Roses and Wine - III

Cloud Strife, Third Class Mercenary of the Midgar Military Mercenary Academy, was not at all happy at what he was about to do. He somehow managed to sustain his mind from diverting to the handsome General, known as Sephiroth. Requested by his instructor, Cloud was now forced to endure the next few hours in the sterile environment of the infirmary, polishing away at the bedpans. And my, the place itself was a sight to behold! He paced his dormitory. Damn General Sephiroth. The man had made a mockery of him, and now he was forced to endure the consequence of it.

‘Cleaning the bedpans?’ Raphael blurted out amusedly when they were back at their dormitory. ‘Ha-ha, sucks to be you!’

Cloud flopped back on the bed he had been occupying earlier, opposite of his red-head companion, screwing his tired eyes shut as the other guffawed at the news. Raphael – being far, far above him in rank – could not be pulled for detention nor night duty anymore. It was the scourge of all the cadets, something they abhorred and loathed, and their instructors knew it. Cloud couldn’t believe he had to do it this time. And for what? All because of a simple inadvertent meeting with Sephiroth. It was a wonder he hadn’t fainted like what everybody else would have naturally done before the man.

The mattress jiggled as Raphael bounced onto the space near his right arm. Even before Cloud had opened his eyes to meet the bowman’s, he already sensed that the smile had vanished, replaced with a silent concern. Raphael’s voice was quiet when he spoke his next sentence, ‘Honestly, though, Cloud, are you certain you’re up for it? You still look a little too pale to me.’

‘I always look too pale to you!’ Cloud pointed out crossly.

‘Maybe you’re just always sick!’ Raphael retorted playfully, casting another smirk so that his beautiful hazel eyes crinkled at the edges. ‘I could try and pull rank to get you out of it, if you don’t feel well at all.’

‘Oh, that is nonsense; I am perfectly fine.’

‘It isn’t!’

‘Well, I won’t argue about the matter, you always want to argue about things.’

‘Because my dear Cloud,’ Raphael said fluidly, ‘that was what things were originally made for.’

The blond shook his head. ‘They still outrank you as instructors,’ he reminded the other warrior, subconsciously inhaling the fresh cologne smell that belonged to his companion. ‘You seem to forget, because you always offer to do this when I either get detention or night guard.’ He returned the previous smile given to him to show his earnestness at Raphael, who in turn pouted.

‘I could still try,’ he said sullenly.

Cloud’s blue eyes alighted upon the small mirror across the room from where he lay. Regarding his reflection, he saw himself on the outside for what he felt inside: pale and frightened. Even now he looked remarkably frail in his leather uniform and metal gear. Silently, he wondered if Raphael could sense his apprehension, since the red-head knew him through and through, just like the best friend he ought to be.

He was yawning already. Cloud frantically tried to stem it with one hand over his mouth and eyes closed, but couldn’t. It was only about seven and he was already dreadfully drowsy.

Reluctantly, he wearily proceeded to the sick chamber, hefting a rather big bucket on his shoulder, brimmed with soapy foam. At the bottom, rested a piece of rag, one of the three things of which he borrowed from a nearby janitor’s closet. Along the way, he passed two of his classmates: Kadaj, a lanky lad who had been crippled and therefore forced to rely upon a mechanical wheelchair for support that was being pushed by a raven haired young lady named Tifa. As usual, they were bickering. Neither paid much heed to Cloud as he passed them by.

‘I believe the tooth fairy might give me 50 Gil for my fallen tooth,’ said Kadaj in a somewhat vexed way.

‘Ho-ho,’ drawled Tifa, rolling her eyes and waving a gauntlet fist nonchalantly at nothing in particular.

‘So I got an idea. I poured plaster over the tooth to create a mould and now I’m casting duplicate teeth. I’ll put one under my pillow every night and by the end of the year, I’ll have over 1500 Gil!’ Kadaj beamed at his own wit.

‘What?’ interjected the young female fighter. ‘D’you think the tooth fairy will believe your mouth had three hundred teeth in it?’

