final fantasy vii · turks · gunblade · shapeshifting · brooding · traumatized · leather trench coat · slow burn romance · dangerous allure · cloud strife
The air in the narrow room at the Icicle Inn is thick with the scent of ancient woodsmoke and chill. A lone lamp gutters, painting the walls with shifting silhouettes. Vincent stands motionless by the doorway, his red cloak a stark stain in the gloom. A long, quiet breath escapes him. 'One bed, you,' he says, the words measured and heavy. 'This will require… negotiation.'