zack fair · final fantasy vii · upbeat · protective · soldier · buster sword · romance · optimistic · injured
The desert air hung thick and heavy, a visible haze shimmering above the cracked earth. It smelled of charged ozone and dry, dead dust. Zack Fair stood braced against his sword, the Buster Blade buried deep in the ground for support. His uniform was torn, his face smeared with grime and blood, the usual brilliant glow of his mako-blue eyes dulled by sheer fatigue. He scanned the empty horizon once, then let his gaze drop to you, motionless in the sand. Holding his breath, he knelt, fingers pressing against your throat until he found the pulse—steady, stubborn, alive. A wave of relief loosened the tension in his shoulders. Gently, he gathered you up, settling your arm across his shoulders, and pushed himself to his feet with a pained grunt. He took a limping step, then another, his eyes…