Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cloud Stife was about to step into the cage, but first, he had to fight for his dignity.

And he was losing. Entirely.

The enemy? His own damn digital footprint.

The edit compilation staring back at him from his phone screen was titled. “Cloud Strife vs His Zack Fair Problem (A Tragic One-sided Love Story).” The thumbnail was a zoomed-in screenshot of Cloud mid-interview, looking starry-eyed—or as starry-eyed as he got—while a photo of Zack Fair—pop idol, global heartthrob, and unfairly attractive menace—hovered beside him.

Cloud was pretty sure one of his teammates had made the video. Maybe Tifa. Probably Biggs. Either way it had nearly half a million views, which meant he’d been publicly humiliated on an international scale. Again.

He should’ve put the phone down. He knew he shouldn’t have looked at the link Wedge had sent him, especially right before a fight.

But instead, like an idiot, he pressed play.

The first clip was from five years ago, right after a particularly nasty fight where Cloud had a concussion from a nasty kick to the face and was loopy from the adrenaline. Right at the start of his career actually and technically the night that had started everything.

—“If I die in this fight, just tell Zack Fair I loved him.”

Cloud let out a groan, already pausing the video and holding his head in his hands. He waited a few moments before bucking up and pressing play again.

—Zack Fair is living proof that Gaia has favorites.”

—(post-fight, still bleeding) "This wouldn’t have happened if Zack Fair had been here. I don’t know how, but I just know he would’ve fixed it."

—Fan: "Bro, you are down SO bad for Zack Fair."
Cloud: "Bold of you to assume I want to get back up."

—(reading a Zack Fair interview) "Oh, he likes confident guys? Okay. Time to lie."                            

—“Not to be dramatic, but if Zack Fair asked me to retire and become his personal bodyguard, I’d consider it.”

By the time it hit the part where past-Cloud—clearly drunk—was passionately explaining the injustice of Zack being both hot and talented, present-Cloud smacked the phone face-down on the bench like it had personally insulted him. That had been a night out with his team. It was definitely Biggs.

Gaia, he was stupid.

In his defense, it had always been a joke. A running gag that had got attention after that first delirious fight. His fans had latched onto it, and he’d played along because, hey, it was funny. A good way to keep things light and bring him some form of media attention. Especially since prior to that he’d been known for his sour attitude. Which he still was, but whenever the interviewers wanted a lighter chat, it was an easy thing to transition to.  He made sure to talk about Zack like an unattainable fantasy because that’s what Zack was—a superstar, miles away from Cloud’s reality of bruises, sweat, and post-fight ice baths.

It wasn’t like Zack was ever going to see any of it.

Cloud sighed, carding a hand through his hair and decided it wasn’t worth dwelling over any more. His name was called over the speakers, so he shoved his evil phone into the bag, pushed to his feet and rolled his shoulders to shake off the nerves.

The fight. That’s what he needed to focus on. He just needed to get in the cage, focus, and—

Somewhere in the arena, a pop song blasted over the loudspeakers.

Zack Fair’s voice boomed as he entered.

Cloud nearly tripped on his entrance—who the fuck changed his song?—before glancing over at Tifa who had a devious grin on her face.

Yep. He was doomed.

Cloud took a deep breath, pushing the Zack-related embarrassment out of his mind as he stepped into the cage. The arena lights were blinding, the roar of the crowd pulsing in his ears. Zack’s song blasted into his ears and he tried not to let his cheeks heat up. He just needed to focus on one thing—his opponent.

Roche.

The self-proclaimed “Crimson Speed Demon” was already bouncing on his feet on the other side of the cage, wearing that manic grin he always had. His bleach-blond hair was slicked back, his muscles coiled with energy, and worst of all he looked way too pleased with himself.

Unfortunately, Roche had also seen the video.

Because the second they touched gloves, the bastard leaned in, grin wide and eyes gleaming with unholy glee.

“So, when’s the wedding?”

Cloud’s fists clenched inside his glove. “What?”

Roche’s grin stretched wide as he threw out some jabs. “Oh, don’t be shy, Strife. We all saw it.”

Cloud’s stomach sank. “Saw what?” He dodged a half-hearted punch.

Roche threw his head back, laughing. “The video, lover boy.”

Cloud immediately regretted asking.

“’Not saying I’d let Zack Fair put me in a headlock for free, but I wouldn’t not say it either,’” Roche mimicked dramatically, sending another jab at his face. Cloud ducked, knowing his face was reddening. “’Zack Fair’s laugh could cure depression. Don’t ask me for scientific evidence, just trust me.’” He let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Speaking from experience there, Strife?”

Cloud’s entire soul tried to exit his body.

Roche fucking cackled. “Man, that was a masterpiece. I mean I knew you were repressed, but damn, you’ve been down bad for years!”

Cloud scowled, trying and failing to drown out the mortifying ringing in his ears. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the videos zoomed in on their faces, their mouths moving. Luckily he couldn’t hear the audio, the music thankfully too loud near them. “Shut up and fight.”

“Oh, no, no, no. I need to savor this,” Roche drawled, bouncing on his heels, idly dodging a few jabs Cloud threw his way. “You’ve been thirst-posting after Zack fair for, what? Three years?”

Cloud said nothing.

“Four?” He pressed, a teasingly glint in his eyes. “Five?”

Cloud chased after him, his feet swinging at his jaw which Roche barely dodged. “Do you want your jaw broken now or later?” He snarled.

Roche simply grinned, his eyes lighting up with delight. “That’s the spirit!”

Cloud launched forward, fists flying. Roche barely dodged the first strike, but Cloud wasn’t stopping. He swung again, driving Roche back with sharp relentless blows. The squirmy bastard was fast, twisting out of range with infuriating ease, but Cloud didn’t let up.

“You know,” Roche panted between dodges, “I think Zack would really love to see you fight like this.”

Cloud grit his teeth, but didn’t rise to the bait.

“Maybe he already has! Maybe he’s watching right now! Oh, imagine—”

Cloud caught him mid-sentence with a brutal left hook.

Roche stumbled, barely regaining his footing before Cloud slammed a kick into his ribs. He wheezed, stumbling back, but the bastard was still grinning.

He needed to punch that shit eating grin off his face.

“You’re fighting like a man with something to prove,” he mocked.

Cloud ignored him, just drove a knee into Roche’s gut. The hit sent Roche crashing into the mat, but the bastard was too stubborn to stay down.

Cloud backed up, bouncing on his heels as the ref counted, heart pounding in his ears. He wasn’t winded yet, but Roche was fast—fast enough to slip through defenses if Cloud gave him even a second too long.

At the count of seven, Roche pushed himself up, shaking out his limbs with a wild grin. His cheek was bruising already, and his breathing haggard. Instead of looking pissed, he just cackled.

“Damn, Strife,” he wheezed. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You’re still standing,” Cloud said with a scowl.

“Barely,” Roche admitted, rolling his shoulders. “But I can’t go down without making sure you suffer first.” His grin was still wicked. “So, tell me—do you think Zack Fair prefers watching you fight, or does he like your little thirst posts more?”

Cloud saw white.

The bell rang for round two, and he lunged.

Roche dodged, slipping out of range at the last second. “Feisty!” He exclaimed, launching a kick at Cloud’s side. He didn’t have time to block and the impact stung. His breath had been sucked from his lungs.

“You know,” Roche panted, dancing around him, leaving Cloud chasing after him. “I think my favorite one was the headlock comment. You’d let him do what for free?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Cloud swung at him, his movement erratic, and Roche barely managed to duck in time.

“Or wait—maybe it was the one where you said you’d retire to be his personal bodyguard?” Roche sidestepped another punch, grinning like a lunatic. “I didn’t think you would be the romantic type—”

Cloud caught him with a swift kick to the gut. Roche choked on his next word, stumbling back with a wheezy laugh.

“Oh, that one hurt.”

Cloud didn’t reply. He just moved.

Fast.

He dodged Roche’s next strike, twisted, and slammed an elbow into Roche’s temple.

Roche staggered, blinking hard, but somehow still fucking smiling. “Let’s finish this in round three, huh? Can’t go down too quick, or Zack might think you’re easy.”

If it was legal, Cloud would’ve murdered him on the spot.

The bell rang, ending round two.

Roche wobbled to his corner, still laughing breathlessly, while Cloud forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn’t afford to get sloppy. One more round. He just had to put Roche down for good.

The final bell rang, and Roche bolted at him.

Cloud hadn’t expected it, the previous two rounds filled with mockery—anticipated another round of taunts—but Roche was silent.

It threw Cloud off for half a second.

Half a second too long evidently.

Which is exactly what Roche wanted.

A split-second later, Roche’s foot slammed into Cloud ribs, knocking the breath out of him.

Cloud stumbled, gasping as pain lanced through his side. He barely had a moment to recover before Roche was on him again, relentless and fast.

Roche hit him with a knee in the exact same spot. Cloud barely managed to block in time, but the impact rattled his bones.

Roche wasn’t playing anymore. The cocky grin was still there, but his strikes had turned sharper, his movements precise. He circled Cloud like a predator, light on his feet despite the bruises on his ribs.

“Y’know,” Roche panted, feinting left before launching a vicious right hook, “If you lose this I think it’ll make an even better viral moment than that video.”

Cloud barely ducked in time, his heart hammering in his chest. He had to get his rhythm back.

“Just picture it!” Roche crowed, laughing breathlessly. “Zack Fair watching you get wrecked after all those thirsty little posts. You think he’d want you then?” Cloud didn’t think Zack would want him at all, but he wasn’t going to retort.

Cloud swung at him, but Roche dodged effortlessly and countered.

A sharp jab—Cloud’s head snapped to the side.

A spinning kick—Cloud barely blocked in time, his arms burning from the impact.

The crowd was screaming. The energy had shifted. For the first time tonight, it felt like Cloud might actually lose.

Roche could feel it, too. “You’re getting sloppy, Strife!” He taunted, “Guess thinking about Zack Fair got you all distracted, huh?”

Cloud grit his teeth, forcing himself to focus through the pain. He needed an opening—just one. Roche lunged in for another strike—too eager, too confident.

That’s when he saw it.

He ducked, pivoted and slammed his elbow into Roche’s ribs. Roche wheezed, stumbling back, but Cloud didn’t hesitate, wouldn’t give him a chance to recover. He followed up with a brutal uppercut to the jaw, then a ruthless leg sweep. Roche’s feet left the ground as he crashed onto the mat.

Roche twitched, trying to push himself up—but his arms buckled. Cloud still lunged after him.

The ref moved in fast, separating the two.

Cloud glared at the blond on the ground his breathing haggard.

“Winner—Cloud Strife!”

The arena erupted.

Cloud sucked in a breath, rolling his shoulders, his ribs still aching from Roche’s assault. Roche just groaned, letting out a wheezing chuckle, glancing behind Cloud. “Damn,” he rasped, “Guess you really wanted to impress your boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” Cloud snarled, turning to follow Roche's gaze, intending to walk over to the ref just to get it over with.

But before Cloud could continue, the jumbotron caught his eye.

Suddenly, all of Roche's comments about Zack watching him made sense.

The camera had zoomed in on the front row.

On Zack Fair.

Watching.

Grinning.

And clapping.

Cloud’s stomach dropped.

He was never going to live this down.

Cloud had survived the fight. He had won.

But his real battle was only beginning.

The second the referee raised his hand in victory, Cloud was already plotting his escape. His ribs ached, his knuckles throbbed, and Roche’s smug voice still echoed in his ears, replaying every humiliating comment about that damn video.

If he moved fast enough, he could slip out before—

“And now, folks, we have a special guest joining us to congratulate our champion tonight!”

Cloud might throw up.

The jumbotron screen flickered, switching from a slow-motion replay of his final hit on Roche, to a live feed of Zack Fair stepping into the arena. Cloud couldn’t even hear himself think from how loud the crowd was. Cheers, camera flashes, and an audible wave of excitement rippled through the stadium as Zack entered with the kind of effortless confidence that only a global superstar could pull off.

Chapter Text

Cloud barely remembers leaving the arena after his fight. The adrenaline had barely worn off, his body still buzzing—not from the match, but from Zack Fair. More specifically, from Zack handing him his number like it was the most normal thing to do. Now, sitting in the back of a car, driven by some Moogle Express driver, Cloud stares at the card in the palm of his hand. Zack’s personal information, written nicely, the only proof that the last hour wasn’t just a fever dream.

Unless he was still hallucinating.

His phone, however, refused to let him process in peace. It’s been vibrating non-stop the entire drive, notifications flooding in as social media explodes with photos of the fights aftermath. Roche was completely forgotten in the chaos of the after math, only a brief image of them mid fight as the proof that Roche was even there. Cloud knew what they looked like before he even opened them—him, still flushed from his fight and Zack grinning down at him like he was enjoying Cloud’s suffering. Fan’s had caught everything: the handshake where the card had been sneakily passed, Zack leaning into close, leaving Cloud visibly flustered in the aftermath.

And KupoNet was eating it up.

It was a stark contrast to how Cloud usually presented himself. Even in his joke thirsting after Zack, he’d remained dead pan with witty lines, his dry delivery half the appeal. But now? Now his fanbase and Zack’s were eating up Cloud’s flustered face, clearly wrecked as he stood in front of Zack. He nearly tripped up the stairs to his apartment, when he spotted a video coming in from Biggs of an edit between them onto his phone.

Cloud promptly decided he would not be opening any videos with his face on it for the next week.

He only gave himself brief respite to take a shower, before slumping back on his bed, pulling his phone back out.

Cloud should have known better than to check the comments, but at this point, he was past the point of saving himself. His notifications were a disaster, his mentions were flooded, and the internet was having an absolute field day tearing him apart.

— [@fightfan99]: bro went from “I could take anyone in a fight” to “im going to pass away” in 0.5 seconds. did u guys see how his face froze

— [@whereisroche]: Roche really fought for his life out there just for the headlines to be “Cloud Strife, Down Bad: A Tragic Love Story.”

This couldn't be real.

— [@zackfair_updates]: HISTORIC MOMENT. Zack Fair’s #1 fan passes away on stage

— [@cloudstrife_fanclub]: y’all he’s not even being normal about this. look at his face. he’s malfunctioning

— [@allsfairinloveandstrife]: Cloud after Zack handed him his number: [video of a cat short-circuiting]

— [@heavenlyfair]: petition to add “cloud.exe has stopped working” to his official fighter record

He wanted to die.

— [@fightingfanfics]: Not Roche watching the media ignore his performance in favor of Cloud’s emotional crisis. Prayers up for him in this trying time.

— [@cloudsimp]: man’s been barking for YEARS and now he’s just standing there like a lost puppy

— [@yallhearthat]: you could hear the windows error sound when zack winked at him

— [@coldasstrife]: crazy how cloud built his whole brand on being the cold, unshakable fighter just to turn into a malfunctioning NPC the second Zack Fair breathed near him.

— [@roche_slander]: Roche must be SICK right now. Man put his whole soul into that fight just to get sidelined because Cloud turned into a blushing schoolgirl.

Cloud let out another groan, rolling onto his stomach and smothering himself with his pillow. He wasn’t getting out of this alive.

— [@thirsty4strife]: so sad my fave fighter is passing away at the young age of 25 rip

Cloud makes a strangled noise, scrolling further despite himself. Every other post is ‘he did this to himself’ or clips of him confidently saying ‘he’d fucking die’ if Zack ever looked directly at him.

Here he was, in high definition, making good on that promise. 

Dragging a hand down his face he forced himself to stop scrolling, and flops back onto his bed, exhaling sharply. His gaze drifts back to the card sitting innocently on his nightstand. If he was a stronger person he might have burned it out of spite. It was a small, inconspicuous thing, but to Cloud it might as well been a bomb waiting to go off.

He needs to sleep. He should sleep. But there’s a voice in the back of his head, an annoying pushy voice, encouraging him to grab the little card. He should stop thinking about this. All he could do was stare at the card, his stomach twisting with something dangerously close to…. excitement? Anticipation?

Cloud groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, burrowing his face into his pillow. He could ignore this. Pretend it never happened. Turn off his phone. Go to bed.

Or.

Or….

He could make this infinitely worse for himself.

Biting out a curse, he snatched the card off the nightstand, opening up his phone and shooting off a quick message before he could think twice about it. 

—Cloud: do i need to schedule my funeral now or later?

There. That was… okay. It was normal. Simple even. And it was late, so maybe Zack was already asleep. He probably wouldn’t even respond this late needing his beauty sleep and all— 

His phone buzzed immediately.

Cloud stared at it like it personally insulted him.

— Zack: lmao dude u good?

Cloud let out yet another strangled noise, probably the fiftieth one in the past two hours if he was honest. No, he was not good. Zack Fair was in his messages, and Cloud was a hair’s breadth away from his soul leaving his body and launching into orbit.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to join Shinra’s space program?

His fingers were moving before he could stop himself, not allowing himself a moment to think. 

—Cloud: have you SEEN kuponet? im getting clowned so hard i dont think i can ever recover

—Zack: i mean u did say u would pass away if u ever met me. seems like a self-fulfilling prophecy

—Cloud: blocked

Another buzz.

—Zack: guess i’ll have to find another way to contact u then 👀

Cloud let out a loud suffering groan before dropping his phone into his end table, barely remembering to plug it in and forced himself to sleep.

Chapter Text

Cloud still wasn’t sure how this was happening. 

One moment, he was spiraling over reaction to his very real, very public embarrassment. The next, he was making plans with Zack. Real plans. Plans that Zack was initiating. In fact almost bullying him into. 

And now a week later, three days of ghosting Zack’s confirmation texts in between, Cloud was standing outside of a lowkey restaurant in the Sector 8 slums, checking his phone for the seventh time to make sure he was in the right spot. He had suggested somewhere quiet, expecting Zack to push for something flashier or topside, but the idol had surprised him by agreeing immediately.

—Zack: sounds perfect. i’ll be there

And now he was five minutes early and full of regret.

Cloud exhaled, doing his best to try and relax his shoulders as he pocketed his phone. Right as he did, he looked up and spotted Zack crossing the street towards him. He had, of course, been trying to disguise himself. Zack was wearing sunglasses and a beanie in an attempt at subtlety. It didn’t work. At all. He still radiated Zack Energy—all easy confidence and way too much charm.

“Wow, you actually showed up,” Zack said as he approached, grinning wide. “Was half-convinced you were gonna ghost me.” 

Cloud bit down the retort of ‘I was hoping you would’, and instead rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “I don’t flake.”

“Good to know,” Zack chuckled, pushing the door open for Cloud, and gesturing him to go in first. “Now, let’s see if you’re as cool in person as you pretend to be online.”

Cloud shot him a scathing look.

The restaurant was quiet and dimly lit, the hum of conversation and clinking of silverware filling the space as they both stepped inside. Cloud picked a booth in the corner—low traffic, good visibility of the door, and most importantly, private. Zack slid across from him, flipping the menu open and letting his eyes wander over it.

“Alright, so real talk,” Zack said, peering at Cloud over the menu. “How does it feel knowing your entire fanbase lost their minds over you getting flustered by me?”

Cloud groaned, dropping the menu he had just picked up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You would bring that up.”

“Come on!” Zack exclaimed, tilting his head cheekily. “It’s history in the making! I had people tagging me in posts like ‘Cloud Strife, the human embodiment of an ice bath, literally melted on live TV’.” Zack’s grin grew wider. “And my personal favorite—‘this man was ready to throw hands five minutes ago, now he looks like he’s experiencing emotions for the first time in his life’.”

Cloud scoffed, glaring at the salt shaker like it was the one personally wronging him right now. “They’re exaggerating.”

“Are they?” Zack teased. “Because I also saw a poll asking, and I quote, ‘did zack just unlock emotions in cloud, y/n?’ And buddy, ‘yes’ is winning by a landslide.”

Cloud groaned, sinking into his seat, using the menu to shield his face. “This is a mistake.”

Zack laughed, loud and unapologetic and beautifully. It was surreal seeing it in person. “No way. This is the best decision I’ve made all year.” He leaned forward, resting his chin in one hand. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you dodging my texts, for like, three days. Thought I scared you off.”

Cloud shifted, scanning his eyes over the menu. He had been avoiding Zack’s messages at first. He was unsure of how to respond without sounding like an idiot. Eventually, he’d settled on a basic ‘yeah, sure’ when Zack had asked him out, before he quickly researched quiet places to go. In hindsight, it was probably the most anticlimactic way to accept a date. Especially by someone you’d been thirsting after for years. Even if it was all—mostly—jokes.

“Wasn’t dodging,” he muttered under his breath. 

Zack raised an eyebrow, clearly eating up Cloud’s embarrassment. “Uh-huh. So it took you three days to come up with ‘yeah, sure’?”

Cloud scowled. “Do you want me to leave?”

Zack’s eyes lit up. “Nope. Just want you to admit you’re flustered.”

Cloud took a long, deliberate sip of his water, pointedly looking over the menu instead of responding. Zack just kept smiling like he’d already won.

His chin was still cradled in his hand, watching Cloud with that insufferably smug grin. “For a guy who’s been posting about me for years, you’re horrible at handling the real thing.”

Cloud placed his water on the table a little too hard. “I was joking.”

“Yeah?” Zack beamed at him. “So ‘if Zack ever looked me in the eye, I’d perish on spot’—that was a joke?”

Cloud exhaled through his nose, practicing patience. “Obviously,” he ground out, staring holes into the table.

Zack—ever filled with theatrics—clutched his chest as if he’d been wounded, his lips forming a small pout. Cloud stared a little too long at his mouth before averting his gaze. Fuck, he was so cute. “Wow. And here I thought you meant it. I was flattered.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he grumbled, staring at the menu just to focus on something other than Zack.

“Oh, absolutely,” Zack said, leaning forward on the table, minimizing the space between them. “I mean, c’mon Cloud. I watched your interviews; I even did a bit of my own research. I was expecting some banter, definitely sarcastic remarks, but instead you’re sitting here red in the face and can’t hold eye contact with me for more than five seconds.”

Cloud’s grip on the menu tightened. “I looked—“

“I counted.” 

Cloud inhaled sharply through his teeth, setting the menu down with a dull thud as he forced himself to look at Zack. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” Zack grinned. “You don’t.”

The server appeared before Cloud could embarrass himself further. Cloud ordered a simple meal, nothing too crazy, partly he was worried about if he could keep it down. Where as Zack, proving to be the ball of energy he always seemed to be, ordered three separate items, like he was preparing for winter. Once the server left, Zack tapped his fingers on the table to once again grab Cloud’s attention. As if it could really be anywhere but him. Even as Cloud avoided looking at him, he was painfully aware of the man’s presence.

“So, be honest, if I had looked at you during my concert you went to last year, would you have actually perished?”

Cloud froze.

Just how far back had Zack stalked his posts? It’s not like all his posts were about him. And yet, here he was referencing a photo Cloud had taken of Zack up on-stage mid-song, bathed in lights looking obnoxiously attractive despite being covered in sweat and seven songs deep into the show. 

Cloud glared, “do you ever let things go?” 

Zack shrugged, “not when they’re this funny.”

“Okay fine, it was a great shot, can you blame me for being a dramatic about it?”

“See? Progress. By the start of our next date, I’ll have you admitting your huge crush on me.”

“Bold of you to assume there’d be a second one,” Cloud grumbled.

Zack winked, “bold of you to assume there won’t be.”

Cloud narrowed his eyes, fighting the heat that threatened to rise to his face again. Instead of rising to his response, he turned back to Zack’s earlier comment. “So, what, you just happened to see that post? You’re telling me you weren’t stalking my account?”

Zack chuckled, lifting his drink and taking a casual sip before answering. “I mean, I wouldn’t call it stalking exactly….”

Cloud scoffed. “Right. Sure.”

Zack set his glass down, tilting his head in a lopsided grin. “Look, it started innocent enough. Fans kept tagging me in your posts, and at first, I thought it was just a funny bit. But then I kept seeing interviews—your interviews—where you’d casually drop some joke about me, deadpan as hell, and I don’t know man... I guess I got curious.”

He blinked, caught off guard by Zack’s honesty, his increasing seriousness. “Curious?”

Zack leaned back in his seat, no longer leaning on the table and his smile softened a little. “Yeah. I started watching your fights.”

Cloud’s breath hitched.

“I mean, I’d seen your highlights before,” Zack continued, running a hand through his hair. “Big names in the Midgar Arena aren’t exactly unknown, even to people outside the sport. But actually watching you? Hearing you talk about your fights, seeing how serious you are about it…”

Cloud swallowed, uncertain where Zack was going with this.

“It wasn’t just the jokes that kept me paying attention.” Zack shrugged, offering a smaller, more genuine smile. “Turns out, you’re kind of interesting when you’re not busy thirst-posting over me.”

Cloud stared at him, stunned to silence. Zack had actually been watching him. Not just for the memes, not just because the internet was blowing up over it—but because he wanted to.

Zack exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, looking oddly self-conscious for the first time. “I dunno. Maybe it’s weird, but once I started keeping up with your fights I couldn’t stop. I started wanting to know more. About you, and not just the version of you that makes dumb jokes about me online.”

Cloud felt his stomach flip, his pulse drumming in his ears.

Zack Fair had actually been paying attention to him.

And now, for the first time that night, it wasn’t Cloud who looked flustered.

It wasn’t just some PR thing. It wasn’t just Zack humoring the KupoNet’s obsession with their dynamic. He had started following Cloud’s fights on his own. Zack Fair, actual international superstar.

Cloud didn’t know what to do with that information.

So, naturally, he just stared at Zack for a long moment, trying to process and blurted out the most obvious question. “You watched my fights?”

Zack huffed a laugh, shrugging. His earlier flush already leaving his face. “Yeah. And not just the big matches either. I went back, watched some of your earlier fights. Figured I should know more about the guy who’s been publicly obsessed with me for years.”

Cloud groaned, running a hand down his face. “Gaia, don’t say it like that.”

Zack laughed, fully relaxed now that he had dropped that bombshell. “What? It’s true. And honestly? You’re kind of badass, man. The way you move in the cage, the way you take hits but never lose focus—it’s impressive.”

Cloud’s fingers twitched against his fork, eating thoughtfully. He wasn’t used to compliments from people outside the fighting world. And Zack? Zack calling him badass? That was a whole new level of surreal.

He cleared his throat after swallowing his food, trying to steer the conversation into safer territory. Territory away from his own KupoNet page. “So does that mean you’re a fan now?”

Zack smirked, tilting his head. “Maybe. You planning on putting out some ‘Zack Fair could learn a thing or two from me’ posts to even the playing field?”

Cloud gave him a flat look. “Not a chance.”

Zack laughed again, eyes bright. Cloud could only just stare in amazement. Seeing him in person was fucking fantastic. He looked fucking gorgeous even in his casual clothes. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to make my own posts.” 

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at his lips. “Good luck with that.”

They talked for a while longer, Zack throwing in just enough teasing remarks to keep Cloud on edge but never pushing too hard. By the time the check came, Cloud had almost—almost—gotten used to the easy rhythm of their conversation.

“So,” Zack said, signing the receipt before glancing up at Cloud. “This was fun.”

Cloud nodded, feeling strangely comfortable for the first time that night. “Yeah. It wasn’t bad.”

Zack scoffed, shaking his head and following him out of the restaurant. “Wow. High praise.”

Cloud rolled his eyes. “You gonna let me finish?”

“By all means.”

Cloud exhaled, fighting down a smirk. “I was gonna say, I wouldn’t be against doing this again.” He said gesturing between them. It’s not even like it had even really been a date. More like… two friends hanging out after meeting under silly circumstances.

Zack’s grin turned victorious. “Now that is what I like to hear.” He said slinging an arm around Cloud’s shoulders. “I already had an idea.”

“Hm?” Cloud raised an eyebrow.

“Arcade. Up top in Sector 8. I know a place with old-school games, air hockey, and one of those punching machines that’ll let me see if I can beat your score.” Zack winked at him, his breath hovering over Cloud’s cheek. “Unless you’re scared?”

Cloud huffed out a laugh. “You really think you can hit harder than me?”

Zack beamed. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Cloud shook his head, his body relaxed in his amusement. “Fine. You’re on.”

They set plans for next week, Zack marking it down in his calendar after his next show. His body hovered against Cloud’s side, squeezing him to his chest as he lumbered over him, their cheeks almost touching. He continued flicking through his phone to show Cloud their plans and then pointedly sending it to him as well with a location and a date. It was like he was making sure Cloud couldn’t forget or back out.

As they separated Zack tossed a casual, “try not to lose sleep thinking about me!” Over his shoulder as he walked off. Cloud flipped him off, but couldn’t stop the small—almost nonexistent—grin forcing it’s way onto his lips, lingering long after Zack had disappeared.

Chapter Text

Cloud found himself at Seventh Heaven, his fingers idly thrumming on the glass she had given him about an hour prior. The ice had all but dissolved, leaving a watered-down drink in his hands, condensed droplets forming around the bottom.

Tifa watched him, her eyes bright with amusement. “You’re smiling.” She said, placing down the cup she’d been cleaning.

“No, I’m not,” he muttered, wiping the expression off his face and replacing it with a scowl.

Tifa arched an eyebrow. “You are. Did your date go that well?”

How did she know? 

“It wasn’t a date,” he responded quickly. And it’s not like it was a lie. Aside from Zack hanging off of him at the end, they hadn’t even touched. If anything Cloud was thinking Zack seemed more like he was looking for a friend—albeit, he was a very persistent, overly familiar friend who had way too much fun teasing him.

Tifa hummed, unconvinced. “Really?” 

Before Cloud could respond she picked up her phone, and turned the phone towards him. Two photos stared back at him—one of him and Zack sitting in the restaurant, Zack laughing, looking completely at ease while Cloud… Cloud looked starry eyed, like he’d just taken a Limit Break straight to the face.

The second photo was even worse.

It was taken just outside the restaurant. Zack’s arm was draped around him practically forcing Cloud into his space while the phone was held between them, looking for a calendar date that would work for both of them. Cloud’s cheeks were lightly flushed with the slightest hint of a grin. Zack completely obliterated his personal space, looking far more intimate than Cloud had realized. 

Cloud let out a strangled noise, shoving the phone away. “Where the hell did you get those?”

Tifa grinned. “Oh, you know. It’s all over KupoNet.” She swiped on her screen. “They’ve already started a new tag. It’s called ‘#StrifeSimpingLive’.”

Cloud fought the urge to drag a hand down his face. “Gaia kill me.”

Tifa snickered, setting her phone to the side. “So, are you still gonna tell me that it wasn’t a date?”

