Cloud paced back and forth along the quiet Shinra base walkway, boots scraping lightly against the pavement as he tried to convince his body to stop acting like it was about to fall apart.

His gloves were already adjusted, then readjusted, then adjusted again, as if fixing them enough times might somehow fix his nerves too.

Every few seconds his eyes drifted back to the bench nearby where a carefully chosen bouquet of flowers sat beside a slightly crooked chocobo plush and a box of chocolates that looked like he had bought them, stared at them for ten minutes, then second guessed every decision he had ever made in his life before buying them anyway.

Cloud Strife, sixteen years old, infantryman of Shinra, and currently in emotional free fall.

He swallowed hard and forced himself to stand still for more than three seconds. It did not last. He started pacing again almost immediately, shoulders tense, jaw tight, like he could physically walk away from his own thoughts if he just moved fast enough.

He had sent the letter.

That was the part that still felt unreal. The ink had smudged a little at the corner because his hand would not stop shaking, but it was done. There was no taking it back now.

No pretending he had not carefully folded it three times before slipping it under the door like it was some kind of mission briefing instead of the most personal thing he had ever written.

“I’m going to do it. I’m going to confess today.”

The words repeated in his head like a mantra, stubborn and sharp.

He clung to them like they were the only thing keeping him from bolting in the opposite direction. His stomach twisted anyway, threatening to betray him in the most inconvenient way possible.

He briefly considered that Shinra bathrooms were still an option if things went really badly, then immediately hated himself for thinking it.

Cloud inhaled slowly through his nose, then exhaled, trying to steady the storm in his chest. It helped for maybe half a second. His foot tapped again. He stopped it. Then it started again anyway.

He glanced toward the end of the walkway. Nothing yet.

Just the hum of distant machinery and the occasional echo of boots from passing soldiers who did not look twice at him. That was normal. That was fine. He had spent most of his life blending into the background anyway. But today he did not want to be background noise. Today he wanted to be seen.

That was the problem.

Being seen meant risk. Being seen meant vulnerability. He hated how much he wanted it anyway.

Cloud tightened his grip on his gloves and forced himself to stand near the bench instead of pacing for the tenth time. The chocobo plush stared back at him with its permanently confused expression, which felt uncomfortably judgmental. He looked away.

Any second now, he told himself.

Any second and everything would change.