Unreal Waking
Title: Unreal Waking
Fandom: FF7
Rating: G
Length: 583 words
Warnings: Just a little mental trauma for Cloud.
Note: Written to the song "Missing You" by Jem.
His eyes were, for the first time in nearly a year, focused and aware. Completely aware as everything was driven away from the forefront but the now, the sudden painful clarity of blood on his body and the lack of breath from the face resting against his neck. It was a horrible wrong reality that came so sudden and sharp that he almost begged the voices that had kept him inside himself for so long to come back. He didn't want to wake up for this. He didn't want to live this. He didn't want this at all, and this is what he came back to? The report of the gun hadn't driven him back out of the arms of the voices before, why now?
Why did this cause him to come out now?
He made a low sound and lifted his hands, shaky and disbelieving, denying the blood that his fingers found when he pressed them against the body. He scrabbled a little, pressing the dead form closer in an act of denial, as though he'd be able to press the body inside himself and it would be animated again. No, Zack was never so quiet.
He'd been listening to him all this time, so he couldn't be asleep, he couldn't have passed out on him like this could he? He was going to need to wake up and they'd get moving along like they usually did, and this was not blood. It wasn't blood. It wasn't blood and he felt steady breathing on his skin.
Deep breaths. In, out, in out. He could feel them, steady and slow. Zack wasn't talking yet but the breathing was there, so clearly clearly he couldn't be as his senses were trying to tell him. He wouldn't wake up to this. Zack would never ever let him wake up to this. This was all just one big prolonged nightmare, that's what it was.
That's what it had to be. He remembered every story Zack had ever told him vividly, enough so that he could have been there himself. He knew this wasn't one of them. So it was just a nightmare and he was going to wake up, really wake up, and Zack would ruffle his hair and ask him if he'd had a rough night and he'd be fine.
Because this wasn't real.
It was not real. He'd even take it up with the dream. He'd be just like he'd always thought things were going to be, take up the stories he'd been told, take them to heart and it would all be okay. He'd hit where it turned into a nightmare again and wake up before the voices started this time, and it would be just like any other morning on the base.
He could feel the breathing, steady and slow, so it had to be from the one he was hugging tightly against him. He must just have his head turned so he couldn't feel the breathing on his skin, that was all. That had to be all.
They'd need to get a bath later, because whatever they'd been into was a mess. Just a mess, because there wasn't any blood. That was just the nightmare trying to fool him.
Because he wouldn't wake up to this.
That wasn't something Zack would have let happen.
When he closed his eyes instead of looking away from the sky, the warm streaks that slid from his eyes weren't happening either.
It just wasn't real.
Fandom: FF7
Rating: G
Length: 583 words
Warnings: Just a little mental trauma for Cloud.
Note: Written to the song "Missing You" by Jem.
His eyes were, for the first time in nearly a year, focused and aware. Completely aware as everything was driven away from the forefront but the now, the sudden painful clarity of blood on his body and the lack of breath from the face resting against his neck. It was a horrible wrong reality that came so sudden and sharp that he almost begged the voices that had kept him inside himself for so long to come back. He didn't want to wake up for this. He didn't want to live this. He didn't want this at all, and this is what he came back to? The report of the gun hadn't driven him back out of the arms of the voices before, why now?
Why did this cause him to come out now?
He made a low sound and lifted his hands, shaky and disbelieving, denying the blood that his fingers found when he pressed them against the body. He scrabbled a little, pressing the dead form closer in an act of denial, as though he'd be able to press the body inside himself and it would be animated again. No, Zack was never so quiet.
He'd been listening to him all this time, so he couldn't be asleep, he couldn't have passed out on him like this could he? He was going to need to wake up and they'd get moving along like they usually did, and this was not blood. It wasn't blood. It wasn't blood and he felt steady breathing on his skin.
Deep breaths. In, out, in out. He could feel them, steady and slow. Zack wasn't talking yet but the breathing was there, so clearly clearly he couldn't be as his senses were trying to tell him. He wouldn't wake up to this. Zack would never ever let him wake up to this. This was all just one big prolonged nightmare, that's what it was.
That's what it had to be. He remembered every story Zack had ever told him vividly, enough so that he could have been there himself. He knew this wasn't one of them. So it was just a nightmare and he was going to wake up, really wake up, and Zack would ruffle his hair and ask him if he'd had a rough night and he'd be fine.
Because this wasn't real.
It was not real. He'd even take it up with the dream. He'd be just like he'd always thought things were going to be, take up the stories he'd been told, take them to heart and it would all be okay. He'd hit where it turned into a nightmare again and wake up before the voices started this time, and it would be just like any other morning on the base.
He could feel the breathing, steady and slow, so it had to be from the one he was hugging tightly against him. He must just have his head turned so he couldn't feel the breathing on his skin, that was all. That had to be all.
They'd need to get a bath later, because whatever they'd been into was a mess. Just a mess, because there wasn't any blood. That was just the nightmare trying to fool him.
Because he wouldn't wake up to this.
That wasn't something Zack would have let happen.
When he closed his eyes instead of looking away from the sky, the warm streaks that slid from his eyes weren't happening either.
It just wasn't real.