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“How the hell are we going to find everyone in here?” you hiss at Cloud as the two of you approach the bar, the muffled bass of the club’s music thumping through the street.
The Neighborhood Watch had been called out earlier to clear monsters from the old factory in Sector 7, and you and Cloud had drawn the short straws for the job. Meanwhile, the rest of your group had been free to start their Saturday night at the club—long before you were even done wiping grime off your boots.
As you approach the infamous Wall Market establishment, you notice the line curls around the corner of the building and stretches down the road like a serpent of impatient clubgoers. Thankfully, Tifa had secured guest list spots for the group, sparing you both from the mile-long wait. But the guest list could only get you through the door—actually locating your friends in the chaos was an entirely different challenge.
Cloud grabs your wrist, his fingers firm but not rough as he leads you through the throng of revelers spilling into the street. The air smells of alcohol and smoke, laced with Wall Market’s distinct mix of cheap perfume and fried food. Once you make it past the milling crowd, he finally answers your question: “Good question.”
Filing into the much-shorter guest list line, you glance at the neon-lit building and groan internally. The last time the whole gang had gone out like this, it had been a chaotic, albeit memorable, mess. Aerith and Tifa always gravitated toward the dance floor, while Barret, towering and gruff, acted like their personal bodyguard, arms crossed as he scanned for anyone who might step out of line. Jessie had a habit of vanishing into the crowd to flirt, while Biggs and Wedge usually ended up near the dartboards or food stalls, wingmanning each other to varying degrees of success.
“I guess we’ll just have to check the usual spots,” you say as you step forward, handing the bouncer your ID. He barely glances at it before confirming your name on the guest list and motioning you inside. Cloud follows right after, his ID cleared just as quickly.
The music hits you like a tidal wave as you step through the doors, the heavy bass reverberating through your chest. The room is packed, the air thick with vodka, sweat, and the faint sting of cheap cologne. Cloud grimaces, his discomfort evident. You knew he hated places like this, but he wouldn’t have let you come alone. That wasn’t his style.
Scanning the crowd proves futile almost immediately. At barely five feet tall, your line of sight is limited to people’s shoulders, and the dim lighting does you no favors. You glance up at Cloud, who stands stiff and on edge, his shoulders visibly tense as he navigates the sea of bodies. Without his sword strapped to his back, he looked oddly out of place, vulnerable even, though you knew better than to think he couldn’t handle himself.
“Let’s start near the dance floor,” you suggest, already guessing where Tifa and Aerith might be. Cloud doesn’t respond, but he grabs your wrist again, gently pulling you along. His hand is warm, his grip steady, and you find yourself hyper-aware of the simple contact.
As you weave through the crowd, you can’t help but marvel at Cloud’s natural magnetism. People always seemed drawn to him, even when he didn’t want the attention. At the bar, women would try their luck with him, only to be met with his signature deadpan “not interested.” You always found it amusing—and, admittedly, a little satisfying—to watch him shoot them down.
Not that you were immune to his charm. You’d had your moment of weakness when you first met him, caught off guard by the mix of his striking good looks and quiet intensity. But it didn’t take long to realize he wasn’t the kind of man who entertained romantic entanglements. So you'd swallowed the pill that you'd never have a chance with him a long time ago, and you'd totally, fully moved on.
By the time you reach the edge of the dance floor, you’ve seen no sign of your friends. The mass of bodies sways under flashing lights, the energy chaotic and almost hypnotic. You scan the crowd, looking for Tifa’s distinctive braid or Aerith’s pink dress, but it’s like searching for a needle in a neon haystack.
“You see anyone?” Cloud shouts over the music, his sharp blue eyes darting across the crowd.
“Nope!” you yell back, shaking your head. “Maybe we should grab a drink and wait them out!”
He nods, taking your wrist yet again as he leads you toward the bar. Thankfully, two stools are open, and you settle into one with a sigh of relief. Cloud signals the bartender and orders without hesitation: a beer for himself and a vodka cranberry for you. You raise an eyebrow at him as the drinks are set in front of you.
“You know me so well,” you tease, lifting your glass in a mock toast.
Cloud smirks faintly, his blue eyes meeting yours. “I’d hope so by now.”
You clink your glass against his and take a sip, the tart, icy drink hitting the spot. For a moment, you relax, the chaotic energy of the club fading into the background.
“I like your hair,” Cloud says suddenly, his tone casual but his gaze focused.
You blink at him, surprised. Cloud wasn’t one for compliments, and the fact that he’d noticed you’d done something different was almost shocking. “Oh, uh, thanks. I just curled it.”
