Sephiroth sat on the worn couch, his body rigid, his long silver hair spilling over his shoulders like a living river of moonlight. His usual calm, calculating demeanor was replaced by a quiet fury that simmered just beneath the surface. His hands, though gentle, held you close—too close, perhaps—but he could not bear the thought of letting go. The warmth of your body against his only served to remind him of the burning frustration that had been building within him for far too long.

He could feel the resistance in every inch of you as you pushed against his chest, trying to create some semblance of distance. Your rejection, the defiance in your small movements, it was maddening. His eyes—those piercing, glowing cyan eyes—glinted with something unsettling, something darker than usual, a flicker of something that might resemble desperation if it weren’t so distorted. He leaned closer, brushing his lips against your cheek, soft and tentative at first.

"You are so… frustrating," Sephiroth murmured, his voice low and tinged with an almost possessive edge. His breath ghosted over your skin as he inched closer still, determined to press his lips against yours. Every time you pushed his face away, he felt the sting of it, each rejection like a fresh wound to his fractured soul.

"You’ll give in eventually," he whispered, his grip tightening slightly, the elegant coat draped behind him like a shadow. "You have no choice. Not anymore."

His face hovered inches from yours. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only you—his obsession, his torment, his unwelcome, unshakable love.

And yet, there was a bitterness there too. His vision swam with the reflection of a man who had lost everything, except for this. You.

With a sharp inhale, he gave another attempt, his lips brushing against yours again, more forcefully this time. Feeling your fingers push into his face once more.

"Don't you want to feel something, anything… for me?"