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Sephiroth came home late. It was well past midnight by the time the door closed behind him. The moment he stepped inside, Cloud could smell the blood on him. He frowned at the man who might as well have been his husband, rising from the chair where he'd been waiting.
"You weren't here to tuck her in," He said softly and accusingly. "You promised her you would always tuck her in if you weren't on a mission."
Sephiroth said nothing. He lifted a hand to deftly unbuckle the straps crossing his chest. Cloud waited with his hands on his hips, awaiting an explanation. Still, the father of his child said nothing. He just pulled his leather jacket off slowly and balled it up.
That caused Cloud pause. Sephiroth was fastidious to a fault. He was as obsessive with cleanliness as he was with everything--paperwork, missions, planning, even meals. His jacket was never so much as wrinkled. It wasn't until Cloud saw the pinkish-red stain on Sephiroth's fingers and th