#just poking fun at Angeal’s ‘lectures’

[prismaticpichu]

Posted this fic on an alt account bc I kinda just barfed it out this morning without worrying about quality/being up to snuff with regular stuff but then kinda chickened out and orphaned that account but I honestly don’t want 2.5K worth of words to go to waste so here we are!

Hope you enjoy! A little Zack & Angeal & Sephiroth nonsense for your reading pleasure <33

~

Unprofessionalism

Angeal was giving him a Look.

A really, really, really stern Look.

Zack Fair stood in the doorway of his mentor's apartment—the first time he had ever entered his mentor's apartment, actually, and all his initial excitement of stepping foot into one of SOLDIER's most elite living spaces had been frozen to subzero temperatures while simultaneously feeling like he was under the scrutiny of two Mako-blue heat lamps as Angeal frowned down at him with a pursed lip and furrowed brow.

Zack swallowed.

What...what did he do? He didn't charge inside the place like a bull who'd been bit in the butt (even though he really wanted to), he didn't track any dirt on the clean wooden floors...Heck, he had immediately removed his shoes the moment he passed the threshold—

"Zack." Angeal finally broke the tension with all the ease of a butterknife. "...What is on your feet?"

...

Huh?

Zack blinked in surprise, taken aback by the question, the burning radiance of those heat lamps toning down just a tad as he rubbed his neck and glanced down at his feet.

"Uh...socks?" he said, and hoped that it was the right answer. Especially given that it was the only answer.

...Surely 'Geal could see that he was wearing proper foot covering, right? Right?! He wasn't some heathen who would risk blistering his feet with the abrasive material of the SOLDIER footwear. So what gives? They were perfectly fine socks—and perfectly clean to boot. There was no dirt; there were no holes; they didn't even smell all too bad. Just two perfectly fine socks that were covering his feet, one white with blue polka dots and the other black with green stripes. Completely and utterly normal.

Zack glanced back up, hoping his (obvious) answer would be enough to satisfy.

Annnnd Angeal was still giving him a Look.

...Oh for the love of sugar-frosted corn flakes.

"What?" Zack had to finally ask. "What'd I do? Really!"

Angeal's expression didn't change.

"...Your socks."

The response was dry, slow, like the sluggish pace and molasses-coated syllables would somehow manage to make it any less vague.

"What about my socks?"

The heat lamp cranked up the heat. Angeal folded his arms, furrowed brow twitching, tilting his head slightly like he had just asked what on Gaia two plus two equates to.

And took a deep breath.

"They're mismatching."

...

...

Huh?

Zack glanced back down at his socks—at the stripes and dots, at the lefty and righty—genuinely and unabashedly and totally confused, before looking back up at has mentor again.

"Uh...so?"

...

The heat lamp reached solar levels.

Zack rubbed his neck.

Welp. That just earned him a one-way, non-refundable ticket to a good ol' lecture if he'd ever seen one.

"...Zack," Angeal started tightly.

Annnnnnddd there it was.

He tried not to groan.

"What do I always tell you is the most vital part of being a SOLDIER?”

"Embracing your dreams," Zack mindlessly regurgitated.

"Correct. And what else?"

"...Protecting your honor." The second part came as a sigh.

"Good. And what do you think that means, pup? To protect your honor?"

Zack once again rubbed his neck, struggling to puzzle out how this going-through-the-motions lecture connected to the apparent topic of his sock choices.

"Uh...to not cheat on exams?"

"Nope. Try again."

"Uhhhh..."

"It means not only acting the part of a SOLDIER, pup, but looking the part as well. Do you understand where I'm going with this?"

Zack was certain at this point that Angeal's definition of "SOLDIER honor" was actually made of clay and could basically be kneaded and molded to fit whatever unspoken law he managed to break in the moment. Like when he wasn't cutting his meatballs into appropriate sizes before consuming them and Angeal went on to say that the true meaning of "SOLDIER honor" meant having good table manners and apparently nothing else.

