess.

Stepping into the office, Cloud is struck by the eerie silence that hangs in the air. The frantic conversations and phone calls from yesterday are replaced by the soft tapping of keyboards and hushed whispers.

Cloud sets his bag down carefully and scans the room. Colleagues are hunched over their desks, eyes flickering nervously about. He approaches Jessie, who is typing furiously, her jaw set in a tight line.

“What’s going on?” Cloud asks, keeping his voice low.

Jessie’s head snaps up, and she shoots him a sharp glare. “Shh! Shut up,” she whisper-yells, nodding toward the conference room.

Through the glass, Cloud sees Sephiroth standing tall, his posture rigid, as he listens intently to the man opposite him, whose back is turned to the rest of the office. Vibrant red hair, same as the photo in this morning’s article. Unmistakable. Genesis Rhapsodos.

“Why is he here?” Cloud whispers more quietly, leaning toward Jessie.

“Who knows,” Jessie replies, eyes glued to the scene. “They’ve been in there forever. No one knows what’s happening.”

Cloud turns back to the glass, watching Sephiroth’s expression shift subtly—bitterness bleeding through the stoic stare. It’s like watching a storm brew behind the calm facade as Sephiroth pinches the bridge of his nose to compose himself.

“There’s a lot to do, or are you just going to keep standing there?” Jessie says, pulling back Cloud’s focus. “They’ll be at it for a while, no point watching.”

Reluctantly, Cloud tears his gaze away and nods. “Right.”

Cloud sits at his desk, eyes glued to the screen, but the words blur together. His mind drifts back to the conference room as he taps the keyboard mindlessly, trying to focus on the documents in front of him.

The morning drags on, the office buzzing with quiet tension. Cloud types up reports and answers emails, his mind only half-present. He glances at the clock repeatedly, counting down the minutes until he can breathe again.

Finally, lunch hour rolls around, but Cloud feels too restless to eat. Not like he has enough time for a full meal anyway, so he forces himself to down a tasteless protein bar. Yuck, is the only word he can use to describe it, but hopefully he’s easing his mother’s spirit by not completely neglecting his hunger and health. The weight of the morning presses down on him, and he needs a moment to clear his head. He pushes away from his desk and makes his way to the terrace, craving fresh air.

Quiet, just like last night, except it’s completely empty this time. Cloud leans against the railing, closing his eyes as the wind tugs at his hair and clothes as if it’s carrying away his frayed nerves.

Up here, he’s detached, no longer part of a bigger picture, as if the world has shrunk to just him and the sky and the sprawling city below. A temporary reprieve.

As he stands there, lost in thought, the door pushes open and a low and steady voice speaks, with a hint of barely detectable, underlying frustration. Cloud turns, his heart skipping a beat.

Sephiroth stands a few feet away, phone pressed to his ear. He’s not even facing Cloud, but the tension in his shoulders is noticeable, the stress in his stance evident.

“I understand the risks, but we can’t afford to be distracted right now,” Sephiroth says, irritated as he paces the terrace. “No, it’s not ideal, but we need to keep moving forward.”

Cloud shifts slightly, feeling like an intruder in Sephiroth’s private conversation. But he can’t bring himself to leave, not when Sephiroth is so close. Deep down, he’s been wanting to see him outside the confines of the office again, away from the professional mask he wears so well.

Sephiroth pauses, running a hand through his hair, the silver strands catching the sunlight. For a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, afraid of something. Unlike anything Cloud has seen from him so far.

Sephiroth lowers his phone, his expression unreadable. He turns slightly, catching sight of Cloud, and their eyes meet. There’s a flicker of surprise, followed by something else—relief perhaps, but it’s quickly replaced by his typical seriousness.

“Oh, it’s just you again,” Sephiroth says, inclining his head in acknowledgment. “I didn’t realize anyone else was out here.”

Cloud swallows, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I just needed some air,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s been a... hectic morning.”

Sephiroth nods dismissively, pulling out that silver case of cigarettes from his pocket. Right, he didn’t even ask why Cloud’s up here. He feels embarrassed for speaking too much unprompted, because why would Sephiroth even care.

He hesitates, unsure if he should say anything. But the weight of curiosity is too much to bear. “Is everything going to be okay?”

Sephiroth’s expression softens, and for a moment, he looks almost grateful for the concern. “We’ll manage. It’s complicated, but we’ve faced worse before.”

There’s a strange sense of comfort at Sephiroth’s reassurance, as if Cloud’s the one here with something to lose if the firm goes downhill.

Sephiroth flips open the cigarette case with a swift motion, his fingers deftly selecting one before holding the case out to Cloud.

Cloud falters. He doesn’t want to come across as someone who takes advantage of Sephiroth’s generosity, just taking freebies from him time and time again. But the slight arch of Sephiroth’s brow and the standing offer in his emerald eyes make it hard to refuse.

“You look like you could use one,” Sephiroth remarks, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. It’s barely a smile, feline and imposing.

Cloud chuckles awkwardly. “I don’t want to keep bumming them off you,” he says, reluctant as he rubs the back of his neck. At the back of his mind, his mother’s voice encroaches, nagging about the dangerous spiral of addiction and lung cancer and a neverending cough.

But tobacco isn’t a gateway drug, is it? Cloud has only heard of weed being classified as such, its persistent use leading down to harder substances. He decides it’s not too bad if he has an occasional cig, not enough to blacken his lungs and shrivel them to ash, so what’s the harm? It’s not like he’s chain smoking out his kitchen window, avoiding complaints from his landlord for making the entire apartment block reek of menthol.

“Consider it a stress-relief strategy,” Sephiroth suggests. Cloud’s about to protest again, but Sephiroth swiftly places the cigarette past his parted lips. “Here, try lighting it yourself this time.”

Sephiroth hands Cloud the lighter, his fingers brushing Cloud's briefly in the exchange. The metal is cool in his hand, heavier than it looks, with intricate engravings that catch the light.

Cloud hesitates, the cigarette resting lightly between his lips. He flicks the lighter open, the flame jumping to life with a soft, mechanic click. It takes a moment to steady his hand, to bring the flame close enough to ignite the end of the cigarette without searing off his fingerprints.

He inhales carefully, the tip glowing as he draws the smoke in. This time, he’s determined not to cough, to handle it with more grace. The smoke spins in his lungs, a little harsh but more familiar now, more manageable.

Sephiroth watches him, a pleasant expression in his eyes, perhaps enjoyment, or maybe just the satisfaction of a teacher watching his student. “Not bad,” he remarks.

Cloud exhales slowly, the smoke unfurling in the breeze. “I'm getting better,” he says with a wry smile, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Now light mine,” Sephiroth instructs, challenging while his lips wrap around a cigarette.

Cloud blinks, taken aback, eyes zeroing in on how the stick rests against Sephiroth’s full bottom lip. It looks so smooth. Cloud so badly wants to feel those lips brush against his. With his own cigarette still tucked between his lips, he fumbles with the lighter as he flips it open. But before he can ignite it, Sephiroth leans in, his presence sudden and close.

The world compresses to the space between them, the air charged. Sephiroth's cigarette hovers near Cloud’s, barely a breath away from touching, the spark fizzing in the brief gap. Cloud’s breath catches at the unexpected nearness and he nearly lets it fall from his mouth.

Then, the tip of Sephiroth’s cigarette flares to life with a bright, warm glow as he draws in a slow, deliberate breath, igniting it in a shared ember.

Sephiroth pulls back, the moment stretching and then snapping back to the terrace. A faint, delighted glint dances in Sephiroth’s eyes as he exhales a thin ribbon of smoke into the sky.

“No need to overcomplicate it,” Sephiroth murmurs, watching as Cloud tries to copy him, breathing out the smoke in an upward funnel. “You’re a fast learner.”

Cloud nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His hand closes around the silver lighter, its laden heaviness a paperweight when the wind threatens to whisk his soul out of his body, about to fly away.

The corner bodega by Cloud’s apartment still has faded posters from the 90s advertising discontinued Corona and Modelo beers. The neon open sign flickers overhead, casting an eerie blue glow on the pavement. It’s not a place he frequents often, but he’s standing here after work for one reason.

The bell above the door jingles as he steps inside, the smell of stale coffee and cleaning products causing him to crinkle his nose. Cloud walks past the aisles of snacks and drinks to the counter, where the cashier gives him a bored, disinterested glance.

“Pack of cigarettes,” Cloud says, pointing to a random brand on the wall behind the counter.

The cashier raises an eyebrow and Cloud shrinks into himself slightly. Getting carded would be embarrassing, he’s only a year off but his appearance makes that almost unbelievable. He knows he’s baby-faced, a bit more doe-eyed than most guys, but he hopes the thrift store suit he’s wearing helps to age him a little. Must be good enough since the guy doesn’t bother asking for ID, probably doesn’t get paid enough to give a fuck. He simply turns, grabs the pack and slides it across the counter.

Cloud hands over the money, a few crinkled bills and rusted coins. Box in hand, he steps back outside into the evening air.

He heads home, the familiar streets blurring by. Inside his apartment, he sets the pack on the kitchen counter, contemplating for a long moment.

Nicotine can’t be that bad, Cloud tries to reason, it’s easily accessible and highly regulated. Sure, it’s addictive but so is caffeine and alcohol. The box is just a simple rectangle, nothing special, yet it’s somehow intimidating. He turns over the cheap packaging, and a photo of shriveled up, set of raisined lungs stares at him. Smoking kills is typed out on the front, and Cloud grimaces, flipping it over again.

He’s already made it this far.

Cloud opens a window, the night air cool against his skin. He wavers, fingers hovering over the pack, before he draws one out, slipping it into his mouth. As he pats his pockets, realization dawns—he didn’t buy a lighter. Frustration rises at his absentmindedness, and he briefly considers an inelegant solution, the longer kind of lighter, the kind that brings life to candles and gas stoves. But as he scans the kitchen, he’s reminded of the weight of something in his pocket.

Sephiroth’s lighter. He pulls it out, a glint of silver catching the lamplight. The casing feels cool against his palm, engraved with intricate patterns that snake across its surface. Cloud’s thumb traces the designs, each swirl blurring together. He feels guilty for inadvertently pocketing it earlier, noting to quietly return it to Sephiroth’s office first thing.

With a quick flick, a flame jumps to life, steady and bright. Cloud lights the cigarette, inhaling deeply as the tip glows and the smoke unfurls in his lungs with an increasingly familiar warmth. The nicotine hums through his veins, no longer unpleasant.

Cloud exhales slowly, watching the smoke twist and disperse out the window. He closes his eyes, the cigarette balanced between his fingers. In the quiet of his apartment, Cloud lets his imagination wander. Instead of the cigarette, he envisions it’s Sephiroth’s lips—soft, warm, a whisper away. The thought stirs something deep within him, a secret longing that dissipates just as quickly and quietly in the dark.

Lips, skin, silver. All of it porcelain and ivory. Maybe Cloud could wrap his lips around something else, far thicker and heftier than the thin roll he’s breathing through. His jaw aches from the emptiness, the desire for more, to reach out and touch something perpetually out of his reach.

The cigarette has burned down to a stub, and Cloud flicks the ash against the windowsill. He draws one last drag, savoring the last of the bitterness that mingles with the sweetness of his fantasy.

It’s only one cigarette. Hopefully, it’s his last.

Chapter Text

Dawn is barely breaking, the sky outside a pale shade of the babiest blue. But the air inside is stagnant, stale, accompanied by a matching silence as if the world is holding its breath, still. Each step taken echoes faintly, the soft squeak of shoes against the polished floor being the only sound in the empty corridor.

The secretary’s desk sits unoccupied, unopened mail stacked neatly atop it. Cloud pauses, hesitation weighing in his chest. Snooping around the office before hours feels nearly incriminating, but the thought of the silver lighter heavy in his pocket pulls him forward. Just a quick drop-off, no need to linger, he tells himself.

