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The stars glittered behind the clouds as twilight approached, trying to emit their light in vain. Mist hung in the humid air as rain fell steadily from an indigo sky.
With every step forward, Cloud’s feet felt that much heavier. He squinted amidst the cool water raining down on him, plinking on buildings and whirring as it ran through a nearby gutter and trickled out onto the dark street.
He glanced down at the scrap of paper Selphie had given him, the loopy penmanship harder to make out as it absorbed droplets of water. As the rain picked up, beginning to fall in sheets, Cloud made sure he had correctly read the house number before the ink bled through the paper and became nothing more than squiggly blue lines and drops of ink-filled rain. The wetness quickly spread across the piece of paper to create firework-patterned writing out of the expanding, now distorted numbers and words.
Cloud blinked water out of his eyes, though it clung to his lashes, blurring his vision.
By now, his spiky hair had mostly flattened to his head. He didn’t exactly feel clean, either. And he knew he had lost some weight. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t. His appearance mattered little at a time like this.
This was about so much more than simply searching for a place to stay between missions. If that were his goal, he could easily check into a cheap motel somewhere in the outskirts of the city; he had enough gil for it. If Cloud was completely honest with himself, however, he didn’t know what he would do if Squall shut him out.
The moment he recovered the last letter he had received from Squall before the messages stopped arriving — scrawled by a desperate 17-year-old trying to reach the one person who’d promised to stay by his side no matter what, pleading with him one last time to please come home — he had felt an unrelenting shift within his spirit. His eyes had welled up with tears that wouldn’t quite fall, while his heart clenched so painfully that he had slid down to the floor with his hand to his chest, trying to recover.
His heart gave a lurch as he recalled the memory. Even now, his mind berated him over and over, tainting him with thoughts he dared not linger on. This will never work out. You left him. You screwed him over. He doesn’t want you anymore. You treated him like an afterthought and you shouldn’t expect him to even open the door for you…
He shook his head, attempting to vanquish the barrage of pitiful worries. Despite his passionate self-loathing, his resolve would not be quelled.
The connection he and Squall had shared, after all, was built to withstand things much stronger than the simple logic his brain tried supplying him. They had never been traditional. They had never followed the rules. Why should they start now?
The mere notion of the heartache that would overwhelm him if he were rejected terrified Cloud, but he had to see Squall. He had to talk to him.
Clenching his jaw in determination, he turned a corner to find an array of a half-dozen small houses scattered along the cobbled pavement. A singular street lamp lit up the numbers of the houses he approached. He could make out the first few: 73, 74, 75...
Cloud blinked as he counted the next few houses down, smiling shakily despite his trepidation. Of course Squall lived on the very corner, with one less neighbor to his side.
He reached the last house, boots slowly coming to a halt in a puddle of rainwater. Seventy-eight. I'm here.
And maybe, he thought with hope straining in his chest, maybe, Cloud was home.