They are both changing, and it is an exhausting process. Tseng is only very freshly alive, and no matter how good he is at maintaining his composure, it is going to affect him. Things that he assumed to be true have become laughable fairy tales anymore. The bondage of his mortal frailty has been cast aside. (Not that he was ever any good at staying dead anyway.) There are so many things to consider.
Like how he is so mired in tradition, in his scripture and his stories, but was so willing to eschew his plans for death to share Reno's fate that night. He's known for a very long time how he is going to die—for good, anyway. Reno is going to do it. By now, it is as much a part of their organization as a coming of age ritual. The gun fires, and the cycle begins anew, even if some do not take it as seriously as others. It is the way things have always been and the way they are forever meant to be, for as long as men and women wear black suits and stalk the streets in the vague interests of public security. Tseng takes that tradition very seriously.
But Sephiroth robbed him of that, and it makes for a very tidy explanation for why he had to do what he did. If he was someone on the outside looking in, he would be satisfied with that and leave well enough alone. But that's not right either.
Even for Tseng, it is difficult to be honest with himself. Thoughts creep into his mind that make him doubt his sanity. There are unseemly urges that strike him blind, that cause him to worry if he is truly suited for the rank he carries. Often, he forgets what it was like to just be human, to feel angry and afraid and jealous and miserable and in love. They all bleed together into one silent flame that burns whenever his hands reach for anything but a gun. Here, though, that seems okay. Reno was there with him when he was still so openly, vulnerably, laughably normal. Back when Reno was the strange one, with his accent and his twisted perspective of the world, Tseng had learned not to judge. And Reno repaid him the favor by watching Tseng become what he is today, all the while remaining faithful, his partner-in-crime, his second in command, his friend—or something like it.
So Tseng lets the truth of the matter wash over him: the worst sin that Sephiroth committed was taking Reno's life, but only because Tseng believed that life was his. That Reno would put him down or Tseng would lay him out for not being strong enough to do him the honor. No one else was ever supposed to do it. They were supposed to fell each other or not at all.
Whatever emotion was always meant to blossom from the core of that compulsion, it's only ever grown into a hunger, and Sephiroth stole that first taste away from him. Nothing in this world will ever take away what Tseng lost that night, and he is going to raze this entire fucking world to the ground and count the souls until they equal out. Until balance is achieved. Beginning with Reno, because all he has ever wanted is what Sephiroth had, and there are no rules anymore. And now he can have that, over and over and over again, for as long as he likes, as bloody and dark and savage as he needs it to be.
Already, his mouth is filling at the thought. He could take Reno, right now, no one would ever know. He'd never tell. He could push him off this cliff, and maybe Reno would laugh and laugh and laugh as he plummeted, or maybe he would grab Tseng's hand and they'd go down together, but either way, it would be magnificent.
Or better yet, he could bring them back—
"—to that place," Reno says aloud, finishing the thought for him. "I want you to walk me through it."
Tseng's eyes narrow. A smile chews its way across his lips like a flame gnawing at a guttering wick. He uses the hand that he's holding to draw Reno up, to move with him to the very edge of the cliff. Like a pas de deux, he spins Reno toward the endless view of it, arms winding around his hips, laughter rioting in his shoulders even if it never makes it past his lips because he knows Reno will get a kick out of how the tips of his boots hang perilously off the edge.
"Shall we jump?" he asks. His teeth burn crescent imprints into Reno's jaw. The fluttering of his heart, the rush of warmth, the way his arms cannot seem to let Reno go, all of it makes what he is feeling so very simple to define: it is bloodlust, pure and primal, and he's never felt it like this before.
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Like how he is so mired in tradition, in his scripture and his stories, but was so willing to eschew his plans for death to share Reno's fate that night. He's known for a very long time how he is going to die—for good, anyway. Reno is going to do it. By now, it is as much a part of their organization as a coming of age ritual. The gun fires, and the cycle begins anew, even if some do not take it as seriously as others. It is the way things have always been and the way they are forever meant to be, for as long as men and women wear black suits and stalk the streets in the vague interests of public security. Tseng takes that tradition very seriously.
But Sephiroth robbed him of that, and it makes for a very tidy explanation for why he had to do what he did. If he was someone on the outside looking in, he would be satisfied with that and leave well enough alone. But that's not right either.
Even for Tseng, it is difficult to be honest with himself. Thoughts creep into his mind that make him doubt his sanity. There are unseemly urges that strike him blind, that cause him to worry if he is truly suited for the rank he carries. Often, he forgets what it was like to just be human, to feel angry and afraid and jealous and miserable and in love. They all bleed together into one silent flame that burns whenever his hands reach for anything but a gun. Here, though, that seems okay. Reno was there with him when he was still so openly, vulnerably, laughably normal. Back when Reno was the strange one, with his accent and his twisted perspective of the world, Tseng had learned not to judge. And Reno repaid him the favor by watching Tseng become what he is today, all the while remaining faithful, his partner-in-crime, his second in command, his friend—or something like it.
So Tseng lets the truth of the matter wash over him: the worst sin that Sephiroth committed was taking Reno's life, but only because Tseng believed that life was his. That Reno would put him down or Tseng would lay him out for not being strong enough to do him the honor. No one else was ever supposed to do it. They were supposed to fell each other or not at all.
Whatever emotion was always meant to blossom from the core of that compulsion, it's only ever grown into a hunger, and Sephiroth stole that first taste away from him. Nothing in this world will ever take away what Tseng lost that night, and he is going to raze this entire fucking world to the ground and count the souls until they equal out. Until balance is achieved. Beginning with Reno, because all he has ever wanted is what Sephiroth had, and there are no rules anymore. And now he can have that, over and over and over again, for as long as he likes, as bloody and dark and savage as he needs it to be.
Already, his mouth is filling at the thought. He could take Reno, right now, no one would ever know. He'd never tell. He could push him off this cliff, and maybe Reno would laugh and laugh and laugh as he plummeted, or maybe he would grab Tseng's hand and they'd go down together, but either way, it would be magnificent.
Or better yet, he could bring them back—
"—to that place," Reno says aloud, finishing the thought for him. "I want you to walk me through it."
Tseng's eyes narrow. A smile chews its way across his lips like a flame gnawing at a guttering wick. He uses the hand that he's holding to draw Reno up, to move with him to the very edge of the cliff. Like a pas de deux, he spins Reno toward the endless view of it, arms winding around his hips, laughter rioting in his shoulders even if it never makes it past his lips because he knows Reno will get a kick out of how the tips of his boots hang perilously off the edge.
"Shall we jump?" he asks. His teeth burn crescent imprints into Reno's jaw. The fluttering of his heart, the rush of warmth, the way his arms cannot seem to let Reno go, all of it makes what he is feeling so very simple to define: it is bloodlust, pure and primal, and he's never felt it like this before.