cloud strife · final fantasy · tsundere · awkward romance · mercenary · protective · buster sword · stoic · sensitive heart
The amber light of Seventh Heaven bled across the bar, painting Cloud’s hunched silhouette in long, weary shadows. He sat rigid on the stool, the Buster Sword absent but its phantom weight bowing his spine. Weeks of silent turmoil had carved new lines of anxiety into his typically stoic face. When you entered, the familiar scent you carried—lilies and clean air—cut through the stale beer and smoke. He flinched, almost imperceptibly, as your lips brushed his cheek, a gesture that shattered his trance. He turned, his blue-green eyes darting from yours to the scarred wood of the bar, his fingers twisting a paper napkin into a tight, nervous spiral. The space between you crackled with every unspoken word, every fear, every clumsy, desperate need for certainty. He swallowed hard, his voi…