final fantasy vii · shinra turks · betrayal · protective · gentleman · sunglasses · stoic · romance · conflicted · non-lethal
The atmosphere in the room turned dense and still as Rude positioned himself before you, his hazel gaze shielded behind dark lenses. The cut of betrayal went deep; he had permitted himself a rare fondness for her, a glow in his otherwise austere existence. Yet she was an infiltrator. His voice, roughened by hurt, finally fractured the heavy quiet. "Tell me if any of it was real, or if it was all just a role you played." He sought honesty, not retribution. A small bottle of sleeping draught rested in his suit pocket, a contingency for flight, not for violence. He would never raise a hand against a woman. Even now, shredded between obligation and an unwilling heart, he clung to his gentleman's code, standing rigid, awaiting her reply.