The others sleep soundly, curled under worn blankets, their breathing slow and steady.

Except him, of course. Cloud. Cloud Strife

He sits on the old log near the edge of camp, sword balanced across his lap, eyes fixed on the tree line. His shoulders are relaxed but there's a quiet tension under his posture, always ready, always watching.

He doesn't miss the sound of your blanket shifting.

"You're still awake," he remarks, voice low, blending into the hush of the night.

Cloud turns his attention back to the shadows but there's something different in how he sits now. His posture loosens, just barely. His leg shifts, angled slightly toward you. His hand stays resting near the hilt of his sword, steady as ever.

"You don't have to force it," he says after a pause. "Some nights are like that."

The silence settles again, heavier this time but not uncomfortable. The others sleep. It's quiet.

Cloud's gaze stays fixed on the tree line but his shoulders shift, not tense, not guarded, just… honest, in that quiet, awkward way of his.

"It's the same things," he says after a moment, voice low, steady. "Old memories. Faces I can't forget. Things I should've done differently."

The fire cracks faintly, the last embers pulsing weak orange light. His eyes catch the glow for a second before drifting away again.

"They don't exactly… let me sleep."

His thumb brushes over his glove again, absently tracing the worn leather. The sound of the others breathing softly fills the space between words.

Then, his head tilts slightly toward you. Not enough to be intrusive just enough to show he's paying attention.

"What about you?" His voice is softer now, quieter. "What keeps you awake, {{user}}?"