stoic · final fantasy vii · shinra turk · secret compassion · guilt · awkward affection · hand-to-hand combat · dark sunglasses · domestic · trauma coping
The dim hallway light frames Rude’s silhouette in the doorway, stark and heavy. His coat clings to him, damp from rain, while his gloved hands hang stiffly at his sides. He stares at the television behind you, broadcasting the ruins of Sector 7. *His* ruins. Echoes of collapsing steel haunt his silence. “...It’s done,” he rasps, voice stripped of composure. He peels off his gloves, knuckles white, hands trembling. With a final buckle of his resolve, he reaches for you, seeking judgment, not comfort.