Chapter Text
When Sephiroth’s eyes first landed on him, the thought occurred right away—that this darling blond twink would end up being the key to his undoing.
It takes restraint to keep his gaze from raking over him in a way that would be entirely inappropriate.
He’s uncommonly beautiful. Bright. Innocent-looking. And full of an admiration that makes Sephiroth itch with temptation—it would be far too easy to introduce him to all his sordid tastes, and that feels terribly unfair.
Someone so young and impressionable wouldn’t have the maturity to handle it. Not to mention the fact that it would also be highly unethical, given their power differential.
Besides, work and pleasure don’t mix.
“Tell me, what made you seek this specific opportunity?” Sephiroth asks politely, clearing his throat.
It’s no secret that plenty of students have expressed flirtation and interest, but Sephiroth has to carefully deflect each time. Luckily, they’re all too young to end up in the local kink communities; the idea of one matching with his secret profile is slightly horrifying to imagine, even if his pictures aren’t identifiable.
“Oh,” Cloud says, cheeks reddening in an adorable manner, “I really enjoyed the book you wrote—Persuasion? It’s so interesting how you incorporated all these psychology elements in there. I learned a lot from it.”
Sephiroth smiles warmly. “I used to spend time with a neighbor who is a psychologist. A very brilliant man. I would read the textbooks he had around, so I suppose those influenced me greatly.”
It just so happened that his early twenties coincided with the popularity of both pop psychology and the growth of social media, so his first book did exceptionally well, and lucrative book deals followed soon after, along with regular speaking engagements.
“It’s one of my favorites.” His eyes light up with adoration. “I’m not surprised that it’s so well-known.”
“In some circles, I suppose. Very niche. But I’m glad to hear someone in this tiny corner of academia appreciates it.”
The angel in front of him fiddles with his bag’s zipper nervously, tugging on it.
All of this is quite flattering, even if compliments usually make him very wary. Cloud’s admiration seems genuine, and although that places them on uneven footing—creating an artificial distance—it’s still nice to hear some praise about himself.
Lord knows he never heard much of that growing up.
“Sorry, I promise I’m not trying to butter you up or anything,” Cloud says, sputtering, “and I don’t know if I even deserve this position, but I’d be really honored to learn from you.” His pale, delicate hands present a hardcover copy of the book as his pretty lips continue to ramble nervously. “And even if not, could you sign my book? I thought I might as well, since I was meeting you anyway, and—”
With a chuckle, Sephiroth takes the book from him and flips through it briefly. To his surprise and delight, some pages are dog-eared, with various highlighter colors marking different passages on them.
“I don’t get asked for autographs often outside of book signings,” he says, scrawling a signature on the inside cover. “Only those truly passionate about marketing might, after a lecture.”
The other exception being random women who clearly hadn’t read it, but had seen his picture on the back cover, or perhaps watched one of his interviews. Slipping their numbers written on napkins that Sephiroth will take, politely, then toss into the trash after an event.
But that just proves that his marketing techniques work.
Cloud swallows, his dainty pale throat bobbing, cheeks red. The sight stirs arousal beneath his trousers, and—
Sigh.
Sephiroth should just tell him no.
This is inviting trouble.
But it would be cruel to crush that hope, wouldn’t it? Since the boy clearly looks up to him, and views him so favorably.
A rejection would be rather unkind. Especially when it would cost Sephiroth nothing besides a bit of his time and knowledge.
Sephiroth presses his lips together. “I haven’t had a teacher’s assistant in some time, but it might be helpful. Let me talk to the administration and see how it goes. Do you need a tuition waiver, or…”
“No.” Cloud hesitates, blinking those gorgeous blue doe-eyes at him, a dark flutter of lashes. “I mean, it’s not an issue if there’s no stipend or anything. I just… would like the opportunity.”
How curious. Most graduate students apply for such things out of financial need, but a few are driven solely by ambition. Cloud comes across as genuinely passionate so far, although there’s a timidity that doesn’t seem to match the boldness of the request.
