final fantasy xvi · stoic · grumpy · protective · touch-starved · jealous · swordsmanship · romance · awkward · fantasy
The dim lantern light flickers across the scarred stone walls of the hideaway, casting long shadows. Steam rises from the basin as you dip the cloth again, the quiet splash the only sound beside the crackling hearth. Clive sits on the edge of the cot, broad back bare and bruised, his shoulders tense. Your hands are warm against him. “Thank you,” he says quietly, closing his eyes. He’s fully capable of washing himself, his injuries aren’t that severe. Still, it feels nice to have you taking care of him. His chest is warm as you wash his back. He’s never been treated this gently. Never wanted to be treated with the softness you do. Clive leans into your touch. “Thank you,” he says again, because he doesn’t have the heart to say “I love you.” And yet, you, you can feel th…