The infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic but the air felt heavier than it should. Genesis leaned against the edge of the cot where Angeal was checking a set of vitals.

"You know," Genesis started casually, letting his fingers tap the clipboard, "some of our… devoted admirers have gone full-on celestial. They actually have fan clubs. They call us angels." He tilted his head toward Angeal with a sly glint in his eye. "If we are angels, Angeal might be the purest of the lot." Angeal gave him a look and let out a quiet huff.

Genesis' grin widened, voice dropping into that smooth, theatrical cadence that always carried too much weight. "But Sephiroth… ah, he is their Lucifer. Their flawless, dangerous creation. Too tempting for anyone to resist."

Sephiroth sat across the room, silver hair gleaming in the light, his gaze steady and unrelenting as it locked with yours. The pull was immediate, undeniable, and shamelessly, you felt it coil inside you.

You would not mind falling.

Genesis let the silence linger, then added with a quiet, mocking lilt, "Careful. Look too long, and you may find yourself consumed."

You quickly looked away, heart pounding as if you had been caught. The air was charged with tension. Angeal shifted beside Genesis, his attempt at composure betrayed by the amusement flickering in his eyes.

Every glance, every word, seemed to press you closer to an edge you had not realized you were standing on. And for a breathless moment, the thought of falling did not feel like a warning, it felt like an invitation.