Chapter Text
Angeal’s phone buzzed at 1:03 a.m. He cracked one eye open, groaning. “...If this isn’t an emergency, I swear—”
On the other end, Kunsel’s voice wavered between slurred and oddly focused. “Angeal… buddy… you gotta come get them.”
“Get who?” Angeal sat up, already dreading the answer.
“Zack. Genesis. And… uh… Sephiroth.”
Angeal blinked. “…Sephiroth? You’re telling me Sephiroth is drunk?”
Kunsel hiccupped. “Drunk, loud, and currently arguing with a vending machine. Genesis is reciting poetry to it, Zack is trying to climb it, and Sephiroth… well… he just threatened to cut it in half for refusing his card.”
Angeal pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you calling me?”
“Because you’re the responsible one. And also… I can’t drive. I may or may not have mistaken a lamppost for a chocobo five minutes ago.”
From the background came Zack’s unmistakable voice: “GENESIS, STOP FLIRTING WITH THE SNACKS!”
Genesis, dramatically. “The chips understand me better than you ever could, Zackary.”
Then Sephiroth, calm but terrifying. “If this machine does not dispense my drink, I will end its existence.”
CLANG.
Kunsel whispered urgently. “He just unsheathed Masamune.”
Angeal threw on his coat, muttering, “I swear, if I have to bail the General out of jail, I’m retiring tomorrow.”
The night had started with one quiet drink. Then Zack discovered a cocktail with neon-blue foam, Sephiroth accepted a dare from Genesis (a terrible idea on any day ending in “y”), and Genesis himself quickly slid from “dramatic” to “theatrically inebriated.”
By the time the lights dimmed for last call, the bar was a battlefield of questionable choices.
Angeal pulled up outside the bar, headlights cutting through the dark. He spotted Kunsel waving frantically, half leaning against a lamppost like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Inside, the chaos was unmistakable. Zack was halfway up the vending machine, Genesis was dramatically reciting Loveless to a bag of pretzels, and Sephiroth…
Angeal froze.
“…Why are you in a dress?”
Sephiroth turned, sleek fabric hugging his frame, silver hair cascading like he’d just stepped off a runway. His expression was calm, almost regal. “It was… provided.”
“Provided by who?” Angeal demanded, rubbing his temples. “You left the dorms in minimalist black with Genesis and Zack. Now you look like you’re about to host a gala.”
Genesis, swaying, chimed in. “By yours truly of course!”
Zack, still clinging to the vending machine. “I told him he looked great! Then he tried to buy a soda and the machine disrespected him.”
Sephiroth’s voice was dangerously level. “It denied me hydration. It will pay.”
Angeal sighed. “No. No Masamune. No destruction. We’re leaving. Zack come down from there,”
Zack landed with a light thud, and unsteadily came to perch sideways on a barstool beside Angeal, legs swinging, repeatedly poking Angeal’s bicep. “Hey. Hey, Angeal. Look.” He held up a handful of tiny cocktail umbrellas. “I stole trophies.”
“They’re… very nice,” Angeal replied, already tired.
“They represent my victories.”
“Your victories are very small and made of paper,” Genesis muttered into his drink, swaying.
At the other end of the counter, where Sephiroth stood tall—far too tall for the dress he currently inhabited. Genesis had somehow convinced him to try on the sleek silver number “for the sake of art.” Sephiroth, in a rare combination of alcohol and competitiveness, accepted.
Threats against the vending machine forgotten. Now he posed dramatically, one hand on his hip, the slit of the dress showing entirely too much leg.
“Tell me, Angeal,” Sephiroth said with the intensity he usually reserved for mission briefings, “am I… ethereal?”
“You’re… something,” Angeal answered diplomatically.
Genesis, also having lost interest in the vending machine and his pretzels, half draped himself over the counter, slammed his empty glass down that he got from somewhere. “You’re glowing, Sephiroth. Positively luminous. Like a moonbeam with a superiority complex.”
“That sounds correct,” Sephiroth said, pleased.
Zack burst into loud laughter. “Seph, spin again!”
“I am not a performer—” But he spun anyway, the dress flaring beautifully. Half the bar cheered.