‘Look, dolt, if she’d rather have an old tooth than 50 Gil, how bright can she be?’ Kadaj retorted.

Nevertheless, Cloud, being who he was, refused to engage himself in such senseless melodrama and chose, instead to move on. When the noise left him, he thought he felt utterly exposed without it. Cloud wondered what the world would be like without music. Perhaps it would be like death: cold and haunting. Remembering an old rhyme, his mind dwelled on the legendary story of how music came to pass.

Once upon a time, the winged serpent Quetzalcoatl ruled the air and waters, while the god of war, Mars, ruled the land. Theirs were rich days, full of battles and the exercise of power, but there was no music, and they both longed for a decent tune. The god of war was powerless to change the situation, but the winged serpent was not. He flew away to the house of Apollo, the sun god, which was the house of music. He passed a number of planets, and from each of them he heard musical sounds, but there were no musicians to be found. At last he came to the house where the musicians lived. The anger of Apollo at Quetzalcoatl’s invasion was a terrible thing to witness, but the serpent was not afraid, and unleashed the mighty storms that were his personal specialty. The storms were so fearsome that even the house of the sun god began to shake and tremble and all the musicians were scared and fled in all directions. And some of them fell to earth, and so, thanks to the winged serpent, they had music.

Finding the chamber was not as difficult as he thought. Staircases and turnings that had adopted a rather foreboding outlook within the shadows presented themselves to him and he knew instinctively which ones to take. On a much different level, it appeared to him that the entire academy itself was beholden to the great General.

Cloud paused on the threshold, balancing his bucket of soap and rag, trying to decide if a humble tap or a confident knock was called for. He had just decided that humility was probably his best course when the door swung open. A bristly face loomed over his. Midnight blue eyes scrutinized him from head to toe, making him squirm underneath its piercing stare. Bedecked in a long white coat, a fair-haired doctor addressed him in a coarse tone, ‘You are bloody late, boy!’

Hanging his head apologetically, Cloud replied, ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘What, no excuse?’

Cloud fought to keep his voice free from strain. ‘None, sir. The fault was entirely my own.’ He was more than grateful to see the stoic façade of the grown man before him mollify and turn into something pleasant, even accommodating.

‘Well, well … we are an unusual chap. I will forgive you this time, boy, but don’t be late again.’ With a nonchalant huff, the older man bade him enter. Cloud followed him through what seemed like a huge sitting room, then into a large, well-lit chamber crammed from top to bottom with all manner of paraphernalia. ‘You will work here,’ said the medic, indicating the many cupboards that lined the vast space. Cloud was about to ask him of the bedpans on the other side of the room when the white-clad doctor cut him short. ‘I have no time for mollycoddling, boy. Get to it.’ With that, he busied himself with the crystal test tubes and glass vials containing chemicals that rested on his table at a corner of the room.

Cloud didn’t have the slightest idea what to do. The mattresses in the room looked spotless and dust free, yet he could not see why the bedpans needed a good wiping. He swivelled his head to check on the doctor and found that he was much too preoccupied with pouring a smoky white liquid into a beaker that stood on a tripod stand and wire gauze to care about him. Slowly, he bent down and wrung the cloth of water and ran it over the smooth surface of one.

‘Cloud…Cloud…’ He prickled his ears to hear the imaginary mocking voice of Sephiroth, who was gazing intently at him from an armchair, portrayed before his very eyes. Long, tapered fingers absent-mindedly twiddled a pen languidly between them as two platinum-like eyes watched him. The body was poised, relaxed. ‘I wonder what sort of trouble you got yourself into to have earned this.’ The uncertain frown on Cloud’s face was too much for the General to resist and he rose from his chair and silently glided over to him. Cloud backed away fearfully, braced himself for the very worst and screwed his eyes shut.

It didn’t come.

He feared the moment where Sephiroth would do something…unspeakable to him, not that he would, because the prospect, Cloud noticed, seemed absurd. Preposterous. As he wordlessly mouthed Raphael’s words over and over again like a warding, the grip on his hair tightened and he stared in horror as the General’s fair face loomed nearer and nearer. Fearful, Cloud’s breath hitched in his throat; this was the General, he wasn’t about to hurt him.

