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Tseng always wore his suit.
In that strange, quieter time between the end of the world and the appearance of Kadaj however, it was Reno that first gave his up. He always kept it on hand, if needed, if out on business. But he had taken to wearing his own clothes when at Healen, which was much more often than not in those days.
Rude didn't hang his suit up nearly as much, but after a few months of sharing one of the only rooms with Reno that had working heat, even he would slouch around in more casual attire that drew less attention to him. The suit had always made him look bigger than he already was (which was pretty damn big); and even though he still stood up straight, still called Rufus "sir" at all times, something was different.
And although Elena still wore hers, she did remove her jacket more often, her white shirt no longer starched, no longer pristine--undid a few buttons and let Reno and Rude show her what it would have been like if they were still in Midgar, if she had been a Turk for longer than a few months. They'd go into Edge and take shots--both from the people and the alcohol. The Turks commanded less fear now that their city had been obliterated, regardless of the monument being constructed right outside.
And Elena couldn't stand it at Healen after a while. None of them could; because they had chosen to stay, and would never change their minds, and (nearly) everyone needed a slice of escape.
When Rufus asked about Elena, the most visibly changed since Meteor, Tseng told him the truth: She can't look at you like this.
Tseng never pulled punches. He was strategic or blunt, but never tactful. And after everything that had happened, he was rarely strategic these days; at least not with Rufus.
"So she goes out and drinks?" Rufus asked, staring at Tseng. It wasn't a disapproving look so much as surprised.
Rufus's sideways gaze from where he was lying in bed met Tseng's, just one bright blue eye, the other covered with a bandage.
"Call it team building."
Tseng was sitting on a chair next to him, wearing the suit that the others had put away. That impeccably pressed, neat blue suit; as he had always, and probably always would. He had worn a suit through his own near-death, through the apocalypse, and, Rufus suspected, would probably die in it.
"How is your eye?" Tseng asked.
Rufus just snorted. "The same. Help me change it?"
"Yes," Tseng said, standing up and retrieving the medical scissors. "Of course."
When Rufus said, "help me," of course, it actually meant, "please do it." He couldn't do it himself; he couldn't even see out of one of his eyes, and could barely walk at that point.
Tseng gingerly cut off the medical tape and bandages that were wrapped around Rufus's head and pulled them away. He looked at Rufus's bad eye--swollen, dark, the blue iris completely eclipsed by stigma.
"Painful today?" he asked, unwinding a fresh roll of gauze and tape.
"No," Rufus said, relief present in his voice. He didn't say anything else, watching Tseng with that one eye, and rolled onto his back.
Tseng helped him lift his head and wrapped the gauze around him, taped up his eye again until there were just white, fresh bandages. The tape had a distinct smell, as did the gauze. In the future, Tseng would rather spend a hot day in a room with a rotting corpse than have the stench of medical tape burning in his nose.
Rufus pushed down the sheets where he was lying. He hadn't felt well enough to get up at all that day, and it was well into the afternoon hours. His legs twitched and he let out a tired sigh.
Tseng looked over his naked body slowly, let his eyes run down along each curve and plane and outline of bone, looking for new marks; he was relieved to find none.
"Nothing new," he said, and helped Rufus roll onto his side to look at his back. Nothing there either.
"What do I look like?" Rufus asked suddenly, rolling himself onto his back again and staring at Tseng, his eye luminous and wide.
"What do you mean?" Tseng asked, frowning slightly.
"Help me walk over to the mirror," Rufus ordered, his voice cold and finite. Tseng didn't argue.
He looped his arm under Rufus's shoulders, a little too bony for his liking, helped him to sit up, and they walked slowly over to the only mirror in the room. Rufus leaned his full weight against Tseng's slightly broader frame, and his hair brushed against Tseng's cheek.
"So that's me," he said tonelessly, staring at himself in the mirror.
"You've seen it before," Tseng reasoned, staring at their reflections.
"Yes," Rufus said. "I keep thinking it will be different."
"Why?" Tseng asked, turning his eyes away.
"I don't know," Rufus replied without a trace of self-pity. "I have dreams about what I used to look like."
"You did spend a fair amount of time checking your appearance in mirrors when you were a teenager," Tseng said diplomatically, but there was a faint note of humor in his voice.
Rufus laughed low in his throat. "Maybe the reason why I dream in color."
His hair looked the same, so Tseng stared at that. He washed it for him every day, pushed it into place exactly as Rufus always had, arranged his appearance exactly as he last remembered Rufus--before the explosions, and the stigma.
"You're not looking at me," came the calm voice. "I am repulsive, I admit."
