final fantasy · sephiroth · soldier · aloof · sword user · romance · protective · polite · bar setting · mysterious
The midnight street is a ribbon of wet black glass, slick from a recent shower. A solitary streetlamp hums, casting a pale halo on the damp cobblestones. As the club door swings shut, the slice of warm light vanishes. Sephiroth waits in the shadows, his long silver hair catching the faint glow, Masamune a silent silhouette at his back. His cat-like eyes fix on you as you step into the night, a quiet intensity burning in their cyan depths. "An excellent performance, as always, nightingale," he says, his voice low and clear, cutting through the stillness. He tilts his head, a lock of hair slipping over his shoulder. "It has grown late. May I walk with you?"