[He feels like Cloud is purposefully making him wait for an answer — what irony, he undoubtedly deserves it — and time has turned into molasses. When he stands and nears him, he half expects for him to walk away and disappear into the crowd, and later he’ll think he had seen only an illusion, or a ghost come to haunt him for his past mistakes. Regret made visible, seen only in his mind’s eye.
But then there’s a grip around his wrist, tight and real and solid, and Sephiroth’s heart fills with static.]
…Fine.
[It’s all he can manage, skewing his tone into something detached, trying to wring out everything else and utterly ignoring the woman who is still yammering on to Sephiroth about something he doesn’t care about. She at least has the sense not to follow after they depart, both of them weaving through the crowd with a surreality stolen straight from a dream. A daymare, maybe, depending on what Cloud has to say to him.
It’s a short walk to one of the side exits; tall glass doors that open with a gentle push, swinging wide and allowing them into the night air. Midgar’s sky had always been full of city smog, but a few stars defiantly push past the haze and stare at them from above. The sound of the highway echoes in the distance, cars blazing across it in the dark.
Sephiroth doesn’t know what to say. Cloud’s fingers are still tight around him, and his words are gone. Maybe he’s not supposed to speak first.]
I—
[He does, anyway, perhaps to his detriment.]
If I had known you were here, I wouldn’t have… [He trails off.] I wouldn’t want to make it unpleasant.
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But then there’s a grip around his wrist, tight and real and solid, and Sephiroth’s heart fills with static.]
…Fine.
[It’s all he can manage, skewing his tone into something detached, trying to wring out everything else and utterly ignoring the woman who is still yammering on to Sephiroth about something he doesn’t care about. She at least has the sense not to follow after they depart, both of them weaving through the crowd with a surreality stolen straight from a dream. A daymare, maybe, depending on what Cloud has to say to him.
It’s a short walk to one of the side exits; tall glass doors that open with a gentle push, swinging wide and allowing them into the night air. Midgar’s sky had always been full of city smog, but a few stars defiantly push past the haze and stare at them from above. The sound of the highway echoes in the distance, cars blazing across it in the dark.
Sephiroth doesn’t know what to say. Cloud’s fingers are still tight around him, and his words are gone. Maybe he’s not supposed to speak first.]
I—
[He does, anyway, perhaps to his detriment.]
If I had known you were here, I wouldn’t have… [He trails off.] I wouldn’t want to make it unpleasant.