Tseng shook his head. "You should know by now, sir, that it has nothing to do with repulsion."
"You're remembering too," Rufus guessed, his arm tightening around Tseng's shoulders where he was leaning, "what I looked like before."
"Yes," Tseng admitted.
"I dream about the past," he said quietly, and looked at the ground; there was a small, self-deprecating smile on his face. "And every day, I see..." he motioned weakly at his own reflection, "...this."
"Come," Tseng said, turning them around and back toward the bed. "It's better if you rest for today." You're tired, Rufus.
Rufus growled deep in his throat, but didn't argue; just let Tseng guide him back to that accursed bed with its dark blue sheets. After his diagnosis, Rufus had one request: no more white sheets. Even so, he hadn't given up his suit, since he only stained the inside of it.
Tseng helped him lie down again and paused when he inhaled sharply.
"Pain?" he asked.
"No," Rufus said quietly. "I don't remember."
"What do you mean?" Tseng asked, his eyebrows raising.
"I don't remember anymore, Tseng," and Rufus turned his gaze toward Tseng. He had something like fear in his face, fear in every crook and slope of his body, living there all at once like a dark shadow.
"Remember what?"
"What I looked like," he said quietly, staring up at Tseng. "What my body looked like before."
Tseng stilled for a moment, looking down over Rufus's skin, the dark splotches, the remains of burns, and then back at his face, the white bandages around his head, his eye blinded by a plague sent to the world as a terrible retribution. But Tseng didn't believe in karma or retribution, so in his most private moments, he allowed himself to be angry.
Rufus was still staring at him, and finally caught his breath, controlled his gaze and fought his own panic back down into the depths of his mind, regained the cool, unaffected expression that was usually on his face.
Tseng still stared at him though, and even as Rufus forced himself to relax, he stared back.
Tseng slowly unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off, slung it over a nearby table; then the heavy thud of two guns and the clink of a holster. His shirt, untucked, slowly parted. Rufus's eyes were fixed on his fingers as the white, pearl buttons were smoothly unfastened.
Tseng said nothing, and Rufus didn't ask any questions. Just continued to watch as Tseng unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, toed off his shoes and then dropped everything to the floor until he was naked, standing in front of Rufus.
"This is what it looks like," he said quietly.
It was the first body without stigma that Rufus had seen since he nearly burned to death in his own office. He stared at the planes of Tseng's chest, his hips, the strong shoulders and taut stomach, legs, and then at his ankles. He stared at his ankles for what seemed like a long time, the only part of Tseng that might have been delicate, the way his legs curved in and then tapered to a slimmer shape; smooth lines.
"Turn around," Rufus said.
Tseng didn't question the request and simply turned around.
His back was smooth--just muscles and spine hidden by body except for the slightest grooves, as it was supposed to be. Rufus's gaze traveled down to Tseng's ass, his thighs. The shape of him, familiar, like nothing else in this new world. Rufus breathed in sharply.
"Come here," he said quietly, his eyes focused on Tseng's skin.
Tseng walked up to the edge of the bed and stood next to it, watching Rufus watch him. Rufus reached out to touch, running his fingertips lightly over Tseng's hips, up to his stomach and back down again.
"Spread your legs," he whispered. Tseng did as requested; Rufus ran his fingers along Tseng's inner thigh, his fingertips skimming over unmarred smooth skin, delicate.
"What does it feel like?" Rufus finally asked, withdrawing his hand and tucking it back safely under the sheets.
Tseng just looked down at him, and their eyes met. He bent forward and gingerly pulled the sheet down again, looked at Rufus's body.
"Like this," Tseng replied. He sat down on the edge of the bed and lightly trailed his fingertips over Rufus's neck, down to his chest. Rufus sighed quietly and closed his eyes as Tseng touched him.
"Do I feel the same?" he asked, an edge to his voice, breathing in deeply.
Tseng's answer was to lean further forward, letting his hand rest against Rufus's side and kiss him lightly on the mouth. He withdrew and then climbed in next to him, under the sheets, laid down on his side. Rufus turned to look at him, and their eyes met.
"Did you ever think things would end up this way?" Rufus asked after a moment of silence.
Tseng just shook his head, a small, bittersweet smile on his face. "I plan for all contingencies," he stated. "But I didn't plan for this."
"You knew something was wrong, didn't you?" Rufus asked carefully, not breaking their gaze. "After Sephiroth nearly killed you... You knew."
"Yes," Tseng acknowledged softly.
"I thought you were dead," Rufus said, his voice neutral. Then he shook his head slightly. "Even if you had been there, I wouldn't have listened anyway."
