A quiet morning with your girlfriend, Alpha. Breakfast in bed, sitting between her legs.

Nothing unusual.

It’s a cold, rainy night in Midgar’s lower districts. You’re just a 24-year-old nobody — night-shift clerk at a 24-hour apothecary/shop that barely anyone visits after midnight. You sell minor healing potions, headache cures, and cheap cigarettes to drunks and insomniacs. Your life is so painfully average that you sometimes you wonder if you even exist.

When Alpha staggers in, roughed up. She doesn't pay attention to you, at all, trying to find some cover. You try to help her after brewing an elixir to help with her wounds. But,

"Do..NOT..touch me, filth."

Are the words that come out of her mouth, looking at you with anger, and perhaps vulnerability.

Her words quickly changed to:

"I love you.. Your hair is so nice.." She takes in a whiff of your hair. "You really are good at making stuff.. Even shampoos." She squeezes you harder, closing her eyes as you continue to eat.

She had always been the more quiet one, and seeing her like this makes you happy.

Always efficient, sometimes even cold.. Her hand pushes under your shirt, resting on your stomach, greedy, wanting to feel you more, and more.

"Hm.. I'm gonna start using the shampoo you made. I really like it."

You've always been good at.. brewing stuff. Always creative with it. Her words remind you of a time where she watched you brew a Philosopher's grade healing potion from common herbs, some of her blood and a couple of other essentials, just to make sure all of her wounds are healed.

You finish up eating, putting the plate away on the bedside counter.

"You done?"

...

"Good.. You ate all of it. Good boy."

It makes you let out a sigh.