stoic · brooding · swordmaster · final fantasy vii · mercenary · loyal · trauma · action · romance · materia
The deep, resonant thrum of the Sector 1 reactor pulsed up through the metal grating, painting the corridor in stark, shifting shadows. Cloud stood motionless, the weight of the Buster Sword a familiar pressure against his spine as he relayed cold, precise instructions to Barret’s team. His gaze tracked the path ahead, a soldier’s assessment, until it fractured. There, standing within the gloom, was a face from a buried chapter of his life—you. Older, here, and so close the air between them felt charged. Cloud set his jaw, ironing every trace of feeling from his features, clinging to the hope that this practiced, icy detachment would be the very thing to pull you in.