Angeal groaned into his hand. Why do I ever leave the dorms…?
When the bartender with a mix of tired and amusement informed Angeal that they were cut off and the bar would be closing in thirty minutes, Angeal put his foot down.
“Alright, everyone up. We’re done.”
Zack hopped off the stool and saluted. “Aye-aye, Captain Responsible!”
Genesis tried to stand but forgot how knees worked.
Sephiroth lifted him with one arm, bridal-style. In the dress.
Half the bar took photos.
That was the moment Angeal accepted that he would never live tonight down.
It took several minutes—and Angeal’s last shred of patience—to funnel all three toward the door. Genesis paused at the threshold and pointed accusingly. “You’re all unrefined heathens who do not understand the significance of aesthetic expression.”
“You put Sephiroth in a dress,” Angeal reminded him.
“And look how radiant he is!”
Sephiroth nodded solemnly. “I am radiant.”
Zack giggled so hard Angeal had to physically steer him by the shoulders. “I’m calling shotgun!”
Finally, they spilled out into the cool Midgar night. But then Genesis remembered something. “But the pretzels and I have unfinished poetry!”
“Genesis, the pretzels don’t care.” Angeal grabbed him by the elbow.
Sephiroth, unbothered, adjusted the hem of his dress. “I will walk. The night air suits me.”
Angeal sighed, herding them toward the car like unruly chocobos. “HQ is going to hear about this. And Sephiroth—” he glanced at the dress again, baffled, “—we’re having a long talk tomorrow.”
From the backseat, Genesis whispered dramatically. “The pretzels will miss me.”
Zack snorted. “The pretzels are stale, man.”
Sephiroth, staring out the window, murmured. “The machine will remember me.”
Angeal gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I should’ve stayed in bed.”
The car was barely out of the parking lot before the noise began.
Genesis, sprawled dramatically across the backseat, cleared his throat. “Allow me to serenade us with Loveless.”
Angeal groaned. “Genesis, no.”
But Genesis was already belting out lines, off-key and with far too much vibrato. Zack clapped along enthusiastically, shouting, “Encore! Encore!” every thirty seconds. Meanwhile, Sephiroth sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, dress perfectly unwrinkled despite the chaos. His gaze was fixed on Angeal’s hands at the wheel. “You’re drifting two centimeters to the left.”
Angeal tightened his grip. “It’s called driving, Sephiroth.”
“It’s called imperfection,” Sephiroth replied coolly. “I expected better.”
From the back, Zack leaned forward. “Hey, can we stop for fast food? I’m starving. Burgers, Angeal. Burgers!”
Genesis raised a hand dramatically. “No! Only fine dining suits a man of my caliber. A midnight feast of poetry and wine!”
Zack rolled his eyes. “Bro, you just tried to marry a bag of pretzels.”
Genesis gasped. “They understood me!”
Sephiroth, still critiquing, added. “Your braking is inefficient. You waste 0.3 seconds per stop.”
Angeal muttered under his breath, “I waste years dealing with you three.”
The car swerved slightly as Genesis hit a high note. Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed. “Correction: now you’re drifting three centimeters.”
Zack slapped the dashboard. “FAST FOOD, ANGEAL. I’ll even pay! …Okay, I’ll ask Kunsel to pay.”
Genesis began conducting himself like an orchestra, singing louder. Zack joined in, turning it into a chaotic duet. Sephiroth sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is intolerable.”
Angeal finally snapped. “If anyone sings, critiques, or mentions burgers again, I’m pulling over and you’re walking back to HQ.”
The car fell silent for three blessed seconds.
Then Zack whispered: “…Chicken nuggets?”
Genesis immediately harmonized, “Nuuuuuuuuuuuggets!”
Sephiroth, deadpan. “Your steering correction was delayed.”
Angeal slammed his forehead against the wheel at a redlight. “I should’ve stayed in bed.”
The car screeched to a halt outside Shinra HQ in a parking spot. Angeal killed the engine, exhaling like a man who’d just survived a war. “Out,” he ordered.
