"Why on earth did I let you convince me into moving to Midgar," Angeal groans, somewhere towards the end of their first week in SOLDIER training.
Rhetorical question. Both of them know exactly why Angeal applied for SOLDIER in the first place, and why the two of them are laying there, sprawled in their tiny little suite apartment where the ceilings are just a smidge too small for both of their heights. Genesis says it out loud any way, for a couple of reasons, and both of them are ultimately for his own self satisfaction. "Because where I go, you go," he says, his voice muffled from where he's forced his underneath the couch cushions. "It is as simple as that."
And Genesis likes saying that. Likes it enough that it almost makes him feel better, as though words alone are enough to soothe the headache cracking through his skull. Where one of them goes, the other goes as well. A simple fact of the world.
Gumbo is the best food in the world. He has two eyes. Angeal takes his severe expression from his mother, and they smile the same, too.
Where either of them go, the other goes too.
Which isn't to say that Genesis doesn't understand where Angeal is coming from, of course. He doesn't regret coming to Midgar, doesn't regret pursuing his dreams of being something grander than a simple small town apple heir, of experiencing more of the world than past the leaves of Banora White. He doesn't regret the way his breath had caught when he'd looked out the window, and seen the glittering lights of the city, resplendent, a constellation brought down to earth.
It's just, for everything he had made sure to learn about city life, about Midgar, before he had set out... Sometimes, things can only be experienced to understand the true weight of them.
And Midgar is noisy. Noisy beyond belief, noisy enough to put Genesis's teeth on edge. It's nothing at all like the quiet of Banora, he must admit. Back there, well, he could sit on the window sill of his room, or on the Hewley family roof, and hear just about everything going on in the town. Often a little bit beyond it, too. The twist and whine of apples being pulled from their anchors in the orchards, the muffled conversation of some house down the street, Missus Hewley's knife assuredly going through vegetables for that nights dinner... He'd always had good ears. It was something he was proud of, used more than once to get one up on the other kids, or even Angeal, on occasion.
Midgar puts all of that pride right out of his mind, and it had the second their incoming train had gotten close enough. With the grind of its track and the rumble of its engine fading away, he'd had to deal with... everything.
Fifty million conversations, all happening at once. The clatter of wheels against metal, clacking, jostling. Some sort of food stall, something popping, snapping. It'd been dizzying, just trying to get through all of it to the apartment that Missus Hewley had helped them find, helped them get even with such a far distance between them and Midgar. Frankly, Genesis must admit that if Angeal hadn't been there to grab his hand and pull him through thick crowds, he might not have made it at all.
That's right... Angeal. And Genesis finally pulls the cushion away, even if only so that he can peer warily out from it to see his oldest friend and only lover. The noises outside their little apartment, a cheap little thing that's all they can afford for right now even with what he's taken of his family's money, filter back towards his ears. Car horns, and the television from their neighbors' apartments...
But it is not as overwhelming as it was a moment ago, and, past everything else, Genesis can hear Angeal almost before his eyes actually perceive him.
He can always hear Angeal.
The steady rhythm of his breath - nose first, mouth after - and the ever present beat of his heart that's so intune with his very own... Yes, that is always there, no matter where he is in the world, and Genesis lets that soothe him even as he squints through the darkness to take in Angeal's figure. Both of them are often so wired by the sensations of the day that turning on the lights is sometimes forgotten, until ten minutes in and one of them curses slamming their knee into a corner or table. Yet with Midgar's lights making it almost eternally day, filtering in through the window, he can still see the shadow of the man, seated there, reading by citylight. A mug of something steaming is there at his side; Genesis can't recall when he made it.
When he sits up, he finds that there is also a mug of coffee for him there at the small couchside table, and Genesis takes it in hand almost immediately. It won't do anything for how overwhelmingly loud Midgar is, but focusing on the wretched taste of it helps a little. Besides, maybe the caffeine will do something for his headache.
