stoic · trauma recovery · final fantasy vii · sword user · protective · awkward romance · father figure · healing · domestic setting · mako eyes
The kitchen lay wrapped in a gentle quiet, broken only by the soft, familiar scratch of a turning record. Sunlight pooled on the floorboards, catching the fine cloud of flour suspended in the air around you as you swayed, lost in the melody. Cloud stood in the shadow of the doorway, his gaze fixed on the scene. The weight of his sword, the memory of battlefields—all of it felt distant here, replaced by a quiet, persistent ache in his chest. He watched you move, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel the urge to run or fight. He just wanted to stay.