Nice Hair - Sephiroth - PG
Title: Nice Hair
Rating: PG for Zack's dirty mouth
Fandom/Pairing: Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth and Zack, B.Y.O.Subtext
Word Count: 988
Summary: I always wondered how Sephiroth's hair got that way, it's got that odd look of hair that's just been grown out from some other style. Also, the man's got mad cowlicks. Anyways, this is a fic about his hair. And Zack.
Disclaimer: SquareEnix owns it all, even my soul. I made no money from this.
Warnings: Possible spoilers for the game.
It was the second time he’d come in for the treatment. Only a week had past since he’d come into the ranks. His uniform still hadn’t been washed once, but it had collected enough body sweat to smell comfortable even if the sweater part of it still itched him like madness. And whose genius idea were these pants anway? They were the most useless, poofy things he’d ever worn.
But he was a SOLDIER and not even his general unease about needles and medical waivers and words like “experimental” on his health insurance contract could ruin that.
So here he was. Early, even, which was like… a sign of the end times, or something.
There was a boy in the lab already, a pink mark around his forearm where there had been a rubber tie. He flexed his gloved hands carefully, staring at the inside of his arm where there was probably a little vampire bite from the needle. The doctor, well, the professor really, turned away, and the boy turned his head to follow.
Zack stifled a chuckle in his hand, noticing the similarity in their facial structures, and their jerky birdlike movements. So the dear old doctor had a kid in the military. How weird. The kid slid off the table with amazing grace and walked past Zack like he was nothing.
Zack went up to the table, shouting behind him. “Nice hair!”
The boy turned smoothly on one heel. Zack wondered for a second why he was being glared at, had to hold in another snicker at the fact that the boy had floppy cowlicked bangs instead of the doctor’s odd whisps. The boy’s hair was even worse than the doctor’s, though it was an obvious copy down to the escaping bangs and the smooth pony tail down the back.
“What did you say?” the boy asked, a smooth tone that seemed like it wanted to be a snarl.
“I like your hair style,” Zack repeated. He winced as the good doctor pulled the rubber tubing too tight around his bicep. Zack flexed his muscles instinctively.
“Don’t do that,” the doctor murmured in his ear. Somehow Zack could smell acid on the doctor’s breath, from here even, the sick smell that mouths took on when a man was starving. Zack had tasted it in his own mouth when things got scarce, knew the scent from when his little sister, his precious baby sister had died of pneumonia. Near the end he knew she’d been starving. The smell and the words and the closeness sent shivers up his spine. He smiled harder at the boy.
The boy turned and walked away, though he acted like he wanted to still be glaring at Zack. Zack wondered idly why the boy’s hair was white, but his obviously old relative of some sort, the doctor’s wasn’t. He waved at the boy’s turned back.
“Don’t move,” the doctor hissed as he jabbed that long thick needle into Zack’s willing vein. Zack watched with a kind of awe as the green liquid entered his body, watched the glow underneath his skin.
Later that day he realized in dawning horror that the boy on the table, the one whose hair style he’d treated with such sarcastic deference was the fucking Zack-you’re-such-a-moron General. Oh, yeah, that was real smooth. Zack resisted the urge to beat his skull in with his shiny new SOLDIER regulation buster sword.
In a few years, in a cold, insufficient tent with the General, who he now mostly called by his first name and sometimes by a really demeaning nickname like “Kitten” or “Boy” after making causality reports and then collapsing without invitation on Sephiroth’s bedroll, Zack didn’t really remember that moment.
But he had noticed that Sephiroth’s hair had gotten damn long, his bangs able to cover his whole face, his hair licking at his waistband. He was very certain that wasn’t regulation. He’s let his hair feather to his neckline and he’d gotten fucking KP for it. But Sephiroth was the General, which was somehow a whole other level from just SOLDIER first class. Anyway, maybe it was something that happened just because it was Sephiroth. There were a shocking number of things like that. Zack dared to ask.
“Why is your hair so damn long?” he barked. “Enemy’s gonna capture you and mistake you for some tag along woman.” Sephiroth turned on him, coldly.
“I thought you liked it,” he said, his voice totally flat.
“Huh?” Zack let his face contort to match his confusion. Sephiroth laughed for a moment, that rich dry sound.
“When you first enlisted, when we first met,” Sephiroth said, conjuring up fuzzy memories. “You told me you liked it.”
Suddenly, Zack remembered. He felt like a total dipshit too, because, oh man, he’d been sarcastic about that. Oops. Now the man had been growing it out, for him, for Zack. Nobody had ever grown their hair out for him before. He’d left home before girls were even willing to change their appearance for him, or at least, him out of all the other boys around. Not even his girl back in Midgar did stuff like that for him, she was way too independent for something like that.
“That was the first thing anyone ever liked about me,” Sephiroth explained, turning back to his paper work.
Zack lay on the bed roll, suddenly cold, wet, itchy, and in pain. Oh, man, oh man. What was he supposed to do with that little tidbit of information? It was so raw and personal he couldn’t just ignore it like Sephiroth was so willing to. It just wasn’t right.
“I do like it. I like it even more like that,” he said, over the pounding rain. “Maybe someday I’ll grow my hair out too.”
“If we live that long, Zack.” The General murmured, somehow Zack could hear him. “I hope we live that long.”
