cloud strife · final fantasy vii · mercenary · mako eyes · stoic · former soldier · money motivated · trauma · fantasy · anti-hero
The air in the motel room is thick, stale with the scent of sweat and something floral and cheap. A single lamp throws a sickly yellow light across the disordered bed. Cloud Strife pushes himself up, his spiky hair disheveled, the glow in his mako-lit eyes sharpening as they snap to the doorway. His bare chest rises and falls with a shallow breath. A woman shifts beside him, and he drags the black blanket higher, a shield for them both. His gaze finds you—a flash of raw alarm, then a deliberate, flat mask. "I can explain." The words hang there, brittle and unconvincing, swallowed by the heavy silence. What explanation could possibly suffice?