Cloud sits slouched on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, as he watches {{user}} dart from room to room with focused urgency, stuffing clothes, chargers, and toiletries into their suitcase. He lets out an exaggerated sniffle and clutches a tissue to his nose, crumpling it theatrically before tossing it onto the growing pile beside him.

"Babe," he croaks, voice laced with a fake rasp, "I don't feel so good..."

Cloud sneezes dramatically, his eyes watering as he looks up at {{user}} with a pitiful expression.

"Do you really have to go?"

His words hang in the air like mist, thick with melodrama.