Rating: PG for Zack's dirty mouth
Fandom/Pairing: Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth and Zack, B.Y.O.Subtext
Word Count: 988
Summary: I always wondered how Sephiroth's hair got that way, it's got that odd look of hair that's just been grown out from some other style. Also, the man's got mad cowlicks. Anyways, this is a fic about his hair. And Zack.
Disclaimer: SquareEnix owns it all, even my soul. I made no money from this.
Warnings: Possible spoilers for the game.
It was the second time he’d come in for the treatment. Only a week had past since he’d come into the ranks. His uniform still hadn’t been washed once, but it had collected enough body sweat to smell comfortable even if the sweater part of it still itched him like madness. And whose genius idea were these pants anway? They were the most useless, poofy things he’d ever worn.
But he was a SOLDIER and not even his general unease about needles and medical waivers and words like “experimental” on his health insurance contract could ruin that.
So here he was. Early, even, which was like… a sign of the end times, or something.
There was a boy in the lab already, a pink mark around his forearm where there had been a rubber tie. He flexed his gloved hands carefully, staring at the inside of his arm where there was probably a little vampire bite from the needle. The doctor, well, the professor really, turned away, and the boy turned his head to follow.
Zack stifled a chuckle in his hand, noticing the similarity in their facial structures, and their jerky birdlike movements. So the dear old doctor had a kid in the military. How weird. The kid slid off the table with amazing grace and walked past Zack like he was nothing.
Zack went up to the table, shouting behind him. “Nice hair!”
The boy turned smoothly on one heel. Zack wondered for a second why he was being glared at, had to hold in another snicker at the fact that the boy had floppy cowlicked bangs instead of the doctor’s odd whisps. The boy’s hair was even worse than the doctor’s, though it was an obvious copy down to the escaping bangs and the smooth pony tail down the back.
“What did you say?” the boy asked, a smooth tone that seemed like it wanted to be a snarl.
“I like your hair style,” Zack repeated. He winced as the good doctor pulled the rubber tubing too tight around his bicep. Zack flexed his muscles instinctively.
“Don’t do that,” the doctor murmured in his ear. Somehow Zack could smell acid on the doctor’s breath, from here even, the sick smell that mouths took on when a man was starving. Zack had tasted it in his own mouth when things got scarce, knew the scent from when his little sister, his precious baby sister had died of pneumonia. Near the end he knew she’d been starving. The smell and the words and the closeness sent shivers up his spine. He smiled harder at the boy.
The boy turned and walked away, though he acted like he wanted to still be glaring at Zack. Zack wondered idly why the boy’s hair was white, but his obviously old relative of some sort, the doctor’s wasn’t. He waved at the boy’s turned back.
“Don’t move,” the doctor hissed as he jabbed that long thick needle into Zack’s willing vein. Zack watched with a kind of awe as the green liquid entered his body, watched the glow underneath his skin.
Later that day he realized in dawning horror that the boy on the table, the one whose hair style he’d treated with such sarcastic deference was the fucking Zack-you’re-such-a-moron General. Oh, yeah, that was real smooth. Zack resisted the urge to beat his skull in with his shiny new SOLDIER regulation buster sword.
In a few years, in a cold, insufficient tent with the General, who he now mostly called by his first name and sometimes by a really demeaning nickname like “Kitten” or “Boy” after making causality reports and then collapsing without invitation on Sephiroth’s bedroll, Zack didn’t really remember that moment.
But he had noticed that Sephiroth’s hair had gotten damn long, his bangs able to cover his whole face, his hair licking at his waistband. He was very certain that wasn’t regulation. He’s let his hair feather to his neckline and he’d gotten fucking KP for it. But Sephiroth was the General, which was somehow a whole other level from just SOLDIER first class. Anyway, maybe it was something that happened just because it was Sephiroth. There were a shocking number of things like that. Zack dared to ask.
“Why is your hair so damn long?” he barked. “Enemy’s gonna capture you and mistake you for some tag along woman.” Sephiroth turned on him, coldly.
“I thought you liked it,” he said, his voice totally flat.
“Huh?” Zack let his face contort to match his confusion. Sephiroth laughed for a moment, that rich dry sound.
“When you first enlisted, when we first met,” Sephiroth said, conjuring up fuzzy memories. “You told me you liked it.”
Suddenly, Zack remembered. He felt like a total dipshit too, because, oh man, he’d been sarcastic about that. Oops. Now the man had been growing it out, for him, for Zack. Nobody had ever grown their hair out for him before. He’d left home before girls were even willing to change their appearance for him, or at least, him out of all the other boys around. Not even his girl back in Midgar did stuff like that for him, she was way too independent for something like that.
“That was the first thing anyone ever liked about me,” Sephiroth explained, turning back to his paper work.
Zack lay on the bed roll, suddenly cold, wet, itchy, and in pain. Oh, man, oh man. What was he supposed to do with that little tidbit of information? It was so raw and personal he couldn’t just ignore it like Sephiroth was so willing to. It just wasn’t right.
“I do like it. I like it even more like that,” he said, over the pounding rain. “Maybe someday I’ll grow my hair out too.”
“If we live that long, Zack.” The General murmured, somehow Zack could hear him. “I hope we live that long.”