Genesis immediately leapt from the backseat, arms wide, continuing his dramatic serenade. “ When the war of the beasts brings about the world’s end… “
Zack joined in, off-key but enthusiastic. “The pretzels will rise again! “
Angeal groaned. “That’s not even the line.”
The night guards at the entrance froze, wide-eyed. One whispered, “Is… is that Sephiroth?”
Because Sephiroth had stepped out last, sweeping across the pavement like it was a catwalk. His sleek dress shimmered under the HQ floodlights, silver hair flowing, expression cool and untouchable. He didn’t walk — he glided.
The guards straightened immediately, saluting nervously. One muttered, “He looks… incredible.”
Sephiroth paused at the top of the steps, turning slightly so the light caught him just right. “This building is unworthy of my entrance,” he declared, voice calm but commanding.
Genesis clapped dramatically. “Yes! Own the night, Sephiroth!”
Zack, still humming, added, “Bro, you look like you’re about to drop the hottest mixtape of the year.”
Angeal dragged a hand down his face. “Please, just get inside before someone calls security.”
The guards exchanged looks, unsure whether to intervene or simply let the spectacle unfold. One whispered, “Do we… stop them?”
The other shook his head quickly. “Are you kidding? Sephiroth’s in a dress. Genesis is singing. Zack’s… whatever Zack’s doing. I’m not getting involved.”
Sephiroth swept past them, chin high, as if the HQ lobby was his personal runway. Genesis followed, still singing, Zack harmonizing with him in chaotic bursts.
Angeal trudged behind, muttering, “I should’ve stayed in bed.”
If the bar had been chaotic, the walk to their flats was a pilgrimage through absurdity.
Zack ran ahead, weaving between stylised indoor lamp posts and doing dramatic spins. “I’m FAST. I’m like—a blur of excellence!”
“You tripped over a floor mat ten minutes ago,” Angeal called after him.
“That was just a warm-up fall!”
Sephiroth, deciding to carry Genesis like a bride after the fiery commander tilted one too many times in either direction as if wanting to make friends with the floor, strode down the polished tiles with absolute certainty. The lights reflected off the dress, creating a shimmering air around him.
Genesis rested his head against Sephiroth’s shoulder. “If I perish tonight, bury me in poetry.”
“You are not perishing,” Sephiroth replied. “You are intoxicated.”
“Same thing,” Genesis mumbled.
Angeal walked behind them, rubbing the bridge of his nose, every step steeped in resignation.
As they approached the elevators, Zack suddenly stopped, turned, and pointed at Angeal with both hands.
“Hey. Angeal. Angeal.”
“…What?”
“You’re the best. Like, the best best. Like—like if responsibility were a person? It’d be you.”
Angeal sighed, but a faint smile escaped. “Just keep walking.”
Zack threw his arms up triumphantly and continued bounding toward the lift.
Security paused when Sephiroth approached—dress, glitter, and unconscious Genesis in his arms—but wisely decided not to ask questions.
Inside the elevator, Angeal sighed and keyed in the First Class' floor. Herding the last of his friends through his apartment. “Alright,” he said, clapping his hands like a tired father of three hyperactive toddlers. “Bed. Now. All of you.”
Zack saluted again and darted toward his designated spare room.
Sephiroth headed for his chosen room, still carrying Genesis.
“Seph,” Angeal called after him. “Put him down.”
Sephiroth looked over his shoulder. “He is asleep. Returning him to the floor would be… inefficient.”
Angeal let out a long, defeated breath. “Fine. Whatever. Just—try not to tear the dress.”
Genesis, half-conscious, murmured, “Art must suffer…”
Angeal shook his head and finally trudged toward his own room.
Sleep clothes, disheveled hair, aching patience—and the deep, weary relief of having survived the night with minimal property damage.
Maybe tomorrow he’d have the energy to be amused.
But tonight? He was going straight to bed.
~~~
THE MORNING AFTER
Angeal stepped out of his room, having freshly showered in his ensuite, completely awake, and carrying the smug serenity of someone who did not get drunk last night.
He checked on Zack first. Or rather—he found the shape of Zack.
Zack was sprawled halfway off his bed, blankets on the floor, one leg hanging over the edge, and several crumpled cocktail umbrellas stuck in his hair.