“I’ll let you know what they decide. Might involve a bit of paperwork—”
“I can help take care of any paperwork,” he says quickly. “Sorry, I don’t want it to be a hassle for you or anything.”
“Well, the lack of stipend would probably make things easier. Are you sure that you don’t need one?” Sephiroth returns the book to him, their fingers touching for a brief moment, sending an electric shiver down his spine. “Otherwise, they just need to register the credits.”
“I’m sure.”
From appearances, Sephiroth doesn’t expect Cloud to be someone who has ever heard the word no very often. He has the kind of face that would have most people bending over backwards for him.
Exquisitely pretty.
It’s one of the basic principles of persuasion, actually.
Something he’s quite familiar with himself—there’s a reason why beautiful people are used to peddle products. They’re more persuasive by default. Or, as described in his book, a positive first impression perpetuates a halo effect.
Once the halo effect is already in place, humans are prone to ignore any subsequent negative qualities which might arise.
“Well, I look forward to working with you, Cloud. Perhaps you can assist me with lesson plans before the fall semester starts?”
Sephiroth intends for it to be an actual mentorship, with plenty of work and tutelage involved. And his syllabus does need updating, with trends and technology always changing.
Control is what he does best—there won’t be any problem maintaining a purely professional relationship.
Though, of course, none of his previous assistants had been anywhere near attractive enough to serve as any sort of temptation.
So this will be an exercise in control.
“Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it, I promise.” Cloud’s pretty, heart-shaped face beams brightly after a sigh of relief.
Perhaps it’ll be nice to have some companionship for work, anyway.
“Please, call me Sephiroth.”
The summer heat permeates Sephiroth’s office in a thick, insufferable fog, and during the lull between summer break and the fall semester, the central air conditioning system lies dormant, so all the doors and windows stay open.
Classical music drifts in the air between them; something Sephiroth usually plays whenever he’s alone at work. There’s no one else here besides Cloud and himself, which is probably an unwise scenario for Sephiroth to place himself in, but it hasn’t led to any issues so far.
For the last month, their meetings have been productive, if uneventful. Cloud appears to genuinely respect him and his knowledge, and is enjoyable enough company to be around.
It’s been nice to have someone to talk to—many of the other professors tend to distance themselves from him, but that’s nothing new.
Cloud never talks about himself very much, though, and that leaves him very curious.
“What do you like doing?”
Startled, he looks up, a lock of blond hair falling against the side of his face. It’s difficult to not find him utterly stunning, and Sephiroth has to remind himself not to stare.
“Oh. I… don’t know.”
Whether Cloud is being shy or evasive is hard to discern.
So far, Sephiroth has made a deliberate, sustained effort to not express any interest. But that doesn’t mean it would hurt to be friendly. “No hobbies?”
“Not really, I guess.” Cloud pauses, then continues writing some notes, the flush deepening over his porcelain skin. Only from up close does the charming scattering of freckles become noticeable. “Sorry. I’m pretty boring,” he mutters with a small laugh.
“Not at all. I haven’t met many who show as much passion as you do. Surely you’re curious about people then too, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Marketing. It’s all about understanding people. How they think.”
Exquisite blue eyes like ocean waves gaze up at him. Hypnotic in their loveliness. “A lot of it’s manipulation, though, isn’t it?”
“You could say that, yes.”
“I guess I try to understand people. So that I’d fit in better.” Another faint laugh comes out with Cloud’s next breath. “It hasn’t really worked, though.”
Beauty compensates for quite a bit, but it still only opens doors. Sephiroth would know this.
“Perhaps that just makes you unique,” Sephiroth offers.
Cloud shrugs his small shoulders.
The answer eerily resembles his own reasons for studying behavioral responses. But that’s not something Sephiroth has ever mentioned in interviews.
“What about you? What do you like doing?” His voice is so young, bright and tinted with a faint raspiness.
He’s staring at Sephiroth so innocently that he can’t tell if Cloud is asking out of politeness, actually wants to know, or if there’s any flirtation to the question at all.
