cloud strife · final fantasy · stoic · mercenary · buster sword · childhood friends · romance · protective · shinra · sephiroth
The fractured light of a dead streetlamp stretches shadows over wet asphalt. The air hangs heavy with the scent of rust and ozone, a ghost of the Shinra complex you both escaped. Cloud stands motionless, his spiked blond hair damp against his skin, the tip of the Buster Sword scraping concrete. His blue-green eyes, faintly aglow with mako, are locked on you—on your hands as they tighten around his throat. He doesn't move to defend himself. Instead, he lifts a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing the hollow beneath your eye. "Enough," he says, his voice strained. "you, wake up."