"These grounds are absolutely wretched," he grumbles, getting up from the couch so that he can sink down onto the floor as well and squint at what Angeal is reading. "We need to get better, Angeal."
Angeal's scoff is light, delicate, almost not a sound at all. A sound that's distinctly him, that he's made almost for as long as Genesis has known him, he thinks. "When you can get artisanal bean money, you can get better," he points out, which is true, but must he actually say it? Terrible. Horrible. "How's your head?"
"Better." His ears don't quite feel like they're ringing and, while they are pathetically thin, their apartment walls are still barriers of some sort. "And yours?"
His partner takes in a deep breath. Just like always. Through the nose, out the mouth. "I'll manage," he says, which is a bit of a cop out, but Genesis doesn't say anything about it for the time being. There's a reason that his coffee doesn't look as though it's been touched at all, simply sitting there, the steam of it carrying that warm bitter scent. "Want to get the lights?"
Angeal could have no doubt gotten the lights when he was making the coffee, but since he did make the coffee, Genesis supposes that he may grant him this one little gift. A light pulse of pain goes off in his skull when he flips the switch, but nothing too bad. Nothing like going through drills for Thirds over at ShinRa, grinding his teeth together at the yelling that seemed almost designed to be as shrill as possible. Trying to forget that, or what he would do to the next idiot who clumsily dropped their sword, he turns back to Angeal. Now that he can see a bit better... He recognizes that little notebook. "Didn't your mom give you that?"
It takes a little bit of willpower, to say 'your mom', not 'ma'. Because she's not his mother, of course. He knows that. And, more importantly, it sounds just a little less... backwater, to say it like that. And Missus Hewley doesn't deserve mother.
This isn't the first time that he's made sure to correct his speech like this, but Angeal still quirks up an eyebrow at him before looking back down at the little black notebook. Well. Relatively little, Genesis supposes. It's still thick enough to put some dictionaries to shame. He can't even begin to imagine how long it took her to fill it up, and he knows for a fact that it is filled to bursting. Poor Missus Hewley. She really is getting on in years, so that couldn't have been easy for her hands. He'll have to send here some sort of ointment, from here in Midgar. Assuming Angeal doesn't beat him to the punch.
"Just a little something she wrote to help us adjust to city life," Angeal says, as Genesis settles down there on the floor besides him. They really do need more chairs... as though Angeal would ever use them, but regardless. "How to work in the company, how to get around rules, stuff like that."
A low hum rolls through Genesis. He thinks he can recall her saying something about working for a company, once upon a time in her youth. Truly rulebreaking must be in the Hewley family genes, if this is the kind of homeleaving present she gives to them. But - "I must say, that looks rather more like gardening advice, Angeal."
"I said I wanted to keep gardening in Midgar," Angeal shoots back, before making a face. "But you know what they all say."
They say nothing grows in Midgar. They say things choke and die from the smog in the air, that there's no room for soil just concrete and metal and tar. They say as long as you have mako powering everything, it should be fine. They say the lights are better than flowers, that the city is prosperous enough to import, that it's a better paradise than what mere plants could offer, so why bother, really?
Genesis likes the stark difference. Likes the idea of burning himself to ashes, and then making himself anew again, in someplace entirely different, being something entirely different.
It's just, in the back of his mind, there will always be the picture-perfect image of Angeal in the sharp curve of an apple tree, covered in dirt, the twist and pop as he tugs a dumbapple from its place to toss down into his waiting hands. He can't forget it. He'd never want to forget it.
He squints down into the notes, reading everything for himself. Some of it is sensible knowledge, like the vegetable plot that the Hewleys tried to help prosper in the back of their home on what little spare dirt they could spare. But other things... Other things are far more complex than he would have thought they'd be, although he supposes that only makes sense. There is no little plot of dirt behind their apartment building; only sidewalk and trash. Just one problem, really. "Where on earth are you going to get some of these supplies?"