There’s a faint whiff of a crush underneath all the admiration, and Sephiroth’s never been wrong about that. Reading people is something he’s always been good at. It goes along with being a quiet observer, or outcast, said less politely.
If he were to answer honestly, his extracurricular activities are entirely inappropriate for general conversation.
“Cooking, sometimes. Reading.”
“Oh. That’s neat. I’m trying to get better at cooking, actually.” Cloud scratches the back of his neck, ears getting pink. “I don’t have a cafeteria card anymore, so.”
“Perhaps I’ll share some recipes, then. You’ll have to let me know what you like.” Sephiroth smiles involuntarily, then catches himself doing it, and pulls it back.
What Cloud failed to mention during their interview is that he’s enrolled in one of his courses.
So for part of the week, he’s a student like all the rest of them, and the other part, he assists Sephiroth with his undergraduate course.
The borders of their relationship begin blurring; becoming too comfortable. Cloud joins him for lunch often, although always under the pretense of discussing work or learning.
Once, he had shown up at the teacher’s lounge, looking for him, and Sephiroth walked into another professor trying to kick him out—
So he told Cloud not to do it again.
His desire to spend time with him has always seemed markedly innocent, however, and Cloud seems to simply crave some companionship.
There’s no real harm in that.
And if Sephiroth could admit it to himself—that company has filled a certain emptiness for him too; one he hadn’t noticed was there before.
“You lied,” Cloud comments, packing some of the presentation materials into a backpack.
“About what?”
“There were a ton of people asking for signed copies of your books.”
Sephiroth makes a sound of distaste. “I’m not sure how to explain this, but I’ve… somehow developed a fanbase of people who know nothing of my work.”
He wonders if Cloud noticed that they were mostly women. Though, of course, there were also men.
Cloud stares at the floor, hefting the backpack on, appearing to consider that. “Oh.”
He’s strangely unreadable at times. There’s an awkward, naive quality to him, but a distinct shrewdness too. It’s hard for him to guess what Cloud is thinking. Or what meaning can be found between the things he leaves unsaid.
“Well, guess I’ll see you on Monday, then. Thanks for letting me help you with your lecture.”
And it’s a mistake—Sephiroth knows it is—but the word comes rolling off his tongue anyway.
“Wait.”
Cloud glances up, starry-eyed in a way that feels perversely gratifying, when it doesn’t with anyone else.
And that’s probably only still there because he knows nothing about Sephiroth’s less savory proclivities.
“I’d like to hear your thoughts on what could be done better next time? While it’s still fresh on your mind? There’s a cocktail bar at the hotel across the street.”
Sephiroth is crossing a line. And he knows it.
The truth is, he just doesn’t want Cloud to leave quite so soon.
Or spend another evening alone. And Fridays are when he expects an irritating video call request from his parents—it would be a good excuse to avoid them.
Cloud’s lip twitches.
The regret fills him immediately.
This was a mistake.
“Sorry, that’s asking for more work, when you’ve done so much already.” A bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck. “Ignore me, that was unreasonable of me to ask.”
Sephiroth’s heart skips a terrible beat in his chest. Waiting to see if this is something he can take back. What in the world was he thinking?
But Cloud just smiles widely at him.
“Sure. I’d love to.”
A very different side to Cloud comes out when he’s drunk, apparently. One that’s flirty. Bolder. Nearly extroverted, even.
“C’mon,” he chides, leaning a cheek on one palm, head tilted. “You can handle more than that, can’t you?”
The alcohol burns down Sephiroth’s throat as he finishes the shot. “I’m sure that I can. I don’t think my liver would be too happy about it, though.”
“You have two, it’s fine,” Cloud says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“You’re thinking about kidneys.”
“Oh. My mistake.” Cloud stares at him rather shamelessly while downing his third shot, then slams it down on the table, yelling belligerently, waving at the bartender.
Sephiroth snatches his hand back, fingers wrapped around the slender wrist. The sensation of it sends a shiver down his spine; closing his fingers entirely around it. “I think that’s enough for you.”