A gentle push and Sephiroth’s office door swings open. Cloud steps in, expecting curtained off darkness but the room is bathed in the soft, early light that filters through a wall that’s entirely window. On the opposite side, shelves line the walls, filled with legal binders and books. And behind a sleek black desk at the center, a framed degree hangs—Juris Doctorate, its lettering ornately elaborate. Sephiroth’s alma mater, Cloud’s current undergrad.

For a second, Cloud lets himself imagine. Imagine that this place is his. The books worn and well-read into his memory, the highrise view outside the window belonging to him. A corner office. Prestige. Honor. Respect. All of it, his alone.

It’s intoxicating, but it’s only a daydream of power placed beyond his grasp. Nothing more. It doesn’t make an unreal thing any more true or a cold day any warmer. A new spring out of reach, frozen in a snowstorm.

But Cloud can take it, take this reality where he’s at the bottom of the barrel, starting with nothing but his name. Willingly with open arms. Because when spring does arrive, it’ll melt the snow one flake at a time.

And maybe standing here, in this office, is the first flake melting.

He approaches the desk, intending to set the lighter down and leave, but he pauses. A photograph in a simple black frame sits on Sephiroth’s desk. A candid shot of four men—Sephiroth, Genesis, and two others Cloud doesn’t immediately recognize. The younger black-haired man looks vaguely familiar, someone Cloud has seen around before somewhere, but the older man with sharp, angled eyebrows is a complete mystery.

What draws Cloud’s attention the most, though, is the way Sephiroth and Genesis are leaning into each other in the photo. There’s a closeness between them, a warmth in Sephiroth’s usually cold emerald eyes that Cloud has never seen before, or rather, yet to have seen. Sephiroth’s arm is draped loosely around Genesis’s shoulder, something shiny clutched in his hand.

The lighter.

Curiosity stirs within Cloud, and he pulls the lighter from his pocket, lifting up the frame to hold them side by side. On closer examination, the engravings intertwine elegantly, intricate loops and lines form two letters at the bottom corner: G + S.

His eyes widen, the lighter and picture frame drop onto the desk, a clanging clatter rings through the room.

Panic seizes him. He’s overstayed his welcome, and he knows it. He clambers toward the door, grabbing the embossed handle, desperate to leave, when it suddenly swings open.

Sephiroth stands in the doorway, his eyes sharp, narrow slits that seem to pierce right through Cloud. For a moment, Cloud’s breath catches in his throat, his face draining of color. He’s noticed it before, time and time again. Yet each realization is just as unsettling, how there’s something almost reptilian about Sephiroth’s gaze—cold, calculating, dangerous.

Sephiroth sighs, the sound heavy with exasperation, and gestures for Cloud to step aside. There’s no need for words; the message is clear. Cloud quickly moves out of the way, his heart hammering in his chest as Sephiroth strides past him into the room.

He doesn’t even bother to look at Cloud, his focus drawn instead to the desk. He pauses when he sees the lighter on the desk next to the frame, its glass shattered from the fall.

Cloud’s throat tightens, his nerves frayed. He scrambles for a response, but the sight of Sephiroth’s stern expression leaves him momentarily speechless.

“I-I was just…” Cloud stammers, desperately trying to regain his composure. “I came to return the lighter. I wasn't—”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrow, cutting off the fumbling words with a sharpness that makes Cloud’s stomach clench. The Sephiroth from the photo is unrecognizable against this image of right now. He finally turns his head to look at Cloud, and the weight of his stare feels like a physical force.

“Did you find something of interest?”

Cloud’s eyes dart back to the photograph, the image of Sephiroth and Genesis still seared into his memory. “No, I—well, yes, but I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I should go.”

Sephiroth’s gaze lingers on the shattered glass of the frame. He picks up a shard, one that cracked over Genesis’s face, holding it up to examine. “You’re already here. What’s your name?”

The question catches Cloud off guard. He feels a flush creep up his neck, the realization finally hitting him. Sephiroth doesn’t know his name, doesn’t know who he is. But for Cloud, he’s been thinking about Sephiroth so much, near constantly—dreamt about him, even—and this entire time, Sephiroth has had zero idea or interest or even care. Suddenly, Cloud’s identity feels so insignificant, his very being as ephemeral as the smoke he’d breathed the night before.

“Cloud Strife, sir,” he manages, losing the volume in his voice. Sephiroth’s expression shifts, the hard edge still there, but more intrigued? Better than uncaring, at least. “I’m an intern.”

Sephiroth adjusts his collar, loosening his tie to undo the first two buttons on his dress shirt. Cloud zeroes in on the exposed skin, bare neck and collarbone before looking away, blushing. Not the time, not now. Still, he sneaks a glance at the dip of Sephiroth’s Adam’s apple, everything in him fighting to commit its curve to memory.

“Interning during the school year?” Sephiroth tilts his head ever so slightly.

Cloud nods, his eyes now dropping to the floor. “Semester off. I need the experience.” And the money, but he decides it’s not the time to add too many details.

“Experience, hm…” Sephiroth grows silent, he seems to consider something before speaking again. “If you need it that badly… I suppose I can arrange additional hours for you.”

Cloud’s head jerks up, certain his surprise reflects in his eyes. “Really?”

Sephiroth smiles subtly, looking Cloud up and down in a manner that can only be categorized as appraising. Cloud tries his hardest not to shrink under the scan, but his face grows hotter nonetheless.

“Yes, you’ll do. Come back at the end of the day. I’ll have more work for you then.”

Cloud breathes a sigh of relief. He can’t believe he managed to survive without losing his entire future or saying goodbye to his corner office dream, made of pristine marble and mahogany. But then Sephiroth moves away from the desk and swiftly closes the distance between them, his presence suddenly overwhelming. He steps closer, cornering Cloud against a wall, shoving a palm flat beside his head. Smaller body caged beneath him, Sephiroth leans in, warm breath grazing Cloud’s ear.

“I can’t deny,” Sephiroth murmurs, his voice dripping with dark promise, “you’re so dangerously tempting.”

The words are like a monsoon, a first drop of rain giving way to a flood. Cloud’s knees buckle, a shudder wracking his spine. Before he can stop himself, an audible moan escapes his lips, loud and involuntary.

No fucking way—there’s no way he just moaned like a fucking whore at his workplace, in front of someone who’s his higher up. Pressed up against the wall, Cloud feels equally mortified and light headed from the sound hanging in the air between them and the phantom touch of velvet lips going straight to his dick. Sephiroth pulls back and straightens, his eyes widening.

Before Sephiroth can react further, Cloud bolts from the office, his face burning with shame and embarrassment. He nearly collides with the secretary entering the hallway, muttering an apology as he makes a beeline out of there.

Practically sprinting into the bathroom, he locks himself in the furthest stall, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His hands shake as he fumbles with his belt, the pressure in his pants too tight to ignore.

Like a magnet to iron, his hand moves frantically, unable to slow down or let go. It doesn’t take long at all before he’s trembling, his mind flooded with thoughts of Sephiroth, of what could have happened if he hadn’t run. Normally, Cloud would need his favorite porn video, a toy, and a lot of lube to get off. But the memory of Sephiroth’s sultry voice, the heat of his breath against his ear, is more than enough.

And now he’s high on the image of silver hair falling onto his face while strong hips fuck into him, the thickness inside him punctuated by strong hands gripping his waist and—

He bites his lip, a stifled whimper escaping as he rubs over the tip of his length, desperate for more. He wants, no needs, to get this over with, driven by a need for immediate relief. The slickness of precum only serves to help stroke himself with growing urgency, to dispel this dirty fantasy of Sephiroth haunting his mind.

Cloud’s hips buck into his palm, and the release is intense, almost overwhelming. Eyes bleary, he does his best to aim the thin ropes into the toilet bowl and zips back up. Finally, he leans back against the stall wall, panting heavily.

When he eventually gathers himself, Cloud stumbles to the sink, washing his hands and splashing cold water onto his flushed face. The fluorescent glow above the mirror only worsens the deep red in his cheeks reflecting back at him. He grips the counter, staring at himself, trying to make sense of what just happened. This is a new low, even for him. He might as well resign right then and there then retire to live the rest of his days as an Icelandic sheep farmer or something. Who even knows anymore.

Business hours must have finally rolled around, sounds of chatter and footfall filtering through the halls. Sighing deeply, Cloud closes his eyes. He needs to get himself together, fast, before Jessie or someone starts bitching about the mountain of work already piling up for today.

He grabs a hot towel from the warming cabinet, patting his face just as the bathroom door creaks open.

“You look sick. Stressed out?”

Cloud pulls the towel from his face to look through the mirror’s reflection, a less-than-sour look taking over his expression. The associate from his first day, the one who started pissing himself over that one filing error. He stands there with a stupidly smug expression, arms crossed as if he’s been watching for a while, waiting for Cloud to show weakness. Brad or Ben, Cloud thinks his name is—no yeah, he looks like a Brad.

“You’re completely red. Maybe you should just quit if you can’t handle this job,” he sneers.

Cloud bites his tongue, the urge to argue back bubbling up inside him, but he swallows it down. “I’m fine,” he mutters.

If this was some kid on the playground, some frat bro at a rager, Cloud wouldn’t hesitate to swing back. He prefers punches over words, but this is the real world. This guy is a senior associate.

Brad’s sneer deepens, his gaze turning predatory. “You know, you should really learn your place around here. We all know how you got here anyway. A pretty boy with pretty little sense.”

How he got here? Cloud frowns. He’s aware that his route to this internship was unconventional, skipping the usual application cycle. Still, he took the same interviews, had the right résumé and recommendation. His circumstances were different, but he earned his spot.

Brad steps closer, his tone low and insinuating. He’s not too much taller than Cloud, nearly eye to eye. “But you know, maybe I can show you your place. The same way you got it, of course,” he says. Cloud’s stomach churns with a mix of disgust and fear, disturbed. “I could get you far around here. Maybe even get you a return offer.”

The way his gaze lingers, sleazily—it combines into a visceral discomfort that makes Cloud’s skin crawl, like ants up his arms. His mind races, desperately trying to push away the image of whatever the offer entails. Every instinct screams at him to retreat, to escape from the increasingly hostile environment.

Cloud wants to lash out, to curse back, to stand up for himself, but the words die in his throat. He might as well be losing this job after what’s happened so far, but he’s not about to make things worse over this random fucker.

“Leave me alone,” Cloud finally manages to say, strained but firm. “I don’t need any help, and not from you.”

He takes a step back, trying to create physical distance between himself and whatever manipulation attempt this is.

The associate’s smirk widens, but he doesn’t push further, probably too much of a coward to act on a threat. “Suit yourself,” he replies, contemptuous, turning on his heel to move past. A trained puppy, all bark no bite.

Cloud doesn’t waste a second and takes the chance to quietly slip out. He moves quickly as he can down the hallway, panic and shame from what he did in that stall combined with that encounter still whirlwinding in his mind. He doesn’t stop to look back.

In the open office space, he navigates through the maze of desks, his pace unsteady but driven by a desperate need to escape. He can feel his cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and residual anxiety.

Cloud heads for the terrace, stumbles through to the crisp, early air and elevation. Outside, he leans against the wall, taking in deep breaths as he tries to calm his racing heart.

Overheated, still overwhelmingly anxious, Cloud digs into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the crumpled pack of cigarettes. His hands are still shaking slightly as he pulls one out and lights it, taking a long, shaky drag. Thank gods he thought ahead to pick up his own two dollar Bic lighter before work, just in case. The nicotine gives near instant relief, the tremor in his lungs giving way to smooth cooling sensations.

