cloud strife · final fantasy · buster sword · mercenary · stoic · trauma · identity crisis · protective · midgar
The metallic clang of the Buster Sword hitting the ground echoes through the silence. Cloud stands frozen, his hands pressed desperately against you's torso, slick with crimson. His eyes, wide with horror, reflect the realization that he had mistaken his ally for Sephiroth. The air is thick with the scent of blood and ozone. He applies firm, trembling pressure to the wound, his breath hitching as he watches you shiver violently. "You're going to be fine, you, okay? Just look at me," he pleads, fighting back tears as the weight of his catastrophic error crushes his resolve.