Chapter Text
“Gen!”
The voice of a man broke out like a thunder on that clear summer day. The sun was warm, not punishing, and a light breeze made the day as pleasant as a late spring, and the afternoon had fallen quite and still a couple of hours after lunchtime. Except for…
“GEN!” Harder, louder, the voice was now no further than a few steps away “Where did that unruly girl get to? GENNY!”
A small branch snapped with a dry sound and the shouting man, now calm, stopped beside him, barely noticing his presence at first: “Angeal,” it was more a statement than a proper greeting.
The sitting boy lifted his gaze upon the standing man, his left hand shielding his dark eyes from the sun “Good afternoon Mr Rhapsodos. Taking a stroll, sir?” his tone wasn’t quite as sarcastic as he wanted it to be, but he has never been really good at challenging authority: that was Gen’s job.
“Is my daughter here with you?” he asked: he sounded more exhausted than threatening, Angeal noticed, “did you see her?”
“No sir” Angeal replied dryly “not here”.
Mr Rhapsodos muttered absently, not even looking at him anymore: “if you see her…” his words hung in the air, unheard.
“Sir”.
“Angeal”.
The man left faster than he had come. Angeal let out a sigh: “Gen, all clear”.
A slender figure emerged from a tangle of branches, stumbling and grumbling: “I’m sick of it.” Angeal pulled himself up and held out both hands to help his struggling friend; Gen grabbed them and managed to get free from the bush.
“You’re bleeding, Gen,” Angeal snorted, examining a pale wrist, “again”.
“Shut up”.
They plopped on the grass side by side; Angeal wasn’t letting the topic drop: “Gen, you cut yourself in there”.
“Fine!” Gen practically threw the bleeding wrist into his lap, eyes rolling back in frustration. Angeal trailed a finger along the wound, a delicate touch that drew an hiss nonetheless; he instinctively brought it to the mouth and slightly sucked away a drop of already coagulating blood, then he turned it around and left a swift kiss on the back of the hand: “you will survive!”
“Fuck off”.
Their backs hit the ground at the same moment: Angeal was still holding Gen’s wrist in his hand, and wasn’t quite ready to let go.
“I mean it: I’m sick of it”.
“I know”.
“I said I mean it”.
“Yeah, I get it”.
“No, you don’t. I’m coming with you”.
Angeal sighed, deeply: “Gen, you know you can’t”.
“Why the fuck not?” all of a sudden it wasn’t a human voice anymore, not the velvety and soothing one he knew, but more like a wounded beast’s cry.
“Gen, because you’re a…”
“The fuck I am!” Gen jumped on two feet “I’m of age! I’m strong enough! And… and…” the voice was human again, much more human than before, “we have to stick together, Angeal. I need it. Please”.
Angeal got to his feet too. He pulled his friend into a messy embrace, his hands dipping into those auburn locks that cascade along Gen’s back like silk. The contact with soft breasts against his chest was unexpected, almost shocking. For both of them. Sighs became whimpers, then the tears came.
“Genesis…” Angeal realised that, if the right words existed, he didn't know them.
“Genny! Genny, please come back!” the voice came first -a distressed female voice, then the panting and the running footsteps. A hand emerged from the darkness and grasped his own: “Run, Angeal, run!”. He somehow had no choice but to comply with the command, the screams of Gen’s mother following them in the night.
“My daughter is running away!”
“You have no daughter, woman,” Genesis laughed between heavy breaths.
They ran all along the tree-lined avenue, gravel crushing under their feet, until the dumbapples trunks were no longer shielding them from the starry sky; and they ran on until there was no more road to run on, the river blocking their way. Folded in two, hands on their knees, neither unable to speak or catch their breath, they stopped.
“Genesis,” Angeal exhaled firmy, “mind to tell me what have you done this time?”
Genesis ignored the question and burst out laughing hysterically: “she put me in a dress! A dress, Angeal! She actually paid someone -paid, Angeal!- to do my hair like that! And she actually expected me to show up in front of everyone like this!”
Angeal inspected the attire, a long, delicate dress the colour of cherry blossoms; Genesis’s red hair, pulled back into a soft bun, looked brown in the cold moonlight. His heart skipped a beat or two: “Gen…” you look stunning he wanted to say, “it’s not so bad…”
Genesis laughed again, “it’s not me”.