He tilted his head, as if about to question Cloud, and smiled the Devil’s smile. His lips caressed Cloud’s trembling ones in the manner only a phantom’s could and felt the heat radiate from the young cadet’s body. The body beneath him tensed and quivered like a leaf, fearful of this intruder’s feel upon his flesh. A frightful moan tore from Cloud’s windpipe, as if someone was slitting his throat, as if blood were flowing out from the scarlet smile of an invisible wound into a phantom goblet.

Sephiroth was truly enjoying this. Cupping one hand to the youth of a mercenary’s face, he flicked a tongue at his jaw and pressed the other just below where his heart beat. Waves of energy pumped through under his outstretched palm like a jolt of electricity. Cloud gripped the shelf, too frightened to scream; water from the drenched cloth seeped through the gaps between his fingers and ran down onto the floor as terror was vented on it.

An inviting mouth descended to his neck. ‘And the taste of your skin…’ A sharp bite and Cloud felt pain sear through him. And there was another feeling, too, one which he could not name, that felt like fire. Almost a burning yet bruising sensation. Sephiroth pulled back. Cloud, now trickling with perspiration, glowed in the candlelight, making him seem almost ethereal, like a fairy in a tale. The hand above his pulsing heart slowly made their way inside Cloud’s shirt through the small holes between the buttons barely enough for it. Cloud’s head was swimming. Something cold intruded on his chest, trailing delicately, leaving marks that flared, like pyre. The hand on the shelf tightened. It was fear that made Cloud allow Sephiroth to do this. He had to act. Fast.

Hot breath trailed ghostly fingers on his face so insidiously, it itched. Was Sephiroth plotting something against him? He knew only so much about the General. Sephiroth was rumoured to only look at Vincent Valentine, the school gardener, to get him to start hauling snow when winter started true even before the snowflakes had a chance to land. He had a lot of that effect on people, the cadet reminded himself. Will his eyes work that sort of magic on me? He wondered. With a good measure of force, he shook his head. Thrusting that thought aside, he tugged himself back into the present.

It was not Sephiroth’s voice, though, that tsked sadly when he heard it. ‘Didn’t do a very good job, did you?’

The reek of charred cigarette assaulted his sense of smell and forced Cloud’s eyes to fly open like a ripened fruit bursting with seeds. His frightened black pupils dilated as he assessed the medic’s stubbly visage leering over his. Neither sultry flint eyes nor platinum strands framing a smooth face met his gaze. Cloud’s face burned with shame at the train of his thoughts. Quickly rinsing the rag, he attempted to make the bedpans shine.

A rusty sound, like when one scrapes paint off a metallic surface, came on the intercom situated just above the entrance door to the infirmary, cutting off all thoughts from his mind. Almost too roughly, Cloud shook his head. For a moment, it was virtually everything he imagined was real had been in the dream, and Sephiroth never actually touched him in the least because he was not there. And for that moment, before reality came crashing down around his ears, the overwhelming tidal wave of joy and relief were enough to make him drunk. Cloud’s heart hammered in his chest. He felt abashed at the trail his thoughts took. He desperately had to do something to atone for his lack of control. Hastily pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he stumbled out of the doctor’s way. Sapphire eyes hardened to cobalt as the robed man watched him, but the moment a male voice came up on the little box, the icy veneer fizzed out completely.

‘Testing, testing. One, two, three.’ Cloud thought it sounded more like a student. ‘Paging for Doctor Cid Highwind; Instructor Xu requests your presence in the Quad, sir. That is all, thank you.’

He turned around to release a stream of used air. The hand that had extended to grab hold of his own uniform halted. Dropping his arm, the blond-haired cadet took one look at Dr. Highwind, tripped on his own two feet and came crashing down in an ungraceful heap on the floor. The resentful glare he sent was almost fearsome to behold; it reminded Cloud of a fierce revolutionary warrior who lived centuries back with a baleful look that could drive a man to cringe in fear. It was as if Cid regarded him like he was the high-ranking man himself.