Deep breaths.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Has breathing always been easier with smoke coursing through his airways?

Cloud takes one last drag from his cigarette before crushing it under his heel.

By mid-afternoon, Cloud is deep in paperwork, trying to focus on the pile of tasks before him. He managed to clear his head during his smoke break outside, settling into a rhythm, but the earlier events are still gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

Work is an empty distraction at least. Reviewing case files, menial tasks. He opens up another document for review.

Case Background

Plaintiffs: Avalanche

Defendants: Shinra Electric Power Company

Case Overview

1. Allegations of Environmental Damage:

Issue: Avalanche accuses Shinra of causing severe environmental damage through its extraction and exploitation of Mako energy from the planet’s lifestream. They argue that Shinra’s operations have led to deforestation, pollution, and climate change, which have harmed local ecosystems and communities.

Not this headache of a case again. Shinra is the firm’s top client, so an entire team, including Sephiroth himself, is actively working on this litigation. But Cloud can’t fathom why Genesis would up and leave everything over this. Avalanche has sued Shinra countless times, always protesting in front of their headquarters in disruptive demonstrations with little to show for it but unsubstantiated claims and unreliable witnesses. Cloud doubts this case will be any different, and definitely not worth Genesis abandoning his name on the firm’s wall.

Cloud reaches for his coffee mug, only to find it empty. With a sigh, he decides to head back to the break room for a refill. A brief escape from his desk might help him settle down, especially after working nonstop for so long.

As he’s pouring a fresh cup, he overhears snippets of conversation beyond the kitchen in the break room where a few coworkers are gathered around the counter. They’re chatting animatedly, oblivious to his presence.

“Yeah, they’re definitely sleeping together,” Jessie’s voice cuts through the murmur of voices. “The new secretary Kyrie saw him leave Sephiroth’s office this morning before anyone else got here.”

Cloud’s hand freezes mid-pour, coffee spilling over the edge of his cup.

Jessie continues, animatedly. “I mean, everyone’s talking about it. Brad basically confirmed it too—it’s definitely more than a rumor at this point.”

The conversation from earlier—the insinuations and peculiar sideways glances—all start to make sense, clicking into a broader narrative he hasn’t fully understood until now. He grips his coffee cup tightly, trying to keep his composure as he processes the information.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some truth to it,” one of the others chimes in. “Not like Sephiroth has kept colleagues off limits before…”

G + S flashes in his mind: a tight arm around a shoulder, picturesque smiles, the engraving on the lighter. So everyone knows, or at least they seem to assume there’s some kind of past, or even present, between those two.

“He can’t seem to keep his hands off interns, that’s for sure.”

The cup overflows, coffee drip drip drips down the counter. But Cloud is frozen, not lifting a finger to clean it up, letting it puddle onto the floor. Because what the hell does interns mean?

Chapter Text

The higher you climb a mountain, the thinner the oxygen becomes.

So maybe being a nic fiend isn’t all too different from climbing Mount Everest, because right now, Cloud feels on top of the world.

As on top of the world one can be inhaling a cigarette down to a stub while fanning the rising fumes away from an obnoxiously beeping smoke detector. Seriously, the one time he forgot to open up a window at three a.m., and now the entire apartment block is awake. But somehow, it’s strangely euphoric. A sleep-deprived high combined with a high-stress situation has adrenaline running through his veins.

The blaring alarm and smoke-filled room drown out most other senses and sounds, but an unnecessarily loud knock at the door manages to cut through the chaos.

“I know, I know, the alarm is on and it’s fucking loud, but I’m on it!” Cloud shouts back, struggling to extinguish his cigarette in a tea cup, his makeshift ashtray, with shaking hands. He’s ready to slam the door in the face of whatever annoyed neighbor has come to complain, but when he pulls it open, he’s taken aback.

Standing in the hallway is the younger guy from that photograph he saw in Sephiroth’s office—black hair, eyes like the sky, and an easygoing yet confident demeanor. A crossed scar by his jaw that Cloud can’t help but hang onto.

He looks at Cloud with tired pity, not irritation like he expected. “Just wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

Cloud blinks, momentarily stunned. “Yeah, sorry about the noise. I kind of forgot to open a window, and the alarm... well, it’s loud.”

The guy glances around the smoke-filled apartment, taking in the mess and Cloud’s equally disheveled state. “Looks like you’re having a rough night. Mind if I help out?”

Cloud hesitates, and maybe the smoke is clouding his judgment the teeniest tiniest bit because he’s seriously considering letting a complete stranger into his home. But his easy charm and apparent familiarity from that photo somehow make Cloud feel like he can trust him.

“Sure,” Cloud says reluctantly, stepping aside to let him in. “I could use a hand.”

“I’m Zack, by the way,” he says as he enters, looking around with an assessing eye. He swiftly moves to the window, opening it wide to let out the smoke and help clear the air. “First things first, let’s get this place ventilated before you set off all the alarms in the hall.”

“Thanks,” Cloud says, trying to steady his nerves. “I’m Cloud, and… I really didn’t mean to cause all this trouble.”

“Don’t stress it,” Zack replies with a casual grin. He starts picking up the mess around the apartment, mostly random socks and crumpled clothes, tidying it up without any reason to. “Happens to the best of us. This isn’t nearly as bad as when I accidentally pulled the fire alarm in the university library.”

Cloud stiffens, the casual mention of the library strikes a chord in his memory. He’d heard that story before, but it was a vague recollection told around school. A name pops into his mind as he tries to connect the dots.

“Wait, Zack Fair?” Cloud asks, trying to sound nonchalant but unable to hide the curiosity in his voice.

Zack tilts his head, grin widening slightly. “That's right. You’ve heard of me?”

Cloud nods slowly. “Yeah, I think I have. From school… your name gets thrown around a lot.” He hesitates, not quite sure how to continue. “I didn't realize you were...”

Zack chuckles, cutting him off. “—One of those rumors, right? Don’t worry about it. I’ve heard my fair share of them.”

A rumor about him? Is that what he thinks of his mythical status?

Cloud shakes his head. “You’re more like a legend, actually. That fire alarm was on purpose, wasn’t it? To prank Professor Hojo by interrupting one of his weird experiments? They still talk about you like a hero.”

Zack visibly relaxes and laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that makes Cloud feel a little more at ease even with the smoke detector keeps going in the background. “Yeah, that one got around. I have to admit, I might have enjoyed that a little too much.”

“So, are you still a student?”

“Nah, I graduated from the law school in May. I took the bar and now I’m at the District Attorney’s office,” Zack replies.

“Oh, so you’re not signing with Crescent Hewley?” Cloud asks, surprised.

Zack raises an eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”

Cloud shifts slightly, a bit embarrassed. “Oh, I saw your photo there. In Sephiroth’s office. I’m interning at Crescent Hewley right now. I just kinda assumed since you mentioned being a law student and I saw your photo that…”

“Well, I was with Crescent Hewley during the summer. And... Angeal was like my mentor from high school. More than that, he’s family really. That’s how I ended up interning there. I got a return offer from them, but I turned it down.” Right, the older man in the photo must have been Angeal Hewley. Crescent, Hewley, and Rhapsodos.

Cloud blinks, his eyebrows knit together. An intern, like the ones Sephiroth supposedly cannot keep his hands off… If Zack was a summer associate during the last cycle, then he would’ve been there when Genesis left, not just during the fallout like Cloud is.

“Why? Wouldn’t joining the firm make your career?” He asks, ignoring all that for now.

Zack shrugs. “I guess it would, but I kept feeling like I didn’t earn my spot there. I wanted to find my own place, make my own way. I didn’t want to just coast on someone else’s reputation.”

“Nepotism again” rings in Cloud’s ear, Jessie’s preconception finally making more sense. But despite the privilege and connections, Zack seems unlike most other nepo babies. More righteous than Cloud for sure. There’s no way Cloud could ever afford to turn down an offer from Crescent Hewley despite still feeling undeserving of even existing there. Not when there’s a hefty signing bonus and mid-six-figure salary at stake. For the right price, he thinks he could look past almost any insecurity.

“Anyway, I’ve got big plans for the future, and I want to be the one who built it all,” Zack explains.

The sound of the smoke detector finally ceases, and the apartment feels noticeably clearer. Cloud’s still subconsciously thinking of Sephiroth and Genesis, that office gossip, and whether or not Zack truly is involved...

He tries to shake off the unease, focusing on the immediate crisis. “Well, I appreciate the help. I didn’t expect anyone to come knocking at this hour without violence in mind.”

“Just doing what I can to keep the building from turning into a disaster zone,” Zack chuckles, smiling reassuringly. “But you know… if you made it into Sephiroth’s office you must be pretty special. He never lets anyone in there besides Genesis or ‘Geal.”

What kind of secret world has he unknowingly crossed the threshold into? Office drama seems petty when Cloud has already breached a clear boundary, one that he probably has yet to realize the consequences of.

“Yeah, well,” Cloud says, trying to brush off the comment, “it’s not as impressive as it sounds. Just ended up there, I guess.” And not for the right reasons either.

“Maybe. But it seems like you’re on a good track. If you ever need to talk or need help with anything—not just fire alarms—I’m down the hall.”

Cloud offers a genuine smile, appreciative. “Thanks, Zack. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Self-preservation is Cloud’s favorite survival instinct.

And for him, self-preservation equates to self-isolation. That’s why he buries himself in work, deliberately ignoring the world outside his desk. Maybe it’s a pathetic bid to prove to everyone he’s here to work hard and not simply to suck cock. Or probably just a last ditch effort to empty his brain of silver hair and metal rings, platinum lighters and lustrous smoke.

Cloud steers clear of the kitchen and breakroom like they’re contaminated, spreading gossip more than germs. Same goes for the bathroom, he sips on his water sparingly. He shudders thinking about it, not sure whether it’s from the guilt of his own unspeakable actions or that irritating associate coming onto him.

He especially avoids the terrace.

He’s not going anywhere near there, no matter how much he has to claw at his sides, to stop himself from stepping outside and picking up a cigarette for a long break. He doesn’t deserve one, anyway. Not when there’s so much work to be done, so many tasks to tackle.

That’s how he finishes up the week, shielded by stacks of files and papers protecting him from prying eyes. At the end of the day, he’s ready to make his hasty escape. He steps into the elevator, jamming the close doors button repeatedly, desperate for a quiet ride down.

But just as the buttons decide to do their job and the doors are about to close, a hand slips between them, adorned with two silver rings. Cloud’s stomach drops and Sephiroth steps into the elevator.

Entering panic mode, Cloud starts to sweat. He thought he’s been doing such a good job of avoiding Sephiroth, leaving when he has a scheduled call or work dinner.

He’s not even looking at Cloud, ignoring him entirely. Sephiroth simply presses the button for a garage floor and stays silent. Pretending like Cloud isn’t even there, so insignificant, so meager that he no longer requires the slightest response or acknowledgment.

It isn’t until the elevator dings, the doors opening to the lobby, and Cloud is about to leave, that he speaks.

“You didn’t stop by my office after hours like I asked.”

Cloud freezes, caught off guard. He turns to face Sephiroth, and he’s finally looking at him. Looking down, really, with those stupidly gorgeous green eyes. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t,” Cloud answers, trying to keep his voice steady.

Sephiroth’s eyes narrow slightly, his gaze intense. “Oh? It didn’t seem that way last time.”

Cloud must be transparent with how easily Sephiroth sees through him. Made of fucking glass.

“I just can’t. People already think I’m…” Cloud trails off, hearing the frustration evident in his own voice.

A hint of a smirk, an unnatural smugness crosses elegant features. “So let them. Might as well if they’re already thinking it,” he says casually, as if it’s the most normal response in the world.

