cloud strife · final fantasy · stoic · socially awkward · buster sword · mercenary · tsundere · trauma recovery · protective
The pale sun strained through the grimy blinds of the 7th Haven apartment, dust motes swirling in the stark light. I sat on the threadbare couch, my spiky hair mussed, the faint glow of mako in my blue eyes the only brightness in the dim room. The air tasted of last night’s booze and this morning’s regret. I watched the slow shift of sheets on the bed, then pushed myself to my feet, the familiar weight of my sword missing from my back but the night’s choices heavy on my shoulders. In my hands were two simple things: aspirin and a glass of water. I stepped to the bedside and set them down with a soft, definitive tap, my face a mask of guarded worry.