Angeal does this thing he does sometimes, with his tongue - his lips part ever so slightly, and his tongue grinds against the front of his teeth. So slight a sound, even Genesis can almost not hear it sometimes. "I guess I'll just have to borrow some things," he says matter of factly.
When Angeal Hewley says borrow, what he really means is steal. Bit by bit, a smirk begins to form along Genesis's lips. "Now is that an honorable thing to do," he teases, even as he's already looking forward to the show, because anything would be better than just suffering in silence. And, really, if he didn't give Angeal at least a little bit of bullshit, would they really be in love? "And just how will you borrow anything?"
The flat stare he gets is hilarious, and Genesis doesn't really regret the words that earned it. "First of all, it's perfectly honorable stealing from a massive corporation when all I'm getting are some things for a little gardening," he counters, flicking his finger up and almost smacking Genesis in the nose with it. "Secondly, ma said that you can almost always find people in a department who hate each other's guts. S'just a matter off finding out exactly who those people are." Which is around the time that Angeal raises an eyebrow at him.
Angeal has often said that, even without his keen sense of hearing, Genesis would always know all the gossip about Banora anyway, because he's hungry for drama and seeing other people mess up. Genesis resents that idea, he really does... Except he can't help but smile sly, here. "I've heard word that the Professors Hojo and Hollander hate one another's guts."
"Probably can't make them hate each other any worse, then."
"I would take that as a challenge, personally."
In the interest of not getting them kicked out of SOLDIER before they've even made it past Third basic training, Genesis is not allowed to take that challenge, alas. Instead, he does what he does best, what they do best as a team, which is that he raises a bit of hell the next time that he and Angeal have to be separated for training groups. It is, quite frankly, a rather simple and easy matter.
Genesis would like to say that it is because he is a natural showman, and able to draw the eye of anyone and everyone with relative ease.
Later, Angeal points out that it is because he's already been throwing so many fits and starting so many fires since they've first joined SOLDIER that it's a miracle they haven't been court martialed or worse, and now it's probably just second nature for him.
(Both of them know that this is just how they work best. Brilliant fire and steady earth. Magic and strength. Halves of the same amazing star. Of course they succeed.)
Either way, a little distraction, a little bit of excuses when Angeal leaves and then when he comes back, and Genesis only really gets to see the haul long into the night, after they've finished their allegedly rigorous drills. Allegedly, because Genesis has never found any of the Third drills particularly difficult at all, and he knows Angeal feels much the same. Allegedly, just like how Angeal allegedly calls his pile of tubing and tanks and who knows what else "a haul".
Genesis sighs. "How far we've fall, stealing paltry equipment like this."
"I don't know, I think I've graduated from stealing apples," Angeal deadpans, reading through his mother's not-so-little notebook some more. "Anyway, come here and help me set some of this up. You're better at the little details like this than me. Remember when you hotwired that tractor?"
"Don't you dare bring up that tractor." It doesn't sound incredible, out here in the thriving and bustling city of Midgar. It sounds... hick. "And why on earth are you getting me involved in your dirty gardening, now?"
The answer, of course, is that if one of them has a terrible idea, the other is obligated to see it through too. Angeal cites Midgar specifically as one of the things Genesis has made him do. Genesis counters with the time that Angeal went off to find the biggest tree and almost broke his leg. It's when they start getting involved in things done when they were six that Genesis starts berating him for bringing up such old memories, and, at that point, he's already got a pair of gardening gloves on.
Of course Angeal Hewley, of all people, would take a look at a city like Midgar and decided he needed two pairs of gardening gloves.
And perhaps there is something soothing about pulling together the different tanks, connecting tubes and watering systems. You're good at the little details, Angeal had said, and perhaps it is because there is a kind of serenity to be found in the focus which comes with those little details. Even as the world grinds and grates on his nerves, he can find a focus like nothing else in those very same little details.
Searching out subtle hints and rhythm in poetry whose authors are long dead. Seeing the way different materia reacts to one another in pulls and pushes.
