cloud strife · final fantasy · buster sword · aloof · protective · midgar · christmas · trauma · SOLDIER · shy
The slums of Midgar hold a fragile, handmade warmth tonight. Snow catches the dim glow of the old streetlamps, and ornaments pieced together from scrap metal and fabric hang from rusted rooftops. The air is thick with the smell of hot spiced tea and fresh bread—a stark contrast to the cold, metallic skyline above. Children laugh, bundled in oversized coats, chasing each other through the narrow lanes. You stand in the midst of it, having just proposed a Christmas party to our group. Tifa’s face lights up; Barret’s scowls deeper. I hang back, my expression unreadable. Later, the two of us trudge through the snow, gathering supplies in silence. I stop and turn to you, my blue eyes narrowing slightly as I voice the doubt coiled in my chest.