fic_variations Prompt/Claim: Love & Hate, Time: FFVII
Spoilers: the core game and Crisis Core
Warnings: Character death and slash
Author's Notes: None.
It had taken him a few short days before he realized he had fallen in love with Sephiroth. As crazy as he knew it sounded, it was probably the easiest thing to have figured out. It wasn’t even hard to figure out why he had fallen in love with Sephiroth: he was everything that a SOLDIER should be. He was smart and strong and inhumanly beautiful. Zack knew that he was the kind of guy it was almost impossible not to love.
He had kept his obsession with the silver-haired man to himself, afraid that Sephiroth would resent him for it. But when he was almost positive the man wasn’t looking he would cast glances at him, secretly wishing that he could reveal his obsession for the entire world to know. Or at least for the object of his affection to know. Either one of them would have satisfied him.
He knew that loving him was like loving the night. It was a senseless and pointless love that would never end in anything. It was more of adoration than anything, and adoration wasn’t the healthiest of things, but that was all he could focus on. Sephiroth was his night, his illusive dream. Out of his reach, unable to be touched.
But knowing it was pointless didn’t squelch his hunger for the light-haired man. It didn’t dwindle even the slightest, but instead grew into a raging fire that threatened to spill forth from his fingertips and burn anything that he made contact with. It grew to the point that even when he touched himself the fire danced across his skin, licking him with heat.
It had only taken him a few short seconds to hate him, and though he marveled at how quickly he could change his mind it didn’t bother him that he did. It had taken a few small movements, a swipe of his sword, a spark of fire. A fire so similar to the one that had burned within him for the very man he now loathed.
The heat that once flowed through his veins at the very thought of Sephiroth had turned to ice, clotting his veins so he felt like he couldn’t breathe or move. Smoke blocked his vision, and blocked his mind, but it didn’t matter. His senses had all failed him, and all betrayed him at once: the heat of the flames licking along his skin, the smell of burning wood and scorching flesh, the screams that could make his flesh crawl, the smoke stinging the eyes until water flowed down his cheeks. Not tears, he swore. Or if they were, he insisted they were tears of rage.
He contemplated how easily he had fallen in love and how easy it had turned to hate, lying in the mud, feeling his own blood coat his skin in a sticky, thick film. He wondered if there had ever been a way he could have prevented the very event that caused his love to turn to hate, wondered if perhaps Sephiroth had known he wouldn’t have done what he did.
Closing his eyes he decided it wasn’t important. He had a date with the darkness now.
And perhaps then, he would see his night again.