Cloud slumped forward, gripping the watered-down drink in his hands. He downed it, poorly flavored and all. “It wasn’t,” he finally grumbled out. “We barely even touched, that image is like the one time. And it was just us looking through his calendar.”

“I don’t know, he looked pretty comfortable hanging all over you.” 

Cloud dropped his head on the bar, shutting his eyes. “He’s like that with everyone Tifa. You’ve seen his interviews.”

Tifa smirked. “Oh yeah, and he compares and clears his schedule for everyone, too.”

Cloud looked up just enough to glare at her. 

“Face it, Cloud. You’re into Zack and it looks like Zack is into you, too.” Cloud’s head hit the bar once more with a thump.

He mumbled something unintelligible back.

Tifa leaned on the bar, her voice still light with laughter. “What was that?”

Cloud exhaled sharply. “He might be into me.” He admitted.

She beamed at him, ruffling his already messy hair. “Look at you,” it was like she was talking to a dog, “actually being honest for once.”

“Don’t start,” he shot her a glare once more.

“Alright, alright,” she said putting her hands up in mock surrender. “I won’t say anything else. Except…” Tifa leaned back on the countertop behind her. “When’s your not date date?”

Cloud groaned, grabbing his jacket as he left. “I'm leaving.”

Tifa waved after him, her laughter bright and contagious as he headed towards the door. “Have fun on your friendly outing with your very friendly pop star.”

Cloud shoved the door open with more force than necessary.

This was never going to end.

Cloud wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t.

It wasn’t his fault that his brain was short-circuiting every five minutes over the fact that Zack had just waved him down outside the arcade like they were longtime friends meeting up for a casual night out.

Even though Zack was wearing sunglasses. Indoors.

“You do know that makes you more noticeable, right?” Cloud said flatly eyeing the way Zack’s hoodie did absolutely nothing to make him blend in.

Zack just grinned at him, pushing his sunglasses down just enough to reveal those amethyst eyes and wink at him. “I dunno, Cloud. Maybe I want to be noticed.

Cloud rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.

He gasped dramatically. “Get this over with? Come on, man, you agreed to this, and you’re already acting like I’m forcing you at gunpoint.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Cloud grumbled but followed him inside anyways.

The place was loud—bright lights flashing from claw machines, retro cabinets beeping with nostalgia, the constant dingdingding of someone hitting a jackpot at the prize counter.

Zack let out a low whistle, taking it all in. “Man, I love places like this. Haven’t been to one in forever.”

Cloud shrugged. “Didn’t peg you as an arcade guy.”

“Oh, huge arcade guy,” Zack admitted, “Spent way too much time as a teenager trying to master air hockey when I first got to Midgar. Speaking of…” He turned to Cloud, eyes glinting. “Wanna see if you can keep up?”

Cloud scoffed, “Bold of you to assume you’re any good.”

Zack gasped in mock offense. “Sir, I’ll have you know I am the reigning undefeated champion of—“

Cloud was already walking towards the air hockey table, effectively cutting him off before he started monologuing. “Yeah, yeah, less talking, more losing.”

Zack let out a bark of laughter and jogged after him.

They exchanged some arcade tokens, Cloud setting up his side of the table while Zack did some squats and stretched his arms like he was going into an actual fight.

“You know you don’t have to warm up for this, right?” Cloud said dryly.

Zack smirked. “Hey, I take my sportsmanship very seriously.”

The game started with Cloud flicking the puck across the table, and Zack deflecting it easily. He immediately went on the offensive, slamming it back toward Cloud’s goal with surprising force.

Cloud barely caught it in time, the impact rattling through his paddle. He squinted at Zack. “Are you seriously putting everything into this?”

He just grinned in response, full of charm and mischief. “What, scared?”

“Of you? Never.”

“That’s not what it seemed like in your interviews.” Zack teased.

Cloud just scowled back.

The game turned into an all-out war. Zack played with a wild, reckless enthusiasm, while Cloud relied on precision and reaction speed. They went back and forth, neither of them scoring for nearly five minutes—until Zack faked a weak shot, only to smash the puck the second Cloud let his guard down.

Goal.

Zack whooped, throwing his arms up. “Let’s gooo!” He yelled, clearly enthused. They drew a few curious glances from bystanders.

Cloud glared, resetting the puck. “Fluke.”

They kept at it, trading points, until Zack finally secured victory by slamming the puck so hard that it ricocheted off the goal and nearly took Cloud’s hand off.

He scowled as Zack fist-pumped like he’d won the world championship. “Admit it,” Zack teased, leaning on the table. “I humbled you.”

Cloud rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at his lips. “You got lucky.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling skill these days?” Zack said waggling his eyebrows.

Cloud ignored him and stepped around the table. “What’s next?” 

Zack hummed, glancing around the arcade. His gaze landed on the boxing strength tester—the one where you punch the bag and get a score. His eyes lit up.

“Oh, hell yes,” grabbing Cloud’s arm and tugging him towards it.

Cloud dug his heels in. “No.”

“YES.” Zack turned to face him, stepping backwards as he tugged him towards it, his eyes staring directly into Cloud’s deviously. “You have to do this one.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because one, I wanna see how strong you actually are and two—” Zack tapped his chin thoughtfully. “If I win, you have to admit I hit harder than you.”

“And if I win?” Cloud asked, crossing his arms.

Zack smirked. “Then you get to gloat about it for the rest of the night.”

Cloud eyed him.

He paused for dramatic effect.

“…Fine.”

Zack beamed.

Of course, Zack made Cloud go first, claiming that it was only fair. He cracked his knuckles, lined up his stance and drove his fist into the bag with the aggressive precision of someone who did this for a living. The machine dinged loudly as the numbers climbed higher and higher—finally topping out at a solid 978.

A few arcade-goers nearby let out impressed whistles.

Zack let out a low whistle of his own. “Damn, Strife. That’s hot.”

Cloud froze.

Meanwhile Zack casually stepped up to take his turn, completely unbothered by what he’d just said.

Cloud clenched his jaw, ignoring the sudden heat in his face.

Zack rolled his shoulders, bounced on his heels, and then—absolutely wailed on the punching bag.

The numbers climbed just as fast as Cloud’s and for a brief moment Cloud wondered if he was going to have to deal with the shame of losing to Zack at the one game he was definitely supposed to win.

962.

Silence.

Zack squinted at the screen, looked back at Cloud, then back at the screen.

Cloud smirked. “Huh.”

Zack turned to him, dramatically crestfallen. “No way.”

Cloud just shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets casually. “Looks like you lose, Fair.”

Zack groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “I demand a recount.”

Cloud leaned over patting him on the shoulder. “Nah, you did good, buddy. Just not great.”

Zack gave him a flat look before shaking his head, chuckling. “Alright, alright, you got me.” He threw his arm around Cloud’s shoulders hovering over him again. “So, what, you gonna rub it in my face now?”

Cloud smirked, glancing up at him through his eye lashes. “For the rest of the night.”

Zack threw his head back and laughed, the sound bright and unapologetic. Cloud couldn’t stop staring at him.

He wasn’t sure when he stopped feeling awkward about this. He wasn’t sure when the nerves had eased, when the weird tension had turned into something easy, something fun.

Zack leaned on him, still laughing. Cloud stiffened for half a second as Zack draped himself over him like they’d been doing this for years. He could feel the weight of Zack’s chin resting lightly on his head, the warmth of his arms hanging loosely around his shoulders, the casual way Zack pointed at different games like this was normal.

And maybe, it was. For Zack.

But Cloud?

This was uncharted territory.

He wasn’t used to this kind of attention—not the teasing, not the casual physical affection, and definitely not from someone like Zack Fair.

Fights? He could handle those. Public interviews? He could… manage. Having Zack lean into his space, like it was his space too? Having Zack laugh because of him and not at him?

It was weird.

And leaning towards terrifying.

Because the thing was—Cloud had always been good at deflecting. At brushing off compliments, playing into jokes, keeping people at arm’s length. That’s what made the Zack Fair Simp Saga so easy to keep up. It was fun because it wasn’t real.

Until it was.

Zack liked spending time with him.

Which didn’t compute.

Cloud wasn’t the kind of guy people gravitated towards. He was good at what he did, sure, but outside the ring? He was awkward, bad at conversation, prone to shutting down when people pressed too hard. There was nothing particularly fun or exciting about him.

And yet, Zack was acting like Cloud was the best damn company he’d had in months.

It didn’t make sense.

“You ever play that one?” Zack asked, drawing Cloud’s attention back from the thoughts beginning to swirl in his head.

Cloud cleared his throat, shaking off the spiraling mess of self-doubt in his brain. “Yeah. It’s not bad.”

“Not bad?” Zack echoed dramatically, leaning in even closer. “Cloud, this is a timeless masterpiece. C’mon, let’s do co-op.”

Before Cloud could argue, Zack was already steering him toward the game, still grinning unaware of anything going on inside of Cloud’s head.

That was definitely for the best.

He let go of Cloud to grab them the plastic guns and hand the other one to Cloud. Cloud took it, shaking his head. “You’re way too excited about this.”

Zack smirked. “Oh, just wait. I take my fake arcade shooting very seriously.”

They started the game, both of them immediately falling into competitive mode. Zack played like he did everything else—loud, animated, over-the-top in the way he ducked and weaved even though the game absolutely didn’t require real movement. Cloud was efficient, precise, and racking up headshots while Zack made sound effects every time he landed a hit.

When the first round ended, Zack glanced at their scores and audibly gasped. “You’re beating me?”

“Was that ever in doubt?” Cloud retorted, giving him a flat look.

Zack groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Man, you’re ruthless. Alright, Strife, time to step it up.”

They made it to the final level, Zack dramatically narrating their last stand against the enemy hordes. “This is it, buddy. The war’s almost over. If I don’t make it—"

“You’re literally not even dying,” Cloud muttered, shooting another wave of enemies.

Zack ignored him. “—for the…. Both of us…”

“Both of us?” Cloud rolled his eyes, sparing him a side ways glance.

“That’s right—you’re gonna live… for the both of us—”

He was cut off by his in-game character getting absolutely wrecked.

Zack groaned, dropping his head onto Cloud’s shoulder. “Noooo, tell my family I loved them.”

Cloud rolled his eyes, landing the final shot to win the game. “You’re an idiot.”

Beaming, Zack lifted his head, “yeah, but I’m a fun idiot.”

Cloud huffed, but didn’t bother to disagree.

As they walked away from the game, Zack stretched his arms behind his head. “Man, I needed this.”

Cloud glanced at him. “What, getting your ass kicked?”

Zack let out a sharp laugh. “Okay, rude. But no, I meant just… this. Hanging out, not worrying about schedules or press or, y’know, all the extra crap.” He smiled softer this time. “It’s nice.”

Cloud felt a weird warmth settle in his chest. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It is.”

Zack bumped their shoulders together, his hand slowly sliding into Cloud’s entwining their fingers. “You know this is a date, right?”

His brain short circuited for a full three seconds as he stared down at their joined hands. Zack was holding his hand. Casually. Like it was nothing.

Like it was normal.

Cloud swallowed hard, willing himself to act like a functioning human being. “Yeah, Zack. I figured that out.”

Zack gave his hand a light squeeze. “Just making sure. You’re kind of a flight risk.”

Scoffing, Cloud shook his head, but didn’t pull away. “I could say the same about you.”

Zack raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You think I’m gonna run?”

He glanced up at Zack, trying to read the expression behind the teasing smile. Zack was always on, always animated, always quick with a joke. But underneath it, there was something softer right now, something he hadn’t really noticed before.

“No.” Cloud said slowly, his voice quieting. “I don’t think you are.”

Zack blinked, looking at him for a beat longer than normal—like he hadn’t expected that answer. Then, as if shaking off the moment before it could settle, he let out a breath and bumped Cloud’s shoulder again. “Alright, we got one more thing to do before we leave.”

“What now?” Cloud raised an eyebrow.

Zack smirked, pointing behind him, already tugging Cloud along.

Cloud followed Zack’s gaze to the Dance Dance Reunion machine, its neon arrows flashing obnoxiously in an inviting rhythm.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Zack grinned, tugging him toward the machine. “C’mooon, Spike. You can’t tell me you’ve never played DDR before.”

When had Zack started that nickname?

Cloud dug his heels in. “I haven’t, and I’m not starting now.”

Zack was scandalized for the—what—tenth time tonight? “Waitwaitwait. You’re telling me you’ve spent years training your body into peak condition, yet you’ve never once stepped onto a DDR pad?”

Cloud crossed his arms, glowering. “What part of ‘I fight for a living’ makes you think I spend time playing a dancing game?”

Zack ignored him, already feeding tokens into the machine. “Alright, no better time than the present. You’re about to experience a cultural awakening.”

Cloud scowled as Zack hopped onto the dance pad, effortlessly scrolling through song options. “I don’t dance.”

“You will,” Zack sing-songed, selecting a song with MAX difficulty before turning to Cloud with an innocent smile. “Unless you’re scared?”

Cloud twitched. “That doesn’t work on me.”

“Damn. Thought I had you.” Zack said, feigning disappointment. Then, as if a lightbulb went off in his head, his grin turned downright devious. “Alright, new deal. If you play—just play—I’ll get you a VIP ticket to my next show. Best seats in the house.”

Cloud blinked.

“What?”

Zack waggled his eyebrows. “You heard me. No tricks, no competition. You step on that dance pad, give it a go, and boom—VIP treatment. Backstage access. The works.”

Cloud eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because I really want to see you play DDR,” Zack admitted with zero shame. “And because I really want you at my show.”

Cloud hesitated. On one hand, he had no interest in embarrassing himself. On the other hand, a VIP ticket? Just for playing?

“…One song,” he conceded.

Zack positively glowed with excitement. “That’s the spirit!”

As soon as Cloud stepped onto the pad, he could already feel regret coursing through him.

The song started, and Zack, unsurprisingly was stupidly good—fluid, effortless, moving with way too much natural rhythm for an arcade game.

Cloud, meanwhile, was struggling. His reflexes were sharp, but DDR wasn’t about reaction speed, it was about rhythm, and Cloud’s rhythm was close to nonexistent in anything other than a fight.

Zack noticed immediately.

“You’re struggling, huh?” Zack teased, sidestepping effortlessly.

Cloud scowled, missing another arrow. “I don’t struggle.”

“Uh huh.” Zack spun mid-dance, shooting him a smug grin. “You sure about that?”

Cloud grit his teeth, focusing. He would not let Zack get to him—

And then Zack started singing along to the song.

He was so stunned, he almost lost his balance, gawking at Zack.

“Oh my Gaia, you’re actually so flustered right now,” Zack crowed, his voice carrying effortlessly over the music. “You getting distracted, Spike?”

“Absolutely not.” Cloud snapped, missing yet another step.

Zack grinned. “Y’know, I could stop singing, but only if you admit you’re having fun.”

Cloud huffed, glaring at the screen. If he could, he’d break the damn thing. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Zack said, not missing a single step. He waited to see if Cloud would admit it, before bursting into song once more, attracting a few stares from everyone around them.

By the time the song ended, Zack had a PERFECT COMBO, while Cloud barely scraped by with a C Rank.

Zack stretched, hands behind his head. “Well that was fun.” He turned to Cloud smirking. “And hey—now you get your ticket.”

Cloud exhaled sharply, stepping off the pad. “I could’ve just bought a ticket.”

He was met with a bright grin from Zack. “Yeah, but this way, I get to be the one to give it to you.”

“…Whatever.”

Zack laughed, hopping off the platform. “Oh, don’t sound too thrilled about it, Cloud.”

Cloud rolled his eyes, but weirdly, the usual irritation wasn’t there. As they walked towards the exit, Zack’s hand brushed his. Cloud stiffened, aware of the sun hitting their skin in broad daylight. Regardless, Cloud didn’t pull away.

Neither did Zack.

It wasn’t deliberate at first, just their hands skimming against each other as they walked. But then Zack’s fingers curled ever so slightly, just enough to linger—to give Cloud the option to move away if he wanted to.

He didn’t.

And then—without a word—Zack hooked his pinky around Cloud’s. Cloud swallowed, staring straight ahead, hyper-aware of the quiet warmth of Zack’s hand. It wasn’t full-handholding, but it was still technically public—no dim lighting, no neon lights to blur the image. There would be no mistaking this.

Cloud found himself not minding.

Didn’t mind it at all actually.

“Hey,” Zack said, voice softer now, the teasing edge momentarily gone. “Thanks for today.”

Cloud blinked at him. “For what?”

Zack smiled, small and sincere. “For saying yes.”

Cloud looked away, rubbing his thumb against the inside of his palm, feeling the ghost of Zack’s warmth there.

“…Wasn’t so bad,” he muttered.

Zack chuckled, squeezing their linked fingers briefly before letting go. “Always with the high praise.”

They stopped at the curb, Cloud glancing at the train to take him back down to the Sector 7 Slums. He should say something. Anything.

This—whatever it was—felt like a moment that needed something.

Instead, Zack beat him to it.

“Guess I’ll see you at the show,” Zack said, reaching out without thinking. His finger’s lightly tangling into Cloud’s hair, watching for a moment, trying to decide if he was pushing too far.

Cloud didn’t move away, just staring up at him.

Instead, he let Zack step closer, just enough that he could get a deep whiff of Zack’s scent. And then, as if testing his luck, Zack leaned in and pressed a light, warm kiss to Cloud’s forehead.

It was so sweet, Cloud’s stomach flipped.

It was gentle, barely there, more thank you than anything else. That didn’t stop the way Cloud’s stomach twisted, his brain running a million miles a minute.

Zack pulled back, hand coming down to briefly cup his face, smiling like he hadn’t just casually set Cloud’s brain on fire. “See you soon, Cloud.”

Cloud swallowed, his heart hammering way too loudly in his chest. He managed to get out a choked, “…bye.”

Zack gave him a playful salute as Cloud turned towards the train, his face flaming, wide eyed as he stared at the ground, willing his heartbeat to settle.

Chapter Text

Cloud had barely stepped inside the bar the next day before Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie descended on him.

“Ohhh my Gaia—” Jessie was the first to spot him, already grinning like she’d won the lottery. “He’s here. The man of the hour!”

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Biggs drawled, tugging Cloud down to the table with the three of them, a big shit eating splitting across his face. “What, did you get lost in Zack Fair’s eyes on the way here?”

Cloud immediately regretted coming.

Tifa’s pleading about needing to hang out with his friends be damned.

Wedge turned from his seat at the bar, phone in hand. “Bro,” he started, eyes practically sparking, “did you see the photos?”

Cloud scowled, snatching Wedge’s untouched water to drink down. “Yeah,” he grumbled, wiping his mouth. “I saw the damn photos.”

And he had.

He had definitely seen them.

Whoever the hell put a hit out on snapping photo’s of them was going to be hunted. Granted, both dates had been relatively peaceful, just a few people staring at Zack, and surprisingly no one interrupted. They must’ve known better than to approach with Cloud’s short temper. Or at least that's what he told himself.

But it seems that didn’t stop them from snapping photos. And videos.

Specifically, ones of Zack laughing, chin propped on Cloud’s head as they tried to pick a game, Zack’s stupidly fond expression caught in perfect clarity.

Another was them holding hands in the arcade, only partially disguised by the dim lights—except the neon glow flashed at the exact right moment, illuminating their intertwined fingers like a damn romance movie.

Another? A video of Cloud absolutely humiliating himself on the DDR machine, Zack singing along like a menace, while Cloud desperately tried not to trip over his own feet.

And the worst ones?

The broad daylight pinky-holding outside the arcade, where Zack was clearly smiling like an idiot, and Cloud was too focused on keeping a straight face to notice.

And the video—oh Gaia, the video—the one of Zack slowly leaning in, brushing his fingers through Cloud’s hair before pressing a kiss to his forehead. They’d even left in the part where he cupped his face after.

Cloud wanted to die.

He wanted to throw up, roll over, and cease living.

Not necessarily in that order.

“Oh! He saw them,” Biggs wheezed, staring at Cloud’s face and elbowing Wedge. “Look at his face—he definitely saw them!”

Jessie snorted, “dude, do you know how viral this is? You two are the internet’s new favorite accidental love story.”

“It’s just—“ Cloud exhaled sharply. His brain stalled for a moment, looking for the right words—any words—something to brush it off, something to make this less than it clearly was.

Nothing came.

Because there wasn’t a good way to explain it.

Because Zack wasn’t just messing around.

Because Cloud hadn’t pulled away and ran for the hills like he usually did.

Jessie gasped. “You like him.”

No fucking shit.

He didn't dare say that out loud.

It would be pried from his cold, dead lips.

Cloud reached for her drink, a sweet fruity cock tail she’d already drank from, but he didn’t care. He took a massive gulp, just to avoid responding.

Jessie screamed.

Biggs and Wedge howled.

Even Tifa, who was cleaning glasses behind the bar, snorted softly.

Cloud groaned, setting the glass down and dragging a hand down his face.

Wedge just patted his shoulder.

Jessie just giggled maliciously. “So… when’s the next date?”

Cloud stiffened. “…Who said there was a next one?”

Biggs just grinned. “Zack did.”

His stomach lurched into his throat. “What.”

Jessie refreshed on her phone, before showing Cloud her feed. “Oh yeah, buddy. Zack already made a post.” Zack’s official account had a brand new post.

ZackFairOfficial: Had an awesome time at the arcade last night. 10/10 would totally let Strife kick my ass at more games. Hope he’s ready for round two. 👀 @TheStrifeEffect

Cloud choked, seeing his account tagged. “He tagged me?!”

Jessie cackled. “He tagged you, and the whole of KupoNet is losing it.”

Wedge scrolled through the comments. “’Not saying Zack Fair is making this man soft, but if Cloud Strife starts smiling in interviews, we know who to blame.’ ‘Cloud’s got two options: kiss Zack or legally change his name and move to another city.’ ‘Oh, Strife’s so cooked.’”

Cloud turned away, ready to launch himself into the Lifestream.

Head first.

Tifa just sighed, setting down a glass. “Well, at least you’re finally doing something fun for once.”

Cloud scowled at her. “You too?”

Tifa smirked. “I dunno, Cloud. Sounds like you had a really good time.”

Cloud just grumbled something unintelligible.

Biggs leaned in close, wagging his eyebrows. “So…. When’s the VIP concert date?”

Jessie gasped again, slapping the table. “Wait, wait—did he give you tickets?”

Cloud visibly tensed, which was all they needed.

“HE DID!”

Jessie practically vibrated in excitement, Wedge nearly dropped his phone, and Biggs looked seconds away from keeling over laughing.

Cloud felt like he might pass out.

Jessie clutched her chest like she was about to faint. “What if he sings to you?!”

Cloud slammed his forehead against the table, all out of drinks to down as Biggs had walked away with his in hand in anticipation. “I hate this. I hate all of this.”

“NAH, MAN. I HATE THIS.”

A gruff voice cut through their chaos, and Cloud barely had time to lift his head before Barret strode into the bar, Marlene perched happily on his shoulder.

Cloud cursed internally. Fucking fantastic.

Barret, massive arms crossed, stomped towards them with the express purpose of making of making Cloud’s life even worse.

“Now what’s this ‘bout Strife makin’ out with some pretty-boy popstar?”

Cloud nearly choked on air. “I—what.”

Marlene gasped loudly, clapping her hands. “Cloud’s got a boyfriend?”

“No,” Cloud immediately corrected.

Jessie and Biggs, the traitors that they were, nodded enthusiastically.

“YUP,” Biggs said, barely holding in his laughter. “And it’s Zack Fair.”

“ZACK FAIR?!” Barret boomed, causing half the bar to turn and look.

“Zack Fair! Zack Fair!” Marlene chanted happily, kicking her feet from Barret’s shoulder.

Cloud wanted to disintegrate.

Barret planted himself in the seat across from Cloud, grinning way too wide for a man who spent most of his time yelling at Cloud about actual serious matters.

“So what’s this I hear about you runnin’ around Sector 8 holdin’ hands in some arcade?” Tifa told me y’all been cozy lately?”

TIFA.

Cloud whipped around, glaring at her behind the bar.

Tifa just shrugged, completely unbothered as she poured a drink for another guest and sliding it down the bar. She had a wicked glint in her eye. “What? You think I wasn’t gonna tell him?”

Cloud clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply through his nose. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like that?!” Wedge gasped dramatically, holding up his phone. “Bro, explain this then!”

He flipped the screen towards Barret.

It was the forehead kiss video.

Cloud felt actual despair crawl up his spine.

Barret squinted at the screen for a few seconds, his brow furrowing… and then slowly rising.

“…Strife,” Barret said, a slow grin splitting across his lips, his voice way too smug. “You blushin’ in this?”

Cloud immediately stood up to leave. “I’m done. I’m done. This conversation is over.”

Marlene giggled, swinging her feet. “Cloud has a boyfriend~!”

“I don’t.”

Jessie smirked. “Then why are you running?”

Cloud froze mid-step, fists clenched, before forcing himself back into his seat with pure willpower alone.

The rest of the night was spent with him getting clowned on and Cloud begrudgingly answering Marlene’s million-mile-a-second questions.

Cloud needed to punch something.

After a full night of being roasted—relentlessly—by his so-called friends, he needed to work out the tension coiled up in his body before he lost his damn mind.

The Midgar Arena gym was practically empty when he got there, just the way he liked it. Most fighters trained during designated hours, but Cloud had never really cared for schedules. Besides there was a fight in less than an hour, so it would remain clear for awhile.

He threw a few warm-up jabs, shifting his weight between his feet, focusing on his breathing. In. Out. Reset.

And then—

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Midgar’s most famous thirst-posting champion.”

Cloud’s fist stopped just before impact.

He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

With a sigh, he let his forehead rest against the heavy bag for a second before dragging a hand down his face.

“Roche,” he muttered, his teeth grinding together. “Go away.”

The Crimson Speed Demon was grinning—of course he was—his arms crossed, all too pleased with himself. His bleached blond hair damp from whatever training he had just finished.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Roche teased, circling Cloud like a damn vulture. “I’m savoring this.”

Cloud ignored him, rolling his shoulders and focusing. He went back to working the heavy bag, throwing a few test jabs, trying to pretend Roche didn’t exist.

It didn’t work.

“Aw, don’t get shy now,” Roche mused, rocking back and forth on the ropes. “I saw the pictures.”

Cloud should’ve known.

“And the videos,” Roche added gleefully. “Like, damn, Strife, I thought you were some broody, ice-cold badass. But you let that man wipe the floor with you in DDR and barely put up a fight. Tragic.”

He grit his teeth, throwing a solid right hook. “It was rigged.”

“Rigged?” Roche laughed, leaning forward to hold Cloud’s bag so he could stare directly at him. “The only thing rigged was how much of a lovesick sap you looked the whole time. Holding hands? Letting him lean all over you? And oh, my favorite—”

Cloud knew what was coming.

“—the forehead kiss.”

Roche cackled, “What happened, Strife?” He purred, moving his head around to the other side of the bag. “I thought you were such a tough guy. But nooo, Zack gives you the softest little smooch, and you look like you’re about to short-circuit. Hel works hard—but whoever’s snapping these little shots of you and isn’t getting caught by you?—Works harder.”

“Shut up,” Cloud muttered, focusing on the bag.

“Oh, I don’t think I will,” Roche said, grinning. “Because now, my good friend, I have so many questions.”

“We are not friends.”

“But we could be,” Roche continued, completely ignoring him. “Tell me, Strife—when Zack was all up in your space, looking at you like you hung the moon, did your little fighter heart go pitter-patter?”

Cloud swung at the bag harder than necessary, the force of it making Roche take a step back.

“It did, didn’t it?” Roche gasped dramatically, hand over his heart.

“Roche,” Cloud growled. “Leave. Now.”

“Or what?” Roche smirked, leaning around the heavy bag with zero fear for his life.

Cloud lunged towards him—

And that was exactly when the arena staff ran up.

“Strife!” The guy barely paused for a breath. “You’re needed for a match—Rude’s opponent just backed out last minute.”

Cloud blinked. “What?”

“Can you step in?”

“Who backed out?”

“Loz,” the staffer said, looking frustrated. “He tweaked his knee in warm-ups. The fight is in twenty minutes. You in?”

Of fucking course, it was Loz. The little crybaby refused to fight except in prime conditions half the time. If he couldn’t get his hair styled the way he wanted, he’d pull out of a fight.

Cloud hesitated.

Roche, grinning like an absolute menace, threw an arm around Cloud’s shoulders. “Rude’s probably dying to humble you again.”

Cloud’s face twisted in mild disgust when Roche touched him and promptly shook him off. “Yeah, fine. I’m in.”

Roche cackled.

Grabbing a his phone, he shot off a quick message to Tifa. fighting rude send r&r

Cloud tossed the phone to the side, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his knuckles.

Chapter Text

The arena lights were blinding, the roar of the crowd pounded in his ears, but this time he was ready. Aside from a few cheeky posts here and there, he hadn’t been publicly humiliated again. It’d been a week since the Arcade date and he had yet to see Zack since, even though they did message frequently.

He was ready for this fight. He had to be

There was no Zack Fair eyeing him from the front row. No KupoNet discourse about how he wasn’t as cold as he seemed, just cause Zack made his blush. No Biggs, Jessie, and Wedge clowning him about Zack’s latest post. Roche had been a slight annoyance, but honestly, the little shit wasn’t enough of a migraine in the short time Cloud had seen him to cause any real problems.

Nothing was going to set him off his game today. Because if he did, he was fucked.

It was just a fight.

…Who, unfortunately, happened to be Rude.

Cloud stared up at the wall of the man, already feeling like he’d made a mistake. One doesn’t just go into a fight and expect to win against Rude.

No.

You went into a fight and hoped you survived.

Cloud rolled his shoulders, keeping himself loose.

Rude nodded at him, his voice as even as ever. “I’ll try not to break you.” Which, coming from anyone else, might have been insulting. But Cloud had already been on the receiving end of Rude’s fists many times.

The extra money for doing a last minute fight was the only reason he was here.

He didn’t need it per se, but his money hungry little brain was all too eager to get some extra gil. Plus there was always an added bonus of fight Rude. While the man’s win record wasn’t perfect, he definitely averaged on the higher side, so there was always an added bonus to fight against him.

Cloud exhaled in response, his eyes flicking up to the sunglasses blocking Rude’s eyes from him. “Right back at you.”

The ref gave the rundown; Fight clean, fight fair. Cloud didn’t bother to listen because he already knew.

The bell rang.