Finding the exact way to wire up the water pumps for the watering and draining system that they're hotwiring together in Angeal's apartment.
Before he knows it, a week has gone by, and they've managed to pull together a variety of tanks, tubes, and wires into something that could very well spite Midgar's Midgar-ness. Before he knows it, the noise has become just a little bit less grating, and there's only the sound of Angeal's fingers gently parting dirt to impart little seeds into their new home. "Of course you had those stored away in our fridge," Genesis sighs, as though he hasn't seen them nestled into various places throughout the kitchen. "What on earth do you even plan on growing here, then?"
"Magic beans," Angeal deadpans, and only laughs a little bit at him when he tells him off.
Together, the two of them hit Second-class before Angeal's plants start to sprout - a record, everyone whispers, and which Genesis takes no small amount of pleasure in. Sure, it can't beat Sephiroth's record, he's sure, but everyone knows that was out of the ordinary. The start of the Wutai conflict, and all that. They'll catch up in no time at all. Hit First in no time at all.
Probably a good thing the two of them get promoted so quickly, because Second-class means a Second's salary, and an increased salary means better apartments, plural.
And it's better to move so many plants at a young stage.
"This was a mistake," Genesis gripes, months later, when everything has started to flourish in a spread of green - the prickling scent of mint along shelves, lavender growing impossibly all underneath the window. "How on earth did I allow you to convince me into concocting this ridiculous set up? Truly, you are the grandest con artist of this generation."
Angeal doesn't even have the decency to answer him properly. He only hums, a low sound that rolls just underneath the sizzle and crackle of the pan he's tending to in front of him.
Hum. Sizzle. Crack. The rustle of leaves, as the breeze of the air conditioner filters through them. Outside, Midgar's nightlife continues to roar and honk and chatter away, but the lavender at the window soaks it all in rather than let it pass unrestricted. No longer does the city overwhelm him in a wave.
Genesis leans back into Angeal's couch, and closes his eyes. It is because they have a better apartment, with better walls, of course. It is because it has been many months since he first moved into Midgar, and he has merely adjusted. These are all the words he tells himself, as he sits in a place that is not wholly one person's.
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Commission - Midgar Move
Rhetorical question. Both of them know exactly why Angeal applied for SOLDIER in the first place, and why the two of them are laying there, sprawled in their tiny little suite apartment where the ceilings are just a smidge too small for both of their heights. Genesis says it out loud any way, for a couple of reasons, and both of them are ultimately for his own self satisfaction. "Because where I go, you go," he says, his voice muffled from where he's forced his underneath the couch cushions. "It is as simple as that."
And Genesis likes saying that. Likes it enough that it almost makes him feel better, as though words alone are enough to soothe the headache cracking through his skull. Where one of them goes, the other goes as well. A simple fact of the world.
Gumbo is the best food in the world. He has two eyes. Angeal takes his severe expression from his mother, and they smile the same, too.
Where either of them go, the other goes too.
Which isn't to say that Genesis doesn't understand where Angeal is coming from, of course. He doesn't regret coming to Midgar, doesn't regret pursuing his dreams of being something grander than a simple small town apple heir, of experiencing more of the world than past the leaves of Banora White. He doesn't regret the way his breath had caught when he'd looked out the window, and seen the glittering lights of the city, resplendent, a constellation brought down to earth.
It's just, for everything he had made sure to learn about city life, about Midgar, before he had set out... Sometimes, things can only be experienced to understand the true weight of them.
And Midgar is noisy. Noisy beyond belief, noisy enough to put Genesis's teeth on edge. It's nothing at all like the quiet of Banora, he must admit. Back there, well, he could sit on the window sill of his room, or on the Hewley family roof, and hear just about everything going on in the town. Often a little bit beyond it, too. The twist and whine of apples being pulled from their anchors in the orchards, the muffled conversation of some house down the street, Missus Hewley's knife assuredly going through vegetables for that nights dinner... He'd always had good ears. It was something he was proud of, used more than once to get one up on the other kids, or even Angeal, on occasion.