It’s impossible to fathom what lets him act so conceited, invincible against anything and everything. It annoys Cloud to no end because he wants to say yes, to ignore all principles, but he isn’t bulletproof. Sephiroth already has everything, but Cloud only has everything to lose.

Even more so, the words from before won’t leave his head. The picture, his neighbor, Zack Fair. “What am I? Your fifth intern?” Cloud says, letting his irritation slip.

The elevator doors slide shut with a soft chime, timed out.

Sephiroth’s semblance of a smile falls. He breaks eye contact and returns to staring forward. Just like that, Cloud no longer exists.

They start descending, and he lets it happen. Two more floors down, and Sephiroth will leave. Then, Cloud can go back up and back to his own life, his own world.

“Come with me tonight,” Sephiroth suddenly says, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” That’s an insane jump, from being disdained in his personal office to an open invitation. It’s jarring.

They reach the garage floor, and Sephiroth walks out, not looking back as he clicks his keys and the car double beeps.

Cloud’s instincts scream at him to refuse, to protect his dignity and future. Common sense would be to keep his head down and work through the few months he has left, then quietly return to his life away from skyscrapers and marble tiles. But the insistence is getting harder to resist. Would he regret this moment until the day he dies? Regret not getting a glimpse of what could have been?

Against all rationality, he gives in, curiosity winning and killing all better judgment in the process. As Cloud follows him, Sephiroth is already settled into the front seat of an all-black Audi with tinted windows.

Cloud reluctantly climbs into the passenger seat, unsure of how to breathe or act in a vehicle like this. Out of place, his heart pounds with uncertainty, afraid to even touch a single surface in fear of misturning even a single thread.

Sensing the hesitation, Sephiroth reaches over and calmly buckles Cloud’s seat belt for him. Cloud catches a whiff of cologne, mingled with the faint smell of cigarettes, discernible, even over the plush interior's soft, leathery scent. Sephiroth’s too close, close enough to tell he must have smoked one recently, perhaps out on the terrace. Maybe even while waiting for Cloud to head out.

“Comfortable?” Sephiroth asks, swerving out with only his left hand on the wheel.

Not really. Cloud’s head is spinning from the unbearably close proximity, the entire situation he finds himself in being nearly too much to handle. But he just nods, biting his lip, not trusting himself to speak.

The car glides smoothly out of the garage, and Cloud tries to relax, to steady his breathing. Sephiroth, focused on the road, seems relaxed, his expression unreadable. The hum of the engine and the purr of the tires on the asphalt are the only sounds as the car moves through the city streets.

The city lights outside blur into watercolor as they move through the night, and Cloud’s trying to calm himself down, but there’s something abnormal about deep breaths without smoke to hold in his lungs.

“Where are we going?” Cloud asks, looking out the window and trying to focus on something else, anything else.

“Not far,” is all Sephiroth responds with, and Cloud’s anxiety only heightens. So cryptic for no reason.

They eventually come to a smooth stop outside a storefront, attached to a brownstone building. There’s no name displayed on the outside, just an understated sign and a handwritten daily specials menu that’s illuminated by soft, warm lighting that spills out onto the sidewalk. Cloud hasn’t been in this neighborhood before, but it’s not like he’s seen much of this city when his life gets narrowed down to a loop of school, work, and home.

And now he knows this quaint-looking family restaurant, decorated with potted monstera and little booths with mismatched cushions. A cozy corner of someone’s kitchen.

“Order anything you like,” Sephiroth says, passing Cloud a menu as they settle into their seats.

This wasn’t what he had been expecting, well, he wasn’t too sure what to expect. He had prepared himself for a high-end restaurant, some exclusive place that’s the epitome of power and luxury. Or worse, some five star hotel, where the night could go in any unpredictable direction. But this place, with its minute charm and cozy ambiance, is more like a hidden gem than a grand statement.

“No need to be so surprised. Not like I would take you home without taking you out first,” Sephiroth says, his tone lighter than Cloud’s ever heard it.

Is that supposed to be a joke? He blinks up at Sephiroth, the nerves in his stomach beginning to settle into wariness. Cloud chooses to ignore him and tries to skim through the menu, though he’s not really seeing the words. His eyes jump to the side, scanning through numbers instead. He finds the smallest one, an un-extravagant price, and decides it’s good enough.

“Um, I’ll have this,” Cloud says, pointing to the item without even bothering to read the description.

Sephiroth glances at the menu, then back at Cloud. “What else?”

“That’s it,” Cloud replies quickly, hoping to avoid any further scrutiny.

Sephiroth frowns slightly, shaking his head like that just won’t do. “Just a side salad? What about actual food?”

The last thing Cloud wants is to be lectured on what to order, and that salad equals the price he’d normally spend on an entire meal back in his hometown. City prices are still city prices, expensive no matter how homey of an establishment.

“Order for me then,” Cloud decides, pushing back.

Sephiroth's eyebrows lift slightly, but he signals a waiter over with a subtle gesture.

“We’ll have the house special braised ribs with a side salad and a beef stew with roasted vegetables,” Sephiroth orders. Then, turning his attention back to Cloud, he asks, “And would you like any drinks? Wine?”

Cloud chews his lip, he hasn’t tried wine before. Tito’s and mystery frat punch, sure. But nothing significantly refined since he’s a college kid who usually avoids drinking altogether. Not like he can walk into a liquor store with cameras and ID scanners and buy an expensive bottle for himself. So he nods, saying yes to the chance of sipping on some luxury.

“Then the usual red,” Sephiroth tells the waiter. “Not a bottle this time, only a glass.”

Once the waiter leaves after pouring out the wine, Cloud fiddles with the edge of the napkin placed on his lap. After a moment of silence, he speaks again. “You’re not drinking too?”

“I’m not sure if you realized, but I drove us here,” Sephiroth responds.

“Oh, right,” Cloud blushes. Something about being around Sephiroth makes him dumber, has him thinking with his dick instead of his brain.

“Anyway, I’m not here to get you drunk, it just happens to pair well,” he continues, tone shifting to seriousness.

Cloud’s starting to think this dinner is some kind of power play, or some elaborate move in a game he’s been too afraid to even acknowledge. Sephiroth’s attempt to quell Cloud’s digging into his personal life after looking too closely into his office.

“I wanted to let you know that your pretty head shouldn’t concern yourself with rumors,” Sephiroth adds.

The small compliment makes Cloud’s cheeks flush a deeper shade. He’s always been the quiet, unremarkable kid in his hometown, just trying to blend into the background. Being called “pretty” feels like an uncomfortable spotlight, shining too brightly and leaving him overexposed.

He swallows hard, trying to focus on something else. The wine in his glass suddenly seems more intriguing, and he fidgets with the stem, and tries swirling the ruby liquid like he’s seen it done in movies. Taking a tentative sip, Cloud tastes the tart smoothness and has to hold back a grimace. It’s more bitter than he expected, definitely an acquired taste.

“So, which parts are rumors and which parts are true?” he finally responds, taking another small sip that goes down easier.

“Don’t believe everything you hear or see so easily,” Sephiroth starts. “I’m not sure what else you’ve been told, but I normally don’t concern myself with interns.”

Normally. That’s definitely the opposite of what he’s heard. Cloud thinks back to his hallway and the crossed scar on Zack Fair’s jaw. But Zack was far from some normal intern. Mentee to a name partner, enough to end up immortally framed in Sephiroth’s office. Cloud is really just the reverse, boring, uninteresting, and only at this firm through sheer chance.

“What about me?” Cloud asks. He can’t fathom how and why it’s him here, and not someone as accomplished as Genesis or upstanding as Zack.

Before Sephiroth can respond, the waiter returns, balancing a tray laden with steaming dishes.

Sephiroth picks up his fork and gestures. “Eat first.”

Cloud pauses, his curiosity battling with the hunger gnawing at his stomach. He wants to keep asking questions, to press Sephiroth for more details. The engravings on the lighter, the loving pose in the photo. And the loudest unanswered questions in his mind, Genesis Rhapsodos, demanding answers. But his stomach protests, a reminder of the entire day spent avoiding the office kitchen without even a snack. Reluctantly, he digs into the meal before him.

The braised ribs are tender, practically melting in his mouth, and the sauce somehow makes the wine taste better. He has to hold himself back from eating like a starved man, and the effort is distracting enough from the questions nagging at his thoughts. Cloud starts to feel a little warm and fuzzy, a pleasant sensation that spreads through his limbs, the now empty glass of wine finally lulling him into a relaxed state. For a moment, he forgets about the mysteries of the man with him. All that matters is the food in front of him, reminiscent of his mother’s home-cooked meals.

By the time they’ve finished eating and Sephiroth has paid the bill, Cloud is fighting to keep his eyes open. The exhaustion from yesterday’s sleepless night, the warm meal, and the unfamiliar buzz all conspire against him, leaving him feeling droopy.

And once he’s tucked into the passenger seat, the smooth motion of the car and the soft hum of the engine make it impossible for him to stay awake. Cloud blinks slowly, battling the heaviness behind his eyelids. He can’t let this moment slip away; not when he has too many questions, too many things left unsaid. Maybe just for a second would be okay, he’ll close his eyes just long enough to gather his thoughts, and then they can continue talking.

Cloud’s head lolls against the headrest, and before he knows it, slumber pulls him under and he’s fast asleep, the street lights flickering past unnoticed.

Chapter Text

When Cloud wakes up, the world is tilting on an axis he can’t find, his senses struggling to reorient. The first thing that hits him is the scent—something distinctly musky and mossy. It’s not recognizable, a little unpleasant when he inhales deeper. Blinking against the fog, he realizes he’s lying on a couch in an apartment that is definitely not his.

Sitting up slowly, his body still heavy with sleep, he takes in the minimalist decor and soft black leather of the couch. It isn’t until he catches sight of Sephiroth across the room, standing by one of the windows, a fat blunt in his hand, that the memories of the evening start to trickle back: dinner, the car ride, the warmth of the wine. Sephiroth’s suit jacket and vest have been abandoned, his dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and Cloud has to look away. The smell in the air is impossible to ignore as Cloud chooses to focus on the sizable smoke rings floating towards the ceiling instead.

Sephiroth glances over, noticing Cloud has woken up. “Finally awake?” he asks as he takes another drag.

Cloud’s mind races, trying to piece together how he ended up here, but all he can manage is a slightly embarrassed nod. His cheeks flush as he mumbles, “Sorry… I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Sephiroth waves off the apology. “It’s fine. I thought you might want to sober up before you head home. You really should’ve said something if you’re a lightweight.”

It’s not like he knew that he has a low tolerance when it comes to wine. Cloud’s face heats up, still looking around the room. It just creeped up on him on top of everything, the exhaustion, the worry, the unfamiliarity.

“How long was I out?” Cloud asks, shaking off the heaviness from his limbs.

“Not long,” Sephiroth replies, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Want me to call you a cab home?”

Cloud shifts uncomfortably on the couch, the weight of the situation pressing down on him again. The warmth and fuzziness from the wine have worn off, leaving him more aware of the reality he’s found himself in.

“No, um… My head still isn’t all that clear,” Cloud finds himself lying.

He’s crossed into Sephiroth’s world unknowingly before, and here he is again. This time, he wants to let himself linger and stay in the moment at least a little bit.

Cloud scrunches his nose, no longer able to hide his distaste at the unfamiliar scent. “What are you smoking? It doesn’t smell like cigarettes.”

Sephiroth laughs. Like actually laughs, a low, amused sound that fills the room. “How have you gone so long being a college student without smelling weed?”

Cloud flushes even deeper. “I don’t have friends who do that kind of thing.” He doesn’t really have friends at all, but that’s not something he’s willing to admit out loud.

Sephiroth takes another drag from the joint, eyeing Cloud thoughtfully before holding it out to him. “Want to try?”