Angeal watched his friend peel away the dress from the skin like a scab, lifting it over the head and tossing it onto the damp grass, and tugging at the hairstyle carefully searching for pins; a luscious waterfall of hair poured down on bare shoulders. Angeal tried his best not to let his eyes dwell on the small, pale, naked figure in front of him, but he was actually curious: Genesis, now stripped in front of him, didn’t look any different from the other girls he used to spy on with his male friends down by the riverbend, but in a way it felt different. He felt different, stripped himself of the same tender shame he used to feel during those bravados and suddenly filled up with a sense of pride and camaraderie, as if they had just shared a secret.
“This is me!” Genesis cheered, “Now hand me your shirt”.
Angeal’s smug expression darkened into a serious look: “Gen, I can’t go back without my shirt”.
“Well, I can’t go back like this!”
“Of course not”.
“Let’s share some clothes, then!”
Angeal sighed: “Gen, you know how it would look like…”
“No, I don’t”.
“The son of a peasant and the daughter of the beloved landlord”.
“And…?”
“Genesis”.
“Angeal”.
“What about my honour?”
“You’re the one who’s about to take mine, poor, poor, helpless Genesis Rhapsodos, violated by a rude scoundrel on the night of her fourteenth birthday! Who’s gonna touch her now? Who’s gonna marry her? Look at you, talking about your precious honour in a moment like this!” Genesis recited, both hands over the heart.
Angeal snorted, half amused, half frustrated.
“You saved me, silly!”
“Saved you”.
“Of course! This reckless creature fell into the river and you jumped, regardless of the danger, to retrieve her from the merciless waves”.
Angeal clapped sarcastically: “nice try, but we’re both dry as a bone”.
“We can take care of that,” swift hands crushed on his chest, throwing him off balance towards the water: they both fell into the river, Genesis laughter echoing in the night.
***
Genesis’s parents eventually gave up. How could they not? They knew that untameable daughter of theirs would have left, with or without their blessing: by the time they finally gave consent, Genesis had been planning an escape for two weeks, with Angeal silent complicity. Their daily outings to the river became a series of intrigues and skinny dipping which seemed to entertain Genesis as much as they terrified Angeal: the former was determined to irritate Banora’s elite as much as possible, the latter wanted to avoid the biggest scandal the village had ever seen just a few weeks before his -their- departure.
That’s how they spent their last days under Banora’s sky, laying side by side, naked, silently holding hands and watching the clouds pass by; sometimes Genesis catched Angeal covertly spying on a particularly enticing spot of skin, but didn’t say a word about it: it was a mutual exchange of discreet glances that both parts were silently agreeing to keep a secret.
They also stood hand in hand on the day of their departure. They didn’t care what they looked like -siblings, friends, lovers- they just stood there, in front of their parents, hoping for a last piece of advice or a last kiss.
Gillian, Angeal’s mother, had helped them out with arrangements, giving each of them a pair of clean trousers and a shirt and tying Genesis’s flaming hair into a ponytail: “it’s safer that way”. Neither of them had protested.
“I’m cutting it off as soon as I’m out of mother’s sight anyway,” Genesis had announced, “just like Sephiroth’s”.
“It’s a pity, dear: lots of heroes keep their hair long… maybe you could grow yours out too, sweetheart,” Gillian had replied, running a hand through Angeal’s black hair. The boy had grunted, but leaned into his mother’s touch, thinking that could be the last one for a long time, “you could make it a SOLDIER thing! You both and Sephiroth, fending off enemies with manes as long as your swords!”
They all had laughed for the last time before their farewell.
Facing Genesis’s parents too was another matter altogether. Mrs Rhapsodos was crying her eyes out, dabbing her whole face with her best embroidered handkerchief, not deigning them of a single glance. The landlord, on the other hand, looked down at them disapprovingly, glancing at their entwined hands as something filthy.
Mr Rhapsodos looked Angeal dead straight in the eye, maybe for the first time in his life: “will you protect my daughter, young man?”
Angeal felt the grip on his hand tighten. Something between pride and anger stirred into his chest, stronger than shame or reputation: in that exact moment he realised that the honour of his loved ones was just as much important as his own.
Without hesitation he tugged at the hand clasped in his and kissed Genesis, his lips as tight as his eyes. There was nothing tender, or sweet in their contact: it was a hard clash, like swords crossing in battle. And yet Genesis melted into his kiss, smiling victoriously against his lips, savouring the silent promise he was preaching between their mouths.
“He doesn’t need my protection, sir. But yes, I will never leave his side,” Angeal said.