‘You are dismissed,’ came the familiar low voice of the medical expert. Cloud, who had been hoping to have received such a dismissal, bowed gratefully. In three fluid strides, Cid crossed the room and headed for the door. He never cast a look back at Cloud as he shut the door with a slam.

Cloud picked himself off the ground but did not stand. Uncharacteristically, he pushed himself against a wall and curled his legs to his chest as he placed his chin on the hard caps of his knees. The corners of his eyes stung as tears threatened to come forth. He shut them. He would not demean himself by showing fear.

As if feeling Sephiroth’s lips on him again, Cloud’s hand rose up to his neck, perhaps reassuring himself there was nothing there. Those humiliating thoughts would fade in time to come. He opened his eyes and stared at the dark water in the pail. And as the dirty liquid inside rippled, a cold shiver chilled him to the bone.

Enough, he thought as he stood up. He had had enough of it. Dusting himself, he resolved that this was probably the effect Sephiroth triggered in the students and felt disgust crawl up his spine. This wasn’t what he wanted from his superior at all, although he didn’t doubt it was the desire of many others. He understood that asking for a modest amount of attention was a little too much to be granted, given the circumstance, but he could at least try, could he not? Maybe Raphael would stop calling him crazy after that.

And speaking of the bowman, Raphael would be horrified if he knew how melancholy Cloud had become because of this. Scratch that, Raphael would be horrified. He was going to realise something was amiss sooner or later, Cloud mused. Queer enough, the thought of the bowman made the throbbing dread that was building up low in his belly deepen.

Calmly striding his way out of the office, Cloud specked a look behind him for anyone suspicious. Finding no one, he broke into a run for the cadets’ dormitories down the corridor, soles of his shoes pounding the cement, fists beating against the air and the frosty night wind whistling through his hair. Everything blurred behind him in a streak of multi-coloured waves as he raced for the only haven he knew in the school down the unfathomable chasm of the corridors.

A desolate sound heightened his senses. His head shot up. The clamorous noise of a metal door sliding open drew his attention to a seemingly formidable location not far from where he stood panting. An unknown form, hooded by thick shadows, emerged silently from the portal, gliding hither. The beating organ in his ribcage amplified when its luminous grey irises narrowed as they flitted over him, filing away the details as the cadet tried visibly to gather himself from the piercing gaze instead of cowering like a dog. He sent prayers to whatever deity that was listening for this beast to be a feeble one; a Bomb, or a Funguar, nothing more. He couldn’t possibly take down anything tougher than that with his … The blood that rushed to his face made him feel hot and heady; embarrassment made it even worse. A soldier always had his good sword strapped to his back, even Raphael said so, but he didn’t even have so much as his fists to fend for himself so he had to rely upon his next best form of protection. Courage.

Mustering every bit of bravery he possessed that ran through his veins, Cloud barked, as fiercely as he could, ‘Stay back, you! Whatever you are …’

The dark figure swathed in a robe of misty shadows advanced, oblivious to his threat, and glowered with frosty Mako-infused eyes. They narrowed dangerously. Cloud gulped uneasily: he didn’t know Bombs could do so. Only when a meagre bit of light shone upon it did the swordsman realise it was a person. A particularly lanky male with sleek ash-hued hair that fell endlessly behind metal pauldrons. Upon discovering it was merely the Great General, Cloud lowered his guard. ‘Sir!’ was all he could blurt out. He was astounded but tried to keep his voice levelled.

Cloud’s clever eyes saw a smarting scar on his left cheek, a fresh wound with dried blood caking the outline of it. Tilting his head in mild concern, he boldly inquired, ‘S-Sir … are you OK?’

‘I am surprised you even heard me coming.’ General Sephiroth, who had previously been draped in darkness, stood there, tall and striking, clothed in black. When no answer was forthcoming, he turned to a security code panel engraved into the wall on his left and begin typing in the numbers swiftly with his tapered fingers. His heavenly hair billowed thickly like oil, catching the light in its silvery shine.