“You’re not my dad,” he mutters, jerking his arm away.
“No, I’m not. But I doubt they’ll serve you any more than that.”
“Fine. Whatever. That’s good enough, I guess.” Cloud stares into his empty glass with forlorn eyes, a little pout forming over his lips. Then he rubs his stomach, frowning, and again, Sephiroth can’t get a read on things.
Does he usually drink this much? Cloud hadn’t struck him as a drinker at all, much less a heavy one—not someone who goes to social outings very often.
Then again, Sephiroth usually drinks alone, so why wouldn’t others?
Sephiroth summons the bartender again with two fingers, leaning over the marble counter. “Two ginger ales, please.”
Cloud squints at him with one eye. “I’m not a lightweight.”
“It’ll settle your stomach. Trust me.”
“It’s just gonna make me have to piss.”
Sephiroth sucks on his teeth, sharply, at the idea of that. “You are drunk, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Aren’t you?”
“I suppose.” Sephiroth’s judgment certainly seems impaired, since all sorts of unwise ideas are running through his mind at the moment.
A breathy rock ballad plays in the background, reddish lights bouncing off the silhouette of Cloud’s golden hair, granting him a devilish aura.
He’s utterly beautiful.
All those unwise thoughts drift through his mind like a school of fish, the flash of their bright scales momentarily distracting him.
“Why do you talk like that anyway?” Cloud asks curiously, taking one fizzy glass the bartender sets down.
“In what way?”
“Like… I dunno. An old man.”
Growing up, he’d never known how exactly to speak, to react, or how to do anything properly. Or so the rest of the world seemed to tell him.
Sephiroth smiles wryly. “I haven’t heard it put that way before. Does it bother you?”
“No.” Cloud shrugs. “It’s cute, actually.” He dips his head to sip the ginger ale from the straw, blowing bubbles into it.
“Cute?”
“Yeah.” Cloud looks up at him with half-lidded blue eyes, drunkenly and dreamily. “You’re cute.” A foot nudges against the leather of Sephiroth’s shoe, sliding up slightly against his inner calves.
This was a mistake.
“Cloud?”
“Hmm?”
He pushes the teasing foot away with his left shoe. “You’re drunk.”
“So?”
“You’re not in a sound state of mind.”
“Come again?”
Sephiroth lets out a long sigh, swiveling on the barstool, angling his body away from temptation. “You’re my student. And assistant. This isn’t a good idea.”
“And yet you invited me here,” Cloud points out. He stirs his drink idly, the ice clinking together. “So you’re saying that you have bad ideas.”
“I do.”
“I have a really bad one. Wanna hear it?”
Sephiroth pulls out his phone. “No. I don’t, actually. Are you near downtown? I can request a ride with two destinations if we’re headed the same way.”
This is far too risky for his liking. Too unprofessional. The power and age differential between them is too great.
A clear recipe for inevitable disaster.
Although he’s absolutely correct—Sephiroth had invited him, despite knowing all that. A pure moment of weakness on his part.
Cloud snatches the phone from his hands, to his dismay, slipping it into his pocket. Then he leans forward, siren-like, the sweet scent of alcohol emanating off his lips while a soft breath tickles the inside of Sephiroth’s ear.
“I see the way you look at me. Don’t act like you haven’t wanted me since the first day we met.”
A hot pulse throbs along the length of his cock, as if Cloud had murmured to it instead, twitching at hearing the soft syllables shedding from his lips.
“You’re not denying it.” Slim hands slide along the tops of Sephiroth’s thighs, slowly, back and forth. Resting painfully near his rising erection, thumbs tracing the perimeter around it. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
His own hands reach for Cloud’s wrists to pull them away, but somehow they find their way to Cloud’s tiny waist instead, fingers gripping the sides of it greedily, the tips of them nearly touching.
“You are,” he admits, the words falling out too easily past his hazy lips.
And Sephiroth had foolishly believed that his desire was well-hidden enough—since he had made a concerted effort to avoid expressing any interest, trying to discourage anything that might cause problems down the line. Like tonight.
