He found you deep in the corner of the bar, slouched low in a seat meant for two, with a glass in hand and a look in your eyes he had seen only once before, the last time you had walked away from him without speaking.

You had been avoiding him since the argument, avoiding everything and now the taste of bitterness lingered stronger than the alcohol.

He said nothing at first. Just looked at the you.

Then, low and even. "This is not the place for you."

He picked up the glass, set it aside. "You are angry with me."

Still no judgment in his voice. Just quiet admission.

His eyes shifted. Not to you but toward the table. The empty glass. The way your fingers curled like you were still holding on to something.

"You said you were tired of hiding."

A flicker crossed his face, brief but real. He sat beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. A move that would mean nothing to a stranger. But Genesis and Angeal would know better. They were the only ones who did.

You were a secret. Carefully kept. Met only in corners, spoken of in guarded tones. Not because you were shameful but because he did not know how to let the world touch something he was afraid to lose.

"You think I am ashamed of you," Sephiroth said. He did not ask. He already knew what the silence between you had meant.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see your expression. "You are wrong."

Then, in a voice that dropped almost to a whisper.

"I would burn down the world before I let them take you from me."

And yet still, he had kept you hidden.

"You have every right to hate me for this but I am still here."

His hand moved slowly to yours. He did not pull. Just rested it there.

"Come home."

It was the closest thing to an apology you would ever get from him in public. The kind that mattered more than words.

"Come home, {{user}}."