Tseng nodded in agreement. "Ruling the world through fear," he said, raising an eyebrow, "is ineffective."
Rufus made a short noise that sounded like a laugh. "A child's game. It seems so long ago now."
"Only a few years," Tseng noted, studying Rufus. "And yet..."
"Here we are," Rufus said softly. "Here I am." He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "When I am well, Tseng," he said resolutely, confident, "I won't rule the world through fear."
"Then how?" Tseng asked, curious.
"I won't rule the world at all," he said. "My world is dead. My city is--" His voice caught in his throat; he was simply unable, or unwilling, to finish his sentence.
After a moment of silence though, he did. "My city is ruined," he whispered, and gave a cold little smile, "like me."
"I've seen city-states fall," Tseng replied after a moment, and Rufus could see the tendons tighten ever so slightly in his neck. "And survive."
Rufus's eyebrows raised; Tseng rarely referenced his past.
"Edge," he replied, but his voice was careful. "The tourist destination of the ruins of Midgar?"
Tseng didn't answer; his entire body was tense.
"It was a question, Tseng," he added quietly.
"No," Tseng finally answered, "a city that, like all things, recycles itself."
"And so what am I?" Rufus said quietly.
"Changed," Tseng answered.
"How? Under construction, or on my death bed?" Rufus replied.
"I don't know," was Tseng's honest answer.
"Say under construction. It sounds better."
Tseng laughed a little at Rufus's response, and Rufus watched Tseng's throat move, his ribs expand as he breathed. Healthy skin there; scarred, but alive. Rufus reached out at the same time Tseng shifted forward, pressed the length of his body against Rufus's, and rested a hand on his hip.
"Am I still warm?" Rufus asked, shuddering finally.
"Yes," Tseng breathed.
Rufus pressed his face against Tseng's chest, and shook his head slightly. "I can't see through one eye," he whispered. "I feel like my skin is constantly burning. It feels like I'm burning again."
Tseng let Rufus hide there against him; he pushed his face into fine blond hair and just breathed. And then Rufus was kissing his chest, making small noises, wrapping his arm around Tseng's waist. Tseng just arched his back slightly and pulled their hips together. They both moaned, quietly, a word or two lost in the folds of fabric.
And then Rufus pulled away abruptly, painstakingly sliding his body backwards, forcing it to do what he wanted. He pulled the sheet up over himself protectively, regardless that Tseng was underneath of it with him.
"Like a shroud," he said finally, not looking at Tseng. "How fitting."
Tseng followed and pulled him close again, slid his hand down to Rufus's ass and just let it rest there. Rufus let out a small sound and his eyes slid shut; then responded and pressed his hips forward against Tseng's again. Tseng leaned forward and bit at Rufus's bottom lip. Rufus caught him in a kiss, his tongue exploring Tseng's mouth urgently; it had been a long time.
"Take this fucking bandage off of my eye," Rufus said softly. "Let me feel like I can actually see you."
The new bandage came off, the tape and gauze cut through again as Tseng reached for the scissors in the bedside table, until it was only Rufus's face again. His eye, black, as if he'd been punched, his iris gone, the white dark; a black inky well.
Tseng pulled back to look at him, looked into both of his eyes as if they worked. Rufus stared back, and Tseng ran the thumb of his free hand gently over the cheekbone on the bad side.
"Short-sighted," Rufus whispered. "What you always thought I was."
"No," Tseng corrected him, "just young."
"Am I young now?"
"Yes," Tseng replied, not retracting his hand. He smoothed it down Rufus's cheek to his lips, running his thumb over the lower one; warm breath.
"Am I dying?" Rufus asked.
"Yes," Tseng said, not breaking their gaze. His fingers tensed against Rufus's mouth; he could feel the heavy exhalation and then Rufus's body relax.
"When you first got to Midgar," Rufus said in a near whisper, "what did it look like?"
"Cold," Tseng replied. "Under construction."
"And since it's died," he continued, "what does it look like?" Rufus hadn't seen what Tseng had after Meteor.
"Dead," he replied, smoothing his hand down to Rufus's shoulder. "Broken buildings...skeletal." He kept going and splayed his palm over Rufus's ribs, reveling at the subtle movement as Rufus breathed. Tseng folded the memory into himself.
"But green," Tseng continued, and Rufus looked up at him sharply, not expecting the words. "There are things growing, wrapping around the buildings."
"Green?" Rufus asked.
"Yes," Tseng said, closing his eyes, reaching his fingers up finally to tangle in Rufus's hair, twining in the smooth familiar texture.
"Alive," Rufus breathed, his body going limp in Tseng's embrace.
"Yes," Tseng said, "yes."