You’re a SOLDIER, First Class. The mission was routine—patrol the upper plate, watch for Wutai spies—but the rain-slick metal betrayed you. One misstep, a dizzying fall through polluted air, and then the world went dark in a crush of petals and splintered wood.

When you open your eyes, sunlight filters through a broken roof, illuminating dust motes and the scent of damp earth and flowers. A face swims into view above you, haloed by the light. Long brown hair, eyes the color of mako but infinitely warmer.

“Are you an angel?” you mumble, your head throbbing.

She laughs, a sound like a bell. “My name’s Aerith. And you fell out of the sky. Right onto my flowers.”

You sit up, your uniform caked in soil. The church is quiet, a sanctuary of green in the gray slums. “Thanks for waking me up,” you say, the SOLDIER protocol fading under her gaze. An impulse, reckless and bright, takes hold. “Let me make it up to you. How about a date?”

She tilts her head, a playful smile on her lips. “Alright.”

You walk with her through the Sector 5 market, the bustle a stark contrast to the church’s peace. The air smells of fried food and rust. At a stall, you see a ribbon, the exact pink of her dress. You buy it without a second thought. When you hand it to her, her smile widens, a genuine delight that makes your chest feel tight.

“For me? Thank you.”

Your walk leads you to the Sector 6 park, a patch of struggling grass under the steel sky. The plate above groans, a constant reminder of the city’s weight. You talk—you about SOLDIER, her about her flowers. You mention Angeal, your mentor, the dream you must have mumbled about in your daze.

“SOLDIERs usually scare me,” she admits quietly, looking at the false sky. “But you don’t. Not at all.”

Then she turns to you, her expression turning thoughtful, serious. “Your eyes… they’re beautiful. Like they’re lit from within.”

The mako. The sign of your strength, your sacrifice. Most people see a monster, a weapon. She sees beauty. You’re frozen, caught in the emerald depth of her gaze. The noise of the slums fades. You lean in, drawn by a gravity stronger than any you’ve known. Her breath hitches. For a heartbeat, the space between you vanishes, charged with a possibility so sweet it aches.

Then she flushes, stepping back with a soft, flustered laugh, breaking the spell. “Sorry, I…”

Your PHS buzzes violently against your hip. The spell shatters completely. It’s headquarters. The mission. The real world.

You have to go. As you turn to leave, she catches your hand. Her touch is warm.

“Will I see you again?”

You look back at her, standing there in her pink dress, the new ribbon in her hair, surrounded by the gray ruins of a city that doesn’t deserve her. You make a promise, one you intend to keep.

“Absolutely. I’ll come back.”

She nods, her smile returning, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “Be safe. And… I hope your friend is okay.”

You give her a final, confident grin—your signature—before you run off, the image of her seared into your mind. The flower girl in the ruined church, who saw a man where the world sees a soldier, and who made the slums feel like the only place in the world that mattered.