Midgar puts all of that pride right out of his mind, and it had the second their incoming train had gotten close enough. With the grind of its track and the rumble of its engine fading away, he'd had to deal with... everything.
Fifty million conversations, all happening at once. The clatter of wheels against metal, clacking, jostling. Some sort of food stall, something popping, snapping. It'd been dizzying, just trying to get through all of it to the apartment that Missus Hewley had helped them find, helped them get even with such a far distance between them and Midgar. Frankly, Genesis must admit that if Angeal hadn't been there to grab his hand and pull him through thick crowds, he might not have made it at all.
That's right... Angeal. And Genesis finally pulls the cushion away, even if only so that he can peer warily out from it to see his oldest friend and only lover. The noises outside their little apartment, a cheap little thing that's all they can afford for right now even with what he's taken of his family's money, filter back towards his ears. Car horns, and the television from their neighbors' apartments...
But it is not as overwhelming as it was a moment ago, and, past everything else, Genesis can hear Angeal almost before his eyes actually perceive him.
He can always hear Angeal.
The steady rhythm of his breath - nose first, mouth after - and the ever present beat of his heart that's so intune with his very own... Yes, that is always there, no matter where he is in the world, and Genesis lets that soothe him even as he squints through the darkness to take in Angeal's figure. Both of them are often so wired by the sensations of the day that turning on the lights is sometimes forgotten, until ten minutes in and one of them curses slamming their knee into a corner or table. Yet with Midgar's lights making it almost eternally day, filtering in through the window, he can still see the shadow of the man, seated there, reading by citylight. A mug of something steaming is there at his side; Genesis can't recall when he made it.
When he sits up, he finds that there is also a mug of coffee for him there at the small couchside table, and Genesis takes it in hand almost immediately. It won't do anything for how overwhelmingly loud Midgar is, but focusing on the wretched taste of it helps a little. Besides, maybe the caffeine will do something for his headache.
"These grounds are absolutely wretched," he grumbles, getting up from the couch so that he can sink down onto the floor as well and squint at what Angeal is reading. "We need to get better, Angeal."
Angeal's scoff is light, delicate, almost not a sound at all. A sound that's distinctly him, that he's made almost for as long as Genesis has known him, he thinks. "When you can get artisanal bean money, you can get better," he points out, which is true, but must he actually say it? Terrible. Horrible. "How's your head?"
"Better." His ears don't quite feel like they're ringing and, while they are pathetically thin, their apartment walls are still barriers of some sort. "And yours?"
His partner takes in a deep breath. Just like always. Through the nose, out the mouth. "I'll manage," he says, which is a bit of a cop out, but Genesis doesn't say anything about it for the time being. There's a reason that his coffee doesn't look as though it's been touched at all, simply sitting there, the steam of it carrying that warm bitter scent. "Want to get the lights?"
Angeal could have no doubt gotten the lights when he was making the coffee, but since he did make the coffee, Genesis supposes that he may grant him this one little gift. A light pulse of pain goes off in his skull when he flips the switch, but nothing too bad. Nothing like going through drills for Thirds over at ShinRa, grinding his teeth together at the yelling that seemed almost designed to be as shrill as possible. Trying to forget that, or what he would do to the next idiot who clumsily dropped their sword, he turns back to Angeal. Now that he can see a bit better... He recognizes that little notebook. "Didn't your mom give you that?"
It takes a little bit of willpower, to say 'your mom', not 'ma'. Because she's not his mother, of course. He knows that. And, more importantly, it sounds just a little less... backwater, to say it like that. And Missus Hewley doesn't deserve mother.
