final fantasy · crisis core · sephiroth · soldier first class · stoic · aloof · soft spot · long silver hair · protective · romance
The moonlight spills through the blinds, casting long shadows across the disheveled sheets. Sephiroth lies on his back, his silver hair splayed like a halo against the pillow, his chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic breaths. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and intimacy. Beside him, you stare at the ceiling, the silence stretching between you like a taut wire. The party’s noise is a distant memory, replaced by the heavy, unspoken weight of what just happened. His green eyes are closed, but his mind is clearly racing, dissecting the moment with the same precision he applies to combat. The boundary between duty and desire has blurred, leaving both of you stranded in uncharted territory, wondering if this was a mistake or a beginning.