insusurro | ARRIVAL.

ARRIVAL.

𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑼𝑺𝑼𝑹𝑹𝑶: 𝑨 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑫 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑵𝒀

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 you moved under your own power. The shadows that dwelt in the corners of your vision vanished, the world is bright and the shackles of destiny fall from your liberated limbs.

You're free.

But before you can take that next step, before you can alter your fate, a terrible howling fills your ears. It's an ill wind full of malice, one that rips you off of your feet and back, back, back from this chance to seize your destiny. The shadows coalesce into a single entity, its hands locking around your throat. It cannot let this stand.

You think that maybe this is the end. The world goes dark as it rushes past you, this is the end.

Except you wake to the feeling of rain on your skin.

The cliffs around you bare the scars of a fierce battle. Before you, a massive city faces the sea. Behind you, greenery sprawls for miles. Midgar has never looked so beautiful, but it has also never looked so unlike itself. The Sister Ray points proudly towards the sea. A bustling city crawls out from its shadow, looking wealthier and more robust than the slums ever did. You don't have long to ponder this.

Because you aren't alone. Others are coming to, looking just as confused and uncertain as you do. Some are battleworn and bloody, as if they were pulled from a fierce battle. Others appear to be in perfect health, as if they were simply pulled from a long slumber, though no less confused and lost. The howling that filled your slowly begins to fade, and as it does, the rain begins to clear.

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐀𝐑 is within a few hours walking distance. 𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐌 lies not much further in the opposite direction. There is no presence urging you to walk to one or the other, no voice from on high telling you what path your feet should walk. Underneath this infinite blue sky the choice to go - or to stay - is entirely yours.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐓?

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[ It comes like it always does, a sudden jolt, and then it's like he's standing on nothing, or maybe something, but it's all so different he can hardly tell anyway. Voices splice in and out, the faint buzzing of something that seems to get close and then suddenly swoop away; it's like having fingers sifting through his thoughts, cataloging them into all kinds of bizarre folders that he doesn't understand and only gets a glimpse of before it goes away. Darkness and light, everything blending, fading, sharpening. Aerith's hands, clasped together, or a long trail of silver hair that turns the corner and disappears, or that voice that sounds so familiar that he can't even think to place it. No, he can't place any of them. He just feels them, like they're scenes in a movie but they're all passing through his body instead of the screen.

It's no wonder that when his hands finally claw away from the matted lengths of his hair, his eyes snap open and he's immediately on edge--that his hand reaches, familiar, for the weight of the sword at his back, gripping the worn handle like it's some extension of his fingers and it doesn't really matter what it is in front of him; there's an alarming sense of discomfort, where his eyes open and he thinks he must be inside one of these visions now, and it wouldn't be the first time he felt everything in his body go tight in coiled anticipation.

Because he's alone, but he's not alone--because there's rain, and then there's no rain. Because there's scenery both familiar and different, and maybe he has to cut through it all in order to just make it back to himself. Wherever himself is. Because they're usually so short, these sudden bursts of memory or recognition or whatever they are, that it feels odd to actually remember something else--to think that he recalls standing there, with Tifa and Aerith and Barret and even Red at the end of a long road with only uncertainty in sight, and to now be alone.

A sound at his back draws his attention, makes his hand go tight on the sword. He's not in a particularly forgiving mood, or maybe it's just the pulsing pain in his head that makes him stagger, slightly, when he swings to face whatever, or whoever, happened to make it. ]

What do you want?

Hmm...

[ Cloud's always been so awfully serious, hasn't he? Zack hasn't known him for that long, considering—or he has, technically, but not truly. Catching brief glimpses of gold through the mako fever dream hardly counts as spending time with him, which is where it really matters, he thinks. But ever since that first day, bumping fists on snowy mountain tops and sharing knowing grins as they trudged on ahead together, it's always kind of felt like they've known each other for far longer. Like maybe they met in a past life or something cheesey like that. Whatever. Zack doesn't sweat the why.

The only thing that's important here is that he knows in his heart that Cloud's the only reason he's still standing. His mind makes a simple equation of it, all that they've been through=he's alive now, preserved through the multitudes of soldiers with bullets that all had Zack's name on them, all because he wanted to see his friend home. See him better. Cloud gave him that strength.

