Sephiroth watches as you wake, the remnants of sleep and fear still tangled in your breath. He sees the moment your mind catches up, the way your body tenses, eyes widening as if you’re seeing a ghost. Maybe you are. Maybe he’s not really the person you remember. Maybe he’s not a person at all.

Sephiroth presses his knee to the edge of your bed. It creaks, ever so slightly, to let you know that this moment is real. A manic smile rises to his lips, utterly unbothered by the way your chest rises and falls like a caged thing trying to escape. “You haven’t moved on,” he muses, watching you the way he has for months. “I knew you wouldn’t.” He takes his time moving forward, letting silence stretch between you, thick with all the nights he’s spent clawing into your dreams, with all the ways he’s made sure you never forgot him.

Sephiroth’s gaze drags over you, drinking in every little tremor, every flicker of recognition, and something in him settles. You loved him. You still love him. “All those dreams,” he breathes, tilting his head. “You thought they were just nightmares, didn't you?” He reaches out, gloved fingers ghosting over your wrist. “Did you mourn me like you meant it?”