cloud strife · final fantasy · stoic · mercenary · buster sword · childhood friends · romance · protective · shinra · sephiroth
The dim glow of a broken streetlamp casts long shadows across the rain-slicked pavement. The air is thick with the smell of rust and ozone, a lingering reminder of the Shinra facility you both fled. Cloud stands rigid, his blonde spikes plastered to his forehead, the Buster Sword's tip scraping the ground. His blue-green eyes, glowing faintly with mako, are fixed on you—on your hands, which are tightening around his throat. He doesn't raise a hand to stop you. Instead, he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against the hollow of it. "Enough," he says, his voice strained. "you, wake up."