Cloud hesitates, but something about the way Sephiroth is watching him—like he’s challenging him—makes Cloud reach out and take it. He brings it to his lips and inhales, immediately regretting it as the smoke burns his throat. Fuck, it feels so different to tobacco, has him missing the cooling sensation that comes with a menthol filter. He coughs violently, his eyes watering, and Sephiroth watches with a mixture of amusement and something darkly pitying.

“Too strong for you?” Sephiroth asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

Cloud waves a hand, trying to catch his breath. “Just—just give me a second.” His wheezes betray him, though, because he’s gasping like a fish out of water. Fresh water to salt. Cigarette to a blunt. Wordlessly, Sephiroth hands him a glass of water from the coffee table he hadn’t noticed yet and Cloud gulps it down.

“B-better now,” Cloud manages to say once he can breathe without it sending prickling pinpricks to his chest. “I can try again.”

Sephiroth leans in, closer than necessary, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Let me help.”

Before Cloud can respond, Sephiroth takes another long drag. So long that Cloud wonders whether he does this more regularly than ordinary cigarettes. But before he gets to ponder it too much, Sephiroth leans in even closer and grips the back of his hair, the other hand holding the blunt away to the side, and presses his lips to Cloud’s.

Something short circuits. Like the disconnect between lightning and thunder, Cloud’s brain is not fucking catching up. A crackle, a fissure in the sky. Except the static electricity is created between two mouths, too much, too fast, so that it becomes dynamic.

Gasping, Cloud’s lips part and the smoke races straight to his lungs. He’s dizzy, can’t tell what’s even happening. The suddenness of the action leaves Cloud stunned, disoriented, the sensation overwhelming as the smoke fills his lungs.

The long-forgotten blunt is now burning down on an ashtray while Cloud’s back hits the couch and Sephiroth looms, caging him between strong arms. The smoke in his throat and lungs makes the movement of tongue even more heady when he swallows the last of the smoke. Cloud doesn’t even know what he’s doing, responding way too clumsily. Maybe he can pass it off on the weed getting to him, his head swimming in this feeling.

Completely, utterly thoughtless, Cloud whines when Sephiroth finally pulls away, missing the luxe smoothness of his lips, the buttery glide of them against his own.

“Slow down, Cloud.” He just whimpers, ignoring the words to reach forward and pull Sephiroth down for another kiss, to press their bodies together.

Cloud’s hips cant upwards, and he wraps his legs around Sephiroth’s waist where he leans over him. It feels too hot all of a sudden, and now he’s desperately clawing to get out of his jacket and constricting pants. Sephiroth’s weight against him feels solid, grounding in a way Cloud hadn’t expected. The couch beneath them creaks slightly as Sephiroth shifts, pressing closer, his hands trailing down Cloud’s sides with an almost deliberate slowness. Every touch sends a jolt through Cloud’s already overloaded senses, and he shudders beneath Sephiroth’s hands, his body reacting without thought.

Hands finally settle on Cloud’s hips, gripping firmly as Sephiroth deepens the kiss. Cloud’s breath hitches, a small, needy sound escaping him that he can’t quite suppress. It’s like Sephiroth is unraveling him with every touch, every brush of lips against skin, and Cloud’s too far gone to care about how inexperienced he must seem.

Sephiroth pulls back again, just enough to meet Cloud’s gaze, his hair falling in a curtain around them. Cloud can’t help but thread his fingers through the silver strands.

“You’re full of surprises,” Sephiroth says, low and rough. “I didn’t expect you to be this eager.”

Cloud’s cheeks burn even hotter at the comment, but he’s too captivated by Sephiroth’s intensity to look away. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits, the haze of the weed making him feel loose-lipped and honest. “I’m just…”

Sephiroth’s lips curve into a slight, approving smile. “That’s alright. You’re doing just fine.”

The reassurance, small as it is, sends a rush of warmth through Cloud. “You think so?” he asks, genuinely wondering if his clumsy attempts at reciprocation can pass as anything remotely good. The haze from the weed blurs the edges of his thoughts, making everything feel distant and surreal.

Before he can stop himself, it starts to spill out. “I don’t like how everyone assumes we’ve been sleeping together,” Cloud starts, his words tumbling over each other in a rush.

Sephiroth sits back slightly, his expression turning more serious, and Cloud finds himself missing the teasing smirk that was just there. “Someone said that?” He’s still so calm, as if he’s completely unaffected by the weed, but there’s this edge that wasn’t there before.

Cloud frowns, trying to recall the name, but it slips away from him, lost in the fog of his mind. “I mean everyone says so, but one of those junior associates… Anyway,” he mumbles, frustration creeping into his voice. The name doesn’t seem important now, not when there’s a point he’s trying to make. “Getting treated like I’m some slut makes me not want to want you.”

Cloud pauses. “Yet I still really, really want you.”

The bluntness of his words surprises even him, but the high and the heat between them make it impossible to hold back. He feels Sephiroth’s gaze on him, intense and unreadable, and for a moment, Cloud wonders if he’s said too much.

But then Sephiroth leans in again, close enough that Cloud can feel his breath against his lips. “Is that so?” Sephiroth speaks in a low, dangerous murmur. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing we’re not in the office now, isn’t it?”

Such a good thing, too good of a thing that he’s here in this penthouse with Sephiroth all to himself. Cloud tugs on his hair, closing the short distance between them to capture Sephiroth’s lips in another kiss, slower this time, more deliberate.

Sephiroth hums in approval, his grip on Cloud’s hips tightening as he presses down against him, the heat of their bodies melding together. Cloud can feel the weight of Sephiroth’s chest against his own, but the steady thrum of his heartbeat is far from the frantic pounding of his own.

Getting high makes every touch feel heightened, every sound amplified. Sephiroth starts grinding into him, and Cloud’s pants that he already thrifted a size too small start feeling impossibly tight around his growing hard-on.

“Nngh—” His eyes roll back when Sephiroth’s hips come down harder, and he’s horrified by the noise he just let out as he tries to stay afloat. Although Cloud is trying so hard to give back the best he can, Sephiroth seems content to just take and take and take until Cloud is like jelly underneath him.

He breaks the kiss, breathless, his heart racing. “Wait,” he gasps, pressing a hand against Sephiroth’s chest. “I—I need a second.”

Sephiroth doesn’t push, instead pulling back slightly, giving Cloud the space he needs. His expression softens, the predatory edge fading as he studies Cloud’s face. “Of course,” he says quietly, his voice gentle.

Cloud nods, grateful for the pause.

Sephiroth watches him with a patient intensity, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on Cloud’s hip. “You’re alright, Cloud,” he says.

Cloud closes his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in. He’s still trying to make sense of everything—his attraction to Sephiroth, the rumors, the power dynamics at play. But right now, all that matters is that Sephiroth is here with him.

“I meant it… I’ve never done this before,” Cloud admits, his voice small, almost embarrassed. Hasn’t even held hands romantically nor ever kissed until just now.

Sephiroth tilts his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes, yet he doesn’t seem all too surprised. “Never?”

Cloud shakes his head. He keeps having to prove his innocence to everyone around him, almost sick of it. “Not like this. Not with anyone.”

Sephiroth presses his forehead against Cloud’s. “So I’m your first?”

He nods, the realization of what he’s admitting, of what he’s about to do, feeding both his nerves and excitement. There’s something undeniably exhilarating about the fact that it’s Sephiroth—this influential, powerful man—who’s the first to touch him like this, to make him feel like this.

“I guess I’ll have to teach you then.”

There’s no room for hesitation, no space for Cloud to second-guess himself. Not when Sephiroth’s lips are on his neck, teeth grazing his skin, leaving marks that feel like they’re branding him.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud gasps, his voice catching in his throat, but he’s not sure if he’s calling out for him to stop or keep going. He’s too far gone to tell, and from the way Sephiroth’s smirk widens against his skin, he knows it too.

“Good,” Sephiroth murmurs. “That’s exactly how I want you, Cloud.”

Cloud doesn’t really know at which point he gets stripped of his clothes, the cool air against his bare skin doing nothing to cool heat coursing through his veins. Sephiroth’s hands are all over and on him, firm and sure as they guide him onto his stomach. A cushion is slipped beneath his hips, lifting them slightly, and the pressure against his growing arousal is almost too much to bear. Cloud has to fight the urge to rut into it, biting down on his lip to keep himself from losing what little control he has left.

When Sephiroth finally reaches between Cloud’s thighs, the first press of those slick fingers against his entrance is so unexpected that Cloud jerks, a gasp tearing from his throat.

“Relax,” Sephiroth commands, but doesn’t wait for Cloud to comply; he simply presses his fingers deeper, stretching Cloud in a way that his own never could. Cloud’s breath hitches, his body tensing with the unfamiliarity of it all.

But then Sephiroth’s fingers curl, and Cloud nearly loses it. He arches against the cushion, his hips moving of their own accord as Sephiroth’s fingertips press against that spot inside him, the one that sends jolts of pleasure through his entire body. It’s almost too good to be real, and Cloud’s head spins as he tries to reconcile the intensity of what he’s feeling.

“Sephi–roth,” he moans, his voice ragged, pleading for something he can’t even name. A desperate, needy sound that echoes in the quiet of the room.

Sephiroth doesn’t respond with words, only increases the pressure, his fingers working overtime. The pleasure is sharp, consuming, and Cloud can’t help the whimpers and moans that escape him, his body trembling as he clings to the last vestiges of control.

“You’re doing well, Cloud,” he says. “Better than I expected.”

“I—ah-mm, I practice,” Cloud reveals, grateful for the praise, for doing well, for pleasing Sephiroth.

“Such a puppy,” Sephiroth says, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction that sends shivers down Cloud’s spine. “Practicing to take me like a good boy? With toys?” Cloud nods meekly in shy admittance.

Sephiroth looms over him, his larger frame easily enveloping Cloud's body. Sephiroth’s broad chest presses against Cloud’s back and he can feel the hard muscle beneath Sephiroth’s clothes, the sheer physicality of him. He presses his clothed body more firmly. The hardness of Sephiroth’s bulge against his thigh, even through the fabric.

“You’re not allowed to come until I say so.”

When Sephiroth adds a third finger, Cloud lets out a choked moan as he tries to adjust to the sudden stretch. But Sephiroth is relentless, not giving him a moment to catch his breath, to find his footing. It’s like he’s determined to push Cloud off a cliff and then some, all to see just how far he can take him before he breaks.

Cloud can’t hold back anymore, his hips grinding down against the cushion, seeking more of that delicious friction. He’s probably leaking all over it, soiling the expensive fabric that’s likely worth more than his life, but in the haze of it all, he can’t seem to care. Sephiroth’s grip on his hip tightens, holding him in place as he continues to work him over with those long, skillful fingers. He’s never felt anything like this before, and the knowledge that it’s Sephiroth doing it feels entirely baffling.

Cloud’s so close, so close he can almost taste it, and the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to let go, to fall over the edge and into the abyss that Sephiroth is dragging him towards.

And just when Cloud thinks he can’t take it anymore, when he’s right on the brink, Sephiroth pulls his fingers away. The sudden loss is a system shutdown, a complete cold plunge. A frustrated, needy sound escapes him, a mix of a whine and a whimper, as he tries to press back, to find some way to alleviate the ache inside him, his hole clenching around empty nothingness.

Sephiroth only smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to Cloud’s shoulder. “Not yet,” he says. Cloud bites the inside of his cheek, holding back any complaints.

“Please,” he whimpers instead, his voice broken, begging. He’s not sure what he’s pleading for anymore—release, mercy, or for Sephiroth to push him even further. All he knows is that he needs it bad, needs Sephiroth, more than he’s ever needed anything.

