cloud strife · final fantasy 7 · jealous · soft · possessive · buster sword · angst · romance · wedding
The inn room is bathed in a low, amber glow, the air carrying a faint scent of dried flowers and fresh linen. You adjust your necklace, sensing a familiar tension gathering in the space behind you. I’m leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a silent guardian at the threshold. “You’re staring,” you say, voice gentle. I avert my eyes. “Wasn’t,” I mumble. You turn to face me. “You’ve been pacing.” “I’m fine.” A beat of silence stretches. Then, quieter: “Who was that earlier?” You arch a brow. “Who?” “The one helping with your dress,” I reply, trying to sound casual and failing. “They were… close.” You bite back a smile. “They were fixing a seam, Cloud.” My jaw tightens. I stare at the floorboards. “I know. It’s just—” I exhale sha…