Rude moved first, immediately testing Cloud’s reflexes with a series of fast, short, deadly, jabs. Cloud dodged easily, bouncing on his feet to keep his distance.

And then Rude actually swung.

Cloud barely blocked in time, his forearms screaming from the sheer pressure of force behind the hit.

Was this man made of fucking concrete? Or was he eating fucking Behemoth everyday?

Cloud had fought a lot of people, but damn, Rude barely looked like he was fucking trying.

Cloud countered immediately, twisting fast, and throwing a solid kick to his ribs—and Rude? He just absorbed it like a fucking sponge.

Cloud blinked.

This was going to be a long fight.

Good.

He needed it.

After weeks of being clowned on, his last fight was a Roche induced migraine that got swept under the rug, and Zack uprooting his life, he needed normal.

And what better way to feel normal again than getting punched in the face?

Rude’s right hook skimmed his cheek and he barely ducked in time, feeling the skin already bruising from the graze. It left Rude wide open and he struck.

A clean, solid hit straight to Rude’s ribs.

Cloud’s fists might as well have been made of pillows from the way Rude glanced down at him.

He sprung back, putting more space between them, landing lightly on his feet as the crowd roared.

Rude didn’t even flinch.

The man just tilted his head, adjusting his sunglasses like Cloud had mildly inconvenienced him at best. Cloud’s stomach sank.

“Not bad,” Rude nodded.

Then he swung again.

Cloud’s entire life flashed before his eyes.

He had a split second to dodge, the punch strong enough to send him into another fucking timeline.

The air whooshed past his head. And he felt it. He fucking felt it.

If that shit had landed? Game over. Immediate respawn screen. If he even got to respawn after a punch like that.

Rude didn’t pause, didn’t give him a chance to recover. He came at him again, this time with a clean, controlled, right hook straight to Cloud’s ribs.

Cloud twisted away, feet barely touching the mat, and retaliated with a sharp counter punch to Rude’s side.

It was a solid hit. A good hit.

It might as well have been a foam sword, the way Rude adjusted his tie afterwards.

His fucking tie.

Cloud’s eye twitched.

Why was Rude allowed to wear a three piece suit in the fucking arena again? It was so rude, it wasn’t even fair.

Alright. New plan.

No more defense. Offensive speed.

Fast jabs, quick kicks. Keep moving and don’t let him get a clean shot in—

Rude let in one punch, skimming his cheek before effortlessly grabbing Cloud’s wrist mid-swing.

Cloud froze.

And in that moment, he knew, he fucked up.

The crowd went wild.

And then, calm as ever, Rude just said: “you need to block better.”

Cloud barely had time to process the words before he was flipped.

His world tilted, and for a moment Cloud thought he entered the Lifestream. He stared at the ceiling, the flashing arena lights, and tried to remember how breathing worked.

“Damn,” Biggs voice filter through from somewhere in the audience. “Folded him like a lawn chair.”

“Rip Cloud,” Jessie followed up with absolutely no remorse.

Wedge mournfully updated KupoNet:

—@[therealchocobro] @TheStrifeEffect has been deleted from existence. Rude supremacy confirmed.

When the hell had those three gotten here?

Assholes.

Cloud groaned, rolling onto his feet before the ref could finish counting. His ribs ached and his head swam.

Rude waited, his eyes looking Cloud over appraisingly. He gave him a small nod, like Cloud had done a training exercise with him, and not like he’d suplexed Cloud into another dimension.

Cloud grit his teeth, bouncing into stance.

Fine.

If that’s how they were going to play this. Next round would be different.

It turns out—round two wasn’t any different. By the end of it Cloud was barely standing. His arms were trembling, his ribs aching, and he felt like he’d been run over by a runaway chocobo. If he was honest? He was seriously contemplating surrender. It wasn’t uncommon in fights against Rude. Most of them ending in either knock outs or surrender, never getting to the third round. In fact Cloud’s last fight against Rude had ended in a knockout.

The bell rang again.

Cloud wanted to throw up.

His mind was a jumbled mess of pain and desperation. He forced himself to take a deep breath, steadying his nerves, even though every step felt like it might collapse under him. Across the ring, Rude adjusted his sunglasses as if preparing for a leisurely stroll rather than another round of punishing Cloud.

Cloud’s inner monologue was loud enough for the entire arena to hear—at least in his head: just keep fucking standing. You can make it out of this fight on your feet, even if you don’t win. Don’t let him break you… again.

It was always humbling leaving the arena after a knock out, and even against an opponent like Rude, it still left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

He was dangerously close to a repeat performance.

Rude moved first, a measured, almost lazy shuffle that belied the power behind his strikes. Cloud ducked and dodged as best he could, his movements a mix of practiced combat and pure survival instinct. Every time Rude’s fist swept near him, Cloud prayed that his battered body would somehow find the strength to keep moving.

Cloud grit his teeth and pushed forward, throwing a series of punches that—despite his weariness—landed a few decent hits. The crowd roared at the unexpected spark of resilience, but Cloud couldn’t even enjoy it. All he could think about was the nagging hope that maybe, just maybe, he would make it out of this round conscious.

Sweat mingled with pain as he parried a heavy hook, his vision momentarily blurry. He closed his eyes for a split second, willing himself to endure.

He had no idea how he was still upright.

His ribs felt like they’d been shuffled into the wrong spots, and his insides rearranged. His arms burned and his lungs were actively staging a rebellion. Every part of him was screaming to just drop and let gravity take over.

And yet—somehow, by sheer spite alone he was sure—he was still here.

Rude, completely unbothered, replaced his glasses that Cloud had somehow managed to crack in the midst of his fight. Because of course he did. The damn turk always had spares.

Cloud didn’t even have time to question it because Rude was already on him again… and again… and again.

Cloud was scrambling back for dear life, scraping by sheer luck.

He saw an opening—the smallest, tiniest little opening.

Rude’s stance shifted just slightly, his weight adjusting forward, he slipped on sweat. Cloud’s sweat—because Gaia knows it’s not Rude’s—which turned out to be his one mistake.

Cloud lunged like a man starved.

A sharp hook to the ribs—Rude grunted, staggering a little. Cloud followed up immediately, twisting into a brutal uppercut, channeling everything he had left into the swing.

His knuckles connected.

The impact sent a shockwave through his bones, and—

Rude’s head snapped back.

His legs buckled.

Cloud could hardly believe it as Rude collapsed onto the mat, out cold.

The crowd went insane.

He barely registered it.

He stood there, blinkly rapidly, swaying on his feet as his brain caught up.

Did he just—

Did he actually win?

The ref stepped in, checking Rude. No movement.

Then, the ref raised Cloud’s arm.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOUR WINNER BY KNOCKOUT—CLOUD STRIFE”

Cloud had never been more relieved in his life.

Or more exhausted.

His legs finally gave out, and he hit his knees, gasping for breath.

Jessie, Biggs and Wedge were losing their minds in the audience.

“HOLY SHIT, HE DID IT!” Jessie screamed, practically shaking Wedge.

Wedge was furiously typing on KupoNet.

—@[therealchocobro] Bro knocked out RUDE. STRIFE SUPREMACY

Biggs wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, “He finally got revenge for last knockout.”

Jessie smirked, elbowing Biggs, “you mean the one where Rude made Cloud one with the floor?”

Cloud couldn’t do anything to respond to their little remarks. He forced himself upright, staring down at Rude, stumbling to his feet.

“Finally.”

As soon as the word left his mouth however, Gaia spun, his vision blurred and hit hit the ground with an unceremonious thump.

The last thing Cloud heard was Wedge yelling something about poetic justice.

Chapter Text

Cloud’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment he thought he heard a noise—a subtle creak or a whisper of movement—in his cramped apartment. It wasn’t uncommon for him to wake up paranoid or swearing up and down he heard something, his nightmares chasing him awake. Even on a night where he’d been passed out, he could still feel the remnants of a nightmare chasing him.

His head throbbed from the previous night’s fight and all he could hope was Rude felt worse than him.

He doubted it.

But still.

His eyes flicked to an uncapped potion on the nightstand next to him. Tifa, probably. She usually tended to him post fight.

A sudden clatter from the kitchen made him stiffen. Not Tifa. She didn’t make noise like that. Sure, she dropped things but that was  distinctly a man’s voice that had yelped(?) in surprise. He edged towards his door, quietly stepping outside of it, hugging the wall with his back. As light headed as he was, he wasn’t about to let a random intruder beat his ass. He watched the person’s shadow for a few minutes, just observing as they seemed to rifle through his cabinets.

He snapped around the side of the wall, lunging forward to swing, only to pause mid-launch as he stared at Zack’s bewildered violet eyes. “Uh… hey there Spike,” Zack said after a moment, slowly raising the coffee he’d made to his lips and taking a sip. He held it out after taking a drink, passing it over to him. “Coffee?” He murmured.

Cloud hesitated before grabbing the mug and taking a sip staring up at the pop idol. “…Thanks.”

Zack grinned, clearly unbothered by the fact that he’d almost been knocked out in Cloud’s kitchen. “Man, you just wake up swinging, huh?” He leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, completely at home in Cloud’s apartment like he hadn’t just broken in.

Cloud narrowed his eyes, still groggy from the fight but now hyper-aware of Zack standing way too close in his personal space. “How did you get in?”

Zack waved a hand dismissively. “Tifa let me in.”

Cloud blinked. “Why.”

“Because I asked.” Zack looked smug.

Cloud stared up at him.

Zack just reached for the coffee he’d passed off earlier to Cloud and took another sip like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Also, she said something about how you’d probably forget to eat after the fight, and I told her I’d take care of it.”

Cloud’s stomach twisted, half from the lingering effects of the fight, half from the realization that Zack had, apparently, made it his personal mission to check up on him. It was one thing for Zack to tease him, to flirt in an annoyingly persistent way. But this—this was intimate. Zack was standing in his kitchen, making himself at home, just because he thought Cloud needed someone looking after him.

It made his heart twist uncomfortably.

“…You didn’t have to do that.”

Zack shrugged, his smile easy. “I wanted to.”

Cloud swallowed, reaching for their shared coffee and taking a sip to avoid speaking.

Zack grinned again. “Besides, I had to see for myself if you were still in one piece after that fight. You knocked out Rude, man.” His voice was laced with something that sounded a little too close to admiration.

“Barely,” Cloud grumbled out. If he hadn’t gotten that lucky opening on Rude, everyone knew how it would’ve ended. Probably with Cloud dead on his feet honestly.

“Barely still counts,” Zack said, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “Seriously, that was badass.”

Cloud stared at him, suspicious. “You watched?”

“Duh,” Zack scoffed. Then he smirked. “I had to see if my VIP guest was going to make it to my show.”

Cloud scowled, setting the coffee down on the counter between them. “I’m still debating.”

“No you aren’t,” Zack said confidently leaning against him and slinging an arm around his shoulder. His cheek feel against the top of Cloud’s head, resting there gently. “What do you wanna eat? I’ll order.”

He stiffened at the weight of  Zack’s arm, his first instinct was to shake him off—but Zack was warm, and Cloud’s aching body was soaking it up greedily. He would tolerate it. For now.

“I can order my own food,” Cloud muttered though he didn’t move away.

Zack made a thoughtful hum, completely unbothered as his cheek rubbed against the top of Cloud’s head. “Yeah, but then I don’t get to spoil you.”

Cloud glanced up at him, shooting him a flat look. “I don’t need spoiling.”

“Says the guy who’s definitely too tired to cook for himself. Tifa said you get all stubborn about eating after a fight. So I’m here to just make sure you don’t chug a potion and call it a meal.”

Cloud scowled. “I don’t do that.”

Zack raised his head just enough to look at him. “Cloud.”

“…Often.” He conceded, glancing away from him.”Just order whatever.”

Zack grinned, shifting away ever so slightly to pull out his phone. His arm was still draped lazily over Cloud’s shoulder. “Alright let’s see… You a burger guy? Or pizza? Oh what about pasta, I know this great place—“

“I don’t care. Just order fast,” he snapped, harsher than he’d intended. His head was still pounding.

Zack watched him for a second, before slowly raising his hand to scratch at Cloud's scalp in a soothing manner. “Bossy,” he chuckled out, but scrolled through the menu, his fingers tapping a few things before clicking order. “Alright, pizza should be here in twenty.”

Cloud exhaled, holding a breath he didn’t realize he was keeping. He didn’t realize he was so wound up, especially over something as simple as ordering food. Zack continued rubbing circles into his scalp for a moment before letting go of his head, grabbing his arm and tugging him towards the tv. “C’mon, I brought movies.”

He plopped down, patting the spot next to him. Zack’s hand on Cloud’s wrist was gentle.

“Movies?” Cloud responded slowly, carefully moving to sit next to him.

“Yeah, y’know, those things you watch for entertainment?” Zack teased, once again sliding an arm over his shoulder. Fuck, he was so warm. “I figured you’d be too sore to go anywhere, so we’re doing a post fight recovery night.”

Clown blinked up at him. “You planned this?”

Zack beamed, clearly proud of himself. “Tifa helped me plan this.”

Cloud made a mental note to talk to Tifa later.

Still, he let Zack tug a blanket over the two of them. It was a handmade blanket his ma had crocheted for him when he was a teen, one of the only things he had of her. He should have protested, but Zack was persistent and annoyingly good and maneuvering Cloud into things before he could argue.

Zack pressed play on the movie—some old action flick, Cloud barely paid attention to. He was too busy processing the fact that Zack was curled into his side, lightly brushing through Cloud's tousled hair with his hands.

Cloud glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

Zack caught his gaze. “You lookin’ at me, Spike?”

“No,” Cloud scowled, pointedly looking at the TV.

Zack grinned, bringing his hand down to rub his neck. “Sure, sure, just keep telling yourself that.”

There was a few minutes of silence, while him and Zack just sat there comfortably.

An consistent rapping at the door, caught both of their attention.

The sound drew Cloud from dangerously comfortable haze he’d almost let himself get drawn into. He blinked, realizing just how much he’d relaxed into the couch—into Zack, who was still just lounging comfortably.

Zack lifted his head from where it had just begun to rest against Cloud’s. “That’ll be the pizza.”

Cloud made a noise of acknowledgement, half-thinking he should get up, but Zack was already moving. He pushed off the couch with an easy stretch ruffling Cloud’s hair in the process. “Stay put, I got it.”

Cloud scowled, swatting his hand. “Don’t—“

But Zack was already grinning as he headed for the door, opening it and exchanging a few words with the delivery guy before shutting it again.

Cloud rubbed at his temple, trying to shake off the lingering warmth from Zack’s casual touches. Gaia, he’s annoying.

Zack strolled back over, balancing the pizza box in one hand, looking far too pleased with himself. “Okay, hot and fresh. But first—“ He dropped back onto the couch beside Cloud, making himself comfortable again, blanket shifting as he resettled. “—you gotta let me back in.”

“Back in what?”

Zack nudged his shoulder, grinning. “This. The cozy spot. You were just starting to lean into it.”

Cloud’s jaw tensed but he couldn’t exactly deny it. He had been comfortable. And now Zack was back, and the warmth that he’d been missing in his absence was once again pressing into his side. It was like this nice, warm, missing puzzle piece that should slot back into place.

Cloud sighed, exhaling slowly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zack smirked, setting the pizza box on the coffee table before flopping right back against Cloud’s side. His arm found its way around Cloud’s back again, less like a deliberate move and more like he’d always meant to be there. “Alright, you’re free to ignore me now.”

Cloud tried to ignore him. He really did.

But Zack was sososo warm, and his arm was a steady weight around Cloud’s shoulders, fingers resting lightly against his side. He made no effort to hold him there, no teasing remark about Oh look, Strife’s actually cuddly. Just there, like natural.

And worse—comfortable.

Zack leaned forward just enough to grab a slice, holding it up expectantly. “You eating or what?”

Cloud gave him a flat look, then took the pizza without comment.

Zack chuckled, grabbing a slice for himself before settling back in. The movie played on, and as the minutes passed, Cloud felt himself slowly easing into it again.

Zack’s arm stayed draped around him, his head eventually tilting back to rest lightly against Cloud’s. His hair tickled Cloud’s neck and just hummed softly, content.

Slowly, Cloud let himself sink into it,  his body too sore to fight the way he naturally leaned closer. The warmth of the blanket, the heat of Zack’s presence, the steady rise and fall of his breathing—it was grounding in a way Cloud hadn’t realized he needed.

Cloud felt Zack shift slight, not pulling away, just adjusting—like he knew exactly how to settle against Cloud without making him think about it too hard. And Cloud—against every instinct that told him not to—let it happen.

Time slipped away in easy increments—one scene of the movie fading into the next, the warmth of Zack’s body ever present against Cloud. Cloud should’ve been annoyed by how easily Zack wormed his way into his space. Instead… he was relaxed.

Which is exactly when Zack decided to ruin the peace.

“So…” Zack drawled, shifting to grab another slice of now cold pizza. “You got any games?”

Cloud turned to give him a flat look. “What?”

“Games,” Zack gestured vaguely towards Cloud’s old console in the corner. “I know you’ve got some. Probably something super serious and broody, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“They’re old.”

“Perfect.”

Gaia, he’s impossible.

Cloud huffed, pulling the drawer out from the end table, he grabbed out the old controllers. He might have been a little spiteful in giving Zack the one with joycon drift, but he wasn’t going to say anything.

With a resigned sigh, Cloud pulled out the games that had been safely tucked away, covered in dust. He pulled out an old copy of Chocobo Racing, handing it over.

Zack lit up like he’d just been handed a treasure chest. “No way. You have the original Chocobo Racing?”

Cloud shrugged. “Tifa found it somewhere and left it here.”

Zack was already shuffling to the floor, slotting the game into the console like it was the most important thing in the world. “You do not understand how much I love this game.”

Cloud rolled his eyes but found himself smirking despite himself. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

Zack patted the spot on the floor, looking up expectantly at Cloud. “C’mon, I need someone to crush.”

Cloud scoffed, moving from the couch to sit beside him. “You think you’re beating me?”

“I know I’m beating you.”

Cloud settled onto his spot on the floor. “We’ll see.”

The first race was brutal. Zack picked everything for speed, but Cloud had the advantage of strategy—cutting corners, using boosts at exactly the right moment to maximize their output, anticipating Zack’s eager movements before he made them. They were neck and neck, both of them way too invested for what should’ve been a dumb, casual game.

Cloud barely edged out a victory on the last lap.

Zack groaned, flopping back onto the floor. “Nooooo. You cheated.”

Cloud didn’t elaborate on the fact that technically he had given Zack the bad controller. “How?”

“I don’t know, but I know you did!” Zack pointed at the screen, eyes narrowed. “Best two out of three.”

Cloud just shrugged grabbing another slice of pizza. “Fine.”

They played ten more races.

Cloud won eight of them.

By the time Zack finally managed to scrap out a win, he was dramatic about it, just like he’d been at the arcade. Fist-pumping, throwing his arms up like he’d just won an actual tournament.

Cloud shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And victorious,” Zack said, leaning in, obnoxiously close, his grin wide. His eyes were bright and leaning into Cloud’s face. He was still talking, but Cloud couldn’t hear him over the sound of Cloud’s heart beating. When he finally drew back, Cloud barely caught the tail end of what he was saying. “—which means we’re switching games. I need to redeem myself.”

Cloud forced himself to draw his gaze away from Zack’s mouth, flipping through the game cases. “You any good at fighting games?”

Zack scoffed. “Obviously.”

Cloud just stared at him dead pan, not bothering to remind him that he also thought he was good at chocobo racing. Cloud arched a brow, pulling out a Super Smash Chocobros disc. “You sure?”

Zack smirked. “What, you scared?”

Cloud said nothing. Just loaded up the game.

They spent hours battling it out—Cloud choosing precise, technical characters while Zack went for the fastest, flashiest ones, using pure chaos and button mashing as his strategy.

It was infuriating.

And somehow, really fun.

At some point, Cloud had crawled back onto the couch, his legs stretched out while Zack was still on the floor, cross-legged sitting between Cloud’s legs, leaning forward in intense focus. The pizza had long since been demolished, and the only light in the room was the glow of the screen.

Cloud yawned, stretching back of the couch, shifting just slightly that his knee had bumped against Zack’s shoulder. Zack didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned into Cloud’s thigh, his cheek resting on the top of his knee.

“You getting tired of me, Spike?” Zack teased, turning his head to glance back at him.

Cloud huffed. “You’re the one losing. You should be the tired one.”

Zack grinned, leaning back to press his back against the couch, tilting his head to stare up at Cloud. “Maybe, but I’m still winning in spirit.”

Cloud snorted. “That’s not how that works.”

Zack smirked. “Agree to disagree.”

Cloud rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Didn’t move either.

Zack hummed, his fingers drumming idly against Cloud’s knee as he let his head tip further back, peering up at him from his place on the floor. The angle was ridiculous—Zack staring up at him with those gorgeous amethyst eyes, his wild hair brushing against Cloud’s legs, that damn smirk still firmly in place.

Cloud just stared at him, deadpan. “What are you doing.”

Zack blinked innocently. “Looking at you.”

Suspicious.

Cloud arched a brow. “Why.”

Zack grinned wider. “Because you’re fun to look at.”

Cloud scowled, shifting as if to move his leg—as if that would somehow remove Zack from his space—but Zack just laughed, catching his shin and keeping it in place, like between Cloud’s legs was the most comfortable place he could possibly be.

“You’re impossible,” Cloud muttered.

“And yet, you let me stay.” Zack’s voice was annoyingly smug, his upside-down gaze locked onto Cloud’s like he knew he had the upper hand. Which was impossible because Cloud could easily smother him with a pillow right now.

Cloud opened his mouth to retort—or maybe shove him away—but before he could, Zack moved.

Slowly. Intentionally.

He turned away from staring up at Cloud, and instead pressed a light kiss against the inside of Cloud’s knee, followed up by another one on his thigh, his body still facing away from Cloud. It was barely a touch, light as air, but it sent a sudden, sharp jolt of something Cloud refused to name straight down his spine. His breath hitched—just for a fraction of a second, just enough that Zack noticed.

And of course he noticed.

Zack’s smirk turned downright wicked.

Cloud’s hands twitched, his brain sreaming at him to shove him away before he did something stupid. Something reckless.

Something like—

Zack, slowly looked back at him, once again staring up at him upside down. Cloud couldn't even find it in himself to react as the hand reached for him. He didn’t pull away as Zack pulled his head down, his hand gently curling into Cloud’s spiked hair as the other one idly traced circles on his calf. His gaze never wavered, watching Cloud with open amusement as he pulled Cloud’s face down over his, till Cloud was hunched over him.

Gaia help me, Cloud thought distantly, his entire body locking up.

Zack was kissing him.

Like this was some kind of romance movie and Zack had just decided they were doing the dumbest possible version of an upside-down kiss.

Cloud didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t breathe.

Zack’s lips lingered, tugging Cloud’s head towards his, so he could swipe a gentle lick across his mouth. Cloud found himself bracing himself on his own thighs, his eyes shutting in that moment as Zack began peppering light kisses against his mouth.

Finally—finally—Zack pulled back slowly, exhaling against Cloud’s face. When Cloud finally cracked his eyes open, he was face to face with Zack.

His grin was infuriating.

Cloud hated how warm he felt. Hated the way his pulse stuttered. Hated the way Zack was looking at him like he hung the moon. Hated the way Zack’s eyes flickered with unfiltered amusement, like he was waiting for Cloud to say something.

So, Cloud did the only thing he could do.

He grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved it into Zack’s face.

Zack burst into laughter, grabbing at Cloud’s wrist as he dramatically twisted away from him, flopping along the side of the couch, and dragging Cloud with him. “Whoa, hey! Don’t be mad just because you liked it.”

Cloud groaned, glaring up at the man who had tugged him into his side on the floor, forcing him into a sort of snuggle. “I hate you.”

Zack was still laughing, sprawled out and tucking Cloud’s face into his chest. Tugging him into a tight hug. “Nah,” he said, voice way too damn smug and confident. “You like me.”

Cloud grabbed for the abandoned pillow.

Zack just grinned, pulling it down to peek down at him. “Something wrong?”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Not a chance,” Zack said easily, his hand lightly rubbing against Cloud’s back, completely unfazed. “I’m comfy.”

Cloud clenched his jaw, managing to grab the pillow and swinging it towards Zack’s face once more with all the momentum he could muster. “You’re the worst.”

Zack’s muffled laughter came through the fabric. “And yet, here I am.”

Cloud didn’t respond.

Didn’t move either.

Because Zack was right.

And that was the worst part.

Begrudgingly Cloud glared at the ceiling, Zack continued holding him hostage in his arms, his grip warm and secure. Zack just nuzzled into Cloud’s hair like some kind of oversized puppy.

“I can’t believe you.”

Zack just laughed, his voice warm and easy. “Yeah, you can.” After a long moment, he loosened his grip, letting Cloud pull away just enough to shift back onto the couch—though Zack’s hand still lingered, lightly resting on his neck, like he refused to fully separate.

Cloud ignored it.

(He pretended to ignore it.)

He definitely didn't pay attention when Zack rubbed small circles into his skin with his thumb.

“So,” Zack said, releasing his neck, and stretching like a cat. “One more movie?

Cloud exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Only if you shut up and let me actually watch it.”

Zack gasped in fake offense. “Spike, I am the perfect movie-watching companion.”

Cloud side-eyed him, unimpressed. “You literally talked through the last one.”

Zack grinned. “Yeah, but you loved it.”

Cloud rolled his eyes, grabbing the remote before he could argue. He scrolled through the selection, barely registering Zack moving to sit next to him again, their shoulders brushing. It was like Zack had somehow decided that constant physical contact was just how things worked now.

Cloud picked some generic action flick and pressed play, settling into the cushions. Zack, of course, made himself comfortable—one knee pressing against Cloud’s, his arm slung once more around Cloud’s shoulders.

For the first fifteen minutes, Zack actually did stay quiet. Cloud started to think maybe—maybe—he was taking the movie seriously.

Then the protagonist delivered a line so mind-numbingly bad that Zack actually choked on his drink.

Cloud barely had time to process it before Zack lost it.

“Wait—wait—“ Zack gasped between laughter, sitting up so fast he nearly dislodged Cloud’s head from his shoulders. “Did he—did he actually just say—” Before Cloud could argue, he rewound it immediately.

The TV was still rolling, the hero standing over his fallen enemy, delivering what was clearly meant to be a hard-hitting, dramatic moment.

“Looks like you just got… dethroned.”

Zack wheeze-laughed so hard he folded in half, gripping his stomach. “NO. NO WAY.”

Cloud sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gaia.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Zack wheezed, gasping for air. “That was the worst—who wrote that? They should be in jail.”

Cloud ignored him.

Zack rewound.

Cloud glared.

“Looks like you just got… dethroned.”

Cloud exhaled sharply.

Zack snickered.

And then—Gaia help him—Zack imitated it.

He stood over Cloud, looming over him on the couch, his face serious—well, as serious as Zack got—before opening his mouth.

“Looks like you just got… deTHROOOONED,” Zack declared in the worst, most dramatic voice Cloud had ever heard. He made an exaggerated sword swing motion still staring down, holding eye contact with Cloud. Zack threw himself back down onto the couch like a corpse.

And against all odds, against all of Cloud’s better instincts—

A sharp laugh burst out of him.

Full-bodied. Unexpected. Loud.

Zack froze.

His head snapped toward Cloud so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash, eyes wide like he’d just uncovered a lost materia.

Cloud slapped a hand over his mouth, mortified.

“Was that a laugh?” Zack whispered.

Cloud scowled, shoving at Zack’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

“No, no, no, Spike, you don’t get to hide this from me,” Zack crowed, positively glowing. “That was a full laugh. A real one.”

Cloud regretted everything.

Zack lunged at him.

Before he could react, Zack launched himself sideways, tugging Cloud down onto the couch with him. His arms squeezing him tightly as he burrowed his face into his hair.

“Ohhh, I won,” Zack declared, his cheek rubbing against Cloud’s head. “I made Cloud Strife laugh.”

Cloud groaned, shoving at his head. “Get off me.”

“Nope,” Zack said smugly, tugging him closer squeezing Cloud against his chest like he belonged there. “This is my prize now. I’m staying.”

Cloud opened his mouth to argue—again—but he was so tired, and Zack was so warm, and after hours of games and bad movies and dumb conversations, he realized—

He didn’t actually want Zack to move.

The movie kept playing, long forgotten. Zack shifted, adjusting so his head was propped on a pillow so he could see over Cloud’s head. His body was spread over Cloud’s, the blanket tugged haphazardly over them. His weight was solid and warm, and before Cloud even realized what was happening, his own body melted into it.

Zack’s breathing evened out, slow and steady.

Cloud’s did too.

At some point—somewhere in between fighting exhaustion and not thinking too hard about what it meant to be laying here with Zack wrapped around him—Cloud’s eyes slipped shut.

Zack murmured something, voice low and drowsy, his breath warm against the back of his neck.

“Hey Cloud?”

Cloud hummed, half-asleep.

Zack exhaled, his voice barely a whisper.

“…Told you I was winning.”

Cloud didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed.

Instead, he let himself drift, Zack’s warmth anchoring him in place.

And for the first time in years—he fell asleep without nightmares.

Chapter Text

Guilt followed Cloud like it was his last name.

Ever-present, ever-lingering, full of Strife.

He hadn’t known peace since he was sixteen; peace was a distant memory, lost before even Midgar’s chaos. His past was etched in flashes: his mother’s screams had been burned into his memory, the acrid smell of wood smoke intertwined with Nibelheim’s icy night air—each memory a jagged shard of pain.

Before that, there had been some peace—stolen moments with Tifa, quiet evenings with his Ma. Cloud could still remember the scent of her home-cooked meals, something warm and rich and safe. Even if he hadn’t tasted it in years, it was still there, lodged somewhere deep in his mind, untouched by time, yet irrevocably broken.

But those moments had always been brief. Because before the fire, there had still been them. The neighbor boys. The ones who had made his life hell from the moment he was old enough to understand what bastard meant. He could ignore those comments, nothing more then them trying to provoke him.

It wasn’t the things they said about him that sent him into a rage.

It was what they said about his mother.

She was strong, sharper than steel when she wanted to be. She never took their words—or the adults words—lying down, throwing sarcasm like daggers, making them flinch even when she stood alone. But Cloud hadn’t wanted her to have to fight, despite all of the nasty words they said about her, because of him, she was the best mother Cloud could have asked for.