"Not really," Zack admitted.

Angeal's brows did a little dance.

"I mean, Zack, that wearing proper and appropriate attire is a clear-cut sign of your respect and appreciation towards military standards. Anything below that not only shows your impropriety, but shows you have a complete and utter lack of respect towards the SOLDIERs around you who are wearing the proper attire. Do you understand now?”

...

...

...Huh?

"I guess," Zack said, for the sheer sake of moving this grueling process along.

How was it that he hadn't moved from the doormat?

Angeal kept his arms folded. "Do you want to be a First, Zack?"

Zack's head snapped up, something struck, blue eyes suddenly doe-like. "More than anything!"

"Then I suggest you start dressing like it." Angeal finally lowered his arms. "Because, frankly, I do not appreciate the messages you are sending to me by wearing your..." He eyed Stripes and Dots with an unveiled, purposeful disdain. "Incongruent socks."

"But 'Geaaaal," Zack protested, actually starting to get a little offended. "You can't even see my socks with the boots on! Who even cares?”

"It's not about that, pup. It's about the principle."

Oh, the principle. It's always about the principle.

"Geal..."

"Don't argue with me, pup. It's completely unprofessional."

"But—“

"No buts. Now please go change them."

"What?”

"Go on."

"Geal!"

"Go."

"C'mon—“

"Now, Zack."

"Can I at least have a snack?"

"After you change. Now go."

"C'mon, this is totally—“

"Zack."

"But—“

"Zackary Calypso Fair."

...

Why did he ever tell him his middle name?

Letting out a long, exaggerated, petulant sign in resignation—and for the sake of getting off this stinking doormat—Zack begrudgingly complied. With a slump in his shoulders he turned around and started out the door, not even bothering to slip his boots back on because apparently they just didn't matter so long as the fabric underneath them wasn't fit for proper SOLDIER day-to-day life.

...Fooey.

The boy's eyes remained glued to Stripy and Dots as he took his walk of shame towards the elevator.

...He'd been wearing his socks like this ever since he was a little tadpole back in Gongaga. They were his, like, good luck charm—didn't 'Geal see that?! Some people plucked four-leaved clovers from the ground, others carried horseshoes with them. Well, not him. He—Zack Fair—had always held tight to the belief that all good fortune started with mismatching socks. Specifically ones with different patterns. And then there was the question of how in Moogle's magical mascara he was supposed to find matching socks—because, well, his drawer was kinda but totally a rainbow explosion of different socks that had been long ripped from their pairs and set off to marry other mates in the sea. Like, really. That's what it looked like. It would take him hours to organize them all again. Days, even. Months? Years? Centuri—

So subsumed in his sock-serious dilemma, Zack was completely impervious to the sound of the elevator dinging in front of him.

As was he impervious to the sound of a person stepping out of it.

As was he impervious to any sense of time and space as he proceeded to mindlessly walk into the open car only to be stopped by walking straight into someone's open coat instead.

Gah! Shoot shoot shoot.

Zack jolted back into his body, startled , shaking his head from the impact as a deep coral gushed onto his cheeks.

And boy oh boy did his cheeks nearly burn off as his head shot up and he caught sight of the serpentine eyes peering into his own.

...

Oh.

Frosted.

Cornflakes.

Zack's mouth opened way too fast.

"Oh—uh! I'm sorry, Sir! General, Sir! Sephiroth, General, Sir! I didn't mean to walk into your chest or anything—I, uh, I promise! I was just kinda lost in thought y'know—I can be a real space cadet sometimes even though I haven't been a cadet in over a year and erm anyway uh do you like meatballs—“

"At ease, SOLDIER." Sephiroth's voice was smooth, even, and unruffled. "Just keep your head up next time."

...

Huh. That was pretty nice, actually.

Zack nodded vigorously nonetheless, taking a step back, but was relieved to feel the blazes of tension dwindling away in his body. "Y-yes, Sir. Will do."

