#gengealweek

The stars were laid out above Banora like twinkling diamonds amongst black silk.

Genesis sat cross-legged on the trunk of a toppled apple tree. Loveless was unopened beside him. The spine was worn from a thousand readings. But for once, the book remained untouched. When was the last time, he had read Loveless?

His gaze was not on poetry tonight. It was on Angeal: a man who wormed his way into his heart.

Below him, near the soft curve of the riverbank, Angeal was working to stack stones: idly, without purpose, the way he sometimes did when his hands needed to move and his mind needed to rest. The Buster Sword lay nearby, gleaming faintly under the stars, and abandoned without fear. This was now their home. No, Angeal was his home.

Genesis watched the slow, steady motions, the way Angeal's brows knit together in absent concentration, and the gentle patience in his every touch.

It was strange, Genesis thought, how quiet the world seemed here. How untroubled. No whispers of Shinra. No clatter of SOLDIER duties. No worries about being eclipsed by Sephiroth and a glory that should have been Genesis's. No looming degradation hanging over them like a guillotine: a death sentence.

There was just the ocean’s babbling, the creaking branches of old trees, and the lazy curve of Angeal’s mouth when he caught Genesis watching.

Genesis knew, logically, that they were broken things. Aberrations. They were science’s mistakes wrapped in flesh and ego. It didn’t seem to matter tonight. Tonight, they were just two boys again, or something close enough to fool themselves.

"You're brooding," Angeal said without looking up.

Genesis huffed, leaning back against the rough bark. "Am not."

"You're quiet, then, Gen. Which is suspicious."

A smile flitted across Genesis’s mouth. "Maybe I’ve simply found the rare moment when silence is worth more than speech."

Angeal chuckled low in his throat. To Genesis, this sound was more precious than any materia. "Miracles do happen."

The stars blurred a little as Genesis tilted his head, as the slow blooming of fireflies twinkled over the grass and between the boughs of the apple trees. How many nights had they spent like this where their thoughts filled with dreams they couldn't name yet? Genesis remembered wishing for fame, for glory. Angeal had wished for something simpler: a life that didn't leave its mark in blood but full of honor.

And now look at them. SOLDIER First Class: honored, feared, and lionized. Dying.

Genesis pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and tried not to think about it. Not tonight.

"What are you doing with those stones?" he asked instead, voice carefully light.

Angeal glanced up at him. A smile spread across his face and his blue eyes twinkled beneath the starlight. "Trying to join the dots."

Genesis blinked. "Explain."

"I used to think the stars made pictures," Angeal said, as he picked up another stone. "When we were kids, I'd lie out here and connect them in my head. Draw shapes out of them. Pretend they meant something." He stacked the stone carefully atop the others, the pile tilting precariously but refusing to fall. "Now I figure maybe everything’s just scattered pieces. You have to make your own meaning."

Genesis stared down at him, but he was struck suddenly breathless.

It was ridiculous. Angeal could level him without even trying. With nothing but that calm, steady faith he wore like second skin. Faith not in gods, or in fate, but in the stubborn, clumsy act of choosing meaning. Choosing love. Choosing life. Choosing dreams. Choosing honor. Choosing Genesis.

Genesis slid down from the tree and crossed the grass to him, dropping to a crouch beside the half-built cairn.

"And what picture do the stars make tonight?" he asked.

Angeal smiled, that slow, devastating smile that always cracked Genesis open at the seams. "Haven’t decided yet. Want to help?"

Genesis hesitated only a moment before reaching out. His leather-clad fingers brushed Angeal’s hand as he took a stone, and the touch sent a slow, sweet ache through him.

Together, they built.

It was clumsy work. Their hands bumped often. Stones fell and rolled away. Angeal laughed quietly whenever Genesis cursed under his breath. But it was good. Real. They weren't heroes here. They weren't mistakes. They were just two men trying to make something whole out of broken pieces.

When the little cairn finally stood steady, Genesis sat back on his heels and studied it. "It looks like a mess."

Angeal shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe it's a constellation."

Genesis snorted, but something in him softened.

He lay back in the grass, folding his arms behind his head, and stared up at the endless, impossible sky glittering high above them.

"You ever wonder," Genesis said slowly, "if we were supposed to be more?"

Angeal stretched out beside him, close enough that Genesis could feel the heat of his body through the cool, night air.

"All the time," Angeal admitted. "But lately. I think maybe being here is enough."

Genesis turned his head, studying him. The faint silver wash of starlight made Angeal look like something out of myth: some ancient hero carved from stone and given life.

"Enough for you, maybe," Genesis said. His tone was softer than before. He still felt the yearning: not to be a hero, not to surpass Sephiroth, and not to find the Gift of the Goddess.

"For us," Angeal corrected gently. His hand found Genesis’s in the grass. Their fingers tangled awkwardly before settling, familiar as breathing. Angeal's hands always dwarfed his own, as he interlaced their fingers.

Genesis closed his eyes against the sudden sting there. It was too much, sometimes. The way Angeal believed in them. In him. Like Genesis wasn’t a failed experiment or a crumbling relic but something precious. Chosen.

"You're a fool," Genesis whispered.

Angeal squeezed his hand. "You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

"Maybe." Angeal shifted closer until their shoulders brushed. "But I'm your fool."

Genesis laughed. The sound rang out like cracking ice thawing at last. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Angeal’s knuckles. His lips trembled.

The stars above them spun slowly on their ancient axes, patient and vast, as if blocking out the world.

Maybe the answers would never come. Maybe their pasts would always be a patchwork of lies and half-truths. Maybe degradation would catch them before the end. Maybe not.

But tonight, here, together, they could choose their meaning. Genesis didn't care about any of that. In that moment, he was meant to be Angeal's.

Genesis breathed in the cool, sweet air of home, and held Angeal’s hand tighter. "Tell me a story."

Angeal chuckled. "I thought you were the poet."

"Humor me."

A moment's quiet, and then Angeal’s voice rumbled low and sure beside him. "Once upon a time, there were two boys who wanted to touch the stars."

Genesis smiled, eyes slipping closed.

"And?"

"And they realized, after a long, long time, that they didn't have to reach so far. The stars they were always reaching for was the other."