Maybe he isn’t the only one good at reading people.
Maybe he’s not as good as he thought.
Cloud’s petal-soft lips graze against his own, a palm reaching down, inserting itself in the space between his thighs, and Sephiroth nearly forgets to move away.
“We could get a room upstairs,” Cloud murmurs, teeth running along Sephiroth’s lower lip like a knife; like a threat.
The nagging voice inside him drowns in the heady sweetness of Cloud’s warm palms and breath. Then it claws back to the surface, and his eyes lock onto Cloud’s, pushing him away.
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” The slender fingers press dangerously near the heat of his groin. “I can pay for it. Don’t need a sugar daddy.”
Sephiroth picks up his hand by the wrist, like he’s removing an alabaster spider, letting out a sigh.
“You’re too young for me. You’re drunk. And it’ll get me fired.”
Cloud shrugs. “Not if neither of us tells.” Then he leans in closer. “You should really take the offer before I change my mind.”
He must be in his very early twenties, but twenty-year-olds look like babies to Sephiroth nowadays. Too immature and inexperienced. It doesn’t help that Cloud has the kind of face and gait that could easily be mistaken for that of a teenager.
Which only makes Sephiroth feel even guiltier about being so attracted to him. Like he’s some kind of dirty old pervert.
“You were in elementary school while I was writing my thesis.” Saying that for himself, mostly, to remember why it would be so wrong to give in.
Cloud leans back, stirring his drink. “So?” He takes a slow sip. “I like older men.”
At that moment, Sephiroth’s phone buzzes inside Cloud’s pocket. Pulling it out, Cloud peers at it curiously.
“Who’s Hojo?”
“No one.” Sephiroth holds a hand out, demanding it back. “No one important. Don’t answer it.”
Cloud hops off the stool, a mischievous smile curving onto his lips, holding the phone behind his back. “Tell you what. Let’s go somewhere more private first, then I’ll give it back to you.”
“Cloud,” he warns.
But he’s already wandering off, towards a glowing red exit sign, slipping inside a side stairwell, the metal door closing behind him.
Sephiroth sighs, throwing a few dollars as a tip on the bar before following after him.
The stairwell is lit by cold fluorescent lights, painted in gray and white, scuff marks on the walls. It’s meant for fire safety and staff, not the general public, so it’s utilitarian and grim.
One level down, Cloud’s leaning against the wall, looking like an angel of sin in his skintight black turtleneck and dark jeans.
He’s sucking on a lollipop, the red crimson staining his pout and tongue. “Whoever it was stopped calling.” Cloud holds the phone up, offering it.
Sephiroth slowly takes each step down towards him, dizzy, and it feels like a descent to somewhere he can’t come back from.
The smell of artificial cherries wafts into his face as he takes the phone back.
Then the taste is on his lips, warm and soft, cherry tongue snaking in, brushing against the textured top of his own.
“Please,” Cloud whispers into his mouth. “I need this, please.”
Sephiroth can’t stop himself. It tastes too sweet, even if it’s forbidden fruit.
They’re entangled for a few moments, wet smacks and soft moans, with Cloud standing up on his tiptoes and grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
“You’ll be the death of me,” Sephiroth murmurs as they kiss blindly, hoisting Cloud up against the wall.
It’s hard to tell what’s happening for a few moments, hands and limbs and lips becoming a lustful blur, and before he knows it, Cloud’s already on his knees, pulling down a zipper, tucking Sephiroth’s rock-hard cock into the heavenly warmth of his mouth.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
It doesn’t seem possible, but he gets even harder inside Cloud’s mouth, twitching against the roof of it and leaking across his lips.
They’re pouty and red and glossy with saliva and pre, tongue running along the underside of his cock, hypnotic doe eyes just as wet, the pupils black with desire.
Cloud runs his tongue around the edges at the head, sucking lightly on the tip as his lips pop off it with a loud, lewd smack. The cool air curls over his length briefly, sharp and unpleasant.
