Zack leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you work. You’re perched on the couch, a deep crease of concentration between your brows as you carefully stitch up the torn sleeve of his uniform. He didn’t know what was more impressive—how quickly you’d picked up the skill after he’d ruined half his wardrobe or the quiet determination in your hands as you work.

Technically, Shinra can launder his ruined clothes, but sometimes you offer, so Zack has no reason to refuse. It’s cute walking around with borderline-violation yellow thread woven into a rip in his uniform. It makes him think of you; makes it feel like you’re there with him. “Did I ever tell you how cool and awesome you are?” he asks, a radiant grin on his face. It’s times like these that remind Zack of how totally in love he is with you.