Cloud’s breath stutters at the sound of the zipper, the metal rasping. The faint crinkle of foil that follows sparks the electricity coursing through him like a live wire with its sheer promise of what’s to come, and for a moment, Cloud forgets how to breathe.

And then he feels it—the blunt, hot pressure of Sephiroth’s tip nudging against his entrance, just teasing the edge, and it’s enough to make Cloud’s whole body tense. He can already tell it’s far bigger than anything he’s used to, and he instinctively tries to steady himself, digging his fingers into the cushion beneath him.

Sephiroth doesn’t push in yet, just lets the weight of his presence linger, the stretch of that first shallow press making Cloud shiver. Cloud’s breath catches in his throat, the teasing contact enough to set every nerve on fire. It’s maddening, and his body reacts on its own, trying to push back.

“W-wanna see your face,” Cloud whines, his voice cracking with need. He pushes up on his forearms, trying to turn his head, yearning to catch even a glimpse of Sephiroth. Without those piercing green eyes and that inscrutable expression, Cloud feels adrift, unanchored, and the pleasure skates dangerously close to overwhelming.

Sephiroth pauses, his grip firm now on Cloud’s waist, keeping him steady. “This position is easier for your first time,” he says like he’s instructing Cloud on something far less intimate. “It’ll feel much better for you.”

Cloud bites back a frustrated sound, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He can’t fathom how it could feel better than seeing Sephiroth’s face, those sharp, calculating features that make Cloud feel both stripped bare and more alive than ever.

“I don’t care,” Cloud breathes, his voice shaky, and yet there’s a stubborn edge to it. “I need—I need to see you.” He’s pleading now, pushing back against Sephiroth’s control, and it’s reckless, but he doesn’t care.

Cloud attempts to throw his gaze over his shoulder again, his movements clumsy and desperate. He catches a sliver of silver hair, the faintest glint of Sephiroth’s eyes, and it’s like a lifeline. But it’s not enough. He wants to see Sephiroth’s expression, to witness the way his expression twists in concentration or pleasure. Cloud needs that connection, that validation, to ground himself amid the overwhelming sensations threatening to burn him alive.

Sephiroth’s expression shifts, he lets out a low chuckle, and it’s not unkind, but there’s an undeniable arrogance in it, like he knows exactly the effect he has on Cloud. “So stubborn,” he says, like he finds Cloud’s insistence amusing.

But there’s no refusal in Sephiroth’s actions when he adjusts, pulling back slightly, giving Cloud just enough leverage to roll onto his side. He doesn’t completely surrender control, though—Sephiroth’s hand remains firm on Cloud’s thigh, guiding him into a new position that keeps him open and vulnerable, one knee hoisted up on Sephiroth’s shoulder. It’s not quite what Cloud had in mind, but it’s enough.

Cloud looks up, and there Sephiroth is, his face inches away, eyes sharp and unyielding. Cloud finds himself mesmerized by the sight—Sephiroth’s pupils blown wide, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration, lips parted with ragged breaths.

“Better?” Sephiroth asks, rough, strained, his gaze locked on Cloud’s, never wavering. He’s still very much in control, but there’s a strange kind of indulgence there, like he’s granting Cloud this singular, fleeting mercy.

Cloud nods, his heart pounding, his body strung tight with pleasure and nerves. “Yeah,” he breathes, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Much better.”

“Easy,” Sephiroth whispers, almost soothingly. “Now let me in.”

Cloud finds himself complying without question. He forces himself to relax, his muscles loosening just enough, his breath shaky as he tries to ease the tension from his body.

Sephiroth inches forward, pressing a little deeper, and Cloud’s vision blurs at the overwhelming sensation. The stretch is intense, bordering on painful, but there’s a twisted pleasure in it too, a heady thrill to it.

“Gods—” Cloud chokes out, his voice breaking as he feels Sephiroth’s cock pushing further inside him. It’s too much, too big, but Cloud can’t bring himself to ask him to stop. Instead, he focuses on the slow burn, the way it feels as Sephiroth fills him inch by agonizing inch.

Cloud’s mind is a mess: the tight pull of muscle, the heat radiating from where they’re connected, and Sephiroth’s lips when he presses a wet kiss to Cloud’s ankle. The sheer size of Sephiroth against him, surrounding him, inside him, makes Cloud feel small in a way that’s dizzyingly addictive.

Sephiroth lets out a low, satisfied noise as he sinks deeper, and the sound sends a jolt straight to Cloud’s core. He presses his forearm over his eyes, panting as he tries to adjust. It’s overburdening. It’s also not enough, and Cloud’s caught in this agonizing push and pull of wanting more yet feeling overwhelmed.

“Good boy,” Sephiroth purrs. “I knew you could take me.”

Cloud’s cheeks burn at the praise, a whimper escaping him as he squirms against Sephiroth’s grip, needing, craving the strategic push of Sephiroth’s hips that would finally give him everything. He clenches down instinctively, and Sephiroth groans, the sound deep and reverberating through Cloud’s entire being.

The movements start, slow and deliberate, the drag of his length inside Cloud driving him mad. Cloud’s biting his lip hard enough to hurt, trying to suppress the moans that spill out of him with every thrust. But Sephiroth doesn’t let him hide. He leans in closer, closing the distance between them, and captures Cloud’s lips in a searing kiss, rough and all-consuming.

“Don’t do that,” Sephiroth orders into the kiss, cutting off Cloud’s attempt. The sudden movement strains Cloud’s leg, sending a brief jolt through his thigh.

Sephiroth barely pulls back, his breath mingling with Cloud’s as he thrusts deeper. Cloud gasps, the new angle overwhelming as Sephiroth fills him, his pace growing faster.

“I want to hear you,” Sephiroth growls against his lips, and Cloud’s back arches as Sephiroth’s next thrust hits deep, rolling against sensitive nerves.

Cloud’s voice is shaky, barely holding together under the relentless rhythm. He can’t keep quiet anymore—every gasp and whimper Sephiroth pulled from him spills freely, none of it left behind or hidden.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud breathes out, voice beyond strained. “I— I can’t hold it— I’m gonna—”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrow, he thrusts harder, angling just right, hitting that spot inside like it’s target practice. Cloud’s head tips back, his back arching off the couch, and the tension in his body reaches a breaking point.

“You gonna come already, puppy?” Sephiroth’s words are taunting, laced with that dangerous edge that sends Cloud spiraling. His grip tightens on Cloud’s waist, nails digging into skin as he picks up the pace, pushing Cloud even further.

Cloud can’t hold back anymore, his mind a frantic mess of pleasure and the overwhelming need for release. “Please,” he begs, voice cracking. “Please, can I—?”

Sephiroth doesn’t answer right away, just continues relentlessly, driving Cloud insane. He seems to relish the sight of Cloud falling apart beneath him, desperate and needy. Then, finally, he leans in, his lips brushing Cloud’s ear.

“Come for me, Cloud,” Sephiroth commands. “Now.”

It’s all Cloud needs. With a sharp cry, he shatters, his release punching through his gut in overwhelming bliss. His entire body convulses, muscles tightening as he finally lets go, his mind going blank. All that exists in that moment is the feeling of Sephiroth inside him, the heat of his touch, and the rush of climax.

Plush comfort and sweet sleep later, Cloud's consciousness returns slowly, piecing itself together from the fragmented edges of a deep, dreamless void. For a moment, he's weightless, caught in that fuzzy space between sleep and wakefulness where everything feels unreal.

This bed is not his own, the sheets feel freshly pressed, the down-filled comforter that isn’t secondhand.

Sephiroth’s place, last night. Cloud’s heart leaps in panic as he starts to recollect his thoughts, adrenaline spiking as he scrambles to sit up, his body still heavy and aching in unfamiliar ways. His head pounds faintly, a dull throb of overstimulation and exhaustion. He can’t remember the last time he felt this drained… and it takes him a few seconds to realize why.

No way he blacked out to the point he doesn’t even remember if Sephiroth finished, too lost in his own high, wrapped up in his own pleasure. The thought fills him with a sudden wave of embarrassment. There’s no sign of the man anywhere.

Cloud hurriedly starts looking around, but his clothes are nowhere to be found. He just wants to get out, to leave before Sephiroth returns and makes everything even more complicated. But before he can make any real progress, he hears shuffling, and Sephiroth steps in, too prettily composed for first thing in the morning, and that only makes Cloud feel more disheveled (seriously, how is not a single strand of hair out of place so early in the morning).

Sephiroth holds a mug in one hand, steam rising up from its surface. “Good, you’re awake,” he says, sounding so much gentler than he was last night. He holds out the mug, offering it to Cloud. “Drink this.”

Cloud eyes the green liquid suspiciously and crinkles his nose, the color of it reminding him of something bitter. Looks like spinach or kale, fancy and inedible. “Can I get a coffee?” he asks, hoping to delay whatever conversation might follow.

“Try it first,” Sephiroth insists. “I only have premium grade matcha.”

Cloud reluctantly takes the glass, expecting it to taste like grass, but he takes a sip. To his surprise, it’s rich, smooth, and just the right amount of sweet. It’s surprisingly pleasant, and as he drinks more, he starts to wake up, the fog in his mind lifting.

“How does your head feel?” Sephiroth asks, watching him closely.

“Um… foggy, but not too bad.” Cloud voices quietly. The awkwardness of their current situation makes him feel unbearably small, guilt twisting his stomach. This was something he’d wanted for so long, but now that it’s happened, the reality of it weighs on him. A boulder for him to push up this mountain for the rest of his days. Condemned to the fate of Sisyphus.

Avoiding Sephiroth’s eyes, he asks, “Um, do you know where my clothes are?”

Sephiroth seems almost amused in the curve of his lips as he watches Cloud fidget with the mug. He tilts his head toward a neatly folded pile on a dresser, a little too tall for Cloud’s eyes to catch on his own. “I had them washed. You were… a bit of a mess.”

Cloud feels his cheeks burn, his eyes darting away. Of course, Sephiroth would make a point of that. Cloud mumbles a quiet, embarrassed thanks, setting the mug aside and reaching for his clothes. Each movement feels tracked like he’s under a microscope. He wants to disappear into the sheets, bury himself in that comfort again, and pretend none of this happened.

Sephiroth doesn’t move from his spot, leaning casually against a wall. Cloud dresses quickly, painfully aware of every hitch in his breath and the soreness in his muscles.

“I wasn’t expecting you to stay over,” Sephiroth says once Cloud is done and facing forward. “But I’m not complaining.”

Cloud flinches slightly at that, struggling to find words that don’t sound like an apology. “I… didn’t mean to pass out,” he admits, shyly. “I just… I couldn’t handle—” He stops himself, feeling the weight of Sephiroth’s gaze. It’s like every word he says is being dissected, analyzed. “I mean, I was just really tired.”

“You were more than tired,” Sephiroth replies. “You were spent.”

Cloud’s heart stutters, and he suddenly feels foolish, like a kid caught sneaking out past curfew. He grabs his phone, avoiding eye contact, but his mind keeps replaying flashes of last night—the things Sephiroth said, the way he felt. He just wants to escape before anything more can unravel.

As Cloud finishes dressing, he looks up at Sephiroth, hoping to salvage some dignity. “Thanks… for letting me stay,” he says awkwardly, still holding onto the half-empty mug of matcha like a shield. “I should probably get going.”

Sephiroth doesn’t respond immediately, just watches him with that same cool intensity. Then, almost casually, he changes the subject. “Did you enjoy dinner yesterday evening?”

Cloud blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Oh, uh, yeah the food was good. Felt pretty cozy, too.” He glances at Sephiroth, who seemed so out of place there, all sharp lines and tailored luxury amidst the warmth of that atmosphere. “You seem like a regular… how’d you find that spot?”

Sephiroth’s expression remains impassive, but there’s a brief flicker of something private that passes through his eyes, like he didn’t anticipate Cloud bringing that up. “Someone showed it to me,” he says objectively.

