Theme 9 My Happy Ending
Cloud was thirsty. Very, very thirsty. Cup after cup he kept filling his glass to the rim before he quickly consumed the entire glass in close to one gulp. After what seemed like gallons of water and finally satisfied, the blond left the glass in the sink and slumped against the counter. He slid his hands - rough and calloused - through his hair, smearing dirt and sweat over the strands and dulling the natural sheen. He sighed, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.
He had been sparring, out in the woods behind the very, very small cabin in which he had invested, in the one area there were no trees. It was just large enough where he would not hit the trees or any rocks or other obstructions. It was only a twenty minute walk and secluded enough that no one would hear him if they happened to be walking close to his home or area.
As he sat and relaxed, Cloud wondered why it was that he chose to live alone after all these years instead of just keeping Tifa happy and living with her. Often he thought it was because he needed space to recover from his traumatic past and everything he had experienced. And maybe he wasn't the only one to have experienced it, but to Cloud, it went deeper than saving the planet or helping the innocent. Much deeper.
Sephiroth had been his idol, even as they chased him down to the Northern Crater to destroy him and Jenova and their entire plot. After he had come to terms with his past, his memories, and everything around him, he still found that he could not hate this man. Not seldom was he wont to let his thoughts wander about what his idol used to be and what happened. Seldom did this not bother him; in fact, it was mostly the source of his grief, as of late. He had wanted to be Sephiroth, in every way. He wanted to be as powerful as that man and as intimidating and to have such a reputation and presence. He wanted that glory, that respect and so much more.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized that perhaps he was that man - or even more - now that he had saved the world what could be considered twice. Not alone, he scoffed, but he had helped. If he were Sephiroth, he would have done it alone and with such pride and skill and...
Cloud stopped, opened his eyes, and sighed once more. It was always like this, every time. Even though he had become a hero, he was a powerful force, everything Sephiroth was, the doubt was still there. A huge part of him was still that terrified, shy, and overly guilty fourteen year-old he had been when he first joined the Shin-Ra military. Sometimes when he thought of Sephiroth, it was still the way he did when he was so young: with intense admiration and love for a man he knew he would never truly know.
Did he regret ending Sephiroth's existance? Sometimes. It was rare, and he never, ever told a soul that he felt that, but he knew, deep down that Sephiroth deserved none of that. On his first journey with Tifa and Barret and the group, he had learned enough about Sephiroth and Hojo's scheming to know that Sephiroth was more innocent than he was guilty. That was the source of his regret, the fact that he had finished a man who deserved none of it, and couldn't even have done anything about it.
In his ideal world, he would have been in SOLDIER, 1st Class. He would have been successful, and Sephiroth would most likely still be alive. And perhaps Vincent would still be in his coffin, and Jenova would still be in her silly cell in Nibelheim. Tifa still does and always would have her bar, and Barret would be happily ranting about the Mako reactors and their threat. Life would have been, well, as it always had been.
Cloud knew better, though. He knew dreams didn't come true. He was never in SOLDIER, 1st Class, and Sephiroth wasn't alive and never will be alive again (or would he? He often wondered this, too, but was quick to dismiss it as nonsense).
His shoulders slumped as he eased from the counter and shuffled into the section of his cabin he called a living room. With a heavy sigh he fell ungracefully to the tattered and dusty two-seat sofa, watching as the twilight sun illuminated the dust particles that floated in the air. Beautiful, sure, but lonely, so very, very lonely.
He was lonely, and he knew it. He was unhappy, unfulfilled and unsuccessful, and he knew that too. No one ever visited because no one knew where he was now, and he liked it that way. They wouldn't have to deal with his problems, only he would.
As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered what everyone's "happy ending" was, now that the world was very much safe from destruction and the day had been saved. He wondered if everyone was happy. All he could do now was wonder if his solace and melancholy were his happy ending.
Often, Cloud wished for one that was truly happy.