And maybe he feels a touch of something else, something that reminds him of her in an abstract way too elusive and dizzying to really meditate upon for long. Doesn't matter now. Cloud's okay. Cloud's okay! And he's talking! Shiva's heaving TITS it's so good to hear his voice again. So good that when Cloud spins himself around, the only thing he gets to see is Zack's chest as his arms reach out to pull him into a bone-bending embrace. He's never hugged anyone so hard. Oh, and he's not letting go anytime soon. ]

Can't think of anything I'd want more'n this, Strife.

[ He rubs his knuckles into Cloud's hair, gets that chocobo-gold poof all nice and ruffled. ]

[ There's not even enough room to draw the sword off his back, to swing it out between him and this person that seems to know him; a scent that's so sickly familiar that it makes his stomach turn, when they press in close, when he takes in such a large, gulping breath that it feels so unlike himself and he figures that must be proof enough that he's still trapped in whatever delusion has found him now, still tangled in the messy knots of his memories and his imagination and whatever hell they've created together. Because he doesn't know this guy. No. No, he does. Or doesn't he? Or which one is it? What the hell is going on?

His arm hangs there, awkwardly trapped between them, where the man's arms circle him so tight he thinks that if he were a balloon, he would swell and then pop, immediately, bits of plastic shot out in every direction. His fingers grip and shake around the handle of the sword and then eventually, he doesn't know why, they fall, limp; they land on this person's shoulder, who calls him Strife and rubs at his hair and his immediate reaction is some stupid smile that he doesn't understand, stretched out across his features.

He instantly wipes it off.

Painfully, he digs his elbow in between them, trying to force enough space between their bodies that at least this man won't feel every time his breath catches or comes pouring out, or how his heart stutters or how his head aches, pounds with confusion and bone-breaking pain.]

I don't... [ His voice falters, stammers, then goes hard again, serious.] I don't do hugs. Get off.

Oof.

[ That's a lotta hurt, all at once. The elbow digging in, yeah, that smarts, but it's the coldness in Cloud's voice that really knocks the wind out of him. For a second, he thinks maybe he's mistaken. That half-a-step he falls back gives him a bigger, clearer picture: the new hardware, the new posture, the new attitude. Could it be that this just isn't Cloud?

But no... It's gotta be. Right? There's that same little stud sparkling in his ear. The hair hasn't changed. And he remembers that uniform, put it on Cloud himself, in fact. No, this has gotta be his boy. It's just... also not, somehow. Goddamn, something about this really sucks and Zack isn't sure to what extent, but boy-oh-boy it's sure looking bleaker the longer he looks on. ]

Hey, I hear ya.

[ Zack's thinking about the way Cloud's smile used to kick on like a WallMarket neon whenever he caught the kid's eye. It makes his voice go real soft, like he's trying to talk down a jumper from the edge of a bridge. ]

No hugs. Deal. I'm just glad to see you up and kickin', man. You don't know...

[ Anything, really, about how hard it's been. How many sleepless nights he's stayed up with Cloud clutched against his chest, waiting for Turks to come creeping or the military to come blasting. And he doesn't want Cloud to know. Maybe it'll bring back that little ray of motion-sick sunshine he remembers if he's just allowed to believe it all worked out in the end. ]

... what a relief it is to see you like this.

[ This person stares at him like he's a disappointment; like he's searching his face for something that's not there, as if he's just torn the wrapping paper off a present that looked to be the right shape but turns out to be something completely different underneath. His first instinct, something in his gut, is to apologize, but he finds the words leave him, dying out in his throat like weeds, and hurriedly, he angles his gaze to the ground at their feet. Even there, he sees the movement hardly put much space between them--this person, this, well, SOLDIER, must be, by the look of him, has his boots close enough that he could squash in again, step on Cloud's feet and squeeze him into another gripping embrace.

The prospect is both terrifying and relieving, and he can feel the place just above the bridge of his nose start to pound with the pain of confusion. Because what exactly does it mean? The man is glad to see him, but why? Who is he? And why does his heart hurt to think that he doesn't know?

