[Cloud lifts a hand to Zack's face, holding it there and brushing his thumb over the swell his cheek, gazing down at him.] You don't gotta be angry, [he says softly, thumb stroking rhythmically, their voices in the room almost muffled as if the setting sunlight casting slanting shadows is pressing a blanket over their words. The room feels simultaneously too small and too big, in a good way. It's just them in here. It's only them in here.] But you gotta be here.
['Here.' Alive again, in whatever manner that means in a place like this. Building a life, in whatever capacity is available to them. Years and years of the both of them, drifting from place to place, going where ordered, belongings stuffed into canvas bags or abandoned. Cloud didn't bother decorating his room until just a couple months ago, and of all the things Zack's collected over the years, the only object he'd never leave behind is the Buster. Opposite ends of the spectrum but to the same purpose.
It's the same with feelings. Cloud, letting himself be shackled, the weight of his pain and emotions sometimes so great he can't barely get out of bed, can't hardly drag himself through the days until he makes it back up to the surface where the sunlight is. Zack, pushing every painful thing as far beneath him as he can manage, launching himself up into the sky to float above it. Beautiful, maybe even inspiring, but even birds get tired of flying. Eventually he'll come back down and all the shit he tried to soar above will be right there, ready and eager to put its claws back into him.
Zack doesn't have to be angry. But he has to be here. And everything he's been pushing beneath him is right here too, whether or not he wants it to be.
Cloud blinks slowly, watching Zack's face in the stretching shadows as he revels in the feeling of warm skin. In a memory he's resolutely ignoring for right now Zack's skin is cold, and wet, and the breaths at his lips bubble red but right here and now, Zack's tired and warm and his chest rises strong enough to lift Cloud a little bit with each sigh.
He leans down to kiss him. Pulls back.] Love you, [Cloud murmurs, still stroking Zack's face.]
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['Here.' Alive again, in whatever manner that means in a place like this. Building a life, in whatever capacity is available to them. Years and years of the both of them, drifting from place to place, going where ordered, belongings stuffed into canvas bags or abandoned. Cloud didn't bother decorating his room until just a couple months ago, and of all the things Zack's collected over the years, the only object he'd never leave behind is the Buster. Opposite ends of the spectrum but to the same purpose.
It's the same with feelings. Cloud, letting himself be shackled, the weight of his pain and emotions sometimes so great he can't barely get out of bed, can't hardly drag himself through the days until he makes it back up to the surface where the sunlight is. Zack, pushing every painful thing as far beneath him as he can manage, launching himself up into the sky to float above it. Beautiful, maybe even inspiring, but even birds get tired of flying. Eventually he'll come back down and all the shit he tried to soar above will be right there, ready and eager to put its claws back into him.
Zack doesn't have to be angry. But he has to be here. And everything he's been pushing beneath him is right here too, whether or not he wants it to be.
Cloud blinks slowly, watching Zack's face in the stretching shadows as he revels in the feeling of warm skin. In a memory he's resolutely ignoring for right now Zack's skin is cold, and wet, and the breaths at his lips bubble red but right here and now, Zack's tired and warm and his chest rises strong enough to lift Cloud a little bit with each sigh.
He leans down to kiss him. Pulls back.] Love you, [Cloud murmurs, still stroking Zack's face.]