“It looks nice,” he adds, his voice quieter now, but the sincerity in his tone is unmistakable.
You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks and quickly take another sip of your drink to hide it. “Thanks,” you murmur, unable to meet his gaze for too long without feeling your pulse quicken.
The moment is interrupted when your eyes catch sight of a familiar figure across the room. Your heart drops.
“Fuck,” you hiss, setting your drink down a little too hard.
“What is it?” Cloud asks, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity. He tilts his head slightly, his sharp blue eyes flicking to your face. You barely hear him over the rising panic thundering in your chest.
You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “You remember my ex, right?”
Cloud’s brows furrow as he searches his memory. “Uh... Matt? Yeah. Why?”
“He’s here,” you mutter, sneaking a quick, panicked glance over your shoulder. Sure enough, Matt is weaving through the crowd, his gaze locked on you like a missile. “I made eye contact, and now he’s definitely coming over.”
Cloud looks at you, his expression still unreadable. “Okay... and what’s the problem? Are you not over him or something?”
“What? No! Of course, I’m over him!” you snap, a little louder than intended. His question catches you so off guard that you forget the growing anxiety clawing at your throat. “The problem is he’s not over me.”
Cloud follows your gaze toward the oncoming Matt, then looks back at you, still seeming a little lost. “Oh,” he says flatly, as if that explains everything. His brow creases, though, as he adds, “So... what do you want me to do about it?”
Sometimes, you wished Cloud had a more typical emotional compass, because trying to explain the nuances of a clingy ex to him while in full panic mode wasn’t ideal. Then again, that straightforwardness, that lack of pretense, was one of the things you liked about him. He was frustratingly oblivious, sure, but it was also... endearing.
“I need you to do something,” you say quickly, leaning closer. The words spill out in a rushed whisper. “Anything. Just—I don’t care what. Distract him, scare him off, I don’t know. Just help me avoid a conversation. I cannot deal with him tonight.”
Cloud’s eyes flick back to the crowd again. Matt is closer now, his determined march unrelenting. You can feel your stomach sinking as the distance closes between you.
“What happened?” Cloud asks, his voice calm despite your clear distress. “Why’s he still hung up on you?”
You shake your head, frustration bubbling alongside your panic. “Because he doesn’t understand what ‘no’ means. I broke up with him nine months ago, Cloud. And he’s still texting me. Thirty-seven messages, all ignored.” You glance over your shoulder again, groaning. “God, I knew coming here was a mistake.”
Cloud doesn’t say anything for a moment, his face impassive as he processes what you’ve just said. Then, almost imperceptibly, his jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow slightly as he looks past you.
“All right,” he says finally, his tone low and steady. “I’ve got it.”
Before you can answer, Cloud’s hands are suddenly on your face, his palms warm and steady. Before you can even process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.
Time seems to freeze. The kiss is firm but not rushed, his lips soft and warm against yours. Your heart stutters in your chest, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the taste of him—fresh, clean, and slightly minty. By the time he pulls back, your mind is spinning.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, running a hand through his blonde hair. “He was right behind you. I wasn’t sure what else to do.”
“It’s fine,” you manage to say, though your voice wavers. Fine? Cloud Strife just kissed you, and all you can say is fine?
“Are you sure?” he asks, his gaze searching yours.
You nod, though your heart feels like it’s about to explode. “Yeah. Really.”
Cloud glances over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to see Matt retreating, clearly discouraged. Relief floods your chest, but it’s quickly replaced by the memory of Cloud’s lips on yours.
“Was it... okay?” he asks, his voice hesitant.
You laugh, the sound a little breathless. “Cloud, get real. Of course it was.”
A faint blush dusts his cheeks, and he looks down at his lap with a small, almost bashful smile. The sight is so disarmingly sweet it nearly undoes you.
“Do... you want to do it again?” he asks softly, barely loud enough to hear over the music.
Your heart skips a beat. “What?”
He shakes his head quickly. “Never mind. Forget I—”
Before he can finish, you lean forward, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his. This time, there’s no hesitation. Cloud responds almost immediately, one hand sliding to the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss. Electricity sparks through you, and for the first time all night, the chaos around you melts away.
When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm on your skin. “I’ve always wanted this,” he admits.
“Me too,” you breathe, your heart full to bursting.
He chuckles softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Let’s skip finding the others and get out of here.”
You laugh, downing the rest of your drink in one go. “Lead the way.”