So, at seven or eight years old, when he realized his screams fell on deaf ears, he started throwing his fists instead; even when he was outmatched.

It hadn’t mattered that he was smaller, that he wasn’t built for winning, that he wasn’t strong, that he lost more than he won. Cloud was angry—angrier than they were. His anger was a quiet, furious conflict—a burning need to retaliate fueled by the injustice that left him both pissed and conflicted about his own self-worth.

He spent more than half a decade covered in bruises, scrapes, and dirt on a near daily basis. It was always three on one, so whenever Cloud did come out on top, he couldn’t help the smug exhilaration of beating them

His only respite, his only friend, was Tifa.

Tifa, who stood beside him when no one else did. Who picked him up and dusted him off when he came home bloodied, who scolded him but still helped him sneak inside before his Ma could see the true extent of the damage. His childhood, with all its inevitable hurts, was bearable only because of her steady presence.

His childhood had been okay—but only because of her. And Ma.

And Zangan.

Zangan, who had wandered into town when Cloud was fourteen, and by some miracle, stayed. In his own strange way, provided a distraction from the anger boiling inside him—training him, guiding him and Tifa, offering a semblance of discipline to offset Cloud’s rage.

Then, the fire happened.

Cloud had been in the woods that morning, training with Tifa and Zangan. He should have been home. He should have been there.

The only reason they didn’t blame him was because he had witnesses. Tifa. Zangan. He’d been a mile into the forest when the first flames had sparked under the floorboards.

Cloud barely remembered the aftermath.

The screaming. The accusations. The way he had gone feral, lashing out at the boys, convinced they’d done it in a fit of rage. He had wanted them to be guilty—needed someone to blame, anyone to blame—to divert the relentless guilt setting in his stomach. The worst part was they didn’t even fight back. Just defended themselves until Zangan could be called to pull Cloud off of them, nearly every day for weeks.

Until the official report came back.

Faulty gas wire.

A disaster waiting to happen, buried beneath the house where no one could reach it. They were lucky the whole town hadn’t gone up in flames along with his house.

No malice. No hands to punish.

Just bad luck.

And that was worse.

Because if there was no one to blame, that meant the only one left was himself.

Because she’d died in his room. Because she’d probably been looking for him, trying to get him to safety, not knowing he was already gone.

Cloud had shattered.

Most of his days were spent quiet and unmoving, and on the rare occasion Zangan managed to get Cloud outside for training, Cloud could hardly put the energy into it. Any anger the villagers had for him seemed to fade away into pity. He was a kicked dog and none of them wanted to help, just wanted to watch him fade into obscurity.

Except Tifa.

Everything between then and Midgar was a blur. Tifa had told him the story more than once—how they snuck out in the middle of the night, hand-in-hand, taking a ship early. They’d planned to leave for Midgar when she was eighteen. But Cloud wouldn’t make it that long. It was like a part of him was dying in that village and she knew it.

And Tifa led the way.

She’d left everything behind for him.

Cloud wondered sometimes if she’d had help from her father. The man had hated Cloud up until the fire, but when Cloud had lost everything except the one blanket he’d accidentally left at Tifa’s house, he seemed to soften. Not enough to ever hug him, or ever truly consider consoling him, but enough to let him live under his roof, to feed him, and let him linger.

Zangan had been waiting when they arrived. He’d set them up with Avalanche—an environmental activist group that needed fighters to sponsor, people who could hit hard, get funds to sponsor their activism, and bring attention to the environment. It had been… good. Better than expected.

Cloud had been in and out of fights once he’d turned 17, bartering his way onto the amateur roster way earlier than he should have. And he did okay. It was like back in Nibelheim, he lost more than he won, he didn’t back down from fights even when he was tired.

The pay was decent, and he rarely turned down picking up a fight, so it made for good money for both him and Avalanche.

He was managing. He was getting by.

Until Cloud turned nineteen.

Until he heard the song.

It had been playing in some corner shop, drifting through open doors. Cloud had stopped in his tracks, heart lurching at the first few words.

He’d recognized the voice immediately. Zack Fair was impossible not to recognize. But Zack had been on hiatus for months, stepping away from the spotlight. The rumors had been brutal.

Then the truth came out.

His mentor, Angeal, had taken his own life.

Cloud hadn’t known the whole story at first, just the fragments that made their way through the media—Angeal, gone. His partner, Genesis, succumbing to illness just a week prior. Zack, alone.

And then this.

A song being worthy. About guilt. About loss. About survival. About not knowing if you deserved to still be here. It was encapsulated everything Cloud both loved and despised. Everything Cloud had felt after the fire.

Cloud had just stood in the middle of the street, barely breathing.

Because that song—that song—felt like it had been written for him.

And that was the beginning of his spiral.

By the time he got his first pro fight in the arena, he was already obsessed. Not that he let anyone know.

Tifa knew, of course. She’d spotted the obscene number of Zack Fair songs on his Materia Player. It had thrown  her at first—Cloud never cared for pop music before. But she hadn’t said a word. Just accepted it.

No one else knew.

Not until Reno.

Cloud had barely made it through the second round of that fight—kicked so hard in the face he left the planet briefly and saw stars. He’d been out for four whole seconds before forcing himself back up, bloodied and delirious.

Some interviewer had leaned over the ropes, joking about any last words.

And Cloud—Cloud, concussed and compromised—had deadpanned:

“If I die in this fight, just tell Zack Fair I loved him.”

It had been a throwaway line. A joke. Well… kinda.

And it blew up overnight.

His KupoNet following tripled. People latched onto it, turning it into a meme, a thing. His friends encouraged it. Instigated it even.

Every fight, every interview, every post—it kept going. His social media posts became a tapestry of quips about getting punched by and finding meaning through Zack Fair.

“Everytime I get punched in the face, I remind myself that Zack Fair exists and suddenly, it’s all worth it.” “Yeah, I’m bleeding. No, Zack fair is not responsible. Unfortunately.”

It was fun. A distraction. Something lighthearted to keep him from sinking.

But at night—when there was no one to perform for, no one to joke with—

There was only that song.

That one song.

Looping in his ears.

Playing to the ceiling.

And Cloud, staring up at it, wondering if he deserved to be here at all.

Chapter Text

Zack had never intended to write that song.

Not really.

At first, it was just noise—mindless strumming on a guitar in a dimly lit studio, fingers moving on autopilot, pressing into the strings hard enough to leave dents in his calloused skin. He hadn’t meant to hum anything. Hadn’t meant to say anything.

But grief had a funny way of worming itself into the quiet.

And when the words finally spilled out, they were raw. Unpolished. Ugly.

If I had known, I would have held on harder.

If I had known—

But he hadn’t.

And now Genesis and Angeal were gone, their absences stretching into his life like hollow spaces he couldn’t fill. Zack had been on the brink of his career, ready to take on the world with his mentors at his side—and then, in the span of a week, he’d lost them both.

First Genesis, then Angeal. He’d barely had time to breathe before he was standing at a double funeral, unable to process how it had come to this.

The world moved on without them. The industry moved on. But Zack?

Zack had been stuck.

So he wrote.

The song was never meant to be released. It was too personal, too much. But Aerith had heard it—had sat with him in the studio, listening as Zack poured everything into it, his voice breaking over the words. And when the label hesitated, unsure if something so raw would resonate with an audience—specifically Zack’s audience—Aerith had just looked at them, her hands firm on her hips.

“You don’t understand. This isn’t just a song. This is for Zack.”

When If I had known dropped, Zack had barely been able to look at the numbers. He hadn’t cared about charts, or streams, or album sales. He hadn’t cared about the way the world suddenly seemed to understand what he’d been going through.

It didn’t change the fact that Genesis and Angeal were still gone.

So he didn’t watch the interviews. Didn’t read the think pieces dissecting his grief like it was a case study. He buried himself in work, in rehearsals, in anything that kept his hands busy.

Then the first anniversary of their funeral came.

Zack woke up feeling heavy, his body sluggish like his bones had been replaced with lead. He canceled everything that day, shut his phone off, spent hours just sitting in his apartment, staring at the Buster Sword leaning against the wall.

When he’d finally forced himself to turn his phone back on, he was immediately bombarded with messages. One specifically from Aerith, saying ‘you need to see this’.

Zack begrudgingly clicked on the screen.

It was a video.

The quality wasn’t great—grainy, taken from a fight night a few weeks prior. He had seen a few mentions of him associated with fight night in passing on social media, but hadn’t bothered to actually look.

“If I die tonight, tell Zack Fair I loved him.”

Zack knew of Cloud. Midgar Arena’s rising star, cool and collected in the ring, known for his sharp footwork and zero tolerance for bullshit.  Zack had seen a few clips here and there-Cloud knocking out opponents twice his size with barely any effort, answering interview questions in the driest, most deadpan way possible. That being said, Cloud lost more than he’d won, but it was part of his charm.

He was a hard worker, fought in the ring more often than any other fighter, and that’s what made him popular. Because if there was one thing you could count on, it was Cloud. His fans insisted that if Cloud slowed down his win rate would be higher, which, yeah, probably. Zack remembered seeing videos of Cloud wheezing on his feet from a particularly nasty flu that had gone around and still stubbornly stayed in the ring. There had been a few times Cloud’s name popped up twice a week if someone backed out.

From what Zack understood about fighting in the ring, it wasn’t healthy.

Zack, however, hadn’t expected this.

The video kept playing, but Zack barely processed the edited fight itself. Because the comments were where the real show was happening.

—[@chocobro98] STRIFE PLEASE

—[@wutaiianprince] nah this is insane, cloud woke up, chose violence, and dedicated it to zack fair????

—[@kuponetdetective] this is the FUNNIEST parasocial relationship I have EVER seen

—[@allfairinloveandstrife] everytime he gets punched I just picture him thinking ‘zack fair would be so disappointed in me right now’

And Zack—Zack started laughing.

Real, full bodied, absurd laughter.

The first bit of laughter he let himself feel.

It was so stupid. So, so stupid.

He hadn’t even known Cloud existed beyond a passing name. Hadn’t expected this to be the first thing he ever learned about the man. Hadn’t expected this to be what got Zack out of his depressive slump, and forced him out of his own head.

But for the first time in months Zack felt something other than grief.

It wasn’t salvation, not exactly.

But it was something.

And as he scrolled through the endless memes, watching Cloud’s deadpan face plastered across a million reaction images, Zack found himself breathing again.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Zack Fair was used to attention.

It came with the job. Came with the larger-than-life name. Came with the damn striking, unforgettable face.

People said things like that all the time. He’d seen the memes, heard the jokes, gotten the exaggerated marriage proposals in his comment sections. He’d learned to brush it off, to play along, to laugh it off. After all, such quips were common; the KupoNet was rife with memes, overblown jokes, and exaggerations.

But this was different.

Because it didn’t go away after that first video.

The clip exploded across KupoNet—edited, clipped, stitched into compilations of Cloud’s fights with corny captions like “Strife’s downfall: A Zack Fair Tragedy.” No matter where Zack looked, there it was.

Zack saw it everywhere.

And so, eventually after a few weeks, he caved.

He looked Cloud up.

What he hadn’t expected was to find this.

—An article from four years ago, when Cloud was sixteen.

“Nibelheim Fire Claims One—Single Mother Perishes in Home Accident.”

Zack skimmed it.

No suspects. No foul play. Just bad luck.

The article was written in grim detail, recounted the misfortune: a faulty gas line led to a raging inferno claiming her life, leaving behind only a teenage son, her single surviving relative.

Zack didn’t even have to guess who. Cloud’s name was printed beneath the article with his age, confirming the tragedy. The worst part was reading the mention of her being found in Cloud’s room when Cloud had already been out of the house according to the article.

Zack sat back, staring at the screen, something tight curling in his chest. It was akin to a sense of familiarity, that kind of loss, knowing that you weren’t there when they needed you? Probably fucked him up.

He barely knew of the guy. Hadn’t even seen a full fight of his yet. But now—now, he had to.

And so he did.

For the next five years, Zack watched.

At first, it was just curiosity—morbid, casual, something to pass the time while he was on break. Cloud’s fights were easy enough to follow, his name popping up more and more in Midgar’s rising fighting circuit.

And the jokes—Gaia, the jokes.

“Zack Fair is proof that Gaia has favorites.” “I’m just saying if Zack Fair was here, this wouldn’t have happened. I don’t know how, but it just wouldn’t have.” “Some of us have to work for a living. Then there’s Zack, who just wakes up every morning looking like that.”

Zack laughed. A lot.

Because Cloud didn’t sound like a crazy fan.

Didn’t sound like the obsessed ones who spammed his inbox, sent him paragraphs about soulmates, or waited outside venues for hours.

No, Cloud’s version of obsession was… different.

Zack kept clicking through videos, watching how effortlessly Cloud deadpanned through ridiculous interviews. He laughed fully at the random remarks, partly because of Cloud’s measured, wry tone in his own remarks that starkly contrasted with the lunacy of some die-hard fanatics; partly because how he threw out lines that should have sounded absolutely deranged with the same emotion as someone placing a food order. How his friends egged him on, hyping up the bit like it was the best running joke on KupoNet. (That was reserved for the meme of Sephiroth standing in a doorway looking like a menace despite his neutral expression. He’d been so mad when that had gone viral.)

A little bitter. A little sarcastic. A little like Angeal, actually.

And that was the thing.

The tone was what got him.

The dry delivery. The deadpan humor. The way Cloud never overplayed it, never acted like the crazed fan despite how ridiculous the whole thing was. His humor was measured—controlled—like he knew exactly how much to say, exactly how to toe the line between sincerity and irony.

It reminded Zack of late-night studio sessions with Angeal, where he’d be rambling about a song idea, and Angeal—stone-faced as ever—would say something devastatingly funny without so much as blinking. The way Angeal had always kept a straight face while Genesis pulled him into theatrics, always exasperated but never really complaining.

Because beneath the sighs and the straight-faced sarcasm, Angeal had cared. Openly. Fully.

Cloud reminded Zack of that.

And so, Zack kept watching.

Kept waiting.

Because he was sure—so sure—that any day now, Cloud was going to reach out.

He was anticipating it.

It was inevitable, right?

Cloud had built his entire internet persona around Zack. He was bound to crack eventually, he was going to slide into Zack’s messages, bombard him with DMs, send some bold confession that Zack had absolutely no idea how to respond to.

But Cloud never did.

Cloud never reached out.

Never messaged. Never actually stalked him. Never tried to get his attention.

Zack waited—kept his inbox open, half-expecting to see @TheStrifeEffect pop up at some point.

Yeah, he went to Zack’s shows, but always last minute, buying tickets like any other fan. Zack didn’t even know he’d been there half the time. (He always asked Aerith to check—yes it was normal, he just wanted to check on his number one fan)

No backstage demands, no attempts to get close, no attempts to close the digital divide.

It didn’t add up.

Not for someone who had built an entire persona around his obsession with Zack Fair.

For five years, Cloud had been KupoNet’s favorite running joke—the guy down bad for Zack Fair—and yet, in reality?

Zack would have never known Cloud even liked him, if it weren’t for the videos. Cloud followed him on KupoNet, but aside from liking Zack’s posts every once in a while, he never actually interacted with Zack directly. Never commented, never messaged.

Not a single ‘loved the album’ or ‘great show’ mentioned in Zack’s comments, at least not from Cloud. It was like he was trying to keep himself under Zack’s radar which considering the size of the joke was actually impossible. Even if Cloud hadn’t caught his attention with that first video, the way it had blown up over the years?

There wasn’t a chance in hell Cloud could have gone unnoticed by Zack.

And while Cloud was public with his obsession with Zack, Zack had been quiet about his infatuation interest in Cloud.

Zack scrolled through his phone, staring at one of the many videos of Cloud being a menace in the ring, answering an interviewers question with some unbothered, casually devastating remark.

He was curious. More than curious.

Because Cloud Strife wasn’t what he expected.

And that was why, when the Midgar Arena reached out to his manager—when Aerith casually mentioned “Hey, they’re inviting you to a fight next month, and it’s one of those ones with that Cloud guy you like to stalk—“

Zack had been way too eager to accept.

Because Cloud had spent five years announcing his obsession with Zack to the world.

And now, Zack needed to know—

Who the hell was Cloud Strife when the cameras were off?

Cloud was still breathing hard, fresh from the fight, sweat slicking his skin. He looked good like this—exhausted, victorious, that sharp glint of adrenaline still burning in his eyes. His hair was artfully tousled in a way that would look ridiculous on anyone else. For someone who took punches for a living, his facial structure remained surprisingly intact.

Zack had spent years watching this man fight. Watching his jokes about him go viral. Watching the internet clown him for it.

And now, here they were.

Cloud looked ill, looked like he might bolt.

Zack wasn’t about to let that happen.

He leaned in, firmly grasping his hand, slipping a card with his number into Cloud’s grip with a grin. “You know how to reach me.”

Cloud’s baby blue eyes blinked, visibly processing.

Zack leaned in closer, just enough for his lips to brush the shell of Cloud’s ear.

“Unless you’re too scared?”

Cloud froze.

Zack watched him short-circuit in real-time, felt the way Cloud went still, registered the full-body malfunction before Cloud ripped his hand back, and stuffing the card into his pocket like it had burned him. Like Zack had burned him.

Zack laughed.

Oh.

This was going to be fun.

Zack checked his phone again.

Nothing.

Three. Days.

He hadn’t expected Cloud to say much—just something, anything—maybe some weird, snarky line about how “you’re ruining my life, please leave me alone” after Zack had asked to hang out.

Instead?

Absolute radio silence.

Zack scrolled through KupoNet, half-expecting Cloud to be spiraling there instead. Nothing. Zip. Zilch.

On day three, his phone finally buzzed.

A text.

Cloud: yeah sure

Zack stared at it.

That was it.

That, and an address to a low key restaurant in Sector 8 slums, was all he got.

He barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

Zack had expected Cloud to be awkward. He had not expected Cloud to be this awkward, however.

Fifteen minutes in, Zack was dying.

Cloud had barely spoken, just sat there, unable to hold eye contact with him for more than five seconds. He looked anywhere but at Zack. Every time Zack so much as glanced at him, Cloud’s gaze snapped somewhere else—like the restaurant décor was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. His grip on the menu was borderline painful, his knuckles tense, his whole body wound up like he was bracing for impact.

And yet—Cloud stayed.

Zack had waited—was waiting—for Cloud to do anything.

He could have made an excuse, could have bolted the moment their drinks arrived, but he didn’t. No, despite all of Cloud’s complaints about wanting to leave, he hadn’t made a single attempt to do so.

Nothing.

Which meant Zack had an in.

So, naturally, Zack began his attack. Teasing Cloud relentlessly about his posts and videos.

Cloud made a sound like he was actively dying.

Zack grinned.

The man could take a punch from the strongest men in Midgar and keep standing, but apparently, a little teasing was lethal.

What made it even better was the fact that, despite how much Cloud suffered, despite how much he turned red and grumbled under his breath about never coming to another date—he didn’t leave.

Not once.

Zack didn’t miss the way Cloud’s shoulders, slowly, over the course of the date, eased just the slightest bit. Didn’t miss how, while Cloud still avoided direct eye contact, he started glancing up more. Started responding more, even if it was mostly muttered responses under his breath.

By the time they were wrapping up, Cloud still looked tense, still looked like he was lowkey contemplating walking straight into the lifestream—but then, against all odds, he piped up with a comment about wanting to do this again.

Zack almost had to double take.

For someone who had spent years dramatically professing his love for Zack to the internet, it occurred to Zack that Cloud was weirdly oblivious to his own appeal. To his own popularity.

It was hilarious.

Cloud had put Zack on a pedestal, clearly convinced that Zack was the only celebrity at this table. Like Cloud Strife, the viral fighter, didn’t have a horde of fans himself. Like Cloud Strife wasn’t also trending constantly, with memes and highlight reels and people thirsting over him just as much as they did Zack.

He had no clue.

No realization or self-awareness that he was sitting across from Zack as an equal.

And Zack found that absolutely fascinating.

Outside the restaurant, Zack had to be the one to lean in, pulling out his calendar and slinging an arm over Cloud’s shoulder. Their face’s were almost touching, Cloud’s shoulder pressed into Zack’s chest as Zack slung an arm around his shoulders.

Cloud tensed—of course he did—but he didn’t move away.

Which was Zack’s cue to push further.

He tilted his head, cheek almost brushing Cloud’s as he tapped at his phone. And if he made sure to angle at a nearby fan he saw holding a camera, well, Cloud didn’t need to know about that.

Cloud had two settings: deadpan, and deeply, catastrophically flustered—and Zack had quickly come to the conclusion that he was obsessed with both.

Zack had expected Cloud to be embarrassed—he lived for it—but what he hadn’t expected was for Cloud to still be so damn respectful about it.

Zack had been all over him the entire time—tugging him along like an overexcited boyfriend, guiding him from machine to machine with a casual hand on his wrist, his arm, his waist. He’d leaned into Cloud without hesitation, bumping their shoulders, pressing into his space like it was owed to him.

And Cloud?

He never stopped him.

But he never touched back, either.

Oh, he stared—Zack caught that—his sharp blue eyes tracking every movement. His gaze lingered on Zack’s hands, his grin, the way he moved. And if Zack had any doubt about if Cloud actually liked him, the way Cloud’s gaze, always dropped to his mouth before quickly darting away confirmed it.

But even with all that, Cloud still kept himself just far enough away. Like there was some kind of invisible line he refused to cross.

Like he still didn’t think he was allowed.

It was cute.

It was also completely unacceptable.

Zack had been touching him all day—leaning into him, pulling him along, brushing shoulders, holding hands—so why wasn’t Cloud getting the hint? Even when Zack blatantly said “You know this is a date, right?” And Cloud had murmured an affirmative.

And yet—still nothing. No reciprocation. No reaction past the deep, noticeable flush in his ears and the way he kept sneaking glances at Zack when he thought he wasn’t looking.

By the time they were outside, Zack knew what he had to do.

Cloud needed a push.

Cloud was fidgeting.

Not in an obvious way. Not enough that the average person would notice, Zack doubted Cloud was even aware of it, but as someone who had been attached to Cloud’s hip all day, he could read every little twitch.

Their pinkies were loosely curled together, barely touching as they walked, but Cloud kept shifting his weight. His free hand clenched, then relaxed. Clenched, then relaxed. His jaw was set, tight like he was actively overthinking something.

Zack grinned.

He reached out, moving slow and deliberate, fingers barely grazing through Cloud’s hair, combing lightly through the spikes. He barely ruffled it, just enough to feel the soft, untamed strands between his fingers.

As expected, Cloud froze.

Zack felt it—the way Cloud’s entire body stiffened under the faintest touch. (Which was funny for a professional fighter to have a freeze response.)

Before he could recover, before he could even process what was happening, Zack leaned in.

And pressed a soft, warm kiss to Cloud’s forehead.

Cloud stopped breathing.

Zack pulled back, utterly smug, fully aware of the way Cloud’s entire soul had left his body.

Cloud didn’t blink. Didn’t react. Didn’t move.

His face had gone completely blank—not the deadpan blank, the i-just-got-hit-face-first-by-a-behemoth blank.

The brunet barely held in a laugh.

“See you soon, Spike,” Zack murmured, all easy confidence.

Cloud choked.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even glance at Zack.

Just turned and walked away, fast.

Zack was giddy.

Cloud could deny it all he wanted—but Zack had felt the way his breath hitched, had seen the way his ears burned red, had watched the way his whole body went rigid at the simple press of lips to his forehead.

Zack exhaled, watching Cloud’s retreating form like he’d just won the lottery.

Cloud’s fight against Rude was a disaster.

Zack had known it would be bad—Rude was a brick wall, and Cloud wasn’t big enough to break through by force.

But Zack hadn’t expected to be this stressed watching from home.

The first time Rude sent Cloud flying, Zack shot up from the couch.

Aerith, sitting on the other end, laughed. “Are you actually worried?”

Zack scowled. “He’s getting folded.”

Aerith hummed, “So… you like him.”

Zack groaned.

By the final round, Zack was this close to throwing his phone at the TV.

When Cloud actually won, Zack was so relieved that he collapsed back onto the couch, rubbing his face.

Aerith smirked.

“I should message Tifa,” she said casually. “See if they need help taking care of him.”

Zack, exhausted as if he’d been the one in the ring, muttered, “Please do.”

Aerith cackled.

Tifa had warned him that Cloud was out cold.

Still, Zack wasn’t prepared for the sight of him—half-buried in blankets, wrapped up in exhaustion, his hair a mess of spikes and pillow creases.

Zack exhaled.

Tifa smirked at him, leaning on Cloud’s counter top. “So, why exactly are you here?”

Zack ran a hand through his hair. “Look, technically, it was Aerith’s idea—“

Tifa snorted. “Riiight. Because you didn’t immediately jump at the opportunity.”

Zack raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. Maybe I offered.”

Tifa shook her head, amused. “He’s going to freak out when he wakes up.”

Zack grinned. “I know.”

Tifa just sighed, grabbing her bag. “There’s a potion on the nightstand. Try not to mess with him too much.”

She left Zack standing there, watching Cloud’s slow, steady breathing.

Leaning over, he reached for the potion.

Cloud groaned in his sleep, but gratefully drank down the cool liquid.

Zack Fair was many things—idol, performer, heartthrob, DDR champion (self-proclaimed).

He was not, however, a man who followed “proper visiting protocols”, specifically, when it came to Cloud Strife.

Which was why he found himself in Cloud’s apartment, making himself at home in his kitchen.

To be fair—Tifa let him in.

Technically, that was permission.

…Sort of.

Cloud had gotten wrecked in last night’s fight, and Zack wasn’t about to let him wake up alone, starving, and grumpy. So naturally, he took it upon himself to make sure Cloud had actual food and not just a potion and whatever protein powder nightmare he had in his cabinet.

The problem?

Cloud didn’t exactly have food.

Zack had been rifling through cabinets, trying to figure out if a single snack existed in this disaster of an apartment, when his hip accidentally bumped a precariously stacked pile of dishes.

Crash

“Shit,” Zack muttered, scrambling to grab the dish that had somehow managed to bounce off the counter instead of shattering.

That was when he felt it.

The shift in the air.

The distinct, eerie sense of being watched.

Slowly, Zack turned his head.

And there, half-shadowed in the hallway like some sort of demon, was Cloud Strife.

Looking at him like he was an intruder.

Which, technically, he was.

“Uh… hey there, Spike,” Zack greeted, flashing him a winning smile, grabbing the coffee he’d managed to make while Cloud slept.

Cloud was still sleep-ruffled, his hair even messier than usual, looking like he was two seconds away from throwing a punch.

Zack, being the genius that he was, extended the mug like a peace offering.

“Coffee?”

Cloud blinked at him.

Then, slowly, reached out and took it.

“…Thanks.”

Zack exhaled in relief.

Crisis averted.

For about three seconds.

Then Cloud’s eyes narrowed, accusatory. “How did you get in?”

“Tifa let me in,” Zack waved a hand dismissively.

“Why.”

“Because I asked,” he fought down the urge to sing-song. The pained look on Cloud’s face screamed hangover, albeit a fight hangover. (Is that what that would be called?)

Cloud just stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

Zack just took a sip of their shared coffee, completely unbothered.

“Also, she said you’d probably forget to eat after the fight, and I told her I’d take care of it,” Zack added casually.

Cloud’s face did something weird. A mix of suspicion and… something softer. Something Zack wasn’t going to acknowledge, lest Cloud get self-conscious and kick him out.

“…You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Zack said easily, leaning against the counter like he owned the place.

Cloud didn’t say anything, just took another sip of coffee.

Zack beamed, because victory.

Then, as if to absolutely make sure Cloud knew he wasn’t getting rid of him today, Zack nudged him lightly with his elbow. “Besides, I had to see if my VIP guest was going to make it to my show.

Cloud scowled, setting the coffee down on the counter between them. “I’m still debating.”

“No, you aren’t,” Zack said confidently, slinging an arm around Cloud’s shoulder, his cheek coming to rest against Cloud’s head, effectively making himself a human weighted blanket. He did his best to not make it too obvious that he was breathing in Cloud’s scent, and if Cloud did notice, he didn’t say anything. “What do you want to eat? I’ll order.”

Cloud stiffened—predictably—but then, surprisingly, didn’t shake him off.

The blond rarely ever rejected Zack’s touch, the only time in clear memory was when they first met and he’d yanked his hand back.

Zack filed that information away for later.

“I can order my own food,” Cloud muttered, though he didn’t move away.

Zack hummed in response, his thumb lightly rubbing circles against Cloud’s arm. “Yeah, but then I don’t get to spoil you.”

Cloud glared.

Zack grinned wider.

It was almost too easy to push Cloud’s buttons.

Tifa was right. Cloud did get weirdly stubborn about eating after a fight, and Zack was determined to be the exception. So he ignored the protest, pulled out his phone and went through the nearby delivery spots.

“Burger guy? Pizza? Oh, what about pasta, I know this great place—” Zack rattled off, scrolling through his phone with his thumb, his arm still casually draped over Cloud’s shoulders.

Cloud was stiff underneath him, clearly unamused, his arms cross as he leaned into Zack. He looked like he’d rather be doing anything other than discussing food, but Zack could tell—could feel—the exhaustion in his muscled body. The way he was tense but unmoving, the sluggish blink of his eyes as his body tried to force him into recovery.

Cloud needed food. Actual food. Not just whatever protein shake or potion he would have grabbed if left alone.

“I don’t care. Just order fast,” Cloud snapped, voice sharp but graying at the edges.

Zack didn’t even flinch. Instead, he slowly lifted his gaze from his phone, raising an eyebrow. “Bossy,” he murmured, but there was no real heat behind it, just that ever present amusement he always seemed to have when dealing with Cloud’s stubborn streak.

Cloud scowled at him, clearly done with the conversation.

Zack, wisely, didn’t push—just smirked, clicked his order in and sent it off. Pizza. Safe bet. Easy to eat. Tifa-approved. Done.

Then, before Cloud could even think about retreating back to his room—or worse, insisting that he was fine and didn’t need Zack hovering—Zack grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the living room with all the enthusiasm of a golden retriever on a mission.

“C’mon, I brought movies.”

Cloud paused, as if Zack had just casually announced quantum mechanics instead.

“…Movies?” he parroted back, like he didn’t understand the concept.

“Yes, movies,” Zack said dramatically, pulling Cloud down onto the couch. “Those things you watch for entertainment? Thought you’d be too sore to go anywhere, so we’re doing a post-fight recovery night.”

Cloud squinted. “You planned this?”