Without being able to put his hand on his sword, his arms drop down to his sides and then, preemptive, cross against his chest; his fingers dig into the flesh and he wishes he could just shake his whole head and the memories might come pouring out that way, righted and in the correct order. He doesn't know what to say, or what's even proper to say; where's Tifa when he needs her? Someone to soften the blow of whatever this is, or at least teach him how to? ]

Do I know you? [ He decides to say, his voice a little terse--and then there's a jerk of something in his head, something hard and painful, a flash of a blue sky and a scar, strong arms, laughter, happiness, and then it's gone again.

His arms come uncrossed; he braces a palm against the stranger, using his weight to try to balance himself. Maybe he shouldn't. ]

Sorry. You should go. I don't think I'm where I'm supposed to be and I don't...know what will happen.

[ That question. It feels exactly like he'd expected that last bullet to feel, like something final, a pain so excruciating that it just tears through his existence and drops him so hard that he knows he'll never get up again. Kinda makes a guy just want to lay down and die. What's really left after a look like that?

Don't get emotional. That's exactly what he needs to not do right now. Just take a big swallow of air because he's definitely forgotten to breathe for awhile now, maybe since the first time he spied Cloud standing there, and just center and focus. Except that Cloud is drawing away and into himself like maybe that's it and it ends here and whoops, there's that same pain all over again, what a wild ride it is this time around, like getting on one of those coasters at the Saucer and realizing a half a second before a loop-de-loop that the bar across your lap has come loose.

This is dumb. It's the mako addiction and he needs to not take it personally. (Right? That's a good explanation for it. Or at least it's an explanation and he really needs to hold on to one of those right now.) He's just being ridiculous, getting misty-eyed over someone who is sick and needs help. ]

Hah. You probably don't remember me. It's been... a long time.

[ They've still got whatever it was they had. Cloud's hand reaches out to steady himself and Zack is reaching out at the same time, too, like he feels it's going to happen before it does. He doesn't mean to push these new boundaries; it's so ingrained in him now, fulfilling every one of Cloud's needs without thought, without hesitation, with priority. His gloved fingers close around Cloud's elbow, strong and sure, keep him from going anywhere he doesn't want to be. His heart burrows right into his throat, threatens to choke him with every suffocating beat. ]

Don't think I'm supposed to be here either, but what are you gonna do? Maybe we could help each other, y'know.

[ Small wonder he's not too choked up to talk, but he's always been good at that, just hammering out words when he's got nothing else. ]

Get where we ought to be.

[ It feels so natural that it's almost unnatural, the way that his balance leans into the hold on his elbow and just like that, easily, it's like he's righted; his thoughts blur, threatening, for a moment, before they pass, and when he looks up at the eyes that are staring at him, still full of so much dashed hope that he almost wants to pretend he knows him just to see it disappear, it's like looking into his own reflection. It's like the tilt of Tifa's head, staring at him after so many years, or the wide-eyed blinking of Aerith's gaze, peering into his eyes, or the shame of all the people, passing by on the street, those he's done work for saying you've got that mako glow and shamefully looking away. He doesn't know what to say to make things right--only worse, always worse.

There's some relief in the words, as if they can both pretend that they're true, and not that the stranger is fumbling for something to make sense or to maybe ease both of their consciences, but he knows that he just--doesn't--know him. It's like trying to remember the times between leaving and coming back, from training to now; there's just this vast blank canvas where there should be pictures, empty lines where there should be words.

The least he can do is help him. Even if he wants to carry on by himself, alone--even if that's the safer option, for the both of them.

When he finally tears his gaze away from their shoes, he looks up at him again, and--it's almost like he doesn't even realize it, when his hand slides off the shoulder he's braced against, when he angles gloved fingers up and then, gently, runs the pad of a clothed digit down the stranger's jaw, up his cheek, feeling over that oddly familiar blemish of a scar there like he knows it but doesn't. It fades in and out, like a picture on a television with poor service.]

