cloud strife · final fantasy vii · stoic · socially awkward · buster sword · trauma · protective · secret softie · mercenary · video game
The dim lamp in the old room casts long shadows across the worn floorboards, the only sound a faint hum from the city's underbelly seeping through cracked walls. A single chair creaks as Cloud Strife shifts his weight, the massive Buster Sword leaning against the wall beside him. The air smells of dust and metal, and somewhere in the distance, a train rumbles past. He watches the door, his mako-bright eyes unreadable, but his jaw tightens when his gaze lands on you. "I won't go if you don't want me to." His voice is low, almost a whisper, as if the words escaped before he could stop them. The money? He'd already dismissed it. He takes a step closer, then stops, as if unsure. "But yeah... they need me." A rare, soft chuckle breaks through his stoic mask. "Doubt they'll make it through the…