Deeper Cause
Title: Deeper Cause
Fandom: FF7
Character: Cloud
Words: 651
Rated: G
Note: Cloud's take on Leather.
He hated leather. Okay, he didn't hate all leather, just leather clothing. On a machine or gloves, it was tolerable, it didn't draw his aversion, and if someone else was wearing it, then he had learned how to get used to the idea of just that one person wearing it.
He separated out the scent of it in his mind so that it was just 'part of that person' instead of being leather. Vincent and Tifa were prime examples of this, and he never mentioned to the latter what he was sure the former already knew. It was part of why he tended to stay away from home more than he should, because the scent and sight of leather bothered him.
He never said anything because he knew that Tifa really enjoyed wearing it, and he didn't want her to go out of her way and change something like that about herself. Or, worse and more in keeping with her approach to things, try to do something as unnerving as trying to fix his aversion to it.
It was entirely too likely he'd get a knowing look and they'd assume, very much inaccurately, that his aversion and dislike of the material had to do with Sephiroth. That wasn't it. Yes, Sephiroth wore leather, yes that added to the problem, but it wasn't at the root of it.
Really, if he wanted to point out the root of his hate, then he would have to point the finger at Hojo. The bastard could be considered the root of all evil, and he was certainly the root of all his major problems.
At one point, though the memory was hazy, he did remember enjoying leather for leather, whatever it was attached to or not. He couldn't really confirm the memory, having nothing around it to latch onto or compare it with, and he wasn't sure it was something he'd even had cause to think about before he joined the military. The memories from before then may have been clearer, but they were by no means reliable.
But that pleasure was essentially gone these days. It had been since he'd thought himself a SOLDIER for so long. He hadn't understood the reasoning at the time, had thought it had to do with his enemy and associations thereof, but he'd managed to figure out some things since then that made him realize it wasn't that simple.
If it had been that simple, he had the feeling he might have had a chance for getting over it.
This was deeper though, engraved into his bones and blood over the course of years… so he was stuck with it.
A few years ago he'd forgotten his best friend and took his place in the world. It had been an act of self-defense, a guard against what Hojo had wanted, and Hojo had wanted a clone. He'd wanted someone to be Sephiroth for him again. At least that was what he believed. Even if that hadn't been his true aim, it was still close enough that it didn't make any difference in the results.
The idea of wearing leather was appealing, and thus it was completely repellant. So, he avoided the idea, and he let himself safely hide behind the idea of hating it, taking care to get that idea as firmly planted in his mind as he could.
It was too close, and he knew something now, consciously, that he might have known when he'd assumed Zack's identity years ago. The big things wouldn't change who he was at his core.
The little things, however, would chip subtly away at his being and leave him without a grip on who he really was… or at least who he believed himself to be.
He couldn't really risk it, risk changing in the direction he might go, so he stayed on guard.
He had to be sure he noticed.
Fandom: FF7
Character: Cloud
Words: 651
Rated: G
Note: Cloud's take on Leather.
He hated leather. Okay, he didn't hate all leather, just leather clothing. On a machine or gloves, it was tolerable, it didn't draw his aversion, and if someone else was wearing it, then he had learned how to get used to the idea of just that one person wearing it.
He separated out the scent of it in his mind so that it was just 'part of that person' instead of being leather. Vincent and Tifa were prime examples of this, and he never mentioned to the latter what he was sure the former already knew. It was part of why he tended to stay away from home more than he should, because the scent and sight of leather bothered him.
He never said anything because he knew that Tifa really enjoyed wearing it, and he didn't want her to go out of her way and change something like that about herself. Or, worse and more in keeping with her approach to things, try to do something as unnerving as trying to fix his aversion to it.
It was entirely too likely he'd get a knowing look and they'd assume, very much inaccurately, that his aversion and dislike of the material had to do with Sephiroth. That wasn't it. Yes, Sephiroth wore leather, yes that added to the problem, but it wasn't at the root of it.
Really, if he wanted to point out the root of his hate, then he would have to point the finger at Hojo. The bastard could be considered the root of all evil, and he was certainly the root of all his major problems.
At one point, though the memory was hazy, he did remember enjoying leather for leather, whatever it was attached to or not. He couldn't really confirm the memory, having nothing around it to latch onto or compare it with, and he wasn't sure it was something he'd even had cause to think about before he joined the military. The memories from before then may have been clearer, but they were by no means reliable.
But that pleasure was essentially gone these days. It had been since he'd thought himself a SOLDIER for so long. He hadn't understood the reasoning at the time, had thought it had to do with his enemy and associations thereof, but he'd managed to figure out some things since then that made him realize it wasn't that simple.
If it had been that simple, he had the feeling he might have had a chance for getting over it.
This was deeper though, engraved into his bones and blood over the course of years… so he was stuck with it.
A few years ago he'd forgotten his best friend and took his place in the world. It had been an act of self-defense, a guard against what Hojo had wanted, and Hojo had wanted a clone. He'd wanted someone to be Sephiroth for him again. At least that was what he believed. Even if that hadn't been his true aim, it was still close enough that it didn't make any difference in the results.
The idea of wearing leather was appealing, and thus it was completely repellant. So, he avoided the idea, and he let himself safely hide behind the idea of hating it, taking care to get that idea as firmly planted in his mind as he could.
It was too close, and he knew something now, consciously, that he might have known when he'd assumed Zack's identity years ago. The big things wouldn't change who he was at his core.
The little things, however, would chip subtly away at his being and leave him without a grip on who he really was… or at least who he believed himself to be.
He couldn't really risk it, risk changing in the direction he might go, so he stayed on guard.
He had to be sure he noticed.