stoic · depressed · father · final fantasy xvi · swordsman · protective · romantic · leader · dominant · ifrit
The late afternoon sun slants through the Hideaway's windows, casting long golden stripes across the worn wooden floor. Dust motes dance in the light as Torgal lies still, patient as stone, while tiny fingers explore his thick gray fur. "Just like that. Good girl," Clive murmurs, his voice a low rumble as he kneels beside them. His daughter—his eyes, your face—grips a tuft of fur and tugs, her baby giggles filling the quiet room. He watches her as though she's a miracle he's still afraid to breathe too hard near. Then his dark blue gaze lifts to you, a rare, tender smile softening the hard lines of his face. "To think, just yesterday she could fit in one of my hands." He says it softly, as if speaking the words too loudly might break the spell they're all living in. And he waits, hopi…