Anything to avoid repeating that.

...Seriously.

He was surprised to see the man tilt his head, a rather benign gesture as Sephiroth regarded him curiously. "What are you doing on this floor, SOLDIER? Do you have business being here?"

Zack's lips quirked into a smile. "Sure do! My mentor's a First Class; was just coming to chill at his place after some training."

Sephiroth hummed in understanding, straightening his look. "Ah. So you're Zackary?"

Zack's eyes might as well have exploded into stars.

"Yeah! Yeah, that's me! How'd you know?!"

Angeal would not approve of this explicit lack of "Sirring". But who cared two Chocobo nuggets about that? Sephiroth knew his name! His name! Little tadpole Zack's name!

A ghost of a smile crossed Sephiroth's lips. "Angeal's a friend," he explained smoothly. "He has mentioned having a student before."

... No freakin' waaaaaYYYYYYY YY—

Before Zack could let that sound out, thankfully, the general's expression shifted to that of confusion.

And in a matter of nanoseconds Zack was realizing exactly what he was staring at.

And the coral instantly came flooding back.

I know, I know, I'm going! You don't need to reinforce it. Mismatched socks are for squares, i've been told. I won't be a square. Just lay it on me.

He swallowed, holding his breath, and—

"...Why aren't you wearing shoes, Zackary?" Sephiroth asked puzzledly.

—let his breath go.

...

…

Well.

That wasn't exactly the question he was expecting.

Nonetheless, it was a question—a question from General Sephiroth—and for the sake of not looking like any more of a buffoon, it was one that he should answer in a timely manner. Like now.

Like right now.

Zack rubbed his neck, masking as much of his surprise as possible.

"Well, uh, Angeal...he kinda, y'know...told me to change my socks."

Sephiroth remained silent for several moments.

"...Why?"

...

Why...?

Zack could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"Well, y'know. He said...y'know..."

He was trying his best to gesture verbally to the Obvious—an Obvious that Sephiroth, judging by sheer countenance alone, wasn't grasping, which seemed completely and utterly ridiculous given that circulating rumors told of Sephiroth's collective IQ being higher than that of the entire SOLDIER unit clumped together (Angeal himself included) . And yet here he was, looking completely and utterly stumped like he was the world's most Unfair crossword puzzle.

Which meant that Zack was forced to continue.

"You know..." He swallowed. "He said that, well, he said that...Said that wearing mismatching socks was unprofessional and I was being disrespectful and showing impro-pie-ity or something and that true SOLDIER's honor was all in the dress code even though I thought he said it was about table manners and then another time he said it was about tying your laces and anyway he said he wouldn't give me a snack until I change so now I have to abandon my superstitions and conform to the SOLDIER sock wearing code."

...

...

Sephiroth remained silent for several more moments.

...

...

And when he spoke again, some five or thirty seconds later, Zack was certain he could be bowled over with a feather.

"Well..." he said slowly, turning his gaze away with a hum. "I suppose I am an activate displayer of impro-pie-ity myself.”

Zack blinked.

...

...

Huh?

Now, it was his turn to cock his head. "...Whad'ya mean?"

It didn't take many words for his question to be answered; it didn't take many syllables. Which, well, when Zack thought about it... may have been partly due to the fact that Sephiroth's response didn't require any words at all.

Instead, as that ghost of a smile took possession of his lips and curled into a real, true smirk, Sephiroth bent down—alllll the way to his boots, allll the way to the cuffs of his pants—and proceeded to roll up the iconic black material until the clothing underneath was visible.

And that was when the feather bowled Zack right over.

Because there, hugging the bottommost part of his legs and disappearing into the tunnel of his boots, were a pair of socks. But not just any socks: a blue sock on his right, mottled with yellow polka dots, and a plain gray sock on his left. Socks that were not matching in style, color, nor pattern; socks that were chaotic, wild, and free. Socks that were completely and utterly incongruent as they come.

Zack's mouth fell agape.

