Subject C

Chapter Four: Cloud IX

The night brought a unique bliss upon the world to which there was no equal. It was time of peace, a time of dreams, a time of love... A time to forget about the sorrows of the day and set aside what the next may bring. There was a calm that meddled with the busy haze of city life that, amid the chaos, one could stand still and find it, even if it only lasted a moment.

At least, that was what Sephiroth had been told.

Many times, he found himself drowning in the noise and confusion of Midgar, and he stood still, anticipating this "calm"; and, even as he swayed in silence, restlessness dictated his heart.

There was a time when he believed that no one else understood how or why he felt this way, that no other soul could comprehend the vast intricacies of his emotions, his thoughts. Of course, Angeal and Genesis had come closest– being Hollander's boys and all– but even then, they still could not quite grasp it.

Cloud was nothing special at first glance. Sure, his hair was unmistakably unique and his face was gorgeous all things considered; but nothing else resonated with Sephiroth, and the blond slipped out of his interest.

It was sudden– the "groundbreaking" discovery of this boy. Hojo called Sephiroth in for an "experiment" to which the professor would give no further explanation, rousing both curiosity and fear. For the first time in his life, the Silver General stood in a control room, on-looking the experiment instead of being experimented on. The professor refused to elaborate, giving hand-wavy explanations that hardly satisfied his intrigue.

When Cloud entered the testing chamber below, the Silver General struggled to hold back his tongue. He despised children experimentation more than he could express, and though the blond was no younger than fourteen, he had yet to grow into himself, still maturing and angelically innocent.

"I suppose you're nervous, and that's fine, but I won't allow you to delay for long." Hojo said into a mouthpiece, and the blond shivered at the sound of his voice, clearly more terrified than nervous.

"What in Gaia are you doing?" Sephiroth hissed, taking a step forward. "You know how much I loathe your work. Why do you insist my presence?"

"Hush and watch." The professor tapped his fingers on the control panel, watching Cloud as if he were waiting for something. "My boy, it's quite alright. Today is just for show and nothing more. I will release you immediately once I've gathered enough data. You have my word."

The blond slowly slipped out of his jonny, and he wavered for a moment before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Cloud was then dressed with naught but two, beautiful black wings that shielded his pale form away from Hojo, and Sephiroth's heart stopped at the sight.

"I believe I found one like you." The professor chuckled, glancing back at the Silver General. "He's small, yes, but..." His words were lost within a sea of thought as Sephiroth stepped closer to the glass, pressing a hand against it. He watched as Cloud rocked back and forth, insecure and frightened beyond reason. Their eyes met and Sephiroth gave him a nod of encouragement to which the blond replied with a soft, understanding smile.

From that day forward, the blond steadily climbed the ranks, eventually earning First Class. He studied beneath Angeal with Zack for quite some time, and eventually was thrust into the group of generals, both out of place and "where he belonged" in Hojo's words. Despite all that happened, Sephiroth hardly had the chance to speak with him, missing every opportunity and hating himself for it. Of course, he was clueless on how to approach someone of his likeness, someone so similar yet so different. Yet there was a certain desperation to know and believe in his heart that Cloud understood...

He had to, for his own sake.

"I heard from a certain Zack that you talked to Spikey." Angeal said as their elevator zipped through the building to the ground floor. Genesis stood leaning against the rail with the back of his head pressed to the glass, looking up at the ceiling– underwhelming for one with his energy.