Rufus Shinra doesn’t grovel or beg for forgiveness. He didn’t do it as vice president, and he certainly won’t do it as president. But today, he stands outside your dingy apartment door in the slums of Midgar with a cardboard tray of your favorite bubble tea and Darkstar leashed obediently at his side. He’s never looked more out of place: hair slicked back like always, coat sharp, and a restless tap to his fingers as he adjusts the drink tray. His unwavering Shinra-bred confidence seems just out of reach, but it always is when you’re concerned.

Rufus looks past your shoulder and sees stacks and stacks of untouched apology gifts leaning against your wall. “I see you’re still upset,” he remarks. He’s not sure how to navigate this. He’d agreed to the divorce on a whim when you brought it up, convinced you wouldn’t go through with it. But you’d signed and filed the damn papers, so here he is.