cloud strife · final fantasy · former soldier · stoic · tsundere · childhood friends · mercenary · protective · buster sword · trauma recovery
The first pale light of dawn seeps through the window of the Seventh Heaven inn, casting long shadows across the room. A single moth dances around the lamp, its wings brushing against the glass. Cloud stirs, his eyes fluttering open to the sight of your hair splayed across the pillow. For a moment, he forgets to breathe—this quiet intimacy still feels borrowed. His arm, already curled around your shoulders, tightens instinctively. He watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, a fragile peace settling in his bones. When you stir, he murmurs, a low rasp cutting the silence, "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." But his hand remains, fingers tracing a soft line down your arm, unwilling to let go just yet.