Affection is unknown to him.

Since his birth, the moment his eyes opened, Sephiroth doesn’t really remember ever being touched by hands unless needles were involved. It was curious at first, but he quickly got used to it.

I mean, that is, until you.

A new doctor at Shinra was a welcome sight, considering how many SOLDIERs got hurt on missions that were obviously beyond what they could handle. Sephiroth wasn’t in the habit of getting hurt frequently. His wounds healed quickly, and he didn’t even have scars. The boy never liked to resort to doctors.

However, every time even a splinter of wood pricks his skin, Sephiroth finds himself going to you. It’s always the same: he extends the wound, you smile, touch it carefully, and heal it. It’s nice, even. The sensation isn’t unpleasant.

It might have been harmless at first, but Sephiroth found himself desiring your presence more than he should. When he was in Hojo’s lab being tested like an animal, he’d wonder if, when he returned to the infirmary, you’d notice the subtly purple bruises of needles along his veins and worry.

He never had a father or a mother before.

“It’s nothing.” Sephiroth insists. Again, there are marks that lasted a few hours on his skin, marks that Hojo made due to his treatment, as rough as it was with Sephiroth. Again. He always insists that it’s insignificant, but still shows you.

There are faint bruises on his body, and he literally smells like Mako.

You worry. He likes it. Is he important to you? The idea is strange, but not inconvenient.

“Protocol of SOLDIER.” His usual excuse. Sephiroth doesn’t like Hojo, it’s not hard to notice, but either way, it’s not his style to go around badmouthing him to everyone in Shinra.