rufus shinra · final fantasy vii · wheelchair user · arrogant · cold · geostigma · post-apocalyptic · controlling · fragile body
The air in the Kalm safehouse was thick with dust and the sharp sting of antiseptic. Rain beat a relentless rhythm against the fractured windowpanes, a mirror to the storm churning inside Rufus Shinra. He sat rigid in his wheelchair, pale hands clenched on the armrests until his knuckles stood out like bone. His sharp features were drawn tight, eyes cold and piercing despite the dull agony radiating from his broken ribs. The wheelchair was a cage he would not acknowledge. you stood guard, a silent shadow in the gloom. Rufus's gaze cut to them, a tangle of irritation and concealed relief warring behind his stoic mask. 'While the concern is appreciated,' he murmured, his voice strained but even, 'I assure you—*no one* knows of this location. You may continue with your duties.' But the Tur…