“Tifa helped me plan this.”

Cloud groaned.

Zack definitely owed Tifa a drink.

Zack was getting destroyed.

Like, absolutely annihilated.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

He’d picked the fastest, flashiest chocobo available, fully expected to outrun Cloud with sheer style alone. But no, Cloud had to be a strategist—cutting corners, using boosts perfectly, anticipating Zack’s every move like some kind of chocobo-racing psychic.

They were neck and neck on the last lap, Zack throwing everything into that final stretch, heart pounding, fingers mashing on the controls like his life depended on it.

Cloud won by 0.2 seconds.

Zack groaned so dramatically it echoed in the room. “Noooooo. You cheated.”

Cloud, the smug little menace, just took a slow, deliberate bite of pizza and arched an eyebrow. “How.”

“I don’t know, but I know you did!” Zack pointed at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. “Best two out of three.”

Cloud shrugged, reaching for another slice. “Fine.”

By the time Zack finally scraped out a single victory, it was redemption arc time. He threw up his arms like he’d just won the actual Midgar Open, fist-pumping and yelling loud enough to wake the dead.

Cloud shook his head, unimpressed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And victorious,” Zack shot back, leaning in close, all up in Cloud’s space. “Which means we’re switching games. I need to redeem myself.”

Cloud—stoic, deadpan, probably regretting every life choice that had led to this moment—flipped through his game cases. “You any good at fighting games?” Zack didn’t miss the way Cloud’s eyes dragged away from his mouth.

Zack scoffed. “Obviously.”

Cloud just stared at him.

Suspicious.

Judgemental.

Like he definitely remembered Zack’s pathetic performance in chocobo racing and was mentally preparing for disaster.

They spent hours battling it out—at some point, Cloud had crawled back onto the couch, his legs lazily stretched out, while Zack remained on the floor, cross-legged between Cloud’s legs, leaning forward in intense focus. The pizza was long gone, the only light in the room coming from the screen.

Zack could feel Cloud’s presence behind him—his steady breathing, the occasional shift of movement as he stretched. He barely even registered it when Cloud’s knee bumped his shoulder.

He didn’t move away.

If anything, he leaned into it, resting his cheek against the top of Cloud’s knee.

“You getting tired of me, Spike?” Zack teased, tilting his head back to glance up at him.

Cloud huffed, “you’re the one losing. You should be the tired one.”

Zack grinned, leaning back further against the couch, looking up at Cloud from an absurd upside-down angle. “Maybe, but I’m winning in spirit.”

Cloud snorted. “That’s not how that works.”

“Agree to disagree,” Zack hummed, his fingers drumming idly against Cloud’s knee. He let his head tip further back, peering up at Cloud with a smirk.

Cloud’s eyes narrowed instantly. “What are you doing.”

Zack was having too much fun.

The way Cloud’s eyes narrowed at him—sharp and suspicious—was so predictable and yet so incredibly entertaining. Like Zack had pulled something sneaky, and Cloud knew it, but couldn’t figure out what yet.

Zack blinked up at him, feigning the most innocent expression he could muster. “Looking at you.”

Cloud did not look convinced. His expression shifted into something even more suspicious, eyebrows pulling together. “Why.”

Zack grinned wider. Oh, this was good. “Because you’re fun to look at.”

Which was true, obviously.

Cloud scowled, like Zack had personally insulted his entire bloodline, shifting slightly as if he was considering actually removing himself from Zacks space.

Zack? Zack just laughed, casually catching Cloud’s shin and keeping it right there. Like Cloud belonged there. Because he did.

“You’re impossible,” Cloud muttered.

Zack hummed, smirking as he tilted his head back just a little further, gaze still locked onto Cloud’s. “And yet, you let me stay.”

He saw it—the hesitation. The way Cloud’s mouth parted, just slightly, his brain clearly working overtime to come up with a response.

Zack didn’t let him.

Instead, he moved.

Slowly. Intentionally.

The air shifted between them, just slightly, charged in a way Zack hadn’t planned but wasn’t about to stop.

He turned his head just enough, angling downward, pressing the lightest kiss to the inside of Cloud’s knee.

It was barely a touch.

Barely anything.

But Cloud froze.

Zack felt instantly—the way Cloud’s entire body locked up like he’d been hit with a Stop spell. A sharp inhale, like his brain had short circuited.

Zack’s smirk turned wicked.

Oh, this was interesting.

So, naturally, he did it again—this time, just a little higher.

Cloud’s hands twitched, his fingers flexing against his own thighs, like his brain was desperately trying to figure out what the hell to do with them.

Zack knew what he was doing. He knew he was toeing the line between teasing and pushing. But Cloud was letting him—staying still, despite the obvious conflict radiating off of him in waves.

And Zack?

Zack kept going.

He didn’t rush, there wasn’t a need to. Didn’t push too hard. Just… waited. Gave Cloud a second to process before tilting his head again, this time reaching up, his hand curling into soft blond spikes as he gently tugged Cloud’s head down.

Cloud barely resisted.

His muscles tensed, his breath hitching, but he let Zack do it—let Zack pull him down over him, till Cloud was hunched over, their faces inches apart.

He kissed him.

Properly.

Gaia, Cloud was soft.

His lips were chapped—probably from dehydration—slightly parted, completely unprepared for what Zack was doing. Zack took his time, making it slow, letting Cloud catch up.

And then Zack did it again.

Softer, this time, Just a brush of lips, his grip in Cloud’s hair tightening slightly, encouraging but not demanding. He swiped his tongue across Cloud’s mouth in a teasing flick, a silent permission.

Cloud swayed forward.

Zack could feel it—the exact moment Cloud let go, when his hands finally stopped hovering awkwardly, one instead bracing against his own thighs. His entire body still stiff, but his eyes fluttered shut for a fraction of a second, his shoulders barely relaxing.

Zack liked that.

Really liked that.

It wasn’t full surrender, but it was trust—a split-second decision where Cloud hadn’t pulled away.

And that?

That meant everything.

Zack pulled back, exhaling softly against Cloud’s face.

He felt Cloud’s breath ghost over his lips, warm and uncertain.

Cloud cracked his eyes open.

Zack was right there.

And grinning.

Zack was winning.

Not at the games.

(Gaia no, he got his ass handed to him in those.)

But at life.

Because Cloud was warm against his side, not shoving him away, and, best of all?

He laughed.

Like, an actual laugh.

Not a huff. Not an exhale that could technically be classified as amusement. But a real, full-body laugh.

Zack had barely processed it before Cloud’s face went bright red, his hand slapping over his mouth like he could take it back.

Zack froze.

He was the one short-circuiting for once.

“Was that a laugh?” Zack whispered, his eyes wide in wonder.

Cloud immediately shoved him. “Shut up.”

Zack cackled, dodging another attack, his arms wrapping around Cloud like a human koala. “No, no, no, Spike, you don’t get to hide this from me,” Zack crowed, positively glowing. “That was a full laugh. A real one.”

If Zack could he would burn that sound into his ears, the way it had been so sharp and sudden, but so full. If it weren’t for the fact that he was sure he’d wind up dead, he might have actually tried tickling more of the sound out of Cloud.

Instead, he settled on rubbing his cheek against Cloud’s head, making declarations about how he had won, tugging the shorter man closer.

They bantered a little while longer before beginning to doze, Cloud begrudgingly settling into Zack’s vice-like grip as the movie kept playing, long forgotten in their comfortable silence.

Zack murmured into the base of his neck, his breath warm against the blond spikes. “Told you I was winning.”

Chapter Text

Cloud did not want to be here.

And by here, he meant standing in Tifa’s apartment, arms crossed, while Tifa and Jessie circled him like a pair of hungry wolves, plotting their next move.

“I still can’t believe we’re dressing you up for a VIP Zack Fair concert,” Jessie teased, sifting through a growing pile of clothes she’d deemed acceptable.

Cloud sighed, already regretting everything as he perched on the edge of Tifa’s couch. “I don’t need to be dressed up.”

Tifa didn’t even look at him as she tosses a fitted black shirt at his face. “You do.”

The blond caught it with an annoyed huff. “It’s not like Zack cares.”

Jessie snorted, flopping dramatically onto the couch next to him. “Right, because Zack totally doesn’t look at you like he wants to ruin you.”

Cloud ignored her.

Unfortunately, Jessie wasn’t done.

“Speaking of,” she grinned, reaching for her phone. “Tifa, did you see the new video?”

Cloud’s stomach dropped.

Tifa perked up immediately, abandoning her closet raid. “Ohhh, show me.”

“Don’t.”

Jessie did.

The video loaded, and Cloud knew—knew—he was doomed the second he recognized the environment.

The train station.

When Zack was leaving his apartment.

The video opened with a slow-motion shot—Cloud reaching up, grabbing Zack by the collar mid-sentence as Zack was in the midst of teasing, “Not gonna send me off with a kiss?”—and pulling him down.

Zack’s face in the clip was priceless—a rare, fleeting moment of his brain short-circuiting instead of Cloud’s before he recovered—because of course he did. And of course Zack pressed back into the kiss with zero hesitation, cupping Cloud’s face as they pulled away.

Thank Gaia the only shot focused on Zack’s expression, because Cloud was sure he looked wrecked. Instead, the world got an unfiltered close-up of Zack, eyes soft, gaze full of pure adoration—

Right before Cloud shoved him into the train at the last second.

Zack barely made it inside, stumbling slightly, his grin breaking wide as he grabbed onto the railing.

“Wow okay if that’s how you say goodbye—”

Cloud heard his own voice respond, dry and unimpressed, as he shoved his hands into his sweatpants pockets. “Get in the damn train, Fair.”

The video cut dramatically, overlaying the moment with some ridiculous pop song about falling in love unexpectedly.

Cloud felt actual dread crawl up his spine.

The comments were horrendous.

—[@fair_and_strife] it’s so funny how cloud literally played into the meme of loving zack for five years and now zacks the one that’s publicly obsessed

—[@coldasstrife] THE SLOW COLLAR GRAB KISS?????? SIR?????????

—[@whereisroche] zack went from being clouds dream man to being clouds problem. And I respect that.

Cloud closed the app on Jessie’s phone.

The girls were crying with laughter.

Jessie practically collapsed, clutching her stomach as she wheezed out, “Cloud—that was the smoothest thing you’ve ever done.”

Tifa wiped fake tears from her eyes. “I feel like a proud parent.”

Cloud sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are we doing this or not?”

Tifa clapped her hands together like she was about to ruin his life. “Oh we’re doing this.”

And that was how Cloud found himself subjected to fashion torture, because apparently, showing up to a Zack event looking like he rolled out of bed and forgot how to function as a person was not an option.

Cloud should not be here. He was supposed to show up, sit in the VIP section, and watch the concert like any other normal person.

Instead, he was back stage.

With Zack.

Who was currently making the life of his makeup artist a living hell.

Cloud scowled, arms crossed, trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t acutely aware of Zack’s constant orbiting—the way he kept brushing against Cloud, leaning way too close despite having plenty of space.

And the talking.

Zack was always a chatterbox, that was obvious from interviews are the times he’d spent on his dates with Zack, not to mention the calls they’d had in between just to chat, but the pre-show adrenaline had him running his mouth at double speed.

“Ok, Zack, hold still,” the makeup artist groaned, tilting Zack’s face up by the chin. “I swear to Gaia, if you move one more time—”

“I am holding still,” Zack whined.

“You aren’t,” Cloud deadpanned in the makeup artist’s defense.

Zack immediately turned toward him, grin widening. Cloud heard the makeup artist let out a truly exhausted sigh.

“Oh? So you are paying attention to me?”

“Unfortunately.”

The makeup artist just sighed loudly, stepping back to rub her temples.

Cloud felt bad for her.

Because Zack?

Zack was impossible.

“Can’t believe you actually showed up,” Zack said, his voice softer now—almost pleased.

Zack had last minute asked Cloud to show up in his dressing room, claiming it’d be good luck to see Cloud before the show, and Cloud… well Cloud was quickly becoming painfully aware he couldn’t deny Zack much of anything.

“You asked,” he grumbled.

Zack’s grin softened, like he really, really liked that answer.

Someone cleared their throat behind him.

Cloud turned—

And was met with bright green eyes.

“Ohh, so this is him,” the woman mused, arms crossed, looking far too amused for Cloud’s liking. “The infamous Cloud Strife.”

Zack beamed, practically vibrating with excitement like a kid showing off his favorite new toy.

“Aerith,” he announced dramatically, waving a hand between them. “Cloud. Cloud, Aerith.”

Cloud blinked.

Aerith Gainsborough.

Zack’s manager.

Rumor had it she’d once hit an unruly fan with a folding chair, though the incident was conveniently scrubbed from the internet.

Aerith smirked, holding out a hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Cloud hesitated before shaking it. “Can’t say the same.”

Zack laughed.

Aerith snorted. “Oh, I like him.”

Cloud sighed. Fantastic.

“Alright, Fair,” Aerith continued, turning back to Zack with an expression that meant business. “You have a show to get ready for. Stop harassing your boyfriend and let the makeup artist do her job.”

Zack pouted, but didn’t argue.

Cloud, however, was short-circuiting.

Boyfriend?

His brain stalled, caught on the word like a chocobo with a broken rein. The word repeating in his head like a broken Materia Player. Boyfriend. She had just—she had just said that so casually, like it was some undeniable fact.

Cloud blinked hard, processing.

Had he—whenhad—did he miss something?

He stole a glance at Zack, expecting him to correct her.

To protest.

To laugh it off.

To say anything.

Instead, Zack just grinned.

Obnoxiously.

What.

Cloud’s brain screamed at him to say something, correct the blatant misinformation Aerith was spreading. But his mouth refused to work. His entire body locked up as if by acknowledging it, he’d somehow confirm it.

Aerith, however, was already moving on, turning back to Cloud, her gaze sharp—mischievous.

“You, however, are officially on babysitting duty post-show.”

Cloud was still buffering.

Boyfriend.

Babysitting?

His mouth finally caught up to the situation. Something he could safely focus on. “Babysitting?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

His stomach twisted.

This was a trap.

A scheme.

Zack, meanwhile, just kept smiling—radiating satisfaction like a smug, overgrown puppy.

Cloud’s brain was still catching up.

He wasn’t Zack’s boyfriend. He wasn’t Zack’s anything. He was just… here. Sitting in a ridiculous VIP section, preparing to watch Zack’s concert. So he focused on the concert.

Cloud had never been in a VIP section before.

It was weird—too much luxury, too much space, too many things he didn’t know how to use. The seating was stupidly comfortable, the amenities excessive, and the view? It was insane. He could see everything—every detail, every expression, every drop of sweat rolling down the back of Zack’s neck he performed.

It felt… wrong. Like he hadn’t earned it. Like any second now, some security guard would show up, realize the mistake, and throw him out.

But he was here. And he wasn’t here for the luxury.

He was here for one reason.

And that reason was currently center stage, bathed in neon lights, gripping a mic with an obnoxiously confident grin.

Aerith’s words kept looping back, her voice way too casual, way too knowing.

Stop harassing your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend.

Cloud should have corrected her. Should have said something. But he didn’t, because Zack—Zack didn’t correct her either.

And that was worse.

Cloud swallowed, forcibly dragging his thoughts back to the present—to Zack on stage, the way he laughed into his mic, sweat glistening down his throat, his body moving effortlessly to the music.

Zack Fair was in his element.

So annoyingly beautiful.

So annoyingly confident.

Cloud had expected him to be good. He knew first hand that Zack was good—but watching him this close, seeing every detail—was something else entirely. It wasn’t just the way Zack looked—which, objectively speaking, was criminal. His stupid sleeveless top. His obnoxiously perfect arms. The way his sweat-slicked skin caught the glow of the stage lights just right, like he’d been specifically designed to piss Cloud off.

No, it wasn’t just that.

It was the way he moved.

Zack didn’t just perform—he commanded the stage. Every step, every motion demanded attention. He moved like he owned the arena, like he knew he was the most magnetic force in the room. The way he interacted with the crowd, the sheer energy he put into every lyric—Cloud had seen him be loud, he’d seen him be excitable, but this?

It was frustrating.

It was impossible to look anywhere else.

Cloud’s gaze was locked on Zack, unable to do anything but watch. The bass thrummed in his chest, the energy of the crowd roaring around him—but all he could focus on was the way Zack’s body moved to the rhythm. The way his hips rolled, the way he laughed between the lyrics, the way his stupidly confident smirk stayed fixed on his face like he was having the time of his life.

Cloud let out a pained exhale, sinking into his chair.

He was so screwed.

“Tsk. He’s always been such a show-off.”

Cloud stiffened.

That voice—that voice.

Low. Smooth. Unmistakable.

Cloud turned—

Sephiroth.

Sephiroth.

Standing right beside him. Arms crossed, watching Zack with an unreadable expression.

Sephiroth.

Former musical icon, retired before Cloud had even hit his teens. He’d been young when he ended his career—but the impact he’d made? The trends that followed. Even some of Zack’s songs and videos followed suit. There was no denying the impact Sephiroth had had on the industry, even in his short-lived career.

Cloud had had posters of Sephiroth on his wall before he could even properly write his own name. Hel, he learned how to write Sephiroth’s name before his own.

And now, he was standing here, standing beside him, looking very real.

Sephiroth tilted his head as he stared down at Cloud, his eyes glinting with something akin to amusement. “I take it you weren’t expecting me?”

Cloud’s brain stalled.

His mouth, however, did not.

“You were on my wall.”

Sephiroth’s lips quirked. “Was I?”

If a meteor could take Cloud out right about now that’d be fantastic.

He clenched his jaw, dragging his attention back to the stage which… wasn’t as hard as he expected. His previous idol vs his current?

His current was winning out by a landslide.

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to be into Zack’s music.”

Sephiroth hummed, leaning forward, his attention on Zack. “I’m not here for his music.”

Right.

Angeal, Zack’s mentor, and Genesis his partner; Sephiroth had been close to them once. Known for being the trio at the top of Shinra’s idol totem pole. Closer than anyone. Here he was, six years later, the only one left.

Cloud’s thoughts wandered away from Sephiroth and back to Zack. He looked so vibrant, so full of joy while performing.

Zack was radiant.

Cloud could see it—feel it. The sheer joy in every moment, the way he lived for this, how every moment of his performance was filled with genuine energy.

Cloud swallowed.

Beside him, Sephiroth exhaled softly, his gaze never leaving the stage. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I think they would have liked this.”

Cloud stiffened, flicking his gaze toward Sephiroth.

They.

Angeal. Genesis.

The two men who had been at Zack’s side in the start of his career.

Sephiroth’s expression didn’t shift, his tone unreadable. “Angeal always told me he wanted him to find something outside of music.”

Cloud didn’t know what to say to that.

So he said nothing.

They both just watched.

Cloud had about half a second to once again have his brain loop back to Aerith calling him Zack’s boyfriend. He swallowed. He needed a distraction.

Luckily—or unluckily—Zack was very, very good at being distracting.

The music changed.

Cloud felt it before he recognized it.

The instrumentals softened.

Zack turned towards the VIP section—towards them. The moment Zack’s eyes locked onto his, that fucking smirk on his face, Cloud knew he was in trouble.

Sephiroth huffed out something akin to amusement.

Cloud knew what he was thinking.

Knew what everyone was thinking.

Gaia help him, Zack fucking winked.

And then—because Zack Fair was Zack Fair—he went and made it worse.

A flick of his wrist. A subtle movement.

He pointed at Cloud.

Directly at him.

The camera operator—the absolute menace that they were—zoomed in on him.

Cloud felt the heat of the lens before he even saw his own face projected onto the giant display screen—caught in obnoxiously high definition, arms crossed, staring Zack down like Zack hadn’t just put a spotlight directly on him.

The absolute betrayal.

Sephiroth chuckled beside him, the sound so soft it was almost lost in the noise.

Zack, to his credit, didn’t linger—he just laughed, shaking his head before turning back to the crowd, jumping into the next song without missing a beat.

Or at least—

That’s what Cloud thought was happening.

But then the music changed half way through the song.

It started subtle—familiar notes, but… slower.

More intentional.

And Zack—Gaia help him—was still looking at Cloud.

This wasn’t just a remix.

This was a message.

Cloud should have been mortified.

This was the part where he would usually sink into his chair, mutter a string of curses, maybe even hide his face in his hands.

...But he didn’t.

Because Zack was singing now, and Cloud? Cloud couldn’t look away.

His heart wasn’t racing from nerves. His hands weren’t sweating from embarrassment. He just watched.

Because Zack was still looking at him. Not at the camera, not at the stadium—but at him.

And Cloud… didn’t even try to fight it.

He barely registered Sephiroth glancing at him from the side, barely noticed the way the audience hung onto every second of it. Cloud just sat there, gaze locked onto Zack, watching.

And even though it was something Zack did during every show, the way he smiled through the lyrics felt different.

Chapter Text

The stadium was still shaking with residual energy, the air thick with the echoes of screaming fans and the pounding bass of the final encore. Zack had left everything on that state, and Cloud could feel it in his bones, even from the VIP section.

Cloud exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair as the lights dimmed, the crowd still buzzing with excitement as they began to disperse. The show was over. He could breathe again. Zack had proceeded to do three more songs after publicly putting Cloud on display.

Sephiroth, beside him, looked completely unaffected.

Cloud turned to him, shifting awkwardly. “Well. It was… nice meeting you.”

Sephiroth smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Enjoy yourself?”

Cloud glanced toward the stage—toward where Zack had just disappeared backstage—before looking back at him. The heat in Cloud’s chest hadn’t faded. “It was… good.”

Sephiroth hummed, sharp green eyes watching him too closely. Too knowing. “You didn’t flinch when he pointed at you.”

Cloud rolled his eyes. “I’ve accepted my fate.”

Sephiroth chuckled at that, and it was so weird hearing the once-infallible legend of his childhood just casually amused by him. A surreal, out-of-body experience.

Cloud cleared his throat. “I should—uh—head backstage.”

Sephiroth nodded, still smirking like he knew something Cloud didn’t.

 “Good luck.”

Cloud blinked. “With what?”

Sephiroth turned toward the exit, throwing a parting glance over his shoulder. It was almost pitying.

“You’re on babysitting duty now.”

Cloud frowned. “What does that even—”

Sephiroth was already gone.

Cloud sighed, rubbing his temples.

He had a bad feeling about this.

Cloud had been in fights before. He had been beaten to hell and back before. He had faced Rude in the ring, faced Roche at his most unhinged, and still walked away breathing

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the absolute disaster that was Zack Fair after a concert.

Cloud stepped into the greenroom—already bracing himself, he could hear the complaining through the walls—only to find Zack in full meltdown mode.

“Aerithhhhh,” Zack whined, dramatically draping himself across a couch like he had been mortally wounded. “I think I’m dying.”

Aerith, standing over him, did not look impressed. “You’re dehydrated.”

Zack groaned, flailing an arm in Cloud’s direction. “Cloud. Buddy.  I need rescue.”

Cloud blinked.

Aerith smirked.

“Oh, perfect timing.” She said, stepping back with the grace of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

“He’s your problem now.”

Cloud barely had to time to process Aerith leaving Zack’s side before Zack lunged, grabbing onto his arm with actual desperation.

“Cloud,” Zack pleaded, looking up at him with the most pathetic, exhausted, dramatic expression Cloud had ever seen. His damp bangs were clinging to his forehead, sweat still shining on his skin.

Cloud should have fled while he could, should have ignored him.

But Zack’s grip was so damn warm.

And Cloud’s brain was still stuck on earlier.

Your boyfriend.

Aerith’s voice was a non-stop mocking echo in his head.

Cloud swallowed doing his best not to spiral.

Zack had not corrected Aerith. He hadn’t even looked remotely bothered by it.

And now Zack was clinging to him, looking up at him like some sort of lovesick puppy.

Cloud’s entire thought process was just focused on looking down at the sweat slicked man, his thoughts wandering.

“If I don’t make it through the night,” Zack murmured pitifully, his arms sliding around Cloud’s shoulders to pull him into a firm hug, his nose burrowing into Cloud’s neck, “tell my fans I loved them.”

Cloud tried to ignore the way that was reminiscent of his own first mention of Zack. The damn comment that caused the whole spiral.

Cloud sighed loudly, dropping his head back as if to plead to Gaia for patience.

Aerith patted Cloud’s shoulder once—mockingly. Like she was passing the torch.

Babysitting duty had officially begun.

Cloud did not sign up for this.

Getting Zack out of concert mode and back into functional human being was harder than getting Roche to shut up mid-fight.

And that was saying something.

Because Zack was useless. Clingy and useless.

He was limp and sprawled bonelessly across the couch, like some overheated dog who had run one too many laps around the yard. His face was half-smashed into the cushions, festering his his own sweat.

Cloud stared at him in mock disgust.

“Zack lift your arms.”

A long, suffering groan came from the couch.

“Cloud,” Zack whined, muffled against the cushions. “My entire body hurts,”

Cloud sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s what happens when you jump around on stage for two hours straight like a maniac.”

“It’s called showmanship,” Zack grumbled.

“It’s called a problem.”

Cloud had enough. He grabbed Zack’s wrist and hauled him upright, ignoring the way Zack immediately collapsed against him.

Cloud huffed, shoving a water bottle into his hands. “Drink.”

Zack whined.

Cloud’s patience was gone, if it had ever been there in the first place. “Either you drink, or I pour it over your head.”

Zack blinked down blearily at him.

Then, grinning with way more energy then he should have possessed considering he’d been acting like he was dying, he muttered, “kinky.”

Cloud raised the water bottle like he was going to pour it.

Zack laughed and held up his hands in surrender before finally taking a sip. Cloud exhaled sharply, muttering about why do I deal with this.

“You’re doing so well,” Aerith teased from her spot on the wall.

Cloud glared at her. “I hate you.”

Aerith shrugged, giving them a wave as she left, “You’ll live.”

Cloud was less sure of that.

Then, before he could even enjoy a second of peace, he fucked up.

“Alright. Shirt off.”

Zack perked up immediately like he’d been revived by a Phoenix Down.

Cloud, realizing his mistake the second the words left his mouth, barely had time to react before—

“Oh? Cloud,” Zack said, way too interested now. “Didn’t know you were so forward—”

Cloud shoved Zack’s actual shirt into his chest before he could even think about finishing that sentence.

“Change,” Cloud ordered. “Now.”

Zack grinned wide, but thankfully obeyed, albeit slowly, because of course, if he was going to be a tired menace he was going to take his time.

Cloud narrowed his eyes. “Faster.”

Zack stretched, deliberately slow, deliberately obnoxious, smirking as he peeled his damp shirt off at a pace that could have been a whole damn performance. He held eye contact with Cloud the whole time, not caring that he was only met with a glare.

Cloud hated him.

But he still handed him electrolyte drinks, made sure he actually drank them, and practically force-fed him water while Zack whined the entire time.

Finally.

Finally.

Cloud got him dressed.

That was supposed to be the hardest part.

But of course, Cloud’s luck was shit.

Because getting into the car was worse.

Cloud had barely gotten Zack outside past the backstage doors, one arm slung over his shoulder, dragging him toward the waiting car, when he felt it.

The shift in the air. The prickle down his spine.

Something about the crowd screaming for Zack felt different.

“Zack!”

Cloud’s muscles tensed.

The crowd outside the venue wasn’t huge—mostly scattered fans lingering for a final glimpse of Zack before security ushered them away. But someone was pushing through. Fast.

Cloud adjusted his stance immediately, shifting Zack behind him without thinking.

He was running on instinct, his mind already calculating the space between them and the car, measuring threats before he even fully saw her.

Late teens, maybe early twenties. A Zack Fair concert tee, rumpled like she’d been running. Wide, desperate eyes, focused entirely on Zack—until they landed on him.

Cloud didn’t recognize her, but the way her expression twisted made it clear she knew exactly who he was.

And something in her snapped.

Her lips curled.

“You,” she spat, pure disgust in her voice. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

The venom in her voice was so sharp that even Zack stirred behind him.

Cloud already knew where this was going.

She was one of them.

Cloud knew exactly what kind of fan she was.

One of the die-hard fans. The ones who hated him. The ones who had made careers out of mocking him online, even before he had made first contact with Zack. Entire posts about how he was a joke, a nobody, a side character in Zack Fair’s story.

The ones who said he was ruining Zack just by existing next to him.

He’d read it before. Heard it before.

But never in person. Never with this much hatred.

She laughed—a harsh, bitter sound. “You think you belong here? You think you can just walk next to him like you’re—like you’re even remotely good enough?”

He said nothing.

Didn’t move.

Just kept himself firmly planted between her and Zack.

He could hear Zack beginning to argue behind him, but Cloud—

Cloud didn’t react.

Because what was the point?

He had heard it before. Read it before. From the internet, from his own brain, from fans who thought he was some walking joke that Zack was humoring.

It wasn’t new.

But the way she looked at him?

Yeah. That was a new low.

She stepped forward—too close.

Cloud put up a hand to stop her, mouth already opening to tell her to back off—

And then she swung.

Cloud caught the movement before his brain had even fully processed it—his instincts kicked in, his body moving before he could think—

He blocked her wrist mid-swing.

The slap never landed.

But Cloud still felt it.

The force behind it. The anger behind it. The way her arm trembled against his grip, the sheer rage behind her clenched fist, like she wanted to break something—break him.

Zack jerked behind him. “Hey—!”

Cloud pressed a hand into Zack’s chest, keeping Zack at a safe distance from her.

The girl snapped, trying to wrench free. “Let me go!”

Cloud didn’t react, didn’t tighten his grip, didn’t push her back—he just held firm.

Her wild eyes burned into him. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

She wrenched her arm back, glaring at him, practically vibrating with anger.

“You don’t belong here,” she spat. “You’re just some washed-up nothing fighter who got lucky!”

Cloud didn’t flinch.

Because Gaia help him, he had thought the exact same thing.

She jabbed a finger at his chest. “He’s Zack Fair! He’s supposed to be with someone who actually mat—”

Security finally reached them, grabbing her arms, pulling her away.

She fought.

“You don’t deserve him!” She shrieked. “You’re just a joke! You’re nothing!”

Cloud’s jaw clenched.

He knew what she was trying to do.

She wanted to get under his skin.

Wanted him to react.

But Cloud?

Cloud had heard worse.

From trainers, from opponents, from his own damn mind.

Nothing she said could be worse than the things he told himself at night, staring at the ceiling, alone in his apartment.

So he didn’t react.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t acknowledge her at all.

He just turned—sliding his grip from Zack’s chest to grab Zack’s wrist—and pulled him toward the car.

