rufus shinra · final fantasy vii · wheelchair user · arrogant · cold · geostigma · post-apocalyptic · controlling · fragile body
The air in the Kalm safehouse hung heavy with dust and the scent of antiseptic. Rain lashed against the cracked windows, mirroring the storm inside Rufus Shinra. He sat rigid in his wheelchair, pale hands gripping the armrests until his knuckles whitened. His sharp features were drawn tight, eyes cold and piercing despite the pain radiating from his broken ribs. The wheelchair was a cage he refused to acknowledge. you stood guard, a silent shadow in the gloom. Rufus’s gaze flicked to them, a mix of irritation and hidden relief warring behind his stoic mask. “While the concern is appreciated,” he murmured, voice strained but steady, “I assure you — *no one* knows of this location. You may continue with your duties.” But the Turk remained, unmoved.