Then the sweet, comforting warmth envelops him again, a hot throbbing throat welcoming his tip; cheeks hollowing as soft, muffled moans come out of Cloud, like he’s enjoying a favorite gourmet meal.
Sephiroth hadn’t expected him to be particularly experienced. Or at all. But the way he’s pulsing inside Cloud’s mouth diverges sharply from whatever pre-conceived notions he’d had.
Cloud suckles on him like the lollipop he had been nursing earlier, licking with just the right pressure in the right places, and a shiver of unease runs through Sephiroth as another soft, pornographic moan floats up. Both from the liquid-hot pleasure it sends to his cock, and the anxiety that someone could potentially walk in on them.
This time, his cock’s sufficiently warmed after Cloud’s lips come off it. Strings of saliva connect from the head of his cock to Cloud’s reddened lips, like the glistening, intricate webs of a spider. It’s painfully beautiful to look at.
“Am I doing well?” Pretty blue eyes blink up at him, a thin desperation somewhere within them.
The desire to please him has Sephiroth’s erection jumping again, twitching across Cloud’s finely freckled cheek. Leaving a shiny trail of wetness against his flawless skin.
“Yes.” Sephiroth swallows, closing his eyes.
Hands brush the silky slacks along the sides of his thighs. “Tell me how good I am.”
He takes the narrow, pale chin in his hand, tilting it up. “Good boy. You’re a very good boy.”
A shiver of relief runs visibly through Cloud, as if those were the magic words he had been waiting to hear.
Cloud then continues running his tongue along the length, teasing the trembling solidity of it, drooling along the slit on the tip before occasionally taking him all the way to the root, glancing up as he does.
Good heavens. It’s as if he has no gag reflex at all.
The sight of it is obscene: his angelic, pretty face stuffed full with Sephiroth’s hard, flushed, pulsing cock; rubbing it along his slender nose and slim jaw as he runs his petite, rosy mouth along the sides of it.
“Yes,” he groans out unprompted as Cloud wraps his lips around the head again, sucking as he takes in the length, over and over. “Please, god, yes.” Tongue teasing along the contours of the head, flicking against the slit as his balls begin tightening, twitching from the impending climax.
Slender fingers grip the fabric behind his knees, and Sephiroth groans again as he starts coming, spilling into the sweet heat of Cloud’s welcoming throat. Spurt after spurt released as pleasure throbs through his cock, shooting strings of white lace onto the waiting, bright red, cherry-stained tongue.
Cloud swallows him greedily, as if he’d hate to waste a drop, cleaning the traces left behind on his length thoroughly before tucking him back in.
Rising to his feet, Cloud licks along his own lips with the tip of his candied tongue.
Then he tiptoes again, lips barely brushing against Sephiroth’s own. “Thank you,” he whispers onto them.
Sephiroth can’t sleep.
This was a transgression. One he can’t take back.
There’s something strangely off about Cloud. Pieces of a puzzle that look like they fit together, but they don’t. His head throbs too painfully to think about it much.
Red flags everywhere, if he’d bothered to count them.
As if he’s using those same marketing tactics that Sephiroth wrote about against him. Waiting for them to develop a rapport, build trust, before asking for something.
Dangling it in his face like a limited-time offer. Presenting himself as something completely different: a bait and switch.
No—no, he’s just trying to blame someone else for this, but Sephiroth has no one to blame but himself.
It’s not even something he knows how to address.
Worst of all, he can’t get it out of his mind. The exquisite pleasure of it. How it felt to have Cloud’s hot lips wrapped around him, coaxing out all the pent-up desire that’s been building up for weeks.
For whatever reason, he hasn’t sought out any partners lately, or indulged in any play. Something about it felt too empty.
The cold seeps into his bones, aches forming tiny cracks within him, with a restlessness that knows no relief.
On Monday, neither of them addresses the enormous elephant in the room.
Cloud behaves, strangely enough, as if none of it had happened. He carries on as he did before: this sort of neutrality that maintains a purely professional atmosphere.
