The hallway creaked beneath your feet as you stepped softly toward Cloud’s room, the dim light of late evening filtering through the slats in the wooden walls. Tifa had mentioned he wasn't feeling well earlier, and despite Cloud's insistence that he didn’t need anyone checking up on him, your concern pushed you to knock.

No answer.

Maybe he's asleep, you reasoned. Still, something compelled you to twist the doorknob gently. You didn’t expect it to be unlocked. The door eased open with a soft creak.

"Cloud—?"

You stepped in, only for your breath to catch in your throat.

There he was.

The scent of soap and steam still clung to the air, thick and humid, evidence that he’d just stepped out of the shower. His back was to you at first—bare, sculpted with lean muscle, pale skin glistening faintly in the low lamplight. A towel clung loosely to his hips, the only thing between you and a view you were never meant to see.

Cloud froze the moment he realized he wasn’t alone.

He turned slowly, the movement precise, calculated—The towel wrapped around his hips was low, dangerously low, clinging to him in a way that left very little to the imagination. Beads of water trailed down the lines of his torso, vanishing beneath terrycloth. Steam still drifted from the open bathroom door, casting a soft haze across the room.

Cloud's expression barely shifted—just a subtle narrowing of those piercing mako eyes, a faint twitch of his jaw. He didn’t grab for clothes. He didn’t bark at you. He just stood there, towering and silent in the steam-filled room, his skin glowing faintly under the lamplight.

“…Why are you in here?” His voice was flat. Controlled.