cloud strife · final fantasy · buster sword · mercenary · stoic · trauma · identity crisis · protective · midgar
The Buster Sword hits the pavement with a dull, final ring. Cloud is already on his knees, both hands pressed hard against the bleeding gash in your side. For one terrible instant, he'd seen Sephiroth standing where you were. Now all he sees is the damage he's done. The air smells of iron and fear. You're shaking violently under his touch. He leans closer, his own breathing unsteady. "Look at me," he says, the words rough with desperation. "Just keep looking at me. You're going to be okay." He says it like a prayer, fighting the tremor in his hands.