This isn't the first time that he's made sure to correct his speech like this, but Angeal still quirks up an eyebrow at him before looking back down at the little black notebook. Well. Relatively little, Genesis supposes. It's still thick enough to put some dictionaries to shame. He can't even begin to imagine how long it took her to fill it up, and he knows for a fact that it is filled to bursting. Poor Missus Hewley. She really is getting on in years, so that couldn't have been easy for her hands. He'll have to send here some sort of ointment, from here in Midgar. Assuming Angeal doesn't beat him to the punch.
"Just a little something she wrote to help us adjust to city life," Angeal says, as Genesis settles down there on the floor besides him. They really do need more chairs... as though Angeal would ever use them, but regardless. "How to work in the company, how to get around rules, stuff like that."
A low hum rolls through Genesis. He thinks he can recall her saying something about working for a company, once upon a time in her youth. Truly rulebreaking must be in the Hewley family genes, if this is the kind of homeleaving present she gives to them. But - "I must say, that looks rather more like gardening advice, Angeal."
"I said I wanted to keep gardening in Midgar," Angeal shoots back, before making a face. "But you know what they all say."
They say nothing grows in Midgar. They say things choke and die from the smog in the air, that there's no room for soil just concrete and metal and tar. They say as long as you have mako powering everything, it should be fine. They say the lights are better than flowers, that the city is prosperous enough to import, that it's a better paradise than what mere plants could offer, so why bother, really?
Genesis likes the stark difference. Likes the idea of burning himself to ashes, and then making himself anew again, in someplace entirely different, being something entirely different.
It's just, in the back of his mind, there will always be the picture-perfect image of Angeal in the sharp curve of an apple tree, covered in dirt, the twist and pop as he tugs a dumbapple from its place to toss down into his waiting hands. He can't forget it. He'd never want to forget it.
He squints down into the notes, reading everything for himself. Some of it is sensible knowledge, like the vegetable plot that the Hewleys tried to help prosper in the back of their home on what little spare dirt they could spare. But other things... Other things are far more complex than he would have thought they'd be, although he supposes that only makes sense. There is no little plot of dirt behind their apartment building; only sidewalk and trash. Just one problem, really. "Where on earth are you going to get some of these supplies?"
Angeal does this thing he does sometimes, with his tongue - his lips part ever so slightly, and his tongue grinds against the front of his teeth. So slight a sound, even Genesis can almost not hear it sometimes. "I guess I'll just have to borrow some things," he says matter of factly.
When Angeal Hewley says borrow, what he really means is steal. Bit by bit, a smirk begins to form along Genesis's lips. "Now is that an honorable thing to do," he teases, even as he's already looking forward to the show, because anything would be better than just suffering in silence. And, really, if he didn't give Angeal at least a little bit of bullshit, would they really be in love? "And just how will you borrow anything?"
The flat stare he gets is hilarious, and Genesis doesn't really regret the words that earned it. "First of all, it's perfectly honorable stealing from a massive corporation when all I'm getting are some things for a little gardening," he counters, flicking his finger up and almost smacking Genesis in the nose with it. "Secondly, ma said that you can almost always find people in a department who hate each other's guts. S'just a matter off finding out exactly who those people are." Which is around the time that Angeal raises an eyebrow at him.
Angeal has often said that, even without his keen sense of hearing, Genesis would always know all the gossip about Banora anyway, because he's hungry for drama and seeing other people mess up. Genesis resents that idea, he really does... Except he can't help but smile sly, here. "I've heard word that the Professors Hojo and Hollander hate one another's guts."
"Probably can't make them hate each other any worse, then."
"I would take that as a challenge, personally."
In the interest of not getting them kicked out of SOLDIER before they've even made it past Third basic training, Genesis is not allowed to take that challenge, alas. Instead, he does what he does best, what they do best as a team, which is that he raises a bit of hell the next time that he and Angeal have to be separated for training groups. It is, quite frankly, a rather simple and easy matter.
Genesis would like to say that it is because he is a natural showman, and able to draw the eye of anyone and everyone with relative ease.
