(no subject)
Sometimes Cloud wished they would come; the visions, the sounds, the impulses. Whenever he felt isolated or alone, he would start thinking about how much better he’d feel with that sterling smile next to him, how his house would feel more like a home if there were another pair of boots next to his door. And though he knew what he heard and saw wasn’t real, he still wanted it, wanted to lie to himself if only for a little while.
Then he’d remember that he’s not crazy and giving into those desires was a quick way to change that.
He’d tilt his chin up, remember his family and friends that have been there for him time and again and remind himself that there’s no reason to be lonely. He had a phone, and though he never used it, it was a comforting reminder that he had people to call. He had a whole contacts list full of people he could rely on if he needed to, and having its weight in his pocket made him stand up taller.
Zack would have been proud.
………………………………………………………..
It had been a long day. All Cloud wanted to do was get home, kick his boots off and relax with a beer, maybe two. He’d driven back to Edge all the way from Junion and it had been a hot, stressful, monster-filled ride. He pulled Fenrir into the alley next to the shop, parking it in the small garage they had squeezed between buildings. He dismounted with a sigh, glad to finally be able to stretch his legs and back. He gave the bike a fond, almost congratulatory pat before leaving, closing the aluminum door behind him.
It was late when he walked into the bar, after closing time, so there was nothing to greet him as he entered, no raucous laughter from drunken men, no scampering footsteps from children. That was ok though, he was tired and wanted to relax; he’d give everyone a proper hello in the morning.
He moved behind the bar, looking for his preferred brand of lager. He found it set on the third tap over, guaranteed to be chilled and frothy. His mind yearned for it like one would a cigarette, a small creature comfort that always took the edge off.
As he poured himself a pint, a set of steady, purposeful footsteps echoed through the floorboards above. Tifa must have heard him come in.
“Welcome home, Cloud,” She greeted, stopping in the kitchen’s doorway to casually lean on the frame. “How’d things go?”
Cloud shrugged, raising the glass to his mouth for that first glorious taste, foam kissing his upper lip. Swallowing, he answered, “It was alright, no problems. Just long.” He took another sip, appreciating the smooth texture on his tongue.
“Mm, I figured as much. If it was enough to drive you to drink it must have been really long.” Tifa smiled at him before pushing away from the door to move to the stool across from him.
Cloud knitted his eyebrows together, not understanding what she was getting at.
“You hardly drink anymore, not since our AVALANCHE days really, and I’ve never seen you have an ‘after work’ beer before.”
Cloud froze, glass halfway to his lips. That’s right. He didn’t actually like to drink, never had. During the years when he should have been experimenting with -and acquiring a taste for- alcohol, he was busy being Hojo’s test subject.
No, drinking had always been Zack’s area.
He wasn’t an alcoholic or a chronic partier or anything, he just liked to go home, kick off his boots, and settle down with a nice cold one, maybe two.
Too familiar.
“Cloud?”
Tifa leaned over the counter a bit, entering his line of sight, snapping him out of his revelation. He looked down to the head of foam in his glass, feeling like it had betrayed him somehow. He wanted to leave it, forget about the hiccup in his personality, but that’d be a waste and Tifa was sitting right there. He instead gripped his pint and downed it, spitefully getting rid of the evidence -the reminder- of his slip up. He roughly put it, now empty, in the sink among its brothers. Without abating Tifa’s concern, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs. She called after him, but he kept walking, talking as he continued. “I’m going to bed. Sorry I woke you.”
With a click that was deafening in the silence, Cloud locked himself in his room. He felt the beer settling in his stomach, a velvet warmth sitting in his gut. He wanted to throw it up, affirm that he was Cloud and pretend that he never thought otherwise and he was always sure that his thoughts were his own.
Except he didn’t.
Part of him found comfort in the weight resting in his belly, much like it did the weight of the tags around his neck that still read “FAIR, ZACK”. Somewhere, there was a piece of him that was glad to still have Zack with him, false or not. He knew it was dumb, knew it was dangerous to enjoy hallucinations, knew it would only drive him insane. He had to keep that at the forefront of his mind, keep looking at these events with unclouded eyes to keep the truth in sight.
So after he’d changed and laid down for the night, he didn’t open his eyes. Even when it felt like a hand had come to rest over his stomach, gently cradling it, he didn’t open them because he didn’t need to see to know.
Checking to see if anything was there would mean he thought it was possible there was.
He knew better.