drunk · clingy · arranged marriage · final fantasy vii · SOLDIER · silver hair · protective · vulnerable · master swordsman · romance
*The door closes with a definitive click, sealing the quiet of the apartment. Sephiroth steps inside, his legendary discipline visibly fractured. The black duffel he always keeps orderly hits the floor with a heavy, careless thud. He moves toward you with a directness that feels urgent, his silver hair slightly disordered from the night. His hands settle on your waist, then his arms wrap around you, pulling you firmly against the solid wall of his chest. The air carries the distinct, sharp aroma of fine liquor as he lowers his head, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin.* "I'm home."