Set Against the Grain

Drabbles following the exploits of Zack and Cloud, via Final Fantasy VII/Crisis Core.

--7--

Zack stumbled through the doorway, clumsily pushing past the annoyed blond in hopes of reaching the couch before he completely passed out. His balance, however, was threatening to introduce his face to the floor before he'd get the chance.

"The fuck, Zack?"

Luckily, and with less grace than he'd admit, he fell helplessly upon his goal, though much worse for wear.

"Are you drunk?"

If only. Unfortunately, the brunet SOLDIER was beyond inebriated. Even the mention of alcohol couldn't penetrate the wall currently closing in around him.

He was suffocating.

Having much experience with dealing with an intoxicated Zack Fair, Cloud must have noticed the difference.

Closing the half-open door, the cadet moved to stand in front of his friend. There was a long moment when neither said anything, before Zack turned his head to the side and opened his eyes. Cloud hadn't thought for a moment that he had fallen asleep. There was a tenseness etched harshly along the older man's frame, and though he tried to keep his features schooled, his expression was tight and riddled with emotion.

He waited.

Uncharacteristically, Zack held his words at bay for longer than both of them would have thought. Then again, he was not often silenced to such a degree, and this caused Cloud to measure his own thoughts, to gauge as much as he could from Zack's expression so he would be prepared for the outcome.

"Angeal's gone," Zack spoke.

His voice was softer than usual, and there was a desperation that brought the other to his knees. Cloud had questions and thoughts and emotions that clawed behind his eyes and begged to spill forth from his lips, but he kept himself in check, instead simply raising his arms and circling them around Zack's waist. He let Zack pull him closer until the brunet was clinging tightly to his smaller frame. This caused Cloud to clutch the other man's shoulders and hold him just as tightly, desperate as well for the comfort the embrace offered.

This was why Zack was afraid of the younger man. There was a sensitivity that poured out of the blond that gave him incredible power. At the same time, however, it could so easily be broken. And Zack was afraid he'd be the one to do it.

"I don't—" he began, but he stopped to pull in a much needed breath, clutching Cloud tighter with every word he spoke.

"I don't know if he's coming back."

Cloud was not unaware of Zack's tendency to remember. It was a desperation that infiltrated every thought, every emotion, every action, and every word he ventured.

And just like every other time he came home broken, Cloud silently worked to piece him together before the sunrise.

He had no false hopes—no empty encouragements. All he had was himself, and Zack was willing to accept that.

Burying the fingers of his right hand in the dark hair falling down the brunet's back, Cloud raised his head enough to gaze upon the broadsword placed carefully in the corner by the door—a constant reminder having been there for months—and stilled. The blade was dull from nonuse, dust having collected unknowingly upon the surface of the hilt. Moonlight from beyond the open window across the room stretched shamelessly down the length of the blade, catching his eye and causing a certain anxiety to crawl underneath his skin. It was a sense of foreboding.

When Zack pulled back from his hold, Cloud broke his gaze from the relic.

Suddenly, Cloud grabbed hold of the older man and crushed their bodies together. A determined expression made its way across his features and his thoughts converged on one point.

What the hell, Angeal? What right do you fucking have?

Apparently, Angeal's legacy was having a greater impact than any of them had expected.