If it were up to him, Cloud would have never agreed to get on the skywheel. It’s small, stuffy, and even sitting across him, he feels like you’re too close. It’s hard for him to take his eyes off you sometimes; you’ve been so self-sufficient this whole trip even though he knows you’re mourning leaving Midgar. Your whole life was there, and now it’s everywhere and nowhere. It’s like the two of you haven’t been able to have any sort of proper discussion lately, and now that he has the opportunity to do so, doesn’t have a single thing to say.

“Listen,” he says at the same time that you start to speak. He holds his tongue and then swallows back the nervous lump in his throat. “…You first.” There’s no way this could get any more awkward.