... Fine. Let's go, then. [ He's embarrassed of himself, immediately pressing both hands forward to put some space between them, forcing them to separate. At least enough to walk.] We should head to the city. See if we can find any information on what's happening.

[ This time, Zack is glad for the forced distance, for Cloud's reluctance to look at him. He's just not good at hiding how it affects him when Cloud captures him in a gaze that's somehow too distant and also too intense all at once, when his fingers brush against the scars that Zack always used to catch him looking at, out of the corner of his eye, and all Zack can think is, Yes. Please. Remember me.

And this Cloud, well, he is different. Similar enough, but also unfamiliar enough that his newfound boldness, the sureness Zack was never quite sure he'd grow into, makes his heart skip a beat. Or two. His face takes on a too-telling heat. He'll be thanking all the gods he's got in his repertoire that his complexion is dark enough that it doesn't really make a difference. Good thing, too, because Zack is realizing how much he carries himself like a SOLDIER (but why?), and it's such a good look on him that it's made his throat run dry enough to have to clear it before he speaks. ]

Actually... Your friends are looking for you. Tifa and Aerith.

[ A very mean, very quickly snuffed part of himself wonders if he won't remember them too, so at least he doesn't have to be alone in this heartache. But no. He'd rather be alone forever than to see them have to endure this. ]

I could bring you to them.

[ Just smile, pound a fist to your chest, summon all the sunshine in the world and get past this. ]

C'mon, follow me!

Are they alright? Where are they?

[ The names lance through him, make his throat close--at once, he's pivoting forward, threatening to get a fistful of the other's shirt in his grip like he's not really just the innocent, well-meaning big flashy smile that he's been trying to be, this whole time; because how else does he know the girls? And how does he know that they're looking for him? Or maybe it's just that he's so used to people who claim to know him being the bearers of bad news that suspicion gets the best of him, narrows his gaze in and squares his shoulders.

He comes just short of nearly throttling the man, closes his hand into a fist just beyond the shape of that broad chest, then lets his arm drop in at his side. Annoyed with himself, it eventually finds his hip; he starts walking without even looking, never mind the fact that the stranger declared follow me in the same way that a cat might lead a bird into a trap.

His head hurts. The longer he's around this person, his head hurts more. ]

It's not like I can really get lost. [ Maybe he's mumbling that more to himself as he moves, conscious of the other in a way that almost makes him ache--like he's afraid of letting him move away, like if he loses sight of him, he might be overwhelmed by a panic so dire he won't be able to do anything at all.]

Come on. Try to keep up.

[ Is that just a tiny, tiny hint of a smile at his lips? Ridiculous.]

[ Wow. That's a lot of anger that Zack hasn't seen before. If he wasn't so shocked, if it didn't make him so sad to realize what sort of things tend to make someone so touchy about dropping the names of friends, he'd be terrified.

But no. That's not right. He's seen this before, hasn't he? In snapshots, in that blurred world between succumbing to pain and holding on in hopes that he could drag himself to his feet still, keep on fighting to save Nibelheim and his friends, he'd seen exactly this. Cloud's anger isn't like anyone else's anger. It's like a hit of Berserk, but it makes him feel nothing, care for nothing but getting the kill. It was the X factor that made it possible for a shy little infantryman to fell the greatest hero of their time. Zack doesn't stand a fucking chance.

Luckily, he doesn't have to. His heart really isn't gonna catch a break today, is it? ]

O-Okay.

[ And then it's gone and Cloud is speeding away, just like that, like nothing happened. It'd take him ages to recover from the whiplash if it wasn't for the brief glimpse of—is that a smile? Oh, Cloud. He knows just what to do with those.

There's a rock he can get a running start at, spring off his hand and flip-flip-flip through the air like he's a 2nd again and this is all just fun and games in the simulation room. No real war, no real blood, no real loss, just Zack zooming over him and shooting back his own grin once he's gained the lead and walking backwards. ]

Don't worry 'bout me. I'll try and go reeeeeal slow for ya.

