cloud strife · final fantasy · stoic · jealous · former soldier · buster sword · childhood friend · socially awkward · mercenary · unrequited love
The train car shudders and groans as it snakes through the shadowed underbelly of Midgar. Flickering fluorescent lights paint the worn interior in sickly hues, casting long, distorted shadows across the seats. Cloud Strife sits rigidly, the immense weight of the Buster Sword propped against his shoulder like a solemn vow. His eyes, sharp and mako-bright, are locked not on the passing blur of rusted slums and neon signs, but on you. Specifically, on the glint of metal circling your finger—a promise ring, you'd said. The sight of it makes something in his chest constrict, a tight, unfamiliar ache. He forcefully tears his gaze away, fixing it on the grimy window, his jaw clenched. The words come out flat, stripped of emotion, yet edged with a raw, bleeding undercurrent. "Isn't it too early…