002
Title: February 7th
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Rating: PG
Word count: 558
Pairing: Cloud/Aerith
Summary: February 7th, Cloud walks up to Aerith’s room, flowers in hand.



Elmyra opens the door and greets him with her usual smile—it’s not quite genuine, and Cloud knows she’s never really liked him all that much, but she tolerates him at least. He nods back politely.

“Up you go then,” she says, gesturing towards the stairs.

The young man couldn’t think of much to give her – much she’d really appreciate, anyway – and so flowers for the flower lady it is. And although he’s never really had much of a knack for this kind of thing, he tried his very best to pick out the most beautiful for her. A visit to the flower field far from Midgar and he had all he needed; a handful of bright yellow daisies, intertwined with blue-red-gold wildflowers that found their way into his hands.

February 7th, Cloud walks up to Aerith’s room, flowers in hand.

There’s a little music coming from the upstairs, bringing the house to life. Gently he knocks on her bedroom door, and opens it just a little; he peeks his head in, makes sure it’s alright to enter before opening the door the whole way with a creak.

“Hi…” he murmurs under his breath, hands still grasped tightly around the flowers. Her flowers.

The room looks as it always does; tidy for the most part, but there’s a draw or two open, and an idle piece of clothing tossed carelessly at the foot of her bed. There’re still a few flowers on top of her chest of drawers, not to his surprise.

And on her desk is a pile of birthday cards—the others had obviously been here before him. Cloud picks up a particularly eye catching one – a fairly cute picture of two brightly coloured moogles – and starts to read it.

To Aerith, happy birthday!

Cloud smiles, glad that they all remembered.

I’m sorry I don’t visit you as much as I should. It’s just that I’m so busy with work and all, looking after Marlene and Denzel... Marlene is so beautiful now—I know you’d have loved her. She misses you a lot, Aerith. I miss you so much too. I still can’t believe you’re gone. I love you, Aerith.

-Tifa.

Cloud doesn’t smile as much anymore, and reaches over for another card. His eyes are blurry now – from the scent of the flowers, of course – so he just scans over it.

Hey girl… I felt kinda weird writing this card out for you… we all miss ya like you wouldn’t believe… guess I’ll have to spend your birthday flying the Highwind extra high… Cid.

He puts the card down with a shaking hand and doesn’t want to read anymore. And he doesn’t want to cry – won’t cry for her now – no matter how much their words and the horribly empty room inspires him to do so.

It’s too hard for him to comprehend, how everyday they act as if it’s all the same—and, although he doesn’t like the thought, almost everything is the same. There’s just one small thing missing, one tiny life that was taken before its time.

Other than that, the room is eerily haunting. But then again, it’s not as if a ghost can come and sort out her room to tell people just that; this room belongs to a dead girl.

And so he does what he came to do, and places the flowers and his own card down on the centre of her bed.

Aerith, it reads, didn’t you tell me you were coming back?

Title: Spoils of War
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Rating: PG
Word count: 401
Characters: Cloud, Zack and Aerith.
Summary: They call him a living legend, but he just calls himself a modern day tragedy.


It’s nice for them all to be able to glorify the war – his life – as easily as they do. A soldier of fortune and a bringer of peace; a saviour to them all. But it wasn’t like that (isn’t like that); it wasn’t an adventure in mysterious lands and exotic countries: it was a battlefield, each change of scenery as disturbing as the last. The sounds of gunshot and clashing of metal against metal – against flesh – don’t let him forget as he tries to sleep each night.

They call him a living legend, but he just calls himself a modern day tragedy, feeling there’s no emphasis on his part. After all, he got himself into it all with his stupid, childish determination to prove himself, and now he has the loss to go along with it. The faces of all the men he knew – good, honest, normal men, with people to mourn for them – are blood covered in his mind and oh so empty, and no! they just don’t deserve any of it.

Being a soldier is never easy, whether you fight for a superpower or a rebel organisation—he should know; he’s worked for both. And sometimes it was harder fighting for Shinra, even with their well funded forces, powerful artilery and superior numbers. It was all the rules that got him; the codes of conduct that he never quite understood.

For example, why should one man – while he himself is wounded - have to carry him on his back to safety, only to be murdered? He watched that soldier – no, his friend – as they gunned him down until his corpse only moved with the thunder of bullets. He watched, and did nothing. Call it mako poisoning, post-traumatic stress or whatever you will, but he did nothing.

And why should one girl, more innocent than he dared describe with words, be taken from this world when not even the Lifestream had decided her fate yet? He was the hero, and she was the martyr. No, not a martyr. She was just a scared little girl who wasted her life in fear and persecution, only trying to better herself for others; in truth, she smiled often but was happy rarely.

There was no way he could even begin to comprehend peace anymore.

There was only comforted in those silent ghosts and lingering memories.