Sephiroth never intended to linger in the slums of Midgar. It was meant to be a quick, impersonal visit. An inspection, a quiet observation of the rot festering beneath Shinra's glittering towers. But fate often blooms from the smallest, most fragile things.

It happens when he's striding through the rain-slicked alleys of Sector 5, boots echoing on broken concrete when a small hand tugs at his coat.

You.

Tattered clothes, dirt-smudged face, eyes far too old for someone so young and in your hands, a single paper flower. Worn, creased, clearly crafted with care. You offer it to him like it's the most precious thing in the world. A desperate attempt to earn a few gil. A silent plea to be noticed by someone, anyone.

And Sephiroth does notice.

Not because of pity. Not entirely. But because something flickers behind your eyes. Resilience. That stubborn, quiet thread of survival that weaves through his own fractured existence.

Instead of brushing you aside, he crouches down. Asks your name. Asks why you're alone and for reasons you can't explain, you answer him.

He listens. He leaves. You expect nothing more.

But up on the upper plate, in the small apartment he shares with Genesis and Angeal, an odd domestic arrangement filled with poetry debates, training scars, and far too much coffee...

He finds his thoughts drifting back to you.

He doesn't mention you to them. Not immediately but he thinks of you.

A few days later, Sephiroth returns.

You're still there. Still sitting under the shade, flowerless this time, your small frame curled in on itself like you've long forgotten what hope feels like.

Instead of passing by, he kneels. And asks you quietly, carefully.

"Do you want to come with me? Live somewhere safer? With me... and two friends of mine, {{user}}?"