Unfulfilled
He's been living with her for about two months now. Not because they're lovers, but because he has nowhere else to go. She's always been his focal point, the one constant in his life, so he wants to stay close to her. And she loves him more than life itself, so she lets him. He knows that she's in love with him, and he thinks that someday, he'll be able to love her back. But he can't, now. He's too hurt, too broken inside to love anyone, even himself.
Despite all the reassurances, all the nights spent talking and remembering, he still can't forgive himself. Intellectually, he knows that none of it was really his fault. He couldn't have stopped Sephiroth from attacking his town, from attacking her. He couldn't have saved Zack, or Aeris, or his mother. He couldn't control the Mako in his blood and his mind, so he's not responsible for the lies.
He knows all that is true, but it doesn't take away the guilt. It doesn't take away the nightmares that send him to her room, seeking comfort in the presence of another human being. She holds him while he tells her what he can of the terrors before he has to stop talking or start crying. She tells him that everything's all right, that he's safe, that no one is going to hurt him, reassuring him until he falls asleep.
Their relationship is… strange, at the very least. They say that they're best friends, but they seem more like lovers. He's recently realized that he's been starved of human contact, and thus often finds himself cuddling with her on the couch or holding her hand while they walk. He wakes up in her bed more often than not, and neither of them ever says a word about it. She puts on a good act of not being bothered, but he knows better. He knows it hurts her to see him in pain and to be stuck in this bizarre relationship of theirs. He can't help it, though; he needs her too much to leave, and he's too scared to love her back.
She sings along to the radio while she makes dinner for the two of them, and he's surprised to hear a woman's voice instead of the girl he remembers. It's hard, sometimes, knowing that they've grown up. He's not used to thinking of her as an adult, even though it's been nearly six months since they were reunited. He's not used to thinking of himself as an adult. The five years that he was supposed to spend growing up were instead spent in a lab, being tested and tortured. He feels like he doesn't know how to be twenty-one years old, like he's still pretending to be someone he's not. He wonders sometimes if he'll ever feel like himself again. He asked her that once, after another nightmare. She toyed with his hair for a few minutes, then told him he'd feel like himself once he figured out who that was.
She makes it sound easy, even though they both know it's not. So he spends his days reading and remembering, trying to piece together the scattered shards of his identity. And he spends his nights beside her, trying to show that he loves her as best he knows how.
Somehow, it's enough.