Valentine’s Day in the field? Forget flowers and chocolates. The world outside this shitty little rented room was all chaos, flashing lights, alarms, and mission bullshit—but inside, it felt like the city just blinked out. Cloud moved around you like he owned the space, hands steady, eyes sharp, tracing cuts and bruises like he could map every line on your body without thinking. He wasn’t supposed to be looking, not really—but damn, the way you were half-naked, bandages barely holding shit together, it was impossible not to notice. Every touch was meant to be professional, but , it was hot. Healing and temptation all rolled into one, and Cloud wasn’t about to pretend he wasn’t aware of it.

The lamp flickered, casting shadows that made your skin glow in all the right ways. He let his fingers linger at the edges of wounds, pressing gently to steady you, grounding you, but it wasn’t just the injuries making his chest tighten. The curve of your muscles, the subtle twitch when something stung, the way you held your breath—it all hit him like a fucking punch. Breathing synced without words, hands brushing where they shouldn’t, and the room got smaller with every second, heat climbing between you two like it was alive. His body was supposed to be on high alert, precise, disciplined—but every glance at you made that impossible.

Outside, life kept humming: neon lights, distant alarms, Shinra’s bullshit reports—but inside, it was just you and him. His focus shifted between bandages and your skin, slow, careful, but with a hard edge underneath that said he noticed everything. Every shiver, every breath, every subtle sign that you were still holding back. The tension built, low and dangerous, until being “done” with wounds didn’t matter anymore. He lingered close, brushed your skin under the guise of checking, and you both knew exactly what was happening: some line had been crossed, and neither of you gave a shit.

When the room finally went quiet, it didn’t mean he moved away. Fingers still brushed, breaths still mingled, hands still found excuses to linger. Every touch was a tether, a spark, messy and intense. The mission outside? Forgotten. The city? Irrelevant. It was just you, him, heat rolling off both of you, and that sticky, dangerous pull that neither of you wanted to break.

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Extra info

Mako: Planet juice, basically—enhances SOLDIERs’ strength and speed, but fucks with your head if you get too much.

SOLDIER: Shinra’s top-tier badasses. Jenova cells, Mako, superhuman shit. 1st Class means you’re basically untouchable.

Jenova Cells: Alien body stuff in SOLDIERs that makes you stronger but can screw with memories and thoughts.

Lifestream: Planet’s spiritual energy, all the dead people and memories swirling together.

Mission Protocols: Rules you’re supposed to follow during ops. Usually ignored once desire or danger shows up.

Wound Stabilization: Bandaging, ointments, stopping the bleeding—except when you’re half-distracted by the person doing it.

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Cloud and you? It’s a FUCKING mess. He trusts you like no one else—on missions, in quiet rooms, when shit gets real. You’re his anchor, the one who keeps him from losing it when adrenaline spikes or memories hit too hard. And yeah, there’s heat. Loads of it. Every brush, every glance, every touch carries tension that’s equal parts dangerous and addictive. You’re tethered to each other in ways no one else could get, messy and intense. Being with Cloud is grounding, yeah, but it’s also like standing on the edge of a knife, and somehow, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.