The second the door was open, Cloud shoved Zack inside, slid after him and slammed it shut.

The silence inside was thick.

Cloud exhaled sharply, staring out the window, fingers curled into his knee.

The slap hadn’t even landed, but his skin still burned.

Zack, sitting beside him, didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even pretend to try and play it off. No dumb flirt to try and break the tension.

Which was worse.

After a long moment, his voice—too soft, too careful, like Cloud might break—cut through the quiet.

“…Are you okay?”

Cloud let out a humorless breath.

The driver turned the key into the ignition.

“Looks like I really did end up as your bodyguard.”

Zack didn’t laugh.

Didn’t smirk.

Instead, he just looked at Cloud, expression unreadable. Searching.

And then—softly. Too soft. Too careful.

“Is that what you think?”

Cloud’s throat went tight.

Zack’s violet eyes locked onto his, expression serious in a way that made Cloud want to look away.

And for the first time that night—

Zack Fair wasn’t smiling.

The ride back had been quiet.

Too quiet.

Zack hadn’t said anything after that last question, and Cloud hadn’t answered.

Now, standing in Zack’s apartment, Cloud wasn’t sure why he was still here.

Maybe because Zack hadn’t let him leave. All the whiny, babysitting behavior had ceased after the run in with Zack’s fan and unfortunately had sobered them both up from the adrenaline from the night.

The moment they stepped inside—Zack’s hand on his lower back—Zack flicked on the lights, kicked off his boots, and turned to Cloud with that look.

Cloud could feel the weight of it.

Like Zack was waiting for something.

Like Zack was expecting something.

Like Zack wanted something from him he wasn’t ready to give.

Cloud ignored it.

He stepped past Zack, rolling his shoulders like he was fresh off a fight—or maybe going into one. He could still feel the weight of everything still clinging to him.

The girl’s words.

Cloud’s own self-deprecating joke.

Zack’s question.

Cloud felt raw, like his skin wasn’t fitting on him right.

Zack was watching him now, arms crossed, leaning against the counter top.

Waiting

Cloud exhaled, rubbing a hand subconsciously against his wrist, unintentionally pressing into a bruise there. He braced himself for whatever Zack was going to say.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Cloud glanced up at him, blinking like he didn’t understand the question.

Zack’s eyes searched his face.

“To her,” he clarified, voice careful. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Cloud’s stomach tightened.

The accusations.

The insults.

The way she screamed at him like he was on track to personally destroy Zack’s life.

“…Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Zack’s expression twitched.

Cloud saw it—the way his fingers flexed against his arms, like he was holding something back.

“But it wasn’t true,” Zack said, voice firm. “You know that, right?”

Cloud exhaled through his nose, stepping further into the room, away from Zack. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. It does.”

Cloud backed until his legs hit the couch, and when they did, he sat, curling a single knee into his chest, his arms wrapping around it.

“Why?” His chin rested on his knee, averting his gaze from Zack.

It was easier this way.

Because people already believed it.

Because he already believed it.

“Because you just sat there and let her say all that bullshit like it was a fact.” Gaia, why did Zack’s voice have to sound so soft. So painfully soft. Not a single bit of anger seeped out.

Cloud felt the weight of Zack’s eyes on him—watching him, seeing him.

Like Zack had figured out exactly how Cloud saw himself and needed to fix it.

He was moving now, kneeling in front of Cloud, his hand coming up to cup Cloud’s face. Cloud’s eyes reluctantly watched Zack in his peripheral.

“Like she was saying something you didn’t already believe.”

Cloud didn’t respond.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t stop Zack from turning his face, forcing him to look at him.

“Cloud,” he sounded like he was pleading. “C’mon—”

“What did you want me to do?” His voice cracked—why did his voice crack?

Cloud clenched his jaw, something ugly curling in his chest, something sour and bitter and exhausting.

“Get into a screaming match with some obsessed fan? Punch her? Tell her she was wrong?”

He let out a sharp, humorless breath.

“When she wasn’t?”

Zack face twisted.

His eyes lingered on Cloud’s face, too open, too real.

And that was worse.

Zack cared.

Zack was looking at him like he wanted to fix him.

And Cloud—Cloud had spent too long being broken to think that was even possible.

“I’ve heard worse, Zack.” Cloud exhaled, looking away, his arms tightening around his knee. “Even before you showed up at my fight with Roche.” Even before I came to Midgar. “They always talk.  It’s not a big deal.”

Cloud just wished Zack would believe that.

Zack’s jaw tightened, his thumb gently brushing under Cloud’s eye.

“Cloud.”

Gaia, why did his voice have to sound so heartbroken?

Why did Zack’s face actually look pained?

Zack was staring at him—really staring—his violet eyes dark and serious in a way that Cloud wasn’t used to.

Like he wasn’t going to let this go.

“Why do you let people think the worst of you?” Zack’s voice sounded like it was aching.

Cloud swallowed.

“Why do you believe it?”

Cloud’s nails dug into his arms.

Because it’s easier.

Because if he let himself believe anything else, then it would hurt so much more when reality hit.

Because he had spent his entire life being told he was a failure, a waste of space, a bastard, a pathetic little kid who couldn’t even protect his own mother.

Because he had spent so long proving them right.

He couldn’t be the hero.

He couldn’t be the one people looked up to.

He couldn’t be Zack’s person.

Zack deserved better than that.

“You’re tired, Zack. Get some sleep.”

Zack’s other hand came up, cradling his face.

Finally, after what felt like ages, he spoke.

“That’s not an answer.”

Cloud said nothing.

Because he didn’t have one.

Because he was so tired.

Because he had spent so many years believe he wasn’t worth it—he’d grown up with the villagers saying it his whole life—that sometimes he just… forgot he might be.

Zack didn’t push.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t even let out a sigh.

He just slowly sat on the couch next to him.

Gave Cloud the change to pull away.

But Cloud didn’t pull away. If he was honest, it was because he was weak. And selfish. And soaked up every touch from Zack like a greedy sponge, always wondering when it’d be the last.

He let Zack pull his legs into the brunet’s lap. Let Zack tuck Cloud’s head into his chest. Let Zack hold him.

The warmth of Zack’s arms, the solid weight of them around him, pressing him against his chest, grounding him in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before—

It was too much.

…And simultaneously not enough.

Zack’s fingers slowly rubbed up and down his back.

His voice was so quiet as he murmured into his hair, so quiet Cloud almost didn’t hear it.

“You deserve to be here, y’know.”

Cloud shut his eyes.

Zack just wrapped him tighter, his hand curling into Cloud’s hair.

And maybe for just a little while, Cloud would try to believe it.

Chapter Text

Cloud stirred awake, blinking blearily at the warm morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. The sheets were too soft, the bed too big, and everything smelled like Zack—a mix of something citrusy and warm, like sunshine and a hint of sweat.

That’s when it hit him.

He wasn’t in his own bed.

Zack’s apartment. Zack’s bed.

His muscles tensed on instinct, mind sluggishly catching up to the fact that, yes, he had fallen asleep here. And, yes, Zack had held onto him like he was some kind of stuffed animal. At some point in the night they’d made their way to Zack’s room, just to sleep in a comfortable bed. Cloud begrudgingly letting Zack hold him through the night.

Cloud exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. His arms ached faintly from how tightly Zack had held him. Not in a bad way. Just… noticeably.

It had been a long time since someone had held onto him like that. The last time had probably been his mother when he’d nearly broken a leg trying to explore the Shinra Mansion.

Cloud shook off the thought of his mother, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, stretching slightly.

A muffled voice came from the other room. Low, serious.

Cloud stiffened, pausing mid-step.

“Just take care of it, Aerith.”

Aerith?

Zack didn’t sound casual. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t his usual playful voice. There was an edge to his voice, something firm and sharp that put Cloud on alert.

“She’s already trying to milk it,” Zack continued, irritation laced in his tone. “I don’t want him dealing with this—just handle it before he sees, please.”

Cloud frowned.

It didn’t take much to figure out what—or rather, who—Zack was talking about.

Cloud exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening. Of course, Zack was dealing with it. Because Zack was Zack. Because Zack always tried to make things easy for other people. Because he thought Cloud needed him to handle it.

Because Zack thought Cloud couldn’t.

He should have left last night. He should have made it clear that he didn’t need Zack stepping in to fix things. He should have—

He should have never fallen asleep here.

Cloud shook his head, forcing the thoughts down, pushing away the twisting feeling inside him. He didn’t owe Zack anything. Zack was an adult. Zack made his own choices.

And Cloud was… still here.

Why was he still here?

Before he could get stuck in his own head, Zack turned the corner.

The moment their eyes met, Zack’s expression shifted.

Like flipping a switch, his frustration disappeared—replaced by something soft, easy.

“You’re up,” Zack grinned, walking toward him. He reached out, ruffling Cloud’s already-mussed hair before he could dodge.

Cloud scowled, though it came out weaker than he wanted. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

Cloud narrowed his eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

“I know.”

Zack’s grin was obnoxious. Too bright, too pleased with himself. Cloud could feel himself losing already, knew Zack wasn’t going to tell him anything.

And yet…

Cloud didn’t push.

He didn’t have the energy to try and argue with Zack of all people about needing to fight his own battles.

Zack clapped a hand on his shoulder, steering him toward the couch before he could argue. “C’mon, we’re having a no-phone day.”

Cloud blinked. “A what?”

“You heard me,” Zack tossed him onto the couch like he weighed nothing before flopping down beside him. “I already told Tifa I’m stealing you for the day, so everyone knows you’re not dead. No KupoNet. No messages. No overthinking. Just a dumb, fun day.”

Cloud scowled, arms crossing automatically. “I don’t need—”

Zack shoved a controller into his hands.

“Best two out of three.”

Cloud stared at the screen.

Chocobo Racing III

His lips twitched—just a little, just enough for Zack to know he’d won.

Damn it.

Cloud exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake the lingering tightness from his chest.

“…You sure about that?”

Zack smirked. “What, you scared?”

Cloud rolled his eyes. Fine. If Zack wanted to get his ass kicked first thing in the morning, Cloud would gladly oblige.

Zack was losing his mind.

Cloud wasn’t even trying anymore.

At first, he had played seriously, like he was actually focusing on the game. But now? Now Cloud was barely paying attention, and he was still destroying Zack without even breaking a sweat.

“I call sabotage,” Zack groaned, his head flopping back against the couch after another brutal loss.

Cloud leaned back, smug. “You’re just bad.”

Zack lifted his head, offended. “I am not bad.”

Zack held his ground for all of three seconds before sighing dramatically. “Okay, maybe I’m medium bad.”

Cloud’s lips quirked, smug and playful—not a full smile, but close.

He liked that look on Cloud.

Liked it too much.

But more than that—Cloud was relaxing.

Because every damn step forward with Cloud felt like taking three steps back.

Cloud was stubborn, set in his ways, so used to expecting the worst that even when Zack tried to pull him into something lighthearted, something easy, Cloud hesitated. Like letting himself be happy was a trap. Like it would cost something in the end.

So, yeah.

Maybe Zack had no chance in hell of winning this game.

But if he was winning at this—distracting Cloud, pulling him out of his own head, then he’d take it. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t pulling away.

It was progress.

Zack smirked, bumping Cloud’s shoulder with his own. “Alright, rematch. I’ll win this time.

Cloud gave him the flattest look imaginable. “You won’t.”

“Bold of you to assume.”

Cloud huffed, shaking his head—but he didn’t argue.

Zack was going to count that as a win.

And right now, he was going to take every win he could get.

Somewhere between mock-fighting over the last chicken wing and watching Zack sulk dramatically over yet another brutal loss, they ended up sprawled across the couch.

Cloud, boneless with the kind of exhaustion that only came from letting himself relax, was slumped back, legs lazily resting over Zack’s thighs. He wasn’t evens ure when that had happened, but Zack hadn’t complained—if anything, he had encouraged it, casually toying with the frayed hem of the sweater Cloud was wearing. His sweater. The one Zack had all but thrown at him when Zack muttered about how cold it was earlier.

Cloud had protested exactly once. Zack had ignored him.

And now, here they were.

It was… comfortable.

Which was the problem. Cloud exhaled, his fingers tapping idly against his thigh, trying to ignore the way Zack’s absentminded touch was soothing instead of irritating. His mind had been in knots ever since he woke up here—in Zack’s bed, in Zack’s space, in Zack’s orbit—and instead of coming up with an excuse to leave, he was still here.

He was getting too used to this.

His eyes flicked toward the far side of the room, his gaze catching on something big.

Cloud frowned, tilting his head. How had he not noticed that before?

A massive sword, easily as tall as he was, hung mounted on the wall. It was worn—aged, but well-kept, the kind of weapon that had a history, that had seen battles before Zack had ever laid hands on it.

Cloud knew that sword.

He just couldn’t place where.

Zack, noticing his shift in focus, followed his gaze and let out a small chuckle, something softer than usual. Almost wistful.

“Noticed it, huh?”

Cloud tilted his head slightly. “It looks familiar.”

Zack hummed, fingers still idly tugging at the fabric of Cloud’s sleeve. “Figured you might’ve seen pictures of it before. It was Angeal’s. Genesis had it in a lot of his videos.”

Cloud blinked, glancing between Zack and the sword. Angeal’s.

Zack nodded. “Yeah. The Buster Sword. Big, heavy, kind of ridiculous for actual combat—” he snorted, shaking his head, “—but he always said it was about what it stood for, not how useful it was. It was an heirloom in his family, back when his grandfather fought in some war, I guess.”

Cloud frowned slightly, watching the way Zack’s entire expression softened as he spoke.

“He passed it down to me before…” Zack trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck before shaking his head. “Well. Before everything.”

Cloud studied the weapon again. It had certainly seen things, but it hadn’t been neglected.

Someone still took care of it.

“…You still clean it,” Cloud observed, voice quieter now.

Zack’s hand, the one resting on Cloud’s leg, tensed for just a second before absently rubbing his knee. “Yeah,” he admitted, exhaling. “Feels wrong to just let it collect dust, y’know?” His voice dipped, quieter. “It’s all I have left of him… both of them.”

Cloud’s throat tightened.

He knew that feeling.

Knew what it was like to have so little left of someone, to cling to whatever scraps of memory remained, even if it was just an object they once held.

Zack smiled suddenly, nudging Cloud’s thigh with his elbow. “He’d like you, y’know.”

Cloud blinked, thrown. “What?”

“Angeal.” Zack’s grin was genuine, but something about it was sad. “You remind me of him sometimes.”

Cloud stiffened, immediately scowling. “I don’t see how.”

Zack huffed a laugh. “You both act like the weight of the world is your problem.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah it is,” Zack cut him off, grinning wider.

Cloud glared at him.

Zack was unphased. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Cloud rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue—at least, not verbally. Instead, he shifted, pressing his ice-cold feet against Zack’s stomach in retaliation.

Zack yelped, loudly, nearly throwing Cloud’s legs off of him. “What the hell—”

Cloud smirked.

Zack gaped at him.

“Oh, you’re in for it now,” Zack declared, grabbing Cloud’s ankles before he could escape.

Cloud twisted away, but Zack was relentless. He dug his fingers into Cloud’s calves, half-massaging, half-tickling, and Cloud choked on a laugh, kicking at him.

Zack cackled. “Oh, so you’re ticklish? Good to know.”

Cloud shot him a venomous glare, kicking at him until Zack finally, reluctantly, let him go.

Zack, completely unbothered, leaned back into the couch. “Speaking of people who couldn’t leave well enough alone—you ever hear how I got scouted?”

Cloud was still recovering from the absolute audacity of that tickle attack but managed a raised eyebrow. “By Angeal, right?”

Zack shook his head, grinning. “He did. Genesis found me first though.”

Cloud waited.

Zack leaned back, casually rubbing Cloud’s ankle. “Angeal managed to rope Genesis into some camping trip. They ended up in Gongaga, right? And Genesis is miserable. He’s got mosquito bites, hates the humidity, nearly sets the whole campsite on fire trying to ‘improve’ the cooking situation. Angeal’s just trying to keep him from having a full-blow tantrum when they end up at my folks’ place for dinner.”

“And that’s when Genesis ‘discovered’ you?”

Zack snorted. “More like targeted me. He was bored out of his mind, heard me singing while helping my mom with chores, and suddenly, I was his next project.”

“He scouted you because you were doing chores?”

“My mom thought he was a genius.” Zack lifted his hand, raising his voice to mimic her. “’You should listen to him, Zack! He’s got connections!’”

“You listen?” Cloud asked dryly.

“No.” Zack laughed. “Didn’t care about any of that. Just wanted to play games and mess around with my friends. But Genesis wouldn’t let it go. He kept showing up, kept trying to convince my parents to let me audition for some Shinra talent program.”

Cloud frowned. “And Angeal?”

Zack’s fingers, still resting against Cloud’s leg, tensed slightly. “…My dad didn’t trust Genesis. Thought he was too much. But Angeal? He stepped in. Promised them he’d look after me, make sure I wasn’t getting screwed over. Honor and all that.” Zack exhaled, shaking his head with a small smile. “Once he vouched for it, my parents caved.”

Cloud was quiet for a moment, adjusting slightly as Zack rested his head against his lap. He hesitated before bring his fingers up, brushing through Zack’s hair. Slow. Careful.

Zack sighed, sinking into it.

“…And you actually wanted it, then?” Cloud asked.

“At first? Not really. Thought it was a joke.” Zack exhaled, turning his face against Cloud’s stomach. “Genesis swore up and down that I was born to be a star. But Angeal? He actually made me want it.”

Cloud just kept running his fingers through Zack’s hair, not pushing, not speaking. Just waiting.

He watched Zack closely. The way Zack’s usual brightness dimmed, the way his shoulders curled in slightly, like his body was remembering something heavier than his words were letting on. Like he was hiding.

Then, Zack shifted. Rolled onto his side, pressing his face against Cloud’s stomach like he was trying to anchor himself. His breath was slow, even, but weighted.

“I only had a few years with them before Genesis got sick.”

Cloud hesitated, fingers pausing briefly in Zack’s hair before continuing—slower, gentler. Not saying anything. Not pushing.

Because he knew what it was like to have something raw stuck in your throat, something that ached to be said but felt too big to speak.

It took a minute before Zack spoke again. His voice was quieter now, words slower. Tired. “Some kind of genetic degradation. No one really understood it—still don’t. Started small. But spread fast. He got tired easy, had these weird dizzy spells, but then…” Zack exhaled, his voice measured, like if he spoke too quickly the words would slip out of his control.

Shaking his head slightly, Zack’s fingers curled into the fabric of Cloud’s sweater before he continued. “Then he got worse. He started getting paranoid, convinced people were trying to shut him out. Convinced Sephiroth was stealing Angeal. He pushed everyone away.” His voice dropped lower. “Even Angeal.”

Cloud’s hand stilled again. Just staring down at him.

Zack sighed, shifting slightly but still not pulling away. “He tried to fix it. Even when it was obvious Genesis didn’t want to be saved.” His laugh was small, tired. “It broke him, I think. Watching his partner fade like that. Watching him get angrier, more desperate. I should have—” His fingers tightened around Cloud’s shirt, almost reflexively. Grief had a habit of taking before it was ready to let go.

“I should have never left Angeal alone. He begged for some time. Some space. And I just…”

Cloud’s stomach twisted.

His hand started moving again, brushing through Zack’s hair once more. Zack let out a quiet hum, not bothering to finish his sentence. His body gradually unwound beneath the touch, like he’d been carrying too much for too long and was finally letting himself breathe.

They sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of everything still pressing between them.

Zack shifted slightly, turning head just enough to rest his chin against Cloud’s stomach. His expression had changed—not as heavy but still lingering with pain that hadn’t quite left him. Just pushed aside.

“Didn’t mean to dump all that on you.” His voice was unusually hollow, with something underneath it—something that wasn’t asking for reassurance but needed it anyway.

Cloud just shrugged, still running his fingers through Zack’s hair. Steady. Reassuring. “I don’t mind.”

Zack’s lips quirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Another long stretch of silence.

Cloud, without really thinking, slowly shifted down, tucking Zack’s head into his chest as he sank onto his back.

And Zack let him.

They didn’t say anything about the way Zack curled into him. Didn’t say anything about the way Zack’s arms wrapped tightly around Cloud, like he needed something solid to hold onto.

And if Cloud’s shirt was damp afterward, they didn’t say anything about that either.

Chapter Text

In a weird way, Zack confiding in him had helped.

Cloud wasn’t sure why it made his chest feel a little lighter—why hearing Zack talk about his own past, his own losses had quieted that ugly voice in his head that always whispered ‘You don’t belong here.’

Maybe it was because Zack, Zack, of all people had trusted him enough to share something so heavy. Maybe it was because, for once, he was the one being relied on.

That was a can of leviathans he didn’t want to open.

Instead he focused on the mundane—the simple routine of drying his hair, of making coffee, of existing. It was easier than thinking too hard.

And that was exactly when his phone, which had been silenced under Zack’s strict no-phone-day policy, exploded.

Cloud had turned it on after grabbing a cup of coffee while Zack showered post… confiding? Is that what it would be described as? They’d taken turns showering, both needing to wash off the night before and Zack needing to wash off this the earlier afternoon.

At first, he ignored it.

Figured it was the usual KupoNet clowning. Maybe Zack had made a post. Maybe Jessie had found another cursed meme format. Maybe Roche had finally figured out how to make GIFs.

But the buzzing didn’t stop.

With a sigh, he reached for the phone.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.

Pinned at the top of his feed. Top trending in Midgar.

“I WAS ATTACKED BY CLOUD STRIFE!!! 😭💔 ”

Cloud blinked.

Then squinted at the thumbnail.

The same obsessive fan from last night, looking appropriately tragic, sitting in a dimly lit room like she was filming a corny apology video. Her black eye was dramatically visible, like she wanted to make sure the audience didn’t miss it.

Cloud exhaled slowly, hovering his finger over the play button.

He already knew how this was going to go.

Still, he hit play.

“I just—I just can’t believe it,” the girl sniffled, dramatically dabbing at wet eyes. “He grabbed me—so aggressively—I thought I was gonna die.”

Cloud blinked.

Ma’am

She kept going, voice trembling. “I was just trying to talk to him. I love Zack so much! And then Cloud—he just—he looked at me, and I saw nothing in his eyes. No remorse. No guilt. Just violence.”

He tilted his head.

Okay, that was kinda funny.

She made him sound like some movie villain, standing on a rooftop in the rain, monologuing about hatred and despair.

But the real kicker?

The black eye.

Where the hell did that come from?

The commends were an absolute shit show.

But surprisingly?

They were in his favor.

—[@chocobro98] ma’am. be so serious right now

—[@wutaiianprince] bro that black eye wasn’t even there last night? where’d you get it??? the void???

—[@kuponetdetective] ‘i was attacked’ is a crazy claim when we all saw the venue footage, and u literally almost hit urself trying to slap him

—[@strifedefensesquad] if cloud really wanted to hurt you, you would not be posting a 5 minute crying video. u would be in the hospital

—[@strifefan69] ‘I saw nothing in his eyes, no remorse, no guilt, just violence’ lMAO OKAY SEPHIROTH

—[@Sephiroth] Don’t drag me into this.

—[@ZackFairOfficial] (pinned) LMAOOOOOOOOO

Cloud froze.

His eyes darted back up through the comments.

Wait. Wait.

Venue footage?

That wasn’t something that should be publicly available.

“Just take care of it, Aerith.”

Cloud exhaled sharply.

Of course.

Zack’s manager—agent of chaos, bringer of destruction—had clearly gotten ahead of the situation. Somehow, miraculously, venue security had “leaked” crystal-clear, HD footage of the fan swinging with all the grace of a drunk chocobo, getting blocked, and then dragged away by security screaming like a banshee.

Cloud stared.

The internet was roasting this girl to Hel and back.

And honestly?

He didn’t even have to do anything.

Which was great, because he wouldn’t have anyway.

He scrolled further.

There was another video, this one even worse.

It cut between her fake crying and actual clips of Cloud fighting—one of Zack’s remixed songs blasting over it as he laid out different opponents in the ring.

Then it cut back to her, the dramatic. “I saw nothing in his eyes, no remorse, no guilt, just violence.”

Overlaid with a slow-motion zoom-in on Cloud’s expressionless face.

And the cherry on top?

Someone had photoshopped that one meme image of Sephiroth—originally in a doorway—standing standing behind him in the security footage, looking ominous.

Cloud covered his mouth.

He was trying so hard not to laugh.

—[@coldasstrife] cloud doesn’t even defend himself online. Imagine fighting with the brick wall that is his kupo account.

“You good?”

Zack’s voice came from the bathroom, his head poking out, hair damp and dripping as he stared at Cloud. His eyes flicked to the phone in Cloud’s hands—and instantly scowled.

Cloud barely had time to brace himself before Zack walked over, still dripping, shirtless, and looking like sin.

It should be illegal.

Cloud did not look.

Instead, he slowly turned the phone, showing Zack the absolute dumpster fire happening on KupoNet.

Zack squinted at the screen, furrowing his brows before reading a comment aloud.

“‘Girl what? You get clocked by your own reflection or smth?”

Zack’s brows shot up. He blinked.

Then let out a low whistle. “Gaia, they’re ruthless.”

Cloud just stared. Unimpressed. “You pinned ‘LMAOOOOOO’.”

Zack grinned, completely unapologetic. “Yeah, and?”

Cloud sighed, rubbing his temple. “I should have just left my phone off.”

Zack plucked the phone out of his hands, scrolling further.

“Oh, this is great—they edited her monologue over your fights—“ Zack’s voice broke into wheezing laughter.

“This is your fault.”

“How is this my fault?” Zack gasped between laughs.

Cloud glared. “Because your gremlin of a manager leaked security footage.”

“Aerith works in mysterious ways,” Zack said in mock seriousness.

Cloud exhaled, flopping back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. “You’re impossible.”

Zack beamed. “And you love me.”

Cloud went still.

Zack also went tense, realization flickering across his face.

Cloud watched from his peripherals as Zack’s ears turned pink.

Zack, ever the professional, cleared his throat, immediately ruffling Cloud’s hair to cover it up.

“Anyways,” Zack said, way too fast, “we still have half a no-phone day left. And I think you owe me a rematch.”

Cloud latched onto the lifeline. “You’re just mad I keep winning.”

“Mad? Me? No, no, Cloud,” he gasped dramatically. “I thrive in adversity.

“You lost fourteen matches in a row.”

Zack waved him off. “Fake news.” He murmured against his cheek, a light kiss pressing into Cloud’s temple.

“Games?”

“As long as it’s not DDR.”

Zack smirked. “It’s DDR”

Cloud groaned, but surprisingly, there was no real frustration in it, just fondness.

And for the rest of the afternoon, Cloud let himself get lost in the dumb, pointless fun Zack pulled him into.

Cloud had expected leaving to be easier than this.

He’d done it before. Plenty of times.

Usually with one night stands but still.

Leaving was easy.

Until it wasn’t. Not because of Zack hanging all over him—which he was—but mostly because he hadn’t wanted to. But after an extra day of staying over, and back to back DDR losses, after falling into Zack’s space so easily—it was harder than the thought it would be. Because—

He didn’t want to go.

But he had to.

He had a fight to prep for, and Tifa had already texted him twice about actually showing up at the bar like he promised.

Cloud shifted his bag over his shoulder, standing just inside the doorway of Zack’s apartment, hesitating.

Zack who had been lounging on the couch, chin in his palm, watching him with a slow, lazy grin, finally stood. “You sure you gotta go?” he teased, stepping into Cloud’s space, fingers curling around his wrist. “I could just keep you hostage. Aerith wouldn’t even tell anyone.”

Cloud rolled his eyes. “Tempting.” And it was.

Zack’s grin widened. “Oh, really?”

Cloud nudged him back with his free hand. “I’ve got a fight to prep for, and I promised Tifa I’d help out at the bar.”

Zack made a face. “Responsibilities.”

Cloud huffed out a small laugh. “Yeah. Those.”

Zack still hadn’t let go of his wrist. His thumb traced small circles over Cloud’s pulse, like he was grounding himself before finally exhaling.

Cloud swallowed.

He had to go.

He knew that.

But—

“…So, uh,” Zack started, too casual, too careful. “Are we… dating?”

Cloud blinked.

Zack did not back down.

“I mean,” he continued, still watching Cloud like he was bracing for impact, “I feel like we are? Like, I definitely wanna keep doing this. But I feel like I should actually ask instead of just assuming.”

His chest did something weird.

Something tight.

Something warm.

He hated it.

He really hated it.

Because Zack was looking at him so damn earnestly, like the answer actually mattered, like Cloud saying no would crush him.

Cloud huffed, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Zack lit up.

“Cool,” he said, too happy, too pleased, too Zack. Then, because he was annoying, he waggled his eyebrows. “So does that mean I get, like, official boyfriend priveleges?”

“You already do.”

“Damn right I do.”

Cloud sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m leaving now.”

Zack yanked him in before he could escape, arms wrapping around his waist, crushing them together as he pressed a quick, eager kiss to Cloud’s mouth.

Cloud let it happen.

Just for a second.

Then he pushed at Zack’s face, grumbling. “I swear, you’re worse than Roche.”

Zack cackled, but reluctantly let him go. “Alright, fine, but don’t forget about me when you’re down there, champ.”

Cloud hesitated for only a moment.

Then leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against Zack’s mouth.

Zack melted.

Didn’t push, didn’t pull him back, just let his fingers trace one last slow circle over Cloud’s wrist before Cloud finally stepped back.

He had to force the first step back to the slums, trying not to notice the pure look of adoration in Zack’s eyes.

The train ride back down to Sector 7 slums was quiet.

Too quiet.

Cloud leaned against the window, watching the walls blur past, his fingers absently tightening on the strap of his bag. His head was still buzzing from the last day—Zack’s laughter, the way Zack had curled into him, the warmth of Zack’s hands tracing slow, absentminded circles over his skin.

It was annoying.

It was infuriating.

It felt too good.

And you love me.

Cloud exhaled sharply, glaring at his own reflection in the window. Stupid.

That was just Zack talking without thinking. That was what Zack did. It wasn’t serious. It wasn’t—

His phone buzzed, already dreading what fresh nonsense awaited him.

Sure enough.

[Tifa]: hey you back yet?

[Jessie]: PLEASE tell me you saw the video edits of that girl’s video. I am in tears

[Biggs]: they put the victory fanfare over it

[Wedge]: LMFAOOOOO

Cloud groaned.