He groaned weakly when Angeal nudged his shoulder.
“Morning, Zack.”
“Don’t… morni'g me,” Zack whispered, squinting like the lights were personally attacking him. “Everything hurts. Even m' eyelash' hurt. Guess that's wha you get f'r drinkin' somethi'g that glowed... but 't tasted like victory,” Zack croaked. “... uuughhhhhh, n'vmind - 't tasted like battery acid.”
Zack groaned again and immediately rolled off the bed with a thump.
Angeal left him to reconsider his life choices.
Genesis’ room was next.
The door was cracked open, so Angeal tapped it lightly.
Inside, Genesis lay face-down on the carpet like a fallen deity, coat partially tangled around a chair leg. His hair was a disaster, half his makeup smeared, and he groaned something that sounded vaguely like a curse in three different languages.
Sometime through the early morning, either Sephiroth himself or Genesis worked up the limb-coordination needed to return to his room.
Angeal crouched beside him. “Rough night?”
Genesis lifted one finger without lifting his head. “Silence, Angeal. Silence, or I shall perish.”
“You already said that last night.”
“This time I mean it.”
“Do you at least remember what happened?”
Genesis groaned into the carpet again. “Enough to be ashamed. But not enough to know why Sephiroth was wearing my dress.”
“We’ll get to that,” Angeal said, patting his shoulder.
Genesis made a strangled noise that might have been gratitude or suffering.
And then there was Sephiroth.
Angeal knocked politely. No answer.
He pushed the door open.
Sephiroth was sitting in bed, sheet wrapped around his waist, hair a tangled curtain over his shoulders, looking down at something in his hands with a level of baffled intensity normally reserved for experimental weaponry.
The silver dress.
He held it up between two fingers like it might explode.
“…Angeal,” Sephiroth said slowly, voice gravelly from sleep. “Why is this in my room?”
“You wore it last night.”
Sephiroth stared at him.
Stared at the dress.
Stared at him again.
“I wore this?”
“Yes.”
“In public?”
“Yes.”
“And people saw me?”
“Many people.”
“…Did I allow this?”
“You not only allowed it—you posed.”
Sephiroth blinked. “…Posed.”
“Spun, too.”
There was a long, painful silence.
Sephiroth closed his eyes, as though hoping the universe might take pity on him. “It would seem,” he said tightly, “that I was intoxicated.”
“Yes.”
Sephiroth opened one eye. “…How intoxicated?”
“You carried Genesis home bridal-style.”
Both eyes opened.
“…In the dress?”
“In the dress.”
Sephiroth stared at the offending garment again.
Then, in a completely flat tone. “I see.”
Angeal nodded sympathetically. “Coffee?”
“Yes. Immediately.”
By the time all three disasters shuffled into the kitchen, Angeal had brewed a pot of coffee strong enough to wake the dead.
Zack arrived first, hair pointing in twelve directions.
Genesis slithered in second, sunglasses on indoors.
Sephiroth came last, silent, composed—except for the faintest pink at the tips of his ears.
Zack slumped into a chair. “Did we… do anything stupid?”
“Yes,” Angeal said.
Genesis groaned. “How stupid?”
“Very.”
Sephiroth took a slow sip of coffee, refusing to make eye contact with either of them.
Zack squinted at him. “Hey, Seph. Why are your ears pink?”
“They are not.”
“They totally are.”
Genesis lifted his sunglasses just enough to peer over them. “Are you… blushing?”
Sephiroth’s jaw clenched. “I do not blush.”
“They’re pink,” Zack sing-songed.
“Silence,” Sephiroth said, in the soft, deadly voice he usually reserved for enemies rather than friends.
Zack grinned. “Seph wore a dress~”
Genesis winced. “Please don’t sing. My skull is fragile…”
Angeal sipped his coffee, finally amused. “Next time,” he said, “you’re all sticking to non-glowing beverages.”
Zack, Genesis, and Sephiroth all spoke at once: “Yes, Angeal.”
And in that moment—three painfully hungover SOLDIERs and one exasperated caretaker—the morning found some peace.