After finding his voice once more, he answered, sounding a nonce disconcerted but it was replaced by unyielding confidence. ‘It’s what I’m trained for.’ If he sounded incoherent, the fact was not betrayed by the General’s facial expression.

A decidedly cold smile graced his thin lips as he regarded the young man, ‘At least they’ve done something right.’ His tone, on the other hand, indicated that his indifference was not directed at the younger man.

‘Yes, sir,’ Cloud said softly. As he serenely walked away, there was a suggestion of a bittersweet smile upon his lips.

Robbed of breath and energy, he stumbled into the room he shared with Raphael and two other friends, of whom were currently fast asleep. They did not stir from their slumber even as he burst through, but continued snoring soundly, lost in their worlds of dreams. Cloud saw this and closed the door without emitting any unwanted noise as best as he could and crept into his own bed. He wrapped the cool sheets around his body but soon found that sleep would not come. He tried shutting his eyes and cutting all thoughts from his mind, tried to make his bed more comfortable for sleeping, even willed himself to sleep, but each and every one proved useless.

He could not sleep. He was weary beyond telling, yet he could see the night sky beyond the draperies. A moonless, starless night shrouded the night sky in a black cloak, trees seeming ever more haunting with their claw-like fingers. Still, he remembered how brightly Sephiroth’s eyes glowed when they pinned him with that luminous gaze, how cold they seemed when they traced his own.

Not too far a distance, a long-limbed bundle bedecked in an eiderdown stirred, lifting a sleep-addled handsome face with auburn tendrils falling down to his face. The silhouette of the pale blond propped perfectly unmoving on the bed in a foetal position earned him a drooping jaw for three whole minutes. If a fly or two flew into his gaping mouth, he would not have noticed for he was too busy trying to provoke some sort of reaction from his somewhat quiet friend.

When Raphael had restored some dignity to himself and pulled back his hanging jaw, he smoothly glided over to a pondering Cloud. His fingers were crossed and his chin rested upon them and his eyes adopted that cold sparkle of rage. The red-haired soldier crossed to where Cloud was and sat on the bed. Springs underneath the mattress creaked as he settled his weight on the edge of it. Why was Cloud so silent?

‘Hey,’ Raphael whispered tentatively, nodding. ‘Cloud?’

If he had heard him, Cloud did not show it. Raphael’s voice pulled him only so far from where he was. Cloud still could not abandon the incident outside the office; like the memory of seeing a ghost for the first time, he was bound to it. He still felt wary. Still uncertain as to how to react to Sephiroth. They weren’t socially equal, if one counted these things by blood kinship and position, and Cloud was not acclimatised to the prejudices of the school. That sort of naïveté could only come from someone born high enough to not know fear.

‘Cloud.’ The boy sitting opposite him seemed gruffer than ever. When the lamplight shone on Cloud’s face, Raphael was forced to pull in his breath. Cloud looked somehow harder, wearier, older, not at all like what he normally appeared.

‘What’s the matter?’ His voice was tight, strained. Cloud raised his eyes and locked gazes with Raphael. Liquid blue eyes studied brown ones that seemed devoid of life and strength. They quickly looked elsewhere; on the floor, at his shoes, on the bed sheet … anything. Cloud tensed. Just then, Raphael realised something. Cloud was struggling not to cry.

A hand reached out and tenderly held his face. Momentarily dazzled by the contact, he involuntarily choked a gasp and then pressed a reserved sigh from his lungs. Unable to decide whether the touch was comforting or upsetting, Cloud turned his face away from it, silently pleading the hand not to follow him. Raphael questioned the young swordsman in a way he knew how, insisting that the blond soldier tell him what disturbed him, but his tactic ill-afforded him. He even lost count of the number of times Cloud’s name fell from his lips but the latter adamantly remained motionless throughout his probing.

After what seemed the final straw, Raphael spoke, his voice tired and drained. ‘Cloud, please tell me. It’s not about Sephiroth again, is it?’

It was difficult to answer, and Cloud knew it. But it was all Raphael needed to know to rush top his aid. Sharp eyes belonging to the man at the edge of his bed sought any twist of a muscle on his face or the sudden clench of his fingers on the covers or an abrupt jerk of the shoulders that gave away much emotion. He clutched the sheets. Cheeks burning as he worked an answer, he said, ‘T-This might sound inane, Raphael … but Sephiroth …’ His voice trailed off.

