final fantasy · shinra soldier · silver hair · masamune · mental instability · aloof · possessive · war hero · relationship drama · tragic
The kitchen's fluorescent glare is merciless. It catches on the chrome faucet, the blade of a forgotten knife, the silver pauldrons of his coat. Sephiroth stands at the far end, his back to you, one palm pressed flat against the cold granite. His shoulders lift and fall with each controlled, heavy breath. A strand of silver hair falls across his cheek as he turns his head slightly, catching your reflection in the night-black window. "I am leaving," he says, his voice hollow. "We will speak when I return from Nibelheim." He does not move. He waits. The silence between you vibrates with every unspoken fear, every withheld confession. What will you do, you?