"Angeal can get more than a little carried away with his lectures." The smirk was still playing on his lips as Sephiroth rolled his cuffs back down. "Not to mention the fact that First Classes have complete freedom in regard to their clothing choices. Did he tell you that?"

Zack shook his head.

"Or course not." Sephiroth shook his own, bangs of silver swishing with the motion. "He still wears the standard uniform everywhere he goes."

The man straightened back upright, smirk still present, and bestowed upon him a brief nod of understanding.

"I wouldn't be too disheartened by Angeal's preaching, my friend. He once lectured me for shaking too much Parmesan cheese onto my dinner."

The numbing, incredulous awe that had enveloped him was finally broken by a laugh.

"...For real?! What'd you say to him?"

"I told him to back off, of course," Sephiroth replied smugly. "That I wasn't a child and could do what I want. Same as when he scolded me to change my socks."

He glanced down at Stripy and Dots, that satisfied smirk melting into something of a genuine smile.

"Very nice colors, by the way. I approve."

And then he was gone, like a silver leaf in the wind, sailing down the hallway towards his own apartment and closing the door behind him.

Zack remained silent for several, several moments.

...

...

Wow.

What a guy.

[altocat]

we are mean to them 😔 but we let them have fun sometimes and it's not always backed by angst!

as a resident sephirologist i am asking ur PhD opinion bc my seph thoughts are not as developed. i know in my heart of hearts A Real Genuine Genesis laugh is a hyena cackle with clapping and rearing back and everything. another case of "is this dramatics" and it's not he's just got big feelings. all of them unfortunately. even that time a real ojousama laugh possessed him and okay he's little embarrassed about that one but she was real. a

i will PERISH LIKE A BEAST on the hill of A Real Genuine Angeal laugh is either so charmingly boyish half the room falls in love with him or a near terminal case of the giggles where if you somehow don't come out not enamored you cannot resist the contagion. he's aware of the gap moe. he cannot forget the joint lecture zack and genesis gave him about gap moe and how it applies to him

but a sane sephi laugh! my options are so limitless!!! we know post nibelheim he's too in the soup for more than a villainous heh and some chuckles. what happens to presoup seph in terms of critical character analysis like laughter headcanons!! is he just really flushed? just shit laugh all around good job buddy- worst they ever did it? maybe he snorts if the joke is good enough......... leaves you several fine nuts and grains i had in my pocket but i arrange them into a KILL HOJO sign

I love these. I LOVE ALL OF THESE ASRDFGHJGFDFGHG SO MUCH

SEE ALSO:

Genesis unable to keep a straight face during his giggle fit, constantly cracking up regardless of whether or not the "funny incident" happened forty minutes ago. His friends are genuinely concerned and think he's having some kind of mental breakdown. He's completely immobile and faceplanting on the couch, occasionally twitching. Angeal and Sephiroth draw straws for the honor of poking the body.

Angeal lighting up the entire room with a full belly laugh. In that moment, he's more gorgeous than Genesis and Sephiroth combined. A literal beacon, glowing for all to see. Genesis and Sephiroth stand there in absolute awe because LOOK at this precious oaf. LOOK at him. They both have literal heart-eyes just admiring his ANGEALness.

To answer your Seph question, Sephiroth is a wide spectrum of laughs. Silent little stone-faced convulsions. Smooth, rumbling chuckles. A soft smile, the laughter completely absent save for the way his eyes are glittering mischievously. So beautiful. So refined. So elegant. Like a walking work of art....only for everyone within a five mile radius to run for the fucking hills when he laughs for REAL because that shit is the stuff of nightmares and they are convinced Satan is in the room with them damning souls to Hell. You never know just what you'll get with Sephiroth. A boyish giggle that's endearingly childlike. A suave, smirking half-grunt of amusement. An immature snort over something suggestive Genesis whispers in his ear. Or Satan-sounds. The Awakening of Paimon. Fucking Bagul. That horror movie shit lmao.