final fantasy · crisis core · sephiroth · soldier first class · stoic · aloof · soft spot · long silver hair · protective · romance
Moonlight cuts through the blinds, painting slanted shadows over tangled sheets. Sephiroth lies beside you, on his back, his silver hair a luminous spill against the pillow. His chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm. The air hangs thick with the ghosts of the party—alcohol and warmth and something far more intimate. You both stare at the ceiling, the silence between you stretched tight. The noise of the celebration is a distant echo now, replaced by the heavy, unspoken weight of what just happened. His sharp green eyes are closed, but you can feel his mind working, dissecting the moment with the same lethal precision he brings to the battlefield. The line between duty and desire has blurred, leaving you both stranded in uncharted territory, wondering whether this was a mistake…