A moment of silence. ‘Sephiroth? What about Sephiroth? Did you see him just now?’

Nodding, Cloud looked over at him and felt a feeling of pure reverence. Raphael could be so understanding at times, however, he found he could not convey his message well enough to him. His lips twisted at the force of unwanted memories, but said naught. He hated nasty thoughts of any sort. Hated to repeat them.

When no answer was forthcoming, Raphael threw his hands up in the air in a resigned manner. ‘Cloud,’ he said hotly, eyes darkening, ‘if there’s something you want to tell me, go ahead. What did he say to you? Tell me so I have a reason to kick the living daylights out of him.’

A shudder of something unnameable ran through him as Cloud raised his gaze, revealing eyes that were innocent and filled with hurt it stabbed Raphael’s heart to see them. It was as if Cloud meant to say, How could you do this to me?

‘Nothing … it’s nothing…’ Cloud’s eyes found something interesting to stare at for they were fixed on his lap. ‘He didn’t say anything, not much, but he was very … cold. For a moment, it scared me, the way he looked at me with those eyes.’

‘Just his gaze?’ It sounded more of a statement than a question to Cloud’s ears.

‘Yes.’

‘And nothing more?’

‘No, not really.’

Raphael, who had been waiting a graver answer, raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? Because if he did say something to you, I can talk to him about it,’ he added anxiously, troubled at the sheer impact his older friend was having on the blond-haired cadet. Cloud nodded imperceptibly. He was not in a particularly divulgatory mood. With a twinkle in his mahogany eyes, the customary smile was playing on the bowman’s lips; locks of ruby fell on his cheekbones as Raphael cocked his head to one side. ‘Cloud, what did I say about me shearing you like a sheep?’

Annoyed at his partner’s good humour, Cloud frowned though he was still hesitant about it.

He closed his eyes and reopened them. Do you really need to know that? Do you really need to know I saw?

Raphael could see the instant change in the blond cadet’s face, the distracted look reappearing at the memory brought up by the question and the beam dissipated. He was sure to keep his voice necessarily soft, a notch above a whisper, and let his thumb move to Cloud’s cheek to gently rub the soft skin there, hoping that the physical sensation was adequate to soothe him. He would not push the boy now, not when he was facing a confliction of warring emotions, torn between the urge to cry and shout; but Raphael knew with a sudden fierceness that he would have no qualms about beating an answer out of his superior later on. Radiating an aura of displeasure and a unyielding demeanour was enough to bring most men to their knees, speaking to them not only sparked fear in their beings, it also tended to make them cringe in fear. With others, it was tolerable, in Raphael’s opinion, but not when it came to Cloud. The soldier-in-training did not deserve such unorthodox treatment by his superior, especially when that officer happened to be an acquaintance of his, as well.

‘Are you certain you don’t want to talk about this, Cloud?’ enquired Raphael. ‘I’m right here, I’ll listen if you need me.’

The pale youth raised his golden head upwards to speak out, ‘I was only – ’

‘Hmm?’

Faltering once more, Cloud shook his head from side to side. ‘No … I’m fine … just tired… I was … probably imagining things again.’ Blue orbs tried to look at him properly without faltering and almost managed before losing it in the recess of his mind again. ‘I just need to lie down.’

Silence draped all around them, save for the incessant snoring of Axel and Luxord, like an invisible curtain. Neither man felt comfortable at what had just been discussed, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. After a while, Raphael grunted. ‘Alright, if you insist, but if you need me, I’m always here for you, Cloud,’ he said softly. He clasped both Cloud’s hands in his big ones, enveloping them in warmth. The touch was like an extra hand at his throat, forcing him to look up to receive the next sentence.

Bringing his face close, Raphael sent an unreadable look, ‘Always.’

