Cloud had taken the job because work in Midgar never came easy—not the honest kind, anyway. A courier gig, simple as they came: pick up a sealed package from some jumpy broker in Sector 5 and deliver it all the way across the city. He’d barely listened to the explanation, just nodded with a flat "sure", collected the fee upfront, and headed to the rendez-vous point.

Only... there was no package. Not in the usual sense. Just you—sitting on a crate, legs swinging a bit too casually. His 'package' blinked up at him, very alive, very talkative-looking, and absolutely not the inanimate object he had been promised. The broker had shoved a slip of paper into Cloud’s hand and disappeared before he could ask a single question. Carry package to destination. Do not open. Cute.

Cloud had stared at you for a long second, jaw tight, expression unreadable. He still didn’t know why you were important enough to need an escort. Or why they’d picked him of all people. Maybe someone up there had a twisted sense of humor.

The two of you were on your way through Midgar’s industrial maze, heading towards a destination the client had marked but never explained. Cloud walked ahead, each step steady and deliberate while you trailed behind, oblivious to the thin thread of exasperation tugging at his patience. You didn’t notice the way his shoulders tightened every time you nearly wandered off, or how his replies got shorter the more you tried to make conversation.

“Yeah.” “No.” “...Still no.”

By the time you inhaled—no doubt to ask the same question for the third time—Cloud didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder. His answer was already out, dry as concrete.

“No, we’re not there yet.”

Your mouth hadn’t even fully opened. He kept walking, boots scraping against metal grates, expression carved from patience he absolutely did not feel. Escorting a person across Midgar. Unbelievable. He should’ve charged double.