Not even a lingering glance. Nothing that acknowledges or hints at what happened.
Perhaps it’s because he realizes that it was a huge mistake too.
Or had Cloud been so drunk that he doesn’t even remember much of that night?
The more they ignore it, though, the more a certain hollowness carves into Sephiroth’s insides, burrowing into him with small tunnels of despair.
Finally, on Friday, Sephiroth decides to bring it up while they’re grading tests.
“Can you close the door for a minute, Cloud?”
“Why?” He looks up at him, startled.
“I want to discuss something with you.”
“Sure, but can we leave the door open?”
Sephiroth always leaves it open during the semester anyway; it’s just the smart thing to do, given that he gets hit on by students every year, and that also discourages them from being too forward or inappropriate.
Cloud’s insistence on leaving the door open, however, makes him feel as if he’d been some kind of perpetrator.
But hadn’t Cloud been the one who pursued him, after however many times he’d tried to discourage it? Gotten down on his knees and dragged them over that line?
“That’s fine. I wanted to ask how you’re feeling about continuing this mentorship.”
“Is… there a problem?” A test squeaks loudly through the scanning machine, and Cloud catches it on the other side, not looking at him.
He’s one of the few professors who still insists on using paper tests. Too many students try to cheat otherwise.
“It’s very important that this remains a professional relationship,” Sephiroth says, the words coming out tense.
Cloud stops before feeding the next test into the machine, biting his lip. “Yes, of course.”
Sephiroth sighs. He should’ve never been drinking with a student in the first place, and needs to take responsibility for that. But he can’t undo what he had allowed to happen.
“So it might be better for us to maintain some distance.”
“Oh.”
On the off-chance that someone in the adjacent offices might overhear, Sephiroth tries to keep it vague.
Perhaps it’s more that he can’t bring himself to say it.
“I’m sorry for not establishing better boundaries. And I’d like to, going forward, if you still want to continue with assisting me.”
Cloud feeds another test in. “Yeah. Sure.” Brows knitted together. His expression is tinted with discomfort. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”
Sephiroth’s heart aches strangely.
“You haven’t bothered me,” Sephiroth says, lips pressing together. “It’s not anything you did. The circumstances don’t work, that’s all. And I think it’s what would be best for everyone.”
“Right.” Cloud’s head dips, pretty blond locks obscuring his eyes. “I’m not… feeling very well. I think I’m gonna go home for the day.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Everything inside him aches. “Please feel better soon.”
He leaves abruptly without looking back, taking his belongings, and Sephiroth’s chest tightens at the sight of him walking off.
It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? Given what’s already transpired, it’s the best he can do at this point.
Perhaps it’s unkind of him, but Sephiroth can see no good ending to continuing down this road. For either of them.
Like snipping the bud of a poisonous vine, before it all becomes too tangled, choking the life out of everything in its path.
The following week floats by like an overcast day: all the sunlight hidden behind a gray barrier.
Cloud doesn’t show up for lunches anymore, and he speaks less than usual.
It was only fairly recently that he had become much more talkative; but now, whenever Sephiroth asks anything, it’s as if he tries to reply with as few words as possible. Or asks questions of his own only when absolutely necessary.
If it’s the right thing to do, then why does it feel so miserable for them both?
After Thursday’s class, Sephiroth asks him to stay behind.
“Would you like to go somewhere for lunch?”
Cloud stares at him. “Thought you told me to keep my distance.”
“I didn’t mean that you couldn’t come by for lunch.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Sephiroth sighs, folding his arms. “I do enjoy your company, Cloud. I just don’t want to encourage things that… shouldn’t happen.”
Cloud scuffs the floor with his sneakers, face faintly flushed, eyes focused on the ground. “Right. Sure.”
“So would you like to go somewhere for lunch?”
“I’m not feeling very hungry,” he says, a note of sadness slipping into his tone. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”
Before Sephiroth can reply, he’s already out the door, like he couldn’t wait to get away from him.
Sighing, he watches as Cloud’s silhouette, dark against the afternoon sun, disappears down the halls.