Unwritten

The Future is Unwritten

Smoke congested the air; far-reaching flames confined Cloud to the center of Nibelheim. Wailing, crumbling, crackling—the soundtrack to a horror movie he couldn't turn off. Frantically, he searched the chaos for the culprit. "Sephiroth!" he yelled, gripping his Buster Sword.

Amidst the fumes and the fire, a pair of familiar eyes emerged, as sinister as green. Cloud attempted to charge forward but found his limbs paralyzed as the silver-haired monster slowly approached. Fear mushroomed in his chest.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Nibelheim, Sephiroth—everything—dissolved.

"Hellooo?" whispered a soft voice, "Cloud, are you okay?"

The mercenary grunted, rubbing the sleep from his blurry eyes as he sat up. Aerith observed, waiting patiently for a response. "Cloud?" she repeated, scooting closer.

"I'm fine."

"You didn't look fine," she pointed out, "you were flinching and talking in your sleep."

"What did I say?" he asked curiously, hoping he hadn't divulged too much.

"Sephiroth," Aerith replied quietly.

Cloud's hands clenched; the name stirred an immediate sense of discomfort in the pit of his stomach. "Do you...want to talk about it?" Aerith asked cautiously.

"I said I'm fine," he spoke sternly, instantly regretting the tone.

It had been months since his last confrontation with the Whispers and Sephiroth. Cloud still wasn't sure what to make of everything the group had experienced, and the knowledge that Sephiroth was still out there was unsettling, to say the least.

He glanced at Aerith, who still sat beside him, though her eyes were fixed on her lap. Some of the visions he'd seen during the confrontation still haunted him; although those futures were no longer set in stone, their potential disturbed Cloud. "You've been pushing me away," Aerith stated suddenly.

"What do you mean?" he asked dumbly. She was right. Since their battle against Fate, Cloud had kept Aerith at arm's length. He struggled to cleanse the image of her lifeless body from his brain. Each time he looked at Aerith, the alternate memory flickered before his eyes. It made him sick.

"Everything that happened... it was crazy, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah," he nodded, wanting to articulate more but struggling to find the words.

"Whatever you're afraid of, whatever you think might happen, you have to remember—nothing is certain anymore. The future is unwritten."

Sometimes, it seemed like she could read his mind; sometimes, it felt like Cloud didn't even need to utter a single word; Aerith could simply study his face or gaze into his eyes and discern precisely what was on his mind.

She was both comforting and unnerving, simultaneously familiar yet strange.

A hand as delicate as silk cupped his cheek, tenderly turning his face in her direction. Tongue-tied at her touch, Cloud's lips parted. He suddenly became hyper-aware of their friends; thankfully, Tifa, Barret, and Red XIII were fast asleep. "Are you hearing me?" she asked, peering into his eyes. Even in the dark, they glowed.

He grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from his face, "You were the one who told me to back off in the first place, remember?" The memory left a bitter taste in his mouth; his gaze contorted into a glare, but Aerith's remained gentle.

She stifled a giggle, "Aw, don't be petty. I told you not to fall in love with me, silly, not that you couldn't be within 15 feet of me. You've been acting like I have rabies or something."

"I'm not petty," Cloud grumbled, "and I'm clearly within 15 feet of you."

Aerith leaned in closer, so close Cloud could feel the warmth of her breath against his ear. Chills prowled down his spine; if he so much as turned his head, he might accidentally brush his lips against hers. "But I can tell you want to make a run for it," she teased.

"I'm not afraid of you," he lied.

"Oh?"

Before Cloud could speak, her lips pressed against his cheek. Startled, he jolted away. "Wha-what are you doing?" he faltered, embarrassment heating his face. Aerith laughed into her hands, trying hard not to disturb their slumbering friends. "Ugh," Cloud rose, ditching the impish flower girl by the campfire.

He desperately needed space. "Oh, don't be so grumpy!" Aerith goaded, trailing closely behind. Clearly, she had not gotten the hint. Cloud lay down a short distance from the campsite, resting his hands beneath his head and ignoring Aerith as she continued talking. He gazed up at the night sky, a vast black canvas painted with sparkling stars.

"Stop ignoring me," she pouted, lying in the grassy area beside him.

"Stop talking," he sighed, pointing upwards.

"Wow," she gasped, "there's so many! It's beautiful."

They lay together for quite some time, a comfortable silence between them. Eventually, Cloud noticed a change in Aerith's breathing. He angled his head and realized she'd fallen asleep. A cool breeze lightly tugged at her hair, and her long, dark lashes twitched ever so slightly. Aerith looked porcelain, peaceful, and unearthly beside him.

He grazed his cheek, recalling the peck she'd left there earlier. Why did she do that? She was always messing with him, making him feel...

What, exactly?

He gazed at her, realizing he couldn't pinpoint it.

Aerith's eyes fluttered open; instantly, they targeted Cloud. Nervously, his eyes darted away. "I thought this was a dream," she said sleepily, shifting onto her side, "and if I looked, you'd be gone..."

"Still here," he answered softly.

"Mhm," she sighed, snuggling up to his body.

Now, Cloud wondered if he was dreaming; that same feeling of paralysis overcame his body. His senses told him to roll away from her, to retreat back to camp, but something within him refused. Aerith wasn't Sephiroth. No, this was a different kind of panic.

Frozen, Cloud peered into the galaxy as Aerith clung to him. She had swiftly fallen back to sleep. Could he even get up without waking her? He didn't want to risk it—it'd be rude, after all.

...Since when did he care about being rude?