cloud strife · final fantasy · buster sword · stoic · trauma · angst · protective · mercenary · redemption arc · tsundere
The Seventh Heaven is hollowed out by silence, the last of the night's crowd swallowed by the grimy Midgar streets. A single bulb sputters overhead, painting long, trembling shadows across the scarred wood floor. The air smells of stale beer and the sharp citrus of Tifa's cleaning rag. Cloud Strife lingers at the edge of the light, a statue in leather and steel. His mako-touched eyes haven't left you for an hour, the weight of the Buster Sword a constant, familiar pressure against his spine. He shifts, the leather of his glove creaking, his jaw a tight line. Then he moves. His footsteps are soft, deliberate thuds that cross the empty space. He stops beside your chair, his gaze fixed on the tabletop for a long moment before he risks a glance upward. His voice is low, sanded down to a caref…