Cloud grimaced, but nodded nevertheless. From a side glance, he could already see Raphael returning to reshuffle the bed covers so he could sleep in it again. He considered the offer that was given to him with a slightly quivering lip. Timidly, he cooed, ‘Raph …’

His best friend stopped surveying his work and abruptly pivoted at the waist so he could glance backwards to reply. ‘Yes, Cloud?’

‘Would you … please stay here with me?’ Shy aqua orbs elevated minutely from the position at their owner’s lap. ‘Sephiroth did frighten me, but I think I’d feel much better if you were by my side tonight.’ The tender smile gracing Raphael’s face was answer enough for Cloud, who was beckoned to come thither to the small mattress.

‘It’s better if we slept in my bed. I’ve already warmed it up so it’ll ward off the chill in your limbs, Cloud.’ The skilled bowman took hold of a handful of his blanket and threw it around both of their bodies like a good cloak, keeping them sufficiently warm in its woolly embrace. They lay like that, Cloud hugged close to Raphael’s body while the latter gazed out the bedside window, over the brick rooftops of the residents around Midgar Military Mercenary Academy.

Suddenly, Raphael uttered a low whistle and nudged Cloud awake. Groggily he grunted something unintelligible in response as he was not at all amused to be woken up when he was having such nice dream. He shifted his head upwards to meet Raphael’s and was a mite disquieted about the distance between their faces but dismissed the matter.

‘What is it?’ he asked testily.

‘Look over there, by the rooftops,’ the older boy whispered with a hint of urgency.

‘Where?’ Cloud twisted his neck as far as he could without breaking it to see what had gotten his comrade so enthusiastic all of a sudden. A full moon peeked shyly over the feathery clouds, spilling rivers of light into the dark pool of midnight blue around it, and some were even bold enough to kiss the land of slumbering mortals. On the roof of one of the nearest houses stood a voluptuously shaped human figure, bathing in the soft rays. ‘I see something, but what it is, I can’t tell.’

‘It’s a woman lying there.’

A look of unadulterated disbelief fleeted over Cloud’s features. ‘How would you know that?’

‘Because she’s stark naked, that’s how,’ came Raphael’s flat reply, never once taking his eyes off of her.

The blond’s bow shaped lips scrunched up into a poor imitation of an “O” as a blush crept into his pale cheeks. ‘Oh, that,’ he said, ‘It’s an Al-Bhed custom, a superstition that the first few rays of moonlight shining on a woman’s belly will increase her fertility.’

‘Yeah, but she can’t see us.’

‘Shan’t we leave her be, then? She’s obviously got her mind on other things, you know. Go to sleep, Raph. And,’ he added sharply, ‘stop gawking at her.’

‘I’m sort of an expert in that field if that’s what’s really bothering her,’ Raphael replied dazedly with a shrewd tone. ‘Maybe I should talk to her about it –’ He made as to leave but was violently pulled back by two surprisingly sturdy, small hands.

‘I said no. You stay put. The furthest place you’ll be going tonight is the toilet, so you’d better not try anything else,’ Cloud firmly said, snuggling under the comfortable bedspread and trying to relish its warmth as he spoke. After a few minutes, Raphael was quiet again, but Cloud was unsure whether he was awake or not as he was too tired to care. Subconsciously, he rubbed the tip of his cold nose against his friend’s pulsing neck in a vain attempt to get cosy when he heard his name being called again by the masculine voice above his ear.

Cloud didn’t bother opening his eyelids as he was trying his best to catch as much of it as possible before dawn rose in the horizon, and that would mean the start of a new day. Another school day. ‘Now what?’ he asked gratingly, clenching his teeth and inwardly wondering whether he was going to get any sleep that night.

‘That Al-Bhedian woman. She’s still there.’

‘It’s her roof.’

‘I know, but she seems much too interesting for me to ignore, Cloud.’

‘Why?’ Cloud, at long last, had fluttered his eyes open and glanced warily at Raphael’s glinting chocolate ones that adopted a faraway gaze to them. ‘Is she pretty?’

‘I can’t say, really,’ he admitted woefully with a mischievous grin smeared upon the area where his mouth was suppose to be. ‘I’m not looking at her face.’