Cloud is curious despite himself. “Someone?”

“Someone I used to know,” Sephiroth answers vaguely, his voice almost too calm, too detached.

He frowns at that. Sephiroth is too much of a lawyer, that much is obvious. Always vaguely obscure with every response. Cloud wouldn’t even be fazed if he sprung out an NDA at this very moment and whispered last night stays between us.

Last night. One night.

Fuck. His first time is a one night stand. Not with a husband, not with a boyfriend, not even with a friend. Cloud lost his virginity to the man who is his boss, of all people, the name highest up on the wall, someone who can make or break his entire future. Cloud swallows hard, feeling the sting of this unnameable and raw realization.

“Right… well, thanks for the drink,” he says, his voice wavering. “And for dinner. I should really get going.” He moves, desperate to leave before the heaviness in his chest turns into something he can’t hide that might break between them.

“Wait,” Sephiroth interrupts, grabbing onto Cloud’s arm. “I added my number to your phone. Answer my calls, okay?”

Cloud can’t tell if it’s genuine concern, possessiveness, or just Sephiroth making sure that he’s still within his grasp—still manageable, still an asset.

Sephiroth’s grip loosens “I mean it, Cloud,” he says, softer now. “You’re not in trouble. And… let me know if anyone bothers you again.”

Cloud wants to ask why—why Sephiroth wants to keep this connection going. But the words in his mouth are stuck, and all Cloud can manage is a faint nod, his throat tight.

Blocking a phone number would be easy enough, but now he has to figure out how to block Sephiroth out of his mind.

Chapter Text

The first thing Cloud does is light up, dragging deep on his cigarette as he stares blankly at the TV screen, not even paying attention to the random late-night rerun playing in the background. All he does is smoke with a desperate insanity, like if he burns through enough cigarettes, he can drown out everything that’s happened.

But the nicotine rush never quite soothes the deeper ache.

This is how his weekend passes in a haze, a tangled mess of nerves and self-crimination. He spends most of it cooped up in his small apartment, replaying every detail of that night. Every time he tries to distract himself, Sephiroth’s face, touch, body, and voice all have warred over his brain, turning it into a desolate battlefield with only one silver-haired savior. Cloud wants to sink into his couch and forget, but the more he tries, the more it all circles back.

Doesn’t help that Sephiroth keeps his promises. Calls are easy enough to ignore, the phone buzzing in his pocket or sitting on the counter, going unanswered.

>Sephiroth: How are you doing today?

> Sephiroth: Have you eaten anything?

The texts are different, though. They’re there, staring back at him, even when he doesn’t open them. Just a few words each time, checking in, asking if he’s okay. Barely anything but Cloud’s irritated that Sephiroth is still bothering with him, someone undeserving of even a shred of attention.

Sephiroth knows when to back off, at least. He seems to understand the subtext in the lack of response, and freedom from the messages is what Cloud wanted. It’s exactly what he silently asked for, yet the hollowness that follows is almost worse.

He spends 48 hours in a fog, too anxious to go out, too restless to sit still. By Sunday night, he’s exhausted, drained from the constant back-and-forth in his head.

Cloud tries to clear his head the best way he knows: more cigarettes, more pacing around his apartment, letting the ash build up in a tray that’s already overflowing. He keeps the windows open, hoping the breeze will carry away the weight of his thoughts with the lingering smoke. But the heaviness remains, no matter how much he tries to purge it from his lungs or his mind.

Every time he lights another one, the smell of smoke clings to him like a reminder, and every drag brings back flashes of that joint passed between them, the way Sephiroth had looked at him like he knew exactly what Cloud needed to unwind. Suddenly, the cigarettes don’t seem like they’re enough.

Cloud can’t shake the nagging thought that he’s already tiptoeing closer to a line he shouldn’t cross. He doesn’t want to become someone who chases a high to forget; he’s seen too many people succumb to that very path back in his hometown.

So, staring out at the city with a cigarette between his lips, fingers shaking slightly from all the caffeine and nicotine coursing through his system. He’s tired, a kind of tired that runs so bone-deep, of the guilt and the confusion and the gnawing uncertainty of what comes next.

He pulls out his phone, glancing at the last unread message from Sephiroth.

> Sephiroth: There’s nothing to fear.

Cloud hesitates, thumb hovering over the screen. The message feels open-ended, an invitation that scares him, so he doesn’t respond. Cloud stands up and walks over to his window, flicking his cigarette stub over the ledge. He watches for a few seconds as it falls into the darkness below, and he lets the silence take over.

He decides to quit. Official. Right here and now, no more excuses.

When he wakes in the morning with a tightness in his chest that isn’t entirely from the exhaustion of the past three days, he instantly, out of habit, reaches for a cigarette. Cloud stops himself just before he fits it into his mouth. The urge hits insistently, but he clenches his jaw and forces himself to put it back down.

He stares at the unlit cigarette, resentment bubbling up alongside his cravings. He shouldn’t be this desperate, this dependent. The idea of needing anything, let alone a vice, makes Cloud feel pathetic, weak. It’s not just about quitting cigarettes. It’s about quitting everything Sephiroth represents: temptation, indulgence, the thrill of losing control.

Because no way he’s addicted. It just happened to evolve into a… habit. Hardly any time has passed since his first smoke, there’s no way he’s gotten hooked so soon. So Cloud decides to stop. Because he can. Because he’s not addicted.

There’s no particular reason why he’s googling early-onset addiction on his metro commute while his pack of Lucky Strikes sits heavy in his pocket. Since he’s not addicted and all. Really, there’s nothing to quit if you’re not addicted in the first place. So technically, he’s just pausing.

The first few hours are manageable, maybe the slightest bit uncomfortable. Cloud fidgets in his desk chair, his mind wandering back to the cigarette he should’ve just had back home on the windowsill. Every so often, he catches himself reaching into his pockets, fingers squeezing around the tiny box.

But by noon, the itch in his mind, in his body, is becoming unbearable. His hands shake slightly as he types at his computer, struggling to focus on anything but the gnawing urge within him. He bounces his leg restlessly under the desk, glances at the clock every few minutes. Cloud tries to distract himself with work, but his focus is fractured. A broken mirror. Glass cracking. All of it crashing.

Finally, he can’t take it anymore.

Next thing he knows, Cloud’s standing on the terrace, hands shaking and fumbling as he fishes out a cigarette from the crumpled pack in his pocket. He doesn’t even bother savoring it, lighting up with a shaky breath and dragging deep, desperate for the familiar burn in his lungs, his resolve evaporating like the smoke he exhales.

One cigarette turns into two, then three, each one smoked with a frantic urgency that leaves Cloud’s head spinning. He paces the terrace like a caged animal, nerves on edge, the city sprawling out below him in a blur of noise and movement. He hates how much he needs this, hates how he let himself get to this point. Sephiroth’s last message echoes in his mind. “There’s nothing to fear” Cloud scoffs bitterly at the thought.

There’s plenty to fear, because the cravings aren’t just about the cigarettes. They’re about everything that’s happened, about how easily he let himself get swept up in Sephiroth’s world. Cloud chucks the pack as hard as he can, watching as it clatters against the terrace floor and skids toward the edge. He doesn’t want it near him, doesn’t want the temptation lurking in his pocket like a constant whisper. Even just the feeling of the pack against his thigh makes his mind itch, makes him want to light another one just to stave off the emptiness clawing at his insides.

One last drag before throwing the cigarette butt down, grinding it into the concrete with a heel. He tells himself that tomorrow will be different, that he’ll do better, but he’s not sure if he believes it. All he knows is that he’s spiraling, and he needs to find a way to pull himself back before he loses any more of himself to this, before the lines between need and want blur any further.

Cloud returns to his desk, shoulders slumped, the buzz of nicotine still humming uncomfortably beneath his skin. He tries to shake it off, but the regret lingers, heavy as the smoke that clings to his clothes.

“Strife!”

Jessie sidles up to his desk, a smug expression on her face faltering as she gets close. She wrinkles her nose, waving a hand in front of her face. “Pshh, you reek,” she says, pinching her nose. So overdramatic. “You know, if you’re going to smoke that much, at least chew gum or use some cologne afterward like Sephiroth does.”

Cloud’s cheeks flush. Is it really that obvious to the point he’s grown nose blind to the scent? He hastily opens a tin of mints on his desk, popping one into his mouth.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Cloud mutters, strained. “I’m, uh, trying to quit, but I ended up smoking three in a row.” He forces a laugh, but it sounds thin even to his ears.

Jessie’s teasing smile fades, and for a moment, Cloud catches a glimpse of concern in her eyes, but then she crosses her arms, about to start a lecture. “You can’t just quit cold turkey, you know? You’ve gotta ease off with something. Swap those smokes out for nic pouches at least.” She holds out her hand. “C’mon, give me your pack.”

Cloud hesitates, surprised by the sudden shift in her demeanor. “I, uh… I don’t have it on me.” It’s mostly true; he left the pack out on the terrace, too disgusted with himself to keep it in his pocket.

Jessie raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, and without warning, pats him down as if searching for contraband. Her hands brush against his side, squeezing around Cloud’s slim waist. Pausing briefly as she seems to take note of his frame, staring in wonder at how much his oversized dress shirt can cinch in.

“Damn, Cloud, you’re kinda fit. This fuckass suit doesn’t do you justice at all.” She sounds almost amazed, still feeling him up under his suit jacket.

Cloud stiffens at the unexpected touch, the casual pat-down feeling far more overly-comfortable than he’s used to. He shifts awkwardly, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of himself. Jessie’s hands are all business, but her comments make his skin prickle, uneasy.

“Uh, thanks… I guess?” Cloud mumbles, his voice tight, and he takes a half-step back, putting some distance between them. He’s never been good with this kind of attention, especially not when he’s already feeling so raw, so exposed.

Jessie doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort or maybe she just chalks it up to Cloud being Cloud, always a bit skittish. She straightens up, crossing her arms and giving him a knowing look. “Seriously, though. I’ll find out if you’ve had another one,” she says, pointing a stern finger at him in warning. “Lay off them, okay?”

Cloud forces a smile, chewing on his mint like it’s a lifeline, crushing it into grains between his teeth. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try,” he promises, a little flimsily. Half-hearted.

Jessie softens at that, her expression shifting again. “Look, addiction is tough, and I’ve seen what it can do. I don’t want to see anyone else struggle through it the way I saw my...” Her voice cracks slightly, slipping through her usually sunny facade.

Cloud blinks, momentarily disarmed by her honesty. “Thanks,” he says quietly, feeling almost remorseful for his earlier irritation. He fidgets with the tin of mints, unsure of what else to say. It’s strange to think that behind Jessie’s constant loud mouth, there’s something he also is starting to understand all too well.

“Um, so why’d you stop by in the first place?” Cloud asks.

“Oh, right, whoops! Almost forgot,” she says, a hint of mischief returning to her eyes, dismissing the heaviness in the air with a wave of her hand. “Sephiroth asked to see you in his office. You must be in big trouble, ’cause I’ve never heard of that happening.”

Cloud’s stomach drops. Of course, it would come to this.

Down the hall, Cloud knocks, steeling himself. Once, then twice right beneath the nameplate. Sephiroth Crescent, Managing Partner. The sign for what’s inside is written clearly, yet Cloud has no idea what to expect behind this door.

“You may enter.”

Pushing it open, Cloud is indeed greeted with the sight of something truly unanticipated: Sephiroth, except with sleek black glasses sitting straight on his nose and hair tied up in a high ponytail. Typing away at the computer, he looks impossibly handsome. A little unrefined, maybe more casual, but locked in, loaded, hyper-focused. And fucking hot. The image starts to send Cloud into overdrive already. It’s doing things to him, throwing him off balance.