Later, Angeal points out that it is because he's already been throwing so many fits and starting so many fires since they've first joined SOLDIER that it's a miracle they haven't been court martialed or worse, and now it's probably just second nature for him.
(Both of them know that this is just how they work best. Brilliant fire and steady earth. Magic and strength. Halves of the same amazing star. Of course they succeed.)
Either way, a little distraction, a little bit of excuses when Angeal leaves and then when he comes back, and Genesis only really gets to see the haul long into the night, after they've finished their allegedly rigorous drills. Allegedly, because Genesis has never found any of the Third drills particularly difficult at all, and he knows Angeal feels much the same. Allegedly, just like how Angeal allegedly calls his pile of tubing and tanks and who knows what else "a haul".
Genesis sighs. "How far we've fall, stealing paltry equipment like this."
"I don't know, I think I've graduated from stealing apples," Angeal deadpans, reading through his mother's not-so-little notebook some more. "Anyway, come here and help me set some of this up. You're better at the little details like this than me. Remember when you hotwired that tractor?"
"Don't you dare bring up that tractor." It doesn't sound incredible, out here in the thriving and bustling city of Midgar. It sounds... hick. "And why on earth are you getting me involved in your dirty gardening, now?"
The answer, of course, is that if one of them has a terrible idea, the other is obligated to see it through too. Angeal cites Midgar specifically as one of the things Genesis has made him do. Genesis counters with the time that Angeal went off to find the biggest tree and almost broke his leg. It's when they start getting involved in things done when they were six that Genesis starts berating him for bringing up such old memories, and, at that point, he's already got a pair of gardening gloves on.
Of course Angeal Hewley, of all people, would take a look at a city like Midgar and decided he needed two pairs of gardening gloves.
And perhaps there is something soothing about pulling together the different tanks, connecting tubes and watering systems. You're good at the little details, Angeal had said, and perhaps it is because there is a kind of serenity to be found in the focus which comes with those little details. Even as the world grinds and grates on his nerves, he can find a focus like nothing else in those very same little details.
Searching out subtle hints and rhythm in poetry whose authors are long dead. Seeing the way different materia reacts to one another in pulls and pushes.
Finding the exact way to wire up the water pumps for the watering and draining system that they're hotwiring together in Angeal's apartment.
Before he knows it, a week has gone by, and they've managed to pull together a variety of tanks, tubes, and wires into something that could very well spite Midgar's Midgar-ness. Before he knows it, the noise has become just a little bit less grating, and there's only the sound of Angeal's fingers gently parting dirt to impart little seeds into their new home. "Of course you had those stored away in our fridge," Genesis sighs, as though he hasn't seen them nestled into various places throughout the kitchen. "What on earth do you even plan on growing here, then?"
"Magic beans," Angeal deadpans, and only laughs a little bit at him when he tells him off.
no subject
Probably a good thing the two of them get promoted so quickly, because Second-class means a Second's salary, and an increased salary means better apartments, plural.
And it's better to move so many plants at a young stage.
"This was a mistake," Genesis gripes, months later, when everything has started to flourish in a spread of green - the prickling scent of mint along shelves, lavender growing impossibly all underneath the window. "How on earth did I allow you to convince me into concocting this ridiculous set up? Truly, you are the grandest con artist of this generation."
Angeal doesn't even have the decency to answer him properly. He only hums, a low sound that rolls just underneath the sizzle and crackle of the pan he's tending to in front of him.
Hum. Sizzle. Crack. The rustle of leaves, as the breeze of the air conditioner filters through them. Outside, Midgar's nightlife continues to roar and honk and chatter away, but the lavender at the window soaks it all in rather than let it pass unrestricted. No longer does the city overwhelm him in a wave.
Genesis leans back into Angeal's couch, and closes his eyes. It is because they have a better apartment, with better walls, of course. It is because it has been many months since he first moved into Midgar, and he has merely adjusted. These are all the words he tells himself, as he sits in a place that is not wholly one person's.
Nearby, he can hear Angeal's heart beat.