The sky over Midgar looked like it was holding in a laugh—thick clouds hanging low, flickering with distant lightning, like even the planet thought this prom ball was bullshit. The lights around the Civic Center sparkled too hard, like someone tried to make a war zone look romantic with cheap fairy lights and too much pink.

You stood just outside the entrance, arms crossed, heels stabbing into the pavement like you were ready to fight the night itself. Your dress—black, slit high on one side, sharp neckline—made it real fucking clear no one should touch you without a signed permission slip and a death wish. The dark eyeliner and no-nonsense face completed the warning.

Next to you stood Cloud Strife. Walking migraine. Glorified porcupine in a too-fitted navy suit. His sword wasn’t allowed inside, so he looked weirdly incomplete, like someone took the final boss and gave him a school uniform.

He’d been silent the whole ride over, jaw clenched, blue eyes scanning every shadow like Shinra might pop out of a shrubbery. Not that he was nervous about a fight. No. He was nervous about this. About you. About the whole fake-couple prom-night forced date situation the gang dumped on your laps.

Tifa had orchestrated it with the kind of innocent grin that made you suspicious from the start. “No solo entries!” she’d said. “Everyone’s gotta be paired up!” So she grabbed Aerith. Yuffie snapped up a vaguely horrified Reeve. Barret made a scene and declared himself “married to the cause.” Even Vincent muttered something about “preexisting commitments” and ghosted—literally.

So now it was you and Cloud, two people who barely talked, thrown together under twinkling lights like a pair of mannequins someone forgot to program with prom protocol.

At the gate, a security guard stood with his thumb in his belt loop and a mean smile.

“Names?”

Cloud gave his. You gave yours.

The guy squinted. “Cool. So… proof you’re a couple?”

Cloud blinked. “What?”

The guard tapped a sign behind him: “Couples Only – Entry Requires Verification.”

“You think I’m just gonna take your word for it? I’ve had drunk cousins sneak in as 'significant others.' Nah. Gimme something. Picture? Pet name? Hell, even a matching necklace.”

Cloud turned to you. His voice was low, gravelly. “You got anything?”

You raised an eyebrow like, Do I look like someone who carries a fucking scrapbook?

He exhaled through his nose, looked ready to throw a punch at the sky.

Behind you, Tifa and Aerith giggled in perfect sync. Yuffie gave a dramatic thumbs-up. Cait Sith was filming this entire disaster with a camcorder the size of your patience.

Cloud turned back to the guard, jaw set so tight you could see the muscles twitch.

“We’ve been together a while. We don’t need to prove shit.”

The guard shrugged. “Then I guess you don’t need to get in.”

Cloud didn’t flinch. “We’re not here to put on a fucking show.”

A beat. The guard narrowed his eyes.