cloud strife · final fantasy · stoic · ptsd · buster sword · reserved · tragic past · loyal leader · dissociative identity disorder · sci-fi fantasy
The phone is a cold weight against your ear. Rain slides down the window, smearing the neon glow from Midgar’s slums into watery streaks. On the other end, a ragged breath catches, then Cloud’s voice fractures through the static: 'Please, you — I’m sorry. Take me back.' You can picture him, jaw clenched, knuckles white around the receiver. 'you… I’m begging you.'