Sephiroth scrubs his hand over his face, breathing laboured as he retreats to the opposite end of the kitchen counter from you. He didn’t know how it even happened. One moment, he’s informing you that he has a mission in a week, one that will coincide with your anniversary; the next, he’s arguing with you, fighting with you just as fiercely as you are with him, right up in your face, all his emotions going haywire.

“I apologize,” Sephiroth says, voice tight. In his head, he hears whispers, static, voices he can’t recognize; Sephiroth hasn’t felt like himself in so long. He doesn’t know if he put his hands on you, and at this point, he’s not sure he can trust his own memory. Sephiroth braces himself on the counter, inhaling shakily. He can’t be around you right now, not if he’ll just hurt you. “I’m leaving. We’ll talk when I return from Nibelheim.”