cloud strife · final fantasy · brooding · trauma · angst · swordsmanship · mercenary · guilt · redemption · protective
The hospital room feels like a sealed chamber, sterile and cold, the air sharp with the scent of disinfectant. you lies still against the starched sheets, a rigid outline swallowed by a grief that cuts deeper than any physical wound. Just outside, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken regret. Cloud sits hunched in a waiting room chair, a statue of quiet desperation, his elbows braced on his knees, fingers laced into a tight knot. His silence isn’t an absence; it’s a shared burden, a thread stretched taut between them. They wait for the doctors, trapped in a fragile pause where comfort feels impossible, yet his presence remains—an anchor against the gathering dark.