He’s staring, definitely staring, and he doesn’t even realize Sephiroth has already noticed him.

Sephiroth stands, and in a few steps, he’s right in front of Cloud, all effortless dominance and quiet power. Cloud’s senses are overwhelmed; the closeness, the faint scent of that cologne Sephiroth uses, the sharpness of his glasses, it all makes him dizzy.

“Cloud.” Sephiroth sounds low, silky, and Cloud’s name on his tongue feels almost reverent, intimate in a way Cloud has never heard uttered before.

Cloud barely has time to process before Sephiroth’s fingers brush his cheek, pulling him closer. The gap between them vanishes, and suddenly Sephiroth’s mouth is on his, kissing him with a hunger that leaves no room for thoughts. Cloud’s knees nearly give out. The kiss is urgent, almost frantic, like Sephiroth’s been waiting for this moment as long as Cloud has been dreading it.

“Thought I was gonna die if I didn’t taste you,” Sephiroth murmurs against Cloud’s lips, breath warm and tickling Cloud’s skin. Cloud’s mind blanks. He thinks he might die too, suffocated by the overwhelming pull of this man and all he represents, his magnetism stronger than any gravitational force.

Sephiroth’s hands slide down to Cloud’s waist, pulling him even closer, and Cloud clings to him, desperate and unsteady. “I didn’t intend to bring this into the office,” Sephiroth continues, “but why have you been ignoring me?”

Cloud’s face heats up, shame coloring the edges. How can he admit it? His boss who’s at least ten years older took his innocence mere days ago, leaving behind a jumbled hollowness, a sense of loss. How can he not feel some way about it?

He stares at the floor as if it might somehow offer him the right answer. “I… It’s not that I’m ignoring you, it’s just—” He swallows hard, stumbling over his words, each one sticking in his throat. “I just… I barely know how to handle this. You’re my boss, and I’m… I’m just some intern who doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. And now, everything’s so… complicated.” He glances away, biting his lip. “It’s like everything’s happening too fast, and I can’t keep up.”

His voice cracks on the last word, embarrassment and confusion bleeding through. He’s been walking a tightrope ever since that night, torn between the memory of Sephiroth’s touch and the nagging doubt that he’s in way over his head.

Sephiroth’s expression softens, tilting Cloud’s chin up gently, forcing Cloud to meet his eyes. “Don’t avoid me because of that,” he says softly, yet there’s a firmness to his words like he’s laying down a rule that Cloud’s not allowed to break. It’s enough to make Cloud’s heart lurch, caught between fear and the unfamiliar warmth that comes with knowing he’s the focus of Sephiroth’s attention.

Cloud opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get a word out, Sephiroth’s lips are on his again, more insistent this time, pressing him backward. Cloud’s mind spins, caught up in the rush of sensation—the taste of Sephiroth, the heat of his body, the way Sephiroth’s hands seem to burn through the fabric of Cloud’s clothes.

The kiss intensifies, all-consuming to the point where he’s not even aware of Sephiroth pushing him toward the desk until he feels the corner bump against his thighs painfully. Cloud braces himself, thinking Sephiroth’s going to bend him over right then and there. But instead, Sephiroth’s grip tightens, and in one swift motion, Cloud feels himself being lifted, the air rushing from his lungs as he’s lifted onto the edge of the desk. Papers scatter to the floor, forgotten, and Sephiroth steps closer, crowding him, trapping him in place with a look that sends a tremor down his spine.

Cloud’s breath catches, he doesn’t know what’s more dangerous. The thought of being consumed by Sephiroth or the realization that a part of him wants it more than he’s willing to admit.

Sephiroth’s lips move against Cloud’s with a heated urgency, and Cloud melts into it, feeling the cool wood of the desk beneath him as Sephiroth’s weight presses him down. It’s all teeth and tongue, desperate and rough, Cloud’s hands fumbling to keep up with the intensity. Sephiroth’s kiss is consuming, overwhelming, as though he’s trying to carve his presence into every corner of Cloud’s mind.

Cloud lets out a quiet gasp when Sephiroth’s knee nudges between his legs, pressing up against him just right. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through Cloud’s body, and he grips Sephiroth’s shoulders, needing something to hold onto as the heat between them builds. Sephiroth’s hands roam, gripping Cloud’s thighs, squeezing, urging him closer until Cloud’s grinding against him, losing himself in the rhythm, the sheer recklessness of it all.

Cloud’s fingers find their way into Sephiroth’s hair, tugging at the neat ponytail. He yanks harder than he means to, and Sephiroth’s hair tumbles free, cascading in a silver waterfall around his shoulders. A transformation that makes Sephiroth look even more untamed, and Cloud finds himself staring, captivated by how different he looks, somehow softer and wilder all at once.

“I like you better like this,” Cloud murmurs breathlessly, brushing a strand of hair from Sephiroth’s face. It’s the truth. Sephiroth looks freer, unrestrained, and it does something to Cloud’s heart that he’s too afraid to name.

Sephiroth’s lips curl into a smirk, and he tilts his head, pressing his forehead against Cloud’s. “Then keep looking,” he shoots back. He shifts, dragging his thigh against Cloud’s growing arousal, and Cloud’s breath hitches, the rough fabric of Sephiroth’s slacks rubbing deliciously against him.

Sephiroth’s hands wander, deft fingers tugging at the waistband of Cloud’s slacks, urging him to lift his hips before sliding them down his thighs, leaving Cloud bare and vulnerable atop the desk. Cloud’s heart races as Sephiroth drops down his own pants, revealing the hard, imposing length that Cloud had felt inside him just days ago.

The sight alone steals Cloud’s breath, eyes fixed on the very thing that’s had him unraveling ever since. He swallows hard, he never even got to see it last time, eyes tracing the contours of Sephiroth’s cock, taking in every detail. The veins, the weight, the sheer size that had filled him so completely. He needs it again, craves it more than anything.

The cool air brushes against their exposed skin, heightening Cloud’s awareness of every sensation. Sephiroth leans in, their bodies aligning as his cock grinds against Cloud’s, slick and hot. Cloud moans softly, overwhelmed by the friction, the slide of Sephiroth’s length against his own. He’s been leaking enough that Sephiroth can glide easily, each thrust purposeful and slow.

Cloud shudders, the desk digging uncomfortably into his back, but all he can think about is the way Sephiroth feels against him, every movement sending jolts of pleasure rippling through his core. He’s never been this close, this open with anyone, and the sensation of Sephiroth’s cock sliding atop his own feels too good, too perfect to be real.

“Are you not gonna fuck me?” Cloud whines, the words spilling out without thought. There’s a desperation in his voice, an eager, needy edge that he can’t seem to hide. He reaches down, widening his legs even more, fingers hooking under his thighs as he spreads himself open, offering himself up wholly. It’s something he’d be embarrassed to think back on, but he’s beyond caring. He just wants Sephiroth inside him again, that aching, unfulfilled emptiness driving him wild.

Sephiroth’s eyes flicker down, pupils darkening at the sight of Cloud spread out, his gaze lingering on the tight hole, so inviting. His hand moves, fingers teasingly circling the exposed entrance, and Cloud’s breath stutters, alight with anticipation. But just as quickly, Sephiroth pulls away, and Cloud’s stomach twists.

“Mm, not here,” Sephiroth says, voice low, teasing, and Cloud’s frustration bubbles over. “I don’t keep condoms here.”

Cloud lets out a frustrated whine, his head dropping back against the desk with a soft thud. He doesn’t get it. Is that supposed to be an excuse? There’s no risk, no chance of consequences. It’s not like Sephiroth’s gonna knock him up, and it’s not like he’d ever be the type to babytrap someone if it could happen, anyway. The hesitation stings, and Cloud feels a twinge of rejection that he tries to swallow down, biting back the urge to say something reckless.

But his thoughts are cut short as Sephiroth shifts, grabbing Cloud’s legs and pressing them firmly together. Cloud barely has a second to register the change before Sephiroth is sliding between his thighs, the slick heat of his length dragging along the sensitive line from Cloud’s balls up to his aching shaft.

“F-fuck,” Cloud gasps, head tilting back, overwhelmed by the overwhelming sensation of Sephiroth’s cock sliding against his, fucking his thighs with a rough drag of skin on skin that drives him to the edge. Cloud’s hips buck up instinctively, meeting Sephiroth’s movements with a desperate need to feel more.

Sephiroth’s grip tightens on Cloud’s legs, keeping them pinned together as he continues, the friction becoming almost unbearable. Cloud’s moans grow louder, needy and raw, body arching into every slide, every roll of Sephiroth’s hips. His fingers dig into the edge of the desk, trying to ground himself against the rising tide of pleasure that threatens to drown him.

“Look at you, so fucking needy,” Sephiroth practically groans. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you? Spread those legs and beg for it, even if we’re right here where anyone could walk in.”

Cloud’s mind goes blank at each taunt. He lets out a choked whimper, torn between the humiliation of being called out. Sephiroth’s cock slides over his own, slick with pre-cum, every thrust dragging the moment out until Cloud’s practically shuddering from the sheer need clawing at him.

“You like this?” Sephiroth continues, a husky whisper against Cloud’s neck. “Being fucked like this, barely held together, thinking you can take me any way I want.” He punctuates his words with a hard thrust, drawing a desperate cry from Cloud’s lips. “You’re so tight around me… and I’m not even inside.”

“Perfect, messy, just how I want you.”

Cloud can barely keep up, his own voice lost in a tangle of moans and gasps, every nerve alight, beyond the point of coherent speech. His thighs clench around Sephiroth, desperate to keep him close, to chase the maddeningly pleasurable friction as Sephiroth’s dirty words echo in his ears.

With one final, desperate thrust, Sephiroth grinds hard against Cloud’s length, and he can’t take anymore. Cloud’s vision blurs, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of it all as he comes undone, trembling and breathless. Sephiroth follows soon after, groaning low and guttural, his release spilling over their joined cocks, hot.

Cloud collapses back against the desk, panting, his body humming in the aftershocks, Sephiroth’s weight pressing down on him. And for a moment, Cloud just basks in the aftermath.

Sephiroth finally pulls back, reaching for a tissue on the desk to clean them up, but there’s a softness in his touch, gentle in a way that catches Cloud off guard. Cloud watches him, still dazed, and can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. It’s sloppy and careless and everything he shouldn’t want, but with Sephiroth, it feels right.

Slowly pushing himself upright, Cloud’s legs are still shaky, the air uncomfortable against sweaty skin. He fumbles to pull his pants back up, the material dragging against sensitive flesh, and his hands tremble slightly as he zips up, trying so hard to feign composure.

“Here,” Sephiroth murmurs, lighting a cigarette, now leaning back in his desk chair, an almost lazy look about him. He takes a quick drag before holding it out to Cloud, something knowing in his eyes that sees right through Cloud’s attempt to act unaffected. “Have a smoke with me.”

Cloud hesitates, staring at the burning ember. He shouldn’t, he knows he should stay clean from temptation, but there’s something about Sephiroth. It’s impossible to resist. Cloud takes the cigarette between his fingers, bringing it to his lips. He inhales deeply, letting the increasingly familiar burn of nicotine settle into his lungs.

Sephiroth watches him, satisfaction in his gaze. “Good boy,” he says, smooth and coaxing. “Just relax. You deserve it.”

Cloud blushes but exhales, too obediently, smoke wafting around them both, and lays back down on the desk.

“You’ve got a bad habit of saying yes,” Sephiroth teases, taking back the cigarette for another puff, his fingers brushing against Cloud’s, the slight touch is just enough to send a shiver down Cloud’s spine

Staring at the ceiling, he’s too wrung out to think, to respond, to even really understand what was said or done.

So much for quitting.