[ ...he doesn't (think) there's much for him to know about that. the big picture has always been beyond Cloud's peripherals, truth found only in worth and weight — and for too long, both of them lacking. he dismisses it without question, unable to pursue a line of questioning that would too easily threaten his cosmology... and, perhaps more nobly, he's receptive to letting a man be alone with his contrition, for all that he's accidentally invited himself into it. ]
Sorry.
[ for whatever reason, he feels the need to say it. sorry it's all burning down — sorry it isn't real anymore. sorry he's here to intrude. if Cloud has empathy to spare, it can be on that, even not knowing his own responsibility for ruining the picture of someone else's "love". that there are puzzle pieces not of his own becomes so apparent when Subaru points it out that he feels deficient for having missed it himself: of course it isn't real. of course Sephiroth isn't really here; there are some places even he can't be... ]
[ right? ]
I was chasing an enemy on the way here, [ is all he says by way of confirmation. even if he believes it, his knuckles haven't stopped going white in his gloves. the memory pumps fresh blood into the illusion's magic, and mixing with the petal's fall is the first black feather beginning to singe and smolder as it lilts down onto the engawa as ash. rather than await a follow-up question that feels too complicated to explain to a guy who looks like he probably doesn't even know what Midgar is, he asks one of his own, instantly deeming it higher priority: ] How do we make it stop?
no subject
Sorry.
[ for whatever reason, he feels the need to say it. sorry it's all burning down — sorry it isn't real anymore. sorry he's here to intrude. if Cloud has empathy to spare, it can be on that, even not knowing his own responsibility for ruining the picture of someone else's "love". that there are puzzle pieces not of his own becomes so apparent when Subaru points it out that he feels deficient for having missed it himself: of course it isn't real. of course Sephiroth isn't really here; there are some places even he can't be... ]
[ right? ]
I was chasing an enemy on the way here, [ is all he says by way of confirmation. even if he believes it, his knuckles haven't stopped going white in his gloves. the memory pumps fresh blood into the illusion's magic, and mixing with the petal's fall is the first black feather beginning to singe and smolder as it lilts down onto the engawa as ash. rather than await a follow-up question that feels too complicated to explain to a guy who looks like he probably doesn't even know what Midgar is, he asks one of his own, instantly deeming it higher priority: ] How do we make it stop?
[ you're his teammate now, Soobs. ]