[ The antics, he finds, are somehow chillingly expected--like his shoulders know to deflate with a sigh, with the first little spring of the stranger past him, perfect flips that turn and turn and he considers, vaguely, jerking an arm out, or maybe a leg, to see how well this guy can deal with sudden obstacles; there's even some humor in that, in some strange image in his head of the megawatt smile and the dark tousled hair and some sheepish scrapes and bruises, but he can't tell whether it's wishful thinking or some kind of distorted memory.

His hand ghosts up over the handle of the sword again, like he's reassuring himself that it's there; for some reason, in the stranger's presence, he feels like he's not supposed to be the one to have it.

Frowning, he rolls his eyes off to the side like he's admiring the scenery. In reality, there's not much for them to see; once the bodies start to lessen, there's just blood and dirt and rock and greenery, spanned out along the path that will inevitably take him to the city. Is he really going to have to endure this for hours?

When he looks back, he scoffs. Why does it feel so natural to want to smile?]

Watch out for that rock. [ He says, dryly, though there's really nothing behind the man for him to trip on; still, Cloud makes it a point to angle his gaze down and then up again, like he's expecting the guy to go tumbling, head over heels.]

You haven't told me your name, you know.

Huh... ?

[ Zack does end up stumbling, if only because he goes from so sure and confident and free to whipping his head around to find the obstacle way too quickly. His feet are always doing their own thing, so they bring him back when he's trying to stop and he'd maybe probably most definitely fall if it wasn't for how determined he is to look cool in front of Cloud.

Well, so much for that. To add insult to injury, there isn't even anything there! He's not sure whether he's just insanely gullible (yes) or just trusts Cloud so implicitly that he doesn't think to question it (also yes), but Cloud got him. Got him good.

This is when he decides it's worth it. So what if Cloud doesn't remember him? The world deserves this quiet, mischievous, careful little creature, and if he played some part in making sure that happened, well then, who fucking cares if he has to introduce himself all over again? ]

Well look'it you. You think you're reeeealll funny, huh?

[ Obviously, considering how Zack's already laughing as he drops a hand between them. ]

Name's Zack. Oh, uh... You probably don't do handshakes either, huh?

[ He gives a faint, half-hearted shrug, as though he's not sure if he would really be classified as funny--either way, he's gotten Zack good, and that's all that really matters. It's hard not to smile, to bite at the inside of his cheek and scroll his eyes up to the foreboding, clear sky, and even though he has no idea what the hell is going on, there is some small solace in not being alone. Whoever this guy is, he's going to help reunite him with Tifa and Aerith; and that's at least a start, and that's at least a plan.

He rolls his eyes down, watches Zack drop a hand between them, and purses his lips. It reminds him of Aerith, a little, like it's one of those people things that he just doesn't quite understand. He can't remember the last time he even shook anyone's hand, or if it would matter--all he knows is that they're supposed to be firm without being crushing, too long without being too short, all these other things that seem to just come naturally to other people, as if they have a sense for it.

He continues walking, eyeing the hand before he decides--to slap his own in, like they're doing some kind of sideways high five. ]

Okay. Zack. [ He confirms, before he drops his hand away again, embarrassed, and instead reaches for the familiarity of the sword at his back, smoothing over the handle before he drops his arm. ]

You weren't injured or anything, back there? Where'd you come from?

[ Okay. That's a thing now. Sideways high-five. He can dig it. All Cloud gets is an approving nod as Zack about-faces to resume their travels.

Kind of reassuring, to see Cloud get flustered like that. Even if he is much better at hiding it now, or passing it off as a symptom of something way more epic, and even if he doesn't necessarily want Cloud to feel like he has anything to be flustered over—it's still refreshingly familiar. His spirits restored, he remembers how to put one foot in front of the other again, and they resume an easy, matching pace. ]

Nah. I'm fine.

[ Is he? Zack hasn't had a second to take stock of the wounds he endured beyond that last stand. Is this just like a third wind? A surge of adrenaline? He just can't bring himself to care for anything beyond falling into step. ]

Uhh. Been around. Sorta been all over, actually. Thought I'd head back to Midgar and visit an old friend, and then boom.

[ His hands skitter skyward. ]

You don't... know anything 'bout what's happening, do ya?

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ARRIVAL.

cloud — final fantasy vii remake — ota!

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