At least the internet was having fun.

By the time he stepped into his apartment, locked the door behind him, his phone buzzed again. This time, a different name flashed across his screen.

[Zack]: you make it home yet?

Cloud blinked, staring at the text.

[Cloud]: yeah

Not even a second later—

[Zack]: you miss me yet?

Cloud rolled his eyes and set his bag down, kicking off his boots as he wandered into the kitchen. He didn’t need to answer that.

And yet.

He hesitated.

He told himself it was just because Zack was relentless. Because Zack would keep texting him until he got some kind of reaction.

Not because he actually wanted to answer.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating, overthinking, before he settled on:

[Cloud]: no.

He barely had time to set his phone down before it vibrated again, the screen lighting up.

[Zack]: liar

Cloud huffed, ignoring the way his chest did something warm.

Something he didn’t quite hate.

Something he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge.

So, instead, he pocketed his phone, grabbed a glass of water, and ignored the way his lips threatened to curl up.

Chapter Text

Cloud had barely stepped into Seventh Heaven for his first shift the day after he’d separated from Zack when a bar towel smacked him in the face.

“There you are,” Tifa said, hands on her hips, looking entirely unimpressed. “Did you forget where the bar is, or were you just too busy making out with your boyfriend to drop by earlier?”

Cloud peeled the towel off his face with a sigh, giving Tifa a flat look. “I was training.”

Tifa snorted, unimpressed. “Training to kiss better, maybe.” She turned on her heel, heading behind the bar and gesturing for him to follow. “Come on, you’re on glass duty.”

Cloud rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, slipping behind the counter and grabbing a clean towel. The bar wasn’t packed tonight—just the usual regulars, a few new faces, and a couple of drunks trying their luck at the dartboard. Nothing that needed his full attention.

Which meant his mind wandered.

Back to Zack.

Not that he ever really let Cloud’s thoughts.

Cloud wiped down a glass, watching the way the dim bar lights refracted through it, bending and scattering into something softer, something almost dreamlike. But even as he focused on the swirl of reflections, his thoughts drifted—pulled back to him.

Zack’s laugh—that laugh, loud and unrestrained, the kind that turned heads and made people smile before they even knew what was funny. The way he grinned, wide and careless, dimples deep and impossibly bright. The way he’d kissed Cloud goodbye before heading off to some industry meeting, barely pulling away before Cloud had—without thinking—tugged him back in for another.

The realization had hit him after, when he’d finally left Zack, the brunet still laughing, grinning like Cloud had just made his whole day.

Cloud had stepped away quickly, but now, a full day later, he could still feel it—everywhere. The ghost of Zack’s lips, the warmth of his hands, the effortless way he made Cloud feel wanted.

It still didn’t make sense.

People didn’t want Cloud like that. Not in a way that lasted.

All his life, he’d been told he was too difficult. Too quiet. Too angry. Too unlovable. And maybe that was true—his one-night stands had only reinforced it, brief encounters that ended with doors closing behind him, people leaving without a backward glance. He’d come to expect it after the first few, even preferred it. Nothing lingering, nothing messy.

But Zack…

Zack didn’t leave.

He clung, like Cloud was something worth holding onto. Like it wasn’t a question at all.

“Cloud,” Tifa called, pulling him out of his head. She was giving him a look—half amused, half exasperated. He glanced down and realized he’d been scrubbing the same glass for way too long.

He set it down. Cleared his throat. “What?”

Tifa smiled knowingly. “Nothing,” she said, reaching for a bottle to mix a drink. “Just… you seem a lot more relaxed these days.”

Cloud blinked, caught off guard. “Do I?”

She hummed. “Yeah. You do.”

Cloud didn’t know how to respond to that. Because he hadn’t even noticed. But now that she said it… maybe she wasn’t wrong.

The night dragged on in a familiar haze of clinking glasses, muted conversations, and the low hum of music playing from the jukebox. Cloud worked behind the bar, hands moving on autopilot. Wiping down the counter. Pouring drinks. Rinsing out glasses. The motions were second nature, something he could do even when his mind was elsewhere.

He barely registered Wedge waving at him on his way out, or Biggs teasing Jessie over a botched dart throw. Even when a couple of customers called for refills, he only half-heard them, nodding and filling their orders without thinking.

It was stupid. He’d seen him yesterday. And yet, all it took was the thought of Zack to send Cloud’s thoughts spiraling. Tifa had already yanked his attention back twice tonight, and Cloud was teetering near a third.

A chime from his phone pulled him out of his thoughts. He didn’t need to check it to know who it was, but he did anyways.

[zack]: cloud I just saw a guy that looked exactly like sephiroth but shorter

[zack]: should I be concerned do u think theres a secret clone army

[zack]: cloud respond this is urgent

Cloud sighed, thumb hovering over the keyboard before he locked his phone without answering.

A few seconds later—

[zack]: oh my god ur ignoring me aren’t u

[zack]: fine but just know if I disappear under mysterious circumstances I told u

Cloud exhaled sharply, something caught between amusement and exasperation.

“Zack texting you?”

Cloud started, jerking his gaze up to see Tifa watching him from the other end of the bar, chin propped on her palm, smile knowing.

He frowned, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Shut up.”

Tifa only laughed, giving the counter a final swipe before stepping back. “You know, you could at least pretend you don’t like him that much.”

Cloud scoffed, grabbing another glass to dry. “I don’t like him that much.”

Tifa arched a brow, unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”

Cloud grit his teeth, focusing on polishing the countertop even though it was already spotless. “I just—” he exhaled sharply, feeling his face heat against his will. “I don’t know.”

Because it wasn’t just Zack’s ridiculous texts or the way he threw himself at Cloud.

It was how easy it was.

How comfortable he felt around the idol.

It was new. Strange. Something Cloud wasn’t sure how to hold.

Zack seemed like he had already decided from day one Cloud was his and hadn’t even considered Cloud might argue. Like it hadn’t been a matter of if, but when.

Tifa watched him for a moment, her expression softening.

“Well,” she said finally, flicking him with the bar towel. “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve it.”

Cloud stilled.

She didn’t elaborate, just gave him one last smile before turning away to check on a customer.

Cloud stared at the spot where she’d been standing, her words settling under his ribs like something heavy.

Cloud had expected things to feel different after Zack officially called them boyfriends.

But they didn’t.

Not really.

Even when weeks had passed.

Not when Zack was still Zack—still obnoxiously affectionate, still effortlessly charming, still texting Cloud the dumbest shit at all hours of the night.

[zack]: do u think chocobos ever look at eachother and go “damn u got nice legs” bc I feel like they do

[zack]: cloud answer me this is important

[zack]: CLOUD

Cloud stared at his phone at 2 AM, sighed, and turned it face-down.

Nothing had changed.

Not when Zack still slipped into his space. Not when Cloud still felt too much about all of it, still caught himself looking too long, still got that stupid fluttering in his chest whenever Zack smiled just at him.

They’d fallen into a rhythm so easily, he almost didn’t realize it had happened. Zack waiting for him after fights. Cloud slipping past security to see Zack after concerts. Zack stealing his good snacks, Cloud stealing Zack’s hoodies, the two of them hanging out like nothing had changed—except now, Zack kissed him more often.

A lot.

Where once their kisses had been rare, lingering on the edges of something undefined, it was like a dam had broken inside of Zack.

Now, every arm slung over Cloud’s shoulder was met with a kiss to the cheek. Every greeting after a show was a bombardment of kisses—his jaw, his temple, the corner of his mouth. Every bruise from Cloud’s fights was met with lips brushing over his skin, soft and reverent, lingering in a way that made Cloud’s breath catch.

It never went beyond that. Zack never pushed. Never asked for more.

But Cloud found himself leaning into it.

Letting him.

That was the weirdest part.

Letting himself have this. Letting himself want it.

He didn’t think about it too hard.

…Well, he tried not to.

The thing about Zack was that he was relentless.

Not just in his affection—Cloud had already resigned himself to constant kisses, the endless text messages, the way Zack would sling an arm arm over his shoulder pulling Cloud into his orbit.

No, Zack was relentless in every part of his life.

Like tonight.

Cloud had just finished closing up the bar, his shoulders aching from a long shift, and the second he stepped outside his phone buzzed in his pocket.

[zack]: u awake?

Cloud sighed, it was past midnight.

[cloud]: ya

[zack]: good bc im outside

Cloud blinked, glancing up just in time to see a familiar figure standing across the street, hands shoved into his pockets, bouncing slightly on his heels like he couldn’t stand still.

Cloud exhaled sharply, already walking towards him. “What are you doing here?”

Zack beamed, completely unbothered by the accusation in Cloud’s voice. “Thought I’d walk you home.”

Cloud squinted. “You live in a penthouse on the topside of Midgar.”

Zack shrugged. “And?”

Cloud stared at him.

Zack stared back.

Sighing through his nose, Cloud ran a hand through his hair. “…You’re impossible.”

Zack grinned wider. “And you love it.”

Cloud immediately turned on his heel. “I’m going home.”

Jogging after him, Zack laughed. “What, no denial?”

Cloud didn’t answer… but his ears did turn pink.

Zack definitely  noticed.

They walked in comfortable silence for awhile, bumping shoulders idly, the streets of Sector 7 slums quieter at this hour. Most people were either home or tucked away in bars still nursing their last drinks. The glow of the streetlights cast long shadows along the pavement, and for once, Cloud didn’t feel the usual prickle of unease at having someone walking beside him.

It was always easier with Zack.

At some point, Zack had started talking about something Aerith had done at a press event earlier—probably something mildly chaotic, if Zack’s fond exasperation was anything to go by—but Cloud only half-listened, nodding along when appropriate.

Ontop of just being exhausted from a long day—he’d spent a good portion of his day training, starting early morning, just to end the night helping out at Tifa’s bar—he was focused on the easy warmth of Zack’s presence beside him. The casual way he bumped shoulders, or hands with Zack, like Zack couldn’t not be touching Cloud in some way.

Cloud swallowed, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as they rounded the last corner toward his apartment.

“…You good?” Zack asked, quieter now, his usual teasing lilt softened into something more careful.

Cloud didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

Zack hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push.

They reached Cloud’s door, and Zack rocked back on his heels, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Cloud hesitated.

Zack noticed.

“…You want me to come up?” Zack asked, voice easy, like it didn’t matter either way.

Cloud jaw clenched, trying to ignore the immediate way his stomach flipped. Because yes, of course he did. But also—

“…I have an early morning,” Cloud muttered instead.

Zack just smiled. “Okay.”

No argument. No disappointment.

Just okay.

Cloud shifted, fingers curling against the door handle.

He could send Zack home. Zack would go, no questions asked.

But Cloud didn’t want to.

“…You can stay,” he said, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could second-guess them.

Zack blinked, as if he hadn’t expected that.

Then, slowly, his face split into a grin. “Yeah?”

Cloud huffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Zack immediately made a big deal out of it.

With no hesitation, he pushed past Cloud as soon as the door was unlocked, stepping inside like he’d been waiting for an excuse. “Man, I thought you’d never ask.”

Cloud sighed, locking the door behind them. “You were going to invite yourself in, weren’t you?”

Zack gave him a look. “Cloud. Have you met me?”

Cloud didn’t dignify that with a response.

Zack kicked off his shoes, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he flopped onto Cloud’s couch, stretching his arms over his head with a dramatic groan. “Man, it’s been a long day.”

Cloud crossed his arms, unimpressed. “You didn’t do anything today.”

“Exactly,” Zack sighed blissfully, making himself comfortable on Cloud’s couch. “It was exhausting.”

Cloud pinched the bridge of his nose, rolling his eyes. “You’re sleeping there.”

“Sure, sure,” Zack said lounging back.

Cloud turned toward his bedroom, knowing full well that in the middle of the night, Zack would absolutely worm his way into Cloud’s bed anyway, claiming it was too cold.

Chapter Text

Cloud had thought Zack was clingy before.

But now? Now it was like the dam broke and Cloud unlocked some secret level of affection he hadn’t been prepared for.

Zack had always been way more touchy than Cloud was used to, had always hovered, had always found some excuse to be in Cloud’s space.

Now, it was like Zack had declared a personal mission to stay wrapped around Cloud at all times. Every interaction, every moment they spent together, Zack absolutely had to be touching him somehow. A hand at his waist. Fingers curling at the nape of his neck. A thigh pressed up against his own, Zack’s face burrowed into his hair.

Hel, Zack even started showing up to the bar after a few weeks, specifically on nights Cloud worked, planting himself at the counter like it was his job, and dragging Cloud into his space every chance he got. Always careful not to interrupt him, but enough that everyone noticed.

It had gotten to the point where Tifa, finally fed up with it, threw a bar towel at Zack’s face and told him, “if you’re gonna be here, you can start washing dishes.”

And Zack, the fucking terror, had just grinned and said, “You got it boss,” before hopping behind the counter like he actually worked there.

And the worst part?

He was good at it.

The regulars loved him. The guy was literally a popstar, but there he was, chatting up customers, wiping down counters, stealing drinks off Cloud’s tray like this was his job now.

“You’re encouraging him,” Cloud muttered later that night, as Zack leaned against the bar, completely at home, flipping a dish towel over his shoulder.

Tifa smirked, arms crossed. “Hey, if it keeps him from distracting you, I’ll take it.”

Cloud scowled. Zack, still grinning—what else was new?—leaned closer, bumping their shoulders. “Face it Spike, I’m the best coworker you’ve ever had.”

Rubbing his temples Cloud looked up at the roof briefly, muttered ‘Gaia help me’ under his breath before responding. “You don’t work here.”

Zack beamed. “Not with that attitude.”

Cloud barely resisted the urge to shove him. Barely.

The thing was—this was normal now.

Zack being here. Zack stealing his time. Zack walking him home after closing up. Zack dragging him back to his place.

Cloud wasn’t good at this. At relationships. At relying on someone. He was used to fending for himself, to taking care of things alone. He was used to short-lived flings, to people leaving before they could really see him.

Zack burrowed his way deeper.

Even when Cloud tried to push back. Even when Cloud’s insecurities whispered that Zack would eventually realize he was wasting his time. That Cloud wasn’t worth it. He let Zack press slow, lazy kisses to his jaw every time they woke up tangled together. Let Zack trace idle patterns along his back while they sat on the couch, half-watching whatever dumb show Zack had put on. Let Zack curl into him even though they were both sore and bruised from their own individual training regimens.

Cloud’s stomach twisted when he realized he was actively looking for it.

Actively seeking Zack’s warmth. For the way he began reaching for Zack before he was even aware he was doing it.

It wasn’t just the bar, either. Zack was everywhere.

The realization hit him at random moments. Like when Zack flopped across his lap post-show, half asleep, mumbling about some new song Aerith wanted him to record. Or when Zack laced their fingers together in some diner, refusing to let go like a child even as they ate. Or when Zack showed up to his fights with hand made signs—because apparently just showing up wasn’t good enough, he had to embarrass Cloud too.

He liked it.

Between rehearsals, between interviews, between his actual career, Zack still made time.

“You didn’t have to come,” Cloud muttered once, after Zack showed up at a fight, straight after a concert, his hair still damp from sweat caused by the stage lights, practically vibrating with left over adrenaline.

Zack had blinked at him. Then, cocked his head like a puppy, effortlessly stating, “Of course I did.”

Like it was obvious. Like not showing up wherever Cloud was hadn’t even crossed his mind.

And Cloud hadn’t known what to do with that. Because Zack was still Zack—still everywhere. Still untouchable. Still the person people screamed for, still the face on the billboards and posters. Still Zack Fair.

And Cloud.

Cloud was just Cloud.

His fights didn’t mean anything. His name didn’t matter. He wasn’t important in anyway that counted.

But Zack just kept showing up.

He liked when Zack pressed closer. Sank deeper. Wrapped himself around Cloud like he was determined to burn away every bit of self-doubt Cloud had.

“Y’know you could just invite me over instead of acting like it’s a surprise everytime,” Zack murmured against his neck as they fumbled through the doorway. Zack kicked off his boots, his mouth pressing into sweaty lips as they tripped through the door way, kicking the door shut.

“You always invite yourself anyways,” he muttered against his lips, tugging at dark hair as they fell into the couch.

Zack smirked, hovering over him. “So you do like having me around.”

Cloud answered with another kiss, his teeth biting at the bottom lip.

Partly to shut him up. Mostly because Zack wasn’t wrong. They somehow managed to spend more time together than apart, between fights, between concerts, between everything, Cloud found himself falling into a routine he didn’t even know he wanted.

It was so easy.

As the night deepened, Cloud let himself sink into the quiet that came after Zack had fallen asleep. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his apartment, listening to Zack’s steady breathing beside him.

Zack always slept like he had nothing to worry about—arms sprawled out, face relaxed, warm. Cloud could feel his body heat seeping through the sheets, could still feel the way Zack had tangled their legs together before drifting off, refusing to part from Cloud even in his sleep.

Cloud was always the one to hesitate, to try and keep space between them for as long as possible, but he was also the one who had taken that extra step, almost like the final piece snapping into place.

He swallowed, shifting slightly on the mattress, careful not to wake the brunet. The weight in his chest was something he wasn’t ready to deal with—not when Zack was here, not when he was curled into Zack’s side.

Cloud closed his eyes.

This was fine.

This was good.

He told himself he wasn’t going to ruin it.

By the time Cloud had started his shift the next night, he was still caught somewhere between feeling grounded and feeling completely off-kilter.

Tifa had thrown him a knowing look when he walked in, but refrained from saying anything. At least for now.

Which meant she knew something was up.

Which meant she was waiting for him to fess up.

Which meant Cloud was definitely not bringing it up first.

The bar was already filling up, the usual crowd of locals and drifters settling in for the night. Cloud kept himself busy—pouring drinks, wiping down counters, pretending he wasn’t still thinking about Zack’s arms wrapped around his waist that morning.

Pour. Wipe. Nod. Repeat.

He wasn’t thinking about the way Zack had lingered, half-asleep and stubborn, pulling Cloud back into bed even after Cloud had tried to leave. The way he didn’t deserve the warmth and comfort Zack provided. The lazy kisses Zack had pressed into his shoulder before rolling out of bed, pulling him back in for just one more.

Distract yourself.

He focused on the glasses in front of him, the sound of the bar, the familiar rhythm of pouring drinks and exchanging quiet nods with regulars.

Zack only thought he wanted this, thought he could handle Cloud’s unresolved issues that he barely understood himself—did he?—but Zack was seeing now, not later. He was seeing the idea of Cloud. The version that made people laugh with his dry humor, the version that let him steal food off his plate without pushing him away.

Zack wasn’t seeing the whole of it.

Not the worst parts.

Not the part that doubted every good thing the second he had it. The part that assumed people left because Cloud was good for a time, in relationships, but not for long term. The part that would inevitably start pulling away before Zack could do it first.

People tolerated Cloud. They humored him. Sometimes, they even liked him for a while. But eventually, eventually, they got tired. Of his silence. Of his moods. Of the way he never quite let them in.

Because Cloud wasn’t worth it.

His jaw clenched, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand.

He was mundane and bland. Attractive? Sure, he’d been yelled at too many times by Jessie and Tifa to argue that. But he wasn’t exciting, wasn’t special. He wasn’t worth the effort. And Zack? Zack was everything. He was warmth and light and unshaken confidence—the kind of confidence Cloud could only feign having. He was the kind of person who made others gravitate toward him without even trying. He belonged on center stage, belonged in the glow of the spotlight, surrounded by people who mattered.

Cloud was a footnote. A placeholder. A minor chapter in Zack’s story before he moved on to something bigger. Better.

It was fine.

Cloud had already accepted it.

He had to keep himself in check. Had to remind himself not to get too comfortable.

Had to keep himself from expecting this to last.

And Cloud was going to make sure it didn’t hurt when it did.

It was going fine. Completely fine.

Until him.

Cloud spotted the drunk idiot the second he walked in—already too loose, already too loud. The kind of guy who always had an loud, wrong opinion. The kind who always had something to prove. His opinion was only relevant because he shouted it.

He closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose.

He really wasn’t in the mood for this.

Cloud had dealt with plenty of trash talk in the ring.

Hel, it was expected.

Opponents tried to get in each other’s heads all the time—stirring shit up, throwing insults, acting like words could land harder than fists.

But this?

This was just embarrassing.

Because Cloud wasn’t in the ring.

He wasn’t at an event.

He was behind the bar, drying a glass, and some drunk asshole was trying to lecture him about his own life choices.

Tifa had clocked it the second the guy started running his mouth.

And Cloud—against all odds—was actually trying to listen.

Really.

But the guy wasn’t shutting up. As stupid as the guy was, as obnoxious as his voice sounded slurring over every other syllable, he was still saying it.

Saying things Cloud had already been telling himself for weeks.

“I’m just saying,” the drunk slurred, leaning forward on the bar, his beer slopping dangerously close to Cloud’s clean counter, “you used to be something, man. Like—a real fighter. A real tough guy.”

Cloud sighed.

Kept wiping down the glass.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t engage.

But the words still sat there, curling under his skin like something festering. Something burning.

“But now?” the guy scoffed, taking another swig of whatever swill he’d ordered. “Now you’re just some celebrity's arm candy.”

Cloud’s hand paused on the glass.

Tifa, across the bar, subtly stiffened.

And just for a second—just a flicker of a moment—Cloud let himself believe it.

Because what if it was true?

What if that’s all he was now?

What if Zack was only keeping him around because it was convenient? Because it was easy? Because Zack was Zack, and he collected people, did he ever think twice about the ones that eventually drifted away?

Cloud could already hear it—Zack, down the line, still smiling, still bright, saying it wasn’t working out. That things had changed. That he had changed. That maybe Cloud wasn’t the same person Zack thought he was.

And maybe that wasn’t wrong.

Maybe Cloud was already losing himself in this.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to push those thoughts down. To ignore the way they clawed at the edges of his mind.

The guy didn’t notice.

“I mean, seriously,” the guy snorted, gesturing wildly. “Ever since you started hanging off Fair’s arm, it’s like you forgot who you are.”

As if this random guy in Tifa’s bar knew who he was.

Cloud didn’t even know who the fuck he was half the time.

His grip on the glass tightened.

“Like, what happened to you, man?” he continued, voice loud, obnoxious. “You used to be one of the toughest guys in the ring. Now you’re just some—some pretty boy’s boy toy.”

Tifa noticed, turning to cut the guy off.

But Cloud beat her to it.

He leaned forward, his forearms resting against the counter, his voice calm. “You done?”

The guy blinked, clearly thrown off.

Cloud arched a brow, tilting his head slightly. “Or do you need to say Zack’s name a few more times before you get whatever weird jealousy you’ve got out of your system?”

A few of the other patrons laughed.

The guy’s face burned red. “Jealousy? Of what?”

Cloud shrugged, expression flat. “You tell me.”

The guy bristled. “You’re the one embarrassing yourself over some popstar—”

“My boyfriend.”

The words were sharp, clear, deliberate.

He dared him to say otherwise.

And for the first time all night, the guy hesitated.

Cloud sounded so much more confident then he felt. But the rest of the bar didn’t need to know that.

Cloud tilted his head, voice mocking now. “That’s what you meant right? Because if you’re gonna sit there and run your mouth about him, you could at least get it right.”

The guy scowled. “You’re really gonna throw your career away from some celebrity?”

If there was anyone ruining their career over this relationship, it wasn’t Cloud.

Cloud sighed. Rolled his shoulders.

Then—calmly, deliberately—he stepped around the counter, stepping into the man’s space. “Go ahead.”

“What?” The guy blinked.

Cloud cocked his head, peering down at him. “You wanna test that theory, right? That I’ve ‘gone soft’? That I’m not who I used to be?” His eyes lingered on the man’s green ones, unwavering. “So, I’ll let you get the first hit in.”

The guy stared at him.

Cloud didn’t look pissed.

Didn’t look ruffled.

Didn’t look like he was even trying to be intimidating.

He just looked… bored.

Like he’d already decided the guy wasn’t worth the effort.

Because he wasn’t.

Because nothing this guy said was anything Cloud hadn’t already been screaming at himself.

The guy faltered.

Didn’t swing.

Didn’t stand up.

Didn’t do anything.

Tifa, arms crossed, finally spoke. “You should probably head out.”

The guy grumbled, but didn’t argue.

Didn’t even look at Cloud again as he stumbled off the barstool, muttering under his breath before slinking out the door.

The second he was gone, Tifa let out a breath, giving Cloud an exasperated look. “Really?”

Cloud shrugged. “He shut up, didn’t he?”

Tifa pinched the bridge of her nose. “You could’ve just ignored him.”

Cloud smirked slightly. “I did.”

Tifa groaned, muttering something about headaches and stubborn men, but didn’t push it.

Cloud had already gone back to drying the glasses like nothing happened.

Like the words hadn’t stuck.

Like they hadn’t already taken root.

Chapter Text

Tifa had barely locked the bar doors behind Cloud when he felt it. That prickle at the back of his neck. The kind of weighty, anticipatory silence that always meant trouble.

He didn’t react right away.

Just kept walking, shoulders loose, hands in his pockets—like he hadn’t already clocked the group of men waiting across the street.

At the center of them?

The drunk idiot from earlier.

Some people just really, really didn’t know when to let shit go.

The guy wasn’t alone now—he had four others with him, all of them watching Cloud like they were expecting him to back down.

Cloud continued past them, keeping his gaze flat, unimpressed.

The guy sneered, stepping in front of Cloud. “Not so mouthy now, are you?”

“You waited for me?”

He scowled. “Damn right I did.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“You think you’re funny, huh?” The drunk man growled out.

Cloud tilted his head, similar to how he had back at the bar. Bored. “A little.”

The man let out a snarl, lunging towards Cloud like he was going to swing, trying to intimidate him.

Cloud stayed put, staring at him.

“Get your hit in.”

“What?” The man gawked, blinking at him.

“I said you’d get one free hit in, remember?” Cloud mocked, a smirk curling on his lips.

That should’ve been enough of a warning.

But the guy took the bait.

Crack

Cloud’s head snapped to the side.

Not bad. Not good either.

Most of the force had been from the alcohol in the man’s system if anything. He was sloppy and unbalanced.

Cloud slowly turned his head back to the man, gaze level, cheek red.

The guy barely had time to register the lack of reaction before Cloud moved—quick, effortless, slipping around his next drunken punch.

The man stumbled forward from the momentum, barely managing to catch himself before whirling back, expression twisted with frustration. “Get him!”

That was all the warning Cloud got before the other guys surged forward.

Four against one.

For a second, Cloud almost felt bad for them.

Because he didn’t want to waste time toying with them.

Didn’t bother drawing it out.

Didn’t himself think too hard about why he was so eager to take this out on them—why the words from earlier still sat heavy in his ribs.

He just moved.

Ducked a sloppy right hook. Twisted around a grapple attempt. Drove his knee into one of their stomachs. Spun—grabbed one guy by the collar and sent him slamming into another.

Two down.

Another one lunged for him—Cloud sidestepped, twisting his arm until he heard the sharp pop of a dislocated shoulder.

Three.

And then—

A fourth fist swung toward his jaw.

Cloud barely had time to shift before it connected.

His head snapped to the side for the second time that night. The hit had stung—but it was sloppy. The movement fell short. Weak.

His grit his teeth, whipping around—

Only to see familiar bleach blond hair.

Roche.

Standing there, grinning like a lunatic, fist still raised from the punch he had just landed.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Roche purred, flicking his hair back as the last guy crumpled to the ground. Roche kicked him for good measure.

Cloud exhaled sharply, shifting on his feet as he stepped back, scanning over the fallen group.

All down. None getting back anytime soon.

Good.

Roche turned to him with way too much excitement. “Did you see that? I had your back. We make a good team.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

Roche smirked. “And yet, I gave it. Because, Strife, you deserve only the best!” He gestured grandly at himself. “And lucky for you—I am the best.”

Cloud sighed, running a hand through his hair.

He should have expected this.

“I could have handled it,” Cloud muttered.

“Of course you could have!” Roche beamed, stepping into Cloud’s space—too close, as usual. “But why fight alone, when you could have an equal by your side?”

Cloud squinted. “Equal?”

“Or—perhaps—” Roche smirked, voice dropping, “a rival?”

Cloud groaned.

Roche attempted to sling an arm around Cloud’s shoulder, reminiscent of how Zack would, but was promptly side-stepped.

“Come, Strife! Let’s celebrate our glorious victory—”

“No.”

“A drink, then?”

“No.”

Then, allow me to escort you home—”

“No.”

Roche pouted. “You wound me.”

Cloud sighed, stepping further away from the man. “Go home, Roche.”

“I would!” Roche hummed, stretching dramatically. “But now? I’m feeling inspired. I may just have to schedule another match with you soon.”

Cloud ignored him, already turning—

But the moment he turned, pain exploded in his side.

Sharp. Sudden. Deep.

Cloud’s body tensed on instinct, breath hitching as something cold and thin buried itself just under his ribs.

A knife.

Not a big one. Small. Cheap. Probably stolen.

But still—a knife.

The guy who had gone down first—the one he had assumed was out cold—was still on the ground, hunched over, clutching his stomach. And now, his hand was still gripping the hilt of the blade, jammed into Cloud’s side with a shaky, desperate grip.

Cloud reacted on instinct.

His hand snapped down, smashing into the man’s face, jerking him—and the knife—back. The guy’s face twisted, wild with petty, bitter fury. Cloud’s non-dominant hand slamming into his side to stop the blood flow.

“You’re not so tough now, huh?”

Cloud didn’t speak. He didn’t give himself time to process the pain. He just moved. His free hand slammed into the guys jaw—hard enough to knock his head back with a sickening crack.

The guy went limp immediately.

Cloud looked down sharply, examining the damage as best he could without removing his hand. It wasn’t deep enough to be fatal.

But Bahamut, it burned.

Blood was soaking into his sweater, warm, thick, seeping between his fingers faster than he liked where he pressed his hand over the wound.

Zack’s sweater.

The dark blue staining with his blood.

Roche, for once in his entire existence, was silent.

Cloud took a slow breath, steeling himself. The pain was a distant throb, muffled under the sheer adrenaline, but he could feel it—sharp, wrong, searing. His fingers curled tighter against the wound, pressing down hard to stem the bleeding.

Roche was still frozen in place, eyes wide.

Then, finally—he moved.

“Okay,” Roche said, voice lighter than it should be, but Cloud wasn’t fooled. He knew that tone. That was the same tone Biggs would use when he was trying not to panic.

Cloud gritted his teeth. “Roche.”

“You should sit down,” Roche continued, ignoring him completely. “Or lean on me. Or something, because Strife, you are literally bleeding out—”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh sure,” Roche scoffed, stepping closer. “Totally fine. Just standing there, bleeding into your own damn sweater.”

Zack’s sweater. But Cloud wasn’t going to correct him.

Cloud exhaled slowly. “It’s not deep.”

“I don’t care.”

Roche was right in front of him now. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced with something sharp, assessing.

“I can walk—”

“Oh, you’re damn right you can,” Roche said, voice too bright, too forced. Then—without warning, he moved.

Cloud barely had time to react before Roche’s arm curled around his back, gripping his side—just above the wound, careful, precise.

“Roche—”

“Walking,” Roche announced, completely ignoring the warning in Cloud’s voice as he started leading him forward. “Let’s go, let’s go—”

Cloud hissed, stumbling slightly as the movement pulled at the wound.

Roche immediately slowed.

“…Okay, adjusting pace,” he muttered.

“I don’t need—” Cloud grit his teeth.

“Oh, I know,” Roche huffed, grinning like Cloud was just being difficult for fun. “You never need help. But humor me and accept it, just this once.”

Fine.

Fine.

He let Roche support some of his weight, even if it made him itch.

They didn’t speak much after that.

Well.

Cloud didn't speak much after that.

Cloud was too busy trying to ignore the pain, and Roche was too focused on getting them the hell out of there.

They made it to the small 24/7 clinic the Sector 7 Slums had to offer, under the dim glow of the flickering streetlights.

Roche exhaled, like he was finally sure Cloud wasn’t going to collapse on him. Then, with a knowing smirk—

“So,” Roche said, breezy, like Cloud wasn’t bleeding out in the middle of Midgar. “Think your boyfriend’s gonna be pissed?”

Cloud stiffened.

Roche grinned wider. “Yeah, I think so too.”

The clinic’s fluorescent lights had been too bright. That was what Cloud remembered most.

The place had smelled like antiseptic and stale air, the kind of scent that clung to the back of your throat, sharp and clinical. He’d barely been inside for more than an hour before he convinced them to let him leave.

The potion had worked well enough—not great, but enough. The wound wasn’t deep, just messy and now it was seal enough that he could move without bleeding all over the place. His side still ached if he twisted wrong, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

Roche had been banished the moment Cloud had the chance. He’d looked the nurses dead in the eye and told them he didn’t know him. That, while he appreciated the “help”, he had no interest in a nosy stranger hanging around his business.

Roche, completely unbothered, had left with a flourish, loudly exclaiming something about their “star-crossed rivalry” and how fate would inevitably bring them together once more.

Cloud resisted the urge to throw something at him.

After that, dodging Zack had somehow become his full-time job.

Three days.

That was how long he’d managed to avoid him. It was a personal record.

Though, to be fair, it probably had a lot to do with Jessie tipping him off every time Zack got close.

She tried to pry obviously but Cloud just gave her a look. Thankfully she dropped it. For now.

As much as she claimed to understand, she wasn’t about to let him push it. She warned him he had until the end of the fight with Kadaj, or she’d bring it up with Tifa and stop covering for him. And as smart as Jessie was, she wasn't as critical of Cloud's form as Tifa might be to notice any winces on his end.

[Jessie]: zack’s at the bar don’t come in yet

[Jessie]: gym’s clear. move now if you’re gonna

[Jessie]: zack just left, but i think he’s suspicious

Cloud had never been so grateful and so irritated at the same time.

It wasn’t easy though. Cloud only really went three places—the bar, the gym, and home. And Zack knew all three.

So, if he abused the fact that the gym had private sleeping quarters no one really used, well… that was his own choice.

This was nothing Zack needed to know about.

So, of course, the universe immediately decided to make things worse.

Cloud was sitting on the locker room bench, wrapping his hands for his match against Kadaj when his phone buzzed.

[Tifa]: why were u with roche in the middle of the night?

Cloud froze.

Before he could even process that, another text arrived.

[Tifa]: actually, forget the question. here.

A link.

Cloud stared at it.

He shouldn’t click it.

He clicked it.

The moment the image loaded, Cloud felt his stomach drop.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

It was him and Roche. Outside the clinic. Late at night. And Cloud—Cloud was fully leaning into him.

The angle was bad. It looked way worse than it actually was. Roche was clearly supporting his weight, his arm around Cloud’s back, his usual grin in place. But Cloud’s face wasn’t in the shot, you could only see the way he let himself be held. You couldn’t see his grimace, the sweat dripping from the exertion, the way on just the other side of him, his hand was soaking in blood with Zack’s sweater.

Great. Just fucking great.

Another message popped up, this time from Zack wishing him luck in his fight.

Cloud exhaled sharply, locking his phone.

Zack hasn’t seen it yet. He hoped at least.

He wouldn’t assume the worst.

Would he?

A sick twist of doubt curled in Cloud’s gut, irrational but insistent. Zack trusted him, right? But that picture—he knew how it looked. He knew what people would assume. And Zack—Zack was confident, but he wasn’t invincible and Cloud had been dodging him for three days.

Cloud shut his eyes for half a second. Pushed the thought down. He’d deal with that later.

Right now, he had a fight to focus on.

Or, at least, he was trying to focus when he got into the ring.

Unfortunately, Kadaj seemed determined to make this fight miserable.

The second the match started, he was grinning, circling Cloud with an almost lazy confidence. His movements were slow, measured—like he was taking his time.

Cloud refused to engage first. Kadaj thrived off reckless aggression, and Cloud wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction.

“You seem stiff today, Strife.”

Cloud ignored him.

Kadaj’s gaze flicked downward—just briefly—his eyes lingering at Cloud’s side before flicking back up.

The grin widened.

Cloud’s stomach tightened.

There’s no way he knows. No one except the clinic had seen the injury. No one had said anything. He’d sworn Roche to secrecy over the injury. He’d been careful.

It’s fine.

…Right?

Except—he couldn’t be sure that the man himself hadn’t talked. After all, it would be all too easy to tell Cloud’s opponent, or let it slip somewhere nearby about the injury.

Had Roche said something? Roche loved drama—would he have let it slip? Maybe not on purpose, but it wouldn’t take much.

Kadaj lunged.

Cloud dodged—barely.

But the moment he twisted, pain flared under his ribs.

Fuck.

Cloud clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep moving, to push through it. Not now. Not now. It was still round one.

But Kadaj’s eyes were sharp. He noticed.

And Cloud knew.

He knew.

Kadaj tilted his head, feigning curiosity, as if he’d just discovered it. “Interesting,” he murmured, too pleased. “That side’s a little slow, huh?”

Cloud forced himself still. Neutral. Unbothered.

Kadaj was cocky, not stupid. If Cloud played this right, he could convince him he was wrong.

But Kadaj wasn’t buying it.

He started testing him, throwing sharp, quick strikes—not enough to land, but enough to make Cloud move.

Every time Cloud dodged, every time he turned just a little too stiffly, Kadaj saw.

Gaia, he was a fucking menace.

He wasn’t sure if it was worse that Kadaj already knew—or that he was enjoying it.

When the second round started, Cloud struck first. He couldn’t just keep playing defense all night. It would make the injury even more obvious, it would draw attention from more than just Kadaj.

A fast, controlled series of jabs, leading into a feint—but Kadaj was ready.

He dodged, twisting like he was made of liquid, his arms snaking around Cloud’s, deflecting the blows before sliding into Cloud’s open space.

Shit.

Cloud barely had time to react before Kadaj dropped low—

And then, he struck.

A sharp, vicious elbow right into Cloud’s injured side.

Cloud didn’t make a sound.

Didn’t react.

Couldn’t react.

But fuck, fuck, fuck—

Pain shot through his body, white-hot and pulsing, his vision going tight at the edges.

It wasn’t deep enough to cripple him. But it was enough.

Enough for Kadaj to see.

Enough for him to know.

Kadaj leaned in, voice mocking, but there was something hungry in his tone now. “Oh, that was a reaction.”

Cloud didn’t answer.

Didn’t give him anything.

But Kadaj smelled blood in the water now.

The rest of the round was hell.

Kadaj didn’t even hide it anymore.

Every attack, every motion, every pivot—all of it led back to his ribs.

And Cloud couldn’t block all of them.

By the time the bell rang, he was losing ground.

Kadaj stepped back, rolling his shoulders, grinning.

Round two: over.

And Cloud was not winning.

Chapter Text

Kadaj was getting bolder, he was relentless now, his movements sharper, more intentional. He wasn’t just fighting to win anymore—he was hunting.

Cloud knew that feeling. He’d been on the other side of it before, the one targeting an injury, new or old. Anything was fair game. He couldn’t begrudge the silver haired man, even if it did make him want to rip his throat out.

He could read Kadaj’s body language, the shift in his stance, the slight lean into his next strike—he knew exactly where this was going.

Cloud braced himself.

He could still—

Kadaj moved first.

Fast. Brutal. A sharp knee to his ribs, slamming into the exact weak spot Cloud had tried to protect.

Something ripped.

Then—the burn.

The sudden, too-familiar warmth of blood soaking into his wrap, seeping hot down his skin.

Cloud’s breath hitched.

No. No, not now—

Kadaj’s eyes widened for half a second before his expression twisted into something vicious.

“Oh,” Kadaj purred, sounding almost delighted. “There it is.”

Cloud forced himself to move. Reset. Do anything.

But Kadaj was on him instantly.

Another hit.

And another.

Precise. Ruthless. Calculated.

Every strike forced Cloud to pivot, to twist, to put pressure on his already torn side. The blood was seeping faster now. Dripping. Kadaj’s gaze flicked down, noticing the way it darkened Cloud’s waistband, the slow trail running down his leg.

Cloud grit his teeth. He had to fight back.

But his movements weren’t as fast now. His body was betraying him. He couldn’t push the pain down anymore. His vision blurred.

No. No, no, no—

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The moment the ref called the match, Cloud barely registered it.

The fight was over.

And he had lost.

Cloud didn’t move.

His hands gripping the bleeding side, his nails digging into the compression shirt. He wasn’t sure if it was pain or frustration making his head spin.

The sharp, slow drip of blood ran down his leg, soaking the mat beneath him.

Kadaj, smug and completely unbothered, barely spared him a second glance before stepping away to enjoy his victory.

Jackass. 

Cloud exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to stay still. To not react. To not think too hard. To walk off the mat the same way he usually did after a loss. It happened. He was used to losing. It was fine.

But the thoughts were clawing at him—despite every logical answer telling Cloud it would’ve been a miracle if he’d won that, his thoughts just spiraled.

Weak.
You should’ve won.
Shouldn't have hid from Zack.
You should’ve hid it better.
Shouldn't have been cocky.
You should’ve done better.
Should've just owned up to it.

Cloud sucked in a breath and stepped towards the edge of the ring, shoving the ref away who moved to help him, as he held his side. Too fast. The world tilted. He gritted his teeth and steadied himself, ignoring the way his side throbbed, ignoring the way people were staring.

He turned away before anyone could say anything. Before they could see the look on his face.

He was used to losing. He was known for it in fact. This wasn't a big deal.

A slow dread settled in his chest.

Tifa had sent that picture.

She had seen it.

Which meant Zack might have seen it at this point too.

Cloud’s pulse kicked up.

Fuck.

The timing was shit. He’d been avoid him the last three days, trying not to worry Zack, trying to pretend like the injury hadn’t happened. And now?

Now, he was bleeding out in the middle of the ring.

If Zack hadn’t seen the picture before, he definitely knew something was wrong now. Zack always watched his fights. Always messaged him during and after his fights. A list of live messages talking about each hit.

Cloud’s jaw tightened.

He could already picture it—Zack’s face, brows furrowed, voice tight with concern. Zack always noticed everything. He would see the way Cloud had moved at the start of the fight. The way he hadn’t fought the same.

And worse?

He would ask.

And Cloud wouldn’t have an excuse.

Why didn’t you tell me?

Cloud was an emotionally stunted coward.

He knew that about himself.

Admitting his feelings was not his forte.

Fighting? That was easy. Getting back up after taking a hit? Even easier. Bleeding, bruising, taking pain and giving it back twice as hard—that, he could handle.

This?

This was terrifying.

Because Zack was silent. And he hadn’t called, hadn’t sent a single text even during the fight, only one at the start saying ‘good luck spike’. And that meant he knew. He’d known from the moment Cloud stepped into the ring.

Cloud had every intention of not dealing with it. He was going to walk out of the arena, disappear for a few days—maybe a week. He could crash in a hotel, find some random rooftop, sit in a bar somewhere other than Seventh Heaven until the tension bled out of his muscles. That was his normal.

So, he snatched two complimentary potions off a table, downed one, and bee lined down the hall, wiped up the blood, at least—even if it did still stain his clothes. He usually wore black anyways so it’s not like it was obvious.

What he didn’t expect after downing the second potion, slamming through the back door, he’d see Zack.

Zack, idly tapping at his phone, leaning on his car, waiting.

Cloud should have been quieter, should have opened the door like a civilized person, but no. Instead, he’d slammed it open with all the subtlety of an elfadunk.

Of course, Zack’s attention was yanked from his phone.

His expression shifted the second their eyes met. He didn’t even look upset.

Which was arguably, so much worse.

Cloud’s face twisted, he wasn’t even sure what expression he was making, because Zack’s face did that thing where he went soft.

Cloud could see it in every muscle, the way Zack, tucked his phone in his pocket and was putting cautiously stepping forward like Cloud was a wounded animal.

“Cloud,” he could hear the warning in Zack’s voice. The quiet calm of his tone that sent Cloud spiraling.

He was too understanding. Too fucking much.

And yeah, maybe he was wounded. But Cloud was nothing if not an emotional coward first and foremost.

He couldn’t fucking do this.

He was a kicked dog, and he had two options.

Fight or flee.

Cloud did the latter.

He could see the moment Zack realized it—his eyes flickering, his shoulders tensing—but Cloud was already moving.

Cloud stepped to the left, Zack followed.

Cloud bolted.

And Zack, being the relentless bastard he was, took off after him.

For the second time that day Cloud felt like he was being hunted.

Cloud’s body protested instantly—his side ached, his muscles stiff from the fight—but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Because Zack would catch him, and they would talk, and Cloud was not built for that.

Every fiber of Cloud’s being screamed that this was childish, that this was stupid, that running from Zack wouldn’t stop anything. That no matter how far he got, Zack was going to hunt him and they were going to have this conversation.

It was also stupid, because even though the surface wound of his injury had closed once more courtesy of the two potions he downed after the match, he still had the internal injury of a fucking stab wound that Kadaj had just reopened.

But Cloud ran.

Which Tifa would argue was better than him just standing there disassociating. She’d be so proud Cloud was feeling things.  She probably wouldn’t approve of him running from Zack however.

…But at least he wasn’t staring at a wall.

He was spiraling, sure.

All he could think of was how pathetic this was.

This whole relationship was going to fall apart.

Zack was wasting his time.

Cloud wasn’t good at this.

And he was running from Zack who probably was just planning to comfort him.

But his brain was screaming at him.

He didn’t deserve the soft touches. Not after losing a fight like that. Not after withholding information on his injury. Not after greedily wasting Zack’s time. Because that’s what was happening. Not even just running away from Zack. All he could hear was how undeserving he was.

That stupid confidence he had when talking about Zack like he was his—that was for show.

Sure, he could posture in front of random people, arrogantly speak about how Zack was his boyfriend. Because at the end of the day Cloud didn’t deserve Zack.

Because Cloud wasn’t built for commitment. The anxiety would subside in front of Zack, but the moment Zack was gone? All Cloud think about was how worthless he was.

Because Zack was too much, too good, too bright—

And Cloud?

Cloud was none of those things.

Cloud’s side burned as he ran, his feet carrying him faster than they should have with a side injury. He barely processed the ground beneath his feet, the way the gravel crunched under his shoes. What he could hear in resounding clarity was Zack’s pounding footsteps. He was close. So fucking close.

His feet barely registered the gravel beneath them as he whipped around a corner, putting everything he had into a sprint—until his path was blocked by a chain-link fence.

Didn’t matter.

He jumped. Scaling the fucking fence and landing with all the grace of a dying chocobo on his feet on the other side.

Shock flared up his side, sharp, hot, tearing. Again.

Parkour and stab wounds did not go together.

Cloud turned just in time to see Zack slam into the fence, hands gripping the chain links, his breath ragged. His pupils were blown wide, his chest heaving—but he wasn’t even mad.

Just focused.

Determined.

And then he was moving. He had all of five seconds to stare at Zack’s face before the brunet was moving to scale the same wall that allowed Cloud to jump the fence.

Of fucking course Zack had parkour as a hobby; Cloud actually remembered watching an interview about that at one point. It’s what had partly garnered Cloud’s own interest a few years back.

Cloud turned tail and ran.

He had no idea where he was going.

But he was injured.

And evidently not built for non-stop high energy chases.

He barely had time to process the scenery around him, it was some topside playground he’d stumbled into. Much better than the run down ones in the slums.

Cloud turned, looking for somewhere to hide, or maybe find another spot to run through. He didn’t get more than a step into the park, when he felt warm hands slide carefully around his side, gripping his hip, nowhere near the injury, and lifting him in the air.

It was like a cat grabbed by the scruff. Cloud couldn’t fight Zack. Wouldn’t risk injuring him. And Zack, the rotten bastard, knew that. So when Zack unceremoniously hoisted him over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes, Cloud just… let him. Zack was able to be surprisingly careful of his injured side.

And when Zack plopped his ass down in a swing and stared down at him, his face still flushed, Cloud just sat there.

Zack just planted himself between his legs, crowding into his space, gripping the chains of the swing, effectively caging him in.

Cloud glared up at him. Zack just raised an eyebrow.

“Got it out of your system?” Zack grumbled, his breathing still hot as he loomed over Cloud. Zack very rarely lorded his extra seven inches of height over Cloud, but right here, he seemed content to make it so Cloud was unable to look anywhere but him.

Cloud swallowed. He had no idea what Zack was going to say, what he was going to say, but the waiting was worse than any of it.

Zack stayed where he was, keeping Cloud firmly in place with nothing but his presence, his hands still gripping the swings chains, his shoulders broad enough to block any easy escape. Unless Cloud wanted to take a tumble backwards. But not only would that make his side burn once more, it would definitely be embarrassing.

Cloud swallowed, his pulse hammering from the chase.

Zack wasn’t saying anything. He just watched him.

Like he was waiting for Cloud to break first.

And Cloud hated that it was working.

His fingers, which were twitching against his thighs, slowly reached out, gripping the edge of Zack’s pants as his forehead fell forward into Zack’s abdomen.

Zack finally exhaled, loosening his grip on the swing chains, his arms shifting just slightly—still blocking Cloud in, but less like a trap, more like he was giving him room.

“You done running?” Zack asked, his voice soft.

Cloud clenched his jaw, his throat tight, stomach knotted, and the words wouldn’t come.

So instead, he nodded. Just enough for Zack to feel it against his stomach.

“You could’ve just told me,” Zack murmured.

Cloud wavered.

Zack’s fingers slowly slid down his back, gently rubbing down from the nape of his neck to his mid back as he leaned over him.

“I didn’t—“ Cloud started but his voice cracked. Want to worry you.

He snapped his mouth shut, biting the inside of his cheek. Fucking pathetic.

Zack noticed.

He always noticed.

“Hey,” Zack’s voice was gentle, but it had weight.

Cloud finally looked up.

And Zack was still there.

Still watching him with that patient, unbearably soft expression.

Like Cloud wasn’t a mess. Like Cloud wasn’t a disaster of self-doubt and anxiety wrapped in a human body. Like Cloud hadn’t just made them run a mile purely because he was a bundle of emotions wound so tightly that each step towards something positive was another crack in his carefully built armor.

Like Cloud was just… Cloud.

And Zack wasn’t going anywhere.

Zack leaned in, his forehead nearly brushing Cloud’s.

Cloud sucked in a sharp breath, because no, he fucking didn’t.

Or—no, that wasn’t true.

He did.

He just didn’t want to admit it.

He liked Zack.

More than liked him.

And that terrified him.

Because Zack deserved more than this. More than Cloud.

That’s what it all came back to.

Zack sighed again, but instead of pulling away, he pressed a firm, warm hand against Cloud’s cheek, tilting his face slightly—not forcing, just guiding. Their noses brushing, Zack’s breath ghosting over his own.

“Cloud,” Zack murmured. “Do you think I don’t want this?”

Cloud’s throat tightened. “I—”

“Because I do,” Zack said, so easily. Like it was a fact, like it had never been up for debate. “I want this. I want you.”

Cloud hated the way a lump formed in his throat.

Hated the way Zack’s voice wrapped around his ribs and squeezed, like he was trying to carve the words into him.

“You wont eventually,” Cloud said quietly.

Zack stared at him, his thumb stroking under Cloud’s eye, not even flinching. Like he’d expected this answer, like he’d already fought this battle a hundred times in his head. “Cloud,” he murmured, softer this time. “That’s not your choice to make.”

Cloud swallowed hard. “I know how this ends.”

Zack pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him, really look at him. His eyes were bright even in the dim light of the park, open, searching, full of something Cloud didn’t know how to deal with.

“Oh yeah?” Zack said, tilting his head slightly. “So, what? You think I’m just gonna wake up one day and—what? Decide you’re not worth it?”

Cloud flinched—barely, but Zack caught it. It was impossible not to with the way he cupped Cloud’s face.

Zack’s other hand reached up, cupping the other side, grounding him. “That’s what you think, isn’t it?” he said, and there was something different in his voice now. Not pity. Not quite sadness. Frustration. Not at Cloud per se, but at the way he thought. At the fact that Cloud couldn’t see what Zack saw.

Cloud didn’t dignify it with a response.

Zack exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening slightly before easing, his forehead pressing back against Cloud’s like he was trying to anchor him.

“I don’t know who put that in your head,” Zack murmured, “but they were wrong.”

Cloud squeezed his eyes shut, his hands gripping the swing chains like they were the only things keeping him together.

“It’s just how things are,” Cloud whispered.

Zack’s breath hitched—small, sharp.

“That’s bullshit,” Zacks aid, voice low, firm.

Cloud’s eyes snapped open.

Zack was still there, still close, staring at him like he wanted to shake the words into him. Make him believe it.

“People leave, Zack,” Cloud muttered, forcing himself to look away. “It’s just how it is.”

“Not me,” Zack said instantly.

Cloud laughed—sharp, bitter, humorless. “Not yet.”

Zack let out a slow breath, like he was holding something back. “You really think that low of me?”

Cloud’s chest twisted then, his face contorting. “It’s not about you.”

“No, Cloud, it kinda is. Because you keep acting like I don’t know what I want. Like I’m gonna change my mind just because you don’t think you deserve this.”

His grip softened, but his voice didn’t.

“Like I’m such an awful person, that I’m just going to leave you.”

Cloud flinched.

Not because Zack was mad—he wasn’t.

Cloud hated the guilt that sunk into his chest, because in thinking the worst of himself, he was thinking the worst of Zack. And in a way—that wasn’t fair.

Zack’s fingers brushed against his skin again, his forehead still resting against Cloud’s like he was waiting for him to say something.

Cloud swallowed, his throat tight. His grip on the swing’s chains loosened, just barely. His pulse hammered, too loud, too much.

“...It’s not that,” he muttered. It wasn’t. Not really.

Zack hummed, like he was considering that. “Then what is it?” He pulled back just enough to give Cloud space, his hands hovering over Cloud’s on the chains of the swing.

Cloud clenched his jaw, frustration and self-loathing curling in his stomach like smoke. “I just—I don’t—” he exhaled sharply. Ran a hang through his hair, yanking at the spiked strands, frustrated with himself. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Zack met his eyes.

Cloud expected pity.

Expected some soft, sympathetic look that would make him feel even worse.

But Zack just studied him.

Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You think I know what I’m doing?”

Cloud blinked. “You seem like you do.”

Zack huffed out a small laugh. “Cloud. I’ve been winging this since the moment I realized you weren’t just some funny internet meme to me.”

Cloud snorted, despite himself. “That’s reassuring.”

“I’m serious,” Zack said, grinning now, but soft. “You think I have some grand plan? Some step-by-step guide to dating the guy who once said he’d let me put him in a chokehold for free?”

Cloud scowled. “That was years ago—”

“And yet.” Zack smirked.

Zack noticed.

His fingers brushed against Cloud’s cheek again, slower now.

“You don’t have to have it all figured out,” he murmured, voice gentler now, steady. “We can figure it out together.”

His brain was still screaming at him. Still whispering the worst things. Still telling him he was pathetic.

But Zack’s eyes were warm.

His smirk softened as he leaned in again, his voice dropping slightly. “Look, all I know is that I want to be here. With you. However that looks.”

Cloud swallowed, throat tight. The warmth of Zack’s hands, the unwavering steadiness of his gaze.

It made Cloud feel like staying.

But that would always be the problem, wouldn’t it? Because every instinct told him that if he let himself want this, really want this, it would only hurt more when it was gone.

“…I don’t know how to be what you need,” Cloud admitted, quiet, raw.

Zack exhaled, then carefully—so carefully—tilted Cloud’s chin up so their eyes met again. “Who told you that you need to be anything other than yourself?”

Cloud flinched, staring up at him.

It was something he’d grown so used to hearing it never left his head. Kind words from friends, fans, and his mother were always drowned out by screaming around him. Every negative drowned out positives most of the time.

Zack’s thumb brushed against his cheek, slow. “I’m not asking for perfect, Cloud.” His voice was low and steady, like he was saying something unshakable. “I’m asking for you.”

Cloud’s chest ached.

For a moment, he let himself exist in Zack’s space, let himself feel the weight of those words settle over him.

He exhaled sharply, his hands finally unclenching from the swing’s chains.

Zack caught one of them instantly, his fingers warm, solid, real.

Cloud squeezed back.

“…Alright,” he murmured.

Zack’s breath hitched, like he hadn’t expected Cloud to say it. But then his smile widened, bright, relieved, as he squeezed back just as hard.

“Alright,” Zack echoed.

Chapter Text

Moving in together had sounded simple in theory.

Cloud had imagined a few boxes, a quiet morning, maybe an awkward kiss at the end of it all. He’d pack up his locker, grab the one duffel bag of belongings he kept at Tifa’s and be done before lunch.

What he hadn’t anticipated was being ambushed at 9 a.m. by what could only be described as a military-grade operation disguised as a moving party.

It started with Barret pounding on the door like he had a warrant.

“You got ten seconds before I break the door down!” he bellowed.

“I live here,” Cloud muttered, opening the door.

Barret shoved past him with a clipboard under one arm and a breakfast sandwich in his hand. “Fair said we had a schedule. You owe me 2,000 gil for waking me up early on my day off.”

Cloud blinked. “I didn’t ask you to help.”

“You never ask for help,” Barret replied, stomping through the apartment like a man with a mission. “That’s why I bring invoices.”

Jesse was next, breezing in with two coffees, a label maker and an energy that said she had definitely already color-coded the move. “Tifa told me your socks are in a drawer labeled ‘Sad Bland Fabrics’. You wanna confirm or deny before I repack it?”

Wedge appeared dragging a dolly stacked with empty boxes. “Where’s your TV?”

“I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have a TV?” Biggs called from outside. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Cloud sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I sold it because I'm moving." He grumbled.

It was chaos.

And it was only going to get worse.

Because not only were they moving his things; Zack had decided the day required “celebration upgrades.”

One of which had arrived on a pallet, covered in protective wrap and threatening more smoke than Ifrit in a wind tunnel.

A brand-new, chrome-plated, digital-temp-monitored grill.

“I am calling it the Final Burner,” Zack declared proudly, patting it like it was a chocobo.

“I am calling it unnecessary,” Cloud said flatly.

“I am calling dibs on first steak!” Barret yelled, already wheeling it into position like it was a prized war machine. “Gotta make sure the heat distribution is up to standard.”

Tifa looked amused. “Didn’t know you were such a grill snob.”

“I didn’t fight a war to eat half-cooked ribs, Tifa.”

Aerith squinted at the manual. “Zack, this has a smoker, a rotisserie, and… Wifi?”

“It syncs to my phone!”

“Why does a grill need Bluetooth?” Cloud grumbled already dreading the answer.

“So I can send texts,” Zack grinned. “Cloud’s moving in, fire up the brisket, heart emoji.”

Cloud buried his face in his hands.

By midmorning, the apartment was a battlefield of cardboard and bubble wrap. Jessie was aggressively labeling things; Cloud caught a box labeled ‘Cloud’s Emotional Baggage (FRAGILE)’ and threw it in the closet.

Tifa and Aerith were on a mission to deep clean every inch of the kitchen. Sephiroth, trapped under Marlene’s hair braiding agenda, stood in the corner looking like a silver statue of defeat.

“Please,” he said to Zack at one point. “Save me.”

Zack grinned with a mock salute. “No can do, Marlene’s got priority.”

Marlene beamed and added another glitter clip to his bangs.

Barret continued to test every grill feature while offering pointed opinions like, “this thing better sear a steak so hard it repents.”

Biggs dropped a beanbag chair in the living room. “This is officially a gamer household.”

Wedge followed behind him with a twelve-pack of ramen and declared, “I bring offerings.”

Cloud honestly wasn’t sure if this was a housewarming or a hostage situation.

As the sun started to set, the boxes were (mostly) unpacked, the couch was (mostly) in place, and the grill had successfully cooked half a dozen steaks, a dozen veggie skewers, and several random slices of pineapple.

Marlene had declared Sephiroth her “new favorite fairy prince,” and Sephiroth had not denied it.

Aerith was sipping lemonade with her feet up, victorious.

Jessie was taking photos for “Cloud’s official documentation as a domesticated creature.”

Tifa was grinning.

Oh, she was grinning. Cloud could see the gentle look in her eyes and he swore at one point he saw tears in them before she turned away.

Zack was doing that soft smile again; the one that made Cloud want to kiss him and throw him out the window, in equal measure.

Cloud stood on the balcony with his coffee, watching the sky turn orange.

Zack joined him, brushing shoulders. “So… not a total disaster?”

Cloud bumped him back. “No. Not total.”

Zack slid a sneaky arm around his hips. “Could be worse.” He murmured chin on his shoulder. “You could still be hiding behind the bar pretending not to be in love with me.”

“Still time,” Cloud muttered.

Zack laughed and leaned in. “Too late, Spike. We’ve got matching